InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Hate ❯ Hate 02 ( Chapter 2 )

A/N: Okay, another short chapter. I'm inspired.

 

 

She found out that he was a demon of his word and when he made a promise, he intended to keep it. Izayoi had resolved not to please him, to let her mind fade away into that darkened room. Far from her ears, she didn't hear the rough sounds he made. She became as water within his arms, floated past his body. The girl drifted in and out of consciousness, but the demon didn't mind.

 

By dawn she had faded into nothingness, but he had already decided what road her life would take from now on. His road. His way. He took her from the brothel with a harsh laugh, tossing currency at the greedy mistress. She was thrown across his broad shoulders, lifting her frightened eyes to the woman who'd sold her. Hate flowed like acid from her heart, but the tears were only salt on her cheeks.

 

Izayoi found out that her new lord was curious breed of creature. His hair was thick and silky, like an animal's pelt in some ways, but also much like a man's. He never asked her name again, she had a feeling he'd known it from the beginning. His body was hotter than a man's, almost uncomfortably so. Forced to lie close to him in the night, Izayoi wondered if he found her sweat offensive.

 

He did. And although they traveled with an army of monsters, the first thing she'd learned was that he expected her to bathe often. She had little else to do, he had absolutely nothing to say to her otherwise. Only that she bathed when water was brought to her tent, that she ate what was given to her and kept to herself.

 

Obedience was not a problem. She'd learned it long ago from the men who'd owned her, even for an hour, they'd owned her obedience. Don't meet his eyes, don't question. Don't speak unless spoken to. She was so frightened of him and yet she held herself still with all the practice of her short life. Being made a whore had made her understand that whatever happened to her, she had no say in anything.

 

But she had hate. She had a burning sickness in the pit of her belly. During the day, if the army was encamped, she spent her hours staring at nothing. She refused to fear, it occupied all her energy to continue with hate. And hate was a whore herself, seducing away the fear and bribing away the pain. Izayoi had little else to think of, only to brood on the hours as if by gnawing them with her teeth she might force them to submit.

 

He came to her in the night, usually smelling of blood. It was rank and made her sick, the many colors of that blood horrified her. Her mother had told stories of foul youkai, terrible creatures of nightmares. They'd steal babies from their cradles, they'd eat livestock and make waters taste rancid. Crops went bad because of youkai, evil spirits would make men mad.

 

And she lie beneath the most horrible of them all, his body heavier than it looked. It hurt each and every time, but she bit her lips and refused to cry out. She knew it didn't matter, he wasn't trying to hurt her, but that was the way it had to be. Gentleness wasn't something he understood. He'd stare right into her eyes, his expression half-bored, half intense as he worked himself inside.

 

And Izayoi would bury her face in his shoulder and gasp, her fingers digging into impossibly hard muscles while the demon drove inside her. Sometimes her eyes were full of light, like golden sun and sometimes all she could see was darkness. Strangely, he'd hold her until the darkness eased, never speaking. Her pulse raced when he held her, her body tired and aching, but strangely relieved.

 

His embrace was harder to endure than his desire. All she had left that was her own was her hatred, her thirst for revenge. It blinded her, this rage that made her insides quail and turn to ice. Spoils of war, her family's blood had been spilled just for spoils. And she was one of those spoils, one of those treasures taken in violence.

 

Now she belonged to another victor. Another swordsman cut apart her life, left her splayed helplessly on the rocks. But deep inside, her hate became the echo to her heartbeat, the pulse beneath her skin. He offered her all she could want, vast scopes of resentment and silent apathy. He would drag her from battlefield to battlefield until he tired of her and Izayoi resolved herself to endure even a demon's bed.

 

Someday he would tire of her, then she might be free. If she were free, she might find a way to live with what had been done to her. Or the courage to take her own life. She only hoped to be so lucky as to die by her own hand.

 

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