The Source of Solace

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha, etc. Rumiko Takahashi has that singular privilege. This story is for entertainment purposes only.

THE SOURCE OF SOLACE

Bred as a weapon, and betrayed by her own kind, Sango's true identity was erased by Alteration. But it just left the way open for manipulation by those who would use her for their own ends. Assassination and Love collide in a star-crossing AU universe. K/S I/K

WARNING! Dark imagery and lime, foul language, adult situations and issues.

A/N: Special note, “toutoi” means “precious, valuable, priceless” in the online translation. I might be using it in the wrong context, but that is what is so great about futuristic stories, language and meaning can change over the centuries…LOL. (Fate)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Zerinn il’Tevya was a past master of both blade and dart. He had proven his mastery and skill by the simple surfeit of having reached the ripe old age of 133 years. Most men in their early thirteenth decade, without the aid of rejuvenation treatments, were brain-addled by time and preventative drugging, vacant-eyed and slack-jawed as they allowed the near-miraculous aid of modern medical technology to extend their useless lives into a wretched existence.

Zerinn had never been one to waste anything, including existence. He maintained his strength and intellect through judicious diet and rigorous exercise. His routine was simple, expedient, and ruthlessly followed---with the single-minded tenacity that had once characterized his stalking of proscribed prey in the heyday of his career as a Brother of Iynisin.

Zerinn had never paid attention to the various murmurings of sooth-sayers and priests. He had never believed in an afterlife, a guiding power, or a higher strength than that of his own arm. The simple philosophy of Xao Lin of the Eighth Galactic Dynasty had always seemed to him to be more believable than gods or saints, devils or hells.

“From nothing, we become nothing.”

He followed this philosophy faithfully, and trusted that this plane of reality would be the only one he would ever know, thus he made good use of it in the short time allotted him in it.

Highest in his contempt were those who uttered such ridiculous nonsense as “premonitions” or “messages” sent by whatever good or evil force the particular fool believed in. But after being awakened in the middle of the night by a chilling twinge going down his spine in warning, he might, just might, begin to believe…

It was his custom to sleep between the hours of moonset and the last hour before sun’s dawning. G-Station circled Gaea III, and the planet’s rust-swirled gaseous envelope could be seen through the thick plaz-shield screens of his outer windows. Zerinn preferred to arise when Gaea’s sun had yet an hour to pierce the liquid blackness of space, and to break his fast in contemplation of the swirling dun-orange surface of the gently turning planet below. A vigorous exercise regimen would follow the peaceful interlude before he would make his way to the Training Compound, when he would truly start his day among the students there, rising them at first-light for a ten-mile run.

A past master with both blade and dart, the assassin’s primary tools (for blast guns, though lethal, were hardly considered elegant), he had proven his mastery with that most basic of precepts---he had survived, where others had not. Not only survived, but excelled---to the point where the Brotherhood had honored him, or so they bribed, with a teaching position at the Training Compound, where he might relax against the ever-guard of living as an assassin and “retire” in the peaceful quiet of instructive scholarship.

Zerinn ever knew his duty, and while he detested the role now given him, he taught his young charges with a singular ruthlessness that would, in time, help them to survive the rigors of their calling. It was with that haunting thought weighing heavily on his mind that he made ready for bed that night, having set out the implements he would need for the morning’s rising and the next day’s teaching.

His sleep might have been restless, with such thoughts, but Zerinn never allowed such concerns to intrude into what he considered as the body’s need to rest and replenish. Exerting his will, he made his mind quiet for the night and slept deeply.

What woke him up might have been the soft scuff of a slipper on the reed mats he had laid across his bedroom floor for particularly that purpose, knowing that they would rustle at the slightest disturbance. Perhaps it had been the tangible presence of three different shadows in a room that should have contained only him. It might have been anything, though he would later believe that it had been his instincts…and perhaps, something more…that had sent that chill of warning down his back, making him roll over abruptly just as a naked blade was thrust into the pillows where he had been sleeping but a bare moment before.

With a muffled curse, the skulking shadow freed his blade from the clutching fabric of the pillow with a loud, rasping sound of tearing cloth. That was stupid. Zerinn would have abandoned the caught blade and pulled out another, saving precious seconds by the simple expediency. But the fools sent against him had never been trained by him, and were thus unequal to the task of trying to kill one who would only use their incompetence for his own benefit.

Flinging away the pillow he had pierced with his knife had been the murderer’s second mistake---as it then covered the small area around the bed in a shower of tiny white feathers and down, masking Zerinn’s stealthy movements as he silently rolled into the legs of his second would-be assailant. That idiot had been just standing there, watching, when Zerinn used all of his weight to knock him off of his feet. There was a muffled thud and a choking gasp as the old teacher helpfully used the fool’s own blade to cut his throat for him.

In Zerinn’s harsh opinion, none of the three buffoons sent to kill him would have lasted more than a few seasons out in the field, so incompetent were they. Their timing was slow, their resulting reactions saddled by far too much anger and emotion, and as for the noise they made! A trampling elephant would have done the job with far more finesse, and less noise. If any of his students had made such a blunder of what should have been an easy job---well, maybe not so easy, but then again, he had been sound asleep, and if the fools had been anything but as inept as they were, they should have taken him with little noise and less fuss---but if any of his students had dared to bumble their way through what should have been a clean, simple kill, then he would have taken the skin off of their backsides with his own nunchaku.

The third attacker cursed softly when he realized the second had just died. That had been a rather stupid mistake on his part, for it told Zerinn just exactly where the blurred shadow was in the darkened room. It was with rather contemptuous ease that he flung another dagger---this one pulled from under the nearest reed mat where he always kept it hidden, in case of emergencies just like this one---and ended the incompetent’s life with a gargled cry and a heavier thud as the body hit the floor, his dagger buried to the hilt in the assailant’s neck.

“Damn you, old man!” The first attacker made no effort to control his voice or lower his volume, which told Zerinn all he needed to know that this attack had been given official sanction. Well, maybe not official, but it had been ordered by persons high enough in the Brotherhood that they would not fear any reprisals from the action, and had less care of just how their orders were carried out.

He must have become expendable then, or perhaps, he had even become something of a liability---though he did not know how or why. He just knew that someone, somewhere, wanted him dead and out of the way. It would bear further thinking on, but now was not the time. Still, the idle speculation made him smile, and it was not a nice smile.

The remaining traitor was now wary of his skill, and tried to feint to the left as Zerinn slowly stood up, allowing his presence to be known. He wanted this last fool to know just who it was he faced, just who it was he had thought to kill so easily with a knife’s thrust in the dark as he lay sleeping.

This might be only the first target of his revenge, but it might prove to be the most satisfying. Brandishing the twin daggers that were characteristic of his own preferred style of fighting, Zerinn decided to take his time with this one. Moving the blades in a mesmerizing dance calculated to fool the susceptible, he quickly disarmed the oaf, tripping him up and sending him sprawling with a sharp cut to the Achilles’ tendon, a move that would cripple as well as provide a measure of pain, which he could then manipulate for his use to get at what he truly wanted.

Information.

The deed was hardly bloodless, and too much time had been wasted in listening to the fool’s piteous cries for mercy. Amid the pathetic whimpers had been a few hoarse whispers of valuable intel though, and it was with a grim stirring of sullen anger that Zerinn then used the twitching corpse to wipe the blood from off his favorite blade---after having carved his sigil into the slain’s forehead in a bloody testament to his own contempt for those bumbling fools sent against him, and a blunt message those who had sent the fools could not ignore.

Standing, the lethal assassin quickly took stock of his situation. It was, perhaps, precarious at best. There might be more waiting to do the deed that those three incompetents could not. He would have to run, then, and seek shelter among those who might very well be shocked to learn just how deep the treachery among the sworn Brotherhood now went.

It took but a few moments for him to pack up the few things he wanted to take with him. It was funny how little there was that he cared to take. His one regret was that the students now under his teaching might go to another who would prove to be less exacting than he, one who might train them in as imprudently a manner as those three fools had been. It was but a momentary regret, however, and easily set aside. If any of the young assassins now training were to even survive the bloody conflict that now loomed in the Brotherhood’s future, it would be a miracle. The young were often mere fodder for the ambitions of the more powerful of their order. That had always been an accepted fact of life among the tong.

Perhaps, Zerinn thought with a bitter scowl, it was time for things to change in the Brotherhood. Perhaps it was past time for things to change. The honor the Brotherhood touted so much about had been more in mouth than in deed as of late, and the fact that there were those who felt more than comfortable in taking out one of their own was just downright disgusting. Others might think that the honor of a sworn killer a pitiful thing, but he was now determined to set it right. The infection of treachery went deep, and it would take a firm hand to cauterize it out…

A firm hand he did not mind in the least using.


ooOOooOOooOOoo


Sango cast an uneasy look out of the corner of her eye at Kouga. Cold fury radiated from every stiff pore of him. Though he said nothing, his eyes were icy fire as he sat, arms crossed, staring out over his right shoulder toward the darkened windshield beyond. Hakkaku’s distinctive spikes were grayed in the dim light cast by the small shuttle’s running lights. Splashes of green flickered across the ookami’s bent form as he piloted the blocky shuttle across the night-swept continent.

The other ookami, who had accompanied Hakkaku to Inuyasha’s cabin in the shuttle, was hunched down in the copilot’s seat. Sango did not know his name. He had short, gray hair like Ginta, but it was darker than the other ookami’s, and looked nearly black in the flickering display of the shuttle’s controls. He kept rolling his eyes back in their direction, all but wincing as he caught sight of the Taiyoukai’s hard stare.

Inuyasha grimaced as the nervous copilot hunched further into his seat. His own amber gaze was steady as he stared at Kouga. The Taiyoukai was radiating suppressed fury in every stiff line of him, and all of them kept looking over at him, as if wondering just when he would explode with it. Kagome, squashed into the hanyou’s side by his heavy arm across her shoulders, bit her lip and tried to send some silent message with her wide brown eyes to Sango that the taijiya could not hope to understand. Sango shrugged a little, helplessly, in return, and the movement drew the Taiyoukai’s sharp gaze.

For at this moment, Kouga was every inch the withdrawn, icy youkai Lord, and not the arrogantly amused ookami she had come to know. Sango acutely felt the subtle difference, and had withdrawn into herself as a result, not sure how to act around this new Kouga.

She felt the weight of his regard, and her eyes flicked up to meet his. The flat stare made her want to shiver, though she firmly suppressed the instinctive reaction. Her spine unconsciously straightened, and she forced herself to meet his gaze with a level one of her own, the emotionless mask of the assassin firmly in place.

Was it annoyance that flashed across his too-blue stare, or just her imagination? Whatever it was, it made his eyes glow, and Sango inched a bit away from him, surprised by his reaction and her response to it. She didn’t know this new, hard Kouga. She had no place in his youkai world, and all of her fears whispered to her that here was proof of how little she knew him, how little she understood or could hope to understand of him and his alien mind.

She dropped her eyes to the metal floor beneath her tucked feet, her fingers curling a tighter grip into the simple, padded bench on either side of her. Both sides of the blocky shuttle were lined with a plain, metal bench bolted along the outer walls of the roomy storage area behind the pilot’s forward console. Usually, the squared-off confines of the back part of the small ship were used to haul cargo back and forth from the station in orbit above Kyouko. The shuttle was squat, compact, and hardly elegant, but it had powerful engines built for heavier cargos than the six bodies it now hauled across the continent toward the distant port-city of Agariba.

A single claw delicately traced the clenched grip of her nearest hand, and Sango’s eyes jerked up to meet the Taiyoukai’s. Kouga leaned close to her, whispering in her ear, “I…need…could use…your support…right now.”

It must have been hard for him to even admit such weakness right now. The barrier created by his sudden donning of youkai preeminence cracked a little, and Sango’s brown eyes softened. Poor Kouga. He had such demands laid upon him. She had not given thought to how the news of Ayame’s sudden death might affect him, the wolf, and not that other, the Taiyoukai, who must show a stern face to the world lest others think him weak. There was so much they had in common---an assassin could never let emotion show either, lest weakness betray them…

Turning her hand into his, she knit her fingers between his strong, clawed ones. She lightly squeezed his hand with simple understanding, her dark gaze compassionate. He smiled a little, allowing that much emotion to creep past the barrier of his strength, and squeezed her hand back in quiet gratitude before turning his head to look back out the windshield. The forested hills of the continent had given way to the unbroken line of the churning, black seas below as the shuttle grimly sped across the planet’s surface.

She did not catch the amused glint in Inuyasha’s amber eyes, or Kouga’s fleeting smirk in the hanyou’s direction. The Taiyoukai might not need her compassion, but he did need her, beside him, and he would do whatever he needed to keep her with him…


ooOOooOOooOOoo


“I have come to spread the light of redemption among the poor, misguided spirits of Kyouko who have never known---” The young man paused, seeing the dispatcher’s rather skeptical expression.

The man behind the plaz-glass shielded window pursed his lips as he eyed the houshi with amusement. The monk’s faded blue robes had seen better days, as had the well-palmed wood of the religious staff held casually in one hand. The rings decorating the staff’s crown jingled merrily as the monk surreptitiously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He had been standing in line for quite some time; the captain who had preceded him off of the newly docked merchanteer Raley’s Five had been rather meticulous in his accounting, and had taken way too damn long to go over his various lists of incoming cargo.

The harassed dispatcher, who would normally have sent any religious zealot packing, refusing to even permit such trash within Yoro’s pristine precincts, was tired from the captain’s rather painful thoroughness, and so he was more amused by the handsome young man’s earnest expression rather than being put off by it, as he normally might have been. Yorokuzo Station hardly needed the plaintive bleats or violent harangues of the ardently faithful. Most visitors to Yoro sought more tangible pleasures than those offered by soothsayers and priests, and Lord Kouga would hardly tolerate a religious nut who had little tolerance himself for the variety of lifestyles found on the orbiting station.

This young monk, earnest as he was, would find few who would even pay attention to him, let alone allow themselves to be persuaded or converted to his way of enlightenment. It might be fun to let the young zealot learn on his own just how hard it was to persuade obnoxious young rich brats that their souls were in mortal danger of damnation as they spent their vacation-time soaking up the dubious benefit of more corporeal entertainments. Though the houshi might prove stupid, and cross the unspoken boundary between politeness and aggravation, and get his ass kicked.

Better not risk causing a riot, then, and just go with his instincts, which told him to refuse entry to the young missionary, persuasive as he was. Frowning, the harassed dispatcher opened his mouth to say just that, when the monk’s expression changed. His eyes flicking from side to side, as if trying to see if anyone were close enough to hear his confession, he leaned toward the Dispatch window with a conspiratorial air. Surprised, the dispatcher waited to see what the monk might say.

Clearing his throat, the young man looked a little uncomfortable. “Ah, um…”

The dispatcher raised a brow, his skeptical look returning.

The monk coughed, the rings of his staff singing out as he nervously shifted his weight again. A flush rose to stain the tanned cheeks. “I…ah…have something of a confession to make. I didn’t really come to Yoro to…ah…spread the word, per se. You see, I have always led something of a quiet life…a sequestered life, you might say.”

Rubbing a finger along the side of his nose, his dark blue eyes warily shifting again to see if anyone was near, he leaned even closer to the window. The dispatcher, his curiosity piqued, tried to appear indifferent, though he unconsciously leaned closer to the glass as well. He wondered just what dire secret the young man was trying to confess, though he had a vague idea. Even poor young monks needed a vacation now and then, and probably more than most, with the strict tenets of their profession.

“Much as I love my calling, I have missed the…ah…more temporal pleasures of a woman’s…er…companionship.” The monk looked downright mortified to have admitted so much, but the dispatcher chuckled in understanding, enjoying the young man’s discomfort.

“I…see.” He allowed the double-meaning to color his drawl, amused as the houshi continued to stumble quickly over his words, as if finally admitting his true reason for coming to Yoro Station had released something pent up within him.

“You see, I wasn’t always a monk, and it’s been hard, you know, very hard, to keep my vows. A brother houshi suggested that I, uh, could use a vacation---to work off some of my frustrations, you might say. I only have so much money, you know, being a religious man who shouldn’t think about such things, but you know, I am still only a man, and I must say that I have heard so much about Yoro’s…ah…nightlife…that I felt I must come myself to see if the rumors were true…”

Reaching for a pass-permit and visa, the dispatcher smirked knowingly. “Not having much money, you then used the temple’s funds to pay passage here, then? As a missionary?”

The flush deepened on the monk’s embarrassment. He coughed, looking around again to see if anyone were listening. His voice was almost apologetic. “Sad as I am to admit such abuse of my temple’s limited finances, I couldn’t see any other way, really, seeing as I need my money for more…ah…worldly reasons…”

The dispatcher chuckled in sympathetic appreciation even as he quickly coded the necessary paperwork to permit access to the station. He could more than understand the young monk’s dilemma. Stamping approval on the visa, he slid the permits under the thin slot at the bottom of the window. As the monk retrieved them with a suddenly bright smile and a grateful bow, the dispatcher waved him on to the nearest exit from the docking bays. “Right through there, Mr. Takeda. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

The dispatcher smirked as the houshi all but scrambled over himself getting through the door, the rings on his staff jangling in protest at his unseemly haste. He bet that damn monk would enjoy his stay, and be the better for it. How could a good priest know how to save a man from sin if he had never sinned himself?

Chuckling at that thought, the dispatcher pulled down the screen that would signal his office was temporary closed. Feeling that he had helped out the universe in some small way, he felt more than ready to now go and get himself some lunch.


ooOOooOOooOOoo


He received more than a few startled looks as he made his way down the main corridor that led visitors toward the businesses that would best cater to their needs. Raising a brow in amused inquiry, Miroku just smiled as he sauntered past, the rings on his held staff tinkling merrily as he strolled along, pretending he had nary a care in the world.

This damn disguise was going to get his ass killed.

It was calling too much attention to him. His long robes stood out among the more scantily clad visitors, as well as the working coveralls of most station personnel. He would have rather kept to this particular disguise, as the religious staff made a nice weapon in itself---not to mention the useful dagger and sword hidden within the thick, wooden shaft. He, of course, had been searched more than thoroughly by a dimwitted thug of a station guard that hadn’t made the experience all that pleasant. His bags, as well, had been carefully sifted through. Station security had left the staff alone, though, believing it was innocuous enough.

Funny how fools often believed exactly what they expected to see. Like that damn dispatcher---when the ‘earnest missionary’ ploy hadn’t worked on him, Miroku had easily switched to the ‘earnestly sexually frustrated,’ which had given him what he wanted---open access to the station’s facilities.

It was sad that he would not have enough time to enjoy some of those facilities. He had been able to inject more desperation into his ‘confession’ to that smirking old lech of a bureaucrat because he was desperate. It had been nearly a week since he had last visited that delightful little redhead he had met the night that inept waiter had tried to take him out with a blast gun. Now, she had been something. As passionate as her fiery curls had suggested, she had been as naively curious in bed as she had been out of it…

“Oh! Pardon me…” He bowed an apology for having bumped into the man, who cast him a furious look before hurrying on his way. Really, he needed to pay more attention to his surroundings. Looking around to try and catch his bearings, Miroku’s blue eyes widened as an appreciative smile curved across the line of his sensuous mouth.

Now that was a pair of breasts to make a man thirsty.

Abruptly turning to the left, he followed those delicious breasts---and the saucy little ass that went with them---into the small, discreet hotel the maid had just disappeared into. The rings on his staff clanged together as he all but ran, hoping to catch up with the golden-skinned beauty. He could feel Kuranosuke stir with interest as he contemplated the delightful maid’s luscious assets.

Palming the door open, he slipped inside before the door had even finished sliding along its built-in track. It stood open a moment before sliding shut behind the eager monk, who was trying to hide his disappointment at not catching sight of the adorable little maid. Instead, he was confronted by a long counter and a beady-eyed stick of a man who glared at him with pinched-faced disdain.

“What do you want?”

It was hardly an encouraging greeting, but Miroku had charmed his way past more difficult barriers in his time than one pissy old man. Charm wasn’t really what would work on this pinch-fisted skinflint, but money was money, and he had had to use nearly all of the ready credits he carried on his monkish persona to pay for the smallest room the hotel offered. With a nice lip-curl of disdain, the man then offered to summon help to carry his meager belongings up to his room. Miroku would have declined, but some perverse sense of bedevilment had him thank old pinch-face for the courtesy, and watch with a hidden smile as the old man summoned someone with frank irritation for being thus imposed upon.

He should take time to thank the devil for such perversion, because lo and behold, it was the busty, black-haired beauty who came tripping down the side corridor to help take him to his room. With a blinding smile, Miroku bowed over the saucy wench’s hand even as she reached out to pick up his carry-sack. Surprised, she blinked up at him, though her slow, sensuous smile was answer enough to make a poor, benighted young monk sell his very soul for but a moment in her arms.

Perhaps he could spare some time after all to enjoy some of Yoro’s more bountiful facilities…


ooOOooOOooOOoo


Outfitting himself was proving rather difficult. Planet security had been alerted to his presence, or to that of another, perhaps. All legal weapons had been secured, their sale prohibited, and the nervous, little fat man now sweating in front of him behind the store’s counter had been the only one he could find willing to ignore the port-city‘s mandates. The little man, a pale slug with a fringe of wispy brown hair around his shiny, bald pate, all but squeaked as Hojo picked up a slender dart-gun.

It was clearly an antique, but somebody had taken good care of it. Testing the triggering mechanism, Hojo eyed the weapon’s trajectory. Sliding back the loading chamber, he noted that the bore had been smoothed by wear and repeated oiling. Smiling slightly, he asked politely, “Do you happen to stock any of the capsules for this little beauty?”

“B-Beauty?” The man squeaked again, even as he reached under the counter to pull out a rather dusty plastic storage container.

“But of course. It’s a rare gem. I am, after all, a collector of such antiques.” Hojo replied smoothly. The pudgy little man visibly relaxed, reassured by the stranger’s disarming grin and ingratiating manner.

“It’s something of a hobby of mine,” the earnest-eyed young man continued as he rummaged through the dusty container the pudgy shopkeep had helpfully opened for his inspection. Selecting two or three of the small capsules, he loaded the dart-gun with deft grace. Cocking back the trigger, the young man again eyed the probable projection of the small gun’s line of fire, making the shopkeep titter as he made motions of happy pleasure at the find.

Laying the precious gun back on the counter, Hojo tapped his fingers thoughtfully against his lips as he pretended to study the rest of the man’s pitiful supply of weaponry. He had already decided to discard the over-decorated, gem-encrusted knives on the left. In his opinion, they were but fancy trash. For one, their balance was pitched by such heavy use of gilded glitter on the matching pommels, and for another, the blades were dulled by neglect. To one of his skill, beauty lay not in decoration, but in use.

Eying a slender stiletto, it’s length undecorated and plain, it’s pommel made of simple wood and bound by brass, Hojo casually picked it up, checking its weight and balance against his palm. His fingers curled over the plain hilt. It fit as if made for him.

“That’s not really an antique, sir.” The fat little man piped up, honesty getting the better of his greed.

“Ah, but I like the look of it,” Hojo replied with a purr.

“But, sir, you might want to consider these handsome beauties instead…” The shopkeep gestured to the over-decorated pair of matching trash. “Notice the fine workmanship of the…uh…handles. See the gems worked into the base of each? Both are genuine Sapphirian crystal from the ocean-world of Shio…”

Perhaps it had been greed, after all, rather than honesty, that had made the fat little man speak up. The price of the matching daggers was probably outrageous, far above their actual value to him.

Hojo was disappointed. He had thought for a moment that there actually might be a honest man in this pathetic little dirt-side village after all. Ah, well, too bad.

Flipping the plain stiletto in his hand, he let it fly.

The fat little man fell back against the wall behind him with a gurgled cry that never became a scream as the one good eye left him abruptly glazed over in death. The corpse slumped to the ground as Hojo made his way around the counter to retrieve his new possession. He paused to admire the beauty of the smooth, wooden hilt. The brass banding gleamed dully in the shop’s overhead lights. It was a beautiful sight, buried to the hilt in the dead man’s eye.

With a deft twist, the assassin retrieved his new stiletto. Wiping the blood off on the corpse’s shirt, Hojo carefully rummaged through the shop’s inner storage room, hoping for better offerings than what the greedy little man had shown him. He was pleased to find a rather large, blunt-nosed blast gun in a drawer by the man’s safe. Picking the lock of the safe was mere child’s play, though the reward of his work was meager enough. Frowning at such a pitiful amount, Hojo nonetheless pocketed his find. Perhaps the authorities, pathetic as they were, would believe theft had been his only intent…

Pocketing his various treasures, including every poisoned capsule available to fit the elegant dart-gun, and a whole slug of blast-caps and charges for the uglier blast-gun, Hojo cast a sharp glance around the deserted street before quickly exiting the shop. Slowing to a casual stroll at the next corner, he thrust his hands into his pockets, and began whistling a happy little ditty, meandering along as if he hadn’t a care in the world…


ooOOooOOooOOoo


Sango didn’t like all the odd glances sent her way. Course, Kagome was getting just as many. She felt rather superfluous as Kouga and Inuyasha were surrounded by a virtual horde of descending youkai and their wolfly counterparts. She stood in a corner, Kagome perched on the arm of a chair beside her, as the small room slowly filled. There was a lot of shouting and incoherent muttering among the group. Occasionally, Kouga’s hard voice rose above the others, who often growled or shouted back until someone else was able to snarl a suggestion.

Kagome reached out to squeeze Sango’s dangling hand in hers as yet another ookami lord stepped inside, looked at the onna with surprise before sniffing his disdain and finally turning his back on them to go and join the crowd of jostling youkai who vied with each other to make their personal opinions known---as if anyone could hear anyone else in the crowded, hot confines of the room.

The women, pushed into their corner and all but ignored, were made hotter by the virtual flood of furry bodies that surrounded them on all sides. Sango had not one, but two, heavy lumps lying across her feet and a third pressed against the back of her calves. A fourth wolf leaned against her knee, nearly knocking her off balance as he huddled against her to scratch at his pointed ear with a hind leg.

A thick tail rhythmically thumped against Kagome’s bared calf as three wolves took up the cushiony seat of the chair she perched against, and a pile of others planted themselves around the base. A few wolves milled among the crowded youkai, but most had gathered around the two women as the safest place to avoid being stepped on.

Or so Sango thought, until she tried to leave and the whole damn herd of furry beasts followed her out like a slobbering, tail-waving, yelping flood of happy relief. Stunned silence descended on the crowded room as all eyes turned in the young women’s direction, and Sango could feel her cheeks burning as she ducked her head, trying to catch sight of Ginta, who had popped his head past the door long enough to wave at her to come on out.

Kagome, growing irritated by the stares, muttered loud enough to be heard by all, “You’d think they never saw a woman before.”

“Not one as cute as you.” A young ookami with tousled brown curls dared to grin cheekily at the onna, but it abruptly died as a roar rose behind the massed huddle of youkai who watched them.

“Who said that? Who the fuck said that? I’m going to kill him! That’s my mate, damn it. Kouga, where the fuck is he? Move, ass hole!” There was a boiling wave in the center of the crowd as Inuyasha snarled and all but pushed youkai out of his way.

The young ookami paled. Ducking his head, he fled out the door Ginta held helpfully open. Kagome whirled, hands on hips, and confronted the staring youkai, her brown eyes furiously searching for her silver-headed mate. Indignant at the hanyou’s sudden display of unjustified jealousy, she hollered back, “Inuyasha, don’t you dare! He didn’t mean anything by it, understand?”

“Kagome!” There was a protest from the middle of the pack, who instinctively tightened their ranks at seeing the look in the young woman’s eye.

“I mean it, Inuyasha!” Kagome whirled back around to stamp out the door. Sango stood frozen, not sure just what had happened. A wolf whined plaintively somewhere down by her feet, and she blinked as a familiar black head and wide shoulders popped up above the crowded pack of youkai.

“Sango!”

Sango stared up at the Taiyoukai, who grinned at her startled expression.

“Go with Ginta, toutoi. We’ll be awhile.”

She wasn’t the only one now wearing a startled expression. Not knowing the ancient word’s meaning to the ookami clan, Sango could not know that the clan-lord had just called her precious to him---she only knew that the sudden interested speculation glittering in various youkai eyes made her want to go find an access-pipe and pull the cover closed behind her. Biting her lip, she turned and fled as quickly as that poor, brash ookami had, a howling mass of tumbling furballs following in her wake.

Ginta was grinning like an idiot as he held the door for the last tail-waving imbecile to gallop through. He would have loved to have heard the shouting-match that would now commence inside that room, but Kouga had entrusted him with seeing to the women’s welfare. Hurrying to catch up with them, he bowed and grinned and felt that all might eventually be right with the world…


ooOOooOOooOOoo


“I thought this was a hotel,” Kagome snapped testily. She was irritated, but then, Inuyasha could always do that to her. He knew better than anyone just how to push her buttons and get right under her skin…

“Hotel?” Ginta was still ginning like an idiot. He was a far cry from the diffident young youkai she had first met onboard Yoro Station.

“Yes, hotel.” Kagome was more than put out by that stupid grin, but she was acting like a brat. She didn’t like herself when she acted that way, and so she took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. It wasn’t Ginta’s fault, after all, that her nerves were all on edge. After Hakkaku’s shocking news the night before, they had all gone dashing off to Agariba without a thought to what they should bring or for how long they intended to stay in the port-city. As soon as the shuttle had touched down, both Inuyasha and Kouga had disappeared into that crowded conference room, leaving her and Sango to lamely follow in their wake. She hadn’t slept in over sixteen hours, night had turned into morning, and she was still in the clothes she had had on yesterday, she had nothing to change into, and she had just found out that the opulent hotel that she had always stayed in and taken for granted wasn’t actually a hotel at all, but was Kouga’s home, his residential mansion, as a matter of fact.

And damn if her period hadn’t just started.

What a lousy damn night---or day---or whatever, this was turning out to be.

Kagome flopped into a plush chair to pout. A cold, wet nose tickled her out-flung hand, and she giggled. A warm tongue licked the ticklish spot, and she shooed at the wolf to make him go away. He just grinned at her, showing enough jagged, yellow teeth to make a dental medic glare. He was a rusty brown-red in color, as were most of the wolves who now lounged all over the suite of rooms Ginta had brought them to.

Ginta sat cross-legged on the floor, idly scratching a gray wolf’s ear as he grinned at the onna who sat across from him in a white arm-chair. They both turned to look as Sango emerged from the necessary. Kagome’s glance was critically concerned. The taijiya looked pale and tired, a bit overwhelmed as well. Jumping up, Kagome decided to take charge. Breakfast was in order, as well as a good, long nap. If Sango looked like hell, she must look worse. They might even be able to do some shopping later, seeing as they had brought not a scrap of clothing with them…

That thought restored her good humor, and Kagome bustled to the taijiya’s side, pulling her over and firmly sitting her down at the nearest table. Turning to Ginta, who now lolled around on the carpet with a pair of yelping wolves, she glared. “If this was a hotel, I wouldn’t have trouble ordering room service.”

Ginta flushed. Tripping over his feet, he bowed an apology before disappearing through the ornately-carved door. Kagome sat down across the table from Sango. Propping her head on one hand, she asked bluntly, “You okay?”

Sango nodded absently.

Kagome cocked an eyebrow in the taijiya’s direction, more than familiar with her moods.

Sango gave up. “I’m worried,” she admitted, allowing the concern to show in her dark eyes as she met Kagome’s gaze with her own.

“About Ayame? You never knew her, neither of us did.” Kagome pointed out, though she was worried as well. There was something so sudden about the female ookami’s death. It had come as a shock to Kouga, she knew that much. Struck by a new thought, she sat up and looked intently at her friend. “You’re not worried about how her death has affected Kouga, are you, Sango?”

Sango slowly nodded, though she wasn’t worried over what Kagome thought she was. “He feels it---as a leader, as a lord, he feels it. It was one of his own---one of his clan. Wolf youkai are so…” Her hand fluttered in a helpless gesture, a strange motion for the taijiya to make. She must have been really tired.

Or affected.

“Hakkaku was a little spacy on the details,” Kagome said. “Do you know how she…died?”

Sango mutely shook her head. “He wouldn’t say in front of us, though I know he told Kouga and Inuyasha.”

Kagome became irritated again. “I don’t know why. It’s not as if we aren’t a part of it---”

“But we aren’t, Kagome,” Sango interrupted her. “Well, you might be, because Inuyasha is your mate and Kouga’s best friend, but it’s not as if I…”

She looked sad. Kagome didn’t like it. Damn Kouga and his damn thick hide. He was so frigging dense! Here Sango was, all but hurting, and he was hashing out some stupid plan to go after Ayame’s murderer with sheer male bravado and little sense. Kagome could all but kill him…though she felt a pang at the thought of the young youkai’s death. It was right that Kouga be just where he was, he was Taiyoukai of his clan, after all. She just kept forgetting that particular consideration, Kouga was just so different from the only other Taiyoukai she had ever really known---Sesshoumaru---and she didn’t like to see Sango looking so lost and defeated.

Struck with sudden inspiration, Kagome leaned forward and demanded, “You’re troubled about something, something more than just feeling helpless. Is it Ayame? But you never met her---”

“But I did.” Sango bit her lip, looking unhappy at the memory, as Kagome’s eyes widened. “I met her here, on the night of the reception, when Kouga kis---”

She abruptly fell silent, though the blush staining her cheeks made Kagome sit straight up. “Sango! Did Kouga kiss you that night?”

“Yes…” Sango wouldn’t meet the other girl’s eyes.

Kagome’s smile was as blinding as Ginta’s. If Sango had allowed Kouga to kiss her all those months ago, than she wasn’t as immune to the ookami’s charm as she pretended to be. It meant that Kouga was right in believing that Sango might have some feelings for him, though Kagome had suspected as much. She just thought the arrogant wolf was too quick to claim the taijiya as his mate when he hadn’t even taken the girl’s own feelings into consideration---but then, that was typical of youkai.

~And hanyou.~

Kagome frowned at the thought, irrationally annoyed with all males of the species. She turned a dark glare as Ginta abruptly opened the sitting room’s door without bothering to knock. The ookami was oblivious; he smiled as he held the door open for a virtual flood of uniformed servants carrying in enough food to feed an army, let alone two ningen, hungry as they were.

Kagome waited impatiently for the servants to depart, nodding and smiling enough to make her dizzy. She felt like her face just might crack with all that damn smiling.

Wow, she was acting downright crazy. PMS sure sucked.

“Is there anything else you need, ladies?” Ginta hovered next to table, neatly slapping an inquiring muzzle aside and growling an order that sent all the wolves streaming into the other room, tails between their legs.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Kagome groused, even as she reached for a pile of succulent grapes. Man, she was crazy. Poor Ginta was just trying to be nice. Forcing another smile on her face, she grated cheer into her voice. “Thank you, though. I don’t think we need anything else, do you, Sango?”

“Hmmm?” Sango was biting at her nail, and looked up to shake her head. “No, thank you, Ginta. You’ve been kind.”

“No problem, Sango-sama. My pleasure.” The ookami bowed.

Kagome’s brows rose. ~Sango-sama?~

That was a rather interesting development. Sango did not appear to notice as Ginta bowed himself out, finally closing the door so Kagome could get back to her interrogation. Adding a steaming croissant to her rapidly filling plate, Kagome said nonchalantly, “So you’ve met that youkai, Ayame? What was she like?”

Sango looked uncomfortable. She nibbled at a piece of buttered toast, though she suddenly wasn’t that hungry. “She…she was very youkai.”

Kagome pursed her lips. “So, she was a real bitch.”

Sango’s eyes widened.

“PMS,” Kagome waved her hand dismissively. Sango demurred to comment.

“I’ve seen her kind in action. I can just imagine what she might have said to you. I heard that she was pissed that Kouga dumped her. Ginta said she was real ambitious, and a real pain in the ass.” Kagome speared a piece of meat with her chopsticks.

“Ginta said that?” Sango blinked.

“Well, maybe not that, precisely, but his meaning was all too clear,” Kagome replied mildly, her eyes narrowed on her friend.

“She loved him,” Sango said softly, playing with her food but not eating.

Kagome snorted.

Sango blinked again.

“She loved his position and his money, maybe, but she never loved him.”

“How could you know that? You never met her,” Sango argued.

Kagome only snorted again. Gods, she was tired. Irritated, too, though not with Sango. The poor girl just needed reassurance. Deliberately putting down her chopsticks, Kagome said bluntly, “Sango, don’t feel bad that you didn’t like Ayame. It’s not your fault she’s dead---”

“Do you know that, Kagome?” Sango asked softly, her shadowed eyes rising to meet the other girl’s startled gaze.

“Why would you think that Ayame’s murder had anything to do with you, Sango? You’re a virtual stranger here, and don’t know anybody! You only met the bitch once, what makes you think---”

“It’s too convenient.” Sango worried at her nail again, her gaze turned inward.

“Convenient?” Kagome looked dubious.

“Think about it, Kagome. Ayame was killed only a few days after I was…reminded…by Kagura of my forgotten past, and Ayame was expected by many to become the Taiyoukai’s…mate…” Sango stumbled over the word, before rushing on, “…the next Lady of the wolf clan. I know little of youkai politics---I was only a pawn, and we were never told much, they never really encouraged curiosity---but things get around, you know, rumors…”

“Rumors?” Kagome didn’t like where this was going.

“Before…before Naraku…” Sango stumbled again, before recovering, her eyes earnest as she tried to press upon her friend the urgency of her fragmented reflections. “Before Seggeth Station, there were rumors that Lord Sesshoumaru of the Inu might be in opposition with the wolf clan-lord, who was rising in power and flinging aside old traditions left and right as if they meant nothing. It had the brothers talking---they were taking bets on which youkai might contract them to take out which other youkai…”

She stopped at the look on Kagome’s face, and blushed.

Kagome groped for something to say. Sango’s casual reference to such a barbaric past-time among her former associates brought the ugly reality of it truly home to her. Kagome felt faintly nauseous, and pushed her filled plate away with a shudder. Leaning back against the chair’s firm support, she focused on the first part of Sango’s speech. “Sesshoumaru. What does he have to do with Kouga?”

“Lord Sesshoumaru has always led the more traditionalist faction among the youkai lords---”

“Yes, I know,” Kagome replied with the faint bitterness of recall. Sesshoumaru had impressed upon her more than once that he regarded her and Inuyasha’s relationship to be disgraceful at best. Before she had met her sweet hanyou, Kagome had known little of the distant Lord who ruled Thetis with a meticulous, iron claw. She knew that he cared little for ningen, crowding them into the cities to allow the green paradise of famed wines to grow uncluttered by the taint of humanity. She had always thought that he was rather elegant, and handsome in a porcelain way. She had not known then just how much of a creep and an ass hole he was. Not until she had met Inuyasha, who was as different from his icy snob of a brother as night was to day…

~Thank the Gods.~

“With Naraku now gone---” There was dark relish in the taijiya’s soft voice at that statement, “---Lord Sesshoumaru would most likely be the most powerful youkai of the traditionalists’ faction. He might see the wolf Taiyoukai…”

“Kouga.” Kagome sharply reminded her, though Sango went on, heedless of the interruption.

“…as a distinct threat. He might even take…action…against him.”

“Action?” Kagome asked, frowning.

Sango was distracted by another thought. “I wonder what Lady Kagura has to do with all of this.”

“Kagura?” Kagome felt like a parrot, repeating the taijiya’s words. A rather confused parrot.

“The Oni and Inu clans have never been allies, though they have never truly been enemies either. I know Lord Sesshoumaru held Naraku in contempt---”

“What the hell is this all about, Sango?” Kagome demanded. She could feel a headache starting, right between her eyes.

“The Great Game,” Sango said softly, her eyes shadowed.

Kagome felt a chill run down her spine. Testy and irritated, she said, “What has the youkai Game to do with us? We’re only ningen---”

“Yes, but your mate is Lord Sesshoumaru’s brother---”

“Half-brother.”

“Half-brother, then, and Lord Kouga is a Taiyoukai of rising prominence, with modern ideas that most youkai would find repellent.”

“How can you keep track of all this stuff?” Kagome could definitely feel that headache coming on. She winced, massaging her aching forehead with out-spread fingers.

“It is…was…part of my job,” Sango said, her brown eyes full of memory. “The Brotherhood was often contracted by various youkai lords to…”

Kagome felt sick.

Seeing her friend’s expression, Sango chose a different way to explain. “Ah, to take down their enemies. Often it was for no more reason than that the contracted prey…er…party…had offended the youkai in some small way, but at other times, it was a calculated move made in the Great Game.”

“You…the Brotherhood, I mean…killed for the Game?” Kagome felt icy all over. How…horrible…it all was! How pointless and stupid!

Sango shrugged, entrenched by her training. “That’s the Game.”

“That’s disgusting,” Kagome pronounced.

“That’s the Game.” Sango’s voice was flat. Denying truth never changed it.

“Then maybe Kouga is right. Maybe it’s time for the Game to change. Maybe it’s past time,” Kagome insisted.

“The Game will never change.” The finality in the girl’s voice sent a shiver down Kagome’s spine. She was acting so---taijiya---right now. Even her expression was hidden behind an emotionless mask, the mask she assumed whenever she was drawn back into her assassin’s training.

Kagome didn’t like it. Abruptly shifting gears, she asked, “So what does all this have to do with Ayame’s murder?”

Sango sighed, wiping a weary hand across her own aching forehead. She was tired, and all of this speculation had stirred up far too many memories of the past for her relative peace of mind. She kept it short and to the point. “I think Kouga has a contract out on him. A blood contract. Whoever has paid for it is toying with him, hoping to make him suffer. I believe that is why they went after Ayame. I wish I knew how she was killed.”

Kagome frowned. “If they did, than they are stupid. Kouga never loved Ayame.”

Sango shrugged, a helpless gesture Kagome didn’t like. The shadows under and in those dark eyes made her uneasy, and her thoughts churned with another realization. Urgently leaning forward, she said with real fear, “Sango, if they really went after Ayame just because they thought she was with Kouga, what will they do about you?”

“What?” Sango could be as dense as Kouga. “What do you mean?”

“Kouga loves you---”

“Kagome, that’s not true. We’re just friends. Kouga and I talked---”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what that damn wolf said, he’s still got feelings for you and he’s already claimed you as his mate. Youkai don’t go back on their word---”

“He made a mistake. He felt sorry for me, after learning about my past---”

“Bullshit.”

“Kagome, you can’t understand---”

“You’re the one who doesn’t understand---” Kagome abruptly shut up, seeing the haunted look in Sango’s eyes. ~Damn.~

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, getting up from her seat to go hug her friend. “I’m just so stupid-tired, and my period just started and all that stuff about Ayame and Kouga and the Game and your past and everything just got me all worked up…”

“I’m sorry,” Sango whispered, returning her hug. “I shouldn’t have said anything…”

“No, I’m glad you did. It just seems as if our whole world just got flipped upside down, and I’m just too tired right now to make sense out of any of it. But I worry about you, Sango, and, damn it, you should let me---worry about you, that is. I’m your friend.”

“I’m sorry,” Sango offered awkwardly, and blinked rapidly to keep the sudden tears at bay. “I don’t want you to worry, Kagome.”

“But I will,” Kagome said gently, combing an escaped tendril of black hair behind the taijiya’s ear. “I know you aren’t used to it, but it’s something you will have to get used to. I know you are strong, we all know---but you are so guarded, so ready to shield yourself, especially from us. It’s frustrating, sometimes. I’m only asking that you let me in once in a while.”

“I’ll try to remember.” Sango gave her a rather watery smile, and Kagome impulsively hugged her again.

“Ah, Sango, we’ll be all right. We all will. I think we’re both just tired right now, and should just go catch up on some needed Z’s. Inuyasha and Kouga will be at that stupid council for hours yet.” Kagome allowed her disgruntlement to show. She didn’t like being excluded, but at the same time she was glad she wasn’t there right now, getting even more of a headache than she already had by listening to all those youkai howl until they exhausted themselves and were finally willing to listen to Kouga. She knew that the real work was being done by discreet investigation, though she wondered if anyone had thought of the angle Sango had…

Feeling her temples pound the harder, Kagome shook her head. “Enough! Time for bed.”

Sango nodded, albeit reluctantly. She still felt there was something important she was missing, something vital…

OoOOooOOoo

Additional A/N: (As if your eyes aren’t bleeding already…) I need to thank quite a few people, especially Coiled Iris, who’s insightful reviews have inspired me to explore the reasoning behind certain characters and plot twists. Thank you. Additional thanks go to:

Chel (affnet) - Your exclamation points made me laugh out loud. Thank you.

howlingblue (affnet) - The ties should be slowly coming together now. Your review helped remind me that sometimes a plot can grow too large, and that I should rein in my overactive imagination sometimes. =)

righteous red (ffnet) - Wow. Your reviews keep me writing. I would enjoy some of that bad fan art. I’m trying to do some of my own Kog/San right now, though Sango’s eyeballs are driving me nuts. I adored your last review, for chapter 12. Summed it up and served it on a plate. Thank you!

Symbiotica (ffnet) - You are too, too sweet.

MystiKoorime (ffnet) - There will be fluffy waffiness soon, I promise!

Demon Exterminator Barbie (ffnet) - I would love to be in Sango’s shoes, too. I might chop all my fingers off…LOL.