The Perfect Mate by BelovedStranger

Painful Misunderstandings

“Damn, that Inuyasha,” Naraku spat out as he reclined against a wall in a deserted and darkened room, with Kanna before him, holding out her mirror to him, showing him Utako’s failure in killing Kikyo and Inuyasha. “A worthless endeavor.”

Naraku gazed off to the side, his eyes not seeing what was before him, but memories took shape before his eyes as he remembered a few weeks ago when he had encountered the insane dark miko Utako. He remembered seeing her curious corpses and how she sustained her life over the decades; unaware that she had slowly corrupted her mind and leaving her sanity behind. She had been an intriguing woman, one he could have a use for, at least he had hoped. It had been a simple thing to become her obsession and convince her he needed a youthful bride and how to obtain such a body that would never age.

His eyes narrowed as the present came back to him. She had failed, but then he laughed with malice as he turned his head once more to gaze upon the hapless love birds. How he enjoyed seeing the anguish upon Kikyo’s face when she contemplated her existence and her likeness to Utako’s lifeless corpses. Then there was Inuyasha’s helpless expression at her distress. Though he would love to see his enemies perish, he relished their agony more.

Once more in a good mood, he commanded Kanna, “Show me the monk and slayer.”

Silently, Kanna did as he bid, expressionless, and the scene inside the mirror changed until he witnessed the monk and slayer riding through the late afternoon skies upon the fire cat. “Let’s see if they survive my minions, fufufu.” A wicked smirk graced his lips as a lust for blood entered his crimson gaze.

**********With Sango, Miroku, and Shippo**********

“Where are we going?” asked little Shippo as he clung to Miroku’s robes, balancing on his shoulder with years of practice.

“Wherever Inuyasha is,” Miroku replied unhelpfully, who sat behind the slayer, his eyes fixated on her lithe back, shapely curves pressed invitingly between his thighs as they flew across the skies on Kirara’s back. His hands itched to wonder along her muscular form. His mind was far too occupied to pay much head to Shippo’s words.

“Yah, but where is he? I don’t even remember where we parted with him,” complained the fox kit. For the better part of the day, they had been searching and backtracking in an effort to once again travel with Inuyasha as he went after Kikyo. Staying with Akahana had not been an option as she had been completely out of control with fever as she tried to kill them.

“Don’t worry, Shippo. We—“ Sango had begun to reassure the kit when she felt a hand stroke high on her thigh. “Pervert!” she screeched and jabbed backwards with her elbow to sink into Miroku’s unguarded middle. The air whooshed out of him as he gasped for air, clutching at his abused midsection with the offending hand he had placed upon the slayer.

Shippo glanced down at the bent over monk with contempt and muttered, “Idiot.”

“Weren’t you a little harsh, Sango? I was merely checking to see that you were well—“ began Miroku in his own defense, when he was interrupted by Sango’s angry reply.

“Save it, monk! You’re lucky I went easy on you!”

“You never learn, do you,” piped Shippo, shaking his head at the older ningen.

Miroku laughed hesitantly as he gave his stomach a last sympathetic stroke as pain lingered, but snapped to attention and came on alert when Sango pointed in front of her and called out, “I see something up a head.”

Looking over her shoulder, Miroku’s gaze settled first on a break in the forest, then saw a manor smack dab in the middle of a huge clearing.

“Who could be living way out here?” questioned Shippo softly, gripping Miroku’s robes tighter.

“Should we find out, Miroku?” Sango asked in all seriousness, forgetting his previous perverted actions for the time being.

“Perhaps we’ll find news of Inuyasha,” he commented. They both knew that if their friend was here, than Utako and her corpses couldn’t be far behind.

“Kirara, land over there, but stay wary,” instructed Sango, pointing in front of the small manor, her eyes alert, muscles tensed and ready for action.

They landed in the courtyard and dismounted quietly, eyes roaming and searching for any hint of movement. The grass they walked on was yellow in death, the dirt dry and cracked underfoot. The manor they had seen in the air, now up close, looked dilapidated and abandoned. The roof was caved in and sagging near the front, the wrap around walking space had missing planks and rotted railing, the four steps leading up to the front entrance, which was wide open, looked serviceable but weak upon closer inspection, and the stone walls were graying and falling apart. Whoever once lived here, no longer did, or so it seemed.

“It’s creepy,” muttered Shippo with a fearful voice, clutching Miroku’s robes tightly.

Absentmindedly, Miroku reached up with his cursed hand to stroke Shippo’s auburn hair reassuringly. “Never fear, Shippo. Everything seems quiet here.” Still, he was alert to any possible danger.

Then a creek was heard as if someone had stepped on a noisy floor board, causing an eerie noise to disrupt the quiet, and Miroku’s words to be false. Shippo shrieked in over exaggerated fear, hair standing on end, as he watched the empty, darkened doorway to the manor.

“Something’s over there!” he squeaked.

“Who’s there?” challenged Sango as she bent her knees and tightened her grip on her hiraikotsu in preparation to throw it at any sign of danger.

All of a sudden, a small woman peeked out at them, hugging the door jam in fear. “W-who are you?” came a small, tentative voice.

The tension seemed to drain out of the pair as they gazed at the woman who built enough courage to step away from the doorway and into the late afternoon light. She was very beautiful. Her face was pale and unblemished, long, glossy black hair cascading down her back and over her shoulders, as she wore a beautiful purple and yellow designed kimono.

Miroku’s eyes widened in appreciation as his gaze fixated upon her lithe form, while Shippo gapped open mouthed at her beauty as well, still perched on his shoulder. Sango saw the other woman’s elegant face and glanced towards Miroku uncertainly, only to glare at his bewitched stare.

“I was frightened when I heard movement outside,” continued the beautiful woman in a shy voice, obviously still frightened by their appearance.

Ever the gallant samaritan, Miroku stepped forward, shrugging off an indignant Shippo who jumped to the ground ungracefully, and stepped forward with a huge smile and welcoming demeanor. “Do not worry yourself, my good woman. We were looking for a friend when we stumbled upon your home.”

Scampering over to Sango, Shippo asked in a low voice so the small woman wouldn’t hear, “He calls this a home?”

Sango was quiet as she watched the man she loved once again play the ladies’ man and tried not to let it hurt her and lied to herself that it didn’t. Shippo looked up at her, noticing her silence for the first time and frowned, worried.

“Sango?” he asked tentatively, but he was ignored. He wasn’t sure she heard him as she continued to watch the other two, and a sad expression crossed his face as he continued watching hers.

Miroku was completely oblivious to Sango’s pain as he stepped forward and offered his hand to the beautiful woman, one foot on the first step. “And what name would befit such a beautiful woman?”

Her smile was radiant as she focused her whole attention upon him, blushing prettily. “I am Kiyo-hime, sir monk.”

Miroku’s smile widened at her becoming blush, and he climbed nimbly up the wooden steps to grasp her small hand between his larger ones. “A hime? I am your faithful servant, Kiyo-hime. I fear there is a demonic presence hanging over your home, but do not fear, as I will exercise the demon for you without charge,” he lied smoothly, leaning close to her as if to offer protection with his very body if need be. He missed the exasperated expressions behind him and the continual glares coming from the slayer.

“Monk, I don’t think—“ started Sango as she took a few steps towards him, but was silenced by the hime’s words.

“Oh, would you, brave monk? There has been a youkai hanging around here,” Kiyo-hime told him with a fearful expression and raised her hands to grip Miroku’s arm, looking up at him, wanting reassurance.

Without skipping a beat, Miroku said, “You have nothing to fear, hime, for I shall save you from this beast.”

“Oh, do come in first. There’s so much to tell you,” encouraged Kiyo-hime, as she wrapped her arms around one of his and guided him inside the dark, dank manor, ignoring Sango and Shippo standing in the yard. “What is your name, sir monk?”

“Hey! What about us?!” exclaimed Shippo, bounding after them with the silent Sango at his heels.

If the outside of the manor looked despondent, then the interior was worse and inhospitable. How this lone woman, and a hime at that, was able to live and survive here was another mystery. Sango had a bad feeling about this place and the woman hanging on Miroku’s arm. Jealousy, however, had her ignoring her instincts and focused only on the pairs’ backs.

She led them to a room lit by a dull lamp set upon a low table. The tatami mats were dirty and moth eaten and the room smelled strongly of mold. Shippo ignored courtesy and covered his nose with the sleeve of his kimono as he entered the small room. 

They were seated around the low table, Kiyo-hime holding onto Miroku, while Sango and Shippo settled on the other side across from them. Miroku noticed Sango’s baleful glare and gulped guiltily before turning to their host and smiling hesitantly and asked, “So why are you here in such a place all alone? Surely your family must be wondering where you are.” A cough from Sango made him hastily continue, “Ah, yes. My companions here are Sango and Shippo, hime.” Then he laughed nervously.

Kiyo-hime nodded to them in acknowledgement before returning her gaze once more upon Miroku.

“Oh, the demon killed everyone! This manor used to flourish. The only one the youkai hadn’t manage to kill bedsides myself was my older brother, who had been off traveling. He returned yesterday but left again, claiming to find and slay the youkai. He hasn’t come back, and I am so worried for him,” Kiyo-hime said tearfully, her words wobbly as grief overcame her.

“There, there, hime,” Miroku patted her shoulder consolingly. Then he gripped her hand once more between his and gazed deeply into her sad eyes. “I will help you gladly, but I would ask a favor of you, beautiful hime.”

Her eyes glittered up at him, her expression so sweet and beautiful to Miroku, and her lips so full and lush; he couldn’t help but watch them as she spoke. “Oh, please tell me. I’d do anything to be safe again.” She moved closer to him, her free hand lying innocently on his thigh, making his throat go dry.

“Would you bare my children?” he asked her.

Sango surged from her kneeling position, angry by the display and the words he spat at every pretty girl, including her, and slugged him in the side of his head. Fuming silently, eyes like daggers as she glared at him spitefully.

Kiyo-hime looked at her with wide eyes before trying to soothe the hurting monk.

“Ouch! Sango!” Miroku cried out, then went quiet and froze at the frosty look on the slayer’s face as he began to sweat profusely.  Without a word, she sat back down, eyes never leaving him, unnerving him further. A pull on his arm had him turning hesitantly towards Kiyo-hime, while still trying to keep one eye on Sango, even though he knew he deserved her wrath.

“Yes, hime?” asked Miroku politely.

“My brother still hasn’t come back,” she whispered, the fear vivid in her huge, chocolate, brown eyes.

Puffing up his chest, he patted her hand consolingly and replied, “Don’t you worry, my dear. All will be well. I will go search for this fiend and bring your brother back to you safe and sound.” A confident grin accompanied his gallant words.

“Oh, but you mustn’t,” she cried, clutching at him fretfully.

Wrapping a comforting arm around her slender shoulders, Miroku brought her close to his strong body, enjoying her soft curves against him, blatantly ignoring Sango’s death stare. “You don’t have to worry for my safety, hime. I have defeated many evil youkai over the years.”

“But you don’t understand,” Kiyo-hime beseeched him, “this youkai hates monks and would surely kill you.”

“Of course he might hate Miroku, if the youkai was fearful of his aura,” Shippo intoned with wisdom.

The hime cut the little kit a silencing glance, before once more turning doe eyes back at Miroku. “Wait until I tell you the serpent’s tale. She was actually a beautiful woman once, or so her story goes. She had fallen in love with a travelling monk, who fancied her as well, but only for a short time before his passions waned. He tried to leave her, but she followed him to the edge of the Hidaka River, where the monk had ordered a boatman to take him across and not wait for the shouting woman fast on his heels.

Angered, she flung herself into the water, swimming after him, and her anger transformed her into a giant serpent. The serpent opened her large mouth and flames emerged, engulfing the small boat, killing the boatman and the monk.”

“Wow, that’s intense,” Shippo said with wide eyes. “You can’t really blame her. I mean the guy did use her before tossing her aside.” Then he grinned evilly, his eyes leveled on Miroku, who recoiled at the look. “Be careful, Miroku. This monk sounds a lot like you.”

Coughing nervously into his fist, Miroku said, “I don’t believe I know what you are referring to, Shippo.” Then turning once more towards Kiyo-hime, he leaned close and whispered to her intimately, “No matter her vendetta against monks, hime, I will protect you.” He didn’t feel anything for this woman then appreciation for her beauty, but he couldn’t help himself when it came to flirting some more with her.

Sango bristled at his continual flirtations towards the other woman, feeling very inadequate compared to such a lovely woman. Sango looked away and rubbed her left arm dejectedly. She may not be the prettiest or the most graceful woman out there, but surely she meant more to Miroku then a passing fancy. He wouldn’t leave her like that monk in Kiyo-hime’s story, would he? Looking back at the happy couple, a seed of doubt planted long ago by his continual womanizing even after his words of love to her, grew larger inside her breast.

“No, you mustn’t go!” wailed Kiyo-hime. “You’ll surely be killed.”

Miroku gazed down at her upturned face, seeing the worry etched clearly in her soft features, felt her body tremble in fear for him, and his manly pride swelled at such devotion swimming in the dark pools of her eyes. “Kiyo-hime—“ Miroku began, trying to make her understand that he would not fall so easily to a vindictive youkai, but Sango’s voice rose over his, surprising him into silence, and to turn his head to gaze at her lovely, familiar face. 

“I will take care of this youkai, Kiyo-hime. You don’t have to worry,” Sango said, starting out in a strong voice before it grew weaker, and she averted her face, unable to meet Miroku’s gaze, hurt terribly by his callous actions. She only had thoughts of getting away from him, to think, and perhaps to cry alone. She refused to let him see her cry over him, arrogant man that he was.

She had gotten up to leave, when Shippo unexpectedly said, “Um, guys? I’m hungry. Is there anything to eat around here?” Shippo looked around him dubiously, doubtful that anything edible could be found in a place like this.

“Oh, yes! I’m so sorry! Where are my manners? Yes, there are provisions my brother had left me. I will go prepare a cold meal for you all. You must be weary after your travels,” Kiyo-hime babbled and rose gracefully from her position beside Miroku and headed towards the door.

“I will—“ Miroku began rising as well, intending to help Kiyo-hime, when Sango once again interrupted him.

“I will help you, Kiyo-hime.” Sango rose and followed Kiyo-hime outside, who had nodded her head graciously in thanks. Sango gritted her teeth at the hime’s pretty courtesies, knowing she could never emulate them. She was not meant to be a beautiful wallflower, and she looked down at her rough, calloused hand. She was meant for battle, nothing more, not even to love it would seem. Not once did she turn to meet Miroku’s eyes as she left the room on Kiyo-hime’s heels.

Miroku watched the two women leave the room in silence, deep in thought, and what he thought caused him to feel a strange tightness deep in his chest. Sango had refused to look at him…

“You’re a real idiot, you know that?” he heard Shippo say to him in a disgusted manner.

His head swiped around to pin the little kit with a stern look, a frown on his handsome features. “And why do you say that, Shippo?”

Leaning back against the wall behind him, Shippo crossed his arms behind his head, his bright, green eyes focused on the doorway the women had just left through. “You obviously hurt Sango’s feelings again, you idiot.”

Miroku bristled under the reprimand, but then subsided, slumping his shoulders and gazing forlornly at the table top. “You’re absolutely right, Shippo. I have been very remiss in considering Sango’s feelings recently.”

“Don’t tell me that. Tell her,” Shippo said with wisdom beyond his young years.

Several minutes later, the two women returned, Kiyo-hime as radiant as ever, and Sango with a subdued expression, causing guilt to ravage Miroku further. He wanted to plead and beg for her forgiveness, to go down on his knees and tell her he loved no other than her, no matter what his previous actions had been. His flirtation and womanizing was based purely upon habit over long years of propositioning the fairer sex; not because he wished to play with her emotions and treat her like all the others, for his feelings for her were real and strong.

He gazed at Sango with the love he felt for her, but she never saw it since she never once looked up at him. He sighed quietly when he felt Kiyo-hime take her seat once again beside him, her thigh pressed intimately against his, when all he wanted was for Sango to be where the hime now sat.

Sango must hate me, and rightfully so, Miroku thought with downcast eyes, forgetting the food that now lay on the low table before them, until Kiyo-hime politely said in her impossibly musical voice, “I know it’s not much, but I hope it will fill your empty bellies.”

“This is great!” reassured Shippo, as he grabbed a hunk of cheese in one hand and bread filled with berries in another, eating like a glutton. Sango, too, started to eat, but Kiyo-hime did not grab for anything until Miroku had picked up an apple and bit into it.

This did not go unnoticed by Sango, and her left hand clenched into a fist as it rested beneath the table upon her thigh. Again she had not shown the proper courtesy to wait for the male member of this small group to eat first before partaking in the meal herself. She had long since been unrequired by her rag tag group to stand on such ceremonies, and to fall short now in front of Kiyo-hime once more humiliated and angered her. Her appetite had all but fled, and after a few more minutes of pointless eating, she stood and told the group, “I’ve had my fill. I’ll go look for your brother, Kiyo-hime.”

“I would be forever in your debt,” was Kiyo-hime’s proper response, not raising a fuse that it was Sango instead of Miroku who faced possible harm. Sango gritted her teeth upon realization that she mattered not to this woman. She probably just wants me out of the way to be with Miroku, Sango thought as depression settled in, blossoming fully inside her chest.

Anger quickly saved her from falling further into melancholy. She’s welcome to him!

Miroku had risen halfway to his feet, feeling a deep yearning need to hold Sango in his arms and comfort her. He wanted desperately to be with her in this moment that he didn’t realize his arm reaching out for her, until Shippo’s voice broke into his wretched thoughts.

“Um, Sango. I think you’re forgetting something,” Shippo said, pausing in his inhalation of the food before him.

Sango looked back at him curiously. “What’s that, Shippo?”

“You don’t even now Kiyo-hime’s brother’s name. None of us do,” he replied, his green gaze moving to settle questioningly on Kiyo-hime as did Sango’s and Miroku, who just now noticed their slip.

Sango blushed. Could she do nothing right in front of this woman? Jealousy and envy were strong inside her as she gazed upon the hime’s angelic face, waiting for her answer.

Kiyo-hime smiled almost bashfully and said, “I’m such a fool. I’m sorry. His name is Yasuhiro.”

Meaning only to reassure her this time, his intentions pure, Miroku placed a soothing hand on her shoulder and said, “Everything is alright. No harm has been done.” Then he tried to smile encouragingly at her, to which she reached up and kissed his cheek, whispering her thanks.

Loud stomping signaled Sango’s departure, and Miroku would have followed her to explain, but Kiyo-hime was surprisingly strong as she held him back. “Thank you ever so much for your help, sir monk. The kami have finally smiled upon me when they brought you to my door.”

Feeling like an ass, and not in much of a mood to be around the enchanting hime any longer as his desire to go after Sango was strong, Miroku’s reply lacked its previous flirtatious manner and only politeness remanded, “I am a monk and bound by duty to protect those who require my services. I can do no other, hime”

“So polite and aloof you have become, monk. Is there something the matter?” Kiyo-hime asked innocently.

“No, everything’s well,” Miroku tried to reassure her with a fake smile, feeling it crack at the edges.

**********With Sango**********

Kirara had followed her mistress, feeling her sorrow as she padded softly by the slayer’s side in her small form. She meowed cutely, trying to convey comfort, but Sango was deep in thought, so deep that she did not at first noticed how far she had walked until she heard a rock thump into water. The noise startled her greatly, and she instantly took up a fighting stance, gazing around to see what had disturbed her turmoil filled musings.

She tensed when she saw someone standing with his or her back to her by the water’s edge of a small pond. At first she guessed whoever it was had to be a girl because beautifully long, black hair fell unbound to a slim waist above her butt; however, the shoulders were too broad and wide to be a woman’s, the legs long and the individual was tall, taller than her, she would bet. The sun had begun to set, casting the figure in a burning orange glow. Then he turned his face towards her and glanced at her over his shoulder with kind, blue eyes.

Sango sucked in her breath at his masculine beauty. Then he spoke with a deep, sultry voice that made her knees weaken at the sound. “Oh, I did not know I had company and very beautiful company at that.” He turned to face her, and Sango was caught as she gazed into his blue eyes as dark as a night sky.

Sango blushed and glanced away shyly and silently berated herself for her girlish actions. Who cared how handsome he looked? She had no idea who he was. For all she knew, he could be a dangerous individual, but he didn’t seem all that dangerous. No, looking back at him, taking in his dark blue hakama and storm cloud decorated haori, to the muscled body his polished clothes hid; he could be dangerous if he wanted to be.

He cocked his head at her continual silence and asked, “To whom do I owe the honor of meeting, fair lady?”

She tensed slightly as she answered, “I am Sango, and I am looking for a man named Yasuhiro, Kiyo-hime’s older brother. Do you know where I might find him?” Next to her, she heard Kirara hiss in warning but remained in her small feline form, however, ready to fight if need be. Sango was reassured by her presence.

“Then look no further, lady Sango, for you have found him,” Yasuhiro said, smiling and executed a graceful bow of his head and slight tilt of his shoulders in respect.

Again she blushed; though, she knew not why. This man was far too intriguing and handsome for his own good. “T-then if you would please accompany me back to your home? Your sister is anxious to see that you are not harmed.”

He smiled that beguiling smile at her before saying, “And if I would prefer to stay in your company a while longer?”

“I don’t think—“ Sango began to say, feeling flattered but uneasy by this man’s flirtation and sex appeal, but then she remembered Miroku and the callous why he would ignore her feelings and changed her mind. Stepping towards him hesitantly, she said, “On second thought, I would be glad to stay with you a while longer,” and sat down a few feet from the water’s edge where he indicated she should sit. She tried to ignore the way he sat only a few inches from her, his body heat flowing towards her, and his musky, fresh scent drifting to her nostrils.

What was she doing? Flirting with a man was far beyond her capabilities. She should just get back up and insist she take him to his sister, but then what if she walked in on an intimate moment between Miroku and Kiyo-hime? Just the thought made her jealous and angry at Miroku for making her love him and putting her through such pain and high strong emotions.

“What brings you to my home?” Yasuhiro asked her, intruding upon her thoughts.

“Oh, uh, we were looking for a friend when we stumbled upon your, uh, manor and found your sister,” explained Sango, then she grew serious. “She says you had gone after a youkai who had killed your family. I’m sorry for your loss, but did you ever encounter this youkai?” Sango felt a deep kinship to this strange man. He had lost his family as had she. They were the same, almost.

He, too, grew serious as he gazed off across the water of the pond, and she watched the churning emotions run across his profile, feeling sad all over again for him, that she couldn’t help but reach out and place her hand over his, where it lay innocently on the ground between them. He slowly turned towards her, and her breath caught at the deep emotion swirling in his turbulent eyes. He was sad. It hurt her to see such sorrow reflected there.

“You are a good woman, Sango,” he told her softly, and his gaze travelled down to her lips.

Embarrassed and shy, not knowing what to do in this situation, Sango turned away from him and tried to release his hand, but he would not relinquish it and intertwined their fingers. She looked at him, startled.

“You do not have to fear me,” he told her with all seriousness.

“I-it’s not that. Uh, well you see…I…” Sango tried to explain about her feelings for Miroku, but they were stuck in her throat.

“You have someone else,” he stated more than asked.

Unable to reply, Sango blushed and yanked her hand from his and said tersely, “It’s none of your concern.”

She heard him chuckle, and the sound made her heart skip a beat at the musical quality. What was wrong with her? Suddenly Kirara jumped to her paws and raced back towards the mansion, but Sango didn’t notice as she was far too focused on the man beside her; though, she valiantly tried to deny the attraction. Was she so lonely and starved for attention that she would take comfort from any handsome man who showed interest in her? Could she be so shallow in her misery?

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

DEDICATED TO KNEAZEL'S MYTHOLOGY CHALLENGE! The myth is the story about Kiyohime. There are a few differences in my story and the myth, but it follows the same theme.

Forgive me for the delay! My work schedule is hectic lately. As always, thanks to my wonderful beta, dianna, for helping me and Stella for brainstorming ideas for this chapter. The next chapter will be up as soon as my beta has looked over it so keep your eyes peeled for the next chapter! I hope you all like the new characters and twists and turns I am adding to my story. Soon, very soon the many plots will start weaving together.

For now it's time for Miroku to get a taste of his own medicine.