Unspoken Devotion: Requiem by Katja87

Chapter 1

   Unspoken Devotion: Requiem

I hate and I love. Perhaps you ask why I do so. I do not know, but I feel it, and I am in torment.

-Catallus, Odes, LXXXV

 A/N: Well, this is my first fanfiction. It was originally supposed to be a one-shot, but it just became so long that I've decided to split it up into three chapters. This fanfiction is based off my poem, "Unspoken Devotion," so if you'd like to get a condensed summary of this story feel free to read it. Also, much thanks to Chaos-and-Serenity for all her help on this first chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha or any of its characters.

* * * * *

Kagome had never liked smoke. When she went out to dinner she always sat in the non-smoking section, and every time a fire engine went by she was always the first to cover her ears and cringe. In all the years she had cooked not one of her meals had been the least bit overdone, and she would under no circumstance attend an outdoor barbecue.  The reality was very simple and clear. Kagome did not like smoke.

And yet, she mused, here I am.

Kagome paused in the doorway for only a moment before entering and taking her usual seat in the corner. Heads turned in curiosity as she entered and passed, but quickly turned back upon recognizing a familiar face.

Omoidasu was a legendary bar to its customers for its cheap liquor, unpretentious employees and apathetic clientele. No one here interfered in each other's lives. The people here were known to be just as content sitting quietly and brooding over their own misfortunes.

And that's the way we like it, Kagome thought, looking around sadly. If we had something to brag about, we'd be doing it in some elaborate place. A gentleman began to cough violently and his buddies immediately whacked him on the back, laughing. Kagome averted her gaze from the scene and stared at her table. Not here.

Her gaze seemed hazy and she rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands like a child. It was the atmosphere in this place. The entire bar seemed smoky, but from what she couldn't say. There were no candles adorning the tables and no faulty fireplace to be seen. Kagome held her face in her hands. She really hated smoke.

Briefly, she wondered why she even came here. There were plenty of other establishments in the neighborhood, ones most certainly nicer than this. It wasn't as if she were strapped for cash. That very thought made her chuckle idiotically.

No, it was something more than money, something more than the comfort of monotony. She smiled behind her hands. These people knew her, although they may have never spoken before. They understood her plights and accepted that she didn't need to talk about her trials, but rather muse over them quietly in some forsaken corner. Nearby she heard a glass shatter and a woman release a wretched sob. I'm just like them, she admitted sadly. Just like them.

 Suddenly she felt a presence hover over her and her heart leapt into her throat. It had been so long since they had last seen each other, and yet the hope stayed hidden from her, warm and safe in the dark, refusing to fade.

 It couldn't be....

Before she truly considered what she was thinking, she ripped her hands away from her face and stared into the waiter's startled brown eyes. Her heart simultaneously rejoiced and fell.

There were so many dissimilarities it was staggering. There were dull brown eyes where piercing golden eyes should be. Instead of a refined silvery mane, there was a crop of messy black hair. Flesh, dark and marred from unforgiving years had replaced smooth, alabaster skin.

"Of course it wouldn't be him," she chastised quietly while looking up at the shocked waiter. "...He'd never be in a place like this."

Her quiet mumbling seemed to shake the waiter out of his daze and after a few seconds of recollection he put a hand on her shoulder. "Miss, are you alright?"

Kagome stiffened at the contact and the young man hurriedly pulled back his hand, muttering apologies. She stared into his disheartening brown eyes and swallowed against the painful lump that had risen in her throat.

 "No, it's alright. It's just that I..."She blinked back the tears threatening to fall. "I thought you were someone else."

The young waiter instantly relaxed and his shoulders slumped in relief. "Well, that's a relief," he sighed. "For a moment I thought I had offended you in some way."

 Kagome shook her head. "No, no you didn't offend me. I guess I was just...surprised is all."

 The young man smiled. "I look a lot different than the one you expected, huh?"

 She smiled sadly. "Yes, you do."

 There was a brief silence and he absently ran his fingers through his hair. "My name's Shiro by the way."

 Kagome remained silent.

Shiro rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Just in case, you know, you need anything.  You know who to ask for."

 "Oh, okay." Kagome dragged her gaze away. "Thank you."

 He chuckled nervously, pulled out a notepad and grabbed the pen behind his ear. "So, what can I get you?"

 The easy moment was gone and Kagome wrung her hands beneath the table. "Whiskey."

 Shrio wrote down the order and Kagome went to breathe a sigh of relief now that the forced conversation was over. However, she refrained from doing so when she didn't hear his retreating footfalls. She glanced up in confusion and the waiter smiled, his eyes alight with a mixture of anxiety and compassion.

"You know," he began hesitantly, "I'm kind of glad I look different than the person you were waiting for." He smiled sympathetically. "Whoever he is, I think he hurt you real bad."

She was shocked at his declaration and watched him as he turned and hurried off to attend some customers who had just taken their seats. For a moment she wished she had met him earlier, loved him before...

You are different, Kagome assured him. You're quiet and meek and...She drew in a shuddering breath. ...Human.

She had accepted long ago that no one would ever be able to compare to him. "He was mine for a moment," she told herself. "That should be enough."

But it wasn't. After all, as he so often liked to remind her, he was irreplaceable...

* * * * *

She curled into his warmth, basking in the sight of him in the moonlight. The sight of his body made her blush and she smiled, one of her bashful smiles that always emerged once they had just made love. He briefly smiled back, one of those rare shows of emotions he reserved only for her.

 He tenderly ran his hand down her side, mindful of his deadly claws. She squirmed as he lightly grazed over a particularly sensitive spot, and she caressed his markings in reprisal. He sucked in his breath and she was delighted to feel him shiver.

 Nothing like their lovemaking ever made her feel so powerful and she reveled in just how good and how right it felt to be with him. She sighed when he entered her and his first thrust was one of many that sent her soaring over the edge. He paused just long enough to kiss her and she gladly let him in.

 Their tongues danced and he resumed moving, slow, soft deliberate strokes that caused her to arch her hips impatiently in order to take him deeper. She whined in displeasure when he stilled and ran his silky lips over her collarbone.

 "Oh please," she begged.

 His deep chuckle made her tremble with desire. "Insatiable," he hotly whispered against the skin of her throat.

 She giggled against the pressure in her belly. "I know," she sighed. "I blame you."

 Suddenly his piercing amber eyes filled her vision and he ran his tongue over her lips. "That is something I do not mind taking credit for."

 He kissed her again and continued his timely strokes, adding a little more force each time until Kagome was sobbing with pleasure. She hit her high, and as she spiraled back down she felt him stiffen and give himself to her.

 He pulled out of her, that very sensation exquisite and satisfying, and pulled her to his chest. He rested his chin atop her head and she sighed contently, twirling her hands through his silky hair and wiping the tears from her eyes.

 She was abruptly pulled away from his warmth and he tilted her chin to stare at her. "Why do you do that?"

 She wrinkled her brow. "Do what?"

 He sighed in the darkness. "Why do you cry?"

 She worried her bottom lip at the odd question. "I cry when I get hurt or when I'm sad-"

 He placed a finger to her lips. "That does not answer my question."

 She wrapped her hand around his strong wrist and pulled his hand away. "I don't understand."

 He pulled his arm from her grasp and cupped her face. "Did I hurt you?"

 She couldn't shake her head. "No," she answered.

 "Do I make you sad?"

 "No, of course not."

 He ran a finger down her cheek. "Then your answer does not explain why you shed tears in my presence."

 She smiled, and even though it was dark she knew he could see it. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled herself close, settling her ear just over his heartbeat. "You make me happy."

 There was a long pause. "Humans cry when they are happy?"

 She nodded against his chest. "Yeah, sometimes."

 He snorted. "Ridiculous."

 She sat up and poked him. "Oh, really? And just what is so ridiculous about it?"

 He captured her finger with little effort. "It is a waste of precious energy. Besides," He kissed her fingertip lightly. "I can think of a much better way to exert myself."

 She hovered over him and kissed him deeply. When she pulled away he tried to follow. "Now who's the insatiable one?" she asked.

 He grasped the back of her neck and pulled her down to him. "I blame you," he whispered huskily.

 She reached beneath the blankets and found him, thrilled when he released a strangled gasp. "That's something I don't mind taking credit for."

 He suddenly reached out and stopped her movements and she looked down at him, surprised. "What's the matter? Did I do something wrong?"

 He shook his head and sat up so they were face to face. "Why are you here, Kagome?"

 She looked at him hesitantly. "What do you mean?"

 He sighed and reached for her hand, laying it against his heart. "I want to know why you are here...with me."

 She moved closer. "Do I need a reason?"

 He looked away and she could feel him sigh. "No..."

 She cocked her head and could sense his tension even without touching him. "...But you do," she finished, and when he refused to look her in the eyes she knew she was right. She brought her hand to his face and cupped his cheek, turning his head to face her. "I'm here because I want to be. I love you."

 And that was enough. He closed the distance between them and kissed her softly, the most honest and loving kiss she had ever received since....

 She winced inwardly at the memory threatening to surface, and instead concentrated on the feel of his lips against hers. When he broke the kiss she opened her eyes and stared at him, focusing on his regal markings and inhuman amber eyes. The realization that he chose to be here with her was staggering, and as she stared the hated memory slowly sank under the weight of that very revelation.

She suddenly smiled under his intense gaze, the first facial movement either of them had made since the kiss. When he raised one eyebrow in response she was pleased to know she still possessed the ability to catch him unaware.

 "What," she asked innocently, "did you think I was here only for the sex?"

 He grinned, a deadly fang protruding from his lip. "It is plausible."

 She opened her mouth and slapped him lightly, but he easily deflected her blow. Before she could blink he had her pinned beneath him. They were nearly nose to nose.

 She arched teasingly against him and smiled when he closed his eyes in bliss. She cried in delight when he moved against her, letting her feel his desire.

 She gasped for breath. "You really are too much. You know that right?"

 He leaned down and licked the tip of her nose. "Priestess, I am one of a kind."

 He smiled and met him for a kiss. "I know..."

 * * * * *

 The memory was both beautiful and heartbreaking.

In the beginning Kagome wanted nothing more than to be rid of the accursed memories. She even went so far as to invite a man she had known for the better part of a week into her home with promises of more 'intimate relations.' She had reasoned that new memories would replace her old ones, so she resolved herself to create new memories.

But when Kagome saw him standing in her bedroom with his short, brown hair and hazel eyes she had burst into tears and locked herself in the bathroom. The perplexed gentleman had left shortly after, and Kagome could honestly say she wasn't sorry for his early departure.

For the next few weeks she had deeply contemplated her lapse in control.  She wanted him gone, didn't she? In spite of everything she had done, all that she had given he had left her!

That vain bastard had left her for a woman whose beauty and reputation were nothing short of legendary.

She'll never truly know him, Kagome had thought. And she'll never love him like I do.

He was a selfish, arrogant, insensitive dog and she damned him for all the pain he caused her. But she damned herself too, because she still loved him, and a small part of her realized that that would never change.

So, she allowed herself to keep her memories and mull over them in the dark. She would take them out and examine them, roll them in her hands and take in every single detail from the number of strokes it took him to brush his hair to how many times she had made him smile. And when she tucked them safely away she would cry.

Kagome kept her memories, because that was all she had of him now...

Quite abruptly the sounds of the bar became more distinct and once again she was back in the corner waiting for her salvation to be brought. Without him life was so predictable and, oh, so empty.

How many times did he smile that day? Kagome asked herself before she leaned on the table, buried her head in her arms and cried.

* * * * *

Shiro watched as the young woman in the corner began to cry and he made a quick decision. He placed the glass he had been cleaning on a vacant table and took a step forward, fully intent on going over to the distraught lady and consoling her any way he could.

But, for a split second he stopped and glanced warily back at his task, wincing as the rational side of him reared its logical head. Are you really considering risking your job for some woman who clearly wants nothing to do with you?

Shiro placed his foot down and inched backward as the age-old question emerged: Was morality more important than a place to live or food in your belly?

He hastily glanced at the woman. Yes, he acknowledged after a moment. It was.

He put more determination in his steps, but he barely made it two more before he was stopped by a heavy hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Hito, his boss, and Shiro tensed; waiting for the reprimanding he was sure was to come.

However, the intimidating man merely shook his head sadly. "Let her be."

Shiro opened his mouth and closed it, willing himself to find his voice. "Sir?"

Hito gestured to Kagome. "I said, let her be."

Shiro turned his head to Kagome and then quickly looked back to his employer. "B-but sir, she's-"

"She's sad," Hito finished and then shrugged. "So is everyone else here. We just express it in different ways."

He pulled up a chair and grabbed the dirty glass Shiro had failed to finish cleaning. "Come, boy. Have a drink with me."

Shiro looked down at the floor, embarrassed. "I don't drink, sir."

Hito laughed heartily. "Then you've picked one hell of a job, son."

Shiro scowled and sat down opposite Hito. "I just need the money."

"Yeah, you and every other employee here." Hito breathed on the glass and wiped at the smudges. "Everyone's here for something."

Shiro glanced up. "Like what?"

"Money, booze, companionship." Hito looked up shrewdly. "Or maybe just a place to cry."

Shiro risked a quick look back to the corner. "Why is she so sad?"

Hito pulled out a flask, filled up the glass and took a lengthy swig. "Who knows?"

"Hasn't anyone every asked her?"

"Look, kid, I'm a bartender, not a psychiatrist." Hito leaned forward. "And that's the way these people want it."

Shiro furrowed his brow and Hito sighed. "Don't you think if these people wanted help they'd go see a shrink?"

"I suppose."

Hito shook his head. "No, don't guess. I want you to figure this out for yourself. I'm not the one that needs convincing. Why do you think people come here?"

Shiro glanced around at all the customers. "To be alone."

Hito grinned. "Partly." He poured himself another drink. "You ever hear the saying, 'misery loves company?'"

Shiro nodded. Hito raised his glass in a toast and downed the liquor. "Well, so does loneliness."

Shiro mulled over the answer and furrowed his brow. "I'm afraid I don't understand, sir."

Hito emptied the remaining contents of his flask into the glass. "Shiro, never forget that loneliness is just as contagious as a virus, and always twice as deadly." He gestured quickly at Kagome with the empty flask. "I couldn't imagine what a nice girl like that wanted when she first came here. I almost turned her away too, but, it was obvious that she had been hurt badly." Hito paused and took another lengthy swig. "I suppose I didn't have the heart to deny her the only respite from her pain that she was able to find." He glanced up at Shiro with a regretful gaze. "I now know I made a mistake by pitying her."

Shiro glanced back at Kagome. "A mistake, sir?"

Hito pinched the bridge of his nose. "She never used to be like this, you know. I even remember a time when she still smiled. But, the atmosphere here...it does something to you. You breath it in, it's in the food you eat, the liquor you drink, it seeps into your pores until your sorrow is the only thing you know. And only this," he said, holding up his half-full glass, "can take the pain away."

"But, can they not find the same thing in their own homes?" Shiro asked. "Why do they continue to come here?" He lowered his voice. "Why does she?"

"There are no ringing phones here," Hito answered quietly. "No prying eyes from curious neighbors, no friends banging on your door to talk it over." He raised his glass to his lips. "There is only this, and this is enough."

He placed the glass roughly on the table and rubbed his face. "I don't know. Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't be better to let the place go to hell, to try and dissuade these people from drinking their lives away." He let out a raspy laugh. "But I suppose they'd find a new place to drown themselves, so the least I can offer them is the comfort of familiarity."

Shiro leaned forward until his stomach was pressed painfully against the table, and his eyes held a sanguine determination. "This can't be all that's left. There has to be more than this," he whispered.

Hito glanced at him with glassy eyes and shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid there is only what you're willing to accept."

Shiro's face fell and Hito drained the remainder of his glass. "I can't really say I'd be sorry to see this place go out of business. But, I doubt that'll happen anytime soon." He gestured around the room. "This, whether we like it or not, is life."

He stood up quickly, placed his flask back in his pocket and walked behind the counter. Shiro followed him curiously.

"Everyone has a story, Shiro," he said as he rummaged through the shelves. Finally, he placed a tray with a shot glass and a bottle of whiskey before the young waiter. "It only depends on whether or not they're willing to share it."

Hito slid the tray towards Shiro and he grasped it with sweaty hands. "Now, why don't you go bring that young lady her drink?"

* * * * *

Kagome started when her table slightly rattled and she looked up to see the tired eyes of Shiro. Her heart broke a little at his weary expression and she stifled back a sob of compassion.

This place is already taking its toll on him.

 He smiled, although it didn't seem to shine as it had earlier and placed her order on the table, filling her glass to the brim. She reached unsteadily and grabbed her drink, leaving little droplets as she pulled it to her and finished it in one gulp.

The taste was bitter, but so was she, so it really didn't matter.

When the pain in her throat lessened to a dull throb she looked back up at Shiro and blushed when he raised his eyebrows. He merely chuckled lightly and refilled her glass.

For a moment he opened his mouth and Kagome became rigid, fearful of his questions and his reminiscent innocence. But Shiro closed it just as quickly and a silent understanding passed between the two.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He smiled and patted her hand. "Don't mention it."

Kagome closed her eyes and clutched her drink tightly. When she opened them he was gone and she could have cried. He had left the bottle.

* * * * *

When he was young, the world was simple.

Men toiled the earth, multiplied and died. And as their bodies turned to ash beneath his feet, demons all over the land bowed before him in respect of his unparalleled power. And those who refused did not live to repeat their transgressions.

He reclined back in his chair and languidly closed his eyes, disregarding the voice of the stocky gentleman in the bad suit managing the imperative business contract.

So, it had come to this. The demon king, revered Lord of the West had become no more than a common president of a nonetheless prominent corporation.

Of course his business was renowned throughout the world for the numerous high-tech electronics they produced. The defining moment had been when his contacts had subtly suggested that he dabble in the gaming industry. Although he had never really understood the purpose with electronic gaming he did realize that humans were generally cowards and would therefore revel in the virtual success.

So after a brief consideration he had acquiesced, and just as he suspected, electronic gaming became a phenomenon. Subsequently, the associates who had initially disagreed with his pioneering decision became more than pleased when profits began to run like water.

"Mr. Taisho, are you listening?"

Drawn from his musings he cracked one eye open and glared at the pudgy mediator who had been hired and sent on short notice by one of his many secretaries. The human was fast-talking and fidgety, and although he had a real name he preferred his clients to simply refer to him as Mr. Kosho. The alias was quite befitting.

"I am," he firmly assured, and when the whelp seemed satisfied and resumed talking, he once again drowned him out.

Despite his success in the human world there were countless numbers of executives in charge of large businesses around the world, and he refused to be nothing more recognizable than a drop of water in the ocean. After all, there was and would be only one Lord of the Western Lands, and as he contemplated the direction his life was currently taking the truth became agonizingly obvious.

He was drowning in a filthy ocean of humanity.

The memory of a gap-toothed smile, spontaneous songs of praise and wildflowers flashed before his eyes and his heart briefly clenched. Regret was something he was not accustomed to, but the more time he spent masquerading as a human the more he seemed to adopt their annoying traits.

She had been his ward, a daughter born not of blood but of honor. And after all these centuries since she had passed beyond Tenseiga's reach, he still felt as if the countless journeys made together in comfortable silence were opportunities lost.

Ever since her passing he had dwelled in a desolate silence, secretly wondering if it would have really hurt him to talk with her, answer her questions and try to know her more. Because once she was gone he had realized just how silent the world was without her.

Sesshoumaru allowed his posture to slip and leaned his elbow on the chair, resting his face in his palm. The position was unbefitting, and those who had known him would have gawked at the weary mood it so openly indicated.

It had taken him many years and a great deal of pride to realize that the changes he had incurred were due mostly to Rin's influence and passing. Unsettled at what this knowledge could mean, he had resolved himself to wait patiently, certain that if something as rare as an open-minded girl could change him, something as common as time could easily change the base principles of existence.

But he was pleased, if not relieved to note that many facets of life were still constant, in spite of the unforeseen transformations he had underwent. Those of lesser stature still groveled at his feet for mercy and power, and his sights were continuously filled with the familiar display of women who flocked to warm his bed.

It was almost strangely satisfying to witness that much still remained unchanged from the Feudal Era.  But, despite the familiarity that he encountered, there had still been plenty unusual things to see and hear throughout the centuries. However, none of it had been worthy of his attention.

Until she had happened upon him, that is...

"Mr. Taisho?"

He clenched his jaw and glanced up, imagining Mr. Kosho's head rolling across the finely carpeted floor. The stout man seemed to read his thoughts and audibly gulped under his stare.

"Mr. Yamamoto has requested that he be reimbursed for the improvements he has made to the building over the years. Is that agreeable?"

Sesshoumaru glanced at the elderly gentleman. Mr. Yamamoto was to be the former owner of a historical museum located in the center of Tokyo. It housed and displayed everything that was important to Japan's rich history and in its early days the museum was quite a crowd pleaser. Unfortunately for Mr. Yamamoto, the country's later generations held no interest in their homeland's heritage and as profits declined costs steadily increased.

He watched as the old man shuddered under his steady gaze. It wasn't as if he harbored any ill will toward the old man. In fact, he had donated quite a few items that were currently on display in the museum. To him, it just seemed illogical to waste such a good space.

He glanced back at the mediator. "The proposition is acceptable."

Mr. Kosho beamed. "Wonderful," he exclaimed. "Well, gentlemen, in that case the only order of business left is to finalize the contract."

Mr. Kosho shuffled through a stack of folders, pulled out a stapled pile and placed them in front of Mr. Yamamoto. "Now, Mr. Yamamoto, if you'll just sign here," and he indicated a dotted line with his pen.

Reluctantly, Mr. Yamamoto took the pen from Mr. Kosho and placed the tip on the paper. For a moment he just let the pen rest there, and a heavy tension thickened the air.

Mr. Kosho cleared his throat. "Just sign right there, Mr. Yamamoto," he repeated, frustration now evident in his voice. "I'm sure everyone has other affairs that need tending."

Mr. Yamamoto nodded numbly and almost everyone watched with baited breath as the old man's hand shook violently with every intricate symbol he drew down. For a split second the scent of regret was so stifling that Sesshoumaru couldn't breathe, but finally the old man finished the last elaborate sign and Mr. Kosho slid the paper over to him.

"Alright, Mr. Taisho, I'll just need your signature right here, below Mr. Yamamoto's."

Sesshoumaru took the pen from the mediator, careful not to touch him and began to sign his name. But suddenly, Mr. Yamamoto's grandson, whom he so much hadn't even glanced at, stood up and placed his hand upon the contract, preventing him from finishing his signature.

"Wait," the boy breathed.

Everyone but Sesshoumaru looked up at the old man's grandson. He stared at the offending appendage, keeping the pen positioned on the character he had yet to complete. "Remove your hand, boy."

He watched the boy's hand tense, but he didn't detach it from the paper and the tangy scent of fear filled the room. He listened as the boy audibly gulped. "...Please, Mr. Taisho-"

"Shonen," Mr. Kosho abruptly said, "this is unprofessional! The deal is already done. You're grandfather, as the legal owner of the museum has approved all the specifications and disbursement issues. Frankly, my boy, you have no say in the matter whatsoever."

Sesshoumaru held up a hand, instantly silencing the interfering fool. The whelp had overstepped his boundaries, and even though what the boy said would not change his mind he had decided to hear the boy's piece, if only for the sake of annoying Mr. Kosho. It was childish, but this entire affair had been nothing but tedious. So, for the first time he looked at the boy known as Shonen.

"Speak."

Shonen seemed taken aback at his forwardness, but he blinked only once before slowly sitting down, fully recovering from his surprise. He placed his hands underneath the table, leaving the contract completely exposed.

"Mr. Taisho," he began quietly. "Do you realize that this museum has been in our family for over eleven decades?"

Sesshoumaru gave a curt nod. "I am well aware of the museum's history."

Shonen leaned forward earnestly. "Then you must also be aware that by purchasing the museum and converting it into one of your outlets, you will single-handedly be responsible for the abolishment of countless small businesses in the vicinity."

Sesshoumaru resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the obvious observation. "That is of no consequence."

Shonen's eyes widened at the unexpected answer and he forgot all formality. "You can't be serious."

His eyes narrowed. "I am quite serious."

Shonen stood and slammed his hands on the table. "My grandfather is a good man! What right do you have to take away everything he's worked for?"

Sesshoumaru rose from his own seat so violently the leather chair flew into the wall behind him. "Do not presume to give me a lecture, boy," he snarled. "We are not here to discuss your grandfather's honor. We are here because of your grandfather's capability as a businessman...an ability he regrettably does not possess."

The boy bared his blunt human teeth. "How dare you?"

He dug his claws into the table so hard the wood splintered. "You may criticize me and my conduct when you acquire the finances necessary to purchase your museum back. Until that time your grandfather will be able to retire and live quite comfortably." He grabbed the pen and roughly finished his name. When he glanced back up his eyes seemed to glow. "You should be grateful."

"Grateful?" The boy let out a condescending laugh. "Grateful that you're blatantly taking away a piece of my family's past?"

Sesshoumaru rectified his chair and sat down, hoping for the boy's best interest that he remain quiet before he really lost control. "I have no interest in your past," he sneered. "I merely act when an opportunity arises."

Shonen's face flushed and perhaps the grandfather sensed his control teetering on the edge because he clutched his grandson's arm and shook his head sadly. "What's done is done, Shonen."

"But, but grandpa..."

Mr. Yamamoto weakly got to his feet. "He's right, Shonen. Neither you nor I have the funds necessary to support this business." He glanced wearily at Sesshoumaru. "He's merely acting in his best interest. There's nothing more we can do."

Resignedly, Shonen hung his head and remained silent. Mr. Kosho, who had been standing quietly behind his chair during the whole dispute, abruptly let loose a winded sigh.

"Well, I'm glad this is resolved," he exclaimed with false optimism. Placing his hands on the backs of Mr. Yamamoto and his grandson, Mr. Kosho quickly ushered them out of the office while explaining future proceedings in a tone that was much too high.

Dispassionately, Sesshoumaru watched them leave and briefly wondered if the boy had any idea how lucky he was to leave that room with his life intact. Sighing, he reached for his much needed drink, which had remained untouched since the beginning of the meeting. He brought the glass to his lips and allowed the hot liquid to run down his throat, his mind straying to her once again.

He had indulged in liquor rarely those days, finding the effort to be worthless since he required an extraordinary amount of alcohol to achieve even some semblance of a high. In a way it was strange, for if it had been otherwise, they most likely would have never met, since he had never known her to be much of a drinker.

She had come across him doing something so common, so sickeningly ordinary that it almost shamed him to admit that he had sunk so low as to be ensnared by such a widespread human habit.

He had been buying cigarettes.

Of course, smoking could no more hurt him any more than excessive drinking could. But, just like drinking, he had merely become accustomed to the taste. And like both these habits, he had grown accustomed to the mundane routines that came with being a demon lord that had, however reluctantly, become humanized.

But somehow, she had managed to erase what the centuries had done in the span of just one conversation.

* * * * *

To say he was surprised when someone lightly tapped him on the arm would be an understatement. No one, not even his closest colleagues ever dared make any physical contact with him. A scent, strangely familiar in its sweetness teased his senses as he turned to tell the wretch to keep their filthy hands to themselves. But when the offender came into view his insults died on his tongue, and for the first time in centuries, Sesshoumaru was speechless.

The girl, a woman now, smiled sweetly. "I...I thought it was you."

He quickly regained his composure and slowly edged away from her probing hand, narrowing his eyes. "Indeed...priestess."

She nodded enthusiastically at his statement. "Yeah, that's right! I was in the back of the store when I felt, God, when I felt this...this energy, this power and somehow I just remembered it. When I came up front and saw you, well, the back of you anyway, I was all but positive it was you!"

She laughed giddily and he winced inwardly at her show of happiness. It seemed like forever since someone had been truly happy around him, but he angrily pushed that sentimental thought aside, glaring down at the woman who had once traveled with his half-brother.

"Your powers appear to have improved since the last time we met. As I recall, you were barely able to sense my presence until I was breathing right down the back of your neck."

Her cheeks flushed heatedly and she scowled at him. For a moment he wanted to laugh that this mere slip of a woman dared challenge him when no one else would ever think to do such a thing. It was, dare he say, refreshing.

"First off," she began, raising one index finger as if to waggle it in his face, "at the risk of ruining my good mood, I'm just going to take that as a compliment. A very poor attempt at one, mind you, but a compliment just the same. Second, it's gotten pretty easy to sense demonic auras since there aren't that many around anymore." She placed her raised finger to her lip. "Actually, you're the first one I've run into in...well, it feels like forever."

She was right, he knew, but he'd be damned before he admitted it. Instead he raised one eyebrow and gave her his infamous, stoic glare. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe your abilities are just too weak to discern even those of lesser power?"

Amazingly, she rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest. "I can see time has done little for your character. You're as arrogant as ever."

He was taken aback by her candid disrespect, his surprise allowing his baser instincts to briefly take control. He growled darkly, the sound so low he wasn't sure she heard until she huffed in annoyance. Her unexpected response to his primal warning seemed to snap him out of his angry stupor. 

"Say or articulate whatever you want, but you know I'm right. Besides," she said, waving her hand like she was deterring some insect, "I knew from the start you wouldn't agree with me."

It upset him that his actions were so predictable, and he was just about to retort when the clerk cleared his throat. He directed his gaze on the cashier and the man smiled nervously. "Your cigarettes, sir."

He gritted his teeth at how easily this woman was able to distract him and reached for his wallet. Even as an adult her behavior was nothing short of atrocious!

"You're buying cigarettes?"

He snorted at her question and put the money on the counter. "Your powers of observation serve you well."

Surprisingly, she ignored his comment. "It's not that, it's just that, well...it's a bad habit."

He scooped up his change and put the pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket. "Indeed."

She made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat. "Look, it's just that I never expected you of all people to take up smoking!"

He tried to ignore the shrill tone her voice had taken and walked past her, toward the door. "I am a demon. It cannot harm me."

She groaned in annoyance.  "I figured that. It's just that you always seemed to be a, well, like a health nut. You don't seem the type to sit in front of the TV eating potato chips and bonbons."

He turned from opening the door just long enough to look back at her, an angry scowl marring his perfect face. "I assure you, woman, I do no such thing."

He left the store without looking back, but nearly groaned aloud when he heard her approaching footsteps. For a moment he considered risking exposure by leaping to the top of the tallest building or forming his energy cloud and simply flying away, if only to get away from the persistent pest at his heels. While considering his options and the consequences of said options he heard her cry out, "I never said you did! It was just an example!"

Her frenzied footsteps sounded closer behind him, and he abruptly stopped and turned, listening as she stumbled in order to keep from running into him. "Allow me to make one thing clear," he began, talking slowly to her as you would a child. "I am in my prime. No drug can harm me, no alcohol can intoxicate me. I am a perfectly, healthy demon."

"But that's just it!" she exclaimed exasperatedly. "Why would a perfectly healthy demon want to smoke...?"

* * * * *

"Mr. Taisho?"

Still in the haze of the memory, he lazily cracked one eye open and glared at the ornate door, mentally commanding the interloper to leave him be. But when the person called for him again and softly knocked with obviously feminine knuckles, he pushed the memory away with a sigh and allowed his wistful stare to fade, making his features once more impassive.

"Enter," he said authoritatively.

For a moment there was only silence, and then the heavy wooden door slowly opened just enough that the mystery woman could fit her head through. Sesshoumaru studied her wordlessly, duly noting that she was a pretty little thing with fair skin, dark red hair and doe-like green eyes. He smirked when she blushed under his scrutiny and self-consciously pushed back a stray lock of hair with a slender hand.

"M-Mr. Taisho?" she repeated unsurely, and he nodded, confirming his identity. When she remained concealed behind the door he beckoned her inside with a gesture of his hand, enjoying the startled look on her face at his request. As she slipped inside he told himself that he could have very well had her relay whatever message she had while she was hidden behind the door. He could have, yes,  but he wanted to see the rest of her.

Such a tiny thing, he marveled as she stood before him, blushing steadily every second that passed. She really was much too thin, he decided after a moment, but he couldn't deny that her unique appearance and coy attitude were attractive. Feeling his body react at the thought, he hastily positioned himself so that his lower half was hidden by the mahogany table.

"I do not believe I have seen you before," he said, feeling compelled to start the conversation when she remained motionless, her heart pounding and her eyes transfixed solely on him.

His voice seemed to shake her out of her stupor and she flushed hotly, clutching her folders tightly to her breast and bowing fervently. "I apologize, Mr. Taisho," she said quickly, timidly maintaining her stooped position. "I don't know what came over me. I..."

She stopped, uncertain how to continue, and he let a small smile grace his face, pleased with her submissive behavior. They were always much easier to persuade when blinded by their innocence.

"It is quite alright," he assured her, chuckling when she didn't rise the instant she had his pardon. "Please, do stand. Although your hair is quite lovely, I would much rather address that pretty face of yours."

She straightened quickly, the sheer force of her reposition sending her hair tumbling all over. But she was much too embarrassed by his compliment to pay it any notice, and for that he was grateful. She looked quite alluring with her tousled hair; like a fiery siren waiting for her lover.

As if she could sense his thoughts she blushed harder, placing a slender hand against her flaming cheek. His grin widened at her reaction. It really had been much too long since the last time.

Her embarrassment seemed to fade with his silence, and she placed her hand back at her side, lessened her terrible grip on her folders and stared back at him resolutely. "Mr. Taisho," she began confidently. "I just received a message from--"

"You are American, are you not?" he interrupted suddenly.

She stammered, clearly perplexed by the relevance of his question before deciding to answer. "Yes," she answered softly. "I am."

He leaned forward, exhibiting his interest. "You are here on an internship then?"

"Well, no," she replied. "I'm studying abroad. This job is just to earn some extra money."

"Indeed?" he said, feigning curiosity. "What is your major?"

She furrowed her eyebrows and took a collective step backward. "Why?" she asked uneasily.

He shrugged indifferently. "I am curious."

She visibly relaxed at his reasonable response, but he could still sense her inner turmoil. He prepared to reassure her of his intentions, but drew in a sharp breath when she worried her lower lip and then flicked out her pink tongue to soothe the abused flesh.

"Do forgive me for my intrusive inquiry, Miss...?" He prompted she reveal her name; once she told him her name he knew there would be no escape for her. No one had ever turned him down once introductions were finished.

She glanced away from his hypnotic stare and Sesshoumaru watched with satisfaction as a small smile gradually curved her mouth. When she directed her gaze back to him and he saw the trust in her eyes, he knew he had her.

"Whitney. My name's Rebecca Whitney."

"Miss Whitney," he finished, her name sounding amiss on his tongue despite his knowledge of the language. "I apologize for any alarm I may have caused you. I merely try and make it a habit to know all my employees." He flashed her a brilliant smile, pleased when he saw her body tremble. "I certainly meant no harm."

"No!" she instantly denied. "No, I should be the one apologizing. I shouldn't have been so quick to judge. It's just the safety freak in me." She smiled demurely. "I suppose being in a different country does that to you."

Sesshoumaru disregarded her apology with a wave of his hand. "Nonsense. It was unprofessional of me to interrogate you so."

He stood leisurely, intentionally allowing her to see the way his suit clung to his muscles, accentuating his narrow waist and powerful thighs. Her accelerated heartbeat told him he had succeeded. "I would be most grateful if you would accept my apology."

She tore her eyes away from his body and stared at him drowsily. "A-Alright," she breathed.

He inclined his head to show her he was pleased with her choice and began to approach her slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. She sucked in her breath at his advancement and he tried to calm her with more words. "You are quite beautiful. Do you know that?"

"T-Thank you, sir" she sputtered, flinching when he came to stand before her as if she hadn't noticed his leisurely approach. She blinked rapidly and turned her head when he seized a handful of her hair, inadvertently exposing her slender neck to him. Smiling at her bashfulness, he watched interestedly as her hair sifted through his fingers.

Her submission was intoxicating, and if his inner demon had been willing, he just might have taken her right there on the floor. But lucky or unlucky for her, the stubborn creature had remained hidden in the dark, averse to partaking in any carnal pleasures ever since...

Sesshoumaru cast the thought from his mind, concentrating on the feel of her body trembling under his hands, and the faint, sweet scent of her arousal. He supposed this was what he loved most about these dire moments; drawing out the sexual tension and fanning the fire until the innocent woman came crawling to him, begging for his love.

Without warning she jerked away from his ministrations and stumbled backward, pressing her small frame against the hulking door and trembling like a cornered animal. "I'm sorry," she gasped after regaining some composure. "I'm sorry, but I can't do this. I...I think I should go."

Sesshoumaru shrugged indifferently as she began to fumble with the door handle and turned away, sitting comfortably back in his leather chair. "Do as you wish."

She glanced back at him incredulously. "W-What did you say?"

Unperturbed, he poured himself another drink and took a delicate sip before answering her. "I said, Miss Whitney, do as you wish."

Her hand slid from the metal knob and came to rest at her side, while the folders she had been holding so securely fell unforgotten to the floor. The papers inside spilled out, a few fluttering daintily to the floor like leaves in autumn. "But, I...I don't understand."

"What is there to understand, Miss Whitney?" he chuckled. "I am not so callous as to hold a woman here against her will. If you wish to leave, then by all means do."

Sesshoumaru watched intently as she worried her lip. "You're...you're not angry with me?" she asked incredulously.

"Miss Whitney," he assured, "I do not know what some of the staff may have said about me, but I am not the type to anger easily." He finished his drink in one swallow and began pouring himself another. "I would most certainly not hold a grudge just because my attentions are rejected."

"Oh no!" she cried while taking an involuntary step forward. "No, you weren't rejected at all! It's just that..."

"Yes?" he pressed.

Her cheeks heated and she hung her head quickly, letting her curtain of hair hide the evidence of her embarrassment. "I'm just not...well, use to this sort of thing is all."

"You are unaccustomed to being wanted?" he guessed, silently drifting to stand before her while she was unaware. Leaning down, he whispered sensually into the shell of her ear, "Would you like to know how it feels to be wanted by a man?"

She jumped, surprised by his sudden proximity and began to inch away from his imposing form. He caught her chin before she could get away and tilted her head so she was staring into his eyes. "Relax," he murmured, bringing his lips closer to hers. "You do not have to be afraid of me."

Her eyes became pleasingly unfocused as he leaned closer, and she blinked rapidly to try and clear her head. It wasn't until he felt her little puffs of breath on his lips that she seemed to regain a small part of her clarity. "I...I think..."

Before she could find the will to protest his lips closed over hers in the lightest of kisses, destroying what little remained of her resolve. For one tense moment she was impervious, but when he felt her tentatively return the kiss he became more passionate, hungrily devouring her mouth until she was gasping for breath.

Giving her what she needed, Sesshoumaru pulled away, the brief dejected glint in his eyes the only sign that the elusive thing he was searching for had not yet been found.

It was inevitable, he reasoned, swallowing the disappointment rising in his throat. This woman, so submissive and demure, was the complete opposite of her. He knew he could never hope to find that meaningful spark in someone so different.

But he still could use her body; bury his misery in her soft depths until, if only for one second, he could forget the tint of her hair or the sound of her voice.

Sesshoumaru glanced down at the woman, still dazed from only the barest of his kisses. Smirking, he leaned down and placed his hands lightly on her shoulders, enjoying the way her body stiffened and then trembled in delight.

"Now," he whispered while brushing his silky lips against her cheek. "What was it you wanted to tell me?"

"Mmmmm...you have-oh!" she gasped, shivering when his hand lightly grazed over her breast. He smirked into the crook of her neck, lazily continuing with his fevered exploration. "You have a...a message." she breathed huskily.

He traced the contours of her stomach slowly, gently caressing her knee before journeying up the inside of her thigh. "A message?" he repeated indifferently, enjoying the feel of her muscles trembling under his hand. "From who?"

He felt her throat convulse from trying to form the words, but not until his hand skimmed lightly over her panties did she find her voice. "It was...A-Akira!" she gasped frenziedly.

Abruptly Sesshoumaru withdrew his hand and pulled away from her, instantly missing the warm contact. But the mere thought of his parasitic "friend" was enough to extinguish any sexual intentions he might've had. "Ah, yes," he murmured dryly. "Yes, my old...friend, Akira."

Sesshoumaru hadn't seen Akira in months, which really wasn't very surprising. The apathetic man only turned up when a beneficial deal was made so he could have a self-respectful reason to party. Somehow, he had learned of Sesshoumaru's upcoming transaction and planned an extensive festivity to celebrate. Although the deal did not involve Akira in the least, it was imperative that Sesshoumaru attend, if only to maintain relations with the other executives sure to be there. 

"Is everything alright?"

He finished his drink in one swallow and glanced back at her, a tired smile faltering across his lips at her question. Her entire body was flushed, but not from embarrassment anymore. There was a fire in her blood, a deep burning that he had ignited; she wanted him badly, but only because she believed he wanted her as well.

Sesshoumaru turned away; slightly ashamed of the innocence he had so ruthlessly broken. "I am afraid not," he replied while grabbing his jacket. "Do forgive my rude behavior, Miss Whitney, but as much as I would like to continue our little rendezvous, more pressing matters have been brought to my attention. I have no other alternative but to leave immediately."

"I see," she said, her tone quiet and dejected. "Did...did I do something wrong?"

The strangely familiar words echoed in his mind and ran their bitter fingers up his spine until his insides turned to ice. An involuntary part of him sought out the painstakingly buried memory and stumbled upon a vague image of a woman-child with blue eyes and raven hair. But he hurriedly pushed the resurrected memory aside before her features became any clearer.

"No, no," he thought. There was danger there, in those supposed forsaken memories of a past not so long ago. If he began to remember the words she had spoken or the way she had looked, then he would just lose more of himself to her memory.

The woman's quiet breathing brought him out of his reverie, and he quickly resumed putting on his jacket while trying to remain indifferent about the situation. "Do not be foolish," Sesshoumaru retorted, sounding much harsher than he had intended.

She inhaled sharply at his curtness, and the scent of her distress became distinctly overwhelming in the secured room. Sesshoumaru sighed wearily at her fragility and ran a nimble hand through his long hair.

 "I apologize for my rudeness," he said stiffly. "It has been a long day, and this business with Akira has only served to lengthen it further. These old bones grow weary." He forced a thin smile. "I do hope you will not hold it against me."

 "No, of course not," she said, smiling kindly. "It's just...there I go jumping to conclusions again. Don't worry about it." She laughed nervously and bent to pick up her scattered papers, changing back into the respectable secretary that she was. "I'll have this mess cleaned up and all necessary papers on your desk by tomorrow morning, Mr. Taisho."

"Of that I have no doubt," Sesshoumaru replied. He strode past her without so much as a glance, but when he was halfway out the door he looked back at her stooped form. "Oh, and Miss Whitney..."

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Yes, sir?"

His eyes glittered. "I may have some...filing that needs work at my home. I trust you would you be up to the task?"

"I...I suppose so, sir." she replied.

He nodded. "Tonight, then."

"Tonight?" She wheeled around, some of the recovered papers flying from her grasp. "Oh, sir, I don't know if I can do that! I mean, there's paperwork that needs to be done here, not to mention re-filing all these papers back into their proper context, plus-"

"Tonight," he repeated, leaving no room for argument. "I will have one of my chauffeurs come get you, and then you may help me with these filing 'problems' I seem to be having."

For a moment it looked as if she was about to protest, but her desire to please and her naivety overrode her rationale and she finally nodded, blushing hotly. "Alright then," she murmured. "Tonight."

"Tonight." Sesshoumaru inclined his head at her acquiescence and let the door close, never letting her see the slight downturn of his mouth or the brief glint of disappointment flickering in his eyes. He knew the lovemaking would be meaningless and the passion would be untrue. But the familiar charade would all be worth it, if only he could find a moment's solace in the words she would whisper or the tender caresses she would make.

If only he could forget the woman-child with blue eyes and raven hair.

* * * * *

Kagome poured herself another drink and raised her glass in a silent toast to the memories that were sinking and fading under the onslaught of alcohol. She pursed her lips as the liquor touched them and watched a lone drop of whiskey slide down the bottle's slender neck. As the droplet reached the tabletop and became indistinguishable she had the strangest notion that the bottle was crying for her.

The sickening idea sent an electric shock coursing through her and for a moment the real she emerged; lively, outgoing and sober. The image of her former self was painful and for a brief moment Kagome wanted nothing more than to reclaim what she had once been. She wanted to relive that past life and act as if not one drop of sin had ever passed her lips. A fire of determination ignited within her and she managed to push her drink away. But...

It was far too late and the pain was still very real.

Her fingers slowly closed around the cool glass, and all at once the noises were much too loud, the smells were unusually strong and Kagome's stomach rolled as the room started to spin. She closed her eyes against the nausea and thought for a nonsensical moment that she had finally pushed her limit. But abruptly the revolting movement stopped, and the world seemed to have stopped with it. Cautiously, Kagome opened her eyes and saw him sitting in front of her in all his pristine glory.

She couldn't understand why she didn't seem surprised.

It didn't seem fair that he hadn't changed, but then again, she had never really expected him to. And it frustrated her that one heated look from him could still make her melt, so she guessed she really hadn't changed much either.

When he tore his eyes away from hers and glanced down at the whiskey in her hand, Kagome almost made a noise of protest. He didn't seem to notice her distress.

"You are drinking," he stated plainly, returning his intense eyes to her.

Her cheeks heated with embarrassment and she fumbled with her glass, purposely avoiding his accusing gaze with downcast eyes. "...Yes."

He reached for her drink and she drew it into herself, clutching the glass so tightly she thought it would break. He immediately withdrew his hand and this time it was her turn to stare, because he never gave in so easily. The sadness reflected in his golden eyes hurt her, but the disappointment she saw made her resent everything she had become.

"Why?" he asked her.

Whether he was asking her why she had resorted to drinking or why she had yet to move on she didn't know, but the answer was still the same. "I don't know," she admitted, then smiled sadly. "You must think I'm weak."

He sighed. "No, I do not."

There was a long pause, then Kagome heard his clothing rustle and she wanted to believe she had felt him lightly caress her hand. "You are human."

The bitter truth always was the hardest to accept.

Somehow she sensed he was about to leave and looked up pleadingly, desperate to hold him, bury her face in his throat and beg him to love her again. Yet, she remained seated and didn't let him see her cry because none of it would matter. He didn't want her anymore.

And when his form faded until nothing remained but a decadent longing she downed her drink, waited and then sobbed quietly. It still wasn't enough. She still loved him.

* * * * *

When he was young, the world was simple.

For centuries he had done nothing but adapt and observe his ever-changing surroundings, and while some changes had taken him by surprise the basic principles of life had always remained steadfast. But now, as he sat and scrutinized the aristocracy of society, he wondered what drastic change had befallen the world that put vermin such as these in control.

He sneered at the men, human men no less, who had the undeserved responsibility to govern the masses that were lower on the ladder of society, and yet they had never fought a hand-to-hand battle or received a serious injury defending that which they deemed important. They had most certainly never gained their desired position by earning respect.

He took a sip from his glass and nearly spat it out when a hand clamped on his shoulder. As he turned to look at the offender he reminded himself that this was no dangerous enemy, so dismembering was completely out of the question.

The smell of alcohol reached his sensitive nose before the human's disheveled appearance came into view and he mentally sighed. It appeared that his associates were celebrating his latest business venture quite fervently.

The intoxicated gentleman awkwardly sat down and gave him a lopsided grin. A trickle of saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth. "Sesshoumaru," the man slurred. "Why waste your time in this corner? Come, celebrate!"

 Sesshoumaru narrowed his eyes in disgust and glared at the man's hand. "Remove yourself from my person, Akira."

Akira frowned and furrowed his brow while his hand slowly slid from Sesshoumaru's shoulder. "Why do you have to be like that?" Akira whined. "You've just made yourself richer! Isn't that reason enough to celebrate?"

Sesshoumaru looked away. "I have a lifetime to gather wealth."

Akira gave a raspy laugh. "Yeah, me too. But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy the fruits of our labor." Akira nudged him in the ribs and Sesshoumaru was so stunned that someone would take such liberties with his person he almost forgot to rein in his anger. Some poison leaked from his claws, eroding the fine, wooden table.

"Look over there," Akira said and Sesshoumaru reluctantly turned his head. He found himself looking at one of his oldest colleagues with a young, blonde woman on his arm. While the older gentleman was busy talking the lady turned and their eyes met. She blushed, though it seemed more of a performance than an emotion and smiled, revealing tiny, white teeth.

Akira let out a knowing laugh and Sesshoumaru hoped for his sake that he kept his hands to himself. "I think she wants you."

Sesshoumaru snorted and turned his back on the female. "I have no interest in those matters."

Akira groaned. "Aw, c'mon man! I mean, did you get a look at her?" He let out a low whistle. "What a prize, that one." He leaned in closer. "Can you imagine what she'd be like in the sack?"

Sesshoumaru glared at him. "If you are so concerned, than why not live out these fantasies for yourself?"

Akira looked hesitant and then got shakily to his feet. "Know what? You're right. Why should I let you have all the fun anyway?"

Sesshoumaru watched him stagger off and sighed tiredly at the man's antics.  Somehow, wealth had managed to replace honor, and while Sesshoumaru listened to the babbling behind him quickly decided that he would be willing to lose his left arm once more in exchange for one worthy companion.

He grabbed his drink, closed his eyes and took a delicate sip, trying to savor the robust flavor amidst the festivities. When the last of the liquor ran down his throat he opened his eyes and stared at the remaining amber liquid thoughtfully.

* * * * *

At first he was angered when he was unable to come up with a logical retort to her question, so he settled for giving her one last icy glare before pivoting smartly and continuing down the sidewalk. He assumed that after the last comment, along with the warning glare he had given her that she would be wise enough to give up her pursuit and leave him alone.

Therefore, he could only describe the sinking feeling in his gut as horror when he heard her tiny footfalls fall in stride behind him.

For a time they traveled in comfortable silence, and there were moments that he was sure she had given up her hopeless pursuit. But there were too many distractions around him to know for certain, and he didn't dare turn around lest he give her the impression that he had changed his mind.

The wind suddenly shifted, bringing her scent to his attention and confirming that she had yet to leave. He gritted his teeth in irritation at her persistence and as a last resort, released a minute amount of his powerful energy, hoping to deter her tenacious chase. That was when she began to talk, and although he was grateful that she decided to avoid their previous topic, he stifled a groan of frustration when she voiced her new topic of interest.

After the first five minutes of her incessant chatter he found himself wishing it had been the reincarnation of Rin that had had the luck of coming across him instead. She would have also followed him around relentlessly, as this woman was doing now, but at least she would have done so quietly.

A rather annoying, perhaps the most insignificantly deemed part of my past has found me, he sullenly theorized. And instead of stopping and finally confronting her, he was doing something he had not done since he had tracked down Inuyasha for information on the whereabouts of Tetsusaiga.

He was fleeing.

Although it pained him to admit it, he had taken every twist and every turn, going as fast as his feet would allow without exhibiting his inhuman nature. And damn her, she had kept up! It was unheard of! He, the Lord of the Western Lands, fleeing from a mere human priestess. Disgraceful, the other rulers would have said. Not fit to rule, they would have decided.  But they weren't here anymore. There was only he, and a pathetic, human girl left.

He turned to face her, the force of his pivot so strong that his black tie nearly whipped her in the face. She stared up at him; confusion and anticipation alight in her eyes. The familiar expression that he had witnessed so many times in the past drained his anger, leaving him weak with wasted indignation.

This woman, he thought as he stared into her wide eyes, brings back memories better left forgotten. Somehow, she made the past seem within reach by unknowingly calling forth long discounted recollections, making them more vivid than ever before. Her very presence made him feel young again.

But he didn't want to feel young anymore. There had been an almost charming simplicity when he was young, but nothing was simple anymore. And he had no wish to remember things that could no longer be changed.

"Leave me," he had muttered suddenly, but this time he remained facing her, making certain she would not follow him anymore.

His voice was so cold she shivered in the sunlight, and instantly her relaxed demeanor was gone. She began to wring her hands nervously, every now and then plucking at the hem of her sleeve. "W-What?" she managed to ask quietly, as if his harsh words could have been confused with anything else.

He growled darkly, but loud enough that a few passersby glanced around warily, expecting to see a rabid dog in place of the couple standing in the middle of the sidewalk. He ignored their prying eyes, focusing on the woman before him, knowing that the subtle release of his energy would deter any good Samaritans wishing to help a young lady in distress.

"I said," he callously whispered, "leave me."

 * * * * *

The memory burned like the cheap liquor running down his throat, which was no doubt courtesy of the ever tightfisted Akira. But it was a way to briefly forget, and if he had to suffer the aggravation of a scalded throat in exchange for a moments peace, then so be it. As if illustrating his resolve, Sesshoumaru released a surly grunt and refilled his glass with the shoddy liquor, draining it just as quick.

He suddenly remembered that he had drunk like this only once before, and that time he was not aiming for something as meaningless as a mere distraction. That time he had been fully intent on getting drunk. He had succeeded too; after nearly consuming the entire supply of sake stored safely in the root cellar. And as the alcohol had begun to take its toll, he had resigned himself to lie on his bed and simply stare up at the moon. But despite the liquor coursing through his veins, his mind's eye continued to conjure up fleeting memories that even the sake couldn't hold back.

When the image of tousled white hair flashed before him, Sesshoumaru had closed his eyes against the accusing face of the moon. When he unconsciously thought of unbefitting dog ears, he got up and staggered to the window, roughly closing the blind and shutting out the mocking moon's light. But he could still feel the moon's contemptuous gaze on him, and it was the final image of a legendary sword that caused him to bury his face in his pillow, finally immersing himself in the dark.

The next morning he had awoken with his first true headache, and much to his displeasure, the events of the previous night were still very fresh in his mind.

An ironic smile twisted his lips. Even after all these centuries, the image of Inuyasha's broken body never failed to make his heart tighten. And it wasn't the grisly scene that had instilled this unbecoming humility in him, but rather the grisly reality he had come to accept that ominous night of the new moon.

Fate was a cruel, sadistic bitch. And Sesshoumaru had learned as he unsheathed the unresponsive Tenseiga, fate was an enemy that could not be dealt with, whether by mortal or immortal hands.

That very night, as the fresh dirt from Inuyasha's grave clung to his hands, he sought out the low level demon that had murdered his kin. It wasn't hard; the ogre had left a trail even a human with sub-par tracking skills could have followed. And when the sun kissed his lands Sesshoumaru was in a hot spring, washing the ogre's filthy blood from his unforgiving claws.

It was not until the hot spring's waters had turned red from the demon's shed blood did he begin to question his judgment.

Sesshoumaru had never concerned himself with something as petty as revenge, for when you were a demon lord of his stature there were few who would have the audacity to go against you to merit such.  So he merely enforced his rule, distributing retribution to those who disobeyed his law or transgressed against those who were under his protection.

And Inuyasha had been neither.

Therefore his conduct had baffled him. He had rarely ever behaved so impulsively in a situation that did not concern him. Only once before had he ever-

(Rin)

-but that was in the past, and some things were just better left alone.

So he had attributed his odd behavior to something instinctively territorial. Inuyasha's life had belonged to him; his very existence had been his to control, and when that demon had taken Inuyasha's life, it had taken what he had laid claim to centuries before.

With these facts, he had believed his actions were not based upon revenge. Rather, they were merely provoked by a simplified instance of property damage. His inner beast had simply recognized this before him and taken matters into its own hands.

Or so he'd like to believe.

But if anyone would have asked the fate of the legendary sword that had once divided the brothers, Sesshoumaru would have chuckled darkly, and then explained, quite indifferently, that the sword was more likely than not buried beneath countless layers of earth along with its master.

He would never admit that he had been the one to put it there...

* * * * *

"Excuse me, Mr. Taisho?"

The feminine voice drew him from his musings and he looked up to see the young blonde from earlier. She smiled when his eyes met hers and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. "That gentleman over there said you wanted to talk to me."

Sesshoumaru glanced over his shoulder and saw Akira give him the thumbs up. He narrowed his eyes at the gesture and made a quick mental note to make Akira's life as miserable as possible from now on.

"I am afraid that you were misled," Sesshoumaru said, glimpsing back at the woman.

Her eyes momentarily widened but she quickly regained her composure and batted her eyelashes. "Oh, well that's too bad. I was hoping you wanted to talk." She pulled out the chair opposite him. "Do you mind if I sit down?"

He kept his face unreadable. "Do as you wish."

She beamed, then sat gracefully in the chair and he didn't fail to miss the way she edged her slinky dress until she was exposing the bronze flesh of her thigh. "My name's Myra," she began, and he found it amusing that she was trying to remain so nonchalant while sending such broad signals. "So, are you enjoying the party?"

He snorted. "I have been to many of these parties. They are all the same."

She inched closer. "Well, maybe you'd like to do something a little different then, huh?"

He raised a finely sculpted eyebrow. "I do not enjoy spontaneous diversions."

Myra pouted and he looked away. "I only want to get to know you more. A woman wanting to get to know a man isn't an unexpected thing." She paused thoughtfully. "Especially to you, I bet."

He scowled. She may have been hinting at his past sexual escapades, but her past was as clear as an open book to his superior senses. He'd be willing to bet by her actions that this one woman had been with almost as many men as he had killed.

"Your father is one of my oldest associates. If there is something you wish to know, I'm sure he would be more than willing to tell."

He reached out for his drink and stiffened when she laid her hand over his own. "He can't tell me about this," Myra said and then she began to rub small circles over the back of his hand. "Even if he could, they do say experience is the best teacher."

Sesshoumaru looked into her sad face, artificial hair and watery eyes and instantly knew that he didn't want her. This woman was no innocent, she was an experienced seductress and the thought that he would be just a one night stand to her troubled him.  He was worthy of more than this, he deserved more than hollow affection! He needed...

I love you.

 Her voice resounded in his head and he instinctively clenched his fist, drawing blood. Sensing his tension, Myra lightly brought her hand up to caress his arm and when he looked into her eyes he saw an empty concern that made the bile rise in his throat.

Here, he realized, there are no promises made because none can be kept.

When he placed his hand on her exposed leg he acknowledged that they were both the same, and as he met her for a kiss and tasted her bitter breath he wondered how many men she had used to satisfy her insatiable lust. For a moment he was disgusted with her lifestyle, but when her hand moved to caress his inner thigh he suddenly wondered how many women he had used to briefly fill the emptiness that had appeared ever since...

She broke the kiss, panting and said huskily, "There's a room not far from here. Upstairs."

He watched her as she stood and took his hand, trying to lead him to the elegant staircase. When he remained motionless she turned to him and gave him a desperate look.

Sesshoumaru made his decision. He didn't miss her victorious smile as he stood and let her guide him, and as they began their climb he thought back to his ignoble past and sighed deeply.

Maybe it was his turn to be used.

* * * * *

She opened her mouth to reply, but he lifted his lip and briefly exposed the sharp glint of his fangs, effectively silencing her. "I do not wish to hear your reasons," he snarled. "And I have no desire to stay in your company. You did not concern me in the past and you do not concern me now. Now go."

His original plan had been to witness her departure, but when he smelled the beginnings of her tears he turned away from her and continued down the sidewalk. It was a little known fact that he couldn't stand to see a female cry, but after his little outburst he was more than confident that she would leave him alone for good this time.

A pair of arms suddenly wrapped around his waist, and a face, wet with tears, buried itself in the small of his back. A part of him marveled at how soundlessly she had moved, but he was concentrating more on suppressing the initial urge to behead her for her extreme audacity.

He grasped her forearms tightly, barely restraining his inhuman strength. "Woman," he said evenly. "Release me."

She didn't answer. Instead, she shook her head no. Annoyed with her defiance, he tightened his grip, pleased when he heard her sharp intake of breath. "Release me at once!" he commanded, all composure now devoid from his voice.

"I won't!" she instantly retorted, and he felt her blunt fingernails dig into his stomach, desperate to obtain some grip. She was crying so hard that she had soaked the back of his shirt.

People were beginning to stop and stare, which meant that dismembering was out of the question. So instead, he settled for using only a minor extent of his strength to pry her arms from his narrow waist.  "You are making a fool of yourself," he told her, hoping that she might relinquish what little hold she had on him for what remained of her dignity.

But she merely shook her head stubbornly and struggled against his dominant power, every so often stretching her fingers to the point that he thought they might dislocate in order to better her hold on his abused shirt. Her actions were so desperate, that for a moment he wondered if this could possibly be the same feisty woman he had spoken to only minutes before.

"Please," she suddenly whispered, and her voice was so despondent that he ceased trying to wrench her away from his body. "Please don't go," she begged sadly. "I need your help, but I don't know how to convince you to stay. I know you don't owe me anything, and I have nothing to give you in return."

He felt her stiffly draw her hands and body away from him until they were no longer touching, but she was close enough that he could feel the heat from her body. When she spoke again, her hot breath brushed the nape of his neck. "But, please believe me when I say that you're the first."

He faced her slowly, strangely dissatisfied when he distinguished the beginning bruises on her arms. But he refused to feel guilty, so he stared dispassionately down at her, a slightly raised eyebrow the only sign of his curiosity. "The first?" he questioned stoically.

She nodded slowly, her flushed cheeks gleaming as some tears escaped from the corners of her eyes. "Yes," she answered quietly. "I mean, I realize that most of my friends are...are gone now, but I couldn't help but hope that I might come across someone familiar. Someone who knows what happened." She inhaled raggedly and continued. "I've looked for Shippou, tried to sense him, but I haven't been able to find him." She looked up at him hopefully. "Do...do you know what happened to him?"

"I do not recognize that name."

"He was the fox cub that traveled with us." She smiled fondly. "I guess you wouldn't remember him too well. After all, we usually encountered you during fights, and I always made sure to keep Shippou as far away from battles as possible. I just thought that, maybe..."

He tore his eyes away from her, not wishing to see the disappointment that would be mirrored there. "I do not know of him."

"Oh," she replied softly. "I suppose I knew all along. I just couldn't help but hope that I might find out what happened to him." He heard her sigh wearily. "I hope he had a happy life."

A deep instinct began to scratch at the edge of his senses, warning him where this conversation would ultimately lead. Despite her subtle reassurance that she understood that her human friends were dead, he knew from reliable sources that she had had several friends who were of demon heritage. It was merely the fates that had led her to him instead of some welcoming ally who would have been more than willing to help an old friend.

He blinked in surprise when a hand frantically waved in front of his face, drawing him from his reflections. He glared down at the woman, irritated that she would interrupt his thoughts in such a childish manner. "What?" he asked irritably.

 She looked up at him in what he perceived as concern before slowly lowering her hand to rest once again at her side. "Are you alright?" she asked.

He snorted at her question. "Why wouldn't I be?" 

"I don't know." she replied. "It just looked like you kind of...spaced out for a moment."

"Am I not allowed time for thought?"

"Well, yeah," she answered slowly, "but it's rude to ignore someone when they're talking. I was talking." She leaned forward and stared up at him earnestly. "You weren't listening, were you?" she asked, and when he didn't answer she sighed wearily. "You weren't," she confirmed, and although her tone remained respectful, her bright eyes belied her annoyance. "I said, do you know of a wolf demon named Kouga?

"Hn," he responded, immediately recognizing the name and dreading her reaction to his answer. "I believe he was Prince of the East and lord over the neighboring wolf clans."

Her face instantly brightened. "That's gotta be him!" she exclaimed happily. "I can't believe he accomplished so much! I mean, I always knew he had what it took to reunite the wolf tribes, but still..." She smiled timidly. "Do...do you know where I might find him?"

He shifted slightly, keeping his impassive stare steadfast. "You cannot find him," he murmured. "He is dead."

Her eyes widened in shock and she stumbled backward. "But...I don't understand," she whimpered, and much to his displeasure she clung to his body for support. "H-How did it happen?" He stiffened when she buried her face in his chest, wrapping her arms around him in what looked like a lovers' embrace. "Please," she whispered raggedly. "I have to know."

"...He was defending his lands from a small army of renegade demons," he began, firmly grasping her shoulders to pull her away, "when a coward assassinated him." He sniffed in disgust. "The murderer was a traitorous wolf from his own clan, and a close friend no less."

"Ginta?" she gasped in shock. She pushed away from him to look into his eyes and see if the name registered, but the name held no meaning to him. When he remained silent she grasped onto his arm. "Was it Hakaku?"

Before he could answer she tossed his arm aside and turned her back to him. "I won't believe it," she said defiantly. "They were his friends! They were loyal!" She looked over her shoulder at him with bright, sad eyes. "They'd never, ever do something like that!"

Her innocence was charming and infuriating. He thought that she would have realized by now that the world was not always fair and good. If her encounters with Naraku hadn't changed her perspective, the world as she knew it certainly should have. Yet, she remained blissfully innocent.

She is a creature, he marveled, whom time has not touched.

This thought disturbed him, as did her incessant crying. Although she wasn't facing him he could see her body tremble with her silent sobs, and he sighed wearily. "I do not know who killed him," he said in a patronizing tone. "The assassin was never discovered."

He thought that this would calm her, but she stiffened in anger at his words. He could feel her rage boiling beneath her skin as she pivoted to face him. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" she asked angrily.

He stared back at her, slightly confused and his silence only seemed to anger her more. "You really are something else, you know that? You talk about honor and integrity, but when one of your allies gets murdered you don't do a damn thing about it!"

He stared dispassionately down at her and watched with irritation as her priestess power began to gather in her hand, crackling in the air when it came in contact with his own energy. "You're such a bastard," he heard her snarl before she readied to slap him.

He caught her puny wrist in his hand a hairs breadth from his face, not because his reflexes were rusty, but because he wanted to make a point. "Enough of your rant," he whispered dangerously as her power seared his skin. She began to struggle and he tightened his hold, his insides coiling when she cried out in pain. "I said enough!"

She whimpered and he lessened his grip, drawing her so close that he could feel her little puffs of breath against his lips. "Do not presume to give me lectures on things you know nothing of," he said, allowing the hand that had been placed against the small of her back to slide away. "I am a dog demon, and unlike your precious humans, I have never raped a woman or murdered a child. My hands are stained in guilty blood alone. Can the prisoners in your jails say the same?"

He released her and she stumbled back, rubbing her wrist furiously. This time he didn't feel guilty for the indentations on her wrist and the beads of blood where his claws had pierced her skin.

"I am a dog demon," he repeated, waiting until she looked up at him to continue, "and therefore, I understand the importance of pack. That wolf was a valuable ally." He glanced out into the crowd of humans bustling up and down the sidewalk, completely unaware of what stood in their midst. "Do not feel regret for his death," he said solemnly. "He died for a worthy cause. He was a brave warrior."

"...I'm sorry."

He looked back at her impassively, a small part of him slightly disappointed with her archaic opinion of him. She took a trembling step toward him and clasped her hands to her breast. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I had no right to say what I did. I'm just so, so angry! I know that isn't an excuse, but..." She turned her face from him and he could smell salt in the air.

 "How could things be allowed to turn out this way?" she asked him quietly.  "After all we did, don't you think we're entitled to something?" She hastily wiped her eyes and looked back at him. "I'm not asking for a reward. I did what I did because it was the right thing to do, and I wouldn't change it for anything. But, don't you think we deserve closure at least?"

He scowled. "Is closure what you really desire, even if the end is unhappy?" he asked sternly. "After your last reaction, I have my doubts as to how you will handle the fates of your other comrades."

She smiled sadly. "My friends were all very strong. I know they accepted their fates, the good and the bad. If...if they could accept the way things turned out, then so can I." She looked at him pleadingly. "I need to know what happened. Please."

He sighed resignedly but relented to her, knowing that the sooner he answered her questions the sooner she would leave. "The wolf is dead," he repeated tiredly. "I do not know of the fate of the one you called Shippou. As for the monk and slayer-"

"Miroku and Sango," she interrupted, and he inclined his head in consent.

"As for them," he continued, "they mated and had many children. I have come across many of their descendants throughout the centuries. They were quite recognizable; even if the male's holy powers have diminished to almost nothing."

She wrung her hands in anxiety, smiling longingly. "So, they were happy?"

He sighed in exasperation, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. "It would seem so."

She averted her gaze from him and looked out into the street, focusing on nothing in particular. "Then...that makes me happy," she said. "I mean, even though Kouga is gone, and Shippou is...well, just knowing that Miroku and Sango had good life makes it all seem worthwhile." Sniffing quietly, she looked back at him with glistening eyes. "Do...do you know what happened to-"

A deep part of him recognized what she was about to ask, and he stiffened at the thought of telling her the truth. It wasn't the truth itself that bothered him, although he still continued to dwell on it every now and then. He knew what her inevitable reaction would be; she would want comfort, and he had none to give.

He clasped his hand around her mouth before she could finish her question, effectively silencing her. "Do not ask me," he commanded fiercely, and she blinked in confusion. Her uncertainty angered him, and he briefly tightened his grip before releasing her. This time she didn't stumble back from him, but she did place her hands to her face, clumsily inspecting the marks he had made.

"Do not ask me," he repeated grimly, keeping his face impassive as she gazed at him. He stared into her eyes and suddenly saw a fearful truth mirrored there, shimmering darkly. For a moment he believed she somehow knew everything, but then the dreadful spark flickered from her eyes, leaving only a curious expression in its absence. Uncertain of her lack of knowledge but loath to betray anymore, he turned to leave her.

"Wait!" she called out desperately, and this time he wasn't even surprised when she grabbed a hold of his upper arm. "Please wait!"

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "I have given you all the information I will. If there is more you wish to know, seek out someone else." He yanked his arm from her, pleased when she put up no resistance. However, his satisfaction at her submissive behavior died away when she continued to follow him.

But at least now she is being quiet, he thought.

Not surprisingly, her silence was short-lived. "If you don't want to talk about...about him, that's alright," she said. "I mean, I guess I understand." Somehow she managed to gently touch his shoulder, even though she was now practically running to keep up with him. "We can always talk next time."

He turned on her and grabbed her wrist so quickly she didn't have time to react. "And what makes you think there will be a next time?" he asked savagely. She flinched at his show of anger, but kept her gaze steady.

"I have already told you," he snarled, "I do not desire your company. You are not nor were you ever any concern to me. Your constant meddling in my affairs never went unnoticed, but I allowed you to live only because you are below me. A mere human girl, priestess or not, is no match for a demon lord." 

He yanked her close, glad when he heard her sharp intake of breath. "It would do you well to avoid me," he whispered in her ear. "In this world, I am no more than a human, and humans kill their own kind everyday. I can promise there will be nothing left once I am finished with you."

She frowned, the corner of her lip trembling. "You're not happy," she whispered, and it irritated him that she stated this rather than asked, as if she knew him. "I know I'm right when I told you there aren't many demons left. So that means you're outnumbered...and our technology is very deadly." She reached up like she wanted to caress his cheek, but thought better of it and placed her hand on his striped wrist instead. "You've given up," she murmured sadly.

"You speak nonsense," he said harshly. "I am wealthy. I am respected. I have women fighting each other to get in my bed, and men groveling at my feet for my approval. The times may have changed, but the basic principles always remain the same. I am more than content with the way things are."

Her eyes briefly widened at his words, but a poignant hue still remained. "You're lying," she replied simply, and he recoiled from the sad sincerity in her voice.  "You can't tell me you're satisfied with the way things are. I think you realize that people now respect you for what you can do, not what you've done.

"But not me," she reassured, gazing at him earnestly. "I respect you. No matter what you think, I really do. How could I not?" she asked, smiling timidly. "You saved a little girl's life. You overcame your prejudice to fight with us for the greater good. I know you're a good person." She gently squeezed his wrist. "You don't need your wealth or power to have my respect."

He gritted his teeth at her relentlessness. "And what makes you think I want your respect?"

She laughed softly, her eyes sparkling. "Well, that's the nice thing about respect. People usually give it to you whether you want it or not."

Her logic was infuriating and he averted his gaze from hers, releasing her wrist and wincing inwardly when she absently began to rub it. She was still very human and fragile, despite her seemingly long life-span. "I have already revealed all that I will," he sighed jadedly. "You know that. What is it that you really want?"

It was apparent that she wanted more than answers now. Perhaps in the beginning she had only been curious about her friend's whereabouts, but his presence seemed to have awakened some new hunger inside her. There was something she had been seeking that she had seemed to find in him, her only existing link to the past.

His straightforwardness appeared to have stunned her and she blinked rapidly, nervously worrying her lower lip. "Well...company," she said simply after a moment's thought, as if the answer were completely obvious.

Her answer made him chuckle, and he enjoyed her brief look of shock at his uncommon outburst. "I am certain you can find much more suitable companionship than I."

"No, no I don't think so." She furrowed her brow stubbornly and met his steadfast gaze. "I think," she began firmly, "that in some way we both need each other."

Her answer was unexpected and he drew back from her, narrowing his eyes. "I have lived hundreds of years without the indulgence of companionship," he sneered. "I need no one."

"You don't have to pretend around me," she replied quietly. "I know what it's like. It's cold and ugly to be alone.[1]"

He swallowed thickly, the truth of her words turning his hard won constraints to dust. "I know," he agreed, earning a gasp of surprise from her. "But we do what we have to do to survive."

 But it never used to be, he silently added. There had been a time when he treasured the days spent in solitary bliss. But now, in a world with six billion inhabitants, he had never felt more isolated. And although he had always been accepting of his isolation, there was a part of him that had never truly been content.

Then the priestess had turned up, and during the course of their conversation that discontent had literally flared to life, consuming him in its blaze. He had thought she would be no more than a fleeting amusement; but now his instincts were stirring, insisting that this girl, this fiery little spitfire just might be what he needed to regain some of his passion for a life that suddenly seemed much too long.  

 t was a tempting proposal. She was offering herself to him, and he was willing to admit that her defiance and feistiness were quite refreshing. But he was hesitant, secretly fearing that her personality would easily become addicting in a world that had become a dull and empty shell.

"I don't know why you won't give it a chance," she suddenly huffed, crossing her arms in irritation at his silence. "It's not like you have anything to lose."

"I do not," he admitted, and she looked at him anxiously. "But I think it unwise for you to associate with me. We were enemies, turned allies by an unforeseen evil. When that evil passed there was no reason to keep ties, and so we became adversaries once more. I do not know you," he insisted, "and I cannot help you move on."

"You can," she disagreed. "And...and I think I can help you, too. You tell me we're unable to move on together because of our past differences, but that's not true. What we should do is come to terms with what happened then, and what can happen now." She drew in an exasperated breath and softened her voice. "We need to let old wounds heal. I think that's the first step to moving on for the both of us."

A part of him stirred restlessly at her words, wanting no more than to enfold her, possess her like some precious treasure and never let her go. He was first and foremost a predator, a possessive dog demon that found the idea of once more having a pack too tempting to remain docile. The demon inside him that ran purely on base instinct began raging, thrashing about in its intangible chains and demanding that he accept what she was offering so freely.

"You do not just want company," he finally said. "You want someone who knows what happened. I have the impression that if I agree to this, I will only be used for what I know."

She surprised him when she smiled brightly. "And you want someone who remembers. I have the feeling that if you agree to this I'll only be used for what I remember. So I guess the only fair thing to do is meet in the middle and consider this a 'give and take' relationship."

For the first time in a long time he felt the corner of his mouth curve into an imperceptible but real smile. "Indeed...Kagome."

 * * * * *

[1] This line is from the novel "Dark Prince," by Christine Feehan