InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Heart Within ❯ Chapter Thirty-One ( Chapter 33 )

[ 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: A few notes: First, there was no storm during Kurama’s confrontation with Shachi. I completely forgot while writing this chapter, but liked the dramatic effect so much I left it in. =D Secondly, I kept one freakingly fantasmic line of the anime, when Youko faces down Shachi. I bolded it to show it’s not mine, but the writers’ of YYH. Last, but by far not the least, I wanted to thank everyone for their continued support. The reviews always get me all crescent-eyed and giddy. Thank you! (Fate)
WARNING! SPOILERS FOR YYH THE DARK TOURNAMENT, CHAPTER BLACK, AND THE THREE KINGS SAGA! ANGST, OVER-DESCRIPTION (ROFL - YEAH, THAT NEVER HAPPENS!) AND SMEXY FOX DEMONS, OH MY!

Chapter Thirty-One

Sango could not explain why six months had passed and here she sat, sobbing in yet another man’s arms with her world in pieces around her. It was like a bad day-time drama on TV, one whose never-ending plot was yet at heart always the same.

Poor Jin. He was trying his best, awkwardly patting her back and saying things she couldn’t understand even if she was coherent enough to try. The lilting murmur was soothing, but it only made her cry harder even as she berated herself for the pathetic weakness of it.

But, oh God, did it hurt. Everything hurt. The Band-Aid she’d slapped over the pain of Kohaku’s death had been ripped right off, the wounds across her soul left raw and bleeding. She couldn’t understand why everyone she loved always left her alone. So alone, as she had always been and would probably always be. That stupid thought made her cry harder, the sobs wracking through her as she buried her head in Jin’s shoulder and just shook with the wild pain. She couldn’t seem to contain it, couldn’t seem to stop it, and couldn’t seem to get past it. *Damn it!*

“Ah, lass, it’ll be to rights, you’ll see it yet. Go on, now, Lily, cry it out, lass, cry it all out…” Jin soothed, and she wept for the needy idiot she’d become. What had she been doing these last six months but moping around, lost in her own world, and when not lost, restless and irritated with the people and hauntingly familiar surroundings?

She really had become a shadow, ghosting through life, always too wary of actually living because it might mean she had to make a decision and take a chance and maybe, just maybe, learn that it was okay that she lived when others so much more deserving didn’t. Learn that it was okay to feel, that it wasn’t always pain and loss and death and guilt---so much damn guilt and shame and terrible, terrible pain. She wanted to be free of it, so much, so very damn much. And yet she kept herself shackled to it, reluctant, guilty, wondering what was worthy enough about her to actually let her.

That was unworthy of them---those she had lost. Their memory, their honor, their friendship and love. For Inuyasha and Kagome were as lost to her as Kohaku, and she’d clung desperately to that loss, using it as a shield to ward off the fact that life still went on, regardless of how she felt about it. It still went on, and she’d just let it pass her by…


She’d been in this damn city for six months, and still it was strange to walk down a street and see demons hurrying about their day-to-day lives. Even stranger was the technology that made Gandara so “civilized” and “modern” by youkai standards. Though it was often an odd mix of metal and flesh---a cybernetic manipulation of demon DNA the king’s scientists called genomeld. Cleverly adapting the strange life forms that existed in demon world to machines, Yomi’s bioengineers were able to create a variety of useful items. Like the winged eyeballs who were once used as spies (and still were, in Mukuro’s territory) but whose genomelded-clones had been developed into flying video cameras who could relay their images to the converted HD towers that fed off the energy-generating sewer-fungus.

The sewer-fungus fed off the awful of other demons, absorbing the jyaki in youkai waste for its own use and generating light and electricity as a byproduct. The mycelium lived in the pipes and sewers beneath the city, and sufficiently powered most of the steel buildings that little alternative energy was needed. It was an elegant system, symbiotic and useful, but still downright creepy to one unused to the ghoulish green glow coming from the bottom of the toilet bowl at night. Though it did provide a rather convenient night light…

Gandara itself was like any city on earth. Gleaming metal towers above, overcrowded streets below. The hum of the city was palpable, even at night, though there were, of course, parts of the city that were pools of quiet in the bustling metropolis. Some were deliberate, others by chance.

Yomi’s wooded estate was one such place. Nothing exemplified the arrogance of Gandara’s king as his personal estate in the heart of the city. It was rather ironic that the king, who espoused the ideals of modern technology to unite and civilize demon world, would surround himself in the traditional castle of a daimyo from the Sengoku Jidai.

Walking the halls of Yomi’s home was like walking straight into the past. The tatami mats under her feet transported Sango back five hundred years to a hundred different homes she had visited with both her father and later the Inu-gumi as a demon slayer. Seeing the unobtrusive servants and quiet women dressed in traditional kimono was both strangely painful and eerily comforting. As expansive and modern-thinking as Yomi seemed in public, he was rigidly traditional in private, maintaining a strict household whose chauvinistic ideals set Sango’s teeth on edge.

That was the one thing about Gandara that was rather atavistic. While Yomi had no problem with women warriors, they did not serve in his army. While he had no issue with women owning businesses or pursuing careers, they were not welcomed in his civil government except in the most servile positions. Women held no true power in Gandara, and were regulated to their “proper place” for the most part by the aggressively male-dominated city. It was the poisoned thorn lying deep within the beautiful rose of the city, as Kurama had once put it.

Thinking of Kurama hurt. It hurt more than she ever guessed and hoped he would never know. Even now she could see the deep intensity of his verdant gaze, trace the fine features of his handsome face, run her fingers through the living flame of his hair as she had never dared to do so in real life. He had grown so distant, so detached, as the months passed. She had not realized how distant---not really, so wrapped up in her own self, so purposely ignoring everything around her. Perhaps even welcoming that distance so that she wouldn’t be affected by it like she had been affected by so much already.

Part of it was his growing absences. Necessary absences, understandable in that the half-demon fox she knew had a real life outside Makai, one he was trying to wrap up, as he off-handedly put it. Though the emotion in his eyes---a mixture of sadness, regret and inarguable finality---had actually reached inside the numb veil she had wrapped around herself and caused Sango to touch his arm in concerned question. But he had just turned away, refusing to say more, and adroitly changed the subject, as he was always so good at doing.

She knew nothing about him, not really. Even more so, now. Sango shivered, recalling the glint of cruel amusement in green eyes turned to gold, and curled tighter around the pain, trying to ward off the smug smirk of the silver-haired fox he was in truth. “You think you, a human, could ever be enough for him?”

She didn’t know what Youko had been talking about, though his silky voice, so persuasively malicious, had caused her heart to pound even as she turned away from him in disgust.

“So quick to hate demonkind. Even though you are now one of us. How ironic---a demon slayer with the heart of a wind demon, a Spirit World assassin with the face of an angel. So untouched by the world, and yet so burdened by it. He might have loved you, you know, if he had let himself. Such a tragedy, for would you have even let him?”

“Shut up!” she’d cried, hands curling into fists, and he had smiled that mocking, knowing smile, as if he knew how easy it was to manipulate her emotions as he wished. Damn him and those cold, so very cold eyes, cuttingly cruel in their smug certainty. He’d laughed, so mocking and delighted, and then she was suddenly cradled in his arms, feebly struggling like a fly caught in a spider’s web. He’d enjoyed that, too, the bastard, as he had devouring her protests with his hard kiss, swallowing her weak cry as her traitorous body sagged into his.

Oh, god. The memory of that shame, that she had been reduced into a shivering ball of desperate need at his despised touch, her body so easily manipulated by his skilled caress until she abandoned everything up to it. He had used her, and she had let him, knowing full well what she was doing was so very wrong. A betrayal of herself and a loss of control she could not stand but one she had needed, welcomed even, as he took her like any maiden in a bad dime novel swept away by passion.

She’d enjoyed it, though, and that knowledge shattered her, for she didn’t understand what she had let herself become. She didn’t know her self any more, or the world around her, her place within it or the purpose behind it. So lost and so stupidly foolish to have wasted so much time, so much chance she could have had if she hadn’t been so wrapped up in her own numb misery.

Oh, god, that hurt most of all. That she had wasted these past six months, when she might have…she didn’t know, what, exactly, but something, anything, would have been better than this. Crying all over Jin for something she had never had, could now never have, and didn’t know she’d wanted until all possibility of it was gone.

Kurama’s note---so polite, so apologetic, so sorry for what had transpired. And the final words that said he would not shame her with his presence again, remorseful of his actions, though they were not his, but Youko’s. She hadn’t seen him in months, this the longest absence of many. Even when he was in Gandara---rather than living world wrapping up his life as Shuichi Minamino, and checking on the training of the six demons he’d recruited for Yomi---Sango rarely saw him. The king was demanding; numerous war councils and countless meetings took up the fox’s time. He was always apologetic, so regretful of the time spent away, but she’d detected some relief there as well. As if Kurama was glad of the excuse that so much of his time was taken up advising the king.

Sango had missed him, especially when he’d left the first time. The two months had seemed to stretch on interminably as she was left adrift in a strange land among people she didn‘t know and couldn’t comprehend. She had understood---his human mother was getting married, to a man Kurama respected greatly, and he was finishing up his school exams, graduating early so that he could return to Makai without further hindrance. He’d had one more set of exams, a series of tests taken with accelerated summer classes so that he could graduate early, a promise he could not break to his mother, who still thought he was human.

The revelation that he had a family in human world, was still a junior in high school---it had rocked her notions of what she had thought she knew of the red-haired fox. He’d mentioned them casually, more so she would accept why he must go, giving only the sketchiest details as he informed her of his intent to leave right away, the very next morning in fact.

That had hurt. A lot. Although Sango had understood his reasons, and could even forgive the desire to go at once, it was the way he had broken the news to her---so coolly, as if they were mere acquaintances, and not friends. Informing her, rather than telling her. There was a subtle, yet keen, difference. The memory mocked her now, for it was the start of a growing separation that now seemed inevitable.

If it hadn’t been for Master Sen, she would have lost her mind during those first few months, not to mention the ones that followed. Chafing at the restrictions of Yomi’s household and quickly growing bored with the other women---who she had nothing in common with---Sango had finally seized the courage to go and ask the snobby Yuda if he knew a place she could trade the weapon she’d won from Shigeto for one better fitted to her hand. The heavy blade, while a good workout for her arm, was too long for her to wield effectively, and consistent practice might fill some of the empty hours and long days while Kurama was away.

Yuda had condescended to take her to Master Sen’s, if only to get the stink of hanyou out of the king’s palace for a few hours, as he so sweetly put it. He’d grumbled the whole way to what had looked like a rundown junkshop, but was, in fact, a hidden treasure trove of the unusual and unique. Master Sen himself was the last thing she’d ever expected---a mole demon who stood only two feet high, wore bottle-bottomed bifocals to make up for his poor eyesight, and a faded sky-blue haori with giant pink poppies all over it. Bar the coat, which was just ridiculous, he had an innate dignity and grave manner that immediately put Sango at ease.

His gentleness with her was offset by his gruff impatience with Yuda. As the two often fell to arguing obscure points of philosophy as the king’s adviser seated himself at the rickety table across from grumpy old Guchi for a game of sho, she came to understand, in time, the firm friendship that existed between the three elderly demons. Guchi, a broken-tusked grouch of a boar demon, would grumble from his uncontested corner by the soot-barfing, pot-bellied stove, where the heat salved his aching joints, as Yuda extolled at length on the king’s utopist vision, matching moves on the chess board as Master Sen sat on his bar stool behind the counter, petting the skunk in his lap for hours.

Little had Sango known on that day when the mole had squinted over the keen edge of her offering and then absent-mindedly toddled into the back of his crowded shop to fetch a blade better suited to her size, that he would become so close a friend and so hard a teacher. Pulling out a sword he claimed had been made some three hundred years before for an ogre-child---a rich merchant-prince, actually---he had intently watched her keen appraisal of the blade. Well-made, it was a better weapon than the one destroyed, and far too valuable to trade for the one she’d brought. Reluctantly, for it fit as if made for her, she had put it down and shaken her head.

“It’s too valuable,” she said, admitting, “It’s not a fair trade, and I do not have anything else to make up the difference. Thank you, but no.”

She’d reached out to reclaim Shigeto’s sword, but Master Sen’s pink claws had lightly covered her hand. “Hold,” he said, a gleam in his black eyes as his whiskers twitched. Yuda had sat back with a sly smirk as Guchi chuckled and moved his knight. “Perhaps there is something else we can arrange…”

An arrangement that had proven more valuable to Sango than the sword itself, which she wore even now, its hilt digging awkwardly into Jin’s belly. The wind-demon made no complaint, only hugged her tight as she wiped her nose like a child with the back of her hand and sniveled into his shoulder.

That ramshackle shop tucked into a back alley beneath the glittering skyline of ultra-modern Gandara had become more a home to Sango than the elegant simplicity of Yomi’s estate. Not that she resided there anymore---after Kurama’s second departure for Ningenkai, Yuda had quietly arranged for a secondary apartment in the city. Within easy walking distance of Master Sen’s shop, the old youkai explained in unctuous tones that didn’t fool Sango that it would be easier for the kitsune to attend the council meetings when he was in Makai, as the government building was closer than the king’s residence.Kurama used both, depending on how late the meetings ran, and had slowly withdrawn, staying more and more at the king’s estate rather than the two-room apartment they shared in the city.

Sango shivered. She hadn’t realized Kurama’s growing absence. Even when he was in Makai, they barely saw one another. The empty rooms in the glittering apartment were even more cold and impersonal than the formal elegance of the palace. She was barely there herself, often taking her meals with Master Sen and spending long hours practicing in the weed-choked yard behind the shop if she wasn’t helping the elderly mole about the place.

Not that Kurama hadn’t plenty to occupy him. Besides taking accelerated summer classes to finish high school, he was keeping tabs on the six demons he had recruited for Yomi. Demons he’d met during the Dark Tournament, when Team Urameshi had fought the infamous Toguro Brothers. Sango knew Jin was one of them, and that he’d been training for the past six months under Yusuke’s first teacher, Genkai. Kurama had been as skimpy on those details as he had his family, only absently telling her that the wind demon was doing well when she’d asked.

Judging from the substantial increase in Jin’s energy, he had not only done well, but had amplified his jyaki exponentially over the past six months under the old priestess’s harsh tutelage. He’d just returned to Makai that very morning, where he and the others had been formally presented to the king. Yomi had been so impressed that he’d immediately dismissed General Shachi in a single stroke that had turned the entire court on its ear, as the general, commander of Yomi’s formidable armies, had been in power for centuries.

Sango, barely conscious of the political significance of what appeared just more squabbling among those too high to impact her directly, had not even known Kurama was to return. Arriving early at Master Sen’s shop with some tea to help with the mole’s persistent cough---and with the intent to watch the shop and let the stubborn demon rest---she’d been surprised when Yuda had stopped by in the late afternoon to gloat over Shachi’s ignoble disgrace. The elderly advisor was eager to share a cup of tea and speculate over what the ousted general would do to the half-human fox who had displaced him as Commander of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

Sango, in the midst of pouring a cup for Master Sen---who refused to stay in bed with such goings-on---had frozen, pot half-raised in the air. Turning around, face pale, she demanded sharply, “Kurama’s in danger?”

Yuda, taken aback by the sudden red glitter in her brown eyes, was for once without words. That was all the confirmation Sango needed. Putting the pot down, she bowed once to Master Sen in apology, who barked worriedly, “Sango---”

But she was already gone, her heart thudding hard inside her chest. Her eyes anxiously scanned the skyline above for the distinctive cylinder atop the tall rectangular tower of the government building, where Yuda had said they had been in council all day. The elderly advisor had finally been dismissed just an hour before, as Yomi wanted a private word with his newly promoted second-in-command.

Although Sango had never personally met the proud general, Shachi had a reputation for never forgiving a slight, even an imagined one. His sadistic duels were the talk of the city, and his jyaki was immense. An S class youkai, he was second in power only to the king, although his control was a mere shadow of Yomi’s. Still, he was a formidable opponent, and nothing made a demon more powerful than hatred. And it was no secret the general loathed the fox---one of the reasons Sango had carefully kept out of his way. She wasn’t about to provide the arrogant jerk an opportunity to get in a little revenge since the true object of his dislike was rarely here…

It seemed to take forever to make her way through the crowded streets. People were on their way home, stopping to pick up dinner or do a little shopping. Worming through them, Sango fretted at how long it was taking. The hidden sun was setting, turning the ever-present storm clouds above the city a violent hue, the indigo clouds a darker blot of congealed blood against the furious red-fuchsia of fresh. Lightning, oddly yellow-green with the rise of tense jyaki in the air, cracked the sky in half, and there was a collective inhalation around her as the youkai stopped and stared at one another in frank disbelief.

*Kurama.* Sango heart tightened, but the murmur around her was not for the fox, but for a king whose hunger pangs had growled out across the land like clock-work three times a day, at every mealtime. So predictable over the centuries that everyone set their watches by the grumbling ache of the king’s empty belly. And for some reason, either by having finally fed on human flesh or finally died for his vow never to eat another human again, was now eerily silent.

But Raizen had nothing to do with Sango, and so she pushed through the stunned youkai, growling at all the people just standing about staring at one another in bewilderment. She cursed at them, frustrated by the delay, and finally shoved through the crowd to the front entrance to the government building. Lightning snaked the sky, throwing the dull metal into silver relief, thunder growling after it as the heavens opened up and rain splattered across her upturned face.

Raising an arm to ward off the fat drops, which quickly drenched her hair to her head, Sango pushed her way up the stone steps. A substantial crowd was congregating at their foot, ignoring the rain to shout at the guards in wonder over what was happening. The guards---who would normally have stopped her, demanding her business inside---were distracted by the gathering crowd, and Sango slipped through the doors without being seen.

Pressing the button on the nearest elevator, she glared as the lighted numbers slowly gleamed one by one. Too long---it was taking too long, and she had a nagging premonition that Kurama was in danger now. Fists clenching, she finally gave up on the exasperating elevators and slammed open the heavy metal door to the fire exit. Her heart pounded in time to her feet as she ran up the stairs, ruthlessly using her jyaki to add buoyancy to her step and grateful for the extra training she had received from Master Sen and his friends to strengthen the technique. In her haste, she forgot to add wind to her breath, and she was panting by the time she finally reached the thirty-first floor and flung the door open on the deserted galleries she had once spent an uncomfortable reception in.

She felt the fox’s distinctive aura flare, and her eyes widened at the menacing aura that blazed around it, engulfing the fox’s jyaki in seething hatred. *Shachi.*

Heart in her mouth, Sango ran pell-mell through the first gallery, the endless columns flashing past as lightning seared the shadowed room into sharp relief, rain lashing the leaded windows as the wind rattled them in their frames. One gallery gave onto another, and then another, and she dove for the closed doors of the next with a cry of desperation, for the growing auras flared before her in a powerful burst as the storm crescendoed in howling fury.

“Kurama!” she cried, hurling herself at the last set of doors that separated them and summoning the wind to slam them open as she clamped her hand on her sword.

Only to falter to a stop at the sight of the dead general crumpled at the foot of a tall, white-haired figure with distinctive Inuyasha-like ears.

“Fool. You should have known your enemy,” the fox growled coldly, and an echo of the king’s delighted laughter curled across the back of Sango’s thoughts. “Welcome back, Youko…”

“Kurama?” she whispered uncertainly, and the golden eyes rose sharply to meet hers. A single brow lifted as his sensual mouth curved into a ghost of a smile that was not a smile at all.

“Ah, the taiji-ya.”

Eyes narrowing, Sango kept her hand on her hilt. She stubbornly fought the instinct to take a step back when the fox lazily stalked towards her. He was a good head taller than Kurama’s five-foot-ten. Although as slender in build, he was more muscled through the shoulders, which were shown to good effect by the sleeveless white clothing he wore. Strong features almost as beautiful in their marble remoteness as the earthy delicacy of his red-haired human form, the kitsune’s golden eyes glinted beneath a silky waterfall of silver-white hair, his white, pointed ears perking forward as he casually folded his arms and stared down at her in interest.

Still fighting the urge to step back, for both his presence and height were overwhelming, Sango glared up at him, slightly breathless as she demanded, “Who are you? Where’s Kurama?”

For there was only the faintest trace of the redhead’s distinctive energy threading through the immense aura of the kitsune‘s jyaki. It was as if the careful balance---Kurama’s yin slightly greater than the fox’s yang---had been enveloped and over-taken by the power of the silver apparition standing before her. She knew Youko had taken control of their shared body somehow, reverting to his true form without Kurama’s mind to control it. She stubbornly refused to believe he was not there, though, somewhere.

“What have you done with my friend?” she snapped, hand clenching ineffectually on her hilt, for she dare not hurt the kitsune when he shared the same body with Kurama.

“Your concern for the boy is touching, but needless,” the fox said, his voice huskier than the one she knew. He studied her with an almost bemused curiosity, his golden eyes raking her from head to foot. “You are beautiful, I must admit, but smaller than I expected.”

Sango bristled, and Youko smirked. “But then, the boy has always been rather fond of the short ones.”

Not understanding what that had to do with anything, Sango ignored it to glare at him. “You’re the fox spirit, aren’t you? Youko? How did you take control over Kurama?”

The smirk widened into a secretive smile. “Who said I had to ‘take’ anything? The boy knew he could not kill Shachi without my aid, and we both knew the general would hunt us down after the meeting and force a confrontation. We’ve been playing the blustering fool for months, calculating to the exact minute when he would make his move.”

Sango’s eyes widened in surprise. They---Kurama and Youko, together? Had been planning this for months? But why?

He must have read the question in her brown eyes, for the silver fox smirked. “Oh, it’s simple enough, taiji-ya. You’d realize it yourself if you put any thought to it. Although we didn’t particularly need Shachi, he was just the most convenient. We needed to provide an example that we are not easily trifled with, and to consolidate our power over the others by proving our mettle.”

His cold recitation made Sango shiver, for the malicious amusement in his golden eyes told her he had enjoyed the game. “You manipulated Shachi from the beginning into attacking you? Just to prove a point?”

“Yes,” the fox admitted with a casual shrug. “A very valuable point, actually. It will save quite a bit of in-fighting among the ranks once word gets out that I easily bested Yomi’s strongest demon. They will accept my ascension without rancor now, a plan the king knew I was going to put into play on his behalf. I had his full consent and awareness.”

“Yomi set his own general up?” Sango was horrified by the betrayal.

“Shachi set his own self up,” Youko corrected mildly.

“I should have known,” Sango said bitterly. “There is no true loyalty among demons.”

“True,” Youko said, a strange glint in his golden gaze. “We are always looking out for own best interests, aren’t we, wind-hanyou?”

Stricken by the poignant reminder, Sango could only stare at him, the truth burning inside her heart, which thudded loudly in her ears. Her mouth was dry, and she reflexively swallowed. There was nothing she could say to that harsh statement.

Youko smiled. Leaning down so that his warm breath tickled in her ear, he said silkily, “You are so easy to manipulate, taiji-ya. Perhaps that is what the boy finds so fascinating about you.”

Startled, Sango reflexively stepped back to put some distance between them.

Crossing his arms again, Youko slowly straightened and gave her a lazy look. “I did wonder what it was about you that captivated the boy so thoroughly. Now I understand a little the temptation to manipulate the emotions you wear so openly. What is the human saying? Ah, yes. You wear your heart on your sleeve, and there is an innocence there that is truly intriguing. You know such darkness, but have managed to keep your self somehow separate from it. So untouched, and so sweet in your simplicity. You truly believe in things like love, honor, and sincerity, don’t you, Sango?”

Cut to the quick by the demon’s malicious insight, Sango fought the sudden tears back as she whispered, “You’re cold in your cruelty, demon, and hardly worthy of the boy you disdain so much. But unlike you, Kurama has the ability to feel.”

Tilting his head back, Youko laughed. It was a rich laugh, warm and unrestrained. The cold amusement was gone, replaced by a genuine admiration as his golden eyes twinkled. “You really are refreshing, taiji-ya. Such honesty. I stand chastened.”

He hardly seemed chastened. He bowed, a mocking gleam in his golden eyes. He was suddenly charming, his powerful aura morphing into something sweet and coaxing, as if he would disarm her mistrust beneath the overwhelming appeal of his marble masculinity. Wary of the sudden change in the kitsune’s demeanor, Sango’s eyes narrowed.

“That doesn’t work on me, demon,” she said flatly, denying the sexually-charged arrogance of the male demon. Many a youkai had tried to disarm her in the past with such blatant tactics, and she wouldn’t start falling for that pathetic shit now.

“So I see,” Youko murmured, his molten gaze boring into hers. “Pity.”