Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters in this fan fiction are the property of Rumiko Takahashi. The original characters and plot are the property of Chiaztolite, who is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary of Previous Chapter: Kagome saw some scars on Sesshōmaru's back and intended to investigate, though he did not answer her questions about them. It is revealed that the king had to punish Sesshōmaru with ten lashes for an incident with his cousins, in order to protect him from a larger danger.

A/N: Mild lemon warning for this chapter ;)

The Way to Elysium

Chapter 9: Sustenance

No more time to lose?

"Grandfather, you are saying," Sesshōmaru said as understanding dawned. "Zetsubōmaru is already marching to take over the west?"

"Not quite yet," the king said. "But soon, although word has it that he has acquired control of the north and the east."

Saving the west for last… Was it on purpose, or merely a coincidence?

"My grandson, it is not only about Zetsubōmaru," the king said, glancing towards the direction where the miko would be. "Your miko companion," the king said. "She has not eaten anything from this realm, has she?"

"No, I gave her some provisions I happened to have with me when I entered the underworld. She has been rationing them ever since."

"And yourself?"

Sesshōmaru shook his head. The last time he had consumed anything was the day before he answered Inuyasha's call for aid. He had neither eaten nor drank even a drop since.

"Good," the king sighed. "Listen carefully. If you hoped to bring her back to the realm of the living, she must not eat anything that comes from this realm. If she did, she will not be able leave. This rule also applies to you, to anyone who steps foot in the realm of the dead."

"Would she perish if she continues without sustenance, even if she is already dead?"

The king nodded. "In that case she would simply disappear without a trace, with no hope of ever being revived."

This was certainly dire, Sesshōmaru mused. He made a mental calculation of how much leftover food the miko could possibly have. He had not given her much at all at the start of their journey. Even if she had some left… How much longer will her food last before she starves?

"So you see, you may have to leave here soon," the king said before he paused and continued in a gentled tone: "And seek out your father."

Sesshōmaru felt those words as though a fist had reached into his stomach and squeezed. Something inside him rebelled at the thought of facing his father. The one who had let him down so much over the centuries. And now, to learn he had no choice but to find him…

To request his help.

"I was hoping you would be able to tell me how we can return to the realm of the living," he said, his agitation more apparent than he would have liked.

"This is what I know," the king said patiently. "Once you have reached these realms, only the death god can return you to the mortal world. The fact that you were unable to revive her using both Tenseiga and the Meidō stone was proof enough that her circumstances are unusual. Your father… he may know another way, or he may not. You need to ask him yourself."

"And if he did not know of any other way?" Or unwilling to lend aid.

"Then you need to be prepared to plead your case to Haku-Ō himself."

That creature Yami had also told him something similar: only with Haku-Ō's blessing could the miko's soul be returned into her body in the world of the living. Which was the lesser or two evils? His father or the death god? He loathed the thought of asking Inu no Taisho for help. Should he bypass his father entirely and proceed to seek Haku-Ō?

But perhaps… Inutaisho could open a portal to the living realm with So'unga, since that sword was also connected to a realm in the afterlife?

There is only one way to find out, Sesshōmaru thought grimly. He would have to seek out his father to ask himself.

In the meantime, the king had returned to his stance, a small smile on his lips. "Now," he said. "Let's see if you have learned something from our little spar yesterday."

Just like yesterday at sundown, bonfires appeared along the shoreline. Kagome was adjusting the position of the firewood pieces when Sesshōmaru returned to their camp, looking like his usual glorious self, though… a bit wearied.

She knew he had been sparring with the king; she had watched them for a bit on her way back from fetching some freshwater a from a spring she had found on her walk earlier today. The king's prowess was still unmatched, but she saw Sesshōmaru had made some progress in being able to cut down one of Orochi's eight heads. Of course, it grew back almost immediately and swallowed him, but it had been progress nonetheless.

The scene from early this morning — when she saw the scars on his back — kept repeating in her head. She had not had the opportunity to ask him about it again, though she knew the chance of him answering her was slim. She had the feeling it was a part of his past he loathed to share with her, at least at this point, so she perhaps she should leave it alone.

However…

"Nē, Sesshōmaru," she called him after he had settled down in front of the fire opposite from her spot. Though he did not answer, she knew he was listening. "I keep thinking about how this morning you told me I don't know anything about you."

He flicked his golden gaze at her. "I remember," he said quietly.

"So, let's do this: I'll sit here, ask you questions about yourself, and you will answer them."

His golden eyes reflected the flickering fire as he stared mutely at her, his face expressionless. "Miko, what makes you believe I will sit here and concede to such a ridiculous request?"

"You can ask me questions too, you know," she said. "I'd be happy to tell you anything you'd want to know."

"There is nothing I need to know about you that you have not told me yourself, or that I cannot deduce from my own observations."

"Yeah? Well, what can I say? I'm an open book."

"Perhaps close it from time to time."

She gave him a dirty look and he responded with a soft huff that sounded a bit like…

"Are you… laughing, Sesshōmaru?"

"Hnn. How ridiculous. This one does not laugh," he said, shooting her a rather stern glare. But, as she looked carefully into his golden eyes, she saw something she had never expected to see in him: a flicker of warmth.

It was so small, like a candle with a wick that was too short to burn strong and bright, but it was there: that spark of warmth and light. And for some reasons, it gave her a thrill.

"Well, okay, I have a question, so let me go first," she said. "How come the king, even though he is over four-thousand years old, looks only a little bit older than you do?"

Though he had said he would not sit and answer her, he replied anyway:

"A yōkai, especially a daiyōkai, gain more and more mastery over their yōki as they grow older, thus enabling them to repair damages to their physiques due to old age. As such, they are always able to return themselves to peak physical conditions. It is not uncommon that the older a daiyōkai is, the younger he —or she— appears."

Huh, that was certainly convenient, Kagome thought. So, Sesshōmaru could very possibly look like the king when he grew up to be that age.

Hmm. Wait…

"But—" She said tentatively. "If the king had such immense power, what had happened that caused him unable to heal himself and… die?"

Sesshōmaru's gaze hardened almost instantly as he stared at the fire, lost in thought. "It certainly is curious, isn't it," he said softly, as though to himself. His mood seemed to have taken a foul turn at her question about the king's cause of death, and she was near desperate for the lighter mood from earlier to return. She attempted another question:

"Why do you always call me 'miko'? You know you can call me by my name, right? It's Kagome."

… …

It was quite evident she was trying to lighten up his darkening mood.

Sesshōmaru sighed inwardly. She adored conversations, he already knew that. It was unfortunate for him, as he valued quiet moments when he could be alone with his thoughts. Those moments were exceedingly rare nowadays, ever since he had caught up to her in the underworld.

He considered her question. How could he tell her that he purposely called her 'miko' to remind himself that she belonged to his brother? Until very recently, she had always been 'his brother's miko'. Also until very recently, he had never harboured any sort of strange, unexplainable desire towards this woman. It had always been mild indifference.

The reminder was a matter of grave necessity.

"I call you 'miko' because that is who you are," he said.

"A miko is what I do, not who I am. I'm more than the red and white uniform, the bow and arrows, the purification spells, and the smell of shrine incense, you know."

He nearly smiled at that. She did smell a bit like shrine incense, did she not? He let a few beats passed in silence before he asked cautiously:

"Why do you smell like mandarin peels?"

He heard her sharp intake of breath. When he lifted his gaze to her face, he saw the blush on the apple of her cheeks.

"Umm… I liked to put mandarin peels in my bath water. You know, to make it smell nice." When he did not say anything for a while, the pink in her cheeks darkened. "Why? Does the smell bother you?"

"Not particularly."

It was true that he was not partial to citrus of any kind, but that particular scent, when mixed the natural scent of her skin, was… mouthwatering.

And talking about mouthwatering…

"Miko, how much food do you still have?"

He watched her reached into her sleeve for the cloth-wrapped package to count what was left of her provisions.

"We have four slices," she said, looking up at him.

She did well rationing the preserved meats to last her this long. Still, she must be hungry, having only consumed a slice of meat here and there with nothing else to supplement the meagre supply. She had been able to obtain water from a spring not too far from their camp, so fresh water supply was not an issue, at least until they left the king's Elysium.

"What's wrong, Sesshōmaru?"

He pinned her with his golden gaze. "Grandfather has expressed concerns about… food supply."

He summarized to her his conversation with the king. Suddenly paled, she seemed to realize how crucial it was for them to find their way out of the underworld as soon as possible before they both starved to nothingness.

"So—" she gulped. "We'll leave tomorrow and look for your father? What about your training with Kaien-sama? Isn't that important?"

"Yes," he sighed. "It is important. But he had suggested that I return after I refresh myself in the mortal realm."

"You mean… to get supplies and such?"

He nodded, though his return to the world above was not just about food as replenishment for his energy. His yōki also needed some time to recover in his natural habitat, which he hoped would enable him to improve his skills the next time he saw the king.

"Do you think your father will help us?"

"I don't know." His mouth twisted into a bitter smirk. "I've never been good at interpreting Inutaisho's will."

"And if you left, would you be able return here to see your grandfather again?"

"I'll find a way." The king did not seem to be concerned about it, hinting that he knew much more than he really let out. Perhaps Sesshōmaru would simply request his mother to one more time summon the path with her Meidō stone, and he would retrace his steps back to this realm to continue his training with his grandfather.

Sesshōmaru sighed inwardly. His practice spars with the king today had not been unfruitful, but it was nowhere near enough. How did Zetsubōmaru master Orochi? He refused to believe it had been simply because his uncle was of superior bloodline. Perhaps Zetsubōmaru was a gifted warrior, but Sesshōmaru knew his own skill was formidable.

Was it merely about age?

He recalled his response to the miko's question earlier, when he relayed to her how powerful an old daiyōkai could be when he was in full control of his yōki. His uncle had centuries — no, over a millennia and a half, at least — of advantage over him. He had to work harder, and faster, to catch up.

Not only to master Orochi, but also to come up with his own ōgi, the ultimate technique, for his Bakusaiga.

At sunrise, as the brisk morning breeze blew and carried all those wonderful scents of the ocean, they prepared to leave the king's Elysium. The king was there to see them off.

"Miko," the king called. "Walk with me." Kagome turned around and went to him. They started walking, and after a few steps, the king said: "I am counting on you to take care of him."

"It is much more likely, your majesty—" she said with a small laugh. "— that he would be the one taking care of me."

The king smiled. For the first time, Kagome had a sneak peek at what Sesshōmaru would look like if he really, truly smiled, and the effect was more than a little stunning.

"Miko, remember this," the king said. "You and I — we have both died, so we belong in this realm. But Sesshōmaru… He is still very much alive, and thus does not belong here. As powerful as he is, a prolonged exposure in this unnatural realm may affect him in the strangest ways. He will need you, in more ways than one."

"He will… need me?" It was difficult for her to fathom, or to believe, that Sesshōmaru would need anyone — least of all her — but she would not gainsay the king.

The king nodded, and for a moment, they walked together in silence. When Kagome looked up at the king again, she saw him staring at Sesshōmaru's back, looking saddened.

"You see, one of my biggest shame in life is to rely on Chikatani for his protection. It seems that even in death, I still have to rely on another to protect him."

Kagome did not know who Chikatani was, or what the king meant by "relying on others" to protect Sesshōmaru, when his grandson was literally the strongest yōkai she had ever known, in the western lands at least. She said nothing, secretly hoping the king would say more and give her more insights to Sesshōmaru's mysterious past.

But the king said nothing more on that note.

For a moment, Kagome watched the gentle waves crashing upon the shores as she strolled next to the king, Sesshōmaru walking not too far in front of them. She felt a pang of regret in her chest for not taking the chance to swim in the ocean. She knew she would miss this place, and all its beauty. Who knew what they would encounter out there?

"Kaien-Ō, does everyone's Elysium look like this?" Kagome asked. "Is this what we can expect from Inutaisho's realm?"

King Kaien shook his head. "Elysium takes a different form for everyone. It usually takes shape as the place one cherishes the most. I imagine Inutaisho's realm is quite different from this."

… …

Sesshōmaru, having stopped at the point he sensed was the edge of the king's realm, caught the last bit of the miko's conversation with his grandfather. The place one cherishes the most. He took one last look at the beautiful sight surrounding them, knowing it might be a while before he could revisit.

"It is farewell for now, my grandson," the king said to him, a small smile played on his lips. "Until we meet again."

Farewell… Sesshōmaru's chest clenched. The last time he had said goodbye to the king, the circumstances had been startlingly different. He recalled the king's greeting words when he stepped foot into Elysium:

I waited for you on my deathbed, yet you did not come.

His response had been deliberately crass, designed to hide his true devastation at the events that unfolded around the king's death seven hundred years ago. But now, his insides rebelled at the thought of the king believing his own grandson did not want to be there, deliberately avoiding him before he passed.

"At that time," Sesshōmaru began to say. "When you were on your deathbed, I—" He paused, because suddenly he found it difficult to speak past the lump in his throat. "I wanted… to see you, but I—"

No, he could not speak at all. The emotions that he had carefully tucked away and hoped to forget came back with the strength of an avalanche and threatened to break the dam he had spent years building. But the king took one look at his silent distress and seemed to know exactly what was happening.

"I know," the king said, a gentle smile on his lips. He reached out and placed a hand on Sesshōmaru's head, ruffling the silver hair there, as though it belonged to a young pup and not a daiyōkai of his own right. "I know."

Sesshōmaru, cheeks slightly warm, lowered his head. He felt like a young pup again, growing up in the Southern Isles, constantly staring at his grandfather's back and chasing his shadows, fervently wishing that one day… One day, he would be as great a daiyōkai as the king had been.

"Farewell, Grandfather," he said, and quickly swivelled around and walked past the awaiting miko before he completely lost all his dignities.

The place one cherishes the most, is it… Sesshōmaru thought as he stopped and looked back at the king one last time. The bright light of the Southern Isles had dimmed as the murkiness of Asphodel Meadows bled into his vision. Even now, the figure of the king was obscured by mist, slowly disappearing, until it vanished completely.

Sesshōmaru turned and continued walking.

He let it remain unsaid, but it did not escape his attention that his grandfather's Elysium was the very shores where they had spent much time together.

Kagome sighed inwardly. Coming out into grey Asphodel Meadows after being surrounded by the jewel-like shimmer of the Southern Isles was difficult, but they trudged onwards.

"Nē, Sesshōmaru. What do you think your father's realm is like?"

"If it indeed is a place one cherishes the most, then… most likely Izayoi's mansion," he said, his voice laced with derision.

"I suppose it is very possible it would be Inuyasha's mother's home." She let a short silence ensued before she spoke again. "How will you find it?"

"At the moment I am simply relying on my nose. Once I find a smidgeon of his scent, we will have some sort of direction."

They had not even spent a full day outside of the king's Elysium, yet Kagome already missed the sounds of the ocean, the calls of the seagulls, the blue sky and the azure waters, and most of all… the brilliant starry sky at nighttime. Back in the Asphodel Meadows, the sky was eternally gloomy, the light was murky, and there was nothing to look at other than grey meadows stretching towards the horizon with only a few scattered trees to break up the monotonous landscape.

Once again, they had no real way of measuring time, though she noticed it was becoming more and more challenging to walk for a long period of time. She felt wearied quickly, and she was always hungry. The constant pang of hunger dogged her every step that sometimes it was all she could think of: food. Food. Food.

They had agreed to ration the leftover food extremely strictly, if those four slices were all that they had until they could leave this realm, whenever that might be.

Sesshōmaru had not said much at all during their walk since they left the king's Elysium, but she knew the hunger pangs must be affecting him too. He had given her the only food he had, which meant he had not consumed anything at least since the start of their journey in the underworld. She understood yōkai did not need as much provisions as humans did, but still… She stared at his back as he strode in front of her. He still appeared as powerful and unaffected as usual, but the king's words to her before they had left kept replaying themselves in her mind: 'As powerful as he is, a prolonged exposure in this unnatural realm may affect him in the strangest ways'…

Long, long moments afterwards, after they had walked for what felt like hundreds of thousands of steps, she suggested that they stop for a rest. He did not decline – which only further strengthened her belief that he was affected. How much, she could not yet tell.

They sat down under a tree: she on one side and he on the opposite side of the trunk. She rested the back of her head against the tree behind her, the monotonous vista did nothing to take her mind off the odd conversation she had with the king prior to their departure.

"Nē, Sesshōmaru," she said. Then, a short pause for her to inhale deeply and muster up her courage. "Who is Chikatani?"

… …

When the miko mentioned Chikatani's name, his world receded into complete darkness, just for a few seconds. It took him a bit of time to regulate his breathing and barrel through the pain in his chest.

"How did you learn that name, miko?" He asked her, voice low.

"His highness told me… one of his biggest shame in life is to have to rely on Chikatani to protect you." When he did not speak, she continued: "From what his highness said, I assume… Chikatani must be very important."

"Chikatani was… the one who took care of me while I lived in the Southern Isles palace."

"He was a servant?"

"He was much more than a servant, to me."

His chest still ached whenever he thought of Chikatani. Would it ever go away completely? Perhaps some wounds were meant to stay, like the scars on his back. All he could to do was layer more and more skin on the surface and hope that one day, the pain would be buried deep and dim into a distant ache.

"Growing up, he was one of the very few who were kind to me."

He heard the soft rustles of her clothing as she moved to kneel in front of him. Her eyes, large and luminesce, looked suspiciously bright with moisture.

"Nē, Sesshōmaru," she said, her voice low and very, very soft. "Was it difficult growing up in the Southern Isles?"

Her question took him by surprise, simply because no one had ever asked him about it.

"Have I… made it seem that way, miko?" He asked her, curious to know what she had seen that made her ask.

She chewed her lower lip as she thought, and then shook her head. "The thing is, Sesshōmaru," she said softly. "You never make anything seem difficult. Anything you do, it is done in perfection. So— no, you have not made it seem difficult. But you know…" She paused to wet her lower lip, and he followed the swipe of her tongue as she did it. "When I saw the scars on your back, when you told me the king had done it as a kindness, and Kaien-sama talked about protecting you, I thought—" She stared into his eyes now, and he saw those tears again, shimmering on the surface of her deep chestnut eyes.

She took a shuddering breath. "I thought: how bad was the alternative, for a king to resort to whipping his young grandson – a child – in order to protect him?"

When one tear rolled down her cheek, he reached out to stop it at the corner of her mouth with the tip of one claw. The pad of his thumb gently brushed away more moisture that gathered just beneath her eyes. She gave a mirthless chuckle and rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palms.

"I thought: the alternative must have been terrible," she said, pinning him again with those tearful chestnut eyes. "Your father… Do you resent him for giving up his life to protect Inuyasha and Izayoi when he did not lift a finger to protect you?"

Ah, another soft spot. She was getting very good at finding his inner bruises. Very slowly, he shook his head.

"He protected Inuyasha as any father should, and I cannot resent him for it," Sesshōmaru said. At least, he should not resent his father for it. Sometimes, pain and envy did get the better of him. "But at times, I do wonder —" He paused. "Could he not have… protected me the same way?"

She pursed her lips and nodded.

"He concerned himself with protecting his half-breed son, but paid no mind to his other son who had also suffered injustice and cruelty due to circumstances of his birth." He put his hand to his forehead, where his crescent moon was. "He never once asked how life in the Southern Isles had been for me. I resented him for that. I resented him for not wanting to know."

He was unraveling. He was revealing too much, which was so unlike himself. All because she had asked the question.

But… perhaps it was precisely because of that very reason that he revealed to her some of his deepest, darkest thoughts he had hidden away all these years: because no one else had asked him.

In the seven hundred years that had passed since he left the Southern Isles, no one had ever asked him.

Until today. Until now, when this woman — this slight, vexing, inarguably annoying woman — had ventured beyond what anyone else had ever done, all for the sake of knowing his past.

… …

He was so, so strong, with all his beautiful perfections and his beautiful scars. An perfectly imperfect demon.

There were so many things she did not know about him. She had a feeling that in order to truly know him, she would have to abandon everything she thought she knew, and start from the beginning.

From scratch. Without prejudice.

"Sesshōmaru, I can't even imagine what you had to go through to get to where you are now," she said softly. "I just wish that…" She swallowed. "I hope that one day, you'll tell me."

His eyes had followed the movements of her throat. Now, still under his watchful gaze, she lifted her hand, inching the tip of one finger to graze his cheek. His fair lashes fluttered close when her finger made contact with his skin. He winced, forehead slightly frowned, as though she had hurt him.

As though she, a mere human, had the power to hurt him.

Her chest ached when she saw him like this. Powerful and vulnerable all at once. An enigma personified. She wished he would open his eyes so she could stare into those deep molten gold, so she could try to unravel him a little bit more.

His skin was hot. And like a moth to a flame, she could not stop herself, even at the risk of getting herself scorched and burned. Fingers trembling, she cupped his cheek, her thumb slowly caressing one alluring magenta stripe.

He sucked in a deep breath; the exhale came out brokenly in a shudder.

What am I doing?

Even as that question resounded repeatedly in her head like a warning siren, she lowered her head, inching her face ever so closely to his.

When their lips finally touched, he made a low sound in his throat. Fast as lighting, his clawed fingers curled themselves around her wrist, the one attached to the hand that had so dared to caress the perfection of his face. His grip was not rough — but there was power there, just waiting to be unleashed.

He did not move, but he did not push her away. He did not return her kiss, but his own lips quivered and parted, as though in invitation. She tugged gently at his bottom lip. That low sound returned, a tortured groan that sent shivers down her spine and made her womb ache.

When he returned her kiss in a slow, thorough glide against her lips, her entire world tilted on its axis and exploded into colours. It was as though she had been seeing only in black and white her whole life, and now… everything was in technicolour. The rightness of his lips pressing against hers made her stop wondering about what she was doing, and just did.

She touched her palm to the other side of his face and kissed him deeply.

… …

Her flavour burst on his tongue. Like sunshine and rain. Like the sweetness of something ripe. Like a delicacy that was forbidden. Like nothing he had ever tasted before.

He placed his hand on the side of her neck, his fingers cradling her nape. He sought her mouth, kissing her hungrily, chasing after her tongue as he pushed her gently to lay on her back. She followed his lead, wrapping her arms around his neck, instinctively parting her legs to make room for him between her thighs.

A searing pain on his forearm made him grimace, but then her lips latched onto the side of his neck, and everything — other than her clever mouth and her hungry suckling — was forgotten.

Breathing faster now, he ran his palm along her torso, seeking the swell of her breasts. It took him a few seconds to realize she had them bound. For modesty reasons, no doubt. He nearly smirked – humans and their ideas of propriety had always confounded him. He parted her top. With the tip of his claw, he slit the binding that flattened her breasts, from sternum to the edge of the waistband of her crimson hibakama. His teeth peeled away the impeding strips of white cloth. As her supple mounds spilled into his hands, his mouth latched onto one hard nipple almost immediately, pulling strongly. She cried out and arched her back against him, throat exposed, raven hair spilling all over the ground.

Her scent was strong between her breasts, so he buried his face in that enticing valley, inhaling deep. Who would have thought mandarin peels and shrine incense could make such irresistible combination. He paid the same attention to her other breast: taking the rigid tip into his mouth and sucked her as though starved. She cried out again, hips bucking to the rhythm of his suckling. Her fingers entangled themselves in his hair, pulling him closer to her chest. The heady scent of her arousal made him dizzy with want.

… …

She could feel him, a rigid presence against her inner thigh. She sucked in a sharp breath, feeling suddenly shy. But even so, her core softened and wept in response, becoming slick in preparation for their joining. She had never felt like this before, not with anyone. It was terrifying, but also felt so right, like she was meant to do this. With him.

His hips rocked against her core in the motions of a rough mating. She was so wet now; he would likely slide in unimpeded. Feeling strangely powerful and in control, she pushed against his shoulders until he fell onto his back; his silver tresses commingled with the feathery grass beneath him. His bright golden eyes, heavy-lidded, watched her as she climbed on top of him. His hands curled themselves around the swell of her hips and he pulled her tight against his groin. She whimpered when she felt all of him pressing the tender flesh of her belly.

Not yet, not yet, she whispered inwardly as she cupped his face, kissing him again, like she was drowning and he was her sole source of air. His hands left her hips to press against her shoulder blades as he took control of their kiss, gentling his lips over hers until she slowed, matching his unhurried pace.

Then, she did something with her hips: a little experimental snap that rubbed her core so thoroughly against his length. They were both still clothed, yet she felt the friction so keenly. The jagged bolt of pleasure raced through her and made her whimper and clench around the emptiness. He must have felt it too; a tormented moan came out of his mouth as his head lolled back, giving her access to that stretch of beautiful male skin. Nuzzling her nose in the crook of his neck, inhaling the sharp scent of crushed pine needles, she bit and nibbled, relishing the feel of having his solid body beneath her.

"Miko," he said, his voice soft.

"Hmm?"

She loathed to take her mouth off his neck, but she lifted her head. His face twisted, as though he was torn between two difficult decisions.

"You need to wake up."

A/N: I think this is my favourite chapter so far. We finally see Sesshōmaru & Kagome connecting on a deeper level, far beyond scents, eye colours, and muscles. More obstacles to come, for which I am very excited. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Thank you so so much for reading. As always, reviews are more than greatly appreciated. They really are like sustenance for me :) :)