Entanglement

"…what difference is there between us, save a restless dream that follows my soul but fears to come near you?"
- Kahlil Gibran, "The Captive King"

He knew he shouldn't be here, looking down at her from his perch amidst the tree branches. But it wasn't as if he cared for consequences or morality, really.

Besides, she was captivating, looking almost like an angel as she slept, her pale face a striking contrast to the deep brown waves that she usually kept tied back. In the slight wind, her hair dusted her cheeks as she rested, eyes closed in almost-peace. He couldn't help but compare the strands to the darkness that threatened to but never did break her.

She wasn't an angel, and he had the scars to prove it. Her temper, once ignited, was often dangerous to those who had provoked it and thus worth avoiding. He both loved and hated her for this – he was fairly certain her fire, her strength was what both fascinated and infuriated him far more than any fool girl had the right to. Not for the first time, he bit back a wry chuckle at the thought of Fate's trite meddlings; any sound would wake them, and that most certainly would not do. Still, the thought remained… the angel and the demon… oh, he wasn't truly a demon, not yet, but he suspected that she would only intrigue him more when that day came.

Frowning, he descended to where she lay on her thin mattress. Sweeping his long hair back almost thoughtlessly, he knelt beside her, eyes flickering over her sensational form.

Resolution was out of the question; besides, he knew he didn't want that with her. She was better at a distance; he had wounded her far too deeply… to test her, to keep her away. For even if the only thoughts she ever had for him were filled with anger and pain, they were still something; he'd always been a bit of a masochist, and he treasured them all the same.

And each time he'd lashed out at her, she'd impressed him a little more, delving into some hidden store of strength to rise towards him, eyes flashing in challenge. He greatly doubted she would be flattered by his regard, even if she did learn of his… infatuation? No…not infatuation. He didn't love her; even he could not deceive himself that much.

Entanglement. That was it.

Fate be damned, he mused, they had done it. Bound themselves together so tightly with the events of the past that every struggle, every attack pulled them closer. Damned if he was going to be the first to retreat, though his sense of self-preservation screamed in protest from where he had locked it in the back of his mind.

So he didn't leave, instead extending one arm carefully, and oh-so-slowly brushing across the shoulder of her kimono, which was soft despite its weathered state. He wondered if her skin would be the same, and unable to resist, slid his hand up towards her cheek, his fingertips dusting across her neck.

It was.

As he wondered why she slumbered on – her reflexes were the stuff of legend, although by now she was far from being his match – he marvelled at her strength. He'd sent beast and brother alike to destroy her, and she would not allow it. It may have been with burning eyes and bent knees, but she held her ground, and he envied her for it. The confidence, the assurance she exuded with each snap of her impossibly large weapon; the aggravatingly naïve reactions to the monk's equally juvenile advances, the quiet friendship with the hanyou brat and his miko. She held two selves within her, this girl; warrior and child, yet there was peace between them… She was complete; she did not run, except to save her friends.

Where he, in his search for exactly that peace, had become a thousand selves; he held so many that some of them had spilled over into reality. The traitorous wind dancer, the girl-child of the void, the towering monster, the scythe-wielding brothers… They were his clan, and they hated him as much as he distrusted them. But they weren't here; not in this moment. Not here; the monster and the brothers had fallen, and the sisters were bound to his castle, bound in spirit to the golem that he had left where he usually remained throughout the petty struggles for power.

She had called him unwittingly; intoxicating innocence. And he wasn't sure whether he wanted to claim it or destroy its unfamiliar brilliance; although, he thought, there is a way to do both…

So he leaned further, his hand reaching her cheek, her dark hair tangling across his pale fingers. He almost laughed at the sight of it; to think of something that was hers corrupting, shadowing him was amusing to say the least. Instead, he bent his head and stifled the chuckle against her lips.

He realized, a half-heartbeat later, that she had not been sleeping after all. One slender arm freed itself from its covers, and wound about his back; to his shock, pulling him into the kiss that she returned. And it was everything that he'd expected… fire and fury, fumbling inexperience that she masked almost perfectly. In her kiss, he tasted courage in its finest form, and for the first time in a long time, he found himself breathless and afraid.

Of course, that might have had something to do with the dagger that she had embedded into his ribs with her other hand.

He was suitably impressed; she had tried to kill him as he kissed her, and he hadn't even guessed she was awake. Moreover, she likely would have succeeded, were he human. Unpredictability was supposed to be his strong suit, and cornered as he was, she could see the surprise and cowardice in his eyes. Surprise lit hers, as she tasted hope…

So she twisted the knife further; he was beautiful, and he was in pain, but it didn't matter, because he was still him; he was her enemy, and she'd seen his weakness.

He wasn't defeated, however; his kiss deepening, his teeth grazed her lip and drew blood. A smile quirked on his own lips as he heard the hiss of pain that she stifled before trying to push him away from her.

He'd done what he desired, so ignoring the piercing agony that pulling his torso away from her dagger caused, he rose to his feet. She followed, bloodied dagger in one hand, a quickly drawn katana in the other. His smile grew cautious; the steel in her hands was laughable, but that which darkened her eyes was not; somehow as he stole her blood, she stole his thoughts. Unfortunate, he mused. I really do have to kill her now. Not at the moment, however.

His breath caught as he fought to regain control. She still had things to teach him, this strange girl…

Bowing mockingly, he backed away, keeping his eyes trained on her. "Blood for blood, taijiya…" Touching his hand to the wound in his chest, brushing scarlet fingers against his already reddened lips, he smiled wickedly. "An unbreakable bond, isn't it…?" He couldn't help but be amused by the surprise in her eyes; it seemed that she'd forgotten that particular detail. She wasn't completely immune, which was fortunate; the gods knew he wasn't.

And she wanted nothing so much in that moment as to kill him. Preferably permanently. "Leave," she snarled, pointing the katana steadily at his neck.

His smile intensified as he noted her insult - he had no heart to pierce, her gesture screamed. "Merciful girl…" he mocked, "you could not kill me, Sango, you who kissed me heartbeats ago."

"You're not mine to kill." Her knuckles went white, but disdain rang through her tone.

He expected no less. And he wondered, absently, why the wound she had given him was so slow in healing.

"Go. Or I will wake the others, who will happily finish this."

Dark eyes narrowed, measuring the girl. She meant every word of it; he could sense the others of her foolish troupe, far enough to make him wonder, but near enough to be of concern. He toyed with the thought of obeying her only to kill them in their sleep, but dismissed it. Living puppets were far more amusing, especially the unwitting ones…

His bow was shallower this time, his smile seduction blended with the unfamiliar tang of faint respect. "As you wish," he whispered with mocking chivalry. Gathering his illusion, he disappeared in a dark whirlwind just before a familiar dagger flew from her hand, lodging in the trunk of the tree where he had watched her earlier that night.

Hearing the telltale noise from where he floated above her, Naraku smirked lazily. At least something had come of his deplorable lack of control… he certainly wouldn't be the only one not sleeping that night.

… finis…

Disclaimer: Naraku, Sango, et al do not belong to me. Kind of glad that they don't.

Sabriel's Scribbles: Although this one was a long time coming, if she'll have it, this fic is dedicated to Morbidity, who converted (…corrupted?) my nice, safe, canon-loving beliefs. And what a conversion – I'm still not completely sold on these two, but the character interaction was just too good to miss.

Comments and concrit are always welcomed; in the meanwhile, Peace, and Starry Nights.