InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 4: Justification ❯ Meeting the Troops ( Chapter 57 )

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

Cain knew the generals were thinking things.  He could tell from the slightly distracted way they all kept turning to glance at the door that they were fully expecting someone else to walk into the room.

'You know who they're waiting for.'

He cleared his throat and slouched down in his chair.  'Yeah, I do.'

'You going to go get her?'

'Maybe . . . if they ask . . .'

'You're enjoying this, aren't you?'

'Who?  Me?'

'Yeah, you . . . You're enjoying the idea that they're all squirming like worms on fishing hooks because they can smell her . . . all over you.'

'There's that, too,' Cain agreed.

"All right," Ben Philips said with a shake of his unruly black hair.  The panther-youkai held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.  "Who is she?"

Cain almost smiled at his highest ranking general.  "She?"

Two scowls, one snort, two grunts, one set of raised eyebrows, one slow shake of the head, and one ticked off sigh greeted Cain's evasion.  "With all due respect, Zelig, we're all youkai here.  We can smell her.  We'd simply like to . . . meet . . . her."

"Did you really need to demand this meeting to discuss the girl I brought with me?" Cain countered.

Ben grinned.  "I'm sure we'd all concentrate better if we had our curiosity appeased."

Cain steepled his fingertips together and tapped them against his lips in a fair affectation of Sesshoumaru Inutaisho.  "I assure you, she's not a sideshow freak or anything.  You don't really need to meet her."

He received another round of the disbelieving responses.  Cain sighed and stood up.  "All right, but be nice.  She's really sensitive about the way she looks."

"Why's that?" Ben asked mildly.

"Harelip . . . Really awful.  Oh, and a lumpy sort of growth on her back—like a camel.  Just don't stare."

Striding out of the room before the smile that threatened broke over his features, Cain pulled the library door closed behind him and headed for the stairs.

'Gin's going to be mad at you for that.'

Cain chuckled.  'Probably.'

'A harelip?'

'And a hunchback.'

'Yeah, she'll kill you.'

'Nah . . . Gin's got a good sense of humor.  She'll think it's funny.'

'Uh huh.  Keep telling yourself that, Zelig.  You're trying to get us both killed, aren't you?'

'You, maybe . . . She won't kill me.'

'If I'm going down, I'm taking you with me.'

'. . . I'm not scared of you.'

'Pfft.'

Gin was sprawled on her stomach across the huge bed with her feet kicked in the air as she flipped through one of Cain's old art journals.  He leaned in the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest as his smile widened.  Glancing up and casting him a bright grin, she rolled over and sat up.  "Is your meeting over?"

Cain shrugged.  "Nope."

She glanced around like she was looking for something.  "Then what are you doing up here?"

Pushing himself away from the doorframe, he ambled over and grasped her hands, tugging until she finally scooted off the bed and stood up.  "What are you doing?"

"They're youkai," he drawled as he headed for the door with Gin in tow.

"I figured as much."

He started down the stairs without letting go of Gin's hand.  "Yes, well, they can smell you, and they won't give up till they meet you."

Gin gasped softly and tried to tug her hand away.  Cain's grip tightened as he kept moving down the stairs.  "Cain, I can't meet them!  Look at me!"

He stopped long enough to turn around and give her the once-over.  "Is there a problem?"

She wrinkled her nose, cocking her piggy-tailed head to the side as she tried to discern if he was teasing or not.  "At least let me go change!"

Wisely stifling his amusement at the pink baby-T that proclaimed her 'baby girl' and the pale blue jeans shorts that hugged her hips like a second skin, Cain shrugged and grabbed her hand again.  "You're fine . . . just don't bend over in front of them.  Old Ben's got a heart condition, and you'll kill him.  Talk about older than dirt . . ."

Gin jerked her hand away as her cheeks blossomed in embarrassed color.  Cain caught her before she could run back to their room.  "No, no . . . at least let me take my hair down!"

Cain tugged on one of her piggy tails and chuckled.  "No way.  You're perfectly adorable, and if they don't think you are, I'll be happy to inflict some bodily damage."

Her smile was self-conscious but at least it was there.  "Are you sure they won't laugh at me?"

"Of course they won't."  Cain cleared his throat and prayed that his men had enough sense not to tell Gin what he'd said about her appearance.  'Nope . . . they just might ask how you got rid of the harelip . . . That's all . . .'

Gin's hand was shaking as they neared the closed library doors.  Cain stopped and let go of her only to put his hands on her shoulders.  "It's okay, Gin.  They're just a bunch of stuffy old youkai.  They'll love you just like I—" Cutting himself off as he jerked back in surprise, Cain grimaced as Gin's hopeful expression grew a little more guarded.  He sighed.

"We'd better go in before they start thinking that you ran away," she teased, the falsely bright tone of voice chafing Cain.  He could have kicked himself for the slip.  Gin, however, seemed prepared to pretend she hadn't understood it.  He jerked on the doorknob as Gin slipped her hand into his once more.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Cain muttered as he strode into the room.

The five generals and three hunters shifted in their chairs and leaned to one side or the other, as though they were trying to see something . . . or someone . . .

Cain peeked over his shoulder and shook his head as Gin scrunched up her shoulders and tried her hardest to merge her tiny body into his back.  "What are you doing?" he whispered.

"Hiding."

"Gin . . ."

"They're . . . big."

"I'm bigger."

"But you're not intimidating."

Cain snorted.  "I beg your pardon."

"You know what I mean."

"Gin, come out from behind me."

". . . No."

"You'd better before they start thinking you've got . . . a harelip or something . . ."

"Cain!"

He tugged on her hand but the girl wouldn't budge.  "She thinks you're intimidating," Cain remarked as he rolled his eyes.

Ben leaned further in his chair, and for a moment, Cain worried that the old panther would topple out of his seat.  He could tell the very second that Ben got a good look at Gin, though.  The youkai's eyes lit up in quiet approval, and he slowly nodded as a friendly smile surfaced on Ben's face.  Another glance behind himself confirmed what Cain suspected.  Gin was peeking around him though she had yet to completely show herself.  Cain tugged her hand again. This time she stepped out.  "Gin, these are my generals and hunters.  This is the great and powerful, magnificent, awe-inspiring, ferocious, and virile North America tai-youkai, Cain Zelig."

Gin gasped.

"What's that?" Ben asked, coughing indelicately to cover his amusement.

"She's me," Cain answered.

"She's . . .?"

"Oh, uh huh.  You are, right, baby girl?"

Gin's face was scarlet as she tried to hide again.  He caught her and kept her from running.  "It was a joke," she muttered.

Cain chuckled.  "I thought it was funny."

"I'm going to get you," she grumbled.

"Promise?"

"Cain!" she hissed.

"All right, seriously . . . This is Gin Izayoi."

Gin clasped her hands before her and bowed though her cheeks were still washed in the lingering blush.  "Hello."

"That's Ben—my oldest general.  He was interim tai-youkai while I fostered with your uncle . . . Martin Sanstrom, head of the west coast division . . . Jared Brantley, Canadian region . . . Steve Vasquez, Mexico . . . Marshall Billings, southern states . . . and those three are my hunters . . . Moe, Larry, and Curly."

Gin choked and shot Cain a near-panicked glance.  He chuckled.  "Cain!" she hissed from between clenched teeth.

"Yes, Gin?"

She shook her head.

"No, seriously . . . That's Moe, and that's Larry . . . and that's Cartham, but I doubt he'd care if you wanted to call him 'Curly'."

"You can call me anything you'd like," Cartham remarked, much to the other men's amusement.  The hunter looked wild, gruff.  The chains dangling from his leather jacket rattled when he moved, and he seemed completely out of place in the understated elegance of Cain's study.  Gin's cheeks colored but she managed a weak smile.

"I'm so sorry . . ." she apologized with another bow.

Cain caught her arm and stopped her.  "Okay, you've met her," he grumbled as he pulled her across the room.  There was only one chair left—his.  He sat down and pulled Gin into his lap, wrapping his arms around her before she could try to get up.  "Can we get back to business, then?"

"Izayoi . . ." Ben drawled slowly.  "Who is your father, m'dear?"

Gin cleared her throat.  "InuYasha," she supplied.

Her answer was met by a round of 'ahhs'.  "InuYasha?  The angry hanyou?" Marshall asked.

Gin frowned.  "My papa isn't angry . . ."

Cain snorted.  "Gin, have you met your papa?"

Gin shot him a dark glance.  "Now, that's a silly question."

"Then you know he is angry all the time."

"No, he's not!  He's—"

"Oh, your brother is Ryomaru, the hunter," Cartham interrupted, staving off the argument that Gin had been ready to start.

"Have you met him?" she asked instead.

"Yeah.  He's an interesting one . . . a little angry, too."

"Izayoi . . . Izayoi . . . Do you have another brother?" Jared questioned.

Gin nodded.  "Yes, Kichiro."

"Yes, yes, the surgeon, right?"

"Ah, the one who refined youkai markings.  Very nice," Ben agreed.

"As interesting as the Izayoi family is," Cain broke in, "can we please get back to business?"

"Do you want me to leave?" Gin whispered.

Cain's arms tightened as Ben dug out a portfolio with the papers that needed Cain's immediate attention.   "Absolutely not," he told her.  "If I have to suffer, you do, too."

Gin sighed but giggled, relaxing against him as she wrapped a lock of his hair around her finger.  "Okay," she murmured.  "Wouldn't want you to suffer alone."

Cain grinned and leaned his chin on her shoulder.  For some reason, having Gin settled on his lap made the dull, dry meeting about the best way to handle a couple renegade cougar-youkai seem a lot more bearable . . .


Bellaniece ran a delicate claw around the silhouette of the marble sculpture as she stifled a sigh.  'Daddy didn't take Mother with him . . .'

She wasn't sure what that meant.  Cain had taken Gin with him but had left the unfinished sculpture of Isabelle behind.  It seemed like a positive development.

Then again, she'd believed that things between Kichiro and her were positive, too.

Bellaniece sniffled and shook her head, telling herself over and over, not to cry.  Crying wouldn't help anything.  It wouldn't do any good.  She'd indulged herself for awhile as she'd scoured the street for the jeweler's box she'd impetuously heaved out the window.

She couldn't find it, not that she had actually believed she would.  Someone probably picked them up.  They'd have been stupid, not to.  Those jewels were worth more than some people made in ten years, and she'd tossed them out the window.

Kichiro was going to kill her, if he ever talked to her again.

She was wrong, wasn't she?  She shouldn't have gotten so angry.  Kichiro . . . He was right, wasn't he?  He was a product of Japanese society.  She couldn't really expect him to change.

Bellaniece shook her head.  It wasn't really as though she expected him to change.  That was the problem, wasn't it?  She hadn't wanted him to change.  Thoughtful, attentive . . . everything she loved about him was the things that somehow disappeared the second they'd stepped off the plane at New Tokyo International Airport.

But there was more than that to it.

She jumped and squeaked, whipping around to stare at the telephone as it shattered the silence in the apartment.  Standing, waiting, making no move to answer it, she waited for the machine to answer.  "Hey, Bellaniece, it's Daddy.  I was just calling to make sure you made it home safely.  Give me a call later.  Let me know you're okay.  Bye."

Bellaniece started to stumble toward the phone but stopped.  Daddy couldn't fix it; not this time.  She only wished he could.

The knock sounded on the door, and Bellaniece smashed her fist to her lips to keep from uttering a sound.  'Kichiro . . .?'

She couldn't move.  She couldn't breathe.  She couldn't think.  It seemed as though everything inside her was calling out to him, she felt the draw of his youki, Bellaniece shuffled forward, flattened her palms against the solid steel as she closed her eyes, as she pressed her forehead against the unforgiving door.

Kichiro kept knocking, more of a pathetic cadence, like he didn't really expect that she'd let him in.  "Belle . . . I'm sorry . . ."

Wincing as the resigned tone of his soft voice permeated the door, Bellaniece felt her throat constrict, nostrils tingling, lip quivering, the sting of tears burning the back of her eyelids.  "Kichiro . . ." she whispered.

"If you're there," he said as he kept knocking, "if you can hear me, I'm sorry . . . Please . . . just open the door?"

It was more than she could stand.  Twisting the deadbolt and slowly turning the knob, Bellaniece pulled the door open.  The stout brass chain impeded the movement.  Bellaniece peeked through the crack.  Kichiro wouldn't meet her gaze.  "What do you want?"

"Belle, I . . . Will you let me in?  Let me explain?"

She shook her head.  "Just go home, can't you?  You could . . . Turn around and walk away.  I don't . . . I don't want to talk to you right now . . ."

"I was . . . stupid . . . I didn't . . . I never . . ." He sighed.  "I'm not so good at this, all right?  I'm sorry."

"And you think I am?"

"Better than I am, or so it'd seem . . ."

"Kichiro . . ."

"Belle, listen . . . I just . . . I'm sorry."

She looked away, crossing her arms over her chest as she tried to choke down a few pesky tears that were trying to escape.  "I'm used to guys treating me like a pretty little thing that hangs on their arm and giggles at their jokes.  I'm used to being put second and forgotten like . . . like some stupid little toy.  I'm used to guys just wanting to get off without doing a damn thing for me, but I've never thought that any of those guys were ever ashamed of having me around."  

"I'm not ashamed," he insisted.

Bellaniece shook her head.  "I've never been treated like I wasn't good enough, and coming from you?  If I'm good enough to share your bed, then I'm good enough to seen with, Dr. Izayoi, and I hate that you make me think that maybe I'm really, really not."

"Belle, no!  It's not like that!  I never meant to . . . If anyone should be embarrassed, it should be you.  I'm an ass, and I . . . Just open the door . . ."

"Go home, doctor.  It's been a long day, and maybe . . . Maybe we've spent too much time together lately."

"A lifetime won't be too much time with you, princess.  Open the door, please."

"I can't," she whimpered.  "I . . . I threw it out the window."

Kichiro sighed and pulled the jeweler's box from his jacket.  "This, you mean?"

Bellaniece choked on a sob and pushed the door closed, fumbling with the chain as her vision started to blur.  It took about ten tries with her clumsy fingers before she managed to unhook the chain.  Jerking the door open once more, Bellaniece stumbled back as Kichiro fell backward, lying prone on the floor at her feet.  "What are you doing?" she sniffled, dropping to her knees as she gently lifted his head, scooting forward to cradle him in her lap.

"I didn't think you were going to open the door," he admitted.  "Belle . . . I'm sorry.  I just . . . I've never . . . I've never had a real girlfriend before, not ever.  I'm not so good at this."

"I'm glad you came back," she admitted, stroking his cheeks with the palms of her hands.  "I'm sorry, too.  I don't hate you.  I can't hate you.  You're my . . . mate."

He smiled bashfully, his cheeks pinking slightly at the mention of being his mate—his destiny.  "So . . . you hungry?"

Bellaniece leaned down and kissed him.  "Are you buying?" she teased.

"Of course.  I'll take care of you, remember?"

"And I'll take care of you, too."


"You do realize that you turned every last one of my men against me."

Gin glanced up from the email she'd been composing to her parents to glance at Cain.  Lounging casually in the doorway with his hands jammed into his pockets and attempting to look stern, he shook his head at her and slowly wandered into the room.  She hit 'send' and pushed the keyboard shelf in.  "What do you mean?"

"They'd turn on me in an instant if you asked them to," he grouched.

"That's not true," she argued but couldn't contain the amused little grin that surfaced.  "I liked them."

"You gave them my cake," Cain pointed out.

"I only gave them what was left of your cake from last night, and then I made you another one."

"It was my cake."

"I was being a good hostess," she told him.

"Yeah, yeah, I hear you.  Save your excuses for the judge."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"You don't sound sorry."

"But I am; I promise."

"How sorry?"

"Really sorry."

"Really, really sorry?"

"Really, really, really sorry."

"Sorry enough to . . . let me have my way with you?"

Gin giggled as Cain strolled around the desk and pulled her chair out, spinning it around only to catch the armrests as she laughed louder.  "I always let you have your way," she said.

"I've got you trapped, Gin," he countered as he leaned in closer.  "There's no escape."

"Would I want to?"

"You might."

"Why's that?"

"Because you smell good enough to eat."

Gasping as her breath caught, as the kindling fire lit in the depths of his gaze, Gin leaned forward as Cain grasped the hem of her shirt and tugged it over her head.  Fingers shaking slightly as he worked the button on her shorts, Cain didn't lower his eyes.  Slipping his hands under her bottom to bring her up off the chair, he caught the waistband and gently pulled the shorts along with her panties off, too.  "Why are you shaking, baby girl?"

Shaking her head as words failed her; she slumped back in the chair, closing her eyes as the heat of Cain's hands closed in over her silk-clad breasts.  If she listened closely enough, she could hear the blood singing in her veins.  Uttering a sound not unlike that of a contented cat, she arched her back as her nipples contracted, as a million ripples surged through her.

"Tell me what you want, Gin," Cain murmured as his fangs grazed over her neck.

"You," she whispered as her arms wrapped around his neck, as she sank her fingers into his hair.  The simple black tie he'd used to secure his hair fell away with one tug, and she shivered again when it spilled over her hands, brushed against her arms.  Sweltering breath on overheated flesh, gentle pressure on sensitive nipples . . . Cain's body was electric, surging against her, flowing like the tides.

"What do you want me to do?" he demanded, his tongue darting against the pulse in her throat.

"I . . ."

"Hmm?"

"Anything . . . Everything . . . I'm yours . . ."

He moaned at her answer as his arms slipped around her to pull her forward.  Letting her lean against his chest as he carefully unsnapped her bra, he tossed it aside before scooping her off the chair and carrying her over to the sofa.

His hands left her; the soft rustle of fabric filling her twitching ears.  Gin rolled over onto her belly and leaned on her elbow as she opened her eyes.  Cain removed his clothes in short order before dropping to his knees beside her.  "Damn . . ."

She peeked over her shoulder as he ran his hands down her back, fingers splayed, as though he had to touch every bit of her skin as he possibly could.  Folding her arms to cradle her head, Gin closed her eyes, allowing the unhurried strokes to soothe her as a spiraling ache built upon itself.

Lethargic kisses rained down on her, the dart of his tongue swirling around her shoulder blades.  Lips as soft as a summertime breeze danced over her skin.  Belly lurching in reaction to the combustion where their bodies met, she whimpered, moaned, rose to meet him.

He stayed her with a quiet growl when she tried to roll over.  Hands caressing her bottom with slight pressure and subdued strength, he kissed his way down her spine, along the small of her back, up the soft swell of flesh.  He grasped one side in each of his hands, squeezed gently.  Kneading the firm muscles lying below the taut flesh, he raked his fangs over her, nipped her as she gasped, as she shuddered.  Tongue soothing away the violent shock, Cain rumbled a low moan.  "Lift your ass," he commanded.

Through the haze that engulfed her mind, Gin tried to make sense of Cain's demands.  Grasping her hips, he pulled her up, settled her on her knees before gently pushing her legs apart.  "Cain?" she mumbled as she started to rise up, to look back at him.  The invasion of his tongue wrenched a strangled cry from her, and she fell again as a brutal rush of absolute pleasure slammed through her.  Body reacting, she pushed back against him.  He held her open, ran his tongue down the length of her only to settle on the pulsing core of her as he sank his thumb into her, as he created rhythm and light.

He was relentless, obsessed, devouring her like a starving man.  Reduced to little more than a bundle of raw nerves and quivering flesh, Gin felt him tug her legs off the sofa.  Knees on the floor as he continued his incursion, she whimpered his name, begged him not to stop, cried out time and again as his fingers, as his mouth pushed her careening out of control.

Sucking, licking, tormenting, Cain was voracious.  Unable to control her rampant desire, she thrust against him; using her body to beseech him for everything he was willing to give her.  Thighs slick with sweat, air thick with the hum of two hearts with one fluctuant beat, he moaned; she whimpered.  He slid his tongue deep within her, his fingers slick, stroking, petting as her body jerked, as she writhed.

"Touch me, Gin," he implored her, his quiet entreaty breaking through the mental fog.

Taking a moment to gather her wits, Gin pushed herself up, turned around to face him.  His eyes were darkened to nearly black.  Staring at her with a fierceness that she could feel to her very core, Cain reached for her hands, grasped her wrists, pressing her palms against his chest.  He groaned at the contact, eyes drifting closed.  Gazing in wonder as his muscles rippled under her fingers, overcome by the wicked desire to taste him, she leaned toward him, pressing open-mouthed kisses over his skin.  An overwhelming sense of discovery swept through her as he sat back, supporting his weight on his hands.  Arms bulging, strained, as though it took every ounce of self-control he had, as his body broke out in a sheen of perspiration, he groaned softly.  Amazing, the feel of his satiny skin under her nimble fingers . . . Tracing the ridges of his muscles as his groans grew into near-whines, Gin laughed weakly, outlining the teal crests on his abdomen with her claws.

"Gin . . ." he gasped, face contorting in a tortured expression.  "God . . ."

He sat forward, grasped her hands, eyes blazing as he slowly lowered them.  She wrapped her hands around him.  He closed his hands over hers, thrusting against her touch as his body tensed and jerked, as ragged breathing filled the silent air.  Moaning, growling, he squeezed her hands under his as a whisper of a memory echoed in her head.

"Guys like it, but no guy worth his salt would expect a girl to do anything that she wasn't comfortable with.  Sex isn't supposed to be an ugly thing."

Leaning over before she thought about it, taking him into her mouth, she clumsily drew him in.  His hands jerked away as he leaned back, hips thrusting upward as a guttural cry tore from his lips.  She gagged slightly as he hit the back of her throat, as he unleashed another ragged entreaty.  He seemed to realize what he'd done and tried to pull back.  She wouldn't let him.  Sucking him in as he thrust in her mouth, she reveled in the sounds of his temerarious pleasure.  She wanted him to know how he made her feel, wanted to show him how much she was willing to give him.

"I can't . . . Oh, God, Gin, don't—" he rasped out.  "Your mouth . . . Damn . . ."

Gin sucked him in as deeply as she dared, squeezing his shaft in her hands as the surge of his orgasm gushed out of him.  She pulled away, letting her head fall back as she swallowed, and when she lowered her chin once more, only to find him staring at her in something akin to quiet wonder, Gin smiled.

"Why did you . . .?"

She shrugged, letting him pull her close against his chest as he collapsed onto the carpet.  "Because," she answered, tangling her fingers into his hair.  "I wanted to know you, the way you know me."

"Gin . . ."

"You were right, you know," she murmured, closing her eyes as sleepiness wrapped in the warmth of repletion seeped over her.

"About what?" he asked, idly tracing circles on her shoulder.

She smiled.  "It wasn't an ugly thing at all . . ."

"You're beautiful; did you know that, baby girl?"

She leaned up to kiss his cheek before settling back against his shoulder once more.  "So are you, Cain Zelig."

Feeling the warm pressure of his lips on her forehead, she fell asleep with a secretive little smile on her face.