InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 4: Justification ❯ Ignoring the Warnings ( Chapter 98 )

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

Gin rolled over and sighed happily, rubbing her eyes with a balled-up fist as she yawned and arched her back to stretch.

"Damn it, Gin . . . You could warn me before you do that," Cain grumbled.

"Hmm?"

"I said you ought to warn me."

"I didn't do anything."

"You arched your back—"

"So I could stretch."

"—Which brought certain parts of you to my immediate attention—"

"Parts of me?"

"Yes," he snorted, "parts of you."

"Which parts?"

"Which ones do you think?"

She squealed as Cain leaned over to grasp her breast and gently squeeze.  "Okay, okay . . . though I'd think you'd realize that I stretch when I wake up every morning."

"Yep, absolutely, much like some guys—not me, of course—who wake up and scratch their . . . parts."

Gin rolled her eyes but couldn't quite contain the blush that stained her cheeks as Cain kissed her cheek and crawled out of bed.  "That's just wrong," she pointed out.

"Which is exactly why I don't do it."

"And you have claws.  That'd have to hurt."

He flinched and peeked over his shoulder at her, pausing as he pulled his pants on.  "Ouch."

"Where are you going?" she asked, stifling a yawn as she pulled the thick down comforter up over her shoulders.

"Go back to sleep, baby girl.  I need coffee . . . and some cake."

"Save some for Ben."

"Ri-i-ight."

"Hmm, you'll get fat if you eat it all . . ."

He snorted, and she smiled wanly, eyes closed, as the sound of his footsteps retreated down the metal staircase to the studio below.

It was entirely his fault, after all, that she was so tired.  He'd been the one who hadn't been able to sleep the night before, and he'd kept her up well into the wee hours of the morning . . . not that she was complaining.  He'd let her 'borrow' him for a nice, long while . . .

In the distance, she heard the telephone ring; heard the rich timbre of Cain's reassuring voice as he answered it.

Enveloped in a sense of complete well-being, Gin smiled faintly as she burrowed deeper under the covers.

But the bed felt too empty; too lonely, and she gave up after a couple minutes.  Sitting up with a sigh, she frowned slightly as she glanced at the steely gray sky outside the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that encompassed the eastern wall of the studio.  The frown faded, replaced by a little grin.  It was snowing . . .

Tossing back the comforter and grabbing her robe, Gin giggled softly as she ran down the steps without taking her eyes off the windows.  She tied the belt over her stomach as she skittered toward the cold glass, gasping loudly in the stark quiet as she stared at the white world that stretched out before her.  Rising up on her tiptoes off the cold marble floor, the absolute purity of the world seemed to call to her in a whisper that she couldn't ignore.

From her vantage point on the second floor of the mansion, she could only see the thick blanket of white that coated the ground, tapering off and growing thinner as it approached the sandy, pebbly beach.  She'd seen snow before—Japan got lots of it.  Unfortunately, Tokyo didn't.  Sure, there would be a light covering—maybe an inch or two—but it always melted so fast, and there never had been enough to really play in.  To see such pristine beauty was exhilarating, and Gin pressed her hands against the window as she leaned her forehead on the glass, turning her head to see as far as she could see.

She wanted to be outside in it.

Tearing herself away from the view, she hurried off to find warm clothes.  Cain had told her that Maine got lots of snow, and she had believed him.  The difference was seeing it, she supposed as she ran up the stairs and over to the closet, absently noting how warm the plush taupe colored carpet was under her feet.

She slipped a white turtleneck over her head, then reached for Cain's bulky cream fisherman's sweater.  A pair of jeans—she wrinkled her nose at the strange feel of the rough cloth encasing her legs since she was much more accustomed to wearing skirts or dresses—completed the ensemble, and she hurriedly pulled a pair of socks from the bureau drawer.  Her boots were downstairs next to the front door, and without sparing a glance in the mirror, she darted back down the stairs and across the airy studio.

The mansion was silent as she strode down the hallway toward the main staircase.  In the distance she could hear the droning tick of the grandfather clock that stood beside the door in Cain's study.  The door was cracked open just a little, and she could hear him speaking in low tones on the telephone.

'I'll leave him alone,' she thought with a giggle as she tugged her boots on and pulled her coat off the hook behind the door.  'He's probably busy, and I'm sure he'll be able to find me if he needs to.'

'You're acting like a pup,' her youkai chided.

'Don't be silly!  Of course, I'm not!  I've just never seen this much snow before; not really.'

She slipped out the door and laughed as the chill wind filled her nostrils with the fresh, crisp scent of frost and snow.


'Don't take this the wrong way, doll, but . . .'

'But, what?' Gin asked absently, scooping up a handful of snow and packing it onto the rounded lump she was working on.

'But . . . just what are you making, anyway?'

She wrinkled her nose but giggled.  'It's the Abominable Snow-Cain.'

'The . . .? And you think he'll be flattered by this?  You're making him way too short and way too . . . fat . . .'

'Short can't be helped.  I'm not tall enough to make him as tall as he should be, and I rather like the big, round belly . . .'

'Okay, but you'd better be ready to run when he sees what you've made.'

'He's the world-famous sculptor, not me.  He'll be duly flattered, of course.'

'Fine, fine.  Live long and prosper in your illusory dreams . . .'

Gin knelt down and rolled a snowball for Snow-Cain's head.  Taking great care in positioning the head on the huge snow blob, she scowled in concentration and stepped back to examine her handiwork.

The sleek black BMW stopped in front of the mansion, and Gin glanced at it before picking up one of the branches she'd gathered for arms.

"Well, well, well . . . Just what do we have here?"

Peeking over her shoulder at the almost derisive voice behind her, she blinked at the squat man—a thunder-based youkai—who strolled toward her, hands jammed in his pockets as the wind whipped his slicked-back pony tail over his shoulder, into his fathomless black eyes.  Olive skin stretched tight over his wolfish features, the smile that touched his lips was cynical, predatory.

She dropped the branch and dusted the snow off her mittens as she slowly turned to face the stranger.  "Hello.  I'm Gin," she greeted, offering the man a polite bow.

He chuckled coldly.  "I see that."

The crisp wind caught the fur lined hood of her coat and pushed it off her head.  Her ears sprang free, twitching almost nervously as she continued to stare at the strange youkai.  "Are you here to see Cain?"

His face contorted in obvious disdain as he leaned toward her and sniffed loudly.  She forced herself not to pull away despite the very real desire to do so.  Gin stood her ground, wondering vaguely just what she could have possibly done to make this man stare at her with so much animosity.  "So the rumor's true, then?  Zelig's taken a hanyou bitch to mate."

"I-I'll get Cain for you," she offered, stepping back in retreat, as though seeking to escape the absolute hostility in the youkai's aura.  His words stung her, and she couldn't help the hot blush that flooded her cheeks as she quickly shook her head.

His hand shot out, grasped her wrist; fingers biting into tender flesh as she gasped and tried to pull away.  "At least it's better than the first one: human . . . Weak, pathetic human bitch . . ." Smoky gray eyes narrowed on her as he nodded slowly.  "So I suppose the next one will finally be youkai."

"Cain's my mate," she countered quietly, her voice barely audible as she shook her head and tried to pull her wrist away again.

He smiled; a bitter, twisted thing.  "Didn't he tell you?  He killed her—his first mate . . . murdered her with his own two hands."

"No, he didn't.  Isabelle was—She already—Don't you dare say anything like that again!" she sputtered indignantly.

He laughed.  "A thousand apologies, mate of The Zelig . . . Did I strike a nerve?  Hit upon a fear?"

Gin's nostrils flared as she straightened her back and glared up at the youkai.  "It's not true."

"The Zelig likes to collect pretty things like you.  For a human, she had her charms, too."

"Take your hands off me!  You have no right to talk about Isabelle!"

The youkai reached out with his free hand, ran his knuckles along her jaw line.  "Be careful, pretty thing.  Pretty things like you end up dead in the hands of The Zelig.  How long do you suppose you have left?"

Gin swallowed hard as painful color blossomed in her cheeks.  Jerking her head to the side to escape the feel of his hands on her skin, she gritted her teeth and tugged at her wrist again.  "You're a liar.  He would never hurt me."

"Time will tell, little hanyou.  I suppose if you fuck him well enough, he might consider letting you live a little longer."

Gin gasped and balled her free hand into a fist, drawing her hand back and swinging at him with all the fury that he'd inspired in her.  The flash of pain that exploded in her knuckles as she struck his cheek hard was nothing in comparison to the complete satisfaction at the scent of blood that filled her nostrils just before he spit it out on the pristine snow.

"You bitch!" he hissed, raising his open palm to strike her.

Cain's voice stopped him; deadly calm, quiet, contained, raised only loud enough to carry across the yard to Gin and the youkai who held onto her.  "Do it, and I'll see you dead."

For a moment, Gin didn't think that the youkai was going to comply.  Glaring down at her, he finally lowered his hand, let go of her wrist.  She gripped the limb and rubbed furiously, trying to dispel the wretched feel of his touch.

Cain didn't look at her when he spoke again, and his voice hadn't lost any of the intensity that he barely restrained.  Standing on the porch steps, he didn't spare a glance at her as he met the man's gaze without flinching and without looking away.  "Gin, get inside."

His words came back to her in a flood.  "Tomorrow, you stay here, okay?  Don't leave the studio; not for any reason at all."

She winced.  'Oh, no . . . I promised him yesterday . . .'

"Gin."

Swallowing hard, she made her leaden feet carry her forward, unable to lift her eyes to meet his.  Hot color burned in her cheeks, and as much as she wanted to tell him that she was sorry; that she hadn't meant to disobey him, she just couldn't.

He caught her arm before she could slip past him.  "Did he hurt you?" Cain demanded, eyes darting over her, trying to see if the youkai had harmed her.

She shook her head quickly.

Cain didn't seem pacified but he let go of her.  "Stay in the house, Gin.  Do you understand?"

"Yes," she agreed before scooting past him and into the safety of the house.

Cain didn't watch Gin's hasty retreat.  Gaze trained on Cal Richardson, he didn't move from the porch steps.  He didn't move at all.

"I've got to hand it to you, Zelig: I'm not sure how you do it, but you do manage to lure the pretty little things into your web, don't you?"

"Give me one good reason not to rip you to shreds," Cain growled.

Richardson chuckled.  "You would fight me over your bitch?"

Cain didn't bat an eye.  "I would fight you over my mate."

"A cunt is a cunt, Zelig," Richardson scoffed.

Cain shot forward, wrapping his hand around Richardson's throat and squeezing.  "Say that again; I dare you."

Richardson wheezed out a choked laugh, his windpipe still restricted by Cain's unrelenting grip.  "Can't blame you for that.  A good fuck is hard to come by."

Shoving Richardson away with a disgusted grimace, Cain cracked his knuckles and fought to control his seething anger.  "If you ever so much as think about her again, I'll kill you.  Your business is with me.  Best you state it now."

Cal rubbed his throat and laughed.  "Threats don't become you, oh great tai-youkai."

"That was a promise from me; not the tai-youkai."

"How noble of you."

Cain shrugged.  "What the hell do you want?"

"That's simple enough.  I've come to formally request your resignation."

"On whose authority?"

"Surely you realize that many are displeased by your defection to the old world?"

"And surely you realize that I'm back now, rendering your concerns groundless."

Richardson shook his head and heaved a dramatic sigh.  "Then there are those who are displeased with your choice of bitches."

"Take care not to slander my mate, or I'll see that it's the last thing you ever do."

"My people want you out, Zelig."

"And who would your people recommend to replace me?  Not someone as pathetic as you . . .?"

Richardson gnashed his teeth at the slight.  "Yes, they want me—someone who knows how to use the power of the tai-youkai instead of one who shirks his duties and lurks in the shadows of some forgotten glory."

Cain stepped forward and stopped.  "Then you really don't understand a thing . . . Do you mean to challenge me or not?"

"Challenge you?  I am not a human bitch or a weak hanyou girl.  I could defeat you."

"Then why don't you just say the words?" Cain goaded, stepping toward the youkai once more.  As tai-youkai, he could neither attack unprovoked nor issue challenge, but once one was made . . .

Richardson straightened his back, regarded Cain thoughtfully as a slow smile full of loathing, bitterness, spread twisted his ruddy features.  "I simply came to offer you a friendly warning, Zelig, nothing more."

Cain very nearly smiled, reading Richardson's cowardly manner for exactly what it was.  Of course the man wouldn't challenge him.  He hadn't really thought it would come to that.  Richardson was no better than a vulture, a scavenger, vermin who prowled the darkness and stole whatever scraps he could gather.  "There isn't a youkai among your numbers that would dare challenge me, Richardson.  If I hear any more rumors, any more veiled threats, I shall treat them as I would a challenge."  He closed the last few feet that separated them and narrowed his eyes as he glowered down at Cal Richardson.  "As for my mate . . . If I hear that you have so much as breathed a word about her to anyone at any time?  I'll hunt you down, myself."

"The tai-youkai cannot attack without just cause, and I'd hardly call something such as that to be adequate grounds for it, wouldn't you say?"

Cain finally grinned—an expression as devoid of humor as it was full of menace.  "On the contrary . . . that warning didn't come from the tai-youkai, Richardson.  Now get the hell out of here before I change my mind about letting you leave unscathed."

Cal Richardson chuckled as he offered Cain a mocking bow.  Repressing the desire to growl as he watched the miscreant amble over to his car, it took every bit of self-restraint within him to keep from jumping on Richardson and beating him senseless.

The image of Gin, unflinching, unwavering, as she glared at the youkai assailed Cain once more.  The waves of contradicting emotions were painful, and he grimaced.  Frightened—more so than he could remember being, seeing her with Richardson's hand poised to strike her warred with the vicious burn of anger that she would be careless enough—thoughtless enough—to disregard the promise she'd made to him just the night before—that she would put herself into harm's way, and for what?

Cain snorted as Richardson's car peeled out of the driveway with a screech of the tires and the acrid stench of burned rubber on asphalt.  And yet . . .

And yet he couldn't help the surge of unmistakable pride, seeing her stand her ground.  She was stunning, with her hair flying out behind her in the unrelenting winter wind.  Her eyes had glowed as brightly as the stars that dotted the night skies.  The crackle in her youki was absolutely electric.

Cain sighed and let his head fall back, closing his eyes as he drew a deep breath and fought to control his rioting emotions.  On the one hand, he wanted nothing more than to turn the reckless woman over his knee and beat some sense into her.  On the other . . .

He winced and methodically turned, straightening his back as he strode toward the porch once more.

On the other hand, the fear that had nearly choked him when he'd stepped outside only to find Richardson holding onto Gin's wrist . . .

Maybe he'd settle for hugging her, instead.


'That was stupid, just stupid!  How could I possibly forget something like that?  I promised him, and now . . . I'm a bad, bad wife, and an even worse mate . . .'

'Don't be so hard on yourself, doll.  Cain will understand if you just explain to him that you forgot.'

Gin wrinkled her nose and shrank back a little further into the shadows in the corner of the stair landing.  Huddling there with her arms around her legs, chin resting on her knees, she bit her lip and stared at the door, wishing that Cain would come back inside.

'That man, whoever he is . . . he wants to hurt Cain, doesn't he?'

"Be careful, pretty thing.  Pretty things like you end up dead in the hands of The Zelig.  How long do you suppose you have left?"

Gin shivered at the memory of those cruel words, and she grimaced.  'It's not true.  It's not.  That man . . . he was lying.  Cain didn't kill Isabelle.  Isabelle . . . chose her own destiny . . .'

As much as she wanted to peek out the window across from her, she didn't dare.  She was in enough trouble already, wasn't she?  Did she want to tempt fate that much?

She winced.  No, she really, really didn't.

The door opened with a soft scrape, and Gin grimaced as her ears flattened against her skull as Cain stepped inside.  Daring a peek through the banister railing, she bit her lip when she spotted him leaning back against the closed door, hands jammed in his pockets, scowling into the living room with an inscrutable expression in his eyes.

She was still debating whether she ought to apologize first or if she should wait for him to speak when his voice—oddly soft, infinitely weary—broke the uncomfortable silence.  "What did that bastard say to you?"

Gin started to speak, but her voice came out a whisper.  She cleared her throat and tried again, staring at her knees, trying to figure out exactly what he wanted her to say.  "He's a liar," she replied.  "It doesn't matter what he said.  He's a liar; that's all."

"What . . . did . . . he . . . say?" Cain demanded again.

Gin shook her head.  "I . . . I don't want to repeat it."

Cain sighed, shoulders slumping as he shoved himself away from the door and meandered over to the stairs.  Gripping the bars, leaning his forehead against them like a prisoner in some old, grainy film, he closed his eyes and pressed his lips together in a tight line.  "I know you, Gin.  I know you better than anyone.  You hit him.  You wouldn't have done it if he hadn't deserved it.  Now tell me: what the hell did he say to you?"

"He . . . I . . ." She flinched and gnawed on her bottom lip.  "He said you . . . murdered Isabelle," she finally said, her voice barely more than a whisper.  "He said . . . He said you'd kill me, too."

Cain sucked in a sharp breath and doubled over, still hanging onto the railing as he uttered a low moan.  "The hell I—"

"He's a liar!" Gin growled as she stumbled to her feet and darted down the stairs and to Cain's side.  "I didn't believe him!  I'd never believe him!"

He winced as she threw her arms around his waist and hugged him tight.  Cain straightened up and slowly hugged her back.  "Gin . . . You promised you'd stay in the studio today."

Blinking rapidly to dispel the tears that misted her eyes and blurred her vision, Gin nodded miserably, unable to keep her ears from flattening as he held her at arm's length and scowled at her.  "I know."

"Then what were you doing outside?"

"I . . . forgot . . ." Grimacing at the pathetic sound of her defense, she swallowed hard and forced herself to go on.  "It was snowing, and there was so much of it . . . so thick and white and beautiful . . . I've never seen so much snow, Cain . . . I'm sorry.  I . . . I didn't think . . ."

He sighed and turned his head to the side, glowering at the wall.  "I didn't want you to meet him.  I didn't want you to have anything to do with him.  The man's a bastard, through and through.  Damn it, Gin . . . he could have hurt you!"

"I know.  I should have listened, and I broke my promise," she agreed miserably, unable to hold back the choked sob that welled up inside her.  "I'm sorry, so sorry . . ."

He didn't answer her right away.  Gin dropped her arms and stepped back before carting around on her heel to flee up the stairs.  Unable to stand having Cain so upset with her, she only wanted to escape, to get away from him before she upset him more.

He caught her hand and pulled her back, eyes closed as he let his cheek rest on her head, holding her close.  The tension in his body seemed to lessen as he held her, and with a soft sigh, he kissed her forehead and leaned back to look into her face.  "Just promise me you'll listen the next time I tell you to stay inside, okay?"

She nodded, sniffling pathetically as he wiped her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.  "I'm sorry," she apologized again.

He smiled wanly.  "So am I.  I never wanted you to have to talk to the likes of Cal Richardson."

'Cal Richardson . . .?'  She swallowed back another sob.  "He's a liar, Cain.  I didn't believe him.  I swear I didn't."

"I know."  He hugged her for another moment then drew a deep breath.  "So . . . care to tell me what you were doing outside?"

Scowling at the tears that wouldn't stop coursing down her cheeks, Gin sniffled again and dashed the back of her hand across her eyes.  "I made a snow-Cain."

He choked.  "A . . . snow . . . Cain?"

Barking out a terse giggle that completely undermined her tears, the incredulity on Cain's face was enough to snap her out of her self-loathing.  "Well, he's a little chubby."

"Chubby?"

"And kind of short."

"Short?"

"But I didn't get to finish him yet . . ."

Cain snorted, arms dropping as he strode over to the window and shoved the gauzy curtain aside.  "That thing is me?"

Gin hurried over and peered under Cain's arm.  "Yes."

"Pfft!"

"You could make a fat little Snow-Gin," she offered brightly.

He shifted his gaze to the side to stare at her.  "Hmm . . . I think I might . . ."

"Really?"

Letting go of the curtain, he turned away and grabbed his coat off the hook behind the door.  "Come on, baby girl.  Let's see how badly you've emasculated me."

"I didn't do any such thing!" she protested as she ran over to get her coat, too.

He held the door open for her as she skittered past him into the crisp winter afternoon.