Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None
Feedback : Please, let me know what you liked and what you didn't like.
Disclaimer: I won't earn a cent from this. The characters and situations belong to James Cameron and Charles Eglee. This is purely for entertainment. Even so, please, don't steal my words. I cherish them like babies.
Note: This is set while Logan is still in a wheelchair. Just so you all know, my muse normally drops off my stories complete, so begging for a sequel is useless. I'm usually not inspired to do them. Sorry! I just have too many other ideas bopping around in my brain. This started as a poor orphaned little round robin that I began.
Acknowledgments: Thank you kindly, Goblynn, for beta reading this story! Your honest critique will help improve my craft. Thanks!
Twilight
By Anna McLain
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The amber firelight made the highlights in his hair shine like burnished gold. His face looked younger, almost innocent. Above them, the ocean breeze rustled the leaves like fingers on a harpsichord.
He glanced at her with eyes that seemed less jaded. An honest, striking truth lay there. Part of her wanted to acknowledge that truth, to spring across the fire with all of her pent-up feral energy and pin him to the ground.
The more rational part of her mind won out. The forest was never safe and she had to protect him, whether he admitted it or not. Tonight, the city's scum had overflown into the delicate trees and misty forest shadows.
She forced her gaze to return to the rabbit on the spit before her. Light sparkled from the ring of granite stones circling the fire pit. She turned the rabbit slowly, concentrating on its succulent juices dripping into the flames. Each sizzle made her muscles quiver with anticipation. The smell of roasting meat filled her senses. Her stomach growled.
With effort, she turned her thoughts back to the problem at hand: how to return to inner city Seattle without getting killed in the food riots or captured by the Sector Police. The city was a virtual fortress now. Fate or sheer luck had positioned the pair on the outskirts of Seattle when the food riots broke out this time. The Sector Police flooded the city with astonishing speed and let the inhabitants kill each other off, while not allowing anyone to enter or leave. Max and Logan had made a mad dash for sanctuary in the forest. She wondered how much plunder the Sector Police would acquire that night.
Now, she and Logan were adrift. They had no vehicle, only Logan's wheelchair. If he weren't practically twitching with eagerness to get back to his computer, she'd have persuaded him to move on to another city. Moreover, she knew she could persuade him. A girl's got ways.
Concentrating was difficult. She could feel him staring at her, memorizing the details of her. A cool breeze caught a trickle of sweat down her back and made her shiver. Then she heard the whisper.
"Max."
One word, a thousand connotations. His tone was velvety, throaty. Shudders sent tiny cold mouse feet running across her skin. Her breathing deepened. She ran her tongue along her lower lip, suddenly starving.
She didn't look at him.
"Max," he whispered again, as though afraid to raise his voice, "don't run from me."
Her breath caught in her throat. Despite the chill in the damp air, she felt sweat break out on her forehead. There were two months left until her heat cycle, the fourth trip through Hell since she had met Logan, the fourth day stuffed with repression, denial, and fear of weakness. It wasn't her heat cycle, but she recognized the emotions making her head spin.
She glanced up through her lashes. Desire flushed his cheeks, made his pupils dilate until his blue eyes were nearly black. She could almost hear the thrumming of his heart, smell his pheromones mingling with the wood smoke. She tried to swallow, but could not.
"Max." It was a plea.
She opened her mouth to speak. What came out was a sigh. He held out his hand to her. She met his eyes, gazes locked. His fingers were hot against her palm.
Then she was in his arms, on the ground. She didn't know for certain whether she leapt across the fire or if he pulled her. She didn't care. It didn't matter. He was all that mattered.
He buried one hand in her hair, guiding her mouth to his. The kiss was deep, wild, out of control. She let go of her inhibitions and returned the kiss, reveling in the taste and feel of him. Dimly, she was aware of shedding her leather jacket, tossing it aside, forgotten. She tuned out the world and focused only on the man and her own need.
So deeply were they engrossed in each other, that they did not hear the man approach through the few trees that separated them from the nearby roadway, did not feel the observer's eyes upon them. He smiled briefly. It was fun to watch. His hunger could wait a few moments. He crouched in the bushes, just outside the circle of firelight, stomach growling and fingers twitching, rubbing the Tazer he had stolen during his flight from the city. He could still picture the look of amazement on the Sector Police officer's face as he hit him over the head with a pipe. Too bad the cop didn't have any food and there wasn't any in the forest, either.
Logan's hands were on her, exploring, caressing. He pushed her onto her back, his lips demanding. His tongue roamed the skin exposed as she shed her shirt and tank top. She grinned at him playfully and bent, unbuttoning his shirt with her teeth and lips. He watched, eyes wide. She bared his chest and kissed her way back up to his lips.
She dove against him, flipping him onto his back, devouring his mouth, completely lost in the sensations. Skin rubbed skin, friction igniting bottomless passion.
A twisted sense of humor prompted the man in the bushes to rise, to step into the haven of the firelight. He chuckled at the sight of the woman clad in only her panties before him, the man beneath her nearly naked. Anticipation made him quiver.
The sound of hands clapping seeped through the haze of Max's desire. They were so close, so close, separated by only two thin layers of fabric. Logan pushed her away and looked past her. A man, clad in rags that had once been a business suit, stood smiling, fire light reflecting from his black and rotting teeth.
Max whirled, one arm covering her bare bosom. "Catch the movie, bud. This is a private show!" she growled, her face twisted into a snarl.
He pulled a Tazer from his tattered coat and aimed at them. "Not anymore, dear heart. I got plans."
Max's eyes widened at the sight of the weapon. She knew it could have an effect on her, temporary, but incapacitating. She searched her peripheral vision for anything to serve as a weapon. She could easily dodge the line of fire, but that would leave Logan wide open.
"You're not going to ravish little ol' me, are you, mister?" she said in a little girl voice.
"I may be starving, Hon, but not for that. You two're a whole lot easier than bravin' the food riots and Sector Police in the city. More appetizin' too. Be days 'til anyone can find food there." He jerked his head toward Seattle.
With lightning speed, her hand shot out, grabbing a burning log from the fire. She tossed it at him, just as he fired the Tazer, catching her in the side. Pain burned through her. Sparkles appeared before her eyes and faded into darkness. She slumped over Logan's bare chest, unconscious.
The man sidestepped, but the flaming log caught his leg, knocking him to the frosted grass.
Logan pushed Max to the ground. The other man sat up, cradling his injured leg. He saw Logan propped up on his elbows and lifted his Tazer.
With strength born of desperation, Logan snatched a rock from the ring around the fire and hurled it. It bounced from the other man's skull. A look of surprise crossed his face just before he slumped sideways, unconscious.
Logan pulled up his pants and rolled onto his side. "Max!" he said loudly, slapping her cheeks. "Wake up! Max?"
She didn't move. He made a snap decision. He snatched up the clothes lying closest to him and tossed them over his shoulder onto the seat of his wheelchair, then pulled the chair closer, reaching behind it to set the brake. He draped her arm across his lap, threading it through his belt. He took a deep breath, and pulled himself up into the chair. The drag of her body and his paralyzed legs left him breathless, but he was determined.
He fell into the seat, gasping to catch his breath. Logan glanced at the prone man. He was still unconscious. Logan said a silent prayer of thanks that he'd been able to play baseball as a teenager. His aim was still good, and his pitch stronger than ever.
He gently removed Max's arm from his belt and pulled her up into his lap. She was light, and his upper body strength was enormous thanks to time spent in the chair. He draped her legs over his, her back against his chest, her head lolling back over his shoulder. He loosened his belt and fastened it around her waist, securing her to him. His bare arm brushed her breast, but he ignored it, forcing himself to concentrate on saving them. He released the brake.
If he could get them to the road, it would be easy to head into the city. It was all downhill from there.
The ground was lightly frosted and hard. Small rocks and twigs made the ride bumpy and treacherous. "Come on, come on," Logan snarled softly to his wheelchair. "Don't tip over baby. Only a little more."
The branch from a bush scratched his cheek as he passed, drawing blood. Using all of his strength, he pushed the wheels, willing them over the bumpy ground. The road was obscured by a thin veil of night mist, giving him the illusion of being locked in a bubble. Behind him, he heard the man curse and put on an extra burst of speed.
"I'll find you, wheel-boy!" the man shouted. "Got some lightning just for you!"
Logan heard the man stumble into a bush, the crashing frighteningly close. He pushed with all his strength. Sweat stung his eyes. The ten feet to the road seemed like one hundred. He could hear panting behind them.
Abruptly, the woods ended and he was on pavement. The wheelchair careened across the road, headed for the trees on the other side. Grabbing one wheel hard, he overcorrected. The chair lifted up onto one wheel and spun. It dropped hard onto both wheels, the impact jarring his teeth and knocking his glasses into his lap. The man burst from the trees like a charging bull four feet behind them.
Logan pushed off hard, sending the wheelchair whizzing down the slight decline and gathering speed. He squinted into the foggy darkness ahead of them, praying there were no obstacles in the road. Behind them, the man's footsteps pounded on the pavement, echoing from the trees around them. With one hand, Logan fumbled for his glasses. They lay perched precariously between Max's knees. One more bounce would send them flying.
Max moaned softly and shifted. Logan made a wild grab for his glasses, catching them just as they fell.
The chair gathered speed. The chill wind brought tears to his eyes. He fumbled with the glasses and finally got them on. He heard their pursuer's wheezing breaths fall behind. He glanced over his shoulder. The man faded into the mist. He laughed with relief and turned to watch their pell-mell descent into a Seattle in chaos.
Wriggling in place, he pulled his shirt from beneath them and struggled to put Max's arms in the holes. He managed to get it on backwards. At least it would keep her warm and save her modesty.
A noise made him look up. Shock hit him like cold water. Headlights, diffused by the thinning fog, bore down on them. He laid his palm against the right wheel of the careening chair and pushed down. Ignoring the pain as his hand was rubbed raw, he gauged the friction with the unconscious summation of everyday use. The wheel slowed slightly. The chair curved to the right. The van swerved at the last minute. Logan used the grass beside the road to slow the chair.
They were still going too fast. Dimly, he heard the van turn around and come up behind them. The wheels hit a bump and the chair bounced into the air. Logan covered Max's face with his hands and tucked them both in toward his lap.
They hit the grass hard on their side, sliding and melting the frost. The skin on his arms burned as the frozen ground grated against it. They tumbled end over end twice. After what seemed an eternity, they stopped.
The brakes on the van squeaked as it halted beside them. Logan watched three teenagers pile out while he caught his breath, teeth gritted against the pain. For a moment, he was afraid that they were starving, too. Times were hard all over. The recent floods in the farming belt had dropped national food stores to dangerously low levels. He knew he couldn't fight off three desperate, hunger crazed people.
"You okay, man?" asked the boy with spiked hair, holding out a hand to help Logan sit up.
Logan smiled. "Yeah, I am now."
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Max awoke in a cotton T-shirt, goose down comforter pulled up to her chin. She blinked rapidly, instinctively assessing her surroundings, semidarkness, faint scent of smoke, the popping of burning wood--a log cabin interior. She sat up quickly and regretted it instantly as her temples screamed in protest.
"Hey…hey," Logan whispered softly from nearby.
Her gaze darted to the window across the room. Logan sat in his wheelchair, one arm leaning against the glass, his profile dimly visible in the flickering light.
"Am I trippin' or are we not in the forest anymore?" she said.
He faced her and grinned. "We're in my parents cabin."
She frowned.
He shrugged and rolled over to her, placing a hand on her forehead. "Long story. Dull. How do you feel?"
"Like I fell off a roller coaster. How'd you get the cut and the bruises?" She reached out and touched his cheek tentatively. A fresh scrape stood out bright red against his pale skin.
"Doesn't matter. We're alive. We're alone. I'm fine."
"You saved us," she stated.
"My turn."
"My hero."
"I have wine if you're thirsty and strawberries if you're hungry." He motioned toward a silver tray on top of a small bureau.
She narrowed her eyes, a small smile on her face. "My you're feeling frisky, Mystery Man. What did you do with Logan?"
He chuckled. "Man of a thousand faces," he said, his voice low and playful.
Her gaze ran up and down his body. "You up for a challenge?"
"Is that a proposition?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Well, if you're too beaten down…"
"Not in the least."
"Then get over here. I've always wanted my first to be a hero."
He smiled as she took his hand, pulling him into the bed beside her. She kissed him softly and made him promise to tell her the whole story afterward.
Finis
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