Masquerade

Chapter Eighteen- Paradise is in Your Mind

Kagome was ready.

She’d already gained enough courage (and anger), found her murder weapon, and thought up her alibi.

Sesshoumaru was as good as dead.

The anger part was easy, all he had to do was say something and she could blow.

The murder weapon couldn’t be her bow; the arrow would eventually lead back to her. No, the katana would be much better. It was of no real distinct design so any samurai holding a katana could be blamed.

And her alibi- She was practicing. And Sesshoumaru accidentally ran into her sword five- no, twenty times.

Glaring at the back of her victim, Kagome drew the sword from her sheath, savoring the gentle hiss it released.

Go time.

In a blur she shot forward, katana held in both hands, the blade poised to strike across his back like a whip.

If only he wasn’t a demon-

No, wait.

If only he wasn’t Sesshoumaru.

He parried her attack so quickly that Kagome felt dizzy. He met her eyes, the anger from earlier still burning maliciously. Kagome felt a flash of fear but ignored it and narrowed her eyes challengingly. Their auras – the primal, fighting parts – flared to life around them. The burning red of Sesshoumaru’s and the churning maroon of Kagome’s fought for dominance, overlapping and slamming into the other in a silent, invisible war.

Kagome ignored it, and focused on the purely physical fight, knowing she was out matched and basically handing her ass over to the grim reaper, but not willing to acknowledge it.

Sesshoumaru watched her eyes taper, and tightened his hand on the hilt of his sword, his head tilting to the side mockingly.

Kagome took a deep breath, some part of her savoring the musky scent of Sesshoumaru, and jumped back, moving her katana before her.

The style of fighting Kikyou had taught her, the style that relied on brute strength and lightening-fast strikes would be of no use to her.

A cunning, deviant flare stamped itself into her eyes, threading around her spine and centering in her hands wound around the hilt of her weapon.

I’m going to die. She told herself rationally. But at least I’ll die with poise.

It had been a while since she’d held the sword, she noticed. Her hands were slightly awkward on the hard handle, and the calluses, though still there, weren’t as prominent as they’d once been. Her feet had to be forced into the proper position, and her arms wanted to stick out. A few moments passed in silence between them, and she was oddly aware of the sound of wings flapping in the distance, and of the pulses of his aura as it wound around her own. Like a big cat, Kagome thought distantly.

The fight drew long into the afternoon, Kagome’s moves grew less and less about winning and more about staying alive, her strikes less precise and more sluggish. Sesshoumaru was hardly feeling challenged, until her blade passed centimeters away from his forehead.

Their blades met one last time before Sesshoumaru locked the hilt of his sword into hers and batted it away, still looking straight into her face.

Kagome watched as her katana twirled in the air, flashing from the sun until it hit the ground, sliding a few feet. The anger still roiled and whipped in her abdomen, making her breathing even heavier and her eyes even brighter.

The tip of his sword rested on her collarbone, the cool metal a startling contrast to her clammy skin. She turned back to him and met his eyes coolly, panting and unsatisfied.

Sesshoumaru studied her features slowly, trailing from the single drop of moisture dripping down her temple to her parted lips.

He could feel her fury around him, so much like his own yet so very different. He looked back to her orbs, placidly astonished at the pure hatred he was faced with. He knew it wasn’t focused on him, at least not purely, but the raw emotion was one he was unaccustomed to tying to the priestess.

She was missing a sleeve and the legs of her pants, her hair was shorter once again and a thin scratch stretched over her jaw. It wasn’t from him, but Sesshoumaru felt a little guilty anyway.

In return his pelt had been shortened and his bangs maimed in an uneven line, sitting over his forehead and hiding the crescent moon.

It was evening, a hot and humid time of day that made Sesshoumaru pant quietly because of the heat.

He took a step forward, his elbow bending to keep the sword tip from hurting her, and watched her face eerily.

The fight that started this was a short one they’d had when they’d first awoken, a few exchanging of words that caught them both off guard. They hadn’t spoken the rest of the day, still hadn’t. He couldn’t even remember what was said, and neither could she.

Sesshoumaru was slowly being tossed around in her narrowed eyes, his hand was weakening around the hilt and a million thoughts clouded his mind.

Her sanity seemed to have abandoned her momentarily, and his dignity had been tossed away with her katana.

The sword held against her fell to the ground loudly, Tensaiga was all Kagome could realize before she was pulled roughly forward into Sesshoumaru. His lips hit hers almost painfully, but she didn’t care and wasn’t thinking so she shoved back just as forcefully, ignoring the pain in her neck and the jump of her heart.

It was an angry kiss, full of the vehemence the two had yet to spill in blood. His tongue invaded her mouth without invitation, and their teeth hit, though it was easy to ignore.

Her hands couldn’t fist in any cloth on his chest, so she grabbed a spike on his armor and fisted the other in his hair while his wound around her back uncaring of the weird angle it sent her spine into.

It wasn’t the fangs on her lower lip that brought her back, or any fear of what could be that did it, instead she was drawn back by the glare from the katana several meters away.

With a strangled groan she wheeled away from him – she’d been silent until that point, Sesshoumaru observed – and turned away, glaring at the ground.

Sesshoumaru looked down at his hand, wondering when it had gone empty.

“That…” He looked up at the sound of her voice, staring at the side of her head as she caught her breath and stood up straight, “That,” she began again, “Can and will not ever happen again.”

Later, he would be confused and angry and maybe even hurt, but at the moment all he could do was watch while she strode away, ignoring the discarded katana.

Two miles outside of Raku, Masao yanked Leiko to a halt.

“We can’t just barge in there and demand her back,” Masao told her after slamming his hand over her mouth.

She made a muffled sound and he removed the appendage, “What do you suggest we do?”

Ignoring the sarcasm he pulled away from her and looked around, thinking.

“Well?”

“I’m think- Ah ha! I’ll pose as a… worker, or whatever they are.”

Leiko looked at him, confused. “Whatever? What does that mean?”

Masao blinked and looked up at her than shrugged, “Anyway, I’ll say I’m bringing you in as a new recruit-”

“What?!”

“-Then you’ll grab Inocencio and I’ll help you both escape at midnight.”

“Recruit?”

“Yes.”

“Midnight?”

“Yes.”

“… Fine.”

Masao nodded and grinned at her, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “Now to just acquire the proper kimono.”

Leiko eyed him warily, wondering how far she’d get if she ran. Inocencio. It’s for you daughter.

Situated in the water in a bend of a cold river, lost in the flow of the tide and the blackness surrounding her closed eyes, Kagome felt at peace for the first time in years. With startling clarity Kagome could recall everything.

How she’d felt when she’d seen the human Inuyasha rutting with a loose daughter of a town merchant.

How inadequate she’d seemed when faced with the decision she’d made to train with Kikyou.

How, woefully, she still hadn’t released her hold of the dream she’d had when she was fifteen. Settling down with the misunderstood, the secretly sweet and caring, and fully in love with her only Inuyasha that only existed in her mind.

And, how Sesshoumaru had merely been a way to forget her troubles for a concise moment in time.

So she wanted it to be.

But it wasn’t, and Sesshoumaru wasn’t something she wanted to keep for only a concise moment in time. He was- he was-

He was what?

She opened her eyes and looked down at her reflection. Her hair was shorter, now it hung only to her lower back, but it was still long. Her face was delicately structured and her eyes had turned a more almond shape over time, no longer the focal point of her face, though still an exotic attribute. She looked like Kagome, but she also looked like Kikyou. It was a mix that made her hurt and proud at the same time, that made people still mistake her for her incarnate until they got close and saw she was beautiful in her own ways.

A leaf fell into the water from above her, distorting the image.

He was what?

The voice was more persistent now, the importance of the thought now eating away at her mind and priorities.

“He is nothing.”

Masao knew many things about dog-demons.

For instance, when they were younger – twenty, thirty, forty – their sexual lives were their lives. After a certain age (it varied between all inu-youkai) they matured and grew up.

Leiko, however, seemed very set on rekindling her sexual life.

Well, Masao hoped she did. Because in the kimono he’d given her (the same kimono Kagome had worn when she’d been disguised as a kitsune, shh!) she looked good enough to eat.

In fact-

“Stop staring.” Leiko said angrily, crossing her arms and drawing his eyes up to her face.

Masao pouted and turned forward again, walking toward the main road leading into Raku. “Sorry.” He mumbled, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

When Leiko was sure he wasn’t looking, she smiled. He still wants me. She sang in her mind happily, feeling happier.

Sesshoumaru was a very decisive man.

He knew what he wanted, what he didn’t want, when he wanted things, and he didn’t stop until he got what he wanted.

He didn’t want Kagome.

At least, he didn’t want just her. Her body, her lust, her attention for a short span.

No, he wanted her. All of her.

Not to say he’d suddenly decided he was in love with the little human, not to say he thought better of her than other demoness’, he just grew inexplicably angry when he thought about letting her go. To somewhere else, to someone else.

No, it wouldn’t do to let that happen.

Besides, he did think better of her.

He’d just never tell her- anyone that.

Sesshoumaru: …

Kagome: I hate you.