Not that Kusanagi didn’t have realistic dreams; quite the opposite:  his dreams were often vivid, colors of people and places splashing brightly across the canvas of his mind.  But this dream went beyond that.  In his mind, Momiji lay warm and lifelike next to him in quiet slumber, her breathing deep and even. She had her back to him and her hair spilled like tangled silk across the arm he had carelessly thrown around her waist.  Never before could he remember feeling so intensely the soft texture of her hair and the warmth of her body as he did now.  He could even smell the slight fragrance of honeysuckle that clung to her hair.

            Losing himself in the dream, he buried his face against the nape of her neck.  Long, silky, chestnut strands caressed his cheek as he touched his lips to the warm, ivory column of her neck, and he felt a slow heat begin to build inside his veins.  He tightened his arm around her, slowly pulling her body to his, molding her soft curves to his rigid, hardness.  The heat inside him flared even higher and he allowed himself the pleasure of exploring the taste and texture of what he had denied himself for so long in reality.

            Momiji snuggled deeper into her pillow, still hovering on the edge of sleep, and felt something soft and warm brush against her neck.  Kebooru, she thought, without opening her eyes.  A slight smile curved her lips until she felt a hand press against the flat of her stomach, pulling her backwards.  Momiji’s eyes snapped open wide then, reeling in shock as she felt the warmth of a human body penetrating the thick folds of her flannel nightgown.  In that moment, the reality of where she was and how she had come to be there came crashing back to her.

            The pressure against her neck increased, and Momiji felt Kusanagi’s mouth open against her, branding her with a kiss, his tongue playing along her sensitive skin. A molten heat began to flow through Momiji, and her heart fluttered like a captive bird against her ribs.  All of a sudden her limbs felt indolent and heavy, as the pleasure of the contact between her and Kusanagi stole away her strength.  She felt her emotions begin to take over, dominating her good sense and Momiji struggled to maintain clarity of thought as warning bells sounded in her head. She needed to tell him to stop, she thought.  Now, before things got out of hand.

            “K-kusanagi?” she breathed timidly and received no verbal response. 

She opened her mouth the speak his name again, but felt her voice freeze in her throat as Kusanagi’s hand, which had been stationed against her stomach, trailed downward to the hem of her bunched up nightgown.  He slid his hand beneath the blue bunnies and her brain turned to mush as she felt Kusanagi’s warm touch graze the exposed skin of her legs, the leather of his glove rasping against her. 

Momiji sucked in her breath as she felt his fingers softly feather against her, slowly sliding upward, pushing her gown aside as he went, and leaving a trail of heat in his wake.   With the tips of his fingers, he explored the soft curve of her thigh and the flare of her hip, sloping downwards again to her waist where he let his fingers circle lazily around her navel.  Momiji tried to say something, tried to tell him to stop, but all that came out was a strangled moan.

She closed her eyes as Kusanagi’s lips trailed from her neck to the line of her jaw, and she turned her face towards him, desperately wanting to feel his lips against hers.  He fulfilled her desire, his lips swiftly claiming hers in a searing kiss, his tongue sliding into her mouth to taste her sweetness and she heard him groan, his hand restlessly moving from her stomach past her ribs to cup her breast.  With his thumb, he slowly circled the pink bud that crowned her breast until it tightened with desire and without knowing how, Momiji found herself rolled onto her back.

Momiji moaned against Kusanagi’s mouth as he continued to kiss her fervently and she threaded her fingers through the greenish black, softness at the nape of his neck, as his body hovered over her, without touching her, one of his knees planted firmly between her thighs. 

Kusanagi let his hands roam over Momiji’s body beneath the flannel, going from her breast to her stomach, and then sliding upward to her face and threading through the silky, softness of her chestnut hair as he finally settled his body on top of hers.  Momij found herself pressed into the softness of the mattress and she arched against him as his mouth moved away from her own to trail hotly across her face and neck and then again return hungrily to her lips. 

His kisses rained down on her, drowning her in a sea of desire, his fingers trailing softly against her cheeks and neck as his hands continued their sensual journey downward and around her waist to her back, curving around her buttocks.  Then Momiji felt him nudge his leg against her, coaxing her legs apart.  She complied and he slid his body between her thighs to lie against her.  Cupping her buttocks, he pulled her tightly against the hardness of his arousal and despite the barrier of fabric between them, Momiji’s green eyes shot open at the intimate contact.  She gripped his shoulders tightly, the liquid heat of her body beginning to pool between her thighs as he moved restlessly against her.

Kusanagi was fully aroused, thick and heavy with passion, and as he pressed against Momiji, his body cried for release. If he didn’t try to wake up and open his eyes, he thought, abashed, he was in imminent danger of embarrassing himself by finding satisfaction from a dream.  Wanting to end it and prolong it at the same time, he found himself reluctant to pull away, gentling his kiss until he lay in stillness, his body aching and his breathing ragged.  Slowly he forced his eyes open, and found himself staring down into the wide emerald green of Momiji’s eyes. 

Kusanagi’s own cat-like eyes widened then, his body going rigid in shock.

“I – I… - M-momiji!?” his voice cracked as he stuttered her name in panic and watched confusion cloud her beautiful eyes at his reaction.

As quickly as he could, he rolled away from her and sat up, pulling the sheet tightly around his waist to hide his rampantly obvious desire.  Thoroughly distracted, Kusanagi ran a hand through his hair as a way of avoiding having to look at her as she, too, sat up without speaking.  He could feel the uncertainty and confusion in her gaze as she looked at him, but he still couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

He drew in a shaky breath, knowing he should say something.  “I’m sorry, Momiji, I shouldn’t have – “ he began and stopped as he felt her turn away from him, slipping quietly from the bed. 

He turned and looked at her then, as she bent down and picked up the blanket he had shoved off the bed last night and mechanically began to fold it, desperately searching for her composure.  His behavior towards her when he had discovered that what he had been experiencing was more than just a dream had been less than complimentary, and Kusanagi knew he had hurt her with his unthinking reaction.  Her expression was that of a bewildered child who had been scolded and didn’t know why, and she held her body in a defensiveness posture, her arms pulled tightly inwards towards the blue bunnies covering her body as if to protect herself from harm.

“Momiji,” he tried again, “I didn’t mean –“

“Don’t,” she said, suddenly looking at him, her lips still swollen from their kisses.  Her eyes were vibrantly clear, and he glimpsed a poignant sadness in them before she looked away again.  “It hurts too much to think that you didn’t mean it, Kusanagi, that you would deny what happened and erase it if you could,” she finished quietly. 

You’re wrong, Momij, I meant it more than you could possibly know, he wanted to say as he watched her turn and carry the blanket over to the closet, but he didn’t.  The obligation he had fashioned for himself choked the words off before he could utter them, and so he remained silent, hating himself for hurting her.

Momiji reached up on tiptoe to push the blanket onto the shelf and heard the scrape of paper against the floor as she felt something sticky cling to the bottom of her foot.  She shook her foot, trying to dislodge it and when she couldn’t, looked down to see the floor littered with shiny squares spilling from a leather box tipped on its side - the object she must have tripped over last night, she realized.

Photographs she thought as she bent down and peeled off the one clinging tenaciously to her foot.  She glanced at it and saw that it was a picture of her and her gaze flitted to the rest of the ones on the floor.  They were of her as well.  All of them.  She crouched down and turned the box upright and began to put them back in the box wondering at the sheer number of them and why they were hidden in a box as if Kusanagi was ashamed of them.  She had almost finished putting them away when she came across one that was bent at the edges and slightly wrinkled, as if it had been worn from frequent handling.

It was a picture of her at the park in the rain.  She had thought at the time that she was alone and she had gone there that day to feed Puck.  It was supposed to have been sunny, but the weathermen had been wrong and Momiji had been caught without an umbrella.  But she hadn’t let that stop her, knowing that Puck would be waiting for her. 

She looked a fright in this picture, her red nose dripping with rain and her stringy hair sticking to her scalp.  She had slipped too, and despite the length of her woolen coat, the mud was clearly visibly on her knee and calf as she crouched to feed the breadcrumbs to Puck, who waddled around in front of her quacking nonstop.

Momiji’s mouth curved into a gentle smile as she stared down at the little brown duckling.  He had been smaller than the rest and an outcast, often picked on by the others.  She had spotted him for the first time one day when she and Kusanagi had gone there for lunch and her heart had gone out to him.  She had fed him most of her lunch and even tried to feed him part of Kusanagi’s, but Kusanagi wouldn’t let her. He told her that she wasn’t doing the little duckling any favors by feeding him and that he needed to learn to fend for himself.  But she hadn’t listened to Kusanagi’s advice and continued to go to the park just to see the little duckling that she had christened with the name Puck.

He became so accustomed to her that he would often waddle over to her the minute he saw her, quacking loudly at her as if to say he was glad to see her.  But he had grown quickly.  And soon he wasn’t the smallest anymore, and the others had ceased to pick on him.  And yet, as long as he was there, he remembered her and greeted her whether she had a treat for him or not. 

Then winter had come and he was gone.  She never saw him again after that, but she hoped that he had found somewhere in the countryside to live, hating to think that he had met an untimely end under the claws of an animal or the gun sights of a hunter. 

Kusanagi had never understood her fascination for the little creature.  Or so he had said, but if that was the case, she wondered, then why had he made a point to take a picture of her with Puck.   Especially given the fact that she looked so horribly bedraggled. Momiji picked the box up, tucking it under her arm, and stood up, the picture of Puck still clutched between her fingers. 

Kusanagi had been watching her back, wondering what she was doing and when he saw the box, the same look of panic she had seen during their intimate embrace flashed in his eyes.  He leaped from the bed, like he had been shot from a cannon, and clutching the bed sheet around his waste to hide his embarrassingly still aroused condition, tripped his way over to her. 

He snatched the box out of her hands, knowing that even as he did so it was too late.  She had already seen his precious horde, and was currently holding his most prized possession between her fingers.  He balanced the box on his hip, just barely managing to keep the sheet wrapped around his waist at the same time, and plucked the picture from her fingers, tossing it in the box, a look of disdainful outrage on his face as he turned and went to look for the lid.

Momiji watched him feeling like she had violated his privacy and so she tried to explain, “I – I was just putting the blanket –“ she said faintly, pointing her finger at the closet, “ – and then, I felt something sticking to my foot and I – I must have knocked them over yesterday when we fell into the closet, because they were all over the floor and I was just trying to put them back.  I didn’t mean to pry – ” she babbled, and when he just shot her a seething look over his shoulder, still looking for the box lid, she fell silent. 

He put the lid on the box and put it back in the closet, slammng the door behind him.  He turned to face her then, his expression closed and shuttered and she felt his rejection as if he had reached out and physically slapped her.  She looked away from him, staring at the ground, her fingers wadding the flannel of her gown in misery.  He didn’t move, so she turned and made her way to the door, stopping as she reached it.

“You seem to be feeling better,” she said stiltedly without turning around, “I’m glad…and I’m – sorry for – everything,” her last word was strained as she struggled to keep from bursting into tears in front of him and then she fled without looking back.

Kusanagi let her go, unsure of what to say or do, wanting to comfort her and push her away at the same time.  He gritted his teeth in frustration and dropped the sheet from his waist.  What he needed was a shower.  A long and frigidly cold shower.

 

He could feel the coolness of the stone beneath him and his grey eyes snapped open in surprise.  He felt, he realized.  That meant he was awake; alive, leaving behind him the numbness of endless slumber.  A slow, hard smile marred his handsome face as he realized what else it meant.  It meant that his plan had worked, that traitorous Kaede had failed and he was once again free, one step closer to attaining his rightful place as king of the Aragami.  It also meant that there was a child.  His child, he thought as he sat up and looked around. 

He was in Ise, he idly realized and he had left the girl with violet eyes and pale hair in Takachiho.  What was her name?  Hotaru?  Hirako?  No, that wasn’t it, he thought unconcernedly as he climbed to his feet.  Hikaru.  That was it, he thought, the same hard smile crossing his face.  He gave a low laugh, triumph coursing through his veins.

“What say you now, Kaede?” he asked mockingly, knowing that she was probably aware of his reawakening.  “Your schemes have brought you nothing, while mine have yielded a sweet success.  And now, Kaede, the Betrayer, while you slumber endlessly with your god,” he spat the word, “there will be no one to stop me from establishing my kingdom of the Aragami!”

He threw back his head and laughed, the harsh sound clashing against the stone of the iwatto, echoing loudly.  His listened to the sound as he continued to laugh, reveling in the power of its resonance and only stopped when he thought he heard the sound of Kaede’s voice.  It was the merest trace of a sigh, easily overpowered by the strength of his echoing laughter, but still he heard the words clearly as if they had been spoken in stillness against his ear.

“Your destiny has already been decided, Murakumo.  Accept your fate and serve us well.”

“What!?  The hell you say,” he muttered furiously, turning as he heard the sound of something grating against the rock behind him.

He didn’t even get a good look at it as he felt long claws slash across his chest, slicing deeply into his flesh.  He was thrown back by the blow, the back of his head striking hard rock as he fell to the ground.  He heard a guttural roar and looked up to see a creature with slitted red eyes and a black mitama bearing down on him.  He rolled away in time to avoid its fangs from sinking into his neck and stumbled to his feet, his chest bleeding heavily.

The creature turned, its powerful front and hind legs moving quickly as it targeted him again and leapt forward.  Murakumo couldn’t dodge it, and the claws of its front legs bit into his shoulders.  The weight of the creature carried him backwards and he was trapped beneath it.  He put his hands up, grasping it around the neck as it stretched its face forward trying to sink its teeth into him.  Long strings of saliva dripped from its mouth and onto his face, and his arms shook from the effort of trying to hold it off.  How ironic to lose his life now, when he had just regained it, he thought as sweat beaded on his forehead, his face contorting into a strained grimace as he felt his grip around the creature’s neck slipping.

 

Midori hummed cheerfully as she got out of the car and headed up to the opening of the iwatto, a small satchel slung over her shoulder.  She pushed her blue black hair behind her ears and looked up at the flawless blue sky.  What a pity that she had to return to Tokyo today, she thought.  She much preferred the beauty of Ise over the hustle and bustle of Tokyo and now that Momiji was gone, the city seemed even bigger and lonelier than ever. 

Midori sighed, her joy at being in the sunshine somewhat dimmed by thoughts of returning to Tokyo.  She readjusted the satchel and observed that perhaps what she needed was a vacation.  She was debating whether or not she should put in for one when noises coming from inside the iwatto drew her attention.   She slowed her steps and stopped to listen at the opening to the entrance. 

It was the feral cry of an animal she realized.  And it sounded big.  Midori took a step back, afraid to go in until she heard the strangled shout of a man and realized that he was inside with the animal.  Without thinking, she pelted forward down the stone steps of the iwatto, following the sounds of conflict.  She stopped when she saw them, a man with long, dark hair pinned under the hunched body of a creature the likes of which she had never seen before.  The man had his hands locked around its neck and it strained against his grip, its jaws snapping at him.

It was going to kill him, she realized, if she didn’t do something to try and help him. Midori took a step forward and yelled at it.  It turned its ugly head in her direction for a split second and then ignored her.  She moved forward, taking the satchel from her shoulder and opening it as she went.  She fumbled around the inside feeling for the hammer she had brought to help her obtain the rock samples that Ms. Matsudaira had requested.  Her fingers found it and she hastily pulled it out, dropping the satchel to the ground. 

On shaky legs, she moved directly behind the creature.  Her nostrils filled with the stench coming from its slimy body.  She braced her legs apart and turned the hammer backwards so the claws faced forward, the hammer becoming a formidable weapon with two, long curving spikes.  Holding it with both hands, she raised it above her head and took aim, her stomach twisting sickeningly as she felt the claws make impact, sinking into the back with a horrible squishing sound.

The creature roared in pain and quickly swung around to strike at its new foe.  Midori hadn’t let go of the hammer though and when the creature turned, she turned with it, her body slung to the side and momentarily out of the path of its lethal claws.

The distraction that she had provided was all that the dark headed man needed.  He clambered to his feet as the creature, making a horrible screeching noise, lunged furiously towards Midori. She cowered, shielding her head beneath her arms, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, her body quivering in fear.  Suddenly the screeching stopped and there was a dull thud. 

Midori looked up then and saw the dark headed man standing over the lifeless body of the creature, a long thin blade extending from his forearm. 

“You saved my life, human,” he said, “and now I have returned the favor.”

Midori stared up at him, seeing the green oozing from the slashes in his chest and the blue beads buried in his skin.  “You’re just like Kusanagi,” she said in surprise and then cringed as she found the blade he had used to slay the creature aimed at her own throat.

Before he could use it however, he fell to his knees, his grey eyes becoming unfocused, and he weakly dropped his arm to his side, the blade retracting until there was only the smoothness of his skin. 

“Are you all right?” Midori asked, scrambling to his side to grab his arm as he swayed dangerously.

“Don’t touch me, human,” he murmured contemptuously, as if she reviled him and promptly fell over when she let go of his arm.  He landed with a thud, groaned and then lost consciousness altogether.

“What am I supposed to do with you?” she fretfully asked him as her brown eyes slid over the largeness of his inert form.  “I can’t just leave you here to bleed to death, now can I?”

 

Kome heaved a bored sigh as she and Yaegashi climbed towards the entrance of the iwatto in Takachiho.  How she hated research, she thought with a scowl, sliding a look at her husband.  He wore a bland expression, but she could tell by the sparkle in the brown eyes behind his glasses that he was in his element.  Kome turned her gaze in front of her and put her hands behind her head, stretching as they walked.  At least somebody was having a good time, she thought sardonically as they entered the iwatto.  Still, she should be grateful that they hadn’t been forced to bring Sakura with them.  That would have really reeked.  She stopped as they stepped into the dim interior of the iwatto, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom and watched as Yaegashi moved ahead of her, eager to get started with his field analysis. 

“Hey, Yoshiki,” she said suddenly, “come and take a look at this,” she said pointing to the wall near where she stood when he turned his attention to her.

She put her fingers out and touched the wall while Yaegashi backtracked, asking, “What is it?”

“I dunno,” she murmured.  “It looks like some kind of scorch mark.”

Yaegashi stopped next to her, pushed his glasses up and examined the wall.  “Hmmm,” was all he said.  He opened up his kit and took out a vial and an awl and began scraping little pieces of rock from the stone wall into the vial.

“What do you think would cause something like that?” Kome asked. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Kome saw a blurry mass hurtle towards them from the darkness of the passageway and before Yaegashi had a chance to answer her, she had thrown her body into his knocking him over backwards.  Kome heard the skitter of claws against the stone floor as whatever it was braked its forward motion and turned to mount another attack. 

Kome and Yaegashi skidded backwards for several feet, but before they had come to a stop, Kome was in motion, rolling away from Yaegashi until she was in a kneeling position, her hand going automatically for the firearm she kept holstered at her shoulder.  She yanked it out, and with precise aim, she fired several shots, hearing the bullets hit the target, one, two, three times.  The animal reeled backwards, its head jerking back as each bullet penetrated it skull, and it fell over, unmoving.

“What the hell was that?” she panted, wild-eyed, her gun still held in the upright position just in case the thing wasn’t dead.

Yaegashi slowly sat up, rubbing the back of his head.  “I don’t know,” he replied, “but it sure would be nice to have a little warning before you decide to use me as a surfboard.”

“What? – Oh,” Kome said, her eyes jerking in Yaegashi’s direction, “sorry about that, but there was no time.” 

She shifted her gaze back to the creature and Yaegashi asked, “Do you think it’s dead?”

“I sure as hell hope so,” she replied, climbing warily to her feet. 

She slowly walked towards the creature, her gun trained unwaveringly on it until she was standing right by it.  It was dead all right, the black mitama in the middle of its head shattered by the entry of one of the bullets and its slitted eyes glassy and blank of all expression.  Kome holstered her weapon as Yaegashi came to stand next to her.

“You know we probably just made Matsu’s day,” Kome told him derisively.  “She was beside herself  with excitement when Kunikida brought her that severed arm to examine.  Can you imagine how she’ll be when she finds out we’re bringing her a whole body?”

Yaegashi snorted and then sniffed the air, waving his hand in front of his face.  “Just as long as we don’t have to put it in the car.  This thing has a disgusting smell,” he replied, repulsed.

“Really?” Kome said, her red eyebrows raised over her blue eyes and she made a show of sniffing the air, “smells a lot like Sakura’s perfume to me.”

“You’re wrong about that,” Yaegashi said, pushing his glasses up his nose as he looked at her and chuckled, “this actually smells better than Sakura’s perfume.”

“Yoshiki!” Kome replied, stunned, “you just insulted a co-worker.”  Her face split into a grin and she playfully threw her arms around her husband and sobbed into his shoulder, “You’ve made me so proud!”

 

Momiji left the house before Kusanagi had gotten out of the shower and without telling him where she was going.  This morning had been a catastrophe and she couldn’t face him, feeling too vulnerable right now.  So instead, she left a note on the kitchen counter telling him where she would be.  Momiji climbed into her car, put her ceremonial robes alongside the metal case in the passenger seat and drove up to the iwatto. 

She tried to silence her thoughts as she entered the itwatto, since they only added to the hard knot of uneasiness and despair sitting in the middle of her chest.  She concentrated instead on making her way safely down the stone steps and into the darkness of the main chamber.  Momiji turned the solar mirror to catch the sun’s light and then began the task of gathering up the samples for Ms. Matsudaira.  Once she had them all, she put them back in the case and then turned to put her ceremonial robes on. 

It had been a long time since she had done this, she thought as she moved to the water’s edge. She stood silent and unmoving, looking at the stillness of the water, trying to let its tranquility influence her emotions.  With bare feet she stepped into the icy coldness and waded towards the center, listening to the soft sound of the currents swirling around the motion of her legs.

She came to a standstill, fragments of dappled light dancing across her face, and she closed her eyes against the pain in her heart.  Slowly she bent and began the ritual, shutting out everything but the feel of the water against her body.  Its iciness filled her body with numbness; a blessed relief from the turbulence of her emotions, and Momiji’s mind was liberated.  She entered a trancelike state, her arms falling to her sides, her face raised upwards as if held in thrall by some unseen force.

She was falling into darkness, the same darkness as before, the fragmented words of Susano-oh echoing around her.

Kushinada…gift...desire…humanity…destiny…

On and on she fell, the words twisting around her as if to guide her on her spiral downward.

Kushinada… My will… as one…see…humanity…the one…humanity…Kusanagi…destiny…bind him to you…

Her descent was slowing now, an image beginning to form before her.  It was that of a child, an infant with dark hair and cat-like eyes and as Momiji stared at it, it changed, becoming Kusanagi.  Then there were new words, unfragmented and clear as the image faded.

He comes, Kushinada.  Mark well what I have told you.  Remember your destiny and hold it close to your heart.  Your love shall be the bond that prevails and will lead Kusanagi to find his humanity.

The words rose in volume until they swallowed up the darkness and light flooded back into her mind, her thoughts once again her own.  Momiji slowly opened her eyes to find the turmoil of earlier gone.  It had been replaced with certainty, she realized in surprise.  They were destined to be together, and no matter how hard he fought against it, Kusanagi would tire of the struggle and come to realize it too. 

Her mind settled on the image of the child, so much like Kusanagi.  He comes, Susano-oh had said, and Momiji understood that he wanted her to protect him.  She wondered who he was, or whose he was.  Her thoughts were disturbed by the sound of something behind her and Momiji looked over her shoulder.

Terror welled up inside her as she stared into the slitted red eyes of an Aragami.  Its arm snaked out and grabbed her forehead, holding her head easily within its palm, its long fingers and claws curling around the back of her head as it lifted her off the ground.   Momiji tried to scream but the sound was locked in her throat as she felt a resonating sensation burning against her brow and watched as the black mitama centered on the Aragami’s forehead began to glow red.

As if from a distance, Momiji heard someone shouting.  It was Kusanagi.

“NO!!!!” he cried from the entrance of the iwatto, too far away to stop what was happening as Momiji felt the creature swiftly leeching away her energy, her arms and legs dangling lifelessly above the water. 

It was stealing her soul, she suddenly realized.  She could feel it in the slowing of her heartbeat and the breathless sensation in her lungs.  Only a few more seconds and it would be done, she thought numbly, but suddenly the sensation ceased and the Aragami staggered, dropping her into the water with a loud splash.

“That’s right, you bastard!” Kusanagi snarled, “you have sealed your fate by stealing energy from the Kushinada.  And now I’m going to kill you!”

Momiji felt her heart, beating ever so slowly, come to a stop in her chest and she slumped over, unable to hold herself up as the creature reeled drunkenly in the water between her and the man she loved.  It felt as if her mind was adrift from her body and she was looking down at herself from above, seeing but not feeling Kusanagi’s hands grab her up, cradling her against his chest as he swiftly flitted around the Aragami to carry her to safety. 

She watched in a detached way as he laid her slack body gently down, his fingers against her cheeks as he tensely called her name over and over, trying to get her to respond.  She could hear him, could see him as if from a distance, but she couldn’t open her eyes or feel her body.

 Momiji watched as Kusanagi left her side, his fury a palpable living thing. 

“Now you die!” he raged, his body going through a rapid transformation as a ragged war cry burst from his throat.

The sound of it echoed through her mind, mingling with the sound of the Aragami’s high-pitched squeal of confusion and pain and the crashing of water.  There was a blur of movement a flash of blue light, and then nothing but silence.

 Kusanagi hovered in the air, his hair standing on end, the plant like spines sprouting from his back and shoulders as he gazed at Momiji’s body and then stared down at the water darkened by the blood of the Aragami.  The Aragami was dead but the fire of bloodlust still burned brightly in Kusanagi’s eyes and his chest heaved up and down from the killing rage that engulfed him.  It was dead, but he wasn’t satisfied.  He wanted to crush its body beneath his claws, grind away its bone and sinew until nothing remained of its existence for what it had done to Momiji.  Unable to contain his rage, he threw back his head and howled savagely, as pain ripped through his heart.

And then he stopped, hearing another cry rising above his own.  It was a cry of pain and it was coming from Momiji.  He was by her side in an instant, crouching down and cradling her upper body against him, his hand rhythmically smoothing her hair away from her face.

Kusanagi stared down at Momiji’s face.  It was unnaturally white and in the center of her forehead was a faint burn mark in the shape of a mitama.  Tears leaked from beneath her eyelids and trickled down her cheeks.  She whimpered and Kusanagi pulled her tighter against him, rocking her back and forth, his lips pressed against her forehead.

“It hurts,” she gulped and felt herself lifted from the ground as her senses began to bend inwards under the pain and she lost consciousness.

 

Momiji slowly opened her eyes and looked around.  It was nighttime and she was at home in her own room, her mother and Kusanagi sitting in chairs side by side by the window.  Her mother was asleep, but Kusanagi was awake, his head turned toward the window as he stared moodily out into the night.  He must have felt her gaze, for he suddenly turned his head in her direction, the frown on his face disappearing at seeing her eyes open.

Momiji gave him a bright smile as she watched him leave his chair to come and sit  on the bed next to her.  She would have sat up, but Kusanagi wouldn’t let her, putting his hands against her shoulders and gently pushing her back against her pillow. 

“Just lie still,” he leaned forward and whispered softly. 

His lips lightly brushed against her forehead before he leaned back, and his gloved hand came up to gently smooth her chestnut bangs.  Momiji felt a warm glow ignite in the region of her heart at Kusanagi’s small signs of affection.  She sighed in contentment as he continued to stroke her hair, and Momiji let her eyes wander lovingly over him, taking note of his red shirt and faded jeans.  He looked wonderful as always, she thought. 

She glanced at the clock.  It was three in the morning, so how come he looked so perfect?  She turned her green eyes back to Kusanagi’s face and couldn’t help the smile that curled her lips as she enjoyed looking at him.

“What?” he asked, seeing the smile.

“How come you always seem to look so good no matter what time of day it is?” she mumbled shyly.

“I do?” he asked, startled, and then grinned, “of course I do.”

“It isn’t fair you know,” she promptly informed him, poking him in the chest with her finger.  “There should be at least one moment of the day that you turn back into a pumpkin.”

“Sorry,” his lips twisted sardonically, “but this is as orange as I get,” he told her in a teasing manner as he wrapped his own fingers around the one poking him in the chest and squeezed it lightly.  “How are you feeling, Momiji? He asked looking down at her in intense concern.

Momiji searched her feelings, her eyes sliding to where Kusanagi had entwined his fingers with hers.  ‘Happy because you’re here with me’ she wanted to say but said instead.  “Thankful.”   Kusanagi gave her a puzzled look and she elaborated, “I’m thankful that you came to find me when you did, Kusanagi”

. Kusanagi’s face shifted into a shuttered expression and she realized it wasn’t because he was hiding from her but because he was struggling to contain his anger and frustration.  “I didn’t save you.  The Aragami had already let you go before I got to you, Momiji.  I don’t think it realized that it was draining its own life away as it tried to steal power from you.  I thought that I was too late, that you were gone, but after I killed it, you started moving.”

“But you did save me, Kusanagi,” she told him with certainty, “by killing the Aragami, you freed my soul.” 

She remembered the intense pain as her consciousness had been compacted back into her own body and as she stared into the somberness of Kusanagi’s cat-like eyes she knew that he was remembering it too.

“We came close to losing you, again Momiji.”

“But you didn’t Kusanagi,” she said reassuringly, trying to erase the sudden bleakness she saw in his eyes.  “Kusanagi, I –“ she hesitated, her mouth working soundlessly as the words froze in her throat.  ‘I love you,’ she wanted to say, but she was too afraid to say it, too afraid of scaring him away.

“What is it, Princess?” he prompted her and watched mystified as a dull color spread across her face.

Momiji dropped her gaze to her hand lying comfortably in his and mumbled, “Oh nothing, really.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Kusanagi said, “Well, it’s late Princess, and you need your rest.”  He tried to withdraw his hand from hers and rise from the bed, but Momiji clung tightly to him.

“No please,” she begged, tugging on his arm, “please stay here with me.”  She scooted over to make a place for him and her meaning was unmistakable.

Kusanagi gaped at her and didn’t move.

“I don’t bite, you know,” she told him, her green eyes entreating him to give in to her.

Kusanagi looked uncomfortably over at her mother who was still asleep and then his gaze returned to her.  “Momiji, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”  He knew that she had no ulterior motive, that she wasn’t expecting a repeat performance of this morning.  But still he couldn’t keep his body from involuntarily tightening as his thoughts lingered on what had happened when he had made the mistake of sleeping with her.

“Please, Kusanagi,” she pleaded again, her limpid green eyes imploring him, “I feel safer when you’re with me.”  It was true, she did feel safer, but that wasn’t the reason she wanted him to stay.  The real reason was that she just wanted to feel close to him.  Kusanagi glanced over at her mother one more time, and she could see him wavering.  “You don’t even have to get under the covers,” she told him, “there’s an extra blanket in the closet that you can use.”

Kusanagi stared down at her and found it impossible to refuse her.  “All right,” he said, and went and got the blanket. 

He stretched out on his side next to her, every nerve and fiber of his being aware of her warmth and femininity.  Momiji gave him a sweet and innocent smile and he returned it with a strained one.  He cleared his throat uncomfortably and told her, “Now go to sleep.”

Momiji obediently closed her eyes, but she inched towards him under the sheets until her head was snuggled against his chest.  He felt the warmth of her cheek over his heart and Kusanagi grimaced, groaning inwardly.

It was going to be one hell of a long night.