KSDG: I know… I deserve every possible beating available in human society. Trust me; I've been kicking myself for not updating this. Writer's Block on this was crazy… And this is also my last year of high school, so I really don't want to mess it up. Surely you all understand… The reason I can update now is because I have vacation. Well, kinda. My uncle died around the time my break started so that's also why I was busy—with helping my mother cope and the funeral. I start again soon, on the fourth, but I intend to kick my own butt harder if I leave this alone again for too long. Thank you all who reviewed, alerted and faved! Your patience is a gem. Please, please, feel free to PM if it feels like it's taking forever again, alright.

Yeah. I know it's too short, but the words are coming back, so the next one's gonna have loads more. I can finally go back into writing action! Sorta. LOL

***

Chapter Twelve

***

Up ahead, Sango saw something of grayish-blue, slithering through the grass quickly. Inuyasha sped up immediately, slashing down an arm, the creature lay splattered in pieces. The taijiya narrowed her eyes, gripping the hiraikotsu tighter. She reeled it overhead and threw the weapon, tearing into a few more demons.

"How many do you think there are?" Shippo asked.

"Hard to tell," Miroku replies, his eyes dead-forward.

Kagome was completely silent, trying to figure out how these demons could possibly be linked to Naraku. He could have manipulated them, but there were so many other ways. And, also, what if they were acting on their own accord? She wanted to know how this was going to go.

Suddenly, they were near them, and the miko pulled an arrow out and aimed. Inuyasha followed by gripping the hilt of his sword, who was now much closer to the yokai, and deftly swinging it released the Wind Scar—light and wind clashing onto their foes, their wails cut off abruptly.

With one jump, he landed in the clear area, sniffing about for any of them that had been able to avoid the blast—though that was highly unlikely; the Tetsusaiga's attacks were powerful and went in wide-ranges.

Sango slid down his back and surveyed the place. It felt much too easy, even for pitiful demons like those, they could have put up a little bit more zeal to their efforts of getting away or, also, turning round and attempting to strike again. It would have been a very fruitless effort on their part, but it's sometimes expected of youkai to do so…

Kirara's roar echoed of a sudden, and the slayer whirled. Creatures burst forth from the brush, however none of them steered towards them; they merely headed up towards the sky, flying at an oddly slow pace.

"Let's go." Inuyasha ordered, picking Sango back up. "They'll lead us to Naraku."

That had been almost a month ago.

Miroku sighed, leaning heavily against the tree, setting his staff to lean against it. Even though it had been a while ago, he'd been unnerved and frustrated. He hoped that those demons would lead them to their tormentor, but instead, they just discovered more and more rogue yokai prowling the area.

None of it made sense. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore.

Miroku fought back a chill as a cold wind swept through his robes, seeping into his bones and causing goosebumps to prickle. Though winter would still be a few months off, the weather had begun to change, settling itself into an atmosphere that was becoming to his mood.

Though he'd shook hands with the hanyou, accepted that Sango loved his friend now, there was a numbing void swelling inside his chest; it rivaled the blackness of the Kazanna itself, and he was saddened that it caused him to be more brooding; certainly not to his companions, it never seemed to aim directly at them—he was able to mask it well—but to his newest acquaintance, she read him like an open book.

Kikyou and he had not known each other for very long—even like this, they'd only see each other every now and again, so it bothered Miroku that someone who knew nothing of him, in any way, was able to fixate on him, and seem to feel his pain, but with a quiet reserve that disturbed him even greater.

He glanced at her then; she appeared to be deep in sleep, light blue and white hues flittering about her still frame. She opened her eyes then—long, dark lashes revealing those mahogany eyes. She closed them again, briefly, dusting themselves on pale, porcelain cheeks.

"You're staring at me, again."

"I am sorry,"

Kikyou sighed a little, "You have no need to apologize. I am used to people looking at me."

"Are you?" he blinked.

"Of course; I am something entirely different, even if it takes them a while to notice, they give me reverence in any case."

Miroku chuckled, comfortable enough to tease. "Are you sure it's not because you're a spectacular woman to behold?"

The priestess looked at him quietly, a wan half-smile etching onto her lips, "Certainly not."

Something tugged at him, and he suddenly inquired, "Why not?"

She, too, was caught off-guard, but held it inside. A moment passed, Miroku patiently waiting for an answer. When he thought he would receive none, she whispered, "I'm too cold."

The monk looked at her, violet-blue oculars widening in understanding and surprise. He found himself on his feet, walking steadily over to her till he towered next to her. Kikyou looked up at him, registering his advance with slightly narrowed eyes. He had never gotten this close before; they were not enemies, but they were not friends either…

Kikyou, not quite sure what to make of this nearness, merely averted her gaze.

"I don't think you're cold," replied Miroku.

"You do not know me well at all, then." was the curt response.

He sat down without a word, eyes the colour of the dark sky downcast; a tentative hand reached out to place itself on her dead fingers. Delicious warmth flooded into them, and they jerked under his palm. He gave them a gentle squeeze.

"You don't know me either, Kikyou-sama…" he murmured, astounded by the feeling of her hand; it was soft, like real human flesh, a woman's tender skin; the iciness of it didn't even seem important. "But that's why we talk, right? To learn a little about one another...?"

He found himself trailing off, lost now in the wonder of how she might react if he just whisked a black lock behind her ear, or if he wrapped an arm comfortingly around her shoulders.

The priestess was more than uneasy. She felt tingles in her spurious skin—the simple gesture of kindness, the sincerity in his tone, the heat

Kikyou had felt she almost forgot what warmth was.

He was looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to say something of a cordial manner, because he was smiling and his violet-blue orbs seemed to glow with amenity. She was lost.

Then a creature skimmed near her lower back, resting lightly near her—

With a start, the miko's hand moved on its own accord and gave a swift slap behind her. She blinked when she saw that the unknown source was Miroku's hand. She quiered with a raised eyebrow, wondering why he had done such a thing.

He gave a nervous little laugh, and scratched his cheek promptly, though he had no mark upon his face.

"Well… You seemed so down…" he murmurs; visions of a different girl with dark hair ghosted through his mind's eye, a glum expression turning to one of pure rage. Anything to get her out of the misery…

But the reaction from Kikyou was not what he expected of her.

The priestess was giving small giggles, covered by the back of her hand, however her laughter became louder, freer, and soon scintillating mirth was pealing around them, weaving pleasantly into his ears and memory. She had a lovely laugh; it was deep and smoky, but filled with the gaiety of a young child's. He did not know how, yet he kept listening to this sad enchantress.

Kikyou did not know either why she burst into sweet beguilement. She'd never laughed before, not really. She had chuckled during her life when Kaede exuberated energy to actually run like a child, shout and play; the priestess had even given them when Inuyasha himself when he had done an act that was so embarrassingly boyish, the nervousness in his expressions had caused her heart to squeeze in bliss.

This was just… unexpected.

She had never been so openly appreciated before—if this was even the correct way to phrase it. Women would have turned on him, shout at him for his lack of chastity, and most likely, would have accused him for trying to dishonour their name through purposeful seduction.

But, she wasn't a woman—that was the fact.

She'll never be an actual woman—for she was made from earth, bones and clay.

How can a man ever really love a woman who is not flesh?

Inuyasha did, and she loved him still for it; however, the account of his new amorous attentions on the slayer rang out clearly like a bell—the taijiya is blood, is breath, is warmth, is human, is spirit; is life.

She stopped laughing abruptly, and, for a moment, Miroku feared she choked, and then remembered that this was probably normal, for she didn't breathe. But, if that were so, why did the pallor of her skin blanch further? Why was her body racking, bit by bit, with shaky gasps of pain?

He reached out, hand on her shoulders, voice tense and agitated with not knowing what caused her distress.

She looked over at him, looking dead, aged, young and alive all at once.

So many years in those ever youthful eyes, in that exquisitely preserved face, and still forever naïve, innocent of wrong and guilty of right—a sinful Samaritan.

He didn't know what occurred then.

Cold limbs wrapped around his torso, numbing him through the robes—though he felt naked, vulnerably open—stealing more heat; she felt like someone who was drowning, straining for gulps of air, and he was being dragged, lured with her, willingly; obsidian hair spilled out behind porcelain features, mahogany oculars beseeching, faint, pink lips parting a margin...

He kissed her.

And she kissed him back.

"I'm sorry," the resurrected soul mumbles, lost in the nearly omitted sense of human touch.

He just leans forward, smiles, and says, "I am too."

***

"Son of a—" growls the hanyou.

Sango looks over at her friend, confused. "What is the matter?"

Inuyasha sighs; he had been imperviously ill-mannered all night and this morning. "Nothing, I suppose."

Sango stands, wringing out the clothes a little before hanging them to dry on low boughs, pulling them out so the fabrics can breathe. She joins him and gives him the little stare he knows means he's not fooling her.

"Keh… I hit my hand on the boulder."

Now, she's just full out glaring. "Inuyasha…"

"Fine!" he huffs, throwing his hands up and flops down, hands behind his head. "It's just the fact we can't find that asshole. No matter what we do, where we go, or how close we get, the bastard always seems to get away from us."

Sango's eyes go downcast, agreeing silently. Inside her, too, was a tumultuous frustration for Naraku as well; she could sympathize with her lover on their bitter hatred for that awful creature. He was simply continuing to pull them along like puppets, making them dance and weave and humiliate themselves as he watched in the safety of shadows.

She was becoming increasingly anxious again for Kohaku. The taijiya had begun to receive those dreams again, and Inuyasha had come to her aid. They were becoming increasingly stronger than the others; it was more grotesque than previous nightmares, ending with her killing Kohaku, mutilating him in every possible macabre manner, and she'll wake up, finding herself clinging to the strong arms of the hanyou, sobbing till she fell back to sleep.

Kagome had woken up with them, a faint glimmer in her eyes—jealousy? Or concern?—before Inuyasha assured the young girl he would make certain the slayer went back into slumber. Miroku hadn't been there, saying he was going for a walk, even though they had been traveling all day. He has been doing that frequently…

Sango wondered what Kagome was thinking; did she stop and think about how things could have been with Inuyasha? Even though Kagome's good nature can cause her to pity even the most reviling being, she still had doubts that the anger was entirely under subterfuge. Maybe she would contemplate how the relationship between she and Inuyasha was…

True, the exterminator was his first physically intimate lover, just like he was to her, and that was how their companionship transfigured into a deeper connection; but, even so, it did not mean that everything between them was just physical. The moments when they would just look at each other and stare, would cause tingles to snake along her spine, settling into the nerves and burning them, were just as special. In his eyes, she felt a security, a sense of protection, like a child finding comfort from shadows. Sango places her hands on her cheeks, not surprised to find them hot, despite the chill in the air.

"Why is your face all red?"

Her head snaps up, halcyon orbs sinking into her. The blush dusted on her face deepens. "No reason."

From her peripheral vision, he stares for half a minute, then the blank expression turns into a haughty smirk.

"Denying it won't help," he teases the slayer, who merely continues to glance in a different direction as she stands and walks to fold the rest of the laundry.

His laugh reverberates in her ears, and she didn't think it possible for her face to get any redder. Must be the color of his clothes by now… "I love you when you blush, y'know. You shouldn't turn away."

Her heart skipped a beat; now two. Maybe three…

Sango had never heard him say those three words aloud together. Peering over her shoulder, the slayer saw him just sitting there, smiling. Did he realize just now what he said? Was it her imagination? With no response—her throat being clenched from emotion—she just went back to folding.

But he was at her side, helping her. "Telling you that I loved you wasn't supposed to give you shell-shock." The exterminator met the half-demon's face, his smile turning into a deliriously silly and happy grin. She had no idea how light and good he was feeling at the moment, having finally said the words, not just thinking them, not having to hide them.

"I-I'm sorry," she replies hastily, stumbling over her lame tongue. "It j-just caught me off guard."

He laughs, the sound, his expression, his presence just emitting with opulence. "I understand. No need to get tongue-tied over it."

She sighs, resigned. But she looks up again, her voice timid. "Inuyasha… I love you, too."

He pulls her into a loving and fierce embrace. "You're not just saying that 'cause I said it, are ya?" he mocks lightly, kissing her cheek, but his voice is tightening from an unspoken fear. Maybe it was too early to say it?

Withal, meeting her gorgeous earth-brown eyes again, he found truth. She loved him too. He kisses her deeply, and she returns it, wrapped in his strong, safe arms and his caring nature. He was hers. She never would've thought she'd be so in love with someone like him. Yet, as he trails light strokes along her spine, pulling her nearer, lips at her ear, hands now on her hips, she knew she would never regret the choice again.