Chapter four

Amayami woke with anxiety slip-sliding at the edge of her mind. Twisted shadow danced along the edge of her peripheral vision. As foreboding perfumed air already choked with tension, an undefined something lurked in the back her consciousness.

A sharp peal of thunder broke through the stillness of her bedchamber, causing her to bolt upward, clinging desperately to her silk sheets. Shuddering inelegantly at the sound, hand splayed against her battered ribcage, she breathed in ragged and harsh. Lightning flashed, followed almost immediately by another deafening roar of thunder. Trepidation crept up her spine, slowly eroding all sense of equanimity.

She drew her knees to her chest, hugging them close to ward off the sudden chill. Her half-knit ribs screamed in burning protest, but she bit her lip, digging her fangs into the soft tissues and swallowed back a whimper. She buried her face in her arms, her pale hair tangled about her, creating a pearlescent haven from both real and imagined shadow. Her throat worked, fangs grinding deeper into her bottom lip as she fought back the sting in her eyes.

Never had she felt so completely alone or so utterly frightened. Not during the war when death lurked in every shadow. In those days, adversity was met with grim certainty. Any who threatened her father, her people, or herself- for each held equal import- were vanquished. Her enemies found her merciless, fearless, and without regret. A being that tore through her opponents, ripped them asunder, and poisoned them until nothing remained, save fragments of bleached and yellowed bone.

She was nightmare-death made flesh.

But to those she called allies, she was the epitome of noble grace, beauty, and power. One who defended the lesser, protected the innocent, and guided all through the strength of her near divinity. Battle had honed the prowess granted through her bloodline.

Boasts from the awe-loosed tongues of vassals had led to an epiphany. Unwitting insult often wore the guise of shameless flattery. They had decreed her lineage so fine that not even gender could diminish its power and potential. She, a daiyoukai of daiyoukai, proved more than a match for any male.

Amayami smiled bitterly. Perhaps they truly believed eight millennia of selective breeding, power to beget power, could be circumvented by probability.

But she was digressing, and more importantly, suddenly aware of another's presence within her bedchamber. Her head jerked up, and her eyes, though glassy, stared hard at her husband. "What are you doing in here?"

Touga moved closer, stepping into the glow cast by the storm's inconstant lightning. His face was raw and pitted with many wounds, etched by the shadows. He shifted, partially obscuring his wounds from her sight, but the cold, commanding dignity of his voice remained. "It's my castle I go-"

Amayami snorted and looked away, dismissing him.

He frowned, balling his fists at sides as youki spiked around him. It was his stronghold, she was his wife, and she damn well would look at him while he spoke! Lightning flashed and thunder crashed, the storm an echo to his inner fury.

He stalked forward, every step firmly planted, until he stood mere inches from her bed. Reaching for her, intent on jerking her from bed -he stopped just short. Sharp, monstrous claws gleamed ominously in a sudden flash of lightning. Hovering, inches from her delicate flesh, he flexed his fingers, feeling their thickness and knowing their strength. For the first time he noticed, the fineness of her bones, the narrowness of her shoulders, the slenderness of her waist. How very fragile and young she seemed.

His hand dropped, falling limp at his side. "I was listening to your breathing," he admitted, wondering why he offered her an explanation when he would have done so for no other. Inexplicably, his anger, so fiery a moment ago, had cooled into unfamiliar shame. 'I demand too much, but offer too little.' He moved again, but this time to slide slowly to his knees at her bedside.

After a moment, Amayami let out a soft sigh, pressing her cheek against her knee as she looked at him. Her eyes were soft and unfocused, her lips barely parted. His breath hitched as he found himself captivated by the pale luminance of ethereal beauty.

Enraptured, but feeling strangely like a boy again, his voice grew warm and secretive. "I was listening…..and-" he smiled sheepishly "-I fell asleep."

A smile tugged at her thin lips, followed by an imperceptible headshake. She inhaled deeply and was assaulted by the heady smell of rain mingled with the warm scent of him. Her senses were suddenly overwhelmed, awoken by a sort of foreign awareness. His uneven breaths echoed in time with her pounding heart and his bare chest seemed fitting with her near nakedness. She shuddered and clenched the rumpled silk sheet tighter to her breasts. Valiantly fighting the urge to trace her fingers along the stripe curling around the hollow of his hip.

Only to be nearly undone, when he, using her distraction, slipped beneath her guard. His warm fingers brushed her knee and inched up her leg, trailing fire behind them. Claws and war-roughened palm, pricked and scratched her soft flesh as his hand slid, palm flat, between her thighs. Reaching for where none had touched her before.

Amayami's hand shot out, fast enough that Touga's eyes widened in surprise. Silently, she grabbed his wrist and held it in a near crushing grasp. She glowered at him, pale eyes narrowed in anger, despite the faint flush that colored her cheeks. An instant later, her grip loosened, and he slid his arm back until his palm rested in hers.

She was trembling. Touga watched another fine, almost imperceptive tremor shake her small-boned frame. Again, he was reminded of her seeming frailty, and her obvious youth.

"What did you dream of?" he asked softly. Her distress had been tangible, continuing to cling to her in the anxiety-fraught moments after she woke. He had never witnessed such abject terror in all his long years.

An ember of shame burned in her eyes, but it was smothered by the force of her resolve. Her eyes were neither flat nor opaque, as he had first thought, but rather sinking. Depthless reaches which absorbed all and allowed nothing to escape.

"Dream?" she whispered, voice unsure. She remembered fragments of dreamscape darkness. A voice had whisper-cried had amongst form-shaped shadows as death took its wanton toil. "I don't remember," she rasped, though her eyes claimed otherwise.

Touga reached out to cup her chin, his eyes serious and searching. He moved forward, slowly, his lips hovering over hers. "Would you tell me if you did?"

His breath caressed her skin, nose nuzzling hers as his thumb massaged soothing circles into her palm. Amayami drew back slightly, and found his grip, though gentle, unyielding. She tried to tear her gaze away, but that too proved impossible. "No," she breathed out on the tail end of a gasp.

He sniffed, a slight, humorless smile tugging at his lips. Her answer was predictable one he knew before asking. She would die before confiding in him. That she, his wife, would close herself to him, and that it wounded him, was unbearable. His eyes fluttered shut, denying the unexpected pang of rejection, his silvery lashes brushing like fine feathers against her cheek.

"You don't trust me," he murmured, lips dropping to graze against hers.

Wordlessly, her fingers slid into his hair, pulling it loose from its binding, to swing gracefully pass his hips. Her fingertips slipped from his hair, down the firm line of his jaw, his wounds lumpy and slick beneath her fingers. She kissed him tenderly, almost regretfully, no more than chaste brush of lips. "No."

She drew back as his hand slipped from her chin. His hand trailed slowly down her throat, pass her collarbone to the soft swell of her breasts. She shuddered her breath hitching and a sound- no more than a surprised gasp- escaped from between her lips. Encouraged, he trailed feather-light fingers across the rumpled sheet pressed precariously to her chest. His fingers teased the fabric, claws catching on the creases, as his hand slipped lower to gently cup her breast. She was softer than he had dreamed.

Delicately, almost imperceptibly, he tugged the sheet, watching as it fluttered down to pool around her narrow waist. Before she could protest, he slanted his mouth fully over hers, feeling the satin texture of her lips as he deepened the kiss. He moaned as his tongue slipped into her mouth, between her fangs, and felt the soft, tentative response of her own. The firm, hungry pressure of his lips mimicked the tender, gentle attention of his hand at her breast. An inarticulate sound escaped him- more growl than gasp.

He ached for her, was slowly being driven mad by the need to utterly possess her. His sinewy hands circled her waist, feeling her silky skin beneath his rougher fingers, marveling at her soft curves over sleek muscle- beauty that was not without power. Butterfly kisses skimmed his throat, weighted slightly by the dewy, moistness of her lips.

He shuddered in anticipation as her hand drifted lower, skimming between their bodies. Claws clicked along his belly, gliding across corded muscle to splay against his waist. Languid fingers floated over to his hip, tentatively brushing its hollow. Whisper-touches traced the stripe there, swirling imaginary paths along its forbidden surface.

Her pale, pleasure-darkened eyes smoldered with secret knowledge. Then widening when he pried her fingers from their path, and gently guided them lower. She jerked away, as if burned, her breath echoing in rapid, near panicked pants. Only to calm as his kisses slowed to soothing caresses. He pressed careful pecks to the corners of her mouth, the end of her nose, and the sensitive expanse behind her ear. Pecking down her throat, along her collarbone, then lower until his lips found her breast.

A rasp of surprise wrung from her throat as she shuddered, eyes trembling shut against the unfamiliar sensation. His name fell from her lips, even as a protest died on her tongue. Sensations compounded, each more intense than the last, melding into a cacophony of heated souls and twisted sense.

He leaned forward, gathering her in his arms as his hands roamed her body possessively. Her face twisted and she suddenly stiffened. A faded whimper sounded in the slim column of her throat. All of which, he mistook for pleasure.

As he dragged her against him into his lap, shifting until her knees hugged his hips, she recoiled. She swallowed twice, unable to find her voice. Inexplicably, his maddening kisses coupled with the cutting pain had rendered speech into ragged pants. Shaking her head, she tried to stand, but he caught her by the arm. And jerked her forward whilst he inwardly glowered.

He had known she would eventually regain her senses, remember she hated him and angrily storm away, cursing his existence. With hungry determination, his lips fed on hers, eager to rekindle the passion she fought against. But, to no avail. Frustrated, he kissed her harder, fiercer, demanding submission. She grew still and silent, only to begin her struggles again moments later. It was then, he abandoned all pretense of tenderness and kissed her violently, allowing his hands to roam urgently down her back.

Suddenly, and with strength that seemed impossible, she violently him shoved away. Accidentally gouging long, shallow wounds against his chest. Hissing, he grabbed for her again, snagging the tattered edge of her bandages.

Touga froze in mid-gesture and shirked back, having finally realized what he had been doing to her. Amidst the haze of sense eroding passion, he had forgotten she was injured -that he had injured her. Gingerly he brought his hand to her side, cringing when she flinched.

"Let me see," he coaxed in a voice laden with sympathy.

Amayami pressed her lips into a firm, thin line, curling her arm protectively over her ribs, and shook her head. Her face was ashen, her breathing shallow and pained as she trembled. Sudden flashes of lightning highlighted her nude form in a nimbus of silver.

Oddly, her nudity made him uneasy, though why he could not say. Perhaps, it was her porcelain skin, or her lithe muscle, neither of which seemed adequate to cover her willowy frame. Serving as lovely reminders of a stark reality.

Guilt slithered into his heart, coiling around his self-ingrained, all-important arrogance. Squeezing, until only the shame-bitter truth remained--she was young, almost too young. And if she had not been his wife, had not belonged to him, he would never dared to touch her. Never would have thought to rob her of her fleeting innocence.

Expression neutral, he snagged the discarded sheet, draping it over her shoulders, allowing its ends to fall loosely onto the hard wood floor. Without hesitation, she pulled it tight against her, huddling and shivering beneath its silken drape as if afflicted with a sudden chill.

He slid his arm around her shoulders, gingerly pulling her against his chest. She tensed, silently straining away from him. Affectionately, he nuzzled her cheek, pausing to bury his face in her sweet scented hair. "Forgive me," he whispered against her hair, his hand rubbing soft circles against her spine.

The words were weighted and meaningful, as if he were pleading for more than a solitary absolution. Unseen, Amayami smiled faintly, and though her chest throbbed, she relaxed enough to lay her head against his shoulder. Lightly, almost apologetically she caressed the fresh wounds on his chest. They were shallow and bled only slightly, but even so, would take days to heal. Such was the nature of her debilitating poison.

She lifted her chin enough to see his ravaged visage. Raw and pitted as if scalded with incardinine wax, each wound was a grisly reminder of her lapse. That it had been an accident, a simple miscalculation, offered her no comfort.

Suddenly she felt his eyes, watching her with a measured stare. She kissed him gently, as if he were made of glass. Then, just as gently, kissed his pocked cheeks and ravaged eyelids. "Do they hurt?" she whispered as she tenderly touched his wounds.

He caught her delicate fingers in his hand, and brought them to his lips before answering. "Only when I think about it." He dusted kisses over her knuckles, and pressed a lingering one to her palm. Shaking his head, he rose to his feet. He had reached a decision, one that needed his immediate attention. It would mean yielding to her whim, something he had done for no other. However, he could not help but believe that he perhaps owed her this small concession.

"Go back to bed." He paused in the doorway of their adjoining rooms, turned, and quirked a small smile. "Good night, Amayami."

Amayami frowned, opening her mouth to protest, but clicked it shut as the door closed behind him. Slowly, an uneasy silence crept over her bedchamber as if lured in by his absence. Lightning snaked over the castle, illuminating darkness into day. Waves of soothed, but not forgotten anxiety, rushed over her, leaving her nearly gasping for breath. Gathering her long practiced, though highly taxed resolve, she breathed deeply and willed all tension to abate.

Deftly she rose, lifting the sheet with her, careful not to let its silken edges drag on the floor. Her hands shook, but she dismissed the tremor as a chill blown in with the spring storm. Briefly, she considered rousing her handmaidens to light the fire, or to at least help her dress, but she dismissed the idea as quickly as it came. She was in no mood for their preening, simpering, or infuriating false flattery.

Mornings had degraded into a stagnation of tedium with their servitude. They would greet her at dawn, wearing deceptive smiles and leering glances. One would praise her beauty, as if it were important. And the other, not to be outdone, would gape at her power, as if it were not obvious.

Amayami smiled wryly, tapping her forehead with one finger. The very thought of them was enough to give her stirrings of a headache. Determined to remain steadfast, she dropped the sheet, allowing it to fall carelessly at her feet. Quietly, she slipped into an elegant sleeping gown. Its long, gossamer sleeves brushing her ankles as she crept, almost on tiptoe, to the adjoining door. Distantly, she wondered what matter had given Touga cause to rush off so suddenly.

Frowning she stepped away, denying the all too real urge to go to him. It was not that she wanted his company, but rather, she did not wish to be alone, despite her love of solitude.

Willfully raising her chin, she turned on her heel and walked to the double doors leading to her private balcony. She was no scared, weakling child that needed protection from real and imagined enemies lurking in shadows. There were worse things to be found in darkness, some of which she had personally met.

Still, despite all her efforts, a thread of anxiety, more apprehension than fear, had stitched itself to her soul. She flung open the doors breathing in as deeply of the night air as her battered chest would allow. The storm-frenzied wind sailed through her long hair and gown, molding them to her body, and spraying her with a fine misting of rain.

The storm was relentless, furious, as if it were seeking vengeance for some unknown slight. Rain fell in torrents from the eaves of the castle, creating a veil of water before her. Reaching a hand forward, she allowed the rain to fill her cupped palm. It was icy and biting like the shadow-fingers that had reached from the nightmare depths of her dreams. She dropped her hand, spilling the frigid water on her bare toes. Staring at the growing puddle at her feet she whispered, "It was just a dream."

Thunder cracked, ear-splitting in its intensity, as if it meant to contradict her statement. Grimacing, she fought the urge to cover her ears as she watched the lightning flash lazily over the gardens. Long had she loved to watch storms, but this one seemed most unnatural. A portent of events to come.

Such thoughts were foolish. If her father were here, he would reprimand her swiftly. However, he was not, and thus she had no one to scold her, save herself. She missed him, although she had tried not to, and wished he were here. He had told her to be brave, to be strong, and to be the leader their people deserved. It was proving to be a task easier said, than done.

Sighing, she leaned against the doorframe, chasing all thoughts, especially those of self-pity, from her mind. She was content to watch the storm until it ceased, or her handmaidens intruded. Idly, she tossed a look behind her at the still shut door of their adjoining bedrooms. Half-expecting him to burst forth and again trespass on her solitude. Worse, she almost welcomed the prospect.

She touched her hand, still damp from the rain, to her lips. Touga had been the only male, youkai or otherwise, to ever kiss her. And he would also be the only male to ever touch her. She smiled bitterly, and longed, ineffectually, that at least one, a solitary intimacy could have been with someone of her choosing. Which was why what happen tonight would not be repeated. Though she could not help but wonder, almost fantasize, what would have happened had they not stopped.

Scowling, she banished the traitorous thoughts from her mind and once again endeavored to think of nothing. Or at least not him or his maddening, infuriating, and tempestuous ways. Agitated, her eyes flicked to the gate where the guards, despite the storm, stood in rigorous attention. Few things pleased her about her new home, but amongst them were the castle guards' dedication to duty.

Lazily, her eyes drifted over the battlements to the women's quarters of the castle. Where her husband's concubines and their attendants were housed. Eyes blazing, she stared hard at the lights burning unexpectedly within the chambers. Suddenly, the reason behind Touga's hasty departure became all too apparent.

Turning on her heel, mist-soaked sleeves dripping icy rain on the dark wood floor, she stalked to the closed door separating her bedchamber from her husband's. Pressing undecided fingers against its smooth surface, she paused. Inhaling deeply and holding her breath, she slowly and ever so quietly slid the door open.

In that instance, she was uncertain which was worse that the room was empty, or the sudden sting in her eyes.