Bound by Corruption by BelovedStranger

The Contract

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

Word Count: 2,161

Glossary:

Ningen—Human

Hakama—Loose Trousers

Nagajuban—Under Haori

Onna—Woman

Aijin—Lover

Inugami—Dog god/Spirit

EVEN BLINDED BY tears, Kagome could not mistake the presence before her for a mortal man.

His brilliant amber gaze, with its feline-like pupils, could never exist in the eyes of a ningen. She tried to blink away the moisture obscuring her vision so she could take in every detail of this being masquerading as a man. His hair was touched by starlight, and impossibly long. Silver tendrils spilled over broad shoulders, cascading down his muscular chest to mid-thigh. The silken mass shimmered beautifully, softening the young, angular face, and strong jaw, while his alabaster complexion accentuated the intriguing markings that graced his angelic—but unmistakably—masculine visage.

Two, mauve stripes slashed across his high cheekbones, with a cerulean crescent moon centered squarely on his proud forehead. When he blinked, she saw magenta coloring the back of his eyelids.

Unlike the vibrancy of his markings, his clothing was stark in contrast. His hakama were blacker than pitch, matching the nagajuban she saw peeking underneath the snowy white haori by the singular, horizontal cuts along either bicep. His obi was the only splash of color, matching the gold of his eyes. At his hip, he wore two swords. A warrior.

“Inu no Kami,” she breathed in awe, momentarily forgetting her peril. Unconsciously, she lowered her bow to her side.

The wickedly handsome being chuckled, the sound low and intimate, meant just for her, but Kagome detected a hint of mockery.

When he spoke, his voice was deep—sensual—as it caressed her eardrums. “No, onna, you are mistaken.” The two fingers holding her arrow squeezed, snapping the shaft as if it were nothing more than a twig.

Kagome flinched, surprised. Only then did she notice the raw energy saturating his entire being, dark and sinister. Before she could demand who he was, the shrine doors crashed open, bringing her back to the danger awaiting her. With the bandits’ entrance, fear returned. A whimper escaped her, her shoulders hunching defensively.

“Do you wish to be saved?”

More men spilled into the room. Outside the destroyed doors, she saw a crowd. Each man was dressed in armour and carrying weapons. She could not hope to defend herself for long. She hadn’t the arrows. And there was no escape. She knew the shrine had but the one entrance, and it was currently blocked by bandits.

Panic seized Kagome. Without looking away from the threat at the door, she grabbed onto her would-be saviour’s wide sleeve with her free hand. “Yes! Yes, please!”

“My aid does not come free,” he warned, while slowly easing her bow from her tight grip. His touch was warm and strong as he took her only means of defense, forcing her to rely wholly upon him. The bastard!

“Give that back!”

“Now we’ve got you, girly,” snickered one of the bandits, his grin a mirror of the others. Lewd. Malicious.

Tensing, Kagome’s attention rounded on the human threat.

“Let’s get her, boys!” hooted another. Dozens hollered their agreement, all too eager—for her. And yet, for all their excitement, their steps where slow as they eyed the being who stood tall before her warily.

Terror clamped around her heart like a vice. Shuffling to the side, she effectively used the beautiful stranger’s larger body to hide from the approaching men. In this moment, it was not the entity before her she feared but her fellow man.

“Please!”

“Look at me.” Before she could comply, fingers nudged her chin upwards. Oh, so gentle. She stared into the unfathomable depths of molten gold.

“Tell me. What do you desire?”

Unable to look away, Kagome felt as though she were falling into his extraordinary eyes. “Deliverance.” A whispered plea.

“Shall I aid you?”

“Yes!”

“Then we are in accord?”

“Yes.” She didn’t know what she was agreeing to, what price she would have to pay, but it wouldn’t matter if the bandits got their hands on her.

Another chuckle was his answer, cruelty personified, when his thumb caressed her bottom lip. She flinched from the sting, belatedly remembering that she’d biting too hard, causing blood to spill.

His nostrils flared. Scenting her. “You must be certain. There is no going back. No room for regret.” His words held warning, and anticipation.

The approaching men sealed her fate. Again, she agreed.

He grinned at her almost kindly, fangs peeking from his sculptured mouth. So sharp were they that one pierced his bottom lip. Blood welled. Then he was bending his great height over her, before his lips collided with hers.

Kagome’s eyes widened, dislodging another tear.

The gentle hand at her chin tightened cruelly, forcing her mouth open for his wicked tongue. She gasped, unwittingly granting him deeper access. She tasted iron—his blood. Before she could recoil in alarm, pain lanced her bottom lip where she’d torn flesh. His fang was sharp, widening the self-inflicted wound. Making her bleed anew. She flinched but could not escape as he sucked on her abused appendage. Tasting her.

With the bandits approaching, all she felt was fear and shock. There was no loathing for the liberties taken by this creature of darkness, nor enjoyment at experiencing her first kiss.

Suddenly, a voice not her own intruded in her mind—his. A chant.

With blood, I bind thee. By our vows, our fates intertwine, until our contract is fulfilled. Or death releases you.

The kiss ended as abruptly as it had begun.

“Looks like we’re interrupting, boys.”

Jarred back to reality, Kagome stiffened. The bandits had them surrounded. More male laughter erupted.

“Stand aside, pretty boy. This one’s ours. Unless you want to be fucked, too. You’re girly enough,” another taunted, threatened.

Seemingly indifferent to their malice, her saviour mapped a wet path down her cheek with the soft pad of a clawed finger, before bringing the dew he’d captured to his lips, drinking her tears.

“Aijin, if you do not wish to see their deaths, close your eyes.” An ominous warning.

Nodding her head mutely, she did as he suggested. She felt him leave her side, making her feel terribly alone. Vulnerable. She nearly reached for him, almost took a step after him. Instead, she bit her tongue and winced at the pain, tasting their mixed blood as she did.

She grimaced, revolted.

Yet, she was relieved. She was saved.

Panicked and terrifying screams rent the air, distracting her from the significance of what they’d shared, of what she’d done. She jerked back in surprise, only to trip on the stairs that led to the alter. Unable to catch herself, she fell in a painful heap, but swiftly rolled to her knees with her back to the door. Before she could regain her feet, she heard an unnatural tearing, ripping sound, then liquid splattering across the floor. Gurgling followed. More screams, more shouts of terror—of agony.

Her eyes snapped open to fall on the shadows played along the floor and wall beyond the alter, revealing nightmarish images for all their obscurity. Behind her, forms flew through the air, while others were torn apart, and an endless spray of dark shadows escaped the slain before they were discarded on the ground like refuse. She couldn’t bring herself to turn, to look. But neither could she compel herself to close her eyes. She stayed where she was, kneeling, hunched over, as though anticipating a blow.

Something wet struck the steps inches from her right. She jerked, eyes wide on the crimson splatter. Bile rose. Clamping her lips shut, her eyes—finally—followed suit as a tremor slithered down her spine. The sounds of the slaughter taking place in the close confines of the kami’s temple frightened her unbearably. She tried to muffle the awful noise by covering her ears, but her efforts were in vain. The violent deaths taking place at her back was heard all too clearly.

Until silence descended, deafening in its finality.

Before she could build the courage to lower her hands or open her eyes, fearful of what she might see, warm, sticky hands clasped her own, lowering them to her lap. Fear lanced her at the unknown, at the danger that had come for her.

Eyelids flying open, she saw her savior, crouched before her on the top stair. Blood was splattered across his white haori and painting the left half of his face, his throat. Even his hair was saturated in crimson stains. She stared, transfixed, as a drop fell from his chin. Despite the copious amount of blood saturating him, she saw no sign of a wound—and knew the ichor was not his. Her stricken gaze lowered to their clasped hands. More blood, now painted across her skin.

And his claws. Sharp. Deadly. Dripping blood.

Shock held her immobile for long seconds, until horror erupted inside her. She exploded into motion, yanking her hands away even as she sought escape. She was on her feet, backpedaling, eyes never straying from his imposing, unmoving, form. A mistake. She slipped on something slick and fell painfully on her rump, where she found a torso lying beside her, its inwards spilling out. She felt it, coagulating blood soaking into her red hakama.

Gagging, she moved to her hands and knees in a wild attempt to get away from the blood and gore, but she was stuck fast. All around her was carnage. Body parts and entrails littered the floor everywhere. The smell of iron, urine, and bowels infiltrated her nostrils, choking her on its foul stench—the scent of death.

There, nearly between her splayed hands, was a severed head. Opaque eyes, glossy in death, stared back at her with jaw open, mouth slack. A scream built inside her throat, bounced around her tortured mind, until a keening wail escaped to fill the loud silence. Blackness overtook her vision as she fell over in a dead faint.

WHEN SHE AWOKE, Kagome felt herself being held in a strong embrace. Slowly opening her eyes, her mind blissfully blank, she looked up into the amber gaze of her saviour. His face, neck, and hair no longer bore signs of carnage. Until she noticed the bloodstains on his haori—and on her own.

Gasping like a fish out of water, she pushed against his hard chest and out of his loosened hold. Crawling backwards, away from him, she gaped at him wordlessly. It was then that she realized that they were no longer inside the shrine, but in a wooded area next to a thin stream.

He tilted his head, watching her in eerie silence.

“W-who are you? What are you?!” demanded Kagome, her voice shrill. He’d denied being the Inu no Kami, but he was no mortal man, when a sinking feeling settled in her belly, making her ill. Before he answered, she knew what he was. Youkai.

“An inugami.”

She froze, her breath stilling in her lungs as she stared at him in dawning apprehension.

An inugami. Rare and powerful, this youkai could only be summoned by dark magic, or by the call of bloodshed and destruction. They were devious creatures who thrived on establishing contracts with ningen for the promise of violence, but for a price. Somehow, in her desperation, she’d summoned him. Remembering their brief conversation, dread filled her. By forging a contract with this daemon, she’d damned herself.

She swallowed thickly. “What—what do I owe you?”

The answer could be anything. There’d been no stipulations, no guidelines. Oh, gods!

“Your innocence.”

She sucked in a harsh breath, nearly swallowing her tongue. She spoke without thinking. A shout, a wail. “My maidenhead? I’m a miko! Carnal relations are forbidden!”

His grin was pure evil. She cringed.

“You mistake me. I do not speak of that virgin body of yours, if indeed that is what you truly are. Though, in time, you will gift yourself to me freely. Eagerly, even.” A confident grin lifted the corners of his perfectly sculpted lips. “No, I seek more. The opportunity to corrupt the pure light that surrounds you, to show you the darkness that dwells even within your heart, miko.”

“No!” His earlier insult against her character forgotten, horror suffused her.

Was it his aim to make her a dark miko? It was a fate worse than death, even that of the bandits’ cruel intentions.

“You and I have a contract, aijin. If you do not wish to honor it, then I can rightfully devour you, body and soul.”

Quivering at the promise in his words, one of her obaasan’s many proverbs came back to haunt her. ‘If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him.’ It was a precaution against blindly accepting anything without knowing what awaited ahead. Too little too late.

She’d been beyond foolish.

She could either pay the price for her impulsiveness or die. And she suspected, her death would be far worse at the hands of this daemon than it would have been had she faced the bandits alone.