Transgressions by wonderbug

Chapter Nine

IMPORTANT Author's note: Hello again! :) Where to even begin...first off, a thousand apologies for the ridiculously long delay. Life happens, but suffice it to say that I'm back & barring my sudden and unexpected death, committed to finishing this story! When I went on hiatus, I said that I'd only be updating again once the story is completely written - so, in the spirit of full disclosure, Transgressions IS NOT finished yet; however, I decided to go ahead and post this ONE chapter to let you guys know that I'm still alive & to tell you about a special writing project I'm launching in order to complete the fic in a timely manner: the Daily Transgressions series!

If you would like to follow along, I will be posting daily updates to Transgressions on my blog (see my profile for the link!). I'll be uploading the first part there in a few minutes :)

Once the project is complete, Transgressions will be written in full & I will resume posting on the various sites. In the meantime, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! For those of you who have been waiting, thanks so very much for hanging in there with me - and, of course, for all of the support & feedback over the years - hopefully the rest of the story will be worth the wait. ;) 

Chapter Nine

“…I think you know.”

He had not bothered to mask the loathing in his words. He did not bother to hide it now. Seething, he pinned her doe-like gaze, daring her to feign ignorance of his intentions.

Yes, you wretched girl. Knuckles cracked as he flexed his claws. You know full well what I want.

Bitterly, he studied her face, still somewhat astonished to find it before him once again. He had not expected her to return. And in such an irksome manner...

A muscle in his jaw tensed slightly. In a perverse way, he supposed her arrival was fitting.

It would not do for her to simply let him be. The gods had singled him out for torment, it seemed, and now here she was again, to punish him in his affliction.

She would never agree to such terms. He had said those words to her out of spite, knowing that she would refuse him. Had she not already? Had she not humiliated him, rejected him—

“All right.”

He looked at her sharply.

The wind stirred her glossy hair, a faint tinge of red dusting her cheeks. Her blue eyes shone as they held his, entrancing in their clarity.

“…If that’s what you want.”

His eyes narrowed. His lips thinned. She did not shrink from his menacing expression, though she stilled, appearing not even to breathe.

“Miko,” he said to her, a low rumble roughening his voice, “do you realize what you are agreeing to?”

Slowly, unfathomably, she nodded. Her flush deepened, although the icy breeze could be yet to blame. He had to know for certain that she had not mistaken him. He had to hear her give answer to his demands, to the dark hunger that stirred within him.

Looming over her, he said, “You would surrender yourself to a demon you have wronged? You would let me take you, ravage you…defile you, if I so choose?”

A shadow passed over her features before they hardened, her eyes flashing with a steely glint, though her voice was soft. “So long as you’ll help us put an end to Naraku and the Shikon no Tama, you can do whatever you want with me.”

He could feel the heat creeping into his gaze, her words stoking the white-hot blaze of his desire. How often he had thought of revenging himself upon her, her reiki snuffed like a candle flame beneath his unfettered youki, her body trapped beneath his own as he swallowed her desperate cries.

It was a scenario he despised as much as he craved. The knowledge that she could—and had—denied him had granted Sesshoumaru a measure of security in the face of his detestable fixation. And so her present acquiescence unsettled him. That she would she would let him have her, that she would allow him to fulfill his wants unchecked forced him once again into a precipitous position.

He resented her for shifting the burden of decision onto him—though there could be no choice but one. His pride would not permit him to back away from his own proposition. All that was left was for him to plunge ahead, down that path where his accursed lust was beckoning, pulling at him with the force of gravity.

“Very well,” he declared, gaze hooded as he regarded her intently. “Then this Sesshoumaru will aid you in your quest.”

She swallowed lightly, her lips parting as she exhaled. His eyes followed the curve of them, traced their supple outline. Full and ripe and red—he wondered how rich they would taste, how they would yield beneath the pressure of his fangs.

I will show you, he thought as he reached for her, fingers sliding to the back of her neck, claws tangling in her hair as he angled her face toward his. I will show you how I have suffered because of you.

A mewling in the distance drew him short.

“Kirara-chan!” the miko gasped as she tore from his hold, dark waves of hair rippling softly through his fingers.

She dropped to her knees at the side of the injured neko youkai, the discarded Tessaiga unceremoniously denting the snow. Frowning, Sesshoumaru retrieved it. For the first time, he held his father’s fang with no trace of discomfort. Yet it brought him little satisfaction.

There was a wrongness in this. A sense of anticlimax. To possess the sword without having wrested it from Inuyasha was an attainment without savor.

Nor did Tessaiga relish its change in ownership. He could feel the dim hum of its reluctance. The sword tolerated him because of the girl’s wishes, but it did not accept him. Perhaps it never would. At the moment, however, Sesshoumaru was not much inclined to care.

A few feet away, the miko was fumbling with the fastenings of her curious outer clothing. Into the opening at her breast, she tucked the small feline, cradling her to her chest.

“Don’t worry, Kirara-chan,” she soothed, stroking pale fur with one hand as she supported the bundled youkai with the other. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

“Miko.”

She glanced up at him in faint surprise, as though she had forgotten he was there. It irritated him how easily he could slip from her mind—in no small part because she could not seem to grant him the same reprieve.

“Sesshoumaru,” she addressed him, unabashed, “is there shelter anywhere nearby? Kirara-chan needs to warm up so she can heal more quickly.”

“How quickly she heals is none of my concern.”

The miko glared. “It’s your fault Kirara-chan’s wounded in the first place.”

He returned her glare, her audacity rankling him. “It is well within my rights to strike down trespassing demons.”

“She didn’t mean you any harm,” the miko insisted, setting her jaw. “And, anyway, she only came here because I asked her to. If you’re going to punish anyone, then punish me.”

His eyes were liquid, his pupils mere slivers of black.

Miko, he thought as he turned from her, his expression darkening, I intend to.

“This way,” he said.

There was a scrambling behind him as she gathered up her bow and quiver and shouldered her ponderous yellow sack. He led her a few miles through the frozen wilderness, the trees’ bony fingers scratching at his hair and sleeves. The girl kept close to him. Every so often, he glanced back at her, though she did not meet his gaze. Her eyes were downcast, her delicate features etched in concern for the youkai she held in her arms.

When they arrived at the cave, she set to work at once, gathering branches for a fire. As the flames crackled to life near the entrance, she lay the neko close by on her folded outerwear and began rifling through the sack. It intrigued him to watch her from his spot against the wall.

From a white box labeled ‘First Aid Kit’, she extracted a small square pouch, which she tore apart to reveal a cloth smelling strongly of astringent. Tenderly, though needlessly, she dabbed at the neko’s closing wounds, accomplishing little more than blotting out the spots of blood. Did she not understand that youkai did not require the same care as humans?

She next produced a metal bowl in which she melted a small quantity of snow. By now, the neko was rousing and well enough to drink. As the demon lapped at the water, the miko rummaged once again, retrieving a metal container smelling vaguely of fish and a device which she cranked to unseal it. The feline purred as the container was laid beside her, while Sesshoumaru wrinkled his nose at the pungent stink of salted meat.

The girl smiled warmly. “Eat up, Kirara-chan!”

After her meal, the neko began to cleanse her fur, while the miko alternated between relief and anxiety. Each time the demon shook her head and mewled in discontent at the taste of alcohol, the girl mistook the sounds for ones of pain and would offer fretful apologies as she wrung her hands in distress. As daylight waned, her needless worrying began to grate on him, and he cut a sharp look to the recovered feline.

“Leave us,” he ordered coolly.

At once, the nekomata bristled, transforming in a rush of flame. In a low growl she told him that she would not leave without her friend.

Before he could correct her, the miko intervened.

“It’s okay, Kirara-chan,” she said, smiling slightly. “You don’t have to worry about me. You should probably head back to Edo, anyway, now that you’re feeling better. Sango-chan must be wondering where you’ve gone.” She reached forward, ruffling the cat youkai behind the ears. “Thanks for bringing me here. I’ll see you again soon, okay?”

With one last wary look, the nekomata departed, the miko watching after her until her fiery figure vanished into the night sky. The fire had burned quietly to embers, and with the nekomata’s departure, the cave was plunged into darkness.

Though he could still see, of course, he knew that the miko was virtually blind. Apart from his reflective gaze, he was invisible to her, and so from the shadows, he silently observed her.

She stood a short distance away, still staring outward, her arms crossed over her chest. Her posture was tense, expectant. Each shallow breath formed a trembling cloud of mist.

“Take off your clothes,” he commanded.

She turned toward him slowly, arms uncrossing as her eyes locked with his. If his tone left any room for argument, his gaze certainly did not. Bending slightly, she pulled off her boots and socks. After a moment’s hesitation, she tugged her shirt over her head and unfastened her pants, pushing them to the cavern floor.

His eyes widened a fraction at the sight of her, his tongue skimming along the points of his fangs.

"Come here," he heard himself say.

Trembling and mostly bare, she approached him on timid footsteps, arms crossed once more over her chest. When she drew close enough, he pulled her wrists apart, his breath mingling with hers, shimmering in the space between them.

Her breathing quickened. With each rapid intake of air, the swell of her breasts lifted tantalizingly toward him, straining against the mere scraps of cloth that restrained them. He closed his eyes briefly, struggling to retain possession of his senses as he remembered their weight, their texture.

He circled around her, one claw tip slipping beneath the thin black strap on her shoulder. She shivered as he slid it down, her creamy flesh spilling over the side of its restraint.

"What is this contraption?" he asked her lowly, rubbing the sleek, stretchy material between his fingers.

"It's—it's called a bra," she stammered.

His hand trailed down from her shoulder, his fingers hooking into a similar band of fabric at her hip. As they glided along it, his knuckles grazed her naked backside, and she started, gasping, at the sensation.

His voice pitched lower still. “And this?”

“A...a thong,” she whispered, her answer so faint even he could scarcely hear it.

He could feel the heat of her body despite the cold. He basked in its heady warmth, savoring the scent of her hair and her skin, the taste of her apprehension.

Brushing back her hair, he lowered his lips to her ear and said, “Remove them.”

Her fingers rose haltingly to the back of the bra. He watched her fumble at a set of tiny metal hooks until they at last popped free, the whole contraption now dangling loosely from her shoulders. As she slowly peeled the fabric away, he glimpsed the smooth pale curve of a breast through the gap between her arm and her chest.

He clenched his fist against the urge to seize it.

When she bent over slightly to step out of the thong, he forced himself to steady his breathing, willing himself to remain in control. Approaching her again, he ran a claw from the outside of her thigh to the underside of her breast, applying just enough pressure so as not to break the skin.

“Do you know what it means, for a daiyoukai to lust after a human?”

Hesitantly, she shook her head.

He smoothed his palm along the column of her throat, gripping the bottom of her jaw between his claws as he tilted her face back toward his own. He studied her features—her fair brow, partially obscured by the dark silky fringe of her bangs, her long sooty lashes and the brilliant, piercing blue eyes they fluttered over, her rose-dusted cheeks, and the delicate, damnable pout of her lips—the image of which had undone him months ago, and was fast undoing him again. Even now, he ached at her hateful beauty.

“It means that he is weak,” he continued, his free hand easing down the flat plane of her stomach, gooseflesh peppering her satiny skin in the wake of its descent. “Unworthy.”

She squirmed, her muscles flinching, feather-light, beneath his touch. “Sesshoumaru...”

“Do not,” he growled, tightening his hold on her jaw, “interrupt me.”

Her eyes widened, glittering, as his fingertips brushed the downy curls at the base of her torso. A whimper escaped her, and he relished the sound, even as he felt his composure crumbling.

“How low you have brought me,” he said, bringing her flush against him, the spikes of his armor digging into her tender flesh, making her wince. “Kagome.”

A shiver ran through her, but before he could take any satisfaction from it, her fingers were threading through his own, guiding him between her thighs. One claw split her cheek as she leaned her hips into the cradle of his hand, his name leaving her lips on a breathy sigh.

Frozen in disbelief, he watched a bead of her blood trail glistening down her face, her eyes half-lidded and fixed upon him. She wanted this. She wanted him. Through the red haze of his lust, he breathed in the tang of her arousal, felt the wet hot glaze of it against his skin. In that moment he would have severed his left arm anew, he would have razed his own kingdom to the ground and laid the ashes at her feet, just to have her say his name like that again.

He had not been prepared for this. He was hard and hungry and half-crazed, far more exposed and ashamed than she, despite her nakedness. She had bested him once again, and he grit his fangs bitterly in concession. He released her jaw, his fist striking out against the wall of the cave, blasting a hole in the solid rock. He breathed heavily, his other hand shaking as he removed it from between her legs, slick fingers gliding over the skin of her thigh.

“Get dressed,” he said, wrenching himself away from her. “We are leaving.”

xXxXxXx

She braced a hand against the wall of the cave as she watched him leave, still somewhat in a daze. A tremor wracked her frame, and it had nothing to do with the wintry weather.

What...what in Kami's name just happened here?

She couldn't explain what had come over him any more than she could explain what had come over her. One minute she was bare-naked and vaguely terrified, the next minute she was grinding against his hand like a cat in heat. She groaned, shaking her head in mortified disbelief.

An icy breeze rolled in from the cavern entrance. It licked up her legs, chilling the dampness lingering between her thighs, teasing against her tightened nipples and bathing her flushed face in a wash of crisp, cool air.

She'd thought this was what he wanted. She'd been prepared to be used by him—as prepared as she could be with her lack of experience, anyway. But when he'd started touching her...when finally she'd felt the bite of his claws amid that purposeful, downward course of his hand, something had taken hold of her. It was a rush of exhilaration unlike anything she'd ever felt before.

The world could have fallen away around her, and she wouldn't have even noticed. Or cared. All she had wanted—all she had needed in that moment—was for him to keep touching her still.

Why he had stopped was beyond her. Yet even now she craved him, her nerves as taut as a bow string fit to snap. She leaned back against the frigid wall behind her for support, hoping the shock of cold would steady her out. Her reaction scared her. She didn't understand it, was afraid of what it might mean.

Face it, Kagome, she told herself ruefully, you're a pervert.

Laughing a bit hysterically, she set about collecting her scattered articles of clothing in the almost total darkness. Finding her underwear with a toe, she shimmied it over her hips and around her breasts against another furious wave of arousal. Kami knows she'd never be able to look at this particular bra-and-panty set the same way ever again.

When at last she'd buttoned her coat and hefted her heavy backpack over her shoulders, she exited the cave to find him standing in the middle of a small clearing, the moonlight playing brilliantly over the long silvery fall of his hair. He looked so elegant, so perfectly composed. It was hard to imagine that only a short while ago he'd been manhandling her in some random cave.

Her stomach clenched traitorously as she approached him. A few steps away from him, he turned toward her, and suddenly, frighteningly, it dawned on her that she would actually have to face him.

Her heart leapt into her throat as he leveled the full force of his gaze upon her. During all the time they'd spent together, she had gotten pretty good at reading his near-inscrutable expressions. But now she found herself at an utter loss, his stony features betraying absolutely nothing.

At last his eyes cut to her right cheek, remaining there. When she raised her fingers to it, they came away sticky with blood.

“Clean yourself off,” he ordered briskly, turning on his heel again, “and follow me.”

Hurriedly, she scooped up a handful of snow and trotted after him, pressing the mound of soft ice crystals to her cheek. Her skin was soon numb from the cold, a trickle of pink snowmelt running between her fingers.

As the first rays of dawn crept over the horizon, she took the opportunity to study the silent daiyoukai striding ahead of her. He struck an imposing figure against the serene beauty of the surrounding wilderness. Three swords jutted from the crimson obi at his waist, the wicked points of his shoulder guards catching the red light of the rising sun. Belatedly she realized he must have had Toutousai forge him a new set of armor. The metal plating was of a lighter shade than she remembered, and more tapered to accentuate his powerful build.

“Your new armor looks nice,” she ventured.

He glanced back at her briefly before returning his attention to the snowy landscape ahead.

“It was forged from the scales of the scorpion daiyoukai Sutinguu.”

“Oh, yeah!” she said, perking up. “That was the demon you killed because his grandkids were nesting in your lands, right?”

“Yes,” he answered tersely, “but that isn’t why I slew him.”

She opened her mouth to ask him why when his tone and the timeline of past events suddenly hit her. That had been the night she’d lifted the seal from his arm…

Her jaw clicked shut. Nice going, Kagome, she berated herself inwardly.

Still, it made her heartbeat speed up to think that she could have such a profound effect on him, even if it had, unfortunately, resulted in a killing spree. She hoped that Sutinguu had at least deserved what was coming to him.

“Um, where are we going?” she tried again after a while.

“To collect my followers.”

Followers? Kagome blinked. Since when did Sesshoumaru have a posse, apart from that annoying little toad?

It was precisely at that moment that said toad came bounding into view, staff waving as he wailed, “Sesshoumaru-sama! Sesshoumaru-sama!”

“Jakken,” Sesshoumaru intoned, as the imp fell groveling at the daiyoukai’s booted feet. “What is it?”

“It-it’s Rin!” Jakken sobbed, fat yellowish tears oozing down his ugly green face. “She’s been taken!”

Sesshoumaru tensed, his hand going at once to Tokijin’s hilt.

“Wait, who’s Rin?” Kagome asked, stepping out from behind him.

Jakken sprang to his feet, pointing.

“Inuyasha’s miko!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here, ningen?”

“The name’s Kagome,” she snapped, “and I asked you first!”

“Rin is my ward,” Sesshoumaru answered her instead, leveling the point of his demonic sword at the prostrate imp. “Now explain.”

Kagome rolled her eyes as the sniveling resumed full-force.

“P-please, milord, have mercy! Naraku’s minions came upon us suddenly and t-took the girl. They headed north with her about an h-hour ago.”

“And you’ve just been sitting around this whole time?” Kagome bit out.

“Impertinent wench!” Jakken said, jumping up angrily. “I have been searching for milord!”

“You were too scared to go after them, weren’t you?”

Jakken turned an even uglier shade of chartreuse. “Why you filthy ningen—“

“Enough,” Sesshoumaru said, glaring at them both.

Jakken quailed while Kagome huffed, putting her hands on her hips. With one last frosty glance he turned from her, a cloud of youki gathering beneath his feet.

“Wait here,” he said as he began to rise.

“No way!” Kagome reached out, grabbing him by the sleeve. “I’m coming with you.”

“How dare you take hold of milord!” Jakken raged, lunging toward her with his staff upraised.

She sidestepped him easily, and he crashed into the snowbank behind her, spluttering and flailing—her eyes never leaving Sesshoumaru’s. He looked down at her a moment more in stern reproach before grasping her under the arm.

“Here—watch this!” she called out behind her as Sesshoumaru hoisted her up beside him, her yellow backpack slipping from her shoulders and sending Jakken face first into the snow again.

“...ilthy..uman!” he shouted after them around a mouthful of white powder, his lower half pinned beneath her backpack still.

She grinned back at him with a cheeky wave, her free arm looped around Sesshoumaru’s. As they sped forward through the icy air, she clung to him tighter, her entire front pressed firmly against him.

A blush spread across her cheeks as she registered their closeness. She could smell the earthy masculine scent of him, the soft fur of his pelt tickling lightly at her nose. Beneath the dense silk of his sleeve, she could feel the hard sculpted muscle of his upper arm—the fingers of which had, only a few hours ago, been nearly inside her.

She shifted at the thought, hyper aware of his hand’s proximity to her even now.

“Stop fidgeting,” Sesshoumaru said, peering down at her in keen disapproval.

“S-sorry!”

Relaxing her clutch on his arm, she forced herself to focus on the path ahead. They flew low over great forests of spindly, sharp-needled trees, skirted just above the jagged peaks of snow-capped mountain ranges. She strained her eyes and her miko senses, searching for any traces of Naraku’s distinctive youki.

“It’s no good,” she spoke after a while, frowning up at Sesshoumaru. “I can’t sense anything.”

“Nor can I,” he admitted, his face a similar mask of concentration—and disappointment. “The direction of the wind has changed.”

As they prepared to circle back, a faint distant glimmer caught Kagome’s attention. Her breath lodged in her throat.

Could it be…?

“Wait!” she said, tugging on the demon lord’s sleeve as she gestured ahead. “I see something over there, at the edge of that mountain.”

Sesshoumaru’s eyes narrowed. “What is it that you see?”

“...I’m not sure,” she answered lamely, “but I think it might be a Jewel shard.”

“It will have to wait for another time.”

“But, Sesshoumaru—”

A sudden blast of air cut her off, Sesshoumaru seizing her by the waist as the force of the attack threw her almost off edge of the youki cloud. She held the spiked ring of his pauldron in a death grip, the wind sorceress Kagura hovering before them in the aftermath.

“Well, well, Sesshoumaru-sama,” she said, her fan collapsing with a flick of the wrist. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show.” Her crimson eyes flicked from Tessaiga to Kagome. “Looks like you’ve been busy picking up Inuyasha’s scraps.”

“Watch it, Kagura!” Kagome yelled, lifting her longbow and taking aim. “Say one more thing about Inuyasha, and you’ll be lucky if there’s a scrap left of you.”

“My, that’s quite the weapon you’ve found,” Kagura said derisively. “I wonder if you know how to use it.”

Kagome grit her teeth. “Want to find out?”

“Where is Rin?” Sesshoumaru interrupted coldly.

Kagura’s gaze slid to the daiyoukai, resting upon him in a way that made Kagome’s blood boil anew.

“Why don’t you follow me and see?” the wind witch answered, turning about in midair and speeding toward the mountainside that had drawn Kagome’s attention before.

Taking hold of her again, Sesshoumaru hurtled after Kagura, his fangs bared, the crescent mark on his forehead perfectly visible beneath his upswept bangs. Bow in hand, Kagome mirrored his urgency, her heart pounding and muscles tensing in anticipation of the fight ahead.

There’s no doubt about it, she thought with increasing dread. We’re definitely headed straight into an ambush.

They touched down a few yards from Kagura, on the rocky expanse of a cliff. As Sesshoumaru released her, Kagome’s eyes widened, alighting at last on the source of that peculiar gleam.

“Kohaku-kun!” she gasped in relief as the taijiya boy emerged from behind a wall of rock.

At his side, a little girl clothed in orange and white appeared as well. Her wide brown eyes brightened joyfully at the sight of them, Kohaku grasping her by the wrist as she attempted to break and run.

“Sesshoumaru-sama!” the little girl cried out, struggling against Kohaku’s hold.

Unsheathing Tokijin, Sesshoumaru stepped forward, growling low in his throat.

That must be Rin! Kagome realized with surprise. She never would have imagined Sesshoumaru’s ward would be a human child. The mysteries just didn’t cease with this guy.

“Well done, Kagura,” an unfamiliar voice called out.

They turned toward the sound. From a dark tear in the mountainside, a small pale figure came slowly into view. Silver-white hair framed his childlike face, though there was nothing remotely innocent in his expression. Poised in his hand, a long wicked naginata gleamed, a bloodthirsty aura radiating from weapon and wielder both.

“I’ll admit I was skeptical about this plan of yours,” the newcomer continued, still addressing the wind witch. “But the child was the perfect bait after all.” A slow smile crept across his face as he looked toward Kagome and Sesshoumaru. “It seems the great daiyoukai of the West does have a soft spot for humans.”

Somehow, Sesshoumaru’s lethal expression grew more deadly still, the air seeming to darken around him. If looks could kill, Naraku’s latest incarnation would be dead a hundred times over.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“My name is Hakudoushi,” the scion replied. “And this,” he said, his smile widening as another ghostly face broke through the darkness above his shoulder, “is Mouryoumaru.”

Kagome blanched, unconsciously retreating a step as the rest of Mouryoumaru’s hulking body materialized from the shadows. He was the most horrific thing she had ever seen—an armored mass of youkai remains, cobbled together with Naraku’s blood and miasma. A creature of immense power and unadulterated malice—an utter abomination.

And at the heart of it was something else—something more terrible still…

“He is the one,” Hakudoushi continued, indigo eyes glittering darkly at Sesshoumaru, “who killed your half-breed brother.”