InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Heart Will ❯ Once Burned... ( Chapter 1 )

By Silly Angel Faerie

*All Inu Yasha references copyrighted by Rumiko Takahashi*

 

Chapter One: Once Burned…

 

 

Part A: THE DREAM

 

< i am afraid to see what is happening to me

if i do not open my eyes

it is not real

and yet

if it is real

then i am not lost after all >

 

He was touching her. At first, that was the only significant fact she was aware of. The hands—the long, slender fingers, the rough, calloused palms—sliding erotically over her skin, gently skimming the lines of her body.

The sensations swept through her like a storm—fire burning low in the pit of her stomach, and yet somehow she was shivering, shuddering, quaking whenever he put those magic hands on her. And still he only traced her arms, down to her hips, the curve of her waist, up her ribcage, stopping just under her breasts, before moving his arms around behind her, running his hands up her back and bringing her a step, then two steps closer to him, till she was pressed against the front of him, her hands fisted against his chest.

And she simply stood there, quivering, while he touched her.

His hands skimmed up to her nape, kneaded there for a moment before running through her hair; he pulled out the braid she'd wrestled it into and left it to cascade to her hips. He ran his fingertips along her shoulder, down to her collarbone, never descending past that invisible line, only tracing it before caressing the smooth line of her throat. She felt his thumb skim lightly over her jugular; linger at the curve where her neck met her shoulder.

And then he touched her cheek.

Her eyes flew open; strange, she hadn't even noticed they were closed. But the instant he brought his hand to her face, lightly enough to barely have applied any pressure, she gasped as if in shock. Lightning jolted through her system as he ran two fingers almost reverently from her cheek down to her jawbone, almost as if drawing imaginary marks on her skin.

It seemed crazy—for heaven's sake, all of it should have seemed crazy to her—but she felt so odd when he touched her cheek so gently, so softly. She could feel heat from where his fingers had touched her skin, almost as if they'd left a trail of fire in their wake. She found herself trembling again, almost frightened, and pressed her face into his chest, seeking comfort, seeking reassurance.

I will not hurt you.

The words weren't so much spoken as they were conveyed. She swore he hadn't said a word, and yet she felt the message in every fiber of her body. She could practically feel the earth shaking under her feet—

Wait, no. It was him. There was an odd sort of thrumming sound coming from him. His body was almost vibrating, and she realized with a sort of vague acceptance that he was growling low in his chest. She nuzzled against the spot where his heart lay, wanting, for a strange, inexplicable moment, to giggle.

The growling intensified, though she wasn't afraid of it; it wasn't malevolent in the slightest, instead sounding as though he was trying to give her the comfort and reassurance he sensed she wanted. Completely at ease—completely content—she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his throat.

He went still, so very, very still, it was as if she'd pressed a knife to his skin instead of her lips. She frowned, puzzled, and tilted her head back to look at him.

Her stormy-gray eyes met his flashing golden ones, which blazed with an intensity to shame the brightest sun. Her lips parted in a soundless O of awed astonishment. For an instant, sunshine met storm clouds.

His were not human eyes. They held an intelligence far surpassing that of an ordinary man, held wariness equal to that of any wild creature. And held desire that simply took her breath away.

Her. He was looking at her with such stark, unbridled possession, such blatant want. No one had ever looked at her that way—not ever. Not once in her entire life. She felt the warmth in her stomach flare to life like a wildfire. This man—this amazing, this wonderful, this gentle, kind, careful, man, wanted her.

But why? She had no experience whatsoever with men—part of the reason she should have found this torrid embrace so strange. What could she possibly do to please this man? Surely he'd realize soon enough that she wasn't skilled in the art of passion, that she'd be a disappointment to him.

Just as she was to everyone else.

He must have seen the doubt, the worry, the fear in her eyes—must somehow have heard her thoughts—because his own eyes softened, and she saw his lips curve just the smallest bit before he leaned forward.

And kissed her forehead.

Everyone else is a fool. Do not heed their words. They do not know you as I do.

She heard herself whisper the words, the sound loud even though she was barely murmuring aloud.

“But I don't know you…do I?”

She heard him chuckle as his lips brushed her forehead again, then lowered to skim over her high cheekbone.

You know me. You are part of me. You belong to me.

“Belong to…you?”

You are the one I have been searching for. You know me, little one.

She was beginning to feel lightheaded, dizzy, and was glad his arms were around her again, holding her close to him. “I…know you…”

You are mine.

“I…am yours…” My, but wasn't she just the well-trained little echo? He didn't seem to notice as he suddenly crushed her to him.

Mine. Mine.

His eyes became fierce, possessive, and his lips were suddenly covering hers, so that she murmured her next words against his—oh, God—very talented mouth.

“I love you. I love you. Please don't leave me alone too. I love you.”

“I love you…”

She wasn't sure if the last had been whispered by her or him, or by both of them.

 

* * *

 

Part B: THE AWAKENING

 

< you whisper softly to me

on a sleepless summer evening

and i begin to cry

 

i know it seems so childish

but there you are >

 

She awoke with the words still on her lips. “I love…you…”

She slowly blinked once, then twice.

The only sound replying to her words was the tinkling of her music box alarm clock, playing the last fading chords of “Music of the Night” from Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical, “The Phantom of the Opera.” The delicate Roman numerals set in the periwinkle blue porcelain showed the time to be seven-ten in the morning.

A…dream?

Had it truly all been a dream, then? Her amazing, wonderful, kind, gentle lover—had been nothing but a product of fatigue and fantasy?

Kagome sighed wistfully. Of course. How in the world hadn't she suspected that from the beginning? How could such a person desire her?

Why would anyone want her?

She swallowed the ache in her throat at the old, well-versed lament, and got up to stare at herself in the mirror across her bedroom.

“My dream lover…”

She murmured the words as she stared at her reflection. Was it only the early morning trickle of sunlight, or were her eyes over-bright today? Were her lips swollen and red? Why was her skin so flushed? Had she simply forgotten to take off her makeup last night?

“So irresponsible,” she whispered to herself, touching a hand to the mirror as she repeated the words that had been a mantra drilled into her head from the time she was young.

You're such an irresponsible child. You'll never learn. You'll never be any better than a clumsy little fool, forever burdening those good enough to provide you with food and shelter and clothing. Ungrateful chit. Disrespectful slut. Troublesome fool. Stupid, nonsensical, whimsical—

She snapped back into reality, surprised to find tears streaming from her eyes. Oh, heavens. She hadn't cried over her past in too long to recall. She'd forbidden herself from doing it. She was stronger than this. She knew it.

And yet…

The memory of a man…the illusion of him running his hands over her as though she were a treasure—his treasure—made her fight to blink back the tears. Odd…Kagome managed a sad smile as she turned away from her own face. It's odd…but that dream lover was the only person who ever said he wanted me, who said I belonged to him. Belonged somewhere, really; anywhere, but especially to him. And I wanted it to be true. Oh, how I wish…

Her alarm went off again, this time playing “Point of No Return”. Kagome jumped; she was running late now, and had to hurry if she was going to get to work on time.

She had to struggle to shove her dream lover's face back from her mind's eye, and ran for the shower.

 

* * *

 

“So you did send her the dream, then?”

There was a moment's hesitation, and the man who'd asked the question raised a brow. The person he was talking to turned away to gaze out the window.

“Yes,” he said finally.

The first man smirked. “And? You saw her?”

Another pause. “Yes.”

“Well? What's she like?”

The second man barely contemplated his words before answering. “Very sad.” Realizing how that sounded, he frowned at himself and corrected, “Unhappy. She was extremely nervous at first, as though she couldn't believe where she was, what was going on. But underneath that, I sensed she was trying, mentally, to be strong. She was fighting to overcome the sadness, but her eyes—I could see the struggle in her eyes. The insecurity. She has mirror eyes. She's never been able to hide her thoughts or feelings with eyes like those, I'd wager. They reflect everything in her heart. I felt as though she was afraid, in some way, of me—of what my intentions were. At one point—”

Here, the man speaking stopped, and the first man waited. He knew the other well, knew that if he pressed the issue, he'd never get to hear a definitive answer. He also found it interesting that his companion had described several different aspects of the girl, but hadn't mentioned any really physical attributes. No She's beautiful, no She's tall, blonde, delicate. Even the man's description of her eyes had been devoid of physical characteristics—was she brown-eyed? Blue-eyed? Even with the details he'd unearthed so far, the first man had no real picture of the woman, and yet the second man seemed so fixated on her. The first smirked to himself and counted it as a very telling sign.

After a moment, the other spoke again. “At one point, I communicated to her in High Ancient.”

The first man looked interested. “You used the old tongue to speak to her?” He ran his tongue around his teeth, processing this information. “Primary or Secondary?”

“Primary.”

The first man grinned. Definitely interesting. “Did she understand you?”

“Yes.”

There it was, simply put, no embellishment, no pretense. The first man whistled in impressed amazement.

“Some woman.”

“Yes,” said the other again, a hint of pride lacing his tone. “She comprehended what I was telling her, and even embraced me of her own volition once she realized what I had said to her.” A very, very slight pause. “She was not afraid of me; rather, she accepted me almost immediately after I…appeared before her. She stood passively in my arms with no protest of any sort.”

The first whistled again. “Lucky you.”

The second frowned now. “I kissed her.”

His companion raised both brows in incredulous surprise. “Moving a little quick, aren't you? I'll be damned, it was only a dream.”

“I am aware of that,” said the other curtly. “But something—I cannot explain what it was—urged me to calm her, to put her fears out of her mind.”

“Fears? I thought you said she wasn't afraid of you.”

“No. She fears…being abandoned. Being dismissed as inconsequential. I sense she was treated so in her past, and remains wary of giving her heart freely.”

The first man sighed. “Sounds like she's almost as paranoid about people as you. Match made in heaven.”

The second remained silent. The first waited, then asked casually, “You claim her?” He sounded as though he was trying to cover a sense of frustration at the lack of response.

“Nearly.”

“Yeah?” The first perked up visibly.

“Hmm. She woke before I could progress further than…before I could progress any further.”

“Heh. You sound disappointed.” At the silence he received in reply, the first man chuckled. His companion glared at him.

“She said…she loves me.”

The second man gaped. “You—you sure?”

“Yes. She doesn't know whom I am, or that I exist as anyone other than a figment of her imagination. But she said she loves me, and then slipped into consciousness.”

The other frowned in concern. “Looks serious. She's that attuned to you?” He whistled. “So…you stuck on her, too, or what?”

“She belongs to me,” said the other simply, and the first nodded in complete understanding.

“So…you going to claim her now?”

“Yes. Today. I will approach her today. I know where she is.” And he did. He could sense her in some part of his mind, feeling her sorrow over her past, her puzzlement over her dream, and her apprehension at being late for work. And he knew she thought of him, often, because her heart would begin to beat faster—which he also sensed as if it were his own—and he could just barely feel her smile dreamily. And though he told himself it was foolish to feel pride at causing such a reaction in her, the male ego was the male ego, and this particular male ego swelled a bit.

“So are you going to bring her here?” said the first man suddenly, interrupted the other's (albeit private) gloating.

“She belongs here,” said the second man shortly. “With me.”

“Right. Okay.” The first man shrugged, turned away. “So, good luck, and I guess I'll see you and her later.”

“Yes. Inform the others.”

“Yeah, yeah. Later…” The first man paused, grinned. “Big brother.”

The second nodded. “Until then, little brother.”

The first slipped away in a streak of what seemed to be white mist. The second stood and brooded about a woman with eyes the color of storm clouds and a smile as sad as the rain.

 

* * *

 

 

Part C: THE REALITY

 

< bleeding hearts do not break

broken hearts do not bleed

winter brings a tattered rose

blooming from a frozen seed

 

dead dreams cannot fade

faded dreams must die

fear is the only answer left

and all else is a lie >

 

“Kagome? Kagome. KAGOME!”

The young woman jumped in her seat, whirled around guiltily. “Yes? Kaede, I'm sorry, I wasn't—”

The old woman waved away the apology in amusement. “Don't think anything of it, child. I know very well how you young folk are, daydreaming about your significant others.” She winked with her one working eye at Kagome; the effect was somehow lost since Kagome couldn't see the other eye, hidden beneath its black patch, to judge whether it had been a wink or just a blink.

She flushed at the implications of the statement. True, she had been thinking about her dream again, wondering about the man she'd conjured up. She remembered every detail of his voice clearly, but whenever she tried to remember the language he'd spoken in—for she was almost sure he'd spoken in another language—she failed to recall just what it had been. She knew his eyes were the color of twin suns, his hair the color of the moon and stars. A celestial being, she'd mused. Perhaps she'd dreamed of a god, or an angel…

She'd scoffed at herself for the fanciful daydream, but she couldn't help replaying the memories of those hands tracing over her, his mouth cruising over hers with such skill and passion—the words he'd murmured, the ones she'd been so sure she'd understood, but now couldn't even recall.

“Um…Kaede,” Kagome began, staring at her hands as her cheeks bloomed with color. “I—I wasn't—I don't have a—significant other. I was only—preoccupied.” The truth sounded somehow bitter to her ears, and tasted that way, as well.

Kaede made a sound of noncommittal amusement. “If you say so, child. Now go on, why don't you go back into the workroom and get me some more snapdragons, these ones look to be on their last roots.” She poked the arrangement of wilting flowers skeptically, as if expecting them to shrivel up and disintegrate before her eyes.

Kagome giggled; “Yes, ma'am, I'll be right back,” she told the old woman, and turned to walk into the workroom, brushing a hanging vine out of her hair.

She loved working here in this shop that was half store, half greenhouse. Kaede had recognized, been impressed with, and appreciated her knowledge of and talent with growing things, and had given her the job without a formal interview or test. Kagome had always felt guilty that she'd been accepted so easily over the heads of many other qualified applicants, but Kaede's only reply to Kagome's protestations had been:

“Hold out your hands.”

Bewildered, Kagome had done so, and Kaede had examined the calloused palms, which showed work from Kagome's own small plot in her yard. The old woman had sniffed, deeming the evidence sufficient.

“Those other people who applied, their hands were like—like this.” To Kagome's surprise, Kaede reached up and poked the girl's cheek gently with a forefinger. “Too soft, almost no color; they'd never have lasted here. Like daffodils in the spring; they pop up everywhere because the conditions are favorable to them. But you see that once the harder weather starts, it's over, and away they go. You, child—you're like an old cherry tree.” Kaede had nodded, pleased with the comparison. “You'll bloom and look pretty for others to see, but above that, you'll last, and you'll bear what the seasons bring. It's what you are.”

Kagome hadn't replied, as she'd been too choked up by the memory of the huge old cherry tree that had stood outside her window as a child, living in her grandfather's shrine during the summers. Her mother had never been pleased to have to spend a week or so at the old place every year, but Kagome's father's will had specified that his family keep in touch with each other. Kagome, at the age of six, had dearly adored the visits to Gramps, as he'd instructed her to call him—whenever her mother was out of earshot.

The little girl had made it a habit to spend every morning in the branches of the old tree, in order to watch the sun rise over the rooftops of the shrine. She'd especially loved making little dolls out of the cherry blossom petals, even several amateur strands of jewelry—necklaces, bracelets, a crown—before her mother had discovered the dried petals in Kagome's bedside table. She'd demanded an explanation, and, contrite and apologetic, Kagome had offered it. Her mother thus found out about the girl's habit of climbing into the tree in the dark every morning, and, professing loudly her prediction that the girl would slip and break her neck, had forbidden Kagome to do it any longer. In fact, that restriction had been instated when Kagome was twelve, and had never been lifted since.

Foolish child—you must never again act so inappropriately. Proper young ladies never climb trees, and you had better hope I never catch you at it again, or you'll regret it direly. Do not disobey me in this. You are dismissed.

Dismissed…again.

The loss of her favored morning pastime had shattered the girl's heart, but she had been too wary of her mother's fury to risk rebelling. Even then, at twelve, Kagome had sought desperately for her mother's affection.

Oh, heaven's sake—even now at the age of twenty-two, Kagome was still searching for the slightest hint of approval, having long ago accepted she'd never gain the distant and reserved Mitsuko Yamamoto's affection.

Kagome paused in the act of gathering up the flowers Kaede had requested; her heart contracted once, painfully. She squeezed her eyes shut, grieving for the mother she'd always seen, but never known; for the woman who had given her life, but never love.

Why did you never show me—tell me—even once? Never reassure me that I meant something to you besides a continued bloodline—and a burden? Mother…Mother…why were you never there? When I laughed, when I smiled, when I sang, when I screamed, when I cried…

Why was no one ever there when I cried?

“Why?” she whispered brokenly. “Why was I always—why am I still—alone?”

And in that moment, her heart seemed to go completely immobile—for that matter, so did everything around her. It was as if Time momentarily stopped to consider the question, and when, a heartbeat later, the world returned to normal, it seemed as though Time had found an answer, and was trying to reassure the girl. She felt warmth settle over her, and fleetingly thought that someone had changed the air conditioner setting, but she knew Kaede kept very strict regulations on the air conditioning and heating in the greenhouse.

No, this wasn't a temperature kind of heat…it was an almost tangible kind of comfort. Like an old blanket, it wrapped around Kagome and attempted to calm her fluctuating aura. No, the very air seemed to shout. You're not alone anymore. Wait and see. You're not alone anymore…

The tinkling of the bell over the door to the greenhouse surprised Kagome, so that she nearly dropped the armful of snapdragons. She let out a small sigh at her indulgence in all these strange memories and dreams and childish fantasies, and called out, “I'm sorry, I'm coming, Kaede.” She began to maneuver her way through the thick green foliage, using a free hand to hold aside the free-hanging tendrils of a fern in a hanging pot. Sunlight from the glass roof speared through the fronds and her hair, and into her eyes, so that she shielded her gaze with the same hand. “I have what you wanted. I didn't mean to keep you waiting for so long…” As she peered through the shaded area from her hand, her eyes grew wide, and she went very, very still, like a doe that had been spotted by a hunter.

Staring at her from barely ten feet away, framed by the dense brush of flowers and ferns around him, stood her dream lover, his blazing gold eyes piercing straight into hers.

The whole world—and her heart—had frozen again, and everything whittled down to this place, this second, when the only thing she could see was the man with eyes like the sun and hair like the stars, when the only thing she could think was It can't be it can't be I'm dreaming again he's not standing there it's a hallucination I'm going crazy oh merciful gods what am I doing heaven help me someone anyone please wake me up I can't I can't I can't…

And when the only thing she could say was, “No…”