“What?” She had the decency to look shocked, and her voice lowered to the soft Jean voice he knew. He also knew he dared not trust it. “No, of course not. Why would I do that?”

He snorted a laugh through his nose. “A god doesn’t need a reason to do anything. I’ve learned that the hard way.”

“I’m not a god.”

“Oh no? The power you’re shedding ain’t normal, honey.”

She was on her knees in front of him, more or less at his eye level, but the effect was still disturbing. Even pulling back the fire in her eyes didn’t subdue their eerie power. “I haven’t exactly learned how to completely control it yet. There wasn’t an instruction manual.”

“Camaxtli ain’t helpin’ you?”

She grimaced, and it was the most Human expression he’d seen on her face for a very long time. “He’s not here anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

Gazing at her steadily, his heart skipped a beat. She almost looked like the Jean he remembered, the Jean he used to know. “I mean he’s dead, Logan.”

“Yeah I know - Eris killed him. That’s what allowed him to jump into you.”

She shook her head. “No, you misunderstand me. The “jump” - as you said - must have been incomplete, because while he tried to control me, he wasn’t strong enough.”

He didn’t know which was worse - that he was misunderstanding her, or he was getting her completely. “What are you telling me?”

She gave him a sly, mischievous smile that skirted the edge of coldness. Her eyes glittered like stars. “No one ever told him never to get into a mind war with a telepath.”

She honestly believed she killed Camaxtli? “He was a god.”

“More like half a god at the end,” she said, clearly reveling in her triumph. “And a weakened half at that. Eris is brutal, apparently.”

“Don’t ever trust a god,” he implored, wondering if any lingering bit of Camaxtli wouldn’t allow her to listen. “They don’t even stay dead when they’re supposed to.”

Her expression dripped with sadly amused patronization. He could almost hear the “silly mortal” that surely must have accompanied that look. “Don’t worry, Logan - he’s gone. Trust me.”

He sincerely wished he could. “If that’s true, why are you avoiding Bob?”

“Because I’m not sure of the boundaries of my powers, or how much I can control them. And frankly, I don’t want him to take them away. Do you know how much good I could do with these powers?”

“Do you know how much damage you could do? Have you forgotten that Camaxtli was a war god? He fed off the violent deaths of other beings. He was a world class prick, and - maybe I’m wrong - but if what I picked up from Bob is right, he had the power of life and death on a wide scale: one sneeze, and an entire universe could collapse in on itself.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, lips compressing into a tight line. “Do you think I can’t handle it?”

He stared at her in utter disbelief. “That isn’t the fucking point! Should you handle it? You could blow up a fucking planet if you’re not careful! Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Creation and destruction are two different sides of the same coin. As long as I’m careful, there’s no chance that will happen.”

Was she drunk on power? Could she be? That was disillusioning; he always thought Jean was better than that. “So what exactly are you doin’ to me?”

That innocent look could have won her an Oscar. “I’m not doing anything to you.”

“Don’t bullshit me in my own mind! You’ve only dumped a metric ton of crap in my head, and I don’t know what half of it is! And you keep skulkin’ around, you don’t contact the others, and you’ve fucking lied to me, Jean! Give me some truth for once.”

Her eyes narrowed, brows dropping low, and the flames flared in her eyes once more, but more in annoyance than true anger. “I have been telling you the truth, Logan. Camaxtli is gone, and I haven’t quite mastered my powers yet, but I’m learning. And I only contact you because I know I can’t kill you.”

“Are you tryin’ hard enough, darlin’?”

She scowled at him, not a pretty sight one someone with flaming eyes. “What I want to know is why you can’t be honest with yourself.”

He scoffed. “What kinda new age bullshit is that? About what?”

“About your death wish.”

“I don’t have a death wish,” he snapped back bitterly, but it sounded defensive and false even to him. It was funny how you could be so deep in a hole, not only could you not see out, but you couldn’t even see where the hell you were. The dark simply became home, and you lost all memory of ever having been anywhere - the light was something that existed for other people. But he was so accustomed to it … if he didn’t have this, what did he have?

With a heavy sigh, he admitted, “Fine, do ya want me to say it? I’d rather be dead, yeah. It’d make things a hell of a lot easier.”

“On who? I never pegged you for a coward. Many other things, but never that.”

“Well, you were wrong. I’m the biggest coward in the world - I even run away from my own memories. But I keep a kick ass front up, don’t I?” Why was he saying these things? It was like he couldn’t not say them. Jean’s telepathy, bleeding into him? Making him say things whether he wanted to or not? Or perhaps the correct term was think things, as this was some kind of mindscape, and they only pretended to speak.

He was going to let her have a good dose of indignant rage, but then she leaned her forehead against his, her overly warm hand cupping the back of his neck, and the anger seemed to die in the hollow of his chest. “You want to know what I’m trying to do to you?” She said, her “voice” a soft whisper. “I’m trying to heal you.”

“I can heal on my own, thanks. It’s the one thing I can do well.”

“Not the physical; I’m trying to heal what cannot be healed.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” But even as he said that, he knew exactly what she meant - the psyche, the mind. Everything that wasn’t physical, and yet still bore deep scars. And the very idea embarrassed the hell out of him, and brought back that flare of anger. It was his shit, and it was up to him to deal with it or not.

He closed his eyes, trying not to think of the proximity of her lips to his, especially since he wasn’t completely convinced that Camaxtli was gone; he was probably playing her, like he played Bob, and everyone else. The fucker was crafty, but then again, extremely bloody Incan god - he probably had the “fucking people over” thing down pat. “Maybe Marc was right,” he finally said. “I’m a clinical depressive.”

“I keep telling you, post trau - “

“Stop telling me,” he interrupted, really not wanting to hear it. “So you said you could make me forget?”

“I think so. But the more I think about it, the more I think we should find another way.”

“What? And what’s so wrong with making me forget anyways?”

“You’ve already forgotten so much.”

“What’s a little more?”

Just from the pause, he knew she didn’t find that funny. “And as horrible as it is, those memories have helped you.”

“How?” But he supposed - as much as he hated to admit it - he could see what she was getting at. “Well, I can scare off telepaths.”

“More than that. You have an insight into the people who did this to you. A horrible insight, but still … somewhere in those memories is the key to shutting them down for good.”

That was confusing as well as unsettling. “Why do you say that?”

“You cling to those memories for a reason, Logan. Maybe you can’t remember why right now, but at some point you will.”

That had never occurred to him. He thought he remembered what happened to him because they had never “wiped” it, and his mind had a sadistic streak. It was also his “birth”, wasn’t it? But maybe she was right - maybe there was a reason for it that eluded him. At least for now.

“I need you to do something for me,” she said, smoothing her hands through his hair.

He wished he was surprised. “That’s why I have to live, huh?”

“Don’t be so cynical. You have to live because I don’t want you to die. And I think, really, you don‘t want to either.”

“Oh really?”

“You just want peace, Logan. And who can blame you for that?”

He was ready to make a snarky comment about peace, particularly about the general lack of it and its special futility for him, when she kissed him.

He knew then, without a doubt, he was being manipulated. But she tasted just like he remembered, smelled the same, and he still wanted her. He missed her - the old Jean, the one before this, but he knew that was as pointless as wanting Mariko back. Neither was ever going to happen.

The heat bleeding through her skin was enough to burn, and he could still feel it seeping into him, tendrils of psychic fire slipping through his cells like phantom organisms. He was sure she - or whatever - wasn’t being completely honest with him, and he knew the more he let her manipulate him, the less he would care, and yet, he wasn’t sure why he should go out of his way to stop her. There were so many pitfalls with desire.

The Buddhists were absolutely right. It was the source of all suffering, or at least the kind that seemed to linger.

He pulled away from her (how he had no idea), and his lips felt oddly dry, as if she had very nearly burned them. “Say you do find a way to heal me,” he said, aware he might not like the answer. “What do you plan to do to me then?”

He watched the lights in her eyes, the flicker of distant fires, and he wondered where the humanity had gone.

Logan woke up, feeling as insubstantial as a dried leaf and as cold as marble, but hey, he was still alive. He knew it.

He watched the shadows of the candle flames flicker across the ceiling, and was aware that Yasha had thrown a blanket on him (it smelled musty), and that she was no longer here. He sat up, but it triggered a head rush that almost made him pass out. He rested his head on his knees until it passed, and he felt steady enough to move.

He made himself move slowly, as if he could really feel his adamantium (and in his weakened state, he did), and followed a familiar scent to the next room. Even though there was just the one, and it wasn’t very big, it took him a moment to find her.

She was just a lump beneath a blanket in the far corner, away from the shower, and he approached her quietly, trying to judge if she was breathing or not. It was raining again, pattering against the roof and hidden windows, a soft noise like a thousand ghosts impatiently tapping their fingers.

He was within six feet of her when she said suddenly, “I stopped, you know.” She rolled over onto her back and looked up at him. “But then again, you’re alive, so you probably guessed that.” She looked flushed, her skin a robust peach like hue, and for a moment he thought she was alive. But that’s just how vampires looked after they fed - nearly living.

Logan crouched down, mainly because he had to, and knew then, in spite of the smell of his blood on her, she still smelled like a vampire. “Why?”

“Why what? Why stop?” She shrugged half heartedly. “I never want what I can get, Logan. Although maybe you broke my curse.”

“Oh?”

“I really wanted your blood. I mean, really.” Her eyes seem to shine with greed, like just thinking about it made her hungry. “I thought it would taste good just from the way it smelled, but it was better than I ever imagined. We could probably sell it on vials in the street for two hundred a pop - I mean, what a rush. It’s better than slayer blood, and I didn’t think that was possible.”

He supposed it was a compliment, but what did you say when someone said your blood tasted good? “Thanks” was just too weird.

She sensed his discomfort, and grinned up at him, her teeth as bright as her eyes. “I can’t tell you how good I feel right now. I feel like I’m actually generating body heat, and I’m all tingly. I bet I could take out a tank with my bare hands.” She gave him a questioning glance before asking, “You’re not up for sex right now, are you?”

He fixed her with the most disbelieving look he could muster without passing out. “I just lost half my blood volume - whadda ya think?”

She gave him a pouty little frown, like he was overreacting. “I was just asking.”

“Okay, so I got great blood - but you still stopped.”

“I told you - I didn’t want to kill you. I eventually came back to my senses. Although, if you were a normal Human, you would have died of shock … I’m pretty sure I took more than half.”

“Why are you in here?”

“My willpower has its limits.”

He could understand that. He also found himself in the curious position of being glad she didn’t kill him, and yet sorry she didn’t go through with it. “That could have been your best shot at humanity, ya know.”

“I know. But I’m not sure there’s enough people like you to make it worth it.”

He looked down at her, deeply puzzled, not sure what she meant by that. But she held up one corner of the blanket, and said, “Come on - get in.”

“Ya want seconds already?”

She gave him a dirty look that was the equivalent of a middle finger, but she didn’t give him the visual “fuck off” look for long. “No, it just looks like you’re about to pass out.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Yours, actually - you all but demanded I do it, remember?”

As he slid under the blanket, he shot back, “Well, you didn’t have to give in so easy.”

“Ha ha, funny man.”

She was right, she was warm now; not Jean warm (thank … gods? No, probably not; they did nothing for Humans) or even normal Human warm, but closer to the latter than the former. She snuggled up next to him, but was careful to rest her head on his chest, avoiding the hollow of his neck, possibly so he didn’t think she was going for seconds.

For some time they just laid there, listening to the rain beat a persistent tattoo against the flimsy walls of the shack, and he idly stroked her back, remembering the intricate tattoo that ran the length of her spine. But after a while, she asked a very good question: “So what happens now?”

Oh great. Why did women always have to ask the hard questions?

30

The rain had traveled ahead of him, it seemed, as it was pelting down by the time the jet landed in Vancouver. But it was softer somehow, warmer, and didn’t bother the small corporate plane as much as the rain back in Tokyo had when they were taking off.

The landing was so smoothing Logan barely noticed it, and had to gulp down the rest of his beer as the jet taxied down the small runway. It was just after nine pm Pacific standard time, and all he could see out the rain speckled windows were the blue lights of the landing strip, rendered watery smears by the rivulets cascading down the glass.

Still, he knew what would be waiting for him as he disembarked, and he wasn’t surprised to see an armored black sedan parked thirty feet away, vertical to the plane, and Tagawa standing outside it in a crisply tailored navy Hermes suit, standing beneath a black umbrella held by a slender Korean man, who was also holding a slim aluminum briefcase in his other hand. Although well dressed himself, he had a lean and strangely placid face that suggested he was some kind of official assistant as opposed to a bodyguard.

The more bulky and obviously packing Ehud was standing on the opposite side of the car, near the driver’s side door, in the deceptively easy posture of the professional bodyguard. He was also wearing sunglasses, which couldn’t have been more suspicious on a rainy night on a dim airstrip, but Logan could feel when his eyes scudded over him. He was only giving him half the scrutiny that he would a genuine assassin.

Logan gave Tagawa a respectful bow, which Tagawa returned gracefully (and the assistant looked mildly surprised, perhaps not expecting a gaijin to bother), and then, as soon as he was within reach, Logan held out the cloth wrapped bundle in his hands. “Your family’s sword, Tagawa-san,” he said somewhat formally. From what Yasha had found out, Tagawa was one of the good guys, for a “running dog capitalist” (she was being sarcastic … or so he assumed).

“Thank you,” he said, taking the bundle with some reverence. He brought it under the umbrella before starting to unwrap it, and then he only did it until he could see the charcoal tracing of the dragon on the blade. He gasped slightly in surprise. “This is it. I can’t believe it. Part of me feared it was a futile gesture.”

“Life is full of futile gestures,” he said, speaking from very recent experience. “But every now and then, you get lucky.”

Tagawa wrapped the sword up once more, and gave him another small bow. “Much thanks, Logan-san. You have given me back something I thought lost for good.” He gave the assistant a slight nod, and the boy handed him the briefcase, although warily, as he seemed to be off put by his appearance. Why? He wasn’t covered in blood.

Once he took the briefcase, Tagawa shifted the bundle carefully so he could reach in his pocket and pull out a business card. “I am indebted to you. If you ever need anything in return, please do not hesitate to notify me.”

Logan took the card with a slight shrug. So now he had a briefcase full of cash, and a rich man’s thanks. Life could be so weird.

“I trust there were no problems,” Tagawa said, probably being polite.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

The older man nodded sagely. “Yes - I imagined your abilities would be a great help.”

Logan raised an eyebrow at that, reading nothing in Tagawa’s peacefully neutral expression, and he suddenly realized a couple of things. He knew he was a mutant (and probably knew Marc was one as well), and surely he had guessed that he was the “inauspicious” mononoke who had wiped out the Takabe and Yashida crime families.

And he didn’t care.

Probably he thought they got what they deserved, playing with fire and all of that. But it didn’t bother him he had walked away from it? Then again, why would it? Tagawa had walked away from his own crime family; he probably thought they had something in common. Tagawa was ruthlessly pragmatic, wasn’t he? His opinion of the man rose slightly.

Tagawa’s thin lips curved up in a faint smile, as if he was reading his thoughts. “We’re all human beings, Mr. Logan. You’d think that would be obvious to everyone, but some people are … ”

“Assholes?” Logan suggested.

Tagawa laughed faintly. “Yes, I imagine that word will do. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you. Give my regards to Mr. Drury.”

“I will.” Logan stepped back with his briefcase full of money, and simply waited as Tagawa, his assistant, and the bulky Ehud got in their car and drove away, leaving him alone on the rainy airstrip.

Well, alone in theory.

“So that was the guy, huh?” Yasha said, emerging from beneath the shadows of the plane. “He seemed pretty reasonable for a scum sucking corporate weasel.”

“It takes all kinds, doesn’t it?” He turned to face her, blinking rain out of his eyes.

He’d given her a lift to Vancouver - well, it seemed like the least he could do. This was also why he made sure they’d be landing after sundown, although being as overcast as it was, it may not have mattered so much.

Yasha glanced at the suitcase, and asked, “So how much filthy lucre did you get?”

“I can’t remember,” he admitted. Well, he hadn’t been in it for the money, and he knew from the look on her face that that made him something of a freak. More of a freak.

After a small sniff, to make sure the case wasn’t booby trapped (not that he didn’t trust Tagawa, but the news that he knew he was a mutant made him understandably suspicious), he popped the latches and had a look inside.

It was full of neat bundles of twenty and fifty dollar bills (kind of him to make sure the payment was in small, unmarked bills - he must have done enough business with mercenaries to know the drill), the bland green of American money, and since math wasn’t his strong suit, he didn’t even try and add it up. But he suspected it was more than they initially agreed upon.

He pulled out a couple of bundles of fifties and handed them to a surprised looking Yasha. “Here. You helped, so you should get something.”

“Not half?” She suggested, thumbing through the bundles. He imagined she actually counted it.

“You didn’t help that much.”

She smirked at him, but still seemed shocked when he closed up the case. “Hey, seriously - this is your money, Logan.”

He shook his head. “I don’t need it. ‘sides, yer starting a new life here - you’re gonna need some scratch, right?”

“I brought some,” she said, gesturing back at the huge black duffle bag resting on the tarmac, although it was hard to see, as it was still within the shadows of the plane’s underbelly. He knew from the way it clinked and how fucking heavy it was that it was mostly weapons (many if not all of her fancy blades and swords, but it was possible she also brought some cash. He had no idea if she brought any clothes at all, save for the leather outfit on her back).

“Still, there’s no such thing as too much.”

She just stared at him for a long moment, the blue lights reflected in her black eyes. She really was quite beautiful, even with her damp hair hanging down in her face like seaweed. “You’re a Human. You’re supposed to worship money.”

“I missed the memo. And anyways, I’m kinda used to not really having it. It’s never really helped me.”

She shook her head, not quite able to hide her smile. “You’re so weird, Logan. And I mean in a good way. Mostly.”

“Of course.”

She kissed him then, a languid kiss full of a familiar passion, and it was only slightly disconcerting that she wasn’t breathing. When she broke away from him, she stared at him almost wistfully, raindrops glittering in her eyelashes like diamonds. “Too bad you’re not a demon.”

“Too bad you’re not alive,” he agreed.

That just made her smile, like he thought it might. “Don’t be a stranger. And one of these days, you have to introduce me to the Drai’shajan. Assuming he doesn’t kill vampires the moment he encounters them.”

“Oh no, he’s not judgmental. The Weird Sisters seem to work for him from time to time, and if he never dusted them, he ain’t gonna touch you.”

Her eyes widened in shock, tension bleeding away from her jaw. “The Weird Sisters? Are you serious?”

“You know of ‘em?”

“Who doesn’t know of them? Even vampires are afraid of those freaky bitches. Have you met them?”

He nodded with a heavy sigh. “Yeah. And I know what you mean - they’re fucking nuts.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t jump on you and molest you.”

“They almost did. I think Bob keeps them in line. Well, as much as anyone can.”

“Bob? The Drai’Shajan?” He nodded. “That name’s a joke, right?”

“I assume. He has a weird - and constant - sense of humor. I mean, he must, right? He seems to surround him himself with the freakiest of the freaks. Myself included.”

“Well, even outsiders need a god, right?” She smiled, and leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek. She seemed to radiate cold like an ice cube now that the heat flush of his blood had worn off, but he still found his desire for her coming back. Oh, damn it - he didn’t want to be attracted to a blood sucking dead woman. But it was hard to deny they had great chemistry together, which made him wonder what that said about him.

“Keep in touch,” he told her, wondering how they’d ever accomplish that. He wasn’t listed in the phone book, and somehow he doubted he could call information and request to talk to Lady Blood.

She nodded, water falling from her hair and trailing down her oddly alabaster skin. “Sure. And next time you’re in Vancouver, look me up. Might be fun to get out there and crack some heads again.”

“It’s a date.” As she started to walk away, he added, “Just eat the scumbags, okay?”

“Usually do,” she reassured him with a smile. “They’re fun, ’cause they never see it coming.”

“I bet,” he agreed, although he wasn’t sure what he meant by that.

He watched her shoulder her heavy bag - opening it briefly to add the bundles of cash - and she gave him a final, deeply promising smile and wave before disappearing into the night.

Logan shook the rain from his eyes, and tried to remember where the hell he parked his bike.

As he started to walk across the airstrip, it occurred to him, with a mild yet horrifying shock, that he was smiling. Holy shit, what was wrong with him? He had nothing to be smiling about. He had wasted his time in Japan, pissing off a demon mafia in the process, and he had been unable to do anything for Jean or Mariko. He couldn’t even get himself killed right.

But, ironically, maybe that was it. There was no happy ending with Mariko or Jean, but at least he knew where he stood now. The hope was gone, but so was some of the pain and regret attached to it. He knew now he had failed them then, but not now - there really hadn’t been any hope of saving to begin with. And maybe he really didn’t want to die, not right this second at any rate. Perhaps life wasn’t so impossibly bad if he could find a vampire with some humanity, even when they didn’t have a soul. Or maybe medieval barbers were on to something, and a little blood loss could be a good thing.

Or maybe whatever Jean was doing to him was finally starting to sink its claws into his mind.

Nah.

But he did wonder briefly if Bob would be able to tell him if that was true or not.

31

The mansion seemed strangely subdued and quiet when he arrived. Logan came in to find a few kids sitting in the front room, propped up watching a blaring television (they seemed to be watching one of the Lord of the Rings film), but none of them even looked in his direction.

He headed down the hall towards his room, surprised that he hadn’t been bothered by anyone, but as he approached the bend in the hall leading to the adult quarters, he heard a voice singing, “… he promised I would find a little solace and some peace of mind, whatever, just as long as I don’t feel so desperate and ravenous. So weak and helpless over you.” Bob peeked his head around the corner, a big, shit eating grin on his face, and he said, “Someone finally wrote a song about your relationship with women.”

Logan flipped him the bird, which just made Bob laugh, as it usually did. He noted his new bizarre t-shirt - what the fuck was Cockshutt? - but he knew better than to ask. “So who the fuck died around here?”

Bob’s face fell, resolving into a more serious expression, and Logan felt his stomach plummet. Oh god, someone actually had died. “Chameleon,” he told him grimly.

“Cressida?” Logan was honestly baffled. Of all people, he’d never have guessed her. “What the fuck happened?”

Bob held out his hand towards him, and said, “May I?”

It took him a moment to realize he was asking to use his version of telepathy on him. Oh hell, he’d had Jean in his head, right? What was one more god? “Yeah.”

Bob grabbed his arm, and it was like a lightning bolt shot straight into his cerebral cortex. He staggered back, white motes exploding in front of his eyes, and he grabbed his head until he assimilated the information he had given him. He was pretty sure that Bob had grabbed his recent memories while doing the data dump, but since he would have seen them anyways, he didn’t care.

As his vision returned and the pain ebbed, he looked up at Bob in shock. “They came after Camaxtli? Did Jean request them?”

“As far as I could tell, no. They just picked up his presence while he was saving his avatar.”

“So Jean never actually died.”

“No.” Bob suddenly grinned, his eyes twinkling like stars. “Ooh, do I catch a love buzz between you and Mei Li there?”

Logan scowled violently, belatedly sorry that Bob had picked up on that. But how could he not? “No, you don’t.”

But Bob just continued to give him that infuriating grin. “How great is that? You went there to try and resurrect dead loves, and you may have found a new one. I’m getting all tingly.”

“It was just sex.”

“No it wasn’t,” he immediately replied, his face lit up like he was high on laughing gas. “You wanted to help her, and she couldn’t kill you. If that isn’t love, what is?” Logan assumed that was rhetorical, because he quickly went on. “It’s like a romantic drama, isn’t it? Two people from opposites worlds - a vampire tired of being a vampire, and a mutant tired of living - find each other on a fruitless quest, and discover that they can both be horribly alone and alienated from their own kind together. It’s like a love story. Written by a depressive on crack, okay, but still - “

“Will you shut up already?” He snapped. “It was just sex, and it’s over. She’s in Vancouver.”

“And you were planning to go back,” Bob said, raising his eyebrows in a comically suggestive manner. “You were just checking in here. And even if you decided to stay, she’d have come here. Don’t even try and lie to me, Logan. I think it’s fabulous, mate - go for it. You have so little happiness in your life, get what you can.”

“She’s dead,” he pointed out, although he had no idea why. Vampire equaled dead.

“Not really - only the host body is technically dead. The demon that Humans call vampire is very much alive, as you well know. And she’s not only any old vamp either - she has common sense, and something passing for a conscience. That’s ultra rare. But she’s still hard core, like you; you two are an ass kicking match made in heaven. Or hell. Technically, they can be the same thing.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“No! Absolutely not. Does she mind the cold? You guys could have my cabin for a while. Or, I got a really nice place in the English countryside; pastoral, but not as rustic or Luddite inclined as the cabin. As long as you don’t mind being down wind of sheep, you can have your peace and quite, but still get to London for some pub crawling.”

Logan shook his head, and walked past him, hoping he couldn’t pick up that his face was absolutely burning. Okay, so he found it hard to get Yasha off his mind, but he hadn’t fallen in love with her. Not only was he not the type, no one fell in love that fast anyways. It was just lust. She was beautiful, and she had stamina - that seemed like a rare combination. And yeah, she did kick some major ass, and he always found that strangely attractive in a woman. Logan focused on the matter they were supposed to be discussing. “I can’t believe Cressida is dead. She was one tough cookie.”

“I know, but she might not be dead as we think,” Bob said, humoring his change of topic. But Logan just knew he’d switch the topic back as soon as possible. “Come with me to her room, and I’ll show you what I mean.”