Kagome had hoped that with Sesshoumaru gone until nightfall, she could finally have a moment to breathe. A chance to sort out her tangled emotions, clear her mind, and—most importantly—try not to think about him.

But the moment she stepped inside his home, she knew that was impossible.

The scent of him lingered in the air. It wasn't overpowering, but it was enough to remind her of the demon. The modest home felt almost alive, like it held traces of his essence in every corner.

Pelts of pristine white fur adorned the space, draped over wooden benches and placed neatly in the corners, their softness beckoning to be touched. Tapestries hung along the walls, each one telling its own story. Some depicted breathtaking landscapes—ancient forests, mist-shrouded mountains, and serene moonlit lakes. Others showed vivid scenes of great battles, filled with clashing swords and fierce demons.

The layout of the home was simple yet functional, with only a few rooms, each telling a story of its own.

The first room Kagome entered was unmistakably Rin's. The space was a splash of vibrant color, a cheerful contrast to the subdued elegance of the rest of the home. Flowers were everywhere—pressed into paper, dried and arranged in small vases, and scattered across the low table. A few child-sized kimonos, patterned with delicate blossoms, were tossed haphazardly on the floor. The room exuded warmth and life, making Kagome smile despite herself.

The next room she found appeared to be a study. A large, low desk sat at its center surrounded by neatly stacked scrolls and cushions that bore the faint imprint of Sesshoumaru's form. The faint scent of ink and parchment mingled with the air, and Kagome's fingers itched to open one of the scrolls, curious about the knowledge he kept here. But something about the room felt private, almost sacred, and she decided against it.

Further exploration revealed an indoor bath that made Kagome's jaw drop. A large wooden tub, polished to a shine, sat at the center of the room. Beside it, a set of shoji doors opened to reveal the pond just outside, its still surface reflecting the golden light of the setting sun. The space was almost meditative, and Kagome could easily imagine soaking in the bath while listening to the gentle rustling of the trees.

A smaller room nearby appeared to be a guest room, sparsely furnished with a folded futon and neatly stacked blankets. It was practical and unassuming, lacking the personal touch found elsewhere.

Then she found the last room.

There was no mistaking it—this was Sesshoumaru's.

The air in there felt heavier, imbued with his aura. Armor and weapons lined the walls, displayed like trophies from a life of conquest. Other artifacts—ceremonial masks, carved statuettes, and ancient trinkets—added a sense of history and mystique to the space.

At the center of the room was a large platform bed, draped in a mix of silk and fur that looked both luxurious and primal. The silks were the color of moonlight, shimmering faintly, while the furs were as white as snow, their softness evident even from a distance. The bed was larger than necessary, and Kagome couldn't help but wonder if Sesshoumaru ever actually used it or if it was merely another artifact of his perfectionism.

She hesitated at the threshold, unsure if stepping inside would cross some unspoken boundary. The room felt intimate, more so than anything else she'd seen in the house. It wasn't just a space—it was him.

Kagome's hand brushed against the doorframe as she lingered, her heart pounding in her chest. It was becoming painfully clear how little she truly understood Sesshoumaru. For all his aloofness, this home told a different story—a story of care, of balance, of someone who valued peace and order but also allowed room for life to thrive.

An unbidden image flickered through Kagome's mind—She imagined Sesshoumaru there now, his silver hair spilling over the pillows, his body radiating power and heat, and his gaze piercing her with the same intensity as before. She could almost hear his voice, deep and commanding, whispering her name in the darkness.

Heat flushed through her body as the memory of last night came back. When his mouth had claimed her, his fangs brushing her skin in a way that sent her pulse racing. The night his hands had roamed over her body, searing her flesh with their heat and leaving her trembling with need. She remembered the weight of him pressing her into the fur, the way his claws grazed her thighs with just enough pressure to ignite every nerve in her body. He had been hot, thick, and heavy between her legs.

Her knees felt weak as the phantom sensation of his lips on her neck and his body moving against hers returned with vivid clarity. The way his golden eyes had burned with something primal and unrestrained—she felt it all as though it were happening again.

Kagome squeezed her eyes shut, willing the memories to dissipate but they refused to be banished. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs and her fingers curled into fists at her sides. How was she supposed to think clearly in this place surrounded by his scent?

"Stop it," she muttered to herself. She shook her head as if that would somehow scatter the memories clinging to her mind like a persistent fog.

But it wasn't just the physical memories tormenting her. It was the way she'd felt in his arms—cherished, protected, desired. It was the way he had looked at her as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered. That thought alone sent a sharp pang through her chest.

Kagome turned abruptly and walked away from the room.

8

The moon hung high in the inky sky, its pale glow spilling over the enchanted forest canopy as Sesshoumaru returned to his home. In his grasp was a bundle of venison, the choicest cuts carefully wrapped in deerskin. The fresh scent of blood clung faintly to the air around him mingling with the crisp night breeze. He had taken his time during the hunt, not out of necessity but to center himself. To strategize.

As he stepped through the doorway, the silence of the house greeted him. Only the faint glow of embers in the central hearth hinted that Kagome had tended a fire earlier. It had since burned low leaving the room cloaked in shadows and a quiet warmth. Sesshoumaru's sharp eyes scanned the space noting her absence but quickly catching her lingering scent. It was strongest near the bathhouse.

From behind the shoji doors leading to the indoor bath he caught the faint rhythm of water moving, the delicate sound almost musical against the stillness. For a moment, Sesshoumaru lingered, his golden gaze resting on the door. The thought of her immersed in water, her bare skin glistening with droplets made his claws tighten around the bundle in his hands. He closed his eyes, forcing the image away and turned back toward the hearth.

Once there he set the venison down and stoked the embers until flames roared to life. The warmth bathed his face as he prepared the meat for cooking, skewering it carefully before positioning it over the fire. The repetitive task steadied him though his thoughts churned restlessly.

She was still angry. Her silence earlier in the day had spoken volumes and the memory of her tear-filled eyes and the hurt in her voice haunted him. His claws tapped lightly against his knee as he waited, the rhythmic motion belying the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior.

He had made a grave error, he realized. Not just in allowing his instincts to claim her without her knowledge but in his failure to communicate afterward. When he tried to explain his words had only deepened the rift between them. And then there was the moment she had asked the wolf how to undo the courting mark. That question alone had been like a blade to his chest, to his pride.

Sesshoumaru's gaze fell to the fire. Until that moment, he had not fully understood the nature of his feelings. Kagome was not merely a companion or an ally. She was far more than that. He had marked her, yes, but the desire behind that act was not born of instinct alone. He wanted her—truly wanted her—by his side. As his equal. His mate.

It was absurd, he thought bitterly. He had spent centuries building walls between himself and mortals, scorning the memory of his father's human mate. His father's words about human women—how they were softer, warmer, more loving than demonesses—had always rung hollow to him. Sesshoumaru had dismissed them as the justifications of a daft old fool.

But now, as he thought of Kagome, he found himself wondering if his father had been right all along. From the moment their lips had touched, Sesshoumaru had been ensnared. No, perhaps even earlier than that—when they began to communicate in JSL. The silent language had become something more between them, a private exchange that felt uniquely theirs. Her hands, graceful and expressive, had a way of conveying thoughts and emotions far more clearly than spoken words ever could.

A faint rustling of fabric caught his attention drawing him from his thoughts. He looked up to see Kagome stepping in the room wrapped in a simple yukata that clung to her damp form. Her hair, still wet, framed her face in dark waves. She froze when she saw him and her blue eyes widened with surprise.

"The fire was low," Sesshoumaru said softly, gesturing to the hearth where the venison now sizzled. "I thought you might be hungry."

Kagome hesitated, her hands clutching the front of her yukata. For a moment he thought she might turn and retreat, but instead, she stepped closer.

"Thank you," she murmured, though her tone was cautious.

Sesshoumaru studied her, noting the faint crease between her brows and the tension in her shoulders. She was still guarded and he couldn't blame her. But there was also something else in her eyes—a flicker of curiosity perhaps, or the remnants of awe from earlier.

"Eat. I will go bathe," Sesshoumaru said, though his gaze lingered on her for a fraction longer than necessary. Rising to his feet he began to move toward the now-vacant bathhouse.

But before he could take more than a few steps he felt a small, warm hand encircle his own. The unexpected touch froze him mid-stride. Slowly, he turned to find Kagome looking up at him.

She looked ethereal in the firelight, her features softened by its warm light. Dark waves spilling over her shoulders like liquid night. Her shining blue eyes, bright and deep enough to drown in, tugged at something primal within him.

But it wasn't just her gaze that caught him. The simple white cotton yukata she wore dipped low, revealing the now-complete Shikon Jewel hung on a chain nestled just above her breasts. Its glow contrasted against her skin drawing his eyes down. Sesshoumaru's jaw tightened as he forced his gaze back up, unwilling to linger too long and risk betraying the simmering heat within him.

"I…" she began, her voice barely a whisper. "I'll probably be in bed when you're done. Can we talk tomorrow?"

Her question was simple enough, but the hesitation in her voice, the way her hand lingered on his told him there was more behind it. Something unsaid. Something she wasn't ready to voice.

Sesshoumaru didn't trust his own voice at that moment. Words, he had learned, often failed him where she was concerned and they seemed to cause more harm than good. Instead, he inclined his head in a subtle nod, his gaze never leaving hers.

Kagome exhaled softly, her fingers loosening around his hand as she turned away and looked at the fire.

With a final glance, Sesshoumaru turned and resumed his path toward the bathhouse, the faint scent of her lingering on his skin. As he stepped inside and shed his armor his thoughts remained with her. The softness of her touch, the unspoken plea in her voice, and the sight of her illuminated in his home—all of it carved itself into his memory like an indelible mark.

Tomorrow, he would speak to her. Tomorrow, he would find the words she needed to hear. But for now, as the warm water enveloped him and the scent of jasmine and cedar filled the air, he allowed himself a moment to simply feel.