Wolverine's Girl

Part 24

He clutched Emily tightly against him, the night air chilling against his skin, but it was nothing compared to the coldness settling in his heart.When he finally arrived at the lake house, he parked the bike and rushed inside, desperate to find any sign of life within her. He laid her down gently on the couch, frantically checking for signs of consciousness. "Emily," he whispered, shaking her gently. "Come on. Please wake up."

But there was no response.

Logan's heart sank as he looked at her pale face, the realization crashing down on him like a tidal wave. He had fought with everything he had to save her, but now, all he felt was a profound emptiness. The woman who had brought light into his dark world was lying motionless before him, and the pain of it was unbearable.

He sank to his knees beside the couch, his hands trembling as they rested on her lifeless form. "This can't be happening," he murmured, tears blurring his vision. "I can't lose you, Em. Not like this."

Memories flooded his mind—her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled, the warmth of her presence that had filled the void in his heart. They had fought together, confided in each other, and forged a bond that felt unbreakable. But now, all of it seemed cruelly fleeting.

"Damn it," he cursed, his voice breaking as he gripped her hand tightly. He could feel the weight of regret pressing down on him, the "what ifs" consuming him. What if he had acted faster? What if he had been there to protect her? The guilt was suffocating.

Logan took a deep breath, trying to hold back the wave of despair threatening to swallow him whole. He could feel the familiar stirrings of rage rising within him, but this time, it was directed inward. He had failed her when she needed him most.

As he sat in silence, the reality of their situation settled in. The factory, the guards, the experimentation—they had all been hunting her, and now they had succeeded. He felt a fire ignite in his chest, but it was a different kind of fire—a burning desire for vengeance. The men who had sought to exploit her power would pay for what they had done.

But even that thought brought him no comfort. Revenge wouldn't bring her back. He pressed his forehead against her hand, the warmth fading from her skin. "I'm so sorry, Emily. I should have protected you," he whispered, his heart aching with every word.

Time seemed to stand still as he mourned in the quiet of the house, the weight of his loss enveloping him. He had faced countless enemies, battled against impossible odds, but losing Emily felt like a wound that would never heal. He could feel the darkness creeping in, threatening to consume him.

After what felt like hours, he reluctantly stood, knowing he couldn't stay there forever, even though every fiber of his being wanted to. He needed to honor her memory, to ensure that no one else would suffer as she had.

Logan wiped his eyes, steeling himself as he moved to the window. He stared out at the serene lake, the moonlight shimmering on the surface like a gentle reminder of the peace Emily had brought into his life. "I won't let your death be in vain," he promised softly, his voice resolute. "I'll find them, and I'll make them pay."

With a deep breath, he turned away from the window, his mind set on the path ahead. He wouldn't let grief paralyze him; he would channel it into something powerful. Emily had been strong, and he would honor that strength.

As he prepared to leave, he took one last look at the couch where she lay. "Rest now, Emily. I'll carry you with me. I won't forget you," he vowed, his heart aching with every word.

Logan stepped outside, ready to face the darkness that awaited him. The night air was cool against his skin, but it felt invigorating. He would become the storm that swept through the shadows, relentless and unforgiving.

With his mind focused and his heart heavy, he mounted his motorcycle, ready to hunt down those responsible for Emily's death. This time, there would be no mercy. He would ensure that their names were forgotten, just like the light that had been extinguished far too soon.