InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Bloodlust: Purity ❯ Nightlight ( Chapter 19 )

Chapter 19

Nightlights

 

The sky broke open and spilled like a cup of overturned wine. A thousand new universes born of split second decisions coalesced and then collapsed into nothingness a moment later. Blue leaked from green, tainting the mist that was ground, and spiraling in miniature whirlpools to the foot of the long stairs that led to Akasuki's dais.

“Amaya! Our Miyuki is not doing as she was told.”

From the shadows behind the Throne, Amaya stepped forward. Her fingers were still occupied tying the last of her garments in place. Though attired as a miko, the expression on her face was more careful than any human could accomplish.

“You did tell her to test the kitsune, kami-sama.”
Fury bridled Akasuki's eyes like steam.

“Not at the expense of this wolf! Against my spell and the pressure of the past, her works will be little and poorly spent, but I desire no delay. When she returns, she will be reprimanded for this disobedience. She should know better.”

Amaya's eyes drew slashes across her face as she turned aside her gaze and spoke in a low voice.

“You do not think that perhaps she has been…tainted…by the form of a demon that she took upon herself?”

A vaguely amused smile wandered onto Akasuki's face, and she waved away the comment as though it were a bad smell.

“You remain ambitious in your distrust, Amaya, but remember - it was only the form of a demon, nothing more. You will have your own task soon enough.”

There was a sound like tonal lightning, and new, bright focus broke the sky into slivers. Across the short open space at the foot of the stairs, the shining of the many mirrors intensified, and Akasuki peered forward, eagerness straining in her expression. There was a new vision moving in one reflection that seemed bloody in its intent. At least a hundred men were stalking through a dark forest, and the moon over them was bright and full.

“Those are more humans moving to attack the tiger lord, kami-sama. What do you wish me to do? They will surely be killed, as the others were.”

“Do? I wish you to do nothing. They merely obey - just as you do. If they are intelligent, they will not all die.”

Amaya moved back a step, and divided her attention between the scene in the mirror, unfolding in true time, and the face of the Goddess. Bloody desires were as plain as wrinkles in Akasuki's face. Amaya was tennyo, but she would not speak against them.

 

 

In the swift darkness of trees, Kinawai pulled Rin along beside him and ran with wide-open eyes. Something was amiss, but his nose was not aiding him and he could see nothing. Behind him, around him, in front of him, there were changes in the air and in the way the leaves moved that did not seem natural, but whatever caused it was not visible.

 

Perhaps I am too watchful. It would not do to be afraid of every shadow, but neither can I ignore what may live in such shade.

 

He allowed his eyes to continue their darting progress between the trees. The undergrowth was not thick here, but the trees were tall and grew closer together than he would have expected, looking from outside this wood. He could not run too fast here; Rin could not make the frantic turns in the dark. When the wind died completely, and the air rang with a sneaky silence, he stopped dead.

Rin let out a little gasp, half of surprise and half from the shock of her flesh responding to the sudden stop.

“Kinawai?”

He was behind her in a moment, his hand over her mouth. He bent, and spoke with his lips very close to her ears.

“Something is not right here. Can't you feel it? The air…”

She let her eyes wander, but she could see even less than he could, dark shadows and the black shade beneath the trees. Carefully, silently, they advanced. Kinawai held one of her hands tightly in his own, barely breathing. The trees suddenly parted, and they stood in a wide circle of moonlight that broke through in this one place where there was no canopy. The moon was high over them like a scene on painted silk. The wind that had died returned with a whisper.

“Kinawai! There!”

She was speaking without sound, but he followed her eyes to the motion of darkness beneath the edge of trees they had left behind. For a moment, he wanted to laugh. More humans, with the blessing of this Leiko? They did not know what sort of death was coming to them.

“Wait, Rin. Do not take another step.”

His hand moved from her hand to her arm, and she felt the strength of his grip, the tensing of muscles preparing silently for exertion, the close-held power begging to be let loose. This was different than the last battle, a different feeling. The overwhelming darkness did not rear its head from within, but he still desired blood. He had given them his protection and they had spurned it, and sought now to destroy him. Such foolishness did not deserve to live.

Kinawai felt the first man coming toward him, as though the sword and the arm that held it were one thing, outlined in light. He did nothing, waiting for the moment before the strike - and it never came. Beside him, Rin's knife moved once, a dark gleam, and then there was a gurgling breath, and then silence.

As though that one breath was a signal, there were suddenly five men running towards them, swords in their hands like lengths of light, and then twenty. In the second moment, there were three times that many, and more still ran out from the dark woods. Kinawai did laugh then, a rumble of sound that shook a few of the attackers into stillness. Their comrades did not pause, and in a moment he was surrounded by the comforting sound of steel.

He did not draw his own sword, but turned aside those that came at him with ease. There was a sound that is like no other, the crunch of breaking bone, and many long screams of pain, distorted by it. He left the first ones to reach out blades toward him with back-bent wrists and shattered arms. Yellow bone streaked with red peered out of pink flesh and screaming dark skin. Behind them, other warriors took a step back, waiting, and then surged forward in ranks that were ten men deep, seeking to overwhelm him and force him to the ground.

With one skillful lunge, Kinawai got beneath the feet of two men and flung them forward with such force that their heads were crushed against the shields of the men they had been standing in front of. He spared a moment then for Rin, and what he saw made the lurking tiger in his breast smile wide and growl with shaking pleasure.

The men had come for him; they did not attack her, moved around her as though they had not seen her kill that first man. She did not stand still for their disregard. Like a wraith, she darted from place to place, finding those that had been wounded and killing them, killing those that dared stand in her path. The numbers around them did not fade much, but Kinawai was intent on each individual death, as though the wounds and the glistening arc of blood in the air were specific glory, painted for his eyes alone.

Abruptly, his eyes were torn from the bright splash and the rich screams by a line of burning like the welt of a whip, thin and stinging along his side, under the arm that was raised and holding another death away from him. He looked down, and there was blood, but not much of a wound, just the burning, and the point of his elbow met the crown of a man's head. The heat lessened, and he crouched, exposing less flesh and darting out with claws and strength, lethal each time. Blood ran down his arms like water. Behind him, there was another touch of burning, and then he felt it pour inwards, through pierced flesh.

He had not expected spears from them, or the long, unwieldy field tools that now proved their worth as weapons. Like fire, that begins as merely the invisible cause of a great smoke, he swelled upwards, and as he moved his hand reached down towards the hilt of his sword. There was a cry, the tilt of Rin's voice leaping out of her throat towards his ears, and without thinking, the order of his attack moved. Those who had been approaching their deaths were spared for another moment, while those to his left were suddenly left throatless, leaking their last words into old leaves.

Kinawai moved like his sword, sinuous and swift. The long curve of steel swept between eyes and shoulders, nipples and thighs. Men fell in pieces, the expressions of surprise on their faces comical, as rolling eyes flew past the feet that once had stood them. Armless fingers twitched in the deep grass. He was less intent on avoiding the slashes of his opponent's swords now, and he felt many times the stinging slice, or the prod of an angry point, but those wounds were small and only served to enrage him - behind him, he left only death.

In a very few moments he was by Rin's side, his sword a bright puncture in the chest of the man who had stopped to fight her, who had brought her pain. He could not smell her blood through other, thicker scents of blood, but her right hand was working at her left shoulder, and came away smeared with red.

“Are you wounded, Kinawai?”

His haori was slashed in many places, and so was his skin. The wounds were not deep, but he could still feel the taut burn in them, and wondered at it. A miko's blessing, they said? Once, he had felt Kagome's power, and it had blazed differently than this. He noticed finally that the numbers of their attackers were thinning, and that those who came moved more warily, which was surely to their detriment. If they moved without thinking, they might surprise him, but he could read their decisions in the set of their faces and the placement of their feet.

“Leave these for me, Rin, and stay behind. See what you can do for your shoulder. Here - take this.”

He untied his obi and tossed the length of silk at her.

“Bind your wound.”

Kinawai turned away from her, and sheathed his sword. He could count them - there were only seventeen men left, and they looked at each other with fearful eyes. Only two looked determined, their hands on their sword-hilts firm, their jaws set.

 

Those two first.

 

Swiftly, he moved. Rin had seen Sesshomaru do this before, move so quickly he was a blur on the landscape, but she had not expected it from Kinawai. His claws tightened in two throats, one after the other, and until the blood ran in pools it seemed as though they had fallen with bloody handprints on their necks. There was a wordless outcry from the remaining men, and they rushed as one.

 

Too late.

 

With the same darting, demonic swiftness, he stole three more lives. He paused, ten steps from the last dozen men, and shook blood from his claws. They looked at him, and he looked back. The red glaze of his eyes, the bared shine of his fangs, stole the last bit of their strength. Half broke and turned to run, but then he was among them, attacking from every direction, darting under any guard, turning aside every sword. They died, and he turned back, and suddenly there were only two. They were no longer men; they were shivering creatures of fear without dignity or any desire beyond another moment of breath.

They fell on their knees, and pressed their heads against the ground and begged for their lives, and Kinawai was not moved. He kicked them over, so that they could see him, and then he finally spoke.

“If I killed you all, there would be no end to this annoyance. You are oath breakers, not worthy of my time.”

Swiftly, his sword moved. There was piercing yell, and one man's ear fell to the ground.

“So you may listen to no more lies.”

The sword moved again, and another scream echoed between the trees. The second man had lost the first two fingers of his sword-hand.

“So you may act on no more lies.”

Bleeding, weeping, destroyed, they staggered to their feet, and Kinawai smiled down at them, a hard, sharp smile.

“Run away.”

Rin had been watching, but as they turned and ran from Kinawai into the trees, she turned to her own wound and probed it with eyes and gentle fingers. It was not deep, and she was human - the purifying power of the blade had no effect on her at all. She wrapped the length of silk Kinawai had given her around her shoulder, and tied it tightly with an awkward, one handed knot.

When she looked up again, he was standing over her, watching, and the blank hunger in his eyes did anything but frighten her.

“Does the scent of my blood taunt you? Is it something you desire?”

Rin stood, slowly. Moonlight glittered in her eyes and reflected off the wetness of her hair. Her hands reached for him, sliding over and then under silk, where his haori had been undone by the loss of his obi. He leaned into her touch, bending over her, and then darted forward to take her lips. This time, she was not surprised. She wanted it, feeling desire move in her like another self, and wrapped her arms around his body. She gasped when he pulled away, but this time he would not let her catch her breath, covering her face and throat with his lips and tongue and teeth.

The danger was in his eyes, captivating and obsidian edged, but a fresh, wet spring wind was blowing the leaves over their heads with a succulent noise, rushing until a sweeping rain blushed out the earth's red stains with rivulets of mud.

The rain was cold, and sudden enough to wring a sharp breath out of Kinawai's lungs. Wrestling inside and out, he yanked himself away from the clutching of Rin's fingers, and stood alone under the pour of water. It beat down onto his closed eyelids, cleansing, but she would not let him be.

“Not this time, Kinawai, not this time….”

His face was drawn, his eyes bright with blood.

“No! I have been trying not to -“

“Touch me.”

Her hands crept around his body, and she pressed against his back. He turned and grabbed her - she could not be the one doing the holding. Her kimono twisted tight in his hands. The rain raised little bumps on her skin, and slicked her flesh so that she shone. It ran in rivulets down her back, and over his fingers, and her hair hung heavy and wet, long and curling past the press of his hands.

“I said touch me, and you pull away? Why do you make me want you, if you don't want me?”

He could smell her in the air, thick though it was with rain and the clouds that hung low in the sky. He clutched, so tight she exhaled with a rush of pain, but as his claws moved over her skin he could feel her nipples tighten and press against his chest through the layers of thin, soaked silk.

“Want you? You do not know what wanting means, Rin! This is wanting!”

He kissed her, and sucked out her soul, and left her breathing through cut lips. She touched her bottom lip with one finger, and winced- the wet on her skin stung. Her eyes were blazing when she looked at him, and pressed her blood-touched finger against his lips.

“Yes.”

She tasted like the rain, and a fruit of paradise both sweet and tart. Gently, he sucked on the tears in her lips, and she moaned against his mouth.

“Wanting is more than that, Rin.”

He was far beyond caring now, beyond remembering that she was the daughter of his friend, that she was human, that he had made promises to himself. Kinawai's claws shredded her tunic and slid into her skin - selfish, he lapped blood from her breasts and found her nipples with his tongue, sucking the rain off them, warming them with his mouth.

Wicked, he lifted his head, watching her eyelids flutter and her hands dart. She was collapsing into his hands, and her breathing matched his now, ragged, drawn, and she reached for him, seeking to undo the silk that kept his skin from her.

She couldn't do it. Her fingers were shaking from fear and too much desire, opposite emotions embracing each other hotly under her skin.

“Yes, just that way.”

For a moment, his hands left her, pulling at his own clothes, freeing his skin to her hands, unselfconscious, amused by the sudden blush that startled her features.

“Wasn't that what you wanted, Rin?”

Her name was no more than a hot breath, thick and clinging. Her fingers were soft, and small, and cool. As though she might break him, she ran her fingers over his chest, the hard pebble of one nipple, the smooth line of muscles that led to hardness and desire.

Kinawai let his head drop back against his shoulders. For a moment there was rain, and then nothing as his eyes closed and he swallowed a groan. She could not know how that thin, delicate touch tingled on his skin, brought back the fire that he thought battle had consumed. Delicious darkness made his hands convulse. He turned his eyes on her, saw desire in her but not knowledge, and gave her a smile that she should have run from.

She did not move. With long movements, he pulled the bow that held her kimono closed, and then the soft ties that held the robe beneath it. Her skin was creamy, her nipples dark and taut. He bent for a moment, his mouth reminding, and her hands hovered in his hair. She pressed her breasts toward his mouth, arching, and he allowed his fingers to wander into her softness.

Heat and wetness enveloped them, and his whole being suddenly throbbed with the desire to press into that heat and feel her shudder. He had never experienced desire so acutely, and as he felt her move under his hands, he knew she was watching his face, and understood.

“Is this wanting, Kinawai?”

He had not heard that voice from her before, with depths in it, but it stroked his spine like a teasing, sensual hand. A shiver ran through him, and there was suddenly no more waiting.

Rin was lifted and put down in a single moment, away from the blood-stained mud and atop a pile of damp leaves. She felt his hands on her, holding her, and then pleasure, something touching her warmly, over and over, until her blood felt raw in her veins and she thought her heart would burst.

He stopped, and she moaned, balancing on an edge that made her hips press up, needing, wanting. Then Kinawai was inside her, and she fell. Wordless sounds and soundless words streamed from her lips, and she could not wrap her legs around him tight enough, pull him deep enough . His claws tore her hips, holding her, and then pulling her up, lifting her legs until he held them over his shoulder.

It was her sounds that did it, the small, sharp cry that broke past her lips whenever he entered her, the high, gasping breath that flooded out of her when he pulled away. Something was missing from completion, something at the edge of fulfillment, and then she turned her head. His fangs took her throat, the flesh of her shoulder, and Rin let out a cry beneath him that encompassed both pain and pleasure. Kinawai let her go and collapsed beside her. She lay, silent, panting, her eyes closed, until he gathered her close and buried his face in her hair.

Wide-eyed and newly unsure, she ran her fingers over his back and pressed close to his warmth. The rain had faded to patchy drops and sprinkling mist, and the air was wet and cool.

“Now you are mine.”

His voice was muffled by the wet thickness of her hair. Rin was filled suddenly with tenderness, and then the aches of their battle returned to her, and she turned until she was no longer laying on her injured shoulder.

“Are we still going to the village, Kinawai?”

“Later, Rin. We will go later.”