Ok, sorry for the long wait, I've had some serious writer's block! But I hope that my ideas/this story are everything you've been waiting for! Happy reading! And don't forget to review!
"Take them out. I think yer beautiful with or without 'em," he whispered, tickling her ear with his tongue. He bit an earring and tugged on it with his teeth. She giggled softly. She reached up and pulled out each earring. The holes quickly closed. He undid her hemp necklaces. He wanted to see her in all her naked glory. She undid the lace bra she was wearing. He smiled. She was perfect. More beautiful than any other being he knew or could even imagine. Not that he spent a lot of time dreaming about anything other than her. Her lips, her eyes, her mind, she was so perfect. She smiled, growling softly. He moved in on her. His dominance won over as she lay, belly up, neck exposed. He bit her as he slipped inside her. She whimpered softly, arching her back and thrusting her hips towards his. Suddenly, as she climaxed, she let out a bloodcurdling scream. He looked down and saw only blood. Where had she gone? He looked around frantically. Finally, he found her cowering in a corner. She pointed a shaking finger towards the door. Stryker.
Stryker stood there, holding a swaddle of cloth. He lunged for it, claws out, but missed by a mile. He roared angrily. He lunged again and again. He felt like he was moving in slow motion. Stryker easily stepped out of his way. Then, just like that, Stryker left the room. Logan's heart pounded in his ears. He thundered down the hallway, searching every room. He couldn't find him. Stryker was gone. He roared as he passed a bedroom, a shadow catching the corner of his eye. He turned and entered the room. The window was open. Stryker had gotten away. He'd let them down. He'd let her down. He roared and sliced through the bed frame. It sagged under its own weight. He ripped through the armoire, sending wood and clothing everywhere.
"Logan," someone said off in the distance. But he didn't care. He was too enraged to stop. "Logan," he heard again. His ears pricked at the sound. The voice was familiar but he couldn't remember from where. Why was it he could never remember? A new rage fueled him as he continued to slice and dice the room he stood in. He stormed into the bathroom and easily cut through the porcelain sink. Water sprayed across his face. "Logan!"
He sat up with a roar. He grabbed the person in front of him and squeezed. It wasn't his Aya. But they smelled familiar. He sniffed the air. It was the white-haired witch. It was Ororo. He let her go.
"Storm, I'm—are ya hurt?" he asked. He hated how pathetic he sounded. She shook her head and placed a petite hand on the side of his face. He could feel the beads of sweat slide down his forehead.
"Are you alright?" she asked softly. She perched on the edge of the bed and grabbed his massive hand. His claws slipped back between his knuckles. He nodded firmly though he wasn't sure it was true. He could feel his heart racing. He longed for Aya. But he couldn't have her. He'd been searching for years now, with no luck. All clues led to dead ends or dead people as he searched and searched for his mate. "You were dreaming of her again, weren't you? Logan, I don't know how much longer you can do this to yourself," she began.
"I'm not givin' up on 'er," he replied curtly. She nodded sadly. With a final brush of his cheek, she left the room. The light in the hall flicked off. Logan sighed. He had to keep searching for her. He threw back the covers and put his legs over the side of the bed. He held his head in his hands. He was tired of this, that was for sure. But he wouldn't give up on her. He stood and dressed quickly. He shouldered his bag, the one he kept stocked, and left the room. It was time for a little road trip.