Crescent Moon Fan Fiction ❯ Sublunary ❯ Illuminare ( Chapter 4 )

Disclaimer: see part one

It's mood-music time again! Unbound (Robbie Robertson), Crescent Moon (Toshiyuki O'mori) AN: ::eyes text:: Edging towards citrus here...still PG-13 material, I think.

Nozomu pulled off his sunglasses, grateful the day was fading. The glare off the water could be brutal. Mahiru started, looking over her shoulder.

"It's late," he said, starting towards her. His day-trained bats swooped and fluttered around him, including the one he'd given to Mahiru. "Mitsuru gave us your message, but when you didn't come back, Misoka and I went to your school." He paused. "There wasn't a club meeting, today."

Mahiru ducked her head, hunching her shoulders. "I know...I'm sorry. I lied. I just...I needed some time alone. You never let me have any time alone."

Nozomu sighed, settling down beside her. He hooked his sunglasses over the neckline of his shirt and braced a forearm against his knee. "We thought something might have happened to you. You might've been picked up by the police, you might've been hurt...you shouldn't worry us like that, Mahiru."

He didn't say all the nightmarish possibilities had come mostly from his own mind. The police from the museum might have gotten a look at Mahiru, might have recognized her as the 'hostage' from the dinner cruise. Why is it we never factored in the human authorities when we sought her help? he wondered. It was a glaring error, a ragged hole in their defenses, and one they'd best fix as soon as possible.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. She made a brief swipe at her cheeks.

His chest tightened, pulsing with the ache. He hated it when she cried, not just because he felt bad she was sad. Crying, a person flushed up, all the sweet blood coming up to heat and color the skin--and his control was pretty tattered at the moment. As he watched, she raised a hand, rubbing at the spot just above the ribbon-bow of her uniform top.

"So it was--" he began before he thought.

Mahiru blinked, looking at him. "Huh?"

Oh, damn. "'m hurting, too." Reaching out, he brushed the edge of the ribbon with his fingertips, speaking without a word. "It hurts, because it's incomplete. Misoka interfered--and he should have. It was wrong of me."

"What is it?" Mahiru cried.

Her hand was curled into a fist now, pressed protectively to her chest. He recognized the look on her face: fear. He'd thought--he'd hoped they'd progressed past that, that she trusted them, now. Except she was lying to them, hiding out--and afraid.

He sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was supposed to be impossible for vampires to get headaches, but some days, he really wondered. He didn't want to get into this now. Right now, he just wanted to sit here with Mahiru. She only came here when something was bothering her, when she was sad or lonely. It was a good place to be quiet, and he didn't want to mess that up with talking. But she'd asked a question he had to answer, a question she deserved an answer to.

"This is what I wanted to talk to you about. I wasn't sure it had taken at first," he admitted. "I thought maybe Misoka had stopped me in time. Seeing your reaction, though..." He sighed, shaking his head.

"You still haven't answered me."

"The first thread," he said. "The Blood of Opportunity."

Her reaction was nothing like he'd imagined.

"Opportunity?I Like in taking advantage?" She was on her feet now, fists clenched at her sides, hurt betrayal clouding her face.

Just like that time in her room, when he'd been stupid and echoed something Mitsuru had said to hurt her. He opened his mouth to answer, but Mahiru wasn't finished.

"I trusted you, Nozomu! And Mitsuru thinks it's the humans using the demons? You saved my life...all you had to do was ask, Nozomu! Ask, not play games!"

Don't say that to me! Don't give me permission-- He reached up, grabbed her by the arms and pulled her down to him. She twisted like an eel in his grip, but he refused to let go. "Mahiru-chan, please. Let me explain."

She subsided after a token struggle, but her limbs still trembled, quivering with the arrested fight-or-flight urge. He smoothed her hair, waiting for her to calm down enough to hear him out.

"It's not opportunity like 'advantage' or 'chance'," he said. "It's more like...auspice, a sign from..." He waved a hand, not sure if he meant the kami or other forces entirely. "It has to happen. It can't be given, no matter how willingly, or orchestrated. It's..."

He rested his chin on her head, wishing the gift of fine words came with his heritage. "Most of these things don't really have names, Mahiru. We don't talk about them, not because they're forbidden, but because there aren't words that fit. It's feelings, and thoughts, and...and..." He bit back a curse, frustrated that he couldn't express himself. Another of his Race would know. They wouldn't need explanations. Of course, that never stopped curious fox-demons from poking their pointy noses in. Or maybe Misoka wasn't all fox-demon, he thought mutinously. Maybe he was part ferret, too.

Mahiru sat quietly in his loose embrace. Her fingers pleated and re-pleated the folds of her skirt in a nervous gesture. "So...what happens now? Will it always hurt? And--and what did you mean by 'first thread'?"

Nozomu groaned silently. Had the first princess been this inquisitive with her demon? "It should fade, since it's incomplete. The pain will fade with it."

Mahiru pushed herself away, one hand planted flat against his chest. "Should?" she repeated, watching him narrowly.

"You are the Descendant of the Princess, Mahiru. You can wake what sleeps in our blood, no matter the face the Moon shows us. The Teardrops call to you even more than they do to us. I can't swear all the rules apply to you."

"Great," Mahiru groaned, dropping her head to rest against his shoulder. "My luck is running just fine--for everyone but me."

He shivered, feeling the twinge from the broken thread, the yearning for completeion. By the sudden shiver, Mahiru felt it too. A first thread, even one woven by Opportunity, faded with time. He wondered if he could wait that long. And she said if I wanted...oh, damn it all!

"The one who really screwed up is me," he told her, staring out at the darkening cityscape.

"What-- but--"

"I've told you that we have both loved and hated the human race. Those feelings are the base of the threads that weave a human and a member of the Lunar Race together. For my kind, those threads come in how we share blood."

Mahiru twitched a little at the mention of blood, but otherwise had no reaction. Nozomu would have prefered it if she'd jumped up and shouted at him again. This wasn't acknowledgement, compliance, or defiance. Any of those he could deal with. Apathy? Indifference had no chinks in its armor.

"Was it like this...for them?" she asked at last.

"The first princess's demon wasn't a vampire. We don't really know how their bond was made." Except that it had to be incomplete, or he wouldn't have gone mad without her. He couldn't say something like that to Mahiru, though, not after confessing to the first thread. She might give in, allow him to weave the others, not out of genuine feeling, but guilt and responsibility.

"The song--" she protested.

"--has about four different versions, that I know of, plus the human version. Questions are all you'll find there, not answers." Questions that had led Mahiru to them--but how long would she stay, once she realized they had very few answers for her? Instinctively, he tightened his grip around her shoulders.

"And my dreams," she whispered.

"Huh?" He drew back a little to look at her. Her head rested against his chest now, and he could feel the unhappy tension leaving her. Because she's not in pain, right now. Because we're not separated.

"In my dreams," she sighed, sounding as if she were in one of Misoka's hypnotic trances. "I see them...the demon warrior and the princess, under a full moon. Her eyes are closed, like she fainted, or--or--"

Or dead, Nozomu finished for her. He held Mahiru carefully, not daring to interrupt. She'd known the song, he'd found her looking up the story. Not once had she mentioned these dreams to any of them.

"She wasn't asleep, she wasn't dressed for it," Mahiru continued in that soft, low tone. "I could see he was crying. He held her...in my dreams, he's always holding her, they're always together. He closes his eyes, like he's concentrating...kind of like the way you all look when you call your powers when the moon has changed."

Just like Mahiru had looked, the night she'd drawn Mitsuru back into the living world, Nozomu thought.

"Then she opens her eyes, looks up at him." Mahiru was a limp bundle in his arms now, except for one hand that absently traced along the placket of his open over-shirt. "They both had tears in their eyes, but not the kind where you're so mad you cry--wouldn't she do that, if the song was right? He looked like he was in pain, the way you looked today. Then her eyes close again... He never lets go of her, of her hand, she never fights him. They both fall, into the water, together. They never let go..."

Stunned, Nozomu stared out over the water. His bats circled lazily overhead, cheeping to their oblivious master. Nothing he'd ever heard in human tales or the bitter accounts of the Lunar Race matched what Mahiru had just told him. Descendant of the Princess...

"How often do you have these dreams?" he made himself ask.

"Oh, when the moon is full," she said. "And when--"

Suddenly, she sat up, her cheeks so red they nearly glowed. "Twice a month," she said firmly. "Sometimes three."

When she bleeds, he realized. This Descendant held far more of the moon in her blood than they any of them may have known. And if they were true dreams...both sides had been lying to each other for centuries. Nozomu felt a wash of sickness sweep over him. The battles against the humans, the thefts...were they all based on a lie?

"I'm so confused, Nozomu!" she cried out. "If the princess died with him, how can I exist? If she lived, if the other dream is real and it's the humans' fault, why do I see them fall?"

"Well, there are--what other dream?"

She nodded, her hair a whisk of softness along his jaw. "That night I called for you?" She glanced up to see if he remembered.

As if he could forget. His name, exploding in his mind, his princess's terror sending him scrambling in response without question, without waking the others. Such a natural response, to come to her defense, to protect her, even from his own kind, if need be. He would probably have to work at letting her take risks.

"Well," she continued, "I dreamed again...but not the old dream. This time, I saw humans, Japanese warriors with some kind of--of spear, I guess." She sat up straight, eyes wide. "I just realized...the demon from my dream... He's never wearing armor. It's the humans who carried weapons, who wore armor. Th-they stabbed--right in front of me. I could see him, I saw..."

She was shaking again, curling in on herself. His princess hated violence, even the small violence of theft. He pulled her in tight, mutely offering himself as shelter.

"I saw blood, on my hands. His blood. It was still there right after I woke up, before the Teardrops called to me. Oh, Nozomu, what's happening to me?"

She flung her arms around his neck, holding him tight. He frowned in puzzlement. He hadn't smelled any blood in her room that night. Her hands had been clean. This 'dream' sounded more like a flashback. Did you see him die? he wondered of the long-dead princess. Did you go together and leave your newborn child behind, or did something even worse happen?

She pulled away from him, sniffling, struggling to regain her composure. He let her go, pretending the loss of warmth didn't hit so hard. She looked back at him, over her shoulder.

"Nozomu?"

"Yes?"

Mahiru twisted around to face him, leaning on her hands. "You told me about the threads. Telling someone about what's bothering you, telling the truth when you've been keeping a secret, that's supposed to make you feel better. Why do you still look like you feel bad?"

"I tasted you, the Descendant of the Princess, without your consent. It's not exactly a crime...but it's not a good thing, either."

She blushed. "Oh! Oh, that. Nozomu, I told you I would--"

He pulled her to him to silence her. Blood wasn't something to make light of, a lesson humans never seemed to learn. He heard her squeak in surprise. Her body stiffened with resistance in his arms.

"Don't," he whispered. Through her touch, he could feel the Moon, a soft, fading presence. "Please. I'm too tired, too hungry. I can only refuse you so many times, Mahiru."

"But...you saved my life, Nozomu," Her voice sounded muffled. "It's only right--oh, no! Would that make me into a vampire, too?"

He couldn't help it. He laughed. "You've seen too many movies, Mahiru-chan," he said between chuckles. "Vampires are born, not made. No matter how often I bit--"

The images that called forth made him shudder. Desire that never ends. The longing twisted through him, resonated marrow-deep. How many of his kind, the vampires, sang prayers of petition under the Moon, asking for someone to give what Mahiru offered in all innocence?

Weaker vampires, those who could not bear the sun, lusted for ones like Mahiru. Not for her power or lineage, or even a ready partner for feeding, but for her sun-bright hair and light eyes, a true daughter of the Sun they would never see. What is forbidden and dangerous is most beautiful. When he'd agreed to join Oboro in seeking out the Princess and recovering the lost Teardrops, he never imagined he might gain a living treasure such as this.

"Don't laugh at me!" Mahiru jabbed him in the chest with a forefinger, glowering. "How was I supposed to know? Vampires are stories, now."

"Love stories, I hope," he said in reflex.

"Nozomu!"

Full dark soon, he noted, some of his humor draining away. They would have to head back to the Moonshine soon. It was getting cold here, by the water. Yet he didn't want to give up these private moments.

"Hunger is another thread, Mahiru," he said. "The one most easily broken, but it still ties one to the other. Are you still so willing, after all this?"

Mahiru leaned back, looking him straight in the face. "Will it hurt?"

"At first. During the feeding...it usually doesn't. Afterwards, you might be sore, along with the blood loss." Honesty worked best with Mahiru, he'd learned.

She looked a little paler, but her chin rose a fraction. He'd seen that look before. She'd worn it when she finally pledged herself to helping Mitsuru and to regain the Teardrops. Afraid, but determined, no matter what lay ahead. It amazed him all of the Lunar Race didn't fall in desperate love with these children of the sun.

"A little pain," she said, "is okay."

He stretched out, as if about to slink towards her. He could feel the change beginning. His vision sharpened, his fangs unsheathed, pricking at his own lips. His power-charm, tucked over his heart, eased the rush, kept him from striking before he felt sure of her consent. "And the threads?"

She looked down at her hands, silent long enough for dread to begin to take hold. She glanced up at him, shy and quick.

"Akira says I'm your princess...doesn't that mean we're already tied together?"

Nozomu groaned. He wasn't meant to withstand this much temptation. "Then feed me, princess. Give me your blessing of blood."

Mahiru fumbled at the neckline of her sailor blouse. "I'm sorry! It's a pull-over, not like the winter uniform--"

"Are you sure," he said, tracing the neckline of her blouse. His nails had lengthened as well, turning sharp and opaque. "Are you sure you want to feed me from there? It's not like the books or movies. My teeth will leave a bruise." He caressed the side of her throat with the back of his knuckles. "It could be...misinterpreted."

She looked at him blankly. He grinned around his fangs. He knew she was seventeen--but still so innocent? No boyfriends--or girlfriends? No-one who watched her in the water and dreamed...? Idiots.

"I don't mind leaving what looks like a hickey...but your friends might have things to say about it."

Mahiru clapped both hands to the side of her neck, looking mortified. "No! I mean...not there."

He curled himself around her, shielding her from prying eyes and keeping her close. "I can feed anywhere, really, but finding the right spot can be... so seductive."

Her cheeks burned as if slapped. Mahiru closed her eyes, but her head rested against his shoulder. All the permission he needed.

"I like your winter uniform, too," he confessed. "All those buttons...so much easier."

"Nozomu!" This time, it sounded like she ground out his name between her teeth.

He laughed again. Reaching over, he took her hand. "I'm sorry. I'll try to behave."

Mahiru's pulse raced against his fingertips. Her wrist...a bruise there would be odd, but easy enough to explain away or hide.

"You're certain?" he asked again, discarding his earlier teasing humor. "You want to do this, knowing what it means?"

"You saved me," she whispered. "Protected me. And I never said I didn't want--"

He could feel her blushing. He drew her wrist to his lips. A dark, shadowy vein showed under the pale skin. He could see the minute vibrations running through it as her blood pulsed through her body. Part of him denounced himself as deviant. This was his princess, the one who could wake the moon, who might very well save his entire people. And he was taking her on a chilly dockside, like of the countless, nameless humans he'd fed and fled from over the years. She deserved better. His fangs slit through the thin skin, nicking the vein. No one would interfere this time. He had her permission.

A mere taste, along with the power-boost Mahiru gave to all his kind, had been enough to send him reeling like a drunk. This...he'd never dreamed... Her blood spilled free, over his lips, and he was lost to the crimson kiss. An amateur athlete, her blood glowed with health, free of impurities. It shimmered inside him, like water glazed by the harvest moon, but thicker, hotter, a thousand times more nourishing. He could feel it washing away the stains this world left on him, sweeping away all the tiny injuries and harm that came from living on this plane. It salved away the ache of the incomplete bonding, weaving something new over it.

This time, he didn't break away until he felt it set. He pulled her wrist away, turning his head so she wouldn't see him with blood on his mouth. He swiped at his lips, wiping away the thin remains, regretting even that small waste. Digging through his trouser pocket, he found a handkerchief, which he pressed to the tiny wound. A vampire's bite bled fast, but without actual feeding, the bleeding stopped almost as quickly. Prevented waste. Couldn't have one's donors bleeding out because the vampire in question was drunk on the giver's strength.

"N-No...zomu?"

He looked back her. Her face seemed more shadowed, and he knew he now appeared only as a fair-haired, blue-eyed young man. She smiled faintly, and he thought he'd never seen anything as beautiful in this world.

"You look...better," she said, her voice still soft. She was utterly limp in his embrace, gripped by the lassitude that came from being fed on.

"Because of you, Mahiru-chan," he said. "I won't forget. But I need to get you home."

"Okay."

He didn't ask her to stand. Expecting a donor to engage in physical exertion after feeding was not just absurd, it was bad manners, the equivalent of a human male throwing a girl out of his rooms after- - He steered his thoughts away from there. Best leave that scenario alone for a while.

He picked her up with ease, carrying her away from the water. He'd taken the van, so it only took a moment to secure Mahiru in the passenger seat, then go back for her things. He drove slowly, with far more care than usual. The sweet haze from Mahiru's power and her blood-gift made him want to just curl up somewhere- - or dance. Still, he got them back safely, and carried the now-sleeping Mahiru inside.

Misoka was waiting for them back at the Moonshine. The fox-demon looked at him, at the Princess he held cradled in his arms. Those narrow eyes lingered on the small bruise on Mahiru's wrist, then snapped up to his face.

"An offering," he said, before the other could ask, "freely given."

Misoka shook his head, strands of super-straight jet hair falling into his face. "Unbelievable. Katsura!"

The bar's pianist appeared from the main club area, wiping his hands on a bar towel. "Yes, what--" He stopped, taking in the sight of Nozomu and Mahiru.

"I know you have other work," Misoka said, "but would you please see the Princess safely to her room?"

Nozomu bristled at the slight emphasis Misoka put on 'safely.' He'd done nothing wrong. He'd secured Mahiru's permission, explained the possible consequences. Katsura said nothing, only slinging the towel over his shoulder as he came towards them. In silence, he let Katsura take her away.

"So which was it this time?" Misoka demanded.

"Hunger," Nozomu answered flatly, annoyed at discussing such a private matter where anyone could hear. "And I told her. She knows what it means, what it meant to make the offer."

"At least that one fades fast," Misoka sighed. "You're running an incredible risk, Nozomu. Our mission doesn't allow for personal indulgences. Just because yours are gentler than Mitsuru's doesn't make them better."

He glared.

"You're too familiar with the Princess," Miksoka continued. "You always have been."

Nozomu smirked, folding his arms. "You almost sound jealous."

"We have a job to do," the fox-demon said. "The lives of our people depend on it."

Nozomu remembered that Misoka's mother had died, even in the sanctity of the Moon Palace, withered away from the corruption of the natural world. That knowledge softened his words.

"I've done nothing to compromise our mission, or the trust we've gained from the Princess."

"That remains to be seen." Misoka began to turn away. "Show a little more control, Nozomu. I don't think you've been careful enough. Binding yourself to the Princess... Consider how many of our people hate her, even worse than Mitsuru. You can be cast out, denied use of the Teardrops already at the Palace."

"I know." He'd thought of all that, had struggled with it alone, in silence. "I also know this isn't the world the Moon Palace remembers. Over and over, we've been told the Teardrops are our hope, that Mahiru's power can win them back. I think, together, they are our only hope."

"So you'll sacrifice yourself and bind the Princess? How noble of you."

"Look, Misoka...I'm a flirt, I'm not stupid. I didn't ask her for a promise. She didn't offer one. Whatever happens...happens." He thought of Mahiru's dreams, so out of alignment with the stories they'd all learned. He decided to say nothing about them for now. He would need more proof than dreams from a human most of the Lunar Race despised by habit before he could speak.

"What I said to Mitsuru applies to you as well." Even with his back turned, Misoka radiated a tangible presence. For the space of a heartbeat, he wasn't the small, jet-haired man-child, but a kitsune of the Moon Palace, wise in its intrigues, strong in the gifts of the Moon. "If any harm comes to the Princess because of you...you will answer to me."

Nozomu remained silent. If Mahiru came to harm because of him...Misoka could do as he liked.

"We're almost certain the next Teardrop will be displayed somewhere at the World Performance Festival. I want you to go and find out as much as you can about it. You know what to look for." He paused, then added, "You'll need to go tomorrow. Our time is running short."

With that, he left Nozomu, pondering all the layers of meaning in the fox-demon's last words.

-tbc-