Disclaimer: InuYasha and all characters and settings affiliated with the series are the creative property of Rumiko Takahashi.
For Her
InuYasha
by D. Reed
For a heart-stopping moment, he thought he'd moved too late.
The cold, cruel look in her eyes sent a shudder down his spine when he first discovered that she wasn't herself. No, those eyes… they couldn't belong to her. Her eyes were warm, expressive, and – dare he say – beautiful. No, gorgeous. They were not icy, and definitely not heartless.
Even if the eyes didn't belong, it definitely was her face, her body… and her rear. That's when he'd realized something was amiss. Sure, she turned violent when he copped a feel every so often, but she hadn't tried to actually kill him before. Well, not seriously, at least.
A large tear in the shoulder of his robe testified to the first near-hit he'd taken. The next time, however, he managed to duck her swing easily. Her moves were sloppy – whoever controlled her mind hadn't been able to tap into the portion of her mind that housed her taijiya techniques.
In truth, it hadn't been his own misjudgment that caused him to falter in his defense. It had been the hanyou's distractingly loud voice shouting at him. He barely finished a sarcastic thought in response before he saw the swing – the one he wouldn't avoid – aimed for his chest.
He could stop it if it wasn't Sango's body he fought. He could have stopped it if it didn't require breaking her bones in the process. All he could do was shift slightly and hope that it wouldn't kill him. That… he had a feeling that that would break more than just bones.
Suddenly, she was calling his name, and sounded desperately upset. How long had she… but she usually called him… When did he… Damn, reality hurt.
Upon opening his eyes and seeing her relieved tears, seeing her fling herself on him in a joyous embrace, nothing else mattered. She still cared, and he… was going to show her his appreciation his way. He soon realized that he'd overestimated his condition.
When reality slowly trickled back, he determined that perhaps that hadn't been the best idea.
The mark on his cheek disappeared hours ago; still she couldn't stop apologizing. His wounds still ached, but he couldn't wipe the fiendish grin from his face. She was back.
375 words.