InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ Irritation ( Chapter 11 )

~Chapter 11~

~~Irritation~~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Mamoruzen Gunnar Inutaisho sat back in the chair and cleared his throat. “So are you going to tell me?”

 

Isabelle blinked and carefully studied her menu without meeting her cousin's steady gaze. “Tell you . . .?” she echoed.

 

He wasn't buying, which didn't really surprise her. Mamoruzen had always been a little too quick to let much slip past him unnoticed. “Okay, you want to do this the hard way. Fine.”

 

“I don't know what you're talking about, Mamoruzen,” she lied, batting her eyelashes in a show of over-exaggerated innocence.

 

His eyes brightened at the perceived challenge that she had unwittingly offered him, and he snorted. “Cut the crap, Izzy. You can't bullshit me.”

 

Pursing her lips as she closed the menu and set it aside, Isabelle leveled a no-nonsense look at her beloved cousin and slowly shook her head, carefully straightening the cuffs of her cream angora sweater. “I don't know what you're talking about,” she insisted, pasting on a small little smile meant to reassure him.

 

“The hell,” he scoffed, curling his upper lip back in a contentious snarl that did nothing to diminish the stunning façade he presented. No, if anything, the expression only served to add to the overall feeling of contrived indifference that he was an expert at projecting. “I want a name, Isabelle, and I want it now.”

 

“A name? That's pretty vague. Will any name do?”

 

He narrowed his eyes, and Isabelle sighed. “Don't be cute,” he warned.

 

“All right; all right,” she relented with a wave of her hand. “It's not a big deal, do you hear me? He's just a friend; that's all.”

 

“Just a friend? You've moved in with `just a friend'?” Gunnar pressed.

 

“It's not what you think,” Isabelle insisted then grimaced. “Though it isn't from lack of trying on my part . . .”

 

Gunnar shook his head and drummed his claws on the highly lacquered table top. “I think I shall pretend I didn't hear you say that,” he warned.

 

Isabelle rolled her eyes but couldn't help the laugher that escaped her. “Oh, please! Since when have you been all prudish?”

 

He made a face. “You're a woman, Izzy. Women should be a little less . . . vocal . . . about certain things.”

 

“So you say . . . Look, Mamoruzen, I'm not one of your little toys, and I don't have a problem admitting that I like having sex . . . lots of sex . . . hot and passionate sex with lots of sweat, lots of friction, and a nice grunt or two thrown in for flair.”

 

“Keh! First off, we're not talking about me; we're talking about you and your penchant for letting your heart rule your head. Second off, if we were talking about me, then I'd assure you that there are never any complaints from the ladies I choose to spend time with.”

 

“I'm sure there aren't,” Isabelle allowed, “and since when has following one's heart been a bad thing?”

 

“It's a bad thing,” Gunnar insisted, grasping the sweaty glass of water off the table and casually sipping the liquid in slow, measured swallows. “Keep it up, and you'll end up no better than the rest of them.”

 

She sat back with a sigh, crossing her arms over her chest as she tried to decide whether or not Gunnar was being serious. She was afraid that he was. There were precious few things that he would make light of, and the subject at hand was certainly not one of them. Still, his current pique seemed to have less to do with Isabelle and more to do with other things . . . “Another nice chat with your mother, I presume?” she asked, discarding the idea of beating around the bush with it.

 

He wrinkled his nose and shrugged offhandedly. “Of course not. Anyway, Mother never does more than hint. I can deal with that.”

 

“Oh?”

 

He nodded. “Of course. Mother is easily distracted, you know.” With a shake of his head, he sighed, idly turning the water glass in stationary circles. “My grandfather, however . . .”

 

She winced in commiseration. That certainly put things in a completely different light. While it was easy enough to avoid undesirable conversation with his parents, trying to do the same to one as formidable as Gunnar's own grandfather . . .? Well, it wasn't a feat easily accomplished though she didn't doubt for a moment that Gunnar did try his best. “And people wonder why you put an ocean between the two of you . . .” she mused, more to herself than to her companion.

 

“An ocean? A few thousand leagues or so isn't really enough to distance myself from the long reach of Inutaisho Sesshoumaru.”

 

“I gather you didn't elude him as quickly as you would have liked.”

 

That earned her a droll sort of lazy frown. “Well enough, but I don't doubt for a moment that he knew exactly what I was doing. In any case, that's neither here nor there, is it? I want that name, Isabelle, and you're going to give it to me.”

 

She quirked a golden bronze eyebrow and smiled coyly. “Am I?”

 

She was saved from his scathing rebuttal when the waitress stopped beside their table. Gunnar made quick work of ordering for the both of them—a nasty habit of his, actually—but Isabelle didn't gainsay him since he had ordered something she'd like. She knew from experience that this particular cousin of hers had always felt the need to exert his dominance in such a way, and she let him get away with it, too, most likely more often than she really should have. Still, it amused her to watch him. As arrogant as his grandfather he was, yet that same arrogance and almost cold façade hid a far more sensitive man than he ever liked to let on. Precious few ever saw that side of him. Isabelle was lucky enough to be one of them.

 

“What if I didn't want steak?” she asked as the waitress hurried away from their table.

 

The amused glint lighting his gaze in his otherwise blank expression bespoke his amusement at her subtle chiding. “Beg your pardon. Would you rather have a salad?”

 

She couldn't help the giggle that escaped her as she shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

 

He nodded slowly. “I didn't think so.”

 

She laughed despite herself, interrupting their conversation long enough to check her cell phone. Though she wasn't scheduled to work, she was pretty nearly always on call, but since the number that registered on the caller ID wasn't the emergency room, she didn't bother to answer it.

 

“So tell me what you've figured out from your translations thus far?” Gunnar prompted, flicking his wrist and glancing at his watch.

 

Isabelle paused, fiddling with the edge of her napkin as she constructed her answer. “It's interesting,” she allowed at last, unsure why she felt the overwhelming reluctance to tell Gunnar all that she knew. Maybe Griffin's distrustful attitude was rubbing off on her . . . or maybe it had something to do with his strange reaction when she told him she'd be going out to dinner . . .

 

“Where do you think you're going?” Griffin demanded as she leaned her head to the side to fasten a small golden hoop earring in her right earlobe.

 

She shifted her gaze to meet his in the mirror over the sink in the bathroom but didn't stop fiddling with the jewelry. “I'm going out,” she said. “Don't worry. I was going to tell you.”

 

He snorted and crossed his arms over his chest—a sure sign that he didn't believe her in the least. “And just who are you going with?” he parried.

 

“Someone I've not gotten to spend much time with of late,” she hedged with a coquettish smile.

 

Griffin snorted. “Don't do anything stupid.”

 

“I love that you care so much about me,” she remarked with a bright smile. “Don't suppose you want to come along?”

 

“Don't suppose I do,” he said, narrowing his gaze into an irritated sort of glower.

 

Isabelle heaved a sigh and slowly shook her head, grabbing her purse to check to make sure she had everything she needed for the evening. “Of course; of course . . . you don't know what you're missing, though . . . want me to bring home a . . . Pooh bag for you?”

 

Griffin snorted and lumbered back into the living room as her laughter trilled in the air behind him.

 

“Have you even heard a single word I've said to you?”

 

Isabelle blinked and pushed away the memory, smiling as she met Gunnar's bored stare. “I'm sorry,” she admitted. “Wool gathering, I suppose.”

 

He leveled a no-nonsense look at her. “Tell me what's so `interesting' about this research.”

 

Glancing around to ascertain that they weren't being eavesdropped on, Isabelle leaned in and gestured for Gunnar to do the same. He did, albeit with a dose of eye-rolling designed to let her know that he thought she was being a little extreme, and waited for her to speak.

 

“It . . . it's big,” she admitted in a hushed whisper that he probably couldn't have heard if he wasn't hanyou, in the first place.

 

“Big?”

 

She nodded. “They isolated the gene in hanyous . . . the one that triggers the youkai response.”

 

His eyes widened just for a moment, but he nodded slowly. “Really.”

 

“Yeah . . . it seems like they were on the brink of figuring out how to counteract it.”

 

“You don't say.”

 

“But I'm not positive how far they were into their research, so I've not said anything to Grandpa or anyone yet . . . no one but you, Gunnar. I want to make sure that I know exactly what they accomplished before I let the cat out of the proverbial bag.”

 

He digested that in silence for a moment then nodded, staring off to the side as though he were pondering her words. “I understand. Keep me posted, though. If what you say is true . . .”

 

She nodded and sat back, remembering the old tales that Grandma Kagome used to tell her; the stories about Grandpa InuYasha and the days of Sengoku Jidai . . . “Did they ever tell you the stories?” she asked suddenly, her gaze flashing up to meet his.

 

“Which stories?”

 

She shrugged, taking a sip of her wine before continuing. “The stories of what happened when Tetsusaiga broke . . . about Grandpa InuYasha nearly losing himself to his youkai blood . . .?”

 

Gunnar nodded slowly, his eyes glazing over as he, too, recounted the tales in his mind. “Yes, they did,” he said softly, idly twisting the ring on his left hand—the one that he'd told her contained the spiritual power of the monk who owned it long ago—the monk who had traveled with InuYasha and Kagome in their search for the evil known as Naraku. Gunnar's mother had descended from the monk—Miroku—and his youkai-exterminator wife, Sango. The ring, Gunnar had said, was meant to seal his own youkai blood. Unlike Isabelle and the rest of the family on InuYasha's side, Gunnar and his sisters didn't have Kagome's miko blood to temper the youkai reaction. The realization made the research that much more important to Isabelle, and she sat up a little straighter as a fresh resolve filtered through her.

 

“I'll finish the research,” she promised.

 

He didn't look impressed, but he shook his head and waved a hand in blatant dismissal. “Of course you will . . . but about this guy you're living with . . . it doesn't matter if you tell me or not. I know where he lives. I'll just make a call to the surveyor's office in the morning.”

 

That got Isabelle's full attention, and she wrinkled her nose. “You're overreacting, Mamoruzen. Besides, I promise you that there's nothing even remotely shady about Griffin.”

 

“Griffin?” Gunnar echoed, raising his eyebrows expressively. “So does this `Griffin' have a last name?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Of course he does . . . and save your breath because I'm not telling you.”

 

“Why not?”

 

She waved off his question to ask one of her own. “Just what do you think to do if I tell you his last name?” She nodded slowly when he didn't answer right away, her suspicions well-founded, as far as she was concerned. “Uh-huh. You're going to do a background check on him, aren't you?”

 

The blasted man didn't even have the grace to look ashamed at all. “That was the plan, yes,” he agreed.

 

She narrowed her eyes. “No.”

 

He quirked an eyebrow.

 

“I mean it. You leave him alone.”

 

He sat back, crossing his arms over his chest as he frowned at her like he was trying to read her mind. She lifted her chin defiantly and refused to back down in the least. “I blame this on your lack of male guidance early on,” Gunnar said slowly. “Someone has to make sure that you're not dating a wanted felon—or worse.”

 

“I had plenty of male guidance growing up,” she shot back, nostrils flaring as her temper rose. “Just because every other male in our family is insane about who their daughters date doesn't make my papa a bad father, Mamoruzen, and I resent what you're implying.”

 

He held up his hands in mock surrender, an indulgent little grin quirking on his lips. “Call off the dogs, Izzy, and calm down. I just mean that you're not ever careful enough, and even your esteemed father would agree with me. If you're not going to take your safety seriously then someone has to, even if you hate me for it.”

 

She heaved a sigh and sat back as the waitress set her plate on the table and refrained from comment until after the woman had hurried away once more. “I don't hate you for it, but it's entirely unnecessary. You sound just like Griffin, for that matter . . .”

 

One of his black eyebrows lifted, disappearing under the thick fringe of his bangs. “Oh?”

 

She shrugged, reaching for the utensils arranged beside her plate. “Honestly, I wouldn't even be staying with him otherwise, but he's worried that something sinister befell Jillian's natural father, and—”

 

“. . . What?”

 

Wincing inwardly as she realized a moment too late that she'd just admitted far more than she should have, Isabelle set her fork down and carefully dabbed her lips with the napkin. “It's nothing; I swear it.”

 

“Nothing?” he echoed dubiously.

 

“Yes, nothing,” she insisted then sighed. “There were some notes in the journal that freaked Griffin out, so he insisted that I stay with him.”

 

“Wait a minute . . . are you saying that he knows about the research?”

 

“Well, yes,” she admitted, restraining the urge to rub her forehead furiously. “Gunnar . . . don't freak out, all right? And don't tell Grandpa. Promise.”

 

“I'll do no such thing,” he retorted in a much milder tone than she'd expected despite the obvious disapproval written in his stormy expression. “Why does he know about the research?”

 

She couldn't see any way around it, as much as she hated to admit. Biting her lip as she considered the best approach to telling Gunnar enough to get him off her back but not enough to send him running to Cain Zelig, Isabelle shook her head again. “Because the journal and the research notes are written in an amalgamation of languages, and while I could have translated it easily enough if it had been in just one, I can't do it by myself now. I took it to Griffin to see if he could recommend someone at the very least, and he said that there isn't anyone else who could translate it.”

 

Gunnar snorted indelicately, his eyes flashing with a territorial gleam. “Well, isn't that ironic?” he mumbled, more to himself than to Isabelle.

 

She shot him a scathing glance and clenched her teeth together, unreasonably irritated by Gunnar's blatant suspicion of a man he had yet to actually meet. “Actually, it's not. The languages are all variants of Abenaki . . . Tell me, do you know someone who could translate it?”

 

He rolled his eyes, unwilling to concede Isabelle's point. “I'm sure that there are those who could. Helping you out with this could be a huge thing for your friend, don't you think?”

 

“No, I don't,” she gritted out. “It's not like that. He's not like that.” She held up her hand when he opened his mouth to argue with her. “He's not,” she stated once more. “He doesn't want his name mentioned in any way, shape, or form, and he certainly doesn't want any money for doing it.”

 

Gunnar's eyes narrowed in an entirely predatory sort of way. “Bullshit, Izzy. No one ever does anything in this world for free.”

 

“Maybe you don't,” she contended with a shake of her head. “Not everyone is as bent as you are, though. Face it, Mamoruzen; you don't even trust your own shadow, do you?”

 

He shrugged offhandedly, taking up his silverware and cutting into the steak. “Occupational hazard,” he mused. “In any case, it sounds suspicious, even if you don't want to believe me.”

 

“I trust him,” she said softly, drawing a thoughtful scowl from her cousin. “Whether you believe me or not, I'm not going to change my mind. He's a good man—a very good man. I'm sure of it. Griffin's got money of his own, anyway. He's a professor, after all, and—”

 

“And professors can't be shady? Don't be naïve.”

 

“You're being entirely ridiculous,” she insisted. “If he finds out, he'll be furious . . . He's very stingy with his privacy, not that I blame him.”

 

“Does he have something to hide?”

 

She was sorely tempted not to stalk around the table and shove his eyebrow back down where it belonged. Licking her lips as she tried to reign in her irritation, Isabelle pasted on a tepid smile and reached for the glass of wine near her plate. “Everyone has something to hide if they live long enough,” she remarked with a sad little shake of her head. Griffin was proud—irrefutably so, but hidden beneath that layer of staunch resolve, he was in pain, and she knew it. She wasn't certain how she knew it, but she did. For reasons she didn't question, she knew that no matter how noble Gunnar's desire to protect her was, digging around in Griffin's past wasn't going to accomplish anything but causing him more anguish in the long run.

 

“So he's old . . .” he concluded with a curt nod. “Any idea just how old this paragon of virtue is?” he demanded.

 

Isabelle sat back, caught off guard by that particular question. Come to think on it, she really didn't have any clue as to exactly how old Griffin was. Then again, she'd never asked, either . . . “I don't know,” she admitted. “I mean, I suppose he's older . . . That's how he seems, anyway . . . Why? Does it matter? Don't tell me that you're going to get all up in arms over his age, too.”

 

He shook his head but narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Your righteous indignation isn't really going to sway me, Izzy,” he pointed out mildly.

 

“Fine,” she grumbled, fiddling with the napkin covering her lap. “You'll owe him an apology when you figure out that he hasn't done anything wrong.”

 

Gunnar finally smiled though the expression looked more predatory than pleased. “Good . . . then you won't mind if I run a background check on him, will you?”

 

She bit her lip, turning her pleading eyes on him once more. “Mamoruzen, please . . . please don't do it. Just leave him alone, can't you?”

 

He seemed to be caught off guard by her soft entreaty, and he heaved a long sigh as he slowly shook his head. “I have to. It's not just about you. He's helping you with the research, and given what happened to Jillian, I'd be remiss if I didn't do it, and you know it. You said yourself that there's a good chance that it's big, right? In that case, I cannot in good conscience ignore it especially when you don't even know anything about the man, but . . .” He grimaced, the desire to please her manifesting in his drawn expression. “I won't tell Cain anything if I don't have to—unless there's a question regarding this Griffin-character's true intent. Good enough?”

 

She frowned at the table but didn't comment. It was the best he'd offer, and she knew it. “I still think you're being ridiculous.”

 

“Maybe . . . and if he checks out, then I'll be more than happy to admit that I was wrong. I'll even let you tell me that you told me so.”

 

That got her attention, and she almost smiled—almost. Gunnar didn't like to admit that he was wrong, ever. That he would offer to do so in any capacity at all . . . It spoke volumes, as far as Isabelle was concerned.

 

“Then you'd better get ready to eat that slice of humble-pie, Mamoruzen,” she said, finally allowing herself to grin as she took up her utensils once more.

 

“You're that certain?”

 

Her smile grew secretive, and she couldn't help the twitching of her lips as she shrugged in a completely nonchalant sort of way. “You'd be certain, too, if he was your mate.”

 

Gunnar snorted loudly, making a show of rolling his eyes as he drained his glass of wine, but he didn't argue with her, either.

 

 

~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~ =~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~

A/N:

== == == == == == == == == ==

Reviewers

==========

MMorg

OROsan0677 ------ yashamaru1 ------ Inusbabe ------ Jester08 ------ Jennerz ------ silveraliora ------ pionus

==========

Forum Reviews

OROsan0677 ------ TenshiKaika ------ angelfire777 ------ My Own Self ------ Firedemon86 ------ cutechick18 ------ nymphminxgoddess ------ Chva the Mai-coh ------ Jack-Plus-Sally ------ MouF ------ arisuthepink ------ Proforce ------ RogueDestiny

==========

Final Thought fromGunnar:

…Her mate, huh …

==========

Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Avouchment): I do not claim any rights to InuYashaor the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~