InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Bloodlust: Purity ❯ Dark Embrace ( Chapter 15 )

Standing over him and watching, Shippou could not tell if Kouga was even breathing - he did not move at all. His first reaction was cut short by the needs of his brother; his shout of surprise became a yip that floated down the hill to the village. While he knelt by Kouga's side, pressing a pair of fingers against his pulse and watching the slowest breaths he had ever seen, a fragrant gust of wind moved across his skin.

Without another warning, the breeze died and the flutter of lavender scent became lavender yukata and white obi and a wisping, wafting touch of blue-black hair that settled into Murasaki. Another liquid caress brushed his cheek, her hair in the wind; a little dazed, his hand reached up to touch the place and then dropped away.

Finally, his eyes focused on her face. Her eyes glowed yellow, brighter than the deep amber of his Inu family, shining into the twilight, pure wolf. There was nothing golden about her - she was radiant like the autumn moon, the same clear yellow color that filled flowers in springtime, and Shippou suddenly found that he was breathing fast, and staring.

“Who - who are you?”

Her smile was insistently calming, and bright like her eyes.

“You are the kitsune, Shippou. You are the son of the Inu no Taisho.”

A growl crept to the edge of Shippou's lips and prowled towards the wolf.

“I know who I am! Who are you, and where have you come from? How do you know my name?”

A sparkle of laughter ran over his skin like a warm rain.

“I am Murasaki. Your wolf-brother brought me from the forest. Before that…”

Another smile trickled onto her features.

“Before that, I lived far away, in a city of which you have never heard. Perhaps I will tell you a story, later. Now, this wolf needs my help.”

She turned to look at Shippou while she knelt and placed her hands on Kouga's chest. Whatever she found, however she sought and saw it, must have disturbed her. Her fingers trembled.

“How is it that a wolf and a kitsune become the sons of the Inu no Taisho?”

Warmth began to grow around them, something more tangible than the feeling that had brushed over Shippou's skin.

Over Kouga's chest, a writhing golden wolf suddenly grew in shape and substance, prowling back and forth through the air. Beneath him, another shape began to grow, a silver light that reached and solidified into the shape of a giant dog, baring its fangs across the distance of air, silently howling. With a leap, the wolf cleared the distance, and clawed at the belly of the silver dog.

While the silence of her question stretched between them, Murasaki's hands reached up and smoothed the ethereal fur of the leaping wolf. With a noise like a purr, the wolf coiled around the wounded dog, and slept. Almost at once, Kouga's breathing deepened, and the light lines of pain that had stretched tight at the corners of his eyes relaxed.

Like the spattered dust of fireworks, the glowing shapes dissolved into fragrant particles and fell over Kouga's prone body in a shower of silver and gold.

“He will sleep now.”

Night was falling around them, the quick summer darkness that crashes to the ground and murders the purple twilight.

“You did not answer my question, Shippou, but that is alright, now. This is the blood son of Lord Sesshomaru, whose soul is a wolf - I understand. Will you tell me about you?”

Somewhat exasperated and with thoughts that darted between anger, fear, and surprise, Shippou suddenly grinned, and caught the glimmer of an equal smile shooting across at him, stunning like stars.

“You already know all about me, it seems. How this could be so, however, I could not begin to guess.”

He laughed, half-teasing.

“I have never garnered any particular fame.”

He was interrupted by a familiar sound coming up over the hill. Sango's voice rang out loud and clear, the harsh edge on it obviously destined for Miroku's ears, but the Houshi's words sounded much less intimidated than usual.

“I've carried three of your daughters, Miroku! Why should this child be any different? You are worse now than before Kiyome was born! I didn't think that could be possible, and it doesn't make sense!”

“You were twenty when you carried Kiyome, and twenty two when you carried Kiyuki, and twenty five when Kuromi was born. Now, you are nearly forty, and it is dangerous for older women to give birth!”

The crack of Sango's palm meeting Miroku's cheek was audible, and the pair finally came to the top of the hill. Miroku rubbed his face, scowling, but one hand still lingered at the small of Sango's back, as though she might overbalance and fall at any moment. She was trying to step away, and the glare of her eyes was fiery.

“Older! It's not a though I'm wrinkled and hunched and weak, Miroku!”

He could only sigh.

“No…of course not.”

Sango was distracted from their argument by Kouga's prone form, and she turned with her hands on her hips to face Shippou.

“So, what's the trouble, Shippou? Kouga comes with this girl, and now you come, and there is no sign of Kagome, or Sesshomaru.”

It was Murasaki who answered - Shippou was still staring at the ground, lost in thoughts.

“This Inu…he is also wolf. Now, he is sleeping. I gave him quiet inside, for a while.”

“You gave him…quiet?”
Sango's eyes sped from the wolf crouched by Kouga's side to Shippou's face.

“Come on, Shippou, do you know what she's talking about? What happened to Kouga? Why are you here?”

With a serious expression that was unaccustomed to his face, Shippou shrugged. Sango's scowl twitched.

“I did not come here expecting to find Kouga - he came to me.”

With narrowed eyes, he focused on his brother.

“A few days ago, he ran off and left without a word, and he left no scent behind. Mama was worried, but she and Sesshomaru have work to do.”

Murasaki touched Kouga's eyelids gently, and stood, wiping grass from her skirt.

“Kouga came here only because of me. That is his name - Kouga?”

Shippou nodded, but his attention was still turned towards Sango.

“I came here seeking Kystra. She is also gone.”

The memory of that last moment with his sister filled him, the blinding, burning pain. He had never felt the wrath of purity, or been forced to remember that she was miko; with that blueness in her, the Inu soul she bore seemed subsumed, or locked away.

He was ripped back to reality by the sound of Sango's voice, and his eyes returned to see the shaking of her head.

“I have not seen your sister, Shippou. Why would she come here - why would she leave home? Is this some strange youkai ritual?”

She smiled, contemplating.

“A day for running away from your parents?”

He was shaking his head before the words had finished leaving her mouth.

“Kystra is changed. Kouga suffers the memory of his soul, that which is attached to him by name.”

Sango's hands shot up to cover her mouth.

“Kouga is…Kouga? But - Kagome!”

Miroku stepped forward to steady her, his face consolidating into grimness.

“I knew from the moment I saw him that something was not right. He spoke to me too familiarly, with an attitude I could not place - because it is dead.”

A wide cloak of silence draped over them, and was broken only by the even depth of Kouga's breathing. Finally, it was Shippou who spoke, casting a wary eye at Murasaki.

“I will carry Kouga. These troubles - they are best left for later.”

He hauled up his brother and carried him down the slope towards the village. Behind him, Sango and Miroku shared a glance that remembered trouble. They drew Murasaki in with their eyes, inviting her, and she followed them downhill.

 

 

 

A garish run of greenness had taken over the land, spreading like wildfire under trees heavy with buds and flowers, low bushes blooming. Giant blossoms unfolded, shining translucent in the warmer angle of sunlight. Rin ran through the new lushness of undergrowth, and Kinawai's longer footsteps chased down the grass behind her.

There was no excuse in this broad, verdant daylight for her to stay so suggestively in his grasp, and her muscles tended to cramp; if she moved too swiftly, he had no balance. To ease the journey, Kinawai allowed her to set the pace, but she surprised him with the length of her endurance and the sureness with which she flowed over the landscape. It appeared to accept her footsteps, and then urge them onwards, floating her over the grass without the shock of pressure that accompanied his own steps.

There was a shrine he wanted to reach by nightfall, where he could show her the secrets of ancient carving and the beauty of the Lake of Stars by moonlight. A hundred times, he felt a tickle as the ends of her hair brushed his cheek, floating on the wind, and each time the moments lingered with a deepening scent, building a cocoon around him, lighter than butterfly silk.

They rested when the light began to fade, and Rin took charge of setting their camp, lighting the fire and pouring out sake from cool flasks. Silent, because he could find no words that would not birth more silence, he watched her with a quarter-moon gleam of eyes, nose and ears open to the rustling forest around them. Her movements were smooth, and soft, and she faded when he did not focus on her, blending with a golden ring into the night touched trees and their burgeoning heartbeats. Through the darkness, the fire held back the moan and groan of the complaining earth as the sun sank down to its deep bed of shadows.

 

Night woke the hunter, and Kinawai stood with a spring that startled, pushing Rin an unconscious step back. His teeth shone like polished pearls in the dripping stream of moonlight as it rose over the treetops. He flexed his claws at his sides, nostrils already widening, seeking the scent of prey.

“I will hunt for you, Rin. Wait carefully!”

She watched him go, pouncing into the shadows between the trees as though they themselves were the beasts he sought to slay. She did not see him stop when the darkness was too thick for her eyes, and turn to watch her laugh back to the fire. Her thoughts were humorous, she could not help it; he hunted, but she would tie up her skirt, and stalk the undergrowth for greens.

Barely a hundred steps from where she had lit the fire, a long vine clutched the ground, and she followed the trailing creepers all the way to their stem. Every few feet, she pulled the rolled green leaf clusters taut on the vine, and severed them with her knife. Roasted, the strange `fruits' of a goha vine split open and the steaming, pale green center tasted starchy sweet.

In her youth, they had been a favorite treat, uncommon in the sun swept plains near her father's fortress, and those that were found were saved to make the strong spring wine, casked through the winter in the myriad of empty chambers beneath the castle.

Five of the round, leafy vegetables filled her hands, and she ignored the clutches of other tendrils to reach for the sheath of her knife. She stopped, suddenly still in her innermost being, listening to the air. There was breathing, somewhere near her, around her, and the shoots of grass at her feet seemed to be urging her - the touch of wind in the leaves was urging her - to run, back past the fire, and leaning up onto her toes, she obeyed.

It had not even been half an hour, but Kinawai could be miles away, depending on the nearness of his prey and the fullness with which he had been taken by the Hunter. Shapes had converged on the fire she had made; the shadows of those who breathed flickered on the tree trunks and branches, and with soft steps she avoided them. Far enough away that the light of the flames did not touch her, she leapt up and climbed into the wide branches of a comfortable tree, waiting.

The night spread, and softened itself with warm breezes. Green leaves clustered on the ends and edges of branches, opened early while the rest of the tree had yet to show its blossoms. The darkness was her only cover, but the branches were wide and sturdy, and progressed around the trunk in an uneven staircase that wound upwards until the topmost `steps' were twigs thinner than her fingers.

She kept her ears and eyes open, aware that if she could hear him, they could hear him, that he was not likely to be heard by any of them. The wind moved the branches around her head, whispering the motion of the clouds across the sky, rustling the depth of leaves on the ground. Unevenness in that rustling was her only alert. As quickly as she knew for certain she dropped and ran on silent tiptoe, aiming to intercept Kinawai before he reached the fire.

Rin surprised him with a touch, a glimmer of a tap on the shoulder, and then she was behind him fast enough to avoid the instinct-slash of claws. Laughter glittered in her face at his surprise, too obvious in the mindless motion for him to attempt concealment.

“Did your father never tell you - “

Her hands flew to cover his mouth, stopping his words. She whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear, straining the silence.

“Not to startle a demon? But you see, he taught me to avoid the pain!”

She gestured with her eyes, pointing a line back through the maze of trees towards the fire.

“They are not my fathers allies, but they come for me. I smell human on them.”

Kinawai followed her gaze, sniffing the quiet air.

“Nine of them near the fire, and three farther away. Those do not smell of smoke. There is something…unusual in their scent. Something steely.”

His smile was all teeth.

“Let us see if they have hearts, or bones - or merely breath.”

A dozen men were startled from a bragging chatter when Kinawai dropped his hunt's resolution at their feet - a quarter ton of fresh, honey-fed bear, wrapped in its own skin. The smell of fresh meat and salty, drying blood leapt up at them from the lumpy package, feeding eye-and-nose hungers while flesh hungers grew and grappled in the air.

Kinawai could see they were all men, newly trained warriors grown only into their height, not their hearts. Their eyes were fire, but their blood stayed cool, and he laughed at them and their presumption. Rin watched, close to the ground behind a humped and twisted gnarl of roots. His laughter was rich, smooth and hot down her spine, but the four that scrambled to their feet in front of Kinawai bared their teeth in the face of it, while the rest reached for their swords.

“Kinawai, youkai lord of the north, we are come to relieve you of your head! In the name of humanity, surrender your life and we will make your end painless. It is more than a demon like you deserves!”

The laughter stopped abruptly, and Kinawai's voice was a whip-crack through them, bartering with organs for the worth of their fear.

“Did you ask for peace from your gods before you went on this quest? Did you think you brought honor to yourselves by seeking what is not within your ability to achieve?'

Stubbornness renewed itself on their faces, and one man stood forward with an unshaking sword, pain sudden and stark in his features.

“I would have my own vengeance on you, orders or no - it is humans that matter! You killed my father, and my brother! My father once said to beware, that you were the blood of the Dragon - but I see only a Cat!”

 

Is an attempt at vengeance worth the price of death?

 

“Surely, you do not really expect to kill me. A dozen men are not even worth my time.”

The man who had spoken snorted with angry laughter that could not have been born entirely by bravado; behind Kinawai, Rin crept closer and peeked around his body. The eyes of the entire group of men seemed to focus on her as though she was a painted target.

“We will certainly kill you, lord. Do you keep that girl for a pet, or a plaything? What is a human girl doing dangling at your tail?

Surprise won past all Kinawai's anger, when he felt the rage blackening his vision and knew it was for her, and not for himself - that she was the one most pained. He felt her shuffles behind him, and knew she had heard, and remembered the weight of her sorrow, her head on his chest, and the string of stinging salt tears. It all came back to that word, echoing, as dark in his heart as it was in hers.

 

Human!

 

“Fools! Will you never learn that it is not what, but who that matters? Is it possible for you to learn?”

His point was beyond them - beyond himself too, as black emotions built. At the edge of his sight, a sword moved, and he parried with sublime skill, his vision darkening, the world beginning to blur. Words were touching him, spikes in his brain colored vivid red, and the beast that roared in his chest strained in his grasp.

“When you are through, we will leave you here, so the ground may have your blood. We will bring your pet with us. Perhaps we will find a use for her.”

The sneer was lost on Kinawai; only the words mattered, the threat that laughed in them, dodging and dancing in them. He swayed on his feet like a drunken man as the first rush of empty wind flared around him, and the attacking men laughed. Behind him, Rin leapt for a tree, and slid and darted her way to another with a thick enough trunk for her to hide behind.

Without a warning, with only the roar and rush of the terrifying wind, Kinawai became Tiger, and his stripes shone under the moon. He shook, and the wind passed around him, howling gleefully down the alleys between the trees. He roared, and the opponents that had dared to raise swords against him looked up into eyes blacker than the sky, and fangs longer than their swords, and shivered with fear. They could run, but he had their scent, and when his blood cooled and his mind came back to him he would remember their faces.

There was no escape.

The dying was short and easy, a drawn out minute of crunches and gasps, and the Beast shook the flesh of the insolent man who had spoken until Kinawai's fangs had made more wound of him than body. Silence crept out of the cracks, and rode through the air, testing. Panting with frustration rather than exertion, the Tiger dug his claws into the red earth and stretched. The danger was gone, and Rin ran out from behind her tree, watching those paws and the pace they measured.

When she left the shadow and the moon touched her, danger returned. With a powerful push, she was knocked to the ground, black above her glistening with blood. One paw pinned her, claws retracted, soft as velvet, and she felt the change come over him, raw and vibrating.

There was wind, but it was less, and she saw that it consumed him, down to the skin, until she could only see a primal light, a flood of color that glowed clear enough to hurt her eyes, and yet somehow could not be distinguished from the wind. It faded, and the thunder of heartbeats became only a whisper, and a fine-fingered hand was all that held her to the ground. Kinawai's face and hands were still stained, the red more noticeable against pale skin that it had been against black fur.

His eyes drank the faded twilight from her skin, and this time she was ready when he kissed her, tasting blood on his lips that woke heat in her belly, and the tied wolf that was her lust stretched and paced, stalking back and forth in every fiber, preening in her tiniest capillaries. Without another word, he pulled away from her and grabbed her hand, leading her off between the trees, away from the blood that had been spilled.

He paused at the fire they had built, his eyes darting between the trees, untrusting, and he kicked up dirt over the fire. Quickly, Rin gathered up the bag she had brought and Kinawai snatched up his kill.

“This place is not safe. We will continue in the darkness, and rest when we have found shelter from the dawn if you require it.”

There was an unmistakable rustle, and then a wave of human scent washed over him like water. A voice rang out from the darkness, and Kinawai turned with gleaming eyes to seek out its source.

“My lord! Please, wait!”