Chapter Ninety-One

A violet mist obscured the walls and blocked out the sun. Syaoran knew, even without seeing the luminous orb, that the Mist would dye the sun sapphire come sunset.

None of that was important, though, because he couldn't feel his legs.

He wriggled away from the wall, his lungs constricting painfully as he struggled to pull the dead weight behind him. His fingernails scraped across the carpet of moss that clung to the floor. He'd been crawling. Who knew how long, but it had rubbed his palms raw, leaving them drenched in blood.

But he had to keep moving. He knew that, and yet . . . his legs wouldn't obey him. I'm broken, he thought, heart pounding. I'm broken, I'm broken . . .

His hand snaked out, clutching a sword. And then there was crimson everywhere, and Seishirou's face, blood running down his lips.

I did that, Syaoran thought, stomach turning as the bespectacled man collapsed. My fault. Everything that's happened is my fault . . .

The shift between nightmares and reality was so sudden, it left Syaoran reeling. His eyes flashed open, the scenery suddenly changing to wooden floors and paper walls. Muffled by the thin walls were the cries of birds, singing their simple melodies. Their songs seemed so cheerful that, for a moment, all Syaoran could do was listen, wondering what kind of canyon creature would make such a deceptively beautiful sound.

"You're awake."

Syaoran eased himself into a sitting position, letting the adrenaline drain out of his system. That's right. Fai said we were in Kurogane's country. His gaze focused on the ninja's dark figure. Kurogane sat on the other side of the room, as far away as the confined space would allow. In his hands was a scroll; he rolled it up and set it aside as Syaoran surfaced from his dreams.

They watched each other for several seconds. Syaoran looked away first. "Good morning," he murmured.

"Better than yesterday, I hope." The ninja crossed his arms in front of his chest, but it was not the foreboding gesture it usually was. Neither was it defeat. No, it was more of a habitual gesture than anything else. "Are you feeling any better?"

The concern behind the question surprised Syaoran. He couldn't be glad to have me back, he thought, trying to piece together the odd behavior. Kurogane would never accept a traitor like me. "I'm fine."

The ninja nodded absently, staring at a spot on the floor. After a moment, he spoke again. "The princess said she offered you her blood."

Syaoran winced, blood rushing to his cheeks. "Yes, but . . . I didn't do anything. You know I wouldn't."

Kurogane held up a hand in a peacemaking gesture. "That's not what I was getting at."

Syaoran sunk back into the straw mattress, wondering what his teacher had meant, if he wasn't accusing him of something.

"How long has it been since you fed?"

"A couple weeks," Syaoran said after a brief hesitation.

Kurogane nodded, as if filing that information away for later examination. "So you probably need to eat."

He didn't answer.

"I've talked to the palace servants. Some of them volunteered to—"

"No," Syaoran said. As he saw the look of shock flit across the ninja's face, he revised his reply. "I mean . . . I can take care of it myself. There's no reason to—"

"It's better my way."

"It's not your decision."

The ninja's eyebrows slanted downwards. Syaoran cringed. "I'm making it my decision," Kurogane said. "This is my world, and you are not going to starve yourself to death under my watch."

Syaoran opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. Later, when he was able to think more about his actions, he'd tell himself that he only faltered because he was accustomed to obeying his teacher without question. But right now, the only thing holding his tongue was the flare of desire the thought of blood brought to his mind. Like an addict, he craved the sticky red fluid, needed to feel the warmth of it running down his throat. Hunger warred with self-disgust and shame, eventually winning out as he drew the blanket tighter around his thin frame. "Okay."

Kurogane stood and walked over to the door. There, he barked out a summons to someone waiting outside. While he gave orders, Syaoran laid his blanket aside and drew his legs in, joints cracking as he moved them. I'm not broken, he reminded himself, flickers of the nightmare lingering despite his assertion. I can still walk. I'm as free as I ever was.

Kurogane slid the door shut and approached the mattress. Syaoran crossed his legs, ignoring the spasms of pain as his unused muscles moved. His whole body ached, just like it had when he'd woken up as a vampire. He's right. I shouldn't have let myself go this long without feeding. He took a slow, deep breath, collecting himself. Kurogane sat beside him.

Almost a minute passed in silence. Then, the ninja lifted a hand and rested it atop Syaoran's head. He flinched and went still, waiting.

"You're a good kid," Kurogane finally said.

Syaoran looked over, stunned. Of all the things the ninja could have said to him, that was the last he'd expected to hear. He looked down. "I'm a traitor."

"You could do worse."

"What do you mean?"

The ninja shrugged. "You could've killed the princess."

Syaoran winced, remembering how close he'd come to doing just that.

The door slid open, and a woman with sleek black hair stepped in, a large bamboo cylinder in her hands. Something sloshed around inside, like soup or water. It wasn't until the smell hit him that he realized the fluid contained within was the blood he so desperately needed.

"For you," the woman said, kneeling down and presenting the cup to him. Syaoran's eyes flashed to Kurogane's face in a silent plea for approval. Does he really want to help me after all I've done? Syaoran wondered when he received no response. He took another breath, the smell of blood invading his nose. He exhaled shakily and took the cup.

"Thank you."

The woman smiled and retreated to the door. Syaoran's fingers tightened around the cylinder, claws sliding out.

"Are you going to drink or not?" Kurogane demanded.

"I will, but . . ." He looked up at the ninja, trying to convey the awkwardness of this situation. He'd only ever fed in the presence of another vampire, and though Kurogane was familiar with the process after taking care of Fai, there was no way he understood just how overpowering the thirst could be. Syaoran looked down. "I can take care of it, so . . . You don't have to stay."

Kurogane watched him for a long moment, then stood up. "Can't be helped."

"I'm sorry," Syaoran whispered. "It's just—" He broke off, not sure how to finish that sentence.

"I'm listening."

"It's just . . . I'm not always in control of it. I don't know what would happen if I were to lose control of myself here."

"You won't."

He looked up. Kurogane stood by the door, obstinate. "You won't lose control," the ninja repeated. "You've always been in control of yourself. Becoming a vampire doesn't change that."

"It does. More than you can imagine."

Irritation flashed across the older man's face, and Syaoran wondered why he'd insisted on arguing his point.

To his surprise, Kurogane just sighed and opened the door. "I'll go, if that's easier for you. But I expect you to drink that. Got it?"

Syaoran nodded. "I will. And . . . Thank you."

"For what?"

Syaoran looked down at the cylinder of blood in his hands. "For not killing me."

The ninja barked out a laugh, stepping out of the room. "Of all the things to be grateful for . . ." he muttered as the door slid shut.