Lover of the Sabretooth

She smelt like vanilla and mango.

That was the first thing he noticed about her. Then again, he was looking the opposite way and, had it not been for her scent, she would have slipped right back out of his life unnoticed.

As it was, Victor Creed turned his head to watch as the female walked past in the chilly New Yorkan morning, a black trench coat securely wrapped around her curvaceus body, and the pale faded jeans stretching down to her ankles before giving way to black stilettos. A young business woman, perhaps. Or an arrogant college student. He raised an eyebrow, and glanced away.

And then back again.

She was leaving the wide-open square, and moving towards the opening of Central Park.

Agent Zero finished paying for the hot dogs that the X Team had wanted as brunch, and Wade eagerly reached for his. Their breaths in the pale morning light formed clouds of steam. Concerned for his brother's thoughtfulness, James Logan placed his hand on Victor's shoulder. "Something wrong?" He asked curtly.

The female was almost out of sight. Victor could still smell her scent and feel her body heat. "Gimme a sec." He said instinctively, and shrugged out of Logan's hold.

"Victor?" Logan started after him.

The feral didn't answer as he quickened his pace. He heard Duke asking "where's Victor going?" but he didn't falter.

His predatory mind was keen on only one intent: finding the girl. But, for once, he didn't mean to harm anybody.

In truth, he had no idea what he was doing.

~~*~~

She had never much liked silk anyway.

Valentina drummed her long fingers against her lips thoughtfully, brow furrowed as she gazed worriedly at the Textiles textbook in front of her. She had sat down on one of the half-frozen benches in Central Park to revise for an exam she would be having tomorrow, but the more she read, the more she knew she would fail it, and /never/ make it as a fashion designer.

It was just too bad: she wanted it so much.

With some substancial frustration, she flipped through the pages, before adding more vigor to the activity and turning pages by the dozen, skipping from chapter to chapter before finally closing the book with a thud.

"You don't have to kill it."

Caught by surprised, and already embarrassed that she would make such a scene as to draw attention from strangers, she put on a sheepish smile and looked up at the man who had commented.

And the next second, she raised both eyebrows in surprise: the man was huge. With short-cropped brown hair, and cunning aqua eyes, he could have passed off as an army general, was it not for the heavy tweed coat of a dull grey which swooped half-way down to his thighs. He was big and gruff, and particularly tall.

He might have been a thug, but he was dressed quite expensively. As a fashion design student, she could tell the difference. Studying clothes might save your life. Or not.

"Pre-exam stress," She felt like explaining, chuckling slightly as she ran one gloves hand through her wavy brown hair, "it can turn murderous."

He smirked at her - a tiny little gesture which drew attention to his eyes- and finally raised his head briefly, as if reading the book title. "Watcha studying, kid?"

His title for her made the brunette pause as she wondered whether he was being serious (she WAS wearing heels), but she quickly blinked and licked her lips. "Fashion and Design," She answered.

The brief look of disappointed expectations crossed his face, as she realized he thought her course was as useless as most adults seemed to think it. "It's a competitive, but florishing, business." She added with great dignity.

"Whatever you say, kid." He replied, quite rudely in his ungentleness, before he slid his bare hands out of his pockets and rubbed them together, trying to warm them by friction.

The opportunity was too good not to act upon. "See? My college course teaches how to make vital things like gloves. It saves lives." She pointed out cheekily, with a smartass tone.

The buff man turned his head back around to gaze at her, impressed - but with something other than her words. "I'd need a hot soup to keep warm, not gloves."

"You could go someplace warm," Valentina suggested pointedly.

"How clever." The man smirked, "Too bad I don't know where I could find that."

"There's this cute place close by. Just go straight on from here, turn left, and the continue all the way down to..." Valentina eventually came to a halt, changing her mind as she seemed to catch on with what was happening. She was polite, but she was dealing with a rather hot-looking guy. "How about," She said, with some emphasis as she started fresh, "I take you? I might need to buy something warm too. It's freezing, isn't it?"

"It is indeed."

"My name's Valentina, by the way," She held out her gloved hand.

He held out his bare one. His nails were sharper than normal.

"I'm Victor. Victor Creed."

~~*~~

the place was quite crowded, but the two strangers managed to find a relatively quiet place near the tall glass windows, which showed outside a bleak background of withered trees, but a bright blue cloudless winter sky. The two were sat in front of one another, on a small square table, with a small glass vase of flowers seperating them.

Victor rested his hands on top of the table and watched her with attentive animal eyes as she shed her coat against her seat and readjusted her composure. He watched as her pale hands sank into the glossy mass of dark hair, and another wave of intoxicating scent reached him.

Her presence, mostly involving mundane semplicity, rubbed on him in a way he found strange and delightful. He could see intelligence in her dark brown eyes, but of a different sort from his: intellectual, and practical. His was predatory and calculating. But he felt amused by her antiques. She didn't feel like a threat. She felt safe but, at the same time, exciting and unpredictable.

"So Victor," She spoke calmly, but the procimity suscitated some kind of excitement in her. This close he could tell she was calculating every detail about him, seeing the little things which made him human, "I'm guessing you don't live here?"

"I don't," He admitted, before quickly correcting himself, "or rather, I didn't."

He went on to explain how he had recently moved over from Philadelphia, and was new to the big city environment.