"Get up. I found ya a new ride. Let's go," she barked. Logan, who'd been dozing, sat up. His dog tags clicked underneath his shirt. She threw his leather jacket to him. Then, she shouldered her bag and disappeared through the door. He reluctantly followed, grumbling to himself. She was angry this morning. He stepped into the early morning light and looked around. His truck was still there, sitting next to an old, rusted GTO. She tossed him the keys and flicked the ash of her newly lit cigarette casually. "Take it or leave it. Gotta progress slowly."

"What are ya gonna do with the truck?" he asked, grabbing his stuff from the bed and putting it in the trunk of the car.

"Leave it. Whaddya expect me to do with it? Give it to charity? Get in, I'm driving," she said. She jumped into the driver's seat. He frowned and stood there, his bag still clutched loosely over his shoulder. She climbed out of the car and frowned at him, the cigarette dangling between her lips. "Give me the keys, asshole."

"Ya gave 'em to me," he smirked. For once, and probably the only time, he had a little leverage over her. Even if it was something as stupid as the keys to the car she'd just stolen. But as quickly as it was given it was snatched away as that low growl began rumbling in her chest. "Kid, ya don't scare me as much as ya think ya do." The rumbling increased and he actually was a little scared of her. It was pathetic and shameful to admit, but she actually scared him. She clenched her fists and her eyes were glowing a ferocious shade of scarlet red. Her lips curled slightly and for the first time, Logan could've sworn he saw the glint of two fangs. Her entire body seemed to inflate and she was now audibly growling. But Logan held his ground.

"What are you?" he asked. It was hardly out of his mouth. He knew she heard it. The growl ceased immediately and she relaxed a little. Her lips twitched a little bit but her eyes remained flaringly bright. He tossed her the keys, relinquishing the slight power he had, and climbed into the passenger seat. He'd gotten the display he wanted. He'd seen what animal lay curled inside her and had no doubt that he could now push it out of her. He waited patiently, staring straight forward. He was apprehensive. She waited for several seconds before climbing into the driver's seat, starting the engine, and throwing the car into reverse. They wordlessly pulled out of the parking lot and set forward on the highway. Logan wondered if she would ever speak again when she sighed.

"What am I?" she whispered, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckle intensity. Again, she paused for several minutes. Logan's throat was dry. He wanted to smoke another cigar, his last one, but he didn't dare move for fear she wouldn't keep talking. She lit another cigarette but gripped it in her fingers instead of sucking greedily on it. "I don't know." Logan didn't say anything. He felt exactly the same way. He knew that he was animalistic, he knew that three Adamantium claws slipped from his knuckles when he was angry and he knew that he dreamed horror stories. There was a chance that she did the same thing. And the only way he was going to know was when she decided to tell him.

"My hair grows back almost as soon as I cut it," she whispered. Logan was sitting in yet another shitty hotel room, flipping channels with the TV on mute. She sat on the second bed, facing the opposite wall, her back to him. He continued flipping the channels, pretending that he didn't hear her. They hadn't said more than the few words they'd shared in the parking lot of the last hotel. She'd driven all day and didn't offer to stop for food or the bathroom until she silently pulled into this place. "No matter how much I eat, I don't get weight. If I take out an earring, I have a second to put another back in. I can go through eighty packs a day and never cough. I can drink 10 bottles of whiskey and never even get dizzy." She spoke slowly and carefully, as if she were practicing for a speech. He sniffed the air. She smelled like apprehension and there was a trace of fear. He'd traveled with her long enough to know that when she smelled fear, there was definitely something wrong.

"I don't know what I am," she stated. Her voice cracked and for a moment, he thought she would start crying. He clicked the TV off and slowly walked over to the bed she sat on. She was staring at the wall, dry eyed but he knew, if she wanted to, she could bring on the water works. He'd sat with a few first-time hookers and instead of spending a night working out his loneliness he'd spent a night comforting a scared, young girl. He knew how to treat a woman when she was upset, he just wasn't sure he was ready to deal with a wounded animal. They tended to be a little more aggressive. Cautiously, he sat on the corner of the bed farthest away from her. Letting her know he was there if she wanted him.

"When I…saw ya in the shadows, I thought maybe you were one of them," she whispered, more to herself than to him. His advanced hearing heard it though, and he furrowed his brow. Them? Who were they? But he didn't speak his question. "But they wouldn't a waited like ya did. When ya stepped into the light, you confirmed you were alone." What the hell was she talking about? It sounded like she knew who was friend or foe. That was for sure. She'd been running for a while, but she'd been avoiding someone longer. "I don't know what I am," she repeated. His mind was racing. That's why she wanted to avoid the city. That's why he'd found her in that dumpy little truck stop of a town. She wasn't just running away from family, she was fleeing for her life. As his mind was racing to connect the broken dots of his companion's past, she did something he would've never expected. She slid across the ugly paisley bedspread, brushed her shoulder against his, and rested her head ever so slightly on his arm.

He felt shocks run through him at her touch. His mind split in two as the animal within told him to take her while the man in him said to comfort her. He waited a few moments before he gently rested his large hand on her bony thigh, just above the knee. That contact would have to be enough to quell his inner beast because his human half overpowered his sudden desire to take a cold shower. But just barely. She may be old, maybe even older than him, but she still seemed to be a child. She reached slowly and took his paw into one of her own and ran her free fingers over the backs of his knuckles.

"What are you?" she asked. He could smell salty tears that spilled down her caramel colored cheeks. He thought a moment.

"A monster," he said, freeing his hand from hers. "I've done things I'm not proud of," he said with finality. He didn't want to talk about the broken fragments of his past that pulled at him in his sleep. She surprised him again by wrapping her arms around his broad chest and locked her fingers in a sideways hug. He carefully reached up and patted her wrist.

"There's somethin' I wanna tell ya," she said. Suddenly, he froze. His ears pricked at the rustling of bushes just outside the room. It wasn't the light steps of a rabbit or squirrel. It was something else, something bigger. A human being. She'd heard it to. "Logan," she whispered. He broke free of her hug and tensed, ready. He sniffed the air. It was heavy with the scent of metal. More metal than should've been in a faucet or a TV set. He walked over to the front door with strong steps and kicked it open. The lock snapped free and clattered to the floor. His claws weren't out but they felt them pushing on his joints, ready. His nails dug into his palms as he clenched his fists. Aya was frozen on the bed and he was glad for it. If someone was coming for him, he didn't want her to be involved.

He waited, listening for the sound again. There it was. With the accuracy of a striking snake, he reached into the bushes and collared a man. He was twitching and muttering to himself. His eyes were bloodshot and wide with fear. Logan threw him into the parking lot, cursing under his breath. He stomped into the bushes. Several syringes lay where the man had. He snorted at his misinterpretation of the smell. He huffed and stood in the doorway, watching her. Their gaze met and she stood to leave. His moment with him was over. She shouldered her bag and brushed past him. Her strut wasn't as angry and controlled as normal. He knew something was wrong but it would have to wait until tomorrow.

xxx

A knock at the door startled him. He wasn't asleep, although he should've been. How had he not heard the person coming? And who would be calling so late? As soon as he thought it, he knew the answer. It was Aya. But why had she knocked? Every other night in every other hotel, she'd burst in, using his loud dreaming as an excuse to spend the early hours of the morning in his room. But tonight she didn't have a card key. He stood up and answered the door. He yanked it open harder than he meant to. She jumped back out of his massive shadow. She looked small, frail.

"What?" he said rougher than he meant to. She looked down at her feet and didn't say anything. He waited and argued with himself over an apology. He'd decided after their crackhead scare that he wouldn't let his feelings affect him. He needed to steel himself over before he grew too attached to her and something happened. She was a child, dammit, and he wasn't like some of the sick bastards in this world.

"Can I stay in here tonight? I couldn't score a keycard from the front desk," she replied without looking up. The normal conviction in her voice was completely gone. She sounded tired. He was taken aback by her question. He opened the door wider and she slipped inside. She wordlessly dumped her stuff on the other bed and curled up on the pillows. Something was wrong.

"Some show about animal dominance," he grunted, turning the mute off. He strained his ears. Her heartbeat was fluttering fast like a hummingbird.

"Logan, I—"

"Shh," he hissed. Over the gentle thrum of her heartbeat he'd heard a rustling in the bushes. Every muscle in his body seized. Her scent switched and she noiselessly stood and walked over to him. She'd heard it too. He wanted to let the claws slip between his knuckles but he had more to worry about. What if her fighting didn't go beyond the cages? What if she was truly just a scared, inquisitive 16 year-old girl? Quick as lightning, he turned the TV and the lights off.

The rustling increased this time. There were multiple people; he was certain.

"Go ta the bathroom and get in the tub," he ordered in the quietest of whispers. "Get down as flat as ya can and stay there until I come get ya."

"Logan, I have somethin' to tell ya," she whispered.

"Not now, go," he hissed. His adamantium claws finally extended and he was almost giddy with anticipation. Well, as giddy as a nearly 200 year-old feral could be.

"Logan, please try ta let me explain," she whispered, true fear in her voice. He tore his eyes from the door. Her eyes were still. There were wide and doe-like but the color waves he'd seen dance across her iris had completely stopped moving. What could possibly be so terrifying that it did that to her? That it scared his strong, beautiful, wonderful, powerful Aya. Suddenly, the door burst open and Logan heard the familiar click of guns at the ready.

He grabbed her by her arm and threw her behind the bed. He turned and charged forward. Bullets whizzed past him as he sliced through a machine gun barrel and sliced the man's face on the rebound. They all had high-grade silencers on the ends of their barrels. The entire fight was muted, soundless as he sliced and gutted men. Grabbing the barrel of another gun and taking a few shots to the stomach, he jerked the man forward and pierced through his skull. With deadly accuracy, he turned the gun on the Kevlar-clad men and shot them, aiming low. He winced as his stomach healed and he tasted blood.

He emptied a round. Charging forward, he methodically opened bellies and slit throats, spraying blood everywhere. 15 bodies. His chest heaved and he stood, waiting, ready for the next onslaught. He wasn't afraid of the challenge or the bloodbath he'd just caused. There was something familiar, almost comforting about the attack. He couldn't help but feel though, that someone was usually with him in the battle.

He waited and waited. His heartbeat was loud and pounding on his eardrums.

"Don't play with yer food little brother," he heard in his head. The voice was familiar and distant. It wasn't a telepath. He didn't feel the familiar tickling of brain tissue like when someone sifted through his thoughts. It was a memory. "Don't forget yer dinner," it chuckled. Aya. He listened intently to be certain no one was left. The bodies were missing walkie-talkies. This was a secret thing. They weren't trying to call or alert anyone. They were to pick up and deliver, no questions asked. Logan snapped out of his sentinel mindset and turned to survey the damage. Blood was everywhere. Splattered on the walls, the TV, the bed, everything.

"Aya," he hissed, barely a breath off his lips. He didn't hear anything. He leapt over to the bed and crouched over her unconscious form. He grabbed her and felt his eyes burning. He flipped her over and gently slapped her face a couple of times. "Come on Aya, wake up. Come on!" he grunted. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open, glowing the most horrible shade of blood orange. A small clawed hand reached around his throat and punctured skin. Her mouth parted and she hissed, revealing her sharp, fang-like teeth.

He gripped her wrists hard, freeing his neck from her grasp. She was quick though, and twisted out of his hold, swinging angrily. She sunk her teeth deep into his chest and clawed at his arms. He held the struggling female as best he could. The longer she swung, the more power he felt in her blows. He looked at the girl as her curly hair loosened and fell from its bun, resembling a mane. Her muscles bulged and her thin frame looked like that of a toned and taunt MMA fighter.

He thought about stopping her but knew this attack had brought out the beast. She'd resorted to the feral part of herself for protection. She must've known these people and what they were capable of. He glanced back at the pile of corpses blocking the front door. He felt his shirt fall as she shredded through the thin material. Her cuts weren't deep, but they hurt. She swung and caught him hard across the face. He dropped her and moved swiftly to the bathroom. The cut was from ear to nose, slicing through his eyeball.

Suddenly, small claws sunk into his shoulder and she hissed as she reached around and bit his neck just around an important artery. A killing strike.

Logan lost it. He roared with anger and grabbed her by her shirt, throwing her over his shoulder. The shirt ripped and the loud splitting sound was followed by the thump and splintering of the mirror. She growled and attempted to straighten herself. He grabbed her again and with another roar, slammed her into the shower. Tiles clattered into the tub as dust puffed into the air from her body crushing a hole in the drywall. He stood, chest heaving in anger and waited for the dust to clear.

She was finally still, her head hanging limp on her shoulders. He looked at his splintered reflection in the mirror and back to the hole punched from her weight in the drywall. He grunted and grabbed her by her chest, extending his claws. She looked up at him, coming to, and growling angrily. Her small hands grabbed his thick wrist as it slid up to her neck. Why was he with her? Why was he following her? He didn't need her cash or her thieving ways. He could find another broad, one who actually did what she was supposed to. Especially when she spent countless nights with a single man. And this chick brought trouble with her. The stink of death in the other room was proof enough.

"Just have her, Jimmy. You were always bad at this. Have her and be done with it," the voice hissed. That familiar, nameless voice. Aya kicked him under the arm but his adamantium-laced bones probably broke her foot. He growled and slammed her head into the tile again. What was the matter with him? He just killed 15 men in cold blood. Why was killing her so difficult? She'd tried to kill him first. He had more reason to kill her than he did those men!

Tedious moments passed as he argued with his inner voices.

"Jimmy, ya remember that bitch in France? The one who liked to play with knives? I know ya do," the voice chuckled. "She knew 'bout us, so we agreed. She had to go. Wasn't hard fer me, but ya didn't wanna. I cleaned up the mess. Now it's yer turn," it coaxed. "Teach 'er a lesson she'll never forget." She took a strained swing, pressed her neck into his hand to reach his face. Again, he roared as she clawed clean across his eyes. His grip tightened as he blinked furiously to regain sight. Finally, a watery form appeared, then sharpened and focused. He growled deep within his chest.

Her eyes were wide. His grip tightened and she did what he wanted. He let her know who was boss, the dominant, the alpha. He told her that he meant business and that from here on in, it would be him making the decisions and the rules. He'd finally stood up for himself and he got what he wanted. She whimpered.

"That's it Jim," the voice cooed. He grunted as he lifted her from the crumbling tile and threw her onto the bed. She stayed still but watched him carefully. His shirt had already come off. She waited for him to undo his belt. Instead, he straddled her, pants on, and let his claws partially extend. He put his large hand on her soft cheek and pushed down, exposing the fair, smooth caramel skin of her neck. She screamed a blood-curdling sound as he drew three, perfectly symmetrical diagonal lines on her flesh. They were deep but they weren't meant to kill. They were meant to show her what he was. Alpha.

"Good Jimmy, now have her. Take her; she knows she's yours now." He looked at her, eyes closed as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. He could have her. But rape wasn't in him. It was in the person in his head though, as it grew angry. "Take her Jim! Yer dick was a waste of skin, ya piece of shit!" it yelled. He ignored it and climbed off her, stunned. Something had hit him. He'd never hurt a woman like that. Ever. But hard as he tried, no other woman was coming to memory. He'd slept with countless women since he'd woken up with no memory, but even now, he couldn't think of any of them. And every perfect night he'd spent with a whore, Aya was there in her place. The rainy night in Brooklyn. The snowy night in Chicago. The hot, humid one in Miami.

He sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. He could smell her salty tears and wished he wasn't the cause.

"Aw shit, the runt's found himself a mate," the voice sighed, all traces of anger gone. A mate? She sighed and wordlessly rolled over. He dared a glance down at her. She looked at him, her eyes a mystical violet. Neither one of them said anything, but they both knew they had to leave. He stood up with a heavy sigh, and grabbed his shirt. He threw her his leather bag and grabbed his own duffel. He grabbed her hand as she glanced down at the bodies littering the front door. He sighed and pulled her out the back. He always checked the exits and knew there was one near the ice machine with no surveillance camera.

"Walk slow," he muttered. She looked at him and sniffed quietly, tightly gripping her bag. He took her around the waist and steered her towards the car. He opened the door and she climbed in, tossing her bag in the backseat. He walked around to the other side and stepped in, gunning the engine and calmly pulling out of the parking lot. They sat in silence at a red light that seemingly took years to change when she suddenly coughed.

"Logan!" she coughed again. Blood spattered down her neck and shirt. He grabbed his tattered shirt from his lap and placed it under her chin to catch the ruby red mess. A surge of anger washed through him. How could he have hurt her? Why was he so stupid?

"Ya were showin' 'er who's boss, Jimmy, nothin' wrong with that." He knew he couldn't stop the car. He had to put as much distance between them and the bodies as mutantly possible. The light changed and he drove forward, careful to maintain his speed to avoid police cars or radar. She coughed again, more blood seeping out.

"Don't ya heal?" he exclaimed. What if she didn't recover? What if she died? She coughed hard; a gurgling sound.

"Yea, not fast," she managed. "I'll die first." He swallowed. He'd found her and lost her, just like the rest of his broken life. He looked down at her shirt. Her ribs were sticking up and out in odd places. A few had probably pierced her lungs and ripped through arteries. He held the shirt against her chin.

"Hang on," he grunted. But it was too late. Her mouth was slightly parted, the last of the blood pulled down by gravity to soak into his stained shirt. Her teeth looked to be back to normal. Her eyes were a glassy white, staring lifelessly at him. He clenched his jaw and turned to face the road.

"Look at yer kill Jim. Look." He ignored the voice. Mates. It was a once in a lifetime bond. Most people never found theirs. He'd thought he had a few times but the bond wasn't strong enough. The blind rage he'd had in the bathroom, marking her to show his dominance. That's what he'd needed. Now, she was his forever.