InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ A Purity Short: The Fairy Tale ❯ Full Circle ( Chapter 14 )

~*~*~*~*~*~Lemon warning~*~*~*~*~*~

 

There is no clean version of this chapter. You've been warned.

 

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~~Chapter Fourteen~~

~Full Circle~

 

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:Edinburgh, Scotland, UK:

:Thursday, March 23, 2062:

:9:30a.m.:

 

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:Tokyo, Japan:

:Thursday, March 23, 2062:

:5:30p.m.:

 

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Morio gritted his teeth and restrained the urge to slam the phone receiver down out of frustration. Drawing a deep breath meant to steady himself, he shook his head and willed his tightly-balled-up fist to relax. “So you're saying that there isn't a damn thing we can do.”

 

Silence greeted his question for several long seconds, and in his mind, Morio could see Sesshoumaru standing near the wall of windows that overlooked the back yard of the Inutaisho mansion. “I am sorry,” he finally said.

 

“Damn it! Why?”

 

“She is not being abused.”

 

Morio snorted indelicately and shot to his feet, prowling around the living room, dangerously close to losing what was left of his self-control. “You've got to be kidding me,” he growled. “Maybe she's not being physically abused, but that doesn't mean shit, does it? Ian MacDonnough isn't worthy of being called a father, and you know it!”

 

“What I do or do not know is not the issue here, Morio. Removing Ian's daughter . . . I cannot justify that without proper provocation,” Sesshoumaru replied calmly.

 

“Proper provocation? What the hell does that mean? Just look at what he's done to Meara if you need proof! Psychological damage is much worse than physical, don't you think?”

 

Sesshoumaru sighed—an unusual sound from the Inu no Taisho. “As much as it bothers you, you must learn to let it go. She is in no danger, and as such, I will not interfere.”

 

Raking his hands through his hair, Morio couldn't help the savage growl that escaped him. “So you'll condemn her to live in a place like Nightsboro? She deserves better . . . Meara deserved better.”

 

“The implications are deep and wide, Morio. If I allowed the removal of the child, do you think that anyone would come out of it unscathed? Have you any idea how many hanyous live in Europe?”

 

Morio snorted. “Keh! What does that matter when—?”

 

“It matters,” Sesshoumaru cut in coldly. “Do you think even for a moment that Ian MacDonnough would not seek his revenge on those hanyous? He would, and then their blood would be on your hands . . . The fact of the matter is that Ian MacDonnough is as tainted as his father was fair. The integrity that used to be synonymous with the name has fallen to ruin, and all you can really hope for is that the next tai-youkai in the line will be better.”

 

Somehow Sesshoumaru's explanation did little to assuage the anger that roiled through Morio's very soul. “What good is the title of Inu no Taisho if you won't even lift a finger to help someone who is too small to help herself?”

 

Sesshoumaru didn't answer right away, and Morio knew deep down that his great-uncle didn't say anything for effect, and he didn't do anything unless there was no other way. It was just too much to bear, wasn't it? In the end . . . In the end Meara and Aislynn were the ones who would suffer . . .

 

Getting into the car and driving away from the castle was the hardest thing Morio had ever had to do. The image of Aislynn, alone in that upper window, haunted him, and Meara's quiet sobbing, her incoherent words babbled in the throes of grief had only exacerbated Morio's pain. `If I had just taken Bas' advice; listened to Gunnar . . . If I'd just left Meara alone . . .'

 

But he hadn't believed that, either. If he'd never met her, she would have ended up mated to that bastard, wouldn't she? Then she'd have ended up just like her mother, and the idea of that—of watching helplessly as Meara's smiles faded . . . No, that wouldn't have been better; not at all.

 

In the days since the altercation, Meara had been withdrawn, pensive. She'd tried to drive out to her father's castle last weekend only to be turned away at the gates. Morio hadn't wanted her to go, but she couldn't be stopped, and when he'd offered to accompany her, she'd withdrawn just a little more from him.

 

She blamed him, didn't she? Somewhere in her mind, she knew that it was his fault, and while she told him that she loved him; that she'd be fine in a `little while', he hadn't believed her.

 

“All I'm saying is that you're going to end up in the middle of a family squabble if you're not careful, or worse: she will. Ian MacDonnough won't accept you for his daughter, and if that's the case, you'll be forcing her to choose between you and him. How fair is that?”

 

Bas' cryptic prediction echoed in his head, and Morio grimaced. He'd been right, hadn't he? Bas, the cousin who didn't know the first thing about women in general, had known that much, and Gunnar's words later; words that he'd wanted to believe were just another example of his jaded cousin's warped outlook, and yet . . . And yet they'd held true, hadn't they . . .?

 

“Fine, then. If you want to be an idiot, what do I care? You'll be the pup running home with his tail tucked neatly between his legs, seeking the comfort of Mama since you can't get it through your thick fucking skull that you're wasting your time on something that will just—never—happen.”

 

Sesshoumaru's smooth voice cut through Morio's memories, and he clenched his jaw as the Inu no Taisho spoke. “I know you are frustrated, Morio, but understand there is nothing I can do. The child does not suffer mistreatment at her father's hands, and the only case for emotional abuse you have is one that would have to be dealt with by human authorities. You know the trouble that would cause. In the end, the cure would cause more damage than the ill. The European generals are not completely trustworthy in my mind, and I doubt they would act upon my suggestion to remand the child, especially to your custody.”

 

“What the hell's wrong with being in my custody?” Morio snapped.

 

Sesshoumaru cleared his throat. “Nothing, per se. They would take issue with the idea of both of the tai-youkai's daughters—his only living issue—residing in Japan instead of in Europe.”

 

“Damn it . . .”

 

“I am sorry.”

 

Morio snorted, digging his claws into the wooden window frame. “Yeah, thanks for fucking nothing,” he snarled, clicking the `off' button on the remote handset and stalking over to drop it back on the charger once more. Logic told him that Sesshoumaru had valid points. Common sense insisted that he listen to reason. Unfortunately, logic and common sense weren't exactly high on Morio's list of viable emotions. He'd hoped that maybe there would be a way to keep Meara and save Aislynn, both . . .

 

There wasn't. As much as he'd love to be able to tell Meara that they'd be able to take Aislynn with them to Japan, it seemed like an impossible feat, and one that Morio would have given anything to make happen. He hadn't told her that he was asking Sesshoumaru to intervene. He wasn't certain how she would react. Still he'd hoped, and now . . .

 

He sighed, a sudden wave of hopelessness crashing over him as he flopped into a chair. He'd spent so long telling himself that Meara wasn't going to have to lose a thing to be with him. He'd wanted to believe it . . .

 

He'd been wrong, and Meara . . .

 

The all too vivid memory of Aislynn, standing in the upper window, pounding against the glass with her fists, veiled in shadows, bathed in an unearthly glow from the hallway lights behind her . . . The chestnut hair, the stormy eyes so very much like Meara's . . . If it weren't for her, the situation wouldn't be as difficult as it was, would it?

 

Morio grimaced, jaw twitching as he gritted his teeth, as he dug his claws into the palms of his hands.

 

The price of their happiness . . .

 

Was it too high to ask Meara to pay?

 

 

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:Edinburgh, Scotland, UK:

:Thursday, March 22, 2063:

:1:30 p.m.:

 

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Meara unlocked the door and pushed it open, dropping her knapsack on the floor with a heavy thump.

 

She crossed her arms over her chest, realizing absently that she didn't have to go looking around to know that Morio wasn't there. She couldn't feel any more than a lingering trace of his presence in the house. Maybe he got called in for an impromptu interview at one of the places he'd submitted his resume to.

 

She sighed, spotting the sheet of paper in the center of the counter, weighed down with a crystal bud vase with his floral offering of the day, a snowy white camellia. The edge of the note lifted and curled at the behest of the gentle breeze filtering through the cracked window over the sink, and Meara uncrossed her arms as she wandered over to read the message.

 

 

 

`Meara,

 

`I had to run a few errands and drop off a project for class, but I'll be home soon.

 

`Your,

`Morio.'

 

 

 

Heaving another sigh, she rubbed her red-rimmed eyes with a trembling hand. She was tired—exhausted, really. She hadn't slept well since that fateful day, and even the comfort that Morio so readily offered her was of little solace in the end. The fitful sleep she had managed to get was perpetually interrupted by the sounds of a little girl's sobs; the accusation inflicted behind a melodic little voice that always demanded to know why—why—Meara had abandoned her . . .

 

She winced. `Aislynn . . .'

 

Morio hadn't wanted her to drive out to Nightsboro last weekend. He'd begged her not to go, and when that failed, he'd demanded to go with her. In the end, she hadn't let him, afraid that his presence would do nothing but upset her father, and while she had no intention of taking back her decision to be Morio's mate, she'd desperately wanted just one last chance to say goodbye to Aislynn; to try to make the child understand that she wasn't really being abandoned.

 

The curt knock on the door drew her attention, startled her enough that she pressed her hand against her chest in an effort to contain her racing heart. As she drew nearer to the door, a terrible sense of foreboding assailed her. She couldn't sense the presence well enough to identify the visitor, but she had a feeling that it wasn't someone she wanted to see . . .

 

Hand trembling as she reached for the handle, she swallowed hard and wondered exactly when Morio had written the note. `I . . . I wish you were here . . .' she thought suddenly, dizzily. `Morio . . .'

 

Gasping as she pulled the door open, she stepped back involuntarily, away from the menacing aura that surrounded Ian MacDonnough. He sniffed loudly, wrinkling his nose as Meara twisted the engagement ring—Morio's ring—on her still shaking finger. “F-father,” she stammered, desperately trying to distance herself from the youkai who strode into the room with an air of careful deliberation. The click of the door resounded like thunder in her ears, and she grasped the edge of the sofa in an effort to steady her rapidly unraveling nerves.

 

“This is not a social call, Meara,” he stated flatly, his gaze full of abject disdain as it flicked over the modest living room. “I've come to make a deal with you.”

 

“A . . . deal . . .?”

 

Ian turned his head slightly, pinning Meara with a cold glare. “Come home with me, and I shall forget this nonsense without prejudice. I will not force you to accept Paul as your mate, but you will not see that disgusting hanyou ever again. This is my offer.”

 

Meara shook her head, withdrawing another step as her eyes flared wide, incredulity writ in the depths of her eyes as she struggled to understand just what her father was saying. “That's . . . no . . .”

 

The shift in Ian's youki was obvious; sharp, cutting like the flash of a blade in the darkness. “You would still dare to defy me?”

 

“No, but . . . I don't have a choice . . . Morio . . . He's my mate—my true mate. I'd die without him.”

 

“Don't be stupid. That law . . . it is an old wives' tale. Mates are not forever. Nothing is forever. Do you think my life depends upon that of your pathetic excuse for a mother?” He narrowed his eyes as his lips drew back in a grotesque show of razor sharp fangs. “I raised you to be like me: strong, self-sufficient. You don't need the likes of that worthless half-breed. Do not disgrace your father.”

 

A sudden laugh, incredulous, bitter, welled up inside Meara, spilling over into the silence of the cottage. “Raised me?” she repeated with a raised eyebrow, her laughter cutting off as abruptly as it had started. “Raised me? Please! You've never given a damn about me, and you don't give one about Aislynn, either. Let me have her! Let me show her what a family is supposed to be. That would be my way of honoring you: to raise her to be a good, kind woman who knows how to love and be loved. Please, for Aislynn's sake, I'm begging you . . . please.”

 

He narrowed his gaze on her coldly, and she'd known that he'd never agree, yet she still had to try . . . “And I have told you: no kin of mine will be subjected to a hanyou—least of all one that is nothing but a coward.”

 

“Morio is not a coward,” Meara shot back. “He's a good, kind man. He loves me . . . and I love him.”

 

Ian's terse chuckle was cold, full of malice as he narrowed his eyes on his daughter. “If he was truly a man, he would have come to me long before now. He would have asked for my permission to pursue you instead of taking matters into his own hands.”

 

“I asked him not to,” she said. “I asked him to let me do this my way. He let me because he is a man. I won't leave him.”

 

Ian nodded slowly, his eyes glossing over with a stoic sort of acceptance. “Then you force my hand.”

 

Meara frowned as her father turned and strode toward the door, stopping with his hand poised on the handle as he turned his face enough to glower at her out of the corner of his eye. “Remember: whatever comes to pass is your own fault. Pity me for being a fool who raised a foolish daughter.”

 

“What does that mean, Father?” she forced herself to ask.

 

Ian turned back toward the door again, but made no move to open it. “Your approval is not necessary. If one should claim you by force or otherwise, the result will be the same.”

 

It took several minutes for the crux of Ian's words to sink in, and when they did, she gasped softly, collapsing onto the sofa as she stared in complete horror at the closed door. With a strangled cry, she got to her feet, stumbling over herself as she ran over, throwing her weight against the door as her trembling hands fumbled with the deadbolt lock. Her vision blurred as a sheen of tears glossed over her gaze, and she couldn't contain the whimper that escaped her as she jammed a clumsy finger against the keypad beside the door to set the security alarm.

 

`He . . . he wouldn't . . .' she tried to tell herself as she slid to the floor, her body supported by the cool steel door that she knew wouldn't really be a decent defense against her father or Paul Gregory, should they come to see the plan to fruition. `He couldn't . . . That'd be . . . rape . . .'

 

“You will never see my daughter again. You . . . you are dead to me. Dead.”

 

Meara grimaced, the pain in her chest surging deeper, hotter, thicker. “Father . . .” she mumbled, closing her eyes as she slumped forward, her face smashed against the floor.

 

“Leave here. If I must say it again, I will kill you, myself.”

 

`He would . . . Yes, he would . . . He would send Paul or whomever he chooses . . . He'd do it because I couldn't stop him, but . . . unless . . .'

 

 

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:Edinburgh, Scotland, UK:

:Thursday, March 22, 2063:

:8:30 p.m.:

 

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“I . . . I can't . . .”

 

Meara whimpered, her eyes puffy from the tears that just wouldn't stop. Morio flinched, claws dug deep into the wood floor as he stared down at Meara's precious face—pale in the hazy moonlight filtering through the window. She sniffled and closed her eyes as more tears shimmered in the fringe of her lashes, gathering at the corners of her eyes to trace a path into the darkness of her hair. “Please,” she whispered, her voice ragged from the hours they'd spent arguing over this very thing.

 

Muscles taut, straining, Morio held himself over Meara, horrified at what she'd asked him to do; disgusted at his body that had responded despite the pungent aroma of her tears—tears that never should have been wrung from an already battered soul.

 

It had taken almost two hours to get Meara to say what Ian had threatened, and the admission had only come after a frantic phone call from Iona, Meara's old friend. Iona's boyfriend—a rat-youkai who worked for the French general—had overheard the warrants being issued. Morio and Meara were considered traitors against the European tai-youkai. He'd hurriedly purchased plane tickets—they'd be leaving tomorrow afternoon. All of this because of one man's hatred . . . Meara's father . . .

 

“He'll send Paul,” Meara had babbled between sobs that racked her body. “He said that I didn't have to agree,” she went on. “If Paul claimed me . . .”

 

“The hell he will!” Morio snarled. “No, Meara . . . no.”

 

She winced, wiping her cheeks, her face pale, her eyes smudged with purple shadows. “But he can't, you know?” she squeaked, her emotion causing her voice to break. “He can't if we're already mated.”

 

He didn't want to. He couldn't, could he? Something like that was supposed to be beautiful. It was supposed to be the promise of a lifetime, not something done to escape a greater evil, and yet . . . and yet . . .

 

She gulped back her sobs, scooting toward him without rising to her feet. The determination in her expression—the scent of her tears that was too thick to ignore—and as much as Morio wanted to reassure her, he couldn't, could he? He couldn't tell her that everything would be all right. He'd made that promise one time too many, and in the end, he'd been wrong; so wrong . . .

 

And he'd watched, still as stone, powerless to stop her, wincing at the grotesqueness of her actions as she unfastened his jeans and jerked them down to his ankles. Taking him into her hands, she sucked him in deep as her tears fell, as they disappeared into the tangle of his pubic hair. Choking back sobs as she worked him, she refused to let up, and the longer she sat there, her head bobbing up and down in a solid rhythm, the faster her tears flowed; the more Morio cursed himself for giving in to what she wanted him to do.

 

Pulling away, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, she slowly, methodically stripped off her clothes before taking his hands and pulling him down. She sobbed quietly as she spread her legs, her knees bent as her feet rested against the floor.

 

`Kami, I . . . can't . . .' he muttered in his head as his body sank to his knees. `I don't . . . not this way . . . no . . .'

 

“He'll send Paul . . . He said that I didn't have to agree . . . If Paul claimed me . . .”

 

Muscles tense, his mind rebelling against the heat of passion that raged through him, tempered by the tears that fell like rain; by the sorrow so deep that it hurt Morio, too, he grimaced as the head of his penis slipped into her body.

 

He understood her feelings; her fear. She wanted—needed—the reassurance that no one really could come between them, didn't she? As much as she was hurting emotionally, he also realized that she wanted this—wanted to be his mate in every single way, and maybe it would ultimately help her to feel a little more secure despite the worry that plagued her. A fine sheen of sweat broke over his forehead, dripped down his cheek as he struggled to hold his body in check. “Meara . . .”

 

She shook her head, squeezed her eyes closed as she lifted her hips to meet his, taking him in completely as a choked sob slipped from her, breaking Morio's heart as he closed his eyes against the vision of the woman he loved more than life, deep in the throes of her own agony, her own brand of hell.

 

The best he could offer was a quick mating designed to get the vile task out of the way so that he could try to comfort her, so that she might really believe his half-hearted reassurances.

 

Grunting as he thrust in her, he threw his head back, grimacing as the crack in his soul widened. He hated himself for what he was doing. It sickened him that Ian MacDonnough would be monster enough to force it to be this way. Of every thought he'd ever had of claiming his mate, he'd never in his wildest dreams ever thought that it would be akin to dying. He could feel his climax drawing closer, couldn't ignore the tightening sensation in his balls, in his muscles. His heart beat so hard that he thought it might burst, and he let out a ragged moan as the first wave of his orgasm crashed down on him.

 

Meara's sobs mingled with Morio's harsh attempts to draw breaths, and he collapsed on her, struggling against the realization—against the knowledge of what he'd just done. He hated himself. He hated Ian, and he hated Paul, but maybe in some small way, he hated Meara for asking him to do the impossible, too.

 

Rolling over onto his back, he felt himself slip out of Meara and winced, trying to brush aside the gnawing sense that he'd somehow betrayed Meara as he reached for her and pulled her into his arms. She buried her face against his chest, sobbing even harder than she had been before. He sighed and squeezed his eyes closed, moving his hands to stroke her hair without giving thought to what he was doing. “I'm sorry, Meara,” he murmured. “Kami . . . I never . . . I never wanted it to be like that . . .”

 

She sniffled and tried to lean away, her tears falling on his damp skin. “Now they can't do anything, right? They can't separate us or . . .”

 

Morio frowned, unable to meet her gaze as a violent flush stained his skin. He was ashamed, wasn't he? Ashamed of his own actions, no matter what the benefit, no matter what the outcome. `Hate me, Meara,' he thought sadly, his eyes focusing on the crystal bud vase and the pristine white camellia. `Curse me . . . hate me . . . send me to hell . . .'

 

“. . . Hold me, Morio? Just . . . hold me?”

 

He sighed, swallowing the thick lump that choked him, drawing her into his arms, knowing that she was and always would be his ultimate weakness. When had he ever been able to tell her `no' and mean it? Morio winced. `Never . . . I never could . . . and I don't think I ever will be able to . . .'

 

It seemed like forever until her sobs wound down to hiccups and stunted breathing. She slowly relaxed in his arms, and he didn't have to look to know that she was sleeping—fitful and restless but sleeping, nonetheless. Closing his eyes, he couldn't help but think of the first time they'd been together; of the beauty and wonder of discovery. She'd cried afterward when he'd told her that he loved her, and maybe now he truly understood why; maybe he could finally credit the absolute torment it had caused inside her when he'd asked her to follow her heart. He thought he'd understood at the time. He'd thought he knew it all. He'd believed that the promises he had made to her would be easy to keep, hadn't he?

 

Morio sighed and sat up, careful not to disturb Meara. Grabbing the afghan off the back of the sofa, he covered her up and trudged back toward the bedroom. He could pack for them both. He had to wonder if Meara even realized that they were leaving in less than twelve hours, and they could never come back. She'd been so upset that she likely hadn't heard him when he'd explained it to her earlier. Then again, maybe it was better that way.

 

Grabbing their suitcases out of the closet, he opened them both and started grabbing clothes without paying attention to what he was packing. He had more than enough money to replenish their wardrobes once they got to Tokyo. The important thing was to get her out of Europe before her father made good on the warrants he'd issued. It was entirely unfair, wasn't it? The situation made Morio want to smash something, and for the first time since the afternoon he'd finally told his father that he just didn't want to be a hunter, he actually regretted his decision, even if it was for entirely self-serving reasons. Hunting never had been fulfilling to him, but the release of his aggressions was something that he desperately wished he could have.

 

The bottom line was that Meara was being forced out of her homeland for something as ridiculous as finding her mate, and that was something that Morio was never, ever going to forgive.

 

`Stop blaming yourself, Morio,' his youkai chided. It had been conspicuously silent since Aislynn's birthday. `It won't do you any good when Meara ultimately wanted to be your mate, anyway. Sure, the timing was bad, and yes, it wasn't one that should be remembered as beautiful, but the end result is that no one can come between you two now, and that's what she wanted—needed—from you.'

 

`And it's as simple as that?' Morio demanded, snatching a framed print of Aislynn taken last summer off the dresser and gazing sadly at the solemn little face staring back at him before carefully tucking the picture between layers of clothing in Meara's suitcase.

 

`No, but think of it this way: living in regret is the coward's way out. Vow to make her smile every day instead . . . the fairy tale can happen . . .'

 

`The fairy tale, huh . . .?' Morio mused. `Rainbows and unicorns and fairly tale princesses . . .'

 

`And flowers on her pillow at night, and kisses in the dim light of dawn . . . The start doesn't have to be perfect. Lots of people have a perfect one of those. It's what you do in the long run that matters. Make Meara's fairy tale come true . . .'

 

`Make her fairy tale come true . . .?' Morio stopped abruptly, his chin snapping up as the light of determination flickered then grew behind his gaze. `I . . . I can do that . . . for Meara . . .'

 

The voice of his youkai blood just chuckled.

 

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A/N:

 

Bas' quote taken from Chapter50: Kissing Cousins -Purity 5: Phantasm.

Gunnar's quote taken from Chapter 51: Who's Your Daddy - Purity 5: Phantasm.

 

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MMorg

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Final Thought fromMorio:

… The fairy tale, huh …?

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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~