Like a Second Skin

Like a Second Skin

Summary: Hrimhari was blessed with two forms, one of a wolf, and one that allowed him to walk upright and speak. The wolf prince is offered humanity and a new lease on life with Rahne Sinclair, the human metamorph that he loves. But at what price? Based on the New Mutants Annual.

Rahne turned the page of the well-maintained hardcover tome in her lap, letting out a small sigh of contentment over the elegant prose:

The Sea King had been a widower for many years, and his aged mother kept house for him. She was a very wise woman, and exceedingly proud of her high birth; on that account she wore twelve oysters on her tail; while others, also of high rank, were only allowed to wear six. She was, however, deserving of very great praise, especially for her care of the little sea-princesses, her grand-daughters. They were six beautiful children; but the youngest was the prettiest of them all; her skin was as clear and delicate as a rose-leaf, and her eyes as blue as the deepest sea; but, like all the others, she had no feet, and her body ended in a fish's tail.

The institute’s library was quiet and empty. Rahne lay on the tweed-upholstered chaise lounge, enjoying the sun warming her feet. Outside, Sam, Doug and Roberto were showing Warlock how to play football, with mixed results. For a while, Rahne could hear the chatter, panting footfalls, and cat calls that the boys made, raising a clamor on the front lawn. Doug’s impatient outbursts in particular made her giggle.

“For crying out loud, ‘Lock, it’s not a projectile, it’s a football!”

Overall, it was good to be home.

“Rahne?” Magnus’ voice was inquisitive and deep from the doorway. He sipped from the cup of herbal tea in his hand. “What are you up to in here all by yourself, child?”

“Och, I’m just taking a peek through the shelves, sir, don’t mind me. I enjoy reading.”

“It’s a lovely day to be outside.”

“I know. I just wanted a bit of time t’meself, if ye dinna mind.”

“No. Of course not. You’ve certainly earned it, child. Still, I hope you’ll join us outside later this afternoon. I was thinking a barbecue might be just the thing for lunch, to give you and your classmates the chance to spend time together outside of your studies and the Danger Room, hmm?”

“Yes, sir.” She waved to him as he turned to leave, then buried her nose back in her book. Sometimes, Rahne loved a good romp in the woods surrounding the school to clear her head, but every now and again, a good fairy tale did the trick just as well. The thick collection of old Hans Christian Andersen tales brought a grin of delight to her lips when she found it on the shelf. Dani had come in that morning to ask if she felt like taking Brightwind to the lake for a bath, but Rahne decided to leave her and her stallion to each other’s company, not wanting to feel like a third wheel. She chided herself for feeling that way about a horse.


Elsewhere, over the rainbow bridge:

“So tell me, young Wolf Prince, why should I honor thy boon?” Loki templed his fingers against his lips, peering down his aquiline nose at the rangy silver metamorph occupying his throne chamber.

“Why, indeed?” chimed in Amora from her perch on a velvet-cushioned chaise. A scullery maid stopped beside her with a brass tray of ripe blue grapes. Amora nodded and plucked a couple, popping them between her full lips, lolling them on her tongue with decadent pleasure. Loki watched her with amusement; she had her uses.

“I…cannot…I mean, I have no reason at this time why it would benefit thee, honored one. I…only know that thine power is great enough and known widely enough across the realm, that you might grant me my request, if thou saw fit.” This wasn’t empty flattery on the part of the wolf prince; Loki saw his honesty and forthrightness radiating from his clear gray eyes.

Loki loathed honesty. He sighed heavily, making the sound of the overburdened.

“My boons do not come without cost, wolfling.”

“At the very least, that which thou asketh is dreadfully boring,” Amora yawned. “We shan’t even get any entertainment out of it.” She had liberal views of what constituted entertainment. Hrimhari shivered, even though his silvery fur kept him warm in the throne chamber. The Enchantress was known for her cruelly libidinous tastes, and the wolf prince wanted no part of them.

He only wanted his love, even if it meant being exiled in Midgard. His kingdom, his life in the wild among the pack, meant nothing without the sweet, russet-furred beauty who filled his den with joy during her short stay.

“Name that which thou would need from me in exchange for what I ask,” Hrimhari murmured, his voice solemn.

“Anything I wish?” Loki’s smile was saccharine.

“Only name it.”

“The price will be determined soon enough. When dost thou need thy boon?”

“I cannot live another day without her, milord.”

“The impatience of youth,” Amora snorted.

“The impatience of young love,” Loki corrected her, smirking as she sat twirling her hair. “Thou knowest what to do, my dear. Don’t make me soil my hands.” He waved her over to the large, elaborately carved wooden box in the corner. Amora rolled her eyes before rising indolently from the chaise. She popped open the latch with her dagger-sharp fingernails and extracted a gem-encrusted silver medallion. The charm was carved with the likeness of a mortal man’s face, arms and torso, with his hands upraised in supplication. Amora held it out for the wolf prince’s close inspection, nodding to him, “This is all thou will need.”

“Dost thou know what it is, wolfling?” Hrimhari shook his head, never taking his eyes from the rubies and silver, which began to glow faintly. He didn’t even look away when Amora began chanting low in her throat over the metal, uttering incantations in a tongue that held meaning to none but her. “Behold the key to winning the heart of the mortal changeling whom thou seeks.”

“What…what does it do?”

“It unlocks the final piece of the puzzle, and offers thou the only thing thy currently lack.” Loki scratched his chin. “A fully human form.”

“Human?” Before he could protest, Amora circled him and lowered the medallion by its chain, around his neck. She lightly stroked the cords of muscle standing out in his throat, her bounteous breasts pressed into his back.

“Human,” she hissed, nuzzling his ear.

“Come away from the poor lad, woman, mayhap he thinks thou plans to eat him whole!” Loki scolded. Amora let out a muted “hmmph” and obeyed. “Thy lady love possesses three forms: A fine specimen of wolf, a half-wolf form that allows her to walk upright and speak in the tongue of mortals, and a fully human form. Thou art only blessed with two of those forms. The medallion is forged of transient magicks native to this realm.”

“There is no limit to how long you would be able to possess the human incarnation while wielding it here in Asgard.” Amora seated herself on Loki’s lap. “Although that magick wouldst serve no purpose here. Wolves of thine ilk have no need to garb thyselves in mortal flesh.”

“When in Midgard…” Loki drawled.

“I want a life with her.”

“And thou shalt have it. So long as thou consummates thy troth to the maiden.”

“Er…excuse me?”

“Consummation,” Amora purred, running her hands down the slopes of her bosom, letting them skim over her belly and thighs with satisfaction. “Thou must plow thine maiden to consecrate the spell. Moreover, she must pledge herself to thee, and accept thy troth of marriage, and agree to return to this realm with thee.” Hrimhari’s eyes gleamed with an odd light.

“But…I would be willing to live among the denizens of Midgard, if need be.”

“That ‘twould seem simple enough, would it not? Alas, as I mentioned earlier, this is transient magick, meaning that it is not permanent. Nothing lasts forever, except,” he mused, “being divine.”

“Everything in life carries a price, when thou art a miserable mortal,” Amora sang.


"When you have reached your fifteenth year," said the grand-mother, "you will have permission to rise up out of the sea, to sit on the rocks in the moonlight, while the great ships are sailing by; and then you will see both forests and towns."

Rahne placed her shopworn bookmark inside the yellowing spine of the book and laid it down a while later, deciding to see if Magnus needed any help in the kitchen. It was a warm day outside, and Rahne was tempted to shed her clothes and take a romp in the woods behind the estate to feel the wind blowing through her fur. She knew it was risky behavior; she could be caught off-guard by one of the boys playing their football game outside, and they could distract her and make her drop her concentration, and Rahne shuddered to think what would happen if she were caught in her birthday suit in the light of day, just for the sake of a run in the grass.

There were days when she despised her uniform as much as she was grateful for it. The Professor had kindly provided her with a handful of good, serviceable clothes made from the unstable molecules, and Rahne had never been given to vanity. She didn’t need an unlimited wardrobe, unlike Kitty or Illyana, or occasionally, Dani, when the mood to shop grabbed her.

The wolf inside her whimpered in impatience. Run, it rasped. Leap. Bound off into the hunt.

Nay, she scolded it. I’ve things t’attend tae right now.

Rahne strolled out to the kitchen and found Magnus struggling with some heavy slabs of packaged meat in the freezer. “Let me help ye wi’ that, sir.”

“Bless you, child. I’m off to set up the grill outside in a bit.”

“Then I’ll help ye wi’ some of the chores inside, in the meantime.”

“It’s a lovely day; Sharon and I can take care of most of it.”

“I like helping out in the kitchen, sir. There’s nae for me tae do but play football with yon boys right now. Can ye imagine me doing such a thing?” She chuckled at the image.

“No more than I can imagine myself throwing one around,” he agreed, but he felt a pang of guilt. She was such a lively girl, and he hated to see her cooped up indoors. “Perhaps we could have a game of baseball?” he suggested.

“P’rhaps,” she considered, rummaging through the produce bins for the makings of a batch of potato salad. Magnus sighed and began unpacking the meat, preparing a marinade from his assembled ingredients.

“Er…Magneto? Or Michael? Which d’ye prefer?”

“Magnus will do, child.” Magnus began chopping onions and hastily wiped his eye on the shoulder of his polo shirt.

“Magnus…I know this is a bit…well, I don’t mean tae speak out of turn…”

“What is it, Rahne?”

“Well, ye have…children, aye? Grown-up ones?”

“Well, yes. I do.” A brief memory of Anya flashed in his mind’s eye, laughing and sunny while she played with her toys on the floor of their miserable flat. He winced.

“And ye have…daughters, don’t ye?”

“Of course.” His spine stiffened with pride. “My eldest is no longer with us, but Wanda is a lovely girl.” He paused in scraping the chopped onions into the bowl. “I’m quite proud of her.”

“Did she ever have tae ask ye about…boys?”

“Boys, you say?”

“Aye. Boys like yon lads outside, playing their football game.” Rahne motioned to the field, easily visible from the kitchen door. Her eyes landed longest on Doug as the afternoon sunlight set his burnished blond hair on fire. He was grinning ear to ear as he caught Roberto’s pass, then ran for his life as Sam tried to intercept him.

“Did you have any particular questions in mind?” Magnus encouraged. To be honest, this wasn’t his milieu, but the still-human part of him that regretted never being a true father to his offspring wanted it to be.

And Rahne…she was just such sweet child.

“How does a lass know when a boy likes her? What does he do? How can ye tell?” Rahne stumbled forward the last few paces with the real meat of the matter. “And…how does she know he wants tae kiss her?”

“Goodness!” Rahne immediately blushed crimson and turned her face sheepishly into the bowl of potatoes she was chopping. “It sounds…like you’ve had a lot on your mind. Interesting questions, dear,” he offered by way of recovery. He would have to tread very delicately, indeed…

“I’m…verra sorry if I’m speakin’ out of turn, sir.”

“You’re not. Not at all,” he insisted, clearing his throat. “The best I can do to answer a few of your thoughts, Rahne, is…perhaps to share what it was like for me when I was only a bit older than you, when I wanted to let a special girl know how I felt. My wife’s name was Magda.” Magnus handed Rahne a large, heavy glass pitcher and began bending the ice cube trays to loosen the cubes. They clattered merrily, resounding off the glass with a sharp tinkle. Rahne set six bags of black tea inside, hanging them by their strings over the lip to brew the sun tea while lunch cooked outside. “I found her when she was trying to escape from the guards at the concentration camp where we were confined. She had large eyes, just like a cat’s. She was very thin, since we never really had enough to eat. But even in the middle of running for our lives, I was strongly drawn to her. In her own way, she was beautiful.” Rahne’s heart twisted; she loved love stories, and Magnus was such an unexpected source.

“When I kissed Magda, I asked her for her permission first. Nice boys generally should,” he pointed out. So sue me, he thought; I’m old-fashioned. “We had been together for a few days, and had found a small copse in the woods for shelter. Even though she couldn’t stomach the food that I found, she was still very grateful that I had tried.”

“Aye, of course she was,” Rahne soothed, putting the potatoes on to boil.

“After we had fled from Austria, I spoke with her, and I asked her if she had any family who had missed her. Like me, she had none left, so there was no one for me to ask if I could court her. So I asked her. You can imagine I was very excited about it when she said yes.”

“Och! It certainly sounds exciting, sir!” Rahne pressed onward. “So, the kiss! Tell me about the kiss!”

“Erm, okay. All right. The kiss.” How to tell this innocent little snip how he had fallen upon her with unparalleled hunger? How he devoured her lips as though he would die of thirst?

“It was…very nice. It was a very nice, polite kiss. Kissing should be polite,” he assured her. “Gentle. And done with love. Sincere! Let’s not forget sincere!” His recent encounters with Aleytis were still fresh in his mind, especially the strangled moan of desire that she made in her throat when he…oh, damn it all.

“Will a boy always ask, do ye think?”

“Well…he should, Rahne. He SHOULD ask.”

“That makes sense, then, I s’pose.” Rahne focused on chopping the celery and black olives, and she missed the awkward look on Magnus’ face, as well as the faint bulge straining beneath his khaki chinos.

I think, it occurred to Magnus, that I need a nip of bourbon…