Disclaimer: I dunnae own; you no sue. Oh darn, oh drat, oh phoo...
That was just plain crappy rhyming!
Summary: Though blood is the source of humanity, it will bond two of opposite races together forever. One will live in hate; the other will live in lust. Time will pass, and they will become one. She can't escape her fate. He can't escape the call. A Sesshoumaru/Kagome pairing.
Author's Note: You are forewarned. I have no idea where in the entire universe that I came up with this. It might be kind of creepy, and at any time, you are permitted to just... ya know, exit out and read another story- most likely not mine if you don't have my tastes.
P.S.- This was going to be a different pairing but... well, whatever.
Chapter I
She ignored the pain. Too many times, in so many ways, she had been hurt- so much pain, it became ecstasy coursing through her weakened blood.
She had watched as he accepted her look-alike, that dead clay-born woman. Damn him, damn him to hell... His embrace full of love; she missed it. Now it was only full of friendship, trust and understanding. The components of love... But love is so much more. Damn him.
Her friends had moved on. The kit had found lost family. The monk was less lecherous toward other women, and focused his none-too-secret dying affections for the slayer. She returned it half-heartedly, though dearly, for they had been through so much together.
And in the two new couples' growing affections, one soul was left out- her. She was left alone for greater periods of time away from the slayer, the monk reasoned with her less and her half demon friend (with the really pet-able ears) argued with her less. So she found her escape.
Through flowing crimson.
Going home for longer periods of time became a tradition while she only visited the lush scenery of the past for the minimum of days; after all, they had her incarnation. And there, in her time, she realized the calling of the silvery glint of the blade- in any size.
Weeks steadily passed with her time-hopping and her love to see scarlet. Her brilliant mind had found a way to conceal her scars, any hints of her habit or traces that her friends of either world might come to wrongful conclusions.
She was double jointed.
Exponentially.
:B:
She goes back to the other world; the past, where she should not be. She hates herself now, and though what other people plainly see everyday remains youthful- beautiful, what lies beneath flowing blue cotton is skin tarnished and tainted by her blood. She never looks to find the truth, but lets the mirror watch as liquid pools on icy tile.
It has become an addiction.
She can not help herself. Though there is too much pain, it is too late. It is her euphoria; like a drug. She now understands what others go through and why they end up the same, for she has experienced it.
And once again, in the unfinished life she should not be living, she slips into the same routine as of late.
"Sango-chan, do you want to go to the hot springs?" She asks quietly.
"I think I'll go later, with Miroku. You go on ahead, Kagome," the slayer responds distractedly.
The slayer is holding her lover's hand, smiling contently, as the pad of his thumb rubs across the knuckles of her hand. Once again, she is left out.
Once again, she is alone.
And she will secretly search for her escape.
Once again- because it is her addiction.
"Okay, sure. Tell InuYasha and Kikyou that I went to the nearest hot springs, for me." With that she walks away. The springs are farther this time, and she knows the half-breed chose their distant campsite on purpose. He doesn't want me to go and bathe as often.
She is still the 'jewel shard detector'.
But now she is also a friend; it does not matter for the Keeper of the Jewel.
She gathers her supplies lost in thought and she walks four calming miles to the West, where she knows it is most dangerous. Therein lies the demon lord of the West, Sesshoumaru, InuYasha's older half-brother that she knows so well.
He had tried to kill her on many occasions.
And yet now she tries herself.
It is a steady progression.
She finds the steamy onsen pools, and mutely strips away her garments. She steps onto a large rock which is her makeshift staircase. Her bag is easily accessed; her grooming supplies.
As well as the cause of her addiction.
It shines in the early night light. She cherishes it, watching as it rests on the large stepping-stone boulder, while she cleanses her body.
This is her routine.
But tonight is different. She feels a strange presence lurking in the shadows. The feeling of strength and superiority is pushed to the limits by this familiar form. She vaguely recognizes it. It does not want to hurt her, but is simply curious. She understands not what is so intriguing, so she ignores it for now.
She finishes rinsing her hip-length tresses; time has lengthened them. She reaches for the sleek silver sliver laying innocently upon hardened grain. She clasps it tightly and revels in the feel of cold pressed into skin. She closes her eyes for a moment, feeling peaceful.
Her eyes slowly open in a newly- aware state; she is ready to begin her ritual. The blade is twisted oddly in her graceful fingers, ready to do their miraculous, devious handiwork. She cares not how it is truly done, for it is engraved in her memory; she needs not look.
Limbs reach backwards in an arch, letting cool metal pierce soft flesh by the bony blades of her shoulders. A numb searing is spread through the skin as it glides roughly across pale milky white. She winces in pain, as she always does, for just as everything else, it is routine.
She cares not.
She hears rustling behind her; she dares not see. She is too terrified. Her hand is frozen like sleet- like hail- like ice. The blade is pressed deeply. The presence has come out of hiding. He's... angry? She is now curious, for why would a stranger care so much what is her own business?
Her unseen hand is gripped tightly by another, fiercely but gently pulling the silver from flesh. Anger is roiling in the aura of the unseen being, and she is suddenly weak, ready to faint. Another arm is now touching her skin. Not sensually, angry... possessive. She blinks in understanding as she is pulled bare-fleshed out of warm water.
A monotone voice speaks harshly into her ear. "What a foolish thing to do, human woman. To let your self bleed so, is ridiculous. Do you care not that predators will smell your blood- innocent, fresh-smelling blood?" His voice sends a shiver down her spine. No, not sensually... He cares not in that way. I don't know him.
And yet she does know him- she hasn't seen his face.
He continues on- a monologue for no purpose, in her opinion. "I am the predator; you are the prey."
She widens her eyes involuntarily. She begins to feel dizzy from the recent turn of events; she knows she'll never escape this man- this predator of the unknown. Her breathing becomes erratic, and she begins to squirm. "Let me go," she whispers solemnly.
"No, you will be my pet."
And she sees gentle, yet strong, hands accentuated by maroon triangular stripes at the wrists. She knows who her captor is now, but it is too late. She swallows in agony, as she fights the tears.
If she is here, she may never get the chance to go home.
So she tries to squirm- wiggle- out of his grasp. A striped, clawed hand at her waist tightens as she moves, eliciting a pained moan. He takes the moan in a different light.
"Yes, you shall be my experiment; my pet," he whispers. "InuYasha is a fool as are you, for you shed your blood and bathe without watch, willing a predator to come."
She whimpers in protest, completely afraid of what her life would become in his hands. It would, no doubt, be something to the level of mundane and pitiful.
"Foolish mortal woman," he taunts.
And without warning he, grabs her bag and lifts her up, locking her into his embrace. She feels hallow and cold in his arms, knowing, against odds that her freedom is lost. Again, and again the thoughts haunt her.
Her voice, her body, her spirit is weak- the blood is life-giving, and when it leaves her body, it takes the strength with her. She can not call out any longer for the help, the rescue, she so craves. Her blessing is stolen away from her; now she will hate her captor. She gains more knowledge.
The cold night wind blows damp raven locks through the air. A bright red youki cloud is controlled by the stoic, young figure as he carries a slumbering one wrapped inside his haori sleeves. He looks down, his gaze softened as he takes in her angelic appearance. New and unknown emotions flow through his being; he dares not explore.
He lands in the lightly guarded courtyard of the Western Palace, where as he walks past doorways, ethereal creatures bow at the waist. He nods in acknowledgement, and pads silently down the outer hallways carrying his new living toy. Upon entering a spacious room splayed with western-style furniture, he lays the young woman down on a western bed draped in silks, satins and furs. He pulls back a pure black silk sheet, and covers the sleeping girl in its warm embrace.
He watches as she whimpers in her sleep, a frown marring her brow, as she snuggles deeper into the fabric. He gazes at her pale features, and knows she is in his land, and later to come she will be his in mind, spirit and body.
He walks out onto the balcony overlooking the Western Valley; he sees the light of the full moon cast its rays into the darkened room, illuminating the young woman's bare skin. He hungers for human flesh, though he knows it is wrong in his heritage. He does not understand, but he let's his frozen heart melt slowly.
He will understand soon.
Shoot me, burn me, make me bleed...
Let me taste what seems so sweet...
By night your love will turn to lust...
To you- my heart, I shall entrust...
AUTHOR'S NOTE: You make take this any way you want, but I don't care.
Review please!- and flames are welcome...