GENERAL WARNING FOR STORY: ADULTS ONLY. Violence, blood and gore, coarse language, adult themes, coercion, and sexual content. If you don't like it then don't read!

DISCLAIMERS: Same as chapter 1.

A/N: Wow, some of you really didn't like that last bit! But hey, give me a break here, this is Victor we're talking about. If he flips and hightails it outa there, you really think lil' ol' me can haul his smoking hot ass back? Uh uh. By the time I'd noticed he'd gone, all I saw was dust. ===3

BUT. I'm a total sucker for happy endings so here we are. I leave you with a total beast, this is way beyond the boundaries of an epilogue, the longest chapter by far. At times you might wonder where I'm going with this, but stick with it, it'll be worth it. (I hope!)

So, for the last time (*sob sob!*), ADULTS ONLY, EXPLICIT CONTENT, you know the drill. Enjoy! :)

~ Nyx ~

CHAPTER 26: Nine British months later

They catered for whatever weird and wonderful or simply meaningful that caught their eye, Jake's reputation established and reinforced over decades attracting bids from far and wide seeking his idiosyncratic designs. The eccentric fifty-year-old employed only four other architects, keeping his venture as selective as his choice of projects despite the high demand for his services. Although his business was certainly flourishing he wasn't in it for profit; he simply went where his inspiration led and employed like-minded people.

Sofie had been extremely fortunate to stumble into their tight-knit fold. It had all begun when she'd spotted a problematic name amidst the materials in use at a construction site and marched straight over to the lead supervisor lounging on his coffee break to inform him of his error. The guy had dismissed her questioning the inherent resonant weakness of the steel under rare weather conditions with a patronising pat of her shoulder, not caring in the least that he'd later have to pass on hefty unbudgeted structural reinforcement costs to the client to pass regulations. Their discussion had quickly escalated into a full-blown argument that had been overheard by the architect, Jake, who'd completely agreed with her sentiments not to use substandard materials in the first place and suspended the flabbergasted supervisor then and there pending review.

Curious about the no-nonsense and outspoken American, Jake had contracted her on the spot for a short-term consultation. She worked hard, dogged by events that only a handful of people knew about that drove her to prove herself and her life worthy, and she'd impressed him with her skill, creative eye, open mind, tenacity for a job well done and refusal to cut corners. Then when he'd spotted some of her Piper designs, as she'd collectively come to call them, he immediately took her under his wing and the floundering path of her life took a bounding leap forwards.

An open national design competition had been his first urging, followed by backing her formal submission for the transfer of her US qualifications. British architectural qualifications commonly took seven years but she'd been cleared for a 12 months' practical apprenticeship and studying up on UK practice, management and law before the final qualifying exams. Jake had no hesitation in assigning her her own portfolio of clients, acting as her supervisor but reassured by her abilities to pretty much give her free rein. Her first project had been the fascinating renovation of a massive townhouse seven hundred years old, riddled with hidden passageways and trapdoors concealed in fireplaces and rumoured to be haunted by the original owner's cat.

Her Piper plans were her future visions. A skyscraper, hospital wing, clock tower, railway station, structures of all names and descriptions, whatever welled up from her imagination she committed to her drawing board. Each building she drew up she did so with each of the men in mind, each of those Victor had killed saving her from them, innocent men who'd been manipulated by a once-law-upholding mutant who'd lost sight of himself. She had all of their names in the order they'd fallen, as much as forensics had been able to determine from blood splatter, tissue transfer, body positioning... She could only hope and pray and dream that one day she could find the means to construct them all and memorialise their lives.

So when the open competition had awarded the first of her Piper designs an incredible third place, it had been beyond her wildest dreams. And then the commissioning body had vetoed the winning and runner-up designs and instead selected hers for construction, and she'd broken down in tears. In a few years the structure resembling a lotus blossom perched on a lake and opening up towards the sky would be their new cutting-edge cancer treatment facility, her tribute and apology to the first man who had died so that she could live.

It was as the saying went: what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. There was something about Sofie now that made people look twice. She was aware of the change in herself though she paid it no mind. She spoke her mind, knew what she wanted and went after it, didn't let anyone walk over her and didn't tolerate any nonsense. What might have been taken as rudeness was tempered by her genuine interest in other people's lives and respect for them and their individuality. She lived every moment to the full, taking pleasure in what interested her, never letting fear or other people's opinions be a hindrance. She spoke little of her life before arriving in London but that evasion itself made it clearer that some significant event had left a mark on her – not least the curved V carved into her cheek that she never covered up and that nobody wanted to ask about, not her boss, not any of her colleagues.

Except for Spencer, that was. He was as straight-laced as they came, earnest and romantic and utterly oblivious. And he liked Sofie. As in, really liked her. He was besotted. A lot of men would have given up after the initial rejection. By the second, or at least the third refusal, the majority would have tried their luck elsewhere. But not Spencer. He couldn't take a hint, not the repeated refusal to skip their Friday night group piss-up for a date, not the constantly turned-down dinners, not when she was never free to meet up at the weekend. Nope, he still persisted.

"You won't even give me a chance. Just one date, Sofie, that's all I'm asking."

It was Friday night and as usual they were crashing their local around the corner from their studio office. The pub was already heaving. The fifth member of their small band of architects was still missing, but holdups never stopped them from starting on the hard stuff without them. They'd all lost count of the number of times she'd turned Spencer down, her rejections were never private since he was never discrete about asking her – this time he'd just leaned across the two stand-up tables they'd pushed together and blurted it out, for crying out loud.

"You're a great guy, Spence," she sprouted in a practised fashion although there was a bite in her tone today, "and there's a gal out there somewhere waiting for a guy like you. But it's not me and it never will be. Ever."

Tonight she was celebrating – or mourning, she wasn't sure which – her own private anniversary that they didn't know about, and she didn't want to be putting up with this old nonsense. She was more blunt than usual.

"It's that, is'nit?" It seemed Spencer's half pint had already loosened his common sense; either that or he was just getting more desperate. He waved without much accuracy at her cheek. "You're still hung up on some ex so you tattooed it on your face?"

Sofie froze. She didn't appreciate the reminder, not tonight of all days.

The Mark was off the table, they all knew that. Karenza glared at him, leaning across Sofie on their tall bar stools. "She's already told you, you're not her type."

"But she won't tell me what her type is!" He turned back imploringly to Sofie. "How can I be your type if you don't tell me?"

Karenza rolled her eyes. "Oh for the love of –"

Jake tried to move the subject away. "Come on, buddy, didn't you say you were gonna try that new brew today?"

Sofie wasn't surprised at Spencer's persistence although it was beginning to grate. There was sweet and keen, then there was plain pushy. No was a no was a no. With a stylised tweed jacket, thinner-than-thin tie loosened and relaxed, three day stubble and perfect bed hair, he looked like the hottest thread in fashion. Immaculately ruggedly turned out, some might call him hot, and he might even have turned her head at one point. But certainly not anymore. Not after...

"But I can be your type!"

Geez, he was pushing it longer than usual and being whiney to boot. "Uh uh," she shook her head, "not in a million years." She went to swallow her shot but paused as she stared into it, her mind suddenly far away. "You really can't," she muttered. Huffing at her own foolishness, she downed the glass, grimacing and thumping her chest.

"We're heeere!" came a deep cheery yell over the din of voices.

"You're here!" Jake hollered back, greatly and quite obviously relieved as a beefy guy muscled his way between the throng of people and slapped his pint down on the second table beside Spencer. Damon was total bear but a big softie at heart.

Jake peered around him. "Where's the tree guy?"

"Just getting his drink."

Sofie shook her head teasingly. "Poor guy, you dragged him along?"

Damon had been going on non-stop about 'the tree guy' for two days solid since the guy had landed. Their friend was clearly smitten – "he's even tougher than me!" Damon had announced happily on multiple occasions. One of his clients, completely wacky and totally loaded, had wanted a 15 ft-long table made of a solid piece of genuine Canadian hardwood, genuine to the point of having the wood hand-delivered by the very guy who'd cut down the freaking tree.

Damon shrugged, mischief twinkling in his eyes. "You know how reluctant he was to come out here in the first place, he needs a stiff one to send him on his way again."

They choked on their drinks. Except Spencer that was, who just looked clueless. Not only was he a touch on the vain side, a lot of their banter usually went straight over his head.

"Does he, now?" Karenza snickered.

'Reluctant' was putting it mildly; the guy had threatened to set the tree on fire unless they dropped the outlandish idea of him delivering it in person. He'd only caved, with extreme reluctance, when the rich client had offered to pay off the lumberyard's machinery debt that it was struggling with, and he was perfectly grumpy about it which Damon found utterly delightful.

"Just doing your civic duty, right?" Jake smirked. "So why's he getting his own drinks?"

Damon pouted. "Drink, just one. I offered but he wouldn't let me, he can be well scary."

A shadow fell across their table. "Hey."

Damon's face brightened as he spun about, and no wonder. Just one syllable and it was a growl that shivered right through them... that was familiar... Sofie's head shot up –

Damon clapped the guy on the back. "Logan, lemme introduce you to everyone. Logan, everyone. Everyone, Logan."

There were echoes of 'hey's and 'hi's, followed by a stunned, "Logan?"

"... Sofie?"

The others looked between Sofie and Logan staring at each other in undisguised shock.

"What're you doing here?" she asked stupidly.

"Delivering a fucking tree. You?"

"I, uh, I work here."

"Huh."

Sofie's eyes dropped to his stomach; she couldn't help it. She'd seen him recovered the morning after he'd been all carved out, but she couldn't forget something like that. "I'm glad you're ok."

"You stole my line." He stared hard at her another moment before shaking his head. "Damn, kiddo, I thought... For sure..."

"Did you used to date?" Spencer interrupted suspiciously, but immediately flinched and cried out, "Ow!" He rubbed his leg, glaring at Karenza who was looking innocently at Logan.

"You thought...?" she prompted.

It had been a perfect opportunity to find out more about their tight-lipped friend and Spencer had just blown it for them. Reminded of the others there, Logan exchanged a loaded look with Sofie before shaking his head dismissively with a foreboding scowl.

"No, Spencer," Sofie stressed, "it's nothing like that. We've just... bumped into each other before, that's all." She started on her cocktail, blatantly refusing to talk any more about it. End of.

An awkward silence followed until Jake broke it. "So, you're the tree guy."

Logan leaned on the wobbly table beside Damon. "I'm the tree guy." He took a good few glugs of his beer.

"We've heard a lot about you," Jake added with a smile.

Karenza grinned. "Yeah, apparently you're really tough."

Logan quirked a brow. "Tough?"

"Well, yeah," Damon defended, "it took six guys to lift that tree! You just hauled it over your shoulder, made it look so easy."

Sofie hid a smile. Logan could do a whole lot more than that. If they only knew.

"And apparently you can be quite grumpy?" Karenza added gleefully.

Sofie couldn't help grinning into her drink as Damon began spluttering.

"So how long are you here for?" Jake broke in smoothly to save him.

Logan eyed the big man warily as he answered. "Flight leaves in two hours. This is my last drink." He raised his pint glass.

"Make room for one more," came a suave voice behind them. "A shot of patrón all around."

"Mickey!" Sofie's whole face lit up, just as Spencer's completely clouded over.

Her colleagues all knew Anders. While initially they'd been suspicious of the smooth, seemingly aloof lawyer who looked like he'd stepped straight out of Goodfellas, he frequently dropped by to see her and it was obvious how much he looked out for her. He was always polite and respectful of her colleagues and he'd grown on them, and only Spencer remained sceptical despite how platonic she maintained their friendship was.

She spun around, throwing her arms wide and her upper body at Anders in an awkward back-breaking hug. He chuckled, setting her upright again as the bartender came over to distribute seven clear shot glasses.

"Ooh, patrón!" Karenza cooed.

"Cheers Mike!" Damon hollered.

"Yeah, cheers mate!" Karenza echoed.

"Where's the salt and lime?" Spencer grumbled.

"You've got no class, man, you only need that for the vile stuff."

"Yeah, this is the good stuff."

"It's patrooon!"

As the others bantered over the shots, Sofie realised that the two mutants hadn't actually met before. "Oh, Mickey, this is Logan. Would you believe he's here of all places? He came over to bring over a big ol' tree for a big ol' table for Damon's client. Logan, this is my friend, Michael Anders."

She had no idea what she'd said wrong. One moment they were amicably greeting each other, then the next Logan had frozen mid-handshake, his eyes becoming as sharp as his whole demeanour. She glanced nervously at his fist wrapped around Anders' hand, half expecting the triple claws to show themselves.

"Anders?" Logan repeated. "The Anders?"

Anders looked as baffled as Sofie was. "That would depend entirely on the context."

"The Anders that hired my asshole brother?"

"Ah yes, that would be me. I'm surprised you've heard of me."

"Victor mentioned a job," Logan grunted, finally letting up on the handshake. "How'd that work out for ya?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Sofie grit her teeth as her colleagues, one by one, glanced questioningly at the mark on her cheek as they pondered on the name.

"Guys?" she tried.

Anders flexed his hand. "Not something I would repeat again in a hurry, but I can't entirely regret it since I met Sofie."

She'd had enough. "Guys!" One more word and she was out of here. This was her new life and she didn't want her past being dragged out for them all to see.

Anders was contrite but shot glasses were being raised before he could apologise.

"To new friends," Jake toasted, ever the peacemaker.

Damon followed suit. "To new tables."

"To tough, grumpy men with wood," Karenza grinned.

Damon turned to her aghast as Logan looked mildly disturbed.

Even Sofie couldn't hep smiling at that. "Hear, hear!"

They knocked the shots back and slammed the glasses down, grimacing and hacking in unison.

"Man..." Karenza wheezed.

"That's good stuff," Damon gasped.

Logan alone seemed to shake it off with barely a cough. "I'm outa here, flight's leaving."

"May I give you a lift?" Anders immediately offered.

Logan seemed to give it some serious thought. Probably wanting to talk things over without Sofie chewing them out, she thought.

"It's no trouble," Anders insisted, "my car's just outside."

"You should totally go for it," Damon seconded. "It's a flippin' limo."

The corner of Logan's lips twitched. "Well, if it's a flippin' limo..."

Anders squeezed Sofie's shoulder as Logan also lingered. "I'll be back."

"That's alright," Sofie rebuffed, not unkindly. "Weren't you heading back to the office?"

She knew Anders had just landed, fresh back from meetings at the White House. Governments throughout the Western World had been up in arms since the Pied Piper fiasco, hot on both sides of the fence on mutant regulation and legislative reforms. A number of prominent mutants were involved, including the big furry blue dude she'd seen on TV as well as Professor Xavier. After meeting over the Pied Piper incident, she suspected the telepath had something to do with Anders being called into the thick of it. Her friend now seemed to spend most of his time jetting around the world for legal consultation with heads of state and various ministers and senators, leaving much of the casework in his firm to his associates and touching base when he returned.

Anders peered at her, mindful not to say any more in front of her colleagues but concerned all the same.

He hadn't forgotten the anniversary. It had been a year. The first three months stuck in limbo State-side, then nine months since she'd flown back to the UK, supposedly moving on, a year to the day since they'd last seen Creed striding off the jet.

It had been tough going for Sofie to say the least. Not because of the multiple federal investigations Blaine Castro was under following a barrage of evidence from an anonymous source – that had affected her little beyond her hearing about it with great satisfaction on the news and answering official questions corroborating the evidence of Blaine having threatened and coerced her to play the role she had. No, what she'd struggled with was coming to terms with the guilt of survival and dealing with the jarring adjustment of freedom from the feral mutant who'd fiercely claimed her as his, only to abandon her. She was jumpy for months, seeing his looming figure around every corner and behind every flickering shadow, convinced he would turn up furious, that she should have waited longer, that she shouldn't have switched off her phone... Then on top of it all, like her subconscious had delayed the reaction until it felt safe to release it, the reality of her Pa's death had hit her six months on and left her grief-stricken.

She could read it all on Anders' face. Some days like today were harder than others, which was when she tended to throw herself into her designs and keep busy, but mostly she had a handle on things.

"I'll be fine," she said softly. "Go on."

He didn't look convinced.

"Honestly. I've got these buffoons to goof around with, it's all good."

"You sure?"

"Of course. Go. And thanks for the drink."

"You got a phone?" Logan suddenly asked, his voice gravelly.

"Uh, yeah?"

He held out his large hand and flicked his fingers. Great strength was coiled in even that simple gesture, the hand rough from all his work, his triple claws sheathed. She dug the phone from her purse.

"You need anything, anyone give you any trouble, you call me," he said, tapping in his number and calling it once so it was in the call logs.

"Oh, okay..." she said unsurely, accepting the phone back.

"I mean it. Anyone. If that fucker ever comes back –"

"Oh no, I couldn't!" Her eyes involuntarily dropped to his stomach.

"Hey, he's a shitbag, it's what we do," he reassured her with some resignation, "doesn't matter if you're mixed up in it or not. But if you are, I've got your back."

It was almost like looking at Victor, the same intense stare that took no bullshit, only her heart wasn't thudding and her stomach wasn't doing somersaults. She nodded. "Thanks Logan."

He dropped a hand on her head. "You take care, kiddo."

"You too," she called after him as he headed for the door.

"Coming over tomorrow?" Anders asked as he followed, walking backwards.

"You bet," she smiled.

"I might be late."

She waved him off. She had her own key and made herself at home anyway. She turned back to the table, only to find all her colleagues watching her. "What?" she demanded a bit testily.

"You just... seem to have a lot of people looking out for you," Jake observed with obvious concern.

Her prickly demeanour deflated. "Well you know, enemy of my enemy and all that..."

Karenza didn't mince words. "That fucker Logan mentioned?"

She winced. "He's not –" Well, yes he was, but she couldn't even begin to explain. "It's not like that."

"Your ex?" Spencer asked, as usual too caught up on jealousy to consider any other possibility.

It was only a coincidence that he was vaguely along the right lines this time, though Sofie wouldn't have called Victor an ex exactly. She didn't know what to call their brief time together but she wouldn't have classed it as a relationship. She ignored Spencer, as did everyone else.

"Are you in some sort of trouble?" Jake asked.

It couldn't be called trouble when the other party was simply absent. It was just old history. "It's really nothing. Can we drop it please?"

Their concern lingered in the air.

"So what I want to know," Damon paused for effect, "is what Logan looks like under that leather."

"Damon!" Karenza laughed, swatting his arm, playing along and giving Sofie a break, and the conversation thankfully moved on.

Sofie didn't fill him in on the ripped, tight muscles she'd witnessed gleaming in moonlight that night the brothers faced off... She was quiet, lost in thoughts, and Spencer was sulking. The other three left them to it, noisily talking about anything and everything – weekend plans to go go karting, the time Jake's nephew totalled his go kart and nearly lost his chin and ended up in hospital, every gory injury people they knew had had. Memories assailed Sofie and she sunk further into herself until she didn't even hear what they were going on about.

That was until Damon slung an arm about her shoulders and whispered, "Say, d'you know that guy?"

"Hmm?" she murmured, not really with it.

"I can't decide if he's simply evil or utterly delish. There's the baddest of all bad boys staring at you, has been for a while. Looks a bit like Logan –"

Sofie spun so fast her stool would've kept spinning if she hadn't grasped the table top. She knew the moment her eyes landed on the dark corner. Either the bulb had died over the table or it had been broken, but there was no mistaking that looming shadow within the shadows, the gleam of predatory eyes striking her like a bolt of lightning...

Suckerpunched, the air crushed out of her lungs, she jolted and gasped and choked and spluttered, earning slaps on the back from both Damon and Karenza, seeing that darkly amused smirk without having to see. Turning her back, she waved her friends off and leaned over the tall table. Heart thumping, she began peering over her shoulder, but snapped her head forward again. Totally a moth drawn to a flame – no, not a flame, a roaring inferno. She was so going to be burned to ash. But who in their right mind would keep their back turned to a lethal predator? She peered over again, seeing the long, muscular legs stretched out under the table, and the claws, oh so slowly drumming the beer bottle with deceptive softness, the pair of glinting eyes alight upon her from the darkness...

Holy smoking freaking cow...

He'd come for her. There was no other plausible reason for him to be in this exact same bar in this corner of London so far from home. But what the hell for? Unfinished business? To finish her off? ... A romp in the hay? Did he expect her to drop everything and run to him simply because he'd deigned to grace her with his arrogant presence? On the one hand she wanted to obey and do whatever it was he wanted of her before he had a conniption. But on the other hand it had been a whole freaking year. She'd moved on, dammit!

Her friends were glancing between her and that corner now, with everything from concern to pure interest. Perfect. She hardly believed they'd buy it but she feigned ignorance anyway, holding up her cocktail and peering at it. "Wow, that's some strong shit mixed in there. Anyone up for more? Hey, wasn't it your turn for a round, boss?"

"Again?" Jake protested, a worried crease lingering between his brow but playing along anyway. "I got the last round!"

She put on a poor innocent face. "You're the one with the big bucks. I'm only a poorly paid junior apprentice, I couldn't afford it."

"Me neither," Karenza chirped. "I'm –"

"– buying a flat with Chris," chorused the others, half laughing and half rolling their eyes.

She grinned in triumph. "So I'm out! Damon, honey, looks like you're up."

"Whaaat?"

Operation Distraction pulled off successfully, Sofie let her attention stray back to the far corner as the others continued cajoling each other into getting another round. That was when she heard the giggling and whispering on the table behind them.

"– he's bad news, hun, don't do it."

"Don't be such a scaredy cat, he's right up my street. He's got My next big mistake written all over him."

"Mmm mmm mmmh, you go girl."

"No, that'd be Your last mistake ever. I'm telling you, don't do it."

"You never see guys like that. Totally badass, I'm not wasting this."

"Yeah, shake that booty!"

"Just wait a sec –"

"Wish me luck, girls!"

More giggling overruled the single voice of caution and the group of scantily dressed women pushed one of their member from their table. Said girl flicked long waves of her brown hair, wiggled her hips and tugged down her skirt just low enough to cover the bottom curves of her ass.

Oh no. Sofie could see the impending trouble like a massive desert sandstorm filling the horizon.

She was openly staring now as the brunette, foolish or naïve or plain nuts, ignored the blatant warnings and sashayed right up to that table. How could she miss that glaring, that bass rumbling that even Sofie could feel from where she sat frozen? Her colleagues were staring too, glancing between Sofie and the giant in the shadows.

Words were exchanged, too low for Sofie to pick up, but she could read from Victor's stillness that the woman was pissing him off. Sofie couldn't imagine him being nice about it, either, and sure enough it didn't take long at all for the brunette to be pushed beyond her limit. Her posture was tight, her shoulders tense, she snatched a full pint glass from a man passing by from the bar, and raised it – not drawing back to drench him but lifting it high overhead –

Victor surged to his feet, grabbed the woman's wrist and yanked her off her feet, sending the glass flying. Her scream and the shattering glass and the spray of foamy amber liquid across the floor brought instant silence to the buzzing pub.

Shiiit – Sofie leapt down from her stool but somebody caught her before she could take a step. Even as Victor dangled the woman by the wrist he was perfectly aware of what was going on with Sofie, and his head snapped her way as he snarled at whoever had her arm, lips curled back, two curved, elongated, deadly fangs gleaming.

It was Damon. "You can't –" he began but Sofie didn't let him finish.

"I know him, alright?" she hissed. "He's here for me. Swear to me you won't butt in, whatever happens."

"What the fuck?" some guy yelled.

"Hey, man, put her down!" another shouted.

Two men were actually brave enough – or drunk enough – to attempt to go to the blubbering woman's aid, charging the huge mutant. Victor barely even turned, merely swiping easily with an arm to send them crashing into the bar and the cluster of people there.

Sofie grabbed Damon's shirt and yanked the big man down to eye-level with a strength born of sheer urgency. "I mean it, Damon, don't interfere, whatever happens. Promise me!"

The big guy only stared, torn and bewildered, and she didn't have time to wait for a reply.

Nobody else was approaching Victor now and her way was clear as she darted over. She drew to a hasty stop just out of reach.

"Victor?"

He still dangled the sobbing woman, showing no reaction to Sofie getting closer unlike he had with the two men. The whole pub full of people held their breath as she tentatively put her hand on his back. Even through his thick trench coat she felt him tense, but he still didn't move.

"Please, Victor. Let her go?"

It was a whole suspended moment later when he let go, literally dumping the brunette on the floor. She crumpled with a frightened shriek before scrabbling backwards on the sticky pub floor. "You stupid freak! You'll go to prison for this!"

Sofie found her already limited sympathy rapidly disintegrating. "What did you expect trying to smash a pint over his head?"

"He called me a..." The woman trailed off and Sofie could only think Victor must've had a point. "You stinking bastard, you're not worth it!" She gave a dramatic sob before flouncing off in hysterics to her horrified friends. Well, at least she was alright even if she'd probably milk it for months if not years. Sofie couldn't help shaking her head.

"You ain't changed a bit, frail. Still sticking your neck out for worthless pieces of shit."

Sofie could feel the prickly heat of his eyes on her, but she'd never found it so hard looking back at him. She'd moved on, damn it, why was he here?

But as the air crackled with his raw feral energy, his darkly handsome, mesmerising face intense upon her, only needing to be standing there to be threatening and lethal and scorchingly tempting, she knew she hadn't moved on at all, whatever their thing was. Like the past year hadn't happened at all, she was right back in his snare.

Which just made it all the more important for him not to be here!

"What do you want?" she demanded as he opened his mouth again.

He was forced to change track. "What do I want? I was sitting here minding my own business, you're the one who came charging over."

"Then I'll leave you to your business, shall I?"

He grabbed her arm but it was a loose hold, not expecting resistance, so when she jerked back, her arm came free.

A frown creased his brow, wiping out his playfulness. "Fra-ail," he warned, reaching again but she jumped back. He scowled darkly, only to find her glaring right back.

"I waited for you. For three months, while you were all happy as Larry skylarking off with other women. I've had a year to move on and I like my life exactly as it is. You don't get to come back just 'cos you happened to be in this corner of the world or I just popped into your mind or you're bored or between jobs or whatever excuse you're going to give. We're done, Victor."

She turned, raised a foot to walk away, but before she could put it down to take a single step her arm was seized again, and this time the grip was hard. Pain jolted up to her shoulder and made her flinch, and half still mad at him and half on reflex, without really intending to, she swung her other hand –

The slap cracked like a gunshot.

She didn't know who was more surprised – her frozen in shock, Victor stunned enough to even go so far as to drop her arm, a collective gasp from the shocked bar – but only one of them was terrified out of her mind, her heart leaping into her throat and lodging there.

She'd just slapped... Holy fffffff–

Paralysed, she could only stare as he paused with his face turned aside. Then his head swung her way and she honestly came within an inch of wetting herself. His eyes gleamed with something she couldn't identify, she only knew that her insides twisted sickeningly and she was dead. So dead. Deader than any of the bodies in the snow, deader than Freddy... She was backing off in wide-eyed terror without even realising it.

"Victor..."

He took a heavy step towards her that had never sounded so ominous, and then another...

It was all a blur. His towering mass rushed at her, there might have been some shouts from the other people but she was deaf to them all. He barrelled into her, sending her flying –

Only, it wasn't her who hit the wall with a crunch of plaster, but one of his hands as he braced their crash. A solid arm had snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against him before she could collide and be seriously hurt. Even the startled onlookers could see it, his alarming but careful, and perhaps possessive, handling of her compared with his previous violence, even as he forced her to arch back as he leaned over her.

"Victor..."

Even with his superhuman hearing he might not have heard it, merely a shaky shadow on a hint of a breath. But his expression darkened further and she knew he had.

His lips crashed down over hers.

He stole her air, swallowed even the startled squeak that escaped her seized-up throat. His other hand slid behind her head and squeezed, harder and harder, near crushing her skull until she obeyed his unspoken demand and parted her lips. His rough tongue devoured her, as dominant as the rest of him looming massively over her and as hungry as a man stranded in the desert falling upon water. The force of him was a riptide sweeping her away, the taste of him washed over her like a forbidden fruit bursting on her tongue, his familiar musky smell filled her every snatched breath and fogged her brain until the only thought she could muster was Victor...

The arm about her waist drew her firmly against his emerging hardness. Claws scraped her scalp like a cat kneading, sending shivers running all the way down her spine, before the massive hand wrapped around her neck. That hand! Large enough to engulf her neck, strong enough to make light work of solid fire doors and an army of cops but masterful at exerting precisely the pressure he wanted, which just then was to restrict her air flow but a dash short of permitting the air she needed and without hurting her, which meant he was somewhat pissed off but still in complete control – that hand! How could his grip on her neck say so much? Then he was squeezing down the back of her neck and her shoulders, melting her into his hands.

Ay Caramba. He seemed even more powerful than she remembered, his body hard and rolling with muscles that flexed as he forced her compliance and set her skin alight. His arms seemed thicker, his shoulders larger, his neck hotter with his pulse, his hair and mutton chops thicker...

Fisting a hand in her hair again he dragged her just inches away. It was only then that she realised that her hands were tangled in his hair...

"We're a long way from done, frail," he snarled, all gravel and heat and promise of no escape. She shivered, both fearful and thrilled. Keeping her hair secured, he scraped a claw down the curved lines framing her eye, stinging and raising welts anew along the V. "Don't fucking tell me you forgot."

The reason why she hadn't covered up the twin marks – they were reflected right back at her in those dark eyes that made her forget to breathe. Mine.

Even after a year, even when she was still mad as hell at him, even when he was probably the most dangerous man on the planet, there in his grasp she felt the most alive she had the whole year, every cell in her body thrumming, on fire.

She knew it, then. For her, it was Victor. It was only Victor. She couldn't imagine it ever being anyone else.

But she was still flaming mad at him and even after kissing him back she still wanted to deny him. Not that that was going to make the darndest difference. He'd have her if he wanted, objections be damned. But she couldn't help holding onto the fact that he'd come after her, when his toys usually only managed one scream before being silenced forever, and not only that but he'd returned exactly a year after he'd vanished off the jet. That was no coincidence, not for a man like Victor. She raised her chin with the realisation that she'd been on his mind. However much he might mock her or sneer at her, he, Victor I'm-too-badass-to-ever-get-hung-up-on-anybody Creed, had been thinking of her, and he'd wanted her enough to track her down all this way.

Whatever he'd come for, the only certainty was that she needed to be as far away from her friends as possible. The question was how...?

She was interrupted from her hasty brainstorming when Victor dipped his head, his eyes casting aside beneath his brow. He huffed in irritation as he braced his hands on the wall on either side of her head.

"What is it?"

"How nice of them to arrange a reunion," he sneered.

His sardonic expression wasn't reassuring in the least.

"Huh?"

The pub doors crashed open and a dozen police officers in riot gear streamed in. Sofie groaned as they were joined by another dozen in the bouncy rubber suits, sporting those stupid fat machine guns tipped with the evil blue light.

"Easy there, Sabretooth," came a soothing voice like they were talking to a frightened animal.

"Not again!" Even Sofie would admit she sounded pitiful. She was perfectly ready to hide behind Victor's reassuringly broad back, sure in the knowledge that nothing would get past him.

But the familiar, bone-chilling whine of one of those infernal mutant zappers charging up provoked an instant reaction in them both. Victor growled, a bass reverberating underfoot and developing into thunder rumbling through his chest –

"Hey, point that thing someplace else!"

Sofie found the exclamation bursting out of her before she realised it, stepping in front of Victor of all things, stopping both him and the wannabe-zapping cop short.

It wasn't often that Victor found himself dumbfounded anymore with all the ugly shit he'd seen, but the frail made him stop short and it wasn't the first time either. And this instinctive protectiveness she had going? The first time back in the dead shell of that sports complex might have been called an accident. But this? Knowing how much those fuckers stung, protecting him a second time was either gutsy or fucking stupid but either way it had fuck all to do with any rules. Concealing his surprise behind a smug sneer, he crossed his considerable arms and waited to see how things played out.

The cop stared uncertainly at the woman who'd shielded the large mutant. "Ma'am, please step aside."

She might have been all but ready to deny Victor in any way she was able barely a minute ago, but she wasn't about to stand by and watch him get shot when this wasn't even his fault in the first place. A year ago, she might have turned tail and run, but that wasn't her anymore. "If you want to shoot him, you're going to have to go through me."

This was so ridiculous that nobody even thought to laugh. This little human woman? Against a whole bunch of armed cops?

Another whine, another zapper charging up. Sofie narrowed her eyes and only stepped a little to that side, trying to block both.

A third time was... Fucking hell, it was beginning to stink suspiciously like some cheesy shit called loyalty that Victor never had time for and always, always, let him down anyway. But somehow, seeing her useless but still determined stance in front of him, he didn't feel the usual sinister urge to tear into her delusion just yet.

There was some jostling at the back of the line of cops before a familiar face popped up.

"Sofie?"

She recognised him immediately. "Morgan?" It was DS Sam Morgan, Salamander Man, who'd almost been setup by Midas as the Pied Piper.

"Fish Man," Victor growled. "How fucking perfect."

The dark-skinned cop kept his eyes on Sofie, unfazed. "I'm an Inspector with the Mutant squad now," Morgan told her. "I owe you, you know you can trust me. Why don't you just come this way for a moment?"

She knew he meant well but she didn't trust any of these mutant-zapping cops for a second. Apparently Victor also took this threat more seriously. There was no mistaking his meaning when he hooked her waist and tucked her away behind him. "She ain't going anywhere," he snarled with a schnicht of extending claws. "Anyone want to argue?"

"Sabretooth –" Morgan tried.

"You never fucking learn, do you? She's mine."

Sofie inched closer to that broad back that could stop anything, her hand resting there, needing the anchor. "We've already had this exact same conversation before. I'll stay with Victor, thanks."

"You can't keep hanging out with him, Sofie. It's not healthy."

"Funny, last time I faced you guys it was you lot trying to kill me and Victor saved my life."

"Those were very different, and extraordinary, circumstances, as we both know."

"I'm not changing my mind, Morgan. Let this go."

"I can't do that. There have already been three victims here, we have a legal obligation –"

"You mean the woman who was about to smash a glass on his head, and the two that tried to stop him from defending himself?"

Morgan paused, then glanced at the fascinated bystanders. A few of them nodded or shrugged, nobody argued.

"I don't have the authority to make that call," Morgan insisted, reluctant but duty bound to stick to the letter of the law. "There are casualties, we have to investigate."

Victor was dropping his stance and baring his fangs and Sofie knew it was only a matter of moments before the pub was painted red.

"Yeah, you do that," she snapped, forced to pull out the big guns. "And while you're doing that, why don't you put me on the phone to Ralph Dalton? I have a truck load of stuff to say about the mortal danger and trauma inflicted on a civilian because Scotland Yard failed to detect a serial killer in their midst, not to mention all the trigger-happy, shoot-first-ask-later coppers who almost blew my head off. It's funny how a year can completely change your decision about pressing charges, isn't it?"

The cops froze.

"Ralph Dalton?" One of the rubber suits muttered to the riot policeman beside him. "As in, Chief Superintendant Dalton?"

It had been a gamble hoping that the only big name she knew of was still there; it paid off. She was bluffing about suing the Met, but she wasn't faking anything else. The trauma was real, and without Victor she would have been dead. A small voice reminded her that without Victor she wouldn't have been caught up in it all in the first place, but Victor's wild sojourn in her life had simply become a part of her.

As she refused to back down from Morgan's searching gaze, she saw his understanding, his empathy. He'd been greatly affected by it too, whether the force's psychologists knew of it or not, and she had the strongest feeling that they were both driven by events of that day, by their close calls, the survivor's guilt that drove them relentlessly to achieve and give meaning to their life.

Even if he disagreed with her decision to stand by Sabretooth, he respected her right to choose. He took the responsibility upon himself.

"Alright. We'll stand down."

His men grumbled but Morgan stood firm. "We draw back for today," he repeated. "The threat has been neutralised."

Morgan signalled retreat and ensured his men had all exited the premises before glancing back a final time. "You're bloody lucky she has your back, Sabretooth."

"'Course she does, she ain't got a choice."

Morgan gritted his teeth but didn't pursue it when Sofie merely rolled her eyes. He didn't say any more to her, simply nodding before leaving after his men.

Victor chuckled. "Fucking dipshits."

Sofie wasted no time in getting right back to being annoyed with him. "I must have been out of my mind standing up for you. You'd better scram before they change their minds and come back, 'cos you're on your own next time."

She spun on her heel and marched off, feeling his dark smirk aimed at her back without having to look. The rapt onlookers were staring at her as much as the giant mutant, amazed at this firecracker of a woman, absolutely fearless. How little they knew...

A muted buzz filled the pub by the time she reached her friends. They were staring at her, mouths agape, amazement and disbelief and worry pasted all over their shell-shocked faces, and here came the performance of her life. If they believed her in danger and tried to intervene with Victor, there could only ever be one outcome, and she'd utterly break if she was haunted by their ghosts too.

She flashed them a grin, grabbing her purse. "My weekend just got tied up," she whispered conspiratorially, "gotta go!"

Her features were alight to the point that she almost glowed, a flush to her cheeks and swollen lips. Her neck? Not a mark where the mutant had held her. She looked like an excited teenager on a hot date, not someone who'd just been assaulted or faced down a bunch of armed cops... Karenza and Damon caught on first and their horror morphed into scandalised glee.

Karenza started giggling.

"Damn, girl!" Damon hooted.

Jake didn't let up so easily. "Do you want company?" His question was born of concern, just what Sofie was trying to avoid.

"Don't be a cock block," she told off teasingly and sailed away with a wave and a naughty wink. "See ya Monday!"

She felt bad for Spencer but it was the only thing she could think of in a hurry to make damned sure they didn't try to follow or do anything stupid. She headed straight out into the evening air full of music and drunken revellers spilling out onto the streets.

They couldn't take their eyes off the massive mutant as he nonchalantly necked the rest of his beer and – what they could only describe as – prowled after Sofie, not once looking around, not at all apologetic for the disturbance, not giving two shits about all the eyes following him.

Spencer blinked. "What just happened?"

"Sofie?... She was that Sofie?" Jake muttered. A serial killer in the Met could only be the Pied Piper. It had been a huge scandal a year ago and they all remembered the reference to the woman the papers had referred to simply as 'Sophie' who'd helped solve the case, the one who'd shunned reporters and dodged the paps and refused any interviews when she could've made a killing on an exclusive.

Karenza began to put some of the other pieces together. "That was Logan's brother? I gotta say, they did look kinda alike."

"Tie me up and call me Shirley," Damon hummed. Then he stopped, his eyes bright. "I wonder if they have any more brothers?"

Karenza smacked him upside the head.

"Hey!" Damon rubbing at his head.

"Is that all you ever think about?"

"Well Logan was immune to my charms, our Sofie's called shotgun on that Victor dude, so," he shrugged. "Go figure."

Spencer gave a pained groan. "So that was her ex?"

"You just worked that out?" Damon only just managed to restrain himself, D'uh had been on the tip of his tongue.

"I was just... really hoping... I'd got that wrong..." he moaned.

Karenza grinned. "Yeah, you got it wrong alright. The only ex between those two is some serious smexy time."

Jake threw her a disapproving glance and slapped Spencer on the back. "Tough luck mate. Come on, next round's on me."

Karenza whooped and they all set to the serious task of curing Spencer of his infatuation, the first order of business being to drink him legless.

Away. Away. Away.

Onto the bus that pulled up a quick dash down the road. Switching a few stops along at the last second when another pulled up alongside. Then darting into the underground, choosing a random and convoluted route home.

Sofie didn't know if Victor thought she'd disappear into the city's busy evening public transport system but what did he expect? That she'd just hang around for him to ravage her in front of her friends so they'd get hurt trying to protect her? She knew it would only be a matter of time before he caught up with her, but after abandoning her like that for a whole year he was damned well going to work for it. She wasn't running; he knew that she knew that she couldn't run from him. She couldn't stop him, she probably didn't need to stoke the animal up in him any further either, but she could at least throw him off his game a little.

She quick-marched her way home to her two-bed house from the tube station, feeling like somebody had magicked the terraced houses twice as long as usual. It took forever, the dull clacks of her heels ringing on the stone pavement and her breath huffing faster than usual as she kept a nervous lookout. Then finally she was up the four steps to her front door, shoving her key in the lock, casting a last glance up and down the blobs of streetlamps, and slipping into her home.

She swung the front door shut behind her and dropped the keys in the bowl and her bag beside the table holding it – when she realised that she hadn't heard the door. The usual bang and click, she hadn't heard it. Her heart squeezed, her entire body tightened like her skin had shrunk two sizes too small. She knew it without having to look but she couldn't help it. Her body moved by its own accord, turning in slow motion as her eyes craned around. A black boot was wedged in the frame, claws curled around, the door yawned open –

Feral eyes were alight as Victor advanced.

She should've bought a bigger house.

That was bizarrely the first thought that struck her as Victor ducked under the doorway and backed her into her house, his mass of black entirely filling the narrow entrance hallway for the two steps that it took to carry him to the living room. It was surreal seeing him there in the middle of her perfectly normal home, a swathe of night, the abiding image from that snowy night that had haunted so many dreams the past year, now hulking amidst the soft grey and yellow and cream of her living room. He inhaled, no doubt checking who else had been there. Anders was a frequent visitor and her fellow architects occasionally dropped by, but there hadn't been anything remotely resembling an intimate relationship since Victor. He made a quick visual sweep of the room, beyond the doors to her workroom on one side and the stairs and the kitchen on the other, taking a few more deep breaths.

Ranting at him in the middle of a crowded pub felt entirely different to giving him a dressing-down with just the two of them in such an enclosed space. Jittery and more than a little fearful, she edged towards the kitchen.

"Can I get you a drink?"

His glare stopped her in her tracks. He dropped himself onto her couch and stretched out his long legs, crossed at the ankles.

"Strip."

Oh lordy, that growl. The sub-bass vibrations almost broke down her atomic integrity and melted her on the spot. Her stomach was flip-flopping and her heart was skidding around in her ribcage – it was the only thing stopping her from flying off the handle when she really wanted to demand if that was all he had to say for himself after a whole year!

As it was, she found her courage running for the hills. Not that that was to say that she was still the same shaky scaredy-cat he'd left behind on the plane. Oh no, she'd found her backbone since then. She might not have power of veto here – and she was too angry and shaken up to admit that she secretly didn't mind that much at all – but it irked her no end to see him sitting there looking all high and mighty, as though he wasn't the one who'd been so bothered by her memory that he'd ended up chasing her down across the world. She could obey, but there were different ways to do that too.

Oh so slowly, she reached for her top button. She slid her fingers around the top curve, feeling the slight traction of the plastic against her skin. His darkening eyes narrowed fractionally. She slid her fingers further around the round button, felt for the fabric tucked behind it and pressed along it, feeling along each bumpy thread of the material. She tugged the button hole a little wider, a little wider still, and wider again. A muscle ticked in his jaw. She began to draw the opened button hole towards the button, a slight pause at the peak width, then proceeded to drag the hole over the button, further over, almost free, then finally free.

Twenty, maybe thirty seconds to undo one measly button. Victor, predictably, wasn't impressed.

"Get a fucking move on, frail."

She slid her fingers down, feeling the fabric of her cotton shirt, the raised bumps and sunken crevices of the stitched pattern that she'd never noticed before. Finally she reached the next button and started on the same, laborious, drawn-out process of undoing it as she took the time to study him.

It was the same set of the mouth that she remembered, so perfectly expressing his disdain and smug arrogance, although it was set in all impatience just then. The same solid build, only larger, seemingly even more so in her small living room than at the pub, a human tank with the litheness of a cheetah, the brute strength of an African bull elephant and the ferocity of a hungry lion. Then those eyes that dissected and engulfed and commanded, that choked the breath in her throat...

She honestly hadn't realised she'd stopped moving altogether until he pushed off from the chair and strode towards her. She hadn't meant to incite him to that extent. On pure panic, she fled into the workroom, through to the kitchen then back round into the living room again, but her luck run out as she darted for the front door. He caught her by the sofa and trapped her against the armrest, almost breaking her backwards.

He tugged at her clothes, expecting little real resistance, but the burst of adrenaline had returned her the courage that had fled earlier. She suddenly found herself fighting him tooth and nail, a lot harder than either of them expected.

"The fuck're you doing, frail? You want me."

"That's not the point!"

"Then what the fuck is the point?"

"I don't want to want you!"

"Join the fucking club."

His grumble stopped her for a second. Her shirt was torn, sending buttons flying in all directions, one of them bouncing off his chest, and she was writhing and twisting in his grasp again.

"I'm in no fucking mood for this crap, frail. If I wanted some hysterical shit I'd've just taken any bitch out there."

That only made her fight harder, lashing out with her legs as he clawed at her jeans, but she only ended up kicking her way over the armrest onto the flat of the couch with Victor's heavy weight following all the way.

"The fuck's with you? Quit it already!"

"You walked away!" she shouted right back in his face. "You left. If you wanted me all docile and tame like I was back then, you shouldn't've left. Well, newsflash, buddy, it's been a year. People change. I've changed. I'm not wasting my life hanging around waiting for you, so go get with any bitch out there just like you've been doing and leave me the hell alone!"

Something snapped, she saw it in the spark of his eyes. "What the fuck would you know!"

He was all fury and brutality, all carefulness gone, as he grabbed her jeans and panties in one mighty grasp, ripped them and sent them flying, leaving a bloody line in her hip. "Every time I went to kill some fucker, your fucking eyes popped right up." He grabbed and tore off her bra, leaving friction burns on her back. "Yeah, fucking well just like them now, all big and blue and staring, that's what I saw. Wanna explain that to me, frail?" He grabbed her arms and stretched them over the armrest, even though she'd ceased fighting him by now, stunned as she was by his outburst. He shoved his knees between hers. "You've turned me into a fucking pussy! I couldn't even..."

He growled something unintelligible, roaring in pure frustration, then squeezed her wrists with as much pain as when he thrust against her, forcing a sharp gasp from her, coming this close to gashing her tender folds as he sought entrance and failed. She was too dry. She'd been stirred by the kiss at the pub but that was poor preparation for his immense girth. With a snarl of impatience he released her wrists only to grab her ankles, pushing them as high and as wide as the couch would allow, and spat between her legs.

Alarm bolted through her as she realised he had no intention of slowing down. "Victor, wait!"

He caught her wrists again and plunged without mercy, this time thrusting balls deep. A strangled whine escaped her throat before her breath froze in her lungs, even her heart was caught between beats, her back arching, trying to escape the sudden intrusion, tears spilling through her eyelashes.

"I had to picture you just to get it up!" He emphasised as he thrust hard, too caught up in his rant to establish a proper rhythm but still plunging agonisingly deep with every drag and drive of his hips. "I had to think of you, fucking staring at me, like you're doing, just to fucking come!"

She was stunned on too many levels, his words as shocking as his abrupt entry. Did he realise what he was admitting?

"Wanna explain that to me, frail? 'Cos the way I see it, I just gotta close those stupid ass blue eyes forever, and that's me sorted."

Her lungs were tight like she was being crushed but she managed to push through her shock and rasped through her vocal chords. "If you kill me now, this is the face you'll always see."

He thrust especially hard, making her whimper. "Not making any fucking sense, frail."

"If you kill me now, I won't grow old. This face will never change, and my eyes will always be staring at you, in exactly the same way." His thrusting hips slowed. "I'll always be watching when you try and kill someone, I'll always be watching when you try and sleep with someone. If you kill me, this face, these eyes, they'll never change, Victor."

He'd stopped entirely now, simply staring, really taking her in as though she'd struck a chord somewhere deep inside him, a place he never let anyone see. And perhaps she had. After all, she was haunted by faces too, the ghosts who would never age, who would never change, who would always be watching. She could understand.

With a rumble that could have been a growl or a sigh, he braced his hands and hung his head over her, eyes closed. It wasn't defeat that she saw but something was certainly agonising him, something he couldn't deal with, or even kill, if the fact that she was still breathing had anything to do with it.

And she suddenly realised that that might have been why he'd walked away. Sabretooth was a mutant driven by feral instincts, who took and killed as he wanted. But he hadn't killed her a year ago, and he still hadn't killed her now. She, who'd seen him human, who'd seen him vulnerable, wasn't dead. Maybe that experience had imprinted on him at some level deep inside or maybe it was much simpler and she'd just got under his skin. His admission meant so much more than she'd ever considered and he didn't even realise it.

It was remarkable that even after God knows how many women, he could still be so naive. He just couldn't see it. And it thrilled her no end. Because in this, she might just be the first.

The shock of it smouldered through her, burning away the anger and self-doubt that had built up over the last year.

"Oh come here, you big lug." She grabbed his head and crushed their lips together. Taken by surprise, he didn't respond.

For a second, anyway. But then he grabbed her arms, pinning her wrists up, grasping her jaw between his claws. Her breath stuttered, the sharp sting catching her unawares. He glared, something of the usual glint back in his eyes, as he withdrew his hips oh so slowly, before plunging in especially sharp.

She cried out at the searing pain of being stretched too far and without sufficient lubrication, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears. But he wasn't having any of that.

The claws grasped her jaw harder. "Look at me, frail," he snarled as he withdrew and thrust home again. It wasn't a voice that would tolerate any defiance, reasserting his dominance after a momentary – and probably unforgivable, in his view – lapse of letting his walls down. Genuinely nervous, she obeyed. He took in her watery eyes, the apprehension, and smirked.

"You're mine, frail. You belong to me. Those tears, those fucking eyes, this," he emphasised with a thrust of his hips, "you're all mine."

He took her hard and fast, relentless and uncompromising, paralysing her with his size and pace, until he roared his triumph and claimed – reclaimed – her as his own.

But barely a few heavy breaths later he withdrew, eliciting a whimper from her, but he was already off the couch, ducking his head down between her legs. She cried out again for an entirely different reason as he ran his tongue over her, easing the burning sting of his taking, sucking and swirling, teasing with sharp nips of his fangs that only brought her nerve endings to life, ready for more his wicked tongue and lips, and she was grasping at the cushions and his hair and anything within reach as her body responded to his skilful provocation and she quietly gasped her own release.

In no time at all his body was covering hers again, filling her up slowly this time, his licking having eased the way and enticed her own juices to flow, his more leisurely pace letting her adjust better. She felt smothered by all things Victor and there wasn't anywhere else in the world she preferred to be.

He tasted of his come and her wetness and her blood, a heady taste enflaming the sensation of being consumed. His mouth and fangs and claws and the rough pads of his hands explored everywhere, her lips, her eyelids, her pulsing neck, her arching breasts, her gasping throat, the V on her cheek, the legs wrapped around him. She pushed at his top, and with an impatient grunt he tugged it off and returned to devouring her skin as she reacquainted herself with his. Hot and tight over the solid planes of muscle, beating with his strong pulse, rising and falling with his unsteady breaths, twitching and tensing under her exploratory hands, far from immune from her touch. He was at her neck again, that rough tongue sending delicious shivers rippling all across her skin, and his own was within reach. She craned her head up and returned the favour, not even bothering to restrain herself, kissing his neck and even letting herself bite –

With a growl that rumbled all the way up through him buried deep inside and from his chest to hers, he grasped her hair and held her in place as he pinned her with his intense eyes. She could see his indecision, not knowing whether to punish her or go with the flow, but she only smirked with her own hunger and shoved his chest as hard as she could.

He rolled, taking her with him. He merely grunted as they landed with a thump on the floor, her whole weight on top of him, wedged against the coffee table. He shoved the table halfway across the floor and promptly wrapped his hands around her hips, shrouding her wet heat around his throbbing length again. Pulling her in and down as he rocked her, she could so easily have been swept away by the luscious tension that accumulated deep inside. She allowed herself just a few seconds of wild abandon, head thrown back, letting him drive into her and threaten to consume her, before she pulled her head back up and locked eyes with his, her shining blue against his dark hunger. She ran her hands up his chest and lay herself down over him and claimed his lips with the kind of craving more usually asserted by him. She sensed his surprise in his mouth, taken aback and more gentle than usual, the tongue that let her dominate, the fangs that didn't immediately nip her lips. She savoured the control for as long as she dared before she drew back and grinned at him.

"Now are you going to make me come, or aren't you up for it anymore?"

Which was a ridiculous thing to say when she was well and truly planted on said up-ness. He knowingly rose to the bait anyway with that smirk that seemed to warn, be careful what you wish for. A solid arm locked around her, keeping her firmly ground against his hips, as his other hand caught her behind the head and he took over the kiss. Even from his position below her there was no question who was calling the shots, and then there was that familiar sting, the burst of metal, and his growl rumbled through them again as he claimed her mouth with lust bordering on too painful. She hooked her knees tighter against his sides and tilted her hips, rocking higher against him, and it derailed him, his breath shuddering, just for a moment. But long enough. He eased off on her lips as he returned his attention to plunging deep inside her. His hand wrapped around her neck again, squeezing only enough to bring life and the building ache into razor sharp focus, suspending her inches higher and forcing her legs to support her weight, as he thrust blindingly hard and mind-numbingly fast, and this time she let herself be swept away.

Forest forest forest forest forest! xx

Luckily she'd managed a quick message to Anders on Saturday – their agreed 'honestly OK' code, five times for good measure, so he wouldn't fly off the handle when he heard the police reports about Victor turning up at the pub and then when she wasn't at his house.

She really should be more careful what she wished for; Victor had set out to prove just how up for it he was. He was all over her on the kitchen counter where she ate breakfast, in her workroom under her worktop covered in rolled up blueprints and drafts and sketches and pencils and giant connecting rulers, on the stairs and against the wall by the stairs, on the landing between the framed photos of London's skyline, and finally when she complained of his choice of hard surfaces, he smothered her thoroughly into her bed.

In the shower, freshly washed, she even took him into her mouth of her own accord. She thrilled at peering up at him as his eyes closed and his head fell back, his muscles rippling along his abs as she nibbled the pulsing vein and sucked the swollen head and licked the great length that never seemed to tire, running her hands over his legs and ass and stomach and watching him slowly come undone. As his control slipped he fisted his hands in her hair and began forcing himself too deep for her comfort, but she merely grabbed him by the balls in warning. She didn't even squeeze that hard but his eyes flashed with an evil glint, then in a blur he caught her under the knees and pressed her back to the cold tiles and pummelled into her like there was no tomorrow, coming hard and fast as she was left mesmerised by his sheer energy.

Amidst the incredible highs and snatched bites of whatever food she had in the house, night mingled into day, and then another night. She woke up on Sunday morning half sprawled over Victor, rising and falling lazily upon his chest like a boat cast adrift on a gentle sea. She took advantage of the rare opportunity to study him without being observed, taking in his striking features, the absolute confidence of the undisputed king of the food chain even in slumber... Or so she thought until, still gripped half in sleep and feral instincts, he rolled over her back, putting his morning wood to good use and sheathing himself into her warmth from behind. When he hooked her hips to draw her to her knees, she reached between her legs, and she quite literally had him by the balls before she could rethink the ramifications from the shower the day before. But the animal in him remained unconcerned, either trusting in his control over her or, she dared to hope a smidgeon, trusting her. Her gentle squeeze only had him pressing deeper and he yanked back her head, dipping to secure her with his fangs around her neck as his rumbled release thrummed through her like a burbling Harley.

It wasn't just sex. Sunday afternoon he kicked back with a beer, clicking through her laptop with some random film on the telly in the background. Her head was bubbling with new ideas and she was content to busy herself in her workroom with a new Piper design. Caught up in her sketches and comfortable with the tapping and rustling from the lounge, she lost track of time, forgetting even that Victor was in her house until his shadow fell over her and a massive lump of something pink dropped onto her worktop.

She started, taking a moment to realise what she was looking at.

"The fuck's this?"

She wasn't sure what he was asking. He'd know what a joint of meat looked like, even vacuum packed. He'd clearly been raiding her fridge.

She eventually settled for, "It's pork."

"The fuck are you doing with it?"

She shrugged. "I was defrosting it. It was knocking about the freezer."

They both knew she didn't eat meat, which left few reasons for what it was doing there in the first place. Judging by the look on his face, he'd plugged for the most obvious one.

"I didn't buy it just in case you turned up, you know. I'll have you know I'm having friends who are all big meat eaters over for dinner next week, I was going to cook for them." He absolutely didn't need to know that as she'd stood in the middle of the supermarket torn between the meat and cheese aisles, it was Victor's face popping into her head that had made her head for the meat, just for the one in a million chance that he might...

"Fuck them. Get your ass moving, I'm starved after all the crap you've been feeding me."

She grabbed the lump of meat. "I didn't hear you complaining earlier – ow!" She yelped as he slapped her hard on the ass and herded her to the kitchen, stalking her as she cooked and then wolfing it all down without a grumble.

In the end she didn't leave her house for two days straight. It was sometime in the middle of the night on Sunday that she wondered what to do about work in the morning. Maybe she could call in sick, her body certainly ached enough and she was covered in fang marks and scratches all over that was bound to raise a gazillion questions, to say nothing of whether Victor would let her go to work in the first place...

She padded gingerly out of the kitchen after a drink of water – to find Victor on the couch draped in his usual black and lacing up his boots. She wrapped her arms over her robe and leaned against the doorframe.

"So you're off again."

He finished with the first boot and turned to the second. "There's a job."

She hadn't thought he'd reply. His claws worked deftly and with every hook of the laces her sense of urgency wound tighter and tighter. The moment he was out of the front door it would be too late, not knowing if he'd ever be back, no guarantee of another chance to speak up... As he finished his second boot, she cast caution to the wind.

"I'm not going to be a casual booty call, Victor."

He stood, her eyes following upwards with him, but his mind already seemed to be somewhere else.

"This was the last time," she pressed on. "I can't do it, not if you're sleeping with anyone else."

He finally paused, turning fractionally towards her, and a shiver of anxiety darted up her spine. "The fuck're you on about?"

"How would you feel if I slept with another guy?"

He froze. Not a vague kind of stunned shock. The kind where the air froze and the invisible shards of ice made her break out in cold sweat.

But she'd changed since they'd first met. She was the Sofie who'd survived, who now lived for what she believed in and no less. She ploughed on before he could erupt. "I hate it too. The thought of anyone else touching you, you touching them, sleeping with them –"

Faster than she could see he seized her neck, snatching her out of the doorway that was too small for him, drawing her close and up. He had her at eye level, her body hanging by her jaw and neck, the strain enough to make her eyes pop. She grasped his arms desperately.

"You're getting too full of yourself. Think you can start telling me what to do just 'cos we've fucked a few times? That'd be a fucking mistake, frail."

Unable to make a sound but desperately wanting to clear up the misunderstanding, she could only croak unintelligibly. Luckily he got the message. He lowered her until she felt the floor under her toes again, and she winced as he eased his grip just enough to let her speak.

"I'm not, Victor. You can do anything you like and nobody can do jack shit. I'm only saying that it's your choice. You say I'm yours, but if you want me willing, you need to be mine too. If you're sleeping around, my answer is going to be No."

He bared his fangs in her face, shaking her jaw. "You can't stop me!"

"I know that! If you want to fuck me, you'll fuck me!" she snapped crudely. "But it'll be rape, Victor."

"So?"

They were locking eyes, Sofie trying to convey why that was a big deal. "You know all that 'crap' you didn't want from me on Friday? I'll fight you with everything I have, Victor. You'll know you're not wanted."

He had his jaw clenched hard, trying to still his temper long enough to get what she was getting at. "No, I mean, so what, you wanna be my girlfriend now? Go exclusive?" He scoffed. "That ain't me, frail."

"Why not?" she challenged right back. "What are you afraid of?"

He flared like he was about to rip her head off.

"It's not about the label," she rushed to add. "You can own me or claim me or whatever else you want to call it, but it goes both ways. You stayed two days, Victor. We rocked, right?" He started growling but she pushed on. "I'm guessing you have a long life ahead of you. Me, not so long by comparison, but all the same, I have my own life now. There are things I want to do, things I'm working towards, and I intend to keep going. And as stupid as I know it is, if you wanted to be part of that, I'd be willing to give it a go. I know I can't stop you from whatever you decide to do, I'm just saying this is another option. So the question is, can you spare a bit of time out of your long, long life, to try this," she emphasised, gesturing between them, "whatever this is?"

He was quiet, his grip still painful, but he was merely studying her, his dark glinting eyes intense.

"You wouldn't know."

She blinked. "Huh?"

"You wouldn't know if I'm still fucking any bitch I feel like."

She winced and it wasn't from his grip. "I'll believe you, if you said you weren't."

"That's fucking stupid."

"Call it a leap of faith. You've been an asshole and you've been an animal, but I've never known you to be a liar. I trust you. It's your choice if you want to keep it or lose it."

Her gaze was pinched somewhat with the pain he was giving her neck but otherwise her eyes were clear. He couldn't pick up any sign of deception, only brute honesty underlined by a trace of fear – of him, or of this fucking insane possibility that she was laying out for him, he couldn't tell.

Not only to claim, but to be claimed. It was such an alien concept, so different from his usual MO, that his head was spinning just thinking about it. And even with the hard grip he knew he had on her jaw and the pricks of blood welling up at the tips of his claws, she was giving him that look again, that fucking stare as if he mattered, had value, the same fucking blue eyes that had floated about in his head for the whole year and that he couldn't rip out of her head no matter how much he'd tried.

Her voice was quiet and not because of his grip on her puny neck that wouldn't have taken him any effort to snap but simultaneously felt like an impossible feat. It was like she could see the thoughts swirling around in his head and didn't want to go crashing through them, as though, one year on, she was still connected to his inner self after she'd seen him stripped bare of his walls and masks and mutations.

"This is me now, Victor. Take it or leave it." She shrugged. "Hell, you might not even mind it."

Mind it? Fuck it all, the frail standing up to him was pissing him off no end but rather than wanting to spill her blood, all he wanted to do was bury himself in her all over again...

"You'll fucking die if I just fucked you all the time," he grunted.

She actually laughed, taking him by surprise, but it was short-lived. She flinched as his claws dug into her cheeks.

"You can say that again. And you'll want your space anyway. I've got my job and you... do what you do. No labels, Victor. It's what it is, nothing more."

He wanted to kill her and he wanted to fuck her and he ended up doing neither. He released her with a snarl, shoving her against the wall – not too roughly – as he stormed out.

It was a week later when she saw Victor again. The hulking silhouette that couldn't be anyone else, a slash of black against the wash of darkening navy and orange of dusk. Her heart thumped, from nerves or excitement she couldn't tell. She paused, waiting, but when he didn't make any further move her way, she walked the rest of the way home and alighted the steps. She let herself in, leaving the door open, and dropped her keys in the glass bowl, slipped her bag from her shoulder, placed it by the table –

A tight grasp around her neck shot a jolt through her even when she'd half been expecting it. It was more than a little constricting, forcing her head back against his broad shoulder. She picked up his earthy scent next as the rush of air caught up with his silent charge after her, then his heat burned through her back as he manhandled her into her own house, slamming the door shut loudly behind them.

He crushed her into the wall in the hallway, his mutton chops scratching her cheek as he traced with his fangs, raising welts anew along the curved lines marking his claim. His nails extended, digging into her neck, sharp points of pressure that made her brace herself against his tight grasp, but then they kept extending, piercing deeper still, avoiding tendons and archeries, knowing precisely where he could penetrate with his full inch-long claws without killing her, until her breath was a stuttering mess and she was arching back with as much force as she could muster in a futile bid to ease the acute pain.

He rumbled, rough and riled. "If we're gonna do this shit, you're gonna obey my rules, frail."

He was asserting his dominance in full, feeling the need to do so not only because she, the frail, had dared to lay down terms, but because he was here capitulating to them. The wrong answer would have ended up with him shredding through her jugular. And yet, as insane as she knew it was, it reassured her.

Because this was Victor, this was Sabretooth. Her blood pulsed on the tips of his claws and he'd shown her what it meant to be alive.

She leaned back against him. "Yes, Victor," she breathed and willingly surrendered.

A/N: The End! *gasp!*

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! I almost can't believe we made it. There were a couple of times in the story when I so nearly packed it in, but you lovely readers and even more wonderful reviewers were always there encouraging me with such amazing support. I can't thank you enough! I've never written adult-rated material before so it's been a real eye-opener, at times disturbing, other times exhilarating, but mostly this story has been a great joy to write. I'm very sad to part with Sofie (Victor too, but sadly he's not mine!), and if I had the time I'd love to do a sequel to this where they try and find their way (it's bound to be tumultuous and comical and fraught with vicious claws and fangs and steeeeaaaamy fun – mmmmmm...) But alas, my next project is to write my own novel which is bound to take years at the rate I write ;) so I need to get cracking! If anyone wants to adopt this and run with a sequel, or even little snippets of moments of their life together, please feel free to post it, I'd love to read it! Please just make sure to let me know, I wouldn't say no (unless you're only going to flame them which is just mean), but I do ask that you attribute my characters to me and also reference this story. I'd also be happy to reference your story here.

If you're interested in more of my writing, I also have a novel-length Star Wars fic posted under another pen name on this site. Please see my profile bio for details.

A heartfelt Thank you! to everyone for following this story, and for your support, patience, and wonderful messages. Happy writing everyone :) Love to you all.

~ Nyx ~