InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ The Last Mile ( Chapter 71 )

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~Lemon Warning~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

There is no clean version of this chapter. You have been warned.

 

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~~Chapter 71~~

~The Last Mile~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Attean stepped back and scratched his chin thoughtfully as he tried not to laugh outright at the absolutely belligerent expression on Griffin's face.

 

Oh, it had started innocently enough. The two were sitting around enjoying mugs of herbal tea while the women were off doing God only knew what in the guise of shopping, or so they'd claimed. Odd, really, how quickly Maria had taken to Isabelle. She'd been so set on disliking her when they'd boarded the plane that had brought them to Griffin's house in Maine that it only served to affirm in Attean's mind that he would never, ever understand his mate.

 

Then again, maybe it wasn't so surprising. There was just something about Isabelle that seemed to draw people close—a friendliness that couldn't be denied. Maybe that was what had lured Griffin in, to start with. No doubt about it: as far as Attean could tell, Isabelle was good for Griffin. There was a certain level of contentment in his long time friend that he couldn't recall ever having sensed before, and that, as far as Attean was concerned, was a beautiful thing. Whatever haunted Griffin for so long . . . Isabelle had healed that inside him, hadn't she?

 

So it was that thought that had prompted Attean to make the remark that had instigated this entire venture, and while he figured that he ought to feel bad for manipulating the situation, he had to admit that, well, he just didn't . . .

 

“So when are you going to marry your beautiful mate?” Attean asked as he settled comfortably on the sofa in the somewhat darkened living room in Griffin's home.

 

Griffin, however, had just taken a sip of tea, and he coughed a little pathetically as he wiped his chin with the back of his hand. Face blossoming in embarrassed color, the bear-youkai looked around almost wildly, as if he thought that Attean was speaking to someone else. “Uh, ah, what?” he stammered, giving up on the idea that someone else had managed to sneak into his house when he wasn't looking.

 

Attean chuckled. “You heard me. When do you plan on marrying her?”

 

Leaning forward after thumping his mug onto the stand beside the recliner he was occupying, Griffin shrugged and shook his head but refused to meet Attean's gaze. “We, uh . . . we haven't talked about it,” he muttered.

 

Attean nodded slowly since he also figured that Griffin hadn't actually thought about it, either—which was why he had mentioned it, in the first place. “She strikes me as the marrying kind,” he went on in a carefully casual tone. Taking his time adjusting the watch that Maria had given him for Christmas last year, it struck him again that for a man as intelligent as Griffin Marin was, he really didn't have a clue when it came to women.

 

“The marrying kind?” Griffin echoed incredulously. “What's that mean?”

 

“It means,” Attean went on after a careful sip of tea, “she's the kind of woman who wants to honor her mate by bearing his last name.”

 

Griffin snorted though his cheeks reddened, too. “That's just a human convention.”

 

“And she is half human, isn't she?”

 

“Maria's all human, and you didn't marry her.”

 

“I did,” Attean argued mildly. “We got married by our standards.”

 

“What's that mean?”

 

“That means that we didn't get married in a church; you're right. The vows we made, however, were witnessed in our hearts, and that was more than enough for us. Besides that, you were there when we performed the Native American ceremony later, weren't you.” It wasn't a question.

 

Griffin snorted but didn't reply.

 

“So,” Attean went on at length when he figured that Griffin really wasn't going to comment, “how are you planning to pop the big question?”

 

Griffin grimaced and glanced at Attean. “I-I don't know,” he growled. “You just ask, right?”

 

“That would be the most direct route,” Attean agreed. “I trust you have a ring already?”

 

“A . . . ring . . .?”

 

Attean sighed and shook his head. He'd almost forgotten that he was talking to Griffin. Of course he didn't . . .

 

And that was why they were here. After a bit of goading, Attean had finally managed to convince Griffin to bite the bullet and do it. Too bad Griffin looked like he was going to rip someone to bits . . . or puke. Both options boded ill for Marin. Either way, Attean would be able to look back on this moment and laugh. Still, he had a feeling that it wasn't the idea of buying an engagement ring for Isabelle that was bothering his friend nearly as much as the sense of self-consciousness that was so painfully obvious that Attean almost felt sorry for him.

 

“Good afternoon! Is there something I can help you with?”

 

Griffin jumped when the saleswoman started to speak, and he only cast her a cursory glance before ducking his chin and tilting his head just enough to hide the scarred side of his face just a little more. “I, uh . . . I'm looking for a . . . a ring.”

 

The woman smiled brightly as she tucked a lock of shoulder-length brown hair behind her ear. “We have plenty of those. Anything in particular?”

 

Griffin cleared his throat and shrugged. “Uh . . . well, I . . . err . . .”

 

Attean chuckled and clapped a hand on Griffin's shoulder. “My friend, here, is looking for an engagement ring,” he supplied with a smile as he stepped up beside Griffin.

 

“Oh, okay! Are you looking for something traditional? Something trendier? A wraparound, maybe?”

 

Judging from the almost puzzled set of Griffin's features, he hadn't comprehended any of those options. “Perhaps you could point us in the right direction for browsing?” Attean asked instead.

 

The girl's smile widened, and she moved down to the next display counter. “We just got some really lovely rings in last week.”

 

Griffin stepped down, too, and frowned at the menagerie. “C-can I see that one?” he asked, pointing at a very simple solitaire diamond set in a matte finish platinum band.

 

The girl nodded and unlocked the cabinet. Griffin cleared his throat as he waited for her to pull the ring out of the tiny jeweler's box. “Here you are,” she said, holding out the ring for his inspection.

 

He hesitated for a moment before reaching for it. The girl blinked when she caught sight of the scars on his hand, but she didn't falter. “I really like the finish on that one,” she went on in a conversational tone.

 

Griffin glanced at her and nodded as he took the ring from her. “It's, um, pretty,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes as he stared at it.

 

“All of our diamonds are certified by an independent appraiser and are guaranteed to be flawless. That one is a `D' color—”

 

“What does that mean? `D' color?” Griffin interrupted without taking his eyes off the ring he was thoroughly examining.

 

She laughed softly. “That means that it's a white diamond. We have a couple yellow diamonds in stock, if you'd rather, or we can special order else if you would prefer. A gentleman who came in last week ordered a pink diamond . . . It was really spectacular . . .”

 

“I think . . . I like the white ones,” Griffin mused.

 

“You seem like a traditional kind of guy,” she agreed as she pulled a nondescript black binder from between the cash register and the raised portion of the counter display. “I believe that ring is two carats: the table percentage of it is . . . fifty-eight,” she read off an inventory table as she balanced the binder in one hand and pushed her glasses up with the other.

 

Griffin glanced at Attean, his eyebrows drawing together in a thoughtful scowl. “It . . . doesn't seem very big . . .”

 

“The ring, itself, or the stone?” he asked.

 

Griffin shrugged. “The stone.”

 

“Do you want her to be able to lift her hand?” he teased.

 

That earned him a slightly darker scowl. “I-I have money,” he growled defensively.

 

Attean chuckled. “Of course you do, but . . . what is that old saying . . .? `It's not the size that matters . . .'”

 

The girl twittered out a demure laugh and blushed prettily. Attean winked at her. Griffin either didn't understand the double entendre or he just didn't bother to remark on it. Attean figured it was the first of those options . . .

 

“Yeah, but she . . . well, she . . . she's got a big . . . everything else, so maybe . . .”

 

“If you don't like that one, then ask to see a different one,” Attean supplied reasonably.

 

Griffin shook his head stubbornly. “I-I like this one,” he blurted. “I just . . . I don't want her to think . . .”

 

“I'd be thrilled if my boyfriend bought me that ring,” the salesgirl chimed in. “It's gorgeous, and trust me: when it comes to something like that, if you feel in your heart that it's the right ring for her, then it doesn't matter how large or small the diamond is.”

 

“The . . . right ring . . .?” Griffin echoed with a shake of his head.

 

The girl nodded. “Yeah. Something like this? It should be the one that you look at, and you think that it's just perfect for her—that you just can't imagine buying a different one for her.”

 

Griffin considered that for a moment as he continued to examine the ring in question. “I-I don't know,” he finally said. “I mean, it just looks like a . . . ring . . .”

 

“Imagine what it would look like on her finger,” Attean offered helpfully.

 

Griffin snorted and shook his head. “It's a ring,” he pointed out again in a slightly more foreboding tone.

 

Attean rolled his eyes and grabbed the ring, slipping it onto his pinky in one fluid motion. It only fit to above his first joint, and he held out his hand, splaying his fingers so that Griffin could see how the ring looked. “How's that?”

 

He snorted again. “I'm not marrying you,” he mumbled, narrowing his gaze in obvious irritation.

 

The girl clapped her hands over her mouth to staunch her amusement, but the sparkle in her eyes gave her away.

 

“You wanted to see it on a finger, so I'm helping,” Attean corrected. “Better?”

 

“Not really,” Griffin stated, reaching over and jerking the ring off Attean's hand. “I-I definitely don't want that one,” he growled, thrusting it under the girl's nose.

 

The girl's laughter bubbled out, and Attean couldn't help but chuckle, too. Griffin snorted indelicately, muttering under his breath that he'd much rather do this alone. Attean ignored the comment.

 

“I was simply trying to assist you,” Attean went on airily.

 

That earned him a completely droll sort of look. “You could wait outsi—” Cutting himself off abruptly, Griffin leaned down and narrowed his eyes as he examined another ring through the glass countertop. “”C-could I see that one, please?” he muttered, jabbing his index finger against the surface directly above the ring in question.

 

The woman nodded and uttered a soft, “Mhmm,” as she slipped the first ring back into the box and replaced it in the secured cabinet. The soft beep of the security field sounded as she pulled the other ring box out. “Here you go,” she said, pulling the ring from the bed of luxurious silk and spared a moment to look the piece over before extending it to him. “That's one of our more expensive ones. The engagement ring is set with a three carat class `D' white diamond, table percentage at sixty . . . expensive, but definitely a gorgeous ring. It's also nice because the ring is designed to look good with any band you choose, but it does actually have a custom wraparound band if you'd like to see it, too.”

 

“Wraparound?” Griffin echoed without taking his gaze off the ring. His eyes had brightened—taken on a strange sort of glow, the likes of which Attean couldn't recall seeing in Griffin's expression before. It was the unmistakable look of a man who was trying to gather his courage for this sort of venture. Full of cautious hope, a little reluctance, a deep-rooted happiness, Griffin didn't smile, but then, he didn't have to, and Attean curled his fingers over his own lips, lest Griffin should look up and see the amusement that he couldn't hide.

 

“Yes . . . that means it has a special wedding band that was created to wrap around that diamond. Would you care to see it, too?” she supplied.

 

Griffin nodded without a word and only handed over the ring when the girl cleared her throat. She took the ring carefully and put it together with the band then held it out for his inspection. “If you purchase rings from us, we do also offer complimentary soldering after your wedding.”

 

He considered that for a long moment then nodded as he silently reached for the rings to get a better look for himself. “I . . . I think these are okay . . .” he mumbled, cheeks reddening. Almost tentatively, he set the rings on the counter before digging into his pocket for his checkbook.

 

“Okay,” she said, carefully replacing the rings in the boxes. Do you need to have those sized for her?”

 

“Sized?”

 

Attean pressed his lips together when he noticed how badly Griffin's hand was shaking. The bear refreshed his grip on the thick barrel of the ink pen that he kept inside the checkbook. The shaking lessened but didn't go away completely.

 

“Sure . . . we carry size seven as standard here, but if you need to have it sized to fit her, then we can do that, too.”

 

“I don't . . . know,” Griffin admitted as he scribbled his name on the check. “You . . . you have one of those check writers, right?”

 

She nodded, using a hand scanner to scan in the bar code out of the black binder. “Yes, sir . . . I'll go get the paperwork that goes with your rings. It explains our guarantees and services.”

 

Griffin jerked his head once in a curt nod then winced as the intonation of his cell phone interrupted the moment.

 

“That song,” Attean said slowly, scratching his chin as he tried to figure out exactly why it sounded familiar to him, “what is it?”

 

Griffin snorted, digging the phone out of his pocket as his already red face darkened a couple shades, and he fumbled with the device. “Proof that Isabelle's completely bent,” he muttered, flipping the phone open and jamming it against the side of his head. “You forgot to change this stupid song,” he growled low enough that a human might not have heard him.

 

Attean didn't miss the sound of Isabelle's faraway laughter.

 

“You're going to change it as soon as I get home,” he pointed out.

 

The saleswoman returned with an emerald green folder. Griffin waved his hand toward the open checkbook on the counter, and Attean nodded, carefully pulling the check loose before handing it to the woman. Griffin reached over and turned the checkbook around so that she could see his ID card, all the while uttering a series of grunts and mumbled responses to whatever it was that his beautiful mate was saying to him.

 

“I'll be home in a little while,” Griffin supplied, tapping his foot impatiently as he stowed the checkbook into his pocket once more.

 

The woman finished checking out the order and carefully placed both ring boxes and the folder into a thick, deep green paper bag with raffia handles, handed it to Griffin, and whispered `goodbye' to the men as they turned to leave.

 

As they stepped outside, Griffin snapped the phone closed with a sigh and shook his head, hunching his shoulders slightly and ducking his head. Attean wondered if he even realized what he was doing, but didn't comment on it.

 

“I take it that was your mate?” he asked at length as they headed for Attean's rental car.

 

Griffin snorted. “I left her a note,” he muttered.

 

Attean laughed as he climbed into the automobile. “It shows she cares,” he replied.

 

“Is that what you call it?” Griffin shot back as he pulled the passenger side door closed.

 

“It's the safest thing to call it,” Attean supplied.

 

Griffin was quiet for a moment as Attean started the car and backed out of the parking spot. When he glanced at the bear, he smiled when he saw that Griffin had retrieved the ring from the confines of the bag and was staring at it again. “It doesn't get any better, does it?” Griffin finally mused.

 

Attean chuckled as he turned onto the street that led toward Griffin's house. “Well, I . . . uh . . . no,” he admitted with a little shrug. “It doesn't.”

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Isabelle rubbed her eyes as she shuffled into the living room with a wan little smile still gracing her lips. Griffin sighed in an infinitely tired sort of way, and when he saw her, he shifted slightly in his recliner. “Didn't think they'd ever leave,” he muttered with a shake of his head.

 

“They're your friends, and I like them,” she pointed out with a soft laugh as plopped onto the sofa. “It's been a long day, hasn't it?”

 

He didn't respond right away, but he did shift again. Isabelle pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. In the last few weeks since they'd officially become mates, she'd come to understand a few things. Griffin just wasn't the demonstrative type, but that didn't mean that he was above hinting whenever he wanted her attention, either. Most often, he did little things like moving over just enough to show her that there was room in his chair for her, too. She pushed herself to her feet and wandered over to him, slipping onto his lap and giggling when he uttered his customary grunt of token protest.

 

“So what kind of errand did you and Attean `need' to do?” she asked lightly.

 

“Break me, why don't you?” he grumbled as he slipped his arms around her waist. “It's none of your business. If you wanted to know, then you should have stayed home and eavesdropped.”

 

“Maybe,” she allowed, kissing the cheek that he leaned toward her in blatant invitation. “You're really not going to tell me?”

 

Griffin shrugged. “You're nosy, did you know?”

 

She laughed and kissed him again.

 

“I know what you're trying to do,” he accused, narrowing his eyes on her as his arms tightened just a little.

 

“Oh? And what am I trying to do?” she countered.

 

He grunted. “You're trying to infest me with your dog germs.”

 

She snapped her mouth closed and pressed her lips together as her nostrils flared and she fought back the urge to smile. “So you figured me out.”

 

“Wasn't that hard to do,” he assured her.

 

Nestling against him, she heaved a contented sigh and almost let her eyes drift closed when a sudden thought struck her. “Griffin?”

 

“What?”

 

“Where's your phone?”

 

He paused for a moment as he shook out the newspaper and shot her a quick glance. “I don't know,” he muttered, cheeks pinking just a little. “On my desk or something. Why?”

 

“You wanted me to change the ringtone, right?” she reminded him, kissing his cheek when he inclined his head toward her in what she'd come to learn was a hint.

 

He snorted and dropped the newspaper onto the table beside the recliner. “You go running around with Maria all day, don't see me for hours while you're off doing God only knows what, but I'm sure it was bad, and now you want to waste more time messing with that?”

 

“But you said you wanted me to change it the minute you got home,” she pointed out reasonably.

 

“If you'd rather spend your time with a stupid lump of plastic, be my guest,” he grumbled, his arms tightening around her to counter his claims to the contrary.

 

Isabelle giggled and shook her head as she pushed herself up on her knees and straddled his lap, slipping her arms around his neck. “When you put it that way,” she said, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, “I suppose that it could wait . . .”

 

“C-c-could it?” he stammered, his face reddening a little more as she brushed her lips over his the softest of caresses. She could feel the unsteady rhythm of his beating heart creating a palpitation in his youki that surrounded her as tightly as his arms. Her lips brushed over his again once, twice, only to return in the gentlest rain of kisses: kisses as light as a butterfly's wings.

 

He sighed quietly—almost a breath, not quite a sound. He groaned when she ground her hips against him, using her body to entice him as the wicked burn of passion ignited deep within her.

 

“Isa . . . belle . . .” he murmured, turning his face to the side to avoid her. “Stop.”

 

Her breathing was unsteady, and she ignored him, leaning in, nuzzling against his neck. His ever-present stubble chafed her, but it was a delicious sensation. “I don't want to,” she stated simply, covering his throat in balmy kisses.

 

“I-i-it's still . . . light . . . outside,” he rasped out, unconsciously letting his head fall further to the side, allowing her open access to him. “W . . . ait . . .”

 

“I know; I know,” she nearly purred, her voice muffled by his flesh, her words broken by relentless kisses that she refused to stop showering on him. “You hate looking . . . at me . . . but I . . . love . . . looking . . . at . . . you . . .”

 

“Just . . . God . . . wait . . .” he managed once more.

 

“I've never been a patient woman,” she pointed out, flicking out the tip of her tongue against the rise and fall of his Adam's apple.

 

“Isabelle . . .” he protested once more.

 

“Want me to get a bag to put over my head?” she teased.

 

He snorted but it was much weaker than usual. “Preferably plastic,” he muttered.

 

She laughed unevenly without faltering in her assault on his senses. Running her hands up and down his chest under his shirt, she savored the feel of his skin, burning to her touch but so very inviting. He shivered, his body reacting even if he wanted to protest. “I want you, Griffin Marin,” she whispered.

 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she understood what he was trying to say. He hated when she looked at him; hated his perceived flaws so badly that it was never far away in his mind. Too bad she was tired of that. Determined to let him know, once and for all, exactly what she thought of him, of his body, of everything about him, she responded to his feeble attempts to put her off in kind.

 

Letting her hands trail down his chest, she pushed his shirt up, leaning away only to discard his garments and her simple sundress. He closed his eyes to block out the sight of her—breasts flushed, rising and falling with her labored breaths. She laughed unevenly, undulating her torso, using her body to caress him. He growled again—a rough sound—a trembling reminder of the barely restrained power that he possessed. His arms locked around her, his hands burning her flesh as he clung to her desperately, unable to let go.

 

Fingertips tracing over the intersection of scars that marred his skin, Isabelle let her lips linger on his collarbone, on his chest. He quaked under her perusal, his youki ebbing over hers with such a tenderness that it brought tears to her eyes.

 

Kissing her way down his chest, down his stomach, she touched him to her heart's content, and while she could vaguely discern in her addled and frazzled mind that he was still uncomfortable with her attention, but she consoled herself with the fleeting thought that one day, he would thank her for it . . .

 

Grasping her shoulders, Griffin pushed her back gently but firmly, the breath constricting in his lungs as he tried to clear his mind enough to speak. “I-Isabelle,” he finally managed.

 

Skin flushed, she slowly opened her eyes to cast him a petulant little pout. Griffin had to struggle to keep a hold of his rapidly dwindling control. “We should . . . at least . . . i-in the bedr-room . . .” he stammered.

 

She considered that for a moment then slowly shook her head, her nimble fingers slipping under his waistband as she slowly ran her hand back and forth. “Just relax,” she purred, flicking the button of his jeans open with her thumb. The shock of her touch was as new and unsettling as it had been the very first time—a sensation that he could only pray never, ever changed, and while he ought to show at least a token resistance, he just . . . well, damn it, he couldn't.

 

And he couldn't shake the bemusement that had settled over him, either. Letting go of her as he flopped back against the thickly padded recliner once more, it felt more like a dream than reality as Isabelle slipped off his lap and onto her knees. Breathing required entirely too much concentration: far more than he possessed. Still he was able to lift his hips when she tugged on his jeans as the sensation of lightheadedness grew around him.

 

She let his pants fall on the floor as she pushed his knees apart. Closing his eyes against the sight of her, settled so demurely before him, he couldn't figure out why his body felt so leaden—his arms too heavy to move despite the whisper in the back of his head that there was a blanket folded over his recliner, and as much as he wanted to cover himself, the shocking feel of her fluttering touch was enough to obliterate everything else in his head. His body ached painfully—so painfully that he felt like he was going to die. The need that surged through him was insane—enough to force a roughened snarl from him. Every pulse centered on her: on her touch, her scent, her aura.

 

She reached for him, wrapped her hands around the length of him, squeezing him. His entire body reacted, a riot of nerves firing off all together like a cluster of fireworks on the Fourth of July. He wasn't sure if he'd called out her name or if it was just so ingrained in him that it escaped him like a breath or a sigh, as natural to him as though she were an extension of him. Her touch was enough to expel every last bit of conscious thought from him, leaving him reeling, body tensing, every sensation shattering only to build higher, thicker, stronger than anything he'd ever known before. “N . . .” he gasped as the air rushed out of his lungs.

 

But she wasn't finished. With a strangled cry that he couldn't contain, his eyes flashed open at the shocking heat—the moist confines of something so inebriating that he couldn't rightly comprehend it. In the flash of a heartbeat, he saw her, her eyes closed, her lips glistening with her own saliva as she drew him in deep—deeper and deeper. Her tongue stroked him, flicked over him. The sensation grew too fast, too heady, spurring on a frenzied abandon in a torrent of half-formed thoughts and inane words that meant everything and, at the same time, meant nothing at all.

 

The spiral of sensation swelled and roiled, culminating in a complete frenzy that couldn't be controlled. The emotion shifted so quickly that it couldn't be discerned from one moment to the next. The escalating desire exploded in a deluge of tactile sensation; want became need and need became something completely indefinable. The tightness that had wrapped itself around him seemed to choke off his breathing. An entirely excruciating ache spread throughout his body, a pressure building so rapidly that it almost frightened him. The pulsating pain echoed the steadily increasing speed of Isabelle's movements as she held onto him.

 

Then it shattered into a million fragments—the ache detonating as the last bit of his sanity gave way. Body twitching as pleasure so intense that it almost hurt gripped him, Griffin was vaguely aware of the bear-like growl that he couldn't contain. He was going to go mad if she didn't stop, wasn't he? A physical body wasn't created to endure anything as shattering as that, was it?

 

But she wasn't finished. It took him a minute to regain a semblance of his composure, and that was short-lived, too. Sensation was rapidly taking over again, and he had to force his eyes open as another groan slipped from him. Isabelle had climbed back into his lap, and the sensation of her, grinding her hips down on his, was entirely shocking and wholly welcome.

 

Unable to control his own movements, he gripped her hips, jerking her roughly against him time and again. The pleasure was back tenfold, and he couldn't do anything except surrender himself to the feelings as she jerked and writhed against him. Her breathing was punctuated by little moans, the softest whimpers as he yanked her down over and over. The scent of their bodies tinged the air, tingled in his nostrils, only to goad him further, faster, even as he ignored the burning pain that shot down his arms, down his legs. Face flushed, eyes closed, she half-whispered, half-moaned his name as her movements grew more frantic, as the draw of her passion reverberated from her to him and back again.

 

Her cry mingled with his own as the web of sensation broke once more: endearments heard but forgotten in the space of an instant, a breath, a welcome gush of light and sound and sensation . . .

 

She collapsed against him, her body trembling as she laughed and cried at the same time. Huddling against him as she murmured nonsense, she kissed him a hundred times if she kissed him once, her heartbeat hammering in his ears as the sense of falling slowly waned.

 

Griffin smoothed her hair back, kissed her forehead as he pulled her closer. Through the flow of incoherent babble, he could hear the emotion in her tone, and for a moment—just for the moment—he smiled a little as he reached behind them, tugging the blanket off the back of the recliner and spreading it over them both.

 

Isabelle fell silent, though her breathing was still harsh and labored. Content to be held, she yawned quietly and snuggled deeper into the crook of his arm.

 

“Isa . . . belle?” he murmured. On the one hand, he was loathe to end the beauty of that insular moment, but on the other . . .

 

“Hmm?” she drawled, her voice little more than a whisper.

 

He drew a deep breath and cleared his throat, his eyes shifting to the side as he slowly regarded the sturdy table beside the chair. He'd barely had time to stick the ring box in the drawer of that table when he'd gotten home. He doubted he could reach it, but . . .

 

And why was it that one simple question could make him break out in a cold sweat, anyway?

 

Stifling the urge to sigh, he cleared his throat again and tried to force the words to come. They wouldn't. stuck somewhere between his brain and his voice, the will to speak was tempered by the sudden and vicious surge of latent fear, and while the voice in his head assured him that he was being ridiculous, he couldn't shake the feeling that maybe he was being stupid. She already had him, didn't she? She didn't have to marry him to be his mate, and he knew that, too . . .

 

Fighting to ignore the unreasonable grip of panic that set in, Griffin grimaced inwardly and unconsciously tightened his hold on Isabelle. A contented sigh slipped from her, and he could feel the muscles in her face shift against his chest as she smiled.

 

`Don't be ridiculous, Griffin! Just ask her, will you?'

 

`I-it's not that easy,' he retorted. `What if she . . .?'

 

`What if she, what? Says no? Do you honestly think she would?'

 

He snorted. `If she knew that it would make me squirm, yes . . .'

 

`Now you're just being stupid. Suck it up and ask her!'

 

Just ask her . . .

 

Trying not to think about how simple his youkai voice made the entire thing sound, Griffin cleared his throat yet again. “I-I-I was thinking . . .” he heard himself saying, “I mean, since I'm stuck with you . . .” Good God, it was difficult—more difficult than anything he'd ever tried to say before. Swallowing hard—why was his mouth suddenly bone-dry?—he snorted indelicately and blurted, “Might as well do it, right? I mean, I just—We should—Do you want to—I-I-I guess I'm asking you to . . .” Trailing off, he drew a deep breath and tried to force down the fist-sized lump that was blocking his ability to draw breath, “W-Will you—?”

 

Cutting himself off abruptly as he leaned to the side enough to see her face, Griffin's eyes flared wide as he slowly shook his head in abject disbelief. “—go to sleep,” he grumbled, cheeks heating furiously. Shaking his head and heaving a sigh, he snapped his mouth closed and shifted just enough to alleviate the dull ache in his body that was slowly but steadily growing worse. “You'll be the death of me, yet,” he grumbled though his tone lacked any real irritation.

 

It just figured, didn't it? Skin still slightly flushed and hair tangled and wanton from their unscheduled activities, she'd wasted no time in falling asleep. Darkened eyelashes fanning over her cheeks, she was completely oblivious to his acute discomfort. Caught up in a realm where she was just beyond him, she sighed softly, her lips twitching just the tiniest big, as though she were talking to someone in her dreams. “You're such a pain in my ass,” he mused.

 

She smiled vaguely in her sleep, and Griffin sighed, too. He had serious doubts that he could really be irritated with her, and that just figured, didn't it?

 

He just needed to figure out how that whole proposal thing went. After all, she wouldn't turn him down . . .

 

Would she . . .?

 

 

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A/N:

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Final Thought from Griffin:

…She … fell asleep … again…

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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~