Unchained Instinct ( Complete)

Chapter 82

Rogue leaned against the passenger door of the roadster, the wind whipping her hair around her face. She gazed at Gambit’s profile and admired what she saw. His own hair lashed his face and neck. Dark glasses obscured his eyes, but she remembered his gaze from the night before all dreamy and sweet and sexy hot. She let out a sigh with a tingle running through the nether regions of her body.

A smile curved up the corner of Gambit’s mouth and he cocked his head her way. “How ya doin’, chere?”

“Ah’m doing fine, Cajun,” she replied, pitching her voice above the wind.

“Ya are fine, mon ami. That be for certain.”

“You are so full of it.” Rogue’s tone belied her words, full of affection and desire to be touched by this man again very, very soon. She let out a sigh and leaned back, enjoying the chuckle coming from her companion. The sound caught on the wind and flew away behind them and the memory of why they were racing down this black top road heading south slammed her back into the moment.

Mystique and Pietro, who followed...or chase after Logan and Kurt...possibly. She wasn’t even certain of that. If any gods were watching, she imagined them greatly amused by their little parade, the great chase without knowing the reason why.

But with Mystique, Rogue knew that the reason wasn’t good. That witch intended something bad for her friends and she meant to stop it, intervene...somehow abort whatever Mystique had in mind. If that’s what Mystique had in mind.

No. Rogue was certain. No doubts clouded her thinking when it came to the intentions of Mystique.

The sudden memory of Logan hanging by his wrists, naked and bloody assaulted Rogue’s mind. She winced and shuddered and flinched from the terrible memory, of the animal rage in Logan’s manic, deadly gaze. He had accused her of being Mystique and that meant only one thing...Mystique had used Rogue’s persona against Logan.

How?

She shuddered again at the thought.

What did ya do to him, you hateful bitch? What did ya do to my teacher, my mentor, my friend and team mate dressed in my body and face?

And who else had she used against him? Jean? Scott? Kitty? Any one and all of them?

Sabertooth?

“Oh god,” she muttered and ran her hand over her face, trying to block out the possible scenario that might have followed. Mystique would have blamed Logan for Sabertooth’s assaults on Kurt. Would she have thought turn around fair play? “Oh god,” she said again.

A hand fell on her thigh, squeezing gently. “What wrong, chere? Ya thinkin’ too hard over there?”

She turned to face Gambit and saw his concern. Patting his hand, she tried for a smile that came out weak and false.

“Yeah, thinkin’ way too hard. My mind wandered inta a pretty ugly place right then and Ah need ya to reel me back out. Talk ta me, Remy.” She gripped his hand and held on. He gripped in return and started a story about swamp life in Louisiana, lulling her with his accent and the feel of him beside her going down a highway to who knew where.


*******************


The wind roared passed Logan, a howling inside his helmet. Blue sky with fluffy marshmallow clouds floated high above.

A perfect day for riding the Parkway.

He’d left Kurt snuggled beneath clean sheets in one of those posh lodges nestled between mountains not far off the parkway. The kid had clung to him for a few seconds, fear in blue eyes masking his true golden gaze.

But he couldn’t blame the elf. He’d already tried to run out on Kurt once before, so how could he get mad about Kurt’s doubts that he’d return after an afternoon of ridin’.

Simple. He couldn’t. He’d murmured reassurance and kissed his lover’s lips and forehead, making promises that he’d keep even if he had to come back from the dead to do so.

But nothing so dire as death filtered through Logan’s mind. He wanted to think of nothing and everything and find some way to get his life back on track.

He needed to find some way to deal with what Mystique had done to him without involving Charles. And he wanted to be able to return to his and Kurt’s home and face his students...his team mates...his friends without the shame overwhelming him.

A sign indicated a pull off up ahead with a hiking trail to the summit of a mountain ridge. Logan followed and pulled the bike into a parking slot. Two cars sat in the lot. Tourists leaned out car windows to take pictures of the mountains and towns far below in the valley.

Why the hell don’t they get out of their cars?

Logan shook his head and secured his helmet to his bike. He pulled off his jacket and locked it in storage.

He watched the cars pull out, one then a few moments later, the other, leaving him alone with the mountains and the sky.

Finally, another car came, pulling in and this time the tourists actually got out of their car, a man and a woman and two kids. Perfect little family.

The man eyed him suspiciously and pulled the littlest child, a girl, to him, picking her up and balancing her on his shoulders. Logan offered him a mock salute with two fingers and turned away, heading for the trail head.

He climbed without thinking, letting instinct pick out the best path, his keen sight and smell guiding him through hemlocks and rhododendron helds. The smell of skunk and bear wafted on the air, but none were close, all scattered long before he’d reached the area.

The crisp cool air sent a wash of exhilaration through Logan, cleansing mind, body and spirit in a way nothing else could.

When he reached the summit, the valleys rolled out before him and he stepped out over the safety of the wall maintained for that very purpose and crouched on the rock outcropping.

Staring out across the vast expanse of open air, Logan watched Turkey Vultures glide on the wind currents, dipping and rising in an elegant ballet that the birds’ name didn’t do justice to.

Closing his eyes, Logan listened to the sounds all around him, bird songs, bees buzzing. Far away, he detected the sound of motors, cars moving up and down the Parkway and a lone jet streaking across the sky.

He sniffed, the aroma of honeysuckle and pine ladening the air with a succulent sweetness. Again, animal odors crossed the wind, deer, squirrel, rabbit, skunk and bear. He sensed something watching him from a safe distance, not so much from fear of him as simply wariness of this creature who entered its realm with such familiarity...as if he too belonged there in the wild places of the Appalachians.

Logan drew in a deep breath and held it, letting the air out in a cleansing breath. His mind tugged at him to think and he forced himself to remember all that Mystique had done, searching for the moment when he’d lost his self control, when she had unlocked the primal beast, the unthinking animal instincts that went far beyond those he used for the good of all...not just his own base needs. But that moment eluded him; too many tortures, too much stimulation and manipulation to sort through.

A low growl worked its way from between his clenched teeth and his nails dug into the palms of his hands until he bled.

He drew back from the memories and shook his hands, wiping the blood from his palms. Within seconds the minor wounds healed up and Logan stared at them as if he’d never seen it happen before.

“This ain’t helpin’,” he muttered to himself. He shifted and rose, turning to face the path back down the mountain. But the sound of people working their way up sent him into a crouch.

The last thing he wanted right now was to face a bunch of tourists pretending to be mountain goats.

He slipped between trees and pushed his way deep into the helds, using his instincts once again to guide him without path. Deer traces, scarcely visible opened before him and Logan worked his way through the woods with hardly a trace of him left behind.

The sound of water falling caught at Logan’s hearing, drawing him towards its source.
The smell of fresh running water stirred a need in him and he followed as any animal would.

A grotto opened up before him, a fall of water cascading down twenty feet to a pool no bigger than the length of Logan’s body. He jumped to the rim and gazed into the shallow depths; bent and cupped water in his hand and drank.

As the water stilled, Logan once again gazed into the water, his reflection gazing back.

What kind of man was he? How much of him was beast and how much human? Had he always been this way? Always balanced so precariously between two natures?

And now the animal had the upper hand, dictating to him his behavior.

Freakin’ out of control. That’s what he had been last night. What would have happened if Kurt hadn’t been there to take the brunt of these raging primal instincts?

He shook his head and watched his reflection mock him. Pointing his finger at the swirling image, Logan said, “ya gotta get yerself under control, bub. Yer too dangerous ta run around in public if ya can’t get yerself under control. What if ya’d really hurt the elf last night? What if ya’d killed one of those punks in that bar?”

The reflection had no reply, no words of wisdom nor sarcasm nor denial that his questions were valid.
Logan let out a sigh and fell back to sit on the rocky slope. He lay back and let his gaze wander the tree tops and the glimpse of mountain through a break in the forest.

The fall of the water soothed his tormented nerves and his aching soul like a healing balm. Closing his eyes, Logan sought the nothingness of meditation, letting his mind reel out between thought and feeling.

He forced his body to remain still, coaxed his breath to ease and pulse to slow. Then he reached down inside himself, searching for the damaged place...the one place within him that refused to heal.

A gaping hole, ragged and torn festered inside of him. That’s where the beast had burst out, ripping further where Mystique’s tortures, both agonizing and pleasurable had opened him up with her constant battering of his psych and mangling of his flesh.

His own sense of betrayal towards those he loved and respected only added salt to the blistered wounds. He should have been able to resist, even been repulsed by Mystique’s erotic aggression in the guise of his team mates. He should have been able to keep his own body in control. But it had betrayed them all, giving into the ecstasy of sexual release. He had betrayed them.

Kurt would tell him that the first step towards healing was forgiving himself. But where in this gaping maw of darkness was he suppose to find self forgiveness?

And if Kurt knew everything, that he’d cum with “Jean’s” mouth around his cock....with “Scott’s” dick up his ass, would the kid still be able to forgive him?

Yeah. The elf could do that. Not many people...but Kurt would.

And that was so much of what he loved about his elf. Kind, loving, caring, sharing, giving. That was the Kurt Wagner he’d fallen in love with...not just the sexual attraction. Not just the physical satiation they found together.

Logan’s eyes popped open and he stared up at the trees swaying in the breeze. The sun was beginning to tilt to the west.

“I don’t just want the elf for physical satisfaction. It ain’t just about mating. I love him.” Logan sat up and ran his fingers back through his hair. “I can do this. I can do this for him. I can do this for Charles and Jean and Scott and Rogue and all the rest.”

Walking back through the woods, Logan’s heart felt a little lighter, his steps that of a man still contemplating his own revelations. The bike was just where he’d left it and as he climbed on and strapped on his helmet, he gazed at the valley and the mountains beyond. With a nod, he revved up the bike and turned it back towards the lodge where his lover waited.

“I can do this for me,” he stated and slipped out onto the Parkway.