InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Metempsychosis ❯ Bitterness ( Chapter 47 )

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

"It's just . . . I mean . . . I don't know how to tell her that I don't really want children."

Ashur blinked and cocked an eyebrow as he stared at the stablemaster.  Laith was conducting his weekly maintenance check of all the tack, and Ashur had come out to see if there was anything needed in the stables since he was in the midst of paying bills for the month, anyway, and somehow, the subject of Laith's new mate had come up . . .

"And that's why you haven't told her yet?" Ashur drawled.

Laith shrugged.  "Well, it's not exactly something you can just, out and say, you know—the part about kids."

"You kind of can't just 'out and say' either of those things, if you want my opinion," Ashur muttered, scratching the back of his neck as he wondered, just how this was going to pan out.  He had a feeling that it wasn't going to end well . . .

Laith sighed.  "Never should have stuck around her that night. I was . . . was drunk . . . and so was she . . ."

"She . . . She's not your mate?"

Laith shot Ashur a quelling glance.  "Of course, she is," he growled.  "I just woulda rather gone about it a little different, is all."

Reclining against the high top of the tack table, Ashur slowly shook his head.  "I don't know, Laith . . . But I do know that something like not wanting kids can be a pretty big deal breaker to a lot of women.  Can I ask you why you don't?"

Laith dropped the bridle he'd been checking over and plopped down on the high stool behind him.  "I like kids, don't get me wrong, and Kells . . . That kid's a riot and a half, but . . . I dunno . . . Seems like my parents did their level best to screw me up six ways from Sunday, and man . . . I don't want it.  I don't wanna be responsible for someone else's fucked up life because I was a shitty dad.  I had a shitty dad, so I'd be a shitty dad, right?  It's that simple."

"Well . . . Do you have a shitty life now?"

Laith snorted.  "Hell, no . . . I got outta that, and if I have my way, I'll never go back."  He sighed and shrugged nonchalantly.  "To be honest?  Can't say I care much, one way or the other, if I ever see any of them again."

Ashur crossed his arms over his chest and nodded slowly.  "That seems . . . harsh, but I can understand what you're saying.  My parents were pretty . . . shitty, too.  Enough so that I decided that I'd raise Kells differently.  So, basically, everything I know that they did, I do the opposite."

Laith considered that, then chuckled.  "There's that," he allowed.  "Every time I think about it, though, I just . . ." He sighed.  "If my folks found out I had a kid?  They'd show up, just to spite me.  I mean, they leave me be now, but there ain't a doubt in my mind that they know exactly where I am, what I'm doing, all the damn time . . ." Suddenly, he gave a coarse laugh, a hollow sound.  "They're going to be pissed beyond all reason when they find out that I've taken a human mate."

"They have something against humans?  Hanyou?"

Laith shrugged again.  "Not particularly.  They have something against anything that don't fall within their definition of 'pure blood', though."

"Pure blood?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow to emphasize his question.

Laith chuckled.  "Blue bloods . . . One of my father's favorite stories is how he and his family managed to run an entire clan—every last one of 'em—out of South Carolina, just so that they could say that they were the oldest family living there."

"Wow . . ."

He nodded.  "I left home when my dad insisted that I marry this girl, just because she was from the second-oldest-family.  I just . . . I had enough of their shit.  Hopped on the first bus out, and I never looked back."

Ashur shook his head.  "Can't say I blame you for that."

Laith sighed.  "Anyway . . . Any advice on how to tell her?"

Ashur sighed and held out a hand, palm up.  "Good luck," he muttered.

"Thanks, buddy," Laith grumbled, snatching the bridle of the table once more.  Suddenly, though, he stopped, shaking the tack at Ashur as a thoughtful expression surfaced.  "Oh, yeah, meant to mention it the other day . . . Were you aware that the surveyors were out here the other day, poking around?"

"Surveyors?"

Laith nodded.  "Saw 'em near the eastern paddock, so I asked, and they said something about needing to reassess property lines?  I dunno, though.  I mean, they didn't have any kind of equipment with 'em—just their phones out, taking pictures."

"What day was that?"

Laith shrugged.  "Uh, a couple days ago?  Guess it would've been Saturday . . ."

"Surveyors that work on Saturday?"

Laith grunted.  "That's what I thought, too.  I meant to tell you, but when I got back up here, Carol asked me to run her in to work.  They called her in early, so it slipped my mind."

"Thanks."

Digging his phone out of his pocket as he strode out of the stable, Ashur wasted no time in looking up the surveyor's office and dialing the number.

"Quebec surveyors' office.  Joyce speaking.  Can I help you?"

"Yeah, hello.  I was told that there were a couple people from your office in the area near where I live?  On Saturday, I was told."

"Hmm . . . Saturday?  Are you sure?"

"Yes, that's what he said."

"I'm sorry, monsieur . . . None of our surveyors work on Saturdays, least of all last Saturday."

"I see . . ."

"Can I help you with anything else?"

Ashur sighed.  "No, thank you."

"Have a nice day."

The call ended, and Ashur frowned as he let himself into the house and headed for his study.  If he weren't suspicious before, he had every reason to be now.  People snooping around his estate?  With their phones out, taking pictures . . . He growled low, settling back in his chair, his gaze darkening with every passing second.  Just what the hell was going on . . .?


"I just . . . I don't know how to tell him that I don't really want kids."

Jessa slowly shook her head.  "Did he say he wants them?  Children?"

Carol shrugged.  "Well, no, but . . . but he's been talking more and more about . . . you know . . . like, long-term stuff . . ."

"Long-term?  But . . . But that's good, isn't it?  I mean, you want long-term, don't you?"

"Of course, I do," Carol grumbled, swiping up a tee-shirt off the floor and sniffing it, only to make a face and toss it down the hallway toward the bathroom.  "Ugh, that was gross . . ."

"But you're worried about what he'll say if you tell him you don't want children," Jessa concluded.

Carol nodded.  "As weird as it sounds, some guys really are sticklers on that, and he's such a . . . a down-to-earth type, he probably wants a dozen of them . . ."

Jessa snorted, tossing all the cushions off the sofa into a pile on the floor as she reached for the vacuum hose.  "Well, a dozen babies would be a bit much for any woman, don't you think?  A little too much . . ."

Carol grabbed an armload of various things that needed to be put away while Jessa cleaned the sofa.  It wasn't something that she was especially used to doing, having grown up with a bevy of servants that took care of all the household cleaning.  She'd only started doing it when she'd moved in with Ashur, though she couldn’t say that she minded it.  There was a sort of peaceful feeling that came with the effort, she'd discovered . . .

Shutting off the vacuum, she picked up the pile of cushions and stepped outside to lean them against the fence to air them out before heading inside to tackle the next job.

Carol sighed, bracing the small of her back with her hands as she leaned away.  The movement produced a rather suspicious cracking noise, and Jessa grimaced.  "I tell you, all I've done for the last week is work, work, work . . . but Will mentioned that he's opening another club on the other side of the city and that Jordan—the manager—is going there, so Simone is being promoted from human resources manager to take his spot, which leaves her position open, and he said that he wanted to know if I was interested before he offered the job to someone else or had to advertise to fill it."

"Human resources?"

Carol giggled and waved a hand.  "A fancy way of saying that I'd be in charge of keeping the girls happy, I guess," she replied.  "But I'd also be helping with the hiring and such, so it's a good job."

"Are you going to take it?"

She made a face, but shrugged.  "He hasn't officially offered it to me, but if he does, I think I might . . . I wouldn't have to wait tables anymore, but I might miss the tips . . . Then again, I'm sure that there's some kind of raise involved, too . . ."

"That would be wonderful," Jessa remarked.  "I hope you get it!"

"Me, too . . ."  She rolled her eyes.  "I told Laith about it, and all he asked was whether or not I'd have to work more hours."

Jessa giggled, pulling things off the side table next to the sofa so that she could wipe it down.  "At least he cares."

Sucking in a sharp breath, Carol turned to face her, her expression contorting into a very marked scowl.  "That sounded ominous . . . Something going on with Ashur I should know about?"

Jessa blinked and waved a hand quickly.  "Oh, no, it's nothing like that," she replied.  "Everything's fine."

Carol didn't look like she believed her entirely, but she slowly nodded, taking her time as she carefully deadheaded one of her potted plants.  "I'm a terrible friend—complaining at you when you've got things going on, too . . . I'm sorry, Jess . . . So, tell me, really, are you and Ashur working things out?"

"There's nothing to work out," Jessa insisted.  "It's . . . It's good . . ."

"You're sure?"

She shot her friend a bright smile.  It really was going fairly well—at least, on a superficial sort of level.  Ashur even allowed her to sleep in his bed, which had to mean something.  It had honestly surprised her the first time, especially when Kells had crawled into bed with them.  The only real trouble was that she wasn't entirely sure what it did mean . . .

They'd reached an unspoken understanding, though, and maybe that was good enough.  He didn't try to bring up her talk with Hana, and she . . . She tried not to focus on the things that the woman had said, the doubts that still lingered in the back of her mind whenever she stopped to think about it.

She'd managed to create a very cautious sense of contentment, and for the first time since she'd lost her father, she'd started to really think that maybe, just maybe, she could belong here, with Kells . . . with Ashur . . .

"You two, I swear," Carol interrupted her musings, "would make the most ridiculously beautiful couple, ever, and if the two of you had babies?  Oh, they'd just be delicious!"

"Babies?" Jessa nearly choked, a very discerning flush breaking over her skin, "I'm only eighteen!  Babies, indeed!"

Carol laughed.  "I didn't mean now, you know!  Besides, you two need to stop pussyfooting around each other first.  Then you can get to the babies."

Jessa snorted, tossing the dusting cloth at Carol.  "I'm going back up to the house now," she grumbled, even more irritated when her friend laughed harder.

"See you later!" she called after her.

Jessa rolled her eyes but flicked her hand over her shoulder as she pulled the door closed behind herself.


Ashur scowled at the number on the cell phone's caller ID.  'Unknown caller,' it said.

He started to flick the screen to take the call, but changed his mind, routing the call through his computer, instead, in an effort to track it before he answered it on his cell.  He wasn't sure why.  Maybe it was just the unsettling business started last week when Johnston had called him out.  In any case, the computer whirred to life, indicating that it was, indeed, trying to locate the origin of the call as he finally swiped his thumb across the screen and lifted the device to his ear.  "Philips."

A breathy chuckle on the other end of the line greeted him.  "Philips . . . Ri-i-i-ight . . . Your new name . . ."

"Who is this?"

"The name's Jorges Mormount, Kyouhei-sama.  You're saying you don't remember me?"

Narrowing his eyes, he had to think about it for a minute before the name actually registered—another of the youkai who had attended the meetings at his father's compound . . . "What do you want?"

Mormount sighed—an exaggerated sound—one that sent Ashur's hackles, rising fast.  "I heard through the grapevine that you'd turned up," he explained, his French accent thickening in his words.  "I couldn't believe it, so I thought I'd check into it myself . . . Imagine my surprise when I learn that you're not only fool enough to move here, of all places, but that you've actually got the nerve to take a job as the Zelig's lapdog . . ."

"Are you threatening me?" Ashur demanded, careful to keep his tone even, blank.

"Wouldn't dream of it, lest I end up on the tai-youkai's hit list."

"What do you want?" he repeated.

Mormount laughed.  "I'd like to see you dead, of course, but some answers will do for starters."

"And you assume that I owe you answers?"

"There are an awful lot of people who are interested in knowing exactly what happened at your father's home.  Don't you think it'd be . . . beneficial to grant us some answers?"

Ashur grunted.  "I can't see how it would be, and I can't see how it's any of your business, in any case."

Mormount uttered a low 'mm'.  "I thought that you might prove to be uncooperative," he admitted.  "So, I guess I'll just cut to the chase.  The red head—the one with that horse . . . She your mate, Kyouhei-sama?"

"Jessa," he muttered before he could stop himself.

"Jessa," Mormount repeated.  "Beautiful name!  Makes sense.  Gorgeous girl . . . She ought to have a name that matches."

Gritting his teeth so hard that his jaw ticked, Ashur willed himself to calm down, even as his temper spiked.  "She's just a guest," he heard himself say, proud on some level of the evenness in his tone.  "She's only staying with me as a favor for her cousin—nothing more, nothing less."

Mormount laughed again, and this time, he actually did sound amused.  "Is that so?  You always fuck your friend's cousins?"

Grimacing inwardly, Ashur shot to his feet, stomped around the desk, tapping his knuckles against the hard surface as he tightened his fist hard enough that his claws dug deep into his palms.  "Is there something wrong with having casual sex with someone?"

"So, you're telling me that she means nothing at all to you."

He blinked hard, staring at the computer monitor, the location that was slowly being deciphered.  "She's nothing more than a good fuck," Ashur stated, intentionally inflicting enough boredom into his tone that it sounded almost believable.

"Is that so?  Hmm . . . Well, I'll be happy to take her off of your hands.  I could use a . . . good fuck."

Tamping down the overwhelming desire to smash something to bits, Ashur took a moment, drew a deep, steadying breath.  If he wasn't careful, if Mormount figured out exactly how much she really meant to him, he had very little doubt that the bastard would try to find some way of exploiting her, and if he tried to touch her?  'Fucking dead . . .'

"You're welcome to try," he made himself say.  Even so, willing himself to play along?  It was almost more than he could stand . . . "Don't know if she'd have you, though.  You're a bit ugly for her tastes, and even then, she's a little clumsy—not really that good."

"Why do I feel that you're lying?"

"No idea. I don't much care, either.  Suppose you tell me now, what it is you really want."

"I just thought I'd offer a . . . friendly warning," he replied.  "Watch your back, Kyouhei-sama."

The phone call ended, and he grimaced as the screen cracked under the force that he held onto it.  Wincing as a jagged shard of it embedded itself deep into his hand, he dropped the debris, yanked out the bit, and dropped it on the top of his desk.

Rounding it once more, he flopped back down in the chair, tapped the button to retrieve the results of the location scan, only to utter a frustrated growl when the search came back empty.  It must have been made from a throw away cell, and that just figured.

Reaching for the land line, he quickly dialed Ben's number.  He wanted Jorges Mormount's information, and he wanted it now because there was no way—no way—that Ashur was willing to let him live; not after the things he’d said, the things he’d implied . . .

He didn't see the shadow just outside of the mostly-closed door.  So caught up in his own simmering rage, nose filled with the bitter-sweet smell of his own blood, he didn't catch the delicate scent of her tears, either . . .