Raven
Chapter One: The Bite
o0o
Sesshomaru
900 Years Old
The “Visitor”
He watched her through the bedroom window, golden eyes gazing with unyielding desire. Her skin was pale, yet her cheeks were perfectly rosy. The bow of her lip so elegantly defined and sharp, the pout of it kissably full. Her obsidian tresses gleamed in the light of the full moon, draped over her white satin pillow. She slept like an angel, and smelled of lilacs and honey.
He purred, a clawed finger running down the window pane.
He had watched her for weeks now, during the day and under the cover of night. The girl was profoundly bored with her life. All the riches anyone could ask for, and she still found herself bored. He himself knew that feeling rather well. Before his turning, boredom was a permanent fixture in his life, and no escape in sight—until the night he was reborn. Until the night he was given the gift.
He would give her that gift. Her soul cried out for it.
And he was helplessly transfixed, beguiled, enchanted… She was perfect. So perfect for him.
His fangs ached to taste her. He had fed plenty in the last few days to prepare for this moment, to ensure he would not drain her completely. The anticipation, the ravenous excitement he felt, now… It threatened to undo him.
Slowly, silently, carefully, he unlatched her bedroom window. It was plenty large enough for him to walk through, un-slouched. The evening air rushed into the room, kicking up her lilacs and honey under his nose. His mouth watered. His fangs throbbed.
She was pure.
Only the best blood was pure, and she had the purest of all.
He crept over her slumbering form, his eyes softening at the gentle puffs of breath leaving her lips. A finger brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
The girl stirred.
He stilled.
Dark sapphire eyes blinked open sleepily, curiously. He smiled down at her.
Her fingers reached out for him. He met them with his own.
“Beautiful,” she whispered dreamily, the corners of her delicate mouth turning upward.
“And you,” he told her. He pressed his lips to her palm, shuddering at the closeness of her scent. Setting her fingers back against her form, he bent further over her, “Close your eyes.”
She blinked slowly. Once. Twice. She closed them finally, and he descended on her neck, at that baiting pulse, the honey and lilac beacon of sweetness.
He sunk his fangs into her impossibly smooth skin, and at last, her blood filled his mouth.
He moaned.
Nothing had ever tasted so good, not in all his years on this earth. While feeding before had been the wiser choice, it almost wasn’t enough. Part of him wanted every last drop for himself, to not let a single bit of it drip onto the sheets.
But then, he thought, there would be no more. It would be gone, forever.
And that was the thought that made him stop.
With a mouthful of her warmth, he slid his tongue across one of his fangs, opening his flesh. His blood mixed with hers, creating a complex tango of flavors—hers flowery and sweet, his citrusy and herbal. It was unusual, addictive, and decadent.
He descended on her once more, pressing his lips to hers in a sensual kiss. An offering. Her mouth opened in acceptance, and he moaned again. Yes, yes, yes! The angel moaned as well, her hands finding his cloak and fisting themselves in it, pulling him closer. He chuckled, and tangled his tongue—drenched in their blood—with hers. Hers tangled back, eager and bold. It stirred him, but he pulled away.
“There is time for that later,” he murmured to her. “Now you must sleep, little fang.” He cupped her cheek, “You’ll see me again.”
His angel nodded drowsily and fell back against her luxurious bed, closing her sapphire eyes once again.
He latched the window behind him, giving her one last look over his shoulder. It was only a matter of time now.
She had the gift.
o0o
Kagome
18 Years Old
The “Angel”
(Earlier That Day)
“My lady, you must sit still,” her handmaiden, Sango, gently chastised as she ran a brush through her hair. “I am almost finished.”
Kagome grumbled, fidgeting as she sat in front of the mirror in her chambers. She didn’t know why she behaved like this. Her days always started out the same: wake up, have a few sips of tea, and then get herself groomed for the day—which included having her hair brushed and styled. It should not have come as a surprise, and in truth, it didn’t.
Yet she loathed it.
She was just so tired. Tired of the routine. Tired of the same scenery. Tired of everything. She hated herself for it, though. Kagome lived a life that many girls could only dream of: her home was a modest estate in the countryside, she had a team of servants that waited on her hand and foot, and she had wealth to last several lifetimes. She had it all to herself, completely to herself. No one else lived with her, but plenty of suitors came calling to claim her and all she had.
She refused them all. Every offer.
They would have taken all she had left of her family. Her father had died when she was young, and her mother never remarried. So it was only she, her brother, and her mother for the most of her life, until the accident.
One terrible, stormy night had caused two carriages to crash into each other, and one of them contained her mother and younger brother. It was a violent crash, and while her mother had died instantly, her brother managed to hang on for several days afterward, until he too succumbed to his injuries. Thus, the Higurashi Estate had been left to Lady Kagome.
She was fifteen.
For three years, Kagome had wandered aimlessly through the home’s empty halls, a living ghost in her childhood home. She often wondered what it would have been like if she hadn’t wanted to stay in that night, if she’d gone with them. Could she have helped in some way? Would she have died and allowed her sweet brother to live instead? At least her mother and father were together again, but Souta… He’d only been a boy. There was so much ahead of him.
Most days, she just wanted to run, to be free. But she had nowhere to go, no family to see, and no idea how to uproot herself—and not to mention she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her home, as dreary as it was.
So here she sat, scowling at herself in the mirror as sweet, soft-spoken Sango stroked a brush through her bed-tangled hair. Kagome sighed.
“I’m sorry,” she said gently, closing her eyes in guilt.
“Oh, hush now, my lady,” Sango cooed with a comforting smile. “No need to apologize. Have you thought about what you’d like to wear today?”
“I… No,” Kagome said with a shake of her head. “What would you suggest?”
The handmaiden hummed excitedly, “Well, you have those lovely gowns Lord Kouga sent you last week. There’s a gorgeous deep blue one, with the white lace embroidery? It’s velvet—nice and thick for this cool weather we’ve been having.” She smiled into the mirror, at Kagome, “And it would bring out the color in your eyes.”
“For whom?” Kagome asked, frowning.
Sango’s eyes softened, pausing her brushing to touch her mistress’s shoulder, “For you, Lady Kagome. Beauty isn’t only for men.”
She let out the softest of laughs, only for a second, “Very well, Sango. The blue it is.”
“Shall I curl your hair as well?” she asked, running a silky strand of Kagome’s hair through her fingers. “I can gather it up in the back, and let the curls just tumble about your face. It would be rather fetching.”
“If you wish,” Kagome said. “Don’t trouble yourself.”
Sango waved a hand, “No trouble at all, my lady. I would be happy to.” With a final pat on Kagome’s shoulder, she set off to prepare the marcel irons to curl her hair.
Kagome sighed, looking at herself in the mirror again. More suitors would come today, without a doubt. That must be why Sango was so eager to dress and primp her, for their arrival. It didn't matter. Kagome would refuse them all anyway. She would take their gifts if they insisted on leaving them at her door, but that was all she would take. No offers interested her, no man interested her.
No man, other than him.
Kagome couldn’t be sure when it began, but one night she began to dream of a tall, mysterious man. He was beautiful. His hair was dark as night, almost longer than the scarlet-lined cloak he wore, and it always seemed to float behind him, as if it were lighter than air. More than his otherworldly hair, Kagome remembered his eyes. Strange, gorgeous golden eyes. Piercing, serious, and intense. Even just thinking about them sent a shiver down her spine.
His face was always serene, inviting. His jawline was strong, his skin was pale, and he had odd markings on his face: a burgundy crescent moon on the center of his forehead (between the part of his lovely, swishy bangs), and a pair of black stripes on each cheek. Odd they might be, but they suited him.
This man called to her, somehow. Sometimes, she wasn’t sure if it was a dream. Sometimes, she felt he was right outside her window, or watching her read in the gardens. Sometimes, she would look over her shoulder in suspicion, but found nothing there.
She was mad, she decided. The madness was finally descending on her, after three years of grief.
But if the madness brought her the beautiful, mysterious man, she welcomed it with open arms, and she longed to see him again, even if he was just a dream.
o0o
Sango
24 Years Old
The Handmaid
(The Next Dawn)
Sango hummed a soft sigh as she pumped water from the well, preparing herself for another morning with Lady Kagome. Not that it was unpleasant to spend time with her mistress, but it wasn’t enjoyable either. The poor girl had been through so much at such a young age, and Sango could surely understand that. Her own family had been wiped out with a sickness that spread through her village. If she hadn’t been serving with another household at the time, the illness would have taken Sango as well. When it happened, she’d been the same age as Lady Kagome is now, eighteen.
She’d come to the Higurashi Estate shortly afterward, hoping to find work far away from her village, far away from the reminder that she’d lost everything. Mrs. Higurashi was a kind woman, and offered her sympathies to Sango, as well as a new job, and she couldn’t have been more grateful.
Not only did she work here, but she was allowed to live here too, within it’s stunning walls of black brick and mortar. Archangels guarded its rooftop, at every corner. Some were stoic, others smiled, others bared their teeth in defiance. Each held an ornately carved pike in their gentle-looking hands, the weapons appearing just as deadly as they were beautiful.
And out back was a lovely garden, bordered by tall hedges that the gardeners trimmed to perfection. They had carved out an archway on each side of the square hedges, the west and eastern sides opened to a pathway that led to the front of the house. The southern pathway led to the house’s back door, and the northern archway simply led to the open meadow and rolling hills of the countryside.
But inside the garden’s hedges was the real beauty. Roses of varying colors lined the borders, around the koi ponds as well as the gazebo where Lady Kagome preferred to spend most of her time, reading or having her afternoon meals. A delicately-combed zen garden sat at the center, framed by the koi ponds and stone benches. Sango often liked to watch the groundskeepers rake through the sand when the opportunity arose, soothed by the intricate designs they created.
But aside from spending time with her mistress and gazing at the combing of the sands, Sango preferred the stables over everything. Over the Higurashi Estate’s many wonders, the handmaiden simply could not resist the draw the stables had on her.
It had started as an escape to her grief—from the loss of her own family, and then from the loss of Lady Kagome’s family—and she would take comfort in the silent understanding of the horses. She would pet them and feed them and coo to them, for they hardly ever got to run anymore, they hardly ever got to be free. Sango empathized with them as she groomed them, the same way she groomed her mistress. They held the same longing, those horses and her mistress—to run. She could see it in their eyes, and she would just sigh sadly to herself.
But then one afternoon, a man came into the stables, panting, holding himself up against the wall as he bent over to catch his breath. He dropped a sackful of apples, baked goods, and other food items that went spilling out onto the floor. Sango knew right away those apples were from the orchard near town, and she knew the proprietor of the orchard was none too kind towards anyone pilfering his goods.
“You’re a thief,” she said plainly.
The man had stilled at the sound of her voice, but didn’t appear to panic. Instead, he laughed breathlessly, “I am no such thing, miss—merely an… an enthusiastic connoisseur.”
“Of apples,” she said, blinking. It wasn’t a question, but a statement of his absurdity, an acknowledgement.
At this, he turned around on her, indignant, “Clearly madam, you… don’t…” The man’s violet eyes blinked as his mouth gaped stupidly, beholding her.
“I don’t—what?” Sango asked.
At once, the man fell to his knees before her, “My dear, my goddess, my temptress… I had no idea I was in the presence of your magnificent beauty. Forgive my sin, sweetness. It shall not happen again.”
“You’re a ridiculous man,” she told him, shaking her head.
“Who could blame me at the sight of you?” He took her hand and embraced it between his own, “I must know your name, sweet siren. Bless my ears with the sound of it.”
She snatched her hand out of his gentle grip and swung it across his face in a loud slap, “None of your business, scoundrel.”
The thief closed his eyes and hummed, pressing his hand to the red mark she’d left on his cheek, as if to savor it. “Even the blow is a blessing, my queen,” he sighed pleasantly. “The sting is imprinted upon my memory for the rest of my days—how fortuitous.”
“You need to leave,” Sango told him. “You cannot stay in the stables.”
“Of course, an unworthy man such as myself wouldn’t dare intrude upon a goddess’s temple of solitude,” the man said, rising. “Oh, but I would return to her, in the hopes she might tell me her name some day, so I could worship her greatness properly.”
“You’re obscene.”
“You’re a vision.”
The man went to the sack of his spoils, gathering them back up inside it and slinging it over his shoulder, save for a single, shiny red apple which he held out to her. “An offering for you, vengeful goddess of beauty,” he said, dropping it in her palm. He gave her a crooked smile, “Until we meet again…”
Sango smiled fondly at the memory. It had taken three visits before she told him her name, and before she had learned his. Another five before she let him kiss her—oh, that first kiss had been sweet.
It was yet another five visits before she gave herself to him, and from then on, his visits were full of passionate kisses and his rough hands lifting up her skirts—all stolen moments of bliss, laughter, and apple juices running over their lips and chin.
“Sweet Sango, Lovely Sango—be my wife, bear my children,” he would sigh in her ear, running his fingers through her brown-black hair. It was his favorite thing to say to her, his favorite demand.
“Yes,” she would answer in kind—always—gasping as he filled her once more.
Sango didn’t know if he really meant it or not, but she didn’t care. She treasured those afternoons with the scoundrel. They made her feel alive again, and they brought a smile to her face when she would go to bed at night.
He would come again tomorrow, another afternoon of sin and delight.
It made her giddy as she finished with the water pump, and she couldn’t stop the grin that spread itself across her face as she carried the bucket back to the house. Lady Kagome would be up soon, and she needed to prepare her favorite tea as well as the water for her bath.
In the kitchens, Sango set a kettle on the stove to boil and prepared a breakfast tray with scones and toast and jam. Akira, the house cook, happily helped her with the duty as she held her daughter Rin to her hip, a charming little girl of only two years old. They all chatted quietly as Sango fried an egg and plated it with a side of bacon. Finally, she placed a vase with a single pink rose in it—mistress’s favorite—and set off for her chambers.
She walked the hallway towards Lady Kagome’s door, observing the many stuffed animals as she went. Mr. Higurashi had been an avid hunter when he was alive, she’d been told, and he often traveled to far away places for his hunts. His trophies were scattered throughout the estate, frozen in time. Sango thought them all garish, and many times had wrinkled her nose at them privately—but at the same time, she could not deny the natural beauty of them. Whomever had done the stuffing and posing of the animals was a master of their craft. Sango sometimes found herself doing a double-take at them, making sure they didn’t come to life before her very eyes.
Brushing the creeping thoughts out of her mind, Sango approached her mistress’s chamber door and managed to balance the tray long enough to turn the crystal knob, nudging the heavy door open.
Peeking inside, she was surprised to find Lady Kagome already out of bed.
“Why, good morning, my lady!” Sango greeted cheerfully, setting the tray on the breakfast table. “You’re up so early!”
Lady Kagome stood by her nightstand, her back to the handmaid, but her body twitched in an odd fashion, making her long white sleeping gown swish about her ankles. Then, Sango noticed the empty crystal pitcher tossed on the bed, one she had filled the night before.
That’s odd, she thought. Lady Kagome never drinks all of her water, she must be—
“Thirstyyy,” hissed her mistress, dry and chilling.
Timidly, Sango approached her, but everything in her body was telling her to run. Her heart refused to let her though. She would not abandon Lady Kagome.
“M-My lady?” she asked, reaching out for her shoulder.
Slowly, her mistress turned, and Sango froze in horror.
Her mistress’s eyes, which were usually such a lovely dark shade of sapphire, were now blazing, angry rubies, the pupils slitted like a cat’s. Blackened veins rushed to just under the surface around her eyes, juxtaposed against her moon-pale skin. Before her very eyes, her mistress’s teeth elongated, every single one sharpening to a razor-sharp point, creating a terrifying grin.
Sango was too scared to scream, too scared to make a sound other than the pathetic squeak that left her lips. She made to run, but Lady Kagome’s hands found her arms, snatching her back in place. She glanced down and saw she was gripped in elongating fingers, growing and stretching and finishing in almost talon-like claws that were black through and through.
“Thirsty!” hissed the monster who had been Lady Kagome.
It growled lowly as it ran its nose along Sango’s exposed throat, and then it ran a sickeningly long tongue up and down her skin and she trembled with fear and disgust. Ruby cat eyes met Sango’s honey brown, and the monster’s grin grew, hissing a single word:
“Apples.”
Sango tried to scream then, but the only sound that escaped her were the gurgles of blood that fell out of her mouth when the monster’s teeth bit her throat.
o0o
Kagome
The warmth of sunlight on her face woke her, and she murmured happily as she opened her eyes. She felt refreshed, more so than she had in a long time. Her body tingled all over, from her fingertips to her toes, to the top of her head and back again.
She felt good.
Blinking, Kagome realized her surroundings. She was in the gardens, laying on one of the stone benches. She let out a confused laugh, amused with herself. How in the world had she wound up asleep in the garden?
Her lips felt sticky, and she licked them experimentally, finding they were coated in something delicious and tart—like jam. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and would have been surprised to find the transfer of redness if there wasn’t already so much of the same red all over her palm and fingers—as well as underneath her fingernails.
Fingernails which had grown over an inch in one night.
Disturbed, Kagome looked down at herself and saw she was still in her sleeping gown, and it was covered in the sweet red substance—down her front, down her arms, and a little on her feet (which were caked in a mixture of the stuff and dirt).
Around her feet, piled haphazardly, were koi fish. Something savage had happened to them, for they were ripped to shreds and barely recognizable.
Kagome stood, her brow furrowing, and she began to walk around the ponds, seeing they’d all been emptied of their fish. That was when she saw it.
A body.
She slapped a hand to her mouth to stifle her scream. Carefully, she crept over to it, peering over the edge of a rosebush to see one of her groundskeepers, his throat jaggedly opened and crudely exposed to the afternoon sun. Birds chirped, unperturbed by the presence of a dead body. How could something like this happen in the middle of the day? Kagome thought. How could something so awful happen when there were songbirds, roses, and sunshine?
Kagome trembled, and rushed back to the house, and she saw more bodies on her way, scattered about the grounds. More gardeners, more servants—all with the same animal-like wounds.
“SANGO!” she screamed as she got to the back door, already slightly open, “SANGO PLEASE—HELP!”
Kagome pushed it open with more force than necessary, and it flew off its hinges, crashing into the opposite wall. Startled with herself, she paused a moment to stare at her sticky hand, but then she quickly remembered her task. She made to yell for her handmaid again, but the sound caught in her throat when she saw the sights before her.
Her servants, the friendly, familiar faces that had cared for her—some since she was a child—they were all dead. Throats slashed or ripped, arms and legs with scratches through their clothes to their skin and bone. Kagome gagged, retched—but nothing came up. Her body refused to bring anything up from her stomach.
All throughout the hall bodies were found, eyes staring up in permanent fear and shock. Something horrible had attacked them all, and for some ungodly reason, Kagome had been spared their fate.
She fled back towards her chambers, tiptoeing around the horrors in the hall, her eyes flicking over faces and her father’s trophy animals—some of them covered in the blood from the poor victims. All of them were victims, Kagome realized. The animals and the bodies. A chill ran through her, and she finally reached her chambers.
The door was flung open, hanging on one hinge when she got there, and inside… lay Sango.
“No,” Kagome gasped tearfully. She rushed over to the sweet handmaid, falling to her knees, shaking her. “No, no, no!” She began to cry, “P-Please Sango… N-No…”
In her attempts to shake her handmaid—no, her friend—Kagome saw Sango had bled profusely, and it was sticky.
Sticky… like her own hands felt.
Shuddering, Kagome tapped her finger on the pool of blood underneath Sango, rolling it around on her thumb. It felt the same. She turned her shaking hands over and realized how foolish she’d been: she was covered in blood, not jam. The whole house was covered in blood, in fact.
But why, Kagome thought, doesn’t it smell like blood?
She pressed her whole hand into the cool puddle of red, and brought the dripping palm to her nose, sniffing.
Kagome moaned.
Before she could stop herself, she was greedily licking and sucking her hand clean of it. It tasted of apples and cinnamon, so good it made her shudder with delight. She dove to the floor, running her tongue along the soaked rug, desperate for more of that deliciousness.
“Look at you, little fang,” a deep voice rumbled behind her. “Look at this mess you made.”
Kagome wheeled around in fright, backing up into the nightstand, but then she stilled.
Standing before her was her mysterious dream man, in all his tall, sleek ebon-haired glory. She shuddered again, but for an entirely different reason.
“Who-Who are you?” she asked, her voice quavering.
Golden eyes softened, stepping towards her, “I am Sesshomaru, little fang.” He looked back behind him at the door, and then to Sango’s lifeless form, then back at her, “You’ve been a very naughty girl.” He shook his head, tutting his tongue at her. He knelt before her, holding out his hand. His large cloak fanned around him.
Kagome hesitated, eyes wide and fearful, “W-What?”
His head tilted, and an amused smile played across his lips, “Do you not realize, angel? This?” He gestured to Sango, to the blood, to the door. “This is you.”
It took Kagome a moment to grasp his meaning, and then her eyes narrowed, sitting up defensively, “I did no such thing! I would never!”
The man called Sesshomaru chuckled, “Oh, my sweet angel, yes you did. The blood around your mouth and staining your teeth tells it true.”
“N-No—”
“It’s on your hands,” he told her. “It’s under your claws… all over your clothes…”
“Claws?” Kagome asked.
Sesshomaru took her hand and held it up to her face. “Yes,” he told her. “Claws.”
She snatched her hand back to herself, looking at him up and down, “What are you telling me?”
Once again, Sesshomaru held out his hand, “Come. I will show you.”
Kagome didn’t take his hand, but she stood on her own. He chuckled at her, and gestured to the mirror on the other side of her chambers, where she had sat so many times while Sango brushed her hair, where she stared emptily at herself. Only now…
Now, there was nothing there.
She was standing before the mirror, and nothing was reflected within it, other than her own room. Even Sesshomaru, who was only a few feet from her and also in front of the mirror, wasn’t reflected.
Kagome had heard the stories. They’d been told to her by her father when she was young, and when she’d insisted on a scarier bedtime story. But those were only stories, then. Only silly little stories to tell children, and not a horrifying reality.
But Kagome could deny it no more.
“I… I did this,” she breathed. She wanted to vomit, hugging her bloody hands around herself.
“Yes,” Sesshomaru replied. “The first feed is always… eventful. You did well. Very well.”
“‘Well?’” Kagome repeated incredulously, whirling around on him. “In what way is any part of this well done?”
He blinked, “I thought you might run into town for more, but you settled for koi fish once you ran out of warm bodies.” He wrinkled his nose, “I imagine you did not get much sustenance from them.” Sesshomaru looked at her with his golden eyes, impressed, “You showed restraint. That is highly uncommon for a newcomer.”
“I killed my friends,” she hissed at him.
“You killed your servants, little fang,” Sesshomaru corrected. “Let us not play pretend.”
“I cared about them!” Kagome shouted.
He blinked, sighing. “Hn, that may be, and it is… regrettable that my gift has caused you such dist—”
“YOUR GIFT?!” she screeched. “YOU DID THIS TO ME?!”
Sesshomaru laughed, “Oh my darling little fang, are you really so slow?”
“I AM NOT YOURS!” Kagome bellowed, her voice making the windows tremble.
In a flash, she was in his arms, his beautiful face a mere breath away from her own, “But you are, angel. You are mine. I made you.”
“A monster,” Kagome cried, trying to shove him off her. “You made me a monster!”
“I set you free,” Sesshomaru growled, holding her tighter.
She hissed and broke away from him, throwing herself out of the window, leaping through the glass. She flew.
She could fly.
How many times had she dreamed of taking flight into the clouds, of taking herself far away from her misery?
But not like this, she thought woefully. Never like this.
The afternoon sun had disappeared into gray clouds that dripped rain all over her, soaking her, rinsing her clean. Kagome closed her eyes, basking in it.
Again she felt strong arms around her, and she struggled in the air, turning and fighting against him, but they held fast. His tongue licked at her throat, lapping up the reaquafied blood on her skin. The sensation of it and the growling purr against her chest excited her, and she felt her nipples hardening, wet and cold from the rain. When his tongue found her bloody lips, she hungrily accepted it before she knew what she was doing. The growl deepened and he shoved his tongue into her mouth, cleaning her teeth with it, and suddenly it felt… familiar.
She fisted her bloody hands in his now-soaked cloak, forcing her own tongue into his mouth, feeling his fangs and realizing she had her own. Kagome bit into his bottom lip, sucking it and tasting his blood. Again, it was familiar—citrus and mint. Her body was renewed by the flavor, new, intense tingles coming in waves all over her. She was breathless when she wrenched herself from him, disgusted with her desire and arousal. She flew back to her balcony, slumping to the ground and refusing to look into her bedroom.
Sesshomaru landed gracefully in front of her, kneeling. “I will give you a choice, little fang—”
“Kagome,” she said sharply, raising her head to meet his wicked, handsome face. “My name is Kagome.”
He nodded slightly, gently. “I will give you a choice, Kagome,” he said. “You can either stay here and eventually be discovered and then caged for the rest of your life—really and truly caged. Or, you can come with me.”
“And do what?” she asked, glaring.
“Learn,” Sesshomaru said simply.
“Learn what?”
“What it means to have the gift, what it means… to be one of us.”
Kagome stared at him for a long time, listening to the rain pound around them, pattering against the windows. Finally, she sighed, “Where would we go?”
Sesshomaru grinned, flashing his elegant fangs, “Wherever we wish. Everywhere, anywhere, nowhere.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but then something caught her ear. She held up a hand to stop Sesshomaru from speaking again, beckoning him to listen with her. They both heard it. Through the sound of the wind and the storm, through the bloodied halls of the Higurashi Estate, somewhere…
...a child was crying.
Kagome’s eyes widened.
“Rin,” she breathed in shock. “She’s alive.”
Sesshomaru tilted his head, peering at Kagome, “Who’s Rin?”
o0o
Miroku
29 Years Old
The Scoundrel
(The Next Day)
Miroku whistled as he walked towards the stables of the Higurashi Estate, happily anticipating his time with his beloved Sango. Today might be the day, he thought to himself with an easy smile. Today might be the day we run away together. He’d often proposed it to her after they’d exhausted themselves, staring up at the roof of the stable.
“How?” she would ask.
“We’ll take the horses and a sackful of Hatchi’s apples, and set off on the horizon,” he would tell her.
But then she would claim Lady Kagome needed her, that she had to make sure she would be alright. He would insist the rich heiress could afford to find another handmaid, but still Sango would resist. She was loyal. Miroku smiled. It was a redeeming quality she had, his sweet Sango. One he respected. She was quite a woman, and he’d known that the moment he laid eyes on her.
Yes, he’d had many a lover in his brief time on this earth, but none were as sweet, as fierce, or as lovely as his Sango.
Miroku saw the stables a short distance away, down the hill, and he couldn’t help himself—he ran to them. To her.
As he got close, however, he could hear the horses screaming. Not whinnying. Screaming. The doors were latched to the stable doors, but they were creaking in protest to the horses trying to break out. Curious and alarmed, Miroku peered inside through a crack in the slats. There was nothing out of the ordinary. The horses appeared to be fine. Just the smell of hay and shit and mud—but another whiff of the air told him something else.
Blood.
His heart pounded as a breeze kicked up and sent more of the sickening coppery smell to his nose. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
Miroku sprinted up the hill to the house, where he had never been before, all unfamiliar territory to him. He came upon what looked like the back of it, towards a path by a large garden. He froze in place when he saw them.
Bodies.
Strewn about the paths and a few in the garden themselves—throats torn open, blood dried on the dirt and stone.
His eyes darted about the dead, searching, hoping not to see her among them. He saw the doors leading inside had been blasted open by some incredible force. Hesitantly, he stepped inside.
More bodies. More blood.
Miroku gagged, nearly retched, but held strong as he walked among the dead. It smelled of blood and vomit and viscera.
And shit.
Through his revulsion, he called out her name. It echoed against the bloody halls, bounced off the trophied animals. He was shaking. He searched every room, called out wherever he could, and then that led him to the final area of the estate: the lady’s chambers.
He swallowed when he saw the door hanging from only one hinge, and when he rounded the corner, there was only a single body inside, under a pool of dried blood. An unattended breakfast sat on a table, spoiled, with a wilting pink rose. One of the large balcony windows was shattered, and the rug was still wet from the storm yesterday. Miroku’s eyes settled on the body again, scanning it from afar.
It was a woman.
Her hair had come loose from its bonnet, the same one he’d often torn away from his beloved Sango’s head so that he might run his fingers through her…
...brown-black hair.
He felt sick as he neared it, his stomach flipping as he knelt by it, and almost vomiting when he turned it over.
Beautiful Sango.
Sweet Sango.
His bride.
His love.
His vengeful goddess of beauty.
Her throat had been bitten clean through, nearly decapitating her. He took her in his arms, over his lap, and her head lolled sickeningly. Miroku fought another wave of nausea as he stared down at her. Sango’s lovely eyes stared soulessly up at the ceiling, her mouth agape in horror.
“We should have run,” Miroku whispered, weeping over her. “Oh, Sango… how I wish we would have run, my love.”
o0o
Later, when he’d cried all he could for the moment, he found a phone. Shakily, he dialed the operator. “Connect me to the city police station, to Detective Inuyasha’s desk, please,” he managed to say, albeit wavering with emotion.
“One moment.”
A pause.
A gruff, annoyed voice answered, “This is Detective Inuyasha. What can I do for you?”
Miroku found his voice, a little stronger this time, “Detective. This is Miroku—”
“Well, if it isn’t our favorite pillager!” the detective said with cheerful sarcasm. “What’s the matter—I forget to uncuff you this time?”
“This is serious!” he shouted into the receiver. “You need to come to the Higurashi Estate right away. Something awful has happened.”
The detective didn’t say anything at first, “You sound genuine.”
“I am!” Miroku insisted. “Please come.”
“Is it a murder scene?”
“Worse,” he said. “It’s a slaughter.”
o0o
Two of the detectives that came by had to step out and give their afternoon meals to the bushes. No one could believe what they were seeing. Miroku answered whatever questions they had, watching as the coroners wheeled out body after body. Detective Inuyasha hadn’t said a word, however, observing the details of every angle of every corpse they found. It was a long while before he came out of the house again, approaching Miroku with a serious expression.
“You know if there was a kid staying here?” he asked.
Miroku tried to think, his arms folded to keep his hands from shaking, “Uh…” He swallowed, nodding, “Yes. I believe so. Sango mentioned a little girl named Rin—daughter of one of the maids, or a cook.” He looked into the detective’s serious, angry blue eyes, “Why?”
Inuyasha pointed his thumb behind him, “There’s a kid’s bed in one of the servant’s quarters. That room looks like it was barricaded before or during the attack, but the barricade was pulled away afterward. And, thankfully, there isn’t a child among the bodies we’ve found.”
“That’s… good, I suppose,” Miroku agreed absently.
“And the lady of the house is also missing,” the detective went on. “Saw that fancy portrait of hers in the main hall. None of the bodies looked like her.”
“Kagome,” he told him.
Inuyasha nodded, “Kagome.”
Miroku swallowed, shaking his head, “Detective, have you ever seen anything like this before?”
The detective crossed his arms, putting his thumb to his lips as he pondered, “Personally? Once. But I’ve heard of more.”
That shocked him, “Really?”
Inuyasha nodded, “Yes, and the implication isn’t good.”
“What implication?”
The detective locked eyes with him, “This looks like a first feed.”
Miroku looked at him, confused, “A first… feed?”
“Yes. Do you know the stories? About night creatures, and how they’re born?”
He scoffed, “You can’t be serious.”
Inuyasha glared at him, “I am. I would not lie about something like this. We are in the midst of something incredibly dangerous: a newcomer.”
Miroku furrowed his brow, “A ‘newcomer?’”
“That’s what they’re called when they’re just born,” he said. “From what I saw inside, I’ve got a good idea of who it was, and your woman was her first victim.”
At that, the scoundrel’s brows narrowed in fury.
He growled. “Lady Kagome.”
o0o