Logan heard Rogue’s familiar footsteps approaching, but he didn’t turn from the stove. He used a spatula to take his own eggs off the skillet and flip hers; she balked at sunny side up.
Logan really wasn’t sure how he should act after the events of last night and this morning. He didn’t know where he stood with her. And he didn’t want her to sense his uncertainty—it would make her feral side nervous. A nervous Rogue, who may or may not have superpowers at any given moment, was a dangerous creature.
She set the radio on the counter and turned it on. A staticky bluegrass song filled the cabin. He supposed it was better than having the TV blaring all the time.
Then Rogue came to stand behind him. He suppressed the urge to tense up when her palm pressed into his back. His instincts told him to turn around, but he was finding more and more that there was another part of him—a part that often disagreed with said instincts. He kept his back to her, eyes on his task.
The hand slid up his spine, pressure muffled by his flannel and the T-shirt underneath. Logan kept his breathing steady, flipped her eggs onto her plate, and set about browning the bacon.
Her fingertips reached the bottom of his collar, then moved sideways to explore the pane of his shoulderblade. Another hand began exploring the opposite shoulder. Then she stepped into him, pressing herself along his body affectionately and rubbing her cheek against him.
The sweet gesture sent warmth thrumming through him, deep down to the metal of his bones. He cut off the burner and slid the bacon off the skillet. He’d never liked it crispy, anyway.
“Rogue?” he grumbled. Why was she being so affectionate? “You still mad at me?”
She simply nuzzled against him in response. Her hands returned to his collar, then began inching up towards his neck—
A low rumble rose in his chest as he spun around, snagging her wrists. He stared fiercely down at her, hoping she would interpret the look as anger rather than the hurt it truly was. “Sneaky Rogue,” he growled. “Think you can get my guard down and hurt me?”
She just shook her head, gently tugging against his grip.
It was then that Logan noticed her gloved hands. Oh. He released her, feeling ten times the jerk, but still wary. She had to have something up her sleeve, surely.
But the pure curiosity in her features said otherwise as her hands slowly made their way to his face. She traced the backs of her fingers through the coarse whiskers at his jawline and smiled. Her touch continued slowly upward, over his cheekbones, past his temples, smoothing the tension in his brow before dipping back down the bridge of his nose.
He didn’t know how the gentle sweep of her fingers could hurt so much, but it did. It felt like she was breaking something inside of him, some wall he had worked long and hard to put up.
Logan’s voice came out harsher than he wanted: “What are you doin’ to me?”
Her hands stilled over the stern lines around his mouth. She looked at him softly.
He struggled against the kindness in those eyes. “How can you be so . . . so . . . after last night . . . . You gave up everything to protect her, and I hurt her, Rogue. How can you just forgive?” He wanted to detest her, to hate her for being so weak.
She made no attempt to answer. Her fingers ghosted over his lips, making him shake. The barely-there drag of silk seemed to heighten all of his senses. Little flashes of pleasure seared through him, growing stronger and stronger with every pass of her fingers—and suddenly it was too much. His hips bucked and he bit down on her.
Her scent changed then. He breathed her in deeply, feeling his eyes go out of focus for a moment as they dilated. She pulled her hand from between his teeth and continued her exploration, slipping down over the tendons of his neck, the dip of his collarbone, flattening her palms against his broad chest.
She looked up at him then, and there was strength and pride in her features, but none of the smugness he remembered from the bathroom yesterday. For the second time that morning, she sent his mind back to a long-forgotten monastery.
The master understands that the greatest strength is in gentleness. Nothing is as soft and yielding as water; yet who can withstand a flood?
As he wrapped his arms around her, he realized she was far from weak. He certainly didn’t have the strength to forgive as she did. He couldn’t let go of his anger and bitterness. It was that anger, always simmering inside, that had driven him too far last night. He buried his face in her hair, waging an inner struggle.
He wanted to let go of his anger, to never risk it coming out on her again. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t fair, what had been done to him—what had been done to her. He wanted revenge, wanted it so badly he could barely think of anything else. He tightened his hold on her waist, anchoring himself in their connection. Her heart beat harder when he traced his palms up and down her sides, thumbs just brushing her breasts, following the dips between each of her ribs, down the gentle slope of her waist to where it finally flared out. He gripped her hips and she whimpered. So sweet, so good. Whoever attacked her deserved—
”Ya don’t always get what ya deserve, Logan.”
“She needs me to rip apart the sonofabitch that did this to her.”
“Really? And who will feel better once that is done—her, or you?”
Too many voices rang out in his mind, too many conflicting thoughts. He breathed her in and centered himself in the feel of her once more. Strong and gentle, proud and submissive, Rogue and Marie, and a dozen other contradictions all wrapped up in a body that molded perfectly to his. He wondered how she handled all the conflicting voices in her head. Maybe he could learn a thing or two.
Rogue pressed her hands into his chest until he loosened his hold. She pulled back only to raise up on tiptoes and playfully nip his lower lip. His hips bucked again, this time into the warmth of her belly, and he rumbled in pleasure.
She pushed the flannel off his shoulders and down his arms. He let it fall to the floor before stilling her movements with a tight embrace. He brought his mouth to her ear, whispering the command he so hoped she was ready to answer: “Tell me not to stop, Rogue.”
She whimpered, digging her nails into his back, clinging to him as she always did.
He brought a hand down to the small of her back, pressing her into him, grinding his hips in a slow circle that drew a hiss from him and another whimper from her.
“Say it,” he commanded and begged, “say it, baby, please. I need to hear it.” He bit down on her earlobe, rubbed his palm at the small of her back, pushed his hips into her, anything he could think of to make her desperate enough to speak.
She just whimpered pitifully when he finally pushed her away.
He turned with a rough sigh, grabbing the breakfast things and taking them to the table. He took a seat just in time to see Rogue pick up his green flannel and bring it to her face, rubbing her cheek against it and breathing in his scent. She gave him a look that was some mixture of anger, sadness, and resignation, then set the shirt on the counter and joined him for breakfast.
-------------------------------
Rogue wore her black leggings, a yellow thermal shirt, and the green flannel she had snatched from the counter on her way out of the kitchen. She sat on the edge of her bed and pushed her feet into her boots, pulled the laces tight, and stared down at them for a moment. A feeling, new and not at all pleasant, rose up in her.
Embarrassment. She was embarrassed, because she couldn’t remember how to tie them. She fumbled with the laces, glancing up every few seconds to make sure the alpha—Logan—didn’t see her. Finally, something clicked, and she managed to loop the little strings around each other in a way that her fingers remembered better than she did.
Logan appeared in the doorway. He looked up and down her body in a way that made her a different kind of embarrassed. “Ya look good.” He cleared his throat. “Ready?”
Rogue managed to nod, though she still wasn’t sure about this. Logan said they had to go away for a while so housekeeping could come and clean the cabin and change the bedding.
Rogue didn’t want the bedding to change. It smelled like her and him and it made her feel safe. And the cabin didn’t need cleaning. Everything was how she liked it.
She bit her lip to stifle a whine and forced herself to take a step towards him.
He stood up straight and tall. “C’mere.”
The hesitation vanished, and she came to his side easily. There was something different about him, when he was like this. She loved the way he stood, and the sound of his voice: rough and sure. Like the first day, when he made the red-eye man go away and showed her he was the alpha.
Something occurred to Rogue: he was in the clearing, when . . . when it happened. She wondered if he had dead things inside his head, too. If that was why he understood her. He was . . . like her, in a way the sitting man and the others weren't. She remembered a word: feral. She and the alpha were feral.
He walked to the door, and Rogue could tell he expected her to follow. But the memory of the clearing made her not want to go outside.
Follow! her instincts ordered. She struggled to make her legs move.
He opened the door of the cabin and looked back to quirk an eyebrow at her. Again she felt the overwhelming urge to follow, and the equally powerful urge to stay.
She whimpered in confusion. It was so hard sometimes, being at the mercy of these powerful instincts, not knowing how to cope when her human and feral minds contradicted each other.
“Rogue,” he growled. “C’mere.”
Her decision was made for her; it seemed unthinkable to defy that voice. She walked to him, weaving her fingers through his when he held his hand out for her. She followed him outside, down the steps, to the soft wood chip path.
“We’re not goin’ to the bad place,” he said. “Calm down.”
Rogue knew she was gripping his hand too hard, could feel the bones and the sheathed claws shifting under his skin. If they were normal bones, she would have crushed them. She tried to relax her hold.
He led her down the path. They went south past the front lodge. Rogue breathed in relief, finally able to loosen her grip on him.
A hint of anger colored his scent. "You didn't believe me?" he asked roughly. "I told you, we ain't goin' to the bad place. Don't doubt me." He narrowed his eyes at her.
Rogue lowered her gaze.
He huffed his approval at the gesture, and walked off without looking back. Rogue fell into step behind him.
The trail he chose was steep, and she came to enjoy the burn in her legs as they walked. It felt good to use her muscles again. The alpha was silent, and she was content to simply follow him. She liked the way he moved, even when he was covered up with clothes.
It seemed to Rogue that they walked for a very long time before the trail leveled off and the alpha slowed his pace. He put an arm over her shoulders, and she fitted herself against his side.
Rogue supposed leaving the cabin wasn’t terrible. But it was a lot to take in. The smell of pine needles and rotting leaves, wet and mildewy from the melted snow. The musk of small animals nearby, and a hundred different territorial marks left by animals long gone. The squeaks of mice and squirrels, little clawed feet padding over the ground and scraping up the trees.
A flock of birds flew over loudly, and it was a bit too much. She buried her face in the alpha’s shoulder and closed her eyes, focusing on his familiar smell and the sound of his heartbeat.
He tucked her under his chin. “Just a little longer. You can do it. You think this is hard, wait ‘til ya get back to the mansion.”
Rogue pulled away, eyes shut tightly, shaking her head. She would never go back to the mansion. Back to that hallway . . . the hallway and the door and she had to protect Marie. Suddenly, the dead things were sinking their teeth into her, ripping her apart again. She lashed out blindly, trying to shove and hit them away.
It was no use. They were so strong. They just kept coming back, growling and snarling. She bit and clawed, disgusted with herself as her teeth sank into their filthy, matted fur, but it hurt so much, she’d do anything to make it stop. She tried to scream, but something closed over her mouth. She bit down and tasted leather.
“Openyoureyes openyoureyes openyoureyes. Don’t scream. Rogue.” That voice. She couldn’t resist that voice. Her eyes came open.
She looked up into the alpha’s stern face. She must have fallen, because he knelt over her, cradling her head in his hands. His lip was split, and she watched in awe as the wound knitted itself up before her eyes.
“You okay?” he asked gruffly.
She nodded slowly.
“C’mon. That’s enough hiking for one day.” He took her hand and pulled her up, then popped his neck a few times. A wicked smile crossed his face. “Didn’t mind gettin’ my spine cracked against that tree, but next time you wanna work out my kinks, just ask.”
Rogue gave him a curious look.
He lifted his gloved hand, now marked with two neat little rows of teeth. “Oh, and the next time you bite me, baby,” he leaned to purr in her ear, “I’ll bite back.”