Disclaimer : I am making no money from this nor any of my other fics. Blaze and Raven belong to Lamby, Golan belongs to Star, Ilehana Xavier (Vixen) and Ori belong to me. All other original characters are combined creations of Star and myself and should not be used without permission.
A/N: I hope Lamby will forgive the paragraph about the Guardians - I stole and adapted it from her version of my fic "Guardians of Destiny" coz I liked the idea so much! Sorry matey!
Chapter Two - Somewhere In New York State
My belly growls. Not with hunger, nor because I have gorged myself, it simply growls. I sigh, one of the many human gestures I have not been able to drop during my time as a wolf. I sigh, I mull over insignificant things far too long, and I grumble when the rain soaks my grey fur. Nothing ever changes in this life. I think perhaps my belly growls because it cannot wrench as my heart does every time I think of the old ways. But then, in those days, I wished only for a peaceful life, of pack and the hunt. Perhaps the old saying is true - the hunting is always better on the other bank of the river. But I enjoyed my life as a wolf once, whatever this melancholy makes me think. There is nothing so satisfying as the sleep after the kill, nothing so calming as the feel of other bodies curled up in a warm, living mass of fur, nothing so spine-chilling and beautiful as the prayers to the Stars, the calls we lift to the sky after midnight………
I wonder what draws me to this place. What draws me from the city I know and love, from a territory of rich pickings, to this lonely, almost desolate town? Few people live here, perhaps two hundred. I miss the hustle and bustle of the big city, but something pulls me here, as if I am lead by a leash. It has been a long time since I have felt such a pull, I have felt it but a few times since I finished my task as the Chosen One, yet it is all too familiar and I obeyed the impulse to travel without a second thought. So here I am, forced to actually hunt for my food, for scraps worth eating are hard to come by. But when and why does a wolf not enjoy the hunt? Because in truth I have lived too long.
I settle to sleep in an old foxes den on the edge of town. It smells musty and unused, but there is no sign of death or disease, and the degree or two of extra warmth the shelter provides is welcome since I sleep alone these long nights. My dreams are peppered with half-forgotten memories of the wolf pack with whom Ori and I lived, of the X-Men and the battles we fought together, of Logan……… Memories of times gone by that drift in and out of my mind like the tides of the sea. Echoes of places and people that no longer have life, that have turned stale and soured like milk in the sun.
I wake to a dank and dismal morning. The smell of fresh rain curls about me, raindrops patter on the leaves above ground. Resting my muzzle on my forepaws and still laced with the warmth of sleep, I am loath to leave my new lair. With cramped limb muscles and an aching heart borne of my less than restful sleep, I crawl into the daylight. A stream created by the night's miserable weather provides enough water to slacken my thirst, an unsuspecting rat the first part of breakfast. The meat tastes - no, not like chicken - bitter and foul, but it is a taste to which I have become accustomed. Yet it does nothing to tame the craving for bacon that assaults me at regular intervals.
I freeze suddenly, a wolf's reaction to surprise, every hair on my neck stands on end. Every sense works overtime to recognise the danger……… there is a danger abroad, though of what making I cannot tell. But then a scent so familiar reaches me, the smell of jet fuel so pungent and cloying that it turns my stomach. Then I hear it - the Falcon - that had once been a pet project of mine. I alone had designed and built the three-seater mini-jet. It gives off a unique hum, a delicately soft sound for such a large hunk of machinery, as the stealth technology is switched off, and my paws detect the vibration as it lands. Unable to stop myself, as if pulled by some intangible force, I spin round and race towards my friends. So this is why I have been drawn here - my friends have need of me.
By the time I reach them, Cyclops and Wolverine are engaged in battle with what appears to be hundreds of identical mutants. The scream of Cyclop's laser vision pierces the air, a high pitched battle cry that echoes Logan's mighty roar, both of which aggravate my sensitive hearing. The Wolverine strikes out at several assailants, leaping towards another to kick it forcefully in the chest. He sails beyond the mutant, which stands watching him, laughing dryly at my old comrade's misfortune. The red beam of Cyclops' power strikes a clone - which vanishes into thin air, leaving no trace that it had ever existed. I blink rapidly, but suddenly my nose tells me what's going on. There is but one mutant here, the rest are all projections - not even true clones but mere mirages, illusions of the mind designed to protect the true mutant. They have no scent, and their beings are too clean cut, they have no aura of spiritual energy about them that all wolves see………
Somehow, my mind drifts from the battle in front of me into a distant memory, one of my last as a human, or the first as a wolf……... They were beautiful, the Guardians, when they were given their extra powers, the power I once possessed. Auras so strong and so beautiful that took them all, in so many indescribable shades of colour that only wolf eyes could see. Blaze, stunning Blaze, who seemed to glow with reds, yellows and every shade of orange in between fit for the fire she burns with, Logan radiated silvers and greys appropriate to the metal he possesses within both mind and body. Purple for Jean, Guardian of Thought, soft and gentle colours that fit her personality with a glittering edge that belies her determination, yellows for Storm, rays of sunshine for the weather-witch. Greens and browns for Golan, the stumpy, four-armed Guardian of Earth with speech that babbles like a brook……… Red for Cyclops, the colour of his power, hot reds burning about him, while Bobby exuded icy blues that chilled my soul with pleasure that day………
The voice calls to me, pulling my mind from the reaches of my memory. I hear it as I have heard so many pleas. Scott's voice, his thoughts, begging me for strength and guidance. He tires now, the energy seeping from him like daylight giving way to the darkness of night. I reach out softly, ever gently and undetected, giving him an ounce of my will. It is enough to make him reach for the trigger of his visor again. I cannot help him choose his target, something prevents me, perhaps the Gods who left me on this Earth as a wolf instead of taking my life. I am withdrawn, detached, and all I can do is hope that he will choose the right target.
He does not. The real mutant, meanwhile, pummels Logan with a series of body kicks and punches. Wolverine groans with the pain, his head must be reeling. Cyclops is oblivious, however, as he strikes another projection……… I can stand it no longer! Muscles that had been bunched where I cowered so as to be unseen suddenly release their store of energy as I race across to the man I love even now. With a mighty bound I crash into the aggressor, throwing him sideways. In the feral rage that battle always drowns me in, I am lost to the beast within me. My teeth bite into the soft flesh of neck, I revel in the taste of blood that is not my own. I am a hunter again! Proud and victorious, the mightiest hunter in these territories! None can tame me! The life seeps from my prey, blood stops pumping from the puncture wounds my teeth have caused, I worry the scrawny neck of the thing beneath me.
I feel his eyes on me. Logan stares for so long as I turn, unbidden, to meet his gaze. In that longest of moments as our eyes meet at last, he frowns deeply. I see his thoughts as he takes in my markings - the black tips to my ears and twitching tail, the blonde highlights across my furry chest and muzzle. See the dawn of realisation in the eyes of the Wolverine as he sees me, not the wolf but the woman he once knew and loved. And in my own mind I feel the battle fury draining away like water down a plug hole. I am left staring stupidly into his predatory brown eyes, deep pools in which I would drown myself if I could. All of me longs to break out of this stupefied torpor and run to him, to feel his arms around me, crushing the air from my lungs, all of me except the tiny voice in my mind that, without mercy, reminds me of my bargain with the Ancients. Lost in a mist of conflicting desires, I close my eyes, lowering my muzzle in a vain attempt to quell the chaos of memories and emotions that the moment has brought back to me.
He moves. My eyes snap open as I hear him take the smallest of steps towards me. What a fool I have been! I have broken my bargain, I have interacted with those I swore I would leave behind me. Ori would have called me a cub's cub, meaning that I am more foolish and naïve than a newborn wolf. In the vain hope of rectifying the damage my stupidity has caused, I abandon all hope and desire, all dignity, and turn on my tail and run. And drifting on the wind that chases me from all I have dreamed of over the last months, I hear his voice, so sad and forlorn, utter a single word.
"Ilehana?"