Dreamer Awakened

 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 

 

“That’s it,” Momiji muttered through clenched teeth and she pounced on Kusanagi’s pillow, trying to get her hand beneath it.  “If you won’t give them to me, then I’ll just get them myself!”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Princess,” he chided softly.

Before Momiji knew what was happening she felt herself being lifted off of her feet. Kusanagi wrapped one hand around her arm and the other around her waist and yanked, flipping her around onto her back on top of the bed, her head now resting on the pillow where his had been just seconds before.  Without touching her, he quickly straddled her body with is knees and stared down into her green eyes widened with surprise, a seductive smile spreading across his face.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he tutted, “when will you learn that you can’t bully your way around me, Princess?  I’m a lot bigger and stronger than you.”

“Your head is a lot thicker too!” she fumed and quickly reached up, her hand burrowing underneath the pillow, feeling around for the panties.

Kusanagi promptly leaned forward, his face coming closer to hers as he grabbed her hand, pulling it out from underneath the pillow and pinning it to the mattress.  He was close enough to smell the scent that clung to her skin from her bath and it enveloped his senses.  God, but she smelled good, he groaned to himself; like honeysuckle and rain. 

He could feel himself beginning to lose focus, his desire starting to take over as he struggled to maintain control of not only his body but Momiji’s body as well.  She might be small, but she was a scrappy fighter and she was squirming beneath him, trying to get her arm free from his grasp.  Kusanagi gave a low laugh at the scowl on her face.

“Give it up, Princess,” he advised, although he could tell from the look in her eyes that she was far from through.

Momiji scowled even harder at him, her mouth scrunching up and her eyes sparkling brightly.  Give up?  No way!  She would show him, she thought fiercely.  She was not a quitter, and she wasn’t about to let him win!  With a snort, she reached up with her other hand, but she didn’t even make it to the pillow before that one was captured as well.

She might not be a quitter, but she wasn’t a good strategist either, she grumbled sheepishly to herself. 

That and she couldn’t count, she thought reproachfully, for any fool could have seen what was going to happen. 

She had two hands; he had two hands, and his hands were bigger and stronger.  Duh!  And now she had no one to blame but herself for her current predicament. 

Momiji squirmed against his hold, even though she knew it was futile.  The unperturbed look on Kusanagi’s face at her efforts spurred her on,  making her wish that she was at least strong enough to make it a little  difficult for him to contain her.  She grunted and pulled, glared and scowled, and despite her best efforts, he did nothing but stare down unconcernedly at her, an amused smile on his face.  Finally, she stopped, panting from exertion, having worn herself out completely, and she just lay there, gazing resentfully up into the cat-like eyes just inches above her own.

“What are you going to do now, Princess?” he challenged with a smile.  “Or are you finished now?” he asked her softly, staring into her smoldering green eyes.  “All you have to do is say, please.”   His voice was almost a whisper as he involuntarily let his eyes slip down to gaze hungrily at the softness of her lips.  “Say please, and I’ll give them to you.”

The flare of desire in Kusanagi’s eyes made Momij’s heart race, and a pulse fluttered at the base of her throat.  She watched, mesmerized as he slowly leaned forward, coming even closer to her, his eyes locking with hers as he murmured yet again.

“Say, please.”

Momiji heard the words, but they lost their meaning as she continued to stare up at him.  He was barely an inch away, and she wished that he would close the distance between them.  She wanted him to touch her, to kiss her, and his words suddenly took on a whole new meaning. 

Her eyes softened with longing, and she heard herself whisper, “Please, Kusanagi.”

“There,” he replied, his fingers, rather than releasing her, tightened on her wrists, and his breath fanned across her cheek, as he drew even nearer.  He closed his eyes to the warning bells going off in his head and let his lips brush lightly against hers as he murmured, “that wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

Momiji’s eyes fluttered closed at the feel of his lips against hers and she sighed softly against them.  Kusanagi immediately deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding into her mouth, eager to taste more of her.  He let go of her wrists so he could cup her face and Momiji’s hands crept around to the back of his neck, clinging to him as she felt an intoxicating heat steal over.

Kusanagi’s breathing rapidly deteriorated, becoming ragged as his mouth slanted over hers again and again and his body tightened with his need for her.  Soon, he wasn’t satisfied with just kissing her.  He wanted more; he needed more, but the warning bells were sounding even louder. 

Just a little more, he whispered persuasively to himself, and he let his fingers trail away from her face, to the buttons at the neck of her nightgown.  There weren’t that many, and with deft movements, he slid the buttons free, sliding the top of her nightgown open so he could touch her skin.  Desperately, his mouth trailed after his fingers, finding the valley between her breasts, as, through the soft flannel of the nightgown, he cupped her breasts with his hands.

Momiji sucked in her breath as she felt Kusanagi fingers caress her breasts, his mouth setting fire to her skin as he kissed her neck and chest, and she arched against him, her fingers clutched tightly in his greenish black hair.

She inflamed his senses, tasting so sweetly of spring and innocence, and Kusanagi wanted even more.  He knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but he couldn’t summon up the strength to turn back.  Just a little more, he induced himself. 

Shifting slightly, Kusanagi reached down and tugged at the hem of her nightgown, sliding it upwards to her knees.  Still straddling her body, he planted one of his knees between her legs, and let his fingers trail up the silky softness of her calf, past her knee and higher, shifting inwards and slowing, but not stopping as he reached her upper thigh.

Momiji stiffened at his touch and her natural response was to immediately clench her legs closed, but his knee prevented that.  Feeling her unease, Kusanagi’s hand halted its forward motion, his lips returning to hers, and he covered her with gentle kisses, until he felt her body relax. 

Just a little more.  That was all.

He wanted all of her, but he knew that he couldn’t take what he wanted.  So he would settle for just a little more.  Slowly, he again let his fingers slide upwards, reaching the apex of her thighs and he touched her, his fingers slowly stroking against the heart of her femininity.

Momiji stiffened, and gasped in alarm having never been touched so intimately before.

“K-kusanagi?” she whispered timidly, and felt his lips move against her ear as a strange tension began to coil inside her body from the movement of his fingers against her.

“Shhhh.  Just close your eyes, Momiji,” he murmured soothingly into her ear, his fingers still touching her, caressing her, wanting to bring her pleasure.

Momiji ‘s eyes drifted closed and she arched her body against him, the sweet tension growing to an almost unbearable level.  Kusanagi felt the slick heat start to flow from her, and with a groan slid his fingers deeper into her, showing her what he longed to do with his body as she began to move restlessly against his hand. 

Oh god, he thought closing his eyes in torment.  He was so aroused that he could hardly stand it.  He needed more.  He had to have more, and without conscious thought, he slid his body between her legs and reached for the buttons on his jeans. 

Just then, the phone rang; a loud jarring sound shrill with warning, and Kusanagi stopped what he was doing.

Dear god! came the voice of his rattled conscience.  Just what the hell did he think he’d been doing anyway? it asked him in alarm as sanity once again returned with the cacophonous sound of the phone, and he pulled his hands out from beneath Momiji’s nightgown.   Kusanagi slowly opened his eyes and met Momiji’s shy questioning gaze. 

“You should probably answer that,” he told her quietly, rolling over and sitting up, his gaze shifting to the nightstand to avoid looking at her. “It might be about Midori.”

Momiji didn’t say anything, but she scrambled to get the phone, snatching it off it’s cradle to stammer out a stiff ‘hello’.

“Momiji, is that you?” came Kunikida’s voice and then, “is Kusanagi there?  I need to speak with him.  It’s urgent.”

Momiji shifted and held the phone out to Kusanagi, who still wasn’t looking at her and mumbled, “It’s for you,” before climbing awkwardly off the bed, her cheeks shining bright with color.

Kusanagi took the phone from her and wandered restlessly to the window.  He pulled back the curtain to look through the blinds, his back to Momiji, staying mostly silent as he listened to what Kunikida had to tell him.  Momiji watched him for a second or two, his tense expression illuminated by a sudden flash of lightning and then reached under his pillow for the forgotten pair of silk panties.  A storm is coming, she thought listening to the distant rumble of thunder as she hurriedly slid the white silk over her thighs while Kusanagi continued to stare out into the darkness of the night. 

“Right,” he finally said, his voice sounding harsh in the silence of the room, “I’ll go and check it out.”

And then he hung up and turned to face Momiji, a remote expression on his face.

“What is it?” Momiji wanted to know, trying to get past the awkwardness she was feeling.   “Is it about Midori?”

“No,” he told her broodingly, moving to put the phone back on its cradle before moving over to the closet to get his long black coat.  “There’s been a string of murders in the last five hours starting in Nima, stretching through Taki and moving towards Izumo.  So far there have been at least sixteen reported deaths; but there’s probably at least half a dozen more that  haven’t been discovered yet.  Kunikida says there’s never been this many so close together.  He thinks something big is about to happen and I agree with him.”

Kusanagi shrugged into his coat and turned to face Momiji, his expression still distant.

“Where are you going?” Momiji asked apprehensive her gaze sliding to the window as she heard another rumble of thunder, this one closer than the last.

“Kunikida asked me to check it out,” he replied, heading out of the room, “so that’s where I’m going.”

“Wait!” Momiji called after him, “let me go with you.”

He stopped and turned at her words, and she saw a flicker of emotion in his eyes before he quickly repressed it. “No, Momiji.  I can travel faster if I’m by myself, and you need to stay here where it’s safe.”

“But, Kusanagi  -“ she began stepping towards him, only to be stopped by the unrelenting refusal in his voice.

“I said no, Momiji,” he reiterated in a hard voice, and then, he looked away from her and said a little softer, “I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

Momiji didn’t say anything else.  She just watched him walk out of the room, standing where he had left her until she heard the front door open and close.  Then she slowly left his room, walking across the hall to her own, and climbed in bed to curl up into a tight ball. 

She shut her eyes, listening to the thunder and tried not to think about what had happened between them.  He had been alarmed, he’d thought he’d made a mistake; she had read it in his eyes.  And Momiji wondered if tonight would end up driving him farther away from her, as he tried to run from what had happened, to keep from feeling the things he was feeling.  Momiji scrunched her eyes closed even tighter and rolled over, trying to push away her depressing thoughts.  Let him run, came a small voice from somewhere near the region of her heart; all the paths he chooses can only lead to you.

 

A bitterly cold wind battered against Kusanagi and he felt himself being pulled off course by its strong currents.  He paused in mid-flight, his coat whipping violently around his legs as he struggled to maintain his position and his figure was starkly illuminated by the purple flash of lightning against a sky heavy with storm clouds.  He was somewhere between Taki and Izumo, and in serious danger of either being blown into a tree by the gale force winds, or being electrocuted by the frequent slashes of light ripping across the sky.  This was nuts, he thought acerbically and swooped lower to the ground, scanning the area.  Just what the hell was he doing out here anyway? he asked himself as he stared around in the darkness.  What could he possibly hope to find when he couldn’t use his mitamas to track the Tengugaki?  

Turning away, he was about to give up when he heard the sound of a girl’s  terrified scream, and he sharply pulled up and changed direction, following its sound.  Moving in a blur, he managed to clutch the young woman around the waist and pull her to safety. 

Her body was quivering in fright as he alighted on the ground and released her, turning away and staring into the slitted-red eyes he was coming to know too well.

“Are you all right?” he asked over his shoulder without looking at her.

“Y-yes –“

“Then run like hell,” he advised, “and don’t stop until you find shelter.” 

Kusanagi didn’t bother to look and see if she did as she was told.  Instead, he immediately lunged at Tamanasu, intent on destroying him before he could kill again.

“I thought I smelled your putrid stench on the wind!” he snarled, unsheathing his blades and lunging, only to miss as Tamanasu quickly feinted around him.

“You’ll pay for your interference, mongrel,” Tamanasu hissed, the livid hatred on his face illuminated by a slash of lightning. 

He bared his fangs stained by the blood of the animals he had been forced to feed upon in order to gain enough energy to search out human souls, and he let out a feral growl.  Damn this human!  Since losing most of his strength to the woman with the crystal mitama, he had only regained half of his power.  Would it be enough to evade attack?  It would have to be!  Lowering his head, Tamanasu growled again and streaked towards Kusanagi.

Kusanagi crouched, readying himself for the onslaught and then whipped around in confusion as Tamanasu leaped over him and disappeared, the sound of thunder rolling him around him in waves

“What the hell!?” Kusanagi muttered, urgently searching the trees for Tamanasu’s glowing, red eyes. 

There was another rumble of thunder and as it died away, he heard the Tengugaki’s low, guttural laugh carried on the wind.  Kusanagi shot around, glancing upwards, into the boughs of the tree behind him.  Tamanasu’s mottled skin blended into the bark of the tree, but there was no mistaking the maleficent glow of the red eyes staring down at him through the barren branches.

“Come down here, you rotten bastard!” Kusanagi shouted in fury, his face cast into harsh relief by another fork of lightning.

“How I wish I could oblige you, Kusanagi,” Tamanasu taunted, “but I have been given strict orders to spare your life for now.  You should thank the gods for your good fortune this day.  For I promise you, the next time we meet, not even the gods’ favor will save you from me!”

Kusanagi growled and sprang from the ground, but Tamanasu was already gone by the time Kusanagi reached the limb where he’d been perched.  Kusanagi flitted forward, intent on giving chase when he suddenly doubled over and fell from the air, incapacitated, his mitamas glowing brightly in the darkness. 

“Aaagh!” he choked, his body drawing up in pain, and his mind reeling with fear, “No!  - Momiji!”

He shouldn’t have left her alone. 

Another rumble of thunder accompanied by lightning rent the night and suddenly the glow faded and Kusanagi was able to stand.  He clambered unsteadily to his feet, shaken and weak and stiffened in amazement when he felt soft snowflakes flutter against his face.  “What the!?” 

He put his hand out, and watched as the delicate white crystals settled against the black leather of his gloves, standing out in vivid contrast.  “Snow during a thunderstorm?” he muttered, baffled, “what the hell is going on?”

 

“I can’t!” Hikaru cried softly, propping up against the wall of the iwatto too tired to push anymore.

“Yes, you can,” Kaede encouraged, “just one more good push, and then you can stop.”

Hikaru shook her head, but as another pain tightened her abdomen, she bore down and pushed as hard as she could and was rewarded when she heard the high keening sound of her newborn baby.  A weak but joyous smile spread across her face, and it was reflected by Kaede as she took the baby and held it close for a moment, knowing that she would never have the chance to hold a child of her own.  Kaede’s gaze slid to Hikaru and the wistfulness in her eyes was replaced by soft admiration for the young mother.

“You have a fine son, Hikaru,” Kaede praised quietly, and she handed the baby to his mother, who cradled him close, her shaking hands smoothing the downy softness of his dark hair.  “You must choose a worthy name for him.”

Hikaru looked at the soft curve of her son’s cheek as he nestled against her breast, and without hesitating, she murmured, “Noa.  I will call him, Noa.”

 

“Kushinada!”

Momij’s eyes snapped open, and she jerked into a sitting position, her chest rapidly rising and falling as she listened to the thunder rumbling outside her window.  She hadn’t been asleep that long and the storm had yet to pass, she thought to herself.  But that’s not what had woken her. 

Susano-oh had been calling to her. 

Momiji turned her head and stared down at her clock without really seeing it. 

It was time, she thought, as the darkened room was illuminated by the bright flicker of lightning, scattering light across her absorbed expression before being extinguished.  Time to go; she told herself, but where? 

The iwatto, came a voice from the back of her mind.  And Momiji felt a sense of urgency wash over her.  She must get to the iwatto as quickly as possible.  Hurriedly she pushed the covers back and clambered out of bed.  Without turning on the lights, she moved over to the closet and pulled out a pair of jeans.  Hastily she pulled them on, hopping over to her dresser as she wriggled into them to grab a thick sweatshirt which was just as speedily dropped over her head.

Finished, she scurried over to the corner of her room and snatched up the bag of items she had purchased in Takachiho and then left her room.  At the bottom of the stairs she absently shoved her feet into her shoes while she pulled on her coat, grabbed her keys and pocket book and then opened the front door.

“Good lord,” she murmured. 

Momiji stopped on the threshold, staring in wonder at the thick swirls of snow falling to the ground even as the sky was illuminated by long strokes of lightning.  She listened in awe to the accompanying rumble of thunder and couldn’t help but think of the one responsible. 

“Susano-oh,” she breathed. 

But why?  Pushing her question away, and knowing that she must hurry, she lowered her head and sprinted to her car, slipping and sliding on the thick layer of snow already settled upon the ground.  Momiji started her car and pulled out onto the street.  The sense of urgency was growing, but she could feel the tires of her car slipping against the road and knew that she must go slowly if she didn’t want to end up in a ditch. 

 

Murakumo’s grey eyes snapped open.  It had happened.  He felt it in his souls.  His child was here at last.  Turning his head, Murakumo struggled to bring the dimly lit room into focus.  It was night, but that human girl had left a small lamp burning on the computer desk in the corner.  He needed to get up.  He needed to follow his souls and find Hikaru and his child.  But he felt so damned weak. 

Murakumo rolled over on to his side and pushed himself up, gritting his teeth against the sudden rending sensation in his chest.

“Grrr-raaa-hhh!” came his strangled cry, and he hunched over and put his hand to his chest. 

Murakumo closed his eyes and remained stationary until some of the pain subsided, panting heavily as he broke out into a cold sweat.  He could hear the soft muffled sounds of hurried steps outside the room and knew that the human girl had heard him.  He quickly opened his eyes and tried to sit up straight, unwilling to let her see his weakness.

The dark headed girl came crashing into the room dressed in a white cotton gown, a look of concern written across her nondescript features.  Shock registered in her big brown eyes at seeing him sitting on the side of the bed, and she rushed forward.

“Geez!  What are you doing?” she exclaimed, biting her lip and sliding to a stop in front of him, “you should be lying down,” she told him firmly, “you’re still not well!”

She was standing so close to him that he would be forced to look up if he wanted to see her face, something that he refused to do.  It would be a cold day in hell before he looked up to any human, he told himself, and he kept his brooding gaze pinned to the voluminous folds of her cotton gown.

“Where are my clothes?  I’m leaving,” came his irascible response.

“What!?” Midori’s mouth fell open.  “You can’t possibly think that you’re well enough to get up!?”

The corners of Murakumo’s mouth pulled down into a formidable frown. “Don’t make me repeat myself, human!” he commanded imperiously, glaring at the pearl buttons on her gown.

“My name’s Midori, not human,” Midori told him tartly, “and your clothes were mostly shredded by that thing that attacked you.”

In his mind there was a loud hissing noise as all the fires in hell were extinguished, and his head snapped up so that he could look into Midori’s eyes.

“I don’t care, Midori,” he snarled, his grey eyes burning with fury, “get them now!”

Midori spun on her heel and crossed the room to stand in the door.  She turned around again and crossed her arms in front of her, her temper causing color to rise to her cheeks as she frowned at Murakumo.

“They’re in there,” she responded peevishly, jerking her head in the direction of the closet, “and if you want them, then you can get up and get them yourself!” 

Murakumo’s grey eyes narrowed with fury as he stared at Midori.  Never had he felt such a soul consuming rage at a human before.  It confused his senses, clouding his judgment and he couldn’t seem to distance himself from it. 

To Murakumo, most humans were disgustingly vile, selfish creatures; too far beneath him to really spare any emotion on except for the dispassionate hatred he had for them.  But this flighty human; she baffled him as much as she enraged him.  He didn’t understand the way she thought; the motivations that lay behind her actions.  If she knew that he was Aragami, why had she tried to help him?  And why did she not fear him?

Midori glared belligerently at the haughty look on Murakumo’s handsome face, but her anger gave way to alarm as she saw him push away from the bed, his pale face becoming even whiter as he swayed on his feet, the pain standing out in his steel grey eyes.

“You stubborn, foolish man!” she reproved in a low tone, rushing to his side to take his arm in order to keep him from falling.

“Let go of me, you imperfect being!” he hissed at her, trying to jerk his arm free of her hold, and then added, “and I am not a man.  I am king of the Aragami!”

Midori was reluctant to let him go.  She knew what was going to happen when she did. But she could see that he was too proud to acknowledge his own weakness unless she let him falter.

Sighing to herself, she opened her fingers and pulled her arm back, saying acerbically, “All right, your highness.  Have it your way!” and then watched him crumple to the floor, face down, too weak to stand any longer.

“Damn it!” he exclaimed in a hoarse voice. 

His collision with the floor jarred his chest and created such a wave of pain that he thought he would pass out.  He put his hand to his chest, a horrible grimace twisting his features as he fought to breathe.  He was dimly aware that the dark headed girl had joined him on the floor, laying on her stomach next to him so she could see his face.

He weakly turned his head and stared into her soft brown eyes and felt frustration well up inside of him.

“Why am I so weak?” he demanded faintly and closed his eyes.

Midori suddenly felt very sorry for him and she reached out and smoothed a raven lock of hair away from his cheek.  His eyes flickered open at her touch, and she saw that he was more than surprised that she would touch him in such a way.  He looked like he wasn’t sure of what to make of her gesture, so she withdrew her hand before he decided he should be angry.

“Why?” he repeated, his grey eyes unwavering on her face, “I should not be this weak.  My body has strong recuperative powers.  I should have regained all of my strength long before now –“

“It’s your mitama,” Midori explained, “one of the mitamas on your chest was damaged during your fight with that monster at the iwatto.”

Murakumo looked like he didn’t want to believe her.  “The hell you say,” he muttered.  He slowly rolled over onto his side and put his hand to his chest, pulling aside the robe to stare down at the blue mitamas.  “No,” he murmured in denial even as he saw the small fissures crisscrossing the surface of the lowermost mitama in his chest. “No,” he repeated again, touching the mitama with his finger and tracing the forced grooves along its once smooth surface. 

It would die, he thought.  Once damaged, they always did, and his power would no longer be balanced.

“It’s better than it was,” Midori assured him desperately, wanting to erase the look of disquiet in his eyes. 

His eyes slid to her, hardening in disbelief, and he removed his hand from his chest.  “That’s impossible,” he told her flatly.  “Damaged souls do not repair themselves.”

“Well maybe not by themselves,” she replied in a considering way, “but it’s had a little help – wait! Let me help you” she stammered, scrambling to her knees and reaching for his arm as she saw him try to sit up on his own.

Murakumo grimaced, wanting to eschew her help, but knew that without her, he wouldn’t make it off of the floor.  So he didn’t say anything as she bent over and took his arm, the warmth of her body brushing against him as she helped haul him to a sitting position.  She was so…soft, he thought fuzzily, his head swimming and his chest burning. He closed his eyes, leaning against her side, feeling too tired to move and his thoughts pressed in on him.

How was he to claim his child and regain his kingdom when he couldn’t even stand on his own?  And he wouldn’t be able to summon any of his followers without all eight, which meant that he would now have to wait until the child was older and he could harness its power.  But he had to find it first, and he couldn’t do that as long as he remained in his current condition.

“When I first brought you here,” Midori murmured, breaking into his thoughts, “your mitama had been almost completely severed in two.  But since then, it has gotten better, and I think in a few more weeks, it will be completely healed.”

“You lie, human!” Murakumo hissed, taking his anger and frustration out on the dark headed girl.  He felt her stiffen against his side but cared not at all for her feelings. “Mitamas do not have the means to repair themselves.  Once they are damaged, they become useless.

Midori snorted and tried to move away from him, but he kept her anchored to his side, dependent on her to remain upright and so she subsided. 

“Well that just goes to show that you don’t know everything, Mr. High and Mighty,” she responded sharply.  “The structure of your mitama is very complex and it is very capable of repairing itself, if given the right nutrients.  And would you please stop calling me human!  I have a name you know!”

There was a long pause and then Murakumo demanded, “Just what do you mean by that?”

His tone of voice set her teeth on edge and she felt her temper rising despite her best efforts to keep it in check.  What was his problem?  Didn’t he know how to be civil?  He was the rudest, most excruciatingly insufferable person she had ever met, she thought, incensed.  Why was she even bothering with him?  She should just leave him to his own folly, she thought acidly.

But she couldn’t.  There was something about him that drew her to him.  The clarity of his grey eyes, the long, jet - black hair, his classically structured features; he was beautiful, but it wasn’t just that, she told herself, knowing that looks weren’t everything.  His manner spoke of one used to power, of being in control and yet she sensed a part of him that was out of control, a part that suffered from the weight of his pride and ambition. 

It was that indefinable element that she could sense but couldn’t see that drove her to reach out to him, even when he spurned her efforts.  She wasn’t even sure if what she sensed was real, if that part of him really existed.  But she could no more deny the strong compulsion that drew her to him any more than she could deny herself the air she breathed.

 “Answer me, human!” Murakumo ordered impatiently, his words cutting across her thoughts.

“No!” Midori snapped back, “not until you quit calling me that!”

She turned her head and glared at him, her brown eyes shooting sparks and saw her fury reflected in his grey eyes.

Murakumo grabbed the back of her hair and yanked, wanting to threaten her, but he became disoriented by a rush of strange emotions when he pulled her face closer to his.  The heat of anger died from his eyes, and they became clouded with confusion.  Unable to shake the strange feelings, he abruptly released her and looked away.

“Please – Midori,” he requested stiffly, feeling the color of mortification stain his face, humiliated by his own words.  “Explain to me about my mitama.”

He stared uncomfortably at the wall, and thought she wasn’t going to answer when he felt the warmth of her body brush closer against him, evoking those strange and uncomfortable feelings all over again.

Midori reached out to take his arm and put it around her shoulders but he resisted.

“We need to get you back in bed,” she murmured softly, still holding on to his arm, “and then I will explain what I know about your mitama.”

Murakumo’s resistance subsided and he allowed her to place his arm around her shoulders.  Working together, they managed to get him to his feet, but not without a great amount of effort on both of their parts.  Once standing, his head began to swim and he leaned heavily against her for support to keep from sliding back onto the floor. 

Midori tightened her arm around him to keep him from swaying and he became even more acutely aware of her softness pressing up against the length of his body.  As her warmth penetrated into him, he felt a sudden surge of… he stopped, feeling disbelief wash through him as he realized what it was  

Impossible, he thought as they tottered over to the bed and he collapsed against its edge.  And yet, he could not deny that what he was feeling now was distinctly similar to what he had felt with Hikaru, only stronger. 

Midori continued to help him, maneuvering him into a lying position against his pillows and then pulling the covers up across his chest as Murakumo just numbly lay there, his brain refusing to accept the reality of it as his eyes slid to Midori’s slight figure.

Impossible, he scoffed yet again.  He was Aragami, not human.   

But he was in human form, a quiet voice in the back of his head reminded him, and his body functioned as a human body should – and not just androgynously either, but as a perfectly working, male body. 

A fact he hadn’t been at all sure of at the beginning when he had begun formulating his plan to regain his kingdom; for he hadn’t known if he could put aside his distaste of humans long enough to actually try and lie with one.  But he had realized he would never discover the functional limitations of his human body, unless he could find a female that didn’t physically repulse him when he touched her. 

Thus he had begun his search for an aesthetically pleasing human female to try and couple with; hoping to find that he was capable of sexually performing, if he could find a way to overcome his distaste for a process which could only be considered… disgusting.  He had searched quite a while before finding the artistically beautiful girl with violet eyes and silken hair, and he had settled upon Hikaru as his choice, her face and figure not unbearable. 

Surprisingly, he had experienced a moderate amount of pleasure in their coupling, which he supposed was a good thing, since the whole purpose of the exercise was to beget a child.  But it was only because of that sensation he had felt with Hikaru that he could identify the strange and turbulent feelings that assailed him now.   He looked up at Midori’s plain face in a dazed sort of way, wondering how he could feel so strongly what he was feeling for such a nondescript female. 

He should find her repulsive as he did most other humans, for there was nothing ornamentally attractive about her.  But for some obscure reason that completely escaped him, he didn’t. 

It was confusing. 

It was baffling. 

It was humiliating, is what it was.  The king of the Aragami was lusting after a mouse of a girl.  How pathetic.

“Whew!” Midori sighed, leaning back and putting her hand against her chest, trying to catch her breath from all of the overexertion. 

She seemed completely unaware of Murakumo’s tumultuous gaze resting upon her as she pushed at the truant locks of hair lying against her cheeks, shoving them behind her ears before letting her soft brown eyes slide to Murakumo’s face.

Murakumo looked away from her then, but his gaze was drawn back to her as she began to tell him about his mitama.

“As I was saying earlier,” she explained, “the structure of your mitama is quite complex, a network of complicated synapses.  It functions by drawing energy from your body through the neural network, thus maintaining its, er, functionality.  When it becomes damaged or cracked, the network is broken, and it can no longer draw upon the resources that it needs to repair itself – “

“That is exactly what I have been telling you,” Murakumo cut in impatiently, “it cannot repair itself.”

Midori glared down at him, her mouth pulled into a straight line.  “Will you just listen for a minute without having to display your overly abundant sense of self worth?”  Murakumo shot her a seething look but didn’t say anything and so she took a deep breath and continued, “where was I? Oh, yes – once the neural network is broken, the mitama cannot access what it needs to repair itself.  - BUT if you repair the neural network, then access is restored, and the mitama can begin to regenerate.  That’s how it works,” she explained brightly.

“How what works?” he seethed, her reasoning as clear as mud.

“How the solution I made works, of course!” she told him enthusiastically,  “I synthesized a chemical reagent that forms a temporary bond to the neural paths allowing your mitama to function.  The unfortunate part is that it is only temporary and must be applied several times a day to maintain the connection.”

The image of Midori bending to apply some ghastly smelling solution to his chest flashed through his mind.

“You mean to tell me that that hideous smelling concoction will keep my mitama functioning?” he asked incredulously.

Midori nodded her head vigorously.  “Yes.  I’ve already told you that it’s much better than it was –“

“The hell you say,” Murakumo murmured more to himself than to her, his mind working feverishly, “then I won’t have to rely on the child after all.”

“What child?” Midori asked puzzled by the calculating look on Murakumo’s face.

Murakumo glanced sharply at her, unaware that he had spoken his thoughts aloud until hearing her question. 

“My child,” he answered abruptly, seeing no reason not to tell her. 

“You have a child?” Midori asked looking surprised and shattered at the same time, “I didn’t realize – that is, I suppose you would be anxious to get back to your family –“

“It doesn’t matter now,” he interrupted, closing his eyes to block out the forlorn look on her face because it was making him uncomfortable.  “I can wait until I am at my full strength before I return to them.”

“But if you’ll tell me where I can find – “ Midori offered and jumped when his voice lashed out at her.

“NO!  I do not need your help, hu – Midori,” he opened his grey eyes and gave her an austere look, “I will wait until I am completely restored before I search for them.”

“But why?  Surely they are worried about you?” she persisted, confused.

“No!” he replied unrelentingly, “it can wait until I am whole.”

His voice was hard, and something in his eyes told her to drop it, so she did.  But she couldn’t ignore the uneasy sensation gliding through her, sensing that something was very wrong.  He was plotting something, she thought fretfully; otherwise he would not want to keep his whereabouts unknown. 

And she was helping him by maintaining her own silence regarding the knowledge of the existence of another Aragami besides Kusanagi.  Midori turned away from him, biting her lip and walked slowly towards the door.  She should tell somebody, and yet, she was afraid to - afraid for him.  What if she told them and they tried to destroy him?  Could what he was plotting really be all that bad?  Her heart told her no, but the history of the Aragami told her otherwise.

“Where are you going?” Murakumo asked her suspiciously so that she turned and gave him a steady look over her shoulder.

“To bed,” she replied, and then, “goodnight – Murakumo.”