InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Discoveries ( Chapter 43 )

~~Chapter 43~~

~Discoveries~

 

-=0=-

 

 

Striding into the holding area, Kurt wasn't surprised to see the little demon sitting calmly in her cage. Her ears twitched toward him, as though she was listening to his every move, and they seemed to be completely intact, which was a welcome relief. No need to deny it, he'd been worried about that all day, to the point that he'd had to rewind and rewatch parts of the surveillance footage because he simply couldn't seem to pay enough attention to it the first time around.

 

But when she didn't speak after he'd set down his knapsack and coat, he turned to look at her more closely. “What's wrong with you?” he asked as a sudden suspicion crept up his spine.

 

She slowly lifted her eyes but not her head to stare up through her eyelashes at him; her expression grave, serious, as though she were willing him to understand.

 

It didn't take much. Kurt leaned down a little further and reached in to rattle the bowl of food. “They tap the room again?” he asked in a tone that only she could hear over the din of the clattering dish. She nodded. “Just one?” She tapped a claw two times. “All right.”

 

Standing up, he wandered over to the desk and sat down, shaking out the newspaper to use as a diversion as he slowly glanced around. The little demon stretched her legs out a little, hiking up her right foot and tapping her heel against the bars hard enough to rattle them but not nearly hard enough to get her shocked.

 

He didn't see any cameras out in the open—not surprising, that, he figured. Just what the fuck did those bastards think? With a mental snort, Kurt narrowed his eyes. He knew damn well what they were thinking, didn't he? Those sick assholes really did think that he was fucking her, didn't they?

 

`As if that'd be a bad thing,' a voice in the back of his mind retorted.

 

Kurt snorted out loud that time. A bad thing? Absolutely . . . though he wasn't entirely sure if it was the idea or the knowledge that, if he did . . .

 

Shaking his head to dispel the unwarranted thoughts, Kurt concentrated on trying to locate the cameras . . . two of them, she'd said, which meant that she probably knew exactly where they were, too. The problem was that she couldn't tell him; not while they were taping every fucking thing in the room—if they weren't sitting somewhere, watching right now, that was. He already knew that they had a couple more security guards upstairs than they normally did. One of them had mentioned that they were training the new guys, but still, it didn't set well with Kurt, did it? `More security guards . . . damn it . . .'

 

Sick sons of bitches, anyway . . .

 

She kept tapping her foot.

 

Kurt's head rose a little, his eyes flaring wider as he realized that she was trying to tell him, wasn't she? She was trying to tell him where the cameras were . . .

 

Peering around the edge of the paper, he saw her, toes outstretched as she methodically tapped on the bars of the cage. She wasn't looking at him; she didn't have to. The camera . . . was it mounted under the sink? He couldn't actually see under there from where he was sitting, but . . .

 

Now where was the other one?

 

Staring at her for another minute, he wasn't entirely surprised to see her shift her eyes to him for a moment, and she must've figured out that he knew what she was saying because she sat up a little and heaved a sigh as she shifted around a bit.

 

He was starting to wonder if she actually were trying to tell him anything at all when she finally leaned against the other side of the cage and stretched out her feet once more, this time pointing her toes toward him, toward the corner behind him . . .

 

Kurt didn't move for a while, taking his time as he finished scanning the newspaper. If one of the cameras was under the sink and the other was in the corner behind him . . . but there wasn't anything behind him, was there? Nothing at all . . .

 

Turning in his chair, he picked up the knapsack and dug around inside it as he ducked his head and looked around. Nothing there . . . nothing but . . . the ventilation grating . . .

 

They'd stuck a camera in there, had they? And even as the thought occurred to him, he could see the slight glimmer of the camera lens. Of course, he'd be in trouble if they weren't such cheap-assed bastards, wouldn't he? He seriously doubted that they'd spend the money to buy the smaller, easier to hide cameras, and he could be thankful for that, at least . . .

 

The first camera was easy enough to deal with. The vent was just set in place and pushed in to hold it. He pulled it open and then jammed a rubberized plastic handled screwdriver into the lens. It shot out a few sprays of sparks but nothing serious, and satisfied that it was out of commission, Kurt replaced the vent cover and headed over to find the other camera.

 

This one, he didn't bother looking for. Grabbing the hose, he turned it, full force, under the sink. With a crackle and a sharp hiss, a small shower of sparks, he figured that was good enough.

 

Still, it bothered him. If they figured out that the little demon was telling him where they were, then they'd try to install them when she wasn't there, wouldn't they? Even so, it pissed him off worse that they were actually spying on him, like he was another of their test subjects . . . Well, that wouldn't be happening, damn it, not if Kurt had something to say about it . . .

 

He hung the hose back on the hook and turned to face her. “That it?” he asked.

 

She nodded happily, smiling broadly, her dimple flashing as she leaned forward. “Can I get out now? I need to go pee . . .”

 

Kurt made a show of rolling his eyes, but walked over to release the lock. No sooner did he do it than she crawled out and scurried off to toward the bathroom.

 

He frowned. Maybe he should think of something worse to do to them . . . like bring in a portable television to hook up in front of the next security camera so they could watch a night's worth of infomercials or something instead . . . Sounded like torture to Kurt, anyway . . .

 

It was entirely insulting, wasn't it? After all, just who the hell did they really think that they were dealing with?

 

He sighed and shook his head. No doubt about it; he had to get her out of there soon, before they got any more stupid notions . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Kichiro slumped down in the booth in the darkest corner of the hotel bar with a glass of whiskey in one hand as he stared dully at the electric candle flickering in the center of the table. `Ninety-one days . . .'

 

Ninety-one days, and still no closer to finding her, to bringing her back home, than they had been at the onset. How could that possibly be . . .?

 

The glass doors opened, and Ryomaru stepped inside. It only took him a moment to locate his brother, and he strode toward him after muttering something to the waitress who was standing nearby. “Figured I'd find you down here,” he said as he slipped into the booth across from him.

 

“Just wanted a drink,” Kichiro muttered without bothering to tell Ryomaru that it was probably more like his tenth or twelfth.

 

Ryomaru nodded, his ears twitching with every sound in the place. “Yeah.”

 

“Mama and the old man back yet?” he asked since they hadn't been when he left the debriefing going on upstairs.

 

“Yeah, just a little bit ago. Mama's lying down. Guess she's pretty exhausted. The old man said he was going out to look for Evan.”

 

“Evan's probably still staking out that office building,” Kichiro said with a shrug. “That's where he's been for the last . . . what? Couple weeks, at least . . .”

 

“I dunno . . . maybe there's something to it,” Ryomaru mused.

 

“Maybe,” Kichiro said, dragging a hand over his face. “Cain said that the phone number that Ed Smith used to rent the building was bogus, though.”

 

Ryomaru shrugged and handed the waitress a couple bucks when she came over with a bottle of beer for him. “All the more reason to check into it, don't you think?”

 

“What the hell are we supposed to do? Break the damn door down?” Kichiro growled, scowling at his brother.

 

“May not be such a bad idea, would it?”

 

“Keh! I'm not fucking bailing you out of jail, Ryo.”

 

Ryomaru sighed and shook his head, sitting back as he idly turned the sweating bottle of beer in his fingertips. “Listen, baby brother,” he said slowly, “The old man and I . . . We were thinking that maybe you ought to go on back to Maine for a week or so.”

 

“No,” he stated flatly, his eyes flashing as the last strands of his reason snapped. “No.”

 

Ryomaru ducked his head for a moment and sighed, and when he finally lifted his head again, his eyes were bright, his features contorted as he struggled to hold back the emotion that was rising fast. “Your mate needs you, too,” he pointed out.

 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Kichiro wondered what alternate universe he'd stumbled into; one where Ryomaru was the voice of reason . . .? “And you think that she'll be happy to see me? Without my daughter? Are you out of your fucking mind?” he hissed.

 

Ryomaru snorted indelicately, draining half the bottle before slamming it down on the table and pinning his brother with a fierce scowl. “And who the hell's there with her at night when she's crying and wondering where her daughter is? You think you're doing a damn bit of good here? You ain't! You're driving yourself crazy, and you're falling apart! Do you really think that Sami would want this? Do you?”

 

“How the hell should I know what she wants, Ryo? How the hell should I know what anyone wants? She's not here, damn it! She's not here, and I don't know where the fuck she is!” Glowering at him for a long moment, Kichiro suddenly sighed and slumped down even farther. “I don't . . . know where . . . she is.”

 

Heaving a sigh, Ryomaru shook his head as his gaze dropped to the tabletop. “No one's saying that you shouldn't be looking for Sam, but a few days—a week . . . it'd do you some good. The damn prank calls are killing you; the leads that go nowhere . . . Go home. Hug your mate. Hell, cry with her, if that's what you want to do . . . then come back and help us look for Sam, because I gotta tell you . . . when I talked to Nez on the phone earlier, she said that Grabby's not doing so great.”

 

“She said she was fine,” Kichiro countered stubbornly. She had said that an hour ago when he'd called to check on her.

 

“You think she'd say any different? Hell . . .” Shaking his head, Ryomaru finished off the beer and waved at the waitress to bring another. “Nez said that she's been having this dream . . . something about a field and a stream and a tree . . . Said that she and Sam were dancing, but Sam was just a pup, and Grabby said that at the end—always at the end, Sam tells her to come and find her.”

 

Kichiro frowned. Belle hadn't told him any of that, had she? “Like hide and seek?”

 

Ryomaru shrugged. “Maybe. Your mate thinks it means that Sam wants to come home.”

 

Rubbing his forehead, Kichiro let out a deep breath and slowly shook his head. He had no idea what he was supposed to do, did he? Trapped between the proverbial rock and a hard place . . . and his daughter was trapped somewhere in the middle.

 

The hell of it was that what Ryomaru said about taking care of Belle . . . it made sense, too. She wouldn't have told him anything if she thought that it would upset him. She'd always been that way, hadn't she? Too kind, too sweet . . . too ready to take on burdens that she'd be better off sharing . . .

 

Without a word, Kichiro dug his phone out to call the airport. As much as he hated the idea of leaving Chicago for any length of time, he had to admit that it had been far too long since he'd last slept the night through with her. He missed her so desperately that he ached, and yet he knew damn well that it just wasn't going to be right until he brought Samantha home, too.

 

“O'Hare International Airport. This is Marissa. How may I direct your call?”

 

“Yeah,” Kichiro said when the friendly female voice greeted him. “I need to book a flight . . . the next flight out to Maine . . .”

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“You're a sorry lookin' sight, pup.”

 

Evan didn't move as InuYasha hunkered down beside him. Hair plastered against his head from the thick snow that had landed on him, only to melt, he gripped the lip of the roof and continued to watch without blinking, his face contorted in a marked frown. “The longer I sit here, the more I'm convinced that there's something in there,” he muttered.

 

InuYasha frowned at the building for a minute then nodded. “You think so?”

 

Evan let out a long breath and wiped his face with the sleeve of his leather jacket impatiently. “You always said to trust my gut, right? Well, right now, my gut's telling me that there's something down there . . .”

 

“But you can't get in,” InuYasha added thoughtfully.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“What's your old man say about the bastard that's renting it?”

 

Making a face, Evan shook his head. “Says that they're trying to track him down. The phone number he gave was bogus or a prepaid cell or something. Anyway, it doesn't work now.”

 

“Well . . .”

 

Casting his grandfather a speculative look, Evan quirked an eyebrow. “You're not suggesting we break the law, are you?”

 

InuYasha snorted. “I ain't suggesting no such thing,” he countered with a loud snort. “But if that door should just happen to open when you turned the handle, then hell . . . that ain't breakin' and entering.”

 

Evan stared at InuYasha for a moment before shifting his gaze to the building once again. “I met the guy who was looking to sublet it,” he ventured. “Wouldn't give me the owner's number. Thought I'd snatch it out from under him.”

 

InuYasha grunted and flicked his ears. “C'mon, pup. Let's go try them doors . . .”

 

Evan nodded and dropped to the ground behind InuYasha. The barrier covering the front of the building once more gave him the weirdest feeling of being caught in a vacuum; as though the very nature of his youki were being stretched and pulled and thinned. InuYasha made a face and squared his shoulders. “Do you feel it, old man?” Evan ventured.

 

“Keh! Yeah, I feel it. Fucking barrier,” he growled. Grasping the door knob, he gave it a good yank. The door rattled and creaked then popped open with a snap as the token lock gave way. “See? Open,” he muttered.

 

The inside of the building was dark and stale with a dusty, dingy, moldy smell. Evan wrinkled his nose—the oily dust was thick, pervasive—as he dug into his pocket for a lighter. The back of the door had a few installed metal catches where padlocks were probably used to keep the door secured—crude but effective, Evan supposed. Sniffing loudly, he moved his hand to flick the weak and paltry light into all the corners of the room. The dark wood paneling only added to the bleak feel of the place, and Evan had to wonder when it was actually used.

 

All of the four rooms on the ground floor were empty, and all of them looked pretty much the same. InuYasha headed up the creaking steps that led to the second floor as Evan closed his eyes tight for a moment. They felt hot and dry, doubtless from the dust in the air. Opening his eyes, he stared at the slatted wood door situated under the stairs. The boards were so shriveled and dry with age that they had shrunk, leaving gaps between them.

 

Evan reached for the blackened old wrought iron knob—the archaic kind that he hadn't seen but a handful of times in his life. He almost grasped it when something made him jerk his hand back—the strangest feeling that something just wasn't right. Shifting his gaze over the frame, he scowled. There was nothing that he could see, was there? So what . . .?

 

“Tell me you and the old man didn't break in here,” Bas said as he stepped through the doorway with a disapproving grimace on his face.

 

“Okay, then don't ask, Bubby,” he shot back.

 

“What the . . .? What's that?” Bas said as he stared at the closed doorway.

 

“Dunno,” Evan replied. “It feels . . . weird.”

 

Bas stared at him for a moment then slowly reached out, only to do exactly what Evan did as he pulled his hand away. “Another barrier . . .” he muttered.

 

Evan nodded. “Yeah, that's what I figured.”

 

“A barrier inside a barrier . . .? Really . . .”

 

“Ah, I thought I smelled your reek,” Bas said as Gunnar walked in behind him. “How about that lead you and your dad went to check out?”

 

“Nothing,” Gunnar stated flatly. “There's another barrier in there?”

 

“Yeah, and it's different from the one outside,” Evan said.

 

InuYasha stomped down the stairs and shook his head when he spotted the others. “Lemme guess: that bastard of a brother of mine said that you two should make sure I didn't break nothin',” he grumbled.

 

Gunnar smiled just a little. “No, but would you honestly expect otherwise when you're out with that one?” he asked, nodding at Evan. “Neither of you knows the meaning of the word `restraint' . . .”

 

“I ought to thump you for that,” InuYasha growled as he lifted a hand to touch the door. Nothing happened, but his frown darkened. “A barrier, is it?” he mumbled. “Well, we'll just see about that . . .”

 

“Old man—”

 

“I don't think—”

 

“Holy damn!”

 

The boys moved back out of the way as InuYasha yanked Tetsusaiga free in a burst of light and a gust of wind, as the rusty old sword transformed into the legendary Sword of the Fang. “You pups better duck and cover,” InuYasha said as he leveled his sword at the door. “Ever seen me break a barrier?”

 

“But grandma said that it only works on barriers created by—” Bas started to say.

 

It was too late. “Akai Tetsusaiga!” InuYasha bellowed, bringing the sword up over his shoulder and smashing it into the door. The old wood creaked and groaned then blew apart in a thousand splinters. Bas shielded his face with his forearms as the unnatural wind shot through the old building, as the framework groaned and creaked and swayed. “What the . . .?”

 

Uncovering his face only to shy away again when another burst of light enveloped the room, Bas blinked and scowled as the sword transformed back into the rusty blade with a dull hiss. “Shit . . .” he mumbled, staring at his grandfather.

 

InuYasha looked even more irritated than usual. “Fuck,” he muttered, dropping his sword into the scabbard. “Damn it all to hell . . .”

 

“The barrier nullified the transformation?” Gunnar muttered with a shake of his head.

 

“Could Grandma remove it?” Evan asked.

 

InuYasha shrugged and grunted. “Wench's sleeping,” he remarked at length. “I'm going in.”

 

“What?”

 

Bas grabbed InuYasha's arm. The hanyou shook him off. “You stay back,” InuYasha demanded, narrowing his eyes on his grandson. “It'll probably kill you . . . Me . . . it'll just purify me.”

 

“I think we should wait for Grandma,” Bas said with a shake of his head.

 

“Yeah, too bad. You're outvoted, Bubby,” Evan retorted.

 

InuYasha stuck his hands out and walked toward the barrier, grunting and grimacing as he started to push his way through. A low hum grew steadily louder as the barrier rose up around him, and with a harsh yell, InuYasha was thrown back, blown across the room until he impacted with the wall hard. “Damn it,” he muttered, slowly pushing himself to his feet. “It repelled me . . .”

 

“I'll go get grandma,” Bas said as he started for the door. “Maybe she can remove it.”

 

InuYasha grunted and nodded, knocking away the hand that Gunnar had reached out to help him. “Yeah,” he grumbled.

 

“What the fuck is down there?” Evan muttered as he eyed the darkened doorway.

 

“I don't know,” InuYasha growled, his eyes taking on a menacing glow, “but I aim to find out.”

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Kurt frowned as he stared at the little demon. He'd been waiting for her to go to sleep for awhile now so that he could watch the day's video, but . . . But she seemed restless—she'd been that way all night, even after the cameras were taken out . . . Why?

 

“If you keep tossing and turning, I'll stick you back in your cage,” he said, inflicting just enough dryness in his tone to let her know that he wouldn't really do any such thing.

 

She sighed. If she'd done that once tonight, she'd done it a hundred times . . . “Sorry,” she whispered.

 

Kurt sighed, too—maybe it was contagious . . . “What'd they do to you today?”

 

She pushed herself up, leaning her back against the wall as she shrugged offhandedly. “Nothing out of the ordinary,” she replied quietly . . . listlessly . . .

 

“Okay,” he replied. “So humor me.”

 

Her ears drooped slightly as she pulled her legs up, as she buried her face against her raised knees. “They gave me a shot,” she muttered, her voice muffled by her skin. “Tuberculosis, I think they said . . .”

 

“What?”

 

She acted like she didn't hear him. “That was after they took about five or six bags of blood from me . . .”

 

The scrape of his chair drew her attention. Kurt strode out of the room without bothering to explain. The vending machines in the hall had been repaired, luckily, and Kurt shoved money into the drink machine for a couple cans of orange juice before he headed back again. `They took damn near half her blood? What the . . .? Are they trying to kill her?' he fumed. Snapping the top open as he hurried over to her, he shoved one of the bottles under her nose. “Drink,” he commanded in a tone that left no room for argument.

 

She blinked and took the bottle, saying nothing as she slowly sipped the juice. He stared at her for a moment before heading over to grab gear from the supply cabinet. True, she seemed to be fine and not suffering any real side effects, but he'd rather check her, himself. `Damn them . . . damn them . . .'

 

“I think this is the worst juice I've ever had,” she ventured but sipped the drink.

 

He kicked the cabinet door closed and hurried over to her. “That bad, huh? Did they give you anything? Juice? Hook you up to a saline drip? Anything?”

 

She shook her head. “No, but I'm okay.”

 

“Humor me.”

 

She wrinkled her nose but didn't protest as he checked her over. That she really did seem to be all right—at least her vitals—was good. Still . . . “You promise me that you'll tell me if they do that sort of thing again, understand?”

 

She stared at him as he took the empty can and popped open the other one. “Here.”

 

“Why does it matter?” she asked quietly.

 

“What do you mean, why does it matter? The juice'll help—”

 

“No,” she cut in, quietly, albeit firmly, “I'm going to die here anyway, right? That's . . . that's what they said . . . that's what you've said . . .”

 

Dropping the equipment he was going to put away, he turned to stare at her in something akin to horror. “Little demon . . .”

 

“What does it matter, right? I'm hanyou, but . . . but it doesn't matter, does it?”

 

Caught off guard by her softly uttered question, he shook his head. “What does that mean?” he asked. She'd always eluded that question before . . . He wanted an answer.

 

“I've told you,” she began with a little shrug, an almost angry movement. “I'm half-youkai.”

 

“And your other half?” he challenged quietly.

 

A sardonic little grin twisted her lips; a sad little thing that was far more terrifying than anything else he'd ever seen, even if he didn't really understand why. “The other half?” she murmured. “Monster, of course.”

 

He sucked in a sharp breath, his temper rising at her flip response. Before he could say anything, though, she spoke again.

 

She shook her head, forced a little smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. “I'm all right with that,” she pointed out. “It's not that I really expect any different, but . . . but it struck me, today, hooked up to that stuff . . . I really . . . really am going to die here, huh?”

 

Kurt couldn't speak. The knot that formed in his stomach was thickening by the second, and he sank down on the cot beside her and shook his head while the words just wouldn't come.

 

“It's all right,” she said again, her smile widening, her eyes taking on a soft glow in the half-shadows of the room. “I decided . . . I don't want to live here forever like this . . .”

 

“Y-you won't,” he promised, unable to meet her gaze, unable to look her in the eye.

 

“I mean, after you're gone . . .”

 

He shook his head adamantly, stubbornly. “I'm not going anywhere,” he told her.

 

“Everyone goes away sometime,” she whispered. “Even if it isn't right away, you'll go, too . . . and then . . .”

 

“I-I . . . I . . . won't leave you here,” he said.

 

She didn't look like she believed him, and he supposed that she had a right not to. He was the reason she was here, in the first place, wasn't he? “You must understand,” she went on calmly in an almost detached tone of voice, “I'm not like you. Humans count their lives in decades. We don't. I'll live . . . for hundreds—for thousands—of years . . . and I can't . . . not here . . . and not like this . . .”

 

“You can't . . . no one lives for that long . . .” he rasped out incredulously.

 

“You call us demons,” she replied. “Nightmares that pass from parent to child and never fully go away . . .”

 

“You're not a . . .” Closing his eyes tight, Kurt swallowed hard once, twice, and the thickness that gathered just wouldn't let go enough for him to speak.

 

“How much do they owe you?” she asked suddenly.

 

Kurt blinked and shook his head. “What?”

 

She sighed and shrugged, wrapping her arms a little tighter around her ankles. “How much more do they owe you? For me?”

 

“Oh . . . uh, I don't . . . don't know . . .” he replied, confused as to why she'd ask him that, in the first place.

 

She nodded slowly, and when she spoke, the sadness that she couldn't hide opened up a wound so deep, so wide, so painful that he couldn't breathe. “You'll leave when they finish paying you, won't you?” When he didn't answer, she forced a small laugh and nodded again. “I want to ask you for something . . . please.”

 

A terrible sense of foreboding shot through him—slammed through him—angrily, hurtfully . . . “What?” he asked despite the voice in his head that told him that he didn't want to hear it.

 

She met his gaze, her expression serene, calm . . . resigned. “I want you to kill me before you go.”

 

He froze. He couldn't have heard her right. He couldn't have. The little demon who refused to eat dog food because she wasn't a dog; the little demon who would rather suffer in silence than to let them know that she could understand and talk as well if not better than them . . . the little demon who smiled and cracked jokes because she'd go crazy if she didn't . . . “No!” he growled, shooting to his feet, stomping around the room as his brain shut out everything—everything . . . Everything and nothing . . . and she was the only thing that remained. “Are you stupid? Have you lost your fucking mind? Do you honestly think that I—?”

 

“Please,” she whispered with a shake of her head, her eyes brightening suspiciously. The melancholy in her—the months of torment that she'd so carefully kept hidden—was unleashed, coursing over him in wave after raw, painful wave . . . and he understood.

 

And damn it, he understood . . .

 

“Did you know?” she asked quietly, a little giggle as horrifying as it was beautiful, her eyes full of tears that just wouldn't fall as her lips twisted in a gentle smile. “Every day . . . every single day, I lay there, and I stare at the clock, and I think, `Only nine more hours till he comes' . . . `Only three more hours till he comes' . . . `Only fifteen more minutes till he comes' . . . and that's how I get through every single day . . . And what'll become of me if I don't have that? Will I . . . will I just waste away . . .? Or will I become so angry, so bitter, that I lash out against everyone and everything, including myself? So they get to have the satisfaction of putting a bullet through my head or my heart? So I . . . I'll become the demon you always thought that I was . . .?”

 

He whipped around, stared at her, unable to grasp the simplicity of her wish as every single thing that he'd ever come to know of her was proven in that very instant. She'd rather die than to become a monster . . . but that she could ask that of him . . .

 

He didn't think; didn't consider, didn't care, could only comprehend on the basest of levels that she . . . that she was hurting far more than anyone else he'd ever known; more than anyone else ever should, and whether he was the demon or the saint, it wasn't clear anymore, was it? The little girl . . . her family, her people . . . and he . . .

 

She gasped when he strode toward her, when he grasped her by the shoulders and yanked her to her feet, only to let go long enough to drag her into a stifling hug; one meant to reassure her, to tell her that she wasn't alone; that he'd never, ever leave her alone . . . She stood, rigid, as though she were afraid of him, of herself, of every single thing or maybe nothing at all. “I . . . I won't leave you here, little demon . . . do you hear me?” he whispered.

 

And suddenly, she collapsed against him, her tears silent, painful, racking her body as she sobbed without a sound. The months of her strength, and one final breakdown . . . and the absolute horror of one man who hadn't realized that the most beautiful eyes in the world would stare at him from the face of his enemy . . .

 

 

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A/N:

Akai Tetsusaiga: Red Tetsusaiga. Attack capable of breaking barriers created by youkai.

The doctors took roughly 5-6 pints of blood from her. The human body normally contains around 6 quarts, which is 12 pints. A Class IV Hemorrhage is considered to be anything more than 40 percent of a body's circulating blood. The doctors took nearly half of hers. If one dies from massive blood loss, he or she has fallen into this range.

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OROsan0677 ------ Firedemon86 ------ BlkbltVette ------ darkangel05 ------ Ryo5492 ------ oblivion-bringr ------ malitiadixie ------ AtamaHitoride

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Forum

Zero ------ OROsan0677 ------ cutechick18 ------ Proforce ------ FriskyPixie

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Final Thought from Kurt:

Little Demon …

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Vendetta): 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~