InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Love Me When I'm Gone ❯ Whereabouts ( Chapter 4 )

Author's Note: I mean what I said in the summary- this is unquestionably an InuKag story, NOT SessKag, so don't get the wrong idea. Getting more into citrus with this chapter.

 

4. Whereabouts

 

“It is the dead, not the living, who make the longest demands.” - Antigone

 

Kagura scowled into the bleeding edge of the sunrise and concentrated on keeping the feather afloat under so much unaccustomed weight. She kept her eyes fixed resolutely on the horizon, ignoring the occasional silken rustle as Sesshomaru shifted behind her, ignoring the cool eddies of air that shushed over her skin whenever he moved, which, fortunately for her, was seldom. He hadn't spoken a word to her for hours, not since she'd landed at his side with the feeling that her heart was squeezing into nothingness in her chest, as though two great merciless hands had grabbed hold of her and were wringing her out like a wet sheet. Three blessed days of freedom, and then the inevitable summons.

 

“You're no better than Naraku,” she spat as her feet touched the ground and the dreadful pressure instantly loosened, his tight, pleased smile making her hate him more than ever. “If you just wanted a slave to do your bidding, why did you bother bringing me back to life? I'm sure you could have found some one more willing with much less effort.”

 

Sesshomaru held up his hand in what might have seemed a placating gesture, had his face not remained utterly impassive. “That matters little, now, Kagura. I told you I would call if I had need of you. That you have come shows you would rather live in servitude than die in rebellion. And the terms of my service are not so harsh as Naraku's.”

 

She glared at him. “What do you want, then?”

 

“To travel on the wind.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Speed.”

 

“What's so important?”

 

“I am looking for something.”

 

Kagura didn't even try to find out more, already familiar with how cryptic the dog demon could be; the chances that he would tell her anything more specific were about as good as the chances of escaping him. She jerked her head in a nod and was just turning to climb back onto the waiting feather when she realized Sesshomaru was not alone. The young girl—the reincarnation, the miko, the focus of so much of Naraku's wrath—stepped out from behind the concealing hump of the white ruff slung over his shoulder. She thought for a moment that the girl had been perched on Sesshomaru's back, but that was too incongruous an image to believe, and anyway, she had none of the unsteadiness on her own legs that indicated prolonged carrying, followed by a hop to the ground. Kagura's skin buzzed with the girl's miko energy and the sacred arrows she carried in a quiver on her back—and the energy spiked almost painfully when she felt the presence of the Shikon Jewel. She knew then the fate of the jewel shards she had cut from the wolf's legs. Inuyasha and his companions had managed to collect all the shards, but had yet to complete and purify the jewel—a stupid and unnecessary hesitation. Why the delay, when they had been so desperate to get to this very point?

 

“What is she doing here?” Kagura demanded, noting the defeated expression on the girl's face, the downcast eyes, the set of her jaw. The last time she had seen the miko was during the final battle, not long after she had killed the wolf-demon and stolen his shards; she was vaguely aware of the demon-slayer's death… and then the last blinding explosion surrounded her. Kagura realized that she was staring at the girl responsible for her death, but couldn't quite bring herself to care that she should hate her. She recalled, after her resurrection, feeling almost grateful to the half-demon for his disinterested action of releasing her from Naraku into the oblivion of death, but she refused to apply that incorporeal, grudging feeling to the solid reality of the girl standing before her. She only cared to know what the hell she was doing here, with Sesshomaru, who was as far as she knew an enemy.

 

It seemed to her that Sesshomaru almost sighed. “She is helping me to look.”

 

“Fine,” she muttered. “Just get on and tell me where we're going.”

 

“The miko will direct you,” he said simply, and swept past both girl and demon to step lightly onto the feather, settling himself in the middle. Kagura huffed at his presumption and climbed on at the head, where the broad wings narrowed into the slender quill that acted as a rudder in the current of the air. She perched in her usual place, but not with her usual ease: she sat rigid, hating her awareness of Sesshomaru behind her. She felt the girl mount awkwardly to sit behind Sesshomaru, and tuck her legs beneath her body as though wanting to take up as little space as possible. Kagura smirked; clearly she was not the only one disconcerted by the dog demon's nearness.

 

When they had finally taken to the air Kagura called back, “We're heading north east right now. Where shall I turn?”

 

“Miko?” Sesshomaru asked coldly.

 

“This is fine for now,” came the girl's voice, quiet and wavering. “I don't really know when to change course until I… feel something.”

 

Kagura rolled her eyes. So she was to play nursemaid to a human girl until she `felt something.' Marvelous. She wondered what Sesshomaru could possibly be looking for that made him so eager to employ the girl's dubious instincts. Naraku had wanted her because she could detect the presence of sacred jewel shards, but now that the Jewel was whole (or rather, she amended, all the shards gathered) her powers of detection were useless. Unless there was something else she could sense with equal accuracy. She was a priestess after all; her spiritual powers might serve some purpose of Sesshomaru's. And must serve that purpose, if he had gone through all the effort to drag her along with him.

 

The terms of his service, indeed. She kept flying, waiting for some kind of instruction from the girl, but none came. They had been aloft for almost 8 hours, watching the light fade around them and the stars begin to dot the sky, before the miko stirred abruptly, causing them to veer and waft crazily from side to side for a moment before Kagura regained control.

 

“Watch yourself, girl!” Kagura snapped. “You want us to lose the wind? No more sudden movements!”

 

“Sorry,” she mumbled contritely from behind her. “I just felt a surge of strange energy.”

 

Sesshomaru was instantly alert. “What is it? Is it soul energy?”

 

“Yes, I think so, but it's very faint.” She paused. “There!” A disembodied arm lurched into Kagura's field of vision, pointing off to the north.

 

“Kagura,” said Sesshomaru. That was all. Gritting her teeth, the female demon changed course slightly, allowing them to drift in the direction the girl had indicated; she aligned the feather to the trajectory of her now sagging arm and sent them into the north.

 

* * *

 

His hands are hot on her bare skin, gentle and yet insistent, seeking, roaming over her body, sure of her welcome, sure of her. His lips slide against hers with their own seeping heat; she opens her lips to him and feels him tasting her, feels him rumbling his pleasure into her mouth. She gasps as he rocks his hips against her, a motion at once deliberate and helpless, and his claws bite into her flesh as his hand closes over her breast.

 

She pushes her hands under the familiar roughness of the fire-rat haori and the crossed folds of his inner kimono to the skin beneath, the hard planes of his chest, fingering the smooth beads of the kotodama around his neck. Wrapping her hand around the rosary, she presses herself up into the length of his body and kisses him with all the longing in her, murmurs his name— Inuyasha— and leans back to let him devour her.

 

But then the hot, urgent, lovely weight of his body is gone, and Kikyo's depthless, sorrowful eyes gaze back at her. The priestess drops liquidly to her knees beside her and grabs her shoulders, hauling her upright, not seeming to notice or care that she is naked, her breast still scored with the red blossoms Inuyasha's claws have drawn in her skin. Kikyo raises her arm and an arrow snicks from the quiver on her back. The arrow throbs with pink light as Kikyo presses the wooden shaft into her palm and curls her cold, clay, dead fingers around her closed fist. Kikyo squeezes her hand until the bones grind together; she wants to scream with the pain but cannot make a sound.

 

She hears someone else screaming instead, and she knows this voice, knows this precise burst of pain, shock, rage, for all the times she has heard it in her nightmares since—Sango, screaming as Naraku's body pierces her own. The battle rises before her eyes, surging around them, and she feels once again the urgency of Kikyo's call, her summons. She struggles to reach the priestess, who stands calmly in the midst of chaos, her face serene as ever.

 

Give me your hands, Kagome.

 

Kikyo…

 

We have little time, Kagome. Give me your hands.

 

She cannot but obey. Kikyo laces their fingers together around the sharp head of her last arrow, the edges slicing into the delicate flesh between her first and middle fingers. She can feel herself bleeding onto the stone, and the air hums with power. Kikyo does not bleed; she has no blood to give. Heat begins to pour from their joined hands, turning the arrow to a white-molten point.

 

Pray with me, Kagome. Remember the jewel shards melting into one, when you saved me from the demon who would have consumed me, and pray with me. I am not strong enough alone. Lend me your power, and we will defeat him.

 

She can feel Kikyo drawing from her, pulling from her—into herself.

 

Kikyo has always been a vessel.

 

The white heat becomes unbearable and she can feel the spiritual energy being sucked out of her; she tries to remember to pray, her lips forming words she is fast becoming too weak to voice. The priestess smiles at her and releases her hand, radiant with power; she nocks the brilliant arrow into her bow as the ground heaves with the force of Inuyasha's windscar. Kikyo lets the arrow fly, and it soars into the very nexus of that fiery, directed wave as it roars toward its target.

 

She gazes at Kikyo, at the small, sad, triumphant smile on her normally impassive face, and finally understands. Kikyo has always been a vessel. And now she has emptied herself, pouring out her borrowed life in the fight against Naraku. She screams. No! It must not be. Her sacrifice will destroy Inuyasha even as it kills Naraku. But it is too late; the arrow in its windscar sheath has struck true, and she watches as Kikyo's body splinters like a pane of glass beneath the pressure of an ocean and the pieces fly to the four winds, as she once saw the glittering pieces of the jewel arc and scatter into the sky.

 

All this, and she is still screaming. Kikyo! No!

 

“Miko.” A harsh voice in her ear, a hand shaking her shoulder, claws just pricking flesh that shuddered to remember how Inuyasha touched her in the dream. She ripped her eyes open to find Sesshomaru staring down at her, his mouth set in disgust. She swallowed around the ragged ghost of the scream in her throat, hoping she had not said anything too revealing in the grip of nightmare. Struggling to orient herself, she saw that they were still in the air, the blackness around them absolute except for the spine-unhinging greenish glow of Sesshomaru's eyes and the silver glint of his hair. She wondered how long she'd been asleep—and her stomach swooped as she considered her position, hunched into herself at the very tail of this giant feather. If she had stirred in her sleep, lost to the pleasure, and then the anguish, of the dream, she could easily have fallen. And if she had fallen, she doubted Sesshomaru would have bothered to plunge after her.

 

“What is it?” she managed.

 

“You have slept long enough,” was all he said. “Do you sense anything?”

 

Kagome took a deep breath and called on the flow of her miko energy, letting it pool in that hollow place in her chest that she had never known was hollow until she fell into this time, this life. Then she pushed it outwards, letting it spill where it would, until it touched something at once familiar and foreign. For so many years she had attuned her miko skills to detect jewel shards and dark, threatening demonic auras; although most priestesses were sensitive to the touch of evil or impure things, Kagome's power was different. It was natural for her power and energy to seek the pieces of the jewel she had carried so long inside her own body, because she did not sense the shards so much as recognize them. And her quest for the those shards had brought her into almost daily contact with demonic auras, the sick feel of a miasma grown so familiar that any one of their group could have perceived it—Miroku with his spiritual focus, and Sango with her demon-slayer training.

 

But now Sesshomaru was asking something different of her, asking her to extend her senses toward an energy not only unlike the call of the shards, but one sickeningly unwelcome, unwanted. How often had the cool, sinuous vapor of Kikyo's soul collectors snicked its way into her consciousness, announcing the arrival of the dead priestess who wanted to take so much from her—who had already taken so much? Kagome tried so hard not to hate Kikyo, to pity her for her pathetic, liminal existence. And although her heart was innocent of hate, it still rejected Kikyo as thoroughly as it longed to absorb the fragment of soul she had stolen.

 

It took a supreme effort of will for Kagome to direct her miko powers to seek out the only part of Kikyo that might remain, the creatures who had kept the empty vessel of her body full of life-giving souls. She did it cringingly, as one steps into frigid water, knowing the shock that awaits. And she did it only because his metal-hard eyes permitted nothing else. She feared him, yes, but she tried to remember that they both wanted the same thing from this journey. She wondered if he realized that all his demonstrations of power and dominance on her side of the well, all the calm commands that brooked no refusal, would have been unnecessary had he simply explained to her his purpose in coming for her, instead of dragging her through the well with nothing but that sneering imperative: “You will get the jewel and the remaining shards, and you will come with me.”

 

She was fairly sure Sesshomaru had no idea that she guessed his purpose, or at least some of it, the moment he told her what she was supposed to be looking for, sharply recalling her last night with Inuyasha in the feudal era, and the conversation she had stumbled into, the shocking words Inuyasha had barked at her: “He went to see Miroku at the demon-slayer's village and wanted to bring Sango back to life.” And while she could not quite see how the two objectives were related, she had no doubt that they were. She suspected that the only reason Sesshomaru told her about the soul collector at all was that he literally had no choice: if he meant to use her to detect something, he could not very well keep her in the dark about what that something was; the only reason she resisted so little was that she hoped desperately that their search would succeed. Knowing him, it was better to feign ignorance in any case; she did not intend to let him see that she understood the search she was engaged in. One more breath, and she felt it again, the sliding touch of the soul collector at the edges of her consciousness. They were getting closer.

 

“There,” she said again for the second time that night, pointing toward the oh-so-faint pulse of the creature's energy, and she felt them shift course once more. Kagome sat almost painfully upright, willing herself to stay awake this time.

 

* * *

 

The girl was asleep behind him, her breathing deep and regular, until her scent flared so suddenly and strongly with want that he nearly gasped. He turned slightly to look at her, and found her face flushed, her body curled in on itself as though conscious of its precarious position, but still in the grip of some imagined passion. Growling low in his throat in combined annoyance and revulsion, he fixed his eyes firmly to the tiny, pearl-like feather binding Kagura's hair, and tried not to hear her quiet, full-throated moans.

 

Neither he nor Kagura spoke; although he could not see her face, he almost felt her lips twisting into her cynical smile as she listened to the girl's dream-pleasure. Then the miko's voice arced into a real cry, and he could not be surprised when he heard his brother's name on her lips: “Inuyasha!”

 

Since coming through the well to her time, he had known about his brother's scent claim on the girl, but assumed that it meant she was either unaware of his intentions or unwilling to accept him as a mate—for why else would such a claim go so long unfulfilled? Now, hearing the girl's cries, he knew Inuyasha was simply a fool. She was not only willing, but desperate, to join with him; yet Sesshomaru knew she was untouched, that they were neither lovers nor mates. What could possibly divide them, keep his normally impulsive brother from making her his own, especially if he had ever experienced the almost debilitating intensity of her desire? He, Sesshomaru, held nothing but contempt for the human girl, and even he felt his instinct to possess flicker in response to her arousal.

 

Kagura chuckled to herself as the miko's moans subsided. “Guess she got what she wanted,” she murmured.

 

Sesshomaru snorted quietly. “Not yet, Kagura,” he said. “Not in waking life.”

 

“That's hard to believe.”

 

“Nevertheless, it is true. My imbecilic brother has marked her, but not claimed her.” Ever close-mouthed, Sesshomaru did not tell her that this distinct lack of contact between the two would have to be remedied, and as soon as possible. How it was to be accomplished, when he had abducted the girl and now held her suspended a hundred feet in the air and utterly out of Inuyasha's reach, did not enter his thoughts.

 

He felt Kagura go absolutely still in front of him: an unsettling stillness, for he had grown accustomed in the past several hours to a certain underlying motion in Kagura's being, a restive fluttering over her skin that occasionally swished outward toward him. He supposed he was feeling the wind in her, and he found it almost soothing. But now she was immobile and strange to him, and he waited for her to speak, if she would.

 

“And have you marked me?” Her voice was flat, devoid of anger or any other emotion that he could decipher.

 

He sat silent, and did not answer because he had no answer. The silence stretched and hung, deadening even the wind as it flowed around them, until the girl once again made her presence felt. This time her voice throbbed with a sorrow almost akin to terror, and she released a piercing scream that made Kagura clap her hands over her ears. Sesshomaru gritted his teeth and listened: another name, “Kikyo!” and the despairing rush of “No! No! No!”

 

Sesshomaru frowned as he heard the girl calling out to the dead priestess, and decided that she must stop dreaming. Turning himself on his folded legs, he extended a hand and grasped her shoulder, shaking her with perhaps more force than he meant to. He spoke, realizing for the first time that he knew nothing else to call her than, “Miko.” He had hardly considered the fact that she had a name, much less that he should ever need to call her by it. Her eyes pulled open and he watched her comprehend her situation, a faint blush crawling into her cheeks. He did not tell her what they had heard. Instead he gave her a moment for her to collect herself and waited for her to speak.

 

“What is it?” she asked, her voice remarkably steady. Sesshomaru felt once again a flash of admiration: this girl showed a degree of self-possession he saw rarely enough in other demons, and certainly never in humans. Although her union with Inuyasha was both inevitable and essential, it was a pity such a girl would be wasted on his brother.

 

“You have slept long enough,” he said. “Do you sense anything?”

 

She hoisted herself upright and closed her eyes, breathing in as she centered herself and gathered her miko energy; Sesshomaru and Kagura saw the faint, sunrise-pink glow of power that washed over her, and watched as she sought the soul collector. He'd had to tell her, of course, but there was no way around it. She sat quietly for about a minute, sending tendrils of her energy out like sensitive fingers feeling in the darkness, until her eyes opened, her arm lifted, and she pointed, saying “There.”

 

Sesshomaru flicked his eyes in Kagura's direction; she had already followed the miko's direction and adjusted their course. He nodded approvingly at her, but of course she did not turn to acknowledge it. They flew on in relative peace for a few minutes before Kagura did turn, her green eyes narrowed, shrewd.

 

“What are you looking for, anyway?” she asked.

 

“That is none of your concern,” he replied smoothly, gazing off to the side instead of into her eyes.

 

“Not when I'm the one flying your bones all over the countryside, Sesshomaru. I'd say that makes it my business. Now what are you looking for?”

 

“I will not answer.”

 

“Then you won't fly.” Kagura let the feather dip several feet in warning, and he felt the girl holding in a yelp of alarm behind him, but he remained silent and let one corner of his mouth lift into a smirk: Idle threats, Kagura, do you no credit. You will not harm the one to whom you owe your life.

 

She snarled at him, an animal sound that pulled his lips back from his teeth in an answering growl, destroying his icy façade and calling his youkai energy forward in a hot, feral pulse. He thought suddenly about her breast beneath his splayed fingers, his claws pricking through silk and into soft, secret flesh, the day she awoke from death and flew from him. He thought about the invisible layer of wind surrounding her, moving over her, and the skeins of air that reached out to stroke him. He thought of the miko's cries, the heady scent of her wanting. And when Kagura launched herself at him in a red haze of anger he simply looped his arm around her neck and dragged her close against him, her face connecting awkwardly with his shoulder. She struggled wildly for a moment, her arms striking blindly at his head and chest, and Sesshomaru devoutly wished that Tensaiga had seen fit to regenerate his other arm, so that he might restrain her lower body as well; however, when he bent his head and opened his mouth over the pulse point between the delicate whorl of her ear and the curve of her throat, letting her feel his teeth graze her skin, she went still.

 

Recalling for the first time that they were not alone, Sesshomaru moved the arm encircling her from her neck to her shoulders and brought his lips to her ear. He felt the heart he had given her pounding into him. So quietly that he knew the girl's human hearing could not begin to catch his words, he breathed, “Yes, Kagura, I've marked you. You are mine.”

 

* * *

 

The fact that she could barely breathe had little to do with the arm holding her throat, and everything to do with it. She had felt Sesshomaru's touch before, when he pressed his hand into her chest over her new heart, and her skin felt the cool suggestion of what his claws could do. But now—Kagura struggled against his body, but stopped when she realized it would only fuel his need to possess her; he was already thrumming with demon-energy, his body tense and restrained. Then his lips ghosted over her neck, and he opened his mouth and bit her, with a fraction of the force of which he was capable, his fangs just piercing her skin.

 

His mouth dragged slowly towards her ear as though tasting her, and then he spoke the words that caused twin explosions of hate and desire in her body. “Yes, Kagura, I've marked you. You are mine.” She wanted to bite him in her fury, but now her teeth in his neck would mean acceptance, not protest, and she bit the inside of her own lips instead to keep from screaming. Just as suddenly as he had seized her body, he released her, and his golden eyes blazed into hers.

 

They simply sat, glaring at each other for what seemed like an age. Then Sesshomaru said calmly, “Since you are so anxious to know, Kagura, we are searching for one of the dead priestess' soul collectors.”

 

So this was how it would be, then? Ask a simple question, stand her ground, and Sesshomaru must prove his dominance. But the second he considered her won, conquered, he—Kagura abruptly broke off her inner tirade and attended to Sesshomaru's actual reply. One of the dead priestess' soul collectors? In her mind, she was instantly transported to the site of the battle she had visited over five days ago: the sickly, weak being that had circled around her as though begging for the force of her spirit, the soul collector she had sent spinning into oblivion with a blast of her wind.

 

Kagura nodded shortly, acknowledging the answer to her question, her face as calm as she could make it. But her insides swelled and crackled with concealed triumph. It mattered little what Sesshomaru hoped to accomplish in finding this last soul collector. She, Kagura, had taken her revenge for his claim of ownership long before she even knew it. For her winds had carried that creature away, and despite the miko's senses, she would make sure now that they never found it again.