InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Metempsychosis ❯ Slow Burn ( Chapter 14 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Jessa grunted as she hopped forward, jabbing with her left, then her right, before dancing back out of the way as Ashur swung his mitt-covered hands.  She repeated it over and over, shaking her head to redirect the perspiration that ran down her face.  Hair that had escaped the braid she'd pulled it back into, sticking to her skin, expression a mask of concentration as she jabbed and moved, jabbed and moved.

"Good, good," Ashur coached, swinging at her as she backed out of the way.  "Keep it up."

She breathed, shallow and harsh, hitting again before ducking away.  She didn't know how long they'd been at it, and she didn't really care, either.  Given the weeks of frustrations that had been building up deep down, the physical exertion was a welcome distraction.

"Okay, that's enough," Ashur said a few minutes later, stepping away as he tugged off the mitts and set them aside.

"Look, Daddy!" Kells called.  He was busy, trying to punch the stuffing out of a huge teddy bear on the floor.  The thing was at least twice his size, so there really wasn’t any danger that he would hurt himself—or the bear, actually.

Jessa smiled just a little as she blotted her overheated face and neck with a dry towel.

"You're improving," he said, nodding at her solemnly.

"What about me, Daddy?"

Ashur glanced at Kells again and didn't quite smile, though his eyes brightened as he gazed at the boy.  "You, too, Kells."

Kells positively glowed at his father's praise.  Suddenly, he gasped, trying to work the small gloves off his hands as his father stepped over to help him out.  "Hurry, Daddy!  It's almost time for Chuck the Chameleon!"

He'd barely gotten the gloves off the child before Kells took off for the house.

Ashur slowly shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest with Kells' small boxing gloves dangling by the laces from his fingers.  "I'm pretty sure that he watches entirely too much television," he muttered more to himself than to her.

Jessa dropped the towel and turned to scowl at the tiki torches that he'd set up at the edge of the patio.

It had become her routine every day, to stand here and to light those torches.  She'd gotten pretty good at lighting them, one at a time, but she hadn't been able to replicate anything even remotely close to what she'd done that night on the water.  Willing herself to be patient, she drew a few deep, calming breaths as the first torch shot to life, followed in quick order by the rest of them—all five.  Fast, but not all at the same time.  With a sigh, she waved a hand, and the flames all died out, one by one.

She repeated the process a few more times, always getting close but just not quite good enough.  By the end of her fifth try, though, Ashur stepped over.  "You're getting better," he told her.  "You should stop before your frustration rises too high."

"I'm not frustrated," she lied, turning away with a heavy sigh.

"I can sense it in your youki," he countered evenly.  "You won't get anywhere if—"

"If I lose control," she cut in.  "I got it, thanks."

She could feel his gaze on her, boring into the back of her skull, as she snatched up the towel once more and started to stalk off toward the house.

He caught her wrist, tugged her around, those blue eyes of his, full of questions that he had yet to give voice to.  "Jessa, what's the matter?"

Narrowing her eyes on him, she tried to yank her wrist away, but he held on, not tightly enough to hurt her, but not loose enough for her to break the hold, either.  "Nothing," she ground out, unable to keep a grip on her rapidly escalating temper.  "Nothing at all, you odious man.  Now, let me go."

"Odious?" he repeated, eyebrows lifting in genuine surprise.  "You're mad at me?  Why?"

She snorted.  "Just think about it, will you?" she growled, wrenching herself out of his grasp and stomping off.  "If you concentrate long enough, maybe the answer will come to you."

Muttering under her breath about horrible men and stupid memories that she couldn't get out of her head, she slammed the back door, momentarily pleased at the racket that the action had caused.

She was halfway up the stairs when Ashur caught up with her.  Her scathing reply had apparently irked him, and when he grabbed her arm this time, he spun her around, nearly making her lose her footing as she crashed against him, as he caught her and held on.  "Explain yourself, Jessa," he growled, dealing her a hard shake.

Narrowing her eyes on him, she snorted loudly.  "I don't think so," she replied.  "Let go of me."

Blue eyes blazing with the light of utter exasperation, he echoed the sound she'd just made.  "Not until you tell me just what the hell has you so up in arms," he shot back.

"You!" she spat, stomping her foot as her irritation crested and exploded.  "You!  How dare you kiss me like that and then pretend like I don't even exist!  How dare you crawl into my mind, make me think about you, and then leave me like that!  Ye swore I wouldn't be alone, didn’t ye?  And yet, I am!  Entirely alone!  If ye doan want me, then that's fine, Ashur Philips, but if ye don't, then don't kiss me, either, ye ken?"

He blinked at her tirade only for a moment.  "That's . . . what you're mad about?" he blurted.  Then he sighed and let go of her.  "Look, Jessa . . . You have to understand.  I'm not supposed to kiss you," he told her.  "You're . . . You're barely a woman, and I'm a grown man.  What happened that night . . . It shouldn't have, and you should realize that, too . . ."

The crack of her hand against his cheek sounded like thunder in her ears.  "Go to hell," she bit out, whipping around, taking the stairs two at a time as she fled from him.  Somehow, his statements were just a little more than she could stand.  Slamming her door closed and locking it against him, she spun around, collapsed against the unforgiving wood, and as quickly as the anger had come, it abandoned her, leaving behind a sense of melancholy so deep, so overwhelming, that she groaned and sank to the floor . . .


'Well, that can't possibly have gone any worse.'

Heaving a sigh at the sound of his youkai-voice's overly-dry assessment, Ashur scowled at the empty stairway.

He hadn't meant to kiss her that night, no.  He'd awoken when she had slipped out of the cabin and had followed her, just to see what she was doing, to make sure that she was safe—at least, that’s what he’d told himself at that time.  To be completely honest, he wasn't sure why he had kissed her.  He certainly hadn't intended to do any such thing, but seeing her there, bathed in the moonlight, the sadness in her aura, such a harsh and palpable thing, he couldn't help it, couldn't stop himself, drawn to her like a moth to a flame . . .

'Don't be stupid, Ash.  You kissed her because you did want to—you wanted to for days before that, and you want to even more now.'

He frowned.  He shouldn't want to kiss her, damn it.  That was entirely asinine.  He was old enough to be her grandfather a few times over, wasn't he?  A girl like her needed someone closer to her own age, someone who could find the same wonder at the things that they saw, not some old man who was too screwed up to even begin to make sense out of his own life, let alone to allow someone like her into it, too.

'Would it really be so bad?  I mean, think about it.  Before you go all, 'oh, I'm a terrible person; I took advantage of an innocent girl,' you should probably remember that she wanted that kiss as badly as you did.'

'She's too young to know what she wants.'

'You know, far too many men in this world have tried to use that excuse at one time or another, only to have their asses handed to them because the women tend to think that's a pretty damn condescending answer.'

He grunted.  'Oh?  And what do you suggest?  That I go up there and grab her and do the things that have been going through my head?'

'And if she wants that, too?  That girl—woman . . .'

'She's not old enough nor experienced enough to know what she wants, damn it.'

'And that's the problem, isn't it?'

'No, now, shut up . . .'

'Fine, but you listen to me about one thing first.  Even if it wasn't your intention, you hurt her.  Maybe you should at least go try to explain yourself a little better, don't you think?  Because you didn't mean to do that.'

Letting out a deep breath, he almost turned and stomped back downstairs out of sheer stubbornness.  The memory of the stricken expression on her face, though, was enough to draw him forward, carried him down the hallway to her closed door.

It was locked—entirely not surprising—and he only deliberated it for a minute before jamming his claw into the hole to release it.

She wasn't in her room, but when he stepped inside, he could hear the shower running in the adjoining bathroom, and, with another sigh, he closed the door and strode over to the bed, sitting on the edge of it to wait for her.

The biggest problem, as far as he could tell, was that girl was entirely too desirable for her own good.  He could only truly be glad that she really didn't seem to realize as much because if she ever did figure it out, he'd be done like dinner, period.

Somehow, he'd stupidly thought that kissing her would have gotten all of it out of his system.  Nope, just the opposite, actually, which was why he was trying so hard to maintain the distance between them.  It perplexed him, damned if it didn't.  He'd slept with enough women over the years to realize that something about Jessa was . . . different . . . even if he had no idea, why that was.  Being with those women had always been a physical thing, and once satiated, he didn't give it a second thought.  Something about Jessa . . .

'It scares you, doesn't it?'

'What?  Scared?  Of her?  How the hell could I possibly be scared of her? That would be like being scared of a . . . kitten . . . or a puppy . . .'

'Baka!  No, not scared of her.  You're scared of the things that she makes you feel—the things that she could make you feel—not just physically, but emotionally.  Tell me I'm not wrong.'

He never got a chance to answer.  The bathroom door suddenly swung open with a waft of moist air that smelled of water and of flowers, and Jessa stepped out in nothing but a bath sheet that she held loosely around herself.

She gasped as she stopped short, eyes flaring wide as color blossomed in her cheeks, hair weighed down by water that dripped from the ends, trailing down her shoulders, her chest, only to disappear in the gorgeous curve of her breasts.  Ashur opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to do much more than stare as he slowly got to his feet, as he stumbled toward her.

She stared at him, crimson eyes darkening as she stubbornly, maybe foolishly, stood her ground.  Whether that was brave or incredibly naïve, he didn't know, and he didn't care as he grasped her arms, pulled her toward him as his lips fell on hers.  The instant wave of passion shot through him with the finesse of a bulldozer, crushing his defenses before he could even hope to raise them up, as every excuse he'd made came crashing down around him like hail.

The sound of her heartbeat—erratic and wild—throbbed in his ears.  The feel of her skin, still damp from the shower, was like a drug, an aphrodisiac, as he ran his hands up over her bared back, the ripples, the valleys, the gentle slopes, every plane, every hollow digging deep into his memory while the sweetness of her breath on her flushed lips silently beckoned him.

Whimpering softly against his mouth as the kiss grew, deepened, she let go of the towel, her arms encircling his neck, fingers digging into his hair as she gave as good as she got, despite the slight sense of clumsiness, attesting to the fact that, other than that night by the pond, she really hadn't ever been kissed before.

And it was that understanding that broke through the haze, that made him pull away from her as he struggled to breathe.  She kissed his jaw, his throat, and he winced as he fought for some semblance of control over his raging need, but the touch of her lips on his skin was enough to drag a low moan from him.  "J . . . Jessa . . . "

She lifted her head to look at him, her eyes darkened, stained with passion, smoldering with need that she didn't have the sense to try to hide.  The absolute lust in her gaze was nearly enough to break him as he swallowed hard, as he struggled to calm the blood, raging inside him.

"I shouldn't . . . want you," he told her, his voice low, harsh in his own ears.  For a moment, he thought that she was going to hit him again as he quickly retrieved her towel, wrapped it around with her noticeably shaking hands.  "I shouldn't," he said again, "but I . . . I do . . ."

She ducked her chin for a moment, wrapping her arms over her stomach after tucking in the edge of the towel between her breasts.  "Because . . . Because you don't . . . don't want to," she murmured.

The sadness in her tone chafed at him, dug at him deep.  "You're eighteen years old," he said, wishing he could make her understand.

"And that makes me too childish to know how I might feel?" she challenged quietly.

"No, that's not what I'm saying . . ." Heaving a sigh, he turned away from her—away from the sight of her, of her bared shoulders, of the rise of her breasts . . . "Your life has changed so much in the last few months—the last year—and I . . . I understand that because three years ago, mine changed like that, too."

"When Kells was born," she said, a resignation rife in her voice, saturating her words, almost as though she'd just given up.

"I don't want to be your lifetime regret," he whispered as he forced his feet to carry him to the door.

Slipping out of her room, he let his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling without seeing it at all.


"I don't want to be your lifetime regret."

Sinking onto the edge of the bed, dropping her head into her cupped hands, Jessa heard the words, over and over again, as she struggled to make sense of them.  Her lifetime regret?

She sighed, the sounds echoing in her hands.  Okay, that much she could understand.  If things got carried away . . . But . . .

What was it about him that made her forget every bit of her own resolve?  There was a certain . . . electricity that she felt whenever he was near, as though every nerve in her body was attuned to him, just waiting for him to give one look, one indication . . .

Biting her lip, she glanced around the room—a room that was hers, and yet, not hers at all.  Just a place where she slept, not one that she felt was her home, and yet, there was a strange sense of familiarity about it, too, though she had a feeling it had more to do with Kells and Ashur than it did the house itself.  It felt as though . . .

'Go on, Jessa . . . You can say it, you know.'

But she couldn't, could she?

'You could, you know.  It's okay to be afraid. I'm a little afraid, too, but if you can't admit it to yourself, then you have no business thinking about Ashur, at all.'

Pushing herself to her feet, she wandered over, tossing the towel back onto the bed as she tried not to think about that moment—that instant—when she'd stepped out of the bathroom, only to find him sitting there, staring at her, and the way he'd looked at her . . .

There was an intensity in his gaze that had stopped her in her tracks, had forced the air out of her lungs, as though her entire body was paralyzed.  All she'd known was that he had wanted her, and she . . . Swallowing hard as she yanked open the drawer where she kept her undergarments, she grabbed the first pair of panties she laid hands on.

She'd been completely unprepared for the shockwave that had rattled straight through her when he'd grabbed her, when he'd kissed her—unprepared for the desperation, the need in that insular touch of his lips on hers, unprepared for the insanity that spun her brain in so many different directions that she had to cling to him, that she'd had to let him hold her or she'd fall.  

"Your life has changed so much in the last few months—the last year—and I . . . I understand that because three years ago, mine changed like that, too."

Just what had he meant by that?  Easy for her to assume, as she had, that he was just talking about becoming a father, and yet . . . And yet, that wasn’t really it, or was it . . .?  Again, she was struck by the underlying things—the things that he didn't say.  She didn't have to be brilliant to have realized awhile ago that there were things in Ashur's past—things that he didn't want to talk about.  She could understand that, too.  After all, she had things that she didn't particularly want to dwell upon herself.  For some reason, though, she couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, if she could get him to open up about those things, she might well understand him a lot more.

The thing was, she couldn't bring herself to ask him, either.  Those things, she could tell, hurt him deeply, maybe as deeply as she hurt when she thought about her parents too long, and for some reason, the very idea that she might cause him pain if she tried to delve too deeply into his past wasn't something she could bring herself to do.

She was fascinated by him, compelled to be near him, drawn to him in ways that she really hadn't realized were even possible—ways that were as frightening as they were exhilarating, as deep and dark as they were brilliant and breathtaking . . .

'And the problem is that you built up that wall, didn't you?  After your mother died, when you knew your father would follow her, you spent all that time, creating this inner wall, and I'm not saying it was right or wrong.  The only one who can decide that is you.  You built that wall to protect yourself, but you know, Jessa . . . If you want to take that step—if you truly want to—then you're going to have to find a way to bring those walls down again because, with that man, it's all or nothing.  There won't be any middle ground.'

"No middle ground . . ." she repeated out loud as she slowly worked the buttons on the white sundress she'd grabbed out of the closet.  It was the first thing she'd touched, so she wasn't really paying much attention to it.  'But how . . .?'

Her youkai-voice sighed.  'One brick at a time, Jessa.  That's how you built the wall, isn't it?  And that's the only way to take it down again—if that's what you want to do.'

Rubbing her arms as she wandered over to the windows that overlooked the stables and the paddocks beyond, Jessa blinked as the outline of her horse seemed to appear for only a moment before fading away again, as the emptiness that she'd grown so accustomed to opened up in the pit of her stomach once more, as a steady rain started to fall against the window panes.

Against her soul . . .