I Fell for Myself by Stella Mira

The Treasure of All Treasures

Kagome came to a stop when they reached a large, cave-like space. The gold of her eyes eclipsed with disgust as she took in the horrific sight spread before her. Legions of yōkai lay on the ground – slow degeneration, hideous decay. A jigsaw of eyes, polychromous, slit pupils, venereal, and voices, animal-like sounds, guttural – a den of beasts, a peal of torture. They writhed, slithered, pleaded for an end, to be released from their suffering by any means – and Sesshōmaru gave it to them. Light surged and swelled, conquered the hellish place, purified everything in its passing.

"Naraku must have sensed our coming and took flight to avoid a confrontation in his newly evolved body."

It was a statement, defied question, but it allayed neither Kagome's frustration nor her lament.

"If we could have arrived a few hours earlier, we could have caught him in a vulnerable state."

Sesshōmaru surveyed their surrounding with keen eyes, searched for an iota of hope, but found nothing. Perhaps the taijiya and the monk would be more fortunate on this account – and he told the miko as much.

"Let us reunite with the rest of the pack for now. We must discuss our next course of action. Naraku would have left traces behind – there might still be a chance to follow after him if we move now."

~~~~~

Dark passages, terrible, slumbering mysteries, brimming with creatures unknown to mortal ken, always watching, never approaching. Miroku and Sango always watched, never approached either – only moved forward. This castle whispered past grandeur, lavishness beneath dilapidation, hidden secrets, phantoms of life once flourished, swallowed by death, bound by yōki. Then they came upon that chamber – endless shelves, overflowing with scrolls. The library.

"We are in luck, my lovely Sango. By the looks of this, I think we found our objective."

Eyes wide, awe-struck, Sango perused the scrolls, the shelves, the magnitude of information, of neglected erudition.

"This place is huge… It would take us days to skim through everything here. We're not even sure if the ritual would be described in one of them – or if it even exists."

Through the dissatisfaction, the phantom exhaustion, Miroku could hear notes of excitement in her voice. Sango would love to seclude herself in this maze of ink and paper, read every single word, relish the old-forgotten knowledge. He chuckled, amused.

"I guess we have no other choice but to find out the hard way."

Most scrolls recorded the history of the castle and its clan, some contained remedies for various maladies, and a select few spells or myths. Being vigil of an enemy attack distorted reality, perception of time, made it feel like days passed – but it was no more than an hour. When Miroku laughed, the sound mellowed the silence, glided across flaxen-hued paper, over Sango's skin, more husky than it was, full of implications. Sango peered at him over her scroll, brow half-raised, smirk half-formed on her lips. For Miroku to laugh, despite the danger lurking in corners and crevices, to make that kind of expression, to drag his eyes over her shape, linger on dips, on swells of flesh – the man was shameless…but he knew desire, perhaps too much of it. And, when they were alone, in the privacy of their skin, Sango would allow some liberties, of touch and tongue, of wetness and lips.

"Did you find something, monk?"

His half-grin burgeoned with sensualism, with things done in the dark, spoke of perspiration and slick skin.

"I found the treasure of all treasures."

"Treasure?" Even as she asked, even as she sidled up to his side, took a peek of his treasure, Sango knew what she would find.

"Pervert." She chuckled, felt the bulk of his frame against her back, body warmth and the scent of male. His skin burned hot against her – hotter the closer he pressed. His breath seared the shell of her ear, sensitive skin, close, too close, fire wreathed around her neck. Teeth sank into her lower lip, her arms lifted, buried her desire, her face into the pages of the ribbon-bound book – and she moved her hips against his, gave in to temptation…just a little.

"Is this the Sengoku Jidai's version of Kama Sutra?"

Neither Sango nor Miroku had spoken. It was a male voice, amused, a slight tease – and painstakingly familiar. Sango stilled, lowered the book, met gold and blue and mortification – and Miroku cursed. It would be a long time since Sango would allow such liberties again.