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A Feral Interlude-Ravaging Intrigue Part 2

Rated: NC-17
Disclaimer: Violence, Gore, adult situations, and graphic imagery. I do not own any aspect or character of the Marvel Universe nor elements of the X-Men Origins movieverse.
A Feral Interlude: Ravaging Intrigue

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 joei 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…”


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.


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…