AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Word Count: 3,163
FLY WHILE YOU can, little bird. Soon, I’ll clip your wings. Then, you’ll be mine.
His obsession. Onigumo almost pitied the miko.
It was her face he saw before falling asleep, her eyes that haunted his dreams, with her name upon his lips when he awoke.
Even when he heard her leave the hut, he imagined he could still smell her sweet fragrance, all womanly innocence. There was a pureness about the miko that called to the darkness inside himself. He craved to possess it. Her.
“Kagome,” he whispered without being fully aware that he’d done so, lost in musings that began with her capture and ended with her wrapped carnally in his embrace.
When he’d first awakened a few days ago, his mind had been awhirl. Despite what the miko thought, he wasn’t about to answer for his crimes. At first, his schemes involved the onna falling to an unfortunate accident. But not anymore. He would escape, there was no doubt, but Kagome would be leaving with him.
For days, he’d schemed, knowing time was not on his side.
Tonight. It would happen tonight. When the miko came to check on him before retiring for the evening, he would grab her, arm around that lovely neck of hers, and squeeze. Waiting for her to pass out. Then, he would whistle for his horse. His steed couldn’t be far. Crawling to the beast and mounting wouldn’t be too much of a problem, but dragging an unconscious woman—even as slight as his little bird? Not with his useless leg. He would have to tie her up, he decided. Arms behind her back. Legs hobbled so she could walk but not run. And gagged. It wouldn’t do if she were to cry out for aid. A grin formed. His fundoshi would do nicely.
Degrading—for her.
Arousing—for him.
His cock twitched at the erotic image, anticipation thrumming through his veins. Kagome subjugated. Mouth stuffed with his loincloth. Would she taste him? Scent him? Should he leave a gift of his release to assure she did? Fantasy took shape. Restrained, he could so easily lay her down, lift her hobbled legs over her head, and snag the bindings securing her ankles to the wall with a hook. But he didn’t have a hook. Not here. He had many intimate…implements back at his shiro. And he’d have to secure her arms above her head, as well, not behind her back.
He pictured it, in minute detail. Kagome naked. Legs and arms tied over her head. Bared to him. Open. Ready for his cock to plunge deep.
He gasped. Groaned. His cock pulsed, insistent, unbearably aroused.
Onigumo was just reaching down to free his engorged shaft, allowing himself a moment’s indulgence, when a voice intruded, scattering the provocative images and deflating his passion as though a cold bucket of water had splashed his groin.
“Touching. The warlord who fell in love with the miko.” The voice was snide, menacing.
Back stiffening, the fine hairs along Onigumo’s arms rose, sensing the predator too late. His head swiveled towards the back wall. The only entrance was at the opposite side of the small room, yet somehow, the silver haired youkai from before was there. Onigumo’s gaze flickered to the open window, already knowing it was too small for the beast to have entered through.
The youkai mocked him, having heard him call out Kagome’s name. Believing himself alone, Onigumo’s reaction had been unguarded. Revealing far too much.
Suddenly, the creature’s nostrils flare. “No. Nothing so…naive. Your reek of lust.”
Humiliation burned in Onigumo’s chest, morphing to fury as the daemon looked down his regal nose at him. Onigumo moved to rise, to put them on more even footing, but fell back on a pained grunt.
“Do not get up on my account. Rest. You appear unwell.”
Gritting his teeth, Onigumo’s hand shot to his side, a reflex.
“Looking for this?”
The youkai held up Onigumo’s sword. He hadn’t seen the weapon since he’d woken up in this filthy hole the miko called a dwelling. He’d never asked for his blade’s return, knowing he’d have been denied. His fingers flexed, mind calculating how to regain his weapon despite the laughable odds. Fueled by an indominable will, he would never rest, never surrender. Not until he had everything his black heart desired—and his enemies, dead.
“Ah, I’ve wondered where my blade made off to.” As though he expected to be obeyed, Onigumo lifted his uninjured arm, palm up. Expectant.
Fire danced in amber orbs. Then the sword was suddenly smacking against Onigumo’s chest. Hitting the dual burns along his shoulder. Pure agony. Bent forward on a drawn-out hiss, he held onto his sword like a lifeline.
“How inconsiderate of me. Apologies for the pain.”
“Your sincerity moves me,” Onigumo bit out with a murderous glare at the smug figure standing just beyond the sunlight filtering from the window, as though one with the shadows. The corner appeared darker than it should have been at this early hour. Sinister and foreboding.
Onigumo was not immune to fear. He knew death had come for him.
Not if he could stop it. He cast his eyes around, desperate. He stalled for time, hoping the miko would return, while knowing she would not, as she had only recently left. “Why are you here?”
“You have something of mine. I’ve come to reclaim it.”
It took Onigumo a moment to comprehend his meaning. When he did, he chuckled. “Kagome? So, what?” He indicated his sword. “We’re trading?”
“I do not trade with vermin.”
Cocky bastard.
Onigumo sneered. “I took nothing from you. You abandoned the girl. She is free to claim.” She belongs to me.
“She belongs to me.”
The youkai’s claim mirrored Onigumo’s possessive thoughts, and struck him with shocking force. “You fancy the girl.”
Unbelievable.
Another, louder chuckle, mocking the daemon in turn. “A youkai in love with a miko. Is she aware of your twisted perversion?”
The youkai did not seem to hear him. “You have outlived your usefulness, ningen.” He took a step forward, entering the light cast by the morning sun. The bright rays caught in his eyes, warming the hue to liquid amber, but the daemon’s gaze was colder than winter and hard as steel.
Onigumo stiffened, hands tightening on his sword, feeling just as helpless with the weapon as he had without it. The daemon was stronger. Faster. And Onigumo was weak. Broken.
“I do hope you enjoyed these extra days of life. Savored them,” the daemon continued conversationally.
“Come to finish me off, have you,” Onigumo replied bravely, refusing to cower. “But I warn you, the miko is due back shortly—”
“Hiding behind a woman?” The daemon’s scorn set Onigumo’s teeth on edge. “Unfortunately, the miko will not be returning.”
Onigumo’s thumb flicked over the wide guard, freeing an inch of steel from its scabbard. “What have you done with her?”
He cast a quick glance out the window, trying to gauge the time by the sun’s position, but he could not see it from his reclined position on the floor. How long had she been gone? Ten minutes? Fifteen?
“Protective,” sneered the daemon rather than answer. “The villain turned hero.”
“Answer me, beast.” Angry, the fear leached out of Onigumo on a wave of animosity.
The silver head tilted to the side, inhuman eyes regarding Onigumo with an unnerving stare. “Do you truly believe the miko could ever return your regard? Or respond to the lust oozing from your pours?”
“Perhaps she already has,” Onigumo taunted with a knowing grin.
The youkai’s returning grin was pure malic. “For all your charm, not once has the miko responded in kind. Her scent reveals her lack of interest.”
Onigumo glared, unflinching under the cruelty staring back at him. “How long have you been spying on us?” On her. He gave another mocking laugh. “You speak of desire. You think she would want you?” He scoffed. “She chose me, not you. Or have you forgotten, daemon?” His smirk was slathered in sweet victory at reminding the arrogant fiend.
“I tire of your prattle.” A sinister glimmer of delight entered that feline gaze, unnerving Onigumo. “Do you hear them yet?”
At Onigumo’s confusion, the youkai smirked, flashing sharp canines.
“You’re about to receive a few guests. Oh, no one of import. Just a few peasants come to pay their respects to Lord Onigumo, the warlord who commands the bandit forces that have been terrorizing the countryside of late.”
It was then that Onigumo heard them, the angry shouts, the obscene threats. And they were getting closer. Ignoring the smug daemon, Onigumo cast his gaze around him, mind racing.
“Your stench has shifted. You reek of fear.”
Ignoring the youkai’s ridicule, Onigumo tried to pull himself to his feet, using his sword as a crutch. Thinking quickly, desperate, he released an ear splattering whistle. Then another.
“You waste breath. Your beast of burden now feeds the crows.”
“You wha—! Aah!” Onigumo crashed to the ground on a scream of rage mixed agony. He’d turned to confront the daemon, only to shift partially onto his splinted leg. He lay curled on the ground, panting, sweating. Never had he suffered anything so excruciating.
“No need to rise and greet them. Be at ease. They won’t be staying long. Lie. Rest. It will be over quickly.” The youkai’s voice was almost kind, soothing.
Ignoring him, Onigumo tried to right himself by using the wall. He only made it to a seated position when a flaming arrow sailed through the open window and embedded itself in the wood near Onigumo’s head. Acting quickly, he grabbed the shaft and yanked it free with an agonized scream that echoed equally with his defiance. He would not die here! Using his bedding, he smothered the flames.
Dull thunks sounded against the hut from outside. Onigumo froze, understanding the significance. He couldn’t see them, but he knew dozens of flaming arrows were raining down on the building.
They meant to burn him alive.
The daemon smiled at Onigumo’s apprehension. “But not too quickly,” he finished, obviously enjoying himself.
Another arrow shot inside the window, too high for Onigumo to reach. Then another. Outside, he could hear the ominous crackling of the fire growing. Smoke began to collect in the room, choking him.
Coughing violently, he shouted at the daemon. “You think these games will end well for you?! Sooner or later, Kagome will learn of this. Your manipulations will burn like ash! You’re a fool if you think you can win her affections through my death.”
An irrefutable truth. The miko had left the daemon to care for him. Onigumo knew it. The daemon knew it. “If you don’t save me now, you’ve already lost her!”
“REST IN PEACE, Onigumo.”
As Sesshomaru began disappearing in a cloud of black vapor, his soul laughed at the ningen’s angered howl. Within seconds, the enraged sound morphed into agonized screams, the flames quickly eating away at the dry wood of the dilapidated structure.
Immense satisfaction filled Sesshomaru upon hearing the human’s pain, acting as a balm to his wounded pride at the warlord’s audacity.
“You think she would want you? She chose me, not you.”
“The miko is mine,” he growled viciously, materializing high in the sky above the burning building. All around the blaze, the town’s people raised their voices in joyous malice as Onigumo screamed and screamed, unaware that a youkai watched, sharing in their delight.
All but one.
A voice of reason, of pleading, cut through the chaos.
Kagome.
Sesshomaru watched her try to shove passed the crowd encircling the burning hut, only to fail. Someone in the throng grabbed her arm and threw her aside. The miko nearly fell but managed to stay on her feet. When she lurched forward again, the men closest to her turned on her like rabid dogs scenting fresh blood after days of starvation.
Then one pointed at her in recognition. A shout of outrage sounded amongst those gathered. More fingers pointed, more faces turning towards the miko. More ears listened, and the shouting altered as the crowd’s attention shifted. The villagers were out for blood, and Kagome had made herself a convenient target, charged with being the warlord’s accomplice. His whore.
Accusations continued to fly.
She’d abused their generosity, betrayed their trust by bringing a savage criminal into their town, for putting their families in danger. She’d harboring Onigumo, protected him.
As the burning building collapsed in a spark of flames, their hatred turned on the miko.
Bloodlust had hold of the masses. Death had visited, vengeance had been taken, but once awakened, the call for blood was slow to dissipate. Always, it cried out for more. As one, the crowd converged around the miko, trapping her, preventing all escape.
Kagome’s fear permeated the air, but if Sesshomaru thought she was helpless, she proved him wrong. With a proficiency gained through years of practice, she notched her bow and spun, threatening her attackers, who stayed back. Wary.
A lumbering ox of a man came at her from behind, but she must have sensed him, for she turned, and her arrow released. The man fell back with an angry shout, holding his wounded arm. A flesh wound.
The miko was fast, notching another arrow before any could approach.
A grin slashed Sesshomaru’s face, anticipation singing through his blood. Soon, she would be his again, with no Onigumo to come between them.
No one ever would again.
Suddenly, someone picked up a rock and flung it at her. Sesshomaru could have prevented it. Instead, he watched the stone impact between her shoulder blades, heard her cry out, but she did not falter. Another arrow released into the crowd. Her skill was apparent. Her assailant fell back, injured but alive.
Surrounded by a crowd who shouted for her death, she foolishly wounded when she should have struck fear in their hearts by killing a few. Perhaps then she could have gained her freedom. Her mercy was seen as weakness. Rather than discourage the raging mob, her clemency emboldened them.
Another picked up a rock. Then another. And another.
They were going to stone her to death.
Sesshomaru watched the drama dispassionately, doing nothing as each missile met its mark, striking the miko’s fragile flesh.
Her desperation grew. He could feel it, almost taste it. Finally, her arrow struck a villager’s heart. A killing blow. But Kagome was too late. Consumed by bloodlust, the mob continued to throw their stones, oblivious when another man went down with an arrow to the throat.
Sesshomaru continued to observe with a small smile on his lips. It pleased him that she had killed in her own defense, but the odds were no in her favor. She could not hope to win. Still, he waited, allowing her fear to grow, for helplessness to set in. The ningen hurt her only because he wished it.
Let this be a lesson to her, to never again question him. To never wish to leave him.
A rock struck the side of her head. He saw the blood before he smelled it. His grin slipped, a frown taking its place.
Why should he care that she bled?
It was by her own actions that she was in her current position.
Kagome stumbled, her stance faltering. Sensing weakness, the crowd became more frenzied. More rocks were taken up, but Sesshomaru had had enough. She’d suffered sufficiently for her foolishness. It was time to collect his miko.
“Sesshomaru!”
Sesshomaru froze.
She called to him. Verbally. And telepathically.
Had she sensed him? Did she know that he was near, watching as she suffered? Impossible. He’d hidden his aura. Had been since she’d left his side to remain with Onigumo. Ever since her arrival to the town, he’d been near. Watching her. Seething within. Waiting for an opportunity. But she rarely left the filth’s side.
Until, today.
As soon as she was out of the hut, he’d acted, not knowing how long she would be gone. Becoming little more than a cloud of vapor, he’d entered a host, taking instant possession of the weak-minded villager. Then, he began spreading rumors, revealing Onigumo’s identity and location. He told one human, then another, and another, Sesshomaru jumped, taking possession of others. Spreading the news. With each mind he infiltrated, he fueled them with feelings of hatred and animosity. Of vengeance.
Not fifteen minutes later, a crowd converged on the hut, and Sesshomaru stepped back, allowing nature to take its natural course.
Now, he descended from the sky faster than a ningen eye could track, landing behind the miko. She flinched, but not because of his presence. A rock came hurtling towards her face, but her reflexes were too slow. Sesshomaru caught the missile with ease. His grip tightened, pulverizing the stone to dust.
Kagome turned her head up towards him, his name a whispered prayer on her lips.
In reply, he wrapped an arm around her waist, while the other spun over his head in a graceful arch. His green whip emerged, striking the men on the outer ring of the crowd’s circle. They fell, dead, their bodies cut in half by the potent acid of his whip. Another circle of his arm killed more, while maiming others. The crowd fell back with shouts of pain and fear.
He felt no remorse for manipulating them. They were ningen. Vermin. To be used and discarded at his whim.
Satisfaction swelled when the miko cuddled into him, accepting his protection. He turned her into his chest, pressing her face close as a cloud formed beneath their feet. With a flare of his youki, he took them to the skies, their clothes flapping in the sudden gush of wind. He heard her gasp, felt her press closer, and Sesshomaru grinned. Her scent enveloped him, saturating him with her essence.
Mine.
All too soon, she tried to pull away from him. His arm tightened, a fierce snarl curling his lip.
“Wait, Sesshomaru! We have to save Onigumo. The villagers! Their burning him alive!”
He cupped the back of her head, pressing her face against his chest, but he forced himself to gentle, to stroke her black hair in a soothing glide. “It is too late, Kagome,” he murmured with false tenderness.
Her cry was muffled, and rather than continue to push him away, he felt her little hands take hold of his haori and cling to him. Her bitter tears stung his nostrils.
She cried. For Onigumo.
Anger tightened his body as he brought her closer, possessively.
He did not realize that her tears came not from remorse over Onigumo’s passing, but towards a world filled with violence and cruelty, that seemingly kind people could turn into rabid monsters.
While she cried, he stole her away, determined to keep her for himself for as long as he wished to possess her.