AN: My thanks to darkstorm5000 for the review; much appreciated. Please read and review!

AN2: I forgot to put a second diclaimer in the first chapter; I was too excited when I was writing it.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from "Underworld"; they belong to Len Wiseman, Danny McBride, and Sony Pictures.

Sorry to everyone for the inconvenience.

Chapter Two: Discoveries and Meetings

Jornada del Muerto, New Mexico

Ana Maria Castellanos was kneeling on the ground, carefully removing dirt from the newly uncovered skull. Her long, thick hair was pulled back in a severe pony tail under her old Stetson, shielding her eyes from the blazing sun. Sweat rolled down her back, staining her t-shirt as it mixed with several days' worth of dirt. After staying in the same position for nearly an hour, her knees were roaring and her back was almost numb. She ignored the pain, the heat, the sweat, and the dirt. It didn't matter. What mattered was making sure the specimen was unearthed properly, with patience and caution.

She was working on a dig site that her father had been searching for his entire life. Both Ana, and her father, Diego, had been fascinated with history and archaeology. And, so, when she had entered college, she had immediately followed her father's footsteps into archaeology. But, it wasn't until she had started her first year of grad school that she had learned what her father had been really studying.

Her father had always been interested in the pre-Colombian cultures of North and Central America. He would become the foremost expert on pre-Colombian cultures in the American Southwest. Because of this, Ana had learned a great deal about Indian society during her summers away from school, accompanying her father to innumerable exhibitions. And it was because of these summers with her father that she grew interested in the field.

But, once she hit grad school, she learned more about what her father had been working on. He had come to believe that there had been a massive, short-lived unification of the tribes in North America. Most of his peers scoffed at him, believing him to be mad. In fact, he had been humiliated by Art Billings, his former colleague and best friend, on stage at a national convention while trying to present his theory. Her father would die a week later in an automobile accident, his theory seemingly dying with him. Ana had just barely turned nine.

After her major professor, Dr. Rafael Montoya, another of her father's friends, had filled her in on what had occurred all those years ago, she began looking into her father's research. She found some of his initial findings: a Pequod tomahawk found in western Texas; a Miami burial site found in northern Oklahoma; several Huron burial sites, and a number of weapons found in southern Utah. All of the finds were carbon dated to be approximately eight hundred years old.

But none of the finds proved conclusively that there was a connection between them. Her father would, some time later, meet an Apache man who claimed that he had been told a story as a boy about a great gathering of the People. The man said that it was a massive effort to stop an enemy coming from the west. The man's name, she learned, was John Whitefeather, the father to her first boyfriend, Joey Whitefeather. The possibility of a coincidence was lost on her.

She would later learn that her father had wanted her and her mother to live close to the reservation where the Whitefeathers lived. Her father had said that he wanted them to live close to a friend, in case there was ever need of protection. But protection against what, Ana never knew. Nor did she know what was so special about the Whitefeather family. But irregardless of the mysteries that surrounded her father, and the long, hard years it had taken for her to get a PhD at the young age of twenty-six, she was now vindicating her father's life work.

Turning back to her work, Ana brushed some more dirt away from the skull. This was the third skeleton they had found at the site, and they had been there less than two days. Besides that, they weapons and artifacts discovered had already begun to be tentatively identified. They had discovered, beyond a shadow of doubt, Chinook, Nez Perce, and Crow artifacts. It was expected that there were more.

But, this skull … it held her attention. There seemed to be something about it that wasn't quite right. She had already noted that, judging from the curvature of the cranium, the skull was larger than that of a normal human. The left zygomatic arch, the one she could see, seemed much more robust than what she had been expecting. It actually seemed more like that found in large predators than in humans. And what she could see of the nasal bone seemed … deformed, elongated, even.

It took her nearly another hour to clean off the rest of the side of the skull. Taking a step back from what she had unearthed, she double-checked her findings. It seemed too detailed to be a hoax. She signaled to a student working near her. "Aaron," she said, "find Dr. Childress. Bring him here as quick as you can."

"Okay," the younger man said, noticing a strange gleam in her eyes.

A few minutes later, the young man returned, followed by a thin, sinewy man with blonde hair and wire-rim glasses. "Aaron said you wanted to see me," the man said.

"Come with me, Marty," Ana replied. Pointing to the skull, she asked, "What do you think of that?"

"Wow," he said, kneeling beside her find. "It has to be a hoax," he opined, after staring at the massive skull fore several moments.

"If it was," Ana replied, "than it had to have been a mammalogist." She kneeled beside him, pointing at several different parts of the skull. "It has a massive sagittal crest, extremely large and robust teeth, and the foramen for the spinal cord is ventral, not posterior. And these are things that I've noticed. I'm familiar with human skeletons, but I'm not a biologist."

"And I'm a physicist, so explain to me why the sagi-whatchamacallit is so important."

"Sagittal crests are found in predators," she began exasperatedly. "If you've ever felt the back of your dog's head, and felt the little ridge of bone there, that's what it is. It gives animals much more powerful bites. And because the foramen is at the bottom of the skull, the animal had to walk upright, or at least semi-upright."

"So you think it might be real," Marty asked.

"It might be," she replied. She turned to him with a pleading look in her eyes. "That's why I need you to carbon-date it for me."

"I knew you called me over here for something," he said, standing. "And if it's real, you're going to get the right to name it. Any ideas off the bat?"

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe Homo sapiens lycanthropa, or maybe Homo lupus." She stood up beside him, eyes on the skull at her feet. "Just think though: if it is real, then it's the first biological evidence for the existence of werewolves."

- - - -

X-Mansion, the next morning

The phone was ringing.

That was the first thing Joey realized as he rolled over, reaching for the damnable thing that woke him up. "Hello," he answered groggily, his eyes sore.

"Joey?"

"Who's this," he asked, the glaze of being half-asleep evaporating.

"It's Ana, Ana Castellanos," she replied. "I need some help." Her voice was pleading; he'd never heard her so … desperate.

"What's wrong," he asked, concernedly, standing up. Behind him, he could hear Celeste stirring.

"Someone's been killed," she replied, her voice breaking. "The police think it was a bear."

"But you don't think so," he said, after a moment of silence.

"No," she answered. "I think it was … you'll think I'm crazy for saying it."

"No, I won't." He looked behind him to see Celeste sitting up in their bed, her eyes questioning.

"I thought it was a werewolf."

"Listen," he said, after a moment of silence, "tell me where you are. I'll be down there as fast as I can."

- - - -

"So do you think that was what she saw," Professor Xavier asked.

"It might've been," Joey responded, pacing the room. He was in Professor Xavier's office with Celeste. Against one wall Betsy stood, while Scott stood stoically on the other. Jake was monitoring the Danger Room, Ororo, Kurt, and their newest member, Angela, trying one of the newest simulations. "If you knew Ana," Joey said, "you'd know she's not likely to lose her head."

"What do you mean," Betsy asked.

"Well, she's the toughest woman I've ever met," Joey responded. "I dated her when she was in high school." Celeste looked at him questioningly, as if she wanted to say something. "She played football then, and she wasn't a kicker. She was a linebacker."

"Linebacker," Betsy asked.

"How big was she," Scott asked at the same time.

"A linebacker," Joey explained, "is a part of the defensive line on a football team. They're usually big, maybe two or three hundred pounds." He turned towards Scott. "She's about 5'7", and 130-135 pounds. But as I was saying, I once saw her break a leg on the field. She was carried off, but not ten minutes later, she came back to finish the game."

"On a broken leg," Scott asked. "How?"

"She set it herself, and used some tape and a chair leg as a splint. She limped for the rest of the game." He paused for effect. "But they won. Needless to say, the rest of the team was damn near afraid of her. And the opposing team was."

"Anything else," Professor Xavier asked.

"Yeah," Joey added. "She stays cool under pressure; I ain't never seen anyone that could take the stress she has. Also, when she was in college, she was a biology minor." He looked around the room, adding, "If she says she saw a werewolf, I believe her."

"Okay," Betsy said. "But we're still uncomfortable with you going by yourself."

"But, this is personal."

"Yes, I know," she replied. "But, call it a premonition, but we believe that it would be better if you were to take at least two others with you."

"A premonition? Are you having dreams again," Joey asked.

"Not exactly dreams, but more of a feeling of unease," Betsy answered. "Both Jake and I have had this feeling; almost as if something is just beyond the horizon, but we don't know what it is."

"Fine," Joey acquiesced. "Who did you want to send with us?"

"Scott and Bishop," Betsy nodded towards the other man. "If anything should go wrong, Scott is being placed in charge."

"You think something is going to go wrong," Celeste asked. "Don't you think we can take care of ourselves?"

"We know that you are more than capable of taking care of any dangerous position you find yourselves in," Professor Xavier said. "However, it would not hurt to have someone else to fight alongside, should the need call for it." As he finished his sentence, his eyes unfocused, becoming strangely distant. A moment later, Betsy, too, had the same unfocused concentration in her eyes, the two of them obviously speaking to each other. "I just received a request for two more to come with you. Would that be alright?"

"Who's request," Celeste asked.

"It was Angela," the Professor replied. "She wants to go. But, she wanted Kurt to come with her. He was willing to agree, but only if it was alright with the two of you."

"I suppose it's okay," Celeste answered. "Where are they?"

"They both just finished a Danger Room session," Betsy said. As Celeste, Joey, and Scott exited the room, she turned towards the Professor. "Do you really think she's ready, though?"

"Physically, undoubtedly," he responded. "Mentally, though, I am not entirely certain. But, both you and Jake had the final say."

"Well, she's been getting a little restless, lately," Betsy said. "And we both wanted to find out how she would react with working in a team." She looked towards the door. "And though we've both been feeling uneasy, neither of us think that they're going to get into too much trouble."

"Bet that as it may," the Professor began, "I am still concerned with her mental well-being." He looked into her eyes. "She still has a great deal of issues to deal with from the time she was a prisoner. She's been having some … anger problems."

- - - -

"Damn it," Jake muttered. He'd underestimated how much time it would take him to write a lesson plan on Tecumseh, and his relationship with William Henry Harrison during the War of 1812. He had to have it ready in less than forty-eight hours, and he had just barely started. On top of that, he had only just begun grading the exams he had handed out the week before over the American Revolution. And, of course, he had to look at the journals the kids had written over what they actually knew about the War of 1812; he expected that most would not know much about it. And, to top it all off, he had scheduled a Danger Room session later on in the day. "Why the hell did I decide to do so much at a single time," he asked himself exasperatedly.

He figured he had maybe thirty students in a class, and six classes. That would be, what, he asked himself. About one hundred eighty students, and taking that number by three, gave him five hundred forty pages to look at just from the test. And then adding another one hundred eighty pages for the journals gave him over seven hundred pages to look at in less than forty-eight hours. "Seven hundred pages," he said, resignedly.

It was these thoughts that were running through his head as he made his way from the Danger Room to his own room. He was not looking forward to spending the weekend pouring over a book's worth of homework from his students. He was actually hoping someone would decide to take this weekend to try to take over the world. Or maybe they could break up a slavery ring. Something. Hell, he thought, I'd even settle for fighting Sinister. His thoughts, though, were broken by the door bell ringing. "I got it," he called, passing the door.

"Hello," he said, opening the door. Before him was a woman dressed entirely in white. His eyes drifted over her body, taking in the expansive amount of bare flesh almost of their own accord. "Hi," he said, uncomfortably. "Can I help you?"

"I need to speak with Professor Xavier," she said brusquely.

"Um, okay," he replied, a little confused. "Listen, um," he began, still standing in the doorway. "It's not his birthday. And I don't think anyone of us would hire you. So, um, who sent you?"

"What," the woman asked sharply.

"I guess you're not a stripper then."

"Just who do you think you are," the woman asked icily, her entire body rigid with resignation.

"I'm Jake," he said. After a moment's hesitation, he added, "And who are you?"

"Emma," a woman's voice spoke frostily behind him. Turning, he saw Ororo, surprised by her unusually cold tone.

"Um, okay," Jake said hesitatingly, seeing his own breath, and realizing he had missed some bitter history between the two.

- - - -

Canadian Rockies

"Who are you," Jean asked tensely, her entire body taut, ready for a fight.

"Michael," the man said quickly. "She's not going to hurt anyone," he said, indicating the woman in his arms. "She doesn't drink human blood."

"An' we're jus' supposed ta take yer word," Logan asked, his eyes exuding an animalistic intensity. He, like Jean, was tense, his entire body ready to spring at a moment's notice, much like a predator.

"No," the man, Michael, replied. "I guess not." He paused for a moment. "Listen," he said, "if she tries to bite either of you, I'll kill the both of us."

"If she tried anything," Logan said menacingly, "we'd kill the both o' ya anyway."

"Fine," the other man replied, something seemingly struggling to surface behind his eyes. "But I love this woman. And right now she is bleeding to death." He looked into Jean's and Logan's eyes. "I'm a doctor; I can sew her up fast and easily. But, she needs to rest somewhere where there is no sunlight. Out there, there is nothing but trees and snow. This is the only place with a roof for miles on end." His eyes became intense, the eyes of a doctor trying to save a patient. "Now, you can either let us in to let me save her life, or you can have the death of woman you've never met on your hands."

Logan and Jean looked at each other, a silent conversation going on between them. After several moments, they both looked at the newcomers. "Fine," they said together. "But," Logan added, "if she tries anything, she ain't gonna survive 'til tonight."

"She won't," the man said reluctantly. "But, I agree."

- - - -

Logan was leaning against the dining table, drinking coffee, the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. Jean, at the moment, was standing near the front door, watching as the newly arrived doctor covered the vampire woman with a blanket to protect her from the sun. They had had to explain to Michael that there was no place in the cabin that was entirely shielded from the sun. The best place, they had decided, was next to the couch, most of the sunlight passing over her harmlessly.

"Is there a place I can take a shower," Michael asked. He had the woman's blood all over his clothes, and over him.

"Over there," Jean pointed the bathroom. "We've got some extra clothes. They might be a little too big for you, but they'll be warm."

"Thank you," he said, entering the bathroom.

As Jean watched him go into the bathroom, she turned to Logan. Why did you want them to come in, she asked.

'Cause she ain't the same kinda vampire we fought before, Logan replied telepathically.

What do you mean?

She smells like a vampire, Logan thought. But she don't smell as much like death as the ones we fought before. He turned towards Jean. Besides, I don't know if you've noticed, but she's got a heartbeat. Can ya hear it?

She concentrated for a moment. Yeah, she replied. But, if she's not the same kind of vampire that we fought before, then what kind of vampire is she?

I ain't too sure.

Jean seemed to be mulling over something in her mind, something that she was thinking more and more about. I know something though, Jean said to Logan. The smell of her blood is starting to annoy me. It only started out as being cloying. But, now, it's starting to really get on my nerves. It's starting to make me anxious, and I keep on thinking about …

What, Logan asked.

I keep on thinking about killing her.

It's 'cause she's competition.

What, Jean asked sharply.

She's another predator, Logan answered. Yer feelin' anxious, and thinkin' about killing her because she's another predator in your territory.

Oh, Jean thought. That makes sense.

That's why we're gonna hafta bury his bloody clothes. If we don't, all the animals are gonna stay away from here, an' we won't be able ta hunt.

As he finished his thought, their guest finished in the shower, wearing a shirt and pair of pants that Logan hadn't yet worn. "Where can I put these," he asked, holding up the bloodied clothes.

"Give 'em ta me," Logan said. The smell of the woman's blood was so strong that it blocked out any other scent. He didn't want to admit it, but he was feeling anxious that he hadn't gotten the scent of Michael yet. "We have to bury them, or else animals will smell her blood and stay away from here."

Logan found a spot not five minutes from the cabin, in a small clearing, where he buried the clothes. He'd noticed as he went through the woods that everything had stopped at the smell of the woman's blood. It's a good thing I decided to bury these, he thought. Though it still annoyed him that he couldn't get Michael's scent; the clothes smelled too much like blood.

But, yet, as the dirt started to cover the clothes, he could already tell that the smell was diminishing. As he finished, he realized that the scent was nearly entirely gone. But, before he could even take a step, he heard Jean's voice in his head. Logan?

"Jeannie," he asked, hearing, and feeling, the concern.

His scent, she spoke. It's making me anxious, Logan. He's a predator, too. But, I don't know what he is.

"I'll be right there," Logan said aloud, already running.

Logan rushed towards the cabin, making it to the porch in just under two minutes. He slowed down, though, when he entered the cabin, not wanting to arouse suspicion. And just as he crossed the cabin's threshold, he found Michael's scent. No wonder it was annoying her. He was part vampire, and part …. He began to growl, the sound rising from the back of his throat, and exploding from his chest.

Logan looked towards the other man as he noticed the growling. With a flick of his hand, Logan threw the man into the nearest wall. Logan pounced on Michael, pinning the man's arms and legs to the wall with his telekinesis. "What the fuck are you," Logan growled in the man's face, his fist under the man's chin.

"Let me go," Michael replied, his tone almost as threatening.

"First, tell me what the fuck you are!"

"Let me go," Michael growled, his eyes starting to glaze over.

"No. You start talkin'," Logan snarled. He backed his fist away from Michael's face, so he could see it. Then, slowly, painfully, sadistically, slowly, he extended his claws to their full length. As he did, Michael's eyes seemed to lose the glaze, and widened, surprise stuck on his face. Logan placed his claws under Michael's jaw, the tips making the smallest of dimples in the skin. "Or I start slicin'."