I Fell for Myself by Stella Mira

You Better Pray This Works

The library was cluttered with awkwardness, strewn with scrolls. Ever since Sesshōmaru and Kagome had joined them, Sango hadn't uttered more than murmurs of self-chastisement, but she couldn't not speak now. In her hands, she clutched the composition for the balsam of Kagome's salvation.

"I think I found the spell we're looking for, Kagome-chan, but it's –" Stiff, filled with discomfiture, Sango stared at the miko, refused to divulge more – she passed the scroll to Kagome.

"Agrimonia, ashitaba, more herbs, brimstone, yes, we can find these easily –" Herbs, oils, some easy to find, others harder, but that wasn't the reason Kagome halted her tongue – the ritual itself was. Kagome read over the lines, once more, imbibed the words, the precipitance of heat, of blood, of things to come.

"What is the matter, miko?" Low, soft-spoken, his voice soaked through her, seeped into her skin, slow-spread obsession. It enhanced all sensation, that decadent burn, that laceration of nerves. She never realized when she lunged towards him, pressed him against the wall, addictive suffocation. Only when his scent lanced through her, like cinnamon aflame, did she come to her senses. It was intoxicating, was making her delirious at such close proximity. A sliding of skin, an acceleration of heartbeats, a liquefaction of need. Shivers smeared on her skin, tingles surged through her body. There was only one thing left to say – and one to imply.

"You better pray this works." Before I mark you.

Canines teased, slid against the column of his neck, high and low, light but heavy with promises – of sinking, tearing into flesh – then she pushed the scroll into his hands, released him.

"I'm going to search for that reckless idiot."

The scroll lay wrinkled in Sesshōmaru's grip. Miroku was the first to speak, to break the palpable tension.

"Did we miss something, Sango?"

Sango grimaced, as if she had bitten into something sour, then cast a glance towards her undoing, that lust-glutted book concealed in the folds of Miroku's robes.

"Your…treasure might come in handy. Apparently, they need to bathe in the mix of herbs while they are joined in a certain manner for the soul exchange ritual." Inconspicuous, implicitly worded, she huffed, glared at him.

Miroku had no such qualms when understanding dawned on him. "Ah, I see. Yes – it makes sense. To unmake such a powerful spell without the caster would require extreme measures – however pleasurable." He intoned the last word, stroked Sango's ears with his lips, murmurs of pleasure between them, but Sango drew back, still affected, eyes the color of hardened soil, full of no and resolution. Miroku cursed again.