InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Heart Within ❯ Chapter Thirty ( Chapter 32 )

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

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, etc., of Inuyasha or Yu Yu Hakusho. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and not for profit.THE HEART WITHINSummary: She has carried vengeance in her shadowed heart for 500 years, sacrificing her self for that dream. Now, Sango just might get her chance… (IY/YYH crossover) A/N: I could not find information regarding Yomi’s two advisors, who appeared so briefly on the anime, and so have invented names, personalities and backgrounds that are purely speculative (and probably way off the mark, lol!) Be warned, this chapter is rough. I was in a hurry to post. ;o)
WARNING! SPOILERS FOR YYH CHAPTER BLACK, THE THREE KINGS SAGA

WORDS

fusuma - thicker paper screen than a shoji, usually used for the outer walls

Chapter Thirty

Jin was right. Makai had all the technological advances of human world or, at least, Gandara did. Though it was strange to see a four-armed lizard hurrying along the street or one-eyed housewives gossiping under an awning. No less odd than spying a bulbous-looking frog demon taking a cup of tea at an outside café, though, or watching a ten-foot ogre duck to avoid hitting the hanging neon signs above him.

Trying to pretend it wasn’t downright weird, Sango could only remember brief snatches of the streets they passed.Oddly, there were no cars about. Everyone moved on foot, though occasional dinosaurs loped by and things flew overhead with other demons riding them. The hum of the city was palpable, as were the familiar smells of any overcrowded city on living world.

They finally broke from the crowded streets into a stretch of parkland. The noise of the city faded as they walked beneath giant trees that were dwarfed by the tall buildings above. Sango felt some of her tension fade as the thick greenery surrounded them. She looked over at Kurama, but he was deep in thought, his serene expression remote. She stared up in curiosity as they skirted a glass tower that went up several stories, a cellular antenna cleverly disguised in the building's steeple. She wondered if it was a greenhouse, for she glimpsed lush plants through the sparkling windows. But the stone path meandered past it, and the forest abruptly gave way to a high, wooden palisade.

Sentries challenged them at the gate, and Yuda sneered his way past. Two guards accompanied them beyond the protective walls, and Sango stared uneasily around her as the gates clanged shut. The king’s home was laid out in the precise manner of a daimyo’s estate in the late Sengoku Jidai, and she was taken aback by the haunting familiarity. A sprawling, single-story building with latticed screens and wrap-around porch lay a little to the right, a smaller one closer on the left, and yet another half-hidden in the lush trees in the distance. Seemingly careless paths had been laid between the buildings to take advantage of a particular view or artfully displayed garden or fountain. Water trickled down a bamboo chute, which struck a hollow clatter as the water tipped it down to the stone bowl below.

Sango shivered, the acute sense of déjà vu strengthening as they approached the main house. Bending automatically to remove her dusty sandals, she blushed when Kurama looked down at her in curiosity---for the custom now was to remove one’s shoes once they entered the house, not before they set foot on the porch. But Yuda gave her a surprised look of approval, and a servant appeared on the top step to exchange their dirty footwear for soft slippers. Dressed in traditional garments, he appeared anonymously human, but it was just an illusion to hide his true, demonic nature. Sango could not place his energy, but it was minor. That seemed to be the norm, for all the other servants she glimpsed as Yuda led them inside and down a long hallway were similarly bland in appearance and energy levels.

The gnarled demon finally stopped in front of a fusuma as alike as any other, but closer to the end of the hall than the beginning. One of the guards stepped forward to slide the paper screen back. Yuda turned a narrow glare on Kurama, taking his leave with a snide, “Here are your rooms. The council meets in an hour; you better not be late. Shi, here, will show you the way.”

Kurama smiled thinly, and the elderly demon smirked. Turning on his heel, he rapidly disappeared, leaving the two guards to station themselves on either side of the open door. Kurama drew Sango inside, finally letting go of her arm to close the door. Although there was no lock to bar another’s entrance and the paper screens provided little true privacy, Sango relaxed once it was firmly shut, enough so to look around curiously. The sitting room was a simple arrangement, with three doors off of it---probably to two bedrooms and a shared bath. She hoped the facilities were more modern than what the traditional furnishings suggested.

Looking down at her, Kurama frowned, worry creasing his smooth brow. “Sango, I'm sorry, but I should probably…”

“Go on,” she shooed him. "I'll be fine, honest.”

“Thank you.” He lightly gripped her shoulder before disappearing inside the bathroom. Shrugging, Sango investigated the two bedrooms, which were similar, except one had clothing carefully folded atop the chest at the foot of its futon, while the other had a pretty flower arrangement set in a simple vase on the side table. A simple yukata had been laid across the bed, and she was grateful for the thoughtfulness. She’d welcome a shower, for it had been too long since she’d been able to take more than a hasty spit bath at the edge of an icy stream. The last real chance had been in Raizen’s hot springs, actually.

The reminder troubled her, and she quickly distracted herself by finally laying the sword half-forgotten in her hand down on a convenient shelf. Kurama had taken his pack with him inside the bathroom, but once he was done she could fetch her few belongings, meager as they were. She wondered if she could get their dirty clothes laundered, and idly stared at the simple lines of a blossom-laid cherry tree painted along the wall behind the bed.

Sango turned, startled, as the door rustled. Kurama smiled apologetically, fingers combing through his rapidly drying hair. He had changed into an iron-grey trench coat that matched the king’s in military style, but was cut short at the knee. A neon-green turtleneck, black slacks and boots completed the uniform. The startling bright color of the turtleneck brought out the rich green of his verdant eyes. “Sango? The bathroom’s free.”

She smiled gratefully, and he paused, almost uncertain.

“I don't know how long…”

“It’s okay, Kurama. I understand. Your time is not your own.” She kept her tone light, for she could hear the worry in his. “You shouldn’t keep the council waiting.”

“True,” Kurama admitted, still reluctant.

“Kurama, it’s all right,” Sango said softly. His eyes searched hers for a long moment, and reaching out with a gentle hand, he brushed her hair back behind her ear. Sango’s breath caught at the aching gentleness of the simple gesture.

“I’ll see you later?”

“Of course,” she said too casually, heart thumping too hard in her chest. He nodded, and swiftly crossing the outer room, was gone.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Sango bit her lip. She didn’t like the turmoil the fox had stirred inside her, and shied away from it. Scornful red eyes flicked across her troubled thoughts, and she flinched. Hands tightening on her upper arms until the knuckles stood out in sharp relief, she shook her head. She couldn’t deal with it, not right now. Maybe later, after she had a shower and maybe a nap, for she suddenly felt drained, more tired than she actually should.

Rousing herself, she picked up the yukata and was thankful to find the bathroom more modern in design than the rooms suggested. The water-closet was separate from the shower, which was heavenly. She took her time, grateful for the simple luxury. Wrapping her wet hair in a thick towel, she donned the yukata and tightened the belt quickly, for she suddenly felt a presence outside the door.

Not the bathroom door, but the sitting room. It was as if the person had just announced themselves by revealing their aura. Perhaps that was a demon’s way of knocking, for the screen slid open to reveal a pretty young woman. Dressed in a blue kimono with a bright yellow obi, her long, black hair was caught in a traditionally low ponytail. Although she appeared human, the purple sheen to her midnight hair and the slightly red tinge to her chocolate-brown eyes gave her true nature away. She smiled sweetly, and bowed.

“Lady Sango? I am Amaya, and I welcome you to my lord’s home,” she said, waving two servants to follow as she stepped inside the room. The servants, both women as plain of face and dress as the other servants Sango had seen, each bowed over the bundles in their arms.

“I have brought clothing. I hope you don’t mind, but my lord likes to keep a strictly traditional household, and I was not certain if you had any suitable garments,” the youkai said delicately, her melodious voice soft. She exuded a sweet, winsome femininity, and Sango did not think it was feigned, for the clear gaze held no hostility or calculation.

“Er, thank you, my lady,” Sango replied, uncertain of the correct address. The demoness was too well-dressed to be a servant, but not well enough to be the king’s wife. Amaya smiled reassuringly.

“I understand you are new to Gandara,” she said, turning to the servants. She looked questioningly at Sango, who nodded awkwardly, and then directed the two women to take the clothing into the bedroom. “Our city is beautiful, is it not? Though I must admit that I prefer my lord’s estate, for the tranquility of traditions preserved.” Expertly shepherding the taiji-ya ahead of her, the young woman kept up an easy, one-sided dialogue extolling the city’s many charms. At a loss, Sango could only nod, which was all that Amaya seemed to require. Opening the first of the wrapped kimono with a sweet smile, the demoness held it up thoughtfully. A pretty light green, pink cherry blossoms decorated the fine silk.

“I thought that this might suit you best,” Amaya said with some satisfaction, and motioned Sango to disrobe. Sango hesitated, but the two servants were already waiting on either side of her, white undergarments in hand. Sango gave in reluctantly, knowing it was the way of things in such a fine place but still uneasy with having others wait on her. It was strange to don the familiar garments, though of a finer weave than any she had ever owned. Her uneasiness grew as each layer was added, though it was nothing like the truly formal wear of a lady in full traditional garb. There were only three kimono: the white yukata, a pale yellow and the embroidered light green atop. The silks were of summer-weight, and although the long skirts felt strange around her ankles, were not encumbering. The stiff obi, in a brighter shade than the pale yellow of her under kimono, was tied expertly at the small of her back, and Amaya stepped back to admire her work.

“You have beautiful hair,” the youkai said, running a hand through the damp locks. “But it looks a little shaggy. May I?”

Self-conscious of the bangs that had grown somewhat ragged since her last haircut, Sango nodded. She had never thought much of her hair, had always kept it in the same style as it was simple to cut square across her brow and cheeks. The silver shears in the demoness’s hand made quick work of trimming her over-grown bangs. Sango bit her lip, strangely troubled by the simple act, which she had unconsciously done a thousand times herself. Her unease grew, as stepping back, Amaya smiled with true delight and drew her to the floor-length mirror to view the results for herself.

“How beautiful you are, Sango-sama!” the youkai exclaimed, and Sango stared at the stark reminder of the past, flinching from the pretty picture of a woman too pale with eyes too big and brown. A woman who had stepped straight out of the Sengoku Jidai to stare around her in bewildered confusion. Her neatly trimmed hair, now tied back with a white bow down her back, the beautiful silk of her kimono and the smiling approval of the woman behind her made Sango pause.

A strange lump formed in her throat, and Sango blinked rapidly, the sudden desire to cry prickling behind her lowered lashes. She didn’t know why; she just felt so alien, a stranger in her own skin. One hauntingly familiar and yet unwelcome. She inhaled raggedly, and turned her eyes away, thankful that Amaya did not notice, busy as she was summoning the servants to fetch proper footwear, intending a stroll in the gardens before the formal dinner to be held that night.

Sango distractedly agreed to the walk, and the woman pressed her hand warmly, her smile open and friendly.


“And what if I decide not to help you unite demon world, once Raizen dies and Makai is thrown into, as you say, chaos?” Kurama demanded. “What then, Yomi?”

The king smiled. “Why, Kurama, I am disappointed that you do not think I have already thought of that myself. Why, you betrayed me once by sending this decrepit brute to kill me.” He toed the broken body of the former assassin, the blood smearing across the gleaming polish of his boot where the king had planted it inside the demon’s skull. “Instead, the blundering fool only took my light, as I prefer to call my blindness. Not that I blame you, Kurama---as I already said, I hold no grudge, and only brought up the past so that we can move beyond it, let bygones be bygones.”

Kurama stared at the king, waiting for him to reveal his hand. This Yomi was not the rash creature he had once known, and the king had already revealed that he knew far more than he had first let on when they initially met outside the city.

The council had gone much as Kurama expected. He knew already that Yomi plotted to take control over demon world once the Toushin died and King Mukuro moved against him. The four elite advisors who had attended the conference had been much as he’d expected as well. Two represented powerful allies of the king---one a catfish demon, the other of the forest youkai sometimes mistakenly called the “Fair Folk” by humans. The ever-sneering Yuda, of course, had attended as well. He was not the unctuous fool he seemed, but the king’s chief mechanical engineer---having invented a way to measure demonic energy---and an expert on demon physiology.

The fourth had been a narrow-minded warrior named Shachi, who was chief of the military, and before Kurama’s arrival, Yomi’s right-hand man. Predictably, the general had not taken well to Kurama’s cool summation that he would replace him as Yomi’s second-in-command in less than a year.Kurama had earned an enemy---although the aquatic demon posed less a threat to the fox than his inflated ego would ever let him believe.

Yomi, in typical demon fashion, had been delighted by the budding enmity between his proud general and his old “friend.” He expounded on how the council had not been that riled in years as they strolled through the beautiful chambers, slowly making their way down to the bowels of the tall building, where the dungeons lay hidden behind thick metal walls to hide the wretched screams of the tortured souls left there to rot.

Seeing the sobbing wreck of the powerful mercenary Youko had hired nearly a millennia ago to kill the king now standing at his side, Kurama’s mind was already trying to figure out the real reason Yomi had brought him here. To expunge the past, yes, but that was not the only purpose. Yomi had become as calculatingly cold and cruel as he claimed Youko to be, and the change in the brash demon was so drastic Kurama was still trying to predict what he would do.

Yomi knew more about him than he knew about the king, and that disturbed the fox, for Kurama did not like being caught so off-guard. Yomi had just detailed in succinct amusement how he knew that Youko, mortally injured, had fled Spirit World and took refuge in the unborn human child of Shiori Minamino. How that child---called Shuichi by his human mother, but known as Kurama to those who knew the truth---had later met Yusuke, which had led him to demon world fighting Sensui, and then, eventually, to Gandara and its king. It was a sequence of casual events the king tried to tie together as if it were fate or kismet that had brought them back together. Yomi claimed he needed Kurama, for his ruthless ability to think without emotion, but how much did he really? That was what Kurama was testing with his deliberate provocation.

“I do wonder, Kurama, what would keep you from betraying me again? I have to consider that, old friend. You can hardly fault me for it, and would think less of me if I didn’t. I couldn’t have that, now could I? It would hurt me too much.” Yomi’s word games were just that. He was drawing out the moment, relishing the way he could keep Kurama on edge for as long as possible. In some ways, Yomi had not changed. He had always had a flare for the dramatic.

Kurama waited silently, refusing to be so easily baited. Yomi smiled, a twist of acknowledgement for the fox’s cool disdain before he said quietly, “Your human mother...isn’t she about to get married? Within the next month or two, isn’t that right?”

Kurama stiffened.

Yomi’s malicious smile widened. “Wouldn’t it be tragic if....well, I shouldn’t really say, should I? It’s bad luck to speak of all the misfortunes that could befall two young lovers---or should I say, in this case, middle-aged lovers. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to them, now would we?”

Kurama's eyes narrowed.

“Ha.” Yomi turned slightly. “Somehow, that’s not enough, is it, Kurama? Then what about your young lady friend? Sango, wasn’t it? Such a lovely creature. Really quite charming. To say I was surprised by her arrival would be an understatement, but her presence here proves quite fortuitous.”

Kurama stilled, his tightening fists hidden by the long sleeves of his gray trench-coat but not from the blind demon’s incredibly keen senses.

Yomi casually twisted the knife deeper. “What terrible things could befall such a lovely young woman? Really, that would be a worse tragedy than the mishaps that could befall your sweet mother and the love of her sad, humanly short, life.”

“No, Yomi,” Kurama whispered tightly, the revealing words forced past his lips before he could recall them.

Yomi smiled. “I like to think of it as insurance, Kurama, for your continued assistance. You, my old friend, have taught me well.”

Kurama’s green eyes glinted dangerously.

Yomi laughed. “Now, that is very cold and truly threatening. I have missed you, Kurama---you can’t know how much. I really do value your insight and cool ability to think without emotion. Even now, when I have angered you greatly, your ruthless mind is methodically sifting through the possibilities, wondering how you could turn this situation to your advantage. While a lesser apparition would be overcome by their emotion, you are already thinking three steps ahead. Already considering in what ways you might manipulate the circumstances---and no one can say if was because you actually have feelings for these people, or if you do not want anything to jeopardize your control.”

He despised the smug delight written on the king’s handsome face. Damn him, Yomi was right---though even Kurama did not know in which way. Turning his head, the fox stared at the wall for a long time. Yomi waited quietly, giving him the time, at least, to contemplate what he could do with what had become an untenable situation. There were ways he could turn it to his advantage, although even Yomi might not guess how personal they were. Finally, grudgingly, he said, “I have devised a plan.”

“Ah, you have not failed my faith in you, old friend.”

Ignoring him, Kurama said coldly, “There are two problems.”

“Oh?”

“As you know, my mother is getting married in July, and I am a junior in high school. Final exams are coming up---”

Yomi sneered, but did not interrupt.

“And I would like to return to Ningenkai. Give me two months to wrap up my affairs in human world, and I will also use that time to recruit for you six powerful demons I met during a previous tournament. With intensive training, they could provide you with a tactical advantage that would shift the outcome of the war indelibly in your favor.”

“Only six?” Yomi taunted. “Shachi has an army of thousands, and you claim you could find me six demons strong enough to overcome the might of Mukuro’s forces?”

“Yes.”

Yomi suddenly laughed. “How very chilling, and so endearingly familiar about you, Kurama. On the surface, it would seem you have garnered the ability to make friends, but little do they know, they are just tools, like everyone else, for you to use.”

“Tools you would do well to use yourself, Yomi,” Kurama replied blandly.

Relaxing, Yomi smiled. “I am so glad we have reached an understanding, Kurama. Very well. I will allow you to return to human world to tend to your affairs. We mustn’t let mummy dearest suspect your true, demonic nature. It would break her simple human heart, wouldn’t it, Kurama? Thankfully, she will have a stepson come July to replace her absent son, Shuichi. Kokota is his name, isn’t it?”

“Your spies have done well,” Kurama conceded.

“Yes, they are very thorough,” Yomi said smugly. “Yet another thing I learned from you, Kurama---the importance of gathering information.” When the fox did not deign to reply, the king abruptly changed the subject, his deep voice almost purring, “I noticed, my old friend, that you did not ask for the lady to accompany you to Ningenkai.”

“I am not a fool, Yomi,” Kurama said sharply. “I may appear weak in this body, but you should not underestimate me.” It was the only warning he would give his old friend---a last concession to make up for Youko’s betrayal so long ago.

“Advice my general Shachi should keep in mind,” Yomi said, deliberately ignoring the subtle dig. “You’re right, Kurama, you are not a fool, and I know that. The girl will stay here as collateral for your good behavior. I will be watching, of course.”

“Of course,” Kurama agreed dryly. “You always learned quickly, old friend.”

Yomi abruptly burst out laughing. “Truly, Kurama, I have missed you. You will hurry back, won’t you? I know you intend to set out in the morning; you were never one to waste time putting a chosen course into action.”

Kurama only looked at him. The king met his cold gaze, as if he could actually see the hard flint in his eyes. Yomi smiled softly. “I will take care of her, old friend. For your sake.”

“You’d better,” Kurama growled softly, Youko’s presence achingly close and adding a darkness to his hard voice. Turning on his heel, he stalked from the disgusting warren, leaving the stench of congealed blood and the king’s mocking laughter behind.


Dinner, to say the least, was uncomfortable. From Amaya’s offhand comments, Sango had been led to believe that it would be a casual affair---although casual was a relative term in a household as rigidly formal as the king’s. But the king had arbitrarily decided that a formal reception to welcome their guests would be more appropriate, and a perfect opportunity for both Sango and Kurama to meet everyone at once. The “small” reception included four of the king’s closest advisors and their various assistants and sycophants, their wives and mates, as designated---since demon world did not seem to have the sexual hang ups of human world, and recognized same-gender relationships as valid as any other---and all six of the king’s publicly-acknowledged concubines. Amaya, of course, was included in the last group, who were a bevy of demur flowers with not a single thought in their beautiful heads. Sango soon grew bored of their conversation, which centered around what they and others wore, what they and others said, and what they and others did----which was really not much when all was said and done.

As she did not know anyone else, Sango was stuck with them, for Kurama and the king had yet to arrive, and it would be unheard of for a strange man to approach her without formal introduction by either. Or so Amaya had told her in a shocked whisper when Sango quietly asked. Taking in the taiji-ya’s anxious expression, Amaya patted her arm. “Don’t worry, Sango-sama. They will be along shortly. I’m certain they are only catching up; they are old friends, you know.”

No, she didn’t. Sango gave the woman a sharp glance, but the demoness had already turned to another of Yomi’s butterflies, who watched her with a false simper that did not quite reach her oddly lemon-colored eyes. Easily the most beautiful of Yomi’s concubines, her white-blond hair and yellow eyes were a startling contrast to her blue skin. Unlike the others, she sported two horns curling prettily around her ears, the tips painted to match her claws and the delicate pattern woven into her kimono. She was as cool as Amaya was warm, and Sango was glad when the youkai pointedly moved on with the merest nod of her haughty head. At one time, a bitch like her would have set Sango’s teeth on edge, but Sango could care less what stupid games the youkai must play to massage her massive ego. She had always detested such women; she had always been too forthright to play such games and had never really understood why they did.

Closing her eyes and wishing she could be alone right now, Sango sighed. Being in this place, surrounded by people she did not know and did not at all like, was hard to deal with when she wasn’t so tired. She might hide her growing irritation behind a bland mask, but the need for that mask was irritating in itself. Draped in the most expensive silk she had ever worn, surrounded by a display of opulence she had only fleetingly glimpsed from afar in Yama’s court, Sango found herself frankly bored and restless. The demons, as strange as some appeared, were dressed in naggingly traditional formality. Such constant reminders of her past---not one she had been a part of, being born in a village of taiji-ya, but one she knew---stirred up emotions she did not want to deal with right now.

“Sango?” Kurama was suddenly by her side. Opening her eyes, Sango smiled in relief. His green eyes, so achingly familiar in such strange surroundings, studied her expression. Without a word, he tucked her arm in his and led her across the overcrowded room to a remote corner. Nipping a glass from a passing servant, he tucked her fingers around the stem. “Drink. It might be a little strong, but it will help.”

Taking his word for it, Sango took a cautious sip. The wine trickled down her throat, adding warmth to her belly, and she did feel better. “Thanks, Kurama,” she said, and took a longer drink. The warmth spread, and her tiredness and irritation fled with the headache that had been coming on.

“Better?” he asked, taking the empty glass.

“Yes.” She smiled. Leaning down, he whispered in her ear, “You look beautiful tonight, Sango.”

She looked away, a knot forming inside her chest. Not from his compliment, which was sincere, but for the fact that she did not feel beautiful. She felt lost, and the last time she had felt lost, she had lost everything. And the one who had made the world solid again, even for so short a time, had left her alone, lost and adrift once more. Her hands clenched inside her long sleeves, and she was grateful when the king approached.

“Ah, there you are, Kurama.”

Kurama stiffened, and Sango wondered at the silent tension in the fox’s bland expression. If she had not come to know him so well, she wouldn’t have been able to detect the slight stiffening along his jaw or the miniscule tightening around his eyes. “Lord Yomi.”

“Lady Sango, I hope that my Amaya has made you feel welcomed.” Yomi smoothly inserted himself between them, taking her hand and bowing in more of a Western style than an Eastern.

Sango made some polite comment she could not recall, and the king smiled. “I am glad, my lady. I want you to be comfortable in my home, for I understand you will be staying for quite a while in our fair city---as my dear Kurama has so many things to attend to.”

She didn’t know what was going on between the two demons, but she didn’t like it. Surreptitiously withdrawing her hand, she demurred. Predictably, Yomi accepted it as she thought he might, given his penchant for submissive women. Yomi pointed out various youkai, making some ironic observation on this one or that, and Kurama smiled tightly. The king abruptly turned back to her, and said lightly, “My lady, I should introduce you to a few of my advisors. Shachi, especially. He’s a warrior, much like yourself---”

“Yomi,” Kurama growled sharply. There was a strangely husky quality to his rough voice that made Sango look up at him in surprise.

But the king only laughed, as if that was exactly the reaction he had been hoping for. It was an arrogant laugh, one that drew raised brows and surreptitious whispering behind raised hands, as if the king did not laugh that often. Sango stirred, uncomfortable with all the sudden attention turned their way, and Kurama casually moved to block her view of the rest of the room, or perhaps, block their view of her.

Yomi stopped as suddenly as he started. His grin was warm, though, amused as he reassured the fox, “Don’t worry, old friend, I have no intention of letting Shachi anywhere near her. You should trust me more than that, Kurama.”

With a mocking bow, he finally left, much to Sango’s relief. She didn’t like the king that much. He used words as his daggers, and flung them at random just to see the reaction. His motivations baffled her, and his cruelty was subtle. He didn’t seem cruel, though, more as if he played with it, like a game he would discard when he grew bored. She wondered what was the real youkai behind the many masks Yomi donned. She pushed the uneasy thought out of her mind, taking in Kurama’s angry expression.

Again, it was not something anyone who did not know him well would be able to discern---the fox really was good at keeping his face impassive. But for those who knew what to look for, it was easy to read the intensity of emotion in his dark green eyes, the little white lines at the edge of his pressed lips, and the minute tension across his relaxed shoulders.

“Kurama?” Sango softly touched his arm, and he looked down at her, the tension flowing out of him. He took her hand, and squeezed it lightly. “Come, let us step out into the galleria. We need to talk where others cannot overhear.”

More than eager to get away from these people, Sango nodded. Keeping her hand, Kurama led her around the crowded room, only stopping once to introduce her to two of Yomi’s advisors. One was a stiffly formal youkai with a gray, catfish-like face, a mustache’s crop of gray tentacles constantly moving underneath his blunt nose. The other was a beautiful young man with carefully curled blue hair and a multitude of jewels sprinkled across his graceful hands, which he used to good advantage. Their mates were with them---a lugubrious woman as alike to the catfish as to seem twins but dressed in a sky blue kimono and purple obi, and a small young man with golden hair and limpid blue eyes. He kept one arm jealously snaked around the lord’s waist, as if daring her to say anything, though his blue eyes kept flicking to Kurama, as if trying to decide what kind of threat the handsome redhead posed.

Both demons were courteous, and judging from Kurama’s easy manner with them, the fox trusted them. At least, a little more than the others---for he did not stop again, though others looked eager to make their acquaintance. But the fox was adept at evasion, and they finally emerged near one of the doors, slipping outside into the dim quiet of the hallway beyond. Well, not really a hallway, but another long, narrow room whose arched windows stood a good twenty feet tall. The etched petals atop each peak formed flowers that did not match from window to window, as if the architect had deliberately kept them asymmetrical. Tall stone pillars she could never hope to encircle with her arms held up a ceiling lost to the darkness above them.

Sango welcomed the shadowed quiet of the deserted ballroom, free of the overwhelming scent and light and noise of too many people crowded in one place. She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly as she closed her eyes, relishing the release of tension along her neck and shoulders.


She was utterly beautiful, and completely unaware of it. She put the powdered artifice of Yomi’s court to shame, made the king’s lauded flowers seem like so many over-blown tiger lilies surrounding a pale narcissi. Delicate and lovely, her innate poise lent her a grace the other ladies could only imitate with mincing calculation. Even dressed in the finery of a noblewoman, Sango could not hide the studied catlike suppleness of a warrior, though there was a touching uncertainty about her. One could tell she felt ill-at-ease in such surroundings, but rather than raising amusement or disdain, it provoked sympathy. At least, in those who had not already decided to hate her---through either her connection with him or her half-demon heritage, for there were those who still held to the old prejudices.

But then, there were always people ready to hate anything that did not fit their narrow definition of the world, whatever world that happened to be: living, spirit or demon. Even Lord Tenga’s young male lover raised brows and offended looks from some of the more stodgy of Yomi’s court, and the demon lord was a powerful ally of the king. Although the lines were not as strict in demon society where love was concerned, there would always be those who hated others for what they themselves could never know.

He was pleased that Sango, at least, appeared to have no prejudice regarding same-gender relationships. She had accepted young Jueru as cautiously as she had Lord Aten’s stuffy wife, as friendly as her naturally suspicious nature would let her. Kurama was glad---for she would need powerful allies, ones who looked on the taiji-ya with some favor, or at least, neutrality. It wasn’t much, but it would provide some protection for the slayer.

And he wanted, needed, to protect her. Even from himself...

“Sango,” he began softly, uncertain how she would take the news of his coming departure. Opening her eyes, she turned to look up at him, and his breath caught at the play of light and shadow across her delicate features as lightning flickered through the windows. Thunder broke the sudden moment, and recalling himself, Kurama deliberately turned to stare out at the rising storm.

The turmoil outside matched the turmoil within. He watched the lightning snake between the tall buildings with hooded eyes, calculating the distance he must put between them, both figuratively and literally. For his feelings for her put them both in danger. She had become too precious, and it was for her sake that he had to do what he must to keep her safe.

It wasn’t only that Yomi was willing to hold her over his head, but the fact that he could. And as shocking as it was, Kurama had not known until that very moment that his emotions went far deeper than he could ever have imagined. So deep, in fact, that just the mere threat against the slayer had called Youko forth from the darker recesses of his mind. Blazing so near the surface that it was only by the tightest control that Kurama had kept the fox spirit from taking over their shared body and morphing into the powerful S-class demon he was.

He could feel Youko even now, closer than ever before. The demon fox’s thoughts curled through his, whispering insidiously just beneath the surface. It would be so easy to give in to him, take the strength the fox offered. Hiei, Yusuke---they needed to train to raise their status to a level where it would help in the inevitable struggle to come once Raizen died and war broke out across Makai. Kurama did not need that, he could call on Youko, who had a thousand years of experience and power at his disposal, and was already an S class demon to rival some of the strongest in demon world. Although, despite Youko’s persuasive whispers to the contrary, Kurama could not hope to defeat Yomi on that strength alone. Cunning, while good, might not be enough if he and the blind king were to battle in earnest, one on one.

Only strong emotion or mortal wounds could call Youko forth without Kurama’s consent. Only when he was on the verge of death or so overcome by anger that his more primitive nature could take over would he be swallowed up in the fox spirit’s overwhelming aura, his body altering to reflect the change as Youko took control. And then Kurama became but a passive observer---knowing, feeling, experiencing everything the fox did but helpless to intervene or stop the demon, whose ruthlessness was not reined by compassion or empathy whatsoever. The truth was that Youko’s single most liability was that he was so completely narcissistic and selfish that he could not understand why Kurama would even care.

But Kurama did care. Too much. It would be so easy to let Youko take over, to give in as the fox had always intended when he’d invaded Shiori’s unborn child. But it was Shiori, his human mother, who had loved him so selflessly that the profoundness of it had rocked the world he had known on its very foundations. And he, so inherently selfish---since Youko’s spirit tainted his just by being two in one as they were---knew he could never be as---phenomenal---as she. Was, in fact, far the lesser. But it made him want to be better than he was, strive for something he could never achieve. And while knowing and accepting that horrible truth, he still felt the need to---protect it, somehow, shield that purity from the evil world he knew so well around it.

And that was one of the reasons he wanted to protect Sango. For all the bitter darkness inside her, there was a part of her left untouched by the ugliness she had lived through. A part kept untainted and pure. One so achingly innocent it gave hope to his weary heart that if she could manage to save that small part of herself, leave it untouched by the bitter loss and betrayal that had shadowed her whole life, than maybe, just maybe, there was something about this world worth saving after all.

She was Pandora, a symbol of the hope he held, desperately clung to, in the bitter knowledge of a world he (through Youko) had seen too much the darker side of. It made his cynical heart weep for the bitter irony that had led a selfish fox to take over the soul of a human boy and corrupt it into the tainted creature he had become. A creature who knew too much, saw too much, and understood too well the rarity of such a pure spirit in a world blighted by darkness and corrupted by hate. Selfless, determined and strong, the slayer was scarred and suspicious, and wounded deeply by the loss and betrayal in her life, yet still the fact that she felt so deeply, could not help but do so---ah, but that was the crux of it. Sango could have closed herself off, withdrawn inside her shadows and become the icy killer rumor had painted her. But it was just a mask, a mask so brittle it fell away at the first provocation.

Such depth of emotion hurt her---and she withdrew, as any wounded animal would, curling herself around the pain and hiding it so that she wouldn’t appear weak. But he knew that in time she would heal. That she would be able one day to go on and live. Live like he could never let himself---so lost in his fear of losing control, of letting go enough to trust that it would be all right, that he did not have to control everything so that he wouldn’t be hurt. Shelling himself away behind an aloof barrier, existing on the outskirts of life, the observer as she thought herself to be and yet was not.

Fear---in all its small-minded ugliness---was what drove him, what kept him from truly living, feeling, as Sango could. And how ironic that it was that same fear which had driven Hiei to leave her alone after sharing such need that night, so afraid as the fire demon was of emotion and the affect it might have on his cool control. Ah, but Hiei was not the icy killer he thought himself, either. The apparition’s passions burned too hot for him to not eventually let himself feel---if he found someone he could trust enough to let his defensive barriers down with.

And perhaps that was why it hurt so damn much, for while knowing he was so unworthy himself, Kurama knew that Hiei was. Especially for the taiji-ya. They had so much in common, so much pain and so much passion---passion he could never dare lose control of, not only because of Youko, but because he just couldn’t lose his precious control like that. Kurama knew that one day the two would find each other again---for it was Hiei the slayer had turned to so desperately in her heartache and loss, welcoming his embrace, his strength and passion and inner fire to salve the wounds torn across her heart.

And as petty as it was, Kurama was jealous of that. But there was still a part of him that was jealous of the slayer too, for the fire demon who had welcomed her embrace as well. Two innocents, so locked in their own denial---how terribly ironic it was that he, emotional coward that he was, loved them both. So much it hurt to know that he was so unworthy of either, and could never be the solace the other craved and needed so badly. No, that was something they could only give the other---if they let themselves.

And it was for that reason that Kurama did the one thing he thought he could never do, and loved so selflessly that he bowed himself out of the equation, sacrificing his own lonely heart for what might save theirs. And he knew the despair of finality as he firmly shut the door on the wonder and revelation of how deep his feelings ran for both of them, and did what he had to do to ensure their eventual happiness.

Going to human world---he would close that door, too, and lay down the burden of his weary spirit and the internal struggle between who would win in the end---himself or Youko. For he knew with despair that it was the least he could do, ensuring the world was safe for the two he most cared about. Then he would be ready---ready to give in to Youko’s desire, and become what he was always supposed to be.

Ah, but it hurt. It hurt so damn much. And he could never let Sango---or Hiei---see it. And so skilled was he at deception, so easily able to separate his overwrought emotions from what he had to do, that Sango would never guess what it cost him to put the first steps into action by carefully distancing himself from her as he would everyone. Lonely was his path, and lonely would it always be. But he could protect them both, and ensure them both the happiness he had to deny himself, weak coward that he was, and so undeserving of the very thing that they deserved so damn much.

Outside, the storm shattered the sky in fierce anger, lightning snapping as rain lashed and rattled the leaded glass in its frames. That storm was in his heart, but his face---always so easy to control---showed none of it as he turned to face the slayer, the pain he could not keep from his dark eyes thankfully hidden by the shadows that now covered his weeping soul.

For her sake, for Hiei’s, he would do all he had to to ensure this last sacrifice and gift. For the love he could never know and they deserved to have. Together.