Sesshoumaru stood at the mouth of the cave, his golden eyes fixed on the swirling snow beyond. The wind howled, carrying with it the scent of ice and death, but his mind was elsewhere—drawn to the small, stubborn woman resting behind him.
He did not understand this pull toward her, this compulsion to protect and exert dominance over her, and it frustrated him. Humans were weak, fragile creatures, easily broken by the harshness of the world. Kagome was no exception, despite her immense spiritual power. She had pushed herself too hard, trying to prove something, and now her body was suffering for it.
Her sickness had been inevitable. He had seen the signs, had known that the cold and constant battles would wear on her human form. And yet… he had allowed her to continue, allowed her to push her limits, curious to see how far she would go. He had watched her with a detached amusement as she refused to show weakness, determined to match his pace despite the growing strain on her body.
It had been foolish of her, but then again, humans were often ruled by their foolish pride.
And yet… she is different.
Sesshoumaru's eyes flickered back toward Kagome, who lay curled up on the stone floor, her breathing shallow and uneven. Even now, sick and weakened, she refused to admit defeat. It was that stubbornness, that quiet strength, that drew him to her. She was unlike any human he had ever encountered—unyielding in the face of danger, unafraid to stand up to him, to challenge him.
His grip on her earlier, the way he had lifted her effortlessly, had been a calculated move. He had wanted to remind her of her place, to show her that he was the alpha, the one in control. But even as he'd held her, her warmth pressing against him, there had been a flicker of something unfamiliar in his chest.
Possession.
The word slipped into his mind, unbidden, and Sesshoumaru clenched his jaw. That was what this was. She was under his protection, and as such, she was his to guard, his to control. And yet… the thought of Kagome as his felt different than when he had protected Rin. This need to assert dominance, to stake his claim, was more primal—deeper.
It had flared the moment Koga had appeared.
He had felt it then, that surge of something dark and possessive when the wolf demon had proclaimed Kagome as his woman. Sesshoumaru had reacted on instinct, driven by a need he hadn't fully understood. His grip around Koga's throat had been firm, but controlled, and he had seen the surprise in Kagome's eyes when he had spoken.
Koga had been insufferable, yes, but it had been more than that. The wolf's arrogance had stirred something dangerous within Sesshoumaru, something he had fought to suppress. The idea of anyone claiming Kagome, of anyone else touching her, had been intolerable.
Why?
He had never concerned himself with the affairs of humans, had never cared for their fleeting relationships or fragile lives. But Kagome was different. She defied the expectations of her race, and that infuriating strength of hers—the same strength that had allowed her to challenge him, to evade him—made her a puzzle he couldn't seem to solve.
Sesshoumaru's gaze shifted to the woman lying on the cold ground, her body shivering beneath the thin layer of her clothing. Her breaths were becoming shallower, her temperature dropping as the cold crept in, and Sesshoumaru knew that if she didn't warm up soon, the sickness would only worsen.
His brow furrowed slightly as he contemplated his next move. He had tried to give her the space she seemed to want, tried to let her handle herself as she claimed she could. But her body was failing her, and as much as she refused to admit it, she needed his help. The cold was sapping what little strength she had left.
Sesshoumaru stepped toward her, his keen senses picking up on the tremors that shook her frame. She was trying to hold on, but her human body was fragile—too fragile to withstand this.
He knelt beside her, his golden eyes assessing her condition. Her skin was pale, and he could feel the cold radiating from her. She needed warmth, and he knew what had to be done. He would have to use his body heat to stabilize her temperature.
Without hesitation, Sesshoumaru began to remove her outer garments. His movements were swift and efficient, but as he peeled away the layers of her clothing, his gaze caught on something that made him pause.
Her undergarments—those strange, scandalous garments she always wore beneath her robes—were revealed, clinging to her body in a way that was both salacious and, in Sesshoumaru's mind, entirely inappropriate for a miko. The fabric hugged her curves, leaving little to the imagination, and for a brief moment, Sesshoumaru found himself transfixed by the sight.
His fingers hovered over the edge of her thin top, and a low growl rumbled in his chest. This woman…
He had never seen a miko dressed in such a manner. Most priestesses were modest, their attire plain and respectful. But Kagome—Kagome, with her strange modern clothing—was different. There was something almost indecent about the way the fabric clung to her skin, accentuating the softness of her form. And yet, despite her appearance, he knew she was untouched. He could smell it in her scent, the purity that lingered around her. She was unclaimed, unspoiled by any man.
His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he forced himself to look away. This attraction, this pull toward her, was growing stronger with each passing day, and it angered him. He was becoming like his father—drawn to a human woman, just as the great Inu no Taisho had been drawn to Izayoi.
No, Sesshoumaru thought bitterly. He would not succumb to the same fate. He was not his father.
And yet, as he looked at Kagome—so fragile, so stubborn, and yet so fiercely independent—he felt that same dangerous possessiveness rise within him once more. She was his, whether she knew it or not, and he would not allow anyone else to lay claim to her.
With a quiet sigh of frustration, Sesshoumaru pulled her into his arms, wrapping his fur-lined mokomoko around her trembling body. His own body heat would be enough to warm her, to chase away the cold that threatened to take her.
As he held her, her head resting against his chest, he could feel the soft rhythm of her heartbeat, the slow rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. It was a strangely intimate moment, one that unsettled him more than he would ever admit. Her scent filled his senses, a mix of wildflowers and something uniquely Kagome. It was maddening—intoxicating in a way that no other scent had ever been.
She stirred slightly, her body instinctively curling into his warmth, and Sesshoumaru felt his pulse quicken. The closeness between them was too much—too intimate. He should let her go, should distance himself before this went any further.
But he didn't.
He held her, his grip firm but careful, as if she were something both precious and fragile. His mind raced with thoughts he couldn't suppress—thoughts of her strength, her defiance, the way she had stood up to him time and time again. No other human had dared to challenge him like she had. No other had been so unafraid.
And yet, she was human. Just like his father's woman.
His jaw clenched at the thought, a wave of anger surging through him. He hated that he was following in his father's footsteps, hated that he was drawn to this human woman despite every instinct telling him to resist. But there was something about Kagome—something that stirred the beast within him, something that made him want to claim her as his own.
He had denied it for as long as he could, but it was becoming harder to ignore. The way her presence calmed him, the way her defiance intrigued him—it was all too much. She was more than just a human to him now, and that realization only made him more furious with himself.
I will not become like him.
But as Sesshoumaru looked down at Kagome, her body resting peacefully in his arms, he couldn't shake the thought that maybe—just maybe—it was already too late.