Chapter Thirty-One—What Must Be Done [Part One]
"Mei?" Kagome ventured carefully into the demoness' lavish rooms, Kotono shutting the door behind them. "Mei, where are—" "In here!" Kagome padded further into the receiving room, and then followed the rustling sounds of fabric and feet. As she rounded the corner and stepped into Mei's dressing room, she smiled, and Kotono's quiet chuckle widened her grin. Standing near her wardrobe, Mei was surrounded by swaths of vibrantly colored fabric, the abundance of silks littered around her small feet like discarded presents. Still garbed in her sleeping yukata, Mei ran clawed hands through her loose hair, her pretty face twisted into an expression of hopeless frustration. Kagome cleared her throat, and the inuyoukai looked up, her gray eyes widening with blatant relief. "Oh, I'm so glad to see the both of you!" She darted across the room, gripped one of Kagome's and Kotono's hands in her own, and then proceeded to tug them—with a surprising amount of strength—to the edge of the colorful circle. "I don't know what to wear," she confessed, nearly wailing as she released their hands and wrung her dainty little fingers. "The orange is too bright," she continued, freeing her fingers from their torture to gesture at the pile of silk. "The black is too dreary, the green far too worn, and the blue is too dark! I—" "Mei," Kotono interrupted, placing a calming hand onto the youkai's delicate shoulder. "You are worrying yourself far too much. Take a deep breath—yes, that's it—and calm yourself. It does no good if you frighten yourself this way." Mei released the breath she'd drawn in at a shudder, and her shoulders slumped in understanding and relief. She smiled, shyly, meeting first Kotono's gaze and then Kagome's, and it was to the miko she spoke as the dragoness lithely inserted herself into the center of the many-hued mess of fabric that littered the tatami. "I apologize, Kagome, for my behavior." Her lips quivered. "It seems I am…unsuited to nerves such as these." Kagome smiled, amused and endeared all the more to the youkai. "You don't have to apologize to me," she reminded her, tilting her head. "Besides, I think you're entitled to nerves, don't you?" The demoness' lips pursed in thought, and she shook her head as though partially confused by her conclusion. "Well, I suppose…" Her eyes darkened, and eager to erase the unsettled expression on the inuyoukai's face, Kagome looped an arm through hers. "I say we go relax in the springs," she decided, casting a brief glance in Kotono's direction; the dragoness set aside a metallic pink kimono, and then straightened and nodded. "I agree," she murmured, turning sparkling emerald eyes on the pair and smiling an indulgent, nearly playful smile. "Come; we shall deal with the dilemma of dressing you when we return." Mei nodded, and Kagome drew her into chatter as they left the room. She did not see the shadow that passed through Kotono's eyes.
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She had not been Lord Sesshomaru's most favored for two-hundred and seventy-five years simply because he enjoyed her company, nor because she knew every nuance of his body in a way that the others—with the exception of Kagome, who, in time, would take her place—could ever hope to claim. No, it was not only Kotono's beauty or her wit that kept her where she was; it was her ability to feign her emotions. It was her penchant for laughing—genuinely laughing—when inside she was seething with rage; it was her understanding that burying her sorrow deep within herself was the only way she would survive in the Western Court; it was her talent of appearing calm, composed, in the face of something that made her want to scream. It was her ability to be undeniably, undetectably fake. Blue eyes sparkling, Kagome laughed, and the joyous sound was so very bright that Kotono felt a tendril of anxiety loosen and fall out of the knot in her chest. Having followed the conversation, the dragoness joined her, chuckling as Mei's tinkling giggles echoed around the room. In her kindness, the miko had graciously offered to wash her companions' hair, and while she fell once more into the task of soaping Mei's beautiful, curling locks, Kotono launched into yet another story meant to amuse the two, her lips and fingers moving while her mind sank into the depths of her darkest memories. "Where are you going?" Ryuu asked, his voice quiet. Kotono turned, the tail of her hair brushing quietly against her calves. "I go to battle, as you should be," she responded, adjusting the breastplate of her armor and pulling her gauntlets into a secure position. Her brother, older than her by a decade, pushed off of the outer wall of the shiro, stalking toward her with anger along his every line, moonlight dancing across his sharp features. "Do not be a fool," he demanded, grasping her arm when she made to turn away from him. "Father shall win this alone; he has no need of his precious general." The jealousy was old, and Kotono ignored it. "That may be, but at least one of his children is not a—" "Don't you dare," Ryuu hissed, hand tightening around her arm until pain blossomed beneath her skin. She wrenched in an attempt to get away, but Ryuu halted her progress, clamping his other hand around the base of her skull and hauling her so close that their noses nearly touched. "You may think yourself better than me, but I am heir, do you understand? I am the one who shall inherit everything Father has begot." The deep red of his eyes flashed, and a sickness she wished she had never come to know roiled in her gut at the heat—the forbidden passion—that flared in them. "Let me go." Ryuu grinned at her, a baring of his teeth that was lewd and frightening all at once. "As you wish, dear sister." His grip loosened, and she pushed him forcefully away, stumbling in her haste to put space between them. Ryuu sneered. "Don't forget," he called as she forced her trembling legs into action and made to join her father on the battlefield in the West. "I shall inherit everything, Kotono. Everything!" The memory faded, and though Kotono kept a steady flow in the story she told, her heart rammed forcefully behind her ribs. She had never told another soul of the unspoken declaration her brother had made to her that night, had never allowed anyone to think that the fondness she pretended to hold for him was a farce; they could not know. They could not know that her own brother lusted after her; they could not know that she wanted to kill him for the nausea he woke in her; that she wanted him to violate the treaty, so that she could run him through and make him pay for the nightmares he had inflicted on her time and time again. 'And to be sent into his presence once more…' She repressed a shudder. It had been three centuries since she had seen her dear elder brother, three centuries since she had convinced him to sign her over as a war prize to the cold Lord Sesshomaru; a solution that forever shut her out of her family's royal graces. She had been disowned by the same brother who had thought to possess her, had been written out of his will and shut out of his life as though she had never existed. News of his mate and his heir had only reached her by pure coincidence; the knowledge of the land only became hers by gossip and word-of-mouth. She was no Lady of the North—she would never be that again—and so she got by with what she'd been able to get from Lord Sesshomaru; she had made herself a place amongst the cold inuyoukai's surprisingly warm affections, and it was here that she belonged. The comfort she usually gleaned from that thought was only a temporary balm to the ball of anger and anxiety in her chest, and as twin peals of laughter echoed once more around the room—the conclusion of her story had, as predicted, sent her companions into giddy repose—Kotono steeled her resolve. She was not ready to face her brother once again—she would never be ready for such a thing—but she would do what had been demanded of her, and she would do it with her head held high. She smiled brightly, and as Kagome shifted to wash her hair, launched into yet another story, this one of intrigue and romance, and decided not to let her own dark past taint her bright present.
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She found him in the archives that afternoon, and though her appearance didn't surprise him, he regarded her with interest nonetheless, wondering why she had come. Settling across from him with a grace he would have once sworn that her kind did not have, the miko tilted her head to one side, the thick fall of her hair whispering against the silk of her kimono. She did not speak, and Sesshomaru allowed her the perusal she was so intent on giving him, neither looking away nor deciding to fill the silence that settled between them. For a time, she stared, and he wondered what she saw. Did she take in the tightness he could feel in his shoulders and around his eyes? Did she catch the slight thinning of his lips—a thinning that he had not been able to dispel for the past three hours? Or perhaps she saw what those things meant; perhaps she saw his apprehension, his…fear. The thought that she did filled his belly with something dangerously close to hope. 'I have not hoped for anything, ever. But this onna…why would I hope for her to see that which I have tried to hide?' It was a question he refused to answer, but her scrutiny did not wane, and instead appeared to grow all the more pointed, as though she had heard his thoughts and wanted him to continue contemplating them. He fought against the urge, tamped it down and smothered it in layers and layers of apathy. He would not fall so easily to a weakness such as anxiety. "She has never been touched," Kagome murmured suddenly, though the quiet, easy cadence of her voice did nothing to break the atmosphere that surrounded them. "I am aware." Her eyes softened, and he wondered what he had given away with those three simple words. Silence descended, and he studied her, watching as she studied him in turn. Her eyes were bluer than he remembered, and her lashes looked longer, fuller, as they fluttered. "May I ask a favor, Sesshomaru-sama?" Again, her voice did not break the silence, but rather wound around it, whispering sensuous secrets in its ear. "Have you not had your share of favors, miko?" She smiled, lips quirking gently at the corners—they had spoken briefly earlier in the morning about the building in which she would teach, a building that was as much of a favor as it was a gift—and she inclined her head. "Perhaps, but it's not for me." And he was reminded, then, of her selflessness, of her ability to put others before herself. Silently, he quirked a brow; her signal to continue. "I would like for you not to fight with Inuyasha-sama." Immediately, the quiet comfort that had surrounded them went taut with bristling anger and potent disdain. "The half-breed deserves no more than what this one gives him," he managed, speaking around the bubble of disgust that lodged itself in his throat. The miko's brows snapped together. "He's your brother—" "Half-brother." "—and you shouldn't treat him that way!" "What this one does with the cretin is none of your concern." If she heard the warning in his voice, she disregarded it, cheeks flushing with the anger he could smell wafting from her pores. "It isn't right," she ground out through clenched teeth, hands balling into fists atop her knees. "You dare judge my morals, miko?" "I do!" she declared, her response immediate and filled with the passion flaring in her vibrant eyes. "You should never treat your family that way!" "He is the son of a whore," Sesshomaru informed her, fighting to remain in his place and repeatedly reminding himself that she was human, not youkai; he could not discipline her as he so wished, for she was far too delicate for such punishment. "He may have royal blood running through his veins, but he is naught but a blemish; a scab that must be removed." "Why is he still alive then, Sesshomaru?" The lack of honorific jolted him just as much as the question, and he rumbled a growl; a warning. "Why didn't you kill him the other day, or before he left, when you fought again?" Another growl, louder, longer, and still she persisted, her voice quieting until he could barely hear her over the pounding of his heart. "I know why: because you know you can't do it; other than Chiyoko-sama he's the only family you have; the only other connection to your fa—" And then his fingers were tight around her throat, his strength drawing her easily, forcibly, across the space between them. He did not speak, but the snarl that rumbled past his bared fangs was no less threatening than his words would have been. In her eyes, there was no fright—surprise, yes, and even that disappeared within seconds, but she was not afraid. Limply, she hung from his grasp, sprawled partially across his lap, her hands pressing lightly against his chest. For a long, pregnant moment, he relished in the feel of her slender neck beneath his palm, of the fragile bones that pressed against the joints of his fingers. It would have been so easy—so very easy—to break her neck and watch the light leave her eyes. Menace bubbled in his chest, and slowly, he tightened his fingers; tightened until her breath struggled, until the pressure of her fingertips increased and her eyes widened. He wanted to kill her for her disrespect; for her brazen words and her blatant disregard. But he did not. He could not…because she was right. She was right, and he released her so quickly that she nearly tumbled to the floor; instead, she gripped at the front of his kimono, forehead pressed against his collarbone and deep, heaving breaths rasping in her abused throat. When she lifted her head again, he refused to look at her, though his lack of eye contact only encouraged her closer; she shifted until her breasts were pressed against him, her face buried in his neck and her fingers splayed against his back. They were silent, until she whispered, "I'm sorry, Sesshomaru-sama, but I had to. You had to see what I saw." Her lips brushed against his skin with each word, and anger and desire curled from the point of contact, reaching heatedly for his groin. "Just as you will, I did what had to be done." He did not respond, but when he reached up to tangle his fingers into her hair, to pull her roughly away from him and press his mouth harshly against her own, she relaxed against him, accepting his fervor, his anger, his lust. It was not in him to be gentle, not now, not after she had so effortlessly exposed him, but still she responded, arching her back when he ripped her kimono from her, offering the pink tips of her breasts and mewling in satisfaction when he pulled one, and then the other, into his mouth. He suckled until they were red, nipped at them until the blood that was so alluringly close to the surface spilled in enticing trails over her perfect skin. Her power tingled against his senses, sizzled against his tongue, and when he plunged himself into the tightness of her womanhood, it danced briefly against him, and then disappeared, the onna's control effortless and nearly instant. He hissed, watching with hooded eyes as her breasts bounced violently with his thrusts, the shredded remains of their respective kimono sticking to the heated skin of their legs even as he pressed her onto her back and hovered over her, dominated her. He found himself temporarily awed in the way she took what he gave her; in the way his brutality only pushed her higher into ecstasy. He had not known, after she responded so beautifully to the sensual seduction he had crafted for their first time, that she would enjoy this—this driving of him into her, of his snarls and his snaps of teeth mere inches from her face. He had not known that she would react to the slight prick of his claws against the skin of her hips, had not known that she would beg for more, harder, faster. But he complied. He complied because he found that he liked her this way, wanton and uninhibited. The way her head tossed from side to side; the way her nails dug so deeply into the skin of his shoulders that he smelled blood—it was incredibly arousing. His anger melted, but his urgency did not, and he pressed himself into her again and again, relishing in the slick warmth of her, of the huskiness in her voice and the desire clouding her eyes. He growled and closed the distance between their faces, pressing his lips into hers in the same instant that she stiffened and flew apart in his arms. The tightness of her drew his own release from him, and he emptied himself into her with a snap of his hips, snarling into her mouth. She trembled long after her satiation, clutching at him as though he would disappear; firmly, he withdrew from her, his semi-flaccid member slipping from her depths and sending further sensation skittering up his spine. Her arms fell away, and as he lifted his weight from her, he noted with a small bit of amusement that she was falling asleep, drowsily murmuring things that he was sure would have stroked his ego had he been able to understand them through her lethargy. With a pulse of youki, he sent for Kotono, who entered the room quietly a few minutes later, a robe draped over one arm. She smiled, softly, at her once-pupil, and then turned her bright eyes to him, one dark brow raised in question. "You…took her." The extra emphasis spoke what she did not; that he had used the miko, had sheathed himself inside of her because he'd wanted it. "I did." "She was not afraid?" "Hnn." He paused, drew his gaze slowly over the miko's slumbering figure; took in the bite marks and the places where his claws had cut her. "She…welcomed it." Kotono hummed. "Remarkable, is she not?" Though she spoke of the human, her sharp gaze never left his own, and he lifted his chin, refusing to allow himself to respond to her mischievous probing. "Go." A smirk reminiscent of years gone by quirked at her full lips, and she bowed in compliance, carefully wrapping the miko in the robe and lifting her into her arms. "As you wish, my lord." And even as he drew himself up from the floor and summoned a servant to dispose of the ruined kimono, Kagome's words echoed in his head. "Just as you will, I did what had to be done." Her words followed him as he bathed; as he dressed for that night's feast; as he escorted the demoness who would bear his child to the celebration in her honor. They trailed after him as he observed Akamoto's interactions with the many youkai who had been invited, as he felt desire curling in his veins once more; different from what he knew, from what he had expected. And when he took Mei to bed, when he allowed the scent of her fertility and her desire to fuel his passion, he took them and twisted them to fit his needs. 'Because it must be done,' he thought, the blaze of his release searing into her womb, 'I shall do it well.' And he did.
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"Kotono?" Kagome's voice was hesitant, and in an effort to dispel the thickness that hung around her, the dragoness smiled and gestured for the miko to join her. With small steps, the human did as bid, settling beside her on the step and drawing her coat around her to ward off the chill. "I hope I did not wake you, little one," Kotono murmured, halfway apologizing despite the fact that she had done nothing of the sort—the wash of power from Lord Sesshomaru and Mei's joining had done that on its own. "No, you didn't…" Her voice trailed off, and as though her gaze held weight, Kotono felt it move over her face and down to the fingers that clutched loosely at the neck of a sake bottle. "What…What's wrong, Kotono?" She debated not answering her, and as she weighed the positive aspects of confessing with the negative side-effects that were bound to come with the very same confession, Kotono swallowed another mouthful of sake, draining the bottle and tossing it to lay with its other counterparts strewn amidst the rock garden. She heard a sharp intake of breath from the woman beside her, and couldn't help the rueful smile that quirked her lips. 'Poor little human has probably never seen so many bottles in one place.' Despite her sardonic thought, Kotono idly counted the discarded ceramics—eight in all—and briefly wondered if she had truly drank so much. 'A pity it has not affected me…I do not wish to think tonight.' "Koto—" "I am leaving," she interrupted coolly, turning to regard the human and her concern-darkened eyes. "L-leaving?" "Yes." Kagome's mouth worked, and she licked her lips, blinking rapidly. "But where are you going?" Belatedly, she realized that the miko probably thought she was leaving without permission from Lord Sesshomaru; that she was running away, and she smiled, unable to hold back the comfort she usually offered to the petite human. "Lord Sesshomaru is sending me to speak with my brother," she clarified, seeing relief flit momentarily across the miko's face. "There has been a…problem…brought to my lord's attention." And then the relief was gone, replaced by worry. "What sort of problem?" Again, Kotono debated. If she answered, she would have no choice but to tell the truth, but if she refused, if she brought up another subject, then she would not incur Lord Sesshomaru's wrath; he had, after all, forbidden her to tell Kagome anything about the treaty or what Lord Ryuu was doing by preparing to violate it. "Nothing that my lord cannot handle," she said vaguely. It was not a lie, but the truth of it further soured her mood; if it came to another war, Lord Sesshomaru would undoubtedly handle it. "Kotono?" Kagome had scooted closer, and the concern in her eyes made Kotono catch her breath. Suddenly, with all the force of a blow to the chest, Kotono was hit with the urge to tell her everything. She wanted to tell her about the time her brother had accosted her in the springs and given her the first touch she'd ever had from a man; wanted to tell her how terribly frightened she'd been since then, about how she'd avoided him at all costs despite her mother's disapproval and her father's stark disappointment. She wanted—and then she was. Like water in a rain-swelled river, the words rushed from her lips, tripping over themselves as she spoke. After she talked about the incident in the spring, she felt the first tears slip down her cheeks. After she talked about the time he'd cornered her in her room and told her in detail what he was going to do to her after their father died, the first sob tore itself from her throat. And when she finally got to the very last time she'd seen him—when he'd confirmed that she would be his no matter what she wanted—her voice choked off and she gave herself over to her sorrow. Vaguely, she registered Kagome's soft little hands, smoothing at her wet cheeks, wiping away tears that wouldn't stop and murmuring meaningless words of comfort that she couldn't hear over the roaring in her ears. Gently, Kagome pulled her into her arms, and Kotono wept.
Author's Note: You know, my muse sort of (most definitely) had a field day with this chapter. *shrug*.
One more chapter until I'm caught up...
~Aubrey
