Beta: EternalAngel

A/N: Comments and critique appreciated.

Atobe's study was located on the second floor of the house, and from the windows he could see the stable yard, and he spent more time watching the grooms tend to the horses than he did sitting beside his desk. He could not keep the smile from his face as he watched the young groom, Kintaro, run around the yard, from one horse to another, from man to man, waving his arms around, mouth in constant movement. The boy was endearing, when you did not need to listen to him.

Atobe leaned on his hand, and winced when the edge of the windowsill pressed against the cut on his palm. The cut was not deep, the wound had already closed and nearly healed after two days. The cloth Yukimura had used to tie the wound lay on top of the night table in his bedroom. It had been there this morning and without thinking, still half asleep, Atobe had taken it and lifted it against his nose and inhaled, hoping it would have held a scent of Yukimura. He had blushed with embarrassment when his mind had caught up with his actions. There was nothing to smell on the cloth after it had been washed, and even if there had been, when had he turned into a swooning maiden who sniffed at handkerchiefs, hoping to get a sniff of his beloved's scent? Yukimura might have appeared feminine, but he was a man, and Atobe was not into perversions.

Still, he could not deny the fascination he felt towards Yukimura and even to some extent towards his servant, Sanada. They were both reserved, and did not seem inclined to share much about themselves, and that was why Atobe wanted to know more of them. It was not that he did not think people deserved to have their secrets – it was that when those secrets became of interest to him, he considered it his right to know them.

Fisting his hands, Atobe stormed out of the study, his mind set. He would go today, to see them again. The handkerchief was as good an excuse as any, even if Yukimura had extended him an open invitation to call at any time. Though Yukimura had mentioned he preferred to receive visitors after nightfall, and it was still early afternoon, Atobe could not wait. He would go now.

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By the time he appeared before the stable it was still bustling with activity, but the atmosphere was different than what he had observed from his window. Kintaro's face no longer held a grin, and he walked with his head hung low. All the men's faces were grim, but what most caught Atobe's attention was Shishido.

The man was hitting his fist against the stable's wall, and no one tried to stop him. One of the grooms stood beside him, worried, but did nothing.

"Shishido!" Atobe shouted, when he was only a step away from the man. "What is wrong?" Atobe asked, frowning.

Shishido finally stopped hitting the wall so he could look at him, and Atobe was struck by the desperation on his face. Shishido's eyes were red, but there were no tears visible, and his mouth was held shut tightly, as if he feared he would scream and could not stop if he opened his mouth.

"It's Choutarou," Shishido finally spoke, keeping his voice as close to a whisper as he could and still be heard.

"What of him?" Atobe asked, frowning.

"He's gone missing," Shishido answered, still whispering. "His sister came and told us that Choutarou hadn't come home for the night, and she wanted to know if he'd spent the night at the house, but no one's seen him, not since last night…"

"Why wasn't I told?" Atobe asked, nearly furious. He might not have been fond of Ohtori, but if one of his people was missing, he should have been told so that he could have done everything possible to find him.

"I haven't told even Hiyoshi yet," Shishido said.

"You idiot," Atobe hissed. "That should have been the first thing you should have done, not try to bring down the stable with your bare hands!"

Shishido seemed torn between getting insulted by the remark and worrying for Ohtori. Finally he settled on glaring angrily at Atobe, who sighed and took hold of Shishido's arm. "You will go to Hiyoshi, now, and tell him what has happened. He will know what to do; this is not the first time someone has gone missing. And we have always found them. Usually wandering around the woods."

"But… Why can't you do it?" Shishido asked, eyeing the large white house with suspicion. No doubt he remembered all the times when they had bullied Hiyoshi when they were children. Hiyoshi had been withdrawn and gloomy even as a child, an easy target for them both to pick on. No one had ever stopped them and only years later Atobe had realized it was not because they were so terribly clever to never get caught, but because no one cared about Hiyoshi enough to face the wrath of Atobe's mother, should someone punish her son because of her husband's bastard.

Hiyoshi still resented them both because of that, and Shishido could not just simply ignore it like Atobe. Hiyoshi's station as the steward placed him in a position of power that, if he so wanted, he could have used to make life difficult for Shishido. And even if it was Hiyoshi who had the right to hold his grudge, Shishido for some reason could not stand Hiyoshi. Atobe had never asked if there was something more to it than childhood stupidities. It was no longer within his rights to ask something so personal from Shishido.

"I was planning to see Yukimura, and after hearing what has happened, I consider it even more important that I see him." Atobe told Shishido, who blinked at him. "He's been tending to their garden hasn't he? They might have seen him."

"I can't believe I forgot about them," Shishido muttered. "It was where he was going when I saw him last night."

"This is why you should have come to me in the first place," Atobe smirked. "As you will remember, it was always my plans that succeeded, and yours that had the most disastrous results."

"I seem to remember a few exceptions," Shishido answered dryly, but he had a small, relieved smile on his face. "I should get your horse," he said, and stepped towards the stables, but Atobe stopped him, with a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sure there are others just as capable of saddling her," Atobe said. "You go and speak with Hiyoshi."

Shishido nodded, and stepped past him. Back still turned to Atobe, and his head hanging, Shishido whispered a muttered, "Thanks Atobe," before nearly running towards the house.

"You are welcome, Shishido," Atobe said, smiling, and ignored the groom next to him who had been following their conversation silently the whole time, and now had a baffled expression on his face.

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The house looked the same it had two days earlier. Daylight did not make it seem any less devoid of life, or more welcoming. Only difference was that whatever had spooked his horse the first time did not affect her now. The mare allowed Atobe to lead it right to the gate and did not fight when Atobe tied the reins on the fence and walked up to the door.

As before, Atobe knocked, and as before, no one came to let him in. Atobe frowned and wondered for a moment if Yukimura was resting, and that was the reason he preferred meeting people during the night. It was possible that besides the wounds inflicted on his face he had an illness that made him sensitive to sunlight. Atobe had heard of such an illness, and even if it was rare, that did not mean someone he knew could not have it.

Atobe turned away, but the memory of Shishido's face came to him, and he knew he could not simply leave and tell Shishido he had left when no one had answered his knock. He needed to be able to tell Shishido he had done everything he could. Yukimura would no doubt understand the reason for his intrusion once he explained, and if he did not, well…

Well who was to say Yukimura would ever need to know?

Much of the time he had been forced to spend within this house Atobe had spent learning to know every corridor and room, where to hide from a worried maid that had been ordered to watch him, and how to get in and out of the house without being noticed.

He made his way to the south side of the house, and kept his gaze down, looking for a hatch hidden behind long grass. He soon found it, and grouched low. The small hole, covered by a wooden door was just big enough for a child to crawl in and out through it, and Atobe chuckled, wondering if he could possible fit through it. He was not a large man, but neither was he slender.

He was tempted once again to simply leave, but now it was not only the expectation to see Shishido's grateful look that spurred him on. He was excited in the knowledge that he was doing something childish and ridiculous; sneaking into a stranger's house as if they were dangerous criminals or spies from a foreign nation. And if that was not enough, he was going to ease his way into the cellar through an old hatch that would only fit a child or a small woman easily.

Sighing heavily Atobe took off his coat, gloves and hat, placed them on the ground next to him, and kneeled before the hatch. He closed his hands around the small iron handle and pulled with all his strength, expecting it to be stuck. The hatch tore away in his hand with a loud shriek, the rusted hinges breaking off easily as Atobe fell on his back. The long grass tickling his chin, and a piece of rotten wood resting on his chest, he lied on the ground, his heart beating loudly in his ears.

He scrambled up and stared widely around him, waiting for someone to come and see what had caused the noise. When no one came, he finally let go of the door and it fell on the ground with a small thump.

He took a deep breath, dragged his hand across his hair, his fingers getting stuck on the ribbon at the nape of his neck. Frustrated, he pulled it off, and it fell on the ground, amongst the tall and wild grass. He stared at the strip of black silk wondering if he should tie his hair again so it wouldn't hinder him when he tried to squeeze through the small opening. "And maybe I shouldn't be doing this in the first place," he mumbled softly, and realized he was stalling.

Atobe tried to remember the basement from the time he had last been there. It consisted of three parts; the food cellar, storage room, and a room that had always stood empty; there had never been a use for it, not one that he was aware of.

Once he would manage to get through the opening, Atobe would land on the floor of the large storage room. On his left, he knew, would be the food cellar where the housekeeper in his grandmother's time had stored the vegetables and drinks, and next to that would be the stairs that led upstairs to the kitchen. Straight ahead of him there would be a doorway to the empty room.

Atobe went down on his knees, and contemplated the size of the opening. It was possible he would fit through it, but only barely. At least he would not need to fit through it twice. To get out of the house, he would have to sneak upstairs, go through the kitchen, the dining room, and the hall and hope he wouldn't be noticed. But that option was more appealing than having to ease his way through the opening twice.

Taking in a deep breath, Atobe sat on the ground and placed his feet through the hole, turned on his stomach and crawled backwards till his feet were dangling inside the cellar. For a brief moment he felt panic grip him, afraid someone would grab hold of his feet and pull him inside. He nearly scrambled back up, but closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He had gone this far, he might as well go all the way.

He eased further inside until he could not go any further as his shoulders were too wide to fit through. He swore quietly, and licked his lips, trying not to think of the spectacle he was making of himself. If Shishido could see him now, there would be no end to the laughter and mockery he would receive for the rest of his life.

Something grazed against his leg, and Atobe froze, listening. He heard laboured breathing, thought for a moment it might have been his own, but no, it was too heavy to be his. His leg was grabbed again, more forcefully this time, and Atobe kicked back, trying to hit whatever it was that had taken hold of him, but whatever it was, it was insistent. Atobe tried to climb up, but the pull on his leg continued, and he was dragged down, the timber surrounding his shoulders digging into his skin, and as he struggled to crawl up, it had the opposite effect, and he found himself slipping slowly down to the darkness of the basement, grass and dirt gathered in his closed fists.

He landed on his back on the hard, cold floor, hitting his head and elbow, something still wrapped around his ankle. Not able to see what it was, fearing to open his eyes, Atobe kicked with his free leg, stood up and backed away, still feeling disoriented and hurting from the fall. Opening his eyes finally, Atobe could see the stairs ahead of him, with the help of the sunlight coming from the hole he had made on the wall, and from a small window further away.

"Please." Atobe heard a pained voice whisper, and stood still. "Help me."

He turned slowly to see who had spoken, and gasped as he saw the figure lying on the ground, its face in the light. All the cheeriness that Atobe had so resented had vanished from Ohtori's face, replaced by deep lines of despair. His deathly pale cheeks were covered with trails of tears, and his light eyes were swollen and red. "Lord Atobe," Ohtori whispered between his lips that looked mangled, like someone had chewed on them. There were tiny wounds around his neck, and blood splattered on his torn shirt. Angry red scratch marks all over the exposed skin of his arms and chest, like some crazed animal had attacked him.

"Ohtori," Atobe whispered, and took a hesitant step towards the man whose eyes looked at him so full of hope it pained Atobe to see it. "What... Who has done this to you?" he asked.

"They're demons, Lord Atobe," Ohtori rasped, and tears flowed down his cheeks. "His eyes glowed, when he first showed me his fangs, and pulled back the hood covering his face. I had thought his face to be beautiful, and it was, but there were scars on his face, pale marks of a fire that covered nearly half his face." Ohtori started shaking, and gathered his arms around him, but continued speaking, his voice trembling. "He laughed so gently when he first opened my vein," he lifted his wrist, to show Atobe the blood darkened fabric wrapped around it. "But his laughter soon turned maniacal. He drank my blood, Lord Atobe, lapped at it with his tongue. And when I began to slip into a blessed sleep where I would not have to feel his torture, his touch became gentle again. And when I had recovered, he bit into my neck. All night, he tortured me. He clawed on my skin, and licked at the wounds. He drained my blood into a glass that he offered to his companion and asked for his opinion on it as if it were fine wine."

"Who?" Atobe whispered the question that he knew the answer to.

Ohtori turned his head towards Atobe again, and with his teeth clattering, whispered a name. "Yukimura."

Atobe let out a breath he had not known he was holding. He had an answer now, to why he was so drawn to the man. The devil's creature had been sent here to seduce him, and it had taken a form that would fascinate him, that would keep Atobe intrigued. Why the demon had chosen the form of a young man, instead of a woman, Atobe could not understand, but he knew its purpose now, and he would not surrender his soul to its hands.

"They fear the sunlight, I think. He left me here, chained to the wall from my ankle when the sun rose, promising to return." Ohtori's eyes stared through Atobe, as his mind was flooded with images of what had happened to him. "You must take me away, Lord Atobe, because when he promised to return, I was glad. I felt myself craving for his touch, and even though he horrifies me, I cannot be but stunned by his beauty. Half his face is perfect, skin smooth and pale like marble, his eyes; the colour of the night sky after a storm, and his mouth, the tender touch of his lips before he bites into my flesh, and his tongue, almost caressing above the wounds he makes." Ohtori's face held a look of adoration, and Atobe leaned forward, yearning to hear more.

"You have seen his face," Atobe said, and felt a stab of jealousy that Ohtori had witnessed something that had been denied from him.

"Please Lord Atobe, you must help me to get away from them!" Ohtori pulled on his shirt so Atobe needed to bend over, and their faces were now only inches apart. Atobe struggled to not to let his disgust of Ohtori show on his face. The lines of his skull showed through the almost translucent skin, and the gleam in Ohtori's eyes had turned from near dreamy and adoring to mad, and even though his hands shook, his hold on the shirt was strong, and he nearly managed to strangle Atobe by hanging on so tightly.

"Let… Go of me!" Atobe screamed, and yanked the shirt from Ohtori's grasp. Breathing heavily he staggered back and stared at the pathetic creature in front of him. "I will help you, Ohtori, but I cannot do it alone. You need to stay calm while I get help."

"Yes, I understand," Ohtori stared down, subdued. "Shishido must be worried. I will be glad to see him again." Ohtori smiled, and that smile was so gentle it wiped the worry from his face and made him almost beautiful again.

Atobe nearly snarled at that affectionate face. He could imagine it; Shishido weeping before this pathetic man, happy to see him again. If he had never come here, not seen Ohtori, things would be as they once were. He would have comforted Shishido for the loss of his friend, and they would have had their companionship back. If Ohtori wouldn't be there, he would have his friend back, his life would be perfect. He deserved to have the perfect life.

"Thank you, Lord Atobe," Ohtori spoke, and stared up at him, still with that smile on his face. "Thank you."

"I will leave now, but I will come back and we will help you," Atobe promised, and turned away from Ohtori. His back rigid, he walked towards the stairs, did not turn even once to look behind him, not wanting to show his face to Ohtori, knowing the look on it was ugly.

He reached the top of the stairs, and opened the door to the kitchen. The bright sunlight greeted him, and as the door closed behind him, he shut away the image of Ohtori's mangled, tortured body, and the look of wild hope and gratitude in his eyes, and it was as if he had never seen them.