InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ Miles Away ( Chapter 59 )

A/N:

I realize that I don't normally open a chapter with an author's note, but I'm making an exception. This chapter is dedicated to one of my readerswho had been reading along from the beginning. She recently lost her battle with cancer. I ask for everyone to take a moment and hug those close to you; those whom you love. I think this is the most fittingway to celebrate her life.

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

~~Chapter 59~~

~Miles Away~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Isabelle woke slowly, rubbing her sleep-gritty eyes as she contemplated the idea of rolling over and going back to sleep. She was incredibly sleepy, and the bed was just too warm and inviting to ignore. Burying her face in her pillow once more, she let her eyes drift closed once more. Froofie whined softly, shoving his head under her hand that was flopped over the side of the bed, and she sighed. “All right, I hear you,” she murmured, sitting up and heaving a sigh that was interrupted with a yawn so wide it made her jaw ache.

 

Scooting off the bed and shuffling toward the door, she shook her head in an effort to stave off the barrage of fatigue that swept through her, and she wrinkled her nose and rubbed her forearms. It wasn't any wonder she was so tired, really. She'd been working nonstop on the research for almost a year, hadn't she? It stood to reason that all her efforts were finally starting to catch up with her . . .

 

Griffin didn't look up as she padded into the living room. Sitting in his recliner with the newspaper pulled up over his face, he snorted indelicately and shook the pages with a distinct rattle.

 

“Morning, Pooh Bear,” she said, eyeing the sofa speculatively before forcing her gaze away.

 

He snorted once more and mumbled something unintelligible under his breath.

 

Deciding that making a pot of coffee was just not worth the effort at the moment, Isabelle veered to the side and perched on the edge of the sofa. “When did you get up?” she asked amiably.

 

That got his attention quickly enough. Letting the newspaper fold forward, he peered around the pages at her, his already dark eyes inscrutable though if she had to put a name to the emotion in his expression, she'd have to guess that he was . . . surprised.

 

“Get up?” he echoed rather indignantly, his low tone coming across as more of a growl than anything else. “When did I get up?”

 

She blinked innocently and reached for the small pile of envelopes he'd left on the coffee table for her. “Awhile, then? Didn't you sleep well?”

 

“Not nearly as well as you did,” he snorted. “By the way, if you insist on snoring like you did last night, you can move into the guest room.”

 

Glancing up from the envelopes she was leafing through, she quirked an eyebrow, her lips twitching with a slight smile. “I don't snore!” she protested.

 

“Keep telling yourself that, girly,” he muttered, shaking out the newspaper and jerking it up in front of his face once more. “It doesn't change the fact that you did.”

 

Rolling her eyes as she turned her attention back to the stack of mail, she shook her head dismissively. “You'd think after all these years that I'd know if I snored,” she pointed out.

 

“You'd think,” he agreed rather acerbically.

 

“So,” she said, dropping the stack of mostly junk onto the coffee table as she turned her full attention on the surly bear-youkai, “aren't you teaching at the preschool today?”

 

That earned her another glower around the edge of the paper. “I already did all that,” he told her tersely.

 

She laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “Of course you haven't!” she chided with a giggle. “It's only . . .” Trailing off as she flipped her wrist to adjust her watch, she couldn't help but widen her eyes as she stared at the time. “It's three? In the afternoon?”

 

Griffin snorted. “Yes, Isabelle: three.”

 

She digested that in silence for a few minutes, still unable to quite grasp the idea that she'd been asleep for so long. “Oh . . .”

 

He didn't respond to that, and Isabelle sighed as a comfortable wave of drowsiness washed over her once more. Pushing it aside, she stood up and wandered over to Griffin, instead. “Make room, Dr. G. Wide-load coming through,” she teased.

 

“And what was wrong with the sofa?” he barked, stubbornly refusing to look at her.

 

“There's nothing wrong with the sofa,” she admitted, slipping onto his lap anyway. “But I'd rather cuddle with you.”

 

“You're crushing me,” he stated flatly, as though it was a foregone conclusion.

 

She smiled wanly as she nestled her cheek against his chest, her eyes drifting closed of their own accord. “Mmm,” she breathed.

 

“Coming over here and pretending that you're all innocent,” he grumbled. “`Put the book down, Griffin . . . Pay attention to me, Griffin',” he intoned in an uncharacteristic impersonation of her.

 

Isabelle leaned up, pushing the newspaper away from his face and pressed her lips together to keep from laughing straight out. He looked so entirely disgruntled that she couldn't help herself. “Did you?” she couldn't resist asking.

 

“Did I what?”

 

She laughed. “Did you put the book down?”

 

The innocent question resulted in a livid blush that absolutely exploded under his skin. “Of course not!” he retorted hotly.

 

“You did,” she gloated incredulously. “Really?”

 

“No,” he stated even more vehemently. “And even if I did, you were asleep, weren't you, so you wouldn't know, one way or another.”

 

The last part of his statement was uttered in a voice so low that Isabelle had to strain to hear it, and when she did, she hugged him. “Aww,” she replied, her apologetic tone completely undermined by the laugh with which she uttered it. “I'm sorry . . .”

 

“You're not.”

 

“No, no, I am; I swear! Let me make it up to you?”

 

His answer was a very loud snort—and a very vivid blush.

 

Leaning forward, she kissed his cheek then turned her head just enough to nibble on his bottom lip. “Please?”

 

She felt him shudder as he swallowed hard, his entire body tensing at the close contact. “W-why? Need a nap, do you?”

 

Turning slightly and bracing herself on his chest long enough for her to straddle his lap, she couldn't help herself as she pressed her body against his, and she couldn't help the stifled moan that slipped from her as he gave in, his kiss hesitant yet entirely unsettling, his lips warm and soft. Every part of her wanted to crawl inside him, to merge with his soul, his heart, his life, until she lost herself completely.

 

Savoring the feel of his underlying strength radiating to her through the breath of space that separated them, she kneaded the muscles under her fingers; his shoulders, his arms, his chest. The hum of her surging blood filled her ears, goading her with the unspoken promise of everything that she'd ever wanted to be.

 

Shifting enough to pull her closer, he tensed under her touch, his body coiling tighter and tighter as though it were taking everything that he possessed to keep himself in check. In unspoken answer, she rose against him, ran her hands over his chest and up around his neck, holding onto him as though her very existence depended upon him, and maybe—just maybe—it did . . .

 

Abruptly breaking away, Griffin let his head fall back as he struggled to draw ragged breaths. Skin flushed, eyes burning with an unbelievable intensity, he cleared his throat once, twice, his hand slowly rising, stroking her hair as he narrowed his gaze as though he were trying to see into her very soul.

 

Isabelle smiled—she couldn't help it. He seemed to be asking her something or willing her to understand, but her brain was too foggy to comprehend it. Something about being so very close to him precluded her ability to think, didn't it? `Close, but not nearly close enough,' her mind whispered. She wanted to crawl into him, under his skin, to revel in the beat of his heart . . .

 

He continued to stare at her, his gaze so intense, so inebriating that she almost forgot to breathe. There was an insular intensity suffused with a brilliance that couldn't be defined, and she gasped softly when he reached for her, his fingers tangling in her hair as he drew her close. Eyelids fluttering closed, he brushed his lips over hers once, twice—no more than a feathery touch that set off an ache deep inside her chest—at the unmistakable show of tenderness that he tried so often to hide. `Everything . . .' she thought absently, grasping his wrist, hanging onto him as though she were afraid to let go. `Everything; everything . . .'

 

He held her with a gentleness that she could barely credit, his hands shaking but strong; his arms welcome, emanating a warmth that spoke to her. Familiar and exciting, tinged with an emotion that cosseted her, he was home to her, wasn't he? Wherever he was . . . that was where she belonged . . .

 

Pulling back suddenly, Isabelle barely had a chance to turn her head to the side when a jaw-splitting yawn intruded on the idyllic moment, and she blinked back the moisture that had gathered in her eyes.

 

Griffin uttered a terse little sound—almost a growl, and without as much as a warning, he stood up, unceremoniously dumping her on the floor in the process.

 

Unable to contain the little laugh that slipped out of her, she shook her head and reached for his hand. “I'm sorry!” she giggled, completely undermining her own apology with her humor.

 

He snorted loudly, jerking his hand away before she could latch onto it and striding toward the back door.

 

“Where are you going?” Isabelle called after him as she pushed herself to her feet. She'd stopped laughing, but the smile had yet to dissipate.

 

“For a walk,” he replied without missing a beat.

 

“Wait a minute, and I'll come with you,” she offered.

 

He snorted again. “Don't bother. Wouldn't want you sleepwalking, would we?”

 

She blinked at the blatant sarcasm—something that Griffin rarely resorted to. “Oh, come on,” she insisted, darting around the sofa to intercept him before he could make it out the door. “It'll just take me a minute.”

 

He shook her off and shot her a fulminating glower—at least, it would have been fulminating if his face weren't still flushed. “Forget it, girly. I want to go alone.”

 

“You can't just leave your mate behind,” she chided playfully.

 

He whipped around to face her, his cheeks growing redder as he narrowed his eyes dangerously, and she stepped back in retreat. “I don't have a mate,” he growled, his tone all the more menacing because of the deep rumble that punctuated his words, “and I'm going on my walk alone.”

 

She stood dumbfounded, staring at his broad back as he stomped out of the house, her brain unable to grasp the meaning of what he'd said until well after he'd disappeared into the forest.

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Dropping the stack of papers onto the table with a long, drawn out exhalation, Gunnar lifted a steaming mug of black coffee to his lips as he stuffed his other hand deep into the pocket of his slacks and wandered toward the huge bay windows that overlooked the lawn hidden behind a fence of masonry and wrought iron and a shield of stately looking hedges that stood fifteen feet high and blocked the view of any who would happen to venture past.

 

He couldn't stop thinking, damn it. What had first been little more than a joke or maybe a slip of the tongue on Isabelle's part had slowly taken root in his head, to the point that he'd done nothing but analyze it since he'd stopped over to see her a few days before.

 

The serum was ready to be tested, she'd said, and while she'd maintained that she'd be able to find someone willing to do it eventually, he knew as well as she did that the research was far too sensitive to let it become common knowledge, at least until it was perfected and proven. True enough, there were many hanyous in their direct family, but the trouble was that most of them were direct descendants of Kagome, so the serum wouldn't do a thing to them, and even then, most of them also had mates. Taking any sort of chance in light of that was entirely out of the question, as far as Gunnar was concerned.

 

Isabelle was fairly certain that the potential risks weren't life-threatening, but there was still that bit of a doubt, and it was Gunnar's opinion that hanyous who had mates would be best left out of the preliminary testing since nothing quite like it had ever been tested before. That alone served to narrow the field even more dramatically.

 

And that was all part of why he just couldn't stop thinking about it . . .

 

“Oh? Are you volunteering to be my guinea pig?” Isabelle teased with a wink as she handed him the notebook containing her research testing results.

 

Wrinkling his nose, Gunnar snorted as he flipped through the pages. “You make it sound like a bad idea.”

 

“I'm sure that we'll be able to find a suitable candidate without dipping into the Inu no Taisho's gene pool.”

 

But could she? After all, if confidentiality was of paramount importance to the project, and if one took all the other factors into consideration when choosing a suitable test subject, then he really was the perfect choice.

 

Almost as an afterthought, Gunnar's gaze dropped to the plain gold band that he wore on his right hand ring finger. Given to his mother years ago, it was said that it had belonged to the great monk, Miroku who, along with his wife, the tajiya Sango, had journeyed and fought alongside InuYasha and Kagome against Naraku. Sierra Crawford Inutaisho had descended from the monk, and she'd given Gunnar Miroku's ring when he was born. It held some of the monk's spiritual power and served to bind Gunnar's youkai blood in much the same way that Kagome's offspring were protected because of the power of Kagome's miko blood.

 

It was just a ring, though, and rings could break, and while he refused to dwell on that idea, he knew as well as anyone that the risk was still there. After all, if his uncle's legendary sword could break then so could a paltry ring, right?

 

In fact, the longer he considered it, the more appealing the idea became. He was in line to be the Japanese tai-youkai, wasn't he, and he knew damn well that a tai-youkai did not back down from the unknown, and even then, he didn't have a mate to consider, and if worse came to worst, his parents could always have another son . . .

 

`As if they would consider that an option,' his youkai scoffed indelicately.

 

`I did say `if worse came to worst', did I not?'

 

`Yes, well, let's hope it doesn't come to that.'

 

`Of course . . .' Lifting his chin, he narrowed his eyes as he scanned the yard outside the windows with a stubborn set to his jaw as he squared his shoulders and slowly sipped the coffee. No, as far as he was concerned, it was a fait accompli, whether Isabelle liked it or not . . .

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Griffin crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at the woman sleeping soundly—and snoring again—curled up on the sofa with the devil-ridden cat curled up on her hip.

 

Something wasn't right, was it? When had he ever known her to sleep so much? No, she was too vibrant, always in motion, or so it seemed to him. It just didn't make sense.

 

He'd spent the bulk of his walk arguing with his youkai voice over the callousness of his words before he'd stomped out of the house. Already balancing on the precipice between wanting to believe in the idea of lifetime mates and the nagging thought that never completely left him alone: that as much as she might think that she belonged with him, the differences between them were just too vast to be ignored, her huge yawn during what he had thought was a moment of weakness on his part had all but convinced him that he was right, after all.

 

He knew, didn't he, what that moment had meant to him, and though he was loathe to admit as much, he had let his guard down. What, exactly, had it meant to her? How could it mean much of anything to her when she could turn around and yawn? That realization had stung, damned if it hadn't, and while he'd love to believe otherwise, he knew deep down that it was his mortification, his hurt pride, that had spurred the outburst.

 

Now, though, staring down at her, he slowly shook his head. He'd been surprised that she was still asleep after he'd returned home from the preschool around noon, and while he knew that she'd been burning the candle at both ends, so to speak, on the research, he hadn't thought that she was that exhausted.

 

“How long has she been sleeping, Charlie?” he muttered, his gaze shifting to the side to stare at the dog. Charlie whined and nudged his head under Griffin's hand. At the sound of his voice, the cat cracked an eye open, and she mewled plaintively. Griffin snorted. “Not you, Butt-Ugly. Her.”

 

The trill of the phone made him jump, and with a low growl he stomped over to grab it. “H-hello?”

 

“Griffin? Hey, it's Cain.”

 

“Oh, uh, I-Isabelle's taking a nap,” he muttered, his eyes shifting back to the woman on the sofa.

 

Zelig grunted in acknowledgement. “That's okay. I'm sure you know the answer to my question, anyway.”

 

Griffin wasn't as sure as the tai-youkai seemed to be. “What's that?”

 

“Well, Bitty called yesterday and said that she was about ready to do a preliminary test. Is that so?”

 

Considering Zelig's question, Griffin nodded slowly. “Yes, I think she said something about that.”

 

“Really? Good. Does she have anyone in mind to test it on? I can make a list of potential candidates, if she wants,” he offered.

 

Griffin snorted since it was on the tip of his tongue to suggest Gunnar again since he figured that there was a good chance that Zelig, too, knew that the cub could use a good come-uppance. “That'd be a good idea,” he agreed instead.

 

“All right, then. Would you let her know that I called?”

 

“Uh, sure . . .” Griffin mumbled, relieved that it seemed like Zelig was going to keep the call short. “Oh, um, hold on. Isabelle might have made a list or something.” It only took a few strides for him to reach the coffee table, and he hunkered down in front of it, not at all surprised to see that she hadn't bothered to secure the locks on her attaché case. Lifting the lid with a sigh, he made a mental note to remind her that she ought to keep the thing locked but frowned at the thick pink plastic bag carelessly tossed on top of everything else. His frown deepened as he picked it up and eyed it carefully. `Why does she have a syringe in there?'

 

“Griffin?” Zelig's interrupted.

 

Griffin blinked, and he closed the attaché case with the bagged syringe still in hand. “I-I don't see one,” he muttered.”

 

“Okay. I'll put together something and drop it by later.”

 

“Y-yeah . . .”

 

Clicking off the phone, he let it drop on the table as he pushed himself to his feet without taking his eyes off the bag in his hand. `What . . .?'

 

Pulling the baggy open, he cautiously lowered his face and sniffed. There wasn't a definitive smell of any chemicals that he could define, but he did smell trace amounts of blood—Isabelle's blood—and he couldn't repress the fierce snarl that erupted from deep within.

 

It was the lingering scent of her blood that moved him forward. He was done wondering and trying to figure things out, damn it. He wanted answers, and she was going to give them to him . . .

 

“What the hell is this?” he demanded, raising his voice as he glowered at the sleeping woman. When she didn't even flinch, he snorted loudly, bumping the sofa with his knee, sending the cat skittering away at the unwelcome invasion. “Isabelle!”

 

Awaking with a start, she blinked and jerked her head as though she were looking for something. She was obviously having trouble focusing, and Griffin's eyes flared wide as the beginnings of a thought began to form in his mind. “Wh . . .? Huh . . .? G-Griffin?”

 

“What the hell did you do?” he growled from between clenched teeth.

 

She pushed herself up slowly and had to rub her eyes before she was able to get a good look at the bag that he was holding right under her nose. When she finally did, he didn't miss the slight flaring of her eyes before she shook her head and shrugged. “Oh, that? It's not a big deal,” she muttered, her voice still thick with the lingering remnants of sleep.

 

“Not a big deal?” he echoed dubiously. “Then what is it?”

 

Brushing him aside as she stood up and shuffled toward the kitchen, she mumbled something that he didn't catch, and with a frustrated growl, he followed her.

 

“What. Is. It?” he asked again, watching as she filled the coffee maker with water and fumbled with the air-tight coffee container. Closing the distance between them in one long stride, he took the canister and opened it since her fingers were apparently not willing to cooperate.

 

“Thank you,” she said as she rolled her eyes and took the canister back. “I tried out the serum on myself,” she said in a tone that stated quite plainly that she thought Griffin was overreacting.

 

Rocking back on his heels, he shook his head, narrowed his eyes, unable to decide if he really had heard her say what she'd just said or if his mind was just playing tricks on him. Barking out a terse laugh that was completely devoid of any real humor, Griffin grabbed Isabelle's arm and jerked her around to face him. “You what?” he hissed, his gaze raking over her features.

 

Scowling at him since he'd inadvertently made her spill a bit of the coffee grounds, she spared him a look designed to let him know that she thought he was completely overreacting. “My ears are just fine,” she replied dryly, tugging her arm out of his grasp and carefully measuring coffee into the filter basket.

 

“Are you insane?” he countered. “What the hell were you thinking?”

 

Smacking the lid of the coffee maker closed, Isabelle jabbed the `on' button before carting around to glower up at him as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I told you, it's not a big deal. I was just making sure that there weren't any unforeseen side effects; that's all.”

 

Snorting indelicately at her overly-reasonable tone, he clenched his hands into tight fists at his sides to keep from grabbing her and giving her a good, hard shake. “Side effects? And that wouldn't have been a big deal, now would it?” he snapped.

 

She shot him a disbelieving look before turning her attention back to the coffee maker again. “I told you before, Griffin, there wasn't really anything presented in the preliminary tests that would have suggested that there would be any.”

 

He could feel his teeth grinding together as he counted to twenty before responding. “And you also said that you couldn't be sure since you were only testing on tissue samples,” he reminded her.

 

Letting out a deep breath, she leaned against the counter and slowly shook her head. “I'm telling you, everything's fine—just fine.”

 

“Fine?” he snarled, grabbing her arm and forcing her to look at him. “You call doing something this stupid `fine'?”

 

“Stupid?” she echoed, eyebrows shooting up to disappear under her bangs in feigned surprise as she jerked her arm away from him. “It's hardly stupid!”

 

“I beg to differ.”

 

Heaving a sigh, she frowned at him long and hard before responding. He had a feeling that she was trying to come up with some way of justifying her actions, and that only served to tick him off a little more. “Stupid would be testing the serum on someone who doesn't have a clue what they're using, don't you think? Aren't you the one who keeps reminding me that I can't tell anyone about the research? Aren't you the one who is convinced that there's someone out there just dying to get their hands on it?”

 

“You are not going to try to talk your way out of this, Isabelle, because I'm not buying.”

 

She sighed, rubbing her hands over her face in an infinitely weary sort of way. “You're being ridiculous, Griffin.”

 

Narrowing his eyes, he shook his head as he balled his hands into tight fists. “What if something goes wrong? What then?”

 

A strange glint of emotion flitted over her face before a cold, stony blankness slammed down over her features. “What does it matter to you?” she challenged, suddenly taking the offensive. “I'm not your mate. I'm nothing to you!”

 

He was just angry enough to retaliate in kind. “Damn right,” he snarled. “If I had one, she wouldn't do anything as colossally stupid as test that crap on herself!”

 

“I see,” she said in a tight, clipped tone. “Of course she wouldn't.”

 

He snorted, ignoring the sarcasm dripping from her words and pinned her with a dark glower meant to shut her up. “Does your father do stupid stuff like this?” he growled.

 

Shaking her head again, she looked entirely perplexed by his abrupt question. “What does Papa have to do with it?”

 

“He's a researcher, isn't he?”

 

Pinching the bridge of her nose for a moment before she shook her head in utter exasperation, she leveled a look at him. “Papa has and does test things on himself when necessary, yes,” she said, her tone clipped as though she were struggling to retain a semblance of calm.

 

“Is that so?”

 

“Yeah, that's so.”

 

He could feel the blood surging through him, attesting to the anger that he just couldn't control. After one last, long scowl, he turned on his heel and stomped out of the kitchen with one destination in mind. She couldn't see reason, could she? Couldn't she understand just how careless her actions had been? What she called `no big deal' was a huge deal to him, damn it. Those side effects she was so worried about . . . what if she . . .?

 

He located her cell phone easily enough, and he wasn't surprised that her precious papa's number was second on her list. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that he had no idea exactly what time it was in Tokyo, but given the circumstances, he really didn't care.

 

The phone only rang twice before a voice greeted him. “Baby Belle?”

 

Griffin grunted, rubbing his forehead as the beginnings of a vicious headache kicked in. “Uh, no, sorry. I'm Griffin.”

 

Kichiro Izayoi didn't answer right away, likely because he'd heard of Griffin, of course, but it was the first time that they'd actually spoken. “Dr. Marin, correct? Is everything all right?”

 

He grimaced, brushing aside the nagging feeling that he was, in the words of one of the children from his preschool class, ratting Isabelle out. “Well, uh, I just . . . I-I-I just had a question. Sir.”

 

“Kichiro's fine,” her father assured Griffin warmly. He could hear the amusement in Kichiro's voice. “What's your question?”

 

Pressing his lips together, he frowned as he tried to find the right way to phrase it then snorted loudly at his own perceived show of indecision. “Is it . . . normal . . . to test stuff out on yourself?”

 

“Test stuff out?” Kichiro echoed. “You mean as a researcher?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Uh, well, sure, depending. I mean, it's not unheard-of. As long as there's someone there to watch for signs of side-effects or unforeseen trouble, it is safe enough.”

 

Brushing aside the nagging feeling that he was tattling, Griffin snorted indelicately. “You mean someone like another doctor.”

 

He heard the groan of a chair being pushed back and waited for Kichiro's answer. “Of course.”

 

Clearing his throat, Griffin glanced back toward the kitchen doorway. “And if there wasn't another one? What then?”

 

“Then it's a bad idea—a really bad idea,” Kichiro concluded. “Why?”

 

Grimacing at the hint of foreboding that tinged Dr. Izayoi's voice, Griffin scowled at the floor and slowly shook his head. “She didn't . . . tell anyone . . .” he muttered, disgusted with her for having done such a foolish thing; disgusted with himself for feeling bad about ratting on her, and to her father, no less.

 

“W . . . what?” Kichiro asked, his tone taking on a hint of incredulity. “Are you saying that Baby-Belle—?”

 

“She says she's fine,” Griffin cut in defensively. “I mean, she seems . . . all right . . .”

 

“Where the hell is she?” Kichiro demanded. “When did she do this?”

 

“She's in the kitchen,” he grumbled, cheeks pinking though he was hard-pressed to understand why he would be embarrassed. “I-I don't know, exactly . . . Yesterday, I guess . . . last night . . .”

 

Kichiro unleashed a string of expletives before he could string together a cohesive sentence. “Put her on the phone,” he growled then sighed. “No, don't. I'm too angry to do anything but yell at her. Listen, Griffin, just keep an eye on her, will you? I'll call her grandfather; see if he knows of someone he trusts to take a look at her right now. I'll be on the next flight out.”

 

“Sh-she seems okay,” Griffin reiterated.

 

“Debatable,” Kichiro argued. “Has she gotten knocked upside the head lately?”

 

Unable to restrain the slight growl that issued from him, Griffin gripped the phone so tightly that it creaked and groaned before he could force himself to loosen his hold on the device. He might think that was she'd done was stupid, but he'd be damned before he'd let anyone else disparage her for her actions . . . “She was . . . she was doing what she thought was best,” he gnashed out from between clenched teeth.

 

“The hell she did,” Kichiro shot back then drew a deep breath. “Look, Griffin, thanks for calling me. I'll be there as soon as I can.”

 

Blinking when the line went dead, Griffin snapped the phone closed and dropped it onto Isabelle's attaché case before rubbing his hands over his face in an entirely weary sort of way. He didn't trust himself to speak to her, but he couldn't leave her, even to retreat to the basement. A cold fear gripped him so tightly that he clutched his shirt over his heart and winced. She might be fine, like she claimed, but did that really matter when he couldn't be sure, and even if she said that she was all right, how did he know that she wasn't keeping things from him just so that he wouldn't worry?

 

Chin lifting as his eyes narrowed dangerously, Griffin uttered a low growl as his gaze shifted to the kitchen. He was stupid, wasn't he? Hadn't he realized it earlier? She was never that tired, damn it, and she sure as hell had never snored before. Wondering how he could have missed something so obvious and berating himself for his gross oversight, he didn't notice as he dug his claws deep into his palms; didn't register the scent of his blood rising around him as a complete and utter self-loathing dug into his soul.

 

He should have known, shouldn't he? Her uncharacteristic sleepiness . . . it was because of that damn shot. What he wasn't sure of was whether or not that was the only side-effect . . .

 

 

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

A/N:

Tajiya: youkai exterminator.

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Final Thought fromGriffin:

Damn fool woman …

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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~