Like a Stone - Audioslave
I Will Follow You into the Dark - Death Cab for Cutie
Name of the Game - Mama Mia Soundtrack
Cue the Strings - Low
It took two more days to get to British Columbia. He didn't say more than twenty words to her the entire ride. When they finally found a hotel in downtown Vancouver that met their price range, Logan slept in the car. Holly had actually risked touching his hand just to find out what he was thinking. He hadn't shoved her, but he'd held her by her shoulders at arm's length and told her flatly to stay out of his head.
It wasn't until Holly was scanning through old microfilms of birth and death records that he spoke to her again. "What am I looking for?"
She had assigned him the task of going through the news papers of the time. "A double murder." He was disturbingly quiet for someone who had killed dozens of people. "Thomas Logan shot Jacob Howlett. Jacob's son James killed Thomas Logan in revenge. There could be articles about the man hunt they held for you and Victor. There could be an obituary for your father."
His machine stopped scanning, "You said Thomas Logan was my father."
"I said he thought he was your father." She scanned through another article. "There isn't any way to tell. Your mother might have known, or she might not. It depends on who she slept with and when. If her cycle was regular or not." Holly shrugged, "Only real way now would be to dig them all up and get DNA samples to compare to yours."
"That's my family yer talkin' about," he said with a growl.
Holly looked at him, "Your two hundred years in the ground family. There isn't any point in being sentimental when you're talking about things that happened nearly two hundred years ago."
He didn't look as if he agreed, but he didn't say anything. He went back to scanning through the microfilms. So did she.
The articles came in the early spring of 1845. The papers either hadn't known what to make of the stab wounds in Thomas Logan's torso or the police of the time had kept it out of the paper because it wasn't mentioned. The article had stated that Jacob Howlett's son, twelve year old James, took revenge for his father's death.
James Howlett and Victor Logan were sought in connection with both deaths.
Holly took the articles and the following obituaries to get them printed out. When she returned to the microfilm machines, Logan was nowhere to be found. After some searching she found him outside the library, smoking one of his seemingly endless supply of cigars.
Holly folded up the print outs and put them in her back pocket. She pulled off one glove and gingerly reached to touch the skin of his hand. He grabbed her clothed forearm before she even got near touching him.
"Told you to stay out of my head," it wasn't a snarl but it was mean enough to hurt. He dropped her arm. She grabbed his hand anyway.
The steel door was already in place.
It was his skin on hers and for a second it was nice. He was warm even though the winter air whipped around them. His hands were rough, a little dirty from dust, and covered her hand with long fingers. Then the muscles in her arm protested and jerked at the same time he yanked his hand from her touch.
Holly wiped at her nose with the back of her sleeve, "Did you learn to shield like that from the Professor?"
He was glaring at her, angrier than she had ever seen him.
"I have the location of their graves if you want to go." She wiped at her nose again.
His eyes narrowed, dropping from her own gaze to her nose. "Your nose bleeds are getting shorter."
Holly smiled thinly at him, "Don't get your hopes up."
He wanted to put flowers on his mother's grave. There was only one more gas station on the way to the graveyard. Logan pulled into one of the parking spots and got out. Holly followed him into the store. He was already looking at the small refrigerated bouquets of flowers.
He opened the door and grabbed the white roses.
Holly put her hand on his arm. "Not those."
Logan looked at her, "What? They aren't nice enough?"
She rolled her eyes and picked up the white carnations. "Flowers have meanings. White roses are for purity and innocence." Holly held out second bouquet to him, "White carnations are for remembrance. I would say white tulips; they mean forgiveness, but good luck getting those in the winter."
He took the flowers.
She went to the aisles looking for junk food. Machine processed junk food.
"They teach all that stuff about flowers an' research in college?"
Holly shrugged, "Sort of. The research was part of my undergraduate. You learn to research or die." She looked across the short shelves at him. He was looking for something. "Actually I have a PH.D. in literature." She grabbed a large bag of plain potato chips off the shelf. She looked up only to see dark, hooded eyes looking at her. "What?"
"You're full of surprises," he said it almost like it was a bad thing.
Holly shrugged, "Well at first I only wanted an Associates degree, but I figured after two years what was two more? So I did two more and got a Bachelor of Arts in English lit. Then I was offered a fellowship if I went on to get a PH.D. I'd already done four years, what were three more?"
She moved down the aisle opposite him, not looking at him. She picked up two packs of gum, one pink and the other dark yellow. Holly sniffed the backs. Her nose wrinkled. She put them down and selected two packs of plain wintergreen gum instead.
"Thought there was supposed to be another degree in there," Logan said gruffly putting the bottled water and his beer on the counter.
Holly stepped up near him, but held onto her own purchases. He took them from her without a word. She blinked, "Logan you don't have to…" He turned hooded eyes on her. Her mouth closed. "Thank you," she said as he pulled out his wallet.
He muttered something that sounded roughly like, "I owe you anyway."
Once they were back in the car, "To answer your question," though it hadn't been a question actually, "You don't have to have a master's degree to get a PH.D. You just need your Bachelors done."
He didn't say anything, but the tight set of his jaw said he was thinking. His fingers gripped the steering wheel a lot harder than necessary. Holly called his name twice but he didn't answer. She had the distinct impression he was too deep in thought.
She pulled off her glove.
Holly reached out one bare hand and touched his cheek. The flood of his thoughts tasted of confusion, self-loathing and a question that made her pulse quicken. He wanted to understand why his heart picked women he couldn't have. He couldn't touch her the way he wanted touch her.
Logan jerked his head away with a low, furious growl. "I told you to stay out of my head."
Holly shrank back slightly, "I'm sorry Logan, I didn't…"
He turned and gave her a short look, and then the angry crease between his eyes softened. He looked back at the road to make sure no one was coming then turned back to her. Logan's eyes traveled across her face, "You're not bleeding."
Holly touched the skin just above her lip and just below her nose. She shook her head, "I'm getting used to you. It happens sometimes."
He was gazing out the windshield and at the road. A look she couldn't read or place was written across his face. His nostrils flared and she wondered what he was smelling. Then he hit the signal and pulled the car over to the dirt side of the road. His hands were white and bloodless on the steering wheel from gripping it so tight.
The car traveled a short distance into the wooded area until the road really wasn't visible anymore.
Holly hit her seat belt. She had meant to simply lean over and see if he was alright. He caught her arm at her covered wrist. Holly's pulse skipped.
"Get out," he ordered. His tone was enough. It was rough, heated and laced with need.
Her heart thundered in her ears. Excitement and just a touch of fear plowed through her. Holly scrambled with the door handle and popped it open. Logan was already striding around the car in fluid movements. She barely had the door closed behind her when he was there, towering above her.
Slowly, something that was costing Logan a great deal of control, his hand brushed her chin. His fingers just cupping her neck as his thumb traced her lower lip. Her eyes rolled slightly and when they refocused and widened, he crushed his mouth against hers. The little moan that left her throat went straight to his groin. He pinned her against the car with his body, one knee parting her legs.
One of his hands planted squarely on the car, and the other held her hip. He angled her pelvis into his leg. Holly bucked, moaning. Her hands shot out, one anchoring to his wrist at her hip and the other went to his shoulder.
Logan's tongue teased her, easing into her mouth, taking advantage. Her tongue fought back swirling around his. The pressure from the lump forming in his jeans dug into her stomach. Holly's knees gave. His hand on her waist and the leg he had between hers kept her in place. She bucked against him again trying to relieve the delicious friction he'd created between her legs.
He chuckled, low, dark and deep. He pulled away enough to let her breathe, "You okay darlin'?"
"Mmmhmm," Holly replied, evergreen eyes fluttering.
His fingers stroked up and down the side of her face gently. His thumb moved over her bruised lips, "Look at me."
It took a moment, and then her eyes opened. Her lips were parted, and she panted softly against the skin of his thumb.
Logan traced over her lips again, "Did I hurt you?"
Her head shook from side to side, dark tresses tossing with her movements. Her hair fell softly over his wrist. She breathed in, eyes closing for a long moment then reopening. Holly's tongue darted out, wetting her lips. His eyes followed the movement with heat.
Her fingers flexed on his jacket, "How long have you been waiting to do that?"
He wore that look, the guilty but self satisfied one men get when they've done something extremely naughty and got away with it. Logan's lips slanted with a smirk. His fingers flexed at her hip, "A while."
She let out a little hiss of pain. Instantly the hand he had on her hip was pulling up her shirt with two fingers and using the other three to push her jeans down. A set of bruises, just forming with an angry shade of blue-purple. His mouth pressed into a thin line while he eyed the shapes of his fingers as they formed beneath her skin.
"It didn't hurt until you pressed on it," Holly told him sheepishly. Her face stained red, "Must have been the endorphins." She put the hand that had been holding his wrist over his hand, "It's okay Logan."
His thumb ran over her lower lip again. Her eyes fluttered and he felt her jerk just slightly. "Why didn't you tell me you could get used to me?"
Her gaze dropped, "Because it doesn't always happen. Because it won't last." She reached up to touch his cheek with the hand that had been on his shoulder. Her gloved fingers ran over his skin, "Sooner or later you're going to spend more than a couple of days away from me. When that happens…" she let her voice trail off.
"I can't touch you again," he finished solemnly.
I told myself at 50 reviews and 2,000 hits I'd post chapter 12. Here it is. :)
Still no beta for 13. It will be posted Sunday night/Monday morning with or without a beta. Just to relieve the Monday blues.
Back to writing and Warcraft. I'm not an addict. I swear.
I'd like to say someone guessed right but I can neither confirm nor deny that statement.
Oh yes, I almost forgot:
Thank you to reviewers both past and present. The last chapter was the most reviews I have ever recieved at once on any chapter for this story.
