I Fell for Myself by Stella Mira

What Is Done Is Done

Six months later

A warrior. Tall and lithe, she smelled of earthly desires, of green wood and raw metal. Her scent was the same, the blue of her eyes as well, yet her attire had changed. Skin-tight leather and armor, sword on her hip and bow on her back. She was all muscles and thighs, hair tied in a high knot, long and shiny, the color of moistened earth, cimmerian. Her skin was touched by the sun, made tawny, adorned with crimson-pale scars, some thin and new, some deep and old. Still, she was beautiful. It was the kind of beauty that spoke of limberness, of slick sweat, of blood heat. Sesshōmaru could see the lust of her skin, could hear the purr of her sinew – it drew him closer, gripped him tighter.

That woman he had met in his brother's company a year ago was no more – she was as much of a warrior as he now. The tang of battle and blood clung to her skin; she had a huntress' scent, hawk eyes and lissome limbs. Dangerous woman, even more so than before. For six months, Sesshōmaru observed and stalked and waited – but it was time. Time to meet once more, to talk without shadows or barriers between them, as equals, as beings afflicted with the same sufferance. He could tell it was so, could see the changes in her mien, in the origins of her power. Another hue, another skin, another soul.

Away from her companions, at the first dark of the night, Sesshōmaru followed her as she took to the hot springs. There was no need to make a sound, to vocalize his presence – she already knew he was there.

"It's been a long time, Sesshōmaru… A year, is it?"

Her voice was not soft, not as he remembered it to be, yet it was everything a woman should be. Bold, sensuous, it glissaded over him, made his skin feel hot, rekindled the vestige of attraction beneath the memory. It was a natural response, had always been as such – whenever her eyes touched him, provoked him. A half-smirk on her lips, she watched and waited, but Sesshōmaru held his tongue, didn't trust himself to speak – hence he undressed, joined her in the warm-hazed waters. Her eyes trailed over his nakedness, low and lower, dipped below his pubic bone. She licked her upper lip, laughter bubbled in the zaffre of her gaze, in the nadir of her throat – but it was not the same laughter. Husky undertones, it still held traces of daring, stroked his mind – licks of wildfire, skin-felt sensations, anamneses of bedevilment.

Sesshōmaru's voice was rough, heavy with old-festered lust, when he finally spoke. "You have changed, miko – but still the same, still you taunt."

Kagome flashed him a grin, feral intensity and slightly mocking. "I'm not the only one who's changed, Sesshōmaru." Her tone was friendly, a light challenge, but the weight of her gaze was heavy. A succession of white teeth flashed behind her grin.

His skin felt hotter, candle wax dripping on thin flesh. Inch by inch, drop by drop, it burned and blistered – she was there, the woman who haunted his memory, hunted his vagary. Kagome... He tasted the echo of her name in the winding corridors of his mind but didn't speak it aloud.

"That is true." A crick racked his neck, bones snapping with a sharp sound. "Naraku has perished. I slew him."

Her lips split by a margin, rueful smirk above a gnashing of teeth. A shimmer of awareness coated her eyes as what Sesshōmaru revealed sank into her mind.

"So it was you, after all." Her chin furrowed, in indignation perhaps, or self-loathing, Sesshōmaru wasn't sure, but she gave him a nod of acknowledgement. When she parted her lips again, her voice dragged on his skin with the promise of pain, like cool daggers. Sesshōmaru peered at her, noted how her muscles clenched, how her body tensed.

"You should have called for us – for me. I would have liked to pay him back the debt I owed him."

There was sharpness in her warning and threat in her grin. Sesshōmaru believed her. Her grin narrowed then, adopted visceral qualities – a slash of smirk. Every vein and artery, every limb and organ in her body frothed with fury, seething, consuming. Kagome eyed its source with a hard stare, channeled all the rage through it.

"You had no right – no right!" Realization struck while she yet spoke, evolved from a reptilian hiss into a lion's roar. "Even if you did, I had my own right!"

"Calm yourself, miko." Smooth and quiet was his utterance, yet much like the calm before the storm. Kagome could feel it – waves of vexation, like a river under strung skin, turning his veins into the color of ice. "What is done is done."

Her furor dwindled, coalesced with acceptance, a pool of heat and saliva under her tongue. Kagome fought not to hurl it at him, not to let it slaver down her chin. It was a factual statement but not what she wished to hear. Still, as he claimed, there was nothing to be done about it.

"Why are you here, Sesshōmaru? What do you want from me?"

Her displeasure slashed across her face, loosened his tongue.

"Are you not curious, miko? The change – you can feel it, I know you can. Do you not wish to know how it came to be, what it means?"

She smiled, but her smile, too, was different. Sesshōmaru took in the changes, with every word she uttered, with every move she made. Little by little. The more he observed her the more he realized the change had progressed further in her than in him.

"What is the point in knowing that? I have searched far and wide this past year, both in my era and in this one – and I have discovered nothing. Nothing!" Her tone was bitter, leaked venom and regret; her lids descended, tried to hide her expression – too late. Sesshōmaru saw the malaise in the ashen sea of her eyes, drowned in it.

"Do your companions know of your ailment?"

No matter the casualness of his question, and despite that his mask did not dissolve, Kagome could still see that river, could tell Sesshōmaru's ire had not yet subsided. It pleased her, brought harshness to her features, gave an edge to her smile.

"Is that what you call it – an ailment?"

"Come with me, miko. We shall seek one who knows all – we shall visit Bokusenō."

The suddenness of Sesshōmaru's offer, the way his voice evened, cut her anger short, made Kagome regard him with skepticism under her lashes – but she nodded, as he knew she would.