PROLOGUE

Lupa -

I'm not sure what to say. Guess I should start off by telling you why I'm not with you and instead you're reading some fucking letter. This fucking letter. I got to take care of a few things before we can be together again. See some people, get some shit in order, pick up some stuff. Make us disappear. I'll be gone for now so you'll be safe forever. I got to do this. For you, for us. It's the best way. The only way.

Might take a while. Maybe a month or so for me to wrap it all up. Could be longer. Jimmy will take care of you, you can trust him. He'll keep you safe til I get there. But if something happens to me, if I don't come back, stick with the Runt and run. Run til you two know Stryker's grandchildren are dead and buried. If something happens to him too, well, Canada's got woods a person could get lost in for years, never seeing another human face. Don't tell Jimmy about it, just in case he gets his ass caught. Always good to have your own emergency backup plan.

You should know I didn't want to leave you. I didn't want to go. But I had to. You will be safe. I will come back. We will see each other again. I swear it.

Yours, Always

Victor

Victor Creed looked down at the faded and worn letter in his massive clawed hands. He'd read it countless times in the twenty-some years since Lupa had been taken, since he had written it for her. Folded it and refolded it until deep, thick creases formed on the pale paper. In places, it had already begun to tear.

Creed had stopped keeping track of the exact number of years they'd been separated after ten had passed, back in, what was it, '84? Irrational as it was, Victor almost felt that by numbering the years it was supposed to organize his grief. To contain or limit his fury, make the memories of her fade, to make his keening for her wane. But at the same time, he wanted to keep his wounds as gaping, as fresh and still weeping as they had been on the day they were ripped into him. The day he found his black overcoat twisted up in his mate's bed sheets, his letter hidden in the inner breast pocket, her scent saturating the paper and her dried tears blurring the words. Yes, Sabertooth would only let his festering hurts heal when he had Her back in his arms again.

In the first decade after Lupa had been taken, Victor spent endless amounts of money and energy scouring North and South America for Her. Single mindedly, obsessively, almost manically pumping all of his varied contacts for any tidbit of information about a female feral mutant held in captivity by an unnamed General. Employing blackmail and bribery. Breaking into military record storage facilities, hacking computer databases and torturing unwilling informants for any hint of Her. His Lupa. His mate. His missing piece. But so far nothing. Not even the barest whiff of a hint nor a whisper of a rumor. During the times he felt like he was close to ripping his own skin off in frustration, Creed took the occasional, odd mercenary job. Signing up for a couple contracts a year to blow off steam.

He'd searched for Stryker as well, but the goddamn Colonel seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth since their previous encounter. And so had Logan. Though maybe five years after the last time he had seen his former commanding officer,Victor did hear through the grapevine Stryker had some kind of a falling out with the US government and military. Turned out his own son was a mutant who according to gossip, had either killed his own mother or driven her to insanity and suicide. And Uncle Sam doesn't like being lied to, even by omission. Plus around the same time there had been the whole Weapon XI fiasco. Creed could have told Stryker Wilson was the worst choice to experiment on. Wade would never follow orders, even dead. Yet he had to admire the government's clever cover story for the incident on his old base, 'nuclear reactor leak' his ass.

Right after high tailing it off of Three Mile Island in, about five years before said 'leak,' Creed went to hit up Erik Lehnsherr, alias Magneto, for some supplies. Rearmed, rested and fed, he'd driven up to Boston in one of Erik's vehicles expecting to find the Runt hiding somewhere in their city, licking his wounds, tail betwixt his legs. He wasn't. Maybe that Adamantium bullet to the head fucked him up more than Sabertooth realized...

Jimmy Runt was added to Victor's growing list of people to find: Lupa (priority number one), the mysterious General (an eagerly anticipated secondary priority), that asshole Stryker (a close third to the superior officer) and now pain in the ass Logan, (trailing behind in distant fourth place).

The second decade apart from Her, Creed spent much the same as the first but focusing his search in Eurasia this time. Though he began taking on more and more assignments from Erik and other nefarious characters for the brief diversions they provided. Serendipitously he built up a fierce reputation as a soulless killing machine in the process. Becoming a legend of epic proportions in the mutant and mercenary worlds. A merciless immortal with a hair trigger temper. An unbeatable beast in a black overcoat. In truth, he had just wanted something to distract himself from the ache, the bitter pain of missing his Lupa and worrying for her. A rest from the savage rage at her captors and his brother and his disgust at his own fuck ups. The intolerable inaction, the impotence lack of any Intel forced upon him. To be able to unleash some of the agonizing emotions choking him was a siren's call to the Sabertooth.

He didn't keep her safe, didn't protect her like he had sworn to. Couldn't even fucking find her! Him! Victor Fucking Creed!

Sabertooth had to do something, to think of something besides the Wolf Girl being frightened and hurt and alone, besides Logan's abandonment, besides Stryker hurting his mate, besides failing Her.

The few people that knew the feral, that had grown accustomed to the more than slightly terrifying man-beast's personality over the years and did not stress overmuch about him randomly slitting their throats, (not enough to feel comfortable with calling him friend however), did notice the difference in his behavior.

Before Jimmy went missing under mysterious circumstances, (Creed refused to explain to his associates exactly what happened to his little brother, just snarled that Logan was 'gone' and broke the arms and legs of any man who asked twice – only one did), the Sabertooth had a longer fuse on his temper. He had smirked often and used to speak whenever something popped into his mind, usually with a fang-baring smirk and smug expression. Now with Jimmy gone and Vic searching heaven and earth for some mutant girl, he rarely spoke, barely kept his temper on a leash and only smiled at the dead, the dying and the condemned. Still got the job done, though. If anything, he was even more efficient.

Creed's latest job for Magneto was a kidnapping in northern Canada, possibly in Alaska. The target being some mutant teenager with lethal skin. Big fucking deal, he'd wear some goddamn gloves. The mercenary was supposed to bring her back to Erik in New York so the old man could somehow use the chickie's abilities on Liberty Island next week. Victor didn't care what the Magnet Man was planning to use her for, he never bothered listening to fanatics' schemes and his involvement would end after delivering the girl and receiving his payment.

Though Creed had no need for money Magneto's side jobs always paid well. More importantly, they provided Victor with adequate distraction for unpleasant thoughts and reminiscences. In addition, almost always on these missions Victor could expend some of his pent up anger and frustration with vicious violence and delicious destruction. No one was there check him now. No brother to stop him when he went too far. Usually after one of Mag's trips, the Sabertooth felt more relaxed and refreshed, eager to start his search anew after unchaining his boiling rage. The anxiety and agony dimmed a bit from releasing all that ugly, vicious energy.

This time was far different from normal however. This time it wasn't just some random, meaningless job for another six figure paycheck. This time Victor actually had a stake in the assignment. Because Erik wasn't paying with cold hard cash, but with information. Supposedly the old fart had found something out about the ever elusive and nameless General. Obtained paperwork from the man's headquarters. Intel that could lead to his location. To where that motherfucker was keeping Her.

If finding the poison skinned mutant for Erik meant Victor was one step closer to finding his Lupa then nothing was going to stop the Sabertooth from getting this girl. This Rogue…

oOo

A/N: YAY! First chapter is up! [Does a little happy dance] How'd you like the segue into the first X-Men movie?

OK, so please review and let me know what ya'll think so far. Now, I'm going to be a little evil and wait until I get 10 reviews before I post the next chapter 'cause I'm channeling Creed again. Sorry about this but he's such a hard ass about reviews! ;-] Plus reviewers get CUPCAKES!

Oh and of course I don't own anything that is X-Men, just Lupa and the plot!

JUST TO BE CLEAR, THIS IS A SEQUEL, A CONTINUATION OF MY OTHER STORY, THE FERAL, (link on profile page).

I HIGHLY RECOMMEND YOU READ THE FERAL BEFORE CONTINUING ON WITH THE DREAMING ANIMAL.

Also, for any new readers, be aware this is the smexy Liev Schrieber's Sabertooth from 'Wolverine: Origins,' not the blonde cave man from X1. Ew.