Fall from grace

By hye-kyo

Disclaimer: Nope, RK isn't mine...

Author's Notes: So this is a series of one-shots. To compare with my other one-shots this collection is dark, angsty and a bit more sensual. Not innuendos, unlike my humor fics, scenarios vary but of course the main threads are sex and violence and dark predicaments. So if you don't like this kind of story then it's best you stay away from it. This is a shift from my usual themes and topics, and I have to say that writing dark fics is really hard, especially for someone so inexperienced like me. But anyway, just to warn everyone, this series will include vampires, gods, supernatural beings, and the likes so...you know just to warn everyone beforehand.

So there. If this is not yor type of story you may want to check out my other fics. They are lighter and perhaps funnier. Again, so there. Please do read and review! ^__^

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Title: The Courtship

Rating: T

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Her father lost her to the manslayer.

She gritted her teeth, her hands buried deep within the shawl she was holding as the valet, a lanky man with brown ruffled hair, said in lazy drawl that his master would have her transported to the palace tomorrow at dusk. She would bring nothing but a few change of clothes, for the master would provide for everything once she is settled in.

She gave her father a look, squinting her eyes as if she could not bear to see him anymore. And in truth she could not. She loved her father dearly and she would have gone to the ends of the earth for him. She would have sacrificed herself to ensure his safety, just like what she was doing now. But no, the matter by which she was laying down herself as the sacrificial lamb was too absurd, too silly, too stupid.

She could not believe how he lost all their fortunes at gambling. Her father was never good with the dice and so she thought that he must have known better than to dabble with something he was not familiar with. But whatever came to her father that time when he decided to risk their future she could not name, or if she could she would not apprehend.

Men are unthinking beasts. She wondered if it was the promise of more fortune that lured his father into gambling. She could not ask him, she could not bring herself to scold him, she could not bring herself to talk to him. Her grief was so great she thought she might hurt him if she talks to him.

She bit her tongue, reminding herself it was unladylike to talk back so harshly, so gravely to a person, especially when the person happened to be your father. She sat down, regally, her chin poised, telling herself that her dignity was the only thing left. But as the clock reminded her of the reality of tomorrow's dusk she realized that her dignity, the only thing left, would be gone too.

She looked out into the window. Her father lost her to the beast. She should have gone with him when he asked her to come. The invitation from the manslayer came early one morning. As to why they would be invited she doesn't know. There were many other travellers staying over and the manslayer could have picked someone more challenging. But the compulsion to accept the invitation was so great that her father did not heed the stir in the air as the locals knew of the invitation.

Somehow she blamed herself for the folly of his father. If she had been there she might have prevented him from gambling off their future, and her eventually. Btu she wasn't. And she was pawned.

She had not heard anything about the manslayer from his father. The innkeeper, once she learned of the predicament they were in, whispered to her about the brutality of the eyes of the manslayer, such that a single look could make one cower with fear. The innkeeper, a woman with a sharp tongue, told her no one had seen the manslayer and lived thus no one could say how he really looks like, except for the fact that his eyes flash gold in the night. Many local men have sworn that they saw amber glinting in the forest at night, and that glinting sent fear jolting through them making them scurry through the dark blindness of the night into the safety of their homes.

How did they know it was the manslayer? She asked, a little disconcerted, she had tried so hard to retain her composure after the tale but no matter how hard she tried she could not, the fear had seeped into her bones and would not go away.

They say the manslayer is not human. The innkeeper served her soup and bread the morning of her departure.

She shivered. Not human! She had not the appetite to finish her meal and she waited for dusk to come with an empty stomach.

---

She lifted her right foot, followed it with her left as she stepped on the carriage. She did not turn her head to her father who cried apologetically as the valet drew the curtains of the door. She rested her hands on the cloth of her kimono, removing invisible lint, trying to distract herself, trying not to think of the dark fate waiting for her at the palace beyond the forest.

"My master will be with you in the evening," the valet drawled, a glassy look in his eyes, as if he was not really amused with his task, as if what he was doing was what he had been doing for a long time.

She merely nodded, lifting her head gracefully with a grave expression. She returned to the task of inspecting her cloth.

"Are there things you want to know concerning your fate?" the valet arched a brow.

She shot her head up, looked him in the eye and for the first time saw that this man was not as puppet-like as he seemed at first. There was a wild intelligence in his eyes, a sense of pride in the way he held himself, of he spoke, a lazy way of saying he had seen much of the world and nothing could surprise nor frighten him anymore.

"So?" he asked again, a teasing tone in his voice.

"Alright then," she cleared her throat, "Why is he called the manslayer?"

There was an amused crack in his voice as he replied, "Good question. You will get the answer from My master himself."

"Why, is he going to slay me?" there was defiance in her eyes, challenging the valet.

He smiled and he laughed, "Much more Missus. Much more." And he kept silent, though the glint in his eyes told her there was more to his laughter than he ought revealed. And she almost cowered had not her sense of dignity and pride reminded her she was not some animal, nor thing, to be pawned.

But at that moment. That exactly what she was.

---

The door of the carriage opened to reveal to her a monstrous palace, so big it seemed not to fit in its surroundings. There was a silent hush about the area, as if the wind had not dared to come to this part of the region. She took a step down the carriage, her fear looming large and ugly within her.

The pathway was bricked, lined with a torii as if it was a shrine, a sacred ground. The torii arched and as she looked up, saw that it could almost reach the sky. It was blood red, a spear piercing the evening sky.

The valet coughed, reminding her to move forward. She took a step, as big as the narrow opening of her kimono could allow. She reached the end of the bricked pathway, the sliding gates made of metal. The gates were pushed open by unknown and unseen forces and she was ushered in.

She looked around; and she saw bushes of roses lining the path leading to the main entrance. There were rose bushes everywhere. She was not really fond of red roses and she found the scent assailing her nostrils, giving her a sick feeling.

The valet led her into the drawing room. She sat in front of the open porch, a kakemono hanging down the side of the wall to her right. Other than the kakemono and the silk cushion she was sitting on the room was bare. "My master will be here." It was a way of saying she should wait and not try to run away. And the valet disappeared, his footfalls muffled by the tatami floor.

She looked out into the porch. The grass was tall and unkempt, the palace had that wild aura about it. She kept still, her chin up as she surveyed the night sky.

The soft pads of feet hitting the floor came abruptly, stirring the silence of the night. She grew tense, fear pooling in her belly. She stood up, waiting for the man or beast who will resign her to her terrible fate.

The doors leading to the hall where the sounds came opened slowly. It was dark, the room illuminated by a soft glow from the lantern by the porch. She tried to make out his features but the dark prevented her to. The only thing she saw was the pair of amber eyes glinting in the dark. So the innkeeper's tale was true, she told herself.

She tried to retain her composure, of what little of her pride she retained and spoke, in a high-pitched voice to her dismay, that she was Kamiya Kaoru, the woman promised to him in payment of her father's debt.

He did not speak nor did she hear any sound coming from him such that the moment he was suddenly near her she held her breath, feeling his own against her neck. His arms snaked about her, tight and rough and his mouth moved over her pulse.

They say the manslayer is not human. The words of the innkeeper rang in her head, mixing with the fear pounding in her ears. She felt the velvet tip of his tongue dart against the skin of neck. She weakened, fear and something else she could not name pooling low in her belly.

She took in a sharp breath, her heart pounding in her chest clouding her hearing, his scent, musky and so male invading her sense of smell, his tongue circling around her pulse and his teeth raking softly, languidly against her skin obscuring her sense of judgement.

She wakened herself from the feel of him so close to her and tried to wrench free but he held on tight, his arms like marble around her. He continued tasting her skin, his tongue swirling around the pulse in her neck as he held her still. He let out a groan and she felt the telltale prick of his canines against her neck. In an instant he bit down, his fangs digging deep into her pulse, her blood flowing into his mouth.

She stirred, heat spreading over her, settling on her abdomen, making her clung to him to like an inbred lady. She stifled a moan, the feeling exquisite. She thought she would find it repulsive yet surprisingly she did not. She found herself craving for more.

One arm loosened slightly, his fingers moving to skim through her bosom, his tongue swirling over her skin to seal the bite. He cupped her breast, his fingers loosening the opening of her kimono. His mouth moved over her collarbone, over the beginning of the swells of her breast.

She held on tight to his mane of hair, closed her eyes and felt a wave of dizziness darkened her head. She took in a deep breath, her throat going dry, her body arcing against him. She tried hard to remain awake, feeling his mouth hot and moist on her skin.

She fought the dizziness but the sudden urge to sleep overcame her and she felt the darkness clouding her vision.

---

She woke up, the morning light basking her face in warmth. She found herself in an unfamiliar room, a room that she presumed was now hers, a blanket over her. She sat up, dressed and inspected herself through the looking glass. There was no mark on her neck. She was not particularly sure if last night was a dream or not. It held that feeling of something that happened in the past or something that happened in her dream.

The white skin of her face looked a little flushed and she gazed at herself for a long time. The innkeeper told her that it was probably her dark hair and wide blue eyes that lured the manslayer. Beauty has been the folly of many women, trapping them in loveless marriages, forcing them to live with men they barely knew. Now she was sharing their fate, all because of a face that she did not ask for.

But last night...Last night! She shivered, had she given herself entirely to the manslayer last night? She could not remember and she would not know. She wanted to know if he had done more than she could remember.

She went to the drawing room and found the valet. He bowed at her, his hands raking through his unkempt hair. "My master will be here this evening."

"Is he human?" she asked, her voice nervous.

"That's a question you should ask him yourself My Lady," he bowed again and without further ado he left.

She found her breakfast prepared and a change of clothes for her. Perhaps, aside from the valet, there were people working for the manslayer. But whether there really was any she could not ascertain. She looked out into the sky, tracing the path the valet had disappeared into.

Could she run away? She knew she could. There was no hint of danger in the air. She felt the warm air stir around her, whispering assuring voices that she could run away if she wanted to.

---

Her father had pawned her and with that came the sense of duty. She had stayed and it was getting dark. The valet told her the lord of the palace is going to come this evening. She felt a sense of excitement wash through her. Was it only because of duty that she stayed? Weren't there more reasons?

She flushed, warmth spreading through her once more.

The soft pads of footfalls assailed her hearing and she stood up, eager yet nervous at this night's encounter. The sliding doors opened, the darkness enveloping the two of them. The manslayer stepped in, his face obscured by the dark, his eyes glowing amber. She opened her mouth to speak but he was soon kissing the white column of her neck, leaving her at a loss for words.

Should she give herself? She held on tight to him, let a whimper escape through her mouth. She was beginning to act like a loose woman. And she was not even sure that he was human.

---

Days passed with breakfast and supper already laid out, her bath drawn and ready for her. She found herself waiting for the setting of the sun everyday, for his touches, his kisses. The silence about him was mysterious, seductive, languid, making her want him to the point that she felt restless everytime he was not around. The mornings had lost their lustre; it was all about the nights.

She had noticed the freedom she was given. She could go out whenever she desires. She could not even come back if she deemed. But she knew, and it was not because of her sense of duty, that she would not leave for she simply could not leave. She does not want to leave.

The valet was not in the drawing room when she came that morning. She had washed her face and had changed into a kimono she found ready by her futon. She waited, ate her breakfast and sat by the porch. By midday the valet appeared, as if summoned through smoke for he appeared out of nowhere. She had been accustomed to the strangeness of the place, of the sudden appearance and disappearance of people.

She sat regally, a book on her lap. She found a room filled with books, soft in soft bound some in hard. Most have yellowing covers, telling her that they must have been there for a very long time. Most have dog-eared pages. Whomever owned them probably must have read them a lot. Her astonishment sprang not from finding the books but from the idea that the manslayer might have been a lover of books. She smiled idly to herself as she imagined him reading. But of course she found her own imaginings limited for she had never seen his face. Though she had touched his face, felt the strong bridge of his nose and the curve of his jaw and the hard line of his mouth, of the taut muscles in his arms and chest, she could never fully imagine his face.

His nightly visits were always limited. The touches, his hands hot against the light material of her nightwear, his mouth hard and demanding against her skin never on her own mouth, and his body heavy and firm against hers. But he never took her. It seemed like he was waiting, waiting perhaps for her acceptance, for her compliance. But she would never give him that. She may have been pawned, given in payment but she was not going to stoop low.

Yet she found herself yearning for his touch.

"My master will be here this evening," he said, disturbing her own thoughts. She blushed despite herself.

"Why weren't you here this morning," she asked, her eyes scanning his face. There was a trace of humor on his boyish features, a hint of amusement.

"The master had asked me to finish some important matters," he said offhandedly, telling her wordlessly that it was not her business to know.

"I will accost you to the room where my master will see you," he said, elegantly yet lazily turning around, beckoning her to follow him.

He said see and not meet like what he always does. He will see me! She almost guffawed in excitement, in mirth. Yet she was a lady of breeding and of education and she was not guffaw. It was wrong to guffaw.

She followed the valet into a room so far secluded she had never thought it existed. It was a room brightly lit with lanterns. The room glowed a golden scarlet, warm and inviting. She sat down as instructed and found hot tea already poured for her into a porcelain cup. She took a sip daintily, the excitement building.

The valet made a bow, left the door silently.

She knew something was bound to happen. Something that would seal her fate forever. Was she ready? The question seemed like it was hanging in the air, waiting for her to break the stillness of the room with her presence and assail her the moment she sat down.

And now she was getting restless. What she was feeling, that moment the question took hold of her mind, was the same feeling she felt each time she waited for him at the drawing room. But as she pondered the question over and over in her head the feeling became more intense, making her heart flutter to her throat, making her feel warm, hot even so that what she wanted to do at the moment was to discard her silk kimono and let the night air wash through her, to let the cool breeze calm and soothe her aching and needing body.

The soft footfalls that she had come to associate with him came in hearing. She straightened, looked away and tried to focus on one of the lanterns as she heard the doors slid open. She knew she would see his face for the room was brightly lit. Why had he wanted to show his face? Why just now? She shivered at the idea of having to look at a repulsive face. She went back to her recollection of how he felt against her fingertips, apart from the scar on his cheek there was no indication that anything could have marred his features. At worst he would be plain looking. His nose was just so perfect to her touch, his jaws firm on her shoulders as he sagged against her and his lips...no she couldn't think straight!

She shook her head slightly, a flush forming on her cheeks. She lifted her chin, a way of telling him she was not going to be easy to deal with. She turned slightly, hesitated and paused. She would see him and since she was the payment for a debt she did not incur she would accept him no matter what? But what if he looks repulsive? No man who feels like that would look repulsive. She took in a deep breath, she was no spoiled kid and she does not irrationally and randomly discriminate, but what if, oh God forbid! What if he looks like the beast in folklores? Like a kappa residing in the lakes? Like an oni in the mountains? She shivered involuntarily.

Nevertheless she caulked herself up with courage and turned slightly to look, a little reluctant, and as if finally accepting her fate, turned fully to gaze at the man whom she would be with for the rest of her life, if the rest of her life meant living long until her hair turned white or even if it meant living for a short span for she might just be another meal for the manslayer. She turned nonetheless and the moment she turned she thought she had forgotten how to breathe.

He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. His hair shone crimson, golden highlights emphasized by the warm apricot from the lanterns. Her eyes fell on his own, amber, fierce, a certain savageness in them, a tinge of—Was she expecting?—possessiveness in those orbs, assessing and calculating yet all at the same time ravaging her with a primitive rake of his eyes from her feet to her face, settling finally on the line of her mouth. She swallowed hard.

"Good evening," he spoke, two very simple words which seemed like a chant coming from his own mouth. The words came soft, like a purr, but firm and languid, like an invitation, his voice low, a bit raspy, soothing, yet his voice invaded all her senses making her unable to think, to think of what to reply to his greeting, to think of anything to say, to think of anything at all.

She traced the shape of his eyes, almond, down to the bridge of his nose which was perfect, the feel of it she could remember very well, his mouth, a slight amused smile on one corner, his mouth which she knew whose form had left an imprint on her neck, and she could trace the line of it embossed on her skin, as if it was really a part of her own body.

He was a god and she found herself wanting him so badly, the heat pooled low and wicked in her belly, making her gasp reluctantly.

He must have known for he was suddenly before her, a flash of red the only indication that he moved, his hands pining her against the wall, his mouth on her neck. His tongue teased, his teeth raked and his free hand explored the tight cloth of her kimono, loosening the fabric, tugging at the obi about her waist.

She arched, her hands splayed against his chest. She took in the scent of his hair, of his body and it told her of his need, of his want. She clutched at the cloth of his gi, sable and dangerous, and she stifled a moan even as he bent down to dip his tongue in the hollow between her collarbones.

Her senses came back the instant she felt him press a knee between her own, her now-loosened kimono allowing him to part her legs. She shrieked, more a cry of surprise rather than protest. She pushed him, a sudden jolt of her hands against his and she loosened herself from his hold, hurtling herself to the far side of the room. She turned, swallowing mouthfuls of air and tried to move farther but her feet got caught in the tangled mess of her kimono and she fell on her back, her fall stifled by the soft tatami floor, a soft thud reverberating, stirring the air.

She lay, frozen, very aware of how vulnerable she is. She tried to stand up, to fight him, to fight her own urges but soon he was hovering above her, a firm grip on her hands above her head, pining her down, subjugating her, an act she found frightening yet all at once exhilarating. She stilled, his breath hot against her mouth as he gazed into her eyes, his own amber matching her blue ones, daring her to move, to fight back.

"Kill me now," she whispered, her eyes defiant, her voice harsh. "End my shame."

He laughed, a low dangerous laugh and he pressed his body closer to hers, "I could have killed you the first time I saw you if I wanted to."

"Then," her throat went dry, a new found fear in her heart, "Why don't you kill me now? What do you want from me?"

"All of you," he growled and his mouth found hers, his kiss rough and savage, his tongue delving, tasting and then exploring deeper until she felt she could not breathe, until she felt she would gladly give him herself until she melts into a little puddle at his glorious feet.

He pulled back, a smug smile on his marble face. He ran his tongue on his lower lip, a move that made her shudder.

"Why do they call you the manslayer?" she cleared her throat, heard her own voice rang strong in her ears and she was glad because she was not going to lose herself easily to this beautiful beast.

"I killed many," he curtly responded as his hands freed hers, as his hands roved down her body, as one hand cupped her softness against the silk cloth of her undergarment. She bit her lower lip and stifled a moan.

"What is your name then?" she was breathless. She needed to know much about this man before she could finally give herself to him.

He arched a brow, a smile playing on his mouth and slowly, moving closer as to breath the words into her own lips, he mouthed, "Kenshin, Himura Kenshin."

"Well then Himura-san—"

"Kenshin." He corrected as his hands fingered through the folds of her robes.

"Kenshin," she struggled, "Well then...would you release me as soon as I give you what you want?" she tried to look him in the eyes but his hands were touching her in the most intimate of places and she found it hard to act defiant.

"No," he growled, feral. Anger welled in his golden orbs and he savagely rebutted, "I have waited for you for many centuries. Now that I have you I would not let you go."

Centuries? She remembered the bite in her neck. The manslayer is not human. The words rang clear. "Why me?"

"I have brought women, women I thought were the one. But I never touched any of them, I could not bring myself to touch any of them. There was no desire to touch any of them. I let them be and they all ran away at the chance of escape. I gave you your chance, many times I have given you chances to escape but you never did."

She shivered at the fierce glare in his eyes, "I was bound to my duty...My father, my father has a debt he has to pay and..." she faltered.

"You feel it too, you feel the connection between us that was why you did not run away," he said firmly, certain of what he said.

"You did something...did you not make the connection yourself when you took my blood?" she arched involuntarily against him as his hands found her softness and stroked.

"The connection was there from the beginning, from the very moment I laid eyes on you. I affirmed it by taking your blood. Now you are bound to me," he said it with such certainty in her voice that she found herself brooding over the inconsequentiality of her fate. "Did you not think that there was a reason behind the invitation? I do not invite random people over to my territory."

So it was true. What the innkeeper told her was true. The gamble was all a set-up, like a rehearsed play, an already written verse. "You cannot do this. You cannot force me to do what I will not."

"But you already did. You came here of your own accord." There was amusement in his eyes.

"My own accord? Ha! You put my father in debt and forced me as the payment for his loss. Is that what you call own accord?" there was taunting in her fierce, angry eyes as she tried to stifle the spasms she felt through her legs with his fingers continuously stroking her.

"I have given you the chance to escape haven't I? Yet you stayed and that's what you call own accord."

Her eyes widened. Why did she stay? It was not merely because of her filial duty. What was it then? She felt his mouth on her own, his hands sliding down the bedraggled clothes about her shoulders. She wanted him and then she knew. She stayed because she had to. She had to because she wanted to. Leaving would be insane. "You are not human."

"I am not," he whispered to her, his mouth now on her neck, his tongue running circles on the sensitive skin above her pulse. "But I do not intend to make you my meal if that's what you meant," he laughed wryly. He pressed a kiss on the center of her throat, "You do not know what you do to me. You drive me insane. I had tried so hard not to touch you the very first time I saw you, I felt like my own life is drifting, seeping through my very own hands, leaving me dead and frozen."

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked, tentatively touching his face at first and as he smiled she pressed a kiss on his mouth.

"I will make love to you," he said, simply yet elegantly, the words flowing like sweet honey from his mouth, flooding her, overwhelming her, suspending her in a world where there is only him, the manslayer, and her, the sacrifice.

"You're going to keep me here? What about my family?" she felt the telltale sting of tears in the corner of her eyes and before she knew it they were flowing, wetting her cheeks with salty liquid.

He followed the trail of tears with his kisses, gently, softly, his hands pressing firmly against her abdomen, making her writhe restlessly with her need. "You're family is provided for. I have reinstated your father to his social status, have returned the fortunes he lost to me and had sent him back to your region."

He left! And she sobbed even more. She was left to her own devices, perhaps her father thought her dead but for him to leave with all the fortunes returned...It would have been more honourable had he not accepted the riches and left the region grieving for the daughter he lost. But he...Oh how pitiful! She clutched at the lapels of his clothes, her eyes stinging with tears.

"You have me," he assured her, kissing her mouth, tilting her chin to let him kiss her deeper. "You are not going to desert me."

There was a hint of finality in his voice and she looked up, told herself to stop crying and traced the line of his mouth. He was a ruthless being, whatever he is, but there was something assuring about him, something she could not place, something that she was willing to find out and put a name on even if it took a hundred years, two hundred, a thousand, maybe a million.

"I want you," he growled, primitive, possessive. She gazed into his amber eyes and knew that when he said he wanted her he meant everything about her.

She turned her thoughts over and over in her head. It was her raven hair and azure eyes that drew the manslayer to her said the innkeeper but she knew it was more than that. She was drawn to him and him to her. She felt the stillness in the air when she had stepped down the train the moment she and her father reached this region, she had felt the stir in it when she went to the woods to look around and she felt the warmth in it when she felt his touch through the dark.

She buried her face in the crook of his neck, her own lips touching the sensitive skin over his pulse tentatively, daintily, like a lady drinking from a cup of tea and she kissed his skin, marvelled at how he tensed and stirred. She ran her fingers down the taut muscles of his back, memorizing every plane, angle, every twist of sinew. She slowly curled her fingers, rested them on his shoulder blades and tilted her chin, not in defiance but in acceptance.

"Y-yes," she whispered; the words barely out of her own mouth when he suddenly seized her, tenderly, selfishly. And she knew then and there that whatever he was she was going to stay with him.

Her father lost her to the manslayer. And she would lose herself to this being, man or beast, over and over again.

---

A/n: So what do you think? Long? Yeah I know...