#Victor Creed x Latina OFC

[furious-rogue-stuff]

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 13: Epilogue

Pairing: Victor Creed x Isabela Montecristo | Sabertooth x Vipress

Disclaimer: This series will have canon-accurate and heightened levels of violence, adult themes, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and graphic descriptions of sex. *Post-Origins movieverse.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word count: 3,500+

Series Summary: Victor Creed's reputation as the Sabertooth proceeds him. He clashes with a mysterious feral woman, an enigma and anomaly to everything he knows. What began as a hunt becomes a dance between like-minded predators.

🚨Warning: Explicit sex, adult situations, implied rape, graphic imagery, feral power play, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and a pinch of angst. I do not own any aspect or character of the Marvel Universe nor elements of the X-Men Origins movieverse.

A Feral Interlude Masterlist

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 13: Epilogue

He walked the feudal streets of the former imperial capital, guardedly watching the sights of people celebrating their ancestral festival with joy and excitement. Colorful lanterns decorated shrines and the ringing of bells chimed in echoes all around with the laughter and cheers of crowds. The feral wandered with no destination in mind, as had become his custom since he'd woken up with no memory of who or what he was.

Idly fingering his dog tags tucked under his shirt, Logan strolled down towards one of the biggest shrines in Kyoto on the other side of a vibrantly red bridge. The group of Japanese locals that bustled opposite him across the bridge paid him no attention as they discussed their plans and pointed out the lovely lotus lanterns that floated down river and under the bridge. Sniffing the air, Logan sifted the smell of snow that would come before nightfall as he crossed over to the shrine.

The subtle yet entrancing beauty of the Shinto shrine had attracted him since the first day he'd arrived in Kyoto. Across from the shrine he spotted a procession of beautiful geisha in their dazzling silks and alabaster faces with bright rouged lips. He stood off to the side under one of the shrine's torii, absently making sure not to lean against the gate as he shoved his hands into his leather jacket's pockets and watched the slow procession near. His gaze wandered from one lovely geisha up to the parasol of another before wandering over the procession and across at the stoic beauty of the surroundings.

She stood out to him immediately. Eyes like polished jade with a hint of gold in the middle; stark in their brilliance and focused alluringly on him.

Wearing a traditional kimono, she stood out from the surroundings. Not a geisha—her countenance wasn't painted with the white base mask of traditional geisha—but not a tourist either. His interest was piqued by her, but the long procession made it difficult for him to make his way towards the grove she was strolling by.

The sound of rambunctious children running by distracted him as he narrowly maneuvered out of the way from having the rowdy kids bump into him as they rushed towards the shrine. When he looked back at the spot she was in, she was gone. In an even pace, he strode around the procession and cut through a group of monks—apologizing curtly as he did so—and followed in the general direction the mysterious woman had been strolling in. Winding down a stone path that led back to the narrow streets of the imperial city, Logan wandered into the heavy foot traffic and looked around and over the throngs when he spotted a flash of her retreating kimono as it passed out of sight down a busy avenue. He followed, picking up the pace of his stride as he turned the corner.

He halted, perplexed to not see the mysterious woman anywhere and confused by the sudden scent that tickled his nose as a rickshaw passed him on the street. Turning, he missed catching sight of the rickshaw's passenger, but was instead left buzzing from a heady and raw perfume that was left in its wake—tantalizingly wild. Logan tried to sift the significance of such a tempting scent, but shook off the curiosity and muttered to himself, "It ain't a memory, bub. Just a nice-smelling geisha…"

Riding in the rickshaw, Isabela felt her pulse slow again. She hadn't been so close to another feral in what felt like ages now, let alone the very feral brother of her former lover. She hadn't expected to be lured by the gravitating scent that she'd caught in the breeze on her walk through the festival. She loved Japan and always held a fondness for the imperial capital. Kyoto had managed to remain as pristine as it had been at the end of the Tokugawa shogunate. The majesty of the city and all of its sites had lured her out into the crowds. She'd first caught his scent when the brooding feral was strolling through Maruyama Park and gazing up at the slumbering weeping cherry blossom tree. At first, she'd been confused by the familiarity of the scent and the unfamiliarity of the subject, until she'd seen him give a small smirk after he reached for a lonely pale pink blossom that was already in wilt and pressed it into his jacket pocket. The irreverent quirk of his boyish lips and the mirth that crinkled the corners of his eyes were very familiar and singularly reminiscent of Victor when he was devoid of any mischief or sadism; when amusement would curl genuinely free from the wickedness he wore like chainmail. Smiling, she was sure that the man had been the fabled Jimmy. His scent resembled Victor's, but unlike the feline feral, he had a softness in his brown eyes that disarmed her when they fell on her. He had looked young and bemused, struck by her, as if he'd never seen another feral before. It had stuck with her.

Musingly, she decided she would return to Tokyo before schedule. She suddenly felt ruffled by the proximity of another like her. It had made her yearn for contact—to share her true self with a being like her, especially one so close to the last person she'd tangled herself emotionally and physically with. Most of all, she'd been tempted to engage him and share her knowledge with him—about her and his brother. But the look in his eyes told her she and everyone in the world were strangers to him…it had unnerved her.

The animal wasn't pleased and whispered for her to remain as she's been: supreme and alone so as to avoid further entanglements of the mortal coil. Her intrigue curbed, she instructed the rickshaw man to take her to the train station. It was time she busy herself, and she knew Japan would keep her busy for quite a while thanks to its booming economy and rising global participation. Nothing better for a heavy heart than to toil at what one does best…

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It wasn't the Gobi desert, but he was sure if he stayed long under the blistering heat he definitely could go mad. He remembered a few times in Vietnam where he would be so overheated he would forget what he was doing—feel caged and need to lash out to gain his bearings. Wait, why am I even thinking of the Gobi-fucking-desert?

He tossed his head, rubbing the sweat out of his eyes as he leaned back on the tree branch and looked up at the rays of sun blazing through the canopy of trees all around him. He was high off the ground, balanced like a lounging big game cat. He'd radioed in for pickup over an hour ago, but that wasn't what he was worried about. Digging his claws into the tree bark, Victor brooded, eyes hooded and faraway as he tried to focus his thoughts. His mind flashed to Isabela sitting across from him, looking alluringly seductive as she smiled at him from behind a wine glass. Oh yeah…goddammit. 

Victor had lost track of how long it have been since rapture had fizzled out of his system, but every once in a while his mind would betray him with an errant memory or silly reminder of Vipress. His viper. Isabela Montecristo had sent a shock to his system, or at least that's what he told himself whenever he needed to get his mind off of her. Lately it hadn't taken that much effort, not with work keeping him occupied. Said work had taken him to most corners of the third world, including his current position. He liked government work. The perks were just as good as he remembered and the hassle was never his problem.

Having his bloodlust met and getting paid for it had alleviated some of his rancor and pent up impulsivity, leaving him to only brood over her. He had made it so he wouldn't have much time with his thoughts, and he liked it that way, until moments like this when all he had to do was think.

The murmur of a helicopter in the distance was a reprieve to his rising thoughts—his desires that left him angry and scornful and brashly strategizing his next move in recovering what was his. He needed time to distance himself from yet another blow to his ego…from yet another loss that he ultimately considered his fault.

With a growl, he stood up on the branch and began to climb his way up to the top of the tree, reaching the blazing sunlight beyond just as the helicopter came into his eye line from across the horizon.

                      _____________________________________

"An offer you can't refuse."

He both loved and hated that line now. Yeah, damn straight. Dan Dresner thought to himself as he gazed at the holographic archive that spun before him like a god come down from the heavens. It was all just so…beautiful. And he'd been involved—hell, he'd poured his mind and soul into it!

He didn't know where he was, who these people really were, or what side they were truly on, but he knew this could be used for both good and evil. The archive was unlike anything ever put together before. For once he felt a part of something revolutionary. Unlike his work for Stryker, his ability was used for knowledge's sake…for now anyway. He wasn't naïve. He knew that if Fury was just another Stryker—that all his work would go to mobilize destruction, human and mutant alike…but he didn't believe Fury was like Stryker.

Dan couldn't say he knew the man, but he knew what he'd read from him: Nick Fury was a man who loved his country and would do anything to defend it, short of the atrocities committed by evil men he'd fought against his whole military career. As far as Dan was concerned, he was doing good work, and was no longer ashamed or taking his powers for granted.

"Archeion, access mutant database. Codename: Archive," he instructed.

"Archive not registered, sir. Would you like to register?" The feminine-voiced computer asked.

"Yes," he responded, stepping into the middle of the hologram just as two electrodes descended from the central pedestal's ceiling console to attach to his temples. "Commence."

He closed his eyes and began to load into the computer all his self-knowledge about his mutant persona: Archive. Dan wasn't going to be a coward; he was committed to the whole process, good and bad of it. If it meant that he was now part of some list, so be it. There was no turning back, and for once, he wasn't scared of having to move forward into the uncertain future.

                      _____________________________________

Highlights of the Iranian Revolution played out on the screen mounted on the wall, the sound muted. The rest of the modern penthouse was sterile and utilitarian save for the dazzling view of Tokyo behind the plush couch she was lounging on as she watched the television. Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini rallied the crowds as the new Supreme Leader, and Isabela couldn't help muse ambivalently on how close she had played a part in any of it. It seemed to her that no matter how much she strove to remain distant from the mainstream world, she always found herself ensnared in sequences of events that would shape the present and future of a society. It was all too close for comfort.

Standing, she turned her back on the inset television that took up most of the wall and set her attention on the amazing view from her penthouse window.

It was yet another tower, separated from all the buildings around her, but unlike her place in NYC, it was much colder and severe. The style suited her lately, uncluttered and serene, albeit post-modern. After leaving Kyoto, she'd spent weeks on end staring out the window, just as she was now, wondering about her place in the world. Her beliefs had been shaken, undermined by the whirlwind she'd been swept up in, and all she could do was reflect on it all from the detached objectivity afforded to her by the beast within.

The viper…the animal inside of her had always been there to guide her. It would always be there for her, and during times of great soul searching, it was there to remind her: You are lethal. You are vicious. You are mighty. And you are me. We are indestructible and unattainable. 

This time, she wavered. Looking at her reflection in the glass, she stared into her preternatural gaze and thought that she was not alone. There were other animals like her out there, just as indestructible and fierce as she, but not as unrelentingly detached from the world. She had already crossed paths with one, and there were times when Victor weighed on her mind so persistently that she wondered if it wasn't time for her to rethink her path.

You'll cross paths again. If you choose to be his then…we will be his. 

The primordial whisper assured her, and she retreated to it, glad to be fortified by the gesture and soothed in the irrevocable acceptance of fate being what she would make. Isabela looked down on the world below, hope blossoming within her for the new decade before her and the absence of guilt she felt from the one past her.

                      _____________________________________

He much preferred subzero temperatures to sub-Saharan heat any day. The only problem with the cold climate was that blood would ice over and crystallize under his claws, which made them ache if he didn't pick them clean. Otherwise, the cold always gave him some sick form of comfort.

Victor made his way through the knee-deep snow, unfazed by the wind that whipped around him and obscured the landscape ahead. He was deep in the Northwest Territories, probably closer to the border of Yukon by now. The solitude of the almost polar landscape was an excellent place for his next rendezvous. Even with the modern conveniences of snowmobiles, most humans couldn't navigate the terrain. It was cruel and hostile—just like him.

Smirking, he scraped some of the frost that was collected along the fur of his jaw and made his way over an incline that camouflaged the secret base. He effortlessly trekked down to the unsecured series of structures, sniffing the air for any signs of vehicle exhaust. Looking east, he spotted the hangar and headed in route to it. Pushing the heavy side door open, Victor kicked the door closed after him, sealing the snow and howling wind outside as he loped over to the man sitting on the steps of the armored military helicopter. Which military? Victor didn't know and didn't care.

"What part of 'I'm on vacation' dontcha understand, huh, Hudson?" Victor groused acerbically as he approached the man, who was busying himself by lighting the cigarette dangling on his lip.

"The part where you come here for some R & R. Figured you were more bored than needing to relax," Hudson responded, inhaling deep and letting the puff of smoke exhale in a cloud from his nostrils. "Just cuz I said there were no supervisors doesn't mean yer not supposed to check in, Creed. And by the way, since when did you get into wearing fur? Kind of a weird look on yah, buddy," he straight-faced joked as he puffed away on his cigarette.

Dusting the melting snow off of his fur-lined trenchcoat, Victor snorted, "This ain't your mother's furs, asshole. 'Only wear what I kill, and this grizzly sure put up a fight; couldn't let the pelt go to waste." The other man whistled in response. "You didn't come here to give me shit about my fashion sense. What do yah want?" Victor muttered and gave him a calculating look that told the other man he hadn't trekked so far for low-rent shit.

Tucking the cigarette between his fingers, Hudson grabbed a folder that was sitting on the top step of the helicopter before tossing it to Victor. "Yah probably heard about this during your tenure with Striker." When Victor tilted his head in that dangerous way, Hudson quickly added, "A tenure we will never discuss, I remember."

Eyeing him sharply before pulling the form out of the file, Victor grunted and skimmed the old CIA form. His eyes lingered over a codename and he looked over at Hudson before looking at the name again, shoving the form back into the file and tossing it back at him. "Yeah, I heard about it, and I ain't interested," he stated with irrevocable steel in his tone.

"Yah sure?" the man said coolly as he stubbed out his cigarette on the side of the stairs.

"You guys can't afford me for this job. I'd charge double if I was interested, and I'm not interested," Victor remarked, his thumbnails idly flicking his other nails in succession, pinky to forefinger and visa versa. It was a telltale sign that he was impatient.

Hudson read the gesture and stood. "Alright. Not gunna lie, I was hoping you'd take it. Yer the only guy I could think of with the balls to go after him—"

"You fuckin' suck at flattery, Hudson, so can it. And do me a favor—don't fucking patronize me again," he let the deadly edge of his tone weigh the air before continuing, "Don't think just cuz I'll kill my own kind for money that I'm gonna help your kind tip the scales back in your collective favor."

"Figured you for a non-political kind of mutant, Creed, wouldn't peg you for a Homo-Superior—"

"So you pegged me for a self-loathing mutant bastard who'd wanna off a guy who thinks mutants are superior to humans? Last time I checked, you don't get paid to figure or peg—you get paid to hand out missions and get the fuck out of the way of the masters. And this fuckin' master is sayin' he's gonna pass on this…understood?" Victor snarled hostilely, watching as the other man shrugged and put his hands up in surrender of the argument.

"Got it, Creed. Sorry I disturbed your vay-kay. Just do me a favor: when yer done with the uninhabitable solitude, give me a call. I'll have something lined up for yah…" Hudson stated and with that, gave Victor a backwards wave as he turned and walked up the steps into the state of the art helicopter.

Victor watched the steps recede and the helicopter seal shut just as the roof of the hangar split and opened upwards. The advanced aircraft ascended into the howling elements, leaving the feral to huff and turn back towards the way he came. By the time he was stalking up the incline the helicopter was humming out of sight. Sprinting through the treeline, Victor prowled on all fours and galloped the rest of the way back to his hideout.

He had to admit, for the Sabertooth to be considered capable enough to be asked to take out Erik Lensherr was testament to how he'd come up in the world. Sure, he didn't take the job, but it meant he wasn't a lowly mercenary; he wasn't a guy you'd call to take out third world garbage anymore. More importantly, he was a man with options, someone to be up-sold and feared.

A smirk tugged on his boyish lips as he stared into the fire of his rustic hearth. It was a new decade, and a new day for Victor Creed. All the things—her—that he'd been longing for were pushed to the background in his mind. His solitary spirit was fortified and his pride swelled from the thought that he was at a place he'd always wanted to be: free, unburdened by guilt, and powerful in his own right. When it came down to it, he was the king of his mountain, and he liked his odds at staying on top. Most importantly, he was genuinely proud for the first time since he and Jimmy embraced their natures and formed their brotherhood close to a hundred years before.

The animal and the man were in true harmony…and nothing would change or stand in the way of that now.

The End.

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[furious-rogue-stuff]

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 12: Savage Return - Part 2

Pairing: Victor Creed x Isabela Montecristo | Sabertooth x Vipress

Disclaimer: This series will have canon-accurate and heightened levels of violence, adult themes, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and graphic descriptions of sex. *Post-Origins movieverse.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word count: 11,500+

Series Summary: Victor Creed's reputation as the Sabertooth proceeds him. He clashes with a mysterious feral woman, an enigma and anomaly to everything he knows. What began as a hunt becomes a dance between like-minded predators.

🚨Warning: Explicit sex, adult situations, implied rape, graphic imagery, feral power play, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and a pinch of angst. I do not own any aspect or character of the Marvel Universe nor elements of the X-Men Origins movieverse.

A Feral Interlude Masterlist

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 12: Savage Return - Part 2

He was at her door that night, smiling roguishly at her before sweeping past the door and slamming it shut behind him as he whisked her up into his arms and took her to bed. 

They became inseparable. Isabela and Eirik managed to resist gravitating to each other indefinitely by making it a point to keep up their personas or risk discovery altogether. It wasn't until several weeks into their affair that they made it public. After another performance at the club, Eirik escorted her to an officer's gala. His possessive stare and searing glares at anyone stupid enough to approach Isabela without his permission first became the talk of the society pages, and Isabela's coy smiles and lingering looks were very easy to manufacture.

She was in love. In certain moments, she felt magnetically charged when Eirik smiled at her, his eyes steely and his touch addictive. During those moments, she knew that Eirik was in love with her too. 

They put on a show for the outside world while in the meantime they extended Isabela's efforts in locating the Krause family. Once she'd confessed her motives to Eirik, he'd laughed, teasingly declaring that if she was willing to pimp herself out for mere mortals, they must've been special enough to warrant his help as well. Willem had been reluctant, at first, but when he saw the way Isabela had fought Eirik on not abandoning the search, he'd warmed up to the cunning creature his older brother had taken up with. 

Many leads became dead ends. Trails went cold, and without endangering herself by infiltrating deeper into German intelligence, she would not find the answers she needed. Willem had pulled her to the side one night, taking the opportunity of his brother's networking with a high-ranking official to warn her.

"You will not find them. Not without putting yourself in danger. You do that, and Eirik will give up everything to do the same. I cannot stand by and let that happen. Give up your search, Isabela," he somberly instructed, the hard set of his mouth softening when she visibly wilted at his words.

"I never told Eirik to put himself in any position for me. I made a promise, and if I break it—!" she cut herself off when Eirik approached them. "I can't give up. It doesn't concern either of you."

Willem opened his mouth argue, when his brother clamped his hand on his shoulder affably. "What are you two love birds doing in the shadows? Should I be worried, brother?" he teased, eyes full of zest as he smiled at Isabela.

"Not at all. We're merely chatting about you. I was telling her about some of your…adolescent exploits," Willem gave his brother a rare sarcastic grin before shooting Isabela a conspiratorial look.

Appeased, Eirik took Isabela's hand and whisked her onto the dance floor. Wrapping his hand around her waist, Eirik seized her into a possessive waltz, his fingers gripping her hand as his smile darkened. "What doesn't concern us?" he asked in a level growl.

Her heart skipped a beat, but she managed to meet his perturbed gaze as she prettily mused, "My efforts in locating Mischa and his family—"

"Don't lie to me," he grunted and dipped her rougher than he'd intended before hauling her back into the waltz. "You're upset. What did Willem say to you—?"

"It was nothing!" she hissed, her eyes sharpening in a predatory glare. "It's none of your business, lover," she amended softly. When she saw his eyes flash with rancor, she diverted her gaze demurely, so as to not make it obvious to everyone in ear shot that they were quarreling. 

Eirik grabbed her chin and forced her to look up at him, his eyes burning with something she'd not seen before as he held her transfixed on the outskirt of the dance floor. "For fuck's sake, Izzie! Will I have to give you my balls in a glass case for you to get it? You are my Valkyrie. My soul belongs to you and you damn well belong to me!" he vehemently growled. His thumb brushed her full bottom lip, unmindful of any stares they were receiving as he reined his anger back enough to murmur heatedly, "You are my business now. Stop shutting me out." His hand cupped her jaw before caressing along her cheek. When his thumb brushed across her lips again, she kissed it and pulled his hand to clasp hers so they could resume the waltz. 

When they had entered his and Willem's flat later that evening, Eirik whirled and grabbed his brother by the collar, shouting at him. Shoving him back, Willem snarled a snide retort before the two went into a biting quarrel that came close to blows until Isabela declared aloofly that she would be going home. Before she made it to the door, Eirik took her by the arm and led her into his room, sat her on the bed, and gave her a silent command to wait for him while he rejoined his brother in the main room. She listened as they argued tersely with each other before Willem stormed out, slamming the door behind him. 

"He will be gone to the whore house for the night."

She turned half way to acknowledge him when he entered the room. He couldn't help the smug grin pull at his lips. She was in mid-undress in front of a full-length mirror, fingers skimming the straps down her arms to slip her gown off her hourglass figure. "I don't want to get between you and your brother…" she murmured as she tossed her gown over a chair and slipped off her heels before lingering in front of the mirror. 

Shedding out of his jacket, Eirik began to undress, watching her pensively out of the corners of his eyes. Just when she thought the silence would stretch far too long, he rumbled nonchalantly, "Willem just does not understand. And…to a certain extent, neither do you, Izzie." She turned towards him, hair cascading down her back and shoulders as she furrowed her brow at him. He was now stripped nude in front of her, his powerful body in all its glory in the dimly lit room as he approached her. Skimming his hands down the curve of her hips, he hooked his thumbs into her panties and pulled them off until they slid off her legs to her feet. "When I was still my father's son, he would call me Loki. It was both a slur and a term of endearment. He once told me that I would never fall in battle, because there was no Valkyrie who would choose me to be slain. Like Loki, I was both accepted and ostracized among my kind…and because of that, I was a bastard in spirit. I would never transcend past being warrior." He paused, hands skimming up her body to cup her face. "But, I have found you. Like me, but so far above me. A goddess incarnate. My Sigyn…my Idunn…" he murmured, his steely voice raspy as he kissed her and whispered, "My Valkyrie."

Isabela was hushed by the significance of what he was saying. One of Eirik's drunken habits had always been to tell her of Norse folklore, recite Viking poems, and regaling her with tales of war. She knew who these figures were, and what they meant to him and his heritage. Sygin, the wife of Loki, a goddess who loves the notorious god and stays by his side during his bondage. Idunn, goddess of youth whom Loki covets, betrays and saves. And the Valkyrie, the watcher of warriors, chooser of the slain, and the lover of heroes. 

"I'm not a goddess, Eirik," she mused and turned away from him back to the mirror. "And even if I was…I don't want to take you away from the only family you have left."

She stared blankly at her reflection in the mirror, eyes lingering over the scar skirting her womb. It had been softened by time and the shedding of her skin, but the mark still remained, reminding her of a lifetime that had hollowed her out. Her hand lingered over her flat belly as she cocked her head to the side and pensively stared at her reflection. Eirik came up behind her, snaking his massive hand around her waist to rest over her navel as he swept her hair out of the way in order to murmur in her ear, "Izzie…Make your pick: Sigyn, Idunn, or just Valkyrie. Whichever you are matters not because you are only mine." His pale skin clashed with hers, but seemed to radiate a heat harnessed by his blood and flesh, all of which he pressed cheekily against her before gazing at her through the mirror. She saw his glacier blue eyes staring back at her with the joie de vivre glint in them that unnerved everyone else, especially when accompanied by the roguish smirk he flashed at her before he ducked down to nuzzle her neck. His skin scorched hers, leaving her tingling in his possessive embrace. She stared with hooded eyes at their reflection, his temple brushing hers and his blond hair dangling out of place when he muttered and smiled, "You are part of my family now…except you are family I want to take to bed."

She laughed, turning in his arms and purring, "How positively incestuous of you. Then again, it is coming from a man with a god complex. But…just because you fancy yourself to be Loki doesn't mean you can sway another immortal, Eirik…"

Chuckling gravelly against her throat, Eirik picked her up and took her to bed. When he woke from his post-coital doze to find her out of bed and staring out at the snow and the dark streets below, he climbed silently out of bed and approached her. He knew Willem was right. She would not give up her search for the humans she had befriended, not as long as she believed they were still alive. He was no fool, nor was he an optimist. The likelihood that they'd survived the ghettos was slim, and if they had, there was no way they would get out of the camps alive. 

Coming up behind her, he wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling her away from the window as he firmly groused, "They are dead, Izzie."

"You don't know that," she argued, pushing his hands away from her waist as she went to the window, looking down at the cold snowy night and at the Nazi soldiers that patrolled the streets.

"Even if they are still alive, they won't be for long." His warm body was scorching her skin from pressing against her. She whirled around and glared at him, but he just smiled, his eyes dancing with blue mischief as he cupped his hand around her chin.

"You're such a heartless bastard," she murmured with wavering contempt as she slapped his hand away. "What if it was your son of a bitch brother? Would you like it if I smiled in your face?"

He laughed, even when she pushed past him and went to grab her dress. "Izzie, please stop being so mundane," he mused and grabbed her, forcing her to turn and face him. "You can't control death, my Valkyrie. You're too perfect to care about mere mortals. If they are alive, let them survive by their own merit. It's how the rest of us have done it," he murmured in a liquid steel voice, his hands roving down her body to press her against his naked and chiseled frame. Her hands pressed against his broad chest, digging into the fine fair hair that dusted his pectorals before tugging on them. He yelped and laughed down at her, pulling her into his arms to kiss her, even when she struggled and struck him in the face. He tossed her on the bed, chuckling warmly at her before he leapt on top of her and framed his arms around her head. "Let's run away together," he hissed and smiled, his blond hair falling into his eyes before he could toss the strands back. "We could go to South America. Things here are falling apart anyway. I have only remained in Berlin because of you. Let's leave," he cajoled with sensual repose.

She avoided his gaze, her blood boiling with helpless anger. He caressed his fingers along the contour of her cheekbone, down her cheek, and tipped her face towards his. Under the glow of the lamplight, Isabela could make out the ragged scars that ran across his bicep. Her fingers trailed up his arm to trace the marred skin, transfixed by the ravages of time that peppered her lover's ageless body. She gazed into his blazing ice blue eyes, at the spark of zest that danced in them before tracing her fingers down his rugged features to brush along his lips.

"Just shut up and make love to me, Eirik."

His hearty laugh echoed around her, made her feel alive and ablaze with the joy of living that beamed out of him. "You cannot avoid my advances forever, Izzie. You are mine, Valkyrie—!"

"Yes, I know, Loki, now make love to me before I change my mind," she cut in before nuzzling his clean shaven jaw. He growled, rearing up to toss her onto the pillows so he could grab her wrists and pin them on either side of her head. He pressed slowly into her heat, his smile radiant and hair platinum under the overhead lamp. Isabela cried out, wrapping her legs around his waist and arching against him.

Eirik's laugh came out a groan as he sheathed into her and thrust up, tearing a mewl of pleasure out of her as he brushed against her womb. "Keep calling me that and I'll never leave your side, my Valkyrie," he groaned harshly against her lips before taking her in a fierce kiss. She clung to him, her hands clutching at the muscled planes of his body and rocking against him, the world outside dead to them as they lost themselves to each other. He caressed his hand up her thigh as he set the pace, causing Isabela to unfold into his warmth, breathless and hoping she never stopped feeling him.

"Eirik…" she clung to him when they reached bliss, feeling complete and loved. Entangled in each other's embrace, they fell asleep, unmindful of the world outside.

The outside world didn't remain static. The war was advancing towards a messy resolution, and Isabela was on the wrong side of it. She knew time wasn't on her side. She'd never imagined that her whole life would fall apart because of it. 

"You make me nervous, Valkyrie…" Eirik said from behind her. She could feel his gaze on her as he slowly prowled over onto the balcony.

"Why do I make you nervous?" She'd murmured, ignoring her impulse to look at him over her shoulder. She watched the night below in the streets of Berlin, and wondered if it was as caustically serene before the war.

"If you fall, I can't catch you."

Turning to give him a sultry look, she mused, "Give me a bit more credit, lover. I wouldn't embarrass you so on our engagement night!"

Chuckling he leaned against the railing and brushed his fingertips over her back, toying with her gown's shoulder strap. "Our guests are wondering where my fiancée scampered off to. Don't leave me to those hyenas," he groused and gave her a rugged smile.

Swinging into his arms, Isabela let Eirik carry her back into the bedroom, where he avoided the temptation to throw her down and get amorously carried away while the townhouse downstairs bustled with guests. Instead, they kissed and promised each other a torrid night once they were truly alone. The engagement party was thrown last minute by the owner of the club where Isabela had been performing during her stay in Berlin. Most of the guests were members of high society and the military, but the impromptu nature of the festivities meant anyone who was anyone was there, invitation or not. As the couple mingled, the music was stopped when a high-pitched clinking of a champagne bottle rang out through the parlors. 

Standing on the landing of the stairs was Willem, champagne bottle in hand as he replaced his weapon to its holster. He cleared his throat and smiled down at the couple, who seemed nonplussed. "I'm not one for speeches, so I'll keep it brief. My brother loved you from the moment he saw you singing under that spotlight on that stage. It seems pretty fitting that he'd propose to you tonight on it…to the chagrin of many, I'm sure," he paused when laughs rang out and agreements were shouted. "But, besides his theatrics…I know he did it because he wanted to let all know you were his. Mission accomplished, brother," he smirked and raised his champagne bottle, and the crowd cheered, raising their drinks to toast the couple. Walking down the stairs, Willem got through the crowd to embrace his brother. "The lieutenant-colonel is here."

His expression sobering, Eirik ground out lowly, "Why would I give a damn?"

Confused, Isabela looked between the brothers inquisitively. 

"He's been making trouble for us since the start. You didn't help matters by getting engaged to his ideal treat," Willem countered crisply, taking a long swig from the bottle before adding, "Besides…not like we could keep this up for long—!"

"He's got nothing, brother. If he did—"

"Maybe he has now. Did you ever consider how high profile you have been behaving?" Willem snapped, glancing around the room and giving Eirik a berating look. "Odin's cock, you're engagement will be in the paper tomorrow!"

"Will someone explain what the hell you're talking about?" Isabela hissed sharply, snapping the brothers' attention to her. 

Huffing, Eirik took her hand and led her to a secluded area of the party after contumely snapping to Willem, "It's a party, brother. Relax and have another drink!"

Isabela was reeling when he told her that lieutenant-colonel Brandt had been hostile to the supposed Walküre brothers since they arrived in Berlin. She knew it meant he was suspicious of them, and the fact that she'd been a pawn that fueled more of the man's hostility towards them wasn't good. "Eirik, if he finds out—"

"I'll kill him," he declared with a genuine smile. When she stared stoically at him, he sneered, "What? You think this hasn't happened before? Gods' sakes—we've been doing this much longer than you, Izzie." When she looked down at her engagement ring, a dazzling stone set in a white gold band, Eirik's anger waned. "It is nothing to worry about, my Valkyrie…"

"I trust you Eirik." She looked into his eyes and caressed his cheek, watching as his eyes blazed with pride. "It's just…if things fall apart here, I won't be able to just leave them behind."

Eirik set his jaw, his features brooding. He was warring with what to say just when they were interrupted.

"Ah, there you are. The happy couple already, I see," the lieutenant-colonel condescended saccharinely, his smile false. "Congratulations are in order."

"Lieutenant-colonel," Eirik gave him a curt nod, but did not salute him. Instead, he encircled Isabela's waist with one arm and kept his eyes level. 

"It is very nice to see you again, lieutenant-colonel Brandt," Isabela offered, feeling the venom between the men thick in the air around them. 

"And you as well, Fräulein Contezza. I must say, I would have not guessed you'd get involved with a man of such a…rank," he snidely drawled, giving Eirik a viciously smug look. "But, I suppose Walküre here can count himself lucky, eh Ivan?"

"Very, lieutenant-colonel. Been lucky since the first time she and I met," Eirik countered debonairly, adding roguishly, "You were there, remember? I must thank you, actually. If you hadn't left Isabela in mid-conversation, I wouldn't have had the chance to have her for that dance."

The consternation was boiling in the other man's eyes as he gave a cold smile. "How quaint of a thought. Anyway, I wanted to give my congratulations, as well as invite you both to an exclusive get-together on my estate in the country. When you see your brother, extend the invitation to him as well. I'd like very much for you all to attend." And with that, the man turned and left, leaving the two immortals in the back parlor to wonder what the eagle-eyed man's purpose could be. 

"His ears must've been burning," Isabela quipped when they were back at her suite. Willem snorted while Eirik brooded over at her. 

"I don't like it, Eirik. I told you—"

"Yes, more than once now. I don't want to be told again."

She watched the brothers glare at each other, seeming to communicate volumes with their blue eyes alone. No matter what they argued about, they always silently agreed and would look at her in hopes she deciphered the unheard exchange. This time, they all knew they had to attend, or otherwise risk even more suspicion. 

"What if I use poison on him?"

Eirik turned towards her and glowered. "I don't want his filthy hands on you—"

"Poison would involve my hands being on him," she mused and gave him a rueful smirk.

The amusement didn't reach her lover, however. "I'll snap his neck with my bare hands if he so much as looks at you." He paused, hands clenched to fists as he stormed about, pacing. "We should just leave."

"Eirik, I cannot leave—"

He whirled on her. "No. You will not leave. There is a difference!" His eyes were blazing with rage, his expression hard as he rumbled caustically, "All you will find of those mortals is ash. The Jews are being put into ovens; they are being burned alive. You just refuse to believe it, even when you look up at the sky and smell the charred smoke in the air! They are dead. Your promise was broken the moment they were taken. You will not fulfill it by saving ash." He was furious, glare striking her like lightning. Instead of the anger he expected from her, he helplessly watched as she wilted, eyes becoming haunted as they welled with unshed tears. "Izzie…"

"You two can finish snapping at each other. The way things are looking, both of you can abscond while you still have the opportunity. I don't have that luxury. I'm done discussing it," she stated and briskly walked out of the sitting room. 

Willem clenched his jaw, feeling awkward about being in the middle of such a turbulent exchange. He watched his brother look lost and vicious, anger turned inward. "Eirik…go after her." His older brother looked at him with a flash of surprise. "It's not about whether they are dead or alive. It's about knowing one way or the other. She will not cease her search until she knows for sure…"

Setting his jaw, Eirik gave him a sober look. "How am I supposed to let her go?"

Willem betrayed a wry smile. "You? Let her go? I know you, brother. That is not even an option. You either have to give her the answers, or convince her she doesn't want them anymore."

She was staring pensively down at her engagement ring when he came in and shut the door. "You can't convince me of anything, lover, so please…don't bother," she mused coolly. His anger was palpable in the air, and so was the rare scent of bewilderment. Turning to face him, Isabela murmured serenely, "I trust you, Eirik. With my life…they trusted me with theirs. If I already failed them…"

He took her into his arms and held her, wordlessly promising her the world with his strength and protection. 

Eirik showed that same fierce protection when the trio attended the lieutenant-colonel's soiree. The man's estate was far out in the country, close to a private airfield on the far side of a thick wood from the lieutenant-colonel's property. The house itself was bleak on the outside and opulent on the inside. The guests were much more austere than what she was used to, and she made it a point to stay close to Eirik. Not that he would've let her stray far anyway, but knowing the animosity that existed between the brothers and the eagle-eyed man made her wary of straying from his side. The scents of musty tapestries intermingled with the smell of succulent food that wafted throughout the parlors; the atmosphere felt stale to her regardless. The grandfather clock struck midnight, and most of the guests seemed unmoved by the late hour. She looked about the room, a bit perturbed by the stuffiness of the event when Eirik's hand pressed into the small of her back and guided her to his side.

"You look lost," he whispered in her ear, keeping his eyes sharp for their host. 

"I want to leave. I don't think we should've come…" she murmured back, a sense of dread rising in her for no real reason. 

"Why?" he inquired, his frame stiffening as he sensed someone approaching and he turned to face the host of the soiree. 

"Ah, Walküre, there you are. Where is your brother? I'd like to have a word with the two of you," the lieutenant-colonel Brandt gazed pompously at the couple. "I know I ask much for you to part from your lovely fiancée, but it's a matter that cannot wait."

Isabela looked about, noticing how the party seemed to be dwindling as people began departing. She could hear the revving of engines outside, so she interjected, "Maybe this could wait for another opportunity, lieutenant-colonel Brandt. It seems the hour is late and we've taken advantage of your hospitality too long—"

"Unfortunately, I have had all the civilian guests depart. Seems that a bit of a war room scenario is occurring back in Berlin, so all men of rank must remain. I suggest that the lovely Contezza retire for the night. My personal driver will transport you, or if you wish, I have several rooms that would…accommodate you for the evening," the supercilious man offered, glancing towards Eirik. He looked over the immortal's shoulder and called, "Ah, Anselm. I require you and your brother to join me in my study."

Willem stalked over to the trio, his expression just as stony as Eirik's as he glanced at Isabela. She read his eyes. They told her all she needed to know. "Lieutenant-colonel? I believe I will retire for the evening. Please, try to have my fiancé back before morning," she smiled, turning to give Eirik a knowing look before she kissed him and departed towards the carport. 

Once she was sure all the guests were gone, she made short work of disposing of the chauffer and moving the car out of sight—just in case they needed a getaway. Leaving the keys in the ignition, she prowled back to the estate and kept to the shadows, senses sharpened and predatory instincts attuned to every movement and sound in the darkness. She rounded the flank of the large house and came upon a group of privates who were sitting about, smoking cigarettes and waiting tensely for something. They were all holding rifles, and she suddenly felt fear seize her chest. Managing to sneak back into the house, she prowled stealthily, seeking out the back chambers where a study would be located in the mansion. The sounds of men chatting lured her to the study door. 

"—the situation is tenuous. The Fuhrer will no longer tolerate any form of insurrection, nor will he turn a blind eye to the inconsistencies that have befallen certain areas of the SS. Thus, I must tell you both…the jig is up," she heard the man snap.

Inside the room, Eirik and Willem exchanged a look before glancing around at the men of rank assembled in the room. Defiantly, Willem raised his gaze to the lieutenant-colonel and drawled, "We don't know what you mean, sir."

Eirik, was glaring daggers about the room before meeting the man who stared smugly at him. "It's pointless, brother. He's planned to have us eliminated. That's why we're here, is it not?"

"The beautiful Contezza will miss you very much, I'm sure. How she could've fallen for a Norse dog—an imposter even—is beyond me. Luckily, I'm sure she will require consoling once word of your disappearance reaches her. The poor thing…" the man chuckled. 

A swift knock to the study door startled all those present. Eirik's shoulders squared furiously and Willem was buzzing with suppressed rage when one of the men stalked over to the door and pulled it open. There was no one on the other side. Bemused, he turned back to the room and shrugged just as the lights went out. The brothers used the diversion to go on the offensive, attacking the men in the dark and avoiding the potshots from handguns in the darkness. In the chaos, Isabela joined the fray and tossed a man effortlessly through the large lattice window.

"Let's go!" Eirik grabbed her wrist and hauled her away, rushing through the darkened house with Willem in toe, making a mad dash escape.

"This way! We must make it out the front—!" Isabela instructed and tried pulling them in that direction.

"No!" Eirik barked and pushed her to the ground just as a barrage of gunfire rang out and splintered through the walls and front door. "They've surrounded the house. I don't sense anyone upstairs," he snapped as he pulled her from the floor and led the way up the stairs.

"We'll be trapped, Eirik!" Willem called out behind them as they made it to the second floor. "Wait, this way!" he said and dashed up a third staircase, followed closely by the lovers as they entered a drafty attic. "Barricade the door. If we get out the window, we can scale the north buttress and leap down towards the forest. There's no one facing that direction," he said and kicked the window open.

"There's a car on the south side! We need to get to it—!"

"No chance, Izzie. I can sense men coming up that road. Reinforcements," he tersely cut in and led her to the window, climbing after his brother and leading her across the roof to the buttress wall. "The woods are our only advantage now."

The trio of immortals managed to make it across the roof and over the loose shingles and buttresses towards a drop that could be scaled down by bracing arms and legs against one wall and pinning their backs against the opposite wall in order to slide carefully down the 3-story mansion. Once down on the ground, Isabela led the way, her feral senses showing her the way with the brothers close behind. The shouting of men echoed around them in the darkness, bouncing off the hollowed out woods of the trees around them and making it difficult to decipher the distance between them and the angry SS-rank gunmen behind them. Rushing through the woods, Isabela kept calm, even when her heart wanted to burst from her chest. She could sense a disarming focus in the Viking immortals, unfazed and spoiling for battle even when they were retreating. 

"I guess you were right, Izzie."

"I'm always right, Eirik, now be quiet."

"Would you two extinguish the lust for the moment? I can't see shit in front of me!"

They managed to silently exchange humorous snickers as they crossed the woods and neared the flatland that was part of the airfield. "I can smell the exhaust of a plane. It's being refueled. If you get me on it, I can fly us out of here. I don't know how far, but we can't stay in Germany," Isabela murmured, crouching behind the embankment to peek at the lit runway. 

Eirik and Willem exchanged a damnable look before hopping over the embankment and heading for the post station where two guards were watching the plane get refueled. Sighing, Isabela prowled like a stealthy lizard across the field towards the plane, hoping to dispose of the airman tending to the fuel and the men running the plane before the boys made it over. The job done, she waited for them to rush over towards her, but when they didn't come, she prowled around the other side of the plane and saw them being pointed at by SS gunmen while the two guards lay dead on the ground in front of them. Brandt was pontificating to them, asking where their accomplice was when she practically emerged from the shadows and stood between them and the guns. The shock on the man's face was priceless, even more so when she used her primal agility and speed to rip his larynx out of his throat. The Viking brothers behind her saw the blood mist the air around her and the bloodlust ignited in them. They all made due with their battle prowess as they decimated most of the men before any could fire off a shot. Isabela found herself watching her Viking lover reach his berserker plateau, a feat she'd been told in stories and hadn't witnessed before until the moment he roared and used the butt end of a rifle as a mallet and split a man's skull apart. Willem pulled out his boot knife and gutted a private before slicing another man's jugular in a swift waltz-like combination. 

Then, the gunfire erupted from the trees. 

Isabela felt fire cut into her body, but her adrenalin kept her on her feet as she stared over at Eirik and Willem returning fire with their own weapons. She ran towards them, but Eirik roared at her to get to the plane. When he saw her riddled with bullets, he faltered. Willem howled like a man possessed and rushed at the men who ran at them, completely berserk. He didn't realize he was shot until the 3rd bullet hit him in the chest. Time froze as Eirik grabbed his brother and fought him from running at the men, dragging him forcefully to the plane as Isabela returned rapid fire with a machine gun left in the fray. Eirik had to wrestle Willem into the plane and bark at him to stop, while the dark haired man raged in their native tongue, struggling against the irate fury of his state and trying to claw the bullet out of his chest. Desperately, Isabela emptied her gun at the reinforcements before pulling the door shut and running to the controls. 

She could hear Willem shouting in pain and rage, while Eirik screamed at him in their Norse tongue. The sounds of gunfire were muted over the roaring of the plane's engines as she set it in motion to take speed and lift off from the air field. She could hear the world around her as if submerged under water when her hearing finally keened back to normal acuteness. She finally heard the guttural yells from Willem. Managing to keep them in the air, Isabela looked over her shoulder to the back of the cargo area where Willem was sprawled out on his back and simultaneously being clutched semi-upright by Eirik. The amount of blood shocked her back to reality. She could see the bloody froth on the corner of Willem's mouth as he hacked up dark blood and tore at his brother, writhing in pain. The bullets in her own wounds were being pushed out by her mending tissue and flesh to clatter to the metal floor of the plane before her skin mended over. 

"Why isn't he healing?" She shouted as she banked the plane over an air current that would allow them to increase their altitude more rapidly. 

Eirik didn't answer her. He had gone silent while Willem raged and moaned in agony, eyes transfixed to the gunshot wound in his younger brother's right pectoral. He could hear the wheezing in his chest as his lung was taking in blood.

"S-should have left—" Willem choked back a gurgle, "-left me behind!"

"Eirik! What's happening! Why isn't he healing?" Isabela shouted back at them again, hands gripping the wheel as she looked back at her lover. The look on his face was one of sheer devastation. Her heart sank, leaving a hollow pit in her chest. She engaged the autopilot blindly once their altitude was secure and rushed to the back of the plane. "Willem…" she gingerly pressed her hand on his chest and flinched when Eirik grabbed her wrist and looked her in the eyes. His gaze was a frozen tundra. There was not an ounce of the joy that heated his gaze when he looked at her. Then, her mind assaulted her with flashes of Eirik's bruised and battered knuckles and the jagged scars that riddled his body. The realization that she had assumed they both had healing factors comparable to hers was a stunning blow when the truth had been there right in front of her. Realizing what was happening, she shuddered, her eyes widening onto Willem's.

"Not…usually so slow," Willem rasped, chuckling until he started hacking up blood. "Never seen an immortal die before?" he grinned, teeth filmy with bloody saliva as he wheezed.

She stared down and took account of his wounds. A bullet pierced a lung, another came dangerously close to hitting his stomach, while another perforated his shoulder. The realization elicited a startling anguish in Isabela. When she looked up at Eirik, her eyes were brimming with tears. He stoically stared back at her, his sorrow etched in the corners of his mouth and his eyes. 

"Your Valkyrie's…shedding tears for me…brother…" Willem rasped painfully, the humor in his tone crisp as his fingers dug into Eirik's arm and hissed, "Make her stop…she looks too beautiful." 

"Count yourself lucky, brother. She's not shown me such a beautiful gift. Consider it your parting victory over all of our other brothers who have fallen before you." Eirik stared into Willem's eyes, managing a sad smile as his brother laughed and clutched at him. "A Valkyrie incarnate, taking you to Valhalla. I'm so jealous," Eirik husked, eyes capturing hers as he reached for her face and wiped a stream of tears from her cheek and unintentionally smeared blood on her jaw. 

"Bury me with the others?" Willem whispered, blue eyes beginning to glaze as his body relaxed its struggles against the agony of his wounds. 

"You're leaving me alone."

Willem smiled at his older brother's stony expression. "Alone? I'm leaving you with your own Valkyrie. We'll all be jealous of you on the other side…I'll miss you, brother…"

When the light went out of Willem's eyes, Isabela silently wept, tears streaking her face while Eirik held his brother, whose expression managed to retain the peaceful smile that had graced his lips before he took his last breath. Eirik lowered his eyelids and caressed his hair, a gentle gesture she'd never seen from him. For what felt like an eternity, they remained in their place, keeping vigil of the departed dark Viking prince—his youngest brother and the last link to his first life. 

The beeping from the console forced Isabela to return to the wheel and navigate them towards a course north…far north. They remained at a low enough altitude that they evaded most radar frequencies. Intuitively, she knew she was taking them home. To the mausoleum carved into mountain rock within a cave, at the foot of a mountain...to the land of his father still untouched by modern civilization and desolated by the winter. They buried Willem as was custom in the Northwolf clan, among the warriors of his family and over the watchful statue of their father. 

Once the time came, Isabela secured safe passage for them both to Argentina, the only place two immortals like them could go under their particular circumstances and get lost in the shuffle. Unable to access her cache of accounts, Isabela bartered their trip with her engagement ring. Eirik hadn't batted an eye at her handing it over; he hadn't spoken much since leaving his homeland, but told her she belonged to him, ring or not. 

Once on the boat to South America, she realized she broke her promise. It was a decision akin to a sacrifice than a broken promise. A sacrifice made in exchange for the sacrifice Eirik made; her adopted family sacrificed in return for his sacrificed brother. She felt numb from it, and could only wait for Eirik's brooding period of mourning to pass. He never expressed his loss, not when his brother died in his arms, not at his family gravesite, and not to her. 

It wasn't until weeks later when they had made it to Buenos Aires that his fury finally boiled over. Isabela had bought a sprawling ranch with 25 acres of land in the countryside for them both and had been delegating tasks inside their new home when a loud crash rattled the walls and ceiling. She ran up the stairs and past the startled helpers to find Eirik decimating one of the rooms. The wardrobe was demolished and more furniture was piling up as it was hurled against walls. 

"Eirik!" she rushed forward just in time to see the Norse immortal bury his fist in the wall. He was raging against personal demons, seething through clenched jaw as he hauled his arm free and picked up a huge mirror from above a vanity table and throttled it into another wall. Blinded in his fury, he pushed Isabela out of the way and stalked out of the room, his thunderous footfalls retreating as he left the house. She chased after him and caught up to him at the ridge that overlooked the adjacent valley. 

He had fallen to his knees and was pounding his fists against the rock ground, scenting the air with his blood and incandescent fury. Isabela helplessly stood and watched him continue to brawl with himself until he fell back on his heels and stared ahead, features sweaty and eyes wild. After what felt like an agonizing silence, he spoke, his voice hoarse and guttural. 

"Willem was my youngest brother. All my other brothers fell in battle over the millennia…the Northwolf clan died very slowly, and left no heirs. Willem…was the rogue, the unwanted son…if my father hadn't been clan head, he would've been left out in the tundra to die…a bastard son who wanted nothing more than to be honored warrior amongst the rest of us. He was more honorable than the lot of us…and he is dead."

She felt helpless despair. For him, for herself, and for all the pain they shared. "We are alone…"

Eirik slowly turned his glacier azure eyes towards her. "No. We remain, but we are not alone, Isabela. I…I was so angry with him for being slain before me…" The reality of what he was saying was like a knife to her heart, but she remained firm until he turned and reached for her. "Now…I am happy he went to Valhalla…and I remain here with you by my side."

Isabela fell into his arms and held him while he kissed her desperately, her soothing caresses lulling him away from the raging berserk state. She told him then that she loved him, and she meant it with every fiber of her being. Eirik had embraced her, pressing his forehead against hers as he professed, "Love is too weak to do you justice, but it shall have to suffice, Izzie…"

They put the past behind them from that moment on and made a life in beautiful paradise, remaining private and content in their secluded lives with each other. Isabela was truly happy living so close to the lush rainforest so like the land of her childhood, and Eirik was content laboring on the land. He spent most days making improvements on their property and watching Isabela pick wild flowers. They would walk through the fields at dusk, and make love under the twilight sky. 

One day Isabela was walking barefoot through a field of vibrant wildflowers, her linen dress fluttering around her knees while the cool mountain air swept down over her and the sun warmed her skin. She looked ahead at the rolling hills of the Argentinian countryside, her hands out. The laugh bubbled out of her and she started spinning, arms out, hands sweeping through the tall grass and flowers as she twirled like she used to when she was a child.

"I'm getting dizzy just watching you," the raspy chuckle made her smile before she stopped and turned to face him.

The Norse berserker stood shirtless, as he must have thousands of times throughout his millennia, sweaty from his labors and smiling roguishly at her. His blond hair looked like gold wheat under the rays of the sun, and his eyes were shadowed by his furrowed brows as they squinted in the early afternoon light. His khaki trousers and boots were caked with dirt and grime. He looked happy, the blues of his eyes were even blazingly clear as he walked through the flowers towards her. She smiled mischievously at him before taking off, running through the field with him shouting and chasing behind her.

He caught her by her waist and lifted her effortlessly, swinging her around before she wriggled in his arms to face him. They laughed as they fell in a writhing tangle before he rolled and pinned her under him. His usually swept back locks dangled down to tickle her forehead when he kissed her, his hands claiming every curve of her before he whispered into her ear: "My Valkyrie…"

Her eyes softened as she gazed up at his handsome features, the swell that itched deep into her bones making her feel effervescent and young.

The rays were blotted out by his broad shoulders and bowed head, spilling around him like streams of light that made everything fuzzy.

"Are Valkyries capable of love?"

His mouth brushed hers before trailing to her cheek, murmuring, "Only if they deem their warrior worthy. Am I worthy, Valkyrie?"

"You're not my warrior, Loki," she mused mockingly, "you can't be a god and a warrior—"

"Just because I'm a bastard like Loki doesn't mean I am god," he husked, his steely tenor dark as he framed his arms around her head. "I am warrior. I'll die warrior, my Valkyrie. Am I worthy?"

His smile was dangerous, but his eyes were expectant. She caressed his stubbled jaw and closed her eyes.

"You're worthy as long as you stay with me, Eirik…"

He brushed the backs of his knuckles along her cheek. "I belong to you, Isabela. I do not plan on leaving…you are mine," he murmured soberly, his lips molding sensually to hers when they embraced each other protectively. 

Before they noticed, several years had passed. They'd spent most of the time as recluses, loving the solitude and feeling untouched from the rest of the world. It was a paradise built in comfort and trust, kept warm by their blazing passion for each other. So when the unexpected intruded on their lives, neither immortal was prepared.

Isabela had been on the patio preparing lunch in the clear afternoon when she heard the cars coming down the road. Military officials from Buenos Aires along with provincial deputies parked their unmarked cars and crossed the lot to the house when she came around the patio to the front porch. The captain made a great show of his position, requesting to enter the house and talk at length with her. She acquiesced, a chill trickling down her spine as a sudden fear sprung up in her. Eirik was on the far end of the property toiling away, and she silently prayed he'd stay there.

"Bueno, as you might be aware, the administration has made it a priority to locate any defectors or former ranking members involved in the Nazi regime, and extradite them to face their crimes. It has come to the attention of the province minister that such a war criminal resides on this property with you—" 

Isabela was thinking tactically. Could she manage to kill the 2 men before the provincial deputies would be alerted? Just as she was going to strike, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. 

Eirik stood in the doorway, his eyes guarded as he wiped his hands with a handkerchief. "Didn't know we had guests." The captain went through the titles and declarations he'd come all the way to the countryside to make, and told Eirik he was being detained and taken back to Buenos Aires. He looked at Isabela, and she saw the flicker in his eyes before they narrowed on the men. "While I did go by the name and rank you are looking for, I have no intentions of being taken. If you plan on extricating me by force, I suggest you reconsider," he warned, his shoulders squaring and his gaze vicious.

The men pulled their weapons and the captain sneered a threat that had Isabela intervening. "Captain, I'm sure this can be resolved—" she shimmered herself with rapture with the intention of brushing the man's hand when she got between them. She hadn't expected to be pistol-whipped across her cheek. 

As she jerked away from the blow, she heard the pop of a gun firing and saw a blur of movement. The stinging across her cheek was brief and forgotten when she turned and watched as Eirik pummeled the captain and bashed the other man's head against a wall. The commotion alerted the men outside, who kicked in the door and brandished their weapons at them. She ran to Eirik and threw her arms around him, shielding him with her body as she pleaded with the men not to shoot. They shouted at her to get out of the way, and she resisted, arms gripping Eirik and realizing the bullet had grazed his right arm. 

"Izzie, let go," he rumbled, his eyes intently glaring at the men. The deputies continued to shout, but weren't foolish enough to advance and get between the couple. "Izzie!" he hissed and cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. When her eyes brimmed, he brushed his knuckles along the diminishing bruise across her cheek. "Do not interfere."

She was shocked as he held her away from him and stepped towards the deputies. When she whirled around, she held fast to his arm, zipping enough rapture in him for her to declare, "Stay with me, Eirik."

He looked back at her and she saw the lust gather in the blue of his eyes, but the smile he gave her was haunted and determined. "You know I want to, but not like this. I have run far. There is nowhere for me to run…I will not have you sacrifice more for me." 

Shattered by his words, Isabela wilted, numbed to the bone. He pulled his arm away and let the deputies take him. A cold jolt propelled her forward to run after them, shouting for them to stop. One set of deputies forced Eirik into their car before getting in and leaving in a dust up, while another pair held her back and tried pleading with her to calm down. She saw Eirik turn to look at her in the back window and a sudden terror seized her. 

That terror remained when she went to the courts and was barred from entering. Instead of extradition, Eirik was sentenced to execution by firing squad. Before she knew what she was doing, she'd forced her way into the fortification used to house prisoners until their sentences were carried out. When she entered the dungeon, she ran over to Eirik, who was sitting broodingly in his cell. 

He had looked up and the haunted smile curved his lips, his eyes hooded. "My Valkyrie…" Isabela ignored him and began sizing up the bars of the cell, looking for a weakness in the structure so she could use her superhuman strength. Seeing the determination in her eyes, Eirik stood and approached her. "I know you are angry with me—"

"You promised to stay with me." The seething remark was not as cutting as her gaze. 

Meeting her gaze without as much of a glint of guilt, Eirik rumbled, "I never made such a vow, Isabela. It is a vow I could never make."

Her gaze widened and she gripped the bars. "You're choosing this?" her voice broke, and he reached his hand to cup her cheek as he shushed her soothingly.

"I am choosing to spare you anymore sacrifice—"

"By sacrificing yourself?" she incredulously jabbed. "By—by leaving me alone?"

His blue eyes softened as he caressed her face. "I was never meant to live this long, Isabela. I am warrior. Sickness nor disease would claim me, because I was meant to fall in battle…not live for centuries—but I have, because I was the fiercest of my clan. All before and after me have been slain in battle…I have realized I was meant to fall outside of battle. I was never worthy to die with glory…"

"What if you're meant to just live?" she vehemently hissed, tears streaming from her radiant eyes as her poised countenance fell away to reveal her pain. "Eirik, I won't let you die—!"

"I do not expect you to."

The crushing sense of helplessness that seized her left her stunned, gripping his hands over the bars as she confessed, "Part of me will die with you…I'll never let go."

Bowing his head, he murmured, "You must go, my love. I sense guards approaching."

"Eirik!" she sobbed, and reached for his face, but he slowly pulled away from her touch. "Please—!" she sighed painfully. He paused and gave her a pitilessly chiseled expression of resolve. 

"Isabela…I love you, but there's nothing that can get between me and the end. I am ready for it. Do not think it means I do not want to stay…my time has just come." He leaned between the bars and kissed her one last time, and she clung desperately to him, returning the kiss even as tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped down her throat. Eirik brushed her tears away and murmured, "Go now."

Hesitating, she fought the closing of her throat and whispered, "I love you, Eirik." She heard the guards approach, but she couldn't move. Something inside her told her to stay.

Eirik sensed the ruthless shift in her and reached for her, but she stepped away from the bars. "Izzie—!"

"I love you, Eirik. I will not let anyone, and that includes you, take you away from me!"

"No!"

The door of the dungeon opened and the shouting guards advanced towards her. She whirled on them, baring her elongated carnivorous teeth before pouncing on them. The chaos alarmed anyone in ear shot, and before long the room was riddled with corpses with Isabela in the epicenter. She turned back around, a beast covered in gore with a wild look in her eye as she stared back at her imprisoned lover.

It would be the last time she'd see him alive.

The bullet ricocheted against her temple and blasted her back. The sound of Eirik bellowing became a muddled cluster of sensations as she slowly lost consciousness. 

Before she realized it, her eyes were snapping open to stare up at the stoned ceiling of the dungeon. She caressed her temple and felt the wound finish mending shut. Panicked as awareness returned to her, she found herself left alone in the carnage she'd created; Eirik wasn't in his cell, and the dungeon door was bolted shut. A horrible fear struck her, and propelled her to throw all her strength at the door with a feral cry. The doorframe splintered and gave way under her savagery. Isabela shot off, running down the corridors, trying to find her way through the labyrinth to the execution yard, when she heard the roar of rifles echo violently throughout the building. 

Terror tore her heart asunder. She stumbled, sheer desperation taking over her brain as she ran out into the glaring sunlight. When her eyes adjusted, the first thing she saw were the soldiers lowering their rifles. The second thing she saw was Eirik. He was slumped against the cement pillar he'd been tied to for his execution, the ropes the only thing keeping him upright. His head was bowed against his bullet-riddled chest, and the sun's rays caught in his blond hair, turning it into gold and platinum tendrils that haloed his head while shadowing his face. 

Shakily, she walked out into the sunlight, eyes transfixed on her slain lover. The soldiers saw her and panicked, forcing Isabela's brutal gaze onto them. She slaughtered them, making short work of the small firing squad before returning her attention to Eirik's lifeless body. The devastation of what she was seeing finally hit and sunk her onto her knees in front of him. She pressed her head to his knees, and began to weep before her hands gripped onto him. Desperately, she slashed at the ropes keeping him to the pillar and caught his tall and imposing frame before it hit the ground. Wrapping her arms around him, she gripped him against her chest as a shattering wail tore from her chest. She held him and unleashed her agony, her tears dampening his blond head and his blood soaking her as she lost herself to the insufferable anguish of her loss. 

She hadn't been there. Eirik had died alone, with no one to see him pass on in the glory of his light. He was dishonorably slain—outside of battle and the heroism he deserved. Incensed in her grief, Isabela pressed kisses to his forehead and temple, murmuring her love for him and feverishly apologizing. For what felt like an eternity, she clutched her dead lover before an unsettling calm fell over her. She stared into his lifeless blue eyes, so much like his brother's, and closed them before pressing soft kisses to his eye lids. He would not be buried with his clan. She wouldn't let him rot on the opposite side of the world. She had to ensure he'd find his way to Valhalla. 

With fierce resolve, Isabela went about killing anyone else in the fort before collecting all the wooden furniture and organizing it into a haphazard funeral pyre with Eirik resting on top. She watched the flames ignite and devour the wood under the blazing summer sky, falling to her knees and praying for the first time in centuries for her lover to pass through this world and be carried to the afterlife. Once the last ember burned out, Isabela collected all the ash and gathered it into a metal case she'd gotten from one of the artillery bunkers and collected herself before leaving the devastation behind. 

She returned to the ridge where Eirik had fallen to his knees and confessed his love for her so many years before. Falling to her own knees, she opened the metal case and scattered his ashes to the wind, hoping it would lead him to the realm of warriors he deserved to ascend to. After watching the wind currents spirit the ashes away and out of sight, Isabela stood and slowly wandered down from the ridge. She kept wandering, no purpose or direction in her mind, losing herself to the soothing animal within her that told her to rest while it protected her. It did just that, taking her back home into the jungle, where she remained for close to a decade before she emerged again, centered and keener than she'd ever been.

Once again, the world around her had grown and had become global. America was a super power, Central and South America were in chaos, and the rest of the world struggled to keep up. The war of long ago had left everything different, and more importantly, had begun to reveal that all around the world there were others. Others like her. They were called mutants. The knowledge of these beings wasn't part of the mainstream—not yet—but most governments were aware they existed, and most importantly, science was creating a distinction that she would've never imagined.

Mutation was evolution. There would be human and mutant within societies all over, and within families. She wasn't alone. Nor was she a supernatural being. She was one of the first evolutionary shifts. The answers she'd pursued for centuries were revealed in one startling swoop. 

Still, Isabela knew she would never be part of this advancement—of the inevitable revolution that would take place pitting the world against itself. She was still an outsider, and she took solace in that fact, allowing herself to detach from the mortal coil she'd struggled to fashion herself into. She was not interested in choosing sides; never had been, and never would, and she knew it was only a matter of time before sides were formed; factions within factions, ambitions against ambitions. As men took their stand, some arguing that mutants were the children of the atom while others proclaimed mutants as the superior race needing to rise to power, she remained mildly amused and ruefully avoided participating. By the time she was busying herself within the world of geopolitics and guerrilla warfare in Central and South America, certain factions were progressing towards revolution. She'd been approached by several, and had rebuffed them all with a polite-but-lethal warning to not approach her again. By then it was the 60s, and the world was bursting at the seams with conflict. She met others like her but vastly different. Some were beings of incredible intrigue, while others were complex messes of existence. They entertained her and tried wooing her into the world again, but she resisted. For her, she walked through the world on another plane of reality. She'd seen and suffered like no one else, and she intended to remain apart from the realm of mortals and other mutants alike. The fascination would never last anyway, and her wanderlust wouldn't let her linger physically or emotionally on one place or time. She wasn't the woman borne from pain any longer.

Her savage return was unlike any of the others. This time, she was transformed into a solitary and aloof animal; made into the perfect being, one with no equal…

Until Victor.

Isabela's eyes fluttered open, shooing the memories and retrospection of eons gone and to come away from her mind to stare out at the sunrise. The horizon crested with fiery hues that glistened along the cityscape beyond her penthouse window. She smiled at the sun as it peaked over the far edge of the world. It was time to let the wanderlust carry her away. She felt it in the marrow of her bones and heard it whispered to her by the beast within. The animal was her comfort now as it had always been, and she would let it lead her on onto the next savage return.

                      _____________________________________

Across the country and in a different time zone, Dan was exhausted from his trip. The airports were a madhouse, so he'd taken the long train ride west in hopes of making it to his cabin before dark. So far his luck seemed to be improving. The lovely hues of orange and fuchsias lit up the dusk sky in an unseasonably majestic glow.

He drove his jeep towards the solitary cabin in the middle of the snowy prairie while thrumming his gloved fingers on the steering wheel along to the beat of the song humming over his radio. Pulling up to the side of the cabin, he climbed out of his jeep and got his bag out of the back seat, making a mental note to call his mother so she wouldn't worry.

"Hello, Dan."

"JESUS CHRIST!" Dan whirled around and dropped his bag, half expecting to find Creed looming like a black-trench-coated behemoth in the middle of the snow, but instead he found himself staring wide-eyed at an eye-patch-wearing military man. The image of Stryker flashed in his mind's eye, and he gulped.

"My apologies. Didn't mean to spook you," Agent Fury offered a placating smile that seemed as forced as his uniform. "I've been waiting for you to arrive from your trip. How is your dear mother, Agnes is it?"

Setting his jaw, Dan slammed the door of his jeep, picked up his bag, and started to stalk through the snow to make his way around to the front of the cabin. "I'm one popular bastard this month…"

"Don't you mean you're one popular bastard this decade?" Nick patiently trudged after him in the snow and walked passed the tacto-empath when he halted short of his snow-covered walkway. "First Stryker, then Creed. You've been point-man for some serious characters, Dan—"

"Who the hell are you?"

Nick turned around and gave him a winning look. "I'm the good side of U.S. covert operations, buddy. Pretty soon, I'll have a file on ever single mutant, terrorist, and all around baddie there is. Don't look at me like that, kid. I know you've heard the sales pitch before, but trust me when I say it's a hell of a lot better than anything degenerates like Stryker or Creed have thrown your way," he spoke in a clear and earnest tone as he paced around the man. "I'm here to give you an offer you just can't refuse, Dan. You're wasting your potential. Always have—"

"I'm not interested in being another memory drive for you or anyone else. I have no clue what you're talking about, and am finished with this conversation. Have a safe trip back to wherever the hell you came from," Dan ground out and stalked past Nick and up his porch steps.

"Breaking into Department H is no easy feat. Neither is working with the likes of Creed and walking away with all your limbs. But, you're too lapse when it comes to the little things—I mean mailing those journals back priority mail? You might as well have delivered them personally," Nick's words left Dan rooted in his spot for a few moments while he steeled himself.

"I was only giving 'em back so I wouldn't have to go through the hassle of getting rid of 'em…" he turned, gloved fists clenched at his sides. "You never told me who the hell you are."

Smirking, Nick walked up the porch steps and reached into his inner coat pocket as he said, "I'm restructuring a new agency. It'll have international jurisdiction in all the things John Q. Public has no business in knowing. I need talented people to run it and advance it ahead of all other government agencies, special operative forces, and nefarious departments that seem to be sprouting up overseas. This," he handed a small manila envelop to Dan and waited for the tacto-empath to pull out a picture of the telecomputer, "is the crown jewel of our organization. It'll revolutionize everything we know about technology, surveillance, and terror prevention."

Dan flexed his gloved fingers before slipping the picture back into it's envelop. "What do you mean 'our organization'? How do I know you're not gonna haul me into a cell somewhere underground and poke me like a fucking lab rat?"

"Because, Dan. You can read objects and people, and compartmentalize that knowledge into the cerebral database that is your mind. You're a resource that has been squandered by the wrong people. That telecomputer is the next phase in human knowledge—and only you will be able to crack it and internalize it into a code that will advance us years into the technological age over everyone else. Keeping you in a cell defeats all my purposes," Nick stated and plucked the envelope out of the other man's hand and returned it to his inner coat pocket.

Dan's eyes narrowed at Nick. "You've told me the what and the why, but you haven't told me the how, nor the who."

The military man smirked, extending his hand and grabbing Dan's in a firm handshake. "I'm Agent Nick Fury, head of the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division, and I'm here to recruit you. Will you come and serve your country in its ultimate defense, Mr. Dresner?"

Dan paused, shaking the man's hand and pondering for a few moments before suddenly stating, "You should think of changing the name. It sounds like something made up by a couple of security guards."

Nick snorted at that. "Duly noted. Now, let's get down to brass tacks. How bout you invite me in, and we can discuss this in the easiest way for you—by reading me, so you'll know what my aim is and we don't jerk each other around," he proposed with a smile.

Dan exhaled sharply and reached into his pocket for his keys. "Why am I getting the feeling that I've already said yes even when I'm saying no…" he muttered, pausing to give the agent a cross look.

Clamping his hand down on the mutant's shoulder, Nick stated, "I told you. This is an offer you just can't refuse."

____________________

Read Chapter 13: Epilogue

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[furious-rogue-stuff]

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 11: Savage Return - Part 1

Pairing: Victor Creed x Isabela Montecristo | Sabertooth x Vipress

Disclaimer: This series will have canon-accurate and heightened levels of violence, adult themes, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and graphic descriptions of sex. *Post-Origins movieverse.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word count: 12,000+

Series Summary: Victor Creed's reputation as the Sabertooth proceeds him. He clashes with a mysterious feral woman, an enigma and anomaly to everything he knows. What began as a hunt becomes a dance between like-minded predators.

🚨Warning: Explicit sex, adult situations, implied rape, graphic imagery, feral power play, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and a pinch of angst. I do not own any aspect or character of the Marvel Universe nor elements of the X-Men Origins movieverse.

A Feral Interlude Masterlist

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 11: Savage Return - Part 1

She watched the throngs of people mill like colorful moving grains, her gaze looming from halfway above the city in the glass bastion of a hotel. The party happening around her was raucous and glamorous, seedy and debauch. She ignored it all, focusing on the tiny masses congesting the streets of Time Square, braving the cold weather for the New Year.

Gazing down with her hip precariously pressed against the glass and metal railing, she watched as the Crossroads of the World buzzed with excitement and merriment. She could barely hear the rumble of the crowds from so high up, and the atmosphere around her faded under the sound of the wind that blew about her.

Isabela didn't mind the bitter cold clime; could barely perceive her shivering.

Her latest target was dead on the bed behind her, and the door was locked, so she figured she could afford to get lost in thought for a little while. No one would miss them in the chaos of coke, sex, and hob-knobbing. It was just as well.

She wanted to be left alone. Swinging over the railing, she perched herself on the cold metal and sat effortlessly as if she was simply dangling her legs over the side of a bar.

Her shimmering black cocktail dress fluttered in the breeze, dozens of stories from the ground. She brushed her hair from her face and watched the crowd absently.

"You make me nervous, Valkyrie…"

She shut her eyes at the voice echoing through the recesses of her memories. Exhaling her breath in a puff of steam, she opened her eyes and ignored the memory of her dangling off the balcony over the Berlin alleyway. She ignored looking back at the man she knew would not be there.

Unbidden, she suddenly thought of Victor. She felt the heat reach her face as she remembered him gazing down at her after coupling for the last time. His cold eyes had blazed like gunmetal from the light of the fireplace. Brushing her numb fingertips over her lips, she could swear that she could still feel the warmth of his mouth there. Remnants of rapture…The press of his fingers over her body, the bite of his claws, and the weight of his palms would tantalizingly skitter across her skin in a series of phantom sensations; a wayward shudder she couldn't help. It'll pass…

And that was what made Eirik come to the surface of her thoughts. Her eyes glazed over as the memory washed over her.

She'd been sitting on a balcony rail, kicking her legs out coquettishly and listening at the tell tale sounds of boots marching down the cobblestoned streets off in the distance. The waxy moon peeked between the clouds, and she felt the cold wind dance about, playing with the waning waves of her hair.

"You make me nervous, Valkyrie…" He'd said from behind her. She could feel his gaze on her as he slowly prowled over onto the balcony.

"Why do I make you nervous?" She'd murmured, ignoring her impulse to look at him over her shoulder. She watched the night below in the streets of Berlin, and wondered if it was as caustically serene before the war.

"If you fall, I can't catch you."

Isabela shook her head, snapping herself out of the memory and almost forgetting she was dangling dozens of stories up. Her hands gripped the railing behind her as she stood on the ledge of the railing and leaned out. If I dropped from this high up, could I catch myself from falling? Would I end up ruining all the tourists' New Year? She tilted her head and gazed down at the crowd as her dress whipped about in the wind.

With a laugh, she flipped herself backwards onto the balcony and leaned on her folded arms against the railing. Victor would've dove after me. She couldn't help but smile at the thought. Eirik would've grabbed me before I'd even tried it. The thought made her smile wane.

Turning from the balcony, she went back into the room and grabbed the half-empty bottle of champagne and went back out to gaze down at Time Square.

Her mind forced her to remember the first time she'd met Eirik. Memories that had only stirred hurt now felt…soothing, compared to the loneliness of her time without a certain vicious cub's companionship. She stifled all thought of Victor, admonishing herself for acting like a jilted lover when she'd done the jilting.

Taking a long drink, Isabela gazed down at the world. Those memories of the war weighed on her as the world buzzed and watched the glowing ball make its ascension before it would inevitably drop. Drinking straight from the bottle, she docilely waited for the world below and around her to explode in jubilation while she nursed her forever sober thoughts…

                      _____________________________________

His clawed fingers burrowed into the tiled wall, an irascible snarl catching in his throat as he whipped his head back from the shower spray beating down on his face. The shiver that had blazed across his body to well lust in his gut snapped him out of his reverie. He stopped himself from sliding down in the stall, letting the cold water beat his chest as he gritted his teeth and tried to hold onto the ecstasy of her phantom touch. His skin was scalding, pulse racing and his arousal was throbbing beseechingly in his hand while his other palm pried out of the wall to snake down his muscular thigh.

Victor hissed when he dug his claws into the meat of his inner thigh, managing to stifle the need for pleasure with the edge of pain. Hoarsely growling, he lengthened his nails into the wound and kept the pressure on until he felt in control of his senses again. It had been like this sporadically since the night she'd made love with him, shimmered with rapture. Of course, he'd read about the potency of the pheromone in most who'd been touched, but the recorded duration of the aftereffects was usually a week, or less, and were nothing more than tremors of lust. For Victor, there were times a tremor would seize him and he could swear Isabela's hands were on him. The tremulous sensations would send shivers down his spine and he'd be instantly riled up. The one that had just enveloped him was scorching—It was like I could taste her on my lips. Fuck…

Shaking his head, he ended the shower and stepped out into the warm bathroom. He stood for several minutes with his hands planted on the vanity in front of the sink mirror, water dripping off his naked frame as he stared at the starved glaze in his eyes. Aside from self-inflicting himself with a measured dose of pain, his arousal wouldn't wane. Begrudgingly, he mused it was a punishment he'd had fair warning of by the woman who'd ignited the phantom sensations to begin with.

"I've never used it on another feral…I don't know what it'd be like…"

Licking his lips, Victor wondered if the stunning aftereffects of rapture were the same for her—if she burned under the phantom sensations of his touch along her scalding body. Hot flashes. He shivered again, eyes snapping shut and nostrils flaring as he licked his lips and swore he could taste her on them. After a few moments of battling the sensations, Victor went about drying off and collecting his scattered thoughts. When he exited the bathroom to enter the hotel bedroom, he blinked at the grizzly scene left on the bed.

Confusion flooded his scattered brain at the dead woman tangled in her torn lingerie and drenched in a pool of dark blood, especially since that woman was Isabela.

Standing naked and bemused, Victor cursed at himself and slapped the heel of his hand against his forehead before dragging his fingers in his short wet hair. "Oh yeah, it ain't real…M'going fuckin' nuts…stop talking to yourself!" Victor murmured before berating himself and snickering. He got his strewn clothes and put them on before approaching the dead woman on the bed. She looked exactly like Isabela, but then again that's what he'd paid for.

Leaning over the corpse, he slapped the woman's face with the back of his hand and watched as Isabela slowly morphed away to the woman's true form: a demure-looking shapeshifter. The post mortem transfiguration earned a sigh from Victor, feeling whacked out of his head for momentarily forgetting what he'd done before the hot flash of rapture's aftereffects highjacked him. He sat on the bed next to the corpse while he pulled on his socks and boots, tongue toying with a fang while he puzzled out the sequence of events that had led him to that very moment.

He'd been unbelievably horny. No, horny couldn't begin to do the crackling lust he felt any justice. He was an animal in a rut, had been since he'd landed back in NYC without his little viper. The decision to set his ticket in return to the city had been a no-brainer. Isabela was a sentimental creature, and he banked on that, figuring she would want to return to the place where her tallest tower was. Having stalked the building that housed her penthouse in the sky, Victor had found himself doubting his logic after the days passed and he never saw a sign of her. Even his contacts hadn't heard much, and Dan Dresner had skipped out on him too. Never one to give up on a trail, Victor decided to stick around on the off chance they'd cross paths sooner or later. He got bored quick, and boredom quickly advanced into unrest. Not being an idle man, Victor found himself catering to the restless animal within, and it was itching to get its claws into something.

He'd lost his target in the sea of people, the crush of smells and sounds that had become the city streets. The bustle of crowds that filled almost every block in anticipation for the New Year festivities made him crawl with aggravation. So many stupid frails clogging up the streets left him feeling like an unseen predator in the middle of a horde of cattle. Gotta wait this hysteria out…

Deciding to lay low while the commotion died down so he could hunt better, the imposing feral found himself toying with the idea of getting some carnal action to take the edge off his boiling arousal. He couldn't get his desires off of his AWOL viper, however, and suddenly the idea he'd been nursing nagged him into an establishment that would cater to his very particular tastes. The madam had ushered him into a private ante-room and like any service industry went through a list of his requirements.

Cutting to the chase, Victor pulled a picture out of his pocket and slapped it down before the woman. "I want her. Exactly as she is, 'cept wearing red lingerie," he'd curtly rumbled and fixed the woman with a stern look as she studied the picture.

Looking up from the picture of Isabela perched in her gilded canary cage, the woman smiled, "We have many lovely girls for you to choose from—"

Victor slapped down a thick stack of crisp bills onto the table and growled, "I know your specialty, lady. I want the woman in the picture exactly. I ain't gonna say it again."

Without batting an eye, the woman bowed her head in acquiescence and stood. "Understood. I will take you to your quarters," she gestured for him to follow her. "Are there any other requirements you'd like us to fulfill?" she asked as she escorted him into a posh room high above the street.

"Yeah. I'm not interested in any chit-chat. No talking whatsoever," he tersely instructed as he tossed his coat over a chair and whirled back around to see the woman nod in understanding before she exited the room.

Minutes later, the door clicked open. Victor turned and watched silently as a beautiful replica of Isabela strutted into the room in the most mouth-watering red lingerie. Even the warmth and exotic color of her eyes were just as he remembered. The doppelganger escort mutely returned his picture, and Victor placed it in his coat for safe keeping before unbuttoning his dress shirt with deft fingers. He took her in before murmuring, "It's uncanny…" looming over her to caress his hands down her shoulders to skate down and cup her breasts through the lace fabric.

He hated it that she couldn't talk—not without the risk of breaking the fantasy. The woman could shapeshift into a perfect replica of Isabela, but there was no way she could mimic her voice without having heard it. Either way, it wasn't like they'd been much for talking once the sex started, so he figured it wouldn't be too missed.

Gripping the faux-Isabela by the jaw, he pressed his lips against hers and devoured her in a hungry kiss before pulling her towards the bed. Her skin was different—not as silky smooth or cool—but he ignored it as he sat at the foot of the bed and pushed her by her shoulders to kneel in front of him. She was well trained, taking the gesture for what it was and beginning to unfasten his belt and undo his trousers. Victor watched her with hooded eyes, seeing her, but not seeing her at the same time.

She didn't smell like Isabela. Didn't taste like Isabela. When her lips wrapped around the head of his cock and her fingers stroked his shaft, vexing disappointed filled him. She didn't feel like Isabela. He stared up at the ceiling, lips parted as he panted and tried to focus on his desire. He was so hard it shouldn't have mattered!

The woman moaned around him, and while it felt good, he couldn't concentrate on anything except for the fact that he was with a fucking fake. Fisting his hand in the back of her hair, he pulled her away from her ministrations and growled, "Yer cunt better do a better job than yer mouth." He let go of her hair and leaned back on his elbows. When she gave him a flat look, he snarled, "Get the hell up and ride my cock, frail."

His hackles were up, forcing him to dig his claws into the bedding while the faux-Isabela hurriedly complied and climbed onto the bed to straddle his lap. He growled a purr when she sheathed him into her heat and began working her hips over him. Fucking finally! He let his head tip back as he closed his eyes and imagined he was with Izzie and she was riding him hard and with primal gusto, just like he liked it.

He kept his hands on the bed and bucked up in rhythm with her undulating hips, groaning hoarsely as he was finally getting lost in the sex. Then suddenly his mind halted at the sensation of fingers digging into his undershirt and soft weak nails gripping feebly to his chest. Snapping his eyes open to stare at the woman riding him and humming softly in pleasure, he felt as if the fantasy had crumbled completely around him. She didn't sound like Isabela, and now she didn't look like Isabela did when in the throes of passion.

His nails lengthened as he sat up and bared his fangs at her before he furiously rumbled, "Get off!"

The tang of fear filled the air around her as she did as she was told, but not as fast to Victor's liking. He shoved her away from him as he grappled with an impotent rage that washed over him like stinging cold water.

"Oi! I ain't into the ruff stuff!" the faux-Isabela rebuked in a Cockney accent disdainfully, her eyes flickering from the exotic hue to a brilliant yellow before reverting back.

He whirled around and grabbed her by the throat before ruthlessly slamming her down on the bed. He was beastly in his rancor, the anger flooding his brain so violently that he blacked out only to come to what felt like seconds later covered in blood, his claws still in his kill. Victor had ripped his claws out and back pedaled away from the gory scene, overwhelming self-loathing clouding his thoughts as he stripped and stalked in a haze into the bathroom to wash off the blood and the scents that were making his head spin.

Sighing, Victor shook his head at his recollections and stood, getting his trenchcoat on before stalking to the window and opening it. He took one look back at the mess he'd made before leaping out into the night.

Scaling the buildings of the city always helped him clear his head, and before he knew it, he was hearing the soft roar of crowds cheering and shouting into the New Year. He was alone, standing over the city of millions and thinking of Isabela. He couldn't muster the anger he knew he should harbor towards that fact, but he was rescind with the thought that she was doing the same. It was only a matter of time before they crossed paths again. And with that thought, he hopped off the ledge to land in a crouch in the alley below before resuming his hunt from earlier.

Stalking down into the nearest subway, he jumped down onto the tracks and disappeared into the gloom of the dank tunnels, tracking his prey to a squalid hideout and finding the shaft empty. The predator in him smiled and relished the hunt. When he climbed onto a platform somewhere down in the Lower East Side, Victor's nose told him his prey was close. He looked to the end of the platform across from his and saw the shifty Morlock punk just before the train careened from the tunnel and pulled into the station. The empty and graffiti-covered train opened its doors and Victor stepped in, his eyes peering into the few train cars between him and his prey. As the train began to move, Victor made his way through the first car, ignoring the screeching and flickering lights as he prowled closer.

When he entered the car the punk was in, the shifty-eyed mutant looked up at him from his seat and froze. Victor's vicious smirk bared his wicked fangs as he advanced towards the kid, who instinctually knew he was in trouble and dashed out of the car. Chuckling, Victor ran after him with no real rush. The kid struggled through the cars, fumbling in his fear into the last car on the train. He tried to open the emergency exit door, hissing and cursing as Victor prowled into the car and looked like a murderous specter as the lights over head flickered on and off. The punk whirled around and pleaded under his breath as he watched Victor advance under the flickering lights right pass a solitary hobo crouched on one of the train benches asleep in a drunken daze to loom over the punk whose dirty face was quivering with terror.

Glaring down at the Morlock gearsmith with a sadistic grin, Victor purred acerbically, "Happy New Year, kid. Wanna know what my New Year's resolution is?"

The kid cowered and trembled, skin blanching as he gripped the sides of his jacket.

Grin widening into a smile, Victor lengthened his claws as he answered, "My resolution is to kill more people this year, and lucky you—yer the first one towards reaching that goal!"

"No, please—!" Victor cut off the plea with an animal snarl as he brought his paw up and sliced the mutant under the flickering lights, mangling him in a quick frenzy and splashing blood and guts all over the dingy and graffiti-covered surface of the train. Leaving a heap of what was once the Morlock, Victor crouched down and dug into the kid's soaked jacket and got the prize he was looking for. Pulling the jacket up with him, the punk's half-dismembered arms fell out of the jacket with slick thuds as Victor tossed it loose of some gore and turned to head back out the way he came in.

The train began to slow down, and he glanced at the bum, who had awoken from his stupor to stare silently at him with glassy eyes. As the train stopped in the next empty station and the doors opened, Victor smiled at the hobo and tossed him the bloody jacket. "Here yah go. That's my charity for the decade. Happy New Year," he rumbled darkly and chuckled as he exited the train and hopped down into the next train tunnel over to disappear into the gloom again.

When he surfaced back onto the streets, he was close to the East River. He strolled towards an underpass where another man stepped out of the shadows and greeted him with a nod.

Victor tossed him the sack he'd gotten out of the Morlock's jacket and stood under a gutter that was dripping clear-enough water for him to rinse his hands from the blood of his kill. The other man inspected the contents inside the sack and pulled out an envelope that he held out to Victor. Victor flung the water off his hands before grabbing the envelope and stuffing it into his coat pocket.

He turned on his heel to lope away, when the other man called out, "Still thinking about my proposition?"

Pausing and shooting the man a look over his shoulder, Victor drawled, "I don't work on teams anymore."

"This ain't a team thing, Creed. Its steady work, great perks, and no sweatin' the small stuff. Got a good group of freelance professionals just like you, and there's no supervisor orderin' you around. Just the target and you. Consider it," the man stated before turning and walking back down the underpass as he offered a wave over his shoulder. "I'll call yah in a week."

Snorting, Victor shook his head and walked in the direction he came from with his hands in his pockets, whistling a jaunty tune as he stared up at the cloudy moonlit night.

                      _____________________________________

She was the only person on the street. Only an hour before the small island had been bursting with people, only now to become a virtual ghost town with the few wayward cabs zooming past. Isabela strolled down the block, her shimmering black dress looking like it was covered in stardust as it moved in the breeze. Her thoughts were on everything and nothing as her heels clicked on the pavement of the sidewalk. Head tilting up to sniff at the breeze, she paused in step, looking around. Her mind was playing tricks on her. She could swear that within the cornucopia of scents in the air, she sifted out a very familiar and feral smell. It warmed her blood. Shaking her head, she continued on her stroll before entering her secret back entrance to her sprawling skyscraper.

Once in her elevator, she keyed in a code in the hidden panel that sent the elevator ascending one floor below her penthouse. The doors opened onto the floor that no other living person had seen and would never see. It was her personal chamber of memories and treasures that she hadn't been in a lot until recently. She walked through a long hall towards her study, where nothing but soft light caressed the alcoves of her walls adorned with mementos she'd salvaged from her first life. In the middle of the room was an upholstered velvet chair incased in carved dark wood that had once been her father's. She sat in it and gazed at the wall it stood in front of.

The oil painting of her and her brother Alejandro stared back at her, illuminated by the soft inset spotlight. Her father had commissioned the portrait and had it prominently featured in his townhouse several years before Isabela had gone through the change and her solitary portrait took its place. In it, she was sitting on the ground with her lovely dress spread out wide, her hands folded in her lap while Alejandro sat close to her, his innocent smile and cherub curls making him look much younger than the 5-year-old boy he was at the time. His little hand gripped her puffy shoulder sleeve in a possessive and teasing manner while she concealed an amused smile. Her father had admonished them for smiling when he saw the portrait, but he'd been proud of it enough.

On the adjacent wall was her own portrait, a haunting reminder of her immortality. A reminder she now looked upon after 4 centuries and felt nothing. The pain had subsided, replaced now by the leather bound scrapbook that rested on the table to her right. She lifted it and placed it on her lap before opening it. The newspaper cut outs of her and Eirik were in mint condition, as if they'd been clipped out the day before. She caressed her fingertips over his face and felt her heart sink like it had in Buenos Aires. As much as it caused her sadness, she also swelled with love for him all over again, and that love crested over when she thought of Victor. He'd reunited her with the happy memories of her past with Eirik, and she would love him eternally for doing so, even though she knew that had never been his intention. Still, she looked through the new additions to her scrapbook and thought fondly of her past for the first time in a very long life before she was flooded over by the memories that no longer haunted her.

                      _____________________________________

It had taken her a month to get the paperwork she needed to enter Berlin. Most of her contacts had fled occupied territory, and those who'd remained were seldom prepared to help her in her brazen plan. She'd been told about the concentration camps, but the rumors of mass extermination of the Jews only spurned her on to locate the Krause family. 

Mischa's stubborn rationalizing of the situation had stirred her passion unlike anything before. She'd told him to get his family out—to flee while the Germans were still too preoccupied with appearances. The man that had become her confidante had relented after she'd implored him to think of his wife and son. 

Isabela had grown attached to the mortal family. It had been a gradual process—one she had been unwittingly engrossed in from the moment she entered Mischa's home. Even though her visits were intermittent, each one brought her the innocent joy of Ephram and his unsurpassable curiosity towards her. The hospitality of his Yvette had been of kindness, mindful that she was a strange woman but free of ill-will or suspicion. This family had endeared themselves to her in such a way that she found herself galvanized by Mischa's farsightedness towards the state of events around the world. 

"Yvette and Ephram are priority. If you cannot secure passage for all of us, you must for them…"

She'd agreed. But, time was not in their favor. A few days later, the city was emptied of the Jews. By the time she'd gotten to their home with their visas, the Krause family had been put on a train east of Paris. Only through bribing a porter had she found out that the train had been headed out of France into the belly of the beast. For the first time in a century, her heart had seized in terror. 

Isabela had spent the early 1940s crafting her new persona of the Contezza, gaining favor in Berlin among smitten captains and officers, who would swoon over her in ear shot of their generals and commanders. Her shows became hot ticket items for anyone with military station and a penchant for lusting after the unattainable. Her infiltration of certain circles allowed her to piece together as much intel she could about the Nazi regime, but she was really after the procedural constellation of protocols and officials in charge of each constellation in Germany. Her aim was to reach the right person with enough clout so that she could ensnare them and use them to locate the Krause family. Once located, she intended to smuggle them out of their bondage and abroad, away from the tyranny and the impending exterminations that were quickly becoming reality. 

Entertainment was the only industry Germans outsourced, and the only venue through which Isabela could extend herself without attracting the wrong attention. So, she'd become Isabela Contezza, a glorified and fawned over performer in the club districts of Berlin. Her alluring notoriety gained her the fame and attention of every hot-blooded man from Warsaw to Paris, and men of rank were especially taken with her pro-Nazi shows and the patronage of high-ranking officials—married and single alike—that would request her presence at all kinds of events. 

Most of her nights were spent putting on a show on stage for Nazi troops of all ranks while they swilled liquor, howled and hooted from their chairs and tables, and threw roses and gifts onto the stage. She'd met tons of supposed members of rank, only to find herself dealing with a chain of command that was as fickle as its Fuhrer was unstable. Procedures and the men in charge of them would change without any course, leaving Isabela with little choice but gamble with her life in the hopes of finding the answers she needed. 

It was just another night of wearing a red corset, black stockings, and a Nazi officer's hat when she met him. He'd been another man in the crowd, gazing at her like a hungry wolf, biding his time until his prey would be his. She'd noticed him in the crowd as she played the piano, her eyes catching his briefly before she closed hers and crooned the song that she only sung on occasions she felt bemused. When she got to the chorus, she'd tossed her hair after hurling the officer's hat out to the crowd, belting the words with fiery zeal,

I'll never talk again Oh boy you've left me speechless You've left me speechless, so speechless

As she battered the ivory keys, she swung her legs so she could straddle the piano bench as she sang,

And I'll never love again, Oh boy you've left me speechless You've left me speechless, so speechless

He had watched her for several nights. His incandescent presence had stayed to the shadows, but this night he wanted her to see him. He wanted her to lay gaze on him so he could gauge her. She was unlike any other female he'd ever seen in his very long life. He sensed from the sheer electricity around her—the way she carried herself and the preternatural glow of her green eyes—that she was like him.

The crowd of men in uniform roared and shouted proclamations of love to her as she lowered her sultry voice into a provocative croon,

And after all the boys and girls that we've been through Would you give it all up? Could you give it all up? If I promise boy to you That I'll never talk again And I'll never love again I'll never write a song Won't even sing along I'll never love again So speechless You left me speechless, so speechless Will you ever talk again, Oh boy why you so speechless?

You left me speechless, so speechless?

She looked out to the crowd and noticed the tall and azure-eyed officer standing in the middle of the raucous crowd, arms crossed and features chiseled as another man with similar blue eyes talked into his ear. When he noticed her looking across at him, he smirked at her unlike any man had ever done before. It had sent a chill of excitement down her spine as she played the last bars of the song and purred into the microphone,

Some men may follow me But you choose "death and company Why you so speechless? Oh oh oh

She played the last keys and tossed her head back as the spotlight went out and was followed by the thunderous sounds of stomping feat and applause, catcalls, leering howls and whistles. Throwing her robe around her once back stage, she loomed behind the cover of the curtain as the houselights came up and the audience of horny men milled about for more liquor; some men sang drunkenly the chorus of her song while superior officers railed at them to shut up. Isabela stealthily looked out to the audience, but the tall SS-officer was nowhere to be seen. Still feeling the tickle of excitement at the back of her neck, she went to her dressing room, waving the whole thing off. 

Wearing an off-the-shoulder crimson cocktail dress, black pumps, and birdcage veil, Isabela exited the theater out of the stage door, adjusting her grey wolf fur shoulder wrap after she pulled on her black silk gloves.

"Fräulein Contezza?"

Isabela turned to see a behemoth of a German corporal flanked by two other men in disheveled uniform as they walked hurriedly towards her in the alleyway. Plastering a serene smile, she tucked her pocket book under her arm and fingered the fur wrap. "It depends. What do you boys need?" she murmured with a cocked brow, adding, "It must be brief, I'm afraid. I have an engagement elsewhere—"

"Brevity? Surely you'd make an exception for your fans, no?" the red-cheeked corporal interjected, looking at his partners as he smiled and added, "We are great fans of yours, and would like to treat you to drinks, in your honor. Please, let us unworthy men escort you—"

"Unfortunately, gentlemen, I must decline. I'm running late for my prior engagement, so if you'll excuse me—" Isabela coolly cut in and attempted to exit, but the flanked men refused to let her step by. 

"Quite a chilly reception you give your fans! You're not in Italy anymore, signorina. Entertainers here are happy to oblige their fans—!"

"The Contezza is not mere entertainer."

The men turned to look back at the darkened mouth of the alley, glaring drunkenly at the two officers who strode commandingly towards them. 

Isabela looked around the bulk of the three to catch sight of the two officers as they stepped into the light given off by the lamp above the stage door. When the man who spoke was illuminated, Isabela realized it was the blue-eyed officer with the wolfish gaze from earlier. Next to him was the dark-haired and chiseled-featured officer who'd been talking into his ear. 

"Is there a problem?" the behemoth condescended as they remained at ease in front of the men of rank.

"Do you forget yourselves, or are you too stupid to salute rank!" the dark-haired office snapped in a Scandinavian-accented growl, his body language showing that he was spoiling for a fight. 

"We don't see any rank here, Norse dogs!" the drunken behemoth slurred with a disdainful laugh. 

"What did you say?" the dark-haired man fumed between clenched teeth and took a step forward to advance on them when the other officer clamped his hand on his shoulder and held him at bay. 

"You heard him, Norse dog—!" one of the lackeys snidely retorted, while the other punched him in the shoulder and snarled, "Shut up! They're rank, idiot!"

"Bite your tongues before I rip them out of your mouths!" the officer snarled. Isabela quirked a delicate brow at the officers in turn before smiling coldly; she used the opportunity to covertly pull her gloves off and shimmer herself with stillness, unsure of how to proceed and waiting for her first opening.

"You three should stand away from the ravishing Contezza. Sullying her by breathing in front of her is a slight we won't let stand," the tall blond smirked contemptuously, his eyes glancing at Isabela for a predatory appraisal that left her feeling a rush of heat. 

"This little tart's ours, dogs. You can wait your turn—!" the cocky corporal barked as he whirled around and grabbed Isabela by her arm and was instantly seized with paralysis, falling to the ground at her feet. She wasn't prepared for the behemoth when he shouted and rushed at her, nor was she expecting seeing him hauled back and punched in the jaw by the ruthlessly debonair officer.

Prying her arm free from the paralyzed man's grip, Isabela looked up just in time to see the tall officer move with deft speed to brutally thrash the behemoth, who managed only a few pathetic swipes at air before his head was slammed against the wall from a crushing blow. The dark-haired officer moved just as quick in to beat the shit out of the cowardly corporal, making short work of the man before scraping him off the ground for one bone-shattering punch to the face. Isabela watched riveted as the two officers brawled, a cold chill shooting down her spine when the tall officer punched the behemoth so hard that his head snapped back and he fell limply against the wall and into a boneless heap. 

Isabela was snapped out of her staring by the corporal who was pathetically fighting stillness and grabbing at her ankle. Pitilessly glaring at him, she jerked her ankle away and swiftly kicked the man under his jaw, lethally cracking his neck and leaving him dead in the grime at her feet. 

"Not mere entertainer, indeed."

Isabela realized the two officers witnessed what she'd done. The tall officer smiled at her as he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped at his blood-smeared knuckles before tossing the handkerchief over to his partner. She let stillness ebb away as the blue-eyed officers shared a glance. For whatever reason, she suspected that the two weren't planning on doing her harm. 

"I've seen you before," she stated coolly, glancing at the chiseled-jaw officer when his expression shuttered in and glared over at the enigmatic officer who smiled at her and was busily combing his fingers back through his hair before replacing his officer's hat and righting his uniform. 

"And we you, Isabela. That is the name fit for a queen," he murmured with a puckish zest in his steely Scandinavian accent, adding conspiratorially, "Were you named after a queen, Isabela?"

"Ivan!" the dark-haired officer barked warningly. 

Ignoring him, the confident man loped closer as he spoke, "You have proved my suspicions correct, Isabela. I have admired you from afar, waiting for the right moment. A brawl wasn't what I had in mind—"

"Ivan! We did not agree to this!" the other man snapped. 

Pausing and flickering his gaze over his shoulder, he murmured firmly, "Brother, make sure we have a moment of privacy?" For a terse moment, the man glared at him, but eventually relented with a grunt and stalked down the alleyway and disappeared in the dimly lit penumbra. The blond man huffed amusedly before returning his attention to her. "Apologies. He is cross with me, but his insolence comes from a good place—"

"Speak plainly. I am late for another occasion, and do not care to spend the night in this alley!" she cut in crisply, pointedly stepping over the body at her feet to cut the distance between them. 

His blue eyes lit up with a joie de vivre warmth as he smiled wolfishly at her. "For a fellow immortal, you have not gained much patience I see." Freezing, Isabela stared bemusedly at him. His teasing tone rattled her for several reasons, but the primary one was because she could smell his earnestness. Smiling at her bemusement, the officer stepped close enough to loom over her so he could murmur, "I can sense it around you, Isabela. It vibrates in the air around you—you are not mere mortal. Neither are we. I—"

"Ivan! We've got to go!" the dark-haired man shouted between clenched teeth as he stalked hurriedly back towards the two.

"—I would like to see you again. Not in such a sullied place—"

Flustered with anger and impatience, the dark-haired man barked, "Eirik, we must go! Now."

Frowning for the first time, the handsome man reluctantly turned to his brother and calmly muttered, "Willem, do not rush me—"

"If you've not said enough, then save it for another occasion. We must go; there's a patrol coming," Willem cut in and gave Isabela a stare.

Exhaling irritably, the man supposedly named Ivan turned back towards her as he backpedaled and confidently stated, "I look forward to speaking with you again, Isabela. I hope we have not held you too long from your engagement. Goodnight."

Befuddled, Isabela simply watched as the two men stepped into pace with each other as they exited the alley and disappeared into the night, without so much as a backwards glance at the mess they'd left her in. In the distance, she heard the echo of footsteps approaching the street just off the alleyway. Hesitantly, she looked around at the mayhem around herself and knew she had to make a quick retreat, so she ran down to the back of the alley where there was a stone wall that was blocking off the path and effortlessly vaulted over it with her preternatural agility, clearing the distance before landing gracefully on the other side. Righting her fur wrap and gripping her purse, she glowered around herself to make sure she wasn't seen before pulling her gloves back on and making a quick exit of the area. 

Her mind had been whirring feverishly, replaying the event in her head obsessively as she made her way to the lavish event that promised her the opportunity to stalk the military official she was sure would bring her closer to locating the Krause family. She was wary, but beyond anything else, she couldn't still her nerves. The idea that there were others like her made her lightheaded. She wondered why she didn't sense it in the two men, and if they were like her in more than her indestructibility. 

"Fräulein Contezza?"

Isabela turned, snapping her thoughts away and plastering a ravishing smile as a captain flanked by other German higher ups in the army approached her. "Captain von Braun? It's so good to see you again," she spoke serenely and offered her hand so the man could kiss the back of her palm.

"Ah, the pleasure is all mine. Forgive me for not greeting you sooner. Seems I must play host for the moment," the handsome captain offered her a dashing smile before remembering his guests. "Gentlemen, let me introduce you to the talented and enchanting Isabela Contezza—"

"Von Braun, as if the woman would need introduction," the beefier man wearing a crisp tuxedo with a Nazi pin on the lapel cut in as he kissed the back of her hand. The men exchanged introductions and blatantly engaged in a flirting match over Isabela, who coquettishly played coy and laughed at all the horrible jokes that were made. Soon the men escorted her around the lavish ballroom introducing her to whomever was hard-pressed to speak to her and complement her beauty. She bared it all, hoping von Braun would introduce her to the lieutenant-colonel she was planning to seduce for the information she needed.

"-And this is my superior, lieutenant-colonel Brandt."

Her eyes fixed alluringly on the man with the thinning hair and scar on his chin. The man smiled and kissed her hand. She needed to get him engrossed in conversation away from the other men, so she spoke in a continued hushed tone in the group of boisterous talking, knowing the man would excuse them for conversation in a more secluded area of the party. Isabela's plan would've worked had she not been unwittingly thwarted.

"Fräulein Contezza. What a coincidence."

She'd meant to glance coolly at the greeter, but she ended up freezing when she saw the devilishly blue eyes and roguish smirk. The lieutenant-colonel glanced at her and then shot the officer a snarky look. "What is it Walküre, something?" the man bit out.

Unfazed, the officer smiled wider at Isabela. "I'm quite taken with the Contezza, sir. I've come by in the hopes I could ask her for a dance?"

The man opened his mouth to object, but a hard hand clapped him on the back. "Lieutenant-colonel! May I have a word?" the dark haired and chiseled-jawed brother of Ivan Walküre announced.

"Anselm, don't you and your brother see I'm quite busy—!"

"Sorry sir, but there's a matter in the east district that requires your attention," the supposedly-named Anselm Walküre interjected.

Irritated, the lieutenant-colonel excused himself from Isabela's company and stalked off with the other Walküre officer, who shot his brother a glance over his shoulder.

"Twice in one night. The fates must approve of our meeting, don't you think?" the blond officer smirked and offered her the crook of her arm. "Now, about that dance?"

Reluctantly, Isabela took his arm and let him escort her to the dance floor. The ballroom orchestra was playing a Debussy number that left many couples waltzing docilely. Isabela and the officer joined the crowd once he placed his large hand on the small of her back and swept her into the rhythm after clasping her other hand in his. 

"Ivan Walküre?"

"Isabela Contezza?"

She pressed her lips together and shot him a fierce glare. "Who are you, really?"

Smiling down his nose at her, he leaned in close to her ear and husked, "I'm just a warrior, and so is my brother."

"Don't you mean a soldier?" she seethed and had her breath catch in her throat when he squeezed her against him. 

"Can't you feel me?" he asked in a sober murmur, his frown back on his boyish lips as he continued to lead them in the waltz.

Isabela's patience was frayed raw, so she dug her nails into his shoulder and hissed, "The only thing I feel is your arousal against my thigh. If you don't start explaining what the hell you're doing, you'll be missing that appendage very soon!"

He suddenly dipped her in the waltz, his fingertips pressing firmly into the base of her spine as he leaned close enough to husk hotly, "You're impatient, Isabela. Your threats are…sexy, but I cannot be distracted from my purpose this evening." Pulling her back and continuing the waltz, he continued, "You are immortal. You feel old—"

"Excuse me?" she hissed under her breath and balked at him.

"-Like a goddess touched only by the sun. Not like a mere mortal, who feels like blood and tissue. If you could sense, you would feel the same in me, and in my brother."

Gripping his hand, she stiffened in her poise as they danced like a simple couple. "Eirik is your true name. His is Willem?" she murmured, her preternatural eyes fixed to his glacier-blue depths as he nodded and gave her a more puckish smile.

"Those other names were…appropriated. The true holders of the name Walküre and the ranks are permanently indisposed. Isabela is your true name, is it not?" he murmured in her ear, his lips dangerously close to brushing her skin.

"Yes. I always keep my first name. Contezza is the means to an end of mine…how can you feel me?" she whispered as the song ended and people clapped for the band.

Eirik took the opportunity to lead her to the nearest terrace away from the crowd and the men of rank. Once alone in the chilly night air, he turned to her and took her hand in his, feeling her pulse in her delicate-looking fingers and turning her hand palm up so he could see the black talons camouflaged with red nail polish. 

"My clan could sense the life force in living creatures. We are not true empaths; merely sensers of what hides beneath blood and flesh. Willem and I are all that's left of my clan…the only immortals since I sensed you days ago, standing under that spotlight," he explained in a steely tenor and raised her hand to his cheek. "You are primal, Isabela. I can sense it in your life force. Not human. Not mortal. Raw power and heat…you really can't sense it?" he gave her an intense look that left her bare before him. 

She cupped her hand to caress his cheek, fingertips brushing his cheekbone before working down to his jaw and down to his throat, where she could feel the powerful beat of his pulse. His skin was hot—several degrees hotter than the skin of humans. Other than that, she couldn't sense anything different about him. 

"No. Not like you sense. I can smell you and feel the heat of your blood under your skin. You're not human…" he shook his head, confirming it to her, so she continued, "how long have you been on this earth?"

He took her hand again and pressed it against his chest, over his heartbeat. "Over a millennium." Her breath caught in her chest and he pressed closer to her, caressing her face into his calloused and impossibly-warm hands as he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. "You have not met another?"

"No…I've spent centuries alone. I didn't even understand what I was until the last decade. Even then, I still don't really know anything," she murmured, staring into his eyes and feeling some kind of rapport between them. 

Eirik brushed his thumbs along her cheekbones before whispering against her lips, "Do you trust me?"

She wanted to protest, and push him away, but she remained in his grip and speechlessly stared into his earnest and handsome face. He leaned in and closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to hers with unabashed heat in the gesture. Isabela gasped and at first resisted, until she noticed movement from across the terrace. Slowly, she kissed him back, her lips molding to his and encouraging him to trail his hands down her body and hold her against him. She dragged her hands up his biceps to interlock behind his neck, kissing him with a flutter of breath between them as the kiss deepened. She could feel his hard and muscular body pressed against her; he felt like hot skin stretched over solid marble. His body heat was amazing, radiating through his officer's uniform to such a degree that she wondered how he would feel completely naked against her. 

Just as the thought made an ache flutter inside her, the person who'd walked onto the terrace spoke deliberately, "The lieutenant-colonel is looking for her."

Unhurriedly, Eirik unlocked his lips from hers with a roguish smirk before glancing at his brother over his shoulder. "Cannot stall him for longer?"

"Hell no." The dark-haired man crossed his arms and eyed Isabela before shooting his brother a knowing look. 

Isabela felt like she was out of the loop, and she didn't like it. Pushing Eirik back by the shoulders, she brushed a rogue lock of hair that had escaped her up-do and gave him a biting stare as she declared, "I'll say my farewells. You've encroached on my plans for the evening, and as such, you owe me more of an explanation. I have a suite at the Golden Eagle. Meet me there in an hour."

"Having two gentlemen callers asking for you at the front desk so late would besmirch your reputation, Isabela," he teased. "How will we know which suite you're in?" Eirik mused and smiled sardonically at her as he caressed her arms.

She yanked her arms away and stepped past him as she replied icily, "Why don't you just sense me out. Now, if you'll excuse me."

With that, Isabela strutted away from Eirik and past Willem, leaving the two brothers to watch her go. 

After saying her goodbyes to several patrons and the host of the event, she headed for the coat check to collect her belongings, mind whirling feverishly and thoughts in a jumble. As she set her birdcage veil in place and wrapped her fur pelt over her shoulders, she was approached by the lieutenant-colonel.

"Leaving so soon, Fräulein Contezza?" the man remarked crisply, but his gaze was voraciously committing her curves to memory. 

"Yes, I'm afraid something has come to my attention—"

"Pity. I'd have liked to finish our conversation," the man spoke with little regard for her reasoning.

Eyes intensifying on him, Isabela looked over his shoulder in order to distract him so he would follow her gaze. She used the distraction to shimmer a low dose of rapture over her skin. By the time the man turned his attention inquisitively at her, she stepped close and brushed the back of her knuckles along the scar on his chin. "That looks like it was painful. Such a scar must've been received during a heroic feat of valor?" she purred, staring alluringly into his eyes and watching rapture heat his pale gaze.

"Yes…in the service of the motherland, during the first war."

Smiling, she decided to cut to the chase before cutting her losses for the night. "I've heard you're the person in charge of designating the placement of deported Jews?"

Frowning, the man forlornly declared, "Alas, I was, but the Fuhrer has restructured that branch of affairs. The position has been destabilized and broken down to cabinet members from each governing district of the occupied territories. Those who oversee the camps have more autonomy now, so my office was eliminated."

Isabela set her jaw, the rage boiling inside of her as she soberly caressed the back of his hand and shot so much rapture into his system so she could instruct him to go on with his night and forget about their conversation. The haze and aftereffects of rapture undoubtedly left the lieutenant-colonel assuming the encounter was nothing but an imagined fluke. 

As the man left in a daze to return to the party, she let rapture ebb away and pulled on her gloves, exiting the party en route for her suite. An hour later on the dot, a swift knock rapped on her door. She opened it and looked coolly at the two officers standing in her doorway before silently turning from the door and walking into the parlor. They walked in and shut the door after themselves, following the enigmatic woman who'd changed from her crimson cocktail dress to a black silk synched frock with matching chiffon robe with a wrist-length bishop sleeve. She looked ethereal, her movements graceful and sinuous as she moved towards the fireplace and glanced sidelong at them.

Running her red-painted talons through her flowing hair, Isabela remarked, "I trust it wasn't much trouble sensing me out."

Eirik chuckled gruffly, but his brother Willem's muted scowl didn't let up. He stalked across to the inset bar and helped himself to a glass of brandy and poured another for his brother before stating, "Since you two don't seem preoccupied with anything but entangling yourselves on a balcony, I'm going to cut to the chase. What the hell are you, and what the hell are you doing in Berlin?"

"Willem—!" the blond man warned icily.

"No, Eirik. I've tagged along silently for long enough! I told you I didn't want to get involved with her. She's dangerous—!"

"I can't deny that."

Both men glanced at her, watching her smile as she turned to faced them both and crossed her arms gracefully before gesturing for them to take seats. Willem chugged down his glass of brandy before joining Eirik on the divan and handing him a full glass of the amber liquid.

"I'm not here to answer to you, but, because I have no choice to believe what you told me…I will divulge what I feel necessary. I expect that and more from the both of you," she stated firmly before sitting across from them and crossing her long legs. "I was born Isabela Saavedra, on the island now called Puerto Rico in 1525," she confessed, her tone guarded as she read their expressions. 

Willem differed a stoic look towards the other man, who was staring at Isabela with a smile in his eyes as he snickered and took a long drink from him glass. Licking his lips, he placed the glass on the nearest table and leaned forward. "I was born Eirik Northwolf, in the year 798 A.D. in what is now known as Norway." He watched her eyes blaze with surprise while the rest of her countenance remained cool. 

She was shocked. She did the math quickly, and realized that he was over a thousand years old. Her heart leapt into her throat, but she managed to suppress her tumultuous feelings to ask, "Your clan?"

The dark-haired man saw the way she was looking at Eirik, and how attuned his brother was with her. It made him wary, so he interjected, "We are what remains."

Glancing at Willem, Eirik chose to elaborate, "The Northwolf clan were Viking. Warriors bred for battle in blood and spirit."

"Are you what is left?" Willem asked her, referring to her own bloodline. 

A lurch of anger threatened to narrow her gaze towards the man, but instead she glanced away, focusing on the waxy moon outside her window. "I have been the only immortal of my kind I've ever known. I—" she paused, clearing her throat to look at them levelly as she stated, "I am immortal and part animal."

"You are cold-blooded."

Isabela stared at Eirik, her hand twitching in her lap as she suddenly glared at him. "You can tell that from touching me?"

"I can tell a lot about you, Isabela."

Snidely, she drawled, "Because you're an empath, the two of you?"

"Empaths we are not. We do not sense your emotions, nor do we know anything of your psyche. We are sensers. Being part animal, you should understand the difference," Willem remarked, his scowl fighting the lopsided smirk tugging on his hard-set mouth. "You have a heightened sense of smell, no?"

"Willem, mind your tone." Eirik snapped and stood, crossing towards Isabela before kneeling on bended knee and taking her hand. "Like I said before. Your life force is what I sensed. It is different—fierce and primal, but elevated from mere animal and human. When we sense, it's like a feeling here," he took her hand and pressed it against his chest as he continued, "like pressure. Like how the world feels different after a rain, or when the snow comes. It is a shift that only we can feel."

Like barometric pressure. She could sense and smell shifts in the atmosphere. Her senses were superior to animals and humans, able to pick up on the scents of death from an ill person, or sense a creature's body heat without ever having to touch them. She realized that they were sensers of a different nature: she organically and they consciously.

Isabela stared into his blue eyes as she grabbed his jaw and pulled him closer. The other man's hackles rose, but he stopped himself from interfering when all Isabela did was caress her nose along Eirik's exposed throat. "You are very cock-sure, Eirik. And hot-blooded. I wonder what it would taste like," she purred and tipped her face to glance at him from the same angle he was staring at her. 

Eirik chuckled darkly and stood, pulling her up with him. "Why are you in Berlin, Isabela?" he searched her eyes before adding, "Why are you pimping yourself out for the fucking swine here?"

Glaring into his unabashedly charming expression, Isabela could not believe how unfazed he was by her. There wasn't a hint of trepidation or fear in his scent. Not even a glimmer of concern shone in his eyes. If anything, he looked enlivened by her vicious nature. 

Glancing away from him towards his tense brother, she said, "I could ask you two the same thing. What are two Vikings doing in the German army?"

Leaning close, Eirik whispered in her ear, "We are warriors. We go where the war is."

Snickering under her breath, she pulled away from him and loped back to the fire place. "We, we, we. Do you two come as a set, or can't either of you think for yourself?" she mocked and shot them both a berating look, lingering on Willem.

Instead of the deathly glower she expected, the dark-haired man's expression became a cold mask of hateful humor. His lips managed to smirk while his eyes narrowed crossly on her as he stood and sneered, "I certainly can think for myself. For example, I think you are not worth us sticking our necks out for, and I sure as hell don't give a damned about you. The idea of revealing our true natures to you is incensing to me, but I trust my brother," he paused, then snidely added, "There is a loyalty between us that goes beyond blood. Clearly you know of no such thing." Looking to his brother, Willem managed to keep his stare challenging—a very difficult feat with how livid Eirik was with him—as he groused, "I have heard all I care for. I won't wait up." With that, the brooding man departed without a backwards glance. 

After the door shut, a tense pause lingered in the room for several moments, until Isabela strutted away from Eirik towards the window. "I see you inherited all the charm," she mused to the man without looking away from the moon. 

"He's insolent at times…you never answered my question."

"That's none of your business."

Grunting with humor, Eirik walked around the parlor room with his hands in his pockets. "You're angry with me," he declared with a smile in his tone.

She whirled and glared deftly at him. "If I was, you'd be dead by now. I'm processing. I'm…overwhelmed. I don't know if I can trust you—"

"You can," he stated with irrevocable command and in two long strides he was by her side. "You might not be able to sense like I, but you can smell if I'm being false, surely. You know I'm not lying." He took her hands in his and brought them to his chest. "You want to know everything. I can see it in your eyes. Just ask."

She hesitated, surprised by how much she gravitated to him; couldn't and didn't want to shy away from his imposing touch. Isabela looked at the hands that encircled her wrists, noting the small cuts along his knuckles from his earlier thrashing. Her eyes lingered up to trace his masculine jaw, already lightly stubbled with blond whiskers, and committed his features to memory. His handsome face was that of a man full of life and a love for living, with a sadistic and impish quirk to the corners of his mouth and the set of his eyebrows. Eirik didn't look a day over 30, and his body felt god-like. 

Isabela was fiercely attracted to him. 

"Don't you get overwhelmed? Surrounded by people and being bombarded by their life forces?" she finally spoke and stared into his glacier-blue eyes.

He let his hands trail up her arms, fingers possessively caressing her through the chiffon fabric before cupping her shoulders. "Like every environmental factor, you learn to block it out. Around mere mortals, it's no different than feeling city traffic. Only when something extraordinary is present do I have trouble focusing and pushing the rest out. Even then, it only feels as if rain was pelting me from all angles. It's not an unpleasant feeling…" he explained as he stepped so close to her that she had to caress her hands up his chest to encircle his neck in order to keep their gazes connected. 

"What do you feel now?" she murmured, her breath hitching when he encircled her waist and pressed her against him.

"Pounding. Like I am holding onto thunder…Isabela, you rattle me to the very marrow", he husked and kissed her, stealing her breath for what felt like a fleeting eternity. 

When they parted from the kiss, she stared into his hooded gaze and humorlessly smiled at him. "I'm a monster. You don't fully comprehend—"

"Neither do you. Just trust me, Isabela," he gruffly murmured and kissed her, this time, the gulf of his desire for her tantalizing. His mouth moved from hers to trail fire along her jaw and down her throat. "Tell me I have your trust, or I will depart and leave you be," he promised in a hoarse whisper, his mouth suckling on her pulse while his hands clutched her passionately.

"You do that, and you won't make it to the door," she warned in a sigh, her hands gripping him before moving to hurriedly unbutton his jacket. 

He groaned and held her hands away. "Your threats are so fucking sexy, Isabela, but for the length of Odin's cock, would you trust me?" he grumbled hotly and framed her face in his hands.

Isabela blinked at him, the hunger in his tone and the viciousness in his eyes exciting her as much as the sauciness of his remark. 

"Tell me everything, and I'll trust you completely."

Setting his jaw, Eirik tipped his head to an angle and furrowed his brows. "Couldn't you give me a break and acquiesce? I want you now, and I'm too aroused to wait until after I tell you everything."

He'd declared that to her so earnestly that she couldn't help but laugh. "Forgive me, but I simply must insist," she retorted with a flirty smile.

Eirik swore and began to pace like a provoked wolf, running his fingers through his blond hair before fisting the locks and growling at himself. He turned and gave her a hungry once over before prowling towards her and grousing, "Compromise?"

Smiling, she brushed her fingers over his chest before popping a button open. She asked a question and looked up at him through her lashes. Exhaling through his parted lips, he answered her with genuine sexual frustration. Humming approvingly, she popped another button and asked another question. Eirik quickly realized her game and answered with more gusto, smiling suavely when she undid another button on his jacket as she asked yet another question. Unspokenly agreeing to her version of a compromise, the two immortals undressed bit by bit with every one of her questions answered. Before long, Eirik was stripping the last undergarment away from her supple and silky skin before caressing her into his embrace. Isabela was content to be naked in his arms, most of her pertinent questions answered and all others quieted as she got lost in the heat of his skin pressed against hers. Leaving a path of clothes strewn in the direction of her bedroom, they ended up making love passionately. Eirik's sensual ardor was scintillating, leaving her hungry and pliable under him as he rocked her into a fierce climax. He moaned and joined her in bliss soon after, his hands and lips possessively caressing her as she clung to him. 

The world melted around them. It was unlike anything either of them had ever felt. Once the lust subsided, she found herself marveling over his body. Scars etched his torso, some light and hard to notice, others ragged and worn by time. On the side of his right pectoral were scratches similar to claw marks; they raised his pale skin. She traced them with the four fingers of her right hand, marveling at the smoothness of the raised flesh. His most jagged scar was along his left bicep. The claws of the animal had torn into his flesh, slicing deep. She caressed the massive claw marks and looked up at him through her lashes. He was watching her, something sensual and rugged glimmering in his eyes.

"War wounds?"

He'd noticed the scar on her womb, and had wondered the same thing. "You could say that. Got that for my warrior rite. I think it would be called a…coming of age ritual," he smirked, but it didn't quite reach his blue eyes. 

"Oh really. A rite of passage? Did you have to wrestle a polar bear?" she quipped sultrily, fingers still marveling over the marred muscular bicep. 

"No. A Direwolf."

When she blinked at him, he grinned boorishly at her and elaborated. "My father went through it…all Northwolf warriors had to earn their warrior rite. They would not be considered men otherwise, let alone warriors in blood and spirit. So...on my 15th year of life, I entered the gauntlet. It was an arena set at the mouth of a cave. All clan members watch as you enter and fight the clan symbol—the Direwolf. Of course, the beast was widely extinct and not indigenous to Europe, but my greatgrandfather was one of the first Vikings to travel to Northern America. He captured many Direwolf and bred them over many generations. The gauntlet was between man and beasts. One Direwolf, to symbolize the clan, One Greywolf, for reliance, and a Redwolf for the blood a warrior must spill." 

He paused, staring into her captivated eyes. Caressing the claw marks on the side of his chest, he remarked, "The Greywolf gave me this. It was a majestic creature; distracted me long enough for the Direwolf to give me this," he brushed his fingers over his scarred bicep. "Seeing my own blood and the thirst in the wolves' eyes made me go berserker for the first time. I managed to run through the Redwolf, and by then, I don't remember anything until I…became a warrior in the center of the arena, the beasts slain and my clansmen cheering me. I skinned my kills and made regal pelts out of them. They were my pride, and the envy of all those not warrior." 

Lowering her eyes to the scar, she brushed a kiss over the marred flesh before leaning up to kiss him. "That makes a lot of sense." He chuckled, tipping her face towards him and gave her an amused look, raising his brow inquisitively at her. "You remind me of a wolf. You smell like a dirty wolf too," she provocatively teased, and earned a laugh from the blond Viking before he rolled over and claimed her fiercely with his body, his mouth loving hers with intoxicating desire.

When she awoke the next morning, she found her bed empty. Bemused, she wrapped the bed sheet around herself before heading into the parlor. His clothes were gone, but on the center table stood a vase filled with crimson roses. A small card was tucked into the bouquet. She read the note and smiled. There were only 3 words written in his bold handwriting:

I Trust You.

To be continued...

____________________

Read Chapter 12: Savage Return - Part 2

The song Isabela sings in the club is "Speechless" by Lady Gaga. 

Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving a comment and sharing your feedback. I would be eternally grateful.

[furious-rogue-stuff]

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 10: Besetting Memories

Pairing: Victor Creed x Isabela Montecristo | Sabertooth x Vipress

Disclaimer: This series will have canon-accurate and heightened levels of violence, adult themes, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and graphic descriptions of sex. *Post-Origins movieverse.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word count: 12,000+

Series Summary: Victor Creed's reputation as the Sabertooth proceeds him. He clashes with a mysterious feral woman, an enigma and anomaly to everything he knows. What began as a hunt becomes a dance between like-minded predators.

🚨Warning: Explicit sex, adult situations, implied rape, graphic imagery, feral power play, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and a pinch of angst. I do not own any aspect or character of the Marvel Universe nor elements of the X-Men Origins movieverse.

A Feral Interlude Masterlist

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 10: Besetting Memories

He felt like he was sleeping on a creampuff. The soft comforter and pillows cushioned him comfortably—quite different from the squalor he'd grown up in, sleeping on the cold floor or in itchy haystacks. Hell, he'd slept in the dirt, the muddy foxholes and trenches of the wars, up in trees, and in gutter trash motels even the lowlifes wouldn't dare frequent. The creature comforts he'd been spoiled with since being with Isabela were growing on him.

Fighting to stay asleep, he stretched out, sighed and rolled onto his stomach, absently reaching for Isabela. His hand only found empty bed next to him. Growling, he flopped onto his back and sat up on his elbows, ears perking for the telltale sounds of her showering, or maybe moving around in the next room.

Nothing.

He sniffed the air, and caught her stale scent. Jerking out of bed, Victor stalked around the suite. He was alone, but her things were still where she'd left them. Grunting, he got his trademark black jeans and pulled them on as he wandered past the table under the sitting room mirror. A note on hotel stationary rested on the tabletop. He snatched it up, reading her lovely handwriting:

At the park. No rush—I.

The trepidation that had welled in his gut eased. Still, he dressed quickly, pulling on his trench coat as he stormed out of the hotel room.

The early afternoon climate was crisp and promising warmer weather, ground still wet from the torrential downpour the night before. He strode down the avenue, eyes looking around intently until he saw the wrought-iron archway of a city park. As he walked into the park, his mind buzzed with foreboding disquiet. It pissed him off to be apprehensive, but his animal instincts were keenly on guard.

He walked through the extensive park, following the path through the sparsely-leafed trees before the path veered off into several directions by a park sign directory. A chilly breeze carried through the trees overhead down to him, bringing a cornucopia of stray scents from the east of the park. Heading down the path upwind, he crossed up a hill and came out of the tree-lined path onto a wide meadow. The winter chill had withered the foliage, and the sun hid behind a cluster of grey clouds, making it seem like later in the day than it actually was.

Scenting the air, he walked down to come upon a playground equipped with jungle gyms, safety turf, sandbox, and all sorts of child-safe slides and little bouncy animals for toddlers to ride. A few kids, toddlers, and their mothers ambled around on the playground, childish cries of glee and the chatter of women carrying over the breezy wind. Around the circumference of the playground were park benches. Most were empty as the Parisian mothers played with their daycare-aged kids, but at the far side of the playground, he spotted Isabela, sitting and watching the scene. The collar of her auburn coat was flipped up, protecting the nape of her neck from the wind. Her Italian leather boots and espresso leggings made her skin look warm and radiant, hair lustrous as it wafted in the breeze. From his vantage point, he could see her profile and not much else. She was watching the children scamper merrily around, a faraway look in her eyes and her lips smooth as her hair tussled softly in the light wind.

Victor walked over just as a chestnut-haired boy dashed after his bouncing ball. It rolled to Isabela's feet, and the toddler scuttled towards her and dove down to pick it up before staring up and giving her a beaming smile. He held up the ball and offered it to her, laughing and gesturing for her to play.

Victor stopped and watched, intrigued to see what she'd do.

Isabela stared down at the cherub-faced boy with the adorably green eyes and chestnut curls. Folding her hands in her lap, she leaned back and smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. The boy's mother called for him, so gathering up his ball against his chest, he dutifully ran back towards the playground, shooting a smile over his shoulder along with an innocent wave.

Her hands wrung together, eyes smolderingly distant as she watched the toddler join his mother. Isabela felt a hollowness advance through her chest and seep deeper, to her very marrow. It'd been centuries, and she still felt a pang when she saw a child that reminded her of Alejandro…or looked into the face of a child with green eyes similar to hers that made her wonder about the child that hadn't lived; Would he have had my eyes? Glancing away from the little boy who jumped into his mother's arms, she closed her eyes and let her animal self detach her away from the pain of the past.

"I hate it when you get pensive," the wry rumble startled her. She turned to look over her shoulder just as Victor loped around the bench to sit next to her, crowding her by stretching his arm to rest along the back of the bench as he huffed through his nose and glanced over at the playground. She stared at him before glancing back at the playground herself, but Victor saw the glow in her preternatural eyes.

"You slept in," she mused, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap.

"Would've slept longer had a certain little viper stayed put in bed," he quipped sourly, giving her a sidelong glance.

A rueful smile pulled at the corners of her lips as the russet rings around her pupils flared out and the green of her eyes glowed playfully at him. "Just wanted to catch up on some things," she murmured, tipping her face towards him to add, "Must've gotten lost in thought."

He grunted, nose wrinkling at nothing in particular. "You think too much," he muttered aloofly, cold blue eyes shifting from a couple of kids monkeying around on a jungle gym to a little girl sitting under the slide playing with her dolly. "How can you stand it?" he suddenly groused. She glanced at his irascible glower, not sure what he meant. Looking over at her, he gestured with his chin at the playground. "The smell," he grunted, "Spoiled milk, rubbing alcohol, and powder—Gives me a damned headache."

Isabela betrayed a soft laugh. "It's the age: blotting nature and biology out with chemicals and saccharine-smelling things made in labs," she shrugged. "It's a pity. There's nothing like the smell of an infant," she mused and went back to watching the kids.

Irked by the thought, Victor huffed through his nose and changed the subject. "Don't tell me we're gonna sit out here all damned day," he sneered, nails scraping idly at the back of the bench.

Humming, Isabela absently flexed her tapered fingers and mused, "You said you had an old contact dig up what he could find…just how much did he find?"

Victor turned to shoot her an implacable look. She glanced at him, stoic. They stared at each other for a few seconds, but neither could read the other's motives.

He felt the unease from before return, along with a wave of aggravation. Looking away cavalierly, he snorted, "So much for not wanting to fight. Don't start that shit up again. I already told you…and either way, I thought you didn't wanna make this personal—"

"Victor 'Dog' Logan, son of Margaret Creed and Thomas Logan, and older half brother of James Howlett," she recited from memory, preternatural eyes calculating as they bore into his. "Born, roughly, in 1835 in Alberta Canada. Veteran of four wars; would've been five, but the Korean War was too soon after WWII; couldn't chance bureaucracy catching up with you and your brother. Average number of estimated kills in the thousands, give or take. …" she trailed off when she felt the wave of anger rise in him. "It isn't personal, at least not in the sense where we learn out of a necessity or vindictiveness. I found out about you because it's my business to know, and because I'm incapable of forgetting. So, how much did you find out?"

Something wild and dangerous was flashing in Victor's eyes, and she knew he was suppressing it through sheer will.

He warred with the animal inside him—She knows everything! No one should know—and then he realized how she must've felt. Trapped, furious, and alienated. He stared at her for long moments before scoffing disdainfully.

His fingers dented the back of the bench when he gripped the wood. "Nothing much," he reticently murmured and glared at the kids on the playground, feeling awkward and angry.

"All the things I've learned about you, and for the life of me, I don't understand you at times," she mused, a cold smile on her lips. "One thing I don't understand is why you turned on Jimmy—"

"Watch it!" he snarled lowly, cutting glare flaring back to her.

She felt the untapped boiling rage the subject raised in him, a dangerous subject that had anyone else been bold to bring up would no longer be breathing. Unruffled, she leaned back, uncrossed her right leg and crossed her left leg. "Siblings are a touchy subject for everyone. But then again, you know that. I had a younger brother too…" she murmured serenely, watching as the chestnut-haired child and his mother left the playground. "But, I'm sure you know that already as well," she trailed off and glanced at him.

Setting his jaw, Victor said nothing, but his nostrils flared crossly at her.

She smiled and her eyes narrowed menacingly, jarring him. "Trust me, I'm not judging you…I wasn't much of a good elder sibling to my brother either. I loved him, just as much as I'm sure you care for your brother still," the muscle in Victor's jaw twitched from how hard he was clenching his teeth and how tense he was, "but, at least your brother is still around, somewhere. I envy you…"

"Yer testing my patience, Izzie, and I don't fucking like it—!"

She suddenly sat in a way that allowed her to face him on the bench, and Victor finally noticed the leather satchel stored under the bench and tucked away just out of eye level. Staring at her, he immediately understood where it was all coming from.

Glancing at the satchel, she mused, "It was quite a shock—seeing a part of my past I thought buried and gone forever. If you were able to find that, then I know there's more you unearthed."

After a pause, he grunted humorlessly and sneered, "Oh, what's the point of telling you if it's gonna stop yah from being so sentimental. Hearing you pour your guts out is pretty intriguing—"

"I killed my brother. His name was Alejandro. I killed him when he was only 7 years old…" she shrugged, remarking, "Still intriguing?" He clenched his jaw, eyes remaining flinty. "Ah, so you already knew that," she mused, tossing her hair away from her face as she glanced back at the satchel. Mischa…so your work did live on.

She knew her old confidante's journals were the only way any history about her could've survived the ravages of time. It'd been reckless of her to assume the work died with him, but then again that period of her life had been so chaotic that she had scrapped it to the recesses of her recollections, along with her feelings about the Krause family.

Instead of the anger he'd expected, he sensed a flood of relief come over her as she leaned back and returned to watching the kids play. "I have a knack for killing anyone that means anything to me, directly or indirectly. Doesn't matter," she spoke, breeze blowing tendrils of her hair to dance around her shoulders and face. "I don't know if it's exclusively a feral thing, or if it's just me, but over the centuries I've come to realize animals like us can't live in the lives of mortals," she mused. "And I mean other mutants as well. They're not in the same species as us; they just straddle the line, while we are defined by it…"

"What the fuck does it matter?"

She stared at Victor, who gazed at her with discontent.

"All this fuckin' introspective bullshit—it doesn't matter one goddamn bit," he spat gruffly, eyes gazing at her intently. "It's done. Nothing you can do about it, and yah sure as hell can't change what you are, so why the fuck are you trying?" he leaned in close, his breath flaring against her cheek. "You need to get out of your head, Izzie. It seems like a claustrophobic place to be," he rumbled, eyes narrowing when her stoic veneer chipped and an unreadable emotion entered her gaze.

Lips pressing together, her gaze intensified on his. She was taken aback. The pang of cold jealousy she felt for his crassness left her irked. How can it be that easy for him? He was a being who was seemingly detached from himself—from his introspective self. His thoughts didn't linger on the past, and his moments of rumination were always about the present. She wondered if he became that way after such a cruel upbringing, or if it was intrinsically hardwired in him—if it was just part of his nature. Part of her was jealous of his ability to disregard sentiment and rid himself of the burden of his past. That part of her wanted to rebuff him—What about your brother? Did you push him away? What have you done that haunts you, Victor?—but another part of her just hurt for him.

"What do you want me to say, Victor?"

He stared at her, a scowl playing on his lips. "You're right," she declared, confusing him for mere seconds until she continued, "So smart, and infallible—you've walled yourself away from the guilt and hatred and disdain you have towards yourself, from any sense of remorse you could have about the things you've done, or didn't do. You've achieved what I've wished for—what I've wanted for hundreds of years. It's allowed you to be wise while others have fallen to folly—while I've scraped over the hot coals of my own personal hell in my mind…but the outcome is still the same."

She paused, preternatural eyes glowing at him.

"I might be overly introspective, but you're the absolute opposite, and look at us: we're absolutely alien to our surroundings, to the people we've known and cared about…and even to each other. And the best part of it all? We're permanent, indestructible and unique, and miserable," she took a breath, shaking her head and fighting some vicious impulse before opening her eyes and leaning close to him. "In the end, we're both the same. We're alone…" she whispered calmly, but the strain of her words was like a sledgehammer to the chest.

Staring rapaciously down at her, Victor felt rancorous and helpless, but most of all, he felt hollow. She knew how to cut to the core, but the pain with which she did it left him wanting to yank that pain away from her so he could inflict it on someone else. Impotent rage surged through him, but Isabela didn't pull away or anticipate a blow. Instead, she leaned closer, one hand falling to rest on his thigh and the other on his shoulder. For the first time, he saw the ache in her eyes, and it was for him. Not for some ghost of a lover, or out of pity or lust, but for him! For what he made her feel.

"We're both utterly alone, Victor," she murmured before taking a sobering breath, her eyes truly sad and her lips tantalizingly parted.

He drowned in her eyes; his body starved for her, and the animal roared under his skin.

Nothing around him mattered. And to a certain degree, what she was saying didn't matter. All that mattered to him was her, and him, and annihilating anything that came between them. He didn't want to talk—didn't know what to say and was too angry to care, so he leaned in and kissed her, a charge of pride stoking in his chest when she leaned in to meet him half way.

When he captured her lips with his vicious mouth, he just wanted to breathe her in and taste her—to prove to her that because they were the same they could never be alone again.

He kissed her possessively, and she let him, lips molding to his. To Victor, the kiss lasted a fleeting eternity, until he noticed the numbing sensation that began to lace through him.

Eyes snapping open, he realized too late that the familiar tingle of stillness was coursing through him to incapacitate his limbs and extremities. Isabela's hand moved from his shoulder to cup his cheek, and the numbing surge of her pheromone was like icy fire under his skin.

She was shimmered with so much stillness that Victor couldn't even struggle against the sensation. He could only manage a begrudging snarl as he glared blazingly at her when she broke the kiss and traced her thumb along his cheekbone.

"Don't be mad," she murmured, eyes soft but earnest.

"Fuckin' jokin'?" he managed to slur, stillness making his tongue heavy in his mouth.

She leaned back, her hand caressing his jaw tenderly. A few rays of sun broke from the overcast clouds, and Victor finally noticed the shimmer of her skin. Her reaction to the little boy made sense now. He realized she must've been sitting there the whole time with her skin laced with stillness, waiting for him to come along and fall into her trap.

"No, I'm not joking." His glare intensified, and the muscle in his jaw twitched with his suppressed fury. "Our truce is over…I could've sneaked out, but I didn't want to. I wanted to tell you to your face—"

"You fucking bitch," he seethed in a contemptible growl. His jaw clenched tightly as he fought to not slur, "Yer mine—will fuckin' catch up to you and make you pay…" he struggled to fight the numbness, but only managed a fidget before Isabela cupped her hand over his cheek again.

He felt the icy sensation tingle through him again as she mused, "Victor. You are not an idiot…and neither am I. We're animals. We'll move on, as we should, and not pursue something that is not in our natures—"

"I will track you down," he cut in with irrevocable determination to his tone. "I'll find you, and when I do, there's nothing that'll stand between the two of us, especially not you, Isabela. You'll never run away from me—!"

"But I'm not running away from you."

He stared at her, her candor and earnestness setting him on edge. She leaned close to him, resting her head on his shoulder and inhaling his musky but furious scent. "What did you expect to happen, Victor?" she inquired, keeping the judgment out of her tone. "You're a beast…bound to no one. That won't change…and neither will I—"

"And what about you?"

Victor's growl reverberated through his chest, stirring Isabela to look back up at him. She stared at his malicious glare.

"I'm a monster, Victor. I've killed the only blood that mattered to me…everything that's been part of me died because of what I am, and I've accepted that. My beast accepted me, and isn't bound to anything, not even you," she stated with fire in her preternatural eyes.

"Oh?" he sneered disdainfully. "If that last bit was true, this would be going down real fucking differently, and we both know it. Am I the only fucking feral on this whole goddamned planet that has any sense?" he snarled at her.

She didn't answer. Instead, she leaned her head on his shoulder and remained silent for a moment.

"I want to be alone until there's nothing left."

She was staring off at the playground, and Victor felt the lead that had been weighing down in his gut drop lower. The breeze picked up, whipping around them languidly.

"Until they're all gone, and there's nothing left. I can keep killing and living, until there's nothing…until there's no one that matters, because there's no release for me. I've dealt with it for half a millennia, Victor. You haven't lived long enough to realize what it all means, and how we fit in this world. I've made my peace with it…but I cannot endure it anymore. I won't, because if I do, I'll cease to be, and the beast will forget me…"

The bone-splitting isolation she extolled made him feel hollow in his chest. It was something he'd never considered, and the fact that she would embrace it instead of taking from life like he did made him shudder internally. This powerful, impervious being nestled against his side was the closest thing to homo-superior perfection he'd ever come across, and instead of sitting at the top of the food chain, she completely divorced herself from it.

Staring down at her, Victor ignored the burn in his tightly clenched jaw and itched to grab her.

"I don't see how any of this means you can't be mine."

Her gaze whipped back to his, eyes wide and incredulous. Her stoic mask was completely shattered, making every emotion readable on her face to his keen smoky eyes.

Once again, he'd pushed through her defenses, leaving her unguarded and raw.

Feelings blazed through her unbidden, and just when she felt lost in the gulf of remembrance, Victor pulled her back.

"M'stuck here just as same as you, Izzie. There hasn't been one person I've met that I haven't killed or done worse to…my own blood included. Doesn't mean I'm gonna leash my own fuckin' self to be the miserable bastard everyone thinks I should be," he rumbled in a hard tone, watching as her gaze refocused and her mask slowly cloaked her emotions again.

Then it hit him. Something tickled his recollections, and he suddenly remembered what Dan Dresner told him—while revenge had fueled Dantès, he found peace once he recovered his humanity. As Monte Cristo, he had disconnected himself from humanity and given himself to revenge, but once he allowed himself to forgive he became Dantès again—recovering his humanity…it's all about realizing God's Providence and the importance of waiting and hoping that he'll intervene in the world; punishing the bad and rewarding the good…

Isabela was sentimental enough for the both of them, but he never thought she was set on any form of a moral compass. He suddenly wondered why she'd chosen Montecristo as her surname. Was she disconnected from everything because of some sort of revenge? Who would warrant such a penance?

"No, it doesn't, Victor. I never said it should, but just because we're very alike, doesn't mean we're on the same path," she murmured and stared into his eyes, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.

She was taking revenge out on the only person she could—herself. It shocked him to realize it so late, but he still couldn't understand it.

"I had gotten used to the idea of being alone forever. It'd stopped scaring me after…after I spent years in the wild. Eirik was the first immortal I'd met in centuries. I thought…I'd unconsciously held on to some hope, and then there he was. I gave into it and was happy to do so. I'd never thought for a second that he could die—that just because he'd lived for a millennia didn't mean he was impervious or indestructible."

She paused, her eyes lowering to her hands as she folded them and tried concentrating on not seeing the face of her dead lover in her mind's eye. "I don't expect you to accept anything. The truth is, I've never wanted anything from you, and that's what makes us so different, Victor. It's why anything more is impossible—"

"There's no fucking way I'm letting you go." His eyes were flinty and his scowl was murderous. "I don't care what your goddamn hang ups are. There's nothing you can say to persuade me, viper, and you know it. Once I get my hands on you, you'll wish you'd been smart enough to stay—!"

"I can't allow myself to be yours. I won't let you, no matter how much I may desire to," she cut in serenely, skin shimmering gold as she leaned in and added, "You know this too, because you feel exactly the same way about me."

His jaw clenched and his angered flared. "I'll find you. Sooner or later, I'll find you again and make you mine. There's nothing that'll get in my way once I do," he proclaimed with chilling resoluteness, but his eyes were blazing with heat.

A sad smile tugged at her lips. Isabela leaned in close, until only their noses were brushing, and said stoically, "I wouldn't expect anything less, Victor."

She kissed him then, and stillness skittered across him for one final dose of numbness before it dissipated. Their kiss lasted seconds before she pulled away and collected the satchel.

"Goodbye, Victor…and if it's any consolation," she paused and leaned over to whisper against his lips, "this has been the best interlude I've ever had…I'll miss you."

With that, Victor could only irascibly stare as she walked away up a path to exit the park, leaving him to sit alone at the park bench and look like a lover who was just jilted and left to brood on a cold Parisian day. He watched her go out of sight through the trees, and he raged internally, trying to fight the stillness in his limbs to go after her. By the time he was able to flex his fingers and claw his nails into the back of the bench, Victor's vision was narrowing with a berserk rage he couldn't contain.

Once he got his motor functions back, he was on his feet and stalking at a slightly wavering pace out of the park, leaving in his wake the fluid gossiping of the women as they lamented him being broken up with in front of a playground.

By the time he made it back to the hotel, he was stalking at a dash to their suite, knowing she was more than long gone, but still blinded by his need to prove it all to himself. When he burst into their hotel room, he found all her belongings gone. What the hell did you expect? He berated himself and slammed his fist into the wall, effectively embedding his forearm into the plaster. Roaring in impotent anger, he pulled his fist out and raged against his surroundings, until he noticed the note and glossy picture left on the bed.

Shaking with fury, he stalked to the bed and picked up the note in one hand and the picture in another.

I thought you should have this, since I took the Polaroid out of your pocket. Already miss you—I .

Looking at the picture, he recognized it as one of the many photographs that had come in the satchel. It was a 3x5 photo of Isabela sitting on the swing in a life-sized gilded canary cage, dressed in stilettos, a shimmery corset, and feathery train that hung behind her like a bird's tail. She looked like a preternatural beauty from another world, all flirty and enigmatic.

Shoving his hand into his inner coat pocket, Victor realized she had taken the Polaroid of them canoodling in the diner from a couple of days prior, but the check was still there.

The only thing he had of her now was the picture and her stray scent on the piece of paper.

Sticking the picture and note into his pocket, he bristled with his own rage until the next thing he knew he was stalking down to the lobby of the hotel. His vision was narrowing out at the edges, and he felt it was only a matter of time before he went absolutely berserk.

He heard someone shouting behind him, but it wasn't until someone ran in front of him that he realized they were talking to him. It was the hotel concierge, and he was telling him in fluid French something about a message. The man handed Victor an envelope as he continued to explain that his female companion left it for him and had completed checkout.

When he tore the envelop open, he found a plane ticket with the destination to be set for anywhere he wished.

Victor didn't realize that the deafening roar was coming from him until his surroundings came into focus again and he found the poor concierge laying lifeless in the wreckage of his berserk rage and people screaming around him. He'd literally just killed the messenger. The envelope and ticket were clutched in his hand as he ran out of the hotel.

By the time he had calmed down, he didn't recognize anything around him. He stood in the middle of Paris, at a complete loss. It took him several moments of brooding to make a decision on what to do next.

                      _____________________________________

It had been a long 48 hours. Nick had a team tracing Kazuya's last whereabouts before he'd gotten to Manhattan, but figuring out who the other dead mutant was had left hours of wasted resources when he couldn't afford the hassle. Stalking down the hallway towards his office, he couldn't help wonder just how the hell two of the deadliest mutants figured into the bigger picture.

Entering his office, Nick never thought the answer would be patiently waiting for him while sitting in his desk chair.

"Agent Fury. A pleasure," the exotic woman said, coolly leaning forward in his chair to fold her hands over his desk. "Please, refrain from doing anything drastic. I'd like to discuss matters with you."

Nick set his jaw and walked over to the front of his desk. "I gotta say, Vipress, your reputation doesn't do your cunning justice," Nick said and crossed his arms. "I'd ask how the hell you got in—"

"A useless question," she cut in and waved her hand dismissively. "A better question would be how I got mixed up in the matter you've been investigating," Isabela mused and placed a disc on his desk.

Nick glanced down at the disc with his good eye before shifting his gaze back at the predator smiling pleasantly at him. "And what is that? A confession?" he groused.

Isabela swiftly stood and walked idly over to the window so she could gaze out at the cold winter evening. "Not really a confession per say. It was an insurance policy. I'm leaving it to you," she declared and turned to give him an intense stare. "I expect you to cease pursuing me—"

"That's not a keen expectation, Vipress," Nick stated and rounded his desk, intending to get to the secret buzzard that would have his office swarming with armed guards in minutes.

"Now Agent Fury, don't insult my intelligence. Sit," she purred, the deadly gleam in her preternatural eyes promising agony if he didn't do as he was told.

So he did. He plopped into his chair and waited for her to make the next move, knowing full well she could rip his larynx out before he'd ever manage to reach the buzzard.

"I understand you're in quite a mess. Part of it was my doing, but I assure you I had the best intentions. I stole the tele-computer and handed it over to a man named Basset. He is the mutant left a ghastly mess in that warehouse. Kazuya was a free agent hired to dispose of Basset, but his employer hadn't thought me still alive," she smiled at that.

"So, this Basset double crossed his employer and threw you under the bus?" Nick inquired, his mind piecing together her involvement in the gala massacre. "How does Sabertooth fit into this?"

Isabela pressed her lips together in an unreadable expression. "He doesn't. His involvement was a fluke. He had personal matters with me…it was happenchance that he got mixed up in the situation," she paused and leaned against the windowsill before adding, "Now, I'm sure you're looking for your tele-computer. I cannot attest to its current whereabouts, but if your people investigate Armand de Lioncourt's recent dealings, I'm sure it will turn up one way or another. If not, the disk is a copy of all the files the computer contained."

Nick picked up the disk in question and marveled at it. "And why, pray tell, are you being so generous?" he stared back when she crossed her arms and contemplated him.

"I expect you to stop pursuing me, as well as Mr. Creed."

He looked at her and couldn't help disdainfully snorting at that. "You killed a dozen of my men. Not to mention stole top secret property and sold it to a terrorist—"

"To a corporate monopolist and war profiteer," Isabela corrected, adding, "I will quibble with details. It's my nature. I will also tell you that this is nonnegotiable. You stop pursuing me and Creed. If not, well…I don't think I have to specify any one thing I could do to make the matter any more worse for you and your superiors, Agent Fury."

"Creed has been on our radar prior to this. No way he's going to get a pass—"

"I don't like repeating myself, Agent Fury," she stated with irrevocable steel to her tone before loping towards the door. "Mr. Creed isn't a primary target, and we both know there is no clear delineated objective for either his capture, or mine. As for the bigger catch you've been fishing for," she paused and offered one last glance over her shoulder before declaring, "Consider it a bonus that my private interests coincided with yours; what ever is left of de Lioncourt is probably still waiting for you in his office," she shrugged musingly and added, "Long holiday weekend and all."

"Why'd you and Creed pair together?"

Pausing, she turned slowly and replied, "Now that, sir, is none of your business. Have a pleasant holiday season, Agent Fury."

And with that, she strode out his office and respectfully shut the door silently behind her.

Nick Fury slumped back in his chair, floored and beside himself. The deadliest woman alive had snuck into the Pentagon undetected without maiming one person before slipping out.

Holding up the disc filled with backed up files, Nick decided to put aside his serious reservations with the lack in security to instead put into motion the next phase of his investigation:

Bag whatever was left of the dead big fish de Lioncourt, track the tele-computer, and sign off on a cease and desist order for the pursuit and capture of the Vipress and the Sabertooth.

                      _____________________________________

After lighting the last candle, he knew he could no longer resist the urge to read the testimonial. Once everyone had been tucked into their warm beds and lulled to sleep, Ephram had gone into his study and picked up the book he'd been avoiding.

He didn't know what to expect. All he knew was that the testimonial would be the missing chapter of a story he'd never understood. He hoped the answers would not frighten him.

Ephram opened the testimonial and read the handwritten account, only putting it down once when his wife Agnes came in with a package addressed to him. He begrudgingly put the testimonial to the side to open the box.

When he popped the lid open, Ephram was thunderstruck to be united with his father's journals; all in pristine condition, just like he'd left them in the care of the Holocaust museum before they'd been stolen.

Needless to say, Ephram went back to his study and thrust himself into the testimonial, set on reading it from cover to cover and promising to keep the journals in his care and to never part with them again.

                      _____________________________________

Her first memory was visiting her mother's grave at a very young age. Her father, having converted to Catholicism early on before his successes, had taken her by the hand and walked her to the site. She had stared up at her father's austere and Moorish features, and asked him who was in the grave. The headstone read Princesa, but she didn't know her mother's Christian name. 

"Your mother shed her heathen name when God married us, hija. I gave her the Christian name because that was all she'd asked of me. In return, she gave me you, and in turn, gave you her life."

Years later, her Tia told her the story of how her father bought her and her sister out of enslavement, forced them to take Christian names, and then married her mother because she was a Taina princess—"Princesa was the bondage name of your mother."

Her father had become a wealthy merchant in Spain, and once he landed in the New World, he became a prosperous and respected landowner. He owned acres of vast land on the north coast of the island and had become quite the businessman in the capital. 

Isabela had spent most of her childhood on the sprawling ranch with her Tia as her caretaker. She had learned to bridge the spheres of her life from a young age, knowing she stood out from the old world of her mother's people and the tyrannical world of her father's. The only thing that seemed to anchor her at all was the wild—the untouched savage land of the jungle just beyond the boundaries of her father's land and beyond. 

It called to her, made her feel safe and accepted, especially on the warm nights when she snuck out of the manor house and took to the jungle. She was never afraid of the animals that abounded in the darkness, or the eerie sounds of life from the slaves and their rituals. Many times, she would come out of the jungle and join the bon fires and dances of the nubian people as they sung and danced around the firelight. Like her, they were connected to the wild, but unlike them, she was different—

"You are divine. You are meant to be the gods' new child among the devils. Nothing is equal to you, cemí. Because you are a new child, you must understand your roots. You have the blood of gods in you; the wrath of ancestors in your eyes. But, your father will make you weak; he will hurt your spirit like he did my sister. Don't rebel like we did…but don't lay down and die like he will have of you…" 

Tia had told her so the first time she caught her sneaking back into the manor.

Isabela had only been 8 years old. Her restless soul had been frightened by the isolating concept of being 'a new child.' She had questioned her Tia about her little brother—asked if he was a new child like her; wondered if they could protect each other from the loneliness. 

"Alejandro is a devil born in our world. He is not like you, cemí."

Her little brother wasn't like her. After several years of widowhood, her father had chosen to remarry. Gloria had been a decent stepmother, albeit aloof towards her husband's mix-blooded daughter. When Isabela was 4 years old, she welcomed her baby brother with awe and love. She had hoped to find an equal, and protected him from the ills of others. However, overtime she realized they weren't alike. When he would fall, his wounds would continue to bleed. When he bumped his head, the bruises would remain far longer than hers. And when father looked on him, she saw the true exuberant pride in his dark green eyes that never shined when he looked on her. 

The sadness she felt at being the lone 'new child' made a little lump in her chest, but the pain never lasted long, not with Alejandro's unwavering love for his big sister. The little boy inherited his mother's light brown tresses and dimpled cheeks, but like her and her father, he had dazzling green eyes. Unlike her father's, his eyes were exuberant and curious, and unlike hers, his weren't piercing and haunting. 

They played together as much as they could, but as he grew older, their father forced Isabela to attend Church services while Alejandro was schooled at the closest town, under the watchful eye of his mother. Her chestnut-haired and green-eyed little brother had never understood why Isabela was kept at arms length by father, and it made him profoundly sad. 

His sadness changed to anger the day some schoolmates picked on him while he waited for his father in the courtyard. His mother's anemia had kept her from escorting him to and back from school, so he was forced to wait for father. The boys shoved and teased him for being the son of a moor, and cruelly told him his sister was half heathen—half animal by society's standards. Alejandro was too little to fight back, so he covered his head and let them beat on him, silently hoping they would be through by the time his father arrived. In a flash, the boys' cruel tones were replaced by cries of horror. It had taken Alejandro a few moments to realize the blows were no longer falling on him, but instead on his tormentors. 

He'd uncurled slowly from the ground to watch in shock as Isabela pummeled mercilessly on one of the boys while the other two cried pathetically in the mud. Hobbling to his feet, 5 year old Alejandro had looked on as his older sister pounded the boy's head against the ground, her hand fisted in his long hair as she bashed it over and over again. 

"Izzie! Stop!" he'd shouted and ran over to pull his sister's arms. 

Pupils dilated, Isabela shoved Alejandro back and pulled the boy's head up sharply by his scalp. Her fingers twisted painfully in the boy's hair, causing him to yelp and streak his face with blood and tears. 

"This animal will tear you apart if you ever touch him again. Understand?" she hissed in a measured whisper that only her brother and his tormentors could hear. 

The sound of her voice had scared Alejandro, but nothing had scared him more than looking up and seeing his father standing at the gate with a look of pitiless contempt towards his sister. When his father stalked over and coldly grabbed him by his arm, his sadness had turned to anger at the boys and at his own father for being cruel—the former towards him, the latter towards his sister who was left to stand in the courtyard while father dragged him away. 

Isabela had watched her brother be pulled away from her while the boys managed to slither a retreat, leaving her to distractedly follow her kin. The smell of blood and the rush of violence had been her first dose of what her true nature was capable of, and as she licked her black talons clean of blood, something had come alive in her.

For once, the pain in her chest was replaced with exhilaration, and she liked how it felt. 

The exhilaration didn't last long, though. Not with her brother being sheltered away from her. Father had been slowly moving her into a place of inconsequence for years while Alejandro grew older. However, he became more rebellious. Alejandro began to question his father and bicker with his mother, shifting into fits of rage that left him shouting at them for being unfair and cruel. Their father would silence him with a slam of his fist against the table, eyes blazing as he'd warn the boy, "There is no such thing as 'fairness.' If you continue to rage against me, I shall show you what true cruelty is."

He never raised a hand to Alejandro, thanks to Isabela. She would volunteer to take the punishment, and did so happily, since it met she and her brother were connected through more than blood. They were each other's champions. She would cherish the unconditional love of her sibling and return it twofold, and so she did, which often left her punished in isolation—locked in her quarters. She felt validated and loved most in those moments of loneliness.

When Isabela turned 11, however, the ranch was turned upside down by her sudden illnesses. She was bed-ridden by a terrible fever that left her burning up or shivering with bone-wrenching chills. For weeks on end, her condition fluctuated, leaving many to speculate she wouldn't survive the year. Then she was struck by a mysterious skin virus that left her skin blistered and cracked. The agony left her immobile for days. She was quarantined in her room and the only person allowed to tend to her was her Tia. 

Her Tia sobbed over her prone form and begged the cemís to save her. Alejandro, only 7 years old, had cried in his mother's arms, terrified his sister would die and that he would never be able to protect her like she always had protected him. Even her father had sat in his study and stared into the darkness of the night outside, feeling a heavy weight on his soul. It was a punishment, he knew it was his punishment, but for the life of him, he only felt guilt for having become enamored with Princesa and fathering such an unnatural child.

Isabela had stared up at the ceiling, her breath ragged when she was struck by the pain of liquid fire racing through her. She'd jolted and tore at her skin, feeling the excruciating agony of her skin cracking and peeling along her shoulders and back, knees and elbows. Her Tia had tried to hold her down, but Isabela wrenched away and continued to claw at her skin, tearing the blistered epidermis away in sheets before realizing that the smooth skin underneath was bloodless but raw to the touch. Before long, she was huddled in a corner of the room, shivering from the sting of cold air on her burning new flesh. Her Tia had helped her calm down, telling her she had gone through her first change, and like a snake shed its skin, so had she. Her skin cooled, and as it did, it left feeling tender all over. Even her lips felt sensitive in the cold night air. Looking up at her Tia after what felt like an eternity, her eyes seemed to glow in the penumbra of her quarters. She hobbled back into her bed and into the candlelight, while her Tia gazed at the flickering shimmer that danced across her skin. 

The fevers had left Isabela's eyes preternaturally toned; a vibrant frondy green with a russet ring around her pupil. Her healing had been unnaturally quick since childhood, and her nails had turned black and razor sharp almost overnight, but after shedding her skin, she'd literally become a different creature—a new animal. The animal inside her kept her huddled into herself, shivering as she felt her skin slowly warm with the flow of blood underneath.

She remained in bed for days, even after the local doctor visited her and was marveled by her recovery. Alejandro had snuck into the room while their father spoke to the doctor. Isabela sensed him in the room and slowly opened her scintillating eyes. Instead of shrinking back from his sister's preternatural gaze, Alejandro drew near and stayed fatefully by her side while she dozed back into unconsciousness. 

She would awake days later from a jolting sensation that seared across her skin, igniting excruciating agony to blaze throughout her body. 

In a maddened state of pain, Isabela thrashed around, screaming in anguish and clawing out of bed in blinding desperation. Alejandro had heard his sister's cry and rushed to her bedroom, throwing the door open just as his sister disappeared out of her window. Shocked, he rushed after her, climbing out the window to follow her in the haze of terror and fear. 

Isabela didn't know how she'd gotten to the brook that skirted her father's land, but when the pain dissipated, she looked down at her hands and watched as wooden splinters and gashes were miraculously healed before her very eyes. Under the sun's rays, she saw her skin shimmer copper. Her eyes focused on the back of her palm, realizing that her skin was actually subtly layered with scales. The horror of it caused her to wail up at the sky and thrash towards the water to look at her reflection in the running stream. 

Seeing her reflection for the first time in weeks, she was horrified to see the preternatural fire in her green eyes, the copper shimmer of her skin, and the carnivorous incisors and fangs that peaked just behind her parted lips. Raising her hands, she stared at her predatory talons and realized she was a monster.

"Izzie!" 

Alejandro ran down the slope towards the brook, rushing towards his huddled sister. Isabela turned her wild expression towards the boy, her eyes shimmering with tears that spilled down her gaunt cheeks when he halted in his spot and stared with terror at her. 

"Izzie…" he stuttered and stepped towards her. 

"Stay away!" She yelled, her helpless fear and primal anger contorting her features as she trembled and huddled away from her little brother. 

Startled by her reaction, Alejandro rushed forward to hug her, desperate to comfort her and show her he'd protect her. 

His arms circled her shoulders and he held fast to her. "Don't be afraid, Izzie. I will protect you—"

His hands touched her bare shoulders and his forehead rested on her cheek just as her Tia came running down the slope out into the open space. Isabela's wild stare dilated to stare at her brother as he suddenly stiffened against her. Seized by a violent convulsion, Alejandro went into a seizure in his sister's arms, thrashing wildly and crying out.

"Alejandro!"

The boy's violent struggles caused him to wrench and convulse out of her arms onto the ground. Foam started to cling to the corners of his mouth as he arched his back sharply off the ground, his eyes wide and blank with pain as he shuddered and jolted. Isabela tried to hold him and stop him from hurting himself, but all she could do was slowly watch her younger brother's body struggle less and less, until his eyes focused on her for the last time.

Her blood-curdling scream tore through the valley and brought Gloria running from the manor. While the farm hands and the lady of the house looked for the children and the source of the scream, her Tia rushed over to Isabela, who was slowly rocking her dead brother in her arms and moaning in soul-shattering grief. 

When her Tia drew close and murmured for her to leave him, Isabela wrenched away and held her brother to her chest. "GET AWAY! DON'T TOUCH ME!"

The shock slowly left her staring devastatingly down at her brother pale features. She laid him down and began to shake with the realization that she had killed him—that her new skin had somehow killed Alejandro. 

"I killed him…" she looked up at her Tia's woeful expression and whispered, "I'm a monster…"

Her Tia had told her to run, beseeched her to take cover in the jungle, but Isabela remained motionless and at her brother's side. Slowly, she started to feel the agony in her skin ebb away to nothingness and the burning in her jaw eased as she felt her predator's teeth retreat into dormancy. 

She was yanked back to her surroundings by her stepmother's heart-wrenching scream.

The doctor had said he was poisoned. The grief had left Gloria bedridden, until one morning she passed away with tears staining her cheeks. 

Her father had buried son and wife in the span of several weeks on the opposite end of his estate from where his first wife's grave rested. 

Isabela had felt her father's hatred wane. He now looked on her with fear. Alone and without a true heir, he retreated from his ranch and spent years in the capital, leaving Isabela alone with only her Tia and the laborers of the land. Isabela had retreated into herself for those years of solitude, until one day when her father surprised her with his return. 

He had been taken aback by the beauty that she'd blossomed into over the years of estrangement, but was unfeeling towards her regardless. He brought her to the capital and forced her into polite society. It wasn't until she sat for the oil portrait her father had commissioned that she realized he was prepping her to be put up for display among the elite of the capital in the hopes that she'd be married off—freeing him from his responsibility over her. 

The portrait depicted a 15 year old Isabela in a red and black bodice and resplendent gown sitting at a reading table. Her long hair was draped down her back while a lace veil flowed down her shoulders. The preternatural glimmer of her green eyes looked ethereal with the russet ring that glowed around her pupil. A shiny red apple was cupped in her right palm while a black glossy rosary rested in her left hand. A single rose rested on her lap. A bible rested on the table next to her, her hand with the rosary draping the cross lightly over the leather-bound cover while the hand with the apple held it level with her bosom. Once it was completed, her father placed it in his parlor where all his visitors and prospective suitors could view his enigmatic daughter. The iconographic totems along with her exotic beauty brought her many suitors, forcing her to parade around in lavish parties in front of men twice her age and older. She remained aloof and intimidating, earning her the repudiation of her father during one trip back to their ranch from the capital. 

Angry, she had rushed out of the carriage and ran past the manor in direction for the jungle. Her Tia had chased after her, beseeching her to stop before she incurred the wrath of her father. As Isabela ran, she tore at her corset and yanked free from the heavy garments that had stifled her, leaving her free to roam in nothing but her linen chemise and her quickly-tattered farthingale. She ran up the hill and searched out the freshwater cascade where she would retreat to and leap into merrily when she roamed alone. The cascade wasn't on her father's land. It was part of the unclaimed land between the ranch and the tobacco farm on the other end of the valley. That day, the wealthy landowner of the tobacco farm was chopping wood and tossing it onto his horse's carriage when Isabela sprinted out from the trees and leapt into the pool of water at the base of the waterfall. Hearing the splash and the giggles of a woman, Joaquin dropped his ax and snuck towards the underbrush to peek over the foliage at the beautiful woman who frolicked in the water. 

Climbing out of the pool, Isabela tore the hem of her farthingale and began to unbutton her chemise when the shouts of another woman began to echo nearby. Sighing, she looked back forlornly and decided to run around the pool towards the property line of Joaquin's land in direction towards the mossy meadow shaded by the trees. When she turned to leap over some fallen brush, Isabela was startled by the tall man that suddenly stood up from his hiding place. Vacillating, she didn't bother to cover her modesty as her soaked undergarments clung appreciatively to her curves.

Joaquin's hazel eyes gazed at her with open interest and desire as he wiped the dirt off his hands and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. She stared at his creamy-but-tanned skin and marveled at the dusting of hair that peaked through his soiled shirt. Unable to suppress her smile, Isabela wandered away from him and lingered along the mossy rocks of the shoreline when her Tia finally stumbled upon her. Seeing the other landowner and aware of the look in his eyes, her Tia led Isabela away, admonishing her in her native tongue while the girl gave Joaquin one last sultry glance before going out of his sight. 

Left smitten, the man made it his mission to find out everything he could about his neighbor's enigmatic daughter. As a foreigner among Spaniards and slaves, Joaquin had kept mostly to himself and his land, only venturing to the capital to sell his crop and show face. He was the son of a French mother and Basque father. After inheriting his parents' fortune, he moved to the New World, settling on the island barely a year before purchasing the neighboring land of the vast ranch. At first he was overwhelmed by the local gossip, but he snickered and ventured to the capital to meet with Aragón Saavedra, intent on formally courting his daughter.

Enticed by her beautiful portrait, Joaquin stood up to the austere moor and refused to heed his objections. "I ask your permission to see your daughter. If she does not wish to be courted by me, then no harm shall be done."

Isabela had been taken by complete surprise when she saw Joaquin dismount from his horse and debonairly cross the distance to take the porch steps two at a time. He took her hand and bowed, kissing it chastely before proclaiming, "I saw a beautiful nymph that looked very much as yourself, querida. Would you do me the honor of allowing me to discover that brazen beauty once more?"

It had taken everything in her not to smile beamingly at him. "I fear that I cannot live up to the image in your mind, sir—"

"I dare disagree. It is the image that cannot live up to your true beauty," he mused sincerely, his hazel eyes firmly concentrated on hers. When she blushed, he smiled, "I speak bold and plain, so I shall come out with it: I intend on courting you, and only your disapproval shall stave me."

Isabela fell punch-drunk in love with him. 

The brief courtship led to a demure wedding and the merger of signatures, deeds, and property. Isabela and Joaquin became husband and wife in the fall, and for the first time in her life, she was free and loved. Joaquin moved her into his grand home and allowed her to have her Tia close by as her attendant and the caretaker of the house. The anticipation of consummating their marriage had left Isabela tender and alight with excitement. Her skin tingled with dormant pleasure as she stood before their bed. Joaquin shut the door and surveyed her under the shimmering candlelight, taking his time to undress her slowly and appraise her beauty with his hands and lips. The mere contact of his skin to hers had been engulfing. They made love and basked in their torrid bond with only desire and adoration in their eyes.

Their wedded bliss abounded when she became with-child. His adoration of her left her glowing and exuberant, even through the oddities of her pregnancy. Her Tia explained that it had been the same with her mother; raw meat and blood had become central to her diet. Isabela's cravings for undercooked meat and blood were kept secret from Joaquin, however. 

With his growing business after having merged holdings with his father-in-law, Joaquin was none the wiser. Isabela was happy and she loved him. It was enough. He wanted to take care of her and bask in the rapture of his life since seeing her at the waterfall. 

The cravings got worse. It was all she could do to not gorge herself and still ache with hunger. The first time she used stillness had been a happy-accident. One of the ranch hands had come to protest about field conditions, and at finding Joaquin absent, had tried to intimidate the pregnant woman of the house. Instinct had kicked in, and the next thing she knew, the man was paralyzed on the ground. During his fall, he'd sliced his arm on a piece of broken glass. The trickling flow of crimson that gushed out of the gashed forearm had made Isabela lightheaded and ravenous. Her Tia had been harried in disposing of the body and coming up with a story to tell Joaquin, but Isabela was content in having provided for the life stirring in her womb. 

The taste of blood from cattle no longer quenched her hunger. It was this very predatory craving that destroyed her first life. 

She hadn't expected Joaquin to be back from the capital for another night. Her loving husband had missed her and couldn't stand being away from her when she was so near to giving birth. So, he had returned at night to their estate, expecting to find the house dark and his beautiful wife asleep in their bed. Instead, he was surprised to see the light of a candle still flickering in the main parlor. Silently, he entered his home and made his way to the parlor. 

In the flickering penumbra, he saw Isabela clutching a figure in the dark, obscured by the back of the couch. When Joaquin drew closer, he was horrified to discover her mouth greedily set over the throat of a ranch slave, feeding off of the paralyzed man's blood. Hearing his gasp, Isabela turned her head in terror and saw her husband standing in the shadows of the hall. She covered her mouth in shock and slowly stood while the lifeless man slumped against the side of the couch. 

"Joaquin…I was just so hungry…" she tried to wipe her mouth of gore, fretfully caressing her womb and already feeling the sting of tears in the backs of her eyes at her husband's shuttered expression. 

"What are you?"

Flinching at the aghast disgust in his tone, Isabela's eyes brimmed with tears.

"What are you?"

His shout tore through the room and left her shuddering. 

"Please, Joaquin…!" she quickly advanced towards him, wanting so desperately to touch him, and calm him with her rapturous touch.

She hadn't seen the blade.

It plunged into her womb vertically, tearing a pained cry of horror as she grabbed his shoulders and gasped. 

"You're a succubus—!" he sputtered with grief, absolutely devastated as he grabbed her and pulled the knife out of her belly. "What have you done to me?"

He pushed her violently away, throwing her to the ground with a cry of agony. Stunned by the jarring pain, she choked on her whimpers and clutched herself. 

"Please! I love you so much—!" she wept and tried to crawl away from him. He followed her with the hunting knife still gripped in his fist. She could feel the blood gushing out of her womb just as the sharp pains shattered up her spine like thousands of daggers leeching across her belly. "Joaquin…don't—Please!" she whimpered as he loomed over her with tears running down his face. 

At first she thought the scream was hers. Fire blazed around her as her Tia struggled to pick her up and fend off Joaquin. His head was bleeding, and Isabela dully realized the bloody piece of stove kindling on the floor. She could only clutch her wound and watch as her Tia fought Joaquin before managing to pick up the blunt kindling and swinging it to explode across the side of Joaquin's skull. Left stunned by the blow while the knocked over candle continued to ignite a blaze around them, Joaquin's body slumped on its side while he struggled to move. 

"Cemí! We must go!" 

Her Tia dragged her out of the inferno and hobbled with her away from the burning house for shelter in the nearby woods. The pain didn't allow them to get too far, causing Isabela to double over in excruciating agony. 

Her Tia told her the baby was coming. The horror of her blood-soaked gown was dulled by the chaos. The moonless night sky and the glowing inferno in the distance were their only illumination as Isabela struggled against the labor pains and the sensory overload of being fatally wounded. 

Isabela cried out in pain as the contractions made her feel like she was being torn at the seams, her screams of pain muffled by the sounds of the jungle as she bared down on one agonizing contraction. 

She'd expected to hear the sound of a child's cry. She heard nothing but her own wails of pain. 

Her baby was stillborn. The soul-crushing grief left her doubled over and wailing, clutching her lifeless son as her Tia held her.

For what felt like eternity she laid there shattered before she realized Joaquin was left in the house. Struggling, she tried to get up and run back, but her wound arced through her. She screamed and struggled against her Tia who held her from running to the blazing edifice that was once her home. 

Isabela screamed for Joaquin, falling to the ground and trembling from the liquid fire of her body accelerating her healing factor. Thrown on the ground, she stared up at the black sky and wailed as her wound healed into a jagged scar. 

"God…please God…don't let this happen…" she cried. "Tia, please help me…" she reached for her Tia's prone form. When the woman didn't move, she crawled over to her and pushed her to lie on her back. It was then she realized that all the blood wasn't hers. 

Her Tia had defensive wounds, but the stab to her side had caused her to quickly bleed out. Murmuring softly, her Tia told her to run. Her last breath came short as her eyes lost focus and dimmed. 

Isabela's scream tore through the valley.

She slipped into oblivion for what felt like hours, until the shouts and commotion of people rushing to the burning house snapped her back. Before she knew what had happened, she was in the middle of the jungle, high up on the mountain, with her lifeless child clutched in her arms. Delirious, she buried her child and fell weeping into the dirt, pleading for God to deliver her into death. Instead, she felt something stir deep within her very marrow. 

The primal side of her awoke, and soothed her, tearing the pain and the grief away from her and devouring it. She felt numb and hollow.

She remained in her feral state for years, alone in the jungle with only her primal self to rely on. All concept of life beyond the jungle ceased to exist with the passing of rain seasons. Her reliance on the savagery within shielded Isabela from the pain and her still-splintered psyche. 

Time had become a subjective concept to her. After almost fifteen rain seasons, Isabela sensed the world shrinking around her, while she remained constant—indestructible and youthful. 

It was a sunny day when she snapped back to herself. The animal had protected her and nurtured her within the confines of the jungle, and the time had healed her psychological scars. She hadn't hesitated on leaving the jungle. She walked out into the sun, following the path down from the Yunque to the closest town. Barefoot and clothed in tattered and bloody rags, she came upon a town and explained she'd been attacked by bandits. The townspeople took her in and gave her charity.

Looking at her reflection for the first time in 15 years, she was bemused to find herself unchanged. 

Life had changed all around her, though. Her father had passed away 7 years earlier, leaving no known living heir. She found out Joaquin had perished in the fire, and that people thought her dead as well. Having found 2 bodies in the wreckage, no one bothered finding out what happened. Even her Tia's body had been recovered, but with no one alive to explain what happened, many considered it an accident. 

Her father's and Joaquin's estate were unclaimed, suffering the legalities of arbitration and squabbling officials. Isabela returned to the capital and turned everything on its head with her claim over both estates. Using the portrait her father had commissioned of her, she proved she was the heir to the Saavedra holdings, and showing her wedding ring, claimed to be the 15 year old daughter of Isabela Saavedra and Joaquin Villamil. Baffled, the officials conceded in her demands and signed over all estate holdings to her. 

She didn't remain in the capital for long. She toured her father's estate, and had all property packed and taken to his townhouse in the capital. She shuttered the house, and left all the besetting memories of her old life with it. Even though her heart was still numb, she couldn't bring herself to seeing her and Joaquin's home. Instead, she expanded the deed of the land under her father's business lease and gave it over to a caretaker. The two sprawling farms were prosperous and profitable for over a century, increasing her purse and keeping her financially taken care of aside from all her inherited assets. 

Isabela did not want to stay in her land of birth anymore. She felt caged and stifled. The time had come for her to travel, so she did, far beyond the shores of the Caribbean to the Old World. She lived many lives in many places, all in the search for the truth that had destroyed her life—

                      _____________________________________

"—the truth that escaped me, even when I stared it in the face the day I killed my brother. I'm not human. Am I a god? A cemí like my Tia called me? Or am I a creature of a different caste from other beings? Am I above mortals, or below them? Over 3 centuries of living, and I still don't know. The only thing I have learned is that I am alone. But…I hope that I'm not unique. I hope that there are others—anomalies as you call them—in the world, and that some day I shall cross paths with another."

Ephram closed the cover of the book and sat silently, pondering the flow of words that still inundated his mind. Years of questions were answered, but he now found himself wondering what happened after.

The last time he'd seen Isabela was when the hysteria of Nazi occupation began to spread. He remembered her stern look at his father, and her harsh words that he not be a fool and let her help—

She'd known before all of them of the sort of havoc humanity could beset on itself because she'd lived long enough to see wars, famines, genocide, and disease kill millions while she remained untouched and immortal. It struck a chord in Ephram, one he knew would resonate with him for the rest of his life.

If she lived through all of that…could she still be alive? Where did she go when we were taken away? Where is she now?

Ephram shook his head at his frenzied musings and decided it was time for him to put his past to rest and spend the rest of his time looking forward to the New Year, with his loving family and the contentment of his life.

____________________

Read Chapter 11: Savage Return - Part 1

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[furious-rogue-stuff]

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 9: Ravenous Attention & Carnal Affections

Pairing: Victor Creed x Isabela Montecristo | Sabertooth x Vipress

Disclaimer: This series will have canon-accurate and heightened levels of violence, adult themes, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and graphic descriptions of sex. *Post-Origins movieverse.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word count: 17,000+

Series Summary: Victor Creed's reputation as the Sabertooth proceeds him. He clashes with a mysterious feral woman, an enigma and anomaly to everything he knows. What began as a hunt becomes a dance between like-minded predators.

🚨Warning: Explicit sex, adult situations, implied rape, graphic imagery, feral power play, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and a pinch of angst. I do not own any aspect or character of the Marvel Universe nor elements of the X-Men Origins movieverse.

A Feral Interlude Masterlist

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 9: Ravenous Attention & Carnal Affections

He hadn't been in Paris since WWII. Back then he hadn't cared much for the city, let alone its inhabitants.

The decades that had passed hadn't diminished his distaste for the traffic-clogged, surly and pompous city. The baroque and picturesque architecture reminded him of gaudy messes overshadowed by the cold and sleek edifices that hovered throughout the overpopulated cityscape.

Standing in the lobby of the Four Seasons George V Hotel just off Avenue des Champs-Élysées, Victor couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at the extravagant opulence around him, and all the stuck up snobs that filtered through the marble parlors adorned in 16th century objets d'art. Leaning against a whitewashed marble column, he watched the bellhop take their luggage to their room while Isabela was being gushed over by the concierge. From what he could surmise, her alias of the moment was divine royalty of some sort and the plump little man was verbally contorting to promise her the best accommodations in all of Paris.

He'd decided to hang back; moments like these wouldn't be facilitated by his ferocious and intimidating appearance. The fact that she didn't take kindly to him crowding her during these moments was a big part of his presumption to the former and latter, so he entertained himself with eyeing her and looking the part of an imposing bodyguard.

A woman with a miniature yorkie bustled at a shallow pace towards the concierge and interrupted the man's verbose ass-kissing, allowing Isabela to collect the room key and assure him she was fine with letting herself in the room. She even petted the lapdog before heading towards Victor.

"I hope you don't think you'll be getting a dog," he murmured with gruff amusement once they were in the elevator.

She glanced at him and smiled cynically. "What do you mean? Why would I want a pet?"

He leaned in close. "Figured you'd want something to keep you company when I'm not around. No dogs though. I'm not putting up with some mutt's territorial bullshit," he snickered and smirked at her when she turned to look at him.

Her expression was cool and unfazed, with only her brow expressing her sardonic reaction to his confident retort. "Why would I need anything to keep me company," she mused matter-of-factly and turned to face the elevator doors before continuing, "I don't need a pet."

Anger bubbled in him, but he submerged it. The doors opened and she walked out towards their lavish suite with him a stride behind her. Ever since they'd landed, she'd reverted back into the ice queen temperance of the first time they'd met in the Vegas conference room. Her affection had cooled, and her focus had made her demeanor nonchalant and measured—businesslike. He could sense her resolve building, growing taut like a bow inside of her, but he didn't know just what she was guarding herself against.

When they entered their luxurious suite draped with the finest décor and furnished in regality, Victor slammed the door behind him. He watched her turn unconcerned towards him from the terrace doors with a magnificent view of the Eiffel Tower across the distance and the hotel garden below.

"What're you thinking?" His question was more growl than anything.

Isabela couldn't help but smile. "That's something I never pictured you asking," she murmured softly before taking her coat off and draping it over the back of the couch and heading towards the bedroom.

Setting his jaw, he followed her, walking past their luggage packed with a few sexy outfits for her and his laundered clothes. He was currently wearing a tailored dress shirt and slacks—fashioned after his all-black ensemble—she'd wrangled getting for him before their trip. Mustn't look like a vagabond, lover. She'd purred to him when the tailor had walked away. If you're gonna strike fear into mortals hearts, you should do so in style. Her fingers had curled into the dress shirt to claw the undershirt plastered to his hard muscled and furred chest. There's nothing more terrifying than a well-dressed killer, especially one with a mischievous smile. Her eyes had danced with affection and coy allure, her lips softening with a provocative smile. He was getting hot just remembering the desire in her tone and the feel of her body against his as she seductively adjusted his clothes, hands lingering playfully on his body.

That heat was gone in her now and Victor felt a grating agitation because of it.

Their bedroom was pristine and lavish, but he didn't really bother looking around. Instead, he watched her from the doorway as she pulled her boots off and caressed her legs before crossing them. She knew he was rancorous with her impassivity, sizing her up and scrutinizing what her motives could be. Standing from the divan, she worked the zipper down the back of her dress, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she slipped out of the material slowly. Victor watched her slink out of the dress and leave it with her discarded boots before entering the gold and marble bathroom without a second look at him.

It pissed him off.

He grabbed her, his claws possessively digging into her flesh as he trapped her in his arms. Isabela's breath hitched, but her expression didn't flicker. The sweet and spicy smell of her arousal wasn't as copious as he'd gotten used to, and the smoldering scent of anger didn't register at all. Tracing his fingertips down the curve of her jaw, Victor's eyes narrowed as his nostrils flared crossly.

"You're thinking of leaving."

His voice had been cold and calm, but the fire that burned in his eyes spoke volumes for him. Isabela leaned into him and stood on her tip toes to wrap her arms around his neck.

"No, Victor. I'm thinking of what happens next." His eyes sharpened and his jaw clenched. "Right now, I'm thinking of a hot bath," she kissed him chastely on the lips. Her hands snaked into the collar of his coat and massaged down his collarbones before fanning out to shove his black trench coat off his broad shoulders. "Join me?"

He stared down at her, skeptical but ferociously hungry for her affections. She knew how to touch him; knew just when to kiss and bite, lick and suck. But most of all, she felt right in his arms and under him; it felt natural, unlike any other interaction he'd had with anyone since his childhood days with Jimmy. He wasn't prepared to let that go, regardless of what she was really thinking.

Shrugging out of his clean black trench coat, he kept his arms around her—possessive as he watched her unbutton his shirt and undress him until he had to let her go in order for her to finish getting him naked. Once he was completely stripped free of his black ensemble, he and his viper caressed and nuzzled each other teasingly while the tub filled. Victor picked her up and climbed into the tub once it was brimming with water, easing into the heat and continuing his brusque affections with her.

His mouth brushed her pulse before he hesitated in sinking his fangs into the tender spot.

"Tell me what you want, Izzie."

She blinked and stared at him, taken aback by the irrevocable determination in his eyes as he pulled her close and onto his lap.

"I don't know what I want."

"Bullshit," he barked gruffly and tangled his hand in the back of her hair. "I'm not a goddamned idiot; I can see it," he growled and bared his fangs in irritation at her. "You're plotting…can smell it on you."

"Victor…" she paused and gazed into his eyes, knowing she was at an impasse. She felt butterflies in her stomach and a knot tangle in her chest; sensations she hadn't suffered in decades. Since the moment she woke up in his arms, she'd felt muddled and trapped, but not by him. For the first time since Argentina, she didn't know where she was going, and it scared her, not because it was potentially a dangerous trap, but because it excited her, and she was growing to want more…

"I want to continue living as I have…without strings attached," she replied and felt his fingers tighten in the back of her hair. "You want to keep me as a trophy…"

"I just wanna keep you, period."

Her eyes flickered with an emotion he couldn't read before she smiled and averted her eyes to his chest. Caressing her palms along the muscled and furred planes of his pectorals, she mused, "You want to keep me on a leash. Getting a pet to keep me company while you're gone? You expect to keep me in a gilded cage while you what, continue being a mercenary, globe trotting while I sit in some glass tower somewhere waiting for you? What if I don't want to play by your rules? Your expectations are—"

"Expectations?" he hissed in and bared his fangs in a sneer. "I want you. You're mine. You don't have to worry about expectations as long as you fucking get that!"

She sighed and shuffled back in the tub, creating some distance between them. "Would you accept this if it was the other way around?"

Victor snarled in vexation. "Whatta fuck are you talkin' about—?"

"Stop snarling and think about it!" Isabela actually slammed her hand into the water and hissed warningly, "You're trying to iron out some sort of commitment here, where you keep me like some fucking piece of ass somewhere, expecting me to comply and be yours unconditionally, but you sure as hell don't presume to do the same, now do you? What if I demanded the same from you? If I said I'd be yours only if you were mine, would you submit?"

"…are you asking if I'd fuck other frails or something?"

Isabela balked at him. "Victor…you're amazing," she gasped with biting sarcasm as she climbed out of the tub and stalked into the shower stall set in the corner of the bathroom.

He watched her start to shower, and couldn't help the gloating smirk tug his lips. Sure he'd probably pissed her off something awful, but at least he'd gotten her out of ice queen mode. Most of what she'd said was valid on a feral level, but to him, she was a woman first, so he really didn't care what her objections were. He would never consider her his pet, but she was his; that's all that mattered in the end.

Ending the bath, Victor went over to join her in the shower, figuring at the very least that Isabela was riled up enough to really work out some of their equal frustrations out before they headed out on the town.

She huffed when he crowded her from behind, snaking his arms around her to glide his hands down her soapy body.

"Déjà vu, huh sweetness," he purred before licking water off the shell of her ear.

Grunting, she turned her aggravated gaze at him under the cascading water. "Where do you think this arrangement is going, cub?"

Nudging his arousal against her, he murmured in a gravelly tone, "It's going where I want it to go, viper. You're along for the ride, so you might as well give in and see where it goes."

"You mean see where you take me," she murmured implacably.

He grinned, a dark chuckle tickling up his throat as he brushed his mouth and sharp fangs over her parted lips.

"Now yer gettin' it, Izzie."

                      _____________________________________

He loved attending black-tie affairs. Not for the ambience or the ability to network with the Parisian and international elite, but for the rush of knowing he had every person in the room in his pocket; knowing he had enough dirt on each socialite and politician to insure cooperation in any endeavor made him feel alive more than anything else. The thundering sense of power left him lightheaded and introspective at times like these, when he was alone with his thoughts in the sleek elevator that ascended up to his office.

Armand de Lioncourt didn't feel like going home to his posh townhouse just yet. He didn't have anything in particular he needed to do in his office, but he just loved to sit in his opulent leather chair and stare out at the City of Lights.

He was alone in the building, and that was fine with him. Walking down the hall towards his office, he reached into his tux jacket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with his gold-plated lighter as he swiped a keycard and gained access to his stately office with the sprawling windows overlooking Paris. The lights from the city glowed like golden crystals and gems. Armand loved the cityscape, considering it the most glorious sight he'd ever laid eyes on. The door clicked quietly behind him as he crossed over to his expensive hand-crafted desk.

He didn't notice the Tupperware container right away, not with his gaze roving the cityscape before he sat in his exquisite leather chair and leaned over to flick the ash of his cigarette into his gold-plated tray. The light blue lid mockingly stood out from the rest of the items on his desk, and he swiveled around to look down at it inquisitively when he finally sensed he wasn't alone.

"Hello, Armand."

The sinuously murmured greeting made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

His eyes jumped up to stare across at the shadowed lounge tucked in the corner of his office. He first was shocked to see an imposing man lounging in the darkness on his leather couch, swallowed by the black of his clothes and making him all the more fearsome as he glared impudently at him. The woman was the next shock. She was rather breathtaking, and his eyes locked on her, since she'd offered the greeting.

She was in a glistening red gown, seeming to emanate the light that buzzed from the cityscape just out the windowsill she was leaning against.

"Who the hell are you?" he managed to bite through his clenched jaw, rising furiously from his chair. "How did you get in here!"

The vicious man in black chuckled gravelly in his throat, his eyes flickering to the woman when she pushed off the windowsill and slinked across to the middle of the room.

"Oh, we let ourselves in through this lovely window. I hope you don't mind," she mused affably and strutted over to lean on the edge of his desk. "I must say, this is quite a view you have. It's beautiful, and it's the only thing you don't own, which is why you sit here most nights looking out on it, isn't it?" she purred, her brow arching at the fact that the cigarette between his fingers was about to burn out without him noticing.

He hissed when the ember burned out between his fingers. Angrily grinding the bud in the ashtray, Armand smoothly reached towards his middle drawer with the diversion.

"Now that is incredibly rude of you, Armand," she admonished and leaned over to stare murderously into his dark eyes. She could smell the gun oil, and even if she didn't, de Lioncourt had a penchant for keeping a Beretta close at hand. "Sit down."

Armand couldn't hide the shiver her venomous hiss sent through him. He dropped down into his chair and stared up at her. "Is this about money?"

Her eyes twinkled mockingly before glancing back at the man still sitting casually behind her. "Oh no, not at all. This has to do with you and your arrogance. I came to repay you in full, Armand," she retorted glibly and smiled. "I'm not here to collect your money, even though you owe me for services rendered…just your life."

"Who the hell are you…?" Armand whispered through a tense throat as he started to sweat.

"I'm Isabela Montecristo." His almond eyes widened and his mouth pressed in against his teeth, fear pumping through his scent. "You had Basset plan a little double cross, but please don't worry about him, he's been taken care of. Now, what's in the container is all that was left of another hired agent of yours," she remarked serenely before gesturing towards the Tupperware. Armand looked thunderstruck and petrified. His eyes widened in terror at her before flicking down at the container. "Open it," she ordered with a dangerous edge.

His swarthy face visibly paled. Armand did as he was told, his brow furrowing when the lid popped open and he looked inside. Slowly he realized he was staring down at a chunk of branded flesh, and hot acidic bile rose in his throat as he dropped the container onto his desk and shoved away from the horrific packaged gore.

"Now I know you have an affinity for collecting heads, but really—a head is such a chore to get through security. Lugging it around isn't very convenient either. It's such an archaic idea: 'Bring me his head!' and all that. It's amusing, but I felt this little piece of Jin was enough," she mused while he choked back his horror. "It took a good while to hack through him. He made such—lovely noises. His cries were quite moving. I'm just sorry you couldn't have been there, Armand—"

"I'll pay you whatever you want!"

She paused and looked incensed. He recoiled when she slinked closer to him, her long legs moving in a blur as she suddenly came to sit on his lap. The man on the couch growled dangerously, and Isabela looked back at him, implacable eyes vicious with silent warning.

Without taking her eyes off of Victor, Isabela leaned in close to Armand and whispered, "There's a funny thing you don't understand, Armand. Money can only take you so far in life. I know, because I have enough of it to never have to work again. I don't do what I do for the money. I do it because I love it. Especially during times like these…"

His eyes flickered up at her mouth when she smile and her teeth began to elongate carnivorously.

Victor watched on with ravenous attention as Isabela's skin began to shimmer in the dim light a coppery sheen. The swarthy mogul cringed back into his chair just as Isabela grabbed his throat and leaned in to watch him contort in slow agony. He seemed to be choking, his limbs locking up and his body jerking spasmodically as poison laced into him. The pheromone zipped through him, shutting down his respiratory system before his nervous system overloaded. He would die from the devastating neurotoxin his own body was producing from the contact with her skin, but not before she delivered one final blow.

Leaning to be nose to nose with the convulsing man, Isabela gave him her kiss of death, smothering the little breath out of him just as his lungs collapsed and his heart burst in his chest. Armand's mouth filled with dark blood as he seized into death, his eyes rolling back into his head and his body wrenching violently one last time.

Isabela spat out the mouthful of gore onto the floor, sighing from the rush of bloodlust as she stood from the dead man's lap after plucking his pocket square out of his tux jacket and using it to dab at her mouth and chest. She concentrated on shifting her fatal pheromone back into dormancy before looking back at the predator turned voyeur.

Victor hummed appreciatively from his seat, his lust for her thick and electric in the air. He was so hard he was having a difficult time reining back his impulse to fuck her right then and there, among yet another corpse slain by her sadistic seduction.

"Oh, he's a member of Le Chevalier!" her delighted gasp snapped his attention back to notice she'd just plucked something out of the dead man's tux.

He raised a brow when he loped over and saw her looking at a polished plaque-like card. "Did you just pilfer the guy's pockets?" he gave her an astonished fangy grin that lit his smoky blue eyes. "You're a cold one, Isabela."

She glanced at him, taken by surprise. That was the first time he'd called her that since he'd sequestered her.

It sent a surge of heat through her.

His hands cupped the curve of her hips before turning her to stare up at him. "Not a hair out of place, and not a spot on your sexy dress," he husked against her temple as he trailed a claw down the curve of her cheek and her throat before catching in the neckline of her gown. "You just know how to kill without a fuss and still make it fun to watch," he purred before kissing her, pleased when she pulled him closer and deepened the kiss. He pulled away, savoring the tang of blood still sweetening her mouth, and caressed the pad of his thumb along her cheekbone. "Such a vicious little man-eater," he growled and smirked, enjoying the heat of her eyes.

He let her go and strode nonchalantly away from her, his gait relaxed. When he looked back at her, he saw something shift in her, minutely. He figured if there was any time for her to put the brakes on him and make a break for it, now was that time. Instead, she walked up to him, grabbed his clawed hand and silently beckoned him to the window so they could look out on the magnificent view.

He stood behind her and possessively encircled her waist, holding her to him as she leaned back and nuzzled under his jaw.

They stood there in the most comfortable silence, all restlessness quieted within the lapse of time they gazed at the radiant city beyond.

                      _____________________________________

"This place is fucking swanky."

Victor leaned back in his chair and pursed his lips at her puckishly. Isabela ruefully smiled at his brash comment, noticing their waiter's indignant airs as they sat at the china and silverware-clad table.

She brushed a rogue strand behind her ear and fingered the spaghetti strap of her glistening red gown as she mused coolly, "You have to be a card-carrying member to get in. So nice of Armand to take care of our entertainment for tonight, don't you think?"

Victor snorted at that and eyed their surroundings. He felt absolutely out of place. The intimate lighting, posh décor and weird-looking food made him wrinkle his nose. Isabela, on the other hand, was radiant in the scene, not quite part of it, but a striking fixture nonetheless. He stared at her, his hungry gaze roving the delicate column of her neck down to the defined contour of her collarbones and the dip of her clavicle above the swell of her breasts.

Her eyes flickered up to his from the menu, her lips softening coyly. His scent was spicy and thick, making her dizzy with heat for him. Their waiter, dressed in a starched dress shirt with obsidian buttons and pressed slacks came back, his snooty air cooling as he addressed Isabela and broke their smoldering stares.

"Que voudriez-vous commander, mademoiselle?"

Isabela hummed musingly, her eyes flickering over the menu one more time as the tip of her tongue seductively traced her pillowy bottom lip unconsciously. "J'aurai le tartre de veau, avec un verre de merlot," she ordered fluidly, and before Victor knew it she and the froggy-looking waiter were looking at him.

"Steak. Bloody."

The waiter looked from him to Isabela, some little snobbish quirk to his expression as he commented. "Ne préférerait-il pas assortir votre ordre? Malheureusement nous ne sommes pas un grill commun."

Victor arched a brow, his eyes growing flinty, and flashed a humorless sneer as he answered gruffly, "If I wanted veal I'd have ordered it, garçon. Now, why don't you go fetch our orders before I take you back to the kitchen and teach you some manners, got it?"

The waiter blanched and swallowed his embarrassment. "So sorree, monsieur-!"

"And while yer at it, bring the whole bottle of wine, and keep 'em coming," Victor ordered curtly and tilted his head in a dangerous gesture of authority.

The waiter flustered another apology before retreating to do his bidding, leaving the ferals in their private alcove.

Isabela lowered her lids and giggled softly, absolutely impressed with Victor. He was the most unrefined man she'd ever met, but it didn't mean he was ignorant. He liked to hide his brilliance behind a primitive swagger, which made others underestimate his intelligence. Looking over at him, she approvingly admired his handsome features, pleased with his dashing ruggedness in such a fancy setting. He was sans his trench coat, smelling musky but clothed in clean clothes vacant of the usual aromas of his attire; death, blood, and something savage. The tailored black dress shirt fit him exquisitely, embracing the contour of his branny physique but muting the aggressive undertones of his appearance. Only his retracted claws gave him away, but they were practically alone in their little alcove, making it an intimate setting charged with dueling attraction.

Once their meals were served, they ate with gusto, eyeing each other as if they were part of the dessert course.

Victor downed a glass of wine and leaned back in his chair, staring at her provocatively as he idly flicked his fork onto his empty plate. She'd insisted on coming to Le Chevalier, flirting about them both being all dressed up with nowhere to go. He wondered if she'd planned it all, but then he berated himself. She's always in femme fatale mode. Little minx might be behaving, but she knows what she wants. There was no question she was negotiating around him—working to show him a world she'd learned to navigate with finesse, something he didn't have. It was as if she was subversively trying to warn him of the burden and hassle that came with having a pet like her.

He was prepared to take her subliminal posturing in stride. His intentions were still murky in scope, but Victor knew that he wanted her completely, and that was all that was important. He envisioned keeping her somewhere exalted and worthy—somewhere away from the fucking degradation that was regular living, where she'd give herself over without entrapment, kept craving for him as much as he hungered for her. For the first time, Victor wanted to tangle himself in another living being—wanted to feel ownership of a life that went deeper than impulse and gratification. But most of all, he wanted to feel more of her because he felt whole when he held her and she let herself be his. It was addictive how her affectionate touch made him feel exhilarated. Before, only violence and carnage had made him feel like that, but as quick as the spark lit, it burned out within him. When she gave into him, it was more fulfilling than any conquest he'd taken by force.

He wasn't going to part with that.

"You know, I could get used to this," he mused and leaned forward. "This lap of luxury shit isn't so bad. Wouldn't be hard to make it work," his voice lowered seriously, his eyes growing sharp with intent as he measured her reaction.

Isabela tilted her head sardonically and poured herself some more wine. "Living the high life isn't about work, not usually anyway," she chuckled, but the mirth didn't quite reach her exotic eyes. The challenging blaze of the russet rings made the frond green of her eyes shimmer.

Victor grunted snidely. "Your scores have been settled, Izzie. We're done doing things your way," he stated with an imposing edge to his baritone, eyes catching the flicker in hers.

Isabela closed her eyes and took a sip of her glass, feeling riled but not trapped just yet. She knew he was testing her—seeing just how compliant she was willing to be and if she'd push his buttons with some sort of resistance. Brushing a hand over her silky hair, she met his smoky blue eyes and smiled.

"That's not exactly accurate, Victor. Still have to get those government operatives off our case, but that's an easy task I can take care of," she paused, choosing her next words carefully but still keeping her expression alluring and flirty. "Funny. I'd promised myself a vacation once the Nagaraja job was over. I had expected you to come after me, but I hadn't anticipated you being so…resourceful. I was going to go down to South America, spend some time deep in the Amazon—see if you'd be able to track me while I relaxed and played coy; see if you were…worthy, but I figured it'd take you long enough to allow me to tie up loose ends," she remarked and crossed her legs as she idly traced the stem of her wine glass. "I thought about you exhausting every connection you had and still not being able to pin me down; then you came out of nowhere and loped into my life, so effortlessly…made me feel so silly. I underestimated you, and I should regret it…but this has been much better than anything I could've planned, lover," she mused candidly, her eyes capturing his in a scintillating look.

Victor stared at her. Her candor made his bones itch with something primal, an overwhelming sense of pride and triumph surging through him. Triumph made his skin hot, but he kept staring into her eyes. She wanted him to feel that; make him feel secure so she could turn the tables. Grasping at straws. She was a hellion, cunning to a fault, but he wasn't going to play coy. He was incapable of it, but there was nothing he could think of that would guarantee him getting what he wanted: Her, unconditionally. She was too wild to keep in a gilded cage…and he was too savage to compromise.

"That doesn't sound like it would've been much of a vacation," he muttered instead and crossed his arms, staring at her impassively.

"Well it wouldn't have been for you. That's the point," she joked, pouring herself more wine. "You're good for the cold, I'm not. I could live in the Gobi desert without a problem, and you'd go mad from the heat," she quipped and sipped her wine glass. "I should've figured it wouldn't be so easy. I think I'm incapable of taking vacations," she mused and snickered softly.

"'Cept for this," he rumbled, the corner of his mouth curving slightly. "What the hell do you consider a vacation?" he snorted, watching her as she seemed to relax while he grew more and more agitated.

She eyed him, feeling the edge of his temper as he sat across from her, fuming silently over something. It was ironic; just when one of them was growing complacent, the other would grow tense. It was as if they had to constantly be on guard with each other—keep each other on their toes just to feel a semblance of comfort. But then it made sense. Neither of them were complacent animals. They'd both struggled and learned to trust no one, but now they were constantly circling each other, riled and cautious, unable to size each other up. It was yet another fallacy to her: they wanted to trust each other, but couldn't, because it wasn't in their natures. Isabela didn't know what he was thinking, but could feel the tension in him, as if he was waiting for her to turn around and run for it. Meanwhile, she was actually doing the opposite; wanting to stay close to him. But then she hated it when he became the lackadaisical predator, watching her get wound up and agitated. It just wasn't in their natures to end up quietly content with each other, cuddled up and keeping each other warm with their guards down.

Victor would never trust her, and she would never trust him. There are no companions for the devil, not even his own reflection…

They were incapable of loving each other. The thought struck her, and it stung.

Tracing the rim of her glass, she mused, "Not killing anyone. No surreptitiousness of any kind; just leisure free of my talents; being able to walk around with just myself—not playing a role; my guard completely down without a second thought. But we can't do that."

"We?" he raised a derisive brow. "Speak for yourself, sweetheart. This has been a pretty fuckin' good vacation for me, so far," he snorted.

She hummed. "This isn't a vacation. I've enjoyed myself way too much," she smiled sultrily, but a pinch of sadness tugged at her lips. "Last vacation I took was more of a hiatus, and the vacation before that was a complete disaster," she reminisced, shaking her head.

"What, couldn't find a 'worthy' enough sugar daddy?" he questioned sharply, his eyes hard and impatient, waiting for the other shoe to fucking drop.

Her delicate brow arched. "No. Because I woke up in a coffin, buried six feet under ground," she answered matter-of-factly and aloofly adjusted the napkin on her lap when the waiter came in and placed her dessert in front of her. After she took a bite of the scrumptious pastry, she looked over at Victor, who was staring at her as if she'd been joking. "What? Never happened to you?"

"Didn't know it was a natural occurrence," he muttered snidely, his gaze as incredulous as he'd show. "Guess its right up there with "lost my luggage" and "got stuck at the airport", huh," he sarcastically sneered, shoving the saccharine-smelling pastry away from him and across her end of the table.

"Well with that nasty attitude I'm not gonna tell you about it," she primly stated and continued to eat her dessert.

"Like hell you aren't!" he growled.

She rolled her eyes. "Lets just say that vacationing in Transylvania in the summer isn't something a feral should do…" when he raised a brow and grunted for her to go on, she sighed. "I was on my way to the Black Sea during the summer of 1887. I'd spent some time in Budapest…had to get away suddenly and wanted to travel east, which forced me to travel into Transylvania. I guess I should say I was running away…had some trouble in a small Hungarian town.

My carriage had suffered a breakdown, so I had to stay in some town while the local blacksmith made repairs. Word spread, and I was offered homestead by one of the rich sons of the prefecture judge. The boy was accommodating enough, so I accepted the offer and moved into his home. Seems I ruffled one of his admirer's feathers, cuz the little bitch took it upon herself to expose me at this dinner party," she aloofly mentioned, absently slicing slivers of the dessert while she glanced up at him.

"Didn't help that the night before she'd followed me and seen me kill some mugger in one of the back alleys," she mused, "She accused me of being a vampire, of all things. I'd laughed it off, until she'd slapped me in front of the ballroom filled with guests and shoved a silver crucifix in my face. Instinct kicked in," she shrugged, and drank some more of her wine, intending to trail off at that.

"And?" he groused, a slow smirk playing on his lips. "Can't leave me riveted, sweetness," he purred sardonically.

She smiled. "I grabbed the crucifix and shoved it down her throat, to the horror of all the guests and my host, of course," she smirked ruefully. "It was quite funny, now that I think about it. I really don't know what came over me," she shook her head cynically. "Funnily enough, that wasn't what got me buried 6-feet underground," she tapped her chin, gaze shifting thoughtfully.

Victor grunted, intrigued but not wanting to rush her on. He watched her expression quirk at some memory, her lips pursing before softening tenderly.

"I'd escaped before they could think to capture me, and stumbled upon a Romani village on the opposite hillside from the town. They were more of a traveling carnival, but their encampment was quite grand. One of their carnival attractions was a wolf-boy. I heard about it…and went to the sideshow. I'd never heard of such a thing…was curious to see if there was someone like me. Of course this was before I knew what I was" she paused and drank some wine.

Victor was listening, watching her intently.

"Sure enough, the wolf-boy was a caged feral. He couldn't have been over 18…just a cub. He had an iron collar around his neck…it dug into the scruff of his neck, and he was filthy. I was horrified. After the carnival ended and everyone bedded down, I snuck in to the tent where they kept the cub, and broke him out, but he was terrified of me. He knew I was like him, and he was so afraid…I tried rationalizing with him, but he resisted and started howling for help. I was caught, and the whole village came out. They just knew I was an animal too. After a big mess, the town banished the Romani for bringing dangerous freaks," she bitterly laughed, "and they took me to the gallows. The boy…they decapitated him in the middle of the town square, right in front of me…he was staring at me as they lowered the ax. They would've done the same to me, but I'd managed to touch one of the town elders. He bickered with the others, and managed to convince them to at least send me to the gallows…"

Victor remembered the ordeal he'd suffered when he and Jimmy were just a pair of runts on their own; remembered the torture—tied to that stake and left out like a fucking scarecrow, having holy water thrown in his face in the hopes that it would burn through him. His eyes darkened with the memory and focused on Isabela, absolutely incensed that she'd suffered the same, and irrationally wishing he could've killed for her.

"I then understood superstition; a woman draining a man in an alley at night? A werewolf-like boy caged in a sideshow? Creatures of folklore alive and well in Transylvania," she shook her head again, a hint of disdain in her eyes. "After the stool went out from under me, I felt a pop," her voice was faraway, contemplative. "White hot pain flooded my brain before it went black. I don't remember feeling anything…then the next thing I knew I was waking up in a wooden coffin," her eyes flickered up to his, an awkward smile tugging her lips. "I had to claw through the wood and crawl up the fresh dirt to the surface. I was lucky it wasn't a cold night; the soil would've hardened instantly after it was compounded on top of me. Needless to say, I wasn't very happy…" a vicious smirk appeared slowly as she added, "I went back to the town, and burned it to the ground…took the executioner's severed head and placed it on a pike as a grave marker for the boy…and cut my vacation short."

His smile was fierce, a surge of pride warming him, making him hot for her. He wished he could've done the same to the cowards from that Canadian settlement, pay them back for the days of agony and misery—

The image of the little frail with the cornsilk hair popped into his head, unbidden. His thoughts got murky then, remembering his first kiss, and the subsequent horror he'd suffered because of it; he and Jimmy's first attempt to live in society after he'd gone through the change had been a complete failure because of him…he'd been so embarrassed he hadn't told the runt about having kissed her…and Jimmy had played along, never mentioning the event ever again.

"I guess after 453 years, you've been through all sorts of shit," Victor rumbled offhandedly, his gaze distracted.

He didn't notice how she stiffened from head to toe.

Isabela stared wide-eyed at him, feeling as if the rug had been pulled out from under her. She'd never told him how old she was, let alone thought he'd ever find out for himself. She had made sure not to disclose too much—always speaking in general terms about her past; for him to know her exact age left her thunderstruck. The wary shock made her hackles raise, and Victor sensed the shift, his eyes sharpening back to her and his brow quirking questioningly.

"…Yes, all sorts of things," she replied, trying to regain her composure as she drank the last of her wine, and frowned at the empty bottle. "…After that, I decided to take a trip to America…change of scenery…" her eyes focused on his, trying to quell her own anxiety and anger, hoping he couldn't pin her motives down.

Grunting, Victor eyed her, unsure of her sudden cool veneer. It faintly registered to him that he didn't really remember what exactly he'd just muttered. Something about going through all sorts of shit? Why would she go into ice-queen mode over that?

"Mademoiselle, monsieur" their waiter suddenly appeared next to their table, shifting both their thoughts away. The froggy bastard was holding a gold gilt box. "Compliments of Le Chevalier, you have private access to ze exclusive wine cellar. Would you care to partake?" As he pitched, he opened the gilt box and revealed an ornate elevator key cushioned in red velvet.

Isabela glanced at Victor before smoothly answering, "That sounds delightful. We'd like to enjoy the amenities by ourselves, if that's all right."

"But of'course," the waiter drawled, pulling out her seat—to the annoyance of Victor—and leading the way through the opulent restaurant.

Her mind was racing. Every fiber of her being was telling her to run. Anxiety arrested her impulses and made her appear cool to everyone around them, except Victor. The damned feral knew her! This whole time, he'd been manipulating her and setting her up for…for what? She was confused. Utterly confused, and it made her angry. Could he be working for someone? How the hell would he know, and just what did he know about her? Her mind flooded with images, recollections of their first meeting, anything she thought could lead to an answer—a motive. She needed time to think…needed to just—

His hand snaked around the crook of her elbow and held her close to his side, her surprise registering in her eyes when she looked up into his chiseled features. He could smell her tension, and she was sure he was going to sense something in her, but Victor leaned close to her ear and murmured, "Stop walking ahead."

Her lips softened as he folded her arm in his and escorted her, not for any sense of gallantry, but because he wanted every damned blueblood around them to know she belonged to him. She looked radiant in her glistening gown, exotic and alluring. She seemed too distracted to realize everyone was looking at her out of the corners of their eyes, as if to look upon her would be a penalty. Victor liked that, and liked that they now looked at him as the only man worthy of touching her.

Their waiter led them to a single stainless steel and gold-gilded elevator that was flanked by a concierge podium and a single dapperly-dressed attendant. The waiter handed the gilt box to the attendant and excused himself. The attendant greeted them, and explained their accommodations.

Victor leaned close to her and muttered, "Where the hell are we going, Fort Knox?"

While her mind was riddled, she managed a small smile. "It's one of the oldest wine cellars in all of Europe. It's underground to ensure the fermenting process is very rich…they only let elite guests down to pull and taste any wine they wish. We'll have it all to ourselves for the night, if we so wish," she trailed off, her eyes lowering sensually.

Victor hummed, his nostrils flaring at her heady scent. He was already turned on beyond belief when the elevator doors slid open with a soft ding. The attendant stepped in, and inserted the key, instructing them to simply turn it to the right to descend to the cellar, and to the left to ascend back to the foyer.

They both stepped in and Isabela turned the key. The doors slid shut, and they began to descend slowly. Victor's hand descended down her back to trail her spine, the stroke of his claws sending shivers through her. Swinging around to face her he pulled her against him, his hands pawing down her curves.

"I've wanted to fuck you bad for too goddamned long tonight," he husked against her lips before engulfing her mouth with his. Isabela's head swam, her arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him closer, even when she recoiled inwardly with smoldering rage.

Victor meant to keep her. Always had; that was clear to her now. A furious vice constricted tightly in her chest, even when he pushed her up against the elevator's wall and tangled his hand in her hair, tipping her head to the side so he'd have access to her slender neck. She gasped, clutching at his powerful shoulders as he roughly kissed her neck and nipped at her pulse, worrying the tender flesh soothingly. His other hand held her by the small of her back, lining her hips to be flush with his.

She was addicted to him…he'd made her crave every one of his touches, sensual and rough, all to keep her pliant. She felt consumed by him, and for the first time, she was afraid.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Victor pulled away, leaving them panting and pressed against each other. Her lust for him was like static current in the air, a heat that made his blood rush in his veins.

Isabela was thankful it masked her intentions.

"How 'bout a nightcap before we continue?" she purred, caressing her hands down his pectorals and pushing against him.

Victor chuckled and back stepped, letting her slink around him towards the open elevator doors. "Fine by me." He responded with a gravelly tone, his eyes carnally fixed on her as she walked out of the elevator. Making sure they'd be alone, he went to follow her out into the Romantic-decorated parlor. He looked around at the lavish marble-tiled floors and rich wooden paneling with inset wine racks from the floor to the ceiling. A circular granite-topped buffet table sat in the middle of the wide parlor, and glass cases glimmered with stockpiled champagne bottles. He whistled as he stepped out of the threshold, his eyes surveying the Swarovski crystal wine goblets and flutes nestled on the mantle along the far wall. "Fancy…"

"Yes, quite…are you sure you want to stay down here…and have a drink with me?" she mused, her back to him as she surveyed the opulence and reckoned it should hold him over.

He snorted, loping towards the closest wine rack. "As long as you admit that this is a pretty fuckin' nice arrangement we've got—!" he turned when he sensed her quick advance, taken by surprise when he saw her copper-shimmered skin and determined expression. Her hands grasped the sides of his face, and instantaneous pain radiated through him, blazing excruciating sensations of agony into the very marrow of his bones.

He roared, chocking when she clamped her hands deftly around his throat, holding on with all her strength as he thrashed and grabbed her shoulders, trying to wrench her away. His knees buckled when the poisonous sensation constricted his lungs, the full force of her pheromone knocking him back as she fought to wring away from him. She jerked away and fell to her side, gasping and shaking as she watched Victor fall to his hands and knees, his claws extending to screech across the tiled floor as he struggled to regain his breath.

Victor thrashed wildly, his jaw clenched and foamy spittle seething out of his gnashed teeth as he writhed towards her. His muscles locked up and he fell hard to his side instead, his arm lashing out towards her as he gripped his chest. He could feel his heart straining against his constricting arteries, and just as he lunged dangerously close to the stunned femme fatale, the pressure tore his aorta. His heart burst inside his chest.

He choked and hacked up blood through his clenched teeth, his eyes wide and wild with agony and fury as he collapsed, his body convulsing with the throes of her poisoning.

His eyes feverishly locked onto hers as he stopped moving, a dim awareness still backfiring in his mind as his vision blurred on her.

Fucking…bitch!

                      _____________________________________

Isabela watched Victor die in front of her, by her own hand. Even in the throes of death, he'd tried ripping her apart, fighting until his heart burst from the strain in his arteries. When his convulsions died away and she couldn't hear his lungs struggle for breath, she averted her eyes, crawling and struggling to get to her feet.

The terror in her chest became a heavy knot of pain, her body still shaking from the adrenalin and the aftereffects of using poison. She dug her talons into her palms, furious and hurt, but unable to think rationally why. She stumbled to her feet, wavering. The amount of poison she'd laced her skin with was toxic to her, stunting her stamina for laboriously long minutes. Propping herself against the pillared wall, she covered her hand over her face, fighting the nausea that threatened to double her over. A shaky breath rattled through her, forcing her to shudder and lean against the wall for support.

I guess after 453 years, you've been through all sorts of shit…Her mind replayed his comment, along with all his carnal affections and dangerous promises, leaving her feeling confused and furious all over again.

Victor Creed had miraculously tracked her down and thrown her life into a tumultuous spiral where she couldn't tell what was up or down. All along she'd thought it was just payback for having used him and left him like a cheap fuck in Vegas, but now she knew it went deeper than that. He'd wanted to capture her; deconstruct her whole being by any means necessary, including seducing her. And she'd been stupid enough to fall for it all. Every leer, touch, and carnal delight had been for the expressed purpose of luring her into his grasp to be torn apart. He'd played dumb for the last time, unwittingly revealing how much he knew about her and making her strikingly aware that he was the only living creature to know her mind, body, and soul. It had all been a game, and unbeknownst to her, she'd been ensnared by it. She'd craved everything about Victor, including his dominance, and that terrified her.

But…why did he let me go? She suddenly questioned. He'd had her right where he wanted: in his cabin in the middle of nowhere atop a snowy mountain. It made no sense. If he'd wanted to break her down, then why would he have let her go? Why would he have trotted along with her…giving her enough freedom to genuinely want to be with him? She felt stupid, various assumptions and suppositions shouting for dominance in her head while the animal side of her seethed at her for even caring—He made a fool out of you!

Fighting her anger, she managed to stalk into the elevator, desperate to get the hell away from all the confusion and rage, but when she went to turn the key to ascend back to the foyer, she was shocked to find it missing.

Thunderstuck, she looked around, but there was no sign of it in the elevator. An icy feeling trickled down her spine as she looked out to the parlor, realizing Victor must've taken it and slipped it into his pocket before he'd gotten out. She felt the blood drain out of her face as she stepped back out of the elevator and turned to face the prone form, shrouded in black. His head was still turned in the direction she'd been slumped, so she exhaled a slow breath and walked back to him, thankful that she wouldn't have to look into his now cold blue eyes and not see the vibrant spark in them.

Crouching slowly, she kneeled down next to him. Her fingers were cold as she reached under him to slip into his pockets. His skin was still warm through his clothes, and his scent was still musky and wild. Her heart wrenched in her chest as she tentatively dug into his pocket and felt the edge of the elevator key. Just as she was going to resolve to roll him onto his side to dig the key out, she yelped in shock when her wrist was seized by a deft grip.

In a flash, Victor rolled towards her and grabbed her by the throat.

Isabela's shocked expression was fleeting as he slammed her down to the tiled floor. The exertion however, forced him to cough up the bile and blood that had clogged in his lungs, allowing her to push him away with a kick to his chest. Victor fell hard onto his back while Isabela rolled and crawled away before she realized her throat was slashed. She gripped her throat and fought the choking sensation as she tried to concentrate on healing. Her heart skipped several beats as her adrenalin shot up, making her hypersensitive and aware of Victor's erratic pulse. His regenerated heart was pounding like a backfiring car engine, his blood zipping like quicksilver through his veins. As soon as he'd grabbed her wrist, she'd felt his heart start again, shocking her from the sheer macabre novelty of it.

"You fucking bitch!" Victor snarled as he spun onto his side and crouched onto his hands and knees, spitting the blood that clung to his mouth and tinged his teeth before lunging for her ankle and hauling her backwards. Isabela cried out when the side of her face slammed against the marble floor as he yanked her back. She tried wringing out of his grip, but he dug his elongated claws into the meat of her calf, earning a hiss of pain from her before she kicked her other leg out and connected with his solar plexus. He roared, retaliating by hauling and wringing her away so violently that she slid across the floor and into one of the champagne cases. Swearing and falling back on his haunches, Victor glared down at the stiletto heel embedded in his torso before yanking it out with a shout of pain.

Isabela struggled to climb out of the mess of shattered glass and oozing bottles of champagne, hobbling on her one good heel before yanking her shoes off and ignoring the stinging bite of glass crushed underfoot.

Snarling at her, Victor climbed to his feet. "You motherfucking whore!" he lunged at her, catching Isabela by surprise as he grabbed her with both hands by the throat and slammed her against the closest wall. "You wanna kill me—like one of your fucking playthings? Huh? You treacherous cunt!" he roared lividly at her, squeezing her throat and hauling her up so her feet dangled off the floor. She dug her talons into his arms, breathlessly fighting the vice-like grip threatening to collapse her trachea. "Try to kill me, you venomous bitch—! I'm gonna snap your fuckin' neck!" he seethed, incensed and irate that she'd tried to escape by killing him like he was a pathetic goon. Isabela was taken aback by the fierce incredulity in his eyes and the waves of hostility that poured off of him. "What the fuck? Stop looking at me like I'm outta my fucking mind—Oof!" he barked in her face before grunting from the swift knee she jammed at his groin.

He let her go and doubled over, giving Isabela the opportunity to drive her knee up against his jaw before she slipped in the glass and landed hard on her side. Victor hit the ground with a guttural snarl, rolling onto his side and shaking off the blow before he earned a solid kick that propelled him across the floor to slam back-first into a wine rack. The mahogany panels splintered from the force of his frame crashing into it, bottles crashing around him and splashing him with cabernets and merlots that mingled with the scent of blood and acrid fury.

"Give me the key," Isabela hissed slowly, her eyes narrowed on him as she pulled shards of glass out of her arm.

Victor climbed to his feet, his shoulders hunched as he ignored the glass and splinters that dusted off of him. He bared his fangs and went on the attack. Now on her game, Isabela side stepped and used his own momentum to propel him into the champagne case she'd crawled out of minutes before. Bellowing with rage, Victor whirled and slashed his lethal claws across her stomach, narrowly missing disemboweling her as she lunged backwards and bounced off the pillar behind her.

A wild punch caused his fist to smash a chunk of marble out of the wall right by her head, leading Isabela to sidle away and hit him with a crane-style fist jab in the left kidney. Victor roared and swung his elbow around, clocking her on the side of the head and driving her to the ground. It was now his turn to kick her across the room and into a marble wall that buckled with a loud thwack! Isabela cried out and nursed her side, feeling her lacerated ribs mend slowly as she panted and glared at him.

"Whatta fuck is wrong with you?" he shouted at her, his eyes wild and his expression contorted with unbridled fury as he stalked towards her.

"Stay the hell away from me you goddamned bastard!" she screamed at him, stunning him. Snarling, she elongated her carnivorous teeth at him and vaulted on all fours to a vantage point in the havoc-ridden parlor. "I want that key. Give it to me, and I'll let you live," she ordered with furious chill in her hissing voice, the russet rings in her eyes dilating with her rage.

"Let me live? Hah! You gone bat-shit crazy—?"

"Shut up and give me the fucking key, Victor—!"

"Not a fuckin' chance, bitch!" he snarled with a nasty grin, his bloodlust making him sadistic. "Yah better give me a good reason why you're acting like yer on the rag, right now," his voice darkened as he prowled dangerously towards her, "or I'm gonna show you what its like to have your goddamned heart crushed when I tear it out and show it to you."

"Your heart wasn't crushed, you moron, it burst. You can at least try and understand the difference, you fucking savage!" she barked scathingly, grabbing a crystal vase and hurling it at him.

The vase exploded against the wall when Victor dodged it. He whistled at her fiery temper. "Got a saucy mouth on yah, huh Isabela," he sneered at her, "Now why dontcha use your big girl words and tell me what the fuck's gotten into you?"

"I'm tired of you playing the dumb fuck!" she hissed in a measured snarl. "What do you want with me?" the question made him furrow his brow. "How long have you been lying to me!"

"What the fuck are you talking about—?"

"For fuck's sake, Victor…I won't be taken for a damned fool!" She suddenly lunged at him, causing a melee to ensue, with them yelling and tearing at each other.

Victor fended her off until she did a fancy maneuver where she pinned his arm behind his back and tried reaching into his slacks pocket for the elevator key. He thwarted her by slamming back against the edge of the buffet and whirling to grab her by the throat again. She thrashed against him before slashing the side of his face and jabbing the heel of her hand against his nose. His eyes watered and he let her go, furiously cradling his broken nose and backhanding her with enough force to knock her over the buffet. Isabela landed on her belly, her face throbbing from the blow while Victor set his nose and grunted nasally.

Gathering herself up, Isabela scurried up and prowled like a lizard on all fours to get a running start up the circumference of the wall before vaulting off and aiming a high kick at him. Victor jolted, instinctively sidestepping and grabbing her in mid air before flinging her across the parlor into the wine racks. Her own momentum propelled her bone crushingly into the racks, bottles and shelves shattering around her. Cold wine cascaded down her body, causing her to yelp and arch away as it stung all the slices that were mending shut along her back and shoulders.

Making a sharp noise of pain as she forced herself out of the stacks, Isabela landed on her hands and knees, glaring daggers and panting at him through her tussled hair as she watched Victor advance towards her. He crouched down in front of her and grabbed her by the back of her hair, yanking her head up to look at him. His fangs were gleaming at her as he snarled, "How dare you double cross me—think you could poison me? Leave me down here while you run like a scared frail? Did you think I would let you go?" he shouted, "You're fucking MINE! Since the moment I saw yah you were mine!"

She defiantly stared into his smoky blue eyes before suddenly throttling him away from her. She pounced on him and went for his throat, sinking her teeth to tear into his neck. Victor arched up and hollered a guttural sound of surprise and pain, his hips slamming up against her. Isabela recoiled, releasing his throat and staring incredulously down at him. His arousal was pressing against her with urgency, shocking her long enough to be tossed over him. They both rolled to face each other and tangled in a flurry of blows.

Isabela kicked away from him just as his hand lunged up, claws catching on the seam of her gown and tearing it up to her hip. She shouted in anger and slashed at his chest, tearing jagged lashes across his dress shirt that momentarily welled with blood before the wounds heeled over. Victor laughed and grabbed her, wrestling her up the closest wall before shoving between her legs so she couldn't kick at his family jewels again. She puffed her chest and thrashed against him, seething venomously, "You stupid prick! Let me go, you goddamned motherfuck—mmh!" He cut her off by boorishly kissing her, smothering her curses while he simultaneously slammed her hands above her head and held them there as he ground his hard-on against her.

She fought him, her eyes furiously narrowed at him while his crested with deviance. When he pulled away, Isabela tried chomping her teeth at him, but he leaned just out of her reach and growled chauvinistically at her. "Promise to fight like this every time, alright Izzie? The make-up sex'll be fucking amazing," he suddenly purred, nudging his stubborn arousal against her.

She gasped, her eyes widening. "Are you making fun of me? Is this all a fucking joke to you? Or are you delusional enough to think I really do belong to you—that you can keep me?" she spat, "I might've been through a lot of shit after 453 years, but I've never dealt with someone so wretched and bestially stupid as you, regardless of what you've learned about me!"

Victor recoiled from the irate barrage she snarled at him, her words like a slap to the face. He'd tipped his hand, and she was furious that he'd dug up her past—that he'd been using it against her. Baring his fangs, he hissed, "So the cat's out of the bag, so what? We've gotten this far, why not just give it up already? Instead of acting like a stupid fuckin' cunt!" he slammed her against the wall. "Yer mine! The more you fight, the more you prove it to be true, Izzie—!"

She lashed out, lunging at him. "I will never belong to you! You're a fucking worthless animal too stupid to know how utterly insignificant you are! Too goddamned afraid to see how pathetic and lonesome you really are—how you'll forever be because you don't deserve anyone! You don't even deserve hatred you're so wretched! I could never belong to you!" she bellowed in a vehement tirade, her eyes blazing with ardor at him.

Something shifted inside of Victor, fierce and savage. His sight narrowed in, red bleeding into the edges of his mind as a rabid rage tore through him with bestial force. His clawed hands snapped around her neck and squeezed, his fury chocking his snarl in his throat as he shook her brutally before hauling her up and flinging her into a nearby curio.

Isabela crashed to the floor while the curio collapsed all around her in a shattered heap. Before she could regain her wits, Victor hauled her up by the back of the hair and swung her across the parlor to slam against the edge of the buffet table. She doubled over the cool granite counter, her breath robbed from her lungs as she struggled against the vice-like grip at the back of her neck that kept her head pressed down on the table. The waves of savage bloodlust were radiating off of him, along with the scent of rage burning out of his pores. She furiously kicked at him, shouting ravenously and clawing for purchase on the tabletop before Victor shoved hard at her legs.

"You're gonna be mine," he seethed darkly against her and started forcing her knees up and apart. "You'll be mine—I'll make you scream you're mine!" he growled in a hushed breath as he started hiking up her gown.

Isabela's struggles became frenetic; her swears and curses melting together in a flurry of venomous snarling. She managed to arch up and kick back at him, earning a growl and a short grappling session before he wrestled her down to sprawl flat on top of the buffet.

"Go to hell! I'll fucking rip your balls off, you bastard!" she bellowed as she tried to slink off the table's edge. Victor snarled and gripped her thighs, hauling her back to the edge of the table and fighting her writhing form as he worked his trousers undone. Isabela held onto the edge of the table and pulled, managing to get her knees planted on the tabletop in order to try propelling herself off the edge, but Victor yanked her violently by her hips back down and tore at her panties, snapping them roughly off of her before tugging and forcing her hips into place.

She cried out, a gasp catching in her throat when he pressed his cock against her from behind. He growled, rutting against her and groaning possessively while she froze and arched from the onslaught of sensations. His hand curved down her belly and cupped her crotch, rubbing his fingers possessively along her dampening sex, claws scrapping her silky skin.

Victor groaned at the feel of her under him. "Look how wet you are for me," he purred darkly against her temple before chuckling contumely, "all that talk means shit when I got you like this, begging for my cock!" He yanked her further down and brushed against her tender flesh, and Isabela gasped. The cold metal of his dog tags were dangling and dragging across her back, a sharp contradiction to the heat of his body enveloping her. Victor fisted his hand in her hair and pulled, forcing her to turn her head and snarl in pain.

In retaliation, she bucked back against him so that her tailbone connected with his groin with bruising force. His hiss of pain turned into a scornful growl and curse as he slammed her head down on the table and tore into the side of her dress. Isabela's temple throbbed with radiating pain, leaving her dazed. She groaned and struggled limply as he held her and forced himself into her sheath in one brusque stroke.

His groan was hoarse against her ear while she cried out in surprise, her body stiffening as he dug his fingers into her waist when his other hand fisted in the back of her hair. She tried wrenching free, but Victor held tightly to her and thrust into her roughly. With every following thrust, he grew bolder in his dominance, setting a fierce pace as he fucked her hard against the table. Isabela gripped the edge of the table in front of her and arched against her will, her body relishing the brutality while the rest of her seethed. When she felt his mouth bite down on the tendon connecting neck and shoulder, she mewled and grew taut under him, despite herself.

He purred at the sound, snaking his hand around her throat to turn her face towards him so he could claim her in a sloppy kiss. She bit him, slicing his bottom lip. He squeezed her throat and kissed her again, this time forcing his tongue into her mouth. Instead of the teeth he'd expected to pierce down, her tongue twirled against his, deepening the kiss. He parted from the kiss and nipped her jaw, aiming his next thrust upwards. When he felt her shiver with pleasure, Victor slid her down the table and slipped his forearm under her, pressing her back against his torso and holding her so she'd have to hang onto him and brace a hand on the table for purchase.

Isabela groaned with need, completely at his mercy as he dominated her. Her instincts were a muddled tangle of desire, rage, and conflict, but she couldn't deny the powerful lust her feral side was smoldering with. Victor tugged on the neckline of her dress, ripping a spaghetti strap clean off as he forced her bodice down to free her breasts to his greedy touch. His claws pinched her supple skin when he fondled a heavy breast, fucking her wantonly while she arched against him and cried out.

Victor was drunk with savage desire, completely high on his rage and lust for her. She was totally submissive—couldn't even reciprocate his thrusts or do anything to stop him, and she was getting off on it. Her body was yielding to him with pleasure, and the sounds she made were making him frenetic with need.

The feral current between them was tantalizing, scorching. Their animalistic rapport made their awareness narrow to the carnal sensations of each other's bodies, and their mutual rage for each other was a powerful aphrodisiac that made their coupling all the more explosive.

Victor began to quicken his pace, his ragged grunts mingling with the sounds of her soft moans and whimpers as she tossed her head back, desperate for him to mark her as his. Victor shoved her down to the table and yanked her knees off the counter, balancing her precariously on his pounding hips while she sidled unsteadily for purchase on the buffet.

The friction of the smooth cool granite against her breasts while he press against the bundle of nerve endings deep inside her made her buckle from the onslaught of pleasure, her climax rocking through her. She grew taut and arch sinuously, crying out his name with starved passion. Victor moaned from the rippling pressure that flooded her sheath, strangling his throbbing sex. He hunched over her, his tawny-clawed hands splaying on either side of her as he drove into her shuddering and eager body with several desperate thrusts before he shouted his climax. Her hands slid to rest over his, gripping them as he groaned with savage completion before burrowing his nose against the side of her neck.

He panted softly against her before grunting and reluctantly leaning back to look down at her. Isabela was watching him over her shoulder, hair tossed in a tussled cascade all about, lips bruised and parted with carnivorous teeth peeking at him, and her frondy green eyes half-lidded. He growled at the sight, prowling down over her and brushing his vicious mouth tenderly over her shoulder. Isabela sighed wistfully as he stood straight and hauled her up to press back against him.

She shivered, his sex still inside of her as he brought her up for a feral kiss, their lips, tongues, and teeth brushing passionately and tenderly. She hooked her arm to pull him close by the back of the neck while he caressed her breasts with possessively gentle strokes of his fingers before dragging his palms down to encircle her waist. The thrum of their pulses and the heat of each other's scent was soothing as the endorphins began to ebb away.

"Victor…" she murmured breathlessly against his mouth when their lips parted, her eyes glowing at him with heady intoxication.

He nudged his head against hers, exhaling softly through his nose. "I had an old contact dig up what he could find, but he didn't find much…" he rumbled, his expression pitiless, but his eyes earnest and blazing with heat. Her eyes focused intently, seemingly reading into his soul.

He wasn't lying, at least his scent wasn't, nor were his eyes for that matter. She knew he had to know more, and that he would never tell her just what he knew, but there was something reassuring in that. Just as she'd learned about him, he'd learned about her. She didn't have to worry about him double crossing her to a third party, because she would never do it to him.

He stood back and let her slide down his body, turning her to face him, but still held her close as he sat her on the counter's edge. She was half naked, smelling of blood, alcohol, and sex. He figured he didn't fair much better, but it made him swell with savage accomplishment nonetheless.

When he tucked himself back into his trousers, Isabela reached to tenderly brush her fingertips across his cheek and along his mouth, her feral teeth retracting back as she gazed at him.

"I don't know what to feel…" she whispered.

He watched her for long moments, incapable of answering. What he felt wasn't something he'd ever talk about, but he knew for sure that he felt bound to her. She'd tried to fucking kill him, but his stubborn will still surged with the need to make her his.

"S'got nothing to do with anything."

She stared at him, not modest in the least that he'd now figuratively and literally stripped her naked. Her eyes grew sad, and for the first time, he knew it was for him—for some alien concept that he was too thickheaded to comprehend and that she pitied him for. He felt a wave of anger rise in him, but it was snuffed out when she wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his chest.

"You're so infuriating, Victor…"

"I know."

She snickered against his chest, shaking her head at his acerbic tone. "What do we do now?"

His clawed fingers combed through her tussled mane, the gesture meant to be possessive but to her felt more like a soothing caress. He snorted into the top of her hair, surveying the rampant havoc they'd created in the once lavish wine parlor. "We get the fuck outta here before they give us the bill, that's what," he grumbled with sardonic humor in his tone as he tipped her chin up and gazed down at her aloofly amused expression.

"Well, yes of course that," she mused, "but I wasn't talking about that."

He huffed through his nose. "Why's everything gotta turn into an itinerary with you. We ate, we fought, and we fucked; what's next has gotta be fun enough to not hafta plan for it," he gruffly purred as he pulled her bodice up and adjusted it over her breasts.

Isabela hooked her arms around his neck and held him close, pulling him down to be nose to nose with her.

"It wasn't personal."

His head tilted dangerously as he grunted, "Yeah it was."

Her mouth clenched and her eyes softened. "Not towards you."

"Sure it was viper. If it wasn't personal, you'd've tried it a long time ago," he bluntly declared.

Isabela's eyes intensified, russet rings narrowing. "If it had been personal, I would've taken your head clean off—!"

"But you didn't," he smirked. "Same way I didn't snap you in fuckin' half. It's very personal, Izzie. Goes beyond it even," he growled provocatively before kissing her. He pulled away suddenly and flashed an impish grin as he teased, "Now promise you'll make it up to me, or I might just fuckin' change my mind."

Isabela laughed. "Maybe," she smiled, "if you promise to spoil me like this more often, lover."

Victor's brow arched with intrigue, his fangs denting his lips as his vicious eyes twinkled with primal smugness.

                      _____________________________________

He couldn't believe how long they were down there. He hated having to stand by at the beck and call of the card-carrying pompous elite, especially when it meant he had to stand by the elevator to the wine cellar and wait for them to come back up. Le Chevalier didn't take customer service lightly, and the wait staff was the most overworked in all cosmopolitan Europe. He sighed and looked around the foyer and along the dining hall, watching all the blue bloods and obscenely rich stuff their faces and prattle on.

The concierge caught his attention, gesturing to the elevator as it dinged twice to announce the arrival of the intimidating couple. Standing at attention adjacent to the elevator, he inwardly cheered, praying they'd be toasted enough to get their coats and hit the wet pavement. When the elevator doors opened, however, he and the whole main floor seemed to freeze in shock at the spectacle that stepped out of the stainless steel threshold.

The woman's once glistening red gown was now a tattered wine-stained mess, with claw marks gouged down the side of the dress and a seam torn open all the way to her hip. The imposing behemoth next to her was barely clothed, his ragged dress shirt torn across the chest and the knit of his slacks frayed and tattered. They were stained with blood, looking as if they'd been mauled by a pack of beasts and survived without a scratch on them.

The ambient chatter became a murmur of shock and whispers as Victor suavely escorted Isabela by the arm to the middle of the foyer as if nothing was wrong. The waiter stammered after a brief moment, but immediately shut his bobbing mouth when the behemoth of a man turned towards him.

Victor's eyebrow quirked sadistically, eyeing the guy. "I know what yer thinking," he declared in a gruffly amiable mutter, pulling Isabela close to him to illustrate what was becoming clearly obvious to everyone else. "My lady friend and I enjoyed the primo accommodations. All that wine and grub was a real mood-setter," Isabela hummed in agreement, so Victor added, "Couldn't keep our hands off each other. So just put it all on our tab," he smirked sinisterly and looked around with a raised brow of debonair disdain before Isabela actually had to smother a sultry giggle against his chest.

Leaving the poor waiter to gape at them, Victor grabbed Isabela by the hand and led the way as they grabbed their coats and made their quick exit. Dining and dashing, they rushed out into the raining street while managing to slip into their coats as the cold winter storm poured down. Laughing, they ran through puddles and avenues, avoiding the Parisian traffic as they headed back to the hotel. Their hands locked together, they walked into the bustling lobby out of the storm, completely soaked but unfazed. Sneaking past the front desk, they headed up to their suite, not really noticing that the hallway lights were dimmer than normal. Halfway down the hall, Victor whisked Isabela up into his arms bridal style, teasing her for leaving her heels behind. Isabela smiled and kissed the column of his throat, playfully chiding that she could've used the pick up before running barefoot throughout Paris as they entered the suite.

Firelight and the shimmer of candles illuminated the room, while the rainstorm outside battered the windowpanes.

"The power must've gone out," Isabela mused.

"So much for being a four-star hotel," Victor snorted and put her down so he could peel out of his drenched trench coat.

Isabela took both their coats and set them to dry by the marble fireplace. A knock to the door made Victor growl. He stared across at Isabela, silently communicating he wanted to be left alone, but she tilted her head and pursed her lips at him, raising her brow delicately to be patient.

Huffing, he went to the door and answered it. The night manager stared up at him before giving a greeting and apologizing for the lack of power in their suite, explaining they'd taken the liberty to prepare the room for their return and asking if they'd like to be served dinner in the suite. Isabela practically materialized next to Victor in order to stop him from verbally lacerating the man with his impatient temper. She accepted the invitation and requested in fluid French what they'd like before the man nodded, noted the tattered condition of their clothes but minded his own business, and went on to set the dinner order.

When Victor closed the door and raised a derisive brow at her, Isabela waved his mocking look off as she headed towards their bedroom. "Don't give me that look. I know you're as hungry as I am after that fiasco. Come for a quick shower?" she turned and saw her reflection in one of the mirrors and grimaced.

Victor chuckled and went to stand behind her to take a look himself. They'd been lucky there'd been a power outage and a commotion, otherwise people would've thought they were a couple of maniacs. He watched her reflection in the mirror, caressing his clawed hand to trace the contour of her shoulder before trailing down to her clavicle. Isabela's eyes fluttered, relishing his touch.

They managed to share a shower without getting amorously carried away just in time to answer the door when room service arrived. Victor had scowled while the bellhop set the table for them, tersely telling him not to bother them for the rest of the night. Once he locked the door, he turned and paused at the sight of Isabela.

She smiled at him, amused that he'd answered the door practically in the nude. He was bare-chested save for the ever present dog tags around his neck and resting over his broad chest; tailored and tattered slacks hanging snuggly around his hips, zipped but unbuttoned.

Victor's eyes appraised her in the warm candle light. The long silk champagne nightgown draped her curves exquisitely before flaring out around her legs. She looked luminous in the firelight, her damp hair cascading along her shoulders and swaying as she walked up to the table and started prepping their dinner—his possessive gaze studding her delicate nipples under the thin silk while her coy glances made his blood rush south.

Hunger sated, Isabela lounged on a plush leather ottoman next to the fireplace in the bedroom while Victor watched the storm intensify outside.

The respite was foreign to them, but intrinsically welcomed after the tumultuous night. Questions still hung in the air, and neither of them wanted to voice them. Instead, they relished the silence. Isabela glanced away from the fire to gaze across at the imposing feral. The candles and firelight played across the planes of his muscled torso, his shadow cast across the floor like a shroud behind him.

Leaning back sideways, her eyes surveyed the ominous shadow before falling on the leather satchel tucked into the corner with her suitcase. Curiosity suddenly leapt to the forefront; wonder what his contact dug up…She shifted, intending to stand.

"What d'you have planned."

Isabela paused, glancing up at him. He was still facing the storm outside, so she cocked her head to the side. Victor turned to look over his shoulder, lips creeping into a cold smirk. "Wasn't a rhetorical question, vipe,r" he turned to face her and leaned against the corner of the wall. "What do you have planned?"

Isabela sighed and averted her gaze. "You're asking as if you intend to give me a say on the matter," she mused pensively. Her preternatural eyes were flaring green and gold in the firelight, her lips soft and moist under his keen gaze.

"And you're acting as if you're not gonna fight me every step of the way," he rumbled, crossing his arms.

Isabela's gaze flickered away from the fire to glance at him. Melancholy shone in her expression before she betrayed a forlorn smile. He watched the ice queen thaw from the inside out as she sat by the fire, the ultimatum he'd expected from her nowhere to be seen. Instead, she contemplatively stared back to the fire. Victor could smell the mixture of sweetness and savagery that perfumed her, senses buzzing when she scooted to the edge of the ottoman and tucked her legs under her.

Her eyes roved up his body before locking on his cold blue spheres as she tilted her head thoughtfully. "I don't want to fight, Victor. I'm not going to fight you; we've done enough of that for tonight—"

"Stop placating and say what you're really thinking," Victor interrupted crassly, starting to pace like a tense predator.

"I won't if you keep brooding," Isabela softly chided. He shot her a searing look, but she held it defiantly. "We're perfectly wrong for each other, cub. Very soon your patience will outrun your desire for me, as you've said—"

"Give me a fucking break," he barked in. "What the fuck is this—you're 'it's not you it's me' speech? I'm not gonna repeat myself goddammit—!"

"We both know this is a fling," Isabela calmly stated, her eyes becoming serene. "Neither of us is suited for…whatever this is trying to become…"

Victor snorted disdainfully, going back to pacing. "Still carrying a torch…" he derisively spat and gestured dismissively at her.

"Stop bringing him up!" Isabela hissed with subdued ardor. Victor whirled around and stepped towards her, but paused and grappled with his impulses. He was angry and resentful, but not towards her, so instead of digging his claws into her, he clenched his jaw and dug his nails into his palms. She watched him stalk back to the windows, a snarl rumbling into a gruff growl in his throat. "I'm here with you…I haven't thought about him at all, until you've thrown it in my face," she murmured, her voice smoky with repressed emotion.

Turning, Victor caught her glancing at the satchel tucked into the corner. The look in her eyes was the same look from the day before, when she'd told him about heartache and fate. It's best to just settle for the brief moments, and not get so possessive when those have to end. He adamantly disagreed with what she'd said, but looking at her now, he wondered how much of that she really believed. Huffing, he turned to glare out at the stormy Parisian sky.

They were at a stalemate. Both could sense the ambivalence that needled into the rapport between them. It was like a pendulum that swung between them, threatening the unknown. In the end, it was more than ambivalence, and it wouldn't be solved by butting heads or boasting demands for insurmountable expectations. He wasn't going to give up anything for her. She wasn't going to open up and let him in. Neither had the key to unlock the other, nor were they capable of putting a leash to whatever whirlwind affair they'd had so far.

I want you…I'm not yours. You're not mine…I'm not putting a collar on you.

Victor silently fumed, grappling with the bestial fury that curled in his chest, threatening to scold through him. He was grappling with a ferocious loathing that left him seething internally, unable to piece together what he wanted and how he would take it. He knew he wanted her, but there was a cavalcade of issues that left him feeling muddled and resentful.

Isabela would never tell him how her heart ached for him—for everything he could give her. But, she knew he wouldn't allow himself to be the mate she yearned for, not with how possessive he was of her and how incapable she was of giving herself to him. Only a few days before, just the idea that she would grow to want what she couldn't have with the other feral stunned her. It brought to surface every lie she'd told herself, unearthing the fallacies of her mind to her heart. She felt betrayed and utterly alone. Her eyes focused on the brooding rival that had inexplicably become her lover, the isolation welling in her chest as she watched him stare implacably out on the deluge, ruminating intensely.

Victor would never love her.

The sadistic thought was compounded by the realization that on some primal, baser level…she did. Staring at him, she couldn't help but balk at the irony.

Her longing for him made it easy for the surge of arousal to radiate throughout her.

"Victor. Please don't brood." He turned around to shoot her a deadly glare, but ended up staring as she stood from the ottoman, watching as her skin began to shimmer bronze in the firelight. Her eyes were luminous as she slipped the straps of the nightgown off her shoulders. "I promised to make it all up to you. Can't do that if you stay surly towards me," she murmured sensually, letting the nightgown slip off her arms and glide down her body to pool around her feet.

The primal current between them became intoxicating, her heady scent growing tantalizing while she strutted alluring to the bed, climbing onto it and silently beckoning him to join her with her provocative stare. Victor watched her, his mouth watering as his eyes roved over her nude form and breathed in her addictive scent, spiced with her arousal for him. He licked his lips, practically able to taste her need for him in the air as he unzipped his trousers and shoved them off before walking towards the bed. He prowled around to the foot of the bed, fangs peeking menacingly behind his smirking lips—appraising her like a predator does his mate before approaching.

Isabela sighed tenderly. Rapture was ignited in every single nerve ending, from her toes to her scalp. She felt like heat tingled throughout her body, waiting to blaze into a wave of pleasure just from a single touch.

Victor was turned on by the anticipation he sensed buzz through her when he climbed onto the bed and prowled towards her. He knew enough about her rapture pheromone to take his time and hold back on initiating the first touch. When he sidled up to her, Isabela hesitated, a hint of anxiety in her scent.

He chuckled gravelly, leaning in close without touching her. "Afraid I'll bite?" he growled provocatively, his warm breath against her cheek sending a shiver down her spine.

"Just wary," she replied, her eyes coy.

He was about to scathe a remark, but stopped himself. She wasn't lying, and he knew there'd be hell to pay if his nasty retort slipped out. So instead, he leaned even closer, dangerously close. "M'not gonna regret this, am I?" he husked.

Isabela met his smoky blue gaze but remained perfectly still, afraid to move and accidentally brush against him before she was ready. "Not as much as I will if you keep testing my patience, lover," she purred and leaned away cautiously. "Once you touch me…there's no going back. I don't know how potent it will be…"

He'd read about the 'mechanics' of her pheromone; how long her 'victim' would suffer from the effects of rapture, how the potency of rapture depended on the level of her physical arousal, and how with each additional touch after the initial contact the effects would be shared twofold by the viper and her victim. The fact that they were both ferals insured that the sensations would be an explosive combination, but the idea that Isabela would be at her most vulnerable shimmered with rapture made him disregard her insecurities.

Holding her gaze, Victor reached his hand to cup her cheek, confident and paying her caution no mind as she froze in anticipation. As the pads of his fingers caressed her flushed cheek, the contact instantaneously caused warmth to rush through them, similar to the heat that surges through the body when blood roars into excited tissue, except that the sensory bliss was magnified through the synching of their primal natures. The sensory exchange caused her to shudder and gasp while he stiffened, eyes widening as a current of sensation flooded up his fingers to thunder through him and undulate back through her. Biology, evolution, and feral lust ignited in them unlike anything they'd ever had before, synching into the primal imperative that was intricately part of their DNA.

Isabela fisted her fingers into the bedding, arching into his touch but still wary of reciprocating. Victor felt like a livewire was shooting sparks off under his skin, the thrumming tingle of arousal throbbing all over him. Every touch ignited more, sending jolts and surges of animal hunger to skitter down into his loins. He could feel her need for him, taste it in the heated air around them and touch it through the electricity of their skin-to-skin contact.

His hand caressed down her neck and pawed at her breast while the other trailed down her shoulder and encircled her wrist. He was panting, starved for her touch and throbbing all over. Isabela gasped and whimpered when he leaned in and brushed his mouth against her jaw before rolling the tip of his tongue along her cheek. She saw colors explode in the corners of her vision, her lips parting in a strangled sigh that hiccupped in her throat. The electricity dancing on his tongue made Victor groan for more, wrapping his arms around her waist and hoisting her into his lap. Isabela mewled and trembled, her hands flying up to grip his shoulders.

The sensation of her hands touching him was like someone plugging him into a generator, hypersensitive nerve endings pulsing with heat as he groaned and gripped her in his arms. Isabela arched, her head thrown back as she mewled and shivered in his arms. Victor dipped down and licked a trail from the valley of her breasts up to her throat, making her writhe in pleasure and splay her hands across his chest.

When his mouth pursed around a studded nipple, Isabela cried out, arching away from Victor and trying to fight the shudders of pleasure his touches and mouth ignited. Grabbing her by the small of her back, Victor thwarted her from slinking away, holding her close as he leaned in and brushed the tip of his nose to gently nuzzle her throat before nipping his fangs along her pulse. Her hands gripped his forearms when he growled against her throat and licked up her jaw before capturing her lips in a mind-blowing kiss. The moment their lips connected was when their true hunger for each other blossomed, emboldening them to demand more.

Isabela vied to turn the tables, dragging her hands down his jaw and neck to push against his chest and force him to lean back and give her ravenous mouth access to his hot skin. Victor tipped his head back and growled when she licked up his throat, momentarily nipping on his Adam's apple before setting fiery kisses down his chest. Tangling his hand in the back of her hair, Victor tilted her head back yanked her to press flush against him, settling her to straddle his lap. The instant his arousal thrust against her womanhood, Isabela cried out for him, blushing self-consciously and hiding her flushed features against the crook of his shoulder.

Victor nudged his head against hers, brushing a smile along her hairline and growling a purr before pawing his hands to cup her rear and roll his hips up against her. She bit down on the muscled slope of his shoulder and moaned when his ramrod erection slid against her eager flesh as he dragged his retracted claws down her spine. Growling against his neck, she scraped her blunt teeth against his pulse and laved the bite mark as it healed while Victor groaned and rutted against her.

Writhing, Isabela bucked down against his crotch, mewling for him to take her, mouth pleading as she bit and suckled his throat before licking his lips. Victor plunged his tongue into her mouth and swallowed her whimpers for more, reaching between them to caress his usually lethal fingers against her heat, tenderly. She bit down on his lip and thrust against his hand, gripping the back of his neck and panting against his lips as she ground his engorged flesh between his apex and her womb.

The exquisite friction was enough to make Victor's control slip. He pressed his thick sex into her molten sheath, thrusting up and slamming her down to buck against his lap. A moan tore free from her as she arched, her skin scorched with rapture. The sensation of being embedded inside her tight and desperate body revved through him as he became hyperaware that her flesh was becoming scolding from the rush of rapture pulsing through her skin.

Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, Isabela mewled for him to take her, her talons biting demandingly into his upper back for more. Swinging around, Victor slammed her down on the bed and rammed his thrust upwards. She cried out, clenching around him as he fucked her with barreling strokes. Pressing his forehead against hers, Victor panted with her, sharing a breath as their erratic pulses fell into rhythm and rapture zipped through them.

He took her voraciously, leaving her flushed and taut under him as she whimpered his name and cried out heartily. The moment of her climax was the most breathtaking he'd ever seen, her lips parted in a throaty sigh, hooded eyes blazing up at him as her hands reached up for him. Her sheath contracted wantonly around him, and when he thrust home, Victor threw back his head and roared his orgasm—hands fisting into the bed under her as he road his climax to its crest. Soothing fingertips caressed the sides of his face when he bowed his head and panted, his skin tingling from more than afterglow as he collapsed on top of her.

Isabela shivered softly under his warm body while he trembled from the aftershocks of rapture still thrumming through his system. The flood of sensations washed over them as they cuddled and kissed. Victor pulled away first, adjusting to lounge possessively over her and survey the sated and vulnerable hellion under him. His strong fingers combed the hair away from her face, claws delicately scraping her still flushed skin. Her eyes shone brilliantly as she smiled soothingly up at him and ran her fingertips affectionately along his brow, wiping away a few errant beads of sweat before trailing them down his cheek. Victor closed his eyes and relished her gentle touch, licking her fingertips when they brushed along his mouth.

"You regret it?"

He opened his eyes, the usual chill in his crystalline depths glinting with another emotion as they crinkled around the corners. Her fingers retreated from his face to instead wrap in the chain of his dog tags before tugging lightly for him to dip down and meet her for a sensuous kiss. When they parted from the kiss, Isabela whispered the question again.

"Only thing I regret is not getting this to happen sooner," he mused, the gloating zest in his eyes wicked as he nuzzled her jaw roguishly.

Isabela hummed, encircling his chest before she curled into his arms and tucked her head against him. She focused on his heartbeat, lips brushing a kiss against his pectoral as her mind wandered. Victor rested a clawed hand over her ass while the other stroked his claws up and down her back, languidly. Silence reigned between them for long moments, the crackling of the fireplaces and the sounds of the rainstorm outside fading into the background while their breathing and heartbeats sank into a relaxed state. She felt the most at peace than she'd ever had. He felt the most sated he'd ever had.

It felt right…but it wasn't.

Victor was shortsighted, uncaring about the threat his possession of her posed to him and her. Isabela, however, wasn't in denial; she knew better than either of them the risks they posed to each other—had been warning him of the absolute impossibilities of his stubborn will surmounting the reality of their natures. Subconsciously, they knew their animal natures couldn't be suppressed, nor that the reality of their circumstances could be changed. Neither wanted to acknowledge that they couldn't see a future that included the other— that they couldn't comprehend the magnetism that radiated between them, only to end in unrequited feral desire for the unattainable: each other.

They ignored their instincts for the time being, pushed their resentment and wants away to instead bask in each other's embrace.

____________________

Read Chapter 10: Besetting Memories

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[furious-rogue-stuff]

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 8: Voraciously Insatiable

Pairing: Victor Creed x Isabela Montecristo | Sabertooth x Vipress

Disclaimer: This series will have canon-accurate and heightened levels of violence, adult themes, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and graphic descriptions of sex. *Post-Origins movieverse.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word count: 12,000+

Series Summary: Victor Creed's reputation as the Sabertooth proceeds him. He clashes with a mysterious feral woman, an enigma and anomaly to everything he knows. What began as a hunt becomes a dance between like-minded predators.

🚨Warning: Explicit sex, adult situations, implied rape, graphic imagery, feral power play, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and a pinch of angst. I do not own any aspect or character of the Marvel Universe nor elements of the X-Men Origins movieverse.

A Feral Interlude Masterlist

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 8: Voraciously Insatiable

Sunrise began to ebb slowly across the city's horizon, a warm glow that crawled through the arch-fix window into the room. The heat of the sunlight didn't pierce the sheer canopy but did cast golden warmth over the penumbra under the veil. Isabela slowly stirred awake, her eyes fluttering at the early morning rays. She drowsily turned away from the window, shrugging the heavy weight draped over her waist so she could cuddle down into the heat besides her. She tossed her mussed hair out of her face and sighed at the feeling of warm air that puffed rhythmically against her chest. The heavy weight around her waist shifted and tightened around her just as a fuzzy tickle nuzzled against her breasts.

She came awake and caressed her hands over the muscled planes of Victor's back before cupping the back of his head. A purr-like growl reverberated through her chest as the sleeping feral nestled his face into her generous cleavage and held her close to him. Isabela stared with hooded eyes down at the rugged hunk in her bed and couldn't help the smile that quirked her lips. She tried to stretch, but Victor growled and clamped his calloused hand over one of her breasts and nuzzled against her cleavage after herding her against him with a firm paw over her derriere.

"Mm, Victor," she sighed and tried to shrug away.

He inhaled a long breath and puffed it out through his nose as he reluctantly woke up. "Go back to sleep," he mumbled against her breast and brushed his mouth along the valley between her cleavage.

She hummed and dragged her nails over his shoulderblades and arched her chest against him. "Rise and shine. C'mon, cub," she murmured and laughed when he growled in protest and slid her down his body.

Victor rubbed his hardening erection against her mound and settled his mouth over the column of her throat before biting. She sighed as he worried the wound with his fangs and lapped at her electrifying taste before pulling her leg over his hip so he could nudge cheekily between her thighs. "As you can see, I'm up" he purred against her ear before nipping along her jaw. "If you want a morning romp just say so," he chuckled. When she scoffed sarcastically at him, he rolled on top of her and pinned her arms into the pillows above her head, "I know you can't get enough of me. There's no shame in asking me to fuck you breathless, sweetheart."

Isabela rolled her eyes at him and wrapped her legs around his waist. "Since when do I have to ask, Victor?" she licked her lips and felt his thick erection brush against her inner thigh while his dog tags dragged along her chest. "You're the insatiable one," she purred and pivoted her hips, rolling so she straddled him and tried tugging her wrists free from his clawed grip.

He laughed at her and held at her wrists before pulling her down to his chest. "Actually, I'm the aggressive one; you're the insatiable one. You play coy all the damned time until I grab you, then you can't get enough of me," he grinned nastily at her irreverent sneer. "But, I'm not complaining. I happen to like our dynamic," he purred and spread his knees so she'd have to grind down on his lap.

She rested on his chest and nudged her head against his jaw. "I'm actually quite satisfied, Victor," she remarked aloofly before wringing her wrists out of his grip so she could sit up and look down at him.

Her hair was tussled and her smile was rueful. He looked up at her and tucked his hands behind his head when she started combing her nails through the dark hair on his chest. The way she'd said that had been open-ended as fuck, and he didn't like it. Then when he worked it out in his head, he didn't know really why he didn't like it. Victor was sure she meant the insatiable part, but some nagging inkling told him she meant being with him like this—as if their dynamic was running the tether of its course.

When she tried to slink off him, he grabbed her and held her by her waist. She looked at him with hooded eyes he couldn't read. "I thought we were playing, viper," he groused low and gave a snarky smirk, "Don't get cold now."

Isabela cupped the backs of his hands and forced them away so she could slide away from him towards the side of the bed. "We are playing, cub. I just—" he grabbed her arm and pulled her back against his barrel chest. She gave him a sidelong glance and finished in a more measured tone, "I'm not finished with my plans. So, if I don't seem eager to be playful with you don't think it me being cold."

Victor's crystalline blue eyes flashed with terse anger. "You know, when you use that tone with me, it makes me very angry, Izzie," he growled warningly and tipped her chin so she'd look at his taciturn glare. "So angry in fact, that if I didn't like keeping you around, I'd crack you in the mouth."

"Keeping me around?" she shot back in an appalled berate and lashed away from him to climb out of bed and glare him down. "Listen very carefully to me, Victor. I've put up with a lot of your impetuous and overbearing bullshit so far, but don't think I'll take any of your alpha crap in my lair," she hissed as she pulled on her silk robe and tied it closed without ever looking away from his smoldering blue eyes and implacable scowl. "You're not keeping me anywhere, understand? We're tying up loose ends, and once that's done with—!"

"Think before you say something really stupid, sweetheart," Victor growled dangerously and prowled towards her after stalking off the bed. She stood her ground, so he loomed over her with a sharp snarl curling his lip as he sneered, "I already told you—!"

"Told me what? That I'm yours? So what?" she hissed and fumingly turned to stalk away, but Victor grabbed her, swung her around and pinned her against the closest wall. "Victor-!" she snarled warningly before he backhanded her on the mouth. When she cried out and snarled at him, he clamped his hand over her mouth and slammed her flush against the wall.

"Now, you listen to me, Izzie," he seethed. "Maybe I haven't been explicitly fucking clear with you, so I'm going to spell things out," he hissed and shoved his knee between her thighs and grappled with her until he had her pinned between the wall and his naked body. "You are my fucking property. I own you, and have allowed you some autonomy because I like it when you think you're in charge, but don't get confused; you're mine, and you will be my little viper until—well," he paused and dragged the palm of his hand from her mouth to her throat. "Until my patience outruns my desire to keep you around," he growled darkly and emphasized his point by squeezing her throat before stealing a kiss.

Isabela struggled against the burn and strain of her body, but all she could manage was to clutch at his shoulders and cling against him so gravity wouldn't assist him in taking her breath away anymore than he already was. Her eyes fluttered when he let her breathe and pulled back from the kiss. He smiled crassly at her, and she hissed. In a swift lash, Isabela slapped him with enough force to stun him. Once he let her go, she slid down the wall and grabbed her throat absently as she stood and waited for the inevitable.

Victor's head had rushed with the blow, not having felt whiplash like that since the last time she kicked him in the jaw. He shook the blow off before turning an ireful expression back at her. For some reason, he hadn't expected for her to just stand there, waiting for him to throw the next blow. She should've pounced on him and gone for the jugular, but instead she stood looking like a fierce queen, her frondy eyes blazing arduously and the russet rings narrowing around her pupils. He hesitated, all the hostility washing out of him.

She watched with anticipation as he stalked slowly towards her, the smell of anger and murderous glee oozing out of his scent at her as she stood stubbornly and stoically in her spot.

"Izzie," he purred viciously and cupped her cheek gruffly when he stood to loom over her again. She didn't flinch, so he fisted his other hand into the back of her hair and tipped her face up. "I know you want to be mine. You're afraid though. Not because I'll hurt you, or force myself into your tight pussy whenever I want, or hell, cuz I could kill you; it's because you let someone weaker than you own you before, and he died on you," he paused his sadistic muse to flash a malicious smile that bared his fangs. "He was a weak frail bastard, and he left you all alone in this world. But, I'm stronger than you, and I'm superior to any fucking asshole on this planet. I can have you, and claim you on sheer will whether you want to be mine or not. But, the truth is, you're mine already, Izzie…" he murmured possessively and stared into her stunned eyes, "You're just too afraid to admit it."

With that chilling jab, he let go of her and walked past her to the bathroom, a smug and gloating gleam dancing in his eyes as he left her there to marinate in his cruel words.

"Victor."

He paused, disappointed to hear the unwavering composure in her cool tone as he turned back to glare at her.

"Everything you said was right." She turned slowly to face him. Her eyes were steely as they stared into his. "But let me ask you one thing: What makes you think I want to be yours?" The rhetorical question riled him, but not as much as her serene expression. "I've wanted a lot of things in my long life. Finding my equal in this world is one, but like many things, I can't have what I want," she spoke and absently ran her hand down her lithe stomach. "Sometimes, even if you really want something, fate won't let you have it. It's best to just settle for the brief moments, and not get so possessive when those have to end."

He pictured the shadow-like scar close to her womb, and his gaze lingered on her as an image of the pregnant frail from the day before popped into his head. He stared at Isabela when it all clicked in his head.

"You didn't say 'was'; you said it still is."

Isabela looked confused. Victor walked over and surprised her by yanking her robe undone before caressing it off her body. When he kneeled in front of her, she flinched.

She stiffened as he put his hands on her hips and brushed his nose against her womb.

"If that Eirik guy had been your equal, you would've said: "finding my equal in this world was one"; you didn't, which means you still want something you haven't had yet, so how the hell do you know you can't have it?" he mused and eyed the scar that had been smoothened slowly by time before laving a long lick up it.

It was a reminder of the humanity that had been torn out of her long ago, a knife having plunged into her womb and robbing her of the small life that had been growing there. She would never say it, but he understood now what she'd told Dr. Krause. The last human part of her had died.

To want was human, and she couldn't let herself desire what could be easily taken away. Didn't mean he would accept her stubborn denials.

Isabela concentrated on the feel of his lips and the heat of his mouth and the tickle of his whiskers as he kissed and licked her stomach. His hands trailed down her body to part her legs so he could bury his nose against her smooth apex before dipping to impishly kiss her mound. She gasped when his tongue teased her, rolling along the cleft of her sex to part her folds, her fingers curling around his shoulders as he ignited desire in her. When the tip of his ravenous tongue pressed against her clitoris, she jolted under his forceful ministrations. Just when her knees buckled, Victor swept her down onto the plush carpet and buried his mouth in her silky folds.

Her head was swimming. This virile animal was possessing her, claiming her carnally and it was enough to make her swoon. Victor's tongue was twirling against her pulsing pleasure, his growls and voracious ministrations making her arch against him. She writhed against his grip on her, trying to fight her aching want for him. Pain was welling behind her eyes, and she cried out when he nuzzled her quivering heat.

He knew. She had slipped, and he'd picked up on it, but instead of the resentment or callous rejection she'd expected, he was laving her like she was his wounded mate. Eirik had done differently. He'd told her it was just as well that his bloodline end with him, and that he was content with spending eternity with her.

Eirik hadn't been her equal. But, that was why she'd loved him.

Victor was devouring her, but it was with a need to coddle her the only way he knew how—by giving her pleasure. He wanted his plaything to come undone in his arms and understand he cared but that it didn't stop her from being his. Her heart clenched when she climaxed, her hands gripping his arms as she shivered against him and cried out.

Victor licked her lazily before climbing over her and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Isabela mewled and tried to wriggle out from under him. He growled and pulled her hips up, forcing his straining cock into her as he pawed down onto a breast. When she hissed and shoved him away, he bared his fangs and hauled her back, clawing into her soft side to stop her from fidgeting away from him. The scent of blood and savage instincts grew heavy on their senses as Isabela clawed into his chest in retaliation while she arched up and clung to him. Victor groaned from the combination of pain and pleasure, primal savagery fueling him as he slammed her down to the floor and took her.

When he pounded his climax into her, Isabela tore her nails down his back and cried out while Victor roared and sank his teeth into her shoulder. Hissing, she trembled and groaned when he sucked hard on her wound before it healed. Drunkenly, she brought her fingers to her mouth and licked the blood off her talons while Victor brought her other wrist to his lips and bit along her pulse line, his raspy tongue tickling the bite tenderly. Their eyes held each other with hooded approval as they licked each other's healing wounds before kissing.

The kiss was one of their longest, with the interplay of their tongues and the clinging of their lips tasting the blood flavoring their mouths leading them to tangle amorously again.

Isabela rolled and sank down on his engorged sex, moaning when Victor bucked hard into her and brushed her womb. He panted through parted lips as he rocked her up and down his shaft, groaning when she dragged her talons down his belly to leave angry furrows that welled quickly with blood before healing. She rode him and sucked on her talons, tasting his blood. He grabbed her arm and pulled her down to meet him for a beastly kiss, intoxicated by her unbridled sensuality.

His fangs sliced her lips and nipped her tongue from the ferocity of his mouth, causing Isabela to gasp and bite his bottom lip. Victor growled and bucked hard into her sheath, one hand gripping her hip while the other grappled her hand before it could tear into his pectoral. Her fingers interlocked around his clawed digits as she rode him to the crest of her orgasm. He sat up and held her as she arched back and cried out with wistful pleasure, his mouth causing her to sigh and cling to him as he licked up her clavicle to her throat. He growled and clamped his mouth on her pulse just as he filled her again, the rush of their coupling making them dizzy as they panted and fell against each other back to the carpet.

She sighed and rested her head on his chest, while Victor held her against his side and combed his claws through her long tresses. Nothing felt anything like what they felt during and after a fierce coupling, leaving them lulled in each other's embrace and uncaring about any aggression they naturally had towards each other.

When it came down to it, they both knew they were equals, and they both were too sated to point it out.

                      _____________________________________

Having looked for a phone everywhere else in the apartment while Isabela was finishing her shower, Victor had wandered into the kitchen to find the only visible cordless phone mounted on the wall. The shirtless feral idly ran his fingers through his damp hair as he picked up the phone and dialed Dan's number. He fastened his belt while the line rang and leaned his hip against the kitchen counter, glancing around the immaculate kitchen and drumming his retracted nails over the granite countertop.

The line kept ringing, and just when he was going to get pissed, the line picked up.

"Hi, this is Dan. I'm not in right now—"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Victor growled and was about to hang up when the message on the answering machine continued.

"-if this is Creed, call me at 413-555-8901."

The line went dead, so Victor hung up and dialed the number on the message. He scratched idly at his hairy chest and fiddled with a dog tag while the line rang. He could hear Isabela end her shower and he licked his lips at the thought of her dripping and glistening just as the phone was answered.

"Alo?" a matronly Irish brogue answered.

Victor quirked a brow. "Yeah, is Dan there?" he rumbled into the phone.

"This is Agnes Dresner, who can I say is calling-"

"Ma, give me the phone—"

"Danny, who's calling you so early?"

"Oh my god, mother, just give me the phone and go watch the morning news!"

Victor snorted as he heard the tacto-empath bicker for a few more seconds before he got on the line.

"Hey, you got my message?"

"No, Dan. I just started dialing random numbers until I got lucky," Victor rolled his eyes. "And shit, I didn't know you were into old pussy," he chuckled sarcastically into the phone.

"It's my mother Creed; not my fault you never had one," he heard the mutant grumble on the phone.

"She sounds quite nice, Danny-boy. Maybe I'll pay her a visit sometime…" he trailed off sinisterly.

The other man spoke through clenched teeth, "Give me a break, alright?"

"Oh I could give you more than a break, but you already know that, huh Danny," he taunted. "So why aren't you waiting in your cabin like I told you to?"

"Listen, I'm taking care of my mother. I left you the number, didn't I?" Dan was muttering into the phone, probably so the old bird wouldn't hear him.

"Calm the fuck down, Dan. I don't need you with your panties all in a bunch, I want information," he groused into the phone and sniffed the air. Isabela was putting on make up. He frowned, hating the taste of the artificial crap.

"Sigh. Yeah. I got some info. Some real good stuff on your girl," Dan muttered into the phone and Victor could hear him flipping papers around over the line. "I tracked down an alias she used during WWII, and found a treasure trove from a former associate photographer for the Third Reich press. Ah, here," he heard Dan mumble under his breath. "I tracked the guy down cuz he was one of a few Nazi sympathizers to get a Visa to live in the states after the war. He worked for one of the newspapers that printed SS-friendly articles. Anyway, your girl was going by Isabella Contezza. She was moonlighting as an Italian burlesque performer and was very popular with the SS-version of the USO's."

"Fuck. Would've loved to see that," Victor grumbled more to himself than to Dan.

"Ah, well good thing I got pictures then."

"No shit," Victor scoffed into the phone.

"Oh yeah," Dan confirmed. "The guy had a few shots of her on stage doing one of her popular acts. The one I'm looking at now is her in a skimpy corset, stilettos, and an SS-officer's hat straddling a piano bench and smiling at a crowd of hollering Nazis at some club."

Victor growled at the image. "What else?"

"Well—he showed me this scrapbook. Seems he was one of her many fans and he had cut outs of every article ever written on the 'lovely Contezza', and there was one announcement…"

"And?" Victor barked into the phone when the man hesitated.

"The headline was: 'Beautiful Contezza Betrothed to Dashing SS-Officer;' it talks about—"

"I can guess what it says, jackass," Victor snapped darkly and clutched the phone. "What does the fucker look like?"

"You know, like every true blue Nazi kraut. Tall, light-eyed, blond and vicious-looking; he's smiling like a wolf in the picture. His name was Ivan Walküre. There's another shot of him sitting at a table watching her perform, and he looks like he wants to eat her..."

Victor growled. "Do me a favor. Send all you have to the address I'm gonna give you—"

"But the guy leant me the scrapbook and pictures; I gotta give them back!"

"Are you fucking kidding?" Victor snarled into the phone. "Make copies if you have to you, fuckwit!" He went on to bark the address and the instructions for how to deliver the documents, and ended the call.

He slammed the phone into its cradle on the wall. He was pissed off, but more aggravated by what he found out. Just how much would he have to accept about her past without confronting her? It'd be a colossal fuck up if he confronted her, but the more he found out, the more he just wanted to get complete explanations from her. It was like tracking the lives of multiple women instead of just the one, and it was chipping away at his patience.

"I knew there was a reason why I concealed most of the phones."

Victor whirled to look at her leaning against the wall. She was wearing a form-fitting long-sleeved black romper mini dress and polished boots to match, and her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail.

She gave him an appreciative once over before strolling over to him. "Who were you abusing on my phone?" she mused and caressed her hands over the line of his collarbones.

He swallowed his anger and irrational jealousy and wrapped his arms around her before pulling her against his bare chest. "A stupid mutant associate of mine; was just checking in on a matter I have him investigating for me," he husked and nuzzled her. "You look good in black, but you taste awful with that crap caked on," he purred after kissing and licking her lips.

"Part of the camouflage, cub. My scales tend to shine in the early morning sun," she murmured and kissed the column of his throat. "Got a lot of fun planned today," she teased and pursed her lips in amusement.

He swept her off her feet and into his arms. "Good. Let's finish getting dressed and get something to eat. I'm fucking famished," he rumbled ruggedly as he took her back to her bedroom.

"You're the one that needs to finish getting ready. I'm already dressed!" she admonished and tried to keep a cool veneer.

He chuckled and flashed a lopsided smirk. "Not for long yer not. I didn't give you permission to get dressed yet," he growled and tossed her onto the divan where his clothes were before crawling over her.

"Victor, we're not going to get anything done at this rate," she chided sultrily and nuzzled his mutton-chopped cheek when he brushed his nose against hers.

"That's why it's called a 'quickie', sugar. Now, show me where to unzip this thing or I'll have to slice you out of it," he purred and chuckled when she pulled him down between her bare legs.

"And I'm the insatiable one!"

"Yeah, now shut up and get naked."

                      _____________________________________

The Meatpacking district was a seedy collection of blocks and brick warehouses riddled with the occasional crack den and dilapidated buildings perfect for mob hits or the irregular slaughter of more than steak and pork. Under the hazy morning sky, the littered gutters and dank smell coming up from the sewers left the street lacking of any foot traffic. Only the occasional delivery truck whizzed by on root to a store.

Basset crossed the street and headed towards a particularly run down warehouse, his jacket lapels pulled up and hands shoved in the pockets. He maneuvered past some garbage mounds and looked around before heading to a rickety steel door and shoving it open with a firm shoulder before disappearing inside.

This is too easy.

Jin turned the corner he'd been spying behind and followed after Basset. He couldn't believe his luck. The stupid punk practically picked out where he'd be getting decapitated, all the way down to the perfect hour of the day. With any more luck, he'd have the kid's head and be jetting back to Paris before noon.

Jin Kazuya was wondering if mercenary work was becoming so lackluster because the targets were so insipid or because the people who hired him were. He looked around and entered the warehouse, making sure to keep silent and to the shadows. Why Basset had trekked from Midtown all the way to Chelsea on foot was beyond him, but he figured he wanted to avoid arising suspicion of a possible hideout for his supposed treasure trove.

He watched Basset maneuver through the cluttered and ramshackle garage of the warehouse towards the lofted offices at the back. When he disappeared up a stairwell, Jin easily tracked him by the sound of his thudding feet and the creaks of the floor. Following soundlessly, he found himself having to descend another stairwell to the back of the warehouse, seemingly where the meat lockers would've been once upon a time.

Ducking behind a set of rickety crates, he watched Basset walk into a rusting door into the penumbra of the room. Stealthily, Jin followed him in while he reached to the back of his waistband for his hunting knife. He figured he'd slice him ear-to-ear, let the little fucker bleed out, and then go to work on hacking his head off.

However, when he entered the room, he was shocked to come face to face with not only Basset, but a statuesque woman with a cunning smile on her face. Jin froze, his eyes darting around at the scene as he quickly realized he'd been duped.

"Nice of you to come."

Jin whirled around in time to see the imposing man with the steely eyes just as said man's fist bashed into his face and knocked him out cold.

When Jin came to what must've been several minutes later, he was strapped to a metal chair and his nose was bleeding down his face. He fidgeted against the rusty chair and realized his arms were bound by iron railing that had been bent and looped behind the chair. His ankles were fastened to the legs of the chair by dirty chains that were cutting into his thick skin, even through his black fatigues. His head lulled back and he spit a wad of blood to the ground, noticed his sweater was torn open, and tried to concentrate on the conversation his captors were having.

"—Please! Don't do this, I swear to God I won't tell anyone—!"

"For fuck's sake, do you ever shut up? Haven't even done anything to you—well, not yet anyway."

"Victor, don't tease him. He's been such a good pet—"

"Didn't you promise to tear him open and see what color his insides are? Doesn't sound like something you'd wanna do to a good pet to me," the tall brawny guy growled and stepped into Jin's line of vision.

When the chains around his ankles rattled, Victor glanced over at him and chuckled.

"'Bout fucking time," he barked and grabbed Basset by the back of the neck, shaking the man like a scrawny doll in his claws and smiling nastily at his terrified expression. "Your would-be assassin's awake, you whiny shit. Come and meet him."

He tossed Basset down to Jin's shackled feet and then stepped on his back to hold him in place. Jin eyed the man's sadistic grin and noticed his sharp fangs. Feral. Then he saw the woman come around from behind said feral and watched as she knelt and grabbed Basset by the back of his hair and pulled his head harshly up.

"From the looks of that brand on your chest, I'd say you were an assassin from the Kazuya clan, am I right?" the woman mused nobly and smiled at Jin. "De Lioncourt must've really been upset with you, Bezu, to send out such a renowned free agent," she purred and shook Basset by the back of the hair, jarring the man and making him whimper. "Shift."

Jin watched as the man shapeshifted into an ugly amphibian-like creature that was cowering in the woman's grip. When he finished she stood and hauled the mutant up by the back of his quill-like hair.

"Now, if you behave, stop whimpering, and promise to not interfere, I won't kill you. Understood, Bezu?" she propositioned to the mutant, who nodded desperately before she let him go.

Victor shoved the cowering mutant to the side and eyed the woman whose gaze flickered up to his. He licked his lips and possessively caressed her jaw with the tips of his lengthening claws before rumbling, "I just get to watch you have fun? Doesn't seem fair, Izzie."

Her eyes glowed with mischief as she took her black coat off and tossed it with his over a pile of drums. "I guess I'll just have to make it up to you," she purred and licked his thumb when it brushed her lips.

The tall feral in black growled low in his chest and eyed Jin with disdain. "She's all yours, Charlie."

Isabela walked around the man strapped to the chair while Victor shoved Bezu down to the floor and sat on a crate to watch. When she made the second revolution, she ran her fingers through Jin's spiky raven hair. "A member of the Kazuya clan...I suppose you have that dense skin I've heard about? The kind that can't even be penetrated by a round of bullets?" she mused and leaned in when she asked the second question.

Jin eyed her darkly and smiled. "If you know what the brand means, why're you asking such stupid fucking questions—AUGH!" his snarky remark was cut short when she backhanded him. His lips split open and he could swear his cheekbone was fractured from the simple blow.

She suddenly sat to straddle his lap and pressed her talons under his chin, dangerously close to slicing him open. "Now, that wasn't courteous at all! I was just trying to make conversation. I mean, it's not every day you meet a fellow free agent, let alone a member of the Kazuya clan. I thought you'd all been killed off, quite frankly," she congenially remarked and smiled serpent-like, the venom in her eyes speaking of her murderous intent.

Blood was running down his cracked lips to drip down his chin. "Nope. Just me," he hissed and smiled with blood-stained teeth and glanced at Victor, who looked amused. "Here you know all about me, but I know nothing about you."

"Oh, so true. I'm Isabela Montecristo," she informed pleasantly, and watched Jin's eyes widen before contracting towards hers. "I take it you've heard of me?"

It all made sense. He was going to get filleted by the Vipress, and he'd had the balls to mouth off to her. "Yes. I have. I guess it's too late to petition for mercy," he ventured sarcastically.

Victor snorted. "You'll be dying eventually; that's about as much mercy as yer gonna get," he quipped and dug his claws into Bezu's shoulder, causing the mutant to wince and tremble even more with terror.

"I wasn't talking to you, asshole!" Jin spat at Victor.

Isabela gasped and laughed, staring at Victor, who bristled. In one swift motion he was grabbing Jin and hauling him up with chair and all. Isabela had narrowly escaped his wrath by jumping off the mercenary's lap. She watched the feral snarl in the man's face before dropping him down to the ground to cough and sputter.

"Yer not gonna look real tough after I rip your goddamn jaw off, you fucking Jap!"

Isabela rolled her eyes and put her arms around Victor's waist before he did anything else to her captive. "Now, gentlemen. No need to be crass," she sighed and put herself between Victor and the Kazuya. The man was still coughing while she gave Victor a flirty look and pursed her lips at him.

He sneered and nudged his head against hers. "Get on with it, or I'll skin you instead," he hissed in her ear as he pawed her ass before shooting Jin a dirty look and going back to his seat.

She sighed and sat back on Jin's lap. "Well, you heard him. Frankly, 'skinning' is just what I had in mind," she piped affably and dragged her talons down his chest before digging them into his skin. Jin hissed through his bleeding lips and began to thrash. "I'm sorry, I guess I'm a bit out of touch. I haven't skinned a man in a few years, so bear with me," she smiled and suddenly snapped her hand back and plunged her talons into his chest up to the second knuckle of her fingers.

Jin's howl of pain was torn out of him and echoed throughout the warehouse. Isabela smiled and left her fingers in his wound as she pulled her other hand back and repeated the action. The thick-skinned mutant roared in agony and thrashed wildly under her, uselessly tugging on his restraints and yelling for her to stop.

Isabela yanked her talons out and watched the blood gush out of the 8 puncture wounds in his chest. She brought her fingers to her lips and tasted them as she stared seductively at Victor. The smells of the warehouse, fear, blood, and lust were spicing the air and making her feel lightheaded, so she gleefully shushed at Jin, who was moaning in pain.

"Come now, I haven't even gotten through the first layer of skin," she protested and shoved a finger back into one of the puncture wounds, causing him to wrench and howl. "I can't even feel tendon yet. Really, you're just being a child," she mused and plunged her talons back into him, this time managing to dig her fingers deeper until she was up to the knuckles on her hand.

Jin unleashed a deafening scream that had Bezu cringing and clutching his head while Victor watched, fascinated and turned on by the display. She was becoming more and more blood-lustful, and her beautiful expressions were becoming more sadistic as she marinated in the bastard's blood flow.

With her next few plunges, she was able to peel back a thick sheet of epidermis, the sick and wet ripping sound almost as nauseating as Jin's wrenching screams. Her sadistic ministrations were slowly revealing the pink and bloody tissue underneath while the man began to convulse against his binds. Isabela tossed the flap of skin to land in front of Bezu, who keened in his throat and shrank away from the gory mess. Before long, she was flaying the skin around the brand over his left pectoral before stripping said brand off his bloody and maimed chest, which had Jin wailing in excruciating agony as he screamed and thrashed violently against her. Gore and splatters of blood from ruptured capillaries stained her arms and soaked into the front of her black romper, but most oozed across her bare thighs like trickling fountains that sputtered the blood out. The chunk of flesh was intact and looked rubbery covered by blood as she tossed it down with the other chunks of flesh.

Jin started choking on blood after her last plunge left her hand embedded at the wrist in his chest. "Shush, I can hear your lungs gurgling. And I forgot to ask your name! You need to tell me your name before you drown on your own blood, Kazuya-chan. Come on, tell me before I pull my hand out. By the time I pull it out, you'll bleed out and your lungs will collapse under the strain," she cooed in soothing murmurs while she sadistically clawed into his chin to hold his head up from lulling back.

He gasped and coughed blood, leaving speckles of dark crimson on her face as he wheezed through his throat, "Jihnn—ack!" he hacked and dragged his eyes towards Victor, who was staring pitilessly at the scene. His eyes were glazed over with animal lust, not even looking at him as he started to gurgle his last breath.

"Jin Kazuya…What a waste. Gomen nasai, Jin-kun," she purred and yanked her hand out of his chest cavity, and let the man convulse and tremor into death. His eyes glazed like a doe's and fell to hooded crests as he slumped forward and bled out of his mouth and down his gnarled torso. She got up from the dead mercenary's lap and swayed, closing her eyes and taking in the aroma of death and blood as she smeared the warm gore off her thighs.

Victor watched her before coming up to her. He cupped her shoulders and purred against her temple before licking some of the gore off her cheek. She opened her eyes and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him at the height of her bloodlust. It was like electricity shot through them when their mouths connected in a voracious tangle of lips and tongues, leaving Isabela breathless and weak in the knees while Victor held her and ground his clothed erection against her.

Bezu watched in horror as they acted like lovers soaked in blood. He stood shakily, and Victor snapped his head around and snarled at him. Isabela licked the thick tendon in his neck while he barked, "No one told you to fucking move!" The vermilion-colored mutant cringed and scuttled back to the ground obediently, averting his gaze from Victor's searing glare.

"Victor," Isabela purred, and he looked back down at her. "I feel bad for having to kill Jin. It was fun…but I wiped out a clan," she mused drunkenly, her eyes dazzling as they smiled sadly up at him.

He grinned and licked a speck of blood from her chin. "Not a lot of people can say that, viper. Sounds like an accomplishment to me," he chuckled and crouched down to pick up the chunk of flesh with the Kazuya brand. It consisted of a samurai crest; a cherry blossom incased in an ouroboros. He held it out to her.

She took it and admired it as if for the first time while he stalked over to rig a chain over a roof axel. Looking up to survey the scene, she glanced over at Bezu. He was still cowering in place, so she smiled at him. "Well Bezu, you behaved. So I'm finished with you," she announced and wrapped the chunk of flesh up in the torn shirt.

The shapeshifter looked at her with aghast astonishment. "T-Thank you!" and went to scurry towards the exit, when Victor stood in front of the door, and glared him down. The amphibious-looking mutant desperately stared and looked back at Isabela before pleading to the vicious feral, "She let me go! She said you wouldn't kill me!"

"Correction: She said she wouldn't kill you. Never said anything about me not killing you," Victor chuckled malevolently and lengthened his claws.

Bezu pitifully looked back at Isabela, who was looking at the two men with mirth in her eyes.

"Sorry, Bezu. Victor has a way with words…I kept mine, though," she remarked convivially and smiled as the man turned and looked up at Victor with petrified fear.

His blood-curdling scream pierced the air as Victor growled ferociously and tore him open like a squealing sow. Isabela watched him gnarl the mutant with a vicious grin and the smoky look in his eyes, loving how absolutely ravenous he looked in his bloodlust.

Before long, Victor was stringing what was left of Bezu up and hanging him over the mutilated corpse of Jin Kazuya, just as bloodstained and drunk on gore as she.

They both stood back and admired each other's handiwork.

"This is fucking art," Victor husked and licked the back of his hand clean, while Isabela purred and leaned against his side. He burrowed his nose into the top of her head and fisted her hair, yanking the ponytail undone so he could bury his hands in the thick tresses as he backed her into a wall. "What say we get in a quick fuck before we leave," he licked her throat. "Watching you gave me a mean hard-on," he growled and pawed the zipper at the front of her formfitting outfit while he tasted her skin and nipped at her pulse.

Isabela clutched his shoulders and arched against him. "But you don't like it when we have corpses watching," she chuckled and cupped the bulge at his crotch and rubbed him through his trousers.

"I'll make a fucking exception," he groaned and worked the zipper down while she unfastened his pants and freed him from the confines of his denim prison.

"Mm, its cold in here," she sighed when he peeled the damp material down her shoulders and arms, freeing her supple breasts for his ravenous mouth.

"I'll keep you warm once I get this fucking cat suit off you," he grumbled and pulled the intrusive outfit off her torso before gathering her up and hiking her skirt so he could get between her legs.

She clung to him, sighing when his thick sex brushed her eager flesh. He pushed his ramrod cock into her molten sheath and Isabela gasped, fisting her fingers into his shirt when he lifted her against him and the wall. They fucked like beasts in heat, climaxing fiercely and basking in the afterglow until she started to shiver against him. He zipped up, got his coat, and put it around her before helping her slip back into her formfitting cargo romper dress. Pulling the zipper closed over her cleavage, he nuzzled her and bit the column of her neck.

"You kept your promise, viper," he smirked and cleaned the blood off her skin with the pads of his fingers and a few swipes from his tongue where needed.

"And you were very patient, cub," she smiled and rubbed the speckles off his cheek, gently wiping away at the gore on his chin and the smear across his cheekbone.

A short while later, they were strolling down the wet pavement, most of the blood and gore that stained their black clothes hidden by their long coats to the naked human eye. The blood of their kills were still caked under their nails, so they kept a hand in their coat pocket and clasped the other between them, looking like just another couple coming back from a long night of partying; smitten and holding hands.

Even if some noticed the flecks of dried blood on his neck or the drops that splattered into her hair, their cool amorous demeanors made people none the wiser that they'd just finished sadistically slaughtering anyone, which suited them just fine as they walked back uptown at a leisurely pace.

                      _____________________________________

"Make sure to purge the site. There's no reason to get civilian authorities involved anymore than they already have. Clean the mess up, bag the corpses, and send them to the coroner. I wanna make sure it's there handiwork by the end of the day, and no excuses, alright captain? Good." Nick hung up the phone and huffed through his nose, cupping and wringing his face in frustration.

The pictures from the scene left no doubt in his mind that the Vipress and Sabertooth had left their calling cards at the warehouse in NYC, but he didn't understand what the two mutant victims had done to deserve such a ruthless end. He hoped that forensic verification would put names to the gnarled corpses so maybe he could get a damn lead!

Whirling in his chair, Nick's worn expression glowered out to the wintery day outside his office window. From the Pentagon wing his office was nestled in, he was afforded a grand view of the nation's capital as it bustled along in the cold. His reflection stared back at him in the sheen of the mirror, and Nick couldn't help frown at the stubble on his jaw and the black patch he'd started wearing over his left eye to garner less stares from his new subordinates.

His days in WWII and working recognizance in far off jungles seemed long ago, but it all wore on his dark skinned countenance. It pissed him off that beasts like Sabertooth had stained the country's honor by parading and ransacking foreign soils in the name of the United States, and it made him seethe that cunning serpents like Vipress made their money off the ignorance of American idiots. But no matter how much he wanted to lock the two away underground like the vicious killers they were, something still nagged at him.

They were both small time. Compared to the industrious minds that currently had state secrets and the tele-computer, Nick could care less what the two feral mutants were up to, but he knew that somehow they would lead back to whoever had the stolen technology.

Clasping his hands together, he continued to stare out the window, hoping to be close to a real lead before anything horrible happened to the country he'd been protecting his entire life.

                      _____________________________________

If he wasn't staring at his viper in the black and white articles, he wouldn't believe the shit he was reading.

Dan's handwritten scribbles translated most of the articles for him, but Victor had skimmed the original German, picking up a few phrases. For all intensive purposes, Isabela had been a Nazi pinup girl with a socialite following in the SS variety columns, so he was able to piece together inklings of her life during WWII. She'd had a popular burlesque show in Berlin, spending most nights hobnobbing with the kraut elite after she entertained them in her skimpy negligees and Nazi-red lips. Why the fuck she'd stoop to such a tawdry living was beyond him.

Tossing the binder down on the couch, Victor huffed through his nose and rubbed his furred jaw. He listened to the thrum of the engines as the private jet cruised through the placid sky while he glared down at one picture in particular.

Isabela's sultry smile seemed to beam over the audience of shouting Nazis as she posed in a glittery corset and officer-issued boots, but his ireful stare was riveted to the bastard the tagline identified as Ivan Walküre. He was lounging in full SS-uniform with his arms crossed in a straight-back chair at a table in the center of the crowd, his wolfish eyes focused on Isabela and uncaring of the excitement around him.

It left him itching with jealousy.

He glanced over at the closed quarter's door and tried to submerge the impulses in his head. Impotent anger welled in his gut like cooling lead. As he looked back at one of the pictures, Victor forced the anger down and focused his surly thoughts. The photograph wasn't used in any of the printed articles; it caught the smoldering gaze Isabela and the Nazi officer shared as he tossed a rose through the air. The heat in her eyes left him without a single doubt that the supposed Ivan Walküre was really Eirik. He noticed a dark haired officer looming on the imposing blonde's other side; his chiseled features set in a muted scowl and the steel of his eyes different but similar to the man he stood next to as he glowered over at the stage while Eirik ignored him and stared at Isabela.

Huffing, Victor shoved everything back into the leather satchel and tossed it to join his trench coat on the couch.

He wanted to possess everything about her, including her past. That he had to stew in silence or risk raising her hackles into an all out clusterfuck was pissing him off unlike anything else.

Once they'd gotten to the hanger, a courier had been waiting with a leather satchel for him, to Isabela's curious surprise. Victor had taken the satchel and given her a curt look of mischief as they climbed the stairs onto the jet. Once the flight plan was executed, they'd taxied onto the tarmac and up to the runway; all the while, her stare was on him, scrutinizing his as he nonchalantly tucked the satchel under a table and flashed a roguish smirk.

She'd asked about the satchel, and he'd snapped some scathing remark, egging her on. When she stalked over to grab the satchel, he'd backed her into the private bedroom at the back of the plane. They'd playfully wrestled until they'd ended up with their clothes off and naked for the umpteenth time that day. Walking back to said quarters, he quietly slipped in and found her still tuckered out from their previous primal romp. Stripping out of his black jeans and undershirt, he left them strewn on the floor along with yet another sexy little red dress with matching heeled boots, as well as the shredded remnants of the black lingerie he'd persuaded her to wear under said dress.

The sheet was clinging precariously to her backside, her hair a dark veil across her shoulders and back. Prowling back under the sheet with her, he submerged a snicker at the memory of her haughty protests from the destruction of the expensive unmentionables, and lounged on his side as he skated his retracted nails in slow circles along her soft back. The impulse to dig his claws into the silky skin skittered deviously in his mind, but he suppressed it.

A tumult of instincts and emotions were burning under his skin, vying for his attention. But for the life of him, all he wanted to do was gaze down at the feisty feral curled on her stomach like a lounging predator. His claws combed soothingly into the length of her mane before he pressed his mouth over the spot between her shoulders.

Isabela groaned sleepily and unfurled with a sigh as his brusque fingers gripped her and stroked around her belly. He caressed her womb while he prowled over her and dragged his other hand under her to squeeze a supple breast. She sighed and turned her head to look through hooded eyes at him as he kneaded her body and laved his rough tongue to trace every contour of her back, a soft purr-like growl rumbling from his chest.

"God, I always forget you're more of an overgrown pussy cat than anything," she purred and turned her torso partway to pull him down on top of her.

He chuckled and rested on top of her in a way that allowed for her to cuddle and still be tucked under him. "What can I say: you are what you eat," he chuckled crassly before nipping impishly into her shoulder.

"So what does that make me?" Isabela retaliated by pursing her mouth over the back of his hand and sinking her lengthening canines and incisors into the tough tendons there before turning under him and kissing along the curve of his jaw.

Victor rolled his torso to press down on her and limit her wiggle room as he framed her under him with his brawny arms. "A man-eater," he said gruffly, letting his lips curl back to bare his vicious canines on the 'eater' before chuckling cynically.

"I guess we all have our tastes," she quipped and clambered up under him so she could be eye-to-eye with him. "I trust I've quelled yours for the time being?"

He nudged his hips against hers, so she would feel his hard cock press deviously against her. "What do you think, Izzie?" he sardonically growled against her lips.

She couldn't help but smile, recalling the whirlwind day they'd spent together.

After the slaughter at the warehouse, they'd spent the early afternoon treating each other to a luxurious soak in her lavish bathtub. Most of the time was spent coupling than soaking, but they did make use of the tub's hot jets. The sex had been mind blowing, as always, and even more so after they'd eaten a three-course meal. He'd barely finished his last bite before picking her up and taking her on top of the granite counter. Needless to say, she'd reluctantly paged the jet crew to be ready for the flight to Paris; Victor's lazy and gloating feline self had tried to persuade her into staying in—after cajoling her into a pair of lacy black lingerie out of her empress-style closet, but she'd insisted on making it to Paris immediately. She didn't want to prolong her plans.

Staring up into his handsome expression, she brushed her fingertips affectionately along his brow and down to caress his nose.

"I think you're voraciously insatiable, Victor." She hummed softly. "Unlike any bedfellow I've ever had," she mused candidly and wrapped her arms around him, dragging her talons lightly down his muscular back before smiling as she grabbed his exquisite ass and squeezed.

Victor barked with laughter and rolled, forcing her to lay on top of him as he cupped her derriere and kneaded it possessively. "And how many 'bedfellows' would that make, viper?" he growled puckishly, his eyes boring into hers.

Isabela laughed, her eyes softening into crests of mirth as she settled into straddling him. When he held her close instead of letting her sit up, she looked at him and read the earnest gleam in his eyes. Sobering, she smiled and leaned in close as she mused, "A lady's carnal past is an unsavory topic to riddle her current lover with—"

"Riddle away. I'm curious," he seethed with dangerous syrup to his tone, his lips not quite making it into a smirk.

She knew it. Ever since they'd boarded the plane she'd sensed him ruminating about something. The leather satchel had something to do with his focus, but she didn't understand how his other case could have anything to do with her. Everything about his demeanor had honed into a scrutinizing sobriety towards her the minute he got the satchel. Victor was a possessive and domineering lover—adamant about what he wanted and harsh if he didn't get his way, to say the least. But now he was focused, his motives tangled in his resolute control and the implacable steel of his expression. The only thing that told her he was fuming over something was his scent. His usually thick musk was copiously inundated with anger, but she knew it wasn't at her, and that confused her even more.

A woman of her experience knew how to placate a man, but Victor wasn't just a man. He was savage but calculatingly brilliant, able to make her second guess herself. No man had done that; not even Eirik. She decided the only thing she could do was cross the proverbial field of landmines in hopes that she'd figure out a pattern before the smoky-eyed predator lying under her lashed out in a fit of tempestuousness.

"Can you count all your conquests?" she asked frankly, caressing the silver chain of his dog tags absently. "I cannot. Not really, anyway. Of course there are memorable trysts and encounters," she mused and gazed into his eyes, unworried by showing him the light of her thoughts in her frondy depths as he stared sharply up at her. "I remember the Russian baron who taught me marksmanship on his manor, and how he loved to chase me through the forest and make love to me like a maiden out where anyone could see…" when his eyes focused attentively, she continued, "I remember the obstinate samurai I seduced right around the turn of the century; he called me a 'dragon woman' at some hoity-toity British dinner party, but when he whisked me back to his estate in Satsuma, he would called me his 'jade lotus'; he loved it when I dressed like a geisha and acted demure," she mused and then snickered at herself. "I also remember the queenly confidante I seduced," she paused and combed her fingers through his chest hair. "She was very sweet, and playful—"

"She?" Victor asked, his expression perking up. "Damn, I figured you've been promiscuous as fuck, but for some reason I didn't peg you for a lezzy," he grinned and tucked his hands behind his head. "Shit, if I didn't hate sharing—"

"Sapphic affairs are part of my repertoire; not like such a thing as sexual preference or orientation applies to an animal anyway. Sex is sex. Some sex is better than others, but if you're getting off, what does it matter?" she remarked and sat up so she could trace her talons along the muscular planes that defined his torso.

Victor growled approvingly and stretched out under her, smirking at the blunt matter-of-factness of her retort. "How many women have you fucked then?"

Isabela rolled her eyes at the typical male glee towards lesbianism. "A fraction of a percentage compared to how many men I've fucked," she answered conspicuously, arching a challenging eyebrow at him. "What about you?"

"What about me?" he sneered derisively and bucked his hips against her, earning the pinch of her talons into his skin. He hissed and picked her up to lean back against the headboard. "Hey, I happen to agree with you: I can't count all my conquests. Sex's been a means to get off. I haven't kept count how many times I've jerked off in my life; why would I keep score how many fucks I've had?" he shrugged chauvinistically. "As you said: if you're getting off, what's it matter?" he purred and pulled her close, kissing her breasts before pursing his hot mouth around a studded nipple.

Isabela hissed at the sensation and arched against him, forcing her flesh firmly to his lips while his hands scraped down to squeeze her ass. She reared up and ground his ramrod erection along her dewy folds, earning a sharp pinch as he bit down on her nipple before worrying the taut flesh between his blunt teeth. Gasping, she arched into his mouth and shivered as she began to tingle with heat. She dragged her black talons down his shoulders and sighed, but just when she rutted down on him and felt the exquisite sensation of his manhood pressing flush against her pulsing bud, he picked her up and tossed her onto her back on the mattress.

Actually yelping from the shock, she blushed when Victor pounced on her and laughed at her.

"Really craving more of my cock, aren't ya." His tone was throaty, almost a purr as it rumbled from his chest and sent another jolt of heat to skitter down her nerve endings and throb between her legs. When his mouth brushed hot moisture along her throat before nipping her pulse, she clutched his shoulders and sighed for more. "Funny how you didn't mention him."

Isabela stiffened. She reared back to look incredulously at his frustrating expression. "I didn't think he needed to be mentioned. Not with how you continuously bring it up," she hissed and felt her arousal boil into anger. "I never imagined you'd be so jealous—"

He grabbed hold of her face in his viciously strong hands—his claws remaining retracted on sheer will as they dented along her temples and tangled in her hair. "I made an observation, Izzie. There's nothing for me to be jealous of. You're mine now," he declared with chilling irrevocableness, his eyes searching hers as he added, "And since you're mine, I can take a fucking interest in what you've been up to if I want."

Her eyes defiantly narrowed at that, but her mouth softened. She caressed his furred cheek before smiling seductively. "Well," she murmured, "In the interest of fairness, does that mean I can do the same?"

Victor's brow crinkled minutely before a rueful smirk quirked his lips. "What, you wanna play 20 questions?" He chuckled and tipped her face up before growling, "How do I know you'll play by the rules, sweetness?"

Whenever he used a pet name like 'sugar', 'sweetheart', 'princess', and now 'sweetness', it meant quite the opposite. It was his way of really calling her a bitch when he was seething with suppressed ire. He would hiss over the terms with venom dripping just under his tone, his cadence deceptively saccharine while his expression said otherwise. It usually made her weak in the knees when she should be on her guard.

Isabela decided to cater to his raging domineering ego the best way she knew how.

Pushing him onto his back, she climbed onto his lap and skipped the foreplay as she guided his thick sex into her pulsing sheath. Victor was taken aback by her sudden aggressive gesture, groaning as she clenched around his cock. He got ravenously turned on and clutched her hips, unintentionally scraping his claws into her tender curves. When he bucked into her to the hilt, Isabela cried out and pressed her palms down over his chest. They shared a wanton expression of feral passion before she crouched forward and brushed her lips against his panting mouth.

"We've both been so damn good about the rules so far, cub," she mused in a breathy tone. "Certainly you'll know if I'm lying, being so deep inside of me," she propositioned against his lips while her long tresses cascaded down her shoulders to dangle over his chest and brush his face. "And I'll certainly know if you're lying. How much fair could the game be?"

He stared hungrily into her eyes, enticed and itching for more. "What's the catch?"

Isabela sat up and rolled her hips, earning an approving growl from him. "You can't get…territorial if you don't like the answers. Don't pick a fight," she remarked diplomatically.

Victor's scowled. "You givin' me orders?"

"No, lover, I'm giving you parameters," she caressed his forearms with sensual affection and tightened her Kegel muscles to contract around his throbbing erection. "First question: Who was your first love?"

He bucked his hips, growling at the exquisite sensation of her sheath tightening around his cock. "What? What the hell does that mat—?"

"Ah-ah! You can't answer a question with another question, and you can't ask a question until you've answered one," she playfully admonished and smiled down at him, flirty and alluring.

Victor clucked his tongue and huffed sardonically at her. "Doesn't apply to me."

"Bullshit. It applies to everyone. No matter how bad-ass one thinks they are," she interjected and contracted her sheath around him again.

He growled. "I don't remember a name…just some frail."

Isabela didn't seem convinced, so she curled down to lay over his chest and looked at him—her silence and expression letting him know she was waiting for him to elaborate. He was about to bark snidely that it didn't matter, but he realized that would give her credence to do the same when it was her turn. So he racked his mind; the answer slapped his recollections in a memory.

"Mary. A frail at some boondock settlement…right after I'd gone through the change. Didn't go well," he muttered cynically and shrugged. "What about you?" Yeah it was a crappy question to start off with, but the memory from his adolescence was refusing to be shoved away so easily.

Isabela sat up and bounced over his lap, earning a grunt as she hummed sexily at him. "I married my first love." Victor's expression shuttered in, but his eyes stared at her with surprise. "Joaquin—a wealthy landowner…also didn't go well…" she mused and shrugged flippantly. Just when she could sense he was going to ask for details, she interjected, "What's your favorite book?"

Victor actually balked up at her before laughing. He hadn't expected such a mundane line of questioning. Hell, he couldn't remember the last time he ever had a mundane conversation, let alone about his likes and dislikes. It was quirky and ridiculous to him, but when he looked up at Isabela, he understood that it was a game expertly woven by the best seductress around. She was literally distracting him with idle chatter while in the midst of a sex game. For some reason, it turned him on even more; she wasn't trying to crack a proverbial code. Instead, she was placating him while still being interested in what he had to say. Sure they weren't philosophical questions, but then again he wasn't a philosophical kind of guy.

He sat up on his elbows, leaning forward to lick a studded nipple before propping himself up by his splayed arms. "Frankenstein."

She looked very intrigued and bounced over him again, eliciting a growl from him before he tried coaching her into a rhythm by gripping her hips and directing her along. "That's quite a story to have an affinity for—"

"M'not much of a reader, sweetheart, but if the runt read it, I listened. It was the first book I picked up and read through, though." He smirked. "I liked it well enough. Got me to read more and pick what me and Jimmy read whenever we could get our hands on anything." While he spoke, he set her rhythm over him, fucking slowly and watching her bite her lip and gasp from his raunchy ability to screw and talk.

Isabela coyly resisted and ground down on him, earning a frustrated grunt. "So who did you relate to: Frankenstein or the monster?" she asked and mewled when Victor slammed out and into her suddenly.

"You already asked your question and got an answer," he sing-sung. "My turn, Izzie." He rolled his hips, pressing against the bundle of nerve endings cushioned deep inside her, causing her to see stars and fist her hands against his chest and toss her head back. "What's your favorite position?" he gave her a lopsided grin and continued to speed up his pace, panting as he spoke.

She bit back a cry of excitement when his claws pinched the skin of her hips and his cock brushed the delicate spot inside of her, the mix of pain and pleasure a delicious jolt to her senses. Groaning, she bounced up and down, relishing in the intense heat that was throbbing up from her core to tingle up her body, her focus bleeding into the desire he was stoking with every stroke and touch.

Victor suddenly pulled her off of him and prevented her from impaling herself down on his throbbing cock, eliciting a frustrated mewl from her and her eyes to stare questioningly at him. "Don't get greedy, viper. At least not until you answer my question," he chuckled at her, sitting up and hugging her against him so his brawny arms braced her from being able to ride him further.

He licked up the column of her throat, sending her thoughts into a muddle before she could compose a response. Focusing, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and bucked against him, a purr hissing from her chest as she nuzzled him and growled, "Why don't you try a few positions out and see if you can guess which is my favorite?"

Grunting haughtily, Victor purred, "Is that a suggestion or a request? Oh, I guess it doesn't matter since you posed it in the form of a question—"

Isabela throttled him with exasperated desire. "Victor Creed, you better finish fucking me or there'll be hell to pay," she hissed arduously and craned her neck out, offering a submissive gesture to coincide with her insolence.

Victor rolled and slammed her down under him, one hand cuffing both of her wrists over her head while the other pressed down on the inside of her knee and forced her wide open for him. "Now that sounded like a request brandished as a threat. Are you not playing the game anymore, Izzie?" he teased huskily before pursing his vicious mouth over her pulse and biting as he simultaneously shoved back into her molten heat.

Arching up against him from the gratifying onslaught, Isabela wrapped her leg around the small of his back and gasped a sultry laugh. "No one ever finishes this game, Victor," she sighed and pressed flush up against him, grinding against the hard muscles of his chest as she added, "But I want you to find the answer yourself." He growled at that and started fucking her wantonly, pinning her arms on either side of her head as he voraciously took her in a fierce kiss. Her first orgasm slammed through her like a tumult, making her come undone in his arms, crying out his name and clutching at him as if she'd drift away in the sensations.

Victor took her over and over again, flipping her and positioning her in an array of ways until she practically melted in and whimpered unlike he'd ever elicited out of her before.

He became mindless and bit down on the arch between her neck and shoulder when she whimpered his name and melted into a mind-numbing orgasm, his own climax thrashing through him as he drove into her and came undone. Sprawling out on top of her, he grunted a satisfied sound. Isabela groaned in response, spooned in his arms and still trembling from the sex onslaught.

"Should've guessed you liked getting dominated from behind," he husked before his hot mouth brushed the nape of her neck.

She hummed and bucked her rear against his hips. "Took you long enough, but I'm not complaining," she mused and earned a playful nip at her shoulder before he chuckled.

"Good, now shut up and roll over. Time for you to find my favorite position," he declared with devious charm before grinning at her incredulous face.

"You're insatiable!"

"I know, so just shut up and do as you're told, viper, or I swear there'll be real hell to pay."

                      _____________________________________

Armand couldn't believe the afternoon he had. Everything with the tele-computer looked on schedule, and all his venture capital was virtually insured. He was in such good spirits, that it didn't bother him in the least to not have heard from Kazuya yet. With how his luck was going, he had no doubt that by the following day he'd have everything squared away; his business dealings in Tehran were improving, and once he had Basset's head on his desk, he figured he'd be motivated to tackle the last hurdles and insure himself a promising new decade in the quickly globalizing world.

Looking out on the view he'd literally killed to get, Armand looked forward to the upcoming day, unknowing that it would be his last.

____________________

Read Chapter 9: Ravenous Attention & Carnal Affections

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[furious-rogue-stuff]

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 7: Violent Delights

Pairing: Victor Creed x Isabela Montecristo | Sabertooth x Vipress

Disclaimer: This series will have canon-accurate and heightened levels of violence, adult themes, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and graphic descriptions of sex. *Post-Origins movieverse.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word count: 13,000+

Series Summary: Victor Creed's reputation as the Sabertooth proceeds him. He clashes with a mysterious feral woman, an enigma and anomaly to everything he knows. What began as a hunt becomes a dance between like-minded predators.

🚨Warning: Explicit sex, adult situations, implied rape, graphic imagery, feral power play, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and a pinch of angst. I do not own any aspect or character of the Marvel Universe nor elements of the X-Men Origins movieverse.

A Feral Interlude Masterlist

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 7: Violent Delights

Dreaming could be the cruelest way the universe went about punishing her for her sins. When she was the young mestizaliving on her father's sprawling ranch, she used to dream of running through the fields and jungle, of being absolutely in tune with nature. Colors would swim throughout and she felt absolutely hyperaware and happy, reaching out with her jubilant heart to touch what seemed like energies and constellations spinning around her.

Four hundred years later, she dreamed of memories—some nostalgic and entrancing, others painful and caustic. Isabela knew they were memories lived and squandered, so they didn't haunt her. At least they hadn't since Eirik was put to death. The exuberant side of her had shut down, her animal self taking over to numb her out and bring her back from the brink of crippling grief. Dreams and memories became hollow ports of images lived and sensations felt—but nothing that could hurt her. The only feeling that crept through her from the torrent was the loneliness.

Since being with Victor, she hadn't felt the loneliness, but her dreams came back. They haunted her, each a memory she sunk down into like perilous quicksand. Every feeling was there—she remembered how she felt then, and it scared her. She had wanted to remember Eirik, but not like this, not by being arrested in a stream of conscious and sequence of events she had lived and lost.

She looked ahead at the rolling hills of the Argentinean countryside, awareness slipping away as she fell back into the memory. She was walking barefoot through a field of vibrant wildflowers, her linen dress fluttering around her knees while the cool mountain air swept down over her and the sun warmed her skin. The laugh bubbled out of her and she started spinning with her arms out, hands sweeping through the tall grass and flowers as she twirled like she used to when she was a child.

"I'm getting dizzy just watching you," the raspy chuckle made her smile before she stopped and turned to face him.

The Norse berserker stood shirtless, as he must have thousands of times throughout his millennia, sweaty from his labors and smiling roguishly at her. His blond hair looked like gold wheat under the rays of the sun, and his eyes were shadowed by his furrowed brows as they squinted in the early afternoon light. His khaki trousers and boots were caked with dirt and grime. He looked happy, the blues of his eyes were even blazingly clear as he walked through the flowers towards her. She smiled mischievously at him before taking off, running through the field with him shouting and chasing behind her.

He caught her by her waist and lifted her effortlessly, swinging her around before she wriggled in his arms to face him. They laughed as they fell in a writhing tangle before he rolled and pinned her under him. His usually swept back locks dangled down to tickle her forehead when he kissed her, his hands claiming every curve of her before he whispered into her ear: "My Valkyrie…"

Her eyes softened as she gazed up at his handsome features, the swell that itched deep into her bones making her feel effervescent and young.

The rays were blotted out by his broad shoulders and bowed head, spilling around him like streams of light that made everything fuzzy.

She knew she was dreaming, and it hurt all over again.

"Are Valkyries capable of love?"

His mouth brushed hers before trailing to her cheek, murmuring, "Only if they deem their warrior worthy. Am I worthy, Valkyrie?"

"You're not my warrior, Loki" she mused mockingly, "you can't be a god and a warrior—"

"Just because I'm a bastard like Loki doesn't mean I am god," he husked, his steely tenor dark as he framed his arms around her head. "I am warrior. I'll die warrior, my Valkyrie. Am I worthy?"

His smile was dangerous, but his eyes were expectant. She caressed his stubbled jaw and closed her eyes.

"You're worthy as long as you stay with me, Eirik…"

                      _____________________________________

Victor woke from his doze to the motions of the plane that jetted along through some clouds. He stretched onto his side to lounge on the plush round bed. Fuck…I could really get used to this.

He felt like a big game cat after a successful prowl. He looked down at Isabela, and a gloating, satiated smirk tugged over his lips.

They'd had the most playful round of sex, all initiated by her after she'd practically clawed his pants off and had used her hot mouth to cause havoc on him. It'd been funny to him—one of his favorite threats to her was how she went about pleasing him, setting the mood for their primal passions. He loved how voracious she could be and how unselfconscious she was about wanting him. He'd taken heed when undressing her, lengthening his claws to skate across her skin as he slipped the straps of her dress off her shoulders and caressed it down her curves, careful not to tear the fabric. He trailed his ravenous mouth down her body in the wake of his pawing hands, earning lustful sighs and groans from her. Placing a wet kiss over her navel, Victor had eased her onto the bed before bowing his head between her silky thighs. He had hungrily laved at her, driving her wild until her thighs quivered in his hands and his mouth greedily devoured her. When he'd crawled over her and settled between her thighs, Isabela had reached up to him, arms open and eyes glowing with desire. It had been beautiful and alien—everything he knew an animal like him didn't deserve. He'd taken her in a bruising embrace that would've crushed a lesser woman, claiming her with his possessive hands and brusque thrusts.

It hadn't been fucking—at least not how he knew it to be. And it wasn't like their first time, which had been feral mating. Nor had it been as tempestuous as all the other times. It had been hungry and fierce, yes, but now as he looked down at her sleeping form, curled on her side with her crossed arms pillowing her head, he felt like something itched inside of him, like his core swelled with more than pride. Huffing through his nose, he berated himself for being such a pussy about it. He was acting like an airy fairy punk-ass—reading into shit he couldn't even pretend to understand or even recognize.

He was acting like Jimmy. The comparison pissed him off, left him with a pitiless exasperation that made him want to sink his nails into something and tear it apart.

Instead, Victor focused his anger. He trailed his claws softly down her smooth back, tracing the contour of a shoulderblade before he caressed the back of a knuckle over the curve of her shoulder and down to pull her hair away from her face.

She was his. He didn't care what she had to say on the matter. Didn't care what she'd do to fight him on it either. Isabela was a hellion he wanted for himself, and if he had to cage her up to keep her he fucking would. He'd decided as much the minute she'd opened her arms to him and gazed up at him like he was—

He looked down at her sleeping features, and wondered about that guy from her past, wondered if she'd done the same to him, wondered if the bastard had felt the same way.

You're not the first man to think he could make me his—Her berate echoed back to him, and the anger he didn't feel then when she said it burned through him now—Either the desire will fade, or you will. That's what time has shown me, cub. Give it a bit longer, and it'll teach you the same.

He doubted the desire faded between them, not from how faraway her gaze got when he repeated the fucker's name, which meant he had. The smugness he felt was selfish and disassociated; whoever they guy was didn't matter to him, cuz he was dead and gone, and Izzie was his.

…he was a memory, Victor.

Caressing his hand around her waist, Victor lowered to breathe in her scent, burying his nose in the top of her hair as he tried to commit her smell to memory. She sighed in her sleep and curled up like a self-conscious animal sheltering itself from other predators. He'd noticed that; how she acted like a posh and otherworldly beauty even when she was being vicious, but when she slept, she curled up like a creature with a hardwired survival instinct—on her side or stomach, just ready to jump up if danger was nearby.

He wished he could've read the testimonial, but Dr. Krause hadn't included it in his journal. The fucking thing had ended abruptly with mentions of an upcoming session, but by the date of the entry, he figured the brink of WWII had impeded the good doctor from finishing what he started with his research. He knew enough about her to probably coax the rest out of her, but he figured the minute he did, she would coil up. His vicious viper would feel trapped, and like any other predator, she'd lash out.

Nuzzling her, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back against him before nipping possessively at the tender juncture between her neck and shoulder.

"I know yer awake," he husked against her skin before sinking his fangs into her skin and suckling.

She'd been awake from the moment he nuzzled her. Isabela had relished in the heat of his skin pressed against her, oddly comforted when his hands and claws pawed caresses all over her. He'd dragged her back from her subconscious, and she was sad and grateful, sighing as he lapped at the healing wound while she cupped the back of his head.

Victor nudged his head against hers, so she turned to meet him in a hungry kiss. Their tongues lingered sensually in the interplay of their kiss, the tang of her blood mingled in the warmth of his taste. When she tried to turn in his arms, he stopped her, forcing her to keep her back against his chest. She snickered, "Mmm, must we play the dominance game?" and tried to loop her arm around the back of his neck for leverage, but Victor gathered her arm and pinned it between them. The jolt of apprehension went through her just as he wrapped his forearm around her collarbones, effectively pinning her in place while she writhed and wriggled against him. He made sure not to cut off her oxygen, but her jostling against him grew rancorous as she tried to claw at him with her free hand. He growled and nudged his head against hers again, this time gruffly.

"Calm down, Izzie!" he hissed and flexed his arm when she didn't comply and tried to head-butt him. "I said relax!" he snarled and shifted so he could wring her arm at a painful angle against her back.

"Let me go now, and I won't castrate you," she warned in a measured hiss, her rage coming off of her like a blistering current.

"Not a chance, sugar," he drawled into her ear. "Be a good viper and listen to me, then we can get to the pillow talk," he growled and shoved his knee between her thighs, forcing her legs apart so he could shift and press his ramrod erection against the cleft of her womanhood.

Isabela tensed and inhaled a sharp breath, trying to buck away from him and snarling at the vulnerable and submissive position he'd wrangled her into. With her back to him and her arm pinned while the other was uselessly pressed under her, he could force her into any angle. For the moment, he'd chosen to stay on their sides, but if he pivoted his hip against the mattress, he could shove into her with practiced ease.

"This is a game you don't want to play with me, Victor—ah!" she snapped, but Victor forced a cry out of her when he pressed the head of his sex against her folds and ground slowly against her.

She stiffened when his chuckle reverberated through her. "Oh? Then why do you seem to like it so much, sweetheart?" and to emphasize his point, he shoved hard until her legs were forced to grapple along his broad muscular thighs for perch against his bucking hips. His thick sex rubbed against her soft womanhood in teasing strokes, rutting against her moistening folds and coaching gasps and hesitant sounds of pleasure from the fuming femme fatale. "Look at you—getting so hot and wet for me and this is a game you don't like?" he purred facetiously, his hot breath against her neck and jaw as he ground against her. "I'd love to see how drenched you'd get for me when it's a game you did like," he chuckled before kissing her jaw and snaking his hand to pull her hips up for him to drive his throbbing erection into her molten sheath.

Isabela groaned and arched, bucking down on him and gasping at how exquisite the sensation was. He thrust to the hilt and remained there, earning a cry of frustration from her as she started writhing to gain autonomy. "Dammit Victor!" she seethed as she wringed her arm out from between them and tried to tug at his forearm.

Growling, Victor wrapped his massive hand around her throat and squeezed dangerously. "Watch it, Izzie. I wouldn't want to accidentally snap your pretty little neck," he murmured hotly against her jaw. "Now, I want to talk, and if you don't comply, I won't fuck your sweet pussy. I might even hurt you more than I want to—and don't try to argue with me over merits and healing factors," he rasped and made his point by clawing into her shoulder and squeezing his forearm to crush her between the powerful extremity and his barrel chest. "Just…humor me, and maybe I'll cater to your tight and eager cunt after," he mused, tilting her face towards him so he could see her boiling gaze and parted lips.

She was panting, her quivering sheath clenched tightly around his throbbing cock buried deep inside her. Isabela was hyperaware of his need and cursed herself for wanting Victor's brutality, for being suspended in aching desire by his feral viciousness. He was tapping into an instinct akin to what a female predator has with a worthy male predator looking to claim her. Part of her wanted to fight him for his audacity, but another was begging for him to make her his—to take and claim her as the mistress of his primal passions, supreme and peerless as his mate.

Wetting her lips, she composed her lustful expression and murmured raggedly, "What d'you want to talk about, cub?"

Feeling the apprehension wash out of her and leave only the sexual tension that coiled her eagerly against him, Victor caressed his hand from her throat down to a perky breast. "You" he mused and teased her studded nipple. "You know what I want, Izzie. Tell me why I can't have it," he purred and pinched her nipple, earning a gasp from her and a shiver to course through her.

Her nails dug into his forearm. "This is about me saying something to stroke your ego? Get the hell off me!" she snarled and slashed through the meat of his arm.

Victor hissed and snapped his hand back around her throat, choking her while his arm mended. "You want me to test how easily I can break you?" he growled between clenched teeth and constricted her neck until he felt tendons flex back against his fingers. When she stiffened and clung to him, he eased the pressure and thrust out and then into her hot core.

The mixture of pain and pleasure seared through her core, earning a hearty cry from her. "Victor—!" she hiccupped when he slammed into her over and over again, her hand clinging to his bicep as she arched against him. Victor growled, loving it when she cried his name against her will. Her body was reacting against her better judgment, making it all the better for him as he fucked her slow and hard.

Isabela moaned, lulling her head back against his shoulder so she could try clamping her lengthened teeth into his neck. When she did, Victor rooted himself deep inside her. The jolt of pain and tension frustrated her, so she wriggled and tried to buck him in and out of her, but was thwarted by his pawing hand as it sunk lengthened claws into her belly warningly. "Ah-ah, Izzie. You're not getting off that easy," he husked snidely. He was punishing her, but also trying to hold himself back from ruining his plan by fucking the hell out of her like really wanted to.

"You want me to beg?! I'm not going to whimper what you want, I'm not your fucking plaything goddamn it!" she growled lividly but remained still, painfully aware of his claws still synched into her belly. "For God's sake, Victor just—just—!"

He tore his claws out of her skin and pawed his hand down between her thighs. Her breath hitched and he growled, "Just what? Tell me what you want."

And there it was. He had her suspended between anger, pain and desire to force her into wanting him—into saying what he'd tried to get her to admit days ago in his kitchen. Her resolve was fizzling against the onslaught of sensations, especially the ones his clawed fingers were creating between her thighs as they rubbed her pulsing bud. She moaned when his claws skirted her hypersensitive flesh and his penis throbbed within her pulsing sheath.

She gasped when his fingers pinched her pulsing bud and forced her to moan with desperate need for more. "Just fuck me, Victor!"

He groaned at her words, desire swelling in him to do as she said, but he resisted. "Say your mine and I will," he growled and kept rubbing her eager flesh. "Stop fighting me and be mine, Izzie. I fucking want you—I'm going to have you, so just fucking say it!" he argued in a hushed growl.

Isabela looked over at him and Victor groaned at the tumultuous fire that burned in her frondy eyes while her molten heat strangled his cock. "I can't!" she whispered harshly, her breath hitching in her throat when he dragged his forearm down to clamp over her breasts as he shifted the angle of his thrust so he'd brush her tender womb. Isabela saw stars and color burst behind her eyes, her cry catching in her throat when he pounded up into her again. "I don't belong to you! I can't—!" she felt vertigo when she was suddenly slammed face first into the bed.

His hand clamped over the back of her neck and hauled her up onto her knees to straddle him from behind. "Why, because he claimed you?!" he growled dangerously. When she stiffened at his harsh words, he snarled and forced himself back into her tight sheath from behind, snaking his hand around her throat while the other cradled her hip to keep her against him. His fingers brushed the smooth scar on her womb as he shoved into her, nudging his head against hers in a sign of dominance before nuzzling her temple. "You better let go of the torch you're carrying for that dead bastard, cuz no matter how much you want to, you ain't gonna join him. Ever," he hissed maliciously, pressing his fingers with bruising force as they trailed up and down her torso.

Isabela tensed in his arms. His words were like a slap she hadn't seen coming, and the shock hurt her more than his sadism and rough caresses.

She slowly reached her arms behind her to drape along his shoulders. Her hands caressed his furred jaw and cheeks, and Victor actually leaned into the touch, taken aback that she hadn't retaliated against his harsh words and was encouraging his domination. Before her, he'd have killed a frail for ever touching his face. It would send him into an irate fit that usually ended with the other person decimated or beaten to a literal pulp. The only person who could've gotten away with touching his face was Jimmy, and that was usually when the runt would dare to throw a punch; Jimmy hadn't been much for affectionate touches since they were kids, nor was he much to encourage it anyway, so Isabela was the first person in over a century to touch him this way—that he allowed to touch him like this.

He kissed her fingertips when they traced over his nose and mouth, his own hands forgetting their previous cruelty to instead caress her against him.

"You might be right, Victor, but I'm still not yours," she mused with composed serenity before pulling her hands away and resting them on the backs of his as they gripped onto her. She could feel and smell the surge of anger rise in him, but continued, "Doesn't mean I don't want you."

She turned her face to kiss below his jaw and dragged his hands so his arms would be encircling her. It was a soothing and appeasing gesture that made him feel awkward in his own skin, the swell similar to pride stretching through him as he hugged her possessively and buried his face against her neck and shoulder.

She'd said it, and the animal satisfaction that soared through him made Victor feel high.

"Say it."

Isabela relaxed in his arms and bucked down onto his lap. "I want you, Victor," she purred against his jaw and felt his growl more than heard it. "But…I'm not yours. You're not mine…I'm not putting a collar on you."

Victor snarled and sunk his claws into her flesh, scenting the air with blood, rage, reluctance, and pensiveness.

"Why couldn't you just stop at the first part?" he hissed and bucked into her, fucking her with bruising thrusts that left her gasping. "I don't have to put a collar on you to make you mine, Izzie. You—you can just be mine—belong to me!"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and arched so she could reach his lips and hold on for dear life as he drove into her wantonly. "Ah!—Victor, just—!"

"No—just shut your fucking mouth and stop talking, goddammit!" he snapped and gripped her elbows and forced her down onto the bed with a vicious shove before he pulled her hips up and plunged back into her.

Isabela cried out with apprehensive pleasure as she involuntary reared back and met his every thrust before shoving back up against him. He caught her, clutching every curve as he ravaged her with all his angry and desperate animalistic desire. She gripped his arms and rocked against him with just as much desperate want, clinging to him as their coupling became more rhythmic and fraught with frantic need. Pleasure pooled in Victor's gut and fluttered like electricity through Isabela as they panted and groaned.

They shouted practically in unison when they climaxed, the thunderous sensations sending her into overload as she rode him while Victor grunted and groaned his final strokes before a savage sound caught in his throat. He tensed, gripping her luscious body against him as the pulsing aftershocks flooded his senses. When the roar of pleasure that zipped through his blood began to ebb away, he was left bestially satisfied, buzzing with afterglow as he clamped his mouth over her thrumming pulse.

Victor nudged his head against hers, this time affectionate as he pulled her down to the bed. Isabela was still panting as she succumbed to his possessiveness, turning in his arms and cuddling against him as she kissed his throat and wrapped her arms around his neck, trying to anchor to him. After a comfortable silence fell between them, Victor closed his eyes and exhaled a sated breath through his nose.

"Do you belong to me, Victor?"

Her voice was like a serene musing, vacant of any emotion but true bemusement. He gripped the back of her neck and dragged her up to meet his mouth, kissing her with starved ferocity before pulling her back to meet his stormy gaze.

"No."

She looked into his eyes for long moments before an irreverent laugh giggled to life and she shook her head at him. His emphatic denial made her cynically amused, especially when his pitiless glower refused to ease from his rugged features. Everything in her cooled with the cold reality of Victor's tempestuous expectations, silly and selfish, but viciously dangerous. He wasn't like Eirik. Victor was wicked, completely domineering and accountable to no one, but wanting to take everything his selfish heart desired, even on the most reckless whim. He had no concept of what it was to love someone. She was sure he was incapable of loving anything, and that's where he and Eirik differed drastically.

Isabela smiled and nuzzled the spot under his jaw, where his pulse throbbed powerfully under his hot skin, before murmuring, "You're such an egotistical bastard; nothing like Eirik." His hackles rose at that, but she soothed him by cuddling him with genuine affection. "I can't belong to you, and you won't belong to me. It's funny, don't you think?"

Victor's claws scraped roughly along her back while he gripped the back of her hair and yanked so she would meet his angry gaze. "Fucking hysterical," he hissed, "but not as funny as you still longing for some asshole who couldn't stay alive, now is it?"

She laughed. The pitch of it was eerily heartfelt as she closed her eyes and fought the urge to crumble in his arms. "Oh, he was a fucking prick sometimes, and lord knows the first time I met him I wanted to skin him, but at least he was confident enough to admit what you can't, cub," she remarked and tucked her head against his shoulder so she could play with his dangling dog tags.

He wanted to hit her—mount her all over again for her saucy remarks.

This was the first time she'd willingly divulged something about her past, though. "And what's that?" he ground out, his rough fingers stroking up and down the curve of her hip while she fiddled with his dog tags.

Without censoring her thoughts, she murmured, "That he couldn't own me without me wanting to be his. I did...I loved him and he belonged to me, but he's dead. Everyone dies, but he was mine." She caressed the plane of his left pectoral muscle and rested her palm over his heartbeat. "Everyone I get close to dies," she whispered unthinkingly, "gruesome deaths; unfair deaths."

She fought the sadness that skittered unbidden into her as she caressed his warm and hairy chest, sure that Victor was too nonplussed to retort.

"Well, what the hell else did you expect?"

She looked up at him. He didn't look down at her dazzling preternatural eyes, didn't have to in order to smell the confusion in her. She tilted his chin down so he had to look at her, and Victor's eyes glinted like clear water as he shifted to stare intensely into her stoic expression.

"You thought you could make stupid attachments and not have blood on your hands? As an animal, you should really know better," he growled and grinned, berating but not scornful.

Isabela looked at him and for once felt absolutely idiotic. She was stunned by how simple it was for him—for how blunt and sincere and true it was. This was no-bullshit-wisdom, knowledge he'd taken to heart from a young age and conditioned himself to living by. Victor was one fierce animal, and his strength had been only in terms of brawn for her, until now. It took incredible strength and temerity to accept you were too dangerous and imperishable to make connections to others. He was vicious from the outside in, and it proved that he wasn't just selfish; he was wary of letting his guard down—of submitting himself to the frailties of others who could never meet his expectations and betrayed him with their weakness.

With all that becoming starkly clear, a glaring contradiction stood out to her. He wanted her beyond anything else she'd ever experienced. Unconditional possession where she belonged to him and was his to keep as he saw fit, and that meant with no strings attached, save the ones he wanted to ensnare her in.

"You're right."

Victor's berating gaze grew intense, questioning. She looked soberly demure as she smiled and kissed him before curling into his chest.

His viper was brooding in her own detached way from what he'd said, and it disconcerted him. He liked to raise her ire—to rile her up and instigate her feistiness, but he didn't like it when she grew pensive and distant.

It annoyed him. "Well, live and learn, viper. You're mine now so get over it and stop bitching," he grunted and rolled on top of her, brushing his lips against her throat before clamping his mouth over her pulse.

Groaning, Isabela wrapped her arms around him and closed her eyes after jokingly murmuring, "You're so persistent for someone so opposed to being mine."

He laughed.

"And you're real sentimental for someone so fucking against being mine," he grinned seductively and husked, "but I've worn you down so far. Just a matter of time before I break you of that stubborn streak."

                      _____________________________________

Even when he'd worked on the team, Victor had never felt so important and respected in his entire life. The whirlwind of being served and catered to like royalty made him feel out of place.

They had landed and were immediately whisked off the plane and into a jet black town car after he watched Isabela instruct the crew to be on standby and ordering the chauffer to their next destination. Less than half hour later they were jetting through the city towards the Russian consulate. Izzie had sat close to him in the spacious backseat, her hand resting on his knee while she stared thoughtfully out the window. He'd had his arm draped around her shoulders casually, but he couldn't help stare at her faraway gaze mirrored in the tinted window.

The visit to the embassy had been short and sweet. They'd entered a posh smoking lounge and a tall Russian dressed dapperly had practically groveled his greeting to Isabela. Uri had glanced at Victor with a look in his eyes that had winced with anxiety. She'd caught their looks and had all but rolled her eyes. The two had gone into conversing in Russian, a succinct discussion from what he could surmise that left her with a ferocious gleam in her eye. She'd thanked Uri and had sashayed back to Victor's side. He left his empty glass at the bar and practically ushered her back to their waiting car.

"If he was anymore smarmier he'd leave streaks on you," Victor had grumbled after she'd given the driver the next address.

"Uri is a quintessential ass-kisser, but he's quite useful, otherwise I wouldn't keep him alive," she'd remarked and rested her head on his shoulder.

He grunted. "Where to now?"

"A stop at my place."

And what a place it was. He'd assumed with her level of sophistication and taste that she'd be on Park Avenue, but instead their destination was a sprawling skyscraper in the middle of Manhattan. Isabela had led the way into the lobby of the building before crossing into a warm marble foyer with three elevator banks. There was no button to press for the middle elevator, but Isabela pressed on the engraved vase held by the Grecian maiden that was etched into the steel door. The elevator dinged open, and Victor betrayed a grunt of surprise.

She smiled back at him before stepping into the elevator. Once he joined her, the doors slid closed and started ascending straight up. The sleek elevator opened on a stylish foyer with a double set of doors beyond the hall. They crossed the foyer and Isabela touched the doorframe and a dormant panel became outlined before a translucent keypad appeared. She keyed in a sequence of numbers with the tips of her nails before a lock was undone and Isabela opened the front door.

Victor stood looking at the wall and then at the door, so she snickered, "What? Think you're the only one who knows a talented gearsmith?" and walked into the penthouse.

Victor scoffed and closed the door behind him as he surveyed the expansive and lavish penthouse. It was the most opulent living space he'd ever seen. The place took up the top floor of the skyscraper and stretched out into an impressive display of Baroque sumptuousness that was timeless and internationally influenced. White marble walls ascended to a ceiling ornate with inset lighting that made the ambience golden and calming. He felt like he'd just stepped into a homely museum, an intimate space furnished with rich oak and cherry wood tables, bookcases, and plush chairs. Western and Oriental influences mingled together in a complimentary style that was otherworldly and beautiful.

It was a lot like her.

He walked through to tour the sprawling penthouse, from her interior lounge to her tall bookcases and imposing curios brimming with treasures and keepsakes that were priceless heirlooms for mere mortals. Winding out of sight was the kitchen with all the tasteful amenities luxury could afford. Past a cozy sitting area was a mini library with bookcases as tall as the chamber ceiling painted in gold with bordered white crown moldings.

Towards her bedroom was the real sight.

A ninety degree angle span of the penthouse's outer wall was just a wall of glass that revealed a breathtaking view of Manhattan. The glowing night of the city was glimmering as far as the darkness of the island's outskirts. Other towering skyscrapers stood in their illuminated glory, the Empire State Building an obelisk of cement, glass and lights in the near distance and Central Park stretching almost infinitely past the tops of smaller buildings.

Victor stood looking out at the view when a smirking Isabela came to stand besides him.

"This is quite a tower you've made for yourself, princess," he mused and glanced at her with a grin.

Isabela snickered. "Take your coat off and make yourself at home. I'm going to freshen up," she smiled and touched his arm.

Victor took her hand and pulled her into his arms. "You smell fresh to me," he purred and worked her auburn vero moda coat off her shoulders.

She shrugged the coat off and pulled at his. He stripped it off with the roll of his shoulders and caressed her curves as they kissed passionately against the cool glass windows.

She hummed and pulled away from his ravenous lips. "Lets postpone this, cub. I still have a stop I have to make," she murmured and shied out of his arms to strut towards the oriental wood doors leading into her bedroom.

He loped towards an antique liquor cabinet and leaned his hip into it. "And where's that?" he inquired dryly as he twiddled his clawed thumbs and watched her walk into her bedroom.

"To find Basset. He's here in the city, and I think it's time I pay him back," she called back in a serenely vicious tone.

It turned him on how ruthless she could be. He strode over to her bedroom and slid the doors open further so he could see the scope of the room. A huge 18th century bed made for a queen stood in the middle of the high ceilinged room. A sheer canopy swept down and veiled the luxurious reds and burgundy bedding on the carved bed instead of the traditional curtain of olden times. Besides the bed, her bedroom was actually sparsely furnished. He saw her dress left on the floor in the impressive walk in closet and heard her moving in the also impressive-looking bathroom just beyond the threshold of marble tile and carpet that divided the rooms. The ornate and lavish decorations were much more muted in her bedroom. The moonlight spilled through the arch-fix window over the floor, creating a soothing ambience Victor hadn't ever considered for himself.

"Uri told me some very interesting things," she called from the bathroom. "Seems de Lioncourt put a hit on dear Basset, and the agent is en route. It complicates things a bit, but I'm not concerned."

Victor grunted and crossed his arms. He wondered if he should call Dresner and see if the tacto-empath had any new spook talk for him.

"Oh, and it seems the head of the operative squad isn't looking to capture us," she remarked as she dressed and tried to tame her hair. "He's more interested in getting his hands on de Lioncourt and the tele-computer. I figure we can give him what he wants and get him off our trail," she offered and sprayed her hair before working on her makeup.

Victor prowled into her room and headed for the plush divan sofa that faced the opulent bed. "And how did the Russian find all this out?" he inquired and idly took in the room.

Isabela continued to style her unruly straight hair. "Seems Basset went around asking for a competent money launderer and the man he hired is linked to the Russian mob. Uri is one of my many diplomatic contacts that deals in all worlds. He took a personal interest in this because de Lioncourt is one of his closest business allies and found out he's cut him out of this tele-computer deal. I told Uri his name was part of a file in the computer, and that I would make sure his name was taken out of it, just to make sure he'd comply," she explained as she eyed herself in the mirror.

Victor chuckled. "How dishonest of you, Izzie," he mused.

"He also told me someone set up Basset with the means to transfer the money and some collateral junk he has on de Lioncourt so he could disappear to South America. He doesn't know the contact directly, but he's a small timer compared to who he has laundering his money. Either way, Basset is probably out on the town before he disappears all together, and I have a good idea where he's at," she remarked and applied her lipstick.

Victor remembered Dan's buddy had passed that onto the tacto-empath, but figured he'd keep that bit of snooping to himself. "Like I said, it's your show, Izzie. Hasn't been boring so far," he mused and lounged on the divan. "Just tell me where the hell we're going next?"

As if on cue, Isabela strode out of the marble bathroom into her bedroom, and Victor's jaw dropped. She strutted in front of him and posed so he could take her in. Tall platform heels that strapped around her ankles, a silk asymmetrical dress with knotted twists and gathered bodice with a unique shoulder drapery in toga-like fashion, all in white and gold. Her eyes were lined with black and gold and shimmering glitter was on her bare skin, and her usually glossy black hair was brandished blond with an organic spray and styled in thick corkscrew and spiral curls that fell in cascades all around her. She looked like a completely different creature. The spritely Fury was now more like an impish goddess sparkling in gold and white, and his arousal spiked as he gawked at the curvy beauty.

Smelling his thick and musky arousal, Isabela betrayed a mischievous grin as she offered her hand to him and mused, "Well Victor, you and I are going to a Midsummer Night's Dream at the disco."

                      _____________________________________

He was staring at her, but he really couldn't help it. She looked like a different woman, save for her preternatural eyes.

"You don't like it?"

He looked at her and touched a thick blond curl. "What is it?" he muttered and twirled his finger into the curl before letting it go to watch it bounce back into place.

She smiled. "It's an organic dye. I have a collection of them. I look less threatening as a blonde," she mused and offered unconsciously, "It's a cumbersome process, but one I've had to deal with. You can't imagine how much of a nuisance it is to blend in with the times."

'Blending in' was something he'd forgotten about decades ago. "Something tells me you haven't had too much trouble, princess," he purred and ran his clawed fingers through her silky curls.

She snorted and turned her face up to him. "You'd be surprised, cub. Men's fashion over time pales in comparison to the evolution women's fashion has gone through. Corsets, petticoats, bustles? Godforsaken misogynistic fucking things," she actually sneered. "And the hair! You don't wanna know the hell I went through during the '20s. Those bobs, Eton crops, and Marcel waves almost made me mad!" When he laughed, she smirked and scratched at the mutton-chopped scruff on his cheek. "Only a man could get away with styling his whiskers in post-bellum fashion," and look so goddamned handsome she mocked and thought as she tossed her curly hair with a sassy look in her eyes. "So, do I look harmless?" she teased and leaned into his palm when he cupped her cheek.

"Not with those eyes, you don't," he purred and dragged his thumb over her bottom lip while his talon dented her mouth.

His eyes shifted from hers to glance out the limo's tinted window to the crowd that wound around the corner in front of a loud and bright club. The iconic marquee was dazzling in the wintery night as people froze their asses off dressed in scantily-clad costumes. The driver opened their door and Isabela murmured playfully, "It's time to play, cub," before climbing out onto the packed sidewalk.

He followed her out and ignored all the glitzy flashes and the crush of the crowd as they walked towards the velvet rope. Victor didn't know why everyone was dressed like literal fairies and prancing jackasses, but knew from the looks of things that the so called Studio 54 was buzzing with sycophants, sluts, queers, druggies, pushers, and pimps.

The reek of humanity pushed in on them as they were let into the club and Victor heard some nymph-like androgynous kids whisper about their 'costumes.'

"She like, supposed to be Hippolyta? So what's he supposed to be in all that black? Tall dark and vicious-looking? I don't get it!"

"No, dumbass! She's gotta be Titania and he's gotta be Oberon. Just look at how they're playing it up!"

Victor wrinkled his nose at the crowd and felt Isabela's hand take his arm, as if confirming something everyone around them was wondering. She smiled at his glowering glare.

"It's a lurid theme night, and you're looking the part of a king," she purred in his ear.

He snorted. "Yeah, the king of fairies, more like it," he spat snidely as he looked around and earned a laugh from the camouflaged viper.

"Precisely," she chuckled, and when he raised an inquisitive brow at her, she retorted, "Oberon is the King of Fairies in Shakespeare's play. Titania is his queen…"

Savage pride swelled in him and Victor smirked darkly. "Why pretend when you can have the real thing, sweetheart," he purred and tried to tug her into a more reclusive corner, but quickly realized there was no such thing in the boisterous club.

"Because we're wolves in sheep's clothing," she purred right back and sauntered from his side as she added, "I'm going hunting. Don't get into trouble."

He caught her hand and pulled her back. "Not so fast. This asshole isn't going to just walk up to you—!"

"Have you ever seen me hunt, Victor?" she smirked seductively. "Watch me. I'll show you how to have the prey come to you."

He growled and ignored the push of dancing and gyrating bodies around him. "At least tell me what he looks like, in case you don't pull in your prey," he sneered.

"He might not look the same, hence why I'm hunting," she retorted glibly.

Victor scoffed and looked absolutely out of place in the sea of half-naked fairies dressed in togas, feathers, and sheer chiffon. "And how the hell will you know it's him?"

Isabela pulled out of his grasp and scampered into the crowd with a mischievous smile and tapped her nose, as if to gesture "by following my nose."

He watched her pass through the crowd towards the platform stage while he impatiently hung back towards the bar. Victor was very intrigued to watch her in action, but the idea of his viper being touched and groped by the sweaty swine prancing around the enclosed and smoky space made him itch with anger. From his spot at the bar, he could see her hourglass body through the sea of waifs and cocaine fiends. He could feel eyes roving up and down him, so he shot a few cold glares when a cheap bitch or queer was getting too bold for his tastes.

Meanwhile, Isabela staked out the crowd around her as she started swaying sensually to the music's beat. Even in the midst of fitting into the gimmick, she garnered stares and glances for how ethereal she looked on the dance floor under the strobe lights and fog. She could feel Victor's eyes watching her, and it excited her. Her skin began to tingle with the rush of blood into the erogenous zones of her body. She thought of Victor, used him as her trigger for the dormant state of arousal that she needed to conjure in order to shimmer rapture throughout her skin. It was a heightened state that left her hyperaware to carnal sensitivity, and along with the desire that flooded her, she felt blood roar through the surface to activate the pheromone.

Isabela swayed to the percussion of the song, feeling the boom stir through her as she tilted her head and traced her tongue to wet her lips as her skin shimmered bronze under the low lighting. She flicked her tongue to brush the roof of her mouth, and the world became a prism of colors that her heightened olfactory organ sifted through. She only used her reptilian sense of smell for occasions like these, but once the sought after smell was sifted out, her nose could hone in on the scent. There.

She slowly opened her eyes and peered over at a man who looked like a Saturday Night Fever extra. His tan skin and platinum hair shone under the strobe lights while he danced. He looked like a strapping stallion come from one of the Greek isles, but his scent didn't lie. As if sensing her gaze, the hazel-eyed man looked at her and a broad smile crossed his lips. Isabela pursed her lips and batted her eyes sensually before swaying coquettishly away to look towards the bar.

Their eyes connected, and Victor's nostrils flared. Even through the stink of the sweaty, sickly wallow of the humans around him, he could still pick up her musky and heady scent. It was sweeter now, almost damp and earthy. She was turned on, and it made him jealous and hot at the same time. He watched as some tall prick made his way towards her and whispered into her ear. Isabela gave Victor a hungry look before turning to give a seductive glance at the guy.

"Wanna dance, pretty?"

She smirked and turned towards him. "Sure, cutie," she teased in a regional twang before smiling.

The electronic strumming of the song that trickled out of the club's sound system set a placid sway in the crowd's dancing, one Isabela and her prey fell into seamlessly.

Though nothing, nothing will keep us together We can beat them, forever and ever Oh, we can be heroes just for one day

He sashayed close to her and brushed her up her bare arms, a feeling similar to pure euphoria blossoming through him as he shivered and looked at the cunning green eyes and dazzling copper ring around her pupils.

I, I will be King And you, you will be Queen Though nothing will drive them away We can be heroes just for one day We can be us just for one day

Victor watched the man look thunderstruck with desire as he hung on Isabela's every move. She said something to the guy, and he looked riveted, transfixed as she smugly glanced over to him. Her eyes shifted to direct the other feral towards the back of the club before glancing back at him with a vicious gleam in her expression. Victor lurked through the crowd and disappeared in the direction she'd indicated, so Isabela laced more rapture in her prey's skin by cupping his cheek.

I, I can remember (I remember) Standing by the wall (By the wall) And the guns, shot above our heads (Over our heads) And we kissed, as though nothing could fall (Nothing could fall)"

"Come with me" she murmured and walked away.

"And the shame, was on the other side Oh, we can beat them, forever and ever Then we could be heroes just for one day

An imperative anxiety jolted the man to follow her, his hand pleading as it locked onto hers and the scorching lust eased up his arm. Rapture was going through him full force.

She led the way towards a secret door that wasn't so secret to the regulars. Going down some dimly lit hallways towards the club's basement chambers, they passed several hedonistic scenes and salacious doorways before Isabela pulled away coyly. She shot him a sultry look before she scampered into a dark room with only a basement grate supplying the dank space with light from the street. He followed her determinedly, desperate for her touch and wanting badly to delve into her.

He smiled when he entered the room and saw her standing there under the light from the window, expecting him. "I don't even know your name, pretty," he husked, lust roaring in his blood and making him throb with desire.

"Oh, but I know yours, Bezu," she hissed in a sadistic murmur before looking into a dark corner by the door.

Said door slammed behind him, and Bezu was slow in turning to see that he was closed in, and that a tall vicious man dressed in black stood imposingly between him and the door. Confusion didn't even dawn on him as he turned an adoring expression back to the angelic beauty dressed in gold and white. She advanced towards him, her strutting movements sinuous and fluid as she prowled around him.

"Hope the hunt wasn't too long for you," she mused as she sized the man up, but wasn't talking to him.

"Could've just sniffed and pointed him out," the intimidating man groused and crossed his arms, watching his pretty as she stopped her prowl and leaned on one hip to stare amusedly at them both.

"Bezu, my friend isn't the patient type, but then again…neither am I," pretty's New Yorker twang melted away into an otherworldly, regional-free diction that sounded hauntingly familiar to him.

His mind started to become hazy and lethargic with dueling sensations as rapture began to ebb away. "I-who are you? How d'you know me?" he slurred with reluctant confusion and stared at her.

Her smile was scathing. "Oh, you were going by Eduard Basset when we met. We both looked very different, I admit, but unfortunately for you, you still smell like oily leather, Bezu," she hissed and watch as confusion still clung drunkenly to him. "Sigh, I don't think he's very receptive, Victor," she mused and looked at the increasingly scary man.

Victor eyed the sycophantic shit and shot Isabela a hot glance. "What the hell will it take to bring him out of it?" he asked tersely and unfurled his arms to his sides, where Bezu could see his wicked nails.

"A rush of adrenalin and pain," Isabela mused aloofly.

"Good." Victor chuckled and swiftly punched the grating asshole so hard the guy ricocheted off the wall to crash face-first into the cement floor.

Bezu shouted in pain and crawled blindly into the corner as he held his bleeding face. Adrenalin flared his senses and squashed all his lust as his mind and instincts reared back from the flood of reality.

"Now, let's try this again," he looked up to see the woman crouch down in front of him. "Bezu Alacroix, let me reintroduce myself," her purr grew measured as she grabbed the front of his now bloody dress shirt and pulled him up with her, "I am Isabela Montecristo."

Disbelieving fear contorted the man's expression. "N-No!" he snapped and struggled.

Isabela yoked him up effortlessly and slammed him against the wall twice before dropping him. Bezu managed to grapple with the hard cement and stopped himself from sliding down the wall as he hacked blood. Absolute terror swam in him, and the feral couple was inundated by his stench as the conman began to tremble and wheeze in his throat. Victor looked on implacably as fury began to unfurl out of his statuesque viper. Rage was coming off of her in waves, and so was the sweet pleasure only a predator took in cornering their prey.

"Viper-" he growled, his tone impatient and commanding. She shot a sharp glance at him. "Get on with it before he hyperventilates to death."

His lips pursed in a derisive smirk, but his eyes were stern as they flickered from hers back to the guy. He could read the anger that flashed in her eyes; don't interfere!

Regardless, she turned back to Bezu, who had been petrified against the wall as his throat locked painfully and his head rushed. "Now Bezu, I don't like this new getup of yours. Not that I liked Eduard Basset," she hissed with her hands on her hips. "You're among mutants, so get rid of it." When Bezu looked at her with apprehension and fear, she bared her carnivorous fangs at him, "Shift."

His mouth bobbed helplessly as he eyed Victor, who for some reason was more terrifying to him than she. Catching his glance, fury boiled ravenously in her and Isabela backhanded Bezu so hard that blood flew out of his mouth before he even crashed into the floor again.

"P-Phlease-!" he wheezed and coughed dark blood as he turned begging eyes up at her. "I'm sorry! Please don't kill me-!" Isabela cut his pleas by grabbing him and hauling him up.

"Shift before I peel you away to bone!" she snarled, the malice etched in her vicious expression.

Victor watched as the man stiffened and did as he was told. Slowly, his skin began to fan away into a dark vermilion. The muted sound of leather brushing over leather was only perceptible to keen ears as the man shapeshifted into his true form.

Isabela stood back and sized up the leather-like hide of the mutant with the quill-like hair and the amber amphibious-like eyes that stared at her fearfully.

"Well, aren't you lucky to be a shifter."

Victor snorted.

Bezu cowered away. "Please-!" the treble of his voice was distorted, "I'll give you anything! You don't want me—I was only following orders! The Frenchman—"

"Armand de Lioncourt will be getting a visit, don't you worry," she cut in and smiled sinisterly. "Want to know why I've gone out of my way to find you, Bezu?"

"I would," Victor said dryly.

Isabela ignored him, could almost feel his snarky smile as she seethed with fury. Victor was not used to being the one to hang back while someone else did the torturing. Even so, Isabela did not appreciate him being a back-seat-torturer.

Both men could see her skin shimmer copper as her whole body coiled with the control of a serpent seething with rancor and ready to strike. Anger was leaking out of her, and even her curled hair began to straighten from the seething unfurling through her frame as she spoke, "Because you're ignorant and ingenious; those two attributes are insulting, especially when considering that you thought yourself cunning enough to double cross me."

Bezu scuttled desperately to try and get pass her. Before Victor took a step forward to stop him, Isabela had lashed out and grabbed the mutant by his crotch before hefting him off his feet. Her skin shimmer bronze before she slammed him back against the wall and squeezed him dangerously close to puncturing her nails into his tender parts. Victor internally winced when the guy let out a high-pitched wail and shuddered from the ball-crushing grip she had him in.

"Listen very carefully, Bezu," she hissed. "I'm going to kill you. I will take immense satisfaction in prying you apart and seeing what color your insides are, but, before that, you will spend the rest of the time I allow you to breathe knowing what I'm going to do and too strung out on lust to escape it," she declared with chilling mirth in her seductive tone before she dropped her grip from his crotch and grabbed his throat. "Now," she purred as rapture began to lace through his skin, "can you morph back and conceal your scrapes?"

That smarmy thunderstruck look flashed through the mutant's bruised face before he smiled adoringly at her. "Yes of course, whatever you want mistress," he groaned when she graced him with a smile and a caress to his cheek. His vermilion hide began to flush back to human skin. Once shifted back to the platinum-haired stud, he stood and swooned when she turned away from him and walked back to the door.

Victor didn't move, shooting a dirty glare at the lust-struck asshole before glaring her down. "All that for nothing?" he grumbled and watched the bronze ebb away from her skin tone.

Isabela huffed and wrapped her arms around his neck after extinguishing rapture. "I have something very fun in store, and it'll involve the both of us. Trust me," she murmured and smiled serenely at him.

He grunted and eyed the bastard standing patiently for his viper's next command. "It better involve much more than you promised him, otherwise I'll take charge of this game, got it?" he rumbled and watched the amusement dance in her preternatural eyes.

She could smell his aggravation and the sharp whiff of jealousy that still clung to him. She musingly wondered if he even knew how much she wanted to taste him all the while she'd been shimmered with rapture.

"I promise Victor, you won't be disappointed, and for being so patient, I want to take you home and have some real fun."

                      _____________________________________

They entered the private elevator leading up to her penthouse, the trio looking like they'd left a Halloween party in early December. Bezu was lovestruck and staring avidly at Isabela while Victor shoved him into the corner with a surly huff once the doors closed. The man stunk the elevator up with his lust while Isabela eyed him and pressed her hand on a hidden panel that illuminated a keypad display similar to the one restricting entrance to her apartment. She keyed in a sequence and the elevator began to ascend.

She looked over at Victor, who stoically marveled at the security system. "It's hardwired to sensing only my palm's ph level. Quite nifty," she offered and smiled when the elevator stopped 2 floors below the top floor. A large training room stretched out past the doors, outfitted with weights, mats, weapons, and an impressive array of punching bags that looked sturdy enough to take one of his punches.

"Bezu," Isabela purred and the shapeshifter reverently went to her. "You'll be sleeping here for tonight. You'll think of me, and how badly you want to please me in every way imaginable. Do as I say, and I'll reward you with all my secret affection for you," she murmured seductively as she caressed his cheek, lacing so much rapture in him that he'd be strung out well into the morning.

The mutant stepped out of the elevator willingly and gushed, "I can't wait, mistress."

She smiled as the door closed on him and the elevator ascended to the top floor. She turned to Victor just as the doors slid open. He watched the bronze shimmer flint away into dormancy as she walked backwards out of the elevator to the entrance of her penthouse. Victor prowled after her, his strut measured as they eyed each other intently. Once her back brushed the doorframe, Isabela effortlessly keyed in the security code without ever taking her eyes away from Victor's as he pressed flush against her.

She opened the door and back stepped into the penthouse as Victor growled against her ear and cupped her curvy derriere. "What's the 'real fun' that you promised entail?" he purred hotly against her skin before backing her into the closest surface so he could grind his hard on against her womb.

"Oberon, come my lord, and in our flight, I shall lavish you as mine king for this Midsummer night," she purred lusciously against his mouth. "I shall be thy queen for as long as the spell keeps us rapt to the carnal appeals of our natures, to which our services are bound," her poetic repartee was a provocative murmur as she wound her arms around his neck and ground against his hips.

"I prefer dirty talk, but that sounded pretty sexy," he growled before devouring her in a hungry kiss. "Just one problem, queenie o' mine—it ain't a Midsummer night."

She started leading him sensually towards her bedroom, her sassy blond curls wilting back to silky tendrils around her shoulders and down her back. "That it isn't, but we can make it hot and moist like any summer night, with the help of a long shower" she purred and playfully slipped out of his grasp when they entered her bedroom. "Oh, first, I have something to give back to you," she teased sultrily as she loped into her impressive closet.

Victor had a raging hard on that was threatening to tear through his zipper, but he liked this little game she was weaving, and the novelty of roleplay was intriguing. He watched her disappear into the large closet and heard her kick off her heels before walking back into the bedroom. She had a folded slip of paper between her fingers that she held up to him casually when she slinked back to him. He eyed her curiously before plucking the slip from her fingers. He opened it, and was surprised to see it was the check she'd stolen out of his coat after their first interlude.

"You didn't cash it?"

"It was a keepsake."

He looked at her intensely. Her expression was serene and cool, those dazzling eyes captivating to him as she turned to strut towards the bathroom.

"Let me wash off all this glitter and dye. Take your time in joining me," she mused suggestively as she slipped the dress off her shoulders and worked the bodice off her hourglass figure before leaving the dress on the marble-tiled floor of the bathroom.

He stared at her as she disappeared into the luxurious bathroom. Looking back down at the check, he brought it up to his nose and scented it, breathing in her sweet smell intermingled with his own. She'd stolen it to incite him, but he hadn't thought she'd kept it. A rush of animal excitement swelled in his core. His little viper could be a coldhearted ice queen, but she had a surprising sentimental streak. What was even more surprising was how pleased it made him feel to hold proof of it.

Tucking the folded check into his inner coat pocket with the snapshot from the diner, Victor heard the rushing of water and could smell the shampoo and soap intermingled with her moist and hot scent. His mouth watered as he grew painfully lustful with all the pent up desire he'd been rutting in. He shrugged out of his trench coat and tossed it onto the divan while he continued to strip down.

The warm vapor that wafted throughout the room clung to his skin and hair while the marble floor felt perpetually cool under his feet as he walked up to watch her bathe. The shower was set adjacent to the giant marble tub with polished fixtures. It wasn't a 'stall', but more like a small room with 3-glass walls that made the voluptuous woman confined inside resemble a prized figure. The image of her incased in a glass cage popped in his head, and he couldn't help liking the idea.

Victor watched as the water cascaded down her body and rinsed away the blond dye to swirl around the drain like liquid gold. Her hands glided through her hair until the long silky tresses turned dark chocolate again and draped down her back. She turned under the spray to face him, her lips parted and head upturned to the cascading water. He was struck with déjà vu. Dragging his claws down the glass door, he smiled smugly when she opened her eyes to gaze at him.

She looked out at the sculpted and virile feral with his wicked smile and smoldering eyes and returned his smug smirk. He opened the shower door and stepped in with her, taking her into his arms and brusquely kissing her under the hot water. Isabela pulled him under the spray and rubbed her palms over the hairy and muscled plane of his chest, her body pressed flush against him by the rough pawing hands that committed her curves to memory. She reached for her loofah and lathered it up while Victor's gaze roved her supple breasts and his hands cupped and kneaded her derriere.

He sniffed at the rose-scented lather and grabbed her wrist before she smeared the sponge across his chest. "You and I must have a very different definition of fun, sweetheart," he snickered snidely and backed her into the marble wall.

Isabela giggled at him and slid her body up against him, feeling his ramrod erection prod wantonly against her pubis. "Thou doth protest too much," she teased and licked the water dripping off his chin. When he growled and slid against her, Isabela purred, "It's still my game, lover," and shoved him back so she could pull him back under the shower spray.

Victor reluctantly complied, growling in his chest and giving her a malicious frown before she started soaping him up with her hands and the sponge. When said sponge got waterlogged, she wrung it out over her breasts and gave Victor a juicy sight as the suds ran down her cleavage and studded nipples all the way down between her thighs. Then her hands were gliding along his torso, working from his collarbones down to his defined abdomen before she slinked around and soaped up every inch of him. He closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose, humming deep in his chest with the alluring pleasure her touch and attention stirred.

She scrubbed slow circles along his broad back and over his wide shoulders, taking the opportunity to marvel at his delectable ass before encircling her arms around his waist to lather down his belly. She could feel his growls through his back, so she slid along his side and ducked under his arm as she massaged and kneaded his muscular body.

"Want me to stop?"

Victor opened his eyes and stared down at her. His smoky gaze sent a chill down to her core. Isabela's lips soften and parted as she brushed an open-mouthed kiss over his chest, her eyes hooded and gazing up into his.

"Haven't 'protested' yet, Izzie," he husked and tangled his hands in her hair. "But dunno how long I can hold back from taking you against the wall," he hissed as he snaked his hand down the curve of her body before slipping it between her legs while he pulled her taut by her hair. The pads of his fingers caressed her dewy womanhood and Isabela sighed with pleasure. "I've been very patient tonight. All I've wanted to do is bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you raw," he growled and licked up the column of her throat as he continued to tease her, "but, I haven't. You know why?"

She looked up at him with hungry eyes before a smile grazed her soft lips. "Because you're a brat…and you know I've wanted the same?" she purred and palmed his thick, pulsing erection in a feather grip.

He growled and let her go. "You're such a fucking cock tease," he snarled and looked very riled as he bared his fangs in a surly sneer.

Isabela pursed her lips and reached for him. "You're so petulant with me. All I want is to play. It's a game I thought you liked," she purred and pulled him towards her to bask under the cascading water. "Or do you only like it when you're the tease," she hissed against his lips.

Victor smirked sarcastically, his fangs denting his lip as he pawed his hands down her curves to scrape his claws back up. "Be mine. Then you can tease me all you damn want," he rumbled confidently and clutched her against him, grinning ruthlessly at her.

Isabela laughed and threw her arms around his neck, anchoring herself to him as she leaned back in his strong grip. "These violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which, as they kiss, consume," she recited placidly and basked in the hot water that ran down their bodies before looking up at him through her long eyelashes.

He wrinkled his nose disdainfully. "If that was an answer—"

"It's a truth, not an answer," she retorted and caressed his furred cheek, her eyes soothing but faraway as she stared into his turbulent gaze. "I've already given you my answer, and you gave me yours. So just revel in playing the game of king and queen for tonight," she murmured and brushed her lips against his.

She pulled away slowly, but Victor dove for her mouth, savage and possessive as he kissed her with seething passion. Isabela clung to him and managed a satisfied gasp as he picked her up pinned her against the glass wall. He was so angry, irate with unrequited primitivism, but his aggression only manifested in assertive bites and the swift push of his throbbing manhood into her molten sheath. Before long, his claws were biting deep into her skin as he kept her hoisted against him, and her own talons dug into his shoulders as they coupled with intense need. His mouth laved and sucked on the skin of her neck and shoulder, while she clutched the back of his neck and arched into him. The steamy room grew scented with their lovemaking and with their blood.

Victor was throbbing from his toes to his fingertips with his desire for her, not to mention his pulsing cock buried deep inside her clenching heat. He possessed her mind and body in that moment when she arched against him and cried out, shuddering and gasping his name while he pounded into her quivering depth, but she wasn't his. It drove him crazy to no end, but she always found a way to quell his fury—to soothe his vicious and savage compulsion of wanting to break her.

She moaned, thrusting against him, urgently wanting more of him—her aching need demanding to be claimed by him. Victor licked the water off her burning skin as he cupped and squeezed a supple breast and pounded into her ravenously in answer to her wanton hunger. She stiffened in his arms and groaned when he sent her over the edge again, the pain and pleasure of the hyper-fierce sensation so quick after her first climax made her squeeze around his throbbing cock so hard that Victor choked on a snarl and came, the ferocity of his orgasm tearing a roar of savage completion out of him.

He braced himself against the glass wall with one hand and held Isabela to him with the other, cradling her against his frame while he pressed his forehead to hers. They panted and remained in feral rapport for long moments before she nudged her head against his and purred. He responded by nuzzling her and lifting her off him. Her soft murmur was wordless, but conveyed meaning as she caressed his face with her fingertips and nuzzled his throat. Victor nibbled on her fingertips when they brushed his lips and stared at her with smoky heat in his eyes before manhandling her back under the shower spray.

They bathed each other in a comfortable silence, with a nip and pinch of claws along sinuous curve every once in a while before Victor clamped his teeth on the back of her shoulder. Isabela mewled softly, resting back against him while his arms encircled her possessively.

He watched his mark knit back into unblemished skin, and the animal in him frowned. It mocked him, how perfectly indestructible she was—unable to be claimed with scars that would mark her as being only his.

It made her a coveted prize. It also made her resistance all the more poignant.

She turned in his arms and switched the nozzle off behind her. Isabela wrung her hair and smiled at him as he leered at her breasts and gave her the opportunity to survey his endowments appreciatively.

"Such a petulant, yet handsome animal," she mused and trailed her hand across his chest as she went to exit the shower. "Are you going to stay mad just to prove that you can?" she asked flirtatiously over her shoulder as she got a towel and dried off in front of him and offered him his own towel.

Victor snatched the towel and dried off, eyeing her sharply. "Sorry, queenie. I don't need to prove anything, but, the night sure as hell ain't over yet," he rumbled too sexily to project hostility, earning a playful look from Isabela.

She slinked into a silk robe that was hanging on a rack by the door and tossed her quickly-drying hair over her shoulder. "True," she replied sincerely and watched him towel off with a wry smirk pulling his boyish lips. "But, the sunrise won't wait on your account, Victor," she mused and pressed her lips together, wetting them as she turned and strutted out of the bathroom.

He huffed with amusement at her verbal play and strode out to the bedroom, coming in just in time to see her let the rob slide off her body so she could give him a perfect view of the female form from behind before she whisked past the sheer curtain and climbed into her plush bed. Isabela stretched out sinuously on her stomach and tossed her hair back when she felt the mattress protest under Victor's weight. The only light in the room was the glow coming from the bathroom, but Victor could see the shapely contour of her legs, the round and tight cleft of her derriere, the lithe line of her spine and her sloping shoulders as he prowled over her.

Her eyes were glowing at him as she watched him sidle up to her from behind. When his warm tongue trailed her spine up from the small of her back, Isabela mewled softly. She had expected him to be rough and domineering in her bed—a gesture of an insecure predator on another's territory—but instead, he caressed her with his vicious open-mouthed kisses, firm nips, and lazy licks before she turned over to accept him in her bed.

Victor crawled over her and claimed her in an ardent kiss, comforted in her welcoming arms and aroused by her sensually affectionate touches and nuzzles. She returned his feral caresses in spades, laving at his muscled planes and dipping chaste kisses over his heated flesh before he rolled her and pinned her down on the bed.

He made love to her, confident and attentive and above any sense of haughty dominance; his attention was focused on her—on what she made him need as opposed to want.

Isabela gave herself to him, unbound by any fear or hesitation—to bask in wanting him as opposed to denying him.

They ran the gamut of sexual acts, reveling in each other and forgetting any pretenses. For once, they were just a male and a female; they were in tune and content with giving into each other without fighting tooth and nail for dominance. For one night, they were just practiced lovers completely in sync with each other.

This was the most compromise either feral was aware of giving into, but neither spoke the fact, too rapt in the equanimity of coupling with a being they desired and equaled in every passion; content on being king and queen of one another, ruled by their unspoken desires.

                      _____________________________________

He disembarked the aircraft and strode casually to the exit of the terminal, whistling a merry tune his grandfather had taught him. The cold night air that blasted through the automatic doors didn't even ruffle him, even when everyone around him seemed to be scuttling for cover from the frigid climate.

Jin Kazuya could faintly see the dim glow of Manhattan in the distance. At this time of night, the only traffic buzzing in the terminal's carport were grizzled-looking taxis and sleek town cars. As he flagged one of the said town cars down, he idly felt the brand over his left pectoral through his thin black sweater and suddenly felt more tired than he'd expected. Getting into the backseat, he gazed out of the tinted window on the dark terrain and the urban jungle that rose out of the darkness. Jin didn't feel any rush. The mutant Basset would get overconfident and sloppy like most of his kind did. The moment he stepped out into the urban jungle, Jin would be there to cut him down.

Cruising over the bridge and into Manhattan, the homo-densus-epidermal mutant closed his eyes and began to meditate on the intel he'd collected before leaving Paris and planned his course of action, completely unaware that two other free agents were counting on his arrival.

____________________

Read Chapter 8: Voraciously Insatiable

The song is "Heroes" by David Bowie, and many of Isabela's Elizabethan-esque (haha Isabela & Elizabeth = the same name lol yes I am a dork) repartee were influenced and partially quoted from different Shakespeare plays, the key ones being Hamlet, A Midsummer Night's Dream, and Romeo and Juliet.

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[furious-rogue-stuff]

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 6: Possessive Reciprocity

Pairing: Victor Creed x Isabela Montecristo | Sabertooth x Vipress

Disclaimer: This series will have canon-accurate and heightened levels of violence, adult themes, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and graphic descriptions of sex. *Post-Origins movieverse.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word count: 12,000+

Series Summary: Victor Creed's reputation as the Sabertooth proceeds him. He clashes with a mysterious feral woman, an enigma and anomaly to everything he knows. What began as a hunt becomes a dance between like-minded predators.

🚨Warning: Explicit sex, adult situations, implied rape, graphic imagery, feral power play, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and a pinch of angst. I do not own any aspect or character of the Marvel Universe nor elements of the X-Men Origins movieverse.

A Feral Interlude Masterlist

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 6: Possessive Reciprocity

"C'est impossible!" He yanked the phone off his desk and hurled it at the wall. It crashed and clattered to the floor while he fumingly paced the perimeter of his desk.

Armand had never felt such bone chilling fear in his entire life.

Khomeini was in Tehran. He didn't know how he could've let such a glaring oversight slip past him. His plans were about to fall apart; years of negotiations, blackmailing, and payoffs were slowly going down the tubes. All because he'd been betrayed.

The cold fear became scalding rage. He hadn't spent his entire life making himself into the man he was just to end up being made a jackass. Not by a fucking underling. Eduard Basset or whoever the fuck he was would pay dearly. He had just the person in mind to carry out the job.

Facing out the window at the glowing Eiffel Tower in the distance, Armand remembered his childhood. Living as an orphan in the ghettos just outside of Paris, he'd promised himself a better life, one where he'd rule over others and be treated more regally—a regular modern-day Algerian prince. He'd succeeded, so he wasn't about to let it all slip away because of one greedy traître.

Idly scratching at his dark goatee, Armand stared out at the Parisian night as rancorous revenge seethed in his mind.

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Fucking shitty-ass luck.

Victor set his jaw and tried not to break the nearest inanimate object as he glowered at the feral woman, who was poignantly ignoring him.

Things had been fucking great up until this stand off.

They'd spent the night fucking after moving from the couch to his bed. When he woke up, he'd been pleasantly surprised to find her lounging over his chest, awake and sated. After a round of morning sex, he let her slip away to jump into the shower. He joined her after watching her through the fogged up glass, and they'd soaped each other up. Her hands had lingered on him, soapy digits caressing him and riling him up for more. But he'd managed to control himself, leaving her to finish showering so he could dry off. When she was done, she pulled the towel wrapped around his waist and used it to dry off, watching as he unabashedly brushed his teeth and eyed her in the mirror. She'd leaned against the counter and sidled against him when he was done, snagging his toothbrush and smiling at him as she prepped to brush her own pearly whites. They'd done all of this in silence, their heated glances and playful gazes enough dialogue for the both of them.

Until they'd made it to the kitchen.

She'd started rummaging through the fridge to make breakfast, humming a whimsical little melody and wearing only his thermal sweater. When she turned to him and asked, "Are you craving something sweet?" her nipples were studded under the fabric of his sweater and her nude curvaceous form was silhouetted by the light in the fridge. Victor had practically pounced on her.

He'd taken her against the kitchen counter, her legs wrapped around him and her nails digging into his shoulders as they rutted into a hearty climax. Victor had groaned and clutched her waist as he nipped her neck and she gasped a contented sigh before nuzzling his throat. He'd felt absolutely high. She was the longest piece of ass he'd kept around, and he'd smugly griped to himself that he actually liked the monogamous novelty of it.

After he'd kissed her, twirling his tongue against hers, Victor had chuckled, "This is sweet enough, Izzie. Just the kind of sugar high I need to get through my trip."

It had been a slip—what he gets for thinking with his dick.

Her sultry gaze had cooled into an icy stare.

"What trip?"

He'd told her offhandedly that he was going after the jack-offs that had targeted them, and she'd mildly asked, "You're not intending to leave me here, are you?"

It had been viciously rhetorical, but Victor had stood back and gruffly snapped, "Well, yeah."

Isabela had pushed him back and had laid into him. Her seething barrage gave way to his sneers and threats and before long they were bickering like rabid lovers. They'd shouted and argued so ferociously that verbal blows substituted any physical roughhousing before they'd gone to separate corners and fumed lividly. And now here he was, glowering at her from where she was perched.

"You're really pissing me off, viper," he growled dangerously, his hands clenching and unclenching. "Don't make me come up there after you—!"

"Why? Who's stopping you from taking your little trip? I'm not. Go ahead; walk out the door," she cut him off with an icily derisive huff and waved him away, giving him a sidelong glare as she cleaned under her talons.

He growled and stalked to his bedroom.

She heard drawers and doors being slammed, along with the thudding of his heavy foot falls and his angry muttering. If he thought she was going to stay up in this rafter while he walked out of the cabin he was a fucking jackass. As soon as he put his hand on that doorknob she was going to vault down and out the door before he even knew what happened. His feline agility was no match for her reptilian nimbleness, at least she was pretty damn sure it wasn't—

He stalked back into the room, dressed and furious, but composed as he glared up at her. He knew she was waiting for him to wrap his hand around the doorknob. She was staring off to the side, but he could sense and smell her anticipation for him to be impetuous enough to take her challenge and try leaving. However, he was still mulling over her proposition from the night before. It had appealed to him—slightly. There was still no way to guarantee she'd keep up her end of the bargain, nor that he would for that matter. It wouldn't be too much of a chore to bring her right back…at least he wasn't too worried about the collateral damage it would take to do something like that a second time.

Victor huffed out of his nose and gave her a casual sneer, eyeing her with a leer.

"Come give us a kiss?"

Isabela dangled her leg over the rafter and hissed at him. "Fuck you, cub," she snarled before turning to glare at the opposite side, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of her seething anger.

He only chuckled and paced towards the door. "You have to come down from there to do that, viper," he flirted gruffly and leaned his shoulder into the front door. "I'm not going until you apologize like a good frail."

Her appalled stare swept back down to him. He was grinning maliciously, arms crossed over his chest and dressed in his usual attire, save for his trench coat. The Man in Black, as usual.

"Apologize for fucking you, or for taking any of your shit?" she shot back with a cool air to her features.

The corner of his mouth twitched downward, but the nasty grin didn't falter. "Being an ungrateful bitch, for one," he growled and narrowed his gaze, "and for sassing me in my domain. Anyone else would be a splattered mess where they stand, but I like playing with you, so I've been verygenerous. However, you keep talking to me like that and I'll punish that mouth of yours until you choke. "

"Hah," she snickered and tilted her head sardonically. "Go right ahead, see if you'll have anything left afterwards," she hissed viciously and made her point by baring her lengthened Komodo-like teeth at him.

"Oh, I like it when you get feisty," he chuckled. She hissed and glared death at him. "You're giving me a mean hard-on, sweetheart," he countered and added, "let's skip the fighting and get to the make-up sex already."

She wrinkled her nose at him and scoffed. He did smell of musky arousal and heady anger. The heat was coming off of him in waves she could perceive with her sharp pupils. She swiped her tongue over her carnivorous teeth before wetting her lips.

"Give me a reason to, cub."

He snorted at that and trailed a claw along his jawline before rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. He smelled the sweet spice of her arousal flood her scent, erasing much of the seething anger she directed towards him.

"You said, if I considered a truce that you'd be mine."

Isabela tilted her head, eyes focusing deftly on his. "I said if you considered it, that I would consider being yours…"

"Same difference, Izzie," he shot offhandedly and smirked.

"Goddammit, Victor! If you think I won't tear out your larynx the minute you try to walk out of here without me you're a fucking idiot! I'm not going to stay here and play house with you, let alone be so accommodating to your sexual appetites! I have places to go and people to fucking kill, and I'm not going to let you or any other goddamned bastard get between me and my plans," she barked mildly and before he could register her movement, she was in front of him, "Now…either you let me out of here, or I'm going to get wrist deep into your chest—"

Victor hauled her against him and cut her off with a hungry kiss. Isabela stiffened, a torrent of memories and feelings flooding her before she wavered and kissed him back—clutching at his black button-down shirt as he kissed the breath out of her.

She reluctantly pulled away from the kiss and pressed against him. "Is that a yes to the truce?"

He gave her a mischievous smirk before breezing past her and picking up the brown paper bag he'd left by the closet door. "Got these for you," he answered instead and tossed the bag to her. She caught it, surprised by the weight of it.

Her brow furrowed as she glanced at him and opened the bag to look inside. Pulling the brown boots out first, she dug into the bag and pulled out a pair of tanned corduroy pants, a lavender shirt with an embroidered picture of a white kitten on its back playing with a pink ball of yarn, and a garish pink cable-knit sweater. When she looked incredulously back at him, he had a lopsided smirk.

He'd had Camille, Rob's pregnant mate, help him pick the tacky ensemble out. She'd waddled to their very limited section of clothes looking for anything that would fit the physical description he'd given of Isabela's frame. Victor had openly laughed at the shirt, which had taken the pregnant frail off guard. Seeing Isabela's expression made it all the more hysterical, but he only grinned at her expense.

"It was all they had that I thought would fit you," he shrugged and looped his thumbs into his jean pockets. "Not Madison Ave, but figured you'd make do."

She looked at the kitten with the big glossy eyes before looking back at him. "Yes…thank you," she murmured as she walked towards him before hesitating with a skeptical look in her eyes.

"Well? Go put 'em on. Curious to see if I got the sizes right," he remarked gruffly and gave her a Cheshire grin before adding, "All I had to go on was the feel of you in my hands and under me…"

She blushed at that before scoffing and walking towards the laundry room to retrieve her panties. As she headed to change in his bedroom she shouted, "So what's the occasion?"

He could smell her speculating from where he stood. Strolling over to the mantle of the fireplace, he answered, "You kept complaining about not having clothes. Now you do."

Isabela rolled her eyes as she pulled the shirt over her head. "Playing coy isn't one of your strong suits, Victor," she called back as she wiggled into the corduroy pants and fastened them.

"Tell me again why I should trust you, Izzie?" his voice carried down the hallway, as did the smug air in his tone.

Gritting her teeth, Isabela pulled the boots on as she said, "We have to trust each other. We're involved in this mess together, and working together is the only way to ensure we guard against another trap. If we don't work together, we're vulnerable to getting picked off—"

"Speak for yourself," he interrupted brashly.

Pulling the atrocious pink sweater on and making her way down the hallway towards the living room, Isabela snapped, "Do you want to be another government pet, Victor? I have a feeling that whoever targeted us isn't in the business of giving mutants a long leash and a whole list of privileges if they're obedient little soldiers. I have avoided being anyone's science experiment or puppet for this long, and I'm NOT going to let your impetuous bullshit screw—"

She halted in mid berate when she saw Victor leaning against the open front door, his hand resting on the doorknob casually as the hem of his trench coat fluttered slightly from the cold breeze blowing through the doorway.

Feline agility indeed…She couldn't believe how stealthy he could be when he wanted to. He'd been talking her up so she would be too busy heatedly arguing with him to notice his movement through the cabin. She couldn't help the smirk that quirked her lips.

Victor took her in. She looked like a model dressed like an ice cream cone in all the pink and brown. The corduroy pants were a snug fit on her, while the atrocious sweater clung loosely to her. He could tell that the shirt practically molded to her supple breasts from the plumpness of her cleavage hidden under the knit sweater. The ensemble was a glaring contradiction of Isabela's style and he couldn't help an irreverent chuckle as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"This 'nuff of an answer for you, viper?" he mused and gestured derisively to the doorway as he stepped away and held the door open.

She strutted over to him and stopped short of walking out the door. She slinked towards him and mused, "You're such a precocious cub. How do I know you'll behave?"

"You don't," he leaned in and husked against her lips. "Same way I'm not sure yer trustworthy. Figure we can both afford to take a chance," he growled and trailed the tip of his tongue along the peaks of his upper fangs.

Her gaze narrowed provocatively as she murmured, "The perks of being indestructible give both of us leeway, I agree…"

The animal allure was like a buzzing current between them as Isabela strutted out the door and down the porch steps. He swiped his tongue along his bottom lip as he flicked the lights off and shut the door behind him without ever taking his eyes off her succulent ass in the tight corduroys as he followed her to the jeep.

                      _____________________________________

"Christ woman, it's like a fucking oven in here!" Victor grumbled and switched the heater to the lowest gauge possible and tugged on the collar of his shirt.

He glanced at her derisively and saw she was still shivering from the cold. He thought about digging the blanket out of the trunk, but figured she'd wrinkle her nose at it. They were driving down the winding snow-covered path that led down the mountain from his cabin into town. Her legs were tucked under her and her arms were huddled tightly around herself. She looks like a regular frail, until she shot him a blistering glare with those exotic preternatural eyes of hers.

"If you're cold, you can snuggle up for warmth," he sneered mockingly and shot her a leer as he stretched his arm along the back of the bench seat. Isabela scoffed and rubbed her palms along her arms, refusing to shuffle closer to him.

"How far are we from the nearest town?" she asked instead and craned her neck so she could stare out the passenger window.

He snorted. "What's it matter? We're driving straight through," he replied, watching the road.

"I need to make a phone call."

He glanced at her and laughed. "Who the hell to? I got a plan—"

"I've dealt with your half-assed plans enough, thank you. I have my own contingencies. Finesse is the optimum necessity for this—"

"So 'optimum' that you want me to stop at a hick-ass town so you can make a call from a fucking pay phone?" he barked derisively. "Finesse my ass!"

She was glaring daggers at him, but he was growing to like her riled up and exasperated. Made the sex even hotter.

"This isn't a good start to our arrangement," she hissed and reached over to blast the heater.

Victor snarled and turned the gauge so hard that it snapped off in his hand. He snickered and tossed it to her. "No fucking shit," he growled and put both hands on the wheel, gripping it while she tried to force the gauge back onto the spindle with composed anger.

Finding it useless, she sighed and tossed it to the floor and tried to keep warm. The radio was turned low on some crackling station, so she leaned over and started fiddling with the dials.

"Do you have to screw with everything?" he grumbled and shot her an acerbic glare.

Ignoring him, she tuned into several stations before hearing a familiar melodic rift and metallic percussion. Her fingers stopped and she let the station buzz through.

—When the truth is found to be lies and all the joy within you dies don't you want somebody to love don't you need somebody to love wouldn't you love somebody to love you better find somebody to love

Victor listened to the song, a flood of memories pouring over him like ice water. He reached over to turn the station when her hand snapped up and stopped him. When he whipped his head around to give her a dangerous look, he saw how transfixed she was.

"Don't," she murmured and pulled his hand down to her lap when she shuffled closer to the radio.

—your eyes, I say your eyes may look like his [yeah] but in your head baby I'm afraid you don't know where it is don't you want somebody to love don't you need somebody to love wouldn't you love somebody to love you better find somebody to love

Victor exhaled sharply through his nose and squeezed her thigh so his claws would prick through her pants. "I fucking hate this song," he growled contemptuously.

That's when she looked up at him. "Why?"

He huffed, thankful that the song was almost over. "Fucking reminds me of shittier days. I hate all that hippie bullshit," he grumbled and pulled his hand away to grip the steering wheel again.

Isabela smiled self-deprecatingly. "I was a hippie, Victor."

He whipped his head back to stare at her before focusing back on the road. "Bullshit," he spat with amusement.

"Yes…I take it you were in Vietnam?" she asked and went back to rubbing her palms along her arms.

He didn't answer, just eyed her with a sardonic sneer. "So you were running around like an idiot making flower garlands and rolling down hills?"

She chuckled. "No. I came back to the states, and loved the culture. It was so… crudely decadent. It was very sensualist and organic. The music and the openness—it was the closest thing to a utopian ideal realized. I went to Woodstock, saw people making love in nature and dancing in the mud…then I went to Altamonte and watched these same creatures murder each other. It was such fun" she concluded and noticed he was glancing at her intently.

The radio station announcer named the Jefferson Airplane song and introduced the next song as the acoustic melody began to play.

One morning I woke up and I knew You were really gone A new day, a new way, and new eyes To see the dawn. Go your way, I'll go mine and Carry on

After the first chorus, Victor pensively muttered as he drove, "Me and Jimmy were trudging through rice paddies and over bodies most of the time. When we weren't on recon or getting shot at, we were at camp having to deal with the muggy heat and the fucking bugs. There was always some punk-ass kid playing a radio somewhere, and sometimes they'd start roaring the lyrics like a bunch of goddamned fuckwits. On one of the last helicopter rides we took into the jungle, some dumbass was blasting that song, and all I could think was: "Love's got nothing to do with it." Stupid fucker ended up with his brains blown out. Jimmy got all sentimental about it, and I had to remind him what we were there for…"

—The fortunes of fables are able To sing the song Now witness the quickness with which We get along To sing the blues you've got to live the dues and Carry on

"And what was that?"

He glanced at her, as if he'd forgotten she was there over his thoughts and the Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young song.

Huffing gruffly, he turned his eyes back onto the road and saw the lights of the town through the early morning haze and snow fall. "To kill—what we do best."

She knew she'd hit a nerve, so she let the conversation drop when he didn't elaborate. They drove in silence up until they started nearing the town.

"Where could I find a phone at this time?" she inquired as she looked out the window at all the shops and the few cars that barreled and plowed through the snow.

"I was fucking wondering how long it was gonna take you," he grumbled scathingly and shot her a glare. "We're not stopping, viper—!"

"What the fuck is your plan then, hm?!" she shot back at him and glared at him intently.

He looked at her sharply and looked back towards the road. "We get out of this fucking storm and head south. Then we play it by ear," he said with irrefutable matter-of-factness.

She scoffed snidely. "Do you even know what the hell we're supposed to do? Who we're supposed to track down? Or are you going to just prowl around until you get lucky," she chided and crossed her arms to prevent her shivers from being so noticeable.

They were entering the main street of the town and he was heading towards the intersection where he had to veer off and head up towards the interstate entrance. "Your employer is some asshole called 'The Frenchman'; real fucking original," he remarked with a surly edge and added, "to get to him we have to find some pinhead named Basset, and after we find him we track down your asshole—!"

"Ay Dios mío," she hissed with exasperation, "First of all, wherever you're getting your intel from is subpar at best. If you stop so I can make a phone call we won't need to go around in all those fucking circles! Just listen for once and stop being such a stubborn jackass!"

Victor was ignoring her contumely with every ounce of patience he had as he made his way towards the interstate entrance only to find it blocked off by a sheriff cruiser and a deputy that was flagging him down. Victor growled irately and braked hard, practically sending Isabela to sprawl off the bench seat and forcing her to cling to his shoulder and arm for leverage.

Setting his jaw and glaring at her warningly, he rolled his window down for the jerk-off deputy. "Hey folks! Sorry to say ya'll have to head back to town and wait things out; a damn truck crashed against the barricade up on the highway and they're still clearing the lanes."

"How long will it be, officer?" Isabela piped in before Victor could open his mouth, earning her a crass glare that she poignantly ignored as she smiled dazzlingly at the deputy.

The man flushed, and not just from the cold. "W-Well ma'am, they estimate it'll take a couple hours more. They've been working on it since before dawn."

Victor's expression darkened with a murderous glint. Isabela dug her nails into his shoulder and leaned against him. "Aw, hun, we'll just have to go back to town then. Oh, would you know the nearest establishment that would be open and have a working telephone I could use, officer?" she inquired congenially, feeling Victor's ire flare as he glared at her and glanced at the ga-ga eyed deputy.

"Oh, yes I would! You just head right back down to the intersection, take a left back onto main street, and head over to the 24-hour emporium. The folks who run it are real hospitable to travelers stranded by the storm. They have a working phone that they'll allow you to use if you're a paying customer—!"

"Yeah sounds good, thanks," Victor cut in with a surly edge and shifted into reverse, skidding back and around towards the intersection. "Fucking pissant," he growled and hastily rolled up his window. He glared haughtily at Isabela who had slinked back towards her passenger door with an aloof air. "Real fucking cute. We don't have to take the highway; there's a few country roads I can take" he grumbled more to himself than to her as he started heading down north main street.

"Stop at the 24-hour emporium," she ordered simply and stared out the window, looking for the establishment in question.

"You're really asking for it, princess," he snarled viciously and drove down the street. The emporium was on his side, so he was hoping she wouldn't start bitching too much as they drove past it—

The sound of the car door opening and the flash of movement out of his peripheral vision made him stomp on the brakes and glimpse just as she rounded around the back of the car and sprinted agilely across the street towards the parking lot of the emporium.

"GODDAMMIT!" he roared and reached over to slam her door shut and drive after her.

Isabela cleared the street and sprinted through the piled snow into the parking lot and up to the rustic establishment. She breezed through the door and looked around for the telephone. Seeing it was locked up, she slinked through a group of customers towards the counter. A lovely blond woman was at the cash register while a tall and muscular man stacked the shelves just behind her. The cherub-faced woman looked up and saw her coming.

"Hello," Isabela greeted and rubbed her hands up and down her arms for warmth as the woman smiled and greeted her. "I was wondering if I may use your telephone?" she asked and got the attention of the tall man who came up to see if his wife needed help.

"Well we'd be happy to, miss, but we have a policy about letting paying customers use the phone," the man said as he scratched at his stubbled jawline.

"Oh," Isabela piped and mentally cursed. "I'm sorry, I don't have any money—"

"Is it an emergency?" the woman asked and pressed her hand on the small of her back. "Rob, let her use the phone real quick. We're not too busy," she cajoled to her husband and absently caressed the swell of her womb.

Just as the man felt caught between the gazes of the two women, his eye line went up over Isabela's head.

"She's with me, Rob," the deep rumble of his composed voice was directly behind her as the heavy hand clamped over her shoulder and herded her against his side. Isabela silently gritted her teeth as Victor leaned in and said loud enough for the other couple to hear, "If you'd waited for me, I would've told you that you left your wallet in the car, babe. But you're so impatient."

Isabela saw the quizzical look the other couple exchanged at the sinisterly sadistic undertone of his remark, so she seamlessly smiled and turned to lean up and plant a chaste kiss on Victor's lips. "Oh I know, hun, but you kept complaining so I figured I'd just come in and make a phone call," she affectionately beamed and caressed his furred cheek, giving him a tantalizing look. Victor looked taken aback.

"Hey, Vic. I take it this is who you were shopping for yesterday," Rob remarked jovially and snickered to his wife. "See, Camille? She's wearing the outfit you helped him pick out."

"Oh, yes I'm happy it all fit you just fine," the blonde smiled. "If you're together then Rob surely won't protest about you using the phone. Let me get the key," she stated and got the key ring from under the counter.

"Thank you," Isabela replied and fiddled with the lapels of Victor's coat while he shot her an irascible glare. "Sorry if Victor was trouble for you. Instead of waking me up to come with him yesterday, he decided to leave me behind while he ran errands," Isabela offered affectionately and felt his nails dig warningly into her shoulder.

"Oh it's no trouble, miss?"

"Isabela," she responded and shook Rob's hand and then his wife's as Victor looked skeptically dubious behind her. She rested her hand over the one gripping on her shoulder and squeezed, "Nice to meet you both. We were heading out of town and were stopped by the accident, so I thought I'd call my friend and let him know we'd be late," she explained. "Be right back," she gave Victor a peck on the lips and swiftly detached herself from his side to walk over to the phone booth with Camille.

He set his jaw and watched her and the pregnant frail walk and talk, peeved and turned on by her audaciousness.

"She's a pretty little number, Vic," Rob whistled and leant on his forearms over the counter to watch the two women. Victor grunted noncommittally and raised a brow. "How long you've been together?"

Victor didn't even glance at the other man, intently watching Isabela. "Not long enough," he replied, and the double meaning of his statement weighed on him.

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When Isabela hung up the phone, she shucked the booth door open and walked out. Camille waddled back over and locked the booth once she was done tidying up a display.

"You know, Victor has always unnerved me a bit, but seeing you two together made me realize he's just an intense guy," Camille confided to her with a silly smile. "He seems to really like you," she added and Isabela laughed.

"You think so?" she mused and glanced over at him. His gaze connected with hers. He was ruggedly handsome, a man sculpted out of muscle and brawn with a brooding essence he submerged under a wicked demeanor and a sadistic charm. Clad in black, he was the epitome of darkness—of the unpredictable and wild. He seemed to want to invoke death itself, to represent a primal force hidden in the flesh and blood of his being and channeled in the cold steel of his eyes.

"Yeah, you can tell in the way that he looks at you," Camille remarked and caught them staring at each other.

"I'm sure he looks at everyone like that," Isabela mused and smiled thoughtfully.

"Oh," Camille waved her modesty away, "he looks at everyone else like he wants to eat them or just laugh in their face. When he looks at you, he looks like he wants to keep you locked away like a princess in a tower and keep you all to himself—oh gosh, forgive me for being so blunt!" The woman fretted embarrassedly and absently caressed her womb.

Isabela looked at Camille and smiled. "Don't be. It's always nice to get an outside perspective…"

"You done?"

She glanced towards Victor and saw the surly tension around his eyes. "Yes—"

"Then let's get the fuck out of Dodge," he gruffly muttered and took her arm.

Isabela rolled her eyes and curled into his side, relishing in his furnace-like warmth. "It was nice meeting you, Camille. And I promise you: It's a girl," she said and waved as Victor nodded his terse goodbyes to the frail and her mate back at the register.

He'd caught the tail end of their conversation. It pissed him off that the little frail thought she could pick up on his intentions…let alone that she was pretty damned close to the mark.

They'd stalked back to his parked jeep through the snow. When they got to the driver's side, he grabbed and pinned her against the cold and wet door before lowering to be nose-to-nose with her.

"You pull a fucking stunt like that again, and I'll skin you," he snarled viciously.

Isabela grabbed fistfuls of his lapels and pulled him closer. "No, you ever try to compromise my goals again, and I'll castrate you," she hissed maliciously and kissed him.

He kissed her back and clawed his hands down her sides before pulling her against him. They kissed angrily until the snow that was gathering on their clothes and hair started melting and running down their skin and soaking through their clothes. It took all of Victor's willpower to yank the door open, shove her into the car and climb in after her without immediately jumping her bones.

He revved the engine on and pulled out of the parking lot while she hung on and gripped the side panel handlebar for leverage.

"There's a fucking diner down the road we're going to stop at. We'll eat and yer gonna tell me who the fuck you called and what you found out," he barked tersely and tried to adjust the hem of his fly so it wouldn't dig into him.

The interior was getting heavy with their scents and desires. "Fine, but from here on out, we do things my way. We've done it your way this far," she stated mildly and shuffled close to him for warmth. Her lips brushed his furred jaw when he turned a spiteful stare at her. "You'll like my way, Victor. I promise," she mused and burrowed her face into the side of his neck after winding her arms around his shoulders.

Victor growled under his breath and wound his arm around her, keeping her against his side as he drove. "You break that promise and I'll break you," he muttered against her ear, the viciousness empty from his husky tone.

                      _____________________________________

"—It's an alias he's been using for as long as he's worked for you. Everything about him is counterfeit; some of the best work I've seen, but nonetheless, 'Basset' is just a name. He's already dumped the alias and has moved to NYC. All signs point to him being a mutant. Would explain how the oversight could've slipped by…"

The Frenchman was an unscrupulous-looking arab pig, and if it was possible he looked like he was going to self-destruct from the information he'd just relayed.

"I want him dealt with. You deliver me his head, and I'll pay you a bonus," the livid man in the tuxedo snarled at the mercenary dressed in black sitting across from him in the limo. "Just have it done before the holiday. I don't want this lingering into the New Year," he ordered as he prepped a Cuban cigar.

"Fine. Any souvenirs you'd like besides the head?" the thick-skinned mutant inquired in a monotone.

"Just wipe him out—whoever or whatever he is! I want him annihilated for the mess he made of my plans. Use whatever methods you'd like. Just do it soon," he stated contumely and lit his cigar and buzzed his driver so he'd pull over. "You'll be paid once you deliver me the head," he stated with arrogant resolve and puffed on the cigar as the other man let himself out of the limo.

Jin Kazuya stood on the curb of the Rue Paradise and watched the stretch limo zoom down the street before casually walking the opposite way with his hands in his pockets. The frigid winter air didn't even bother him, nor did the fact that he stood out from the bundled up Parisian street traffic. He figured he had enough time to rent a girl for the hour and make the next red-eye to JFK, so he strolled to the closest broker club to get an innocent girl to have fun with. He'd wash off whatever was left of said girl, pay his tab, and head to the airport with his head totally on the routine job. The monotony of it all didn't bother him as much as it should, so he figured after he delivered the Frenchman his souvenir he'd consider heading back to Taiwan for some R&R.

Unbeknownst to Jin Kazuya, the monotony of his work would be as fleeting as his rented pleasure 24 hours from now.

                      _____________________________________

"Are you gonna eat that?" Victor asked after gulping down yet another cup of coffee, pointing to her sausage links with his fork.

She shuffled the plate to him and leant against the wall so she could watch him devour the meat. He ate with voracious appetite while she drummed her nails on the table and watched him.

"So are you going to make any comments, or are you waiting to get back into the car," she sardonically questioned, picking a piece of pink lint off of his shoulder.

He pushed the collection of empty plates away from him and sat back, draping his arm along the back of the booth seat they were sharing. "You seem to have it all figured out well enough," he mocked smoothly and took up the little free space between them as he got comfortable. "It's your show now, Izzie. I'm content to go along for the ride," he mused and leaned close to her to hiss leeringly, "cuz you know things'll change once this is over and dealt with."

She raised a delicate eyebrow at him and mused, "I take it you already have something in mind…"

"Oh, maybe something along the lines of an exotic animal kept in captivity and away from prying eyes, cuz the 'princess-in-a-tower' thing doesn't seem to suit you," he growled and chuckled when she had to press herself flush against the wall just to look up at him.

"I guess a woman's intuition is pretty accurate," she quipped.

"Not quite," he replied and dragged his claws down her clothed arm. She tried not to react to the stimulating touch, but failed as she shivered. "What else did you and the pregnant frail talk about? Tell her how I had to shop for you cuz I tore what little clothes you had off?" he husked against her temple and glanced at the fucking humans that were staring or pretending not to be glancing at them.

They'd been staring since they walked into the crowded diner. He was used to the stares, but after a few moments he realized they were mostly staring at her, as if wondering what she was doing with him. Most of the patrons were locals, so they were smart enough to divert their eyes once he shot them a glare, but a good handful were tourists or people passing through, so their curious and scrutinizing glances and stares were on them regardless of how intimidating he was. She seemed completely unfazed. Her gait and her poise was smooth and confident, her smile and her demeanor dazzling as they'd walked to the back of the diner to the last booth. The only time her veneer faltered was when he took her by the arm and ushered her into the seat facing the restaurant and slid in after her. She'd given him a haughty look, and he'd trailed his hand around her and down her shoulder, a show of his possession; he owned her, everyone knew she was his, even the little kids that had been herded into their chairs and hushed to not stare. The waitress had taken one look at him and then darted a worried look at the woman boxed in with him, and automatically known she wasn't human—must've been her long pointed nails or her preternatural eyes. He loved to see the look on a human's face when they realized a mutant was in their mist, let alone two mutants. The fear and apprehension flooded the air like the gush of an air freshener. Most of the patrons could sense that they were predators—were unnerved by how imposing and intimidating he was while she acted like a poised goddess with an amiable smile.

He was overt while she was covert. The contradiction was confusing, and the only thing keeping people in check from staring too long or sneering at them.

"That didn't come up, at least not quite," she answered and drummed her nails on the counter again. His eyes focused on her again, and she smiled. "She asked why I didn't have any clothes, so I said that I flew in during the storm and the airline lost my bag," she remarked and added, "she apologized for only having these tacky clothes in the shop, and told me you had laughed when she picked out the shirt."

He snickered and flashed a grin. "I thought she was gonna have a seizure" he chuckled. "How d'you know it'll be a girl?" he asked and leaned on the table to idly scrape at a chip in the wood.

She watched him start carving idly into the counter as she spoke, "I've had a lot of practice…it's all in a woman's scent. Ferals can smell when a woman's pregnant even when she isn't showing. Their scent gets overly ripe, like fruit that's about to spoil," when he grunted in agreement, she added, "the baby's scent starts showing in the mother's after the sixth month. The closest thing I can compare it to is burnt cinnamon for a girl and a tart musk for a boy. Must be because of the levels of testosterone or estrogen," she shrugged.

Glancing away from the spiral pattern he'd just finished carving with his index claw, he said, "So she smelled sweet."

"Yes. It's hard to sift out, but after a short little millennia, it gets very perceivable," she mused and took a drink from her coffee cup.

He stared impassively at her and sat back. She looked at the doodles he'd carved into the counter and snickered. A few spirals and a happy face were permanently etched in the wood. She caressed her fingertips over them and traced the happy face with the tip of her index talon.

"You're only giving them more reason to stare you know," she murmured.

He huffed derisively at that. Just when he wondered if she could be oblivious to it, she proved that she was hyperaware of everything and just didn't show it. She didn't acknowledge anything unless she wanted to.

"Haven't done anything yet," he growled sadistically and leaned in. "But I could give these pissants a real show," he husked and tipped her chin up with his deft fingers, "S'been a while since I've fucked in public."

Isabela squeezed his wrist and closed her eyes against the sensations all around her: the smells, the stares, his enticing heat, his scintillating scent, and the primal shudder that buzzed through her. When she opened her eyes again, Victor saw the heat in her frondy depths and it made his cock swell in the confines of his jeans. She smiled, able to practically taste his desire while he pawed his hand down her thigh and kneaded his way back up under the table. Isabela countered by pulling his hand away from gripping her chin so she could lean in and brush her lips against his.

"And it's going to be a while longer," she purred against his lips and smiled when he smirked lasciviously at her.

A flash went off in front of them and they both turned blinking eyes at the source of the bright light. A girl with big brown eyes, pigtails, and a crooked smile still held her Polaroid camera up as the picture whirred out of the slot. Her mother had gone to the restroom so the precocious girl had peered over the back of her booth to watch the interesting couple canoodle.

She giggled when she pulled the picture and watched it develop. "That's a funny shot!" she piped and directed her big brown eyes at Isabela then to Victor. The surprise had dissipated from the exotic woman's face while his remained a glowering dark scowl. The little girl seemed unfazed as she looked over her shoulder and saw her mother coming back. "Here! Before my mommy sees," she confided and lurched over the chair, pressed the picture down on their table and clambered back into her seat just before her mother could catch her.

The harried mother collected her daughter quickly and dragged her away by her hand while the little girl turned her head back and waved at them. Victor looked angrily bewildered that he clearly wasn't scary enough for the kid before noticing that Isabela was waving back with a sly little smile.

She snatched the picture up and looked at it. "Quite the little photographer," she mused and showed him the picture.

He plucked it out of her fingers with the tips of his claws and glowered at the image. If it weren't for her brilliant preternatural eyes and his wicked fangs, they'd look like any other couple. Her lips were pursed in an amused smile, her eyes sultrily looking into his while he smirked debonairly with more than savage desire twinkling in his eyes. Victor snorted and shoved the picture into the interior pocket of his coat. "What're the logistics?" he grumbled instead and directed a sharp look at the waitress for the check.

Isabela smirked and squeezed his muscular thigh affectionately. "Drive west to the biggest city. We'll be on a jet before the day's out," she replied simply and shuffled out of the booth once he paid the check. The staring followed them right out to the door, compounded by the fact that Victor had snaked his arm around her waist and had possessively led her out with a gloating look in his eyes. She rolled her eyes at him when they were back in the car. "I know it must be real frustrating not to be able to scratch 'Property of Victor Creed' all over me, but do you have to act like I'm your plaything?" she sighed and fiddled with the radio as he drove them towards the entrance to the interstate.

"What're you talking about," he chuckled, "I was just trying to keep you warm."

She shot him a cynical look. "Sure. Short of marking your territory on me," she mused and started to shiver.

Victor grunted with humor and reached over to grab her arm and pull her over as he drove. She gasped when he pressed her against his side and held her there by clamping his hand around her shoulder and onto her right breast. "I hate seeing a woman shiver, especially if it isn't from something I did," he chuckled sinisterly and squeezed her breast.

She huffed and tried getting comfortable by shrugging his heavy hand away and curling into his side. His scent was spiced with arousal and smugness, so she pressed her palm over his crotch as she adjusted herself next to him. His intake of breath was sharp and through his nose. "Oops, forgive me," she mocked prettily and buried her nose against the spot just under his jaw. "Ah, much better. You're so warm, cub," she murmured against his neck before sighing contentedly.

"Nothing's stopping me from pulling over and fucking you in the snow, Izzie," he warned hotly as he drove and she wound her arms around his torso.

"I know, and I'm sure you could keep me very warm regardless, Victor," she sighed and he felt her soft lips brush his pulse before she relaxed against him.

Damn straight.

                      _____________________________________

They'd driven straight through to the nearest metropolitan city. Isabela had dozed most of the way, snuggled against his side. It was a habit of hers to seek a heat source when she slept, and Victor was a virtual furnace of body heat. He liked it, and he was perturbed that the novelty of it all was becoming something he thoroughly wanted. He shouldn't like it. Not that he liked the sentimentality or the gushy airy fairy fulfillment of having her in his arms; of enjoying the warmth of her kisses and her soft gaze, and her smiles and playful hands. Those were just…a bonus of having the ferocious woman all for himself—he shouldn't like the attachment that all of it created.

His instincts had never involved possessiveness, at least not entirely. He'd been possessive of his brotherhood—of Jimmy. But that was a possessiveness garnered by blood ties, by their shared natures and the nurturing and protection he'd given to his brother. He'd been protective of Jimmy, so much so that he'd alienated him somehow, scared him off because he'd sacrificed for Jimmy until all he had was his instincts, his rage, and his bloodlust. But at the end of the day, everything he did for Jimmy had been in a vain and callous sense of protectiveness, but protectiveness nonetheless.

What he felt towards Isabela was different. He wanted to possess her—wanted to keep her and make her his because he could have her without worrying about breaking her or driving her away. She was the ultimate prize: a creature like him, permanent and ferocious. Unlike Jimmy, she embraced the animal and shared his predatory gusto. He could make attachments to her, no matter how irrational and foolhardy it was. He knew he could make her happy—make her his. But the risks left him wary, not just because he'd have to force her into submission but because in order to do so he'd have to compromise with himself—with the animal.

As they left his car in a secure parking complex, Victor fought the urge to grab her hand; to pull her against him or just keep her at his side. He was conflicted, and it pissed him off. Bottom line was, he didn't know the difference between wanting her and having her; of whether he wanted to own her as his mate or selfishly keep her as his peerless plaything. She was his equal, but he didn't think in those terms. He wanted her, but didn't know how he would have her. It made him feel tangled up between his urges, instinct, and determination. It all came down to the possessive reciprocity between them. Her words came undone like a ribbon. I'm tired of wondering, of traveling the world and finding nothing—no one else. In all my wanderings, all I've come to know of myself is that I'm a predator…

Before he knew it, they had entered an austere building with no distinguishing façade. Isabela walked up to the concierge podium that was in front of the elevators and spoke fluent Portuguese to the stout-looking man at the station. He looked at her a little quizzically before looking over at Victor.

The tall feral kept his expression implacably cool while the man looked back at Isabela and asked for something. She must've dropped an important name, cuz the guy snapped to attention and nodded, going to the elevator and inserting his key to open it for them. She glanced at Victor and strutted into the elevator. He scoffed and followed closely, looming over her as the elevator door whirred closed and started descending.

"These tacky clothes are getting in my way," she huffed sardonically and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

He grabbed her hand before it descended and brought it to his lips. "Then let's get you out 'em," he purred and pulled her against him as he nipped the heel of her hand and licked the healing wound.

"Oh, we will," she announced and nuzzled his throat just before the elevator dinged and the doors opened on an underground parking garage.

Isabela breezed out of his grasp while Victor looked curiously at their surroundings. Just outside of the elevator was a well dressed guy who stood as if he was a sentinel waiting for a command.

"Something sleek and red, please," Isabela ordered simply. The man nodded and went on his way down a corridor tucked out of sight. She turned when Victor grunted. He looked intrigued, but nothing else as he pulled her over to his side and pressed his fingers against the base of her spine, a possessive and affectionate gesture of dominance.

He was growing on her. The more they were together, the more she found herself seeking him out, and not just for his warmth. Somehow, it had become a comfort to be in his arms, which wouldn't have resonated so strongly with her if it only involved sex. But their car ride had been the most calming moment between them. Like her, he enjoyed the silence that would reign, useless chatter unnecessary and banal compared to the comfort of another's presence. It was a comfortable quiet that was so soothing and satiating that nothing much mattered, save for the heat of his body and the pulse of his heartbeat.

She loved being in his arms-loved when he enveloped her in his possessive embraces that even he didn't comprehend the meaning of.

When a sleek and crimson 1978 Ferrari revved up a ramp and taxied in front of them, Isabela detached herself from his side and walked around to the driver's side. She thanked the valet and slid in. Victor got in and huffed at the slight crampness of the passenger's seat before he got situated.

"Lucky I'm not claustrophobic," he grumbled.

Isabela smirked, revved the engine and took off, racing through the underground lot before going up to the surface ramp. Victor absently grabbed the door handle and held on as she drove with the grace of Formula 1 racer with no regard for the speed limit or the rest of traffic.

She cleared the freeway and careened into the swanky side of the city in less than 5 minutes, parking the Ferrari by the curb of a lavish looking boutique. They got out of the car and Victor popped the kinks out of his shoulders by rolling them back. He noticed the no parking sign and raised a brow at her.

"Government tags," she replied and pointed at the seal on the windshield and on the license tag before strutting into the boutique.

Victor followed her in and immediately felt out of place. All the delicate displays and racks and the pristine white of fabrics and pastels made him want to lurk right back out into the dreary afternoon outside. Isabela must've sensed as much, cuz she grabbed his wrist and held him to her side, flexing her fingers around his pulse just as a man dressed head to toe in Hugo Boss came over to greet her like she was royalty.

"Signorina 'Bella! It's been too long," the dapper man with a Mediterranean accent greeted and practically ushered them in as he trailed a covert glance up and down Victor. "Please, come to the showroom! I have some lovely things I've kept just for you. Would you and your gentleman care for some champagne?"

"A glass for me, Renoir, and a Heineken for him," Isabela replied and followed the man to the guest showroom.

Victor grunted at that, not sure how he felt about her speaking for him. Any displeasure was squashed when she turned a sultry look back at him and reached for his hand again. He took it and sunk the tips of his claws into the back of her hand, marking her for only a few seconds. She squeezed his hand with affection and her sultry look darkened hotly. Something told him she didn't extend such gestures too often, if at all to anyone else, and that made him savagely proud. He then realized that like him, most of her suitors probably didn't live too long to begin with, let alone to get such a personal side of her.

Victor enjoyed watching her. She was so fucking confident, so statuesque and regal but absolutely alluring. She governed respect, even when dressed like a silly snow bunny. Especially with men. They watched her like she was an oasis in an arid desert, treated her like she was a goddess incarnate, and that's all without her rapture pheromone. Men wanted to cater to her just for the privilege of her gaze.

It made him itch with jealousy. His smirk was biting as they sat on an opulent alabaster couch and sipped on their drinks while the guy went to fetch the garments. "Permanent rapture for this guy, huh," he muttered before taking a long drink of his beer.

Isabela pursed her lips comically at him. "Are you jealous, Victor?" she mocked prettily and sidled close to him just before his ire could rise, purring, "if anyone should be jealous it's me."

He cocked his head to the side in confusion just as the guy came back in with racks and racks of clothes. "These were all the rage in Milan during fashion week. I think the rich palette will work beautifully with your complexion," the man in the tailored suit said as he wheeled the rack of fall colors towards the pedestal in front of the mirror.

Isabela walked towards the curtained dressing room and waved at the man reassuringly. "I trust your judgment, Renoir. Just get me out of these goddamned clothes," she affably chuckled as she pulled off the ugly pink sweater and tossed it to the floor.

Renoir wrinkled his nose and made a grand gesture of disgust. "I was trying so hard not to say something nasty, signorina," he snickered and started going through the rack. "Who dressed you in such a god awful Appalachian mess?" he lulled sarcastically in his Italian accent as he picked a dress out and inspected it.

"I did," Victor announced with a snide grin.

The man practically tripped over himself when he looked back at the surly Adonis dressed in black on the white couch. The intimidating feral watched the blood leech out of the man's face as he stammered an apology and stared at his claws, as if seeing them for the first time.

"Stop picking on Renoir, Victor. He's right and you know it. I look like I fell into a bargain bin at the Salvation Army," she quipped from behind the curtain and waved the man over.

Victor snorted. "Dress her in something that'll be easy to take off, and I'll let the transgression slip," he smirked and cracked his knuckles before lounging with his hands interlocked behind his head. The guy stared a bit before handing Isabela the outfit and excusing himself.

Victor growled. The guy didn't smell right. Apprehensive, yeah, but something else…

The curtain snapped open to reveal Isabela clad in a mini dress with gathered bust and asymmetrical bottom hem in a deep burgundy. His mouth watered at the sight. She strutted to the pedestal and stood on it, admiring herself in the triple mirrors. "God…" she admonished under her breath and kept looking at herself in the mirror.

"Don't tell me yer gonna say you don't like it," Victor drawled tersely and raked his gaze up her curvaceous body appreciatively.

"Oh no, the dress is lovely. It's Renoir," she snickered and turned to look at him. "You must be his type," she smirked as she started undoing the strap behind her neck.

"Ah hell," Victor sneered and darted a dirty look at the door as he stood up and prowled towards her. "Hurry the hell up then, before I gut the fruitcake," he growled against her shoulder and dragged his claws down her back.

She shivered and gave him a chiding glare in the mirror. "You'll do no such thing! And don't rush me. I need a little luxury after slumming it with you," she teased and turned around to face him, smiling at the fact that she was an inch taller than him standing on the pedestal.

He caressed his hands up her thighs and around to cup her ass under the dress. "You spoiled bitch," he grinned nastily and tugged dangerously on the fabric of her panties with his claws, "You forget whose gonna pay for this sexy little dress?"

She leaned into him so her cleavage was just below his chin. "I haven't picked a dress yet," she purred and stepped off the pedestal, slipping down his body purposely before wrapping her arms around his neck. "And who said you'd be paying?"

He wanted to fuck the hell out of her. Right then and there—against the fucking mirrors even, and she knew it. He was damned sure she wanted him to by how mouth watering her scent was.

"I got a gorgeous pair of Italian leather that'd look perfect on you signori—oh, didn't mean to interrupt!" the man walked in on them practically eye-fucking each other and up against each other.

He blushed and was relieved when Isabela detached herself from Victor and took the boots from him. "Oh Renoir, these are exquisite. Do you have something a little sleeker for me to wear?"

"Oh yes! There was one dress I pulled that I thought you'd love," he stated and went to the rack, pulling a backless matte jersey knot-front dress with a slit up the left thigh. "It's just short enough to look wonderful with the boots, and the sangria color will bring out the warm tones of your eyes and skin. Radiant," he consulted with flare and whisked her back to the dressing room, avoiding Victor's scrutinizing gaze. "But I must say, signorina, that black nail polish will detract from the look," he said and got in the dressing room to help her put the backless dress on.

"Now you know it's my signature, Renoir. Black goes with everything," she chuckled and followed him out of the dressing room to stand on the pedestal again. "Oh, this is it," she purred approvingly and posed in the high heeled boots. Renoir adjusted the hemline at the small of her back and smoothened out the lines along her hips. Victor growled, not liking the idea that another man—fruitcake or not—had his hands on his viper. "What do you think, Victor," he looked at her playful gaze in the mirror.

Forgetting the other man, he unabashedly growled, "I'm sure it'll look just as good on the floor."

Renoir coughed and excused himself to get a fetching coat for her ensemble, leaving the two ferals to size each other up. Isabela was the first to break eye contact when she strutted to the dressing room. "I'll try something else then," she mused and went to shut the curtain.

Victor stalked over and held it open. "If this is an exercise on my patience, I don't fucking like it," he growled and trailed a sharp claw along her jaw and down her throat, cutting into her skin and watching the grove mend shut without a single drop of blood. "I already wanna tear this fucking dress off of you, and you know it," he purred.

Isabela's gaze grew dark with desire. "You tear it, you buy it," she purred back and pulled him into the dressing room.

Victor chuckled darkly and jerked the curtain closed as they tangled against each other in a heat of nips, pawing, and kisses that quickly grew hot and heavy after hours of pent-up sexual tension.

                      _____________________________________

Bezu was irritated that his trip was delayed one more day. He was growing tired of the cold and gloomy weather in Manhattan and wanted to be in the warm heat of the Caribbean. He wouldn't leave without all of his money, though.

His money had been at the laundry for a few days now, so he figured one more day wouldn't hurt. He planned on spending his last night in NYC in style, and told his contact as much before heading to the Tavern on the Green. Bezu was at ease for the first time in years, feeling untouchable and uncaring of his ignorance to the developments he left behind with Basset.

Little did he know that a night out on the town would bring his world crashing down.

                      _____________________________________

Victor had been glowering since they left the boutique. If he hadn't been absolutely sure that Isabela would've ripped out his throat for killing the interloping fairy he would've gutted him with satisfaction. After the guy had walked in on them for a second time and looked absolutely scandalized, Isabela had put a stop on the foreplay.

He'd glared at the fucker all the way out of the boutique, while Isabela had tried appeasing him with her affectionate touches and provocative glare.

"Stop sulking, cub," she chided mockingly as she drove towards the airport.

"Oh, keep talking like that. As soon as we're alone, I'm gonna fuck that hot mouth of yours," he growled, making a show of cupping his crotch and rubbing the painful bulge in his jeans.

She smiled at him. It made his blood boil with desire and exasperation.

She pulled into the security gate for the airport's private tarmac and was immediately allowed entrance without any inquiry. "I hope you've flown on a jet before. It can be a jarring experience otherwise," she stated as she sped down towards a plane hanger.

He thought of Lagos; remembered how airsick Jimmy got.

He grunted when the private jet came into view. She parked a few yards away from the jet's disembarked staircase and left the keys in the ignition as she got out of the car. Victor followed her and met her around the front of the car. A uniformed valet came up and greeted them, informing Isabela of the flight itinerary and telling her they were on schedule for takeoff before signaling another valet to take her car. She approved and pulled her jacket's collar closed as she ascended the stairs with Victor close behind. He was observing everything, watching and taking everything in. His viper was clearly a well-connected jetsetter with an impressive network of resources and amazing skills. It turned him on to watch everyone cater to her AND him, even when they saw his claws and fangs. They just behaved in the most routine way, extending the same courtesies and accommodations as they would any blue blood or government official.

They took their coats and served them drinks—which she ordered for the both of them again—and the pilot came out to greet her personally.

"My employer wants to assure you that the arrangements have been made for your travels and wants you to know he is waiting for your phone call. Please feel free to use our private line and if you need anything, buzz the cockpit and we'll be at your service," the man with the eastern european drawl imparted before nodding and heading back to the pilot's chair.

Victor took a long drink of his bourbon and eyed her sharply. He was lounging on a plush chair across from her while she sat with her legs crossed on the couch. Leaving his glass in the cup holder, he prowled towards her. Isabela coyly slinked away from him when he sat on the couch and the cushion dipped her towards him.

"We haven't even taken off," she murmured when he pulled her over to him and pawed his hands down her body.

"Like I give a fuck," he growled against her throat and pinched her nipple through her dress. She gasped and craned away from his voracious mouth before he could sink his fangs into her neck.

In a flash of movement she was sitting on the opposite side of the table that was between another chair and the couch. She picked up the phone and pressed a direct line. Victor growled and clambered towards her. Isabela hissed a warning and braced her Italian leathered-foot against his shoulder. He chuckled and picked her up before slamming her down on the couch and pressing over her. She miraculously was able to keep the phone to her ear while they jostled playfully and kissed ravenously until a click rang on the other end of the line.

She pulled away from their kiss and answered in Russian the greeting from the other line. Victor eyed her mischievously, pulling her taut against him so he could feast on her exposed skin. She inhaled a quick breath when he exposed a breast and rasped his tongue over the studded nipple.

"Da," she confirmed and tried to keep her voice level while Victor caused havoc on her hypersensitive skin. His hand went up her skirt and made her blush from the onslaught. The jet was taxing to the runaway, and any minute they would be in the air, so she pushed him back onto the other end of the couch, hiked her dress up, and climbed onto his lap. "You're trying my fucking patience, Uri. Since you were the one who acted as de Lioncourt's reference, I thought it would be good for you to get on my good side, lest I start to wonder if you were part of it as well," she snarled with a cutthroat business tone. "Good. Oh no, of course not, Uri. If I really did suspect you, you'd be dead right now," she sneered into the phone and ground her hips down over Victor's lap.

He growled his approval and smirked lasciviously. "Get off the fucking phone," he ordered and lengthened his claws before dragging them dangerously close to tearing her dress open.

She scowled when the Russian asked about the other man he'd heard. "Since when has that been any of your business," a pause, "Aha, yes Uri, I know you pledge your loyalty and services, I get it. It's the smart thing to do, and since I don't think you're a fucking moron I know all of this already. Just do what we talked about and I'll handle the rest. We're about to take off—I'll call you," she rolled her eyes and slapped Victor's hands away from possibly tearing her dress. "For the love of Christ, Uri, stop stammering! I've got to go. Yes, the crew is very accommodating!—Dasvidania!" she huffed and ended the call.

She scampered off of Victor's lap to hang up the phone just as they were about to take off. Once it was safe to walk around the cabin, Isabela stood and fixed her dress.

"You're positively impetuous!" she grumbled and waved him away when he laughed at her. "He probably thinks I'm losing it" she protested and stalked towards the bar to pour herself another glass of merlot.

"Like I fucking care," he chuckled and prowled after her, taking the glass out of her hand and leaving it on the counter so he could back her into the closest surface. "How long do I have to fuck you senseless?" he inquired viciously as he ground against her.

She gasped. "A few hours," she murmured and kissed him. "Come," she grabbed his hand and pulled him towards then enclosed quarters of the cabin.

"That's the idea, sugar," he growled in her ear when she opened the sliding door and revealed a posh room with a round bed under some strategically positioned spotlights.

She hummed musingly under her breath and turned in his arms and started working the buttons of his dress shirt undone. "Well then. Tell me, Victor," she murmured against his lips as she pulled the shirt off and started working his undershirt up his sculpted torso, purring "Have you ever been to the mile high club?" after pulling the shirt off and pushing him onto the bed as the door slid closed behind them.

____________________

Read Chapter 7: Violent Delights

The songs I used were "Somebody to Love" by Jefferson Airplane and "Carry On" by Crosby Stills Nash and Young.

Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving a comment and sharing your feedback. I would be eternally grateful.

[furious-rogue-stuff]

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 4: Sighing Ecstasy

Pairing: Victor Creed x Isabela Montecristo | Sabertooth x Vipress

Disclaimer: This series will have canon-accurate and heightened levels of violence, adult themes, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and graphic descriptions of sex. *Post-Origins movieverse.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word count: 12,000+

Series Summary: Victor Creed's reputation as the Sabertooth proceeds him. He clashes with a mysterious feral woman, an enigma and anomaly to everything he knows. What began as a hunt becomes a dance between like-minded predators.

🚨Warning: Explicit sex, adult situations, implied rape, graphic imagery, feral power play, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and a pinch of angst. I do not own any aspect or character of the Marvel Universe nor elements of the X-Men Origins movieverse.

A Feral Interlude Masterlist

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 4: Sighing Ecstasy

He slowly began to stir awake, his drowsy grunt muffled against the pillow when he reached over and only caught a bundle of furs and a stray pillow in his grip instead of the warm curvaceous body he'd expected. Victor was instantly awake, sitting up in his bed with a surly growl. Running sharp claws through his cropped hair as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, he tried to quell the anger that rose in his chest.

She's still here, jackass.

As a matter of fact, he could hear her moving in the kitchen. He could also smell the delectable scents of seared bacon and all sorts of other flavors wafting in the air. His momentary anxiety of not finding her in his bed was washed away, dismissed as a stupid flare of possessiveness as he stretched leisurely, popping the kinks out of his back and yawning despite himself.

Grabbing a pair of dark grey sweatpants, Victor pulled them on and padded barefoot towards the double doors, when he noticed the fire had gone out. He also noticed that the heaps of clothes were gone. Walking out to the living room, he found that the disaster zone it was the night before was gone. Every piece of furniture was righted and the lights were on. It was gloomily dreary outside, the snow still coming down in thick clusters that obscured even the trees that lined his property. The fire in the hearth was low, but it kept most of the room warm as he followed the delicious smells that wafted out of the kitchen.

He strode in quietly, catching her with her back to the doorway as she tended to the stove.

She was humming a jaunty tune under her breath, something that reminded him of the radio days. On the counter next to the sink was a huge beef sirloin roast that was defrosting on a baking sheet. The domesticity of the scene made him question whether he was still out of it or not.

His eyes honed in on her hourglass form, however. It wasn't everyday Victor Creed woke up to find a frail in his kitchen, humming lightheartedly and cooking up a storm, let alone one so goddamned hot who was wearing one of his thermal sweaters. The rust-red sweater dwarfed her, hanging off her shoulders and clinging in all the right places. Her long hair was cascading down her back just a few inches short of the small of her back, the lusciousness of the dark mane gleaming when the kitchen light caught it. The oven dinged, and she seamlessly moved a pan over, turned the stove off, and opened the oven, bending over to reach for the casserole. The fact that she reached for the hot cast iron cookery without mittens didn't seep into his thoughts, not with her gorgeous ass clad in her panties peeking at him before she straightened and shut the oven.

She placed the casserole on the back of the stove top before tending to a frying pan sizzling with thick strips of bacon. Humming, she fished the bacon out of the grease and onto a paper towel-covered plate. She knew he was there, standing at the door and watching her with veiled skepticism. He smelled warm and put off, unsure of what to do and not liking it one bit. She continued to sashay from the sink to the stove as if unaware he was there while she mixed the ingredients for the beef hash to simmer in a cast iron pan and reached for another frying pan.

Her hand brushed his instead of the pan's handle. She snickered when he pressed in behind her, his hand caressing up her arm as he pressed his nose against her temple and nuzzled her. For a moment she didn't know what he was going to do, until he dipped his head and bit the slope of her neck, worrying her skin between his teeth while his hands pawed up her waist to tease her nipples through the sweater. She arched back, sighing into his arms.

The top of her head was only level to his collarbones, even when she stood on the tips of her toes. It turned him on to still be physically imposing over her; to feel her pressed against him. She wasn't built like most of the female mutants he'd met. They were often lean and athletically built; a consequence of high metabolisms and mediocre healing factors. Isabela was shaped like a nimble dancer, statuesque in frame as if she'd been sculpted out of corporeal marble. Her form was deceptively luscious, the perfect vessel for a predator like her. Disarmingly beautiful. Preternaturally lethal.

"This is the third time you take my things, viper," he husked against her jaw and let his nails lengthen to bite through the sweater at the supple mounds of her breasts. "Ever heard of asking for something?" he sardonically condescended, clutching her against him by dragging his palms down her body.

"Now isn't that hypocritical, coming from the man who took me captive and whisked me away to his cabin? Not to mention the man who stole my panties," she mused humorously and tilted her head to glance provocatively at him with a raised brow.

He snorted and nudged his head against hers in a show of dominant affection. "What can I say? To the Victor go the spoils, viper. I figure I can take anything I want if it's in my house," he derisively mused with a smirk.

His meaning was clear: she was his property. Amused, Isabela nuzzled his mutton-chopped cheek before going back to tend to the food cooking on the stove, even with him still pressed against her.

"Sit. I'm going to make eggs. You can have some casserole in the meanwhile," she remarked as she picked up the casserole and turned in his arms, purposely grazing against the bulge in his sweatpants and staring up into his stormy crystalline eyes.

He huffed cynically and smiled sharply, "Trying to butter me up with food and sex isn't going to get you out of here, Izzie."

Her features only betrayed a pinch of anger, but her eyes darkened with fury. "You think I cooked all of this just for you? I'm absolutely famished. So," she successfully maneuvered him to unconsciously step back towards the table before yanking the chair out for him and placing the casserole down, ordering crisply, "Sit and enjoy."

He blinked down at the chair, then at the casserole before snickering at her back. "I like it when you get feisty. It's going to be so much fun to push your buttons, sweetheart. Might as well drop the ice queen bit and get comfortable," he remarked with sinister affability and dropped into the chair, leaning back in it with his hands clasped behind his head to leer at her.

"Oh Victor, we both know you're not patient enough to keep a plaything around for too long," she mused aloofly as she kept her back to him and cracked several eggs into a large bowl. "You don't have the attention span" she baited before adding, "and I'm not some little Vietnamese girl that you can rape and toss away like a broken doll."

The ire rose in him, scalding and brisk as it flared like a wildfire under his skin. He was on his feet and cornering her against the sink when she turned around to meet his rancorous glare. The skillet sizzled on the stove as he grabbed her slender throat and pinned her between him and the counter.

He squeezed her neck and her breath hitched, but she didn't betray any discomfort as he shook her and barked, "I can tear you apart! Keep you in agony for the rest of eternity because you can't brake like a fucking doll! All the suffering you've ever been through will pale in comparison to the absolute torture I can put you through. The next time you fucking talk to me like that there won't be anything left for you to heal," he paused and dug his claws into her skin while she remained still and unflinching. His rage crackled inside him, ripping a snarl out of him as he slammed her back against the counter hard enough for the wood to sag and crack. "I'll be such a fucking surgeon that even you won't get off on the pain," he seethed through his teeth before letting go.

Victor loomed over her, daring her to say something. Her eyes remained on his as she reached her fingertips to his jaw. He didn't expect the gesture, so he grabbed her hand before she could touch him, his jaw set and nostrils flaring angrily. He couldn't read the stoic expression that arrested her fine features, and her scent grew heavy when she jerked her hand free and placed it palm flat over his bare chest, pressing soothingly over his thumping heart. The air was buzzing with energy when she suddenly tilted her head back and regarded him with a dazzling gaze.

"I have no doubt you could do all that and more, Victor," she stated serenely before smiling. "How do you like your eggs?"

His eyes intensified, anger crinkling his mouth from how disarming she was. When he hesitated, she sidled nimbly towards the stove and poured the eggs onto the skillet before he even knew what to say.

"Don't be mad, Victor. Spoils the appetite. I don't want all this food to go to waste…and I'd like the company without you glaring daggers at me," she spoke casually, her tone soft and soothing without sounding like he was being cooed at.

He stared at her profile, taking in the soft curve of her cheekbone and the slope of her shoulder as she cooked before he yanked a drawer open, fished out some utensils, and stalked to the table.

"Scrambled's fine."

She dipped her head and betrayed a small smile, proceeding to scramble the eggs. In a few minutes, she was serving him a heaping plate loaded with eggs, bacon, and beef hash.

"All you have is beer to drink," she mused as she opened the fridge and got an icy bottle, popped the cap off with her thumbnail, and placed it in front of him.

"All I need," Victor answered broodingly as he eyed her and took a swig of the beer, washing down the delicious food.

She made a noncommittal noise as she filled a glass with tap water and served herself before sitting next to him at the table. He watched her eat daintily but with gusto before he took another bite of his own food. His sweater slipped off her shoulder, and Victor was unnerved by the sudden urge to touch her skin. Part of him wanted to dig into the flesh and peel it back, while another part of him wanted to lick her from cunt to mouth. Her scent wasn't helping the dueling impulses.

"There's more if you're still hungry," she stirred him from his sadistic thoughts. His gaze intensified on her again before he shoved his plate across the table at her. She acquiescently took it and went to the stove, serving what was left before returning to sit next to him. She placed the plate in front of him. Victor grabbed her wrist before she withdrew it and pulled her closer, causing the chair to scrape audibly from the shift and surprise to light up her eyes. He brought her wrist to his mouth, watching her challengingly as he bit down on her pulse and suckled.

She sighed at the heat of his mouth, shutting her eyes as his tongue laved at her healing wound before it dragged into her palm to trace the lines of her hand, savoring the velvety texture of her skin and the electricity her taste left dancing on his tongue. Isabela sighed and shifted in her chair, brushing her knee against his thigh. He bit hard into the heel of her palm before sitting back, watching her with smoldering eyes as he dragged a claw up her forearm.

"I'm not letting you go, you know that," he suddenly growled, digging his claw into her skin and dragging a gash into her soft skin before it mended.

Her eyes intensified, but not with anger. He couldn't read the heat that radiated in her frondy depths, even as the russet rings around her pupils seemed to glow at him. "Do you know what you're referring to anymore?" she asked as a response, the question a soft murmur that raked her to even voice.

His brow furrowed. "The fuck you talking about," he growled, "I mean you're stuck here. You're not leaving here no matter what tricks you pull. Hell, I fucking like your tricks so far; keeps things spontaneous," he chuckled the last statement and flashed a leering fang at her.

He was emanating sheer heat, his body as hot as a stoked furnace. When he touched her, the heat of his pulse seeped into her skin, making her want to claw into his arms and cling to the fire that burned him from the inside out. His eyes twinkled mischievously at her even when his pearly whites weren't flashing menacingly at her. Sometimes his smile was enough to disarm her. It was wolfish and malicious, but somehow still endearingly entrancing. He made her impulses rage with desire, something she hadn't felt since she escaped into the rainforest.

She pursed her lips to soften her sneer. "Over a hundred years old and you still think with your dick," she muttered sarcastically with a smile, pulling her arm away and taking her dishes to the sink.

"I distinctly remember a sexy little viper telling me how I couldn't rape the willing," he snickered as he pulled the casserole over and shoved a fork into it, "funny how my dick was appreciated then…and last night."

When she turned to glare at him, he had a lopsided smirk as he chewed a mouthful of ground beef casserole. She puffed a gush of air and the amusement out of her tone as she leaned against the sink and remarked offhandedly, "I've had better."

Victor stopped chewing and dropped his fork to clatter on the table. The chair protested when he shoved it back and looked over at her. "Oh, I doubt that," he tersely spat, not bothering to wipe the meaty juice that dripped from the corner of his mouth down to his chin.

Her lips slowly curled into a smirk, and it suddenly dawned on him that she was teasing him. Sometimes she had such a cool and fluid tone that it was hard to tell if she was serious or not. She had a serious poker face too, probably the best he'd ever come across. She was infuriating and arousing, sometimes at the same time.

She slinked over to him, leaning on the table before she dipped a finger into the casserole and brought it to her mouth, suckling on the digit and humming at the tastiness. "For someone that likes to tease so much, you really can't take it, can you?" she purred playfully.

"No one's usually stupid enough to tease me," he muttered cockily, lounging in the chair and giving her a cynical look.

"Ah," she spoke, picking up the casserole and setting it away on the counter just behind him. He resisted the urge to turn and track her movements. Arousal clung in the air, and it was a mutual desire no matter how much he wanted to deny it. She managed to turn him on with the simplest word or gesture, and it only compounded his resolve to keep her caged up in his cabin.

Her hands came to rest on his bare and broad shoulders before trailing over the planes of his chest. "I wasn't completely teasing, though. I have had better…until you," she murmured against his temple as her fingers combed through the short fur on his chest. Victor growled a purr, exhaling through his nose as he fought the urge to grab her and take her on the table. He wanted to see what she was going to do; wanted to see the audacity she'd have to try and initiate sex with him. It was completely novel to him, and it was making him hot.

Her hands receded as she craned around him to lick up the sauce that dripped down his chin. He felt her long hair drag across the nape of his neck before dangling over his arm and chest. The sensations were sending currents of pleasure straight to his loins. Just as the tip of her tongue tickled the corner of his mouth, Victor grabbed the back of her neck and grunted approvingly into a hungry kiss. He was quickly on his feet and pressing her against the edge of the table, overpowered by animal desire as he swiped anything left on the surface off to crash and shatter to the floor before picking her up and slamming her down on the table top.

Gasping, Isabela hooked her knees around his hips and pulled until her pelvis was on the edge of the table and lined against his crotch. Victor took the moment of drunken levity to savor the image of her sprawled on the table, looking like a sinewy sprite with glowing eyes and sultry lips that were silently beckoning for him. The sweater was dragged taut over her chest and a tear singed the collar, exposing her defined collarbone and clavicle. Her glossy dark hair was pouring in rivulets around her head, flaring about when she tossed her head back and craned her throat up to him in an animalistic sign of approval.

He fisted the front of the oversized sweater and pulled her up as he settled between her thighs. "Say you want me," Victor suddenly husked roughly against her lips as his hands pawed down her sides to grip her against him. "Say it," he demanded with a quiet hunger in his harsh tone.

All the heat went out of her while her eyes glowed fiercely at him.

"No."

The shocked anger that arrested his features quickly melted away by the flash of fury that lit his eyes. Victor abruptly reared back and backhanded her with all the rage her denial fueled inside of him. She gasped and wavered, catching herself before she fell sideways off the table. His blow had cut her lip, causing blood to drip down her mouth even though the cut healed instantly. She jerked back to face him and instead of retaliating like he expected, she swiped the blood off her lip with her tongue and laughed disparagingly at him. "Aren't you sweet, cub," she mocked, "going to beat me into submission? Try and knock the surrender out of me?"

Victor snarled viciously and lunged towards her, floored by her audacity and murderously livid. This time she anticipated him and struck him hard in the face before they tangled in a furious battle that resembled two lashing forces colliding and crashing against each other, striking at the other whenever one had an opportunity. Isabela thrashed against Victor when he grabbed both her wrists and slammed her against the closest wall. He choked on a grunt when she managed to elbow him in the sternum and knee him in the inner thigh before he could jerk her up and pin her against the wall.

"Just keep fucking fighting, bitch! No matter how stubborn you get I know you want me! You're fucking wet for me. I have more than enough goddamned time to make you say it when I'm fucking you blind, so keep fucking fighting me!" Victor lividly seethed at her through bared fangs as he fought to absorb her every blow before he dug his nails into her arms and got head butted in the mouth for his efforts.

Isabela managed to wring one arm free and punched him in the nose, which made him roar in exasperation. He grabbed her throat and choked her as he fought the stinging and the watering of his eyes from her blow. She managed to knee him in the stomach when she fought for leverage against the vice-like grip around her neck, still lashing out with searing precision. When the heel of her foot connected with the tender spot just above his crotch, Victor grunted and faltered long enough to allow her to shove him away with intense force. She panted, her features flushed from the constriction of her throat while she lowered into a fighting stance, slightly winded.

"If you fucking know it then why are you so intent on me saying it?!" she shouted at him, her expression blazing with vexation and her hair whipping around her from her deft movements. When Victor stiffened as if burned, she snapped in a calculatingly scathing tone, "Do you want me, Victor?"

The air was crackling with their dueling anger, buzzing and heady like the atmosphere just after lighting strikes. Victor advanced in a furious motion before he stopped short and glared hostilely at her. His fists were bawled up, clenched so tight that the air was scented with his blood.

"Well? Do you want me?" Isabela fronted him, ignoring the warning hiss he snarled at her. "If you can say it, then that's the day I can put a collar on you, Victor," she stated caustically. Victor was struck by her words, but didn't lose the edge of his livid anger. He felt powerless, utterly thwarted but couldn't decide what to do with his rage. "Like I said before" she spoke in a vehement murmur, "I'm not some frail you can play with until you break. I'm as permanent to this world as you are…I can't be caged up in your lair like a canary because I'm a godforsaken animal. Just. Like. You."

Victor grabbed her shoulders and pressed her back against the wall, looming over her with an undercurrent of fuming disdain. "What you fail to understand is how goddamned capable I am of keeping you locked up," he spat maliciously, his nostrils flaring as he exhaled and sneered bitingly, "I think you ache for me to break you down, cuz you're too fucking stubborn to admit you're mine, Izzie."

Her hands flinched and snapped up to press firmly against his chest, gripping at his warm muscles as a storm of conflict glazed her angry stare. "Stop calling me that," her voice hissed with arduous acrimony, digging her nails into his chest and looking hauntingly into his cold blue eyes. Eyes that were the color of ice water, just like his. After almost half a millennia of living, she still felt devastated by loss. It left her shaken, fighting against a quivering rage that left her hollow and mindless.

"Say you want me and I'll stop calling you that."

Her eyes focused incredulously on him. His expression was serious, but triumph danced in his eyes, goading and scintillating. She was speechless, completely diffused as she leant back against the wall and broke eye contact with him.

The savage pride he felt at her defeat didn't satisfy him. Instead, it left him simmering for the vitality he'd unintentionally staunched out. Goddammit viper! Even her elevated pulse wasn't enough to make him gloat. He was suddenly so pissed he wanted to hit her—break something or just go out and butcher someone. The fact that butchering her wasn't in his mind as an option had nothing to do with her imperviousness…and that pissed him off even more.

"Fine," he hissed and slammed a hand flat against the wall, just inches away from her face as he leaned in and venomously continued, "you can keep fighting me, and I can keep you here and show you how fucking much I own you. Sooner or later, I'll fuck the stubborn streak right out of you—leave you begging like any other frail. After all…" we're both permanent, "neither of us is going anywhere."

He didn't even engage her cold expression. Instead he stalked out of the kitchen, his fuming footfalls echoing throughout the cabin before they were muffled by the opening and slamming of an interior door.

Isabela remained against the wall, her features apathetic as she let the storm of sensations rage around her. Her senses were itching from the tension that clung in the air. It had taken every drop of her stoic ambivalence to refrain from asserting her autonomy; from bludgeoning the younger feral for even suggesting she was submissive to him. Her pulse hummed with suppressed savagery, with the primordial imperative to tear him apart for challenging her. He'd raked her insides with his triumphant boasts and plunged icy loathing into her very being by using the name they'd used. Izzie had died with him. Just like all the other names had been discarded with the course from one life to another, so had it.

It was a leash. Strangling her with emotions she'd hoped had turned to stone after so many years. Instead, it managed to galvanize dormant pain she'd tried to drown over the course of centuries. Along with the soul crushing loss of an immortally perishable man, she was seared through by the memories of the life she'd held in her hands… life already dead before she could wrap her heart around it.

Victor tore all of it up—tore it out of her like quicksilver that threatened to seep out of her and swallow her into madness. Isabela had barely fought off the anguish, clawed out of the sorrow that had threatened to engulf her in a state of perpetual savagery when they'd both died. The two deaths had proven to her she was a monster who couldn't kill the humanity that lingered inside of her. It was like a burning ember, searing her from the inside. The first death had changed her very being, peeled it away like skin and left it bleeding before the salt of her hysteria had cauterized her back together into the hypersensitive creature that had wandered the earth for centuries before meeting a being just like her.

Her soul had been transformed that moonlit night over 400 years before, while part of her had died with Eirik. She'd managed to numb it all out.

She wanted to be unfeeling, but only time had proved that feelings don't die; they sear into you like a brand—a permanent scar that will never heal.

Racked with the storm of emotions and memories she fought to quell, Isabela ambled stoically around the kitchen, cleaning up the mess they'd made.

Victor was just as obstinate as Eirik had been. Instead of stinging her, the similarity made her smile. But there was one profound difference between them. The words slithered out of her recollections, disembodied ghosts of their former owner's steely hiss, thrusting Isabela into a torrent of icy musings.

For fuck's sake, Izzie! Will I have to give you my balls in a glass case for you to get it?! You are my Valkyrie. My soul belongs to you and you damn well belong to me!

                      _____________________________________

Victor was teeming with pent up blood thirst, his hackles raised and his muscles bunched up from how hard he fought against the urge to throw a savage fit and annihilate whatever and whoever was around him. She got under his skin, stayed there and scorched him like a fever.

The anger she caused him was like splinters embedded under his thick flesh, making him want to lash out and go mindlessly wild with rage. Her goddamned irrevocable temerity turned him on and made him blind with fury, two emotions that left him in a cloudy fog of animosity and incredulity. Even now, pacing his spacious den, he couldn't shake off the venomous spite that seethed out of him.

She refused to fucking submit to him no matter how much power he wielded over her with that simple brand of a nickname. It jarred him to be ineffectual in his dominance over her; made him want to peel her away to see what made her tick; body, mind, and soul.

Victor never gave a fuck about the soul. Breaking down the body was just as much fun as picking apart the mind, but the soul was something that never mattered to him before. Not until her.

He didn't believe in souls, not in the conventional sense anyway. He believed in life as a biological imperative—a vitality that existed in the bone, tissue and blood of every living thing. To him, the soul wasn't some whimsical ethereal plane that lives on and frolics in the afterlife, nor was it the judge of a person's eternal value. The soul was an animating principle, something that got lost in the shuffle of actually living. Victor didn't see the soul as anything more than a spark that animated life; it was just part of the fire that was living, nothing more…until he saw it clawing sorrowfully inside the russet rings of Isabela's eyes.

He couldn't take her body. He couldn't pick apart her mind…but he could see her soul. Victor wanted it—sought to posses its secrets, because it was the only thing that Isabela couldn't control. So much of her essence wanted to pour out of her, but she held it all back, sealed within the corporeal marble of her stoic features and the hardness of her resolve.

Victor wanted to posses her, but he couldn't mark her body, couldn't claim her or force her into submission. It drove him nuts.

Simmering with aggravation now, Victor rubbed the back of his neck tensely, trying to shake his head free of the rancorous rage from before to focus his thoughts. Then he noticed the formidable stack of faxed notes sitting in the tray of his fax machine. Snorting, he walked over ad fanned through it, having completely forgotten about it. Dan must've spent the whole night feeding his fax machine so Victor would get the notes. He smiled at the image of the tacto-empath sifting paper after paper into the machine out of fear that Victor would unleash hell on him.

Picking the stack up, he sat in his armchair across from the window. Dan had translated everything verbatim for him, even being thorough enough as to insert details that were empathically linked, such as a stray thought this Mischa Krause had while he wrote. The first page was some sort of foreword, but with all the extra details Dan inserted, it turned out to be more like a prologue. Huffing, Victor skipped it and went to the first dated journal.

20 March, 1929

The subject has given me permission to document our conversations… She is otherworldly in her demeanor… I'm often disarmed by her mannerisms, especially when she looks intently at me, as if she can read me…The subject has also allowed me to call upon any scientific requirement I must have in order to study, analyze, and document for the purposes of evolutionary theory. As it will become cumbersome to refer to the subject as simply that, they have allowed me to use their full name—saying it was one of many anyway—and to include their biography as it was told to me—Since I don't have the income or pull to get a voice recorder for this I have to act as a damned stenographer—

What is your name and how old are you?

"My name is Countess Isabela de Winter. No, I'm not a real countess; not born one, anyway. I…acquired the status. As of January 10th of this year, I am 404 years old." 

The countess was able to verify the validity of her claim by providing a portrait painted by the Spanish artist Guillermo de la Barca, dated in 1540, when she would've been 15 years old. I have been assured by a colleague that the portrait was indeed authentic and I am more than scientifically sure that the countess is the woman in the portrait—her eyes and luscious dark hair are uncanny—so once validated, I met with the countess a second time at the enclosed botanical atrium at a home I knew for certain wasn't her residence. 

I brought my cameras and everything else I could've ever needed, too incredulous with myself to realize how bumbling I must've looked. I had found an immortal, and she was a radiant woman from the New World, ironically enough. I was led into the foyer, through several lavish parlors, out to the tinted-glassed atrium. The plants, ferns, and roses were fragrant and beautiful—the sound of birds everywhere! They called and chirped and sang in different pitches—I thought of the Garden of Eden. Sitting on a stone bench, the countess greeted me and waved me into the sprawling space, her green eyes standing out more than usual in the surrounding greenery. 

Where were you born?

"I was born on the main island of Puerto Rico in 1525, just a few years after the island and the capital exchanged names. My father was a wealthy Spaniard…a merchant. My mother was a Taino princess…my grandfathers were the caciques Urayoán and Agüeybaná II. My father was one of the first rich Spanish settlers to take a native as his wife. I was born in Hato de los Reyes; my mother died giving birth to me…"

When did you realize you weren't human?

"The day my half brother died…I know now that I killed him" –She didn't elaborate so I thought I had made her angry—"…Alejandro was human. My Tia told me we only shared our father's blood…that because Taino blood mixed with the blood of the white man, that I was one of the new children. I was going to transcend the mortal realm and punish the Spaniards, once the gods realized I was special and gave me the power. The Spaniards had lied to the Taino—had passed themselves off as gods when they were just white devils. My Tia told me these things when she was supposed to be telling me fairy tales. My father never knew; if he had, he'd have whipped her, maybe even killed her."

The countess was poised but faraway, succinct in her musings—I was shocked into silence, a silence she broke by smiling darkly at me and asking if I really wanted to know it all—

Victor broke off, pensive.

Skimming back to the foreword, he read it, eyes sharp and expression coolly etched.

I must forewarn that as a doctor and a scientist, even I cannot detach myself from the subject. My study is scientific. I meant to keep objective, but she means so much to me and to the world. She is a discovery that has been looming in the shadows for us to notice. It's happens chance that I be the one she approached—The Countess de Winter approached me at a salon party where intellectuals of all walks of life were in attendance—to share her secrets with. She was not my test subject—more like I was her plaything—but she is a figure of ample importance for my studies into human evolution. Darwin himself would've been humbled by her—but she didn't choose to talk to Darwin. She chose a nobody like me!—, by the living marvel and example of her kind. My research will prove that yes, there is human evolution. It is still a process that continues without homo sapiens, and instead plateaus into another form of life—Preternatural, disarming, and arresting; life that can be the answer to mortality as well as the solution for longevity—We humans can gain answers from her, as we did when Darwin did his study of primates. Evolution is beyond god's creation—because even god can't care what happens to humans when he creates someone like her—while still being a divine marvel of evolutionary achievement. She is the only one of her kind to exist as far as history has shown, and she is the first to give herself over to science for the behest of knowledge for its very sake. 

Victor returned to the journal.

"—I didn't avenge the Tainos, let alone punish the Spaniards. How could I punish something that I was part of? It never made sense to me. I just wanted…wanted to know what I was. I haven't met another like me, not in all of this time. I've been stabbed and shot—been burned…and nothing. I'm still here. I just want to know what I am. I'm tired of wondering, of traveling the world and finding nothing—no one else. In all my wanderings, all I've come to know of myself is that I'm a predator. You laugh? Well isn't that adorable…Mischa"—she always said my name like it was something scandalous, smiling maliciously every time I underestimated her—"I have killed hundreds of men. Most of them were in the heat of the moment, unpremeditated…but others were delicious fun. I've bathed in blood before, boy. Even made snacks out of men when the fancy struck me…so if you're going to laugh, don't. I like a man with a sense of humor, usually like him enough to eat"

The countess had the most macabre humor at times, but there were always points when I was fairly certain she was warning me. This particular session progressed into different topics, one of which was over the residence itself. She explained that she had certain gifts—truth was she was an enigma in the social circles of Paris. She seemed to know everyone but no one knew anything about her. They assumed she was an exotic bedfellow of some rich socialite or other, but nothing concrete until she told me: "I ensnare men. I could do it to you, if I wanted to, Mischa"—, gifts that she would show me when I wanted to observe her doing so. She explained that the residence was a 'friends', nothing more. 

I took dozens of photographs, realizing they were pointless considering they wouldn't capture the color of her eyes or the intensity of her exotic features. She seemed to read my mind, telling me I could keep the portrait if it would help my study—"I want to know more" I told her desperately, and she'd smiled, "That's why I approached you, Mischa. You have this passion to know and understand. I'll tell you all you want; all you need do is ask…but I warn you, if you're afraid of me, which I'm sure you will be soon, don't badger me with questions that you can't comprehend yourself. Make sure you're invested, because if I feel that you aren't…" her threat was veiled, and even when I wasn't sure she was capable of anything malicious, something inside of my brain would scream and panic…this woman WAS a predator, and if I patronized her—and allowed me to call on her whenever I wanted to.

I plan on pursuing this study, no matter what limitations arise—I want to know…

                      _____________________________________

Before he knew it, the scant winter light had darkened outside. He dropped the papers he still had to read onto his table and stood, stretching his back like a cat. Victor was pensive, his thoughts heavy with wonder and an insatiable desire to know more. But it'd been hours since he locked himself in his den, and curiosity got the better of him. Going out to the living room, he noticed how chilly it was in the spacious room. The fires had burned out a while ago, and there weren't any logs in the cabin.

He could hear her in the kitchen, moving around and shuffling things on the stove and in the sink. Stalking quietly to his bedroom, which was on the opposite side of the living room at the back of the cabin, he got dressed and tugged a pair of boots on before striding to the front door and going out into the shin-deep snow. The slam of the door was loud and purposeful. He wanted to make her sweat, to wonder where he could've gone while he took out his frustrations from earlier on some lumber he was going to make kindling out of.

Going into his shed behind the cabin, he got his axe and felt the edge. It was blunt, but he didn't care, propping it on his shoulder as he stalked through the tree line. He went to work chopping down tree trunks and making compact chunks of timber. It was a monotonous task that didn't even break a sweat for him, but it helped clear his thoughts. Plus he liked to practice how precise he could be with the axe, goofing off by baring the blade down in a one-handed grip to splinter thick lumber right down the middle without much effort. He remembered when it used to be sport between him and Jimmy; to see who could chop the most wood during that first summer after Jimmy had gone through the change. It was never a contest; Victor smoked Jimmy and the runt would shove him playfully, roughhousing until they were laughing hard or wrestling for real.

Huffing, Victor brought the axe down so hard that it tore through the wood and keened loudly into the base of the tree stump the log had once been on. Growling, he yanked it out and started gathering enough kindling to keep the fires going for a few days before heading back through the trees. It started snowing again as soon as he got back to the cabin, the wind howling down the mountain and through the trees, promising another bitter cold night.

Stomping up his porch, he kicked at the snow that clung to his boots before balancing his filled arms to allow him to open the door. He braced himself, half expecting the viper to careen into him and try to escape while another part of him wondered if she'd have dinner set on the table for him. His snicker sounded more like grunt as he walked through the doorway and kicked the door shut behind him.

No delicious smells and no viper charging at him. Victor inwardly frowned, stalking into the living room and setting a load of kindling down by the fireplace before he got the hearth blazing again. Moving onto the fireplace in his room, he kept his ears sharp, but didn't hear her in the kitchen anymore. Then he sniffed the air. Hot water, his soap, and warm skin was wafting thick in the air that came from his bathroom. The door was closed, but he could see the steam that tried to snake out from under the door.

His mouth was watering from the scents, hyperaware that the viper was naked, soapy, and hot in his bathroom. He got the fire going in the hearth and pulled off his coat, kicking out of his boots as he adjusted his jeans at the crotch, trying to relieve some of the pressure there before loping to the bathroom door.

When he opened the door, it took him a minute to make out her silhouette through the steam. The heated vapor hit him and dragged over his bare skin. He leaned his shoulder into the doorframe, hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans, and took her in. She was soaking in the tub, her arms resting along the edges while her head was lulled back in such a way that the top swell of her cleavage were above surface of the hot water. Her eyes glanced over at him before she shifted in the water to acknowledge him.

The sultry look in her eyes made him hot, but he ignored the impulses itching in his belly and grunted derisively at her. "The accommodations to your liking?" he snickered, the cynical edge of his tone masked in his gruff cadence.

Shifting to sit up, Isabela smiled as she folded her arms over the rim of the tub and answered, "The service could be better…" with a teasing glint in her eyes.

The tension was still crackling between them, but the animosity of before dissipated, for the time being. Victor had the upper hand now, and she knew it too, but he wasn't kidding himself; she was biding her time, waiting for the right opportunity to spring whatever contingency she could to get what she wanted. Right now, however, Victor didn't give a fuck what machinations she had about escaping. He wanted to test the waters, so to speak, and see just how riled he could get her—wanted to find that perfect middle ground where she was feisty and enticed so she'd be generous with her tight pussy while not pushing her into ice queen mode.

"Born with a silver spoon in that pretty little mouth, eh," he remarked sardonically. When she noncommittally went back to soaping herself up, Victor leered, "You could get used to being my…guest. I've got the means. I'd keep you more than well kept, better than any stupid fuck you could seduce."

Isabela paused before resting back against the tub. "I highly doubt that, cub," she murmured aloofly, soaking in the tub and rubbing a washcloth over her throat and down the valley of her breasts submerged under the warm water. Her eyes locked onto his, and he sensed she was skeptical, put out by his change of tactic. "And besides, the one who'd be well kept in this arrangement is you," she mused suddenly, her expression warming with humor.

"Really," he grunted, trying to ignore the effect her heady scent was having on him in the confined and heated room.

Sitting up with her knees brushing the surface, Isabela replied, "Since I've been here I have cooked, cleaned, done your laundry, and fucked the smirks right off your face. Seems to me I'd be the one keeping you well off."

"…when the fuck did you do my laundry?" Victor asked in an accusatory tone, shifting to lean on the opposite side of the doorframe and crossing his arms over his broad chest.

She giggled under her breath at the haughty expression he was sporting. "When you stormed out," she replied with amusement in her tone, "I got the caked gore off your coat. It's hanging up to dry in the laundry room."

He hummed gruffly, his stare implacably fixed on her, watching her bathe luxuriously in his tub. She was a tantalizing sight, and her scent was flooding his senses; warm and spicy with arousal. He knew his scent was probably dripping with how horny he was for her, but it really didn't matter when he had his prey soaking and wet, in more ways than one.

"Why don't you come in? The water's still hot," she broke through his brooding musings. Victor eyed her, sensing the air for any hint she was up to something. "Join me. I'll wash your back for you," she propositioned alluringly, shuffling up against the back of the tub and tossing the drenched tendrils of her hair off her shoulders. The water sloshed with her movements, her skin glistening, revealing tanned flesh and nothing else under the bright ceiling light and rippling soapy water.

Snorting, Victor snidely mocked, "Keep catering after me like this and I might scrap my arrangement and go with yours, viper," and went to work pulling off his layers of clothes before working his jeans undone.

She could smell him ruminating. The cub had a lot on his obstinate mind, and Isabela sensed it had nothing to do with keeping her under him. Her own suspicions were shoved away once he started stripping, his scent thick and musky, spiced with lust. She'd been craving his smell, wanting to taste his salty skin. Even after their tiff. Truth was she couldn't stay mad at him. He was still so young compared to her. The ravages of time had been different to them both, and he didn't recognize her as his elder…as the antithesis of how a feral goes about taking from the world. He'd clearly been lashing out and taking what he wanted since he was old enough to know he didn't have a place in the world…just like she had. She'd been covert her whole life, choosing to make people give so she could take to her heart's content. Of course this didn't mean she wasn't as savage as Victor. Just that he did it with a flare for rampant violence, relishing the terror of others and getting high off the power. Still, he had an effect on her. His gallant chauvinism was too appealing for her to ignore—his sense of power over her vexed and turned her on. It was invigorating not having to play coy. They were animals, and like animals, their attraction to each other was almost hardwired, primordial. But Isabela knew there was a difference from mating and the little dance Victor and she'd been doing—were probably destined to do for as long as he kept her cooped up.

Victor wanted to fuck the hell out of her. The air was thick with his lust and with her arousal, which both of them silently appreciated as he got out of his jeans and stalked to the tub. Isabela wanted to touch his half-hard cock—to suck and taste him. She kept the impulse in check while he stepped into the tub and kneeled down, facing her.

"Ah-ah," Isabela tisked and stopped him when he prowled down to settle between her thighs. "I'm nice and clean," she purred at him and gestured with her finger for him to turn around and sit in front of her.

Victor growled under his breath as he raised a suspicious eyebrow at her. He didn't like the idea of acquiescing to her, let alone having the vicious minx behind him. It was the animal in him that seethed at the image of him folded in the arms of another predator, but Victor shoved the anxiety away and complied, wanting to see what would happen.

The water sloshed dangerously close to brimming over the rim when he sat with his back to her and sidled her back against the tub. He huffed at how ridiculous the scene probably looked; big-ass guy like him in a bath with a nimble woman clinging to his muscled back. Then she slipped her arms under his and caressed his pecs while her legs sidled over his under the water. He was happy he'd gotten the big tub, especially since it just accommodated them enough in their present configuration for it not to be an awkward fit.

Her hand came up to cup the side of his neck, her black nails scratching lightly at the dried blood from their gory night before and skimming down to his clavicle before she nudged her head against his. Victor exhaled through his nose and sat up to lounge in the tub, allowing her to soap up his back and drag the washcloth over the planes of muscle that contoured him. He closed his eyes and focused on the sensation of her skin gliding over his; on the gushing suds that ran down his shoulders and dripped down his chest. Her hand combed up the back of his scalp and worked up to the crown of his head before massaging leisurely back down to the nape of his neck, getting a pleased growl from him and sending a shudder of pleasure down Victor's spine.

She ran the washcloth down his spine before moving around the curb of his ribcage and washing up his side. Victor dipped his head and hummed at the sensations, his shoulders rolling frontwards when she leant against his back and brushed the washcloth from his chest slowly down his abdomen. Her free hand raked lightly over a pectoral before cupping the contour of his ribcage as her other hand caressed lower, dipping into the water.

Fuck…I could get used to this.

Isabela tangled her fingers around the chain of his dog tags, toying with them absently as she washed his belly and rested her cheek against the side of his jaw.

"Afraid to forget who you are?" she mused, turning one tag around to see both engraved sides. Both sides had the same serial number, but different names; one side engraved CREED, the other SABERTOOTH.

Victor grunted, pulling the chain and tags out of her curious fingers. "S'been a habit wearing 'em. If I don't got 'em on, I forget—keep feeling for 'em until I remember," he murmured, his tone gruff but relaxed. "It's easier just to keep 'em on," he stated aloofly, taking her hand in his and comparing them. Her talons were deceptive, just like the rest of her. They were ink black and looked harmless from almost every angle, until you turned her fingers tip up and saw the nasty hook that curved sharply like a lizard's nail. Good for cutting through skin and muscle like butter.

His were overtly vicious even when they were retracted. Tips were wickedly sharp and stained with blood. He lengthened his claws and let them prick the back of her hand as he examined her palm. Her hand wasn't wrinkled by the water like his, and the water ran off her skin; no absorption of moisture.

"My skin has a lot of beta-keratin. It can't absorb water or emanate much body heat," she murmured, answering his silent question when she noticed how he was comparing the palm of her hand to his.

Victor knew that, remembered reading about it in those journals. She didn't emanate a lot of heat, but she absorbed it, which left her vulnerable in cold weather. Her skin had no pores, and the reason it was silky smooth was because her scales were layered over by a thin sheet of epidermis. It muted her shimmers in skin tone and better camouflaged her. Compared to his, her skin was as cool as satin and felt just as exquisite.

Feeling puckish, he lent back, pressing her between him and the back of the tub so he could feel her round breasts against his back. She grunted with amusement and splashed him before nuzzling the back of his neck and licking the shell of his ear. He shifted with a growl and reached his hand to tangle in her wet hair, tilting his head so he could pull her mouth to his. Their kiss was all tongues, teasing and caressing, sloppy and slick but incredibly stimulating.

He turned deftly around in the tub, sending water to splash all over as he adjusted their positions, sitting with his back against the opposite end of the tub and with her pinned back against him.

"Think it's your turn for a scrub down, Izzie," Victor purred as he cupped his hands over her breasts under the water. He felt her stiffen with anger at the name, so he brushed her wet hair away from her neck before nuzzling her and smiling against her skin. It sent a jolt of nostalgia through her. "Only fair," he husked into her ear, running his clawed fingers down her stomach before gripping the soap and lathering her skin up in slow circles.

The double reference raised her ire, but she leant into him, trying to quell the bubble of anger that swelled in the pit of her stomach. After all, it had been ages since she'd lounged in a bath with a man. No, not a man, but a masculine predator made of sinewy brawn, hot blooded and savage. His calloused hands soaped her up, rubbing across her chest and up her throat before wrapping his fingers around her slim neck. He squeezed possessively, tipping her head to the side so he could lick the line of her jaw before rubbing his furred cheek against hers. The friction sent a shiver to her core and made her unconsciously clutch her hands over his muscled thighs.

When he roughly pawed his hands down her torso, Isabela's breath hitched. His nails bit into skin just enough to sting while he nipped at the tender spot under her jaw, worrying flesh between his teeth and suckling.

"Pre-regenerative?" he grunted in her ear as he rubbed up and down her scar.

She recoiled slightly, but checked the reaction by placing her hand over his and stilling its motion. "Yes," she breathed through tight lips, turning her head into the side of his throat. "Getting that wound must've kicked my healing factor in—it had manifested young, but it wasn't anything like what it became after I got stabbed…"

He expected her to say more, but she didn't. Victor had only asked because she still hadn't explained how she'd gotten the scar in the journal. The fact she even confirmed it was from being stabbed was saying a lot, since he'd figured it was a wound made by a knife. It was clean, as if the knife hand gone in with the blade vertical; plunged in and slashed up before being torn out. Jimmy had been stabbed like that once, when they were runaways. It was a nasty and excruciating wound to get.

"Did you get yours young?"

Shifting against her, Victor remarked, "Yeah. I've had it since I could remember. It got better after I went through the change."

"Ah. The change," she mused pensively, her thoughts tangled in the past. "Was it the same for your brother?"

Victor jerked against her, startling her to whirl around and face him with anticipation. His eyes were blazing with anger, but something quelled his rage long enough for him to sneer at her before settling back with stiff shoulders and tension still clinging over him. When she stayed on guard, he snickered and yanked her back against him, his grip tight on her upper arm while the fingertips of his other hand dug into her hip.

She'd jolted the shit out of him. He hadn't been sure of how much she knew about him, about his past. No one who knew about him and Jimmy was fucking stupid enough to bring him up, unless they were doing so to purposely provoke him. That's not the vibe he got from her. If anything, she'd genuinely asked, the softness of which had cooled his irate anger once her tone had sunken in.

…Alejandro was human.

"No. It was different for Jimmy."

The gruff reply was tight jawed, his whiskers brushing against her temple when he spoke. The tension was still wrought in his frame, but Isabela knew it wasn't from aggression. Victor would never admit it, but she knew it pained him. She'd known the basics about the notorious feral brothers; heard most of it through the grapevine from people who knew Victor by his codename only. Of course she'd been curious about the stories, so she'd done some research. James Logan had fallen off the radar, but Victor had been active and rumors ran wild, speculations about his motives legendary in themselves.

She wondered how anything could get between two siblings who'd lived, fought, and protected each other for over a century.

His hand tilted her face up to his, thumb deftly pressing into her chin so that the nail skimmed her bottom lip. "Why haven't you used rapture on me?" Victor asked abruptly, his eyes intense and irrefutably curious.

"Well…it wouldn't do much good for me in this situation, now would it," she snickered and traced the length of his nail with the tip of her tongue.

He jerked her chin up, gripping her jaw firmly as he tersely snapped, "You could get me to do what you wanted—have me so lust-struck that I'd let you escape. Why haven't you?"

She grabbed his wrist and wrenched his hand away. "I don't have any clothes or chances of getting far in this snowstorm, now do I. Secondly, if it was that easy I'd have done so," she snapped back at him and went to stand.

Victor hauled her back down against him, sending water splashing to the floor. "Why ain't it that simple?" he asked with a sly leer to his tone. "You seduced that fucker with rapture; why not use it on me? And don't give me that bullshit from before," he challenged, laughing outright when she tried to shove away from him and stand.

"Fuck you, Creed!" she shouted into his face and shoved away from him.

Victor snarled and grabbed her, slamming her back against the opposite end of the tub and forcing himself between her thighs in order to keep her pinned. "Oh I'd like that, viper! C'mon, you could make me do whatever. I'm very good with my tongue. Hell, I can do very bad things with my tongue if you wanted—What if I made you, huh Izzie?!" he antagonized, his voice a hiss of lasciviousness.

Isabela seethed at him and tried to ignore the firm press of his erection against her. "As much as I like your brand of foreplay, your juvenile threats aren't going to work," she said and lashed out, managing to push him back and lunge for his mouth.

They crashed against each other before slamming against the side of the tub in a tangle of limbs and voraciousness, lips smacking together and claws digging in for leverage while the water sloshed violently everywhere. Isabela scrambled onto his lap and sank her lengthened teeth into his neck, tearing a strangled growl out of Victor before he yanked her back by the hair and wrapped his forearm around the small of her back, picking her up against him as he stood out of the tub. She bucked against him, digging her talons into his shoulder as he made the trip from the bathroom into his bedroom. They kissed and nipped at each other until he tossed her onto his bed. Before she could scramble away, he grabbed her by the backs of her knees and yanked her to the edge of the mattress.

She was panting harshly, anticipation swelling in her core as Victor forced his hand over her womb while yanking her thighs apart with the other. He was so drunk with her scent that he took the moment to gaze hungrily at her pink flesh, mouth watering with desire. It'd been ages since he'd ate a frail out. He hadn't bothered in a long time, considering that many of his conquests were unwilling and terrified of him; he usually just got to the good stuff and tore into their soft bellies after he was done, the rush of dominating and breaking a frail leaving him high on adrenalin. But now he wanted to taste her, to feel her legs clenched tight over his shoulders as he devoured her.

So he did, starting off by licking the water that beaded over her womb and plunging his tongue into her navel before kissing downward. Isabela sighed at the sensations he was searing into her, her breath shallow as he shoved her higher on the mattress so he could get on the bed and get a better mouthful of her sweet flesh. She gripped the hand that had rested over her womb while she arched against him and cried out from the twirl of his tongue around her pulsing clit. He growled against her, his mouth suckling and nipping at her heated core, plunging her into a fire of pleasure that scorched her from the inside out.

Gasping, Isabela squirmed against him once her orgasm grew eminent, wanting him to fill her, to sheath her with his heat. Gripping her thighs, Victor tilted his head so he could tongue her entrance before licking a long swipe from her tight heat up to her hypersensitive bundle of pleasure. She bowed in his grip and cried out, her body growing taut as she climaxed heartily. Victor groaned against her quivering flesh, lapping at her essence and nuzzling her warmth before licking up her hairless apex and crawling on top of her.

She was still buzzing from her orgasm, eyes shut and lips parted. Victor grabbed her neck and squeezed, forcing her to look up at him. When she did, he licked his lips and tongued one of his sharp canines. "I think you like things as they are, sweetheart. Otherwise, you'd have tried something—!"

Victor's arrogant sneer was cut off when she growled and flipped him onto his back and rolled on top of him. "Shut up Victor, or I'll use stillness on you and fuck you belly up again," she hissed, prowling down to bare her elongated teeth at him. "And so you know, I'd use poison on you before rapture. You're just not worth it," she smiled condescendingly and slammed Victor back down when he tried to rear up. "Now, I've allowed you to play," she purred against his mouth before burying her nose in the spot just under his jaw and licking down his throat, her body gliding sensually down his. When he watched her trail nips and kisses down his chest and abdomen, she gave him a smoldering glance and flirted, "Only fair," playfully quoting him before placing an open mouth kiss on his belly.

His jaw clenching with tension, Victor watched her with hooded eyes as she nuzzled his hip and palmed his erection. "Just watch the teeth," he ground out, his tone husky as he watched her stroke him before she pursed her mouth over his tip.

Her mouth was fucking amazing, actually making him moan from her oral ministrations. All he could do was fist his hands in the bedding and let her suck him off since she pinned his hips down with her hands, so he couldn't buck into her mouth or set the pace. She hummed around his shaft and stroked her tongue along the underside, savoring the salty taste of his skin and the throb of his flesh.

The sounds he was biting back were even better than when he moaned outright, because they spoke of how he was reluctantly relinquishing control. She buzzed with pleasure, and so she gave it back in spades, working Victor into a frenzy by cupping his pair and twirling her tongue around his tip. When she tongued his slit and put just enough pressure around him, Victor gasped, his growl catching in his throat as he stiffened and came. He dug his powerful fingers in the back of her hair and held her head as he groaned hoarsely and filled her mouth.

"Fuck!" he called out as he collapsed back onto the bed, feeling awash with savage afterglow. He stared up at his ceiling, the blood still roaring in his ears as he tried to concentrate on the sensation of her gliding up his body and the heat of her breath caressing his skin as she climbed to sidle at his side. Victor licked his lips, her taste still dancing on his tongue and making him hot all over again.

"I've never used it on another feral…I don't know what it'd be like," she spoke serenely, head tilting against his shoulder so she could burrow her nose against his jaw.

It took Victor a few seconds to realize she was talking about rapture. Incredibly curious, he shifted so he could look down at her. Her eyes were dazzling and warm, as if the heat of their coupling was keeping her sated and pliant against him. Isabela caressed his cheek, by far the kindest touch he'd received since he could remember. The fire crackled and popped, but the sound they were both listening to were their heartbeats. Their pulses were synched, and they wondered if the other could hear the pulsing beat.

"When I shimmer, it doesn't only affect my prey. Something like rapture goes both ways," she explained, her hand caressing down his throat and chest to idly toy with his dangling dog tags. "It's a sensory exchange. Of course it has different intensities depending on a lot of biological factors…but the aftereffect is always the same. It's like every nerve ending is tingling, starving for more sensations. That's just with humans," she trailed off, her eyes roving the metallic tags and following the chain up until her eyes met his.

I'd use poison on you before rapture. You're just not worth it.

"Sounds like you're scared to have mind-melting sex to me."

Isabela looked quizzically at him. His smirk broadened into a perverse grin, his fangs gleaming from the firelight as he shifted to lay on top of her. She scoffed and adjusted to accommodate him, caressing her hands down his neck to drape over his shoulders. "I'm starting to wonder if you've been sex starved, or if I've just spoiled you," she ribbed provocatively, her eyes dancing with mischief as he settled between her thighs.

When he pressed into her tight sheath, Isabela sighed and clung to him, watching him out of the corners of her eyes as he chuckled and breathed her scent in before nuzzling her cheek. His lips were setting her skin on fire, her body still hypersensitive from before. She started writhing under him, grunting for him to move against her. He chuckled against her throat, dragging his fangs sharply over her pulse before biting down. She tossed her head to the side and tensed against him, focusing on his hot mouth and on his length throbbing inside of her.

Victor wanted to take his time fucking her. Every other time it had been a whirlwind of bestial ferocity, coupling like they would burn out if they didn't drive against each other. He pressed his hips with brute firmness against her, refusing to thrust and work her over just yet. She protested and he laughed, tearing his fangs into her skin and humming from the buzz of her blood flooding his mouth. He'd never had the opportunity to savor a body as luscious and willing as hers.

When he loomed over her and pinned her hands on either side of her head, Isabela arched against him, her hiss of protest also laced with lust. Victor's eyes blazed like ice at her from the glow of the fire, his lips parted as he swiped his tongue to lick at the blood that stained his mouth and teeth.

"Who's starved now?" he purred down at her, his smile malicious but roguish, his eyes glinting with zest.

It reminded her of Eirik.

The russet rings around her pupils dilated, her irises becoming stormy with an almost emerald glow compared to the usual frond green they were.

Victor knew he'd hit a nerve again, but was surprised when instead of incurring her wrath, she wrapped her legs around his waist and bucked against him, clenching around him with explicit need. Her hands relaxed in his grip, and she arched against him, pressing her breasts to his chest and craving his hot skin.

To Victor, it was enough of a sight to get drunk off of.

He lunged down and kissed her, hungry for her sweet and warm mouth that reveled in his. For long moments they simply kissed and clutched at each other, their bodies rocking with their ravenous desires. Before long they were panting for breath, gasping and frantically moving against each other to find excruciating bliss.

Victor drove her to climax first so he could watch her face light up with the pleasure, hear her cry out and feel her cling to him in a succession of sensations. Her sighing ecstasy was like music to his ears, but nothing like hearing her murmur for him, saying his name over and over again in a beckoning whisper, wanting all of him and luring him into his own orgasm.

Completely spent, Victor rolled off of her and pulled her to his side. She nimbly wrapped her arms around his shoulders and curled onto her side against him, lulling him to lay up against her after he'd pulled a fur pelt over her, unconscious to the gesture until she pressed into him and tucked her head under his chin. His nose buried into the top of her mussed hair, inhaling her scent and purring as she shifted and sighed softly against his throat before cuddling into his warmth.

They fell asleep to the sound of each other's heartbeats.

                      _____________________________________

The news said it was one of the worst cases of domestic terrorism in U.S. history. No survivors and no list of victims either. Armand was pleased and exasperated at the same time. Basset still hadn't called to confirm, nor had any information about Nagaraja or Khomeini been leaked yet. Talks in Tehran were tense, but not cutthroat, so Armand de Lioncourt figured he could afford to wait for Basset to get in contact. He didn't want to risk involving anyone else until he was absolutely sure the other man had overlooked something.

All in all, Armand was in a very good mood.

He chalked his good mood up to the fact that he had a handful of investors chomping at the opportunity to finance the tele-computer. They were still prototyping the first copy of the technology, but things looked promising. His technicians assured him that they'd have a working model for show to the investors before the New Year, which guaranteed Armand more bargaining chips in his other international endeavors.

Little did he know that almost at the exact same time, Khomeini was on his way out of France en route to Tehran—in preparation for a political coup that would blindside the nation and the world.

Ignorant that he'd been double crossed, Armand went to hold a conference call with one of the biggest investors interested in sinking money into his telecommunications empire.

                      _____________________________________

He was done with Basset. It'd served him pretty well for the past few years, but things were getting too messy for his tastes. Sure he'd arranged hits for the Frenchman, but nothing as dangerous as fucking with other mutants.

Once he'd heard about the unit, Bezu had decided it was time to cut out and take everything he'd amassed under his tenure. He'd talked to a competent money launderer, and was promised to have his money before his deadline. He couldn't wait to be cruising to Brazil, making stops at Nassau and Antigua so he could deposit his secrets and money, most of it collateral he could sell to the Frenchman's competitors and live the highlife for the rest of his days.

Tipping Khomeini off had been his biggest payday, cementing his decision to cut the Frenchman loose and leave him with his dick in his hand when it came to Tehran and his hostile takeovers. Thanks to the mess the Vipress made, he figured the government would be tangled in red tape and cover ups long enough for him to skip out before the Frenchman found out about his betrayal.

Bezu stared at the new man in the mirror. A handsome Greek man with short platinum wavy hair and hazel eyes stared back at him, smirking as he did. He looked like a Dino, or a Xander—Xander Konstandinos sounded good.

Completely unaware of neither Khomeini's progress towards Tehran nor that the Vipress was alive and very well elsewhere, Bezu packed his things and headed to New York City, deciding to relax while his money went to the laundry.

____________________

Read Chapter 5: Pensive Retrospection

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[furious-rogue-stuff]

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 3: Dizzying Need

Pairing: Victor Creed x Isabela Montecristo | Sabertooth x Vipress

Disclaimer: This series will have canon-accurate and heightened levels of violence, adult themes, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and graphic descriptions of sex. *Post-Origins movieverse.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word count: 11,000+

Series Summary: Victor Creed's reputation as the Sabertooth proceeds him. He clashes with a mysterious feral woman, an enigma and anomaly to everything he knows. What began as a hunt becomes a dance between like-minded predators.

🚨Warning: Violence, gore, language, mentions of rape, and some feral power play. I do not own any aspect or character of the Marvel Universe nor elements of the X-Men Origins movieverse.

A Feral Interlude Masterlist

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 3: Dizzying Need

His mother always had high hopes and expectations for him. He liked to think it was her aspirations for a better life that motivated him to use his mutation, but when it came down to it, he had been just so fucking sick of being a poor goddamned nobody from Holyoke Massachusetts. His drunk of a father had gotten himself beaten to death outside a bar in Boston when he couldn't pay some gangster what he owed him, leaving his Irish mother penniless and a widow with a scrawny five year old.

It had been during the countless afternoons locked away in the small town library while his mother worked double shifts that Dan discovered he was different.

He hadn't known how to read, but when he touched the spines of books, the words poured through him, a myriad of pictures, ideas, and disembodied voices that told the stories to him in a coalesced chronology. The first time it had happened, he'd been huddled in a cool corner of the basement archives, angrily crying after the other kids made fun of him for being dyslexic. Back then there hadn't been a name for his condition, but his reading troubles made him resent the others who mocked him at school. He had picked up The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn with the intention of hurling it to the wall in his fury, when a jolt flared through him. His mind had gone haywire from the bombarding images and words. Before long, he snapped out of his shock and realized he was trembling. The book was still gripped painfully in his hand, but everything that made it what it was to the world was in his head, and so much more.

He'd been thirteen. It had been the greatest gift his mutation afforded him.

The first time he read a person, though, had been the greatest burden his mutation cursed him with.

Brandon West had cornered him after school with his group of friends. They had heckled him for being a bookworm and a nerd with grand ideas—one which involved asking out Brandon's sister Ashley to the diner after school. Dan had shoved the bully back, trying desperately to find an out, but when Brandon decked him, he'd seen more than stars. That brief moment of skin-to-skin contact had shot a course of blinding anarchy into his head, leaving him screaming and fisting his hands in his hair crumbled against the brick wall behind the school. Brandon and his friends had freaked and bolted, yelling about not touching the freak while Dan was left shaken and haunted by the shock to his system.

He'd seen Brandon's childhood; had felt his insecurity and anxiety; had heard his thoughts of anger and resentment while Brandon was none the wiser of the invasion. Dan had been terrified to be touched again. He took on the habit of wearing long sleeves or thick jackets even in the most unseasonably warm of New England weather.

Once he realized he ached to touch a girl, or to be touched by one, Dan began to hone his abilities. He practiced on animals, reading their simple cyclical thoughts and realizing he could learn things from them that no one else could. Pretty soon, he moved on to people, realizing most people were like books: just waiting to be opened and read. He also realized that like books, people could be read without any awareness of it and kept in a mental catalog in his head. His mind was an organic library of information; every book and living being he read through touch would be stored away, just waiting to be picked up, figuratively speaking.

The first time he'd stolen anything was the payroll in his boss's safe, after he had read the combination out of the balding jerk's memory. Pretty soon, Dan realized he could use his curse for personal gain. Stealing people's identities had led to huge payoffs, such as paying for his mother's doctor's appointments and keeping himself well off.

He thought he was smart, but in reality he'd just become a cocky bastard. Pilfering people's memories for social security numbers, account numbers and codes, and stealing any piece of info he could get money for had become his profession. By the time he was 25, Dan had racked up a pretty sweet nest egg. Then he'd been caught trying to close out some jerkoff's vacation fund. The cops didn't know how the hell he did it, but they knew he was guilty, so they tossed him into a holding cell in Hartford before the major came a-calling.

"A man with such talents should be doing more…nobler things. How'd you like to serve your country, Mr. Dresner?" the unscrupulous major had propositioned through the bars. When Dan had snickered and asked what was in it for him, Stryker had smiled. "Besides your nation's gratitude? Thousands of dollars, legal immunity for all past and future bad acts, and oh did I mention you get to walk out of here? Of course, this is a once in a lifetime offer, Dan. I'd hate to see your poor mother suffer with you locked away for God knows how long…"

Of course Dan had agreed after a heartbeat. He'd made his stipulations once Stryker filled him in on his operation, and his first assignment had been to dig up everything he could on Privates James Logan and Victor Creed. He reported to Stryker everything he'd found on the two feral brothers. James Logan had once been James Howlett and Victor Creed had once been Victor 'Dog' Logan. They'd left a messy trail over their centennial of living, so Dan had only to trace them throughout the lapses between and during the numerous wars to their present incarceration after they'd been unsuccessfully executed by firing range.

Once Stryker had formed the team, Dan had requested to stay out of the fray. The now colonel had agreed, musing he liked keeping his 'fountain of knowledge' away from prying parties.

After avoiding certain death at the Island, now Dan was begrudgingly unraveling a puzzle that spanned a lifetime he'd only read about in fiction itself.

He'd stolen the notebooks right out of a Holocaust exhibit, figuring he'd rather face years in prison instead of hours of agony at the hands of Creed. Like all other handwritten memoirs, Dan had hesitated in even touching them with his bare hands, so he had placed them on his desk with the reverence of a scholar before peeling his leather gloves off and tossing them on a cluttered table. His trepidation only lasted several minutes, since he figured Creed would be calling at any moment barking at him for every fucking detail.

Sitting down at his desk with a large notepad, he took a calming breath and closed his eyes before picking up the first memoir. The first thing that struck him after he 'read' the notebook was just how fluid the sensations were. Usually, picking up anything written by hand left him with a headache because of the empathic quality the information had attached to it. It would pour into him in a rush, along with whatever feelings and emotions the person had while writing it. So, if he was, say, 'reading' someone's journal, he'd not only get the information they wrote, but also whatever emotions they had whilst writing. This was also the case with typed up manuscripts. Anything that was printed in mass, however, only transmitted tremors of empathic awareness, so Dan never ended up as frayed as he did with the more personal texts.

These memoirs were organic. They felt as if he was sitting in a shrink's office while the author spoke to him candidly and crisply. The images were also clear, almost scientific in their chronology. Doctor Mischa Krause had written with composed wonder, as if part of him was scientifically documenting the greatest evolutionary discovery. He figured it was a fair assessment, considering the subject of his memoirs. There were 3 notebooks in all, and before he knew it, he had stacks of notepads with his handwritten translation from the mixture of Polish and Yiddish.

By the time he'd gotten up from the desk, a day and a half had gone by. Swearing in bemusement, he went to the kitchen and attacked his fridge, turning on the small TV on the counter while he made himself a few sandwiches. The news was warning about the perilous weather that was hitting the region before the headlines kicked in. He was stuffing his mouth with potato chips just as his phone rang.

Dan practically choked at the sound, rushing over to turn the TV off in mid story about a bloodbath at some hotel gala before picking up the phone.

"Yeah?" he picked up the line in his office with restrained trepidation while he preemptively reached for his notepads.

"It's Creed."

                      _____________________________________

The withering nothingness never came; instead, just a form of stasis that numbed to the very core. She could feel…and she didn't know what that meant as she slowly became conscious. Her body felt like it was incased in something thick and warm. She felt engulfed, and for a moment her heart clenched. This couldn't be death.

Thrashing wildly, she opened her eyes and clawed free from her bondage before her vision swam into bleary clarity. Panting slightly, she shielded her eyes from the firelight across from her before shaking her head free of the drowsy cling. Where am I…

Her eyes squinted and her surroundings started coming into focus. She was in a spacious room. As a matter of fact, she was bundled up on a sprawling bed covered in thick bedding across from an impressive fireplace in said room, the hearth of which was grey river stones that extended up into the ceiling. Staring down at herself, she realized that she'd been tucked and wrapped under heavy fur pelts. She also realized she was stark nude.

She closed her eyes and breathed out, trying to recall the last thing in her memory. I was drowning… her eyes flew open, awareness setting in when she sniffed the air. Raising the fur to her nose, she couldn't believe it.

Creed had saved her. His scent was on everything around her. Crawling out of the bundled cocoon, she slid off the bed and quickly hugged herself before snagging a long wolf's pelt and wrapping it around herself. She paused, closing her eyes to sense her surroundings.

The wind was howling outside, and she was hyper aware that she was alone. His scent was stale, as if he'd been gone for some time now. Walking around the bed towards the fireplace, she finally noticed the discarded heaps of clothes left strewn by the foot of the huge bed. Her gold gown was a tattered pool of dirty and bloody fabric. She crouched down to survey it and realized it had been torn clean down the front, still damp from her venture into the freezing depths. Creed's clothes were in a heap just a few feet away. She picked up his black undershirt and realized it was sopping wet and icy to her touch. He dove in after me…? She was slightly taken aback at the realization.

His clothes and boots were wet, but the massive trench coat caked in blood and gory matter was barely damp. Her nose twitched at the myriad of scents that clung to the heavy coat before she let it fall back onto the pile. Standing, she surveyed the rest of the room. There was a snug walk-in closet to the right, a door to the left, and a set of double doors adjacent to the fireplace. The room only had four pieces of furniture: the massive bed, a night table on each side of said bed, and a tall dresser. Going to the dresser, she dug into a drawer and found a collection of undershirts that would do little to hide her nudity. Raiding through more drawers, she found a long-sleeved denim button down. She put it on and quickly wrapped herself back up in the fur again. It practically dwarfed her in size, but managed to cover her effectively. There weren't any sweatpants or long johns of his that would fit her, and she couldn't find her panties—but she was damn certain Creed hadn't tried anything while she was unconscious.

The door to the left led into a wide bathroom with a roomy shower and decent-sized tub. A secondary door connected the bathroom to a short hallway that opened up to a common room that reminded her of a rugged sky lodge with its sparse furniture and high-and-bare-beamed ceiling. The only illumination in the ample 'cabin' came from the fireplaces. There was one just as impressive as the one in the bedroom in the living room.

She walked the entire cabin, finding a plain kitchen along with two other rooms she couldn't gain access to. The doors weren't simply locked; trying to snap the door jam with a judicious jerk, she was surprised when the door didn't even budge under her ministrations. A thought sprung up at her and she rushed to the front door of the cabin. She tried to open it, but the doorknob didn't even turn under the torque of her palm. Could this be a security system that only unlocks under the pressure of his hand? She'd heard about a similar system, but didn't know Creed had access to such measures.

The fact that she'd underestimated him slapped her in the face…again. Somehow, Victor Creed had bested her. She couldn't begin to think where he could've gotten his information—if you're looking for a saboteur you should really think twice about who you work for, viper! 

Her whole body stiffened with unbridled rage.

She'd been double-crossed by the Frenchman. The goddamned slithering bastard had sold her out to some top secret taskforce to cover his own fucking tracks. Evidently he didn't think she was an ignorant fool. He knew she'd seen the files on that 'telecomputer' and had decided to kill her off. Her mind was whirling with fury, contingencies, and bemusement—I was hoping to get you before these fuckers snapped you up. How the hell had he known? Most importantly, how the hell had she NOT seen it coming?

Because you were distracted! She seethed angrily at herself. Digging her nails into her palm, she fumed as she stalked back towards the hall and into the bathroom. The fucking savage has you so twisted up in musings that you dropped right into his lap! She wanted to gut something; wanted to tear him inside out and crack his fucking jaw for his smugness—his bestially gloating triumph over her own frayed stupidity.

Who the hell knew what he had planned. He'd fished her out of the lake to cage her in a prison surrounded by wintery oblivion. Even if she could escape, she would perish out in the cold while he'd track her and drag her back like a fucking petrified victim for him to pick at with leisurely pleasure. Frail.

She didn't know how long he'd be gone, but figured his little abode was so out of the way that any trek she made would be delayed by the feet of snow that seemed to be piling up just outside the living room windows.

Aware of her weaknesses, Isabela knew she at least now had the element of surprise. This was completely his turf, however, so she set out to prepare for the Sabertooth's return from the cold violent storm that isolated her off in the darkness of winter.

                      _____________________________________

"Feral homo what?" Victor grumbled into the pay phone's mouthpiece and slouched, trying his damdest to fit in the tight-ass booth.

"Feral Homo-varanus Anolis tacto-phero-impetus," Dan repeated over the line without elaborating.

"For fuck's sake Dan, pretend I'm not a goddamned nerd and explain what the fuck that means!" Victor scowled, hating that he couldn't be in front of the bastard so he'd get to the fucking point. The line was slightly crackly due to the storm, and he wanted to get all he could before the lines went down.

"Well the breakdown of that means she's a feral mutant with reptilian characteristics similar to a Varanus and Anolis type of reptile. Anolisindicates her physical mutation to be similar to anolis lizards, which can change their skin colors, except the morphing of her skin indicates the triggering of her secondary mutation: tacto-phero-impetus," he paused and cleared his throat. "It basically means she emits pheromones that stimulate, neutralize, or attack her victim's nervous systems and affect certain neurotransmitters according to what type of pheromone her skin is—uh, 'shimmered' with," he stated before adding quickly, "Oh, and the Homo-varanus means her primary mutation is something similar to varanus lizards, which include certain monitor lizards that are carnivorous and characteristically vicious, like a Komodo dragon. Her predatory drive is most like that of a Komodo dragon's, and so is her level of strength—!"

"So you're saying if she wanted she could tear my arm off with just her teeth," Victor interjected, glancing out the booth's glass at the busy emporium.

"Pretty much, yeah," Dan's response crackled over the line. "Her speed, strength, and agility are enhanced by her feral mutation, and her senses are increased like yours…and she has one hell of a regenerative factor. Which brings me to the kick in the pants," Dan paused—as always—for the suspense of it, "she's way over half your age, Creed. According to my source—"

"And pray tell, where did you get all your information from?" Victor interrupted, too damned curious about how Dan was able to find such a detailed source.

He could hear the air tense in the other man's throat even over the crackling phone line. "I found these scientific journals," he stated, and just when Victor was going to yell at him, added, "The first one was written in 1929. A German doctor named Mischa Krause kept a meticulous account of these…sessions he conducted with a Countess de Winter…" he trailed off and for once Victor appreciated it.

The name reminded him of one of the first books he read to Jimmy. The runt had taught him how to read first, but once he learned, Victor took it upon himself to read to his sickly brother on the cold nights by the fire, before they'd even known they were kin. Dan had caused the memory to surface the last time he mentioned Dumas' novel, but the name triggered the actual image of him and Jimmy laughing and vouching "All for one, and one for All."

"Let me guess," Victor muttered into the mouthpiece and clasped his hand around the pay phone, "Countess Isabela de Winter."

"She has an affinity for cunning literary figures, doesn't she," Dan confirmed. "She and Dr. Krause made an agreement: he'd get to study her, and she'd find out more about just what she was. He makes the comment in his journal that she was weary of herself and of not knowing how she fit into the world. Anyway, he compiled 3 journals of his notes. They span little over a decade of his research and observation, and include some dialogue sessions he had with her. For all intensive purposes, the guy thought he was talking to an immortal; to a preternatural being that shattered all scientific notions and that added a whole new level to Darwinism. Unfortunately, he didn't get to mainstream his research. If he had, it probably would've been the first real discovery of evolutionary mutation," Dan explained.

"So just how old is she?" Victor wondered into the phone, and ignored the bustle just outside of the phone booth as stupid fucking frails hustled around buying provisions for the hellish winter storm that was heading down over the valley before night's end.

"Doing the math, she's around 453 years old."

Victor jerked in his surprise and bumped his head on the top panel of the booth. He gritted his teeth not from pain, but from how shocked he was. Nothing ever shocked him, especially not after all the nasty shit he'd done over his centennial of life. But the idea of someone walking the earth for over four centuries made a knot in his gut. After enduring all the poking and prodding by Stryker's legion of labcoats, Victor had pretty much been guaranteed that his long life at that point was only the beginning of his immortality. He and Jimmy hadn't considered themselves immortal; indestructible, sure, but not immortal. When their mutations were explained to them, the realization that immortality was their reality made both of them pause. They had swallowed the information, too numbed by the fact to let the weight of it ever linger in their thoughts for too long. He knew it really bothered Jimmy. As for himself, Victor didn't give a damn. He hadn't cared for many years now, resolute in doing what made his blood hot and his pulse rush and just fucking living. After all, if he was going to be a fucking immortal, he might as well live everything to the fullest and with his predatory gusto. That's where he and Jimmy had started differing.

Where the runt thought they should live as monks with bleeding hearts, Victor thought he and Jimmy were beyond it. They were animals with more than a license to kill; it was in their genetic code to be superior creatures. Humans had done nothing but cut them down and cower at their ferocity. As far as Victor was concerned, humans were to him what apes and chimps were to humans: just another link in a chain. They were an evolutionary improvement, and as such, should act as their natures dictated they should. Humans were the prey, and they were the predators. Plain and simple. Except Jimmy didn't think it was.

The idea that someone had spanned 4 centuries with no scientific intervention or knowledge of what sort of being they were amongst the rest of humanity was a daunting notion to him.

"Anything else worth knowing?" he husked into the phone, recovering from his pensive thoughts.

Dan hesitated. "There's a lot here, Creed. I managed to translate all the journals. Most of this stuff is scientifically anecdotal, in a way. Observations of her 'in the field' showing off what she could do and a lot of retrospection on her past" he explained. "Dunno if any of it would be worth you read—"

"Send it all," Victor cut in sternly.

"Uh, there's over a hundred pages worth of stuff here—!"

"So that fucking fax machine of mine will be buzzing for a while. Is there going to be a problem on your end?" Victor ground contumely, the edge of a threat cutting into his tone.

"N-No, not at all. Just might take a while if it's alright with you," Dan stammered over the line and Victor couldn't help a small smile tug the corners of his lips. He gave the tacto-empath his fax number and was about to cut the call when Dan cut in, "Oh Creed, you never mentioned specifics about your run in with her…did you get dosed by her?"

Victor answered gruffly, "Yeah. She called it "stillness"…why what's it to you?"

"Cuz these journals break her tacto-phero-impetus trait down, explaining the extent of each of her pheromones and the potency levels. Figured that would be the most important part of the read," Dan muttered.

"Even if it was, not like she'll do much more than piss me off with that shimmering bullshit," Victor grumbled, "and I doubt that stillness shit will have an affect on me second time around—"

For the first time, Dan interrupted the feral. "Not necessarily, Creed. Her secondary mutation isn't like Silverfox's; tacto-hypnosis is singularly mental, working the same way as telepathy and tacto-empathy. Mind over matter type of shit. Tacto-phero-impetus works as a biological imperative over its victims, overriding all else. It isn't something you can really develop immunity to, especially when it's passed on between ferals. It's all hormones; just like you can both be affected by scent, so can you be affected by the hormonal and biological impetus her pheromones can trigger."

Victor growled unintelligibly before muttering, "Sounds to me like you're liking these odds, Dan. Hoping the little viper will take me out?"

"Trust me, Creed. Even if she could take you out, it isn't much of a consolation. Just means there's someone who can do better than you—that's a scary thought all in itself…" he stated without much hesitation, to Victor's chagrin. He hadn't told Dan the specifics because he didn't want to admit his goddamned oversights, and the fact the Irish mutt seemed to intrinsically know that he'd met his match wasn't something the vicious mutant liked at all.

Victor huffed sourly, not liking the idea of having a vulnerability nor that fucking Dan was the one to point it out. "Send me anything and everything you find on 'er," he told the other mutant in a terse grunt. "Got anymore spook-talk?" he inquired suddenly.

"Uh, no, haven't kept an ear out for any since the last stuff I told you. Why?"

"Just keep me posted if you hear anything new, Danny-boy," he replied and hung up without another word.

Shucking the booth door open so he could duck out of it, Victor straightened his coat—a brown leather trench with fur lining the collar—and stuffed his hands into the pockets before striding over to the counter where the proprietor was just finishing putting his preserves and supplies together into a lightweight crate. Frails were still stocking up around the emporium, so he went virtually unnoticed as the guy rang him up.

"S'been a while since I've seen you around, Vic," the stout and steely-eyed man behind the counter remarked. "Staying out of the line of fire, I hope?" he quipped as Victor smirked at him and paid.

"The line of fire follows me wherever I go, Rob. Just been busy elsewhere," he replied coolly as he picked up his filled crate effortlessly.

The man—a fellow 'Nam vet that had aloofly befriended him since the first time he came into the shop—chuckled at that before adding an extra bottle of whiskey to Victor's order. He'd noticed Victor's vicious claws and the flash of a fang after seeing his dog tags the first time he came in for supplies. The fact that the tall and brawny man was probably a mutant was effectively overridden by the fact that he was Vietnam vet, so reticent Rob was amicable with Victor every time he was in town.

Victor gave a cursory nod of thanks before walking out of the busy store to the snowy parking lot. He never knew what to make of the amiability random strangers like Rob would extend towards him, but figured one decent human would never make up for the whole lot of 'em. A century of resentment and distrust had taught him that much.

He couldn't begin to imagine what he would've known after 4 centuries.

Driving down the boulevard and making his way up into the mountain roads, Victor couldn't shake how disconcerting it was to have found someone infinitely older and attuned than him, let alone have said immortal locked up in his cabin.

Locked in and naked, he corrected and smirked, reaching into his pocket and fishing out the bit of white lace he had taken off of her. Her scent was like a sweetly dewy perfume that tantalized him, making his mouth water as he held her panties up to his nose and breathed her in. He wondered if she was still unconscious. If she was, then he just might have his way with her; see if that stirred her back into the world of the living.

When he watched her fall through the ice, he'd hesitated, expecting her to bob back to the surface so he could snidely mock her, but when she never came back up and everything around him went deftly silent, something inside him had jolted. His coat was off and tossed away before his mind registered the impulse to dive in after her. The water had prickled through him with its biting chill, but he managed to swim down and see her boneless and floating in the darkness. There weren't any bubbles coming from her when he grabbed her and pulled her up with him, but he still didn't feel like leaving her in the frigid depths.

He had burst to the surface and hauled her up and over before clawing out of the hole in the ice. Completely drenched, he'd picked her up and shuffled away from the broken and cracked ice to collect his coat and wrap it around her. Her pulse had been little less than a thrum against his fingers, but she was alive. The wind had howled around him as he took her into his arms and headed back to the closest place he could steal a car. While she was unconscious, she'd suddenly started coughing up water in the passenger's seat before curling up and shivering under his coat. She was pale, her lips tinted blue and her long dark mane was running down her shoulders and temples in damp tendrils. She'd looked like a sleeping goddess made out of marble.

After ditching the stolen car for his jeep, he'd driven northeast to one of his closest properties, a cabin out in the mountains. He didn't know what to do with her. From the minute he saw her glistening in gold silk and looking like a mythical fury, Victor had wanted her. It had itched under his skin more than the rage and revenge he had wanted to inflict on her. That hadn't happened before. The fact that he wasn't angry with her pissed him off. She'd toyed with him and—now he didn't know what he wanted. He'd jumped in after her for fuck's sakes! He could've left her to freeze and die a thousand deaths in that lake, and instead…here he was, taking her into his renovated cabin up in the mountains—stripping her out of her tattered clothes and wrapping her in the furs covering the foot of his bed and tucking her under layers of bedding. He'd started a fire in each hearth and peeled his wet clothes off before going to the side of his bed and staring down at her. Running his fingers through her hair, he had leaned over her and inhaled her scent, loving the mixture of sweetness and savagery she was perfumed by.

Inhaling her pungent aroma off the pristine white lace again, Victor felt the roaring pulse of urge tingle in his loins. By the time he parked the jeep several meters away from the cabin, his cock was throbbing hard. Maybe he didn't know whether to kill the bitch or skin her alive like he'd promised, but he sure as hell wanted to fuck her again. If he admitted it to himself, he had positively ached for her heat again. She'd been the rarest and by far the best fuck he'd ever had.

He chuckled to himself, musing over the most lewd and lascivious things he would do to the little viper while he trudged through the shin-deep snow to the generator. He switched it on and heard the familiar hum of the battery clicking the power on, but all the lights in the cabin remained off. Only the porch light came on, casting an eerie glow over the snow that was flickering down from the dark sky and shimmering on the ground in thick clumps. He grunted, knowing he'd switched the lights on so when he came back he could flick the switch and light the place up. Getting his supplies, he trudged up to the porch cautiously, sniffing the air for any signs of intruders. The snow was still untouched except from his large boot prints from earlier.

As he wrapped his hand around the doorknob, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Anticipation was buzzing in him, but a flicker of trepidation had him on guard and ready for violence. The feelings irked and pissed him off. Sneering at himself, he wrapped his palm around the cool steel before turning it stealthily. The doorknob turned and unlocked under the distinctive pressure and torque of his hand, a nifty security feature he'd had installed by a crafty gearsmith that had worked on many of the security measures Stryker had on the Island and the Facility up at Alkali Lake.

He walked into the sprawling living room, kicking the door closed behind him with an audible slam. Nothing, save for the crackling and popping of kindling from the fireplace. He flicked the porch light off and stared about into the penumbra of his cabin. Sniffing the air, he couldn't help relish the cornucopia of scents, familiar and new. The telltale citrusy tang of anxiety was stale but present, along with the musk of anger. Some of the anger was his, but a lot of it was hers. The only thing he could compare the scent to was blood-soaked soil. It turned him on.

His senses were buzzing. He knew goddamned well that she wasn't still unconscious, but wasn't about to skulk around his own territory like a prowler. Walking through the living room and passing the fireplace, he headed into the kitchen and put the crate of supplies on the sturdy table—shoving all the perishables into the fridge—before loping back into the living room. The quiet was only interrupted by the crackling fire, the howling wind outside, and his every step over the hardwood floors. He flicked a light switch on and off, and nothing. Walking over to a lamp, he turned the switch before peering over the lampshade. The fucking bulb was gone. Blinking, Victor stood straight and smirked despite himself. Cunning little cunt…

Tension built between his shoulder blades, his senses hyperaware as he shrugged his leather coat off and tossed it over one of the couches before walking to the open double doors of his bedroom. The smell of fear spiced the air, but it was faint. She wasn't in his bed, and there was no sign of anything being out of place. He tried picking up her musky scent, but couldn't discernibly sift it out of the air. His keen nose only picked up stray and stale aromas of her natural perfume all over his bed and leading into his bathroom, where her scent seemed to disappear all together.

Shower…she fucking showered and used my soap! The realization hit him like a slap to the face. She had masked herself and was lurking somewhere, waiting to pounce. He wouldn't be able to tell just where she'd be because his own scent was on everything.

His jaw clenched tightly as he loped impassively back out to the living room.

The quiet was fucking unnerving him now. There weren't any corners for her to hide, nor was visibility poor enough that he wouldn't be able to spot her, but he didn't know where the fuck she could be.

"You might've found a place to hide, viper, but there's no way you're getting out of here. Not unless I open the fucking door and escort you out, so why not come out and play," Victor purred evenly, his ears sharp for any cue. She watched him from her perch in the shadows, her eyes piercing the darkness as she slinked closer to the wood beam.

Snickering at the stillness in the air that only made his hackles rise. Victor rounded his furniture like a panther, his claws lengthening while the firelight glinted off of his dog tags. "C'mon, Isabela…if you're a good little bitch, I just might mount you again. I know how much you loved having your pretty ass dominated," he mused in a husky tone, his shoulders rolling back as he titled his head and grinned. "Probably been thinking about me," he purred leeringly, "missing me and wanting an excuse for the big bad cub to come after you?"

Only silence answered him, but something in the air shifted. It was a small price to pay in order to prowl into a better attack perch, and Isabela couldn't rely on her frayed senses from keeping her predatory pride in check.

Victor decided to instigate further. "Been so hot for me that you lost focus? M'not surprised, after how hard up you were for me to pound that juicy cunt of yours. How else would you've been so distracted to get dropped in on twice in one night?" he growled mockingly before his senses jolted and he looked up into the darkness of the rafters. His eyes went wide when he saw her practically emerge out of the darkness as she dove down at him, effectively getting the drop on him.

They both crashed to the floor before thrashing and fighting tooth and nail, snarling and slashing against each other wildly. Furniture was kicked and shoved down from their brute strength, their bodies tangled in a battle for dominance that left his clothes tattered and ripped open and her practically naked. Just as Victor sunk his claws into the meat of her shoulder knuckle deep, Isabela drove her taloned fingers in between the flesh of his ribs and curled her fingers around bone before yanking hard. They both hollered at the jagged agony the other inflicted. Battling for the upper hand led Isabela to use her free hand to claw at the thick tendon in Victor's neck while he in turn yanked her up and slammed her back down on the floor. The jarring motion made them both flinch and howl in pain before she snarled up at him and plunged her other hand to mimic the motion of the first. Now the fingers of both hands were curled around a rib, anchoring him down towards her while his own claws sunk deeper into her shoulder and her side.

No matter how hard she tried to roll them, Victor thwarted the maneuver by pressing his torso down on her and pinning her hips down with his waist. By now they were both panting harshly, their teeth bared at each other but their eyes heavy with bloodlust. She shifted under him, but refrained from struggling. Her fingers wiggled in between his ribs, forcing a growl out of Victor and for him to shift against the jarring sensations.

"Why'd yah stop," Victor husked bitingly at her and earned a sharp tug at his ribcage by the fingers still anchored there.

"I can smell you," she panted in a smoky tone before gasping at the claws still embedded into her flesh when they tore in deeper in surly retaliation. "There's no fight to kill in you…not like before," she murmured and arched against him when his nails dragged down her flesh. The air was crackling between them, scented with blood and predatory lust. Then: "I did miss you, cub."

Victor was shocked, but only his flinty eyes betrayed his surprise when they flickered bemusedly down at her.

Her eyes were glowing from the firelight, while his looked almost clear as they gazed into her frondy irises with the russet ring dilating around the pupil. He could smell part of his scent on her, but now the air around him was spiced with arousal and savage anticipation. Both their scents were laced with it.

The sucking sound of her fingers pulling out of his ribcage was as sick as the feeling, but not nearly as jarring as the sensation of the tapered and bloody digits coming up to caress down the curve of his cheeks to linger at his furred jaw. Victor's fingers only tightened around the flesh of her wounds, making her hiss and arch up against him. When her hips brushed his, she gasped at how aroused he was.

He ground against her, the simmering urge she was stirring up in him making him ravenous. His cock was straining against his zipper, but he didn't trust her; didn't want to pull his claws out of her long enough to fucking unzip and take her.

"You can't fucking seduce me like any other piece of shit weak bastard, so don't even try it!" he seethed into her face, making his point by clawing more blood out of her wounds and jamming his thumbnails to scrape against bone while unwittingly grinding his confined erection against her mons.

She hissed at the assault and arched up against him, wrapping her legs around his hips and pulling him between her thighs. Her fingers tangled in his tattered shirt and ripped it before planting her palms against the hot and hairy pectorals of his chest. His dog tags swung between their bodies as she murmured, "You're the one doing all the seducing, cub. It's why you brought me here: to take me…claim me," she paused before purring sensually, "so what's stopping you?"

Victor's brow furrowed in anger, but his lips parted in a brooding sneer. His whole frame tensed against her, but she could smell the musk of his arousal. She was surprised his cock hadn't split his zipper open yet from how rock hard his erection was pressed against her.

He was right. She wouldn't be getting out of here without him letting her. But if Isabela had learned anything in her centuries of life, it was what men wanted—before they even knew. As far as she was concerned, she was the first true femme fatale. A boast like that meant she could manipulate a man inside out. She could pick them apart and reassemble them in a jumbled mess that suited her ambitions, but he was incredibly unique. He wanted her. Maybe not the way most men wanted her, but she could smell it on him; read it in his every gesture and hear it just under the surface of every boorish word. He couldn't kill her, so the allure for him was to take out every lurid sadistic fantasy he'd ever machinated, with the gleeful understanding that he could do it to his heart's content without killing his plaything.

Oh, she wanted him. Her scent spoke volumes to him, making his mouth water and the blood roar in his veins. But he knew there was cunning lurking in her eyes, waiting for him to acquiesce to lust so she could pounce.

Her bloody fingers smeared across his chest and up his neck, making him intently focused on her provocative expression. Her lips were glistening and her eyes were hooded, making her fucking delectable. She was practically naked under him, covered in drying blood and one of his tattered shirts. It made him hot to see her in his things—to smell his own blood mingled with hers. She was a supple hellion, just as bestial and ruthless as he, and just as hungry for him as he was for her.

His claws pried out of the healing skin of her shoulder and curled to grip the back of her hair, jerking her up to gasp into his mouth as he devoured her in a hungry kiss. Her hands gripped the back of his neck and forced him to tear his other claws out of her in order to prop himself above her. She returned his kiss with gusto, groaning into his mouth as their tongues battled for dominance. Victor parted from the kiss and growled against her lips, his forehead pressed against hers so he could gaze into her scintillating eyes as he shoved a hand between their bodies to roughly unfasten his fucking jeans and zip them open.

The vicious guile flashed in her expression so quickly Victor was too late to notice the shimmer that coursed over every plane of her bare skin. An irksome feeling of numbness began to lace up his skin, instantly making his limbs heavy and preventing him from thrashing as violently as he could. Isabela rolled and slammed him belly up on the floor before his arms went out from under him. Kneeling and crouched down over him, she pressed her forehead against his and ignored his snarling, waiting for the stillness to effectively incapacitate him before nuzzling his cheek.

The action startled him, and snapped his seething down to a gruff growl that eventually died in his throat. She wasn't sinking her nails into him or ripping his jugular out like he'd expected…and it unnerved him.

She seemed to read his mind when her eyes fixed on his. Rearing back up to straddle him, Isabela rolled her shoulder and hissed while her hands absently caressed the muscled and furred planes of his chest. "To answer your questions from earlier," she purred, trailing her fingers over his dog tags, "Yes. You made an impression…lingered in my thoughts. But clearly, it's been the same for you."

Victor stared implacably up at her, his lips parting to huff at her. He didn't know what to say. She took one of his hands and brought it to her lips, brushing her mouth over his knuckles before licking up his forefinger from base to nail. She sucked his finger clean of her own blood, gingerly cleaning under his wicked claw before pursing her lips around the digit and letting him feel her fangs and incisors lengthen over it. Victor swiped his tongue over his teeth and watched her hungrily, unable to do anything against the stillness that clung like a vice over him. Guiding his hand down her body to feel the heat of her skin and the curve of her figure, Isabela used her other hand to free his erection before palming the shaft and stroking it lightly.

He hissed in appreciation, his hips jerking with the urge to buck up into her hand but unable to. She fixed him with an expression softened by desire before guiding him into her heat and rearing down over his hips. Victor clenched his teeth and growled, his eyes heavy with animalistic want. He could feel the tingling in his extremities as they fought against the debilitating numbness, but all he could manage to do against the stillness was flex his forearms and fingers.

She rode him with savage accomplishment, mewling with her efforts and gripping his chest while Victor relished in the sensations, ignoring the animal and the loathing of being dominated…for the moment. His hands managed to creep up her thighs to dig his nails into the back of her hips, his groans and panting gruff and raw, sending chills up her spine.

When he bucked against her, she cried out in surprise, her eyes locking on his in a moment of feral levity. Moaning at the savage gleam in his clear blue eyes, she lowered for a kiss. Victor dove as best as he could to capture her mouth, tasting the blood on her lips and nipping at her for more. Her hands gripped his shoulders as she ground down on him, raking a growl out of him and deepening their kiss. Before long, Victor could muster enough will against the stillness to grip her waist and work in unison with her rhythm, slamming his cock into her tight heat with bruising strokes that left her bucking and sighing from the intense pleasure and tingling pain.

Her nails scraped down his collarbones and dug into the top curve of his pecs when she arched over him and cried out. Victor felt her whole body tense and strangle his cock, working him into a frenzy. He slammed his hips up in powerfully frantic thrusts before her rippling orgasm milked him into his own ecstasy. He roared his climax, leaving him mindlessly fulfilled as they both rocked against each other and prolonged their bliss.

Completely spent, he fell back on the warm floor, panting up at the beamed ceiling while she hummed and rested on top of him. She nuzzled the side of his neck, sighing against his skin before nipping drunkenly at him. Victor growled noncommittally, his body tingling and his pulse roaring under his skin. He wasn't sure if he could move, but he really didn't give a fuck. He felt too goddamned good to think over the contingencies of what he was going to do once he could move.

For long moments, the only sounds in the cabin were the crackling in the fireplaces and their satiated breathing. Then Isabela shifted on top of him, sighing at the feeling of him still deep inside of her. Biting her lip, she lifted off of him and shivered minutely at the sensation of losing his heat before she smiled the first impish smirk he'd ever seen on her.

Her Komodo-like teeth flashed at him before retracting. "I have to say, Creed. I like your brand of punishment. Makes me wonder what your rewards are like," she mused before standing and coquettishly leaving him on the living room floor to slink sinuously into his bedroom with a cool glance over her shoulder at him.

Victor growled rapaciously while his predator's pride seethed at him. He'd been fucked belly up by the viper…and he'd fucking liked it. Here he was, still frazzled by her goddamned stillness and all he could think about was how he wanted to fuck her silly—pound into her until the only breath she could muster was to scream his name. He stood shakily, his legs threatening to buckle from the remains of the stillness. It also didn't help that his jeans were still shoved down mid thigh.

Furiously kicking his boots off, he stripped his jeans off his legs and shucked his torn shirt before prowling as impassively as he could to his own bedroom. She was laying out on the thick furs sprawled on his bed, her hair fanning over the side of the mattress and the length of her neck was tilted taut, exposing her slender throat. His tattered shirt was strewn on the floor, leaving her naked and illuminated by the glow of the fireplace. She shifted just enough to acknowledge his presence before a smile softened her kiss swollen lips.

He looked like a god, standing utterly naked save for the dog tags around his neck and the smears of his and her blood. His body was chiseled muscle, streamlined with taut tendons encased by hot tanned skin. Dark hair covered his chest and trailed down his abdominals down to his navel before dipping into a coarser path down his apex. His eyes were smoky, but crystalline blue, making it seem like ice water coursed through his veins.

"You're a manipulative little viper," he murmured gruffly as he stalked into the room and into the warm glow of the firelight from the hearth. "If you think your lizzie ass is getting outta here alive, you've fooled yourself real fucking good," he snidely growled as he strode to the foot of the bed and loomed over her.

"I can't kill you, Creed, and you certainly can't kill me," she purred gently, her expression cool, even when he grabbed her ankle and pulled her to the foot of the bed.

"Creed? Have you gone cold on me already? I think we're on a first name basis, Izzie," he snapped nastily, cleverly combining her name and 'lizzie' to make for a nickname condescendingly endearing.

Her whole body flinched as if she'd been physically struck by the name. Not the first to be clever. She jerked up and away from him, her eyes flashing with a storm of emotions that Victor had seen thousands of times before they dimmed and grew hollow. Ghost eyes.

It took her a moment to recover from the whirlwind of memories he'd plunged her into, and by then the only thing she felt was a hollowing sense of melancholy...and a sinking ache that welled in her chest. She'd unconsciously scurried back on the bed and her whole frame was twisted with tension.

Victor watched as she tried to recover her cool veneer, intrigued and humming with accomplishment that he'd rattled her so deep to the bone with just a well-chosen nickname. He climbed onto the bed and crawled towards her with sinewy mischief before her gaze focused on him again.

"Triggered a memory?" he quipped scathingly before trailing his clawed hand up the slope of her foot to bracelet around her thin ankle. She jerked and hissed at him, but there was no hostility; the fight had receded, leaving her haunted and skittish under his imposing presence. He shushed her with amused bravado before tugging her towards him.

She reared up and gripped his wrist, wringing it away from her as she fronted him in a seething gesture. He stiffened, but didn't feel threatened by her forceful gesture. His eyes locked onto hers, and for the first time he felt a blistering intensity bore out of her as she dragged her hands up his arms to frame his face firmly. A twinge of hurt flinted momentarily in her eyes after flickering over every sculpted detail of his face before fixing on his steely blue eyes.

It wasn't him. Creed…Victor wasn't him.

Nonplussed, Victor watched her expression cool and the stoic façade flood her eyes once again.

"You're right, Victor. We're definitely on a first name basis. I think more than you'll ever know," she murmured stoically before brushing an open mouth kiss over some dried blood on his cheekbone.

The viper was just brimming with surprises.

All the tension washed away, leaving Isabela sinewy and inviting as she lowered back down to the mattress, propped up on the furs and pillows. Her eyes never left his, following his gaze when it raked up her body for a brief moment before he hesitated and growled.

He wanted to slam her against the headboard and shove into her pussy, fuck her with brutal ferocity and bite down on her pulse. Still, he hesitated, the skeptical caution coiling his lust like a spring deep in his gut. She was tumultuous, volatile, and captivating, but no matter how much he wanted to fall upon her, he didn't know what she was capable of; wasn't sure if she was being pliable or cunning.

Soothingly, her foot trailed up the side of his thigh and lingered at his hip. "Victor," she murmured so softly, with such assurance that it stunned him. "I'm not going to bite, at least not unless you make me," her lips parted almost wistfully as she rested her arms palm down on the bed.

Submission. She was submitting herself to him—belly up and claws down, her hair tossed in a lovely series of dark chocolate strands and chunks all around her. The scar skirting her womb was taut and smooth. Victor prowled over her and dragged the pads of his fingers over it. She tensed, but didn't move, watching as he fought the overwhelming senses that warred within him. Her offering didn't make him feel powerful. She wasn't a frail—wasn't a victim for him to break and be filled with power by, fleeting and sweet. She was more than that.

"As much as I love it when a frail strokes my ego…I gotta say," Victor trailed off as he crawled over her and fixed her with a stony glare, "I'd love it more if you fought me, Izzie."

Her eyes blazed, anger flooding her scent as she rose up and slapped him. She definitely didn't use her full strength; Victor knew if she had, he'd have a shattered jaw at the very least. As it was, the joint in his jaw stung brilliantly, flaring pain all the way down his neck and back up, but he still couldn't help the bark of a laugh that her livid blow brought up as he propped himself from rolling off the bed. He caught her wrist when she aimed a punch at his mouth, but couldn't catch the knee to the gut when she jerked her arm away.

"That's it, Izzie, fight me! If you don't I'll peel the flesh off you and fuck you raw," he laughed and growled as they fought on his bed. "Maybe you'd like that? Having me tear you to shreds and do it over and over again every time you heal, huh Izzie?" he hissed with sinister lust dripping in his tone when a hard punch connected with his cheek and jerked him backwards off of her.

She pounced on him and he actually bristled from the intensity of her rage. "You can't call me that!" she seethed into his face, her eyes trembling with fury. "Not unless you can die, do you understand me? Unless you can die and I watch you die, don't ever call me that, do you understand," she hissed ardently before pressing her hand flat over his heart and lifting off of him towards the head of the bed.

The electricity was blazing in the air, and Victor rose on his elbows to watch her calmly wrap herself up in a fur pelt. That moment of burning passion was staunched out. Only ice remained in her now.

Licking his lips, Victor tried not to let her audacity feed his rage. No one told him what to do anymore…no one threatened him. But there was something in her eyes—in her lividly pained expression.

He wondered if he'd looked that way when someone mentioned Jimmy to him.

"I'll call you whatever I want, viper," he suddenly broke the silence, and she focused an icy glare at him. He prowled over to her and yanked the fur away from her. She hissed warningly, but he forged on, "If you can call me 'cub' and get away with it…I'll call you whatever the fuck I'd like."

The anger faltered slightly in her gaze. They looked at each other for an intense moment before he dragged his hands up her arms and over her breasts, nuzzling her temple and possessively grabbing her, gathering her into his lap. Shivering, she gripped his shoulders before relaxing against him, returning his primitive gesture by tilting her head and nuzzling under his jaw.

He didn't know why he gravitated to her, but something savagely primordial linked them, and it wasn't their feral natures. She felt it too, and it unnerved her to the very marrow. She ached because of it, and all she wanted was to be the animal she was, feral and open to the predatory reciprocity Victor offered her. Fisting his hand in the back of her long hair, Victor tilted her face up and lowered his mouth to hers, unknowingly wanting the same thing.

They kissed savagely, brushing tongues and scraping teeth against each other as Isabela arched taut against him when he slid inside of her. Victor growled, working them both into tantalizing desire as he clamped his teeth over the tendon joining her shoulder and neck. He set their pace, slamming her onto his lap over and over again while she clung to him and cried out. His clawed hand cupped a heavy breast and squeezed when she dragged her nails down his upper back and scraped her mouth over his earlobe to nip hard at his jaw. Groaning with approval, he suddenly slammed her back against the bed and rose up on his knees, forcing Isabela to wrap her legs around his waist and to press her shoulders back against the bed. With one forearm propped behind the small of her back, Victor thrust hard into her, earning a hearty gasp from her when he stroked upwards to press against her womb.

He dragged his hot mouth and sharp fangs over her supple breasts, sucking roughly on a dusky nipple and twirling his thumb over the other all the while driving into her with wanton force. She gripped the back of his shoulder and cupped the back of his head, arching heartily into his mouth with dizzying need. He hummed against her flesh before sinking his fangs into the top curve of her breast. Stifling a mewl of pleasure, Isabela bucked hard against him before his tongue laved at her wound leisurely and ripped a contented sigh from her lips.

"Stop biting back those sounds," he growled against her breast before rubbing his mutton-chopped cheek against the hypersensitive flesh under her jaw.

Humming, she mused in a breathy tone, "Tear them out of me, Victor."

His hackles rose at that, but when he looked into her teasing frondy eyes, he knew what she meant. Grinning wildly at her, Victor flashed his fangs at her with lustful eyes before sinking his teeth into her soft neck. The hot gush of blood flooded his mouth, making him dizzy with pleasure as he pounded into her.

Isabela cried out, stiffening against him and digging her nails into the back of his shoulders. His next thrust stroked against her womb again, and Isabela shouted his name with vigor as her sheath clenched around him in her blazing orgasm.

Victor tossed his head back with a roar of pleasure as he frantically fucked her into his own shuddering climax, bracing his hand against the headboard when he drove into her one last time and groaned in savage completion.

He loomed over her as tremors shook his hunched shoulders, while she remained sprawled under him. His eyes were half lidded when they connected with hers, and a rush of heat curled in his belly at the sight of her looking so content and sated under him. She grabbed his dangling dog tags and yanked him down onto her before licking up his throat and chin at the blood he'd spilled, clamping her own feral teeth at the tender spot under his jaw. Victor craned his neck to allow her better access, purring a growl as he settled on top of her. Their predatory signs of affection spoke volumes, more than either recognized.

Her nails scratched soothingly at the back of his scalp when she licked his healed skin clean of his blood and rubbed her nose against his mutton chopped cheek. Victor purred, burrowing his face in the crook of her neck and breathing her in. She smelled tantalizingly beautiful in her afterglow, especially since whiffs of his scent were laced in her own now.

Her breathing was soft against his ear when he shifted; her hands were loosely resting over his shoulder blades while her knees clung gently along his haunches. Drowsily grabbing a mess of comforter and furs, Victor covered them both before nudging his head against the side of hers and grunting. She hummed tiredly and cuddled him in response, nuzzling his jaw and cheek. The heat and acceptance of her body made him feel high. It was a feeling that made him privately swell with pride.

Mine.

His satisfied thoughts clung to the proclamation as he started to doze, savoring the heat and feel of her pinned under him.

                      _____________________________________

Basset hadn't called. It wasn't like the man to doddle when a task was expected of him. Débile incompetent.

Armand swirled the glass of amber liquid languidly as he stared out the lit up Parisian night. He was too self-assured to worry about the lowly flunky. Besides, Nagaraja being assassinated would be headline news in the morning. As far as he was concerned, it was now smooth sailing, especially since the tele-computer was reaping so much already. He had investors salivating and with Khomeini being outed when Basset leaked his ties with Nagaraja, his dealings in a FDI-friendly Iran would be cemented.

All in all, Armand felt like he was on top of the world, figuratively as well as literally.

Only a few hours until morning stood between him and a jubilant future.

                      _____________________________________

"With all due respect, sir, I don't see how this is my problem."

"Oh really? You don't? Your fucking unit went in and blasted that ballroom into the Stone Age, commandant. There was so much goddamned blood and guts that even my most grizzled men were puking their fucking brains out in the hall! I put you in charge of this unit and I expected diligence, not a goddamned SWAT team!" the burly man shouted and rose behind his desk, hollering the last of his tirade right down at the man. "If this isn't your problem, than I'd like to know who the hell you think it belongs to?"

"We had several sources and good informants…the third target wasn't expected," the surly man muttered. "I followed orders and did everything to procedure—!"

The electronic door slid open to allow the glowering agent into the room, cutting the man off. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything," he aloofly remarked, to the chagrin of the commandant.

"Not at all Nick. Just the man I need," their superior stated before directing a sharp glare to the other man, "I'm reassigning you, commandant. And the next time you fuck something up royally, your answer better not be how it wasn't your problem, understood!"

"Yessir…" the man grimaced slightly before stalking out of the room.

"This is a giant mess, Nick," the man sighed and dropped back into his seat.

"I know, sir, but to be frank, I told you Moss wasn't keen for this job," Nick said, implacably respectful.

"I know. That's why I'm assigning you to this unit," the man couldn't help a lopsided smirk at the balking stare he got from the agent's good eye. "C'mon, Nick. You're up for the task. I trust your judgment and am prepared to give you whatever backing you need."

"Just tell me one thing, sir," the agent warily said, "will I have final say so on our targets and who we tag for detention?"

"Listen very carefully, Nick. If you bring this up again, I'll deny it, but off the record?" the man leaned over his desk and ground out, "I don't fucking care what mutie freaks you decide to tag and bag, just as long as you use your fucking discretion. Clearly we got shitty intel on this 'Vipress', and I really don't know what to make of one of Stryker's pet projects prowling into the situation. Frankly, if they'd just made mince meat of Nagaraja and his cronies, I wouldn't even be this pissed, but they took out some good men…"

"I understand sir…but I have to tell you, I don't think either of them are a priority. I'm not saying I don't think they're important targets, especially after the rampage they caused, but I have a hunch something bigger is happening. Vipress is a pro, and so is Sabertooth. The fact that we got the drop on them is too convenient. I'm more concerned with just who was feeding us the intel," Nick explained, "all of this coincides with the theft of the tele-computer, and the fact that our list of suspects has narrowed down to whoever benefitted from Nagaraja getting killed makes me want to track that lead…"

"Nick, I trust you. Do whatever the hell you think you need to do. I'll be cleaning up this mess for weeks, so you have that long to follow your hunch and get back to me, clear?"

"Yessir. Thank you," Nick saluted the man and strode out of the room.

The last thing he'd expected was to get promoted, but hell, if it meant he got out of the CIA and into a position with more clout, than he was fine with it. He knew that computer was involved in this whole mess, but he just needed to find out who wanted it and Nagaraja out of the picture. Two mutants crossing paths was the least of his worries, as far as he was concerned. The piece of technology that had been stolen held enough secrets to bury the U.S. in wave after wave of attacks, domestic or otherwise. No, as far as he was concerned, finding the computer would lead him to the bigger fish.

With his hunch and objective in mind, Nick headed on to track leads, memories of better days clouding his thoughts.

____________________

Read Chapter 4: Sighing Ecstasy

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[furious-rogue-stuff]

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 2: Ravaging Intrigue

Pairing: Victor Creed x Isabela Montecristo | Sabertooth x Vipress

Disclaimer: This series will have canon-accurate and heightened levels of violence, adult themes, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and graphic descriptions of sex. *Post-Origins movieverse.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word count: 12,000+

Series Summary: Victor Creed's reputation as the Sabertooth proceeds him. He clashes with a mysterious feral woman, an enigma and anomaly to everything he knows. What began as a hunt becomes a dance between like-minded predators.

🚨Warning: Violence, gore, language, mentions of rape, and some feral power play. I do not own any aspect or character of the Marvel Universe nor elements of the X-Men Origins movieverse.

A Feral Interlude Masterlist

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 2: Ravaging Intrigue

"—you're telling me your dumb shit of a son swiped one of the most advance pieces of technology to date right out of your safe because he wanted you to sign over his trust fund?!" the former colonel bellowed at the disgraced DIA Director slumped in the steel chair across from him.

Reginald DeLaughter curtly nodded, averting his eyes away from the CIA agent who had far too much seniority for his tastes.

"Tell me, Delaughter, can you even fathom just how much shit you've caused because of your inability to: a) Keep your con artist punk of a son in check and b) Safeguard not only one of the most advanced tele-computers, but the batch of top-secret digital documents involving agencies that not even the executive branch knows about?!" the agent rounded the table and gave the man an implacable stare from his one good eye with a scowl.

"I'll have your goddamned badge!" DeLaughter jumped to his feet and inched towards the agent. "My fucking son is dead; didn't know what the fuck he was taking, let alone that he would get killed over it!"

Without flinching, the agent shoved him back into his chair and loomed in his face as he seethed, "That's the problem. Everything on that portable machine you had tossed into a safe instead of secure at the Defense Department like it should've been has hundreds of files," he paused and fixed the man with a cold glare, "each of which involves matters of national security that were compiled through hundreds of missions and contacts. Men and women have died to scrap together this intel, and under your watch, someone now has said information for sale to the highest fucking bid. Do you have any fucking idea how many angles the U.S. can get screwed in because of you?!"

When the man yet again looked away, the agent hauled him up and slammed him against the cement wall. "If it were up to me, an asshole like you would be court marshaled and tossed into a detention cell to rot like any other terrorist bottom feeder," he spoke contumely, adding, "but you're the FBI's problem now. You have a future of obscurity to fall into now, and if anything happens to this country, you shall be judged."

Tossing the man back into the chair, the agent stalked out of the room and headed down to brief his squad. They were on the hunt now for the retrieval of as much of the lost intel they could piece together. The hope was to avert any leaks as well as determine what target had the most to lose. He couldn't wrap his head around just how the spy knew about the computer, let alone about the asshole's son stealing it and running off to Vegas with it.

The world was a dark place outside of America. Nick could only imagine who wanted the information and what they intended to do with it. Most of those files had no backups. Going digital was supposed to be the ultimate safety precaution, but of course even that wasn't fail proof. It was damage control time.

With renewed fears brimming inside of him, he marched down and took the elevator down to the sub-levels of the Pentagon, ready to tackle the tyranny looming in the shadows.

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Her Chanel heels clicked mutely across the polished floors of the consulate's lobby as she crossed the stairs and headed for the bank of conference rooms that required three forms of ID to access. Showing her counterfeit credentials to the guard, she passed through security and headed down the long and opulently decorated hall for the conference suite.

Knocking on the door with the back of her knuckles, she waited until the door clicked automatically open and allowed her entrance.

"Mademoiselle Montecristo," the man with the thick French accent and Armani suit greeted as he rose from the lacquered table by the window, crossing the room to take her hand and kiss the back of it. "Thank you for being so prompt. Please," he gestured her into the room and pulled the chair out for her.

"I trust your superior has gained the information he needed from the machine, Monsieur Basset?" she spoke, getting right to business as she stared at the man across her through her tinted glasses.

Clearing his throat, the man reached for a folder and slid it towards her. "My employer would like to contract you for another venture," he announced as she flipped through the file, scanning the information. "We would pay you the same sum as before—"

"This is a counter-insurgency job. My quote is double the sum," she interrupted, gazing stoically at him while she drummed her red-painted talons over the picture of the target.

"Mademoiselle—I would have to confer with my employer…"

"If the French government wishes to eliminate targets cheaply, they have agents for that. I was told your employer wasn't directly affiliated with the regime," she countered smoothly, tucking a rogue strand of hair behind her ear.

"He is not. But this mission would involve more than eliminating the target. We need to find direct ties to him and Khomeini. It will help the French government, and ensure my employer's future ventures in Iran aren't jeopardized by any...extremism," he stated and sat back stiffly in his leather-backed chair.

Her camouflaged nails halted in their drumming as she stared keenly at the man. "Information isn't cheap; neither is assassination. When your employer agrees, you will wire the documents to the same bank as before along with a French bond to cover the deposit," she announced curtly, her eyes cool behind the amber-tinted frames that obscured the eerie russet ring around her pupils.

"Understood, mademoiselle," the man gulped and tried to remain composed under her predatory gaze.

Standing, she politely shook his hand and headed for the door, before a rogue thought made her pause. "Ah, monsieur. Did your employer dispose of the machine?" she turned and glanced at him over her shoulder.

"Oui…vendu sur le marché noir," he replied cautiously.

"Ah, bon," and with that, she exited the room and headed down to the crisp November air of the nation's capital. There was no question that she'd have the job by the end of the day, so she decided to dedicate the rest of the early afternoon to shopping in D.C.

She had completed the job from Vegas the week before and had received her fee, which had been wired to her account in the Cayman Islands. The only reason she had taken the job was to create distance as well as call the Frenchman's bluff. He had folded earlier than she'd expected, so she had been forced to cancel the espionage job at the last minute in order to head to Washington.

Tommy DeLaughter had been puddy in her hands. All it took were a few touches of rapture and he had adoringly broken into his father's safe and taken the portable computer out. He'd even written the blackmail letter under her alluring gaze, suggesting what to write in murmurs that forced him to cling to her every word. Once done, she'd taken him to Las Vegas like an overgrown puppy, keeping the rapture active with a few caresses before sending him to book the high roller's suite with his father's card while she went to the Stardust to crash the conference. She had calculated that his body wouldn't be found until the next morning, either by housekeeping or the FBI. She had been right, but she hadn't anticipated getting ensnared in an encounter, let alone one so…

Sighing, she brooded and stalked out of the car as soon as the chauffer pulled it open for her. Dismissing him for the rest of the day, she strode out and busied herself with idle shopping at all the designer boutiques, absently ignoring the chill while her mind continued to wander.

He'd caught her fancy. Even now, his check was tucked into her vintage Chanel purse—the urge to fish it out and inhale his musky scent an unruly impulse she managed to suppress. She figured he wouldn't make a move until he had sufficient background info on her, which she also figured was the reason that a week had gone by with no reprisal.

The Sabertooth is on the prowl…

She was sure he wouldn't find much, but she wasn't sure if she should take solace in that or not. Centuries of practice and the ravages of time were two of her advantages—ensuring little remained of her origins. If anything did remain, it wasn't anything sufficient enough to pose her great harm. Besides, Creed didn't even bother to learn her name, a funny thought to her now that she headed towards the bank. The man was a tempest, made up of keen brawn and cunning, but thinking ahead didn't seem to be one of his strong suits—or at least nothing he seemed to worry about. She assumed he wasn't accustomed to letting his prey survive an interlude with him, if they even stayed alive long enough through the encounter, that is. Being mindful of things like his prey's name was a frivolous expectation to have of him, which somehow added to his charms. His intelligence hidden under the rouse of brute indifference had made an impression on her; it was only a matter of time.

He'd most likely get as far as Berlin, which was really the only time she'd left a trail she couldn't account for. Thinking back on that time always brought to surface memories she didn't care for. Sometimes the images haunted her for hours before her mind found something else to anchor to. She'd submerge them, shoving them away into the muddy recesses of her mind until the next spark of light revealed them in the darkness. The biting wind roused her to the soft snowflakes that began to waft down from the graying sky.

She didn't know what his means were, but knew he was resourceful enough to get the answers he wanted one way or another. Anticipation hummed in her mind; being the mouse meant she wouldn't know when the cat was near until he pounced.

As she walked into the sprawling bank lobby out of the cold, she submerged her idle excitement and keyed in to find the delivery had been made. Smiling, she made arrangements for a courier to transport her things to the West coast before depositing some collateral into the state of the art vault. She was amused the Frenchman took her for an ignorant fool. Of course she didn't expect him to tell the truth, but selling a telecommunication innovation on the black market?

Whenever she wondered if she took too many precautions, arrogant bastards like the Frenchman always set her at ease. Well, most of the time they did.

Sighing to herself, she went back out into the cold afternoon—absolutely resolute on taking a vacation once this job was over so she could properly focus on being pursued.

                      _____________________________________

The pop of kindling blistering in the fireplace snapped Dan out of his doze, dropping the book from the crook of his arm to thud on the carpet. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stared out the window. Twilight had passed hours ago in the winter countryside his cozy cottage resided in. Grunting, he got up from the leather chair and picked up the book before stretching and popping his back.

Grumbling to himself, he shuffled lethargically into his study to return the book to its assigned slot among the thousands of other books that lined his walls from floor to ceiling. The light from the fireplace in the living room shone into his study before it was dimmed faintly by the shadow that emerged in the doorway.

"S'been a while, eh Danny-boy?"

"JESUS CHRIST!" Dan Dresner whirled at the voice and practically stumbled back over one of the stacks of books that littered the floor. The predatory chuckle sent a chill down his spine before his mind could recognize its owner. "C-Creed—W-What're you doing here?! Trying to give me a fucking heart attack?!" he stuttered, trying hard to lower his voice back to his gravelly tenor instead of the nasal octave it had risen to.

Smirking subtly, Victor prowled into the dimly lit room, fingers skimming idly along the book spines that lined the wall as he invaded the shorter man's space, not bothering to brush the melting snow off his coat shoulders. "Now is that anyway to greet a smiling old face from your past, Dan?" he mocked deviously, his cool blue eyes implacable while the smile expanded to flash his wicked canines. "I gotta say," he added as he glanced around the room with derisive intrigue, "not too shabby a place you got here. It ain't your style—being holed up so far out in the country."

Raking his fingers in his eye-length mop of dirty brown hair, Dan tried to smile at the man, but his lips only managed a twitch. "Trying to stay out of trouble. Easiest way to do that is to stay lost," he answered and glanced at his desk drawer, where his revolver was snugly hidden.

Victor followed his glance and sneered a grin. "You wouldn't even finish blinking, Dan, so don't be rude," he growled patronizingly and enjoyed the flinch that coursed through the tacto-empath. "I've come to call in a favor," he announced as he crossed over to the liquor cabinet nestled in the corner by his desk.

Dan watched as the feral helped himself to his bottle of scotch. "I didn't know I owed any favors," he muttered absently and immediately regretted it.

Victor's chuckle heralded his regret. "Oh I beg to differ. You could've ended up like every other fuck-stick associate of mine after the Island. Did you really think you got away alive without someone keeping you around for later?" he stated with a sinister edge as he regarded the man over the rim of the glass he took a long sip from.

"What do you want?" Dan queried, his throat tight with terror and looking like a much older Irish-blooded rogue as he realized what Victor was saying.

Finishing his drink, Victor helped himself to another and leaned against the edge of the desk. "I know you were Stryker's dutiful information source. I need you to get me background info on a…target of mine," he stated, the command irrefutable in his tone.

"I don't know what Stryker told you," he attempted, but paused when Victor's cold eyes hardened savagely. "I-I'd need access to databases that are long gone now. The closest thing would be getting access to Department H's resources, and we both know how shit out of luck that venture is," he stated his case in a quick rush, trying to abate his fear since he knew Creed fed off of it.

"What's this 'we' business?" Victor barked and plopped the empty glass down on the desk as he pushed off the edge to stalk towards Dan. The man backed up against the corner shelf, thumping against the books when Victor continued, "I don't care how the hell you get the information. It isn't my fucking problem, but if you're going to keep dicking around with me then it will be a problem—for you," he snarled, pointing his index claw into the man's chest so he could watch it lengthen dangerously to prick through his sweater. "Stryker isn't around to coddle you, Danny-boy, and trust me," he growled and inched closer to bare his teeth, "I'm not the coddling type."

Victor knew he wasn't lying, but he wasn't going to take any fucking excuse. Dan might've not been a direct teammate, but he wasn't a full labcoat. The man had joined the project under the niche of intelligence liaison, which afforded him direct access to the facility's resources and Stryker's protection. He figured staying behind the scenes was his smartest bet, so he only worked for and answered strictly to Stryker.

Unfortunately for Danny-boy, Victor knew why the mutant larcenist had joined the project, and it was strictly for self-preservation's sake. Stryker had kept him tucked in his pocket because he followed orders and never stepped out of line, as well as because he was a figurative fountain of knowledge; knowledge he gained through touch. Dan was a walking talking library of information fit for only his former superior's unscrupulous scheming. So, there was little clearance given to anyone but the colonel—that is until Victor started doing Stryker's insidious dirty work. He knew the extent of the man's mutation and had gotten the details of how he'd ended up mixed up with the former colonel, which was a similar circumstance to how Victor and Jimmy had joined the team.

"W-What's this target's name? Who do they work for?" Dan conceded and sputtered, his anxiety so strong that Victor wrinkled his nose at the scent.

Backing down the intimidation factor, Victor strode casually towards the desk and allowed the man to exhale his relief. "Montecristo. Dunno anything else about her; s'why I'm telling you to find out for me," he spoke, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he leaned against the desk. He watched the man's brows furrowed in bewilderment. "What?" he snapped, his mouth taking on a scowl.

"I thought you were done hunting other mutants, with the Island going down and all—"

"Who said I'm done hunting mutants, Dan? What do you think this will be if you don't do as you're told," Victor cut in, the blistering threat edged into his tone. "And who said she was a mutant?"

"I-I only mean—it isn't typical for you to be hunting down some broad, so I figured she had to be mutant is all," Dan stammered, edging towards the closest cluttered table for a stray pad and pen. "Montecristo…like the book?" he asked and glanced over at the massive feral dressed in black.

He grunted and raised a brow, cocking his head to eye the tacto-empath. "What book?" he asked gruffly.

"The Count of Monte Cristo. Famous novel by the same guy who wrote The Three Musketeers?" Dan offered and crouched down next to several piles of books stacked by the lamp he turned on. Fishing for a few moments, he found what he was looking for and stood. "The only time I've ever heard the name—Monte Cristo. It's an Italian islet; means "the mountain of Christ". It isn't a common last name, but there's a brand of Cuban cigars named Montecristo," he explained and handed Victor the heavy book.

Looking at the dusty cover and reading the engraved title, Victor grunted and tossed it onto the desk. "Do I care to know what it's about?" he asked with a cautionary grumble to his voice.

Tensely, Dan sat down on a footstool and shrugged. "Might give you a clue about who this chick is?" he tentatively remarked, and to Victor's noncommittal grunt, he continued, "The protagonist is a guy who gets royally screwed. Takes place throughout Europe in the early 19th century and Napoleon's exile from Paris is the background of the plot…" Dan highlights several important elements of the plot while Victor patiently listens, his expression unreadable but etched in the ferocity that characterizes him. "…Dantès becomes the Count of Monte Cristo and lures all the people who betrayed him into traps where they all meet their destructions, revealing his identity to them once his revenge upon them is completed. It's twisted and revenge-driven, with a few moral allegories in it, but the revenge is the strongest element in the book—!"

"What happens to Monte Cristo?" Victor interrupted, resting his hands along the edge of the desk.

Dan gulped at the sight of his wicked claws fanning out over the beaten wood, answering, "Dumas wrote it so we assume he and Haydée go off together, but the important part of the ending is that while revenge had fueled Dantès, he found peace once he recovered his humanity. As Monte Cristo, he had disconnected himself from humanity and given himself to revenge, but once he allowed himself to forgive he became Dantès again—recovering his humanity…it's all about realizing God's Providence and the importance of waiting and hoping that he'll intervene in the world; punishing the bad and rewarding the good," he paused when Victor's brow furrowed.

—What's the point of living like an animal to begin with? Her voice echoed in his mind, triggered by the juxtaposition of humanity and revenge Dan rambled on about. She'd been talking about taking what was willingly given and the uselessness of it—the pointlessness of taking if there hadn't been a struggle to live, and when taking pride in her struggling prey meant she was in control.

"I'll be checking in with you by the end of the week, so you better have more than a Lit. lecture for me when I do," Victor announced and pushed off the desk, stalking to the door.

"Creed wait!" Victor turned and glanced sharply at him over his shoulder. "I'm going to need more details than just her name. What she look like? Any scars? Or a picture?" the tacto-empath interrogated as cautiously as he could with the feral man eyeing him so harshly.

"If I had a picture don't you think I'd given it to you, jackass?" Victor berated, turning slightly to add, "She's a reptilian-based feral. Doesn't look like a lizard, but she has palm green eyes with a coppery ring around her pupils, retractable incisors and fangs that reminded me of an alligator's, and black talon-like nails that can tear into shit just as good as mine. Her skin shimmers different tones and she emits different types of pheromones she can only transfer through touch," he paused and remembered the shadow of a scar etched close to her womb. "She said she was older than me…dunno how much older. Also said her specialty was espionage, but she's skilled in killing," Victor added instead, figuring the scar wasn't prominent enough to turn up on the type of search the man would be undertaking.

Dan wrote everything down in a coded language only he could understand, which was just as fine since Victor expected the fucker to report verbatim for him. "I'll get right on this," the man murmured and stood, hoping Victor would leave like he came.

"You better. Don't make me regret keeping you alive this long, Danny-boy," he quipped sadistically and smirked, throwing a wave of departure over his shoulder as he walked out of the study.

Dan heard his footfalls course through the house before the door slammed shut. Slumping down to the footstool, he shivered, and not from the burst of cold air that had invaded his house from Victor's departure. He knew the fucking animal would be the death of him; sensed it without having to touch anyone to read the writing that was on the wall. As soon as Stryker started finalizing project Deadpool and word got around about James Logan going on a killing spree looking for Stryker and Creed, Dan had gotten the fuck off of the Island and headed north. Not too soon, considering he heard about the devastation on the news a few days later. He'd also heard most of the lab staff and all the test subjects had perished or vanished in the destruction, with a few rumors about Stryker, Logan, and Creed getting away floating around in the aftermath.

With Victor confirming as much, he knew he was fucked if he didn't comply with the brutal feral's demands. Dan knew there was nowhere to hide. Creed would track him down, probably enjoy torturing him to the edge of death before bringing him back and starting from scratch. Resigned to his fate, Dan prepared to revert back to his nefarious trade from before he was a mutant operative, except instead of identity theft and white-collar crime he would be invading for knowledge for the sake of his own well-being.

Shit…wouldn't dear ol' Ma be proud…

                      _____________________________________

"—when can I expect him to be eliminated?...Bon. See that the documents not get out until after he's dead. Has she asked again?...she isn't a fool Basset. See that l'information trickles to the right parties. It would be preferable if she be éliminé simultanément. Je veux qu'il ressemble à un mauvais allé par incursion…Oui, as soon as the news breaks and the deal is assured, come back to headquarters…Très bien. Maintenez-moi signalé," he hung up the rerouted line and headed away from the bank of pay phones, making his way out of the platform up to the surface of the sprawling train station. His chauffer was waiting at the curb for him, opening the door for him to slide into the back of the opulent Rolls-Royce. The swarthy Parisian businessman stared placidly out of the window, allowing his thoughts to untangle.

That fucking femme fatale thought she could get one over on him? It was laughable. Her smug ignorance would be her undoing.

Armand de Lioncourt was not a man to be trifled with.

He hadn't built his telecommunication empire because he was an imbécile. Like any other entrepreneur, he had paved his way on the backs of others, most of whom were ash under his Italian leather loafers—with their innovations becoming Armand's intellectual property. Nothing would stand in his way; not Khomeini, not the meddling U.S. government, and certainly not some mutant femme too arrogant for her own good. When his head technician told him the tele-computer showed signs of driver duplication, Armand had fumed, ordering the man to extract the information and proceed with his research. He couldn't afford having the woman possess delicate evidence of his criminality, especially when the computer had confidential intelligence of one of his Middle Eastern subsidiaries that would lead to a direct connection between him and Iran for the authorities to trace.

Everything was a delicate process. The theft, murder, and concealment of said dealings were of optimum importance. Basset new that, so when he told him the woman had asked about the computer, Armand knew it was a silent gloat; I have you in my pocket, Frenchman.

She had come highly recommended from a Russian cohort, attesting to her skills but unable to shed any light on her mutant prowess. Truth was, she was so good at what she did that no one lived to reveal just what her talents were. Those who did live never knew what happened to them. The rumor was, she had some form of hypnosis—ensnaring her victims so completely that they handed over information and even walked off balconies they were so utterly devoted. No one had any knowledge of her age or the level of her mutation. Hell, no one even knew where she'd emerged from; most background checks hit a wall at three decades ago, leaving many clients to speculate on just who or what the fierce woman was.

Regardless, as soon as she and Nagarajah were out of the picture, Armand could relax and focus on his future investitures in the fledgling global-telecommunication industry. The computer would be the crowning jewel of his empire, a victory he would flaunt in the world's face. With any luck, the raid would be so precisely messy that agencies would be pointing the finger at each other for months, allowing him to coax the right people into action and solidify the next phase of operations: gaining a foothold in the Middle East before the Americans did.

Smiling pleasantly at nothing in particular outside his window, Armand headed for his meeting in Paris' financial sector, assured that by the week's end he'd be known the world over as Armand de Lioncourt, and not just the Frenchman.

                      _____________________________________

He was going to unscrew Dan's head off his fucking shoulders. The fucker had ordered him to come down to this library, refusing to wait for Victor at his place out in the countryside. At first the nerve of it had astounded the ruthless feral, but the indignant fury that followed had made him hungry for mayhem. No one had talked to him like that. Not even that motherfucking bastard Stryker! He was still reeling from the bristling rage as he stalked through the massive public library, hunting the tacto-empath down through the tall and robust stacks and wings that reminded him of a dusty mildewed-smelling maze.

"Goddammit Creed, you're not going to harass me in my own fucking house! Either meet me at the library or do your worst. Nothing you could do scares me enough to fuck with these people!" Dan had seethed from a combination of trepidation and reckless bravado before hanging up on Victor.

He had called the Irish mutt to let him know he was coming so he'd have his wits about him and got an earful instead. But under the other mutant's mouthy audacity Victor had sensed his hysterical fear. It was that sharp scent that he was tracking now as he rounded a quiet cluster of stacks and study lounges that allowed for more isolated privacy from the rest of the tomb-like library.

Barging into a study room tucked into a poorly lit corner, Victor slammed the door behind him and narrowed his eyes at the man who jumped out of his chair and pressed up against the wall. He was clutching several notepads to his chest and staring at the larger mutant with terror, looking like a disheveled conspiracy nutcase.

"Who the fuck do you think you are," Victor seethed through his bared teeth and slowly advanced around the table towards him. "Did you think by making me come here that I wouldn't gut you and splash this whole fucking library with your entrails, you goddamned fuckwit!? You better start talking before I crack your fucking head open and see if you've really got a brain in there!" Victor hissed and cornered Dan who'd backed into the wall and stammered up at him.

"J-Jesus Creed calm down I-I didn't mean any fucking disrespect I just couldn't stay at my place—c'mon I'm scared shitless already just give me a fucking chance to explain before you go berserk on me!" Dan sputtered and held up his notes as he pleaded his case.

"You're tone's all fucking wrong, Danny-boy. Get it together before I pull you the fuck apart!" Victor snarled in the man's face and loomed imposingly over him.

"S-Sorry—I'm sorry," he inhaled shakily and lowered his gaze submissively. "This shit you got me looking into is really heavy, Creed. You didn't tell me this woman had so many strings attached to her," he babbled and inched away from Victor to grab a stack of papers strewn out over the table.

Raising an eyebrow, Victor watched him collect his notes and lay them out in some unique order that only he comprehended. "Start making sense, Dan. You're tap-dancing on my fucking last nerve!" he snapped and yanked a chair out to sit across from the skittish tacto-empath.

"Okay, okay," he murmured conciliatorily and pushed his hands through his hair before staring at Victor. "For days I couldn't find a goddamned thing on this broad. I ended up breaking into a government installation just west of here, and still the only intel I got on her was a blip in South America. Seems she was a rumored operative for Pinochet in '73, and since the U.S. had backed the military junta, they have a really flimsy file on her," Dan explained as he sifted through some files and found a page. "This is the only picture I've found," he slid the black and white snapshot towards Victor, who snatched it up and stared at it as Dan continued, "all they know is that she's strictly freelance and not affiliated to any regime or any special ops. She has absolutely no allegiances and that's what was on file…up until two days ago."

Glancing at Dan, Victor tossed the blurry picture of Montecristo entering a military-occupied headquarters into the mess of papers on the table. "Quit the suspense bullshit and get to the fucking point," he growled at Dan and fixed him with a glare.

Unflustered by Victor's impatience, Dan pressed on, "I heard through the covert grapevine that a tip came from D.C. naming this jackoff Malik Nagaraja as a co-conspirator of Ruhollah Khomeini, some theocratic extremist exiled from Tehran. Rumor is Nagaraja is orchestrating some sort of coup that will get Khomeini into power and royally fuck everyone else doing business in Iran. If these guys get their way, Iran will revert to conservative theocratic power. Khomeini and Nagaraja are working this from the outside; the first is in Paris and the other is here in the states. Nagaraja got put on the most wanted list at three government covert agencies and Khomeini is under surveillance by the French…but what's going under the radar is that a person of interest linked to Nagaraja is your target."

Victor's shoulders straightened at the last part. "What's the order?" he asked coolly.

"Order is to secure her and Nagaraja to be taken to some hush-hush unit in Washington. This is black ops shit. A special outfit put together to be under the command of an intermediary representing the three agencies. The brass has no idea how she's involved, but they know enough about her to go in with lots of gear. This is all top-secret, so you're probably wondering how I found out about all of this," Dan attempted with a tentative glance towards Victor.

"Oh, enlighten me," Victor grumbled humorlessly.

Leaning over the table as if to impart something sacred, Dan announced, "All of this is a smoke screen. The word is Washington's getting played big time and no one's the wiser because they're following the wrong trail. Some big shot in Europe set this all up to create a domino effect. Montecristo was hired by this guy to kill Nagaraja and get a smoking gun linking him to Khomeini, but for some reason he decided to throw her to the wolves too. Whatever the reason, he's setting it up for her and Nagaraja to get taken out by this black ops outfit. It's probably in order to deflect attention from something else, but there's a huge problem he didn't count on…"

"I swear to fucking Christ, Dan—!" Victor growled in exasperation before Dan continued.

"She can't be taken out," he cut in quickly. "The file I got on her is shit, but it helped me track down other leads," he explained as he pointed down at his coded notes. "She's been involved in half of the skirmishes throughout South and Central America in the last two decades. The junta's know of her, the guerrillas know her, and none of them fucks with her. She's worked both sides, depending on which suited her interests at the time, and she falls off the radar until something else comes up. Because of her vicious reputation, she earned the codename La Vibora," he paused when Victor seemed to perk up, if his gaze intensifying and his jaw clenching with intrigue could be called 'perking up', "it loosely translates to 'the Vipress'."

The image of her lips tightening and her expression smoothening after he called her viper the first time stood out to him and caused a wry smile to creep across his lips. Dan looked at him nervously. Victor snickered to himself. "It fits," was all he confided to the other man as he leaned back against his chair. "Beyond her busy work life, what else has the little viper been up to," he mused, pursing his lips wryly at the weary stare Dan gave him before he plopped down into his own chair.

"That's just it, Creed. There is no record of Montecristo before 1950. She's a ghost; hasn't ever left a trail, other than the few tidbits I scrapped together. This unit in D.C. is what I'm worried about; there's talk in the underground that they're organizing some bureau that'll round up mutants, nothing like what Stryker was doing," he paused as he tossed his scribbled pad onto the table. "It's all one big set up, though. They don't know about this other guy, and he thinks they're going to do him a favor. He's got some flunky setting it all up in D.C., which is how I found part of this stuff out. The guy—Basset—talked to a buddy of mine about getting help disappearing with a huge trunk of secrets, so to speak. Little does he know him and his boss will probably find themselves strung up by their heels and gutted like slaughtered pigs…which is supposedly one of Montecristo's calling cards. This chick is no joke—!"

"I want you to keep digging," Victor cut in, as irrefutable as before.

"Are you shitting me?" Dan balked at him. "After all the shit I just told you you're still going to go after her?"

"That's just the thing," he growled and crossed his arms, "you haven't told me much of anything, you dumb fuck! Just a bunch of hyperboles and spook-talk. It's only made me more curious. I want to know everything about her," since she's worked so hard to bury it all, "like for starters, what the fuck's her first name?"

Dan sat back in his chair and rubbed his temple. "I thought you didn't bother with such trivialities, especially when a broad's involved," he muttered bemusedly.

Glaring at the weary mutant, Victor rumbled snidely, "Have you ever been skull-fucked by a fist, Danny-boy?"

Stiffening with fear, he stammered, "N-No—!"

"Then this'll be your first time if you don't watch your fucking mouth," he snapped. "What the fuck is her name?"

Dan gulped before telling him flatly.

Victor repeated it to himself, as if testing it out while he recalled her in his mind's eye. Mental snapshots of her devouring that DeLaughter kid, lying sprawled out on her side before him—wrapped in his arms and pressed taut against him, her eyes hooded but preternaturally glowing up into his under the light. Her name as well as everything else Dan found fit her.

"The intel you get enough for a profile?" he inquired as he lazily cleaned under his claws with his car key before extending all five nails of his right hand up to the light.

He smelled the apprehension saturate Dan's scent as the man tentatively spoke, "She's suited to hostile environments with severely high temperatures. Probably has a voracious metabolic system, but is most likely a poikilotherm—which would force her to avoid certain frigid environments or seek a heat source, regardless of her fast metabolism. She probably has an abnormally high regenerative trait as well as an age suppression factor…that's about all I can think up—"

"I expected a helluva lot more than that," Victor snapped, his expression surly as he leaned forward in the chair. "I'm starting to think I was wrong about you Danny-boy. I don't like being wrong. If I am ever wrong, I rectify things until I don't care about being wrong," his lip curled back in a slow and nasty grin as he added, "usually, that means stringing the problem up and peeling the flesh off of it until it's a tangle of bloody screams and tendons. So tell me, was I wrong to count on you, Dan?"

The blood drained from Dan's face while his hazel eyes went wide with horror. "N-NO! Of course not! You know I'm good for it—just give me a couple of days and I swear by that time I'll have everything on her there is! By the time I'm done you'll know everything from her favorite movie to her cup size," Dan assured in a gush of words, sitting stiffly and trying not to make any sudden movement as if he sat across from a starving mountain lion.

Victor snickered sardonically, musing privately that he damn well already knew her cup size: a large C. He guesstimated as much from how full her perky tits had been cupped in his massive hands. He submerged the leering smile as he shoved his raunchy memories away to fix Dan with a sly look.

"Keep digging, and get back to that country shack of yours. I'll be checking in for more dirt, and you better have a lot more for me when I do," he stated gruffly and stood. Bewildered, Dan nodded and began collecting his notepads. Victor turned to stride out the door, but suddenly whirled around and prowled down around Dan, slamming a huge hand with lengthened claws down on the collection of papers the tacto-empath was about to gather up. Stiffening, Dan balked in terror at the feral when he inched nose to nose with him and snarled, "Oh, and the next time you ever cross me, or get insolent with me again, you'll fucking wish you were dissected and under a microscope somewhere, cuz that'll be a fucking reprieve from just how fucking berserk I can get. You fucking understand?!"

The breath wheezed out of Dan's throat when he attempted a response, his fear spiking when he thought his inability to respond would get him gutted. Instead, Victor took his petrified expression as his response, smiling mildly and patting him on the shoulder roughly before resuming his exit out of the room. Still racked with panic, the tacto-empath went about doing as he was told, too scared shitless to even think about doing otherwise.

Stalking through the library, Victor descended the wide staircase across from a sitting area in the main hall before passing the librarian's unoccupied desk, his mind preoccupied.

He was amused that the lofty bitch was getting set up, but couldn't help find commonalities between her situation and his own. It reminded him of Lagos. That one fucking assignment had changed everything, tearing things asunder between his brotherhood and his thirst for carnage. Before Victor knew it, he had become Stryker's pawn; his fucking hellhound at his every beck and call. Becoming the Sabertooth wasn't something he could completely blame on Stryker—no matter how much the beast told him so—but the manipulation had widened the fissure between him and his brother, and Victor would have to live with it, rescind to the rage and betrayal he held towards Jimmy instead of the nagging conscience that blamed otherwise. He submerged it like everything else that didn't matter anymore. That gnawing curiosity of his would always pester him, however, which is what got him involved in this cat and mouse game to begin with. He wondered if Montecristo had become a pawn unknowingly or had rescinded herself to it like he had. Whether Dan's fears were warranted or not didn't matter to him. He still owed the 'Vipress' for the humiliation and nothing was going to stand in his way, especially not some covert human bullshit.

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It was snowing outside, the night sky turbulent and heavy with wintery gloom. She absolutely hated snow. It made her feel claustrophobic and weak, desperate for any form of warmth in which to take shelter in. Whipping her wet hair back, she let the preternatural locks air dry while she laid out her gown on the bed. She turned towards the vanity to pick up the teardrop necklace and faced the full length mirror. Fiddling with the clasp, she stared blankly at her reflection, taking in her nudity with idle practice. The overhead light caught the shimmer of her skin, which was reflected in the mirror.

Goddamned artificial light. It'd been a pain in the ass since it became the new advent of the 20th century. Candlelight had always been too faint to reveal her physical mutation, so she'd never had to worry about someone catching the shimmer of her skin until electricity and artificial light became the mainstream.

Securing the necklace, she eyed herself and went about brushing her unruly straight hair. It had a tendency of cascading without any wave or kink according to how it was rooted to her scalp, making it an aggravation to deal with. Leaving it loose was out of the question for the event, so she had to tame it into an upward twist, causing it to fan out like silky tendrils down their fastening at the back of her head and for the usual rogue strands to escape and dangle from her temples down to her clavicle.

Huffing at herself in the mirror, she punished her hair with a can of hairspray, hell bent on having it stay in its configuration for as long as possible before it unfurled and snapped free of its styled bondage. For the hundredth time she thought about hacking it all off, but was again reminded that even if she did it would instantly grow back, just like a lizard that loses its tale immediately grows a new one. Sighing, she moved on to applying her makeup before inspecting herself in the full-length mirror again. Her hourglass shape never betrayed the strength and savagery that hid inside of it, which made her the perfect agent for the kind of work she'd been doing for centuries. No one ever suspected her of being anything more than a beautiful gold digger, at best. It suited her intentions just fine, but every once in a while she wondered if things for her could've been different.

The shadow of the scar etched close to her womb always made her think of him. All the possibilities that slipped out of her fingers when—

She stared blankly at her reflection when a triggered memory flashed vividly into her mind's eye. Staring into the mirror, the memory played out for her in the reflection. Her hand lingered over her flat belly as she cocked her head to the side and pensively stared at her reflection. He had come up behind her, snaking his massive hand around her waist to rest over her navel as he swept her hair out of the way in order to murmur something in her ear. His pale skin clashed with hers, but seemed to radiate a heat harnessed by his blood and flesh, all of which he'd pressed cheekily against her before gazing at her through the mirror. She saw his glacier blue eyes staring back at her with the joie de vivre glint in them that unnerved everyone else, especially when accompanied by the roguish smirk he flashed at her before he ducked down to nuzzle her neck.

She didn't feel the heat of his skin; couldn't remember what it felt like nor recall the gravitation she had once felt when he held her possessively and teased her with his steely voice. The memory being reflected back at her began to fade, and no matter how much she willed it to last, it flashed away, the only image lingering briefly was his temple brushing hers and his blond hair dangling out of place when he muttered something and smiled.

Only the words remained, ghosts in of themselves to her hollowed out memories. Izzie…Make your pick: Sigyn, Idunn, or just Valkyrie. Whichever you are matters not because you are only mine.

Staring at her present reflection, cold and alone, she still remembered what she had responded coyly over 30 years ago.

"Just because you fancy yourself to be Loki doesn't mean you can sway another immortal, Eirik…"

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Like most conservative practicing Muslim men, Malik Nagaraja was a boorish, misogynistic, and horny skirt chaser with an affinity for exotic models and a penchant for liquor. Currently, she was providing both as she laughed softly at his cheap jokes and toasted to the night. The sprawling ballroom was packed with elite guests from all walks of life, many of which owed each other favors or came to ask for them over champagne, hors d'oeuvres and snobbery. Along with the gala guests were a slew of armed bodyguards tucked in and around the atmosphere, precluding her from simply snapping the man's neck and getting it all over with. All she had to do was tempt him into touching her bare skin, and then he would beg her to go back to his suite in the hotel. Basset had received the proof linking him to Khomeini, so all that was left was to kill him and disappear.

Meanwhile, a waiter clearing a table of empty champagne bottles took the opportunity to speak into the microphone concealed in his shirt cuff, confirming the presence of the Vipress and Nagaraja. He went ahead with his cover and went unnoticed, ducking out of sight to play eagle eye for the outfit waiting to pounce in the interior stairwell of the building.

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It hadn't been hard to track Nagaraja, especially when his name was listed as a guest to the new hotel's penthouse ballroom. Security was tight and so was the guest list from the looks of it. With all the bodyguards decked out head to toe in black, Victor figured he blended in just nicely. He figured the opportunity was too good to pass up, even if he was going in half-cocked. There was no question that some sort of ravaging intrigue had possessed him at the idea of cornering her in a room; watching her aghast expression blaze her gorgeous face before her scent betrayed her to him. The short term was what mattered at the moment, so he didn't think too long on the impulse, and now here he was, prowling a gala. He breezed through the bustling main hall, avoiding the blue bloods and pompous dicketry of the scene in search for who he assumed would also be attending the formal social event.

The smells of colognes and perfumes mingled together with the scents of alcohol, starch, and tension that hung in the air. His keen nose wasn't picking up the desired scent, so he crossed the hall to enter the main ballroom. The sumptuous art-deco designs were illuminated by a massive crystal chandelier that had the marble floor gleaming with light that poured down from the ceiling. Tables topped with expensive linen cloths and china darted the ballroom, leaving a wide space in the middle and by the snowed in veranda doors and windows for people to dance and mingle.

He really hated theses fucking things. He could smell the stink of old impotent men and fat bitch women as they got sloshed all around him, the carrying on of the rich and the corrupt a pointless spectacle he was tempted to bring to a screeching halt by gutting or twisting someone's head off for the hell of it. The image of carnage sending people into hysteria made a wry smile quirk his lips.

A waiter scooted past him, but not before Victor snatched a champagne glass off his tray and guzzled it quickly as his eyes scanned the huge room. Loping over to the bar, he glanced around before his eyes honed in on a woman in a backless gold dress socializing with an arab-looking asshole. Watching them, he gestured for the garçon to top him off, not even bothering to give him a look when he hesitated at the sight of his retracted claws. He watched as the woman laughed and her profile came into his view. There's the little viper.

Leaving his empty glass at the bar, Victor strolled casually over—picking up another full glass of bubbly as he went—and getting the tail end of their conversation when he came nearer.

"—would like very much to see your portfolio. I know an associate of mine is looking for fresh new talent," the man offered smugly.

"A diplomatic figure as yourself? I wouldn't dream of imposing," she flirted and sashayed closer to him, giving the man a better look at her supple cleavage in the Gucci grecian-styled gown. Victor saw the hunger in the bastard's eyes and—as he anticipated—saw how his hand hesitated at his side, a clear indication he was aching to touch her silky skin. Oh, she planned on using rapture on him to lead him out of the gala, eh? He was savage with smugness as he came up behind them just as the nefarious fuck was about to caress her shoulder in a gesture of wanton intimacy.

She was smiling into the man's dark almond eyes when she felt someone approach out of her line of sight. "Well, fancy seeing you here, Isabela," the gloating purr of a greeting sent a chill up her spine and caused Nagaraja to pause and look peeved at the tall feral before she tensely turned to stare incredulously at him.

Her look was priceless. She looked taken aback, surprised and rancorous once awareness set in that he had interfered in her hunt and was blowing her cover. The idea that he would catch up to her before her mission was complete never even factored into her considerations. She had grossly underestimated him, and the viciously proud look in his crystalline blue eyes antagonized that fact further. Before her mind tangled up in her contingencies and musings on just how Victor Creed had tracked her down so quickly, her heart skipped when she realized he'd referred to her by her Christian name.

"Victor…what a pleasant surprise," she spoke after a few seconds of silence, in which Nagaraja glared back and forth between them. "It's very nice to see you again," she spoke smoothly, her cool mask recovered as she turned to face him fully and took a sip from her glass. His nostrils flared before forcing his sneer into a smirk. No matter how cool she played it, he knew he'd rattled her. Could smell it in her scent. His cock hardened at the pungent shift while he took her in with a leering glance. Her long hair was fastened up with a few long tendrils dangling across her collarbones. The teardrop necklace hung between the swell of her cleavage, which was a mouth-watering sight. All in all, she looked like one of the Greek furies incarnate wrapped up in the gold silk that left him itching to tear it off of her.

"And who are you?" Victor glanced over at the haughty bastard who was glaring him down.

"Oh, do forgive me Mr. Nagaraja, this is—"

"Victor Creed," he cut in before dismissively turning his gaze back to her. "Didn't think we'd run into each other so soon, eh?" his smile was implacably vicious as he ignored further pretense.

"How do you know each other?" Nagaraja interrupted again, his face puckering in sharp disdain.

Jesus you'd think she had his balls in a purse somewhere, Victor mused before interjecting for her, "Isabela and I go way back. You might say I discovered her and took her in all sorts of poses," he chuckled and finished his glass, the raunchy implications causing her to press her lips together and her eyes to hone in furiously on his while Nagaraja looked confused .

"Yes," she hissed softly, "Victor was a photographer I worked with. His work is very good. He might not look it, but he's supposed to be a master in our industry."

The double entendres of their verbal jabs was lost on the supercilious man, who huffed at Victor before glancing at one of his bodyguards. Victor caught the glance, and couldn't help but grin. "You keep praising me like that and I'm liable to blush" he mused surreptitiously. "But I digress. I just came by to say hi, and see if Isabela would like me to shoot more loads in her—"

"Oh Victor, you silly puss," she interjected with a deprecating chuckle, her nostrils flaring in a fronting gesture only the two ferals understood, "we can talk business later. Why don't you go to the bar and accost someone for another drink?" She stepped back into her target's blind spot so he wouldn't see her skin shimmer copper before adding, "I promise you a dance if you mind your manners."

Victor barked a laugh, which caused several heads to turn in their direction, along with the approach of a few stout bodyguards that Nagaraja silently gestured for.

From across the room, the waiter watched the display and simultaneously spoke into his cuff, "Vipress and Nagaraja still present, but there's another bogey on the scene."

"Getting visual confirmation," his earpiece responded as the hidden camera in the frame of his glasses took snapshots of the threesome and the bodyguards that were slowly making their way to them through the crowd. "Fallback, repeat, fallback. Bogey identified to be codename Sabertooth. Tagged as target, be advised, Sabertooth is now a target. Fallback, we're coming in. Over and Out!" Putting his tray down and heading towards the exit, the agent's chance to escape was thwarted when all hell broke loose in the ballroom. He fell dead to the floor along with dozens of others as a flurry of gunfire erupted in the penthouse ballroom.

                      _____________________________________

"If by dance you mean the horizontal mambo, then sure," Victor quipped lasciviously. "Been kicking around the idea of taking the fee you stole out on your sweet ass," he growled and stalked towards her when he was suddenly grabbed by the shoulder.

"That's enough, 'fella! Now come with us or we'll carry you out," a big brawny bastard with a swarthy face ordered, to which Victor glanced at with sadistic amusement and tossed his champagne glass aside.

"Well, 'fella', if you don't get your hand off me, you won't get it back," Victor hissed and deliberately flashed a fang. Balking at him, the bodyguard hauled his arm back to turn Victor towards him, but when the feral mutant didn't budge, he dug his beefy fingers into his shoulder and tried yanking back again. Snorting, Victor grabbed the guy's thick wrist, snapped and pulled. The sick crunch of bone and tendon snapping and tearing apart was followed by a gush of blood and a shrill howl of agony as the man crumbled to the ground, cradling the stump of his maimed wrist and bleeding out quickly. Laughing sardonically, Victor glared down and around at all the faces that balked at him, waving the bodyguard's hand comically at them before tossing it aside. The beefy and bloody extremity landed in a woman's lap, and a sudden wave of horrified shouts and screams went up as Victor looked over his shoulder at the fuming reptilian feral dressed in gold. She held his gaze with a blistering glare and sneering lips before remembering her objective of the night.

Suddenly, the chorus of screams was heralded in by the multiple clicks of guns and the eruption of raucous gunfire. In the flurry, Victor plowed into a group of bodyguards to his left while Isabela swept like a graceful lizard through a cluster of flunkies before rushing a flurry of blows at them and snatching one of the guns form one of the guard's holster. She emptied the magazine in 10 seconds, shooting at all the guards that were between her and Nagaraja while Victor was painting the surroundings crimson and gory. Meanwhile, the bystanders that were milling out towards the elevators were boxed in by the sudden appearance of armed tactical operatives that swooped into the chaos. Just as Victor tore through a bodyguard and disemboweled another in one swift motion and Isabela tried to get through the flurry by snapping limbs and doubling over men standing between her and her target, a warning shot from a rifle echoed to the ceiling.

Victor and Isabela halted in their advances and snapped around to look at the entrance of the ballroom.

"NOBODY MOVE!" the shouted order came from the black ops commander, followed by the clicks of dozens M16s aimed at anyone still standing in the blood bath. "Malik Nagaraja, Isabela Montecristo, and Victor Creed: You're all being detained under the jurisdiction of the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforce—!"

"Yah gotta be fucking kidding me!" Victor hollered and prowled back into his fighting stance while Isabela extended her vicious teeth and snarled seemingly in agreement with him. The operatives hesitated and glanced at each other, not sure how to proceed without just blasting everything in sight. Ironically enough, neither of them initiated the first defiant offensive. Scrambling up in the mess of blood and gore, Nagaraja dove for a gun and started shooting wildly in Victor and Isabela's direction before his bodyguards joined in by shooting away at the special ops team, sending the whole scene back into chaos.

Victor got clipped in the shoulder by a bullet, which forced him to turn from the blow and see Isabela take two bullets to the chest. She wavered on her high heels but barely staggered from the shots. Instead of betraying shock or pain, her expression became murderous as she looked down at the bullet holes that were oozing blood and back at Nagaraja. In a flash, Victor watched as she crouched down and in one deft motion sliced the ankle straps of her heels before leaping right out of them and into the fray, her feral roar nothing he'd ever heard before. Swinging back around, he grinned at the squad commander and started making his way through several men with his extended claws, splashing and spilling them out into puddles of mayhem and carnage that left him bristling with bloodlust.

Isabela felt the bullets push themselves out of her chest just as she ripped a bodyguard's larynx out and commandeered a dead operative's M16, her preternatural hair unfurling and whipping around her. Nagaraja was pinned in a corner behind a mess of strewn chairs and an upturned table. He was huddled like a child behind fours bodyguards who were shooting at the black ops team who were in turn getting gunfire from all directions and having to contend with a berserk Sabertooth drunk on gore. How he hadn't gotten pumped full of lead was beyond her, but she suspended her astonishment long enough to tactfully open fire on a cluster of commandos that had been advancing towards Nagaraja's posse. Just as Victor plunged his hand like a pitchfork into the black ops leader's stomach and up into his ribcage to heft him like a lump of hay into the air, he heard the popping of gunfire intensify behind him as opposed to at his sides. Looking over his shoulder, he tossed the gurgling and convulsing man away like a gutted ragdoll in black fatigues before turning to watch Montecristo take shelter behind a kicked over table. The few stragglers left alive were concentrating their gunfire at her, to which she returned in quick spurts before her rifle clicked empty. Amused, he took his time to crouch down and prowl at the half-dozen men with M16's on all fours, overwhelming them with the intensity of his strikes and the laugh that seemed to bubble just under his growls of effort.

She heard the blood curdling cries and the wayward pop shots just over the gunfire from Nagaraja's men. She looked over the table's edge and watched Creed literally pick apart the tactical team. He was actually grinning from ear to ear, and the dilated look of sadistic glee in his eyes made her heart clench. She'd seen that look before, and she couldn't believe how reminiscent this whole ordeal had suddenly become to her. Shaking her head, she tore her gown for better mobility and pulled her avid gaze away from Creed to get Nagaraja in her crosshairs.

The party was over.

Vaulting with lightning quick agility, Isabela galloped towards the closest wall and leapt onto the vertical surface, making for a stunning sight as she ran the circumference of the room on the walls towards Nagaraja and his goons. All the horrified men could do was balk in terror as she leapt and fell upon them to be torn asunder. She took sadistic license with Nagaraja and sunk her crocodile-like fangs and incisors into his jugular, relishing in his scream before tearing a chunk out of his neck. The man desperately clutched at his throat while she spat the chunk of his flesh to the side and plunged her slender hand into his chest, clutching his heart and crushing it in her grip. The smell of gunpowder residue, blood, fear, death, and something wild was a dizzying mixture that made her take pause before yanking her hand out of the now dead bastard's chest. She turned to look back on the gratuitous scene behind her just in time to catch Creed's misted blue gaze. He was covered with blood and gore; his sleeves were dripping from cuff to elbow with it and his face was caked with it. She suddenly snarled at him when the reminder that he'd started this clusterfuck slapped her in the face. He seemed to read her mind because his lips pulled slowly back into a gloating smirk that she wanted to slash and kiss off his face all at the same time.

The last few moments had been a blur for him, but he'd damn well paused in gutting a guy when he'd seen her galloping on the walls like a crafty lizard. Seeing her tear a chunk out of the arab fuck-faced bastard had reminded him of the night at the high rollers suite when he'd stumbled upon her ripping out DeLaughter's jugular and carotid—it'd been enough to turn him on all over again. The sight of her standing among a heap of bodies and butchery, dress torn and soaked with blood, hands talons, and lips dripping with it; hair loose and eyes glowing wrathfully at him—well, if he thought she looked like one of the greek furies before, she sure as hell looked like one now.

"Reinforcements near arrival! Repeat reinforcements—!" Victor stomped on the intercom that was crackling out of a straggler's reach before lifting the fucker up by his vest. Just when he was going to deal a death blow to really finish him off, Isabela practically breezed to his side. Snatching the man with a deft precision, she ripped the pins off his belt and hurled him towards the enclosed veranda. Victor's grunt of surprise was choked down when she grabbed his bloody lapels and yanked him down to the ground and on top of her just as a loud series of pops chimed gratingly after a shattering crash of glass. A small tremor went through the floor before all the fire alarms began to wail overhead. She shifted firmly against him before shoving him off completely and scrambling to her feet. Victor brought her back down hard by yanking her legs out from under her and rolling on top of her. The fucking bitch had used him as a shield! They wrestled for short moments before she flipped him over her head and leapt out of his reach.

Crouching into a predatory prowl across from him, she snarled, "You fucking brute! How dare you sabotage me—!"

"The same feisty cunt I remember," he snapped viciously at her before adding, "I didn't sabotage anything. As a matter of fact, I was hoping to get you before these fuckers snapped you up. If you're looking for a saboteur you should really think twice about who you work for, viper!"

"…" the anger faltered in her burning green irises, but the russet ring around her pupil seemed to narrow at him. "Stay out of my way, Creed," she suddenly seethed with composed fury before vaulting on all fours with lightning grace towards the now blasted out veranda windows and doors. The winds and snow were billowing wildly into the gashed structure as she galloped out and up onto the building's façade. He watched as she fearlessly leapt off the balcony ledge to dive across the expanse between the hotel and the avenue below onto a church roof. Victor could hear the helicopter coming over the howling winds in the distance and decided to pursue her, not keen to letting her have the fucking last word—or saunter off for a second time without ruthless reprisal—and damn prepared to get his way.

Diving off the ledge to gallop after her, he tore and slashed at every surface he landed on to gain purchase and momentum. The snow wasn't hindering him as much as it seemed to be doing for her, so before long he'd gained on her and could smell the anger and trepidation in her scent. She was trying to get as far as way as fast as possible. Her talons were biting into concrete, glass and steel as she leapt and vaulted across buildings, scaffolds, and even vertical office windows, anything to get the hell away from the goddamned feral hell bent on making her night even more a debacle. She didn't know where the hell to go, but knew staying in the city was suicide, so she sniffed out the closest trail of wilderness. Before long, her hands and feet went from pounding and grappling man-made structures to cold ice and snow. Her limbs were going numb from the cold, but she was far from ground zero. She couldn't stop though. Not with Creed giving chase. Gritting against the pain in her muscles and the debilitating cold night, she bared her fangs and pushed herself to gallop through the leafless trees and cold snow before her hands skidded in a large clearing and she slid on her palms in knees over a frozen surface.

This was the sort of hunt Victor was built for. They didn't call him Sabertooth for nothing. His high metabolism and huge muscle mass made him a wild killing machine and a furnace of heat. The cold barely registered to him when he was giving chase to his prey, but even he was surprised when his claws scraped ice and gouged for ground. Gaining his bearings, he prowled after her on the frozen lake, growling predatorily as she tried to scamper the grueling expanse. She was panting, her breath puffing in the cold as she tried standing on her bare feet. They were now in the middle of the lake, and Victor was taking his time, stalking her cautiously over the ice while she tried to keep as many yards between them as possible.

"Cold bothering you?" Victor mocked gruffly over the gusts of wind. "Nowhere to go now, so be a good bitch and come get punished," he sauntered towards her in a steady pace.

She crouched and snarled at him warningly as she backpedaled as best as she could before her foot skid and she fell hard on her side. The harsh thwick of her fall sent a splintering shift through the frozen surface and Victor braced himself. Isabela tried to grapple onto her feet but as soon as she moved the ice began to snap around her before buckling. Victor watched with startled bemusement when she clawed desperately for purchase before the buckling ice shattered and she went under with a surprised cry.

Isabela yelped more from the shock of falling through ice than the actual biting agony of the ice boxing her in and the freezing water that sucked her under. She held her breath, but the water was so cold it felt like hundreds of needles were stabbing her. No matter how hard she thrashed and clawed, she couldn't muster enough momentum to barrel back to the surface. The opening in the sheet of ice loomed over her like a cold halo of light within the engulfing freezing darkness.

Her lungs began to burn, but the sensation paled in comparison to the excruciating sting that began to hollow her limbs. Her thrashing began to quiver as the breath went out of her and ice water filled her mouth. Drowning—this is drowning…I'm drowning and dying and—and I can feel it. I'm going to die…finally die…finally…

The halo she stared up at began to grey out and shadow over as her body stilled and the cold seeped into her very marrow. Her lips parted and she suddenly felt utterly weightless. She couldn't see anymore, nor feel herself rise up.

This is death…finally…

____________________

Read Chapter 3: Dizzying Need

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[furious-rogue-stuff]

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 1: Gnawing Curiosity

Pairing: Victor Creed x Isabela Montecristo | Sabertooth x Vipress

Disclaimer: This series will have canon-accurate and heightened levels of violence, adult themes, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and graphic descriptions of sex. *Post-Origins movieverse.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word count: 16,500+

Series Summary: Victor Creed's reputation as the Sabertooth proceeds him. He clashes with a mysterious feral woman, an enigma and anomaly to everything he knows. What began as a hunt becomes a dance between like-minded predators.

🚨Warning: Violence, gore, language, mentions of rape, and some feral power play. I do not own any aspect or character of the Marvel Universe nor elements of the X-Men Origins movieverse.

A Feral Interlude Masterlist

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 1: Gnawing Curiosity

Work had been surprisingly scarce after the Island crumbled. Stryker had gone to ground for all he knew, and Victor took some pleasure at the mental image of his former employer being tortured or treated like a fuck-up somewhere in Washington. The pleasure fizzled as fast as the thought was replaced with his incurable boredom as of late. He hadn't seen Jimmy since the Island and it took him a minute to wonder if he even cared anymore. A stupid thing to wonder, since the fact he still thought of the runt was proof enough that he still cared.

These sort of musings infuriated Victor. He'd push them back down and concentrate on his rage, which seemed to erase anything else until his mind wandered all over again. He forced himself to not look as bored as he felt sitting across from the man who was quoting him for an espionage job. He preferred the government jobs. The brass gave him his parameters, and let him do the job as he saw fit, as long as his methods garnered the wanted results. They paid a hell of a lot more than most private contracts, and they came with so many perks and immunity privileges that Victor had no problem enjoying his work. Unlike lately with all the bullshit haggling and coddling he had to do just to get paid right for a series of crapshoot jobs. Unable to take it anymore, Victor suddenly rested his hands palm down on the table and rose, startling the man's bodyguards standing at attention on either side of him.

"Get to the point or I walk. You're boring me to tears," he grumbled sardonically and enjoyed the tension in the man's face.

The man was clearly an intermediary, meaning this job was willing to pay a chunk of cash. They had sought him out, and he'd met them at a rendezvous point as specified if his interests were piqued. Now here he was, in fucking Las Vegas of all places, getting dicked around with over some stupid computer codes or some shit, when all he wanted to know was if he was cleared to kill and the wage. The man looked very dubiously at the flunkies standing behind him while Victor feigned mounting irritation.

Truth be told, it had been quite a while since he had an espionage gig. Lately he'd been globe trotting doing people's dirty work and dealing with the drudgery himself—no network or government cleaning crews to cover things up—something that didn't really bother him but he felt on principle should. Making people disappear was old hat to him, and he much preferred the gigs where he got to terrorize a target before killing them with intimate cruelty. Espionage didn't leave much room for the former or latter, to Victor's chagrin, but a job was a job. When it came down to it, Victor was a fucking surgeon at what he did, and he was damn proud of it. His calculating savagery and ruthless keenness made him a global terror among other free agents and dastardly government fuckwits alike. It wasn't because he was good at what he did, but because he intimately enjoyed what he did. This job was already boring him to no end, but he figured giving the little man in the fancy suit sitting across from him an anxiety attack was fun for now.

Until the phone at the end of the conference table rang.

The man nodded to one of the flunkies to take the line as he went over a few key parameters of the mission. When said flunky walked over and whispered in his ear, Victor heard, "She's coming up."

"What?" the man balked at the crony. "Right now?"

Victor's brow quirked slowly before he stood straight—towering over the man even from across the heavy glass conference table. "Is there a problem?" he drawled with a gruff edge to his tone.

"N-No Mr. Creed. I just need to confer with another—!" the man was cut off by a knock on the door. His eyes widened before he nodded to the closest bodyguard to open said door.

The door was pulled open to reveal a woman. The dark red of her top was what first caught Victor's attention. Then the fierce scent that carried over to him when she strutted into the office like she owned the place.

"Mediator," she offered as greeting, not even bothering more than a cool glance over at Victor when she strode to the head of the conference table to stare out the long glass window that looked over the Vegas strip.

"M-Miss Montecristo, I-I thought you…" the man stammered, drawing a blank when the woman turned stoically towards him. The illumination of the bright neon signs outside caught the side of her face in the dim room, allowing Victor to take in her features better.

Angular features, screaming Spanish, or maybe South American, with a warm glow that was tempered into a sun-kissed tan across her skin. Her thick long dark hair was combed away from her face to cascade down behind her shoulders, with a few long strands escaping to caress the sides of her face. His eyes lingered on her mouth, painted a shade of red lighter than her top. Her eyes caught his stare, and he saw the stark color.

"My last commitment was rescheduled, so I can take on your mission," she announced with deliberate crispness before she leaned against the glass window and gave the man an intense stare.

"W-Well," the man was at a loss as he stared at Victor before quickly looking back at her. "I'm afraid my employer has had me contact another free agent" he announced, earning a dry grunt from Victor who was now staring the woman down, sizing her up.

"I understand, that is why I've interrupted these mediations and am accepting the job now," she remarked, her voice as cool as a desert night's breeze to Victor's acute hearing. She didn't have a particular accent, but the flow of her speech seemed…otherworldly, as if she'd traveled and mastered speech in every corner of the world.

"Sorry, miss, but I'm here ironing things out. You lost your chance—" Victor's condescending remark was cut short when the woman stalked towards him. He stood his ground and bared his fangs in warning when she was a few steps away from him, but found himself sneering in confusion when she skimmed right past him, as if he was a decorative plant standing in her way.

"Mediator, confer with your employer. I'm sure things can be rearranged," she spoke and glanced over her shoulder at Victor. His eyes had flickered from the sway of her hips clad in the form-fitting Calvin's back up to her bizarrely colored eyes.

He turned swiftly toward the mediator, his heavy black coat fluttering behind him from the briskness of his movement. "This better not be some bait and switch you're playing," he growled over to the waxen-faced man, giving him a searing glare.

"N-No! Mr. Creed I can assure you—"

"That I was tapped for the job first. You're just the fallback choice," the woman cut in coolly before sitting on the side of the table and inspecting her long black nails casually.

"Who the hell do you think you're talkin' to—!"

"To a very slow mutant, that's who," she cut in again, earning a growl of aggravation from Victor before she glanced sharply at him. She sniffed the air, a deliberate gesture that only he caught. "From one feral to another, move on and play big game cat somewhere else. This is a finesse job, not a field trip," she stated with an edge, her eyes narrowing for the first time.

His expression only betrayed a hint of surprise at her announcement. A fellow feral, eh? He'd never encountered a feral female, and he slightly berated himself for not realizing it sooner. Her scent wasn't tart and musky like most females. It had a heady quality. Something raw but pungent, like soil and…blood…not her blood.

His nostrils flared, and he knew she caught his fronting gesture. She smiled at him, her lips pulling to slightly reveal her gleaming teeth. The phone rang again, and this time the man was so eager to get out of the glaring session between the two mutants to take the call. The man blanched once the voice on the other line did the talking, alerting Victor and causing his boyish lips to scowl despite him.

"Yes sir…understood," the man announced and quickly hung the phone up to stare across at the two mutants. "Your terms have been accepted, Ms. Montecristo."

Her eyes flickered back to Victor in a berating stare. "Go home, cub. You were not suited for this work to begin with," she announced scathingly while her tone remained alluringly poised. She glanced back towards the mediator, ignoring Victor as he started to round the table towards her. "You know where to transfer my fee once you've received delivery," she stated and turned back to Victor. The air between them was crackling with electricity that only two ferals could emanate, his body language flaring subtly with his seething rage while she shot icy dismissal back at him and agilely walked pass him with the quality of a specter.

She moved so quick all he felt was the breeze of her movement caress the back of his palm and the side of his mutton-chopped cheek.

"Hey!" Victor barked as he whirled around to face the door.

"It was a pleasure, Mr. Creed," she announced and strode out of the conference room without even a cursory glance back. Victor lunged over to the door before it clicked closed. When he yanked it open and went to pounce on her, she had vanished down the hall, with only her scent left in her wake.

Fuming calmly, he scraped his calloused palm along his furred jaw before raking it back in his inch-long cropped hair. "You know," he growled as he turned back to the men in the room. "I don't take kindly to being made a fool of," he sneered, his jaw clenched and his blue eyes wild with anger.

"I assure you, Mr. Creed, no one intended to waste your time! She had a courier sent directly to my employer with her terms before she even interrupted the meeting. She was the first candidate—!"

"Do you think I give a shit what the excuse is?" he hissed in as he grabbed the man and hoisted him up. "I'm going to get paid what you quoted me, and if I don't get paid, you and your flunkies are going to take a long trip out that window, and if you're still moving by the time I get to the carport, I'm going to snap every bone that isn't broken," he threatened and jerked the man towards said window before shoving him back into his chair.

"Y-Yes of course! I'll pay you out of my own funds, but please—!"

"Yeah yeah, don't hurt you, just shut up and get to writing!" Victor cut in with exasperation as he gestured for the man to hurry up and write the fucking check. He gave the bodyguards a challenging stare, but they stood uselessly with fear, not prepared to die over a middleman's fuck up.

He snatched the check out of the man's trembling fingers, growling as he stalked out of the conference room. Sniffing the staling scent of the smug bitch who'd made an ass out of him, he followed the trail down to the lobby of the Stardust before stalking out into the strip's cold night. The little bitch had just phased out of sight, but her scent clung to his nose still. Sneering at his surroundings, Victor's mind obsessed furiously over what he'd do to the feral bitch if he found her.

The night sky was gritty with lights and clouds over head as he stalked down the strip, fuming contemptuously and spoiling for violence to take his edge off. A woman had never gotten one over on him like that, let alone when it involved his livelihood. She even managed to gauge the extent of his feral mutation with her mocking "cub" condescension. He fumed, unable to think of what else to do but wander to the closest hotel with a stocked bar.

He sat in a corner tucked around the counter, gesturing broodingly for the bartender. "Bourbon, and leave the bottle," he muttered with an edge as he glowered over the rest of the patrons. It was late even for Vegas, but there were a few people drowning their sorrows over debts and their miserable luck. Most of the bustle was out on the casino floor, where the dings and clicks of slot machines mingled with the sounds of winners and losers. Draining his glass, Victor poured himself another as his nostril's flared from the warm aroma. He was there for a good while, staring down into his glass and letting his mind wander. Fucking Stryker…sometimes he wondered if he had been shortsighted; if the perks and pleasure of doing his job had inevitably made him a glorified attack dog. Fuck knows where we'd be if Lagos never had happened...

The cheers and shouts of a hot streak began to grow more constant over at the high rollers section of the casino pit, which spanned directly out in front of the bar. Victor glowered out at the commotion, his nose wrinkling in a sneer as he lifted his glass back to his lips. His sharp eyes skimmed through the crowd that circled a particular blackjack table, where some self-important bastard was beating the house with his winning streak. The asshole looked like a dapper conman as he went all in on the next bet, his arm propped in a lazy way that at first concealed the woman sitting next to him, until he shifted back into his stool and combed his hand through his dirty blond mop of feathered hair when a cheer went around at his win.

"Son of a bitch," Victor muttered over the rim of his glass, his hand halting from raising his bitter drink back to his lips. The red top, the sun-kissed skin, and those sultry lips all perked up as she sat with her long legs crossed, eyeing the bastard on the hot streak when he glanced at her and ran his finger up her bare arm.

He could see a flicker of desire cross the conman's features when he halted and searched her eyes more keenly, his fingers resting at the dip in her arm. Ms. Montecristo's eyes lowered alluringly as she captured his stupefied gaze and flicked it back to the table. Victor watched as he collected his winnings and bowed out of the game, with the small crowd cheering and clapping at his luck.

Fisting a few bills out of his pocket and setting them on the counter without looking away from the couple, Victor stood and walked to the entrance of the bar just as the guy and Ms. Montecristo left the blackjack table and headed for the closest craps table that sat at a risen section of the casino floor close to a bank of slot machines near the elevators. He stalked close to the wall, following them through the crowds before he hung back against a long row of slot machines.

She looked like a poised goddess next to the cheap floosies and drunk cowboys who were shouting their bets and tossing the dice back and forth. When the lucky bastard picked up the dice, he offered them in the palm of his hand for her to blow them for good luck. His eyes honed in on her lips pursing as they blew over the dice, a stray image of her lips wrapping around his cock jumping out in his charged mind. Setting his jaw, Victor forced his heated thoughts away from sex to instead picture her getting flung into a wall before he slashed her condescending smile right off her fucking face. The ticklings of his rising bloodlust made him smile despite his better judgment.

He watched as she seemingly lost interest in the game and turned to walk gracefully away from the craps table. The once debonair conman practically twisted his neck when he turned to follow her, a desperate rise of anxiety overtaking the man as he grabbed the rest of his winnings and followed her like an eager puppy. Victor's brow quirked at the silly sight; he decided to follow them, a plan of sadistic mayhem sprouting in his vicious mind.

He came around the corner just in time to see the man catch up with her. The bastard pressed the elevator button and fished a set of keys out of his jacket. Victor saw the keychain, and knew they were heading up to the high rollers suite. The elevator opened and Ms. Montecristo entered first, quickly followed in by the stupid asshole so he could eagerly click the doors closed behind them. Smirking, he turned and made his way for the staff access, figuring he'd give the little bitch some time so he could burst in on them just at the juiciest moment.

The high rollers suite sat up on the last floor of the hotel, advertising an incredible view and accommodations that only the man with the most chips could earn, if not the biggest mob connections. It was the only room at the top floor, requiring a key just to gain access to the floor from the bay of elevators in the lobby. Well, that, and the staff elevator tucked down the hall and out of sight from the room's double door threshold.

Victor turned the corner and stared down the long hallway, a smirk pulling at his boyish lips as he began stalking quietly towards the gaudy gold and lacquered doors of the suite. His nostrils flared as they caught her uniquely feral scent, making his mouth water. Her scent had shifted somehow to something earthy but familiar to him.

He hadn't scented this particular shift in a woman's smell in more than a few decades, having become accustomed to pillaging more than enticing his bedmates. It was undeniable, however, that Ms. Montecristo was secreting a pheromone that was keen to his nose, which made him wonder if it was the reason for the man's sudden bumbling adoration of her.

Forcing the door unlocked with his claws, Victor slipped into the suite and extended his senses outward, scoping out the living room just through the foyer. He heard the unmistakable groan of a man coming from the bedroom as he entered the living room and had to stifle his chuckle at how starved and pitiful it sounded. He decided to prowl around the suite and look out the huge wall of windows that revealed all of Vegas, getting a feel for his surroundings and debating about taking advantage of the plush accommodations after he killed the two in the bedroom. Not like he'd have to pay for anything. The thought warmed another chuckled up into his throat as he trailed his extended claws to skim a long tear into the upholstery along the top of a huge suede couch while he eyed the bedroom door implacably.

The sounds were getting interesting, and Victor couldn't submerge his curiosity. He licked his lips when the thought of slipping in and watching them screw lingered in his considerations. Sex and killing were his top favorite things to do, especially when one followed the other. Musing the fun of partaking in both involving the lofty bitch who'd intrigued and made a fool out of him, Victor cupped himself through his black jeans with a wicked longing as he sniffed the air for another whiff of her tantalizing scent. The thump of a headboard striking the wall snapped his attention back to the door just when a cry of pain echoed through the door before it was followed by a shriek of horror.

Taken aback, Victor rushed to the door before he could stop himself, throwing it open just as a gurgle and the shifting of the mattress from the man's thrashing and struggling under the woman became more frantic. The unmistakable scent of blood hit him quickly, sending a mix of instinctual signals and stirring his feral drive to numbly gawk at the scene in front of him. The man was propped against the headboard, thrashing wildly under the voracious mouth latched viciously over his jugular. Transfixed, Victor stood at the threshold of the door watching as she dug her talon-like nails into the man's shoulder. The bone of his scapula crunched under the pressure, and he released another strangled yell as she forced his head to snap to the side by tugging the hand fisted into his feathered hair to the opposite angle.

The man's thrashing began to die down into a series of convulsions and spasms as he was quickly bled out. Life went out of his panicked eyes, leaving his expression frozen in vacant terror. A muffled moan came from her then, as if she had literally drank the last drop of his life right out of him. Victor snapped his mouth shut and honed in on her, sitting astride her victim on a plush queen bed with gold accents and burgundy pillows. A huge mirror spanned the wall and ceiling space right over the bed, an infamous reminder of the sort of debauchery that came with the Vegas nightlife. With a slick sound, she unlatched her teeth from the man's neck, revealing the gaping wound that exposed his torn carotid artery and jugular plainly. She sighed and shoved the corpse lightly to lean against the back of the headboard, her eyes closed as she basked in her bloodlust.

Victor noticed her incisors and canines were carnivorous now as she dragged her tongue across them and savored the gore that still clung and dripped all over her mouth. Her teeth retracted back to those of a human just as she flicked her tongue along her bottom lip. Her eyes opened and a predatory smile crept into her features slowly as she glanced at him from the mirror's reflection.

"Ah," she sighed alluringly, "Mr. Creed. I trust you didn't have much trouble finding your way up." She turned then and slinked sinuously across the bed to cup her face in her hands, regarding him with hooded eyes.

Victor was a reticent man, but no one had ever accused him of being at a loss for words. At this instant, however, he found himself gaping down at her from the doorway, his eyes implacable but his jaw working absently in his surprise, clenching and unclenching until the muscle in his jaw twitched. Sprawled out the way she was under a gaudy spotlight over the bed, he finally noticed the sheen of her skin. It gleamed bronze and seemed to shimmer depending on how she moved under the light, reminding him of scales.

"You're a reptilian-based feral," he stated in a gravelly tone, his brows knitted and his scowl intense as he eyed her.

Her eyes flashed with amusement as she sat up fluidly and regarded him smugly. "What gave me away?" she mused, her lips still stained with blood as she wiped her chin with the back of her hand before smiling. The light was hitting the plane of her chest, the sheen of bronze that seemed separate from her natural tan shimmering as she slinked to lounge sensuously on her side.

"Just now, your skin," he muttered bemusedly as he glowered at her, his hostility of earlier rising like ire in his broad and muscular frame. His nostril flared, savoring the scents that were bombarding him. Her scent was like a veil dragging over his keen senses, and the aroma of blood was making him want to do something impulsive. Like dominate and mount the fierce bitch who eyed him appreciatively all of a sudden. "You've been expecting me this whole time," he rumbled, as he stepped closer to her.

She rose on her hands and hissed a growl, warning him to step cautiously. He froze at the sound as an involuntary smirk crept over his lips to show off his fangs. "I suppose you've been spoiling for a fight since you waltzed in and snatched the job out of my claws," he stated as he prowled off to the side where the marble-clad bathroom was, sizing her up with a contemplative swagger.

Chuckling, she rose and met his gaze with her vivid palm green eyes, the russet ring circling her pupils puckering as her keen eyes surveyed his prowl. "We ferals are a temperamental bunch," she offered simply and smiled at the daggers he glared at her. "Especially one so young," she added as a sly afterthought.

Victor barked a derisive laugh. "Oh, now I beg to differ, viper," he countered disrespectfully and sneered at her, watching as her own patronizing smile faltered.

Her lips tightened involuntarily before the stoic mask flinted back over her features. That's a pretty tense…he mused and decided to catalogue the expression.

"You're still a toddler compared to me, cub," she sniffed the air cynically, the blasé air recovered as she leant back onto her knees. "I can smell the impetuous remnants of the antebellum age which borne you, Creed," she drawled in a smooth jeer.

He growled, and she hissed disdainfully at his challenge when a knock echoed from the foyer. Victor's eyes glanced sideways, but he refused to turn and risk having her lunge for his throat.

"Ah, room service has arrived," she announced with a pleasant air as he looked back at her more intensely, the query flickering in his crystalline eyes. "Please help yourself while I…freshen up," she offered with sultry heat flashing in her gaze as she agilely pounced into the bathroom like a graceful lizard vaulting from one perch to another. He blinked, a grunt lodging in his throat just as another louder knock urged him to turn and stalk back to the foyer.

The bellhop flinched at how suddenly the door flew open and then stiffened as he looked up at the behemoth of a man looming in the doorway. "G-Good evening, sir," he stated and forged on, wheeling the cart decked with covered platters through the door that Victor hastily moved out of the way of so the punk wouldn't pinch the tips of his boots. "I must say this is the most eccentric order ever put together by the kitchen, Mr. DeLaughter," the bellhop remarked as he wheeled the cart into the living room and walked back to the door, a crooked smile on his face. "Have a goodnight, sir," he added and waiting at the door, expecting a gratuity.

Victor looked at the cart and back down at the bellhop, his expression darkening as he slammed the door in the kid's face. He heard him yelp behind the door and the ding of the elevator doors opening and closing before he huffed exasperatedly through his nose and stalked back to the bedroom. However, as he passed the cart he halted, sniffing over it and growling at the exquisite smells wafting up from under the plate covers. Snapping one of the covers up, his mouth instantly watered at the medium rare rack of lamb. Well, it was more the lamb's whole ribcage, and it looked oh so tender.

"That smells divine," she purred, stirring his gaze towards her. She was leaning against the doorframe, her eyes lowered in contemplation of him, her mouth clean from the gore of her kill. "No need to be modest now. Help yourself," she spoke as she slinked around the couch towards him.

She ignored him entirely as she uncovered a lid and inhaled the seasoned and almost raw meat stacked on the plate. His muscles were flexed tight from tension as he growled down at her, hating how hard it was to read her motives, let alone her perplexing behavior.

When she stood up and scanned his features, something snapped in him. He grabbed her and flung her back, unable to repress his burning rage and the nagging feeling she was trying to make a fool out of him again.

She vaulted in the air and landed against the wall where she dug her nails into the plaster before snarling at him. He tried to submerge his surprise as he bared his fangs and snarled back. Shoving the cart away, he prowled in his aggressive stance, spoiling for a clash. Instead, she skated down from the wall to land in a crouch, the couch between them, and tossed her long hair out of her face.

"Must you behave like a petulant brat?" she hissed and stood slowly, a predatory inclination flashing in her angry eyes. "So I took a job from you. It was my job to begin with," she jeered sharply.

"Keep talking to me like that and I'll skin your scaly hide and fashion a new coat for myself," he growled threateningly, incensed with this unpredictable bitch.

She only scoffed mockingly at his threat. "I heard the ruthless Victor Creed was a vicious and brooding bully for hire, but this by far exceeds anything I would've expected from a supposed professional," she chided regally, and before Victor could react, he was flung against his own wall from a shift kick to the gut. Before he could scramble to the balls of his feet, she pounced onto him and clasped her hand deftly around his throat.

A sensation began to lace up his skin as he thrashed trying fling her off of him, but found his arms feeling heavy and useless at his sides. He snarled wildly up at her, but couldn't move as a numbing feeling trickled down into his extremities. She curled down close to him and dragged the back of her hand up the side of his neck and along a mutton-chopped cheek, leaving the same tingling and numbing sensation in its wake. His lips could only manage a sharp sneer, baring his fangs as he seethed at her through his clenched teeth.

"Oh stop your braying," she grumbled, a hint of her Spanish accent slurring into her tone from her aggravation. "This should've been a lesson learned decades ago, cub," she scoffed and sat astride over his broad muscular chest.

"What—th'fuck you do to me?" he spat out and tried to will his body to react, only to manage a slow struggle under her.

The light above her head poured over her arms, and he watched as her skin seemed to flicker from a bronze sheen into a more golden shimmer that complimented her sun-kissed skin. "A reptilian defense mechanism. My skin allows me to secrete pheromones that are transferred through tactile contact with another person, manipulating their own nervous system," she offered simply as she stood off of him and walked gracefully to the cart. "I can manipulate the type of pheromone, lacing either rapture, stillness, or poison into a person through skin contact," she explained over her shoulder as she plucked a piece of lamb and popped it into her mouth, savoring the pink flesh before turning to stare down at him. "As you can guess, my skin was shimmered with stillness, so just touching your skin laced the pheromone to frazzle some of your neurotransmitters, forcing your nervous system to go haywire. The sensation will last for a few more minutes, which is just enough time to talk, eh cub?" she expounded smoothly as she waltzed over and crouched at his side.

It explained why she wore a top that left her lithe form mostly bare. He turned his head as best as he could and glowered at her. "Why not kill me," he slurred, but wasn't stammering as he was a moment ago.

"I figured it would be a great indignity to the both of us if I just poisoned you. We're ferals. We mutants might be a quickly growing species, but there aren't a lot of ferals like you and I," she explained unperturbedly and extended her fingers to scratch affectionately at the scruff on his jaw, as if he was rambunctious pet. "Besides, we both know poisoning you wouldn't kill you, and you went through such trouble to stalk me that I'm a bit flattered. Not everyday one is prowled by the Sabertooth," she purred affably.

His features were implacable and chiseled into a biting scowl as he eyed her. "Didn't know you were a fan," he ground out, the numbness wearing off slowly, his fingers flexing and his muscles beginning to clench against the stillness, as she called it.

"Not a fan, Mr. Creed. My business is information. I know my market and conversely, I make it my interest to know of agents who kill for hire. Anyone sensible knows their competition, as well as stays aware of the industries that crisscross their own market," she spoke, stretching to lean over him so he could see her skin shimmer again. "So instead of lunging at me, live and learn, cub."

He grunted sourly and wrinkled his nose. "So to your logic, not only did I encroach on your job, but I degraded your area of expertise," he snorted derisively. "Tell me, miss, when was the last time you got dominated?" he suddenly mocked, and at the intake of her breath, he knew he had flustered her a bit.

"Bite your tongue or I'll tear it out of your wretched mouth!" she seethed in his face, feeling the wave of hostility wash over him. Her scent fluctuated from earthiness to musk, a musky scent that piqued his interests. Victor couldn't help admire the viciousness of her threat, or feel the electricity it caused in him.

"Oh, did I brush a sore subject?" he sneered and sat up suddenly, the stillness still making it hard for him to be as fluid and agile as he normally was, but flitting away to allow for some mobility. Instead of scampering away from him, she grabbed a fistful of his coat lapels and hauled him effortlessly to his feet, before letting go so he'd stumble onto his knees. He bared his teeth and lunged an arm out at her but she was too quick for him, indignant at being put in a submissive position. "Once this shit wears off I'm going to rip you to pieces, bitch!" he spat as he skulked towards her on his hands and knees.

She rolled her eyes down at him. "When you're quite through, I'll be in the bedroom," she huffed and grabbed a platter to take with her to the room.

Victor bellowed at her, and fell to his side, trying to will every fiber of his body to fucking work already. Lying on his side, he contemptuously mused over how much of a fool he felt like. He had continually underestimated this feral woman and was becoming her puppet for fodder. His mind had been on a steady collision course, but he hadn't bothered to anticipate her feral prowess. He tried to argue that his lapse was purely momentary, but here he was, on the carpeted floor like a useless frail waiting to regain his faculties. Whatever personal berates he had were ebbed away by his trigger temper, which caused him to scornfully seethe and try to ignore that intrigue had played part in his folly.

From the minute she had walked into the conference room, his eyes had roved over her trying to quench a gnawing curiosity he hadn't nurtured in several decades. This woman was a complete anomaly to him, having thwarted his feral instincts with her own, which were far more honed than his. At the very least, he was confident that her little 'stillness' ploy wouldn't work on him again, but she still had two other skin pheromones left.

He flexed his arms, regaining his faculties fast enough for him to skulk into a crouch before attempting to stand. His head rushed a bit, but for the most part he felt like he was owner of his body once again. He lurched over the couch before bracing himself on the back spine. Okay, this was going to be problematic. He wanted to pounce on the bitch and brawl, tear her apart, while a small part of him wanted to dominate her lofty ass. The idea of her begging under him and her sultry mouth crying out and mewling uncontrollably was like a slap that momentarily deterred him from doing anything but contemplating her.

Strategy usually took a back seat to raw instinct, but Victor had been bitch slapped with the fact that instinct wasn't going to help him against a fellow feral, especially one as sly and cunning as Montecristo. She had the forethought to know how dangerous he was, even enough of his background to openly mock him, but still considered him an opponent and a challenge to her autonomy as a female feral. His experience was limited. When he and Jimmy were together, he'd been the clear leader, while Jimmy followed him and respected his alpha status. Of course over the years that slowly eroded into something else Victor didn't want to acknowledge, especially now as he glared at the cart of food and then over at the bedroom, but the fact remained: he was the dominant force, always had been, and he planned continuing to be so.

This woman wasn't going to be intimidated, coerced, or beaten bloody, no matter how much he lamented the last part. She'd clearly been a rogue, not backing down from a challenge to her autonomy or being prowled by any other feral…except tonight. Then he wondered if she had invited his curiosity, nurtured it even.

Oh yeah she did—he mused to himself and growled. The food, letting him stumble upon her kill, even not killing him when he'd made his motives clear were all indicators that she had something else in mind. Impetuous…Cub…She hadn't been mocking him. She had been teasing him! The realization made him feel awkward in his own skin. No one had ever gone out of their way to bait him playfully, not even Jimmy. This was a game to her!

He snarled. Playing games that he wasn't in on…not sure he wanted to be in on, was a dangerous scenario. What he was trying to figure out was whether it was dangerous for her, or for him.

Steeling himself, he growled and stalked towards the bedroom, prepared to show the little viper what he did to people who crossed him.

"Do you know what era was my favorite?" She glanced up briefly from the portable machine resting on her lap; the corpse still slumped besides her.

Victor's eyes roved over her, and the weight that settled on his tongue formed a lump in his throat when he swallowed. He took in her bare legs, sculpted sinuously and stretched out on the bed. She'd shed her Calvin's and that sexy red top, which were now draped over the chair next to the bedroom window, and was wearing a man's silk dress shirt. The dead man's scent was laced on the shirt, so he figured she raided his things. He noticed the clutter of papers and discs that were rifled out from the briefcase still ajar on the foot of the bed, the plate cleaned of the meat discarded on the night table.

He was still in the doorway, sizing her up and trying to pick up a scent of guile from her as she continued speaking, "The 1940s. Everywhere you went, there was such vitality, even during Nazi occupation. Even here, with fear and death just around the corner as war raged in far off continents…you could taste people wanting to live, fighting for it with everything they had. I love that."

"Love, huh," Victor rumbled with a savage gleam in his eyes as he repressed a derisive smirk. "I gotta say this for you," he sauntered towards the briefcase. "You're keeping me on my toes," he sneered and shoved the briefcase carelessly to the floor as he leaned on the bed, purposely invading her space with hostile boasting to cajole a response out of her.

She remained poised and unflinching, eyeing him with a cool air dancing across her features before she flashed him a smile. "What's your favorite period so far, cub," she purred, skating her legs up to cross at the knees as she shut the monitor of the portable machine, her left foot dangling teasingly a few inches away from his face.

Her slim foot was tipped with black toenails, and he knew they were naturally that color because he didn't smell acrid chemical polish. "Don't have one," he rumbled in a measured tone as he prowled onto the bed—the mattress sagging with his heavy frame— her foot casually swaying away as he chomped the air dangerously close to it. The huge mattress was protesting under his muscled frame as he skirted towards her right on his hands and knees, his entire body exuding animalistic interest. "Every decade had its own delicious appeal,'' he mused snidely. He couldn't sense any malice from her, or any wound up tension that told him she was buying her time before she pounced at him. If anything, he was being bombarded by her fluctuating scent.

She smelled of blood and something musky, heady in quality but sweet in sensation as it raked over him in undulating waves. His mouth was watering from the instinctual pull of a male predator prowling around a female predator, and he knew she was eyeing him the way an animal silently cues another that they are lying in wait for their move. He recoiled suddenly, halting and laughing scathingly at her as he announced, "Oh, you want to fuck, is that all? Expecting me to initiate?"

It was her turn to laugh at him. "Oh, aren't you the alpha male. So cute," she condescended and gently placed the portable computer onto the night table. "I like seeing you sweat, cub. Trying to figure me out and decide just when to lunge for my throat," she declared with a heat he couldn't place in her fluid tone. "It really is a scrumptious sight…almost as scrumptious as your scent," she purred and ambled over the corpse to the opposite side of the bed he was skirting.

Fuck. She could smell the lust that ebbed through the fronting and ravenous fury that was simmering under his skin. His brows furrowed with tension before he bared his fangs at her. "I don't like being played with, viper!" he spat and lunged at her.

Just as his hands pawed at her shoulders, Victor was unceremoniously flung into the air when she rolled back and used his own momentum to flip him away from her. He grunted when he skidded into the bathroom and slammed into the sink, demolishing the porcelain basin. Incensed, he roared as he galloped toward her and pounced onto her, flinging them both over the bed before rolling and crashing to the floor.

She hissed and wrapped her legs around his waist, vaulting him over her head so she could roll and land on top of him. When she leaned close to brush the skin of her cheek against his, Victor gripped her by her clothed upper arm and tossed her off of him. She landed on her stomach before crouching into an animal attack stance, her teeth extending to snarl at him.

He was on his feet just as she lunged at him, her nails clawing at him and nicking the side of his neck before he grabbed the back of her head and plunged his claws into her toned belly. She cried out harshly and gripped his wrist before she forced him back against the wall and snapped her vicious mouth towards his throat, his grip on the back of her hair preventing her from gnarling a chunk of him. He twisted his wrist and received a searing gash as her nails dug into his skin while his claws simultaneously gnarled deeper into her abdomen. His pulse spiked and he roared against her lips just as she dove forward and kissed him.

The contact jarred him, so he shoved her away and hesitated when she panted wildly and absently trailed her hand over her belly. His eyes widened at how her puckered slashes began to knit together and returned to smooth skin. It healed so quickly blood didn't even have a chance to seep out of the wounds. She eyed his wrist before focusing her searing gaze on his. "Accelerated healing factors will make this one long dance, Creed," she scintillated and tugged at the tear in the shirt.

"You cunning fucking viper," he scoffed harshly, knowing it shouldn't have surprised him. If she was older than him as she kept boasting, her mutation had to involve some sort of regenerative trait comparable to his. Didn't mean he had to fucking like it. "Doesn't change my plans. I'm still going to skin you alive, just now I think I'll do so after I fuck you bloody!" he growled in controlled vexation as he took his coat off and flung it out to the living room. She couldn't help but laugh, the sound sultry and dripping with allure. "The prospect of getting raped amusing?" he snapped and stalked towards her.

She crawled backwards onto the bed and hummed at him. "Unfortunately for you, Mr. Creed, you can't rape the willing," she offered with a biting edge of seduction as she sprawled onto her side before him.

That did it. His cock was straining painfully against his zipper at her luscious jeer. He'd been half-hard since he walked into the suite, even when she'd had him stunned out of his system. Now he felt a primordial need that paled in comparison to the violent urges he wanted to inflict on her. This was baser than the desire for sexual conquest, and that fact was like a brick to the face. The adrenaline in his blood was floored, with every nerve standing at attention and commanding him to force her into submission and mount her just like the big animal he was. He usually obeyed his urges as soon as they jumped inside of him, just like he would when the desire to kill and devour roared in him. But the fact remained that a willing conquest was alien to him, especially when his current prey was a huntress capable of fighting him tooth and nail for dominance.

Then the situation snapped into full clarity.

"Oh," his baffled mutter was soon washed away by the raucous laughter that burst to life in him, "You sexy, vicious little viper." His voice lowered to a hungry husk when she raised a brow and leaned up on her hands and knees, her muscles tightening in anticipation. "I should've figured it out earlier. Hah," he mused and turned away from her to exit the room, his demeanor dismissive; he'd finally figured out the rules of the game.

She made a noise of confusion in her throat, vaulting off the bed and unto her feet to tentatively follow him. When she entered the living room, he was at the cart, flinging the plate covers to the floor and polishing off a plate of sirloin steak as he considered the other entrees. She blinked at him before looking at his dark heavy coat at her feet. Picking it up with her foot and flinging it onto the back of the nearest chair, she measured her unconsciously fluid lope towards him, her hands twitching impulsively. Her senses were sharp and wary, while his had suddenly diminished to an unperturbed frequency.

All the cues were wrong now. He wasn't the alpha predator drunk with rage or desire. Instead, he was exuding disinterest. Flippancy in a predator towards another predator was tantamount to a challenge, a silent jeer; you're not worthy.

He smelled the shift. She was fuming, growing livid from how he'd disregard her as a predator that deserved fear and challenge.

"Got anything to wash this down with, viper?" Her eyes were boring into him as he tossed an empty plate to clatter on the cart before reaching for another. "Ah, nevermind. The bar is right in here," he snickered nonchalantly as he headed behind the marble counter to his right and rummaged in the cabinets, snatching out a few bottles of scotch and bourbon before walking back around to drop into the smoky loveseat closest to where the cart was. He twisted the bottle of scotch open and took a long swig from it, eyeing her impishly over the rim when he pulled it away from his lips with a content sigh. "What, suddenly not hospitable, frail—?"

She lunged at him, her momentum tipping the couch back and jostling them into a tangle of limbs as they fought to maim and chomp at each other. Bottle of scotch flying out of his hand, Victor barked a berating laugh when he rocked her over his head and flipped to slam down onto her. She head-butted him in the mouth swiftly, cutting his laugh off and causing him to bite into his bottom lip. Suddenly, she wrapped her legs around his waist and dove for his mouth to latch her lips onto his.

The coppery taste of his blood drew a moan from her, and Victor could smell her spike of feral accomplishment as she bit down and drew more of his blood into her mouth. He froze, growling against her mouth before tearing his away and snarling at her. Her hand tried to claw at his face, but he slammed it to the floor before pinning it between their struggling and flailing bodies. The little bitch was trying to touch him for who the hell knew what!

"Nah-ah-ah, viper," he hissed haughtily at her when her other hand tried to scrape against his throat. He pinned that one against his clothed chest, her nails clanking against his dog tags. "You're not playing by the rules," he goaded and she growled like a serpent under him.

"I see it took you this long to realize just what the rules were, brat!" she lunged and chomped at him, but he reared back on his heels before taking her by the cuffed wrists and swinging her away from him. She rolled onto the carpet before flipping into the air and onto her feet like a martial artist. "I guess you were right, cub," she bitingly announced, hissing as she kicked the small coffee table at him.

The table shattered when it crashed against his shoulder and fell in a splintered heap at his feet. "Oh, don't be such a spoiled sport, bitch," he chuckled viciously and stalked over the destroyed furniture to rush at her. When she skated out of his grasp and pounced on him, he used her own momentum to slam her down on the large suede couch. The damn thing sagged and the legs snapped from under them from the force.

Unfazed, she yelled and kicked her long leg up, the heel of her foot connecting with his mandible and snapping his head back with an audible crack. He wavered on his feet, the blow making him see stars before he stumbled over the upturned loveseat. Shaking his head, he felt the whiplash jar down his spine before he popped the vertebrae in his neck back into place like an expert.

"If you open your fucking mouth," she bellowed, pointing a wrathful finger at him, "I'll pump you full of so much poison you'll choke on your own fucking tongue!"

"Oh-ho! Feisty. Keep talking like that and you might get me hot, sugar," he laughed, instigating further by swaggering around her in a wide, slow stride. "And what am I right about? That you're in a rut looking for a fuck?"

This time she returned his contemptuous grin with a chilly smile. "No, that I should've killed you as soon as your brute ass came prowling after me like a horny dog," she seethed as she trailed her hand up her side to snap a button off the now shabby silk shirt.

He snarled a warning. "Your mouth is going to look so good choking on my cock, frail," he growled sadistically, his eyes flashing when she popped another button off her shirt, "Not to mention feel delicious." The lapels were tugging wide, revealing the plane of her clavicle, and the sudden copper sheen that shimmered over her skin. Gold, bronze, and copper. He realized each were the subtle indicator for one of her pheromones. Gold was from the stillness. "Planning on using rapture on me, viper?"

Her eyes flared before cooling bemusedly. "I don't use rapture on the likes of you, Creed," she sneered.

So it was poison then. "Aw, but you'll poison me? How frigid," he bared his teeth in a sinister smirk. "I saw you use rapture on that fucker you bled in the room. What's he got that I don't?" he teased, nostrils flaring at the wave of anger that flooded her scent.

Flickering with something unreadable, Ms. Montecristo's features grew smooth and composed. Victor knew he hit a nerve, but was taken aback when she replied softly, "He was food. You're an animal. I don't play with my food."

He paused in his prowl, contemplating her with blazing eyes. "Why not use it to get what you want?" he rumbled, his gaze intensifying as he stalked closer. "Face it, toots, we both know you want your pretty ass dominated. You've wanted me to mount you since the conference room. Why not caress some rapture into me and get what you want?" he husked in order to submerge the gnawing curiosity he had about her convoluted motives.

She scoffed, and actually turned away to stare contemplatively out the windows at the glimmering desert night. A soft laugh warmed up her slender throat; Victor watched her, roving his eyes over the now translucent shirt that was too pale to hide her tan silhouette, too intrigued to take advantage of her lowered guard.

"Where is the struggle; the battle to take what you want from..." her words drifted and she waved the sentence away dismissively.

"An animal vying to take and be taken," he finished for her, his voice a gruff statement.

That was the drive of most rogue animals. To fight, devour, and dominate another just as strong and feral as them; to lord over an equal or be taken by one worthy enough to square off against you…to be claimed by a stronger adversary and relish in the struggle. You could taste people wanting to live, fighting for it with everything they had. Her words purred back to him. I love that.

"Why take someone unwillingly under the rouse of will," she muttered pensively as she wandered away from him, trailing her nails against the glass as she neared the bedroom. "If you can't see the struggle in their eyes, the fear and thrill, the burning of blood and muscle clawing to be on top, and the pure rapture that comes with the fight for conquest…the vitality of it all," she stated and turned towards him as she leaned against the doorframe. "If all that is numbed and handed off for the sake of empty lust, then what's the point of living like an animal to begin with?"

He totally agreed. She had obviously faced facts that being stronger didn't matter if everyone else was naturally weaker than you. The lure of strength, of dominating, was not about all the weaker people you could crush, but the other stronger people you could clash against; that could tear you down just as savagely as you could tear them apart.

She gazed at him with composed strength, her poised and curvaceous figure barely contained in the now tattered and torn shirt. When she crossed her arms, the shirt's tails rode up and showed a hem of white lace along her hip. His mouth watered as he stared back up into her eyes. He knew his heated look was something voracious and wild from how her eyes lowered in silent instigation.

In three long strides he was in front of her.

Gathering her up in his arms, Victor dove hungrily for her mouth, kissing her roughly and nipping his fangs over her lips bestially. She clawed at his shoulders and wove her legs deftly around his waist as he hoisted her against him, purring when he ground his crotch against her. He stalked into the room and scraped rough kisses along her jaw before latching his mouth over her pulse, pricking his fangs into the skin and savoring the taste of her heady blood. She arched and hissed against him, rubbing herself along the prominent ridge of his erection and dragging her pointed nails down to his collarbones. He shuddered, sinking his teeth deeper into her neck and growling as he sprawled onto the foot of the bed.

He extended his claws and kneaded her round ass, loving the texture of her smooth and burning skin while she clawed her hands down his spine. She suckled hard on his bottom lip before flicking her tongue against his fangs. "Your scent is making me dizzy, cub," she hissed and arched against him when his hands snaked from the small of her back to journey up her sides and cupped her breasts roughly in his warm calloused hands. Shoving his unbuttoned dress shirt hastily off his shoulders and tugging them off his arms, she followed up by forcing the snug sleeveless shirt over his head before he grabbed her possessively and scraped his fangs angrily down her neck to her shoulder.

"Keep calling me that, and I'll stuff that hot mouth of yours with my cock," he growled. His claws raked over the taut muscles and pinched superficial gouges that scented the air between them with blood, the scratches healing quickly before his nails bit into more of her skin. She pursed her lips in amusement against his throat, her tapered fingers digging into the back of his scalp as she scraped her teeth down his neck before clamping her mouth down on the juncture linking shoulder to neck. Victor grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the bed, digging his nails into her skin when she hissed in challenge. "Extend your teeth and bite me for real," he demanded, snarling in her face before she flipped him over her head and rolled to land on top of him.

"So eager for pain already?" she sauntered provocatively against his lips as her canines and incisors extended. "What if I like how you taste and decide to nibble, cub?" She raked her nails down his sculpted torso to start working his jeans undone, nipping at his abdomen while her nails tugged roughly on unfastening his pants.

Victor growled in favor of her ardent suggestion, the pet name ignored as he fisted his hands into her long dark hair and felt the constricting pressure in his crotch ease from the confines of his denim prison. When she freed his erection, she scraped her ferocious teeth down the underside of the shaft before laving the angry welts with her tongue. Victor hissed in pleasure at the sensation, his hips bucking off the bed and urgently thrusting toward her mouth.

She hummed in amusement, ducking away and leaving Victor desperate for the heat of her mouth. A groan of impatience lodged in his throat. He was content with having her suck him off, but a burning urge in his gut began to simmer while he debated about mounting her or pounding into her. An image of her legs draped over his shoulder as he plundered her sent a jolt of pleasure to his groin. The sting of her teeth tickled, making him even more ravenous. A grin played on his lips as he sat up to watch her, stiffening when he saw the corpse still slumped on the bed. The cadaver was blue-faced and left limp, shifting with their movements on the mattress.

Fisting her hair and tugging her up from her delicious oral torture, the sour-faced mutant feral sneered, "Do us a favor and get rid of that? It's stinking up the mood…and I don't like the way it's staring at me."

She peered over her shoulder at the corpse before turning to meet his comical gaze. She laughed lightheartedly and pawed at his chest as she leaned in to muse, "What, you've never forgotten to toss your leftovers?"

Her playful cruelty made him hot. "Just get him off the bed or there won't be anything left of you," he husked, adding thoughtfully, "I wouldn't mind making you my dinner." He smiled nastily when she raised a brow at him.

"You devoured most of the room service already," she sneered and combed her talons through the dark hair of his chest, fingering the chain of his dog tags before idly admiring how they glinted under the light.

"Oh, hunger has nothing to do with it. You've provoked me enough to owe me a chunk of flesh," he tersely snickered and emphasized his point by dragging his fangs down her neck and biting down hard on her shoulder.

Sighing at the heat of his mouth piercing her skin, she hesitated in shoving him away and reluctantly eyed her kill, not wanting things to cool. But, he really didn't like the corpse, so she slinked over and hauled the dead man up by his shirt and arm, lifting and dragging him into the bathroom where she unceremoniously chucked him into the huge bathtub.

"Goodness, the staff will be cleaning this mess up for weeks," she mused and strutted over to stand at the threshold. She crossed her arms, the shirt hanging precariously in a tattered heap on her shoulders, only two buttons holding it closed. The vivid russet around her pupils seemed to glow, standing out in the frond green of her eyes.

Determinedly focused on her ravage-worthy body, Victor leapt off of the bed and slammed her against the wall, pressing into her and clutching at her as he tore her tattered shirt open. She gasped and arched against him, her legs nimbly wrapping around him as she struggled to align her hips with his while simultaneously trying to shove his pants off his hips down to his thighs.

He seized her wrists and jerked them over her head to be pinned brutishly against the wall, thwarting her resolute urging. "Ah-ah, you didn't get permission to undress me, viper," he hissed darkly while his eyes took on a lustfully smoky quality.

"You didn't object, cub," she wriggled against him, nubile and limber as she laughed heartily down at him. "I've allowed you this much, so just how are you going to claim supremacy with your pants still on?" she purred, watching as his eyes flashed angrily at the challenge. It was as if he didn't have her under submission. So she thought she was still in full reign, eh?

"I think you're right, viper," he grinned ferociously, his canines denting his lip. "I keep forgetting you're no ordinary frail," he mocked before tossing her to the bed. When she bounced into the air, Victor took the moment of her freefall to savor the sight of her generous breasts and her hourglass shape as she shrugged out of the shirt.

Only wearing her pristine panties, she landed on her knees and laughed, discarding the tattered shirt. "You're not going to provoke me with silly terms, cub. 'Frail'? If you're going to bait me you need to try another strategy," she jovially teased and combed her hair back out of her face. "Now get over here before I use you for a scratch post," she purred, her teeth clicking as she grinned leeringly at his ramrod cock standing proudly from his pants.

He looked incredibly delectable to her, especially when he shoved his boots and stripped his intrusive pants off. There was no question that he was the most virile and worthy specimen that had crossed her path in her brief eon of life…at least not for many decades. His presence electrified the air around her, tickling her skin and disarming her more than she would ever show.

She hadn't expected him to be the free agent vying for the job when she stormed into the conference room. His scent had been abrasively tantalizing her from the minute she stepped into the hall, a wild and heady mixture of soil, blood, and his own kind of feral musk. Ferociously heady, but surprisingly appealing to her. He smelled warm, as if heat itself melted outwards from his pores. No, she had never seen him before, but his reputation preceded him.

She hadn't been completely sure of who she was contending with until the mediator had flustered his name, terrified of the feral behemoth dressed in black with the eyes of icy water. The fact that the Sabertooth stood across from her had taken her aback. This wasn't his kind of work, nor was she sure he even knew how far he'd strayed into the quicksand of private contracts. But she knew exactly who he was. His work had left a wake of stories and bodies that had most cold-blooded killers stiff with wary respect…and fear.

Fear tasted so delicious.

His eyes caught hers in a silent struggle for dominance just as she crawled provocatively towards him on the bed. Their cues were of two dominant forces unprepared to relinquish control. No matter how much she wanted him, there was no way she was going to roll over and be dominated without a real battle.

"Do you need a written invitation?"

Her teasing jeer made his ire rise, a primal growl rumbling from his chest as he pounced onto her before she could suppress the pleasure that shone in her eyes. They slammed against each other and thrashed wildly for the upper hand, earning them both slashes and stinging wounds that mended just as quickly as the next blow came. Victor pinned her under his barrel chest, grinding against her breasts and charged by the friction of her skin against his. Hissing and arching against him, she purposely slammed her pelvis against his hips, crushing his erection against the heat of her apex before grinding wantonly against it.

Victor roared his approval before clawing his hands between their burning bodies to paw at her god-forsaken panties. When he pulled back to yank the intrusive underwear off her, she dove up at him and slammed him back against the bed, digging her nails into the back of his shoulders as she sunk her elongated canines and incisors into the ropy muscle joining his neck and shoulder. Victor stiffened under her and purred drunkenly, extending his vicious nails and digging them into her back. She mewled and tore into his muscle more before worrying the bloody flesh between her teeth soothingly.

Betraying himself to the bliss of pain and pleasure, Victor allowed her to taste his blood again, her lips pursing and sucking hard on the wound and keeping it from healing. His head was swimming with sensations, but the incensed animal inside of him couldn't believe he was on his back, being devoured by another. The savage half of him that would never listen to reason rose to the surface, and the world spun as he roared irately and slammed her indignantly against the headboard, the mirror rattling above the bed dangerously as he yanked back on her dark mane of hair and bared her throat to his ravenous mouth while his claws dug into the small of her back.

She gasped as his teeth sunk into her throat, blood rising to sputter into his mouth while she arched and clutched onto him. Her reaction jolted Victor and slapped him back to rein his sadism before the animal inside of him ran too wild. He unlatched his teeth from her throat and reared back to stare into her searing eyes hooded with desire. The fact that she was arching and clutching at him wasn't what had electrified him, oh no he had experienced that thousands of times…it was how she did it; not from fear or in the throes of helpless agony, but with desire—wanting and demanding more brutality from him as if his sadism was sweeter than bliss itself.

He watched as the wound his fangs had left on her throat mended shut, her eyes staring into his with a tickle of approval. She exhaled a breath through her mouth like a soft sigh before lulling her head back to stare up at their reflection in the mirror. His eyes followed hers up to the mirror, and he took in the sight of them with a ferocious accomplishment that he reveled in for seconds longer than he should have. When she wrapped her hands around his neck and nimbly ground against him, it took all his control not to ram into her to the hilt. He knew she wanted him to go wild, and as a true sadist he would do anything to prolong her torture, even if it meant delaying his usual bestial repertoire.

Leaving a frail broken and bloody, gasping for death before proudly delivering her to an excruciating end was normal custom, one he had grown to enjoy with every fiber of his vicious being, but one he knew with begrudging resentment and enthralling intrigue wouldn't work on his current prize.

The prey in his arms was willing, ruthless, and hungry for everything he could give and was damn willing to reciprocate with equal intensity and ferocity. She wouldn't break, or fall to pieces from the hot white pain he could inflict. The proof was literally staring at him in the mirror. She was watching him, intoxicated by the heavy current of possessive desire and bestial longing that was in-tuning them to each other. The viper was daring him to mark her; to make her his just before he claimed her body the way a feral should.

He wouldn't oblige her just yet. No, the animal wanted to have at her, wanted to pound into her and latch onto her until he found a way to make her bleed and scream…the animal wanted to devour her, to claim her just like all the other kills. It wanted to relish in her death and climax all at once, but unlike the Sabertooth, Victor Creed still remained and knew he could not devour her. Not physically. She was an enigma the feral side of him was astonished and distressed by all at once. Was it the same for her? No, clearly it wasn't. She wanted the animal…and the animal wanted her just as bad, but Victor craved more than the ferocious glee and fulfillment of crushing the life out of her. It vexed him…worried him, and that made him angry all over again. But the craving remained, viscerally compelling while the anger fleeted away.

No, he wouldn't oblige either of them just yet.

His fist tightened on her hair, yanking her taut as a bow against his chest as he leaned over her. The breath hitched in her throat and her nails dug into his biceps, but he ignored her reactions and pressed his nose against the hot skin of her neck. She smelled sweet and wet, her anticipation like a soft current along her skin that tickled his tongue when he dragged it leisurely from her neck down to the dip of her clavicle. His other hand pawed up to clamp over one of her breasts, the pads of his fingers savoring the texture of her skin as he lulled his mouth down the valley of her chest.

She hissed and dug her nails deeper into his arms, but he ignored the pain and the impulse to retaliate, focusing instead on driving her wild under him. When she wriggled in his grasp, he tugged warningly on her hair and continued committing her to memory. He knew she could sense the wound up tension and bloodlust that emanated behind his every touch and caress, which is exactly how he wanted it. Instead of relaxing under his unabashed touch, she tensed further, her senses frayed and expectant of the claws and teeth that wanted to tear into her but just weren't.

Eyes staring up into the mirror, she watched as he coursed from worrying her studded nipples between his teeth to rub his hand over the lithe plane of her belly. He seemed struck by the smooth texture and hairless skin, tantalized by the uniqueness of her feminine form. She numbly stared as his eyes lingered over the thin shadow that curved faintly down her belly shy of her womb.

When she tensed and jerked from his fingers firmly caressing the length of the smooth scar, he snapped his gaze up to hers in the mirror's reflection. They gazed at each other implacably before he shoved his hand between her thighs and brushed his knuckles along the cleft of her sex, rubbing against her hidden bud. She shuddered and thrust against his hand, gasping when the grip at her hair moved to clamp around her throat instead.

The ire in her eyes aroused him from its intensity while he licked his lips and tasted her on them. Her hands unhinged themselves from his biceps to drag down to his forearms, her glare challenging him to dominate her.

Instead, Victor dove for her mouth, kissing her fiercely before positioning her onto his lap. When he pushed up into her tight heat, she cried out and shut her eyes at the delicious intrusion. Chuckling against her jaw, Victor snaked his hand from her throat to wriggle her wrists together, holding them behind her back in a vice like grip before meeting her captivating eyes with his smoky gaze.

"Now that I have your attention," he hissed darkly, rotating his hips for emphasis. "We're going to mate. I'm going to fuck you with everything I have, and you better damn well do the same. No muss, no fuss, and if you fuss, I'm going to leave you in your rut, no matter how good your cunt is, understood, viper?" he declared nastily and allowed his smirk to creep slowly across his lips as her eyes intensified on him and her lips softened.

Leaning up to meet him nose to nose, despite the strain of having her arms pulled taut behind her, the feral woman returned his smirk. "That's the most sensible thing you've said all night, cub," and with that biting purr, she kissed him voraciously while simultaneously contracting around his throbbing shaft lasciviously.

She savored his groan, their tongues laving over sharp peaks briefly before Victor slammed into her. Biting down on his lip, she mewled in approval before Victor knocked the wind out of her with the pounding force of his next thrust. He rolled suddenly and forced her taut under him, his grip still tight around her wrists behind her back and leaving her precariously supported by his hips between her thighs and her legs around his waist. They were both charged with predatory lust after all the challenging and chest beating, which had ironically been the closest thing to foreplay for both of them in years. Relegating their standoff into a truce where both consensual predators silently agreed to share dominance, the nefarious agent and mercenary lost themselves into the hypersensitive throes of wild sex, literally.

Victor panted harshly as he pounded with abandon into the tight heat of her body, digging his extended claws into her toned thighs and rubbing his mutton-chopped cheek against the inside of her knee while she arched her back off the bed and hummed with pleasure. Crouching over her and forcing her knees to loop over his forearms, Victor suckled on her breast harshly before she raked her talons down his shoulders and hissed eagerly for more. They didn't utter a word to each other, lost in the primordial synchronization of mating. When one wanted to shift positions, the other rolled with them, unspokenly compliant as long as the sensations increased. So when a few rolls and forceful shoves got him on his back with her riding him hard, Victor only growled and thrust up to match her pace, relishing in the unrestrained savagery of their coupling.

Most frails would've been broken and shrieking in agony by now from the force and brutality of his thrusts, if they could even muster enough breath to stay conscious that is. For him, half the fun was in breaking his toy just before he climaxed, so he could feel the life go out of them just as he reached release. Now, however, he found himself attuned to an animal magnetism that left him desperate for her reactions and reciprocity. This was a desire he'd never entertained, but the advent of it left him buzzing for more.

Lunging up to wrap his arms around her, Victor slammed her down to the bed in one fluid motion before kissing her with blistering intensity, one which she met head on by returning his hungry kiss and clinging to him as he lost himself to the animal. In a haze of roaring pulses, flesh colliding against flesh, and ravenous passion echoed against lips and teeth, both ferals managed to fuck each other into the oblivion of mind-numbing ecstasy, sinking talons and claws into sinewy flesh. She cried out heartily and stiffened under him, her eyes radiating the gulf of her ardor while he roared gruffly and mindlessly thrust into her one last time, his usually icy gaze blazing down at her before his arms gave out on him.

Sprawled on top of her, Victor buried his face against her neck, tasting her and relishing the enthralling sense of carnal fulfillment he was basking in. Rolling off of her and onto his back, he spared a long glance at her as she lay beside him. She was breathing raggedly, her lips were delicately parted. Her breathing softened and her eyes remained shut as if sensations were still undulating within her. She looked absolutely tantalizing. An urge to possess her for himself, to keep her like a prized trophy for only his hands and mouth to savor—only his to control and own—knotted in the pit of his stomach, one he suppressed dismissively once she turned her scintillating gaze towards him.

Her eyes were smiling alluringly at him with genuine pleasure, something he hadn't experienced from a woman…ever. The ephemeral sense of awe washed away when her hand cupped the side of his jaw and her nails affectionately scratched the fur of his cheek. Victor didn't recoil from her touch, but didn't encourage it either, even when her hand trailed down his neck to linger on his broad chest. Their eyes connected instead, both seeing the predatory gleam in each other's gazes.

Then as sudden as the gravitating force between them began, it was extinguished once her eyes flinted away from his and she rose fluidly from the demolished mattress to strut into the bathroom. Victor tensed with incomprehension before he rose onto his hands and watched just as she stepped into the glass shower. The sound of water jetting out of the shower spray was all he heard as he tried to deduce what tactic she was playing at now. The wake of her scent had no guile in it…only arousal, damp but still sweet like syrup to his nose. He climbed off the bed and stood at the threshold of the bathroom, staring in while his mind leapt to every conclusion her actions left him.

It wasn't a dismissal. He knew that much from the combination of idle affection and primal boasting in her eyes…but had it been a silent invitation to follow her? Or, did she expect him to leave? His words came back to him like an echo. No muss, no fuss. Then he knew it was another test. A test he had unknowingly initiated. If he had meant what he said, then he could leave satisfied and without further overtures. They were even. She had her job and a marvelous fuck, while he had his check and some of the best sex he'd ever had. The latter was quite a brag considering his lengthy lifespan. Still…he wasn't heading for his clothes, nor was he in a rush to leave the feisty frail when her scent cued more debauchery in store if he stayed.

The steam from the shower was fogging up the sumptuous bathroom, the condensation clinging to Victor's skin as he closed in on her. She'd left the glass door open and had her back to him while she basked under the hot water that ran down her head, trekking over every curve before splashing to the floor. He watched her for a long moment, his senses sharpening against the intoxication of her scent as it wafted at him in the heated room. Her scent had an almost citrus-like base to it under a heady tang that made her stand out from other women. It was pungent and spicy, feral, but so much softer…sweeter.

He watched as she ran her fingers through her thick mane of hair before caressing her palms down her supple breasts and her torso, dragging them around her hips to venture between her thighs. His eyes honed in as her hands rubbed along her inner thighs, watching as she rinsed away his semen before dipping to an angle that invited his leering gaze to parts of her he wouldn't mind committing to memory with his mouth. When she straightened and tossed her hair over her shoulder, she looked back at him as if she'd known he'd been watching her the whole time. No shit she knew. Why the hell else would she have left the door open for you! Victor berated himself mildly while returning her sultry gaze with a cool look and a raised brow. Not that he could feign disinterest when his cock was hard as a rock again and his scent was probably speaking volumes for him.

She turned back to the water, tipping her face up to the surge and sighing with pleasure. Victor had the sudden impulse to mimic the water's course with his mouth and hands, wanting to savor the feel of her eerily velvety skin again. It was as if the scales he'd expected were covered with smooth satin in order to obscure her—camouflage her to the most certain of senses. Truth was, if he hadn't seen her skin shimmer he would've never pegged her for a reptilian feral.

His hand reaffirmed the silken touch of her flesh as he trailed up her stomach, fingertips and claws skating across her flesh firmly after he pressed behind her and shut the door to trap her and the heat inside. His other hand came around to cup her crotch while he pawed at a breast, squeezing cheekily as he pressed against her. When she turned to glance at him, her lips collided against his jaw before caressing slowly along his furred cheek. She pressed against his hips when his mouth captured hers hungrily. Before their kiss intensified, Victor turned her around in his arms and pressed her up against the wall.

They both wanted each other enough to discard their feral need to dominate, wild lust taking the forefront. Losing themselves to the heat and hunger, they took each other, fucking against the smooth tiled wall of the shower stall. Pretense was ignored even further when the shower grew too confined and motivated them to move back into the bedroom.

The sleek tangle of limbs they became on the bed only lasted for a few wayward moments before Victor staked his claim for control by dragging his mate to the end of the mattress. He wrapped her legs around his hips and held her in place, entering her again with one fierce thrust, slamming home again and again as he loomed over her luscious body. She arched her back off the bed and stared up at him with pure rapture in her eyes, letting him manhandle her expertly. The approval and urging in her expression made him so wild that he couldn't commit to taking her in only one way.

When he flipped her onto her stomach, she moaned with anticipation and arched provocatively. He pulled her against him before sliding his ramrod cock to trail the slick valley between her thighs. Gasping at the electrifying contact, she gripped the back of his neck and ground back on his hips, his hairy chest causing delicious friction against her back as he scraped his ferocious claws up her torso to worry her heavy mounds in his rough palms. The sound she made shot a jolt through him, so he bucked against her firm backside and clamped his mouth over her tender shoulder muscle. Instead of recoiling from the fire his mouth tore into her flesh, she encouraged it by cupping the back of his skull and growing taut against him.

Her sultry mouth was causing havoc on his already crumbling control, so when he dragged his mouth to nip at her jaw he was floored by her primal groan for more. Their mouths clashed briefly, a flurry of dueling tongues and scraping teeth before lips worried and lingered against each other for an effervescent moment. The intoxication they both were under was unlike anything either had experienced. Needless to say they relished in each other's clutches, especially when Victor eased back into her throbbing heat.

Ironically enough, the position that garnered the most pleasure for them both involved him spooning her, since it left her open to him and still allowed him access to her mouth and racing pulse while allowing her to meet his pounding thrusts with her bucking hips—not to mention her equally voracious mouth. Her teeth clamped viciously down on his forearm, earning a growl before he reciprocated by biting down and sucking on her pulse.

A shudder rocked through her, accompanied by a sharp contraction of her body around his throbbing sex. It was all Victor could do to frantically pound into her and send her over the edge before he broke. In a flood of sensation, they came undone almost simultaneously. Clutching her against him while she grew taut in his arms, both ruthless ferals released hearty cries and rocked against each other fiercely, prolonging each other's pleasure and causing a sense of completion to blossom over them in a wave of heat and roaring pulses.

It was the most fulfilling sensation he'd ever experienced, feeling utterly complete in the moment. Nothing like it compared. All his other sexual conquests ended with his powerful release, but once the rush of life fizzled and his plaything was left a shallow shell, no sense of power and control he held over their life lingered long enough to satiate him. It was all empty release—except for this moment with a fellow predator.

When she shifted minutely, he was dully aware of how intently he still gripped her against him. Her foot caressed up his leg to brush his muscled calf before she hummed and cupped the back of his neck. Her nose trailed under his jaw before Victor unconsciously returned the gesture by nuzzling her temple and burying his nose in her hair. Their primitive caresses were hardwired, unspoken but articulating approval and the acceptance that could only be relinquished to each other once their claim was complete.

Neither of them spoke, content and savagely sated enough to simply bask in the wild tangle their bodies were interlocked in. Her body was hot as an ember against him, and he was like a stoked furnace that engulfed her. The warmth of their bodies and breaths—coupled with the exhaustion that steadily crept over them—slowly lulled them into slumber, matters of dominance and reprisals forgotten in the bestial afterglow of mating.

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Dawn began to crest in the desert horizon, sending blazing rays of sunlight over the Vegas strip and into the sprawling windows of the luxury suite. The warmth caressed the side of his face, making him grunt in his sleep and nuzzle the pillow before he turned away from the light. Her scent clung to the bedding and flooded him with lazy desire when he inhaled and stretched on the bed.

Stiffening, Victor jerked awake and warily shook the sleep off his senses. Growling, he swiped the back of his hand across his eyes before looking around the room. He was alone.

The room was still a disaster zone from last night, but the only thing left of her was the tattered dress shirt and her heady scent. Climbing off the bed, Victor stalked naked out into the other room, following the strongest trail of her scent to find it led to the door. Stalking back into the bedroom, he noticed the portable device and the briefcase were gone too, and his clothes were folded neatly on the dresser. The viper had the time to tidy up while you were knocked the fuck out like a goddamned cat!

He fumed, trying to quell his anger, but failing the more the situation mocked him. He didn't know what made him more irate: the fact that she snuck out without stirring him from his sleep or that he felt like the jilted lover—of course in the loosest interpretation of the term. Creed was accustomed to leaving his playthings broken where they fell, collecting himself and proudly heading on his merry way without a second thought. He'd certainly never been the one left behind like a dozing pet too fucking content on having his belly scratched to notice otherwise. An indolent rage tugged at him, but he shoved it away to instead furiously pull his clothes on.

She clearly had way more practice at slinking away with her prize before the bastard she'd just bled—literally and figuratively—knew what was what. But to get yet another one over on him? Growling lividly at himself, he tugged his black undershirt on before shrugging into his button down and stalking towards his coat. He grabbed it off of the back of the chair in the living room and sneered when he smelled her on it, intertwined along with the myriad of scents that were familiar to him. Throwing it on, he adjusted it over his shoulders before swiping his palms down his sides.

His brows furrowed in confusion as he patted the concealed pocket and didn't feel the slip of paper he'd tucked in for safe keeping. Yanking his hand into his coat and fishing nothing out of the pocket, the fury Victor felt was so intense he saw white for a few seconds. Pulling his fist out of the wall, he roared with the futile wrath he couldn't purposefully take out. Decimating everything in the suite with enough bulk and demolishing the furniture left him panting not from exertion but from the fizzling adrenaline.

Prowling out of the room, Victor left the hotel amidst a haze of surroundings, still under a fog of restrained rage that left him on automatic pilot until he was on the other side of town. The morning was just beginning when he was speeding down the isolated stretch of desert highway in his '70 Wagoneer Jeep, fuming but aptly driving. His grip on the steering wheel was the only thing betraying his fury. Something he realized only after he stopped at a seedy truck stop a few hours away from Salt Lake City and had to pry his hands from the dented steering wheel.

Breezing into the diner, Victor stalked through and was virtually ignored by the other patrons, proving just how sleazy and lawless the establishment was, and found a stool at the end of the counter tucked out of sight just across from the grimy television set mounted into the wall. The waitress loped over and glanced at him over the rims of her gaudy glasses.

"Beer, steak 'n eggs, and black coffee. Steak bloody," he tersely ordered and hunched over the counter, looking surly and more dangerous than usual. The waitress took his order and gave him a look like she'd seen it all including his big bad killer type before walking away.

He was so pissed he could drill through solid rock with his fists. When the coffee was set in front of him, he swallowed it and the bitter taste before the waitress slid the plate of food and the icy beer between his curled hands. He picked up the fork and began wolfing his food, not really hungry but needing to work something into his system besides the nasty coffee and the seething rage. The news was droning on across from him, the sound low enough for human ears but perceptible to his keen hearing.

"—authorities in Las Vegas are baffled by the brutal homicide scene found in the high rollers suite at the Monte Carlo hotel and casino this morning, Janet. The victim, Tommy DeLaughter, is the son of DIA Director Reginald DeLaughter—recently involved in the security breach that occurred at the Defense Department headquarters in Washington. Federal authorities suspected DeLaughter of perpetrating the breach, but have now reason to believe his son Tommy to have clandestinely stolen top-secret information from his father. Just this morning the FBI had placed a warrant for Tommy DeLaughter's arrest, only to have US Marshalls stumble upon the gruesome scene at the Monte Carlo. Vegas P.D. sergeant Walker had no comment when asked over the victim's cause of death…"

The rest of what the portly reporter was saying became white noise to Victor as he honed in on the screen, seeing the recent picture of the stupid bastard Montecristo had bled dry fill the screen momentarily as the reporter impassively spoke. He drank his beer in one long swallow before plopping the empty bottle down on the counter along with a few bills to cover his tab. Breezing out of the bar as quick as he'd come in, Victor strode to his jeep and got in.

The viper was one cunning conniving bitch. As soon as she'd left that conference room she had been on the job, but not too busy to toy with him and get what she wanted from him before leaving him with only his dick in his hand to show for it. The anger boiled up inside of him, but for some reason didn't bristle over. Part of him wanted to skin her alive, tear her limb from limb before crushing the life out of her. Another part of him was impressed. She wasn't someone to be trifled with, and a beastly part of him respected and hated her for it. Visceral impulses were undulating in him, leaving him conflicted and angry all over again before they were settled by the precedent of his outrage.

There was no way in hell he was going to let the viper slip from his grasps. Not unless he snuffed the life out of her for what she'd done to his pride. He wouldn't and couldn't dignify himself or the animal with the thought of letting her walk away supreme. She had to know as much.

Heading east, Victor was struck by that. She's counting on it. Why the hell else would she take his check? She didn't need his money, but she sure got his attention hadn't she? Biting back the smile that threatened to obscure his sneer, Victor ran his fingers through his inch long hair before gripping it with a growl.

"Touché bitch. You got the last laugh—for now."               

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The silver of her '65 DB5 Aston Martin convertible glinted under the brilliant West coast sun as she raced down the interstate, the desert landscape speeding by. Her hair whipped around her and clung to the rim of her sunglasses, fluttering back while she held the check up to her nose and sniffed his faint scent as a smile played over her lips.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd played mouse, but she took gloating pleasure in the image of her cat being the very worthy Creed. She was sure he was aware of the game this time around, but wasn't sure just how he'd go about playing his turn. Flashes of the night before crossed her thoughts, vivid and fleeting but fixated on certain details. Like the hard, sinewy brawn of his body, and the heat of his mouth—vicious and soothing all at once. What lingered the longest, however, was how they fit against each other, almost like two missing puzzle pieces crafted from different materials but still meant to interlock together.

When she had woken still in his arms, something inside her had swelled, a sensation she hadn't felt in a short eternity. Thinking of it made her bones itch, as if she was truly swelling from the pulsing rush of the memory. The current he stirred in her was undeniable.

Sure taking his check was petty, but she wouldn't cash it. No, she'd taken it as a souvenir. A memento of his scent. Ferals and their goddamn scent-based memories…was it a wonder she took something? Sure, she'd guaranteed that she and Victor Creed would cross paths, sooner or later—but that's not why she took it. No…after so many years, so many memories, she could barely remember Eirik. It hurt, not remembering him but thinking of him whenever she was so alone. To her, remembering and thinking of someone were two different things. To think of someone was to see them, but not feel them. Remembering was like an ocean of sensation, with every sense tantalized and engrained to the feeling of the memory. She didn't remember Eirik…

If the universe prevented Victor Creed from crossing her path again, then she would at least have a way to remember.

Don't be cruel to those who are cruel with mortality, fate.

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Read Chapter 2: Ravaging Intrigue

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