Chapter 13

Azazel had started teleporting during their training sessions. At first, Mystique had argued that it wasn't fair, as several times she would have made contact had Azazel not vanished a second before she struck. Azazel shrugged off her complaints with an amused grin, merely pointed out that she'd always face surprises in battle and she needed to be ready for anything.

The events of the week prior were now firmly in Mystique's past. There was no question that the visit to Charles changed her. After her teammates had gone to sleep that night, Mystique secretly made her way to the hotel lobby and placed her music box and her old photograph in fireplace. As she watched the flames consume her mementos, she resolved to never again wear the face of Raven. She was a solider of the Brotherhood now, and after Janos's astute observation, she realized her fellow mutants were so much more than just teammates; they were her family. Erik was back on good terms with everyone, although he and Azazel maintained a polite but reserved attitude toward one another.

Erik, Emma, and Janos were currently away on a week-long mission in Central America, leaving Angel, Mystique, Mort, and Nick to man the headquarters. Azazel came and went as needed, but in his down time, he was becoming more social with the others. The previous afternoon Azazel even joined them in Hellfire Club Lounge, where the younger mutants were laughing and drinking, and Mystique even convinced him (however reluctant) to play the piano for the group. After a few songs he relaxed, teasing Angel when she yelled out pop song requests and smiling more easily than Mystique had seen in recent weeks. The night before the Brotherhood mission, Mystique found the courage to approach Emma and express her gratitude for Emma's intervention with Erik in the hotel lobby. She knew Emma had done so for Azazel's benefit – Mystique knew that she meant little to Emma – but Mystique was still grateful. Not one mutant breathed a word about Emma's breakdown. She returned to her normal, frosty attitude the following evening, pretending nothing out of the ordinary transpired, and the younger mutants were smart enough to follow her lead. Mystique was genuinely surprised when Emma was receptive to her gratitude, giving Mystique a curt nod and not slamming the door in her face this time. As Mystique walked away from Emma's room, one curious thing did take place; halfway down the hallway, Emma's voice echoed softly in Mystique's head: just don't hurt him.

Mystique froze in her tracks and looked over her shoulder. Emma stood half-concealed by her bedroom door, peering out from the shadows. Her cerulean eyes were infinity pools, omnipotent and unreadable all at once.

Who? Erik? Mystique thought projected and laughed nervously. I think he's a bit tougher than that. Emma eyed Mystique for a few seconds more before turning away and retreating into her room. As her door clicked shut, Mystique heard Emma's voice one last time: either of them. Mystique shook her head at the white mutant's cryptic warning and walked away faster, trying to flee from the unseen chill in her bones.

Right now, however, Mystique was not dwelling on the events of the last week. Instead, she was doubled over, her chest heaving as she shot Azazel a sharp look of frustration. He stood on the far side of the clearing, his arms crossed and a spirited expression on his face. When she stood up, he was gone. She braced herself and concentrated, holding her practice sword at the ready. The hardest thing about fighting a teleporter was that she had to be constantly aware of her surroundings at all times, as Azazel could appear absolutely anywhere. She had learned to listen for the distinct whoosh of air that sounded the second before he fully materialized. If she could just react fast enough, she might have a shot at hitting him before he could hit first.

Suddenly, there was a noise to her left. Mystique spun and thrust her sword, cutting through smoke. She swore under her breath, and a second later cried out as she fell, her hip stinging from Azazel's wooden blade. Before she could get to her feet, Mystique vanished and reappeared a hundred feet above the pond, Azazel's hand firmly knotted in her hair. Before he could release her, she growled and lunged forward, entwining the fingers of her free hand tightly around the Mandarin collar of his jacket. Azazel made the fatal mistake of telling her once that it was difficult for him to teleport away from anything directly touching his skin. At this short distance, he wouldn't have enough time to lose both his shirt and jacket. As they fell toward the water, she narrowed her feline eyes and hissed, "I swim, you swim!"

The corners of his lips twisted upwards at her challenge. Mystique was learning to use her opponent's powers against him. The pair vanished seconds before breaking the water's surface. Mystique landed hard on the ground and quickly rolled to her right, narrowly dodging the spike of Azazel's tail. As he swore and pulled to free his tail from the ground, Mystique vaulted to her feet and plunged her sword. Azazel jumped backwards, throwing his arms out for balance. He scarcely avoided the strike of her blade, and her swing caused him to accidentally drop his own sword. The mixture of surprise and uncertainty on his face only encouraged her. Adrenaline surged through Mystique's veins, and she brought her sword down like a hammer. Azazel teleported madly to avoid her blows. Suddenly, he appeared next to Mystique and seized her wrist, trying to wrench the sword out of her hand. Before he could take command of her weapon, Mystique threw her sword as far as she could away from him. She twisted out of his grip and ran towards his fallen weapon. If I can just get there first…as she reached his wooden sword, she heard Azazel vanish. Trusting her instincts, she skidded to a halt, closed her eyes and threw her fist out in front of her.

Something was wrong. My fist hit something. Mystique opened her eyes and looked around wildly, waiting for Azazel to reappear. When she finally looked down, she let out a surprised gasp. Azazel was sprawled on the ground, looking dazed with his hand pressed to his mouth. When he pulled it away, there was blood on his fingers. They looked at each other in shock. Mystique finally did it – she hit him! At this realization, both mutants burst out in laughter. Giddy with her victory, Mystique held out her hand to help Azazel to his feet. He smiled in admiration, and firmly gasping her hand, he quickly snapped her towards the ground. She yelped from his unexpected move, and through sheer luck, recovered quickly enough to roll sideways and avoid another attempted strike from his tail.

This motherfucker never gives up, she thought, a smile still on her face. Well, two can play this game. Before Azazel could make his next move, Mystique spun around and seized his right arm. Thrusting her hand into his sleeve, she grabbed the handle of one of the daggers he always kept concealed. Azazel's eyes widened in alarm as she withdrew the real blade, and he flipped the blue girl on her back and forcefully pressed her to the ground. As he scrambled to gain control of the dagger, Mystique pulled her legs up and kicked as hard as she could, breaking his grip and sending Azazel hurdling over her head. With a loud thud, Azazel hit the ground. Wasting no time, Mystique sprung up and vaulted on top of him, straddling his waist and fiercely pressing the dagger to his throat. This time, Azazel did not attempt to fight back. He closed his eyes and lay perfectly still, trying to regain a steady breath. Mystique had won. She leaned down until her face was inches away from his.

"Enough?" Mystique taunted wickedly. He opened his eyes and regarded Mystique's dare seriously for a moment. She watched the veins in his neck flash against the metal of the blade, and smiled at the messy strands of coal black hair stuck to the sweat of his brow. He turned his head and roughly spit a mixture of blood and saliva. When he looked at her again, there was an unmistakable gleam of pride in storm blue eyes.

"Ilya."

"What?" Mystique cocked her head, confused. Azazel swallowed before he spoke again.

"My name. It is…was Ilya. Ilya Kurt Wagner. I promised it, if you earned it, and you just did." He smiled widely at her, exposing all of his dazzling teeth. They were slightly stained pink from his blood. "Lioness."

"ILL-EE-UH." Mystique pronounced the name as if she was tasting each syllable. She withdrew the dagger from his throat and dropped it in the grass next to him. She was a lioness. Her smile grew wider until she started giggling, finally bursting into hearty laughter, joined by Azazel seconds later. Everything – the scenery, his defeat, and their history together – all of it seemed so fitting and so ridiculous at the same time. When her laughing ceased, she sighed and caught her breath, and looked back down at Azazel. He was still grinning and looking at her with unmasked pride. Then, drunk on her triumph and spurred on by some wild, reckless impulse, Mystique leaned down and kissed him.

Kissing is such a funny thing. The actual act of pressing one's lips against another's mouth and sharing saliva, bacteria, and breath is just downright odd when one actually stops to think about it. Yet somehow human and mutant-kind evolved to find the act of kissing a natural, pleasant way to affirm mutual affection. For Mystique, this simple, instinctual act had always been downright dangerous. To lose herself so much that she could close her eyes, let go, and kiss another…well, until Erik came along, she never really got to enjoy kissing. Even with Hank, she always had to restrain herself to avoid accidentally shifting her skin. Lately, Erik didn't seem to care about her physical needs, and right here, right now with Azazel…everything suddenly felt so right.

Time slowed and Mystique was acutely aware of so many things simultaneously. The coolness of the meadow grass against her knees; the cry of a bird somewhere in the distance; the drumbeat of her heart from fighting; the bruise that she was sure was blooming on her hip; but most of all, she felt the warmth radiating from Azazel's body, and drank in the sweetly sour taste of blood, sweat, and smoke on his lips. She was surprised by the subtle differences in the texture of his skin; the coarseness of his beard and the smooth scar tissue from the ancient wound cutting across his left eye. Azazel had one hand on her shoulder, and his other resting on her collarbone. He wasn't holding her, but he wasn't pushing her back either. While Mystique couldn't be exactly sure, part of her swore that Azazel was kissing her back, even if only a little.

Then, as suddenly as it started, the kiss was over. As Mystique pulled back, Azazel looked at her with wide eyes, unable to hide his obvious shock. He lay on the ground, blinking slowly as if he was unsure that what had just happened, did in fact, happen. Mystique smiled sweetly, but after a few seconds when Azazel's surprise melted into apprehension, her smiled faltered.

"Well, I, um…" She tried to think of something to say to diffuse the situation.

"I think it is enough practice for today." Azazel sat up suddenly. His movement caused Mystique to lose her balance, and she hit the ground with an audible oomph. He grimaced as she landed next to him.

"Sorry." Azazel reached out to steady her, but before he touched Mystique, he hastily pulled his hand back. He knitted his brow in frustration and looked down at his hands, clearly unsure of what to do.

"No, it's Ok. I'm Ok." Mystique rubbed her arm where she landed and glanced sideways at Azazel. He just spent all morning hitting me during practice, and now he apologizes for accidentally knocking me over? Azazel stood and ran his hand through his hair attempting to sooth it back into place. He looked edgy. Mystique climbed to her feet and stood awkwardly facing her teammate. After a slight hesitation, he thrust an open hand in her direction. She could tell by Azazel's body language that he was going to teleport them back to headquarters. As she took his hand, she noticed his dagger still laying at their feet, and the wooden training swords behind them. She frowned.

"Shouldn't we get your swords first?"

"I'll get them later." Before she could argue, Mystique was enveloped in smoke. As soon as they appeared, he released her hand. Mystique turned to face him, waving away vapor and coughing.

"Hey Azazel, I…"

"Very good today!" He interrupted her, his smile overly friendly and somewhat forced. Mystique raised an eyebrow. "You were very good today…in practice! You practiced well." Before she could react, Azazel looked away and disappeared. Mystique stood in the lobby for a few moments longer before putting her hands over her face and exhaling loudly. What did I do now?

"Angel, do you have a minute?" Mystique stood outside her Angel's bedroom door. The winged mutant was half-dressed for a night out.

"Mysty babe, for you I have two." Angel swung her door open and waved her friend inside. "Also, I need help deciding what to wear. Avalanche is taking me out tonight." Angel batted her eyes and pursed her lips suggestively. Mystique grinned and took a seat at the edge of Angel's bed.

Mystique always liked being in Angel's room. Compared to her own bedroom, Angel's living space felt like less like a converted hotel room and more like a real home. It was a normal girl's room, with colorful bedding, fashion and band posters adoring the walls, make-up scattered across the vanity and clothing and shoes tossed about in every direction. In a strange way, Mystique found it comforting to be immersed in such an ordinary setting. Her own mutation made so many mundane things unnecessary. If Mystique needed to wear a dress, she simply created one from her skin. It was a disadvantage to wear real clothes or accessories in case she needed to quickly transform. In recent days, she had stopped wearing Margali's bracelet, choosing instead to keep it safely tucked away in her dresser. Mystique had no need to collect various other affects because she simply didn't even have pockets or the need for purses in which to keep anything. Her living spaces had always been austere, even when she lived with the Xaviers.

"Ok, shoot. What's on your mind?" Both girls had agreed upon a shimmery, black dress and silver heels, and Angel was now seated at her vanity, applying thick charcoal eyeliner.

"Promise you can keep a secret?"

"Pffff, no." Angel smiled warmly at Mystique's reflection in the mirror. "But I can try." Mystique knew she could trust Angel (knowing, of course that Angel would tell everything to Janos, who in turn Mystique could trust not to tell a soul).

"Well, I kind of…maybe…sort of…" Mystique trailed off and gazed down at her feet. Her hands were clasped nervously in her lap. Once she admitted what she was about to say, there would be no going back.

"…I kissed Azazel today, during practice. But it was an accident." Mystique bit her lower lip and looked sheepishly at her friend. "Sort of."

"Shut. Up." Angel spun around and faced Mystique, her mouth hanging open. Her make-up was only applied to one eye, giving her face a comically lopsided appearance. Her mouth slowly formed a playful grin. "You little slut!" Mystique snorted at Angel's teasing. The winged girl scooted forward on her seat and looked at Mystique expectantly. After a few silent seconds, Angel sighed, exasperated.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What do you mean, 'what'? Details, Mysty! Did he kiss you back? Was he a good kisser?" Angel dropped her voice suggestively. "Do you think he'd be good in bed? Janos and I talked about that once, and we both thought that…"

"Angel, this isn't helping!" Mystique crossed her arms. Angel quickly picked up on Mystique's serious mood. She turned back to her mirror and picked up her eyeliner.

"Sorry babe. It's just so…insane, you know? You and Azazel, huh?"

"There is no 'me and Azazel,'" Mystique corrected. "I'm Erik's girl, remember?" At the sound of Erik's name, Mystique frowned. She hadn't really thought about how he was going to react to this. Actually, she hadn't really thought about Erik at all since he left almost a week ago, but then again, she was used to him leaving for long periods of time, sometimes not even telling her when he left or when he'd be back. I am Erik's girl, she told herself, but Mystique had already begun to question if Erik ever thought of her as anything more than his soldier. Angel seemed to be reading her friend's mind.

"Yeah, well...does Erik know you're Erik's girl?" Angel finished her eye make-up and faced Mystique again, her expression serious. "Because from what you've been telling me these last few months, our wonderful leader doesn't seem to realize that you and he are in a relationship. And don't think that I'm the only one to notice either," Angel held up her hand, stopping Mystique from interrupting. "Janos and Mort have both mentioned it, and Lord knows that I've seen Red make a face or two behind Mags' back."

"Really?" Mystique's face flushed slightly at the though of Azazel's jealousy. At this impulse, Mystique felt culpable again. Angel quirked her eyebrow.

"Yeah, really. So…you gonna tell me what exactly happened today or what ?" Mystique took a deep breath and told Angel everything, beginning with practice and ending with her and Azazel returning to the lobby. When she finished, Angel considered the situation thoughtfully. Mystique twisted her fingers in her lap.

"Hmm…" Angel tapped her finger against her lower lip in concentration. "Well, the good news is that I doubt Red's actually upset. He's probably just shocked that a girl as young as you would kiss him. He is like, twice our age. Plus, I don't think Red's used to being physically touched, unless it's by someone he's, you know…killing. I mean, look at him." As soon as she said these words, Angel grimaced and cast a mortified look at Mystique. The blue mutant motioned that she was not offended by Angel's reference to her and Azazel's rather unique appearences.

"Babe, you know that's not what I meant. It's just that mutants who look like Red can't exactly walk into a club and walk out with a date. You know this from dating Hank. Hank is a mutant and that douche couldn't accept you for how you looked. It's probably been a long time since Red's been kissed and he just freaked out and didn't know what to do. Plus, it doesn't exactly help that the woman who kissed him is dating his insanely powerful, metal-bending boss, so there's that to think about too." Angel sighed and looked at Mystique.

"Why did you kiss him, anyways?"

"I…I don't know. It just kind of happened, all of a sudden." It felt like the right thing to do. Mystique closed her eyes, trying to banish the thought. She was confused enough, and didn't need her own mind tricking her.

"Honestly Mysty, I always thought you and Red would be cute together. You're both so…" Angel motioned to Mystique's body, unsure of the correct way to express herself. "Colorful." At this, Mystique burst out into laughter. Angel giggled and grabbed her shoes.

"Go apologize then, if you think that's really what you need to do. But Mysty…" Angel tilted her head and smiled. "Don't do anything you don't want to do. You can sit here all night and tell me it was an "accident," but I know you, and I know that part of you liked kissing him. And I don't think I'm wrong in saying that part of him wanted to kiss you too. There's nothing wrong with wanting to be happy you know." Angel put the finishing touches on her outfit and struck a posed for Mystique.

"How do I look?"

"Beautiful, as always."

"Hey, why don't you come with me tonight? I'm sure Mort would love tag along as a double date. He's got a crush on you."

"No I…wait, Mort? Really?"

"Yeah, he's sweet on you. Of course, we'll have to stop somewhere and pick up a baseball bat for you, so you can beat all these guys away." Angel winked at Mystique and both girls pealed into laughter. When they recovered, Angel hugged her friend reassuringly.

"Thanks, Angel. I think I know what to do now." Mystique stood up and walked to the door. As her hand closed around the knob, Angel called out.

"Hey Mysty, don't forget! If you two end up, you know…" Angel mischievously raised her eyebrow and mimicked the sound of bedsprings bouncing. Mystique blushed and shot a playful, go-to-hell look at her now snickering friend.

"I want details. And so will Janos!"

Mystique knocked on Azazel's bedroom door. As she stood waiting for an answer, she was desperately trying to calm her nerves. For the last two hours, she carefully worked out an apology that she hoped would soothe everything over. After discussing things with Angel, she decided that Azazel had reacted awkwardly because he was afraid of Erik. All she had to do was tell Azazel that it had been a silly mistake, that she was sorry she got him involved and that they should simply forget that it happened. It's not that she didn't like Azazel – she did, very much in fact – but it would never work between them. She kissed him because she missed Erik, she was just confused, that was all, and…

"Mystique?" Azazel peered out at her from a partially opened door. Lost in her thoughts, Mystique startled at the sound of her name. She wondered how long he had been standing in the doorway looking at her. Azazel leaned easily against the door's frame, but the mood on his face was hard to decipher.

"Azazel! Oh good. You are here. Uh…hi. Can I…May I speak with you?" Azazel regarded her silently for a moment before nodding his approval. Much to her surprise, he swung his door open wider and motioned for her to enter. Once inside, Mystique was surprised by what she found.

If one word could describe Azazel's living space, it was color. Standing in his room was like being transported back the meadow when it was littered with the brilliant Roma caravans. Not one inch of his room was untouched by vibrancy: from the jewel-tone silks that adored his bed and twisted upward into a canopy to the walls covered with pages torn from art and science books, everywhere was glimpse into a world too often seen only through windows. As Mystique surveyed his room, she saw numerous books scattered about, a record player with a large stack of vinyl albums (and from a quick glance at the records, she was right: he did like American music far more than he let on), half-written sheets of music, several swords hanging on or leaning against various walls, random personal effects, and what she was pretty sure was Janos's missing deck of cards on his dresser. The thing that really caught Mystique's eye, however, was the wall of tacked-up drawings.

There must have been dozens of drawings in various stages of completion, of all different subject matters. As Mystique stepped closer to look, she was surprised to recognize sketches of various Brotherhood members. There were several drawings of Emma, a few of Janos and Angel, and even some of Mystique. There was even an excellent drawing of Erik in his full Magneto regalia. She smiled as she thought about the sketch she found in the lobby months ago. Looks like I found my artist. As she scanned the drawings, her heart skipped a beat when she recognized two very carefully done renderings of Adriana. Instead of the more serious locket photograph, in these drawings,she was laughing and smiling, her hands in the air as she moved to music long since faded away. In both, she looked vibrant and happy and so very alive. As Mystique studied the drawings, she heard the door close, and with a soft click, she realized Azazel locked it. There was no going back now.

"You like them, nyet?" Azazel was now standing directly behind her.

"Did you draw these? They're beautiful."

"Da. I like drawing, ever since I was young. It is good to do since I could not always go outside." Azazel pointed over Mystique's shoulder to the drawings of Adriana.

"This is how I like to remember her. She was always so full of life, always moving. Dancing." He leaned down when he spoke, and she could feel his breath on the back of her neck, stirring her hair.

"Do you miss her?"

"Everyday." Mystique slowly turned around and gazed up at Azazel. He was no longer looking at the drawings on the wall, but rather, he was gazing intensely at Mystique.

"But…she would not want me to spend the rest of my life sad for her." As he spoke, he reached out and boldly ran his fingers through Mystique's hair, combing it from just behind her ear to the nape of her neck. He let his hand rest on her shoulder, and dropped his voice just above a whisper.

"Sometimes the hardest thing we have to do is let go of someone we love. It does not mean we love them any less. It only means that we have to go on. We have to survive."

His eyes shined like crystals. Mystique thought back to that first night she found Azazel playing the piano in the Hellfire Club Lounge. Truthfully, the intensity of him thrilled and frightened her in equal measure. She would be a liar if she denied that, despite her screams and terror, part of her had wanted very badly to touch him that night at the CIA compound, to make sure Azazel was indeed real, and to know there was someone out there just like her. She swallowed. This time she rehearsed her apology thoroughly so that the words she spoke would match the words she composed in her mind.

"Azazel, I wanted to…."

She never got to finish. As she spoke, Azazel traced his fingertips up her neck, across her ceratoid artery and rested his fingers lightly on her chin. He hesitated for a second, then cupping her face in his hands, he leaned down and brought her mouth up to meet his. At the brush of his lips, Mystique felt like she was melting into a thousand butterflies.

He kissed her lightly at first, and when she responded, he grew more aggressive. He pulled Mystique flush against his body and kissed her passionately, as if his very existence depended on it. In his eagerness, he rushed forward, awkwardly pushing Mystique backwards into his dresser. She thrust her hand out, regaining her balance by pushing off the corner of the dresser and knocking a few items off it in the process. She grabbed the collar of his shirt with her free hand and pulled her body against his once again. This time his tail coiled around them to keep her from falling away. His hands moved from her face, sliding down her throat and roaming along the spaces along her collarbone and tracing the scales along her shoulders. Azazel tasted of fire and smoke, of violence and love and sin and all manner of things she ached for but could not name.

"Azazel…we shouldn't…" Mystique whispered, closing her eyes as his mouth traveled away from hers and trailed down her neck. She let out her breath as she felt his teeth graze her skin. All the hesitation he showed early that day was gone. His hands mapped the ridges along her spine, explored the soft curve of her waist, and the rough texture of her scales between her breasts. Suddenly, she felt the familiar sensation of falling…and she was lying on her back in his bed, smoke dissipating in the air around them. He took her face in both of his hands again and eagerly kissed her. She ran her hands up his taut arms and tangled them in his hair. She felt as if she could drown in his arms. As they embraced, he began to undo the buttons of his shirt with one hand.

"I'm…I'm Erik's…girl…" She murmured, trying to remind herself more than him. He shrugged off his shirt and held himself above her.

"Nyet, devochka. Not tonight."

Mystique looked deeply into his eyes. She looked into the hunger, the veneration, the memories, and the desire. He was everything and nothing and more all at once. She slid her hand from his face to his neck and chest, resting her palm over his heart, feeling its rhythmic beating. Blue and red. Ice, fire. Lioness. Killer.

"Tonight you are mine."