InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 4: Justification ❯ Artificial Stripes ( Chapter 34 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Kichiro stuffed his hands into his pockets as he tried not to glower at the young man dancing just a little too close to Bellaniece.  He hadn't missed David's obvious assessment.  He hadn't remarked on it since he had promised Bellaniece he'd be nice.  Damned if that suited him, though.

'You know, Kich, you promised to be nice to Belle . . . You didn't say a damn thing about being nice to her friends.'

He sighed and shook his head, shuffling his feet as he intercepted Bellaniece's gaze.  She seemed nervous, or maybe it was just his own feelings tainting the way he perceived her.  He didn't know, but when she tried to smile at him, he nodded in acknowledgement.  Bellaniece's smile brightened, and he quickly looked away.

"So you're the doctor Belle-y Button found to do Kelly's surgery?" Moose remarked as he stopped beside Kichiro, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared thoughtfully at the young woman.  "Imported you, did she?"

Kichiro shrugged.  "Something like that."

"She's a great girl," Moose said, nodding in Bellaniece's direction.  "Didn't realize she was going to be here tonight, or I wouldn't have told Dave we'd be here."

"Why's that?" Kichiro asked, trying to sound casual about the entire affair.

Moose shrugged.  "Belle-y Button hated to hurt him when she broke it off with him before she went to Tokyo.  Nice enough guy, I guess.  Just grew apart, maybe.  Who knows?  In school, those two were voted 'Most Likely to Get Married'."

"I see . . ."

'Don't do it, baka!'

'Shut up, you!'

"Oi, Belle-chan!  Is that one of the three?"

Bellaniece's mouth dropped open as she stepped away from David, color rising in her cheeks as Kichiro strode forward.

"One of the three?" David asked with a confused shake of his head.
Bellaniece ignored the young man as she hurried to intercept Kichiro since the idea that he was considering neutering the pup must have been apparent on his expression.  "You promised, you know!" she hissed as she tried to tug him away from David.

He shot her a mutinous glare but stopped.  "Is he?" he demanded again.

Bellaniece rolled her eyes.  "Of all the stupid, idiotic, ridiculous—"

"Two seconds, wench."

"What?"

"You heard me.  Two seconds to answer or I rip that little bastard apart."

"You can't rip into David!" she hissed.

"Give me one good reason not to, Belle."

"Because," she growled, "I don't want you to!"

"Not good enough, damn it."

She caught his arm as he started to stomp away.  "Kichiro!  No!"

He cut off mid-rant and stared at her.  Why was it that hearing his name tumble from her lips was enough to stop him dead in his tracks?  "Kiss me, Belle."

"Huh?"

"You heard me.  You want to save that little bastard?  Kiss me."

"I will not," she huffed, cheeks pinking as she stepped away from him.  "You want me to kiss you so badly?  Earn it, Dr. Izayoi."

"Earn it?  How the fuck am I supposed to earn it?  I've been trying to earn it, and you—"

"Are a jerk!  Did you know that?  A big, fat, stupid, mean, horrid jerk!"

Glaring deliberately at the index finger she poked his chest with to emphasize her words, Kichiro slowly shifted his gaze to meet hers.  "You're pushing your luck, little girl."

She swallowed hard but stood her ground.  "You promised you'd be nice," she mumbled, blue eyes darkening in the dimly lit club.  "You promised.  I should have known you'd lie.  I really . . . I should have known."

Kichiro sighed and caught her arm, his anger draining in the face of her upset.  "Belle, wait.  Go dance with your little boy.  You're right."

She shook her head.  "I think this was a bad idea.  We can't get along.  I don't know why we're even trying."

"No, you're right," he grumbled, "I promised.  I don't go back on my word."

Bellaniece crossed her arms over her chest and leveled a no-nonsense look at the hanyou.  "You'll be good?"

Kichiro nearly rolled his eyes.  He did growl.  "Yeah, yeah, I'll be good."

Bellaniece stared at him for another moment but finally nodded.  "Thank you."

"Not a problem," he snarled sarcastically as she turned on her heel and walked away—right back to that damn David, no less.  Kichiro slowly shook his head.

'Well, that was a hella stupid promise.'

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and strode back over to the tables.  'Yeah, it was.'

'Making progress though . . . She did say thank you.'

Kichiro sighed and made a face at the gooey mess that she called food.  'Yeah . . . She did . . .'


Gin poked the key into the lock, balancing the shopping bag against her hip as she opened the door and let herself into Cain's apartment.

"Cain?" she called as she bumped the door closed with her rear and dropped her purse and the keys on the side table.

He didn't answer.  Gin frowned and sniffed.  He was here; she could smell him.  She trailed him back to his work room and tapped lightly on the closed door.

"Hmm?" he murmured inside.  She pushed the door open and blinked in surprise.

'Oh, my, he's shirtless . . .'

'Yeah, he is . . . That's so nice . . .'

'Huh?'

'Look, doll!  There are not many guys who have the kind of presence that one does . . .'

'No,' Gin supposed there weren't.

Cain knelt down to rinse his hands in the bucket on the floor, peeking over his shoulder as he smiled in greeting.  "You get what you were after?"

Gin nodded.

Cain's smile dimmed and he sat back, hands dangling between his knees as he stared thoughtfully at her.  "You okay?  You look a little shell-shocked."

His crests wrapped completely around his back, and sitting where he was, the early afternoon sunshine filtering through the window caught the highlights in his hair, and Gin could only stare while he progressively looked a little more worried.  "Gin?"

'Say something, doll, you're freaking him out!'

Gin shook her head slightly, the voice not making sense as she gaped at the youkai hunkered down on the floor.

His smile was gone, replaced by a marked frown, and he pivoted on his feet, cocking his head to the side as his eyebrows furrowed.  "Earth to Gin . . ."

"Stuff!" she blurted, holding out the bag with both hands as her face shot up in hot flames.  "I—stuff—see?"

He stood up slowly, rubbing his knuckles in the shallow vale in the center of his chest.  Gin swallowed hard as he came closer.  "What sort of stuff?"

"Stuff?" she echoed with a distracted shake of her head.  "Stuff!  Yeah . . . stuff!  I . . . I bought . . . stuff . . ."

"Can I see your . . . stuff?"

Gin blinked and jerked her head in agreement.  "O-Okay . . ."

He held out his hand for the bag.  Gin let him take it, pressing one hand to her heart as her fingers rose to flutter over her lips.

"Finger paints?" Cain remarked as he dragged the box of primary colors out of the bag, along with the large paint pad that Gin had purchased.  "You bought finger paints?"

"Sure," she answered, recovering enough to clear her addled mind.  "You use your hands to paint with those."

"I know what they are," he assured her.  "I used to buy them for Bellaniece."

"Oh?  You can paint with me," she offered.

"Hmm, I said 'used to', Gin . . . when she was, like . . . four."

"Fine, then," she countered, taking the box of paints and the tablet.  "I'll do it alone.  It's fine.  I don't need help.  I can finger paint alone.  Did I mention I can do it alone?"

Cain snorted and shook his head but his smile was back, even if it was overly indulgent.  "Okay, you can paint in here, but you have to be quiet.  I'm working on this: the adult project."

"You're implying that I'm a little girl again," she reminded him as she sat down on the floor and broke the seal on the cardboard box.

"I'm not doing anything of the sort," he rejoined.  "I'm implying that you're a baby girl.  There's a huge difference . . ."

"There's not an age limit on finger paints," she pointed out.

"Oh yeah?  What does the box say?"

Gin turned the box over and scanned the writing.  "Ages four and up," she read, "and I'm 'up'."

"What else does the box say?" he asked, hefting an eyebrow as he wet his hands again and turned back toward his sculpture.

"Says, 'Entertaining children—young and old—for years, our finger paints are carefully crafted to provide  hours of fun as well as safety in storage.  Hypo-allergenic and non-toxic—'" she paused and grinned at him, "—that means you could eat it, you know."

Cain paused with his finger poised to work on the sculpture.  "You eat the paint?"

She rolled her eyes and giggled.  "No, but it wouldn't hurt me if I did . . . Oh, good!  This brand guarantees that it won't stain fabrics, either."

"Children wouldn't care if it did," Cain remarked.

"But I'm not a child, and I like this blouse," she retorted.

"You can wear one of my old ones, if you want," Cain offered almost absently as he started working on the sculpture again.

"That's okay," Gin assured him.  "I'm not that messy."

She opened the tablet and yanked out a sheet of paper then squeezed globs of finger paints out of the tubes, careful to keep the colors separated before she pulled out another sheet for her masterpiece.  Gin eyed the paper and made a face before rolling over onto her stomach, taking care to keep her skirt down as she hooked one foot behind the other, idly bending her legs and reached for the paint paper.

She glanced up to find Cain staring at her with a vague sort of frown that she didn't really understand.  She grinned at him and pressed a finger to her lips.  "Shh . . . Quiet, right?"

He finally smiled and shook his head before shifting his gaze back to his work in progress.

Gin frowned in concentration as she dipped the point of her claw in the yellow paint and set to work.  The paints had been an impulse buy.  Though she hadn't messed with that sort of thing in years, she remembered sitting around for hours with her papa, painting pictures while he watched, sometimes sharpening Tetsusaiga, sometimes looking over school papers, but sometimes—just sometimes—she would ask him nicely, and he'd sigh and shake his head . . . then he'd roll up his sleeves, stretch out on the floor, and he'd dip is fingers in the paint and proceed to ruin her picture.  She'd loved it.  In her old bedroom at home, she still had a stack of the pictures she'd painted with InuYasha's 'help', and she wondered if her mother had kept any of them . . .


Bellaniece slipped out of the club and into the cooler night air with a disgusted sigh.  'I can't believe his nerve!' she fumed as she lifted her chin stubbornly and started down the street heading north.

If it weren't bad enough that he sat there for the greatest part of the night glowering at her and David, who had apparently thought he had become grafted to her hip, Kichiro hadn't hardly spoken at all to her friends, noticeably enough for Squirrel to comment on his perceived lack of viable manners to Bellaniece in the bathroom.  She was already in a precarious mood because of that, and when she'd come back only to find him swamped in a gaggle of girls—girls who snubbed Bellaniece but were catty enough to be super-friendly when they figured out that Kichiro had accompanied her.

So that was just the icing on the proverbial cake, as far as Bellaniece was concerned.  When he looked at her, cast her a subversive glance, then had turned away to chat with the girls . . . Well, that was the final straw.  Bellaniece had headed straight for the nearest exit.  She was going home.

'He's such a . . . a . . . dog!' she growled as she stomped down the sidewalk in front of the closed shops that lined the street.  'Man-whore, huh . . . Fits him a little too well.'

'Are you really that mad that he was paying attention to those girls?'

'Yes,' she insisted.  'Yes, that's exactly why.'

'Is it?  Are you sure?'

'Why else would I be mad?  He's the one who can't keep it in his pants for a few weeks while he's here . . . I don't care what he does when he's home, but he's in my father's house, and—'

'And you don't care at all that those girls were only being nice to you because of him?'

Bellaniece wrinkled her nose as indignant color rose in her cheeks.  'Of course not.  Those girls . . . I don't care . . .'

She didn't care, not at all—at least, that's what she told herself as she increased her pace.  Three blocks from the club, she sighed and stopped, slouching back against the brick building as she looked up at the stars.  She didn't want to care.  Those girls were petty and shallow.  They were the popular ones who always were in the middle of everything, were always having parties and bragging about them at school the next day.  Bellaniece had been popular enough, she supposed.  Her circle of friends was diverse and eclectic, but they were her friends.  Thing was, aside from Squirrel and Kelly, she didn't really have any girl friends.  Those girls in the club had been her friends once upon a time.  Bellaniece wasn't quite sure why those early bonds had been broken.  She hadn't understood at the time, and it still didn't make any sense to her now.

'Don't you know, Belle?  Think about it, will you?'

Bellaniece sighed again and shook her head.  'I don't care.  It doesn't matter.'

'If it doesn't matter, then why are we standing here thinking about it?'

'They turned their backs on you because of who you are, Belle.  You realize that, don't you?  Because you're pretty and smart and you don't play their games . . . That's why they don't like you.  You threaten them by being yourself, and if that's really how they feel, isn't that their loss?'

Bellaniece pushed away from the building and started walking again.  'Maybe it is,' she agreed slowly.  'Then again, they don't really have to be so mean, do they?  And Kichiro . . .'

"Evening, Belle . . . Long time, no see."

Bellaniece gasped and whipped around, narrowing her eyes on the three young men stepping out of the alley.  She recognized them from school, though they had all dropped out years ago.  She hadn't sensed their presence.  Wrapped up in her thoughts, she hadn't realized there was anyone around.  She wasn't afraid of the boys, but she didn't like the sudden tension in the air that rose as they closed in around her.

"Hi," she said in a brusque tone meant to let them know that she wasn't welcoming their attentions.

"Hi, yourself," one of them said, a boy she thought was named Tim.  The others were Bill and Mark, if she remembered correctly.

"Out alone, Belle?" Bill asked as he lifted a lock of her hair to his lips.

"I was just going home," she quipped, willing herself to remain calm.  "I'd better be going now."

"Where's your daddy?" Tim questioned as he stepped closer.

"Daddy's still in Japan," Bellaniece answered, watching the third boy out of the corner of her eye.

"You don't really want to go home, do you?" Bill asked, his arm snaking around her waist as Bellaniece moved away from the two.

"I'm afraid I have to," she answered, forcing herself to smile and trying to contain the urge to run.  If she ran, they'd chase her, wouldn't they?  She swallowed hard, unwilling to test it.

"Keep us company awhile, Belle.  We'll take you home . . . I promise."

Mark and Bill laughed at Tim's statement.  Bellaniece didn't get the joke—she didn't want to.  Biting her lip as she tried to step away from them, Bellaniece shrugged carelessly.  "I'd love to stay and hang out awhile, but I've really got to go . . . Maybe the next time I see you?"

The men laughed and came closer.  "We've got all the time in the world, Belle . . . and you're not going anywhere."


'For all the work you're doing, you might as well give up and call it a day.'

Cain sighed and shook his head, trying to focus on the untouched sculpture in front of him.  'I was thinking; that's all.'

'Thinking about a certain little hanyou?'

Cain made a face.  'No . . . Yeah . . . So what if I was?'

'You're pathetic, you know it?  The tai-youkai can't even resist a little hanyou like her . . . What's she doing, anyway?'

'Pfft!  The tai-youkai's youkai can't ignore her, either.'

'Yeah . . . So, what's she doing?'

Cain shifted his gaze without moving his head.  Gin was still lying on her stomach on the floor with her tiny feet kicked in the air and idly swinging back and forth as she scowled in a show of grim determination mixing paint in the corner of the paint paper.  She glanced up at him but didn't notice his perusal before looking back at the paper once more.

'Hmm . . . I give up.  No idea what she's trying to do.'

'You could ask.'

'I could,' Cain agreed, 'but she's rather cute . . . She's really concentrating on . . . whatever it is she's doing . . .'

He watched her for another moment before turning his attention back to the sculpture.  Dampening his hands before trying to work, he could hear Gin moving but didn't look up to see what she was doing.

'You realize what you're doing, right?  Just so you don't freak out again, like you did with the wings.'

Cain snorted.  'Shut up; I'm almost done.'

'You're sculpting her, you know.'

Cain sighed.  'Yeah, I know.'

Gin giggled suddenly, and Cain looked up to see why, stopping with his hands poised by the sculpture as his eyes widened.  Gin was on her knees with her hands in the air and an impish grin on her face, but that wasn't what he was staring at.  Oh, no . . . The girl had tied the bottom of her t-shirt to hold it out of the way and had painted very, very teal stripes around her bared stomach flanking her belly button, and he didn't have to think about where the inspiration for that came from.  She had mimicked his crests . . . When she saw that he was looking at her, she giggled again.  "Ta da!"

"Gin?"

She shook her head.  "I'm not Gin; I'm the North American tai-youkai . . . Cain Zelig!"

He choked, trying not to laugh.  "Oh . . ."

"I am," she insisted, slowly rising to her feet where she might reach his shoulder . . . if she were lucky . . .

"So . . . Cain . . . you . . . shrunk."

She quirked an eyebrow.  "You dare mock me?  The great North American tai-youkai, Cain Zelig?"

He coughed.  "Nope."

"Good.  It's not healthy to do that, you know.  I've got . . ." she scowled and shook her head.  "How many hunters do I have?"

Cain wrapped the sculpture in a damp cloth.  "Three."

She nodded.  "I've got three hunters I'll send after you if you mock me: the great and powerful North American tai-youkai."

"Powerful, huh?"

"Yes, powerful . . . Anyway, you don't sound like you're taking me seriously," she teased.

"Oh, no, I'm taking you quite seriously . . . baby girl."

"Pfft!" she scoffed, striding around the room with her hands on her hips.  "This great and powerful, magnificent North American tai-youkai will send my three hunters after you if you continue to mock me . . . What are my hunter's names?"

Cain chuckled.  "Can't tell you . . . Security breech."

She rolled her eyes.  "Fine, then I'll just call them . . . Moe, Larry, and Curly."

Cain choked.  "Make sure you tell them that, the next time you see them, oh great and powerful North American tai-youkai."

"You forgot 'magnificent'," she pointed out.

Cain rolled his eyes.  "Sorry . . . Oh great and powerful, magnificent North American tai-youkai."

Gin heaved a sigh, stopping in her tracks to lower her chin and pin him with a rather bored stare.  "You are mocking me.  That's not good.  On your knees, little . . . you."

"On my . . . what?"

"Yeah, you heard me, mister . . . This great and powerful, magnificent, awe-inspiring North America tai-youkai—Cain Zelig, has spoken."

"Damn, your title just keeps getting longer, Gin—err . . . Cain."

She grinned.  "You know, you're supposed to be intimidated by me," she pointed out.

"Uh huh," he remarked, drying his hands off on a rag towel.  "Oh, I am.  Really.  Absolutely."

She made a face.  "You're not.  I know; I'm not tall enough."

He watched as she glanced around and snapped her fingers before pointing at him in a 'Just You Wait' affectation.  She climbed atop the stool he sometimes used and braced her hands on her hips again.  "There!  Now I'm tall, so bow!"

"Well . . . Your . . ." he coughed again, "High-ness . . . when did the great and powerful, magnificent, awe-inspiring North America tai-youkai grow . . . breasts?"

Gin gasped then snapped her mouth closed as her cheeks pinked and she shook her head.  "Do you dare make light of me?  You'll pay for that, you know!  Larry, Moe, and Curly will hunt you down and skewer you to the wall."

"Yeah," Cain drawled, "sorry . . . You're just not very intimidating."

"I can be!"

"Uh huh."

"I can!"

"Su-u-ure, you can be."

Gin cracked her knuckles and grimaced.  "Ra-a-a-a-awr!"

Cain laughed.  "Yeah, also not intimidating."

Gin tapped her foot impatiently but smiled just the same.  "Not even a little?"
Cain shook his head.

Gin sighed.  "Still, you can't mock the great and powerful, magnificent, awe-inspiring, ferocious North America tai-youkai, Cain Zelig."

"You're right.  I shouldn't mock . . . myself . . ."

"I'd make a great tai-youkai," she assured him.

"You would," he agreed, crossing his arms over his chest as he wandered toward her.

"I'd be brave and smart and powerful . . . You'd fear me."

"Absolutely."

"So why don't you?"

"Why don't I what?"

"Fear me?"

"Oh, I do . . . completely."

"Hmm, I don't believe you."

He shrugged.  "I make it a rule not to fear anyone who has to stand on a chair to be taller than me."

"But you just said you did fear me."

"Yeah, I lied."

Her eyebrows shot up, disappearing under the thick fringe of her bangs.  "You lied to me?  You dare lie to the great and powerful, magnificent, awe-inspiring, ferocious and . . ." she trailed off, face scrunching up in concentration.

"Virile?" Cain suggested.

Gin grinned at him.  "Yes, okay . . . The great and powerful, magnificent, awe-inspiring, ferocious, and virile North America tai-youkai, Cain Zelig."  She stopped suddenly, cheeks pinking as she thought about the word he'd added.  "Cain!  I can't call you—me—that!"

"I think it sounds logical," he argued.  "Cain Zelig, the great and powerful, magnificent, awe-inspiring, ferocious, and virile North America tai-youkai."

Her cheeks reddened a little more.  "I don't think that's a nice word."

Cain leaned on the stool on either side of her feet, staring up at her as she blushed darker.  "It's a great word; a fantastic word . . . a powerful word."

"You're bad," she mumbled with a shake of her head.  "Just . . . bad . . ."

"You sure it's bad, Gin?  I mean . . . bad can be . . . good . . ."

"C-Cain?" she stuttered, stepping back.  She shrieked as she started to fall off the chair.

Cain caught her.  "You're a damn clumsy tai-youkai," he ventured.

"W-Well, I . . . Put me down."

"You're all-powerful," he mumbled, staring into her eyes.  "Make me."

"Uh . . . O-Okay . . ." She squirmed.  

"Yeah, that's not going to get you put down."

"Please?" she squeaked.

"I'll think about it."

Gin bit her lip, peeking over and glancing at the floor.  "Wow . . . You are tall . . ."

"That's not going to get you down, either."

"Wh-What will?"

He chuckled rather nastily.  "Beg, baby girl . . . and apologize for trying to impersonate me."

"I was teasing!" she argued.

"Yeah, well, I can carry you around all night.  It's your call."

"Okay . . . pretty please?" she asked, batting her eyelashes.

"Nope."

Gin kicked her feet.  "Pretty, pretty please?"

"Uh uh."

She made a face.  "Pretty, pretty please with . . . with me on top?"

Cain forced his gaze away.  'Oh, damn, she didn't  . . .'

His youkai groaned.  'Oh, damn, she did . . .'

"Cain?"

"What?"

"I begged . . . Will you put me down now?"

Cain sighed.  "You didn't . . . uh . . . apologize."

She snorted.  "You know, I was being nice.  I was just trying to make you laugh.  You looked a little too serious."

"Yeah, and I'm just making you apologize," he countered.

Gin heaved a heavy sigh.  "Fine, fine . . . I'm sorry you don't have a sense of humor, Cain Zelig."

"Who says I don't?" he grumbled.

"You don't!  At least if I were the great and powerful, magnificent, awe-inspiring, ferocious North America tai-youkai, I'd have a sense of humor."

His lips twitched.  "You forgot virile."

She buried her face against his shoulder.  "I did not!"

"You're cute when you blush."

She stopped kicking and turned her head to the side, peering up at him through her lashes.  "I . . . I am?"

He grinned.  "Yeah, Gin, you are."


'That girl has to be the most irritating wench ever created . . .'

'Yeah, worry about that later, Kich.  Just find her.'

He'd had about enough for one night.  Between watching Bellaniece dance too often and too close to David and the girls who had materialized out of nowhere to fawn all over him, Kichiro wasn't in the best of moods when he suddenly realized that the damn wench had slipped out the doors when he wasn't looking—when she had said that she was going to the ladies' room . . .

'I swear to kami, the next time she says she's going to the bathroom, I'm following her in, if she wants to play it like that . . .'

He started for the rental car then changed his mind.  Bellaniece wasn't in it; he'd locked the doors.  She was on foot somewhere, and he couldn't track her if he was choked up and smelling the exhaust fumes from the automobile.

She was close; he could feel her presence.  Her youki was strong, and something about it . . . A sense of dread crept up his spine.  Kichiro frowned and broke into a sprint, following the lure of her as he pushed aside the worry that loomed around the edges.

Three young men were huddled together.  Kichiro slowed down as he drew closer.  'Belle . . .?' he thought as he moved in.  She was there, but he couldn't see her . . .

"So why don't you just hang out with us?" one of the guys asked, his tone toying, menacing, and Bellaniece's fear spiked.

"I . . . I need to get going," Bellaniece said in a falsely bright tone.  Another man chuckled.  "Maybe some other time."

"You don't really want to leave yet, do you, Belle?" the third one questioned.

"That's awfully kind of you, to want me to stay, but I've just . . . I'm really tired, and—"

"And that's not very nice of you.  Too snobbish for us commoners since your daddy's started jetting you around the world?"

"You heard her," Kichiro growled, cracking his knuckles as he crossed his arms over his chest, restraining the urge to reach over and grab Bellaniece out from their midst.  "I suggest you let her go."

The trio gazed at Kichiro, obviously sizing him up.  Taking in his tailored clothes, his immaculate shoes, his tidy hair, the obvious leader of the group laughed as he turned to face Kichiro.  "This is between us and her," he pointed out with a tolerant smile.

"Is it, Belle?" Kichiro demanded, careful to keep his skyrocketing irritation from showing.

Bellaniece shook her head, eyes wide, afraid.  Kichiro shrugged before slowly returning his gaze to the leader.  "Call it a lover's spat."

"She says it isn't."

"What can I say?  She's just a little pissed off at me."

Kichiro clucked his tongue and cocked his head to the side.  "You're calling her a liar?"

"You calling me one?"

"I suppose I am."

"Your mistake then."

Avoiding the man's fist was as simple as leaning to the left.  The second punch was just as easy to dodge, and Kichiro shook his head.  "That's pretty pathetic," he goaded.  "My sister could do better than you."

The man growled and threw another punch.  Kichiro stepped out of his way.  The man howled and shook his hand after his fist connected with the brick wall.  Kichiro shot forward, grabbed the man by the front of his shirt and whirled around to slam him up against the same wall, ignoring the pained grimace and the echoing thud as the man's head snapped back.  "I told you to leave her alone.  Be glad you only broke your hand.  Mess with her again, and I'll make sure you never attack another girl, ever again . . . In fact," he went on, slamming the man against the wall once more, "I'll make sure you never even think about another girl in that way.  Hard to do it when you're missing . . . crucial parts . . . You get my meaning?"

The man nodded.  Kichiro shoved him against the wall again for good measure.  He slumped to the pavement when Kichiro let go, and when he turned around to glare at the other two, they quickly backed away from Bellaniece.

"Get him out of here," he ordered.  Bellaniece swallowed hard as the two skirted around her and Kichiro, grabbing their friend's arms and pulling him to his feet.  Sparing worried glances over their shoulders, the three hurried off in the opposite direction.  Only after they'd turned the corner at the end of the block did Kichiro dare to look at Bellaniece again.  "Just what the fuck did you think you were doing?" he demanded, his tone low, clipped, as tight as the restraint he had on his temper.

Bellaniece bit her bottom lip and glanced around: up, down, side to side . . . anywhere but directly at him.  "I . . . I was going home," she replied.

"Didn't look like that to me," he growled.

"I was!" she argued then grimaced.  "I meant to . . ."

"Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?" he asked, unable to mask the incredulity in his voice.

"It was fine," she assured him.  "Just fine.  They wouldn't have hurt me."

"Oh, for the love of—Belle, are you dense?  I didn't think you were, but I'm starting to wonder.  Are you completely stupid?"

"No, I'm not!" she yelled, voice cracking as her gaze sparked dangerously.  "Of course I'm not stupid!  Everything was fine; just fine!  It would have been fine, even if you hadn't come along!"

The control he had over his temper snapped.  Before he could think about what he was doing, Kichiro shot forward, grabbed Bellaniece by the arms, bore her back against the wall in the opening of the alley.  She gasped and uttered a strangled cry; a sound that reminded him of Ryomaru's cat.  She stared at him with fear-darkened eyes.  Kichiro shook his head before she could speak.  "Damn it, wench!  You see how simple it was for me to pin you, and you think you could handle them?  All three of them?  You can't even handle me, little girl."

"Let go," she squeaked but didn't fight him.

Kichiro's lips curled up in a humorless grin.  "You put yourself in danger.  Why?"  He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment when she didn't answer.  "Why, Belle?"

"I wasn't . . ."

"Why didn't you fight them?  You're hanyou.  You're tough.  Why didn't you?"

Bellaniece shook her head, nostrils flaring, mouth opening without a sound.  Kichiro growled, thrusting his knee between her legs to pin her in place, grasping both of her slender wrists in one of his hands and deliberately raking his hand up her side.  "You see now, Belle?  Do you get it yet?  You're safe with me; I won't do that to you, but they were going to—"

"I want to go home," she uttered in a tone akin to a child's whimper, tugging at his wrists, to no avail.

"And I want an answer," he countered.

'Kich?'

'What?'

'. . . There's something . . . strange . . . about Belle . . .'

'Strange?'

His youkai sighed.  'I don't think . . .'

'Don't think what?'

'. . . I don't think she's wearing . . . panties . . .'

Kichiro's eyes widened then narrowed as he glared at the girl in question.  She was biting her lip again, looking past him at the empty street.  He couldn't believe what his youkai had said.  With a harsh curse, he grasped her hip through the thin cotton fabric.  "Holy damn, Belle!" he exclaimed.  "You aren't . . . Damn it!"

She winced but didn't answer.

With another vicious round of cursing, he let go of her, grabbed her wrist, and dragged her down the street to the waiting car.

She slipped into the automobile without saying a word.  Kichiro wasn't sure what he could say; didn't trust himself to try to speak as he strode around and jerked open the door.  He slammed it hard.  Bellaniece flinched.  "If you're smart, you won't say one damn thing to me until after we get back to the mansion," he growled.

Bellaniece sighed softly, resting her head against the window.

Kichiro sighed, too.  He didn't know what to do about her.  Remembering the fear that radiated from her . . . recalling the sense of dread that had frightened him . . .

He didn't know what to say to her, and for the first time in his life, he didn't know what to do, either.