InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ A Purity Short: The Fairy Tale ❯ Two Steps Back ( Chapter 2 )

~~Chapter Two~~

~Two Steps Back~

 

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:University of Edinburgh:

:Monday, August 25, 2059:

 

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Morio stepped outside the cottage and ran down the step onto the sidewalk, slinging his backpack over his shoulder as he headed toward the University of Edinburgh campus.

 

`Another year . . .' he mused.

 

`Another year,' his youkai echoed. `Another year of chasing the dream when she's made it abundantly clear that she just doesn't want . . . you.'

 

Grimacing at the naked truth in that statement, Morio kept walking. `. . . Ouch . . .'

 

`Yeah, well . . . just remember: I warned you . . .'

 

`Sure you did,' he grumbled, ears twitching in irritation as he jammed his hand deeper into his pocket and walked a little faster. `Whose side are you on?'

 

`Yours, of course. I just figure one of us has to be realistic . . . after all, you're too busy dreaming to listen to much of anything these days.'

 

`She's coming around,' he shot back, determination lighting his gaze as he strode onward. `It's just taking awhile. `Good things come to those who wait,' or haven't you heard?'

 

`Yeah, there's that . . . there's something else you haven't thought about, isn't there?'

 

`Hmm, what?'

 

`It's your fourth year, and hers, too. Last chance, Ri, and if you don't get her convinced this year, then you've lost.'

 

He sighed, ears flattening as the truth of his youkai's words sank in. `Look on the bright side,' he persisted. `She never changed her cell number . . .'

 

That earned him a longsuffering sigh, but it was true. As much as Meara complained and chastised him, she also hadn't changed her cell number, and he'd spent the summer sending her pictures—a different one every day—of various flowers he saw during his holiday in Japan. Opting to spend the time away from school visiting with his family back in Japan, he had made a point every day of seeking out a special flower to photograph and send to Meara.

 

`Big deal! Just because she didn't change her number doesn't mean she isn't laughing her ass off at the idiot hanyou who can't get it through his fat fucking head that he's being a fool . . . that'd be you, by the way . . .'

 

`Aww, shuddup,' Morio grumped, scowling at the ground as he slowed his pace near the campus.

 

He'd come back early in the hopes that he'd see Meara at registration or at least around. After all, she still owed him a cup of coffee . . .

 

`That should tell you something, Morio . . . she backed out of that, didn't she?'

 

Morio wrinkled his nose. `No . . . her mother had a baby . . . that's completely different.'

 

`Sure it is, but do you honestly believe she went home every weekend just to spend time with the new pup?'

 

`Course she did,' he argued. `Meara's sweet like that . . . It's only natural that she'd want to be around her mother and sister, isn't it?'

 

`Keh! If your mother and old man had another pup, you sure as hell wouldn't be running home every weekend to fawn all over him or her.'

 

`Well, that'd be a hell of a commute . . .'

 

`Smart ass. You know what I mean.'

 

Morio sighed, digging some money out of his pocket as he stopped long enough to select the flower of the day. He wasn't sure if Meara was around yet or not, but he'd rather be left toting the flower around than to find Meara and not have one in-hand.

 

“Ah, Morio! Glad I am to see you back this year!” Nessa Dreyfuss said with a smile as she handed him his change. The middle aged woman patted his hand conspiratorially and laughed. “You'll get Meara this year, mark me!”

 

Morio grinned. “I hope so,” he replied lightly. “Thank you!”

 

She waved as he strolled away, heading toward the student building, slowly glancing around, scanning the meandering students for one face in particular.

 

`It's somewhat sad when the woman at the flower shop knows your name,' his youkai pointed out.

 

`So? I know her name, too.'

 

`Also sad.'

 

`And Nessa knows Meara's name.'

 

`I rest my case.'

 

`Stop being pessimistic, can't you? You're supposed to be on my side.'

 

`I am. It's just . . . it's been nearly four years, you know?'

 

Morio grimaced. `I know.'

 

`You remember when you were in the eighth grade and you had that huge crush on the French exchange student? What was her name again?'

 

`Jacqueline? Now that name brings back memories . . .'

 

`Yeah, well, you were convinced she was your mate, too.'

 

Morio stopped abruptly as some rowdy guys came tearing out of one of the dormitories, almost mowing him down. “Sorry!” one of them hollered over his shoulder as he loped away.

 

`That was just a stupid crush,' Morio went on as he nodded at the young man and kept walking.

 

`Stupid or not, it was the same idea. You convinced yourself that Jacqueline was your mate when, in actuality, she wasn't.'

 

`That's like comparing apples and oranges,' Morio protested, reshouldering his backpack. `Meara is my mate. I know it. I can feel it. It's just a matter of time before she realizes that she can't possibly live without me any more than I can live without her.'

 

His youkai heaved a dramatic sigh.

 

“Morio!”

 

Swinging around at the sound of his name, Morio smiled, recognizing a familiar face though not the one he'd been searching for. She waved and hurried toward him. Morio moved out of the middle of the path, waiting for the girl to catch up with him. Her name was Kelsey, and she was in a couple of his classes last year.

 

“Hi,” she greeted, her dark brown eyes shining bright as her smile widened just before her countenance crumpled in a marked grimace and she scooted out of the way of some students who looked like they were just going to run right over the diminutive female. “It's mad today!”

 

Morio chuckled. “Yeah, it is . . . how was your holiday?”

 

She shrugged. “So-so . . . didn't do much.” With a soft giggle, she shook her head. “Every year when I go home, it seems as though town is getting smaller . . . I wonder why that is?”

 

“Is it?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

 

“No . . . I actually think it's growing. Maybe it's just because my perception of it is changing . . .”

 

Nodding slowly, Morio scratched his chin, mulling over her words. “I suppose so. The first time I left home, I sort of thought the same way—and Tokyo . . . well, it's huge.”

 

“I did go to Seoul, South Korea for a couple weeks,” Kelsey went on. “Talk about culture shock . . .”

 

“Oh, yeah? I've been there once.”

 

Shifting her book bag in a decidedly nervous fashion, Kelsey shuffled her feet and scrunched up her shoulders, face contorting in an expression of absolute concentration as she slowly lifted her gaze to meet his. Her cheeks reddened, but she smiled hesitantly as she hooked a lock of pale blonde hair behind her ear. “You, um . . . would you like to go for dinner sometime?”

 

“Dinner?” he repeated, eyebrows shooting up to disappear under his silvery bangs in surprise. “Oh . . . well . . . I, uh . . .”

 

Cheeks blossoming in embarrassed color, Kelsey bit her lip and quickly shook her head. “Never mind . . . that was . . . I mean—”

 

“No, no!” Morio cut in with a marked grimace. “It's not . . . I don't . . .” He sighed. “I'm . . . sorry . . .”

 

“Don't be!” she exclaimed, waving her hand dismissively. Her tone was overly bright, as though she was trying to overcompensate for the discomfort her offer had brought on. “I just thought . . . You know, I . . . um . . . I've got to go . . . I wanted to locate all my buildings so I'm not wandering around like a fool when classes start.”

 

He winced as she started to back away. “Kelsey . . .”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Dinner would be nice,” he told her. “I mean, we're friends, right?”

 

“O-okay,” she agreed quickly, a hesitant little smile finally replacing the look of acute embarrassment.

 

He rubbed his temple as he pondered his schedule. “Tomorrow night? I've got to finish unpacking and all that, so . . . We could go to the pub or something?”

 

Kelsey nodded as the color receded from her flushed cheeks, as her smile slowly returned to what it should have been. “Yeah . . . I'd like that.”

 

“Give me a call.”

 

She spared a minute to smile broadly before turning on her heel and walking away.

 

Morio watched her go with a sigh. Kelsey was a pretty girl, and he'd known somewhere in the back of his mind that she'd had a crush on him for the last couple of years. They'd worked together a few times, doing group projects for their classes, and he liked her well enough. He just wasn't interested in more than friendship with her. Kelsey had known that Morio had spent the last nearly four years hung up on Meara. She'd even offered him encouragement when his spirits were flagging, telling him that Meara was bound to come around eventually; of course she was.

 

Still, he couldn't help but feel a little awkward about the entire affair . . .

 

With a long, slow sigh, Morio's gaze dropped to the perfect blossom in his hand, and he frowned as he brought it up to inspect it. `This year, Meara,' he vowed. `You've got to listen to me . . .'

 

 

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Stepping into the ambient lighting of the local pub near campus, Meara carefully shrugged her shoulders to shake off her date's possessive arm. Paul Gregory didn't seem to notice her reluctance, though, which wasn't really surprising. In the course of the last couple of months since she'd started seeing Paul, she'd figured out quickly enough that he never really seemed to notice anything about her, especially things that she didn't particularly care for . . .

 

She should be grateful, she supposed with a dour scowl. Paul was certainly quite the catch, or so People magazine would lead one to believe. Touted as one of the world's ten most eligible bachelors, he was the son of one of the wealthiest men in the world . . . and he was dog-youkai, to boot . . .

 

`Look on the bright side, Meara . . . He's tall, good-looking, smart . . . his family's wealthy so you wouldn't ever have to worry about money . . . he's perfect . . . just perfect . . .' Her youkai trailed off with a sigh. `Too bad we can't stand him . . .'

 

Meara snorted inwardly though she managed to keep her expression completely blanked. `You forgot arrogant, condescending, domineering . . . I'd rather die a thousand times than be with him . . .'

 

`You're just sore because you haven't gotten to see someone else since you got back to Edinburgh.'

 

Cheeks pinking, Meara lifted her chin a notch and squared her shoulders stubbornly. `I have no idea who you're talking about,' she insisted.

 

`Pish and paw, Miss Meara . . . you know bloody well who I'm talking about . . . and you've been looking for him, too; don't deny it. You missed him. I know you did. That's okay, though. I missed him, too . . . Look on the bright side . . . at least Paul doesn't live in Edinburgh . . .'

 

Meara sighed. As far as she was concerned, that was the only `bright side' to any of it. Paul's family resided in Switzerland, and he'd only come to Scotland to date her, as far as she knew. He'd announced that he had to leave in the morning, and Meara had nearly cried in relief. The arrogant man had offered her a completely self-serving grin along with a consoling pat on the rear meant to comfort her, she supposed . . . `Paul's leaving in a couple of days . . . thank God . . . and as for `him'? Please! I'm not worried about him, and I certainly don't miss him . . .' Trailing off with a slight scowl, Meara shook her head and added almost absently, `Maybe he hasn't arrived yet. He probably won't be back until the weekend.'

 

`He's a far sight better than Paul . . . even if Morio sings off key, at least he knows the things you like and don't like.'

 

`It's not that . . . you know why I can't even consider dating Morio Izayoi . . .'

 

`Right, right . . . because of Aislynn . . . I get it . . .'

 

Meara licked her lips and grimaced. `Aislynn . . .' The simple sound of her baby sister's name made her smile despite her otherwise bleak thoughts. Born in the beginning of March earlier in the year, the nearly six month-old infant was the bright spot in Meara's life. It filled her with a sense of peace and a wealth of happiness whenever she spent time with Aislynn, and she had to admit that the calm she felt was enough to convince her that what she was doing was ultimately the best thing for everyone involved. After all, her father felt very strongly about the issue of hanyous, and Meara wasn't entirely certain that he'd be forgiving if she acted against his wishes.

 

Even then, it was all too easy to remember her own childhood whenever she looked at Aislynn. She recalled the loneliness she'd felt, isolated from everyone else on the estate. She never really had any friends since there were no other children around, and when she first went to school, the barrage of children her own age frightened her horribly. It had taken a long time before Meara was able to come out of her shell, so to speak, and her first real friend was Iona . . .

 

`What the mighty Ian MacDonnough doesn't know won't hurt him, you ken?'

 

`Now you sound like Iona,' Meara grumbled since the conversation was starting to sound exactly like the one she'd had with her longtime roommate while she was getting ready for her date with Paul.

 

`Good, because she tends to be more level-headed than you are.'

 

Meara didn't respond to that. True enough, Iona didn't like Paul, either—also not surprising since Paul wasn't pleased with any female who dared to speak her mind. They'd gotten into an argument earlier over the dress Meara had chosen to wear. Paul hadn't liked the plain cotton dress, citing that it was too short and showed much too much of Meara's legs. Iona had rolled her eyes and said that it was fine, lovely in fact, and that Paul should keep his mouth closed since he wasn't the one wearing the dress in question. Paul had told Iona to mind her own business, and it had gotten uglier from there, to the point that Meara had wrapped an arm over her stomach, resting her elbow in her hand at her side and curling a finger over her lips as she slowly shook her head and leaned against the bedroom door frame until the argument had subsided.

 

She sighed. That wasn't quite fair, really. Paul wasn't that bad. In fact, he had a few redeeming qualities. The truth was, though, that Meara . . . well, she just wasn't interested.

 

Her father had chosen Paul for her. He'd summoned her into his study at the start of the summer holiday in order to tell her that he'd taken the liberty of `arranging' things with Paul and his father. Since she hadn't found anyone she wanted to consider as a mate, he'd decided that he needed to intervene. Paul was the son of one of Ian MacDonnough's most trusted generals, which was saying a lot since her father made a habit of never trusting anyone.

 

Paul slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer than she was comfortable with as he led the way to a table near the front of the establishment, his intense brown eyes shifting over the restaurant as though he were looking for someone in particular. “Is everything all right?” she asked, breaking the stony silence that seemed to accompany every excursion they shared.

 

Casting her a cursory glance and an arrogant half smile, Paul cocked an eyebrow and shook his head. “Don't worry about it,” he said in a tone that never failed to make Meara feel as though she were butting into his business even if all she'd done was ask a completely innocent question. “I'll be back,” he assured her before swaggering away, heading in the direction of the bar near the front of the pub.

 

Stifling a sigh as she made a mental list of things she'd rather be doing—things such as watching grass grow, watching paint dry, sitting in the middle of the desert with no water and no shade—Meara dug her cell phone out of her purse and checked her messages. Lips twitching as she caught sight of one number in particular that she'd hoped to see, she spared a glance to see where Paul was before scrolling through the text messages to locate the email—and the attached picture.

 

The delicate white blossom looked so pristine against a blurry green background—grass, she supposed. Morio was getting better at taking the pictures . . .

 

Of course, he'd gotten in plenty of practice over the summer, and she . . .

 

She sighed. She didn't want to think about how he made her feel . . .

 

`He hasn't missed a day, has he?'

 

Meara bit her lip as her smile faded. Gaze flitting over the proud, strong back of her date who was busy leering at a couple of girls near the bar, she turned her face away before darker thoughts interrupted her idyll.

 

The doors of the pub opened once more, and Meara glanced up only to do a double take when Morio Izayoi held the door open for a petite blonde woman. He didn't see Meara right away, and she grimaced when he smiled at the girl with him, a foreign surge of something dark flooded through her body. He slipped his hand under the girl's elbow—Kelsey, Meara thought her name was—which was completely understandable since more college students filed in after them, jostling them forward, right past Meara's table.

 

It was understandable, she supposed. He probably couldn't smell very well in the place. With all the people not to mention the convoluted scent of different food and drinks, Meara was having a bit of trouble smelling things, too.

 

They sat at a table not far away—a small table meant for two. Meara scowled at the couple as Kelsey leaned over the table to say something, and Morio laughed. It was that smile that she'd always thought was just for her, after all, and that didn't sit right.

 

`You're jealous!' her youkai crowed.

 

Feeling her cheeks explode in a hot wash of indignant color, Meara sputtered. `I . . . I'm not! Of course I'm not! Why in the world would I be . . .? That's . . . that's . . . that's . . . no-o-o-o!'

 

`Yes, you are . . . it's okay . . . I rather want to go rake that girl's eyes out, myself . . .'

 

Gritting her teeth since that was exactly what she did want to do, Meara gripped the edge of the table and dug her claws in deep, unaware of the territorial little growl that erupted deep in her throat as she watched Kelsey lean in a little closer to say something else that made Morio laugh.

 

“Here,” Paul said, breaking through her irritated thoughts as he set a foaming glass of seltzer water before her.

 

She blinked and slowly shifted her gaze to the glass. “I'd rather have ale,” she murmured, pushing the glass away.

 

“It's unbecoming for a woman to drink,” Paul maintained, flicking his wrist in a completely dismissive gesture.

 

Meara stifled a sigh and got to her feet, brushing past Paul. He caught her arm. “Where are you going?” he drawled.

 

Meara carefully pulled her arm away, pasting on a tolerant little smile—the most she could muster. “I just wanted to play some music on the jukebox,” she replied.

 

Paul didn't look pleased but he finally nodded. “I'll order for you,” he said.

 

Weaving her way through the crowd as she assured herself that she was absolutely not simply trying to get within earshot to hear just what Kelsey kept saying to make Morio laugh, she wrinkled her nose and leaned in to stare at the digital selection on the huge machine. Built to look like the jukeboxes of long ago, she knew very well that it was all for show since the actual units could be purchased in very small sizes. Still, it added a certain ambience to the place, and she almost smiled as she considered how much she liked the old-fashioned feel of the pub. Flipping through the pages and pages of digital music files, she dropped a handful of coins into the machine and bit her lip thoughtfully.

 

“So what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” Morio quipped, leaning on the glass beside her with a lazy grin as he inclined his head to the side and twitched his ears.

 

Meara didn't move but did steal a glance out of the corner of her eye. “Where's your girlfriend?” she asked, grimacing inwardly and praying that her question hadn't sounded as catty as she was afraid it had.

 

He chuckled. “Kelsey? She's not my girlfriend. You're the only woman for me, you know. It's just dinner with a friend,” he assured her.

 

She snorted, punching in the number of her first selection. “I don't care, mind,” she went on haughtily. “Why would I care if you're on a date, friendly or otherwise? I don't!” Pausing, she couldn't help the little snort that escaped her as she shot the girl in question a fulminating glower. “. . . Are you sleeping with her?”

 

Morio's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he looked suspiciously close to laughing outright. “Jealous, Meara?” he teased.

 

She opened her mouth to snap at him, and he held up his hands in surrender. “I know; I know: of course you're not. Why would you be, right? Still, for not being jealous, you sound awfully irritated . . . Did you miss me over your holiday?”

 

She finally turned her head to face him, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “How could I miss you? You were spamming my cell with pictures of arbitrary flowers every day!”

 

He did grin, the ass. “Did you like them?”

 

Rolling her eyes, Meara almost smiled—almost. “I think you need a hobby,” she grumbled.

 

“You're my hobby,” he quipped. “My favorite way to spend my free time . . .”

 

“Your lines really need work,” she said with a shake of her head.

 

“I learned a few more songs, too.”

 

“Oh, God . . .”

 

“Want to hear them?”

 

“No.”

 

He sighed melodramatically then shrugged, obviously undaunted. “Will you go out with me yet?”

 

“No.”

 

“You'll have fun, I promise.”

 

“No.”

 

“You still owe me coffee,” he pointed out.

 

She spared a moment to pin him with a sidelong glance. “I was hoping you'd forgotten about that.”

 

He chuckled. “As if! How's your sister, by the way?”

 

Meara finally smiled. “She's fine . . .”

 

Morio's smile suddenly disappeared, and he stood up straight, staring over her head with a marked scowl. Moments later, Meara felt the unmistakable and uncomfortable warmth of an unwelcome arm slip around her waist, drawing her back against Paul's chest. “Who's your friend?” he asked, his condescending tone leaving little to the imagination as to what, exactly, he thought of Morio.

 

“Morio Izayoi,” Morio supplied, his eyes taking on a darker glimmer.

 

“Izayoi . . . Ryomaru's son?” A sudden and thoroughly mocking smirk surfaced on Paul's face as he tightened his arm around Meara's waist. “Ah, yes, I remember. You were the hunter who didn't have it in him to hunt.”

 

Morio's gaze narrowed the tiniest bit, and Meara glanced up at Paul with a shake of her head. “Morio's not a hunter,” she blurted quickly, cheeks pinking as the implications of her words sank in. She sounded much too well-acquainted with him, didn't she? She bit her lip, hoping that Paul wouldn't notice.

 

Paul shot her a calculating glance before lifting his gaze back to Morio once more. “Sounds like you know all about him,” he said stiffly. “Do you, Meara?”

 

“Hunting just wasn't my thing,” Morio said as the tension thickened in the air.

 

“Wasn't it? You certainly couldn't have been afraid, could you? The great hunter's son, afraid of hunting?” Paul goaded.

 

Meara blanched, knowing very well that Paul hadn't missed the possessive sound of her voice at all. Paul stared at Morio for another long second before turning away, propelling Meara back toward their table without a word.

 

She glanced over her shoulder in time to see Morio watching them go. Hands balled into fists at his sides, jaw clenched tightly, his ears twitched in a completely irritated way, and when she met his unreadable gaze, she grimaced when he quickly turned away.

 

“You made your point, Paul,” she bit out, shrugging off his arm and quickening her pace to distance herself from the irritating youkai.

 

“Now, Meara, don't be angry,” he chided, catching her around the waist and pulling her back against his body once more, his tone placating, as though he were trying to console a small child despite the sharpness of his constricted youki.

 

“Let go of me,” she hissed, pulling against his hold to no avail.

 

His fingers tightened around her, and he leaned down to whisper, “Don't make a scene, Meara. It's unbecoming, you know.”

 

“You don't own me,” she ground out, fighting to ignore the bitter wash of anger that frothed and seethed inside her.

 

Paul's lips curled back in a completely arrogant mock-smile. “Ah, but I do. It's as good as done, remember?” he stated impatiently. “By your father's word, you're mine, and you will not embarrass me. Do I make myself clear?”

 

Restraining the desire to grind the heel of her shoe into his foot, she cleared her throat and jerked her head once in a curt nod.

 

“Good,” he intoned, his hand sliding up, his fingertips nestled just below the swell of her breast. “Now let's have a nice dinner, shall we?”

 

“Get your hands off her.”

 

Meara gasped as Paul stood up straight, craning his neck as he glanced over his shoulder. Meara struggled to look at Morio, too, but grimaced when Paul's arms tightened once more. “Morio . . .” she whispered.

 

“Why don't you run along?” Paul drawled, cocking an eyebrow as his eyes took on a derisive glint.

 

“Take your fucking hands off her,” Morio stated once more. People sitting at the nearby tables fell silent, staring at them with a marked sense of curiosity. “Now.”

 

Paul chuckled, tossing a discerning eye around the crowded pub. The hush rippled over the gathering, smothered by the tension that spun out of control, radiated off the two men standing near the table by the front of the establishment. “Mind your own business, half-breed,” Paul replied nastily, slowly turning around and allowing Meara to get a better look at Morio's face in the process. His expression was blank enough despite the tell-tale shimmer in his eyes: a cold glimmer of something far more dangerous than she'd ever seen in him before.

 

Meara glanced around, unable to stop herself, hoping that no one actually understood the implications of Paul's insult. They didn't seem to understand, and for that small thing, Meara was grateful.

 

“Morio? Maybe we should go,” Kelsey said, tugging on Morio's arm as she stole a worried peek at Paul.

 

Meara winced. She understood what Kelsey was implying without having to state it more plainly. Morio was strong, certainly, and yes, he was well-enough defined, but he was also nearly half a foot shorter than Paul, and Paul possessed far more bulk than Morio did, not to mention that Paul was full youkai while Morio was just a hanyou. All things weighed equally, she couldn't really see how Morio was being anything but valiantly stupid . . .

 

“I think she asked you to let go of her,” Morio pointed out calmly. She didn't miss the angry intonation in his voice despite the stoic quality of his expression.

 

“It's fine, Morio,” Meara said, lowering her voice as she shook her head furiously.

 

“You heard her,” Paul said with a derisive sneer. “It's fine.”

 

“Get your hands off her,” Morio stated once more.

 

“And again, I'll say it's none of your business,” Paul insisted.

 

Meara jerked away from Paul, stumbling forward. Morio caught her and pushed her behind him. “I don't think she wants you after all,” he goaded.

 

Paul's deep brown eyes darkened even more. “Meara,” he barked. “Get over here.”

 

She started to skirt around Morio. He caught her hand and pulled her back. Meeting his gaze, she bit her lip when he shook his head. “Morio . . . he's my . . . my . . .”

 

“I'm her fiancé,” he supplied with a mocking grin. “Now if you'll be decent enough to let go of her, you can let go of my fiancée.”

 

“You're lying,” Morio ground out.

 

He smiled disingenuously. “Ask her, yourself.”

 

“M-Meara?” he said, slowly turning to look at her. “Is this true?”

 

Meara grimaced at the look in Morio's eyes, as though she'd somehow betrayed him. `Of course I haven't,' she assured herself quickly. `We . . . there never has been anything between us . . . there never could be . . .'

 

“Meara?” he said again.

 

“Not . . . exactly . . .” she mumbled. “Not officially . . .”

 

“Incidentals,” Paul interrupted, reaching around Morio to grab Meara's arm and drag her back over to his side. “You're the one, aren't you? The one who's been mooning after Meara for the last four years.” He laughed, shaking his head and making no bones about his belief that Morio was a fool. “Too bad she'd never have one such as you.”

 

“I want to go,” Meara said, trying futilely to stave off the altercation she could feel brewing. Turning toward Paul, she planted her hands against his chest and pushed him back. “Please . . .”

 

Sparing Morio a completely insincere smile, Paul caught Meara's wrists and chuckled. She saw his intentions writ in his eyes just before it happened. He dragged her close, smashed his mouth down over hers. Meara whimpered, pushing against his chest, struggling to escape the smothering kiss.

 

As quickly as the kiss began, it ended. Meara shrieked as she was jerked away, pushed back as a flash of motion, a blur of color streaked past her, barreling into Paul's chest, bearing him down onto the table. The glass of seltzer water smashed onto the floor. Morio slammed Paul down once more before drawing his fist back and smashing it against Paul's jaw.

 

“Morio! No! Stop!” Meara shrieked, grabbing Morio's arm and tugging in an effort to drag him away from Paul.

 

Paul pushed her away, grunting as he rolled over, pinning Morio against the Formica surface and taking a wide swing. Jerking to the side as Paul's fist slammed into the table, Morio shoved him hard, sending the youkai careening backward before he managed to right his stance once more.

 

“Stop it!” Meara screamed as she tried to ferret her way between the two. Morio shot her a fulminating glower before shoving her aside once more.

 

Closing the distance, he ducked to avoid another punch before blocking the next with his wrist. Paul growled angrily, his temper rapidly unraveling as Morio kept evading his attacks. Another swing that missed Morio elicited a loud howl of outrage, and Paul opened his fist, drawing his claws back. Morio saw it coming, carting around only to catch Paul's wrist, jerking the youkai forward as he snapped his arm out straight, catching Paul in the center of his chest with the heel of his hand as he let go of Paul's wrist. Paul flew back, smacking into a booth beside a window with an impact so tremendous that the very walls shook. Wiping the blood trickling from the corner of his lip, Morio stomped over to tower over Paul's sprawled body. “Get up, you bastard,” he spat quietly, flexing his claws, his body trembling with the force of his rage.

 

Paul stared at him for a long moment, shifting his jaw from side to side as he grimaced.

 

“Stop it, Morio!” Meara exclaimed, pushing past the hanyou to kneel beside Paul. Casting Morio a scathing glower, she shook her head and dashed a hand over her eyes. “What do you think you were doing?” she hissed, painfully aware of the eyes that were still watching the debacle.

 

“Who started it?” the bar tender demanded, pushing his way through the crowd. The chimes over the threshold rang merrily seconds before the door slammed closed. The pub was quiet; the only discernable sounds were the shuffling of nervous feet, the clearing of throats as the gathering started to disburse, milling back toward their tables in an effort to avoid drawing notice.

 

“Bill me,” Morio bit out, sparing a moment to glare at Meara before turning on his heel and stomping out of the pub. The students hurried to clear a path for him, and if he noticed, he gave no indication.

 

“Your father will hear about this,” Paul growled, sitting up slowly and shifting his jaw from side to side. “A hot head, just like his grandfather—at least that's what they say . . .”

 

Meara knelt, dumbfounded, for a moment before her temper spiked once more. She was shaking, late fear choking her. Seeing Morio standing toe to toe with the much larger and infinitely more ruthless youkai . . . she'd thought he was going to get hurt, hadn't she? Blinking quickly, telling herself that she absolutely was not—was not—going to cry, she pushed herself to her feet and headed for the exit, too.

 

He was stupid—stupid! That was the only rationale she could come up with. Sure he'd held his own, and in the end, he'd come out the winner, but that was still a completely foolish thing to have done especially over something as ridiculous as a kiss . . .

 

The cool air of the early fall evening did little to soothe the tattered edges of her frayed nerves. Sparing a moment to take in the shadowed landscape, she tried to find Morio by sight. If he was still nearby, he was hiding, and she had a feeling that he certainly wasn't doing that. Her nose was still too disoriented from the overwhelming scents in the pub, and with a frustrated growl, Meara hitched her purse strap up on her shoulder and pulled her sweater closer around herself before she started walking.

 

`Of all the stupid, pig-headed, idiotic displays . . . he could have been clobbered!' she fumed.

 

`You don't really believe that, do you? Meara . . . you remember what you heard?'

 

Scowling at the pragmatic tone of her youkai voice, she quickened her pace, glancing over her shoulder and noting with a grim sense of satisfaction that Paul hadn't followed her, after all. `I remember,' she grudgingly allowed. `That wasn't the same, though . . . Sesshoumaru . . . he wasn't talking about Morio Izayoi.'

 

`He didn't have to be, did he? Morio's his kin as much as Toga and his son are, right?'

 

She frowned, lifting a trembling hand to rub at her throbbing forehead as the memory of that conversation came back to her . . .

 

“With all due respect, Toga is not fit to take over as the Japanese tai-youkai,” Ian MacDonnough's clipped voice cut through the haze enveloping her mind.

 

Fourteen year-old Meara had been on her way to tell her father that dinner was ready to be served, and she'd stopped short just outside his study, biting her lip as she listened, creeping closer to peer through the sliver of a crack in the between the frame and the door.

 

She'd never seen Sesshoumaru Inutaisho—the current Japanese tai-youkai as well as the undisputed Inu no Taisho—before. The tall figure seemed to loom larger than life, his silver hair catching the light that filtered through the long row of windows that encompassed one wall of the vast room. She could see part of his profile from where she watched, and she grimaced and scooted back a step when Sesshoumaru's amber eyes narrowed dangerously. “Be careful, Ian. You overstep yourself.”

 

She couldn't see her father from where she stood, and she had to make herself step closer to the crack once more. No one argued with Ian MacDonnough; she knew this. Sesshoumaru, though . . . he wasn't intimidated in the least.

 

“He chose a human for a mate,” Ian went on smoothly, his voice cold, condescending. “Hanyous—those perversities of nature—they should not be suffered to live.”

 

“Whom he chose is none of your concern,” Sesshoumaru cut in. “My son's right to succession is none of your concern.”

 

“It is when it weakens the youkai,” Ian shot back. Meara heard the rustle of movement moments before her father crossed through her line of vision. Sesshoumaru didn't turn to follow him. “Toga's choice has dire implications, don't you agree?”

 

“I do not,” Sesshoumaru stated flatly. “My son and his son . . . they are the future, and you will respect them.”

 

“A hanyou was never meant to be tai-youkai,” Ian growled, whipping around on his heel to pin Sesshoumaru with a scathing glower.

 

Sesshoumaru slowly turned to face Ian, his expression a cold mask of indifference, the only trace of emotion writ in his icy gaze. “Do you doubt the power of the blood that runs through my veins? My father's blood, and his father's blood before him?”

 

“. . . No.”

 

“My bloodlines extend back to the beginning of time, itself, while yours have been tainted by degrees of separation. In my veins runs blood so powerful that you cannot even begin to comprehend its might. It is the blood of the first inu-youkai, and those of your ilk hold no jurisdiction over me. What you are is only because I have allowed it to be so. Do not make the mistake of doubting me when I say this: the power in your blood has degenerated through the ages while mine, alone, runs pure. My son's blood is my blood, and his son's blood will remain stronger than yours, hanyou or otherwise.”

 

The memory faded, and Meara blinked it away. Shivering slightly as she called to mind the look of absolute rage on Morio's face, she scanned the darkened campus once more . . .

 

“Izayoi . . . Ryomaru's son? Ah, yes, I remember. You were the hunter who didn't have it in him to hunt . . .”

 

She bit her lip, spotting the silver hair glinting in the light of the lamps lighting the walkway ahead. `He . . . he really was a hunter once, wasn't he . . .?'

 

`The untainted power . . . the bloodline of the Inu no Taisho . . .'

 

She grimaced and darted after him. “Morio! Stop, will you? Stop!” she yelled.

 

He kept walking, hands jammed deep into his pockets, the anger in his aura still painfully distinct. Meara sighed, wishing absently that she'd worn flat shoes instead of heels, and she quickened her pace to close the distance between them.

 

She grabbed his arm and tugged to stop him. He did, shoulders straightening, back stiffening. “What?” he growled.

 

Meara scowled at him—completely ineffective since he refused to look at her. “Are you mad?” she demanded, digging her claws into his jacket to make him stop when he started moving once more. “Have you lost your mind? Do you have any idea who that was?”

 

That stopped him abruptly, and he swung around to face her. Face hidden in the shadows cast by the dim lamps lining the path, all she could discern in the darkness was the indomitable glow—the steely glint—lighting his gaze. “I fucking must be,” he bit out. “Four years, Meara . . . the least you could have done was told me.”

 

Fighting down the indignant blush that stained her cheeks crimson, Meara shook her head stubbornly, letting go of Morio's arm as she planted her hands on her hips and glowered back at him. “I don't have to tell you a thing, Morio Izayoi!”

 

“The hell you don't!” he snarled.

 

“The hell I do!” she shot back. “You don't own me! You have no right to be angry!”

 

“Oh, so I was supposed to let him manhandle you like that when it was so damn obvious that you didn't want anything to do with him?” he ground out, taking a step toward her, towering over her as she glared back defiantly. “Is that the kind of guy you want? Someone who doesn't give a rat's ass about you? Is it?”

 

“That's none of your business!” she retorted, unblinking as she stood her ground. “You can't go around beating up on people! Paul isn't a slouch, you know! He could have killed you, and then where would you have been?”

 

“As if!” he countered with a pronounced snort. “I would have knocked him back down if he'd bothered to get up again.”

 

That claim ignited Meara's temper, and she reached back before swinging her hand, palm cracking against Morio's cheek so hard that the sound of the impact echoed through the air before it died away. “Leave me alone, Morio! I don't want you! I never have! Just leave me alone, all right? I don't want your flowers; I don't want your songs—I don't want you!”

 

Eyes narrowing dangerously, he suddenly drew back as he blanked his expression completely. Even his eyes seemed to shut down. “I see. If that's how you want it.”

 

“That's how I want it,” she forced herself to say, ignoring the sudden tingle of tears that prickled her nostrils, and she rubbed her forearms through the thin summer sweater.

 

He stared at her for a long moment, gaze inscrutable. Meara bit her cheek, refusing to back down.

 

Finally he gave a curt nod, turning on his heel and walking away once more.

 

Meara swallowed hard as she watched him go, telling herself that it was better this way; telling herself that it didn't really matter in the end. She had to do what was expected of her, whether she liked it or not, and Morio . . .

 

Drawing a tremulous breath, Meara shook her head, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes in a vain effort to stave back the tears that were gathering.

 

Morio . . . he was better off without her, too.

 

If only it were as simple to convince her heart of that . . .

 

 

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A/N:

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MMorg

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Final Thought fromMorio:

… Fine …!

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Fairy Tale): I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~