InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ Confrontations ( Chapter 66 )

~~Chapter 66~~

~Confrontations~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

“And you're sure that you're going to be okay?” Isabelle asked for the hundredth time in the half hour since she'd gotten the phone call.

 

Gunnar rolled his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Yes, Izzy, I'm sure.”

 

She wasn't placated. Tapping her cell phone against her empty palm, she slowly shook her head as she narrowed her gaze on him as though she were trying to decide whether or not he was lying to her. “It'll just be for a few hours . . .” she murmured, more to herself than to him.

 

Grinding his teeth together for a minute while he tried to control his exasperation, he stifled the urge to sigh and told himself that she was just worried and that he really couldn't fault her for that. “If you'd prefer, I can go home,” he pointed out in a more clipped tone than he'd intended.

 

She wrinkled her nose and started to toss her purse onto the nightstand. “Oh, no! I knew it! You're going to try to leave the very second I walk out the door, aren't you? Mamoruzen, you need to stay here another day or two—at least until your fever's gone!”

 

“I feel fine,” he lied since he really wasn't feeling all that great. True, he'd reverted back to his normal hanyou-self late last night, but the fever still hadn't broken, and to be completely honest, he knew that he could easily go right back to sleep—if Isabelle ever shut her yap so that he could have some peace and quiet, that was.

 

“You swear to me that you'll stay here—in bed—until I get back?”

 

Letting out a deep breath as he rubbed his forehead and smothered an irritated growl, Gunnar nodded. “For kami's sake, yes, Izzy!” he snapped. “Now get the hell out of here, will you?”

 

She shot him a calculated look that nearly made him growl as she strode purposefully over to him and held out her closed hand. “You take these, and I'll go.”

 

“What are they?” he countered.

 

She rolled her eyes. “Just acetaminophen,” she assured him as she opened her hand to show him the two liquigels she held. “Take those and swallow them or I'm not leaving,” she warned stubbornly, nodding at the glass of water sitting on the nightstand.

 

“Not on your life,” he stated flatly. “Those things knock me out.”

 

“Yes, I know,” she replied evenly, “and since you're just going to sleep while I'm gone, then that wouldn't be a bad thing, would it?”

 

He snorted to let her know exactly what he thought of that idea.

 

She sighed and set her cell phone down on the nightstand only to take up the glass, extending both medicine and water to him with a pointed look. “Don't make me call Aunt Sierra.”

 

He winced since he knew damn well that she would do it, and since she knew damn well that he wouldn't ever gainsay his mother. “Then you'll leave?” he grouched, snatching the pills out of her hand with all the ill-grace he could muster.

 

She had the unmitigated gall to smile sweetly at him as he took the glass of water and slugged it down, too.

 

“There, I took them. Now will you get the hell out of here?” he grumbled.

 

She wasn't impressed by his tirade and only lifted an eyebrow in response. “All the same, you will call me if you need me, right?”

 

He flopped over, facing away from her, and waved a hand over his shoulder to shut her up.

 

She heaved a sigh but didn't say anything else, and, much to his relief, he heard her pull the door closed and shuffle down the hallway.

 

It was stupid, wasn't it? What did she think? That he was an imbecile? Never mind that he couldn't even stand up without feeling like he was going to throw up, so he certainly wasn't very big on the idea of trying to drive anywhere, even if he did have a mind to do so.

 

He sighed. Sure, he could understand and appreciate her concern. After all, she still worried over the testing and that she'd somehow manage to maim him for life, but when he'd heard her telling her boss that she couldn't cover for one of her co-workers, who was already in the middle of delivering a baby. But one of his other patients had also gone into labor, and it was progressing too fast to wait for the doctor to finish delivering the first one, so Isabelle had gotten the call even though she, herself, was on a leave of absence while she finished her research.

 

To be honest, he almost wished that he hadn't changed back yet. The nausea that had been plaguing him for the last couple of days as a human was only magnified in his current state, and the dull throbbing in his head had taken a vicious turn, hammering so hard that he seriously thought he was going to pass out from that, alone.

 

He'd also taken to reminding himself that he really had volunteered to test the serum, and while Isabelle had mentioned that the results were promising so far, he also had to wonder if the purifying factor had anything to do with it. She seemed to believe that the result could be reached without purifying his body to do it—a hypothesis that he sincerely hoped she was correct on. After all, if he had to spend this much time being sick and queasy and human, to boot, then he wasn't entirely sure that the disease was worth the cure, so to speak.

 

In any case, he had to admit that he was rather glad that she'd opted to leave him alone for awhile. Having his rest interrupted periodically while she took his pulse or checked his temperature was annoying, at best.

 

Letting out a deep breath as he savored the quiet that had fallen in Isabelle's wake, Gunnar let his eyes drift closed. He might well be stubborn, but he wasn't stupid, and he knew damn well that what he needed now was rest . . .

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Rubbing his forehead as he closed the office door and strode over to his desk, Griffin glanced at the clock with a marked scowl. Nearly one in the afternoon, it read, and he'd planned on staying long enough to look over some of the papers that his Ancient Languages class had handed in since he was probably going to get more peace here than he would at home since Isabelle's cousin was still camping out in the guest room.

 

Frowning at the slip of pink paper lying in the center of his desk, he picked it up and read it over. It was a missed call note that someone had delivered while he was lecturing, he supposed. Isabelle had called a couple hours ago to let him know that she'd been called in to deliver a baby and wanted to know if he would check on Gunnar when he got home.

 

Making a face since that was probably the last thing that either he or the hanyou in question really wanted, he crumpled the note in his hand and dropped it into the trash can before gathering the thesis papers with an irritated sigh.

 

`That whole `lack of control' thing is starting now, isn't it?' he thought sourly as he pushed a small stack of the papers into his briefcase since he only had one thing on his mind: that he needed to get home and check on that obnoxious cousin of hers.

 

The crisp knock on the door precluded Griffin's train of thought, and with a sigh, he glanced over his shoulder long enough to reply, “Come in,” before resuming his task once more.

 

“Dr. Marin?”

 

Both the voice as well as the youki of the intruder drew his attention, and slowly, Griffin turned to eye the unknown panther-youkai. Dressed impeccably in what looked to be a very expensive suit with his black hair caught back in a low-hanging ponytail that trailed over his shoulder, he offered Griffin a rather tight little smile that struck Griffin as entirely perfunctory before he closed the door behind himself. “Yes?” Griffin asked slowly, his gaze more curious than questioning as he turned his full attention on his impromptu visitor.

 

“Dr. Griffin Marin?” the youkai reiterated.

 

“As far as I know, there's only one Dr. Marin at this university,” Griffin remarked.

 

The man's smile widened. “Good, good . . . My name's Duncan McCaffrey, and I was told that maybe you could help me.”

 

Frowning since the name meant nothing to him, Griffin shook his head. “With what?”

 

He chuckled though the expression didn't reach his veiled eyes. It sounded more like a warning than a show of humor, and Griffin straightened his back. “I have a project, you see,” he said in what Griffin figured was as conversational a tone as the youkai was able to use. He had a vague hint of an accent, but he couldn't place it, either. “It's just a small thing, really—not of very great import, to be honest,” the youkai went on with a flick of his wrist, as though the entire situation were trivial, at best. “You see, my . . . relative . . . left me a . . . Well, I suppose you might call it a gift, but I'm having trouble translating it.”

 

“Uh . . . a translation project?” Griffin asked, surprised by the offer. “Can't you find someone else to do it?”

 

Duncan chuckled as he strode across the floor with a sheepish shrug. “Ah, well, you misunderstand me. My relative was a bit . . . eccentric, I daresay? He had a propensity to write everything in a now-archaic form of Native American, and from what I've gathered, you are the best there is.”

 

Frowning at the strange turn of conversation, Griffin crossed his arms over his chest and watched as the man continued to pace around the room. “I'm sorry, but—”

 

“Before you turn me down, hear me out . . . please. I will be more than happy to compensate you for your trouble, and, well, I'm afraid that I really won't take `no' for an answer.”

 

What was it about the man that made Griffin feel completely ill at ease? He'd had offers at other times to translate things, and while he summarily turned them all down—all but one—he'd never felt quite so uneasy about any of those offers before, either. Clearing his throat, he made himself turn to finish stuffing the papers into his briefcase and reached for the cane that leaned against the desk. “Sorry,” he said again with a shake of his head. “I'm a little busy right now, so I don't think I can help you.”

 

“Wait,” Duncan blurted before Griffin could leave the office. He moved faster than Griffin could credit, and with another of those fake smiles, he flipped a small card between his index and middle fingers before slipping it into Griffin's breast pocket. “Here . . . let me leave you my card. Take some time to reconsider. My relative . . . he meant the world to me.” Ebony gaze flicking coolly over Griffin's frame, the smile widened though his eyes took on an even more calculating light. “I'll be back, Dr. Marin, but should you reconsider before then, please do ring me.”

 

Watching the strange youkai leave with a marked scowl, Griffin didn't move until he'd let himself out of the office, until the click of his shoes on the old slate floor had diminished. Digging the card out of his pocket, he frowned as he read it. `Lord Duncan McCaffrey . . .'

 

`Lord?' Griffin thought with a shake of his head. That would account for the slight accent, wouldn't it? Still, why had that guy given him such an uneasy feeling? He started to crumple the card in his hand then changed his mind, stuffing it back into his pocket as he headed for the door, too.

 

Sure, he'd had some bizarre requests before. One lady had come into his office just after he'd started teaching to ask him if he would talk to her cat because, as she said, her cat was channeling the spirit of a dead Aztec warrior. But in all the years that he'd been teaching, he hadn't once accepted anyone's offer to have him translate something for him—no one, that was, until Isabelle had showed up on his doorstep with that sheepish smile and the air of defeat. Even back then, that had bothered him though he hadn't really understood why at the time. No, she'd simply been one of the girls in one of his classes that he hadn't given a second thought once the lesson had been dismissed.

 

`Okay,' he admitted with an inward snort as he pushed out of the linguistics building. `That was a lie . . .'

 

Of course he'd noticed her from the very first day she'd sashayed into his lecture room. Come to think of it, every single guy in the room had noticed her, for what it was worth. With a smile on her face that hadn't faltered when she'd caught sight of the scars traversing his cheek, she'd stared with rapt attention every single time she'd walked through the door.

 

And she was bright—damned if she wasn't. As much as he liked to grumble and complain, Isabelle was no one's fool. How often had she debated with him, sometimes for the entire class period, on some point that most of the others found trivial. Yet she never had, and more often than not, he'd spend the entire walk home pondering the questions that she'd inadvertently raised in his mind.

 

He almost smiled as he turned down the quiet street that led toward his side of town. The apartment buildings that were so prevalent closer to campus slowly gave way to small, tired looking houses without a discernable transition. Four blocks away from the last of the apartment houses, the tiny lawns that stretched out in front of the cottages grew a little larger, a little better kempt, and he knew well enough that further along, those places would merge into the even more spacious homes of the area where he lived. His was probably the smallest house in the area, come to think of it, but it didn't draw notice or detract from the setting, hidden as it was behind a line of trees near the road.

 

“I'll be back, Dr. Marin . . .”

 

Griffin's peaceful musings dissipated as the sound of the panther-youkai's voice whispered in his head. What was it about him that made Griffin feel so uneasy?

 

Letting out a deep breath, he adjusted his grip on the cane and kept moving. `Duncan McCaffrey . . . Duncan McCaffrey . . . why does that name seem almost . . . familiar . . .?'

 

Veering over to the nondescript bench on the corner of Hadley and Gardenia, Griffin set the briefcase down and dug the cell phone out of it. Isabelle had stuck it in there, telling him with a smile that if he missed her, he could call her. He'd snorted, turned red, and assured her that he'd do no such thing, but at the moment, he was rather glad that she'd done it. It took him another minute to dig the scrap of paper that had Attean's number on it out of his wallet.

 

“Afternoon, Griffin. I suppose you're calling to talk me out of bringing Maria down for a visit?” the hanyou greeted.

 

“Uh, no,” Griffin muttered, sticking the briefcase under the same arm that held the cane as he started walking again. “You ever heard of a youkai named Duncan McCaffrey?”

 

“Youkai? What kind of youkai?”

 

Griffin blinked as the cloud that had obscured the sun shifted suddenly. “P-panther,” he managed, wishing that he had a free hand to shield his eyes from the brightness.

 

“A panther . . .” Attean repeated thoughtfully. “No, I can't say I have. Why?”

 

Griffin grunted. “No reason . . . he stopped in at the university to ask me to translate something for him. That's all.”

 

Attean sighed. “This is the first time someone has asked you to do such a thing?”

 

“No . . . It's just . . . a feeling,” he muttered, suddenly feeling a little ridiculous about the entire situation. “Maybe I'm . . . being paranoid or something . . .”

 

“No, no . . .” Attean agreed quickly. “You've always had good instincts. Was there anything in particular that bothered you about this Duncan fellow?”

 

Catching the cell phone between his shoulder and ear, Griffin pulled the card out of his pocket and frowned at it. “He seemed a little . . . pushy, I guess . . . Didn't like it when I said I wasn't interested.”

 

“Did he threaten you?”

 

“No,” Griffin said with a shake of his head. “Can you do me a . . . a favor?”

 

Attean chuckled. “Certainly.”

 

“If I give you a number, can you trace it? I mean, it's on his card, but . . .”

 

“Sure.”

 

Griffin read the number and hung up after Attean's promise that he'd call back in a few minutes.

 

He was nearly halfway home when the phone rang, grinding out that God-forsaken song that Griffin detested but had yet to replace, and with a muttered curse, he dug the device out of his pocket and snorted. His only real solace was the fact that Attean had no idea what sort of ringtone he had.

 

“Griffin, hello again. I ran that number.”

 

“And?” he prompted without bothering with niceties.

 

“And,” Attean hedged with a sigh. “I am not certain what to make of it.”

 

“Just cut to the chase, Attean,” Griffin grumbled impatiently. Unable to place why, exactly, for some reason, the sense of foreboding that he couldn't make sense of was growing steadily worse.

 

“That's just it,” he replied smoothly. “The cell phone is registered to a Duncan McCaffrey, but according to public record, the man was found dead outside Heathrow Airport less than a month ago. A heart attack, they said.”

 

“A heart attack,” he repeated, unconsciously quickening his step.

 

“There's more,” Attean went on in a completely reticent tone.

 

“More?”

 

“Mm,” he intoned. “It didn't sit well with me, either, so I ran a few other checks, and it seems that the man I told you about the last time we spoke—you remember?”

 

“Y-yeah,” Griffin huffed, grimacing as the dull ache in his hip blossomed into a full-out scream for pity when he jogged across an intersection in time to beat the pedestrian light. “Gregory, right? Alastair Gregory?”

 

“That's the one,” Attean agreed. “My sources tell me that he is missing, as well—and that he hasn't been seen in about a month.”

 

“What does he look like?” Griffin demanded in a throaty growl.

 

“Come again?”

 

“What the hell does he look like?” Griffin bellowed, drawing quite a few odd looks from other people on the street.

 

Attean heaved an audible sigh. “He is a panther-youkai,” he finally stated. “Griffin, call the Zelig. Alastair Gregory . . . you do not know his ilk! Take your Isabelle and get her away, but call the Zelig and let him deal with Gregory!”

 

“Thanks,” Griffin bit out, clicking off the device and stuffing it into his pocket as he cursed himself a thousand times for not being more careful as far as she was concerned. “Damn it!” he fumed, ducking into an alley and casting a quick glance around to make sure he wasn't being watched. He wasn't sure why he felt such a horrible sense of urgency, but he didn't question it, either. Glancing at his watch, he scowled. He wasn't certain when Isabelle had called to leave that message, but the way it was worded made him seriously doubt that she'd be home already, and whether Gregory had figured out where she was or even how she fit into the picture, he wasn't about to parade her in front of the miscreant to find out . . .

 

`Calm down, Griffin . . . think! Do you really think that he'd have searched you out if he knew you already had a connection with her?'

 

That thought worked to take the edge off the panic though it didn't alleviate it by any means. `Right . . . right . . . that'd be stupid, wouldn't it?'

 

`It would be . . . so find out where she is right now, and get her out of here!'

 

`Y-yeah . . .'

 

Digging out the cell phone once more, he dialed the first number—Isabelle's number. It rang four times then shuffled him off to her voicemail as he growled in irritation and leapt onto the nearest building, ignoring the growing ache in his body as he hung up and redialed. It took four tries before the call was finally answered, and by then, Griffin was damn near close to breaking the idiotic device.

 

“Yes?” the surly voice answered.

 

“Why are you answering Isabelle's cell? Where is she?” he demanded.

 

Gunnar snorted. “Because you called it,” he replied in a clipped tone that matched Griffin's.

 

“She's home?” Griffin asked, ignoring the sarcastic answer he'd received.

 

“No, she's not. She just forgot her phone.”

 

“So she's still at the hospital,” he concluded.

 

“Yeah, I guess,” Gunnar replied in a completely disgruntled sort of way, his voice thick and heavy with the remnants of sleep.

 

“All right,” Griffin said, feeling a little more of the consuming panic loosen its grip on his nerves. “If she gets there, make her go straight inside and don't let her so much as set a foot outside.”

 

There was a very pregnant silence on the other end of the line that lasted for a good few minutes before Gunnar cleared his throat in preface to what he was going to say. “You're one of those sick bastards who won't let his mate do anything without consulting you first?”

 

Stifling the urge to growl, Griffin didn't bother to respond to that. “Just make sure she does what I say.”

 

He hung up, altering his path to intercept her at the hospital. If he could reach her before she went back to the house, no one would be the wiser . . .

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Isabelle turned down the street that led to the small house behind the row of trees with a wan but genuine smile on her lips, flicking her wrist to adjust her watch as she shot it a cursory glance. `A quarter after two,' she thought as her smile widened. `Not bad, not bad . . .'

 

Actually, she figured that `not bad' was a bit of an understatement. The baby she'd just finished delivering had arrived in record time, or so it would seem. Actually, she'd barely managed to get scrubbed up before the nurse had run in to hurry her along since the baby was already crowning.

 

She was tired, yes, but it was a good kind of tired.

 

Her smile widened as she turned into the driveway beside Gunnar's car and shut off the engine, laughing to herself when she climbed out of the vehicle, pausing for a minute to look around, momentarily dazzled by the shades of green, the slight graying in the blue tinted skies . . . What was it about seeing the start of a new life that never failed to make her see things in a whole new light?

 

`It's a beautiful thing,' she decided with a little giggle as she darted toward the house.

 

The silence that greeted her was comforting, and she dropped her purse and keys onto the table, bracing herself against it as she kicked off her shoes. The first order of business was to fill the tea kettle to make sure that the water was hot when Griffin got home since she knew well enough that he would head for a mug of tea first thing.

 

Considering she'd only been gone a few hours, she figured that Gunnar was probably still sleeping off the medicine she'd forced down his throat before she'd left the house, and she shook her head as a smile played at the corners of her lips when she opened the guest bedroom door and spotted him asleep on the bed.

 

Tilting her head to the side, she bit her lip and glanced at her watch again. After his irritation with her at having been forced to take the acetaminophen, she figured that letting him sleep awhile longer would be the least she could do. Besides that, his coloring was a little better, and that was a good sign.

 

Carefully pulling the door closed behind herself, Isabelle shuffled down the hallway to change clothes, mentally planning what she ought to make for dinner. Griffin was partial to fish, of course, and that would probably be best for Gunnar's still shaky constitution if he felt up to eating. She was pretty sure that there were enough new potatoes in the bin for a side dish, too.

 

Dropping the sensible slacks and blouse on the bed, she pulled on a simple yellow sundress and hurriedly pulled her hair back into a ponytail, pausing long enough to grab her charm bracelet—Griffin's gift last Christmas—off the bureau since she never wore it to work before she headed back down the hallway again.

 

She did a double take as she glanced at the small table beside Griffin's recliner and made a face. She'd been in such a hurry earlier that she hadn't even brought in the poor man's newspaper. Shaking her head at her own forgetfulness, she strode through the room and into the foyer, whistling for Charlie—when had she stopped thinking of her dog as `Froofie', she wondered.

 

The dog came galloping up the stairs from the basement, busting through the recently installed dog door with a happy whine, his claws clicking on the hardwood floor as he skittered to her side. “Shall we go get the paper for Daddy?” she asked, kneeling down and grasping the animal's ruff and giving him an affectionate shake.

 

Charlie licked her cheek and did a silly little dance as Isabelle stood up and reached for the handle.

 

He ran down the steps and into the yard with a series of delighted barks as Isabelle retrieved the mail from the nondescript black box beside the door. She gave the mail a cursory glance, deciding that there wasn't anything important, before she turned to look for the newspaper. It wasn't lying on the porch, and she shook her head but smiled, wondering if they'd gotten a new paperboy or something.

 

She'd just finished searching through the short bushes in front of the house for the missing paper when Charlie erupted in a low growl—a warning growl. “What's the matter, Charlie?” she asked quietly, scratching him behind the ears.

 

“Excuse me.”

 

Isabelle blinked and lifted her gaze to meet the sooty eyes of a man she'd never seen before as he slowly walked up the driveway from the street. “Hello,” she called back.

 

“I'm new to the area,” the man said as he strode closer. “I thought perhaps you could help me.”

 

Charlie's growl grew deeper, interrupting Isabelle before she could respond, and she glanced down at him for a moment before casting the stranger an apologetic sort of smile. “Oh, uh, sure, just a minute . . . I'm sorry . . . He's normally not like this . . . Come on, Charlie . . . let's go back inside, hmm?”

 

The dog uttered another warning growl, the short, coarse hairs on the back of his neck standing up straight. `Not . . . Lor-r-rd Bear-r,' Charlie said. `Str-r-ranger go away-y-y . . .'

 

Isabelle broke into a smile at the title that Charlie had decided should be Griffin's, but she slipped her index finger under his collar and tugged gently to get the animal to follow. “You be good; do you hear?” she scolded.

 

He didn't seem like he wanted to cooperate, but he didn't complain any more as she led him back up onto the porch and pushed him into the house. `It's a little odd, isn't it?' she thought distractedly as she bit her lip and glanced back at the front door. Charlie was one of the friendliest dogs she'd ever seen, so his reaction to the stranger seemed a little alarming. A strange sort of uneasiness prickled her spine, and she quickly shook her head. `Don't be silly!' she chastised herself. `He said he was new to the area, right . . .?' “Sorry about that,” she apologized again, bowing slightly as she offered the man—youkai—a small smile. “You said that you needed help?”

 

“I wondered if you would be able to tell me where to find an address,” he replied, reaching into his inner breast pocket for a slip of paper that he held out to her.

 

She stared at him for a moment before hesitantly reaching for it, all too aware of the ruckus Charlie was making on the other side of the front door. “O-oh,” she said, all too aware of the slight tremor in her voice as she forced a smile. There was something altogether disturbing about the man's youki. It felt stagnant—empty—almost menacing, and without realizing what she was doing, she leaned away from him. “I-I don't think—” she began but cut herself off with a sharp gasp when his hand flashed out, wrapping around her wrist and dragging her off the porch and onto the sidewalk. “Let go of me,” she commanded in a much more self-assured tone than she was actually feeling.

 

His claws dug into the soft flesh of her wrist as he jerked her upright when she stumbled, his midnight eyes shining with a manic sort of light. Face contorting in an evil grin, he dug his claws in a little deeper and uttered a dry, rasping chuckle that sounded rusty from years of disuse. “On the contrary, Miss Izayoi. I insist.”

 

Her eyes flared wide as she stared at the youkai. Slowly, so slowly, his lips twisted into a cynical smile—a coldness underlying the expression that chilled her to her core. He looked like he enjoyed hurting people; like he wanted nothing more than to cut her down where she stood. She'd never seen that much hatred before, and she'd never had it directed at her . . . “Wh-who are you?” she whispered with a shake of her head, struggling to remain calm when all she really wanted to do was to scream at the top of her lungs. “How do you know my name?”

 

“You don't need to know,” he informed her as that nasty little grin widened. “But you do have something that I want—something that belongs to me . . . and now . . . now I understand.”

 

`What does he . . . understand . . .?' She blinked and clenched her jaw for a moment, willing away the sting of pain that erupted around the youkai's claws that were still embedded in her wrist. “I don't know what you're talking about,” she replied quietly even as the stirrings of comprehension dawned inside her. `The . . . the research . . . He's . . . he's the one who . . . and Griffin . . .'

 

The youkai jerked her forward, letting go of her wrist and snaking an arm around her waist in one fluid motion, smashing her back against his chest as he forced her to move toward the driveway—toward the nondescript black sedan still running where it sat. “Now you'll do what I say, Miss Izayoi,” he murmured into her ear. “It may mean the difference between a quick, painless death . . . and . . . not.”

 

She heard the whisper of sound, the dull thump behind them. All at once a familiar presence—the comfort of an aura that she knew—nearly made her knees buckle as a surge of relief shot through her.

 

“The hell it will.”

 

With a gasp, Isabelle tried to jerk away from her captor at the sound of that voice as she tried to keep herself upright. She only got a glimpse of him before the stranger jerked her around again, his claws digging into her hip on one side, the tender flesh of her breast on the other. Unable to repress the low moan that escaped her, she wasn't entirely certain which provocation made him react: the scent of her blood or the sound that she couldn't hold in. Either way, the air was drenched in the menacing sound of the bear-youkai's growl—a sound meant to reassure her as well as to warn off the enemy. When the foreign youkai carted around without letting go of her, Isabelle had to blink at the completely impassive expression on Griffin's face—the absolute and total rage that burned so deeply within the eyes she knew so very well.

 

Griffin was breathing hard, a bead of sweat trailing a path down his cheek, and he didn't even glance at her as he glared at the strange youkai. Leaning heavily on his cane, he shuffled his feet slightly, his youkai crackling, tingling in the early afternoon's weak and watery sunshine.

 

The panther-youkai laughed, an ominous rumble that seemed to surround the area, carried on the wind that rose from the north. “Ah, Dr. Marin . . . so good of you to join us. Tell me . . .” he drawled, digging his claws in just a little deeper and chuckling again as Isabelle groaned. “Is this little bit of baggage worth your trouble?”

 

Griffin's growl grew louder, more malevolent, his rage taking on an electric sort of undercurrent as he narrowed his eyes slightly, as an unearthly reddish hue ignited in his stare. Her discomfort was fueling his rage, and, biting her cheek hard, she tried to get herself under control before Griffin completely lost his control.

 

The panther-youkai seemed to realize it, too, and he laughed, letting go of her breast and slowly drawing his hand up, extending the claw of his index finger, methodically dragging it from the top of her cheek diagonally toward the corner of her lips, a small trickle of blood seeping into the incision, trailing down her skin. She didn't make a sound, and she didn't take her eyes off Griffin, either.

 

Hand tightening on his cane, he didn't change expression, and he didn't lower his eyes from the youkai's face, though there wasn't a doubt in Isabelle's mind that he knew exactly what Alastair had done. “Get your damn hands off her or I swear on all that's holy, I'll kill you.”

 

 

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A/N:

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Reviewers

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MMorg

dewrose ------ Sunekai ------ Jester08 ------ OROsan0677 ------ Nikaa ------ Sesshomaru4Kagura4ever

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Forum Reviews

DarkAngel ------ cutechick18 ------ sueroxmysox ------ psycho_chick32 ------ Amerise ------ OROsan0677

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Final Thought from Griffin:

…Lord Bear …?

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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 InuYasha or 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~