InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 8: Vendetta ❯ Miracles ( Chapter 80 )

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

 

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~~Chapter 80~~

~Miracles~

 

-=0=-

 

 

“So you're originally from North Dakota?” Samantha asked as she wandered along the shore holding Kurt's hand. The sun hovered just above the trees, and the crests of the ocean reflected the colors, constant motion with a hue that carried from wave to wave.

 

He nodded. “That's right.”

 

She pushed her hair out of her face. “What's it like?”

 

Kurt shrugged. “Don't remember a hell of a lot about it,” he replied honestly.

 

“Nothing?”

 

He shot her a quick glance and shrugged again. “Winters were really cold,” he said.

 

She laughed. It was easy to laugh with him, wasn't it?

 

He smiled a small, rather boyish grin. “Well, it was . . . Then I moved in with Old Granger, and—”

 

“Old Granger?”

 

Kurt grimaced suddenly, as though he hadn't meant to mention him.

 

“Who's that?” she pressed.

 

“Oh, uh . . . n-no-no one . . .” he hedged.

 

She stopped and lifted an eyebrow playfully. “Is there something you haven't told me? Another skeleton, rattling around in your closet, perhaps?”

 

“I wish,” he grumbled.

 

Her lips twitched. “Okay, if you really won't tell me . . .”

 

“Oh, hell! You're trying to guilt me now?” he asked.

 

She smiled. “Nope. Why? Are you feeling guilty?”

 

He snorted. “No way.” He tugged on her hand to get her to walk again and exhaled softly. “He's my grandfather.”

 

“Your grandfather? Is he still alive?”

 

Kurt nodded. “Oh, yeah.”

 

“Do I get to meet him?”

 

He made a face. “Not if I can help it.”

 

She stopped abruptly and shot him a worried frown, unable to keep her ears from flattening for a moment. “Taijya?”

 

“What are you doing that for?” he asked sharply, scowling as he tried to pry the appendages up.

 

She managed a tight little smile, but her eyes were sad. “It's because I'm hanyou, right? Because I'm a demon . . .”

 

Kurt blinked and shook his head, unable to grasp what was going through her mind. “What?”

 

She shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant about the whole thing. “I-it's okay,” she assured him in a falsely bright tone. “I . . . I understand . . .”

 

“You . . . you think I'm embarrassed of you?” he demanded quietly, incredulously. “That's . . .? No . . .”

 

“He probably hates us as much as you do—did,” she amended, once more making excuses where none were necessary.

 

“Sam . . .”

 

She uttered a small laugh and slowly shook her head. “If someone did that to my family, I think I might hate them, too.”

 

“Sam,” he stated louder, grasping her arm to make her look at him. “It's not you,” he said then winced. “Well, okay, granted, he's not too fond of your kind, but no . . . Old Granger's a dirty old man—and I mean that in the most literal way, possible.”

 

She shifted her eyes to the side, peering up at him, and while she didn't look entirely convinced, she did look like she was listening.

 

Kurt sighed. “He hit on my teacher, for God's sake,” he muttered, shaking his head in complete disgust.

 

Samantha bit her lip and tried not to smile. “Was she hot?'

 

“Hell, no. She was a heavyset woman with a bulbous nose and a really scary black mole on the end of her nose—you know: the kind that sticks out in graphic relief with those nasty whisker-hairs sticking out of it? Thinning gray hair and . . .” He trailed off, affecting a full-body shiver. “I got away with the first couple years. Said that he was sick or had the flu or something, but that year, I remember, Ms. Butterbee—yes, her name was Ms. Butterbee—sort of stared at me over the top of her glasses, and I could tell that she really didn't buy that Old Granger was sick again, so . . .” He made a face, as though he really didn't want to discuss it. “So I told him about it, and he got all excited.” Laughing suddenly, Kurt shook his head again. “Old bastard . . . should have known that he was only thinking in terms of my female teacher. It was humiliating. We walked into the school, and he started tossing this gray dust he kept in this old crock to ward off demons. He tossed it right into the vice principal's face, and when we got to my classroom, he marched right up to Ms. Butterbee and grabbed her . . .” He grimaced, his cheeks pinking just a little. “Her left breast . . .”

 

“He didn't . . .”

 

He sighed and scratched the back of his head. “Oh, he did, all right . . .”

 

“Oh . . . my . . .”

 

“The last thing that I want or need is for you to be groped by a nasty old codger like him.”

 

She laughed and grabbed his hand again, tugging him down the impossibly narrow path to the little alcove where they'd first decided that they could become a family—that they wanted to keep Tanny. Sitting down to watch the ocean, she smiled and breathed a contented sigh. “Thank you for returning my things,” she said quietly.

 

“I would have done that sooner, but . . .” he said as he sat beside her and dug out his cell phone. “I gave Bas my number, right?”

 

“You did,” she agreed.

 

“Of course I did,” he said, scowling at the device. “Maybe I should call, though . . . in case they lost it or something . . .”

 

“Tanny's fine,” Sam reassured him. In fact, that was the main reason they were out here. The poor guy had done nothing but prowl around the mansion after Tanny had happily waved goodbye from the car seat securely fastened in Bas' Chevy Blazer, and Samantha had decided that the taijya needed a distraction, of sorts.

 

Besides, he'd spent almost all of his first day of freedom trying to eek out information on the youkai research facility he'd been asked to look into, but when Tanny had seen a cow on television, Sydnie had told her that they had one at home, and the child had jumped at the chance to see it for herself. Sydnie had taken a liking to Tanny and had offered to let her spend the night with them. Samantha wasn't entirely sure that it would work out all right, but Bas promised that he'd bring her back if she didn't want to stay.

 

Kurt intercepted her smile and grimaced. “Give me a break,” he complained. “I'm new at this whole `daddy' thing.”

 

She giggled and crawled around, settling herself between his raised, spread knees. “You're so damn cute when you're fretting over Tanny,” she murmured as she slipped her arms around his neck.

 

His breath caught as his eyelids drooped; as his lips parted just slightly. “Samantha,” he whispered.

 

She could feel her heart fluttering crazily, could sense the electricity in the moment. He reached up, touched her cheek, an expression on his face that was amazing to behold. A curious sense of wonder—an underlying poignancy . . . a sense of reverence that made her catch her breath . . . The brush of his fingertips set off a yearning so bittersweet, and she knew that she would never forget—this moment, the utter contentment, the knowledge that he could be her entire world . . .

 

He smiled gently with a rare vulnerability shining through; one that he tried so hard to hide. Everything—everything in the space of a single heartbeat, and he . . .

 

His smile faded, replaced by a fragment of truth, the vaguest whisper of an unspoken vow . . . The touch of lips, of silent promises . . .

 

He sighed, his arms slipping around her, holding her gently, like he thought she'd break if he held on too tightly. Hands shaking with a lethargic sense of forever, he shook his head as she leaned in closer.

 

“Sami . . . I . . .” he murmured between kisses. She uttered a sound; a guttural plea, unable to lend voice to the surging emotions, and in the end, maybe that was all right, too.

 

Nibbling his lower lip, she could feel the violence in his tremors. He felt so vibrant, so very alive, and for the first time in such a long while, she felt it, didn't she? That sense of entire perfection—a calm, a quiet, a sense of harmony, even as his heartbeat thundered in his ears . . .

 

“Every . . . one . . . will . . . know . . .” he muttered as his head fell back, between the strain of his uneven breathing.

 

Nuzzling against his neck, drunk on the scent of him . . . licking, sucking, kissing—savoring every last nuance . . . The whisper of his heart and soul . . .

 

“I want you,” she whispered. “I . . .”

 

He grimaced and pushed her back just a little, forcing his eyes open, his hands shaking, his breath rattling over her in a temerarious rush. “But . . . they'll know . . .”

 

She uttered a terse giggle. “They won't,” she argued. “I already smell like you.”

 

He didn't look like he believed or understood her. She laughed and leaned forward to kiss him again. “O-oh . . .” he breathed as she shoved her hands up under his shirt, seeking the feel of his flesh. His breath was an audible gasp, his body tensing as her fingertips brushed over his skin. He didn't have the sculptured physique that the men of her family did, but there was something infinitely more inviting in him, the lure of him that she simply couldn't ignore. She pushed his shirt up, breaking the contact of their kiss long enough to tug the shirt over his head and cast it aside then blinked, mesmerized by the sprinkling of hair that covered his chest: fine, black hairs with a few graying ones peppered throughout . . . It covered the upper part of his chest, only to taper into one fine line, extending downward where it finally disappeared under the waist of his jeans . . .

 

She leaned against him, the heat of his body permeating the thin cotton dress she wore. He moaned, pulling her closer, capturing her lips in a searing kiss that shot through her with a ferocity that she simply couldn't ignore. Too many emotions, too many thoughts that spun around into an insular strand. The reason—any reason . . . in a time and place where sanity and the furious hope collided . . .

 

She pushed him back, straddling his chest as she pressed herself closer, savoring the feel of his body.

 

“S-Samantha,” he breathed, closing his eyes as she ran her hands over him. Heaving, straining . . . She could feel the hardness of him, straining against the coarse denim.

 

The flick of her tongue against his teeth elicited a shiver, a groan . . . The consuming inebriation of the moment . . . He couldn't restrain the ragged moan that slipped out of him; captured in her . . .

 

Splayed fingers running down the center of his chest, her fingertips brushing over his skin with deft tenacity, sliding lower, stroking him through his jeans . . .

 

Straining against her, he jerked, thrashed, moaned. With a roughened growl, he grabbed her wrists, rolled her over, slamming her hands down against the ground, rising over her, quelling her protests with a single look. Eyes rife with unyielding intensity, he glowered at her for a moment, as though he were trying to make sense of something that she didn't comprehend.

 

With a little groan, he fell on her, nudging her head to the side, suckling her throat as a fierce growl colored the air. Bending her knees, she couldn't help it as she tightened her thighs, cradling him against her as a deep burn ignited and spread. Her mind felt like it was coming apart, and she clung to him, willing him to save her . . .

 

Kurt's hands were everywhere, touching her, gripping her, stroking her as she whimpered, her breathing reduced to smothered gasps. The brush of his fingers through the soft fabric set off a frenzy of trembling as everything that led up to that insular moment formed, congealed, and dissolved in the space of a single heartbeat.

 

His hands slipped over her hips, up her thighs, only to reverse directions as he pushed the skirt up out of the way. Fingers squeezing, exploring, he rocked his hips against her as the burn spiraled higher, hotter, fiercer . . .

 

Fingertips dancing, touching, demanding . . . He nipped the tender skin of her throat as she forgot to breathe. Digging her fingers into his arms, she begged, she pleaded . . . she drew him closer, closer . . .

 

Slipping his arms under her back, he pulled her up without breaking the connection of his mouth on her. She heard the faint `snick' of her zipper but couldn't think past the feel of his lips, his tongue . . . He pushed the dress off her shoulders, let it slide down her body. She yanked her arms free and smashed herself against him, resting her cheek on his shoulder as he ran his hands up and down her spine.

 

He lowered her back once more, tugging the dress down her body. Catching the waistband of her simple white cotton panties, he sucked in a sharp breath as he pulled the garments off of her and dropped them to the side.

 

Forcing her eyes open, she swallowed hard as she stared at him. Standing between her splayed knees, he was tugging almost clumsily at the fastenings of his pants. His body was covered with a fine sheen of sweat, and he shoved his jeans down, catching the left leg with his right foot and yanking himself free before repeating the process with the other leg and kicking the discarded jeans aside.

 

With a smothered groan, he met her gaze, the fire banked in the depths of his eyes enough to make her forget to breathe. Dropping to his knees, he ran his hands up her legs and back down again, rubbing, caressing . . . Lifting her knee, he kissed it, grazed his teeth over it as a shiver raced up her spine. There was something wholly reverent in his touch, something entirely gentle despite the heady strength that flowed just below the surface. She arched her back, stretched up to meet his fingertips as they brushed along the contours, the hollows of her flesh with a whimper, a moan . . .

 

He rose over her, his skin caressing hers, teasing hers. The hair on his chest tickled her in an almost sinful way. Lips falling on hers with a breathtaking hunger, the sweetest desperation . . . She kneaded his shoulders, her kiss conveying the consuming urgency that she willed him to understand. The head of his penis pulsed against her, and she wiggled around in a vain effort to move him.

 

He kissed his way down her body, across her chest, nuzzling her breasts. She gasped, digging her fingers into his hair, dislodging the band that held the length of it in place. It spilled over his shoulders, brushing against her conflagrant skin, and she rose against him as his mouth—hot, voracious—closed over her nipple. It felt like a cloudburst, like a million explosions of heat and light. The demands of his body, of his indomitable will, driving her closer and closer to a precarious apex.

 

She whimpered when he kissed his way to the peak of her other breast, as his fingertips flicked over her swollen nipples. Closing his hand over it . . . tugging, rubbing, squeezing . . .

 

She bucked her hips against him as words failed her, as a culmination of want and necessity converted. He stroked her sides to quiet her, murmuring things between nibbles, kisses—things she didn't comprehend. The ache that surged inside her shivered into a volatile desire. She felt like crying—like screaming—and the more she struggled to make him understand, the slower, more deliberately he teased her, dragging his lips over her body—barely touching, his breath a heady balm.

 

She could feel herself trembling, could feel the sensitized nerves in her body waiting, waiting . . .

 

Kissing his way down her belly, delving his tongue into the shallow hollow of her navel . . . His thumbs flicked against the contours of her hips, and all the while, she felt as though she were dying . . .

 

Keening quietly, she struggled to breathe. He felt good—too good—too wonderful: his touch, his presence, and despite the innate knowledge that she was there, that she was with him, she couldn't withstand the slow torture, the sweet onslaught.

 

“P—please,” she half-breathed, half-whined. “Kurt . . . taijya . . .”

 

“I . . . I love you, little demon,” he told her quietly.

 

“Taijya . . .”

 

He ducked his head, his hard breaths rattling through her. Letting her eyes drift closed, she willed herself to relax. It didn't work.

 

Running his thumb along the very center of her, he uttered a soft groan as he slipped his hands under her hips, as he lifted her—opened her—ran the very tip of his tongue up, down . . . Flicking out against her as she gasped, pushing herself up off the ground . . . It felt as though something had been set free inside her—something wild and beautiful; something wanton and free . . .

 

But Kurt was relentless, unwilling to let her go. She could feel the absolute heat radiating off him in waves, could sense the turmoil gripping him. As desperately as he wanted her, he was holding himself back . . .

 

She couldn't help the soft whimpers that surged out of her with every passing moment. Biting down on her knuckle, she felt every inch of her body disintegrating . . .

 

“Samantha,” Kurt's voice came to her from what seemed to be very far away, “Open your eyes, Samantha . . .”

 

“N-n-n . . .” she breathed, shaking her head, or so she thought.

 

His lips touched the corner of her mouth, and she let her hand fall away, turning her face to intercept the kiss, to give it back.

 

“Little demon . . .”

 

She forced her eyes open at the sound of his quiet plea. He was staring down at her with a seriousness in his gaze—the same violet as the midnight sky . . .

 

Leaning on his hands, he swallowed hard, gritted his teeth as he pressed against her. With a sigh, a gasp, she lifted her hips to meet him. He gasped and groaned, tensing as her body yielded to him. “Oh, God,” Kurt groaned, every muscle in his body tight. “D-damn . . .” Letting his forehead rest against hers, he drew a few long, drawn-out breaths.

 

“What's the matter, taijya?” she whispered, shifting her body beneath his. He was holding his body above hers, wasn't he, holding back . . . “You're stronger than that, aren't you?”

 

He managed a wan smile just before he grimaced and shuddered, grinding his hips against hers in one fluid motion, unleashing a strangled, rasping cry that mingled with hers . . . “N-no, I don't . . . I don't think I am . . .” he murmured.

 

She wanted to laugh, to cry, to tell everyone how happy she was. Maybe it was enough, though . . . enough just to be there with him . . .

 

He kissed her long and slow, his body remaining perfectly still, his muscles twitching madly as he restrained himself for a minute, allowing her to become accustomed to him. Then he started his move, his tongue creating a rhythm as he began to undulate his hips. She kissed him back once, twice, a thousand times in the space of a heartbeat, in the moment that was truly the beginning—their beginning.

 

The sensations he created; his body so deep inside hers, was beautiful, magical. With every stroke, the feeling of absolute completion grew and blossomed like the resurgent tide.

 

And yet, there was an underlying emotion, as well: a burgeoning sense that there was more—so much more. The fullness gave way to the innocent wonder; the innate understanding that one moment would lead into the next, and the next one would flow into a lifetime . . .

 

The insular glow of something shimmering and bright . . . It called to her in whispers and sighs; in bated breaths and ragged moans. Kurt groaned as he leaned back, grasping her knees to drag her toward him. He let his head fall back as beads of sweat formed and trickled over his skin. Sam whimpered, her body rising to meet him as an ache deep down grew and multiplied.

 

Uttering a harsh, rasping cry, he jerked her against him once, twice, her name tumbling from his lips as he surged inside her. Those last few thrusts were all she needed. One moment, she was balancing on the very cusp as the ache roiled into something painful. The next, she could feel her entire world exploding as she cried out, only to have his lips silence her—a frenzied kiss that somehow soothed her, too . . .

 

She didn't know how long it took before cognizant thought intruded. When it did, though, she found herself cuddled against Kurt's chest. He had his eyes closed, and he was struggling to breathe, but he had a little smile on his face, too . . .

 

A complete sense of contentment swelled inside her as she snuggled closer to him. He was her mate for real—officially so—and that thought made her smile even as the sting of tears poked at her eyelids. “I love you,” she said quietly.

 

He gave her a gentle squeeze and kissed the top of her head. “You'd think that I'd feel guilty about this,” he said.

 

She braced her hands on his chest and grinned down at him. “Do you?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“That's good,” she agreed. “You realize, right? You're mine now—really mine.”

 

His smile faltered, and he opened his eyes. He didn't look as though he regretted anything, no, but there was a certain sobriety in his expression that gave her pause. “Samantha . . .”

 

“Hmm?”

 

He sighed and slowly shook his head. “I'll never deserve you,” he began, pressing his finger to her lips when she opened her mouth to argue. “I won't, and you know it . . . but I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy.”

 

She stared at him for a minute, then heaved a sigh. “You already do,” she told him, “and that's what we'll do for each other.”

 

He pondered that for a moment, a small smile quirking his lips. “Is that how that works?” he ventured at length, idly rubbing Samantha's arm with the pad of his thumb.

 

She nodded and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “It is,” she declared.

 

Kurt carefully rolled onto his side with a flinch that he couldn't hide. Samantha grimaced, realizing too late that the poor man was probably still sore from having to earn his freedom yesterday. When he caught her concerned look, though, he smiled again. “Don't worry about me, little demon,” he told her, pulling her close for a long, slow kiss. “I'm fine . . . maybe better than fine . . .”

 

 

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Final Thought from Samantha:

And now he's really my mate!

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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~