A/N: All right, this story requires a little bit of explaining first. Trent Raven is my original character, but I made her up in an L.J. Smith fic, so I guess this is kind of a crossover fic, but the Night World only really appears in the first coupla chapters, so it's okay if you're not familiar with it--it doesn't have anything to do with the story.

If you want to read more about Trent, her story began in my fic Trent Raven, in the Night World verse. And those who read Trent Raven, this story takes place about six, seven years after that one ended. Also, this story is pretty much set outside any timeline or events in the X-Men comics: I just kinda took the characters I wanted in the story and said, Okay, this is the X-Men right now.

As always, Marvel owns X-Men, I own Trent, and L.J. Smith owns the Night World and the kind of vampires I'm using.

Man, that's gotta be the longest A/N I've ever written.
Enjoy!


Chapter 1



The heart of Nevada was not a glittering city, complete with casinos, whores and eager vacationers--it was no sparkling spectacle of excitement, laughs and cheap thrills.
It was a wasteland, a desert stretching from horizon to horizon, nothing but sagebrush, sand and the occasional dying tree as far as the eye. It was beautiful, in its own way--as beautiful as the rainforests or magnificent redwoods tourists paid thousands of dollars to see, but its beauty was cold, desolate, uncaring. No tourists would be visiting this landscape willingly.
A lone figure slogged his way across the Nevada desert as the sun set on a hot day in September. He was miles away from the nearest highway and the nearest town--he'd been stranded out here for two days now, forcing himself to go on, to keep walking. His mutant powers that made him so formidable an enemy in the human world were useless here; he was as helpless as any other human out here.
Kurt Wagner usually considered himself a survivor, a scrapper who always managed to survive the toughest situations. He'd survived falling down a waterfall as a mere baby, hadn't he? He'd escaped numerous mobs that wanted his blood because of his demonic appearance, hadn't he? And yet, this desert was beating him.
He and his fellow X-men had been battling a supernatural being who called herself Kali, after the Indian goddess of death. Kali was an amazingly strong telepath, but with the advantage of super strength and scythelike blades jutting from her elbows, wrists, knees, head, hands and feet. She was a formidable enemy, but they had gravely underestimated her power.
What troubled him the most was that he didn't know exactly what had happened to him. He remembered seeing Shadowcat trapped practically in Kali's clutches, with no way to phase out or escape. He remembered leaping for her, grabbing her in his arms.....
He must have teleported out. He did remember rushing through the otherspace with Kittie, but... he lost control. Or something took control--he remembered Kitty being wrenched out of his arms and teleported someplace far away, and he--he ended up here. In the desert.
Kurt hadn't had anything to eat or drink in two and a half days. He was horribly sick after teleporting such a long ways, and his mind was still feeling the effects. Everything was.... bleary. Blank. He had a hard time focusing his thoughts, or his feet, or anything... he had to get water. The nearest town couldn't be that far away.... it just couldn't....

***

She shouldn't have come back. She should have trusted her instincts and avoided Nevada like the plague. She'd been here too many times before, and each trip was associated with a thousand painful memories. True, Reno wasn't Las Vegas; she was still hundreds of miles away from where she'd first met Orion, where she'd been hunted until she was on the verge of collapsing. But it was close enough to that devil city to make her heartstrings bleed.

Trent Raven was sitting in a shadowed corner of some ill-reputed bar on the outskirts of Reno, clutching a bottle of Tequila. It was around midnight, and the place was packed with truckers, cocktail waitresses and casino workers, all of them clustered around the bar, demanding more alcohol! More anesthetic! More magic detergent to wash away the stains of life!

Trent could smell the desert outside, the salty tang of the sand, the fresh spice of the sagebrush, the clear, ominous scents that meant absolutely no water. The desert.... for centuries it has symbolized the ultimate test of human endurance, the ultimate danger. The desert was one of the few things that still scared Trent--the fear of the unknown, the fear of dying slowly of thirst and heat, dust coating her throat, eyes and ears, unable to defend herself against nature.

Trent sensed someone outside just before the door swung open, revealing a blue-clad figure. Gasps filled the room as he stumbled, gasping and grabbing the nearest table for support. Her eyes widened as Trent realized he wasn't dressed in blue--he was blue. His entire body (he was almost naked, except for a few shreds of some kind of uniform) was covered in blue fur, and to make things even worse a blue, forked tail grew from his butt, and yellow, desperate eyes stared out at them. Please... give me... some water, he gasped.

The entire bar was silent as its occupants stared at the creature. Then the bartender, sliding any liquids on the bar away from the newcomer, said, We don't serve mutants.

Please... just a sip... I've been.... stranded-

Didn'cha hear me, mutie? I said we don't serve your kind!

The mutant groaned, flashing the room an impressive pair of fangs. Please.... so thirsty....

Trent could feel the wave of resentment, anger and fear building up before the crash. This bar was about to explode! Her body tensed in preparation as a drunk shouted, Get and a mob pounced on the poor blue man, setting off a full-fledged bar fight.

The mutant fought back as much as he could, but the mob attacked him with chairs, knives, broken bottles, anything they could find, and their victim was incredibly weak, only able to block a few of the blows that rained down on him. Trent could feel his mind, his terror, his confusion--and she felt something more.... almost an affinity with him, as if they were somehow the... same?

Part of her wanted to rescue him. But most of her wanted--needed--to keep a low profile. She was being hunted, after all, and it was imperative to her survival that no one knew where she was. Getting involved, rescuing the mutant would bring her whereabouts to her enemies' attention--in fact, she shouldn't even be here now, seeing as the police would be here soon, and bring her to the attention of the Nevada authorities. Besides: why should she help him? Survival of the fittest. Natural selection. The weak suffer the strong--that's how it's always been. She'd seen countless numbers of the weak in the world die without lifting a finger--that's the way the world worked. She certainly wasn't going to change that philosophy now. Picking up her things, she turned to go.

Then the bar door exploded, and in walked a tall, muscular redheaded man. His hard, black eyes searched the room until they found hers, and he smiled.

Shit, Trent thought. The motherfuckers found me! She could see more vampires spill through the door behind their leader. This was going to get very ugly, very fast.

The redheaded man chuckled. Well well, if it isn't Little Miss Rrrrraven! To think that we chased you all over the globe to finally find you in Nevada, of all places.

Trent yawned, feigning calm confidence. Surely a rich spoiled brat like you can find better things to do than trail after the likes of moi, Gabriel.
The entire bar was now silent, observing this odd exchange, their assault on the blue creature forgotten. MOre vampires flowed into the room, their numbers seemingly endless, and Trent felt her stomach lurch as she realized she was not going to get out of this unscathed.

Gabriel's eyes searched the room and came to rest on the furry blue man, who was crouched against the wall, panting and snarling. Trent felt a wave of fear for him: Gabriel wasn't exactly tolerant of anyone different.

Sure enough, Gabriel's eyes widened and his lip curled in disgust upon seeing the mutant. What luck, he sneered. We get a furry freak to play with along with our dear friend Trent. His handsome face twisted into a cruel smile. Those that want to, go... make friends with the furry monster over there--the rest of you, help me deal with the problem of Trent Raven once and for all.

The bar exploded, once again, into pandemonium, as several vampires attacked the mutant, several (including Gabriel) attacked Trent, and the humans in the bar went crazy, attacking the mutant, the vampires and each other.

Trent hopped off her stool, reaching down and breaking off one of its wooden legs, making a crude stake. Reaching up, she rammed it into the stomach of the first vampire that came at her, ignoring his screams and the blood that gurgled from the wound she'd just made. Jumping up, she snapped a kick that would crumble a concrete wall at her next assailant's head, then crouched down beneath a blow aimed at her chest. The fight had begun; she could feel the adrenaline and animal instinct taking over, guiding every motion, every kick, every punch, every killing blow. She was a machine; she was perfection of movement, the essence of deadly grace.

But there were too many. They swarmed around her like too many mosquitoes, driving her insane before they were ready to kill her. And yet... in the midst of all the fighting, she could still sense the blue creature, could smell him, hear him, feel his mind. Everything about him was afraid and in pain--not surprising, seeing as he was being attacked and taunted by five or so vampires. Trent could see one particularly vicious black-haired vampire dealing heavy blows across the mutant's head and shoulders with a huge, heavy stake that he was using as a club. She saw him raise the stake for a killing blow, and without thinking she leapt.

***

He was strong. He was also fast, agile and smart. But he, the famous Nightcrawler, was sobbing on the floor, scrambling, desperate to get away from his killers.

They were teasing him--Kurt's deranged mind could tell that much. The evil, unbelievably strong men that attacked him were powerful enough to kill him with one blow, yet they leapt about, practically dancing, striking only hard enough to hurt him, wound him, ridicule him, not kill him.

Horrible pain shattered in his head as his cruelest attacker swung his club like a baseball bat into Kurt's head, sending the elf hurling into the wall. His face covered in blood, his head and mind exploding with pain, his throat so parched and dry that he couldn't even swallow, he was too tired to care as the same man who'd played baseball with Kurt's head now raised his stake high. The man smiled, and somewhere in the back of his mind Kurt realized that this was it: this was where he died.

Suddenly he saw his attacker spasm, and a look of horrible pain crossed his face as he slowly dropped to the floor, the stake falling from his hand. His killer pulled her stake out of his back, and looked at Kurt.

The blue misfit was suddenly seized with fear unlike any he'd ever known. Something about her eyes.... colder than ice, more dangerous than anything he'd ever seen... and she was advancing on him, the stake still in her hand.

He shrieked and scrambled backwards, certain that this demon was going to kill him. She frowned and reached towards him, the stake still clutched in her other hand. Kurt snarled and kicked, hitting her in the solar plexus, and didn't wait to hear her go oof' before getting the hell out of there.

But then a hand shot out, grabbing his temple, and he felt everything going black.

***

Trent looked up, letting go of Kurt. Why had he been so afraid of her? She had saved his life, for christ's sake, and he screams and tries to run away from her. How insulting.

But no time to feel annoyed. She had introduced more belligerent, violent thoughts into the drunk humans' heads, and they were currently attacking everyone, including all the vampire's in the bar, keeping them distracted from Trent and the mutant.

She picked up the man she'd just rescued, hauling him over her shoulder potato-sack style. Slipping through the now-ruined door, Trent hauled ass outta there.

She sprinted five blocks of the dark, dirty side streets of Reno before slowing down. Panting, she sent her mind out, scanning for any creatures that might be following her. She'd lost her attackers, thank god: it felt like they were still all tied up at the bar.

She gently removed the man she'd rescued from her shoulders, laying him gently down on the asphalt. Was this really a mutant, like that bartender had claimed? He certainly didn't look like any of the mutants Trent had met before. She could feel his mind, and it was definitely human--but there was something strange with his mind, and his appearance--well, there was nothing remotely human about it. Maybe someone had crossed vampire, shapeshifter and human genes--that could have resulted in something like this man... but shapeshifters could only turn into existing animals! Where would the blue skin have come from?

A raggedy breath escaped from his mouth, and Trent's mind was yanked back to the current problem. He needed medical help immediately: not only was he horribly dehydrated, the mob back at the bar had beaten him severely--he probably had internal bleeding, at least one broken bone, and definitely a concussion. He needed to get to a hospital.

But what hospital would admit someone like this--even if she was able to find a doctor who wouldn't refuse to work on mutants, which was unlikely, they would all be terrified by his demonic appearance. Not to mention that taking him to a hospital would probably bring attention to Trent again, bring her enemies back for more.

So what to do with the limp demon in her arms, now that she'd rescued him from the mob? She couldn't just leave him here, or give him to the local authorities--they'd most definitely lock him up. The only solution, it seemed, was to take him home and look after him until he got better.

She cringed. She wasn't exactly the most nursing, kind, or maternal of people, and the thought of spoon-feeding this boy till he was well enough to move about made her stomach lurch. But she didn't exactly have much of a choice; what the hell had she rescued him for, if she was just gonna let him die?

Sighing, Trent hefted him over her shoulder once more, and set off for her tiny apartment.

***

Well. So now, here he was, lying in Trent's bed. She stared down at him, wondering what the hell she was going to do.

Well, obviously he needed water. He'd been stranded in the desert for several days, from what it sounded like. Fetching a tall glass of water, Trent tipped his head back and gently poured the water down his throat, mentally urging him to swallow.

The water merely flowed out of his mouth and onto his chest.

That couldn't be a good sign. Frowning, she placed a hand to his temple, brushing his mind with hers, and gasped at what she found.

His life force was incredibly low! If she didn't do something immediately, he would be dead within minutes, if not seconds.

Trent gulped. She had no medical training; she didn't even know how to treat a wound. He couldn't drink any water, and she could tell from his mind that he was too far gone for her to wake him.

What was strange was that none of his wounds were serious enough to bring him that close to death's door, and he wasn't that dehydrated, either. So why was he dying so fast?

Her hand still on his temple, Trent could feel his life force slip away even further. She had to act now. Gritting her teeth and sending a quick prayer up to the goddess, she reached out to his mind.

She had never tried this before, especially not when her psychic powers were so... erratic. She was able to force energy into a person, yes, but it was usually an offensive move, forcing so much energy into a person that their mind literally exploded. Giving a person energy like this... bringing their life force back... she'd never done anything like this before.

She could feel the energy inside her, rushing, clamoring to get out and destroy. She had to concentrate hard, giving her patient only enough energy to bring him back from the near-dead, not so much to damage him.

Just a little bit more... there. Done. She released her hand from his temple, drenched with sweat. He was breathing evenly now, still incredibly weak but not dying.

Trent shuddered. That had taken... almost everything she had. Her hand shaking, she picked up the water glass again, reaching out to the man whose life she'd just saved.

***

Blackness. Then... he heard sounds... Kurt's eyes fluttered open. Was... uuuhh...

Shh. Don't talk. Drink. Someone was holding out a tall glass of water towards him, tipping it down his throat. He drank greedily, and the water tasted amazing, wonderful--the most delicious thing he'd ever consumed in his life.

He finished the glass, and tried to sit up, only to be attacked by a wave of dizziness. He groaned, putting his head back down.

Don't move. Sleep now. Kurt was only to happy to oblige as he slipped out of consciousness...

***

Kurt. His name was Kurt Wagner. She'd felt that much of his mind, when he woke long enough to drink the water.

This still didn't solve the problem of what she was going to do when he came back to life. She really couldn't stay here long; seeing as the Night World had already tracked her to Reno, she should be booking it out of here as fast as her car would go.

Trent rubbed her forehead, feeling the painful beginnings of a headache coming on. It hadn't exactly been an easy day, and she was long overdue for a good night's sleep. She closed the door on her sleeping guest and stumbled over to the couch, passing out the minute her head hit the pillow.

For the first time in six years, she had no nightmares.

***

Well, whaddya think, guys? Pleeeaaase tell me! Review! Review! Tis good karma to review!