InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Metempsychosis ❯ Stardust ( Chapter 22 )

Ashur frowned thoughtfully as he watched Thurston Margreave and his wife as supervised the unloading of the horse, who was nervously prancing, pawing the ramp as the stable-hand they’d brought along led him down off the trailer.

He was magnificent, that creature.  Given that Ashur knew next to nothing about horses in general, even he could tell that there was something special about this one, and he slowly nodded.  The stark white Arabian with the dark eyes was absolutely stunning, really—glistening like freshly fallen snow.  Every inch of him exuded such power: power that radiated with his unbridled spirit—a spirit that mirrored Jessa's.  From the moment that Thurston had opened the door on the trailer, Ashur had seen it: the same sort of longing in the depths of the horse's eyes.  In his own primitive way, he was searching, too, and Ashur had to wonder if Jessa could tame that horse, or if that horse would end up, taming her . . .

He'd called to arrange a visit to check out the stables, but Thurston had mentioned that he was getting ready to take his wife on a cruise—something that he'd promised her, he'd said, months ago for their anniversary—and that they'd be out of town for about a month.  Ashur had then asked if there was someone else that Thurston knew of who had a horse that they might be willing to sell, and the thespian had offered to let Ashur take this one on a trial basis.  He'd said that his stable-hand who normally was in charge of him—Stardust was his name—would accompany the horse to oversee his care and to make sure that he was being properly treated since Thurston hadn't gotten a chance to observe Jessa's skills with horses himself, and since Ashur really couldn't say much other than that he knew she'd had a horse most of her life, that she'd taken dressage lessons for a long, long while . . .

"So, what do you think?" Thurston asked as the stable-hand—a Peary Caribou-youkai named Laith McKenna—led the horse toward the stable.

"It's a beautiful animal," Ashur agreed.

Thurston nodded happily.  "And your girl—she used to have a horse of her own?"

"She was given a gypsy cob when she was twelve," he replied.  "I've seen pictures.  Dead gorgeous creature . . ."

Thurston nodded again, idly rubbing his slight potbelly.  "Gypsy cob, you say?  Beautiful horses, those are," he agreed.  "Not as common around here, though . . ."

"She's from Ireland," he explained.  "Let me go get her."

"Oh, absolutely, absolutely!" Thurston said as his mate stepped up beside him.  "You mind if we take a look around?  Make sure that it's all good in there?  Not that I don't trust you, of course.  Just want to make sure that it's all secure . . . Stardust is a valuable horse.  Probably could be trained to be a racer, if you had the inclination . . . His sire's Heartwind's Lovelorn Lost . . ." Chuckling softly at the blank expression on Ashur's face, he slowly shook his head.  "He won the Kentucky Derby a few years ago," he said.  "He also won the Canadian Triple Crown when he was younger, too.  Stardust, here . . . Well, he's fast—really fast.  He doesn't actually have the disposition for racing, though.  He rides the fine line between being a runner and being a runaway . . . Gentle enough if he likes you, though . . . He tends to be a little on the nervous side . . ."

"Go right ahead," Ashur said, waving a hand toward the stable.  "I'll be right back."

Striding away, he headed for the house, wondering if Jessa was awake yet.  It was entirely possible that she was still sleeping.  After all, he'd seen her light on under her door last night when he'd gone to bed.

After Carol's phone call, it was all he could do, not to march right into her room and demand to know what had happened.  Too bad his youkai was right.  If he had, he'd have just rekindled the fighting, and he wasn't sure that it would be worth it in the end.  Better to focus on the idea that she was safe now, that she was all right . . .

"Jessa," he said as he strode into her room after tapping on her door and getting no response.

She groaned and yanked the blankets up over her head, muttering something entirely unintelligible under her breath.

Shaking his head as he stepped over to the bed, he pulled the covers back.  "Jessa . . . Get up.  There's someone here you should meet."

With a frustrated little growl, she sat up, casting Ashur a very petulant little scowl.  "Who, and why can't they come back at a decent hour?"

"And what, pray tell, is a decent hour when it's already nearly ten in the morning?"  He almost chuckled.  "Come outside when you're dressed," he said, ignoring her outburst as he turned and walked out of her room once more.

'There's something ridiculously cute about that girl, first thing in the morning . . .'

He sighed as he descended the stairs.  Yeah, he had to agree, there really was. . . Maybe it was the crazy tousled hair of hers, or the sleepy-bleary quality in her eyes . . . In any case, if he didn't need to get her downstairs to meet Stardust and the Margreaves, he would have stood there longer, watching her while she slept . . .

'That's because she's entirely beautiful, even when she first wakes up, it seems . . .'

There was that, too . . .

"She'll be down in a minute," he said as he stopped near the open stable doors.

Thurston turned around, nodding appreciatively as he hurried over to Ashur.  "The stable is very good—very sound," he approved.  "Are you planning on hiring a master of stables?  If so, I'd be more than happy to suggest a few . . ."

"I'd appreciate that," he said.

"What's . . . going on?" Jessa asked, glancing around as she stopped beside Ashur.  She'd taken the time to toss on a pair of jeans and a cute little pink tee-shirt, and she still looked just as good as she would have, if she had taken more time to fuss over her appearance.

Ashur glanced down at her and then nodded toward the far end of the stable—the open doors that led to the paddock directly beyond.  "Go see."

She paused to give him a suspect frown before striding away.  Ashur fell into step behind her, close enough to hear her soft gasp as she stepped outside, as her gaze lit on Stardust.  "Oh . . ."

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he stepped behind her and leaned down.  "Mr. Margreave, here, has offered to let us house Stardust for the next month," he said.  "If you like him—if the two of you get along well—then we can talk about a more permanent arrangement."

The expression on her face was well worth the effort—the bright smile, the wide-eyed wonder . . . She looked like she'd just been given the best surprise, ever, and in Ashur's estimation, that was well worth the effort.

"Mr. Philips tells me that you're well-versed in dressage," Thurston said, extending his hand to Jessa.  "I'm Thurston Margreave.   You must be Jessa."

She nodded and took his hand, managing to draw her gaze off Stardust for a moment to smile politely at the man.

No doubt about it, Ashur thought as Thurston and his wife tried to talk to Jessa, and she tried to reply without looking too disinterested, even though he could feel the excitement she was having trouble containing.  She was like Stardust, who was pawing the ground where he stood nearby, and if Ashur didn't know better, he'd swear that the beast was actually staring at Jessa, too.

She was smitten: entirely smitten.

With a horse.

Jessa stepped into the house with a happy sigh.  After having spent the vast majority of the day, getting to know Stardust, she was tired but content—a feeling she hadn't had in such a very long time.  The Margreaves had stayed long enough to put a saddle on Stardust, to watch her as she handled him a little—long enough for them to see that she had skill enough to be trusted with the horse.  The saddle didn't fit her very well, though, and she wanted to get a better one before she tried to take him out for a ride.

Pausing in the foyer, she stretched out her youki, let it fill the area on a careful search.

She smiled as the knowledge came to her.  Ashur was in his office, probably with his face buried in one thing or another.  It was her considered opinion that he took everything far too seriously.  In the length of time that she'd known him, she couldn't rightfully recall him ever doing anything for fun unless Kells was involved, and that was always more for the child than it ever was for him.

A vague frown settled over her features, and she bit her lip.  For some reason, that bothered her a lot, didn't it?  That he would go out of his way to do the things that Kells enjoyed, that he would bend over backward to give her a job, a place to live, and now to acquire Stardust?  He wasn't a horseman, and she knew damn well that he hadn't brought the animal here for himself.  No, Stardust was most certainly for her, but . . .

She took her time, removing her boots, wondering absently if she couldn't arrange a trip to the stores to buy more appropriate riding attire.  She had little doubt that he would take her, but the idea of imposing upon him really bothered her, too.  Even so, she needed a good saddle and tack before she could even think about trying to ride Stardust, so swallowing her pride and asking was really her only recourse.

'Well, you do have money, if you remember.  He's done something so nice for you, maybe you should offer to return the favor on some level.'

'Oh?  And how would that be?'

Her youkai laughed.  'Take him out to dinner or something.  Besides, it'd be nice to spend some time with him when you're not trying to analyze everything, don't you think?'

'Take him out?  Where . . .?'

'Come on, Jessa, it's not that difficult?  Just find out somewhere that has good food, and that should be fine.'

She nodded at her youkai's suggestion and drew a deep breath as she padded over to his office door and knocked.

"Come in."

The door didn't make a sound as she pushed it open, as she hovered in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest, leaning against the wooden frame.  He didn't look up from whatever held his attention, and she slowly shook her head.  "Have you been in here, working all day?" she asked in a tone that she hoped was casual enough.

"Some of us cannot afford the luxury of playing the day away," he said, and, while his words were harsh, his tone was not.  In fact, he sounded almost amused.  “You enjoyed yourself, didn’t you?”

“I did,” she allowed, unable to repress the almost shy smile that surfaced on her features.  Pushing away from the doorframe, she wandered over, stepped behind him, rubbing his shoulders like she used to do for her father whenever he spent all day, working harder than he should have.  "I wondered if you would give me a ride into the city," she said, digging harder at a particularly tight spot at the base of his neck.

He groaned quietly.  She wasn't sure if he even realized he'd done it or not.  "And why do you want to go?" he asked.

"I wanted to look for a decent saddle," she replied.  "Maybe some boots and better pants for riding . . ."

"Hmm, can we do it tomorrow?  I'm a little busy here."

"Well, I was also going to offer to buy you dinner," she said.  "Are you really that busy?  Do you ever get to go out and do something, just because you want to?  Just because it's fun?  What about sightseeing?  I mean, there have to be some places around here that are worth visiting, right?"

"Who says that I don't enjoy working?" he countered dryly.

"No one enjoys working," she argued with a grimace.  "It . . . Forget about it . . . It was a . . . a stupid thought . . ."

"Wait," he called as she headed for the door.  She stopped and slowly turned to face him again.  He hadn't dropped the paperwork in his hands, but he was looking at her, his gaze full of a certain curiosity.  "I'm interested in this idea of yours," he admitted.  "But surely you realize that a gentleman isn't supposed to allow a lady to take him out to dinner."

She shrugged.  "When's the last time you did anything that wasn't work, wasn't for Kells, or wasn't for . . ." She cleared her throat, ". . . for me . . .?"

Settling back in his chair, he crossed his arms over his chest, stared at her for a moment with a calculating look on his face.  She couldn't tell what he was thinking, but she had a feeling that he was considering exactly what to say to her.  "I like working," he finally admitted with an offhanded shrug.  "I like taking care of Kells . . . and you . . ."  Suddenly, he sighed, pushing away from the desk, getting to his feet to pace the floor.  "I never really learned how to . . . to relax, I guess," he admitted, and she had to wonder if he even realized what he was saying.  "My parents . . . They weren't exactly what you'd call playful or anything.  Everything was always some kind of lesson, had to have a proper goal . . ."

Wandering over to intercept him, Jessa grabbed his hands, held them firmly in hers.  "Come on, Ashur," she said quietly, gently.  "I'll give you half an hour to get changed or whatever it is you need to do.  Then we'll go find something . . . something fun to do—something without your proper goals."

"Something fun," he echoed, and even though he wasn't smiling, his eyes seemed to glow.

She nodded, letting go of his hands as she hurried out of the room and up the stairs to change.

Leaning against the smooth and polished railing of the Reine du Québec as they enjoyed the late-night dinner cruise down the St. Lawrence River, around the île d'Orléans, taking in the breathtaking sight of the city at night, Jessa sighed, but it was a contented sound—a pleased sound.  They'd finished dinner in one of the four three-Michelin-star rated restaurants on the ship, and they had decided to walk around the fourth-story deck.

It was an older ship that had been painstakingly renovated, a floating luxury hotel with around three hundred rooms, all touted as being state-of-the-art, and the multiple restaurants were all available for the lunch and early evening dinner cruises along the river.  The late-night dinner, however, was another matter, entirely.  It was only open and available to those who were staying in the hotel portion of the ship, and those rooms tended to be booked for weeks or sometimes months in advance.

Ashur had asked the sales girls while Jessa was trying on riding pants for suggestions of things to do in and around the city, and one of them had suggested the cruise.  She said that it was beautiful, that people loved to propose there.  There was lore, she said, that couples who got engaged on it never, ever got divorced.  He wasn't sure what he thought of that, but it sounded like it might be all right, and Jessa had liked the idea of the dinner cruise well enough . . .

He'd found out about the lunch and early evening cruise services over the phone, and that's when he'd been told that he could only book reservations for dinner if he booked a room, as well, when he'd called to check availability for the night cruise.   Luckily for him, someone had called and canceled just minutes before, so there was a room available for the night, as well, and, since Jessa seemed to think that Ashur was anything but spontaneous, he'd booked the room and the cruise.  Then he'd dragged her to another couple stores in order to buy whatever they might need since they didn't have time to run back to the estate to pack an overnight bag.

Looking at her now, bathed in the dancing lights of the boat, the twinkling stars high above, the glow of the city that was as gentle as it was constant, he could only think that the positively ridiculous amount of money he'd shelled out for the room and to buy her something appropriate for dinner was well worth the cost, and the sight of her when she'd stepped out of the bedroom of the small suite, all dressed up and ready for their evening on the Reine du Québec?   The slate grey satin dress—just a few shades above black and Ashur's ceremonial color, which he knew she wasn't aware of, but couldn't help the misplaced pride that she'd chosen it, anyway—fit her perfectly, molded to her body, hugging her curves like a second skin to the hips, where the skirt flared just enough to give some wispy motion to the garment that just brushed mid-thigh, exposing a dizzying amount of her long, long legs, which were only emphasized by the dainty three-inch-heels with straps that wrapped around her slender ankles.  The pale, creamy skin of her throat, her upper chest, seemed to glow in the light, drawing extra attention to the absolute perfection of her face, her sooty eyes, her rose-kissed cheeks and wine-red lips . . . Hair swept up and fastened with a barrette, only to cascade down her back in a riot of crimson curls, the girl was positively radiant, even as she'd stood there, as she'd offered him a rather nervous little smile that had faltered slightly as the seconds had ticked away, as he fought to recall that it was rude to stare, that he really ought to say or do something instead of simply standing there like a wax dummy at Madame Tussauds . . .

And, unfortunately, something else he'd realized over the course of the evening?  Other men seemed to be entirely too aware of Jessa, too, the bastards.  More than once so far, he'd caught himself, growling under his breath when he'd caught a head turned just a little too far, when eyes lingered just a little too long on her as they passed by.

'Which is nothing but solid jealousy, Kyouhei—utter jealousy that you just don't wear well, you know.'

He snorted.  'Nope, those bastards just need to stop looking.  I mean, it's pretty obvious that she's with me, isn't it?  And it's Ashur, remember?'

'Ashur—Kyouhei . . . Does it really matter?  It doesn't, so shut up . . . Anyway, relax.  They're just enjoying the proverbial view . . . The only thing you have to worry about is whether she likes any of them better than she likes you.'

"Ashur?  Are you . . . all right . . .?"

Blinking away his youkai-blood's irritating commentary, Ashur glanced at Jessa, who was frowning at him in obvious concern.  "Everything's fine," he muttered, raising his gaze as the first of the fireworks shot off into the sky. "Just arguing with myself."

He could feel her eyeing him, and suddenly, she laughed.  "You mean, I'm not the only one who does that?"

He snorted.  "I highly doubt it," he replied.  Suddenly, he chuckled, and it made her pause, hesitate as she stared back at him, too.  "I'll bet mine is more annoying than yours."

"You make it sound like this is some sort of contest.  It's not, but if it were, then I'd have to say that mine is by far worse than yours."

Another round of fireworks exploded.  Jessa gasped quietly as golds and reds showered down so slowly, so low that it was almost as though they could touch them.  "How is this on your scale of fun?" he asked, the teasing tone in his voice, understated but present.

"This isn't bad at all," she said.  "I mean, I could have gone for pizza and a movie . . . but this is nice, too."

Slipping a hand onto the small of her back, he watched the fireworks in silence for another minute before looking back at her once more.  Eyes softly glowing, that small smile, tugging on her lips . . . She could have been a million miles away, and yet . . . Just what was she thinking?  And why did he know that, whatever it was, it made her sad, despite the little smile . . .?  "What are you thinking about?" he asked her.

She blinked, looked surprised for a moment as she quickly shook her head.  "It's . . . It's nothing . . . I was just . . ." Trailing off with a quiet sigh that was more of a lifting of her shoulders than an actual sound, she rubbed her arms as though she were cold.  He shrugged off his jacket—he'd bought it, just for tonight—and dropped it over her shoulders.  As a fire-youkai, she was inherently more sensitive to the fluctuations in temperatures, and the breeze coming off the water was pretty chilly, even for mid-June.

She shot him a grateful smile, her hands reaching up to hold the lapels close to her.  "I was just thinking about Ma," she admitted.  "Sometimes I wish I hadn't been so . . . so stubborn with her."  She grimaced, slowly shaking her head again.  "I thought that she was such a nuisance sometimes—I mean, I loved her so much, but . . ."

"You were a child," he told her.  "Don't be too hard on yourself."

She didn't look like she was buying his words.  "The . . . The day of her accident, I . . ." she grimaced, then heaved a shaky sigh.  "She wanted to throw another ball—to capitalize on the first one, I guess.  She had this friend—well, frienemy?  Countess Thatcher . . . The countess had a granddaughter who was around the same age as me, and she was always trying to compare us—our grades, our lessons . . . All of it, and my ma, well, she hated whenever she thought that Lila—the countess' granddaughter—might have one up on me, so she'd do things to try to push me farther . . ." She wrinkled her nose. "It was kind of sick, actually . . ."

"Parental rivalry," he mused.  "Interesting."

She rolled her eyes, shot him a baleful look.  "Not especially.  Anyway, Ma was having one of her moments about it—Lila, she'd been told, had at least four men asking about her after her debut.  So, we argued about it, and I . . ." she flinched.  "I told her to get into her bloody car and go as far away as she could get."

He grimaced inwardly.  "And then, she didn't come home."

She nodded sadly, miserably.

"It's not your fault, you know," he said, drawing her into a hug.  "You couldn't have known what was going to happen, and even if you had, parents . . . Parents aren't always right."

She leaned back, her gaze so dark in the night as a million little flecks of light danced, sparkled.  "Your parents . . . They hurt you, didn't they?"

He couldn't answer her question, and he wasn't sure why.  As though he somehow felt as if he didn't have the authority to talk about it—as though he thought that his part in it all had negated his right to speak of it, ever.  "My parents . . . They . . . did the best that they could," he muttered, unable to look her in the eyes with the blatant lie spilling from his lips.

She could tell, couldn’t she?  She saw right through it.  Uttering a terse little sound, almost a whine, she reached up, drew him down, her lips finding his with a tenderness, a gentleness, as though she were trying to pull away the sadness that she could sense, even if she didn't understand it.

He tried to hold onto it, didn't want her to take it away, not because he wanted to keep it, but because . . . because maybe he deserved it, but the desperation in her reached out to him, held tight to him as he slipped his arms around her, as the balm of her lips opened under his, drawing him in deeper, reacting on instinct as she allowed her youki to wash over his, buffering the jagged edges of the sadness that he held on to so tightly.  He gave it up, allowed her to soothe him, took the comfort that she so willingly offered with the touch of her lips, with the stroke of her fingertips on the nape of his neck, as her heart beat louder, stuttering yet steady, as a sense of hope—something he'd lost so long ago—sparked to life with the incandescence of Jessa's flame . . .