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Posted by Imperial at 19:05:05 31/08/2008.
Disclaimers: Unoriginality, somebody else’s characters, first short being inordinately longer than the others, coarse language, violence, smut, deviations from canon, weirdness, shades of Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle, gender-neutral pronouns, shenanigans, tomfoolery
Kamui Monou fought to hold back tears, hot, persistent things that only seemed to grow more painful the harder he fought to hold them back, like a quicksand of the soul. “Oh, Kamui,” Kotori Shirou whimpered into the curve of his neck, clinging to her friend for dear life. “I’m going to miss you so much.” He tried to find his voice, but nothing could seem to get around that lump in his throat. Fortunately, Fuuma was there to speak when he couldn’t. He was glad for Fuuma, who had a way of knowing exactly what he was thinking, which let him finish his sentences and know to do things without even asking. “It’s going to be alright, Kotori,” her older brother assured her, drawing both of the smaller children into an even bigger hug. He had always been their rock. Even now, when his own voice swayed under the weight of emotions. “We’ll all see each other again, won’t we, Kamui?” “Sure,” the shorter boy whispered raggedly, desperately wishing he could stop time. And then, all at once, the two were slipping through his fingers like so much water. It was enough to pierce his tattered all over again. His mother was only a week gone. He wasn’t sure he could survive his friends being whisked away when he needed them most. But he wasn’t the only one hurting. Saya, the children’s mother, had taken his mother’s sudden death just as hard as anyone else—even her one and only son. The irony was rich and dark, like a sinful chocolate. She had lost something so precious to her that the entire world fell away, leaving her only with her grief. Now, she would inflict the same thing on young Kamui, the last thing that remainder of Tohru in that sad, cyclical world. Well, that wasn’t exactly right. Fuuma and Kotori hadn’t gone beyond the veil of sleep, where only the dream seers could touch them. They wouldn’t even be leaving the country. It amounted to little more than salt on the wound, leaving him with agonizing glimmer of hope that he might see them again. Saya had no illusions. Kamui would dream of his lost loved ones—all three of them, living and dead—for every night until his dying day. Fortunately (or unfortunately, if you look at it in the greater scope of what was to come), he only had to wait six years to see the siblings again. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- His lips twisted themselves into a pretzel to compliment the knot of his heart. He couldn’t believe his eyes, wide and full of something that lurked between hurt and longing. This couldn’t be true. It was too good to be true. If it really was a ruse, it was too harsh a joke. And yet. “Fuuma?” The word tumbled out of his mouth out of its own accord. He had changed, oh how he had changed, but the new student couldn’t be anyone else. Fuuma and Kotori had carved their names into his heart a long time ago. The tall boy paused, almost as if he was reluctant to do it, almost as if the other boy left a bad taste in his mouth. Those hard eyes made Kamui feel so small. What had happened to his friend? “Fuuma,” he repeated, struggling not to trip over the name. It was awkward and unwieldy in his mouth. He felt like a child handling a new toy. It was so alien to him. He hadn’t said the name in so long. But it was just the stumbling block, and all the words came spilling out at once. “What are you doing here? That’s our school uniform, isn’t it? You should have written or called to tell me you were coming back. Is Kotori around, too?” Whatever else he might have said died a sudden death, buried under Fuuma’s clipped tone. “I don’t have anything to say to you.” He recoiled as if struck. “What do you mean, Fuuma? You don’t have anything to say to an old friend you haven’t seen in years?” “No, I don’t.” He pushed past his old friend, those broad shoulders suddenly looking so threatening. It gave him the appearance of animal ready to strike. Fuuma was so big and so strong and so hard, like a warrior forged in the flames of war. It scared Kamui. And it wasn’t the end of his confusion. Fuuma called back without even bothering to look at Kamui. “I don’t have anything to say to you at all—not now, not ever. I’m not the child you knew. I don’t want to have anything to do with you. The sooner you can understand that, the better.” Kamui was nine years old again. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Why had he come here? Did he hate himself that much? This tree—this wonderful, ugly, magnificent, horrible tree… Anyone else would have taken for just another tree, but for him, it was a special place. Its scent was a subtle one, but Kamui would recognize it anywhere. It was a place where he had almost died. It was a place where he had lived more fully than at any other point in his life. He had given Kotori his hand and his word. Fuuma had done the same for him. The three had been friends. After the tree, they were something that went beyond words. If he hadn’t looked up, lost in a bittersweet memory of days gone past, he would have missed her entirely. Eyes met and two young people drew in their breath. First Fuuma, now Kotori. Kamui wondered if he was going slightly mad. “Kotori!” And just like that, his despair evaporated. It was her, the girl who fell from the tree and into his heart. She had always been so sweet and nurturing. Surely she couldn’t have changed. He was halfway up the tree, moving on instinct more than anything else, when her voice cut through the air. “Don’t,” she hissed, body tensing, going from thoughtful to defense as she balanced on the limb. “Don’t come near me.” He nearly missed a foothold. “What?” The word carried very little weight, all breathy. He felt like he had been punched in the gut. Somewhere, he found the strength to keep climbing. Maybe it was the need to finish something he set out to do. Maybe it was the desire to reach out and touch Kotori, to tell himself she wasn’t an illusion. But it was probably the desire to reach that canopy and find that she really was an illusion, just a figment of his imagination. He didn’t want to face the truth that the two most precious people in his life felt nothing more for him than passing contempt. The hem of her dress was soft against his fingers and her words were harsh against his heart. His world spun. It was then that he became acutely aware of the fact that he was falling. “Kamui!” The icy expression she wore melted away all at once. She moved—so quickly, far more quickly than any human should. And were her eyes gold? No, it couldn’t be. Or maybe it was. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. A warm hand encircled his wrist, a stark contrast to the bone-chilling look with which she and her brother had regarded him. It really was her. She had come back to him. “Kamui!?” Fuuma’s baritone reached him next. But he filed away his shock for later. He had to act now. “Kotori, let me catch him.” Sensing her anxiety, he plowed ahead. “It’s not that far. I’m right here. I won’t let anything happen to Kamui.” The moment passed with surprisingly little incident. There was no great spectacle, no horrible failure or last minute save. Both teenagers left the tree unharmed. And that left Kamui looking at two strangers he knew better than anyone. Fuuma spoke first. “Come on, Kotori. We have to go.” And his eyes said what were you doing here? She spared him an unreadable look and then she moved to her brother’s side. They were leaving him again. Why was this happening? It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair, but he needed these two. “Please,” he gasped through grit teeth. “Please don’t walk away from me again.” For all their cold shoulder and feigned indifference and the agreement between the two that they wouldn’t bring someone so precious into their mess, the siblings realized they couldn’t deny him. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Two weeks after the Shirou siblings decided to let Kamui into their lives again, they hated themselves for it. Figures wreathed in black moved in and out of the room, pausing to impart some hollow bit of advice or comfort to the orphaned teenager. He had lost his mother long ago to some sort of horrible disorder. Now, his father had been taken by violence. The perpetrator was still at large. Fuuma and Kotori knew exactly who was responsible. He was a Dragon of Earth, a warrior in the fight that had nothing to do with Kamui. “We should go to him.” Kotori observed quietly. They had honored the broken boy’s request to attend the memorial, but they had agonized over what to do while there. Fuuma sighed through his nostrils. He was supposed to be the pragmatic one. “You’re right.” His practicality amounted to tissue paper in the face of the juggernaut that was Kamui’s grief. They took a seat on either side and did something they should have done a long time ago. They wrapped him up in a hug, murmuring sweet things into his hair. He reflexively took them into his own embrace, one arm pressing either sibling into him. He had missed this so much. He had lusted for this moment. Why had it taken the death of his father and their mother to bring them back together again? Kamui sobbed for longer than he knew. Everything had blurred together over the course of the past several days. The arrangements, the reading of the will—all of it was so much mud. Their presence shone like a beacon in his dusky existence. When he finally cried all he could, Kamui realized how alone they were. Perceiving the intimacy of the moment, the other well-wishers had left the three to themselves. Kamui inhaled, only to exhale raggedly. If he was ever going to have this conversation, now was the time. “What do you two know about the end of the world?” The two went stiff as stone against him. “My father told me something…interesting…on his deathbed. He told me all about twin stars.” There was something in the lighting, poor as it was, that made his eye look gold. Fuuma and Kotori had never been more afraid. Don’t let me be too late. He had seen it, an image burned into the deepest resources of his psyche. He had seen Hokuto lying in a pool of her own blood while her killer, a bespectacled man who had been so bold as to claim that he loved her brother, smiled. She was an angel in the all-too-bloody hands of a ruthless killer. He had seen it. He had seen many things, but seeing that had been the final straw. Kakyou Kuzuki would not accept this with grace. Too many times had he seen terrible things happen to people. Some of them deserved it. Most didn’t. Hokuto deserved only the best out of life. It was with that idea firmly in mind that he dragged his weak and failing body to the place of that blasted sakura tree. He refused to allow the Sakurazukamori to water its roots with her blood. The cold stone steps cut into his skin like so much ice even as the warm syrup of his blood flowed through the wound in his side. A bitter smile clawed its away onto his face. A dying man who finally found the will to live was dragging himself toward a site where a lively girl intended to lay down her life. “Hokuto!” His own voice felt like sandpaper on his throat. He was exhausted, dehydrated. By all accounts, the boy had no reason to be there but he had come all the same. He had arrived just in time. Looking every bit the angel he knew her to be in those immaculate white robes, Hokuto wheeled at the sound of his voice, emerald eyes wide. “Kakyo?” The dark man smiled, straightening his glasses. “You didn’t tell me we would be having company.” She ignored him. “You…you weren’t supposed to see this.” “I already have,” he rasped, finding the strength somewhere in those mangled muscles to bring himself just a hair closer to the woman he loved. “I’ve seen it many times. For once, I decided I wouldn’t stand idly by and simply watch.” “You really do have the most interesting friends, Hokuto,” the assassin smiled disarmingly. “You’ve been babbling about your boyfriend for some time now, but I never thought I would get the chance to meet him myself. Charmed to meet you.” Those emeralds now narrowed, desperate and afraid. “He’s already dying, Seishiro. You don’t have to kill him.” “Oh, you know me too well,” he straightened his suit, a fancy European cut, with an alarmingly casual air. “Take me instead.” The air went oddly still. Three eyes shifted toward the bleeding boy. Two of them overflowed with anxiety. The third held a species of malicious bemusement. “What are you saying? I won’t let you—” The words died on Hokuto’s lips. She couldn’t move. Before she had known, she had been moving to cradle Kakyo, who lay looking so weak and wretched just a few feet away. And now…now the stink of Seishiro’s aura hung over her like a corpse. He had cast a restraining spell on her while she was distracted. “Stop it.” “Now, now,” he wagged an adult finger at her. “I can’t let you slip away just yet. I will be all too happy to meet your demands, but he amuses me.” He shifted his attention to the interloper. “What are you terms?” Kakyo didn’t have anything to say. His plan was half-baked at best. He hadn’t really expected it to work. “It would be in Hokuto’s best interest to answer me.” His voice was no longer pleasant. “Sell yourself to me. Make me an offer I can’t refuse.” “It’s simple,” he struggled to bring himself up to a sitting position. He couldn’t stand at this point, but he could make himself a shade less pathetic. “I will die in her place. You have a corpse for your tree.” “And here I thought you were worth my time…” “Do you believe in destiny?” He uttered like an obscenity, quickly and with little forethought. The idea had merely burst into his mind. The one-eyed man was hooked again. “Why do you ask?” “Did Hokuto ever tell you how we met?” He was playing a very dangerous game. His death was already a foregone conclusion. The only question was what—if any—good could come from it. “I am a dream seer. I foretell the future as I travel the byways of sleep.” Kakyo had never played poker, but he had a fine poker face. “Go on,” the assassin favored him with a smile, one that didn’t seem so artificial. This boy was proving to be more fun that he had thought. Good, he sighed internally. He had Seishiro’s attention. That meant he was doing something right. If he could draw him in completely, all would be well. “I foresaw this night. I saw the two of you under the tree. I saw you standing over Hokuto.” He suppressed a shudder at the thought. “She died.” The ball was in Seishiro’s court again and his serve was devastating. “Then we all know how this night is going to end. You’ve wasted your time.” Kakyo scrambled for something, anything. The air had grown thick with the miasma of a killing spell. This man was not one easily swayed. “You never answered my question! Do you believe in destiny?” “I hardly see how that has anything to do with our situation.” Seishiro was fishing. Unlike the older man, Kakyo was not a person accustomed to artifice and pretense, the gentle smile followed by the killing strike. Kakyo had no real defense. He had little choice but to throw himself on the hook and hope Seishiro was satisfied with one catch instead of two. “What if you could defy destiny? What if you could change it with a single stroke?” Stillness. Hokuto broke the silence with something low and pleading. Kakyo forced himself to turn a deaf ear. As much as he loved her, he couldn’t allow himself to listen to her. Not now. It was a marvelous contradiction to everything he had done on this desperate night. “You’re a very selfish man, so willing to leave Hokuto like this. You don’t want to see her killed; yet you would do the same to her. You must not love her as much as you say if you would inflict that on her.” Kakyo bit back an obscenity. He was good, very good. This man knew the ways of manipulation, how to needle and prod at one’s weakest point. Kakyo could see his strategy. He hoped to enrage him, force him into a moment of weakness and lash out. Then he would punish the young dream seer with the very thing he had come to prevent. He had nearly stumbled into the trap. The assassin continued his advance. “One might go so far as to say this is all an elaborate form of suicide. Yours is obviously a delicate condition. Anyone would want release from it. You simply seek to sweeten the deal by making yours altruistic.” “You’re a sadist.” Seishiro’s smile grew wide in self-congratulation. “Wouldn’t you rather hurt Hokuto and Subaru together, instead of one over the other?” The killer’s smile faltered but he recovered capably. “What do you know of Subaru?” “I know enough,” he replied vaguely. It was Seishiro’s turn to court him. It was now Seishiro who put his restraint to work. He should have had a much easier time of it. Yet something about the subject matter made him oddly impulsive. Proceed with care. “Hokuto is one of the two people little Subaru truly treasures in this world. What could you possibly offer him?” “I could offer him pain—not in body or soul, but through his sister.” He fought to ignore Hokuto, who was openly sobbing now. “The two are close, just as you said. She…she is fond of me. My passing will not be a happy day for her. Any anguish you visit upon her will be visited upon him.” “Go on.” The prospect of victory glimmered faintly, there on the horizon. “It will wound him deeply to know that you hurt Hokuto the same way you hurt him. She will lose someone precious. It is one thing for him to lose someone. It is another to know his sister bears the same scars because he was too weak to stop you. His sister will be hurt, just as you want, but she will live to hurt him each and every day that he looks into his eyes and sees her mourning. Subaru is a compassionate person. He will take that haunted look to heart as another of his failings, another instance when he couldn’t defeat you.” With every word, every promise, every cold explanation of how Seishiro could best torture the Sumeragi twins—bright, kind people who only wished the best for others—tore at his heart. He was scum. He was a traitor. He didn’t deserve Hokuto. God willing, she would take his vile (if false) words to heart and not shed a single tear for him. The serpent’s smile grew wide. “I accept your terms.” Hokuto was shrieking. “I have to wonder if you were an orator in a previous life. Or maybe you were a lawyer.” He was close, so close now, his form devouring every inch of Kakyo’s sight as he hauled the sick boy to his feet. His hand curled itself into a weapon, rearing back for the killing strike. “You have quite the silver tongue. But, more importantly, you have wonderful eyes. I like your eyes. It’s not every day I find eyes that give me the chance to thwart destiny.” When the end came, Kakyo barely felt it. His heart was already dead, withered by the look in Hokuto’s eyes. He entered the park; head hung low, hands shoved into his pockets in tight fists. The shame assailed him in waves like a man lost at sea. It was an apt analogy. Ever since returning to Tokyo, Kamui found himself buffeted by an endless march of slaughter, betrayal, and disappointment. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. “I’m so glad you came.” She wasn’t supposed to be like this. “It’s a bit soon, don’t you think?” She purred at him from the shadows. A chill ran down his spine. “It hasn’t even been a week since you last came to see me. You haven’t healed completely yet. I still see bruises.” He said nothing, sadly watching her descending like some sort of dark angel. It hurt his heart to see Kotori like this; eyes alight with a charge that didn’t belong. “How is your limp?” She cocked her head to one side in a gesture that didn’t suit the thing she had become. It gave him a cautious sort of hope. “What limp?” Then she kicked him squarely in the testicles. “That limp.” He gasped desperately, world spinning and eyes full of stars. He grasped at his tortured groin while she grabbed a fistful of hair, yanking him toward her. She was so dangerously close. “You like it like that, don’t you? You like it when I hurt you. I can’t believe you’re my twin star…something disgusting as you.” “Yes,” he sobbed desperately. “I want you to hurt me.” There came a sharp sound of bone on bone, separated by only a few thin layers of flesh. “What do you say?” “Mistress,” he wheezed. “I need my mistress to hurt me.” “You’re such a good pet.” And yet, she was oddly gentle tonight. She only beat, tortured, and humiliated him for half an hour before granting him release. Of course, that was when things began to go horribly wrong (as if they hadn’t already). So lost in the moment was Kamui that he called out her name in the throes of passion. “Kotori” left his lips like a prayer. Seconds slipped into eternity. Then, all at once, the pain came. She was hitting him, threatening to split his skull with bare-fisted blows. “Kamui,” she spat viciously. “My. Name. Is. Kamui.” A dull crack. She wondered if she had finally gone too far. It was her lot in life to destroy her twin star but this wasn’t the time or the place. There was an unspoken promise between the two. Whenever the two came here, she would fulfill his desire to be tortured—some misguided idea born of the idea that he deserved it for failing her, for failing Fuuma, for failing all the people who had died with the power shields, for all the people he could yet fail. It was the one place they could hurt each other without hurting anyone else. He stirred. The blood covered his face like rouge. “Go home.” Her voice was toneless. He grunted something in response, his tongue fumbling over consonants. He didn’t want her to go. This was the one time he could be with Kotori in any way. It was sick and it was twisted, but it was the only thing that resembled the fantasy he had nurtured for so long—a fantasy of Kotori and Fuuma, still alive and still happy, with him. This was the only piece of Kotori that still lived. Everything else had died the night of her becoming, when she declared herself the Kamui of the Dragons of the Earth, proving her dedication with the blood of her one and only brother. He didn’t want to lose this one last shred of her. She left. She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t be that person for very long. Every time she saw him outside of the park, Kotori was no longer Kotori, the anti-Kamui. They would rush at each other with their holy swords, hurling abuse both physical and verbal. They would do everything expected of them as a Seal and Angel. There was nothing else. Unless it was in that park. Then, and only then, could something breathe. She couldn’t love him anymore, not in all the ways she wanted. She couldn’t hold his hand. She couldn’t wear a white dress and walk down the aisle to his side. She couldn’t make him blush adorably when she kissed him in public. He was much the same; unable to be the person he wanted to be around her. But she could love him just a little bit, through the twisted lens of what Destiny dictated the twin star must be. She couldn’t break the ring of iron, but she could strain. The ring would bow ever so slightly, always remaining in an inescapable shape, but allowing for the little things. She could make him feel something beyond the self-loathing. She could bear his burden, for just a short time; make him feel as if he was suffering, as he deserved to suffer, that he was atoning in some small way. It was a foolish notion but she would endorse it all the same. She just hoped that, some day, he didn’t need it anymore. She prayed for the day when he didn’t need her anymore. The Kotori of his youth, his dream, his memory was gone. He couldn’t see beyond the face and into the twisted caricature. He couldn’t see her for what she really was, what she had come to hate. She wasn’t worth saving. Not anymore. Heshesie was FuumaKamuiNataku. Oh, it hurt. It hurt so much. Who hurt? It wasn’t a person. Heshesie didn’t know what “it” was. It was? It wasn’t. No, wait. I devoured us to heal our wounds. We just want Mommy and Daddy to be happy. We look like Daddy. Sound. Movement. A feeling. Aura, was it called? Heshesie couldn’t remember. Nothing made sense anymore. Heshesie knew someone was coming. It was that womanDragonofHeavenMommy. Karen Kasumi’s eyes were so pretty, so full of horror. “Oh, God…what did you do?” “I just wanted to make you happy, Mommy.” “Nataku?” Her voice mingled with horror and shock until it was all so confused and upside down that it was brown. “I granted your wish. You desire Aoki, do you not? Now, the obstacles have been removed.” “I…I don’t understand.” “I’m sorry.” FuumaKamuiNataku stood over the butchered corpses of Seichiro Aoki’s wife and daughter, blood dripping from the tip of the sacred sword in a pitter patter spatter pattern ladder matter madder hatter fatter… “It doesn’t matter how hard you struggle,” he smiled in a way that didn’t suit him. “Even your superhuman body has its limits. If the right tendons are severed and the right muscles are flayed open, even you won’t be able to lift a finger.” “Fuuma!” He was practically foaming at the mouth, fangs growing long and eyes turning to slits. “Don’t do this! She’s your sister! It’s Kotori! She’s the only family you have left!” It didn’t matter what he said. Fuuma was so far away his words would never reach him. This shadow of his own being was all that remained. It was his antithesis. As much as he loved Kotori and sought her safety, the Other would hate it and seek its destruction. He had to wonder if this was his punishment. The Other styled himself as a holy warrior, one who would destroy evils and smite sins with his sacred blade. And, technically, he was right. His twin star, pinned by so many shards of glass, walked the night with long, pearly fangs and an insatiable hunger. He was a cursed being, one of the undead. And while his heart had stopped beating, that didn’t stop him from shrieking in agony at the sight of Kotori strung up on the cross. And then he was stabbing herOhGODHEWASSTABBINGHER. “FUUMA!” Feline eyes went gold as the power of his birthright roared to life like so much dynamite. Even Fuuma, awakened, almighty Fuuma, could offer no defense. A wave of raw power smashed him like a doll upon concrete, sending his broken body flying. But that didn’t matter right now, nothing did, not even the wound in his right hand where the holy sword had pierced him. “Kotori!” A shrieked clawed its away out of his throat as that same power yanked the fragments pinning him to the wall like an overgrown butterfly. He was so dizzy, his body wracked with sickness whenever he used that strange power. He supposed that had been what he traded away in exchange for the eternal life of a bloodsucker. And it would be the same power that saved Kotori. He would revive her just as the grinning man in the long, red coat had revived Subaru. His one and only twin brother had been hours dead before he found the vampire, who smiled his sharp smile and agreed to pass his gift-curse on. No. He wouldn’t do that. Kamui had chosen his path, to walk with his twin forever in the eternal night. He wouldn’t force that life on Kotori. Besides, there was no guarantee it would work. A holy weapon had killed her. What if its essence lingered? What if he resurrected her, only to watch in horror as she died all over again of a wound her unholy body could not close? Yes. He had to. If anyone deserved to live forever, it was her. She was one of the greatest people he had ever met. (The other was responsible for her death in the first place, negating much of that goodwill.) The world needed people like her, kind, compassionate, gentle people to reach out and take the world into the palm of her hand as a nurturer rather than a conqueror. But that wouldn’t be enough for Subaru, would it? No, nothing was good enough for him these days. His eyes had burned such loathsome holes into his brother’s soul when he awoke to find himself in vampire’s form. Even after he had been nursed back to health, his first act had been to destroy the vampire that sired him, putting his ofuda to work with the same deadly grace he had in life. He hated all monsters and horrors. Becoming one was the greatest insult. Kamui scowled at the thought of his twin brother. He loved his brother dearly, yes, but he wished so desperately for his approval. Even after Kamui had decided to join him in death and un-life, Subaru had been so cold to him, always looking down on him for butting in where he wasn’t wanted. What was he supposed to do? Let him become just another victim of the Sakurazukamori? No, he wasn’t wrong at all, he decided. Subaru would give his blood to Seishiro in a heartbeat. Why should she be denied that grace? Seishiro was a murderer. Kotori was an angel. If Subaru so much as reached for his ofuda in her presence, Kamui would relieve him of an arm. He wouldn’t even feel bad for it. (It wasn’t like Subaru couldn’t grow it back with a few feedings anyway.) He opened his wrist and waited for the blood to come. It ran toward her pretty little mouth like it belonged. His blood mingled with hers, infusing her body with his essence. Nothing happened. He widened the wound and deepened the flow. Still nothing. Furious, he shoved his wounded wrist to her mouth, forcing the hot, sticky stuff down her throat in a torrent of longing. It had to work. His sire had been an old, old vampire, an ancient thing that passed his power down to a pair of already powerful boys. There was too much magic in his blood not to work. As if to mock him, nothing happened. It wasn’t long before his tears joined his blood in cutting a hot, painful bath from his body. He hated himself for what he had become, not just a vampire, but a helpless whelp who could nothing for those he loved. Hadn’t he become a vampire for that very reason, to make sure he had the strength and presence to ease the suffering of those around him? Yet that was all he had given Kotori since his return, even when he went to such lengths to spare her his thirst for her virgin blood, the blood that called to him even now. He was so engrossed in his despair that he almost missed it—a soft, steady suckling at his wrist. “What did you do?” Subaru. Kamui recognized his brother’s scent. If only he had gotten there just sixty seconds sooner, none of this would have been necessary. “Something wonderful,” his brother purred as he stroked Kotori’s hair. She drank deeply. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Teh blargh: First time posting on CLAMPesque. No beta reader. Five ideas I was too lazy to spin off into their own stories. Hence the mutant on your screen. Feedback appreciated. Author loves feedback. Author will do unspeakable things for feedback.
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