A/N – remember that Masashi's and Midoriko's chapters will not follow the regular storyline just yet.
Six months after Masashi joined Midoriko:
He made her soft. Even worse, he made her wantto be soft. He would cast those green eyes on her from across the camp fire after a long day hunting down rogue demons and she'd feel the woman inside of her quiver.
It wasn't that she wanted to be a hard, unwelcome woman but it was all she knew. Her whole life she'd never been shown kindness, never been treated to a hug from a mother or friend, never been given the benefit of the doubt—so being the fierce, ruthless warrior she'd become was all she knew.
But he made her want to be soft. Each time his eyes flickered across her person in the dim glow of twilight, each time he caught her staring across the fire they shared at night, she felt something inside of her shift and it terrified her.
Midoriko was a proud, wrathful woman. She prided herself on the reputation she'd built over the years of a miko who showed no mercy, who gave no quarter. She didn't need hugs or kindness or sweet glances across a fire. But Kami, he made her want them and she hated him for it.
She hated him for a lot of things, but especially for that.
These were the thoughts that distracted her as she came across a group of bandits. It wasn't until they called out to her she even realized she was not alone.
She paused and followed the sound of her title being called until she spotted the group of six men crouched around a fire and one approaching her. They were covered in dirt and bandages, their armor worn and cracked and covered in blood and other things she couldn't identify from this distance.
"Can we bother you to tend our wounds, Miko-sama?" one of them called as he stood and took a step towards her.
Wary, she eyed the jugs of ale hanging off the saddle bags of their horses and the drunken stupor two of the men already seemed to be in. "Your bandages seem to be in good condition," she said finally, and pointed back in the direction she had come from. "There is a small village there with a miko, maybe half a day's ride from here. You can find healing supplies there."
"Then bless us with your company for a drink," the same one asked and took another step towards her.
"I think not." And she turned and continued on her way, heading towards the cover the forest provided. Bandits were a pain, especially for miko's traveling alone. It wouldn't have mattered if Masashi had been here (and she hated how belittling that thought felt, as if she couldn't take care of herself), but he had returned to his lands four days ago to tend to court matters. Though he hadpromised he'd return, she'd gotten used to the relative quiet and peace that came from traveling with a youkai.
She was so distracted by those thoughts that Midoriko was a step too slow to fully deflect an attack from behind. A blade sliced across her shoulder and though she spun two steps out of the way, the white of her haori still bloomed with red across her collarbone. Annoyed, she drew both of her wakizashi and in one quick movement, decapitated the man who had attacked her.
There was stunned silence in the meadow before the drunken, outraged cries of his compatriots exploded around her. She broke into action as they charged at her, her heart pounding a heavy, slow beat in her chest as she took those few seconds they ran at her to center herself.
She'd grown accustomed to blades faster than a bow and had always preferred close up work that allowed her a higher degree of movement and more deadly damage. This was no different as they surrounded her and she danced around their blades, her own a flash of steel as she blocked and parried and sliced. It had been a long time since she'd fought multiple enemies at once and with an injury that twinged with every arcing movement of her attacks.
They called her horrible names and spoke of all the things they would do with her, but Midoriko tuned it all out—and if fear was a steady beat at the base of her spine, she ignored it until every one of them was dead, their blood a puddle that ruined her tabi.
Her own blood ran in rivulets down her haori and hakama, both fabrics hanging on by a thread. Panting, she sheathed her weapons and stalked over to the now deserted campfire and horses. As she dug through the bags for bandages, she muttered to herself about the idiocy of men and the things they do to bed a woman.
An explosion of power landed behind her and she startled, drawing her blades again and spinning around in one smooth movement—only to let out a breath at the sight of her strange new ally.
Masashi studied her before glancing around at the bodies she'd left in pieces on the other side of the meadow. The scent of her fear was pungent, bitter. "Why didn't you summon me?" he demanded, whirling around to face her. "I told you all you had to do was tug on my yōki and I would return."
Midoriko snorted and sheathed her weapons for the second time before she returned to digging through the various saddle bags. "I don't need a youkai to protect me, crane."
o.O.o
Word Count - 946