[Author's Note: Sorry, this might not grab you with the first chapter like some of my other stories, it required quite a bit of set-up. I promise there is good stuff to come. Please review if you're willing!]

"Ante up."

Logan threw some bills into the center of the table as Azazel took over dealing. He narrowed his eyes, squinting past the smoke of his cigar so he could watch Azazel's red clawed hands closely as they flicked the cards down on the green felt. That bastard would cheat you as soon as look at you.

He smelled the girl just in time, the scent of cheap perfume and hairspray alerting him right before she wound her arm around his chest from behind. Goddammit, even the coked-up party girls in this place should know better than to sneak up on anyone - especially him. She was lucky she didn't get clawed.

"Is there something I can get for you, Wolverine, baby?" Her attempt at a seductive purr, but it buzzed in his ear with the irritating whine of a fruit fly

He shrugged her off in irritation. "'Nother beer."

"Anything else?" Her hand snaked towards his groin, and he grabbed her wrist.

"Just the beer," he growled.

She yanked her arm free with a pout. Dammit, not only had she pulled Logan's concentration off Azazel as he dealt the cards, but now they had attracted attention he didn't want. From the corner of his eye he saw Sebastian Shaw rise lazily from the couch to make his way over to the table.

Shaw put a firm hand on the girl's shoulder, holding her in place as his icy blue eyes narrowed on Logan's. "Does Melinda displease you, Wolverine?"

Logan felt his pulse speed up, the claws itching in his forearms as he concentrated on keeping his face impassive. He took another puff on his cigar and traded in two of his cards before answering.

"Don' like distractions when I'm playin'."

Melinda tried to sidle away, and Logan saw the knuckles of Shaw's hand whiten as he tightened his grip painfully on her shoulder, forcing a startled yelp from her. "Come to think of it, I don't think I've seen you avail yourself of any of my girls, Wolverine. Don't tell me all those stories I've heard about you were exaggerated?"

Fuck. Logan threw his cards face up on the table. "Lousy hand," he growled, before turning his attention back to Shaw. He leaned back in his chair and smiled wolfishly. "I can get a little rough sometimes. Didn't want to damage your property, Shaw." He snapped out the claws on one hand in emphasis, as Melinda whined in fear.

Shaw's lips quirked humorlessly. "Such a polite guest, Wolverine. I would not have expected it of you. But you don't have to worry. My girls are accustomed to pain. Isn't that the case, Melinda?"

The girl's white-rimmed eyes darted between Logan and Shaw before she finally managed a whimpering nod. At the edge of his vision Logan saw Emma Frost lean back on the couch, throwing her head back with a slight moan. Now there was a crazy bitch who got off on pain and fear. Poor Melinda was a babe in the woods compared to these two.

Logan stood up, his eyes steady on Shaw's, trying to keep the aggression out of his stance without displaying deference. He was walking a fine line with Shaw - he was not quite an outcast among the motley crew of mutants Shaw had gathered at his country mansion, but he was definitely not one of the trusted inner circle. "Fair enough."

He dragged the blunt edge of a claw slowly down Melinda's cheek, and she shivered in fear. "I'll catch you later, darlin'," he drawled.

Shaw held on to the girl for a few moments longer than he needed to, just to show his power, and then released her. She scuttled away, the imprint of Shaw's fingers turning from white to red on her collarbone.

"You wanna be dealt in, Shaw?," Logan asked levelly. The poker game had come to a standstill as the players watched the little drama unfold.

"No, by all means, carry on without me." His cold blue eyes remained steady on Logan's, examining him as if he were a specimen under a microscope. "And enjoy yourself with Melinda tonight, Wolverine."

Logan nodded curtly, picking up his cigar and resuming his seat at the table. He accepted the new hand of cards, pretending to focus on the game while all his senses were actually trained on Shaw and Emma Frost, murmuring together on the couch as they watched him.

Dammit, he had known he was under suspicion. Whether it was his adamantium-coated skull or his fractured memories he was, as Xavier had hoped, resistant to Emma's telepathic probing. He should have been playing the role of the Wolverine to the hilt to allay their suspicions, but some part of him had held back. He had gotten fuckin' soft working for Xavier, teaching at that damned school this past year, that's all there was to it. Maybe he had been pretending to be a good guy so long he had even convinced himself.

Well, that would get him exactly nowhere on this mission. Shaw didn't want a good guy, he wanted the Wolverine, and if it helped Logan win his trust that's exactly who he was going to get. Sorry, Melinda.

Logan threw open the window to his room, letting in the cool night air. He had showered the smell of Melinda off his body, but the room still reeked of her. He didn't know which was worse, the smell of her initial fear, or the stench of her relief when she realized he wasn't really going to hurt her much. Both reminded him sourly of the animal inside him, the rough beast that these girls feared even as it turned them on.

He had let her go with a few carefully placed and highly visible marks - the imprint of his fingers on her jaw, a scrape of his teeth on her neck - and a fuck just rough enough to make her happy in the end. Hell, she had enjoyed it more than he did - his own release had been bitter and unsatisfying.

He pulled the coverlet off the bed, wadding it up into a ball in the corner of his closet and kicking the closet door closed. Finally the air in the room seemed to be clearing, the choked feeling in his lungs diminishing. The feeling of shame - once so familiar and now unaccustomed - curled in his belly. Cheap women, free booze, easy money, and rough characters...a few years ago he would have been as happy here as a pig in slop. Now, however, being forced to play this role twisted his gut.

He remembered something he had said to Jean in his first few months at Xavier's. "I can be the good guy."

He had just been flirting with her, smirking as he said it. Once spoken, however, the words had hung in the air between them with an earnestness Logan had not meant to convey. He had self-consciously cleared his throat, embarrassed by the naked hope he had revealed, but Jean had simply looked at him, all her amused irritation at his flirting gone.

"Yes," she had said solemnly. "I think you can be."

Jean. That was something to focus on. If he won access to Shaw's inner circle it would justify any number of unsavory things the Wolverine might have had to do to get there.

He stood at the open window, careless of his nakedness, breathing in the night air and thinking about how he had ended up here.

Two weeks earlier:

Logan looked around the table at the faces of the people he was starting to think of as friends. Xavier appeared thoughtful, his brilliant mind already apparently working through the potential risks and rewards of the reckless proposal. Hank looked concerned, and Ororo simply stunned.

With reluctance, Logan finally turned his gaze to Scott. As was usual lately, the empty husk of a man seemed to stare dully back at him. When Jean had suddenly disappeared while shopping a month earlier, Scott had responded with frenzied, feverish activity - hunting down leads, chasing the flimsiest hunch, barely sleeping or eating. As time stretched on and the leads dwindled down to nothing, however, Scott's manic energy had faded into a blank hopelessness.

"How could you think of leaving, Logan? We need you more than ever now that..." Ororo trailed off awkwardly with a surreptitious glance at Scott. "We need you more than ever now."

"It is a considerable risk you would be taking, Logan," Xavier stated calmly. "We do not know the extent of Sebastian Shaw's powers, but there is no denying that he is one of the most powerful mutants I've ever sensed."

"Not to mention that your presence here has not exactly been a secret," Hank added, his furry brow wrinkled with concern. "Shaw may have approached you through old contacts looking for the Wolverine, but he may yet find out that you have become one of us. Assuming of course that he doesn't already know, and that his invitation isn't simply a trap..."

"And you are one of us," Ororo interrupted, a sharp edge to her voice. "Aren't you?"

Logan felt the frustration rising up in his chest. "Dammit, 'Ro, of course I'm one of you," he snapped. He didn't want to say it, but he knew he had to. He looked to Xavier, who nodded almost imperceptibly. The words felt like stones as he forced them out of his mouth. "What if Shaw knows what happened to Jeannie?"

Just as he had feared, he saw Scott's whole frame suddenly animated by a wild hopefulness, his hands trembling with expectancy as he leaned forward over the table. "Do you really think so?"

Logan had to look away, almost preferring the numb husk to this naked display of emotion. He hated the idea of toying with Scott's hopes like this, but the possibility was there. "It's a long shot," he finally said. "But we know from Cerebro that Shaw has been gathering powerful mutants to his country house. He must want 'em for something, and now he wants me. Or at least he wants the Wolverine. He's already got one telepath, Emma Frost. Maybe he wanted another, and something went wrong. Or maybe there's no connection, but we don't exactly have a lot of other places to look, do we?"

Scott's mouth flattened into a grim line at this harsh assessment of the situation. "She's not dead," he insisted for the hundredth time. "I would know. I would feel it."

"Of course she's not dead," Ororo agreed gently, her eyes bright with tears. She reached out and squeezed Scott's hand. "But if Charles can't find her with Cerebro, that means someone has her, and they're keeping her somehow. Drugged, unconscious...something. So maybe Logan's right. Maybe this is the guy."

"We need to be clear on what we're getting into," Logan continued. "The risk is not just for me. If Shaw does find out that I've been here at the mansion for the last year, it could draw his attention here. And I don't know what that would mean."

He looked around the room, seeing only a firm resolve in the faces of his teammates.

"But why you?" Hank asked. "All this trouble to contact you...why does he want the Wolverine?"

Logan had searched his own mind for the answer to that question with no success. "I don't know. But I guess I'll find out."

Logan sighed, resting his head wearily against the window frame, letting the cool night air wash over him. For two weeks he had been at Shaw's country mansion while time ticked away for Jeannie, and he was no closer to any answers. Shaw's motives for anything - let alone for wanting Wolverine here - were still a mystery.

He suddenly lifted his head, sniffing the air. There it was again...that strange, enticing scent. Faint traces of it had haunted him - always elusive, never traceable. It smelled like sunshine and rain and sweet grass, and he knew it was none of the women he had seen at the mansion so far. He leaned out the window, eyes searching the grounds, but could see nothing out of place. The breeze caressed his face, and instantly the scent was gone.

He growled in frustration, falling onto the bed and closing his eyes, his thoughts roiling with helpless fury. And then finally he slept, dreaming unaccountably of sunshine and rain and sweet grass and a woman who was always just out of reach.

[Author's Note: Please review...it means a lot! :-D]