Thirty Four
10 November, 2001, 60 miles West of Chamdo, Tibet
Oz’s eyes widened as Jade stepped out of Loki’s study, naked except for Loki’s own white silk shirt. Her eyes were red and puffy and her face was streaked with tears.
Through the open door, Oz could see Loki sitting on the chair, shirtless, grinning. Oz swallowed, his mouth dry, his mind racing.
There was a loud bang which made Jade jump, as the heavy wooden statue fell to the floor. “Oz,” she pleaded with a whisper, but he held up a hand to silence her. Through the open door, Loki was still grinning and licking his lips suggestively. Jade followed Oz’s gaze and slammed the door closed behind her.
Oz’s face was a twisted mask of pain and betrayal. “He raped you?” It was a quiet tone, all his energy forced into preventing the change. Already his skin bristled.
“No,” she choked. Anything to keep him from changing. Anything. “It was–” she was about to say consensual but realized it would sound forced. “I wanted it.” She felt bile rise in her throat.
Oz wasn’t listening. He was fighting the rage as hard as he could. He had felt this before. With Willow. It had nearly gotten that Tara girl killed. Nonetheless, he felt the primal wolf begin to emerge.
“No,” Jade begged as they both looked down to see Oz’s right hand transform into a vicious paw. His breathing had quickened and his eyes had ceased to be human. “No, Oz, please,” she pleaded. “I love you – please! He’ll kill you!” Fresh tears welled up in her eyes as the wolf stared back at her.
As soon as the study door slammed shut, the lascivious grin vanished from Logan’s face. He doubled over in the chair, his face twisted in disgust. His hand moved to the table top to steady himself, then he quickly threw his head over beside the stack of books and vomitted.
It had been the most vile thing he had ever done. Logan shivered and slowly drew his hand over the corners of his lips to wipe away the taste. Maybe he was a sick fuck, as Jade insisted. He was thankful, at least, it had not been necessary to actually violate her. It was enough that she thought he had.
He looked to the closed door where two voices could just barely be heard. His hand slipped under a sheet of paper and found the small corked vial he had spent the night preparing – while she had slept.
He gripped it tight in his left hand, his thumb on the cork; ready in case she returned. His right hand he flexed and clenched, preparing it for the power it might wield if Oz were the one to enter. He could simply have checked with Wilson, as Jade had done before she had opened the door —cheater, he thought wryly— but some things were better just left until they had already crossed into Now. Only then were they certain.
His eyes fixed on the door. This was the true test, he knew. If she reentered, then she really did want a soul; bad enough to lose Oz for it. If he entered... then she didn’t.
Jade cowered back against the door as Oz shifted from wolf to man and back again. In one lucid moment, as his human eyes looked into hers, the anger and betrayal melted from him to be replaced with something else. Fear. For her. Run, he mouthed as his teeth became fangs.
With wide eyes, she dashed down the corridor, her back to him when he let out an animal snarl, his claws tearing the clothes from his hide. Then he was after her.
Jade ran as hard as she could, rounding corners and dashing down a flight of steps into the darkness. She could defend herself, of course. Being part demon she could unleash her nastier side and let it take over in a fight– but that could only end one of two ways; neither good.
At the bottom of the stairs she crouched against the wall, peering up into the darkness of the corridor above. For long moments there was nothing but her pulse pounding in her ears. For a moment she feared Oz had returned to Loki’s study, but there was no sound. And then there was.
The harsh breath of the lycanthrope echoed down the stairwell as Oz stood at the top, waiting for her to make a sound – make a move.
Jade’s heart pounded faster. She silently wiped her clammy hands on the silk that was partially covering her. Then there was a vicious snarl, as somehow he had caught her scent, and he charged down the stairs.
Whimpering, Jade made her way in the blackness to the end of the corridor, her hand on a wall, guiding her. There were no turns —no branching corridors— the hallway simply ended. Ended with a door.
With Oz nearly breathing down her neck, she frantically searched for the door latch —opened it— and fell inside with Oz on top of her, his claws raking through the silk of the shirt.
Her fall, however, threw him off balance and in the darkness he rolled off of her and into something hard. She scrambled to her hands and knees and found her way out the door, the faintly glowing light from the corridor above the stairwell beyond guiding her.
No sooner had she slammed the door shut again and heard the latch click then there was the furious pounding of Oz as he attacked the door. Jade sank to the floor, her back against the door. She drew her knees up to her cheeks and cried as Oz tore the place apart.
Logan twisted in his chair to look at Wilson, his beloved Dagon Sphere. He rolled his eyes and shook his head cynically as he saw what was coming next. He set the vial down on the table with a small bang, then went over to stretch out on the cot.
By the time Jade had grown exhausted from crying, the raging on the other side of the door had stopped. Slowly, wiping the back of her hand across her tear-stained cheeks, Jade stood. She made a small knock on the door.
“Oz?” She asked timidly. Her hand found the latch and she gently opened the door. If he hadn’t regained control — it would be only a matter of seconds. The wolf was not known for stealth or ambush. This knowledge, above all else, kept her moving forward —her hands outstretched— as the seconds ticked by.
The air in here was thick and had an odd smell. Her breathing was fast and shallow as her bare feet carefully carried her forward, her fingers moving back and forth through the darkness.
She gave a small gasp of surprise when warm fingers interlaced with hers, tugging on her arms, taking her down to the floor. He was naked, she knew; he always was when he came back. She didn’t care now: He was warm and his arms were around her.
She felt his nose and mouth press to her neck and she knew there was no where else she wanted to be. She felt him slowly pull the torn silk from her body, then his arms wrapped even tighter around her. He slowly breathed in her scent — her shoulders, her arm.
“Do you remember it?” Oz’s voice was gentle yet strained as he asked of her night with the conjurer.
Her eyes stung and she shook her head against his shoulder. She knew he understood, for his gentle hands began caressing her body. In the dark, with his back up against something and herself in his lap, the only thing else she wanted was to forget why they were here. She felt him breathe her in deeply again. There was a quiet serenity about his movements, his touching, the result of focused meditation, that made her almost sleepy.
“He never touched you,” Oz whispered in her ear. His teeth gently took the tip of her ear in his mouth. “His scent is barely on you.”
An unspoken relief flooded through her. So deep it was that she let out a shuddering sigh and had to suppress more tears. It had been a very emotional day. She twisted in his lap, no doubt strengthening his arousal, and kissed him deeply, finding his lips from nothing but the feel of his breath.
He laid her back onto the shredded silk shirt and returned the kiss. They began to make love in the inky darkness as, through sunken eyes, Haargan watched them from across the room.
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