Those Forsaken Ch. 8
Title: Those Forsaken
Rating: M
Genre: Angst/Horror
Characters: Subaru, Seishirou, Kamui, Fuuma
Summary: It all started when Subaru accidentally brought one home. Now Kamui and Subaru find themselves running for their lives, wrapped up in a fight neither could have foreseen.
Warnings: Vampirism, blood, physical abuse, nondescript nudity, etc.
Word Count: 5,500 approx.
Chapter 8
Starvation
Thump. The unique sound of a body collapsing to the floor echoed down the hall outside. Seishirou paused in the middle of soaking a washcloth under the faucet.
“Really now, Subaru-kun,” he muttered, the Seishirou in the mirror scowling back. Shaking his head, he turned and headed back down the corridor, already knowing what he’d find. Seishirou had just about given up on it, on the whole thing: trying in vain to keep Subaru from following him around, attempting to coerce him into eating (which was met each time with spectacular failure), dealing with the consequences. The boy could be so stubborn…
Rounding a corner, Seishirou found what he’d known he would.
Subaru lay curled on the cold stone in a taut little ball, arms crossed around his waist and hands clenched so tightly on his elbows the white fingernails were raking bloody gashes into the skin. Seishirou’s eyes narrowed at the familiar spectacle, and he was suddenly angry. Angry with Subaru for doing this to himself. Angry with the boy for being so stupidly stubborn. Angry with himself, because he’d been wrong… He’d been so sure Subaru would have to give in. He’d never expected it to go on this long. And the boy showed no signs of giving in anytime soon.
With a yank, Seishirou pried those claw-like hands away before they could do any more damage or permanently mar that pretty skin and pinned them together in one strong hand, jerking them above the boy’s head and out of the way. Immediately, that lithe little body jackknifed beneath him violently, almost managing to tear itself free of his hold. Quickly, he pinned one long leg with his knee, holding the boy immobile while that body thrashed and arced and attempted to tear itself apart, the hunger eating away at it from the inside out.
The boy’s jaw clenched against the agony that was tearing him apart. Enduring it silently, Seishirou knew. Subaru would never utter even a whimper, not if it meant imposing his pain on anyone else.
Seishirou watched the boy expressionlessly as the hunger took its toll. When at last the fit had ended and the boy lay panting weakly, dazed emerald eyes unfocused, he lifted the limp body into his arms and carried him back to the couch, laying him down gently. Then he went to get the washcloth from earlier and dab away the crystalline sheen of sweat that covered Subaru’s fine skin.
Seishirou didn’t understand. He’d tried on several occasions to get the boy to come with him outside, but each time his request had been met with frantic apologies and terrified green eyes. He studied the thin little thing on his couch thoughtfully. The change had taken place perfectly. There was nothing wrong with it, Seishirou was certain. But the boy’s soul was rejecting it… rejecting it on such a base level, every particle of his being denying what he’d become, what he needed to do now to survive.
Seishirou couldn’t help but wonder… how much longer? How much longer could the boy’s body hold out...
Days passed, and Seishirou watched as even the effort of standing left Subaru shaking and pale. Yet, the boy continued to try to follow Seishirou around, obstinately attempting to go after him anytime he left the room. The really annoying thing about it was how the boy would insist on being fine and smile weakly at him, too polite to bother anyone with his troubles. Somehow, Subaru’s attempts to belittle his own impending demise were aggravating. Like it didn’t matter. Like no one would care. Like everything Seishirou had done to keep him alive meant nothing. Was he really just going to accept his death as inevitable?
No, Seishirou wouldn’t stand for it. He wouldn’t let the boy throw away everything he’d worked to accomplish, but… he didn’t know how to stop it either. He’d thought up all sorts of possible solutions. He’d even considered bringing a human home and locking the two of them in together, hoping that would finally break the boy’s willpower. But he didn’t like the idea of anyone else with his Subaru. The very thought was displeasing enough to dissuade him. And the more he considered it, the more adamant he became to keep Subaru to himself.
But while Seishirou struggled to find a suitable solution, Subaru endured the whole thing wordlessly, ashamed when the man would have to sit beside him and hold him until he could move again. But glad. Sometimes the periods he spent paralyzed were brief, other times horrendously long, and sometimes he’d come back to himself with Seishirou still pinning him down to keep him from thrashing and hurting himself. But even then, even with the raw, ravenous pain eating him away from the inside, he refused to utter a whimper, clamping down on the instinct until his jaw ached and his throat was sore. Subaru hated it, hated it, because he was sure he was being a bother for Seishirou. If he just ate something… But the very thought of the little girl made his stomach cramp until he was violently sick.
And in any case, as much as he knew he was bothering Seishirou, he liked being alone even less. With his strength failing, the wide, desolate rooms seemed terrifying things. The times when Seishirou went outside were the worst. When that happened, Subaru would curl up on the man’s bed, twisting nervous fingers in the sheets, and breathe in the man’s scent.
He was becoming intimately familiar with the contents of Seishirou’s room-in particular, the strange, intriguing objects on the dresser. Time had given him the opportunity to memorize their look and feel: the cylindrical one-the one with ancient symbols marked on it and a ring of tiny metal bars connecting the gold framework on either end-made him shudder every time he studied it, as if its every curve and plane was comprised of liquid sorrow. There was a terrible story behind that particular object, Subaru was sure. And the other one, the curious pendant in the form of an open golden circle with protruding points like the rays of a sun-he couldn’t help but wonder what value that one held for Seishirou. But it was only an idle thought-an attempt to forget how lonely and empty everything was when the man would have to go out.
Sometimes, when he was alone with only Seishirou’s black blankets for comfort, he’d think of Kamui and wonder if he was alright and what had happened to him-a question Subaru figured now he’d never have answered. It had been so long now since he’d seen his brother. The few times he’d questioned Seishirou, the man had replied tersely that he was still searching for Kamui and no, Subaru was not to go outside to try and help. Subaru would never disobey Seishirou, but there were times… times he felt inexplicably worried, that intuitive knowledge that something was wrong, and longed desperately to find his twin-sometimes pacing anxiously, sometimes going stone still and waiting, every sense stretched out to its fullest. It seemed so long since they’d seen each other. He wondered what Kamui would even think if he saw him now…
But there was no way he could look for Kamui now, he knew, not when he'd finally lost even the strength to get up to follow Seishirou, his body unable to sustain itself, slowly shutting down. Long hours were spent sleeping, too weak to stay awake for long. He would tremble whenever Seishirou held him, but he didn’t want Seishirou to go away either, wrapping shivering hands in the man's shirt so tightly Seishirou thought he might have to break the boy’s fingers to get him off. So Seishirou spent more and more time in the room, holding that frail body, until even the shivering stopped. Until he was forced to come to the realization that Subaru wasn’t going to suddenly wake up and come to his senses. The boy was going to starve to death, and there was nothing he could do to stop it…
Seishirou stood for a moment in the doorway of his room, taking in the scene before him. Subaru lay in a crumpled white heap on the black blankets. He didn’t stir when Seishirou came in, nor when the man sat down on the bed beside him. He had always been pale, but now he looked nearly translucent, thin and frail, so easily broken. Slowly, carefully, Seishirou laid strong hands along the boy’s cheeks, framing the porcelain face, and slowly forced the boy to look up at him, the better to see those emerald eyes. They stared up at him blankly, sea green splashes against white-washed waves, distant and drifting and edged with subdued flashes of coherency like the swift flicks of lightning from a far-off storm, brief but brilliant. More and more, the bits that made up Subaru (bursts of personality, bits of understanding, beautiful smiles) were fading, flickering in and out like the last sparks of a dying flame.
Stroking one fine-boned cheek, Seishirou noted with distaste the marks starvation had left on that pretty body, the slight discoloration as of bruising between the bones. The boy was too thin and too weak, hollows showing along his ribcage and clavicle and jaw. It was most displeasing to see his property marked in such a way. It was also very disquieting to know that in this the boy had escaped him. He would fail at stopping this. He could do nothing other than fail.
Wrapping one arm around slender shoulders and another under that thin waist, he transferred the boy onto his lap. It was like shifting eiderdown, the remaining physical wisps of a soul that might blow away if touched wrong. Subaru didn’t protest, didn’t move, but merely lay weightless in his arms. Letting the long, slender legs drape over his knees, Seishirou cradled the boy’s head to his shoulder and gently ran the tip of his finger along the curves of the boy’s ear.
“Seishirou-san…” It was a sigh, a mere hint of recognition. Seishirou released a breath he hadn't known he was holding.
At least it was a reaction.
One thin arm stirred faintly and reached shaking fingers up in a trembling caress against the side of his neck. Seishirou reached his own hand up to cover the boy’s, holding him steady. The cold tip of a nose brushed his jaw, feather-light and fleeting, before a face buried itself under his chin, instinctively seeking warmth. He could just feel the whisper of lashes along his skin. Then the boy’s head turned just a fraction of an inch, and Seishirou stilled, surprised, at the soft, questioning flick of a tongue against his throat. A distressed mewl echoed from the boy’s constricted throat, weak panting stirring against the column of Seishirou’s neck.
“Yes,” Seishirou whispered, half giving his consent, half a sigh of relief. He held absolutely still, afraid the wrong move would bring the boy back to himself (whatever had caused this lapse in Subaru’s resolve, Seishirou had no intention of impeding it), but wary of anyone being so close. Rose-petal lips hovered over the pulse point for a heart’s flutter of time before a soft cry heralded surrender and the cat-like nip of teeth. Seishirou expected the initial sting, but it never came. Subaru’s bite, like everything about the boy, was gentle, and Seishirou found it amusing that, even delirious and starved to death, the boy was so concerned about hurting others as to think of them first. And then there was only the feel of the boy’s mouth at his throat, faint and weak though the hold was… a frond’s wind-blown skim over calm water, pleasure rippling outward from that kiss, a slow and steady riptide pulling him down, sucking him under. He placed a hand at the back of the boy’s head, half supporting him, half pushing him closer. Subaru was so thin his shirt hung loosely over his shoulders, more like a shroud than a shirt, making it easy for Seishirou to slip the hand that wasn’t caught in fine black hair under it, ghosting fingers up the boy’s back. A shiver ran through that pretty body at his touch. Pleased by this reaction, he started a slower, more thorough investigation, methodically exploring each vertebra and circling every exposed bone with a sharp fingernail.
The boy was usually so skittish, it was something of a pleasant surprise to have a Subaru in his arms whose guard was so delightfully down. He took full advantage, finding every spot on the boy’s sides that made him squirm faintly, amused by the half-drowned squeaks of protest his attentions got him. As long as he was concentrating on that, he could almost ignore the instincts that were screaming danger in his skull. To drink the blood of another vampire was to gain their strength, a trick Seishirou had used often on others… before killing them. And to allow anyone access to his own throat went against every deeply engraved instinct he possessed. The pleasure that rippled through him only served to increase his wariness as it tried to drag him down into languid complacence. If it hadn’t been Subaru…
Only one other person had ever tasted his blood before. Only one person had ever been strong enough to repeatedly take his blood against his will. She had enjoyed feeling him jerk beneath her when she punished him for denying her, but she wasn’t going to bother him again. There was nothing of her in Subaru’s shy touches, and yet, even after so many years, he couldn’t erase the memories of fangs being buried painfully into his throat, his strength being stolen from him again and again. But this was different. He’d had a choice. And he was stronger now. He could detach the boy whenever he wanted. Not that he wanted to. Subaru was like a very warm kitten curled up on his lap. The contentment he radiated was contagious.
Seishirou allowed the ecstasy of the boy’s bite to pervade him, wash away the worries and the inhibitions and the cruel claws of ghostly memories, and just enjoy the moment. Really, he mused, he should have thought of this solution sooner. It seemed ridiculous now that he’d ever tried to make the boy share this gift with some random human. His. The boy was his.
And all the while, Subaru clung to him, the hand at the back of his neck the finest grade of steel, seemingly fragile but with a shimmer of underlying strength. Those too-thin arms clung to him so fiercely he was afraid he’d have to snap them to free himself. And then, all too soon, he felt lashes fly wide against his skin as the boy came back to himself and jerked away with a gasp, tearing free of the bite with a suddenness that sent a jarring stab of pain through Seishirou’s neck. He didn’t get very far though: Seishirou’s arms wrapped around behind him like bars, keeping him locked safely within his hold. Seishirou frowned in displeasure.
“Seishirou-san! I’m so sorry!” Subaru’s green gaze was wide and horrified. He pressed back as far as he could against the restricting bars of Seishirou’s arms as though he was some sort of plague that could be avoided by maintaining a good enough distance.
“You can’t possibly have drunk enough.” Seishirou ignored the boy’s protests and dragged him closer. It helped that the boy’s protesting struggles were still pitifully weak. Subaru had been all but starved to death a few minutes ago, and he wasn’t going to let the boy get away with that anymore. “Again,” he commanded, trapping the boy against his chest.
“No, no, I might hurt you.” Subaru shook his head frantically, hands squirming up between them in an attempt to push them apart, arching away firmly from full contact. But he was still weak and Seishirou was strong, crushing them together effortlessly. It was cute the way the boy was worried about him… but pointless.
“Subaru-kun,” Seishirou took the boy’s face in his hands, forcing those emerald eyes to look at him. “I won’t let you hurt me. Trust me.” Subaru still looked doubtful, worry etched in the set of his brows and the turn of his lips.
“But… being bitten hurts. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Hurts?” Seishirou echoed, frowning. But of course, the only time he’d bitten Subaru, he’d lost control. Of course Subaru wouldn’t think it could be any different… He groaned. Was that what had caused the whole mess? “Biting can hurt,” he agreed, “but it can also be very pleasant. It depends on you. The weaker you are, the less control you’ll have. As long as you eat regularly, you’ll never have to worry.” With one hand he reached out to smooth the worry lines from Subaru’s forehead and draw the boy closer again. “Trust me,” he repeated.
“Seishirou-san, I… don’t know…” Subaru stared at the man, dismayed. What if Seishirou was wrong? What if it hurt him? But he seemed to want it, and Subaru didn’t want to disappoint him, and surely… surely Seishirou knew what he was doing. “But I do trust you.” Finally, tentatively, Subaru’s fangs nipped at Seishirou’s neck, drawing blood. The world seemed to dissolve for a few seconds in a white sheen of bliss before coalescing again.
Subaru wasn’t at all sure about the thing. It was just so… awkward, and embarrassing, and surely he was hurting Seishirou… But… it did feel good, very much so. A shimmering sort of pleasure spreading through him, washing away old memories. And from the content rumbling of Seishirou’s chest against the palms of his hands and the way the man was gently tugging at the hair along the nape of his neck in an absentminded sort of way, Seishirou felt it too. For a few minutes Subaru let himself enjoy the intoxicating warmth and… safety in the thing. Then Seishirou hummed a bit, and Subaru felt the vibrations of it through the man’s throat, against his lips, and it was a very funny feeling. Frowning, he pulled away.
“Seishirou-san!” He pinned the man with a flustered gaze, eyebrows drawn in accusation. “That tickles!” Seishirou blinked at him.
Then broke into chuckles.
“You’re laughing at me!” Subaru protested, but his lips twitched against his will, and it only caused Seishirou to laugh harder, and pretty soon Subaru was giggling as well, and it was all very pleasant, and all in all it took some time before either of them could look at each other again with any degree of solemnity.
“Is it really okay?” Subaru finally asked, after he’d managed to more or less stifle the strangely buoyant feeling bubbling inside him.
“It pleases me very much.” Seishirou’s smile was soft for once, gentle. Then he tilted his head thoughtfully. “Subaru-kun, from now on you must bite only me.”
“What?!” Subaru’s eyes flew wide again.
“You are forbidden from biting humans or other vampires from now on. Only me. You must bite only me. No one else. Do you understand?” He had decided. Subaru was never going to go to some human for anything he needed ever again. Drinking his blood, with all the power and weight of centuries it contained, would make the boy stronger. But more importantly, Subaru would never have to touch anyone else. No undeserving human would ever get to feel the rapture of Subaru’s bite.
“You…” Subaru spluttered, dismayed. “You have the strangest… The strangest…” At a loss for words, he finally stopped and shook his head. “No one else,” he agreed, amusement sparkling in his eyes. Really, the man could be picky about the strangest things. But he had been right. It had been… pleasant. Subaru felt himself blush again. Thinking about it was strangely embarrassing. But for the first time in a long time, he felt… sated. And it felt good.
He leaned again Seishirou, warm and content, feeling the man’s fingers tugging faintly at his hair, until finally his eyelids closed and it all stopped mattering anyway.
“Oof!” Kamui lost his balance and landed on the ground. Again. Grumbling, he pulled himself to his feet and dusted himself off. Of course, no sooner had he done so than someone else bumped into him, jostling him sideways. The streets were just too crowded. It didn’t help that he was rather short and people had a tendency to overlook him. Stumbling, he pushed his way through the throng, squeezing between people when they wouldn’t move, to where Fuuma waited. The space around the man was oddly clear, annoying enough. Fuuma seemed to naturally repel crowds. Kamui wasn’t sure if it was his height, his imposing nature, the elegant clothes he preferred that clearly marked his rank, or just instincts that naturally shrieked danger when wandering too close. Whatever the case, as long as Kamui stayed nearby, he had no problems. It was just that there were so many interesting things in the city! He hadn’t really noticed before-he’d been too busy focusing on finding Subaru-but there were all sorts of strange foods and foreign clothes and ornaments and charms. The number of new things was endless.
A display of expensive powders in vibrant colors caught his eye, and he paused to stare at it quizzically. It was only a few seconds, but he knew it was too long when he was jostled suddenly forward by the crowd again, shoving him up into a wooden support beam. He tried to find his way back toward Fuuma, but the crush of people kept him pinned.
“Kamui!” The voice cracked over the crowd, cold and commanding, sending people scurrying out of the way. No one wanted the voice’s owner to turn on them. Finding the way before him suddenly wide open, Kamui blushed in embarrassment and hurried to Fuuma’s side, to that small circle of safety that always encompassed the man, free from the throng.
Fuuma had teased him mercilessly about his habit of getting mobbed ever since the first night they’d gone out into the city. Still, it had been enjoyable just to be outside and stretch his legs, even if the first night had come with a visual clarity and heightened perception of sound that had been all but deafening. It had also been disconcerting to realize just how easily Fuuma could jerk him around-heal him or hurt him on a whim-frightening how much power the man had over him. Was that what he’d been aiming at when he’d healed him? To frighten him? To show Kamui how absolute his power was? Kamui could only be glad that this time… Fuuma had chosen to heal…
At least, waking up the morning after to the slowly dawning comprehension that he was no longer confined to bed had been exhilarating. He’d spent that first day afterward using his new-found freedom to its fullest, exploring every staircase and unlocked door in Fuuma’s house, practically refusing to sit down. The maids had been exceptionally patient, tracking him down to inform him of meals. But afterward, he’d gone right back to exploring.
At some point he’d gotten a bit turned around in the library and had ended up in front of a display of two ornate, twin swords secured to the wall. That was when Fuuma found him.
It had been wonderfully freeing. And even if it had come with the cost of promising to never leave, truthfully, that hadn’t been so hard to promise. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else he wanted to go. Here, at least, it was nice to know that he was wanted. That someone would notice if he just disappeared. That there was a place where he could stay. It felt good. Even if it meant a new set of bruises every other day or an occasional broken bone. Well, everything had its price. Gold. Blood. What was the difference? At least Fuuma treated him well… in his own unique way, of course, but Kamui had come to accept that. To expect it. The man seemed to enjoy his pain, to examine it and measure it as if it had a solid, quantifiable existence. And while Kamui couldn’t say he enjoyed it, it was a real, tangible thing to hang onto, like an anchor in a storm. And strangely, the danger the man presented seemed… safe. Being with Fuuma was somehow reassuring-the promise that there was at last an end to the constant running and the burning houses and the lost loved ones and the sea of bodies that had always followed them. As long as he was careful, he could stay with Fuuma and perhaps no one else need get hurt.
Then Fuuma’s hand caught his and tugged him closer, and Kamui came back to the present with a small jolt.
“If you get lost or trampled to death, I will not be pleased.” Fuuma smirked down at him, then, when Kamui gave an adorable scowl, started chuckling. It had only been recently that the boy had become more vocal about his displeasure, had dared to stand up to him. Fuuma found the sudden show of temper somewhat amusing. Kamui had never found the will to fight him before. But he liked it. The boy had spirit after all…
It never occurred to Fuuma that he hadn’t had a second’s thought of disposing of the boy in weeks. If the thought had come up at all, it had been small and fleeting and easily shoved aside in favor of other things, like the feel of the boy’s soft breath stirring against his side as he slept or the image of wide amethyst eyes tilted up at him wonderingly or the sound of a pretty voice moaning his name as he lapped at a pale throat. There was always something more interesting to distract him from thoughts of the boy’s fate. Therein lay the problem… there were too many things he liked about the boy, especially when he was in his arms: the way the boy initially struggled against him futilely, the settling of supple limbs in his arms when the boy finally gave in, the small violence of nails in his scalp, the vibrations of a throat against his mouth as the boy cried out.
Taking Kamui’s hand in his own, he began guiding them away from the teeming marketplace, towards more deserted side streets. As insatiable as the boy’s curiosity was, it was better to distance him from temptation. It was only practical to get lost so many times after all.
Once they were out of sight, the high walls of buildings running parallel on either side of them and the echoes of the boy’s shorter steps hurrying to keep up with his long strides sharp in his ears, he slowed down, distracted from his purpose when Kamui tilted his head up to stare at the sky wonderingly as they walked, eyes glittering with reflected starlight.
Or maybe he wanted to be distracted. He certainly didn’t want to look too closely at the boy’s death. Kamui was too small and… and temporary as it was. Surely there was no need to rush things.
Kamui gasped in surprise as he was pushed suddenly against a wall, Fuuma’s arms coming up on either side of him. He was pretty like that, eyes still wide, the rasp of brick catching in his hair. For several minutes, Fuuma stared down at him, breathing in the smell of him. Everything else-the shouting from the streets behind them, the stamp of feet, and the hundreds of other living noises-meant nothing compared to the sound of the heart beating resolutely in the boy before him. Fuuma listened to it, knowing how easy it would be to make it stutter to an end. And yet, it would gutter out eventually anyway… How much longer? A hundred beats? A thousand? Why had he ever wanted to kill the boy in the first place? When time was already doing it for him…
He couldn’t think of a single reason.
Strangely desperate, he started to lean down, lips whispering over the boy’s ear. But then, at the last second, a glint of mischief lit those amethyst eyes.
Kamui ducked under his arm with almost agile ease and danced backward down the alley away from him with a teasing grin. Fuuma blinked for a moment, surprised. Then he grinned back, a predatory show of interest, and slowly stalked after the boy, a lithe ripple of power, all dangerous grace. Kamui tilted his head, considering the man. A gentle breeze stirred silken strands of unruly hair about his face, and he retreated with an impish, sidelong slide of eyes.
His backward glide carried him to the corner of a dark intersection just as a sudden torrent of wind howled down the alley. The laughter flickered out of amethyst eyes, replaced by surprise as he briefly fought to keep his footing.
A sudden shimmer of movement to his left had him whipping around… too slow…
…then an arm wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his sides, another hand coming up in a powerful grip around his throat.
“Are you the one who’s seen Sakurazuka-san and escaped?” The voice whispered from somewhere above his head. Kamui choked. Then, as Fuuma started towards them, the voice barked out a “Don’t move!” Fuuma’s eyes narrowed before he took another deliberate step forward. In response, the wind picked up, razor-sharp, tearing strips from his shirt. “I said, don’t move.”
“One of the Families,” Fuuma replied, contemptuously, stepping forward again. “You’ll have to come up with better tricks to hurt me.”
“You know nothing. I’d cut you to ribbons where you stand, but it’d be a shame to waste all that precious blood.” The ends of a cloak fluttered out around Kamui, whipping wildly in the wind. The arm wrapped around his waist and the hand at his throat was unnaturally strong, unbreakable. Kamui fought for breath, feet scraping dusty trails in the dirt. It wasn’t until the hand released him, only to be raised in a perfect line towards Fuuma, the edges of that cloak falling away, that he could see what had been concealed by a long sleeve: a flash of silver, the tip of something longer hidden by cloth. Kamui sucked in air and his lips thinned into a determined line.
“Don’t.” Kamui’s foot came down on the instep of the concealed figure behind him. “Forget.” It loosened the stranglehold on his arms just enough to allow him to tear one free and thrust it back, over his shoulder, crunching the man’s nose. “About.” And then down again, jabbing his elbow backwards into the solar plexus behind him. “Me.” There was a pained hiss from his captor, and the hood of the cloak fell away, revealing a head of brown hair, before Fuuma took advantage of his distraction, springing forward. Kamui felt a whoosh of air brush his face, the whirl of something passing by too close, then there was a thud behind him. He blinked.
“Are you alright?” Fuuma was suddenly beside him, pulling him close, leaving Kamui with the impression the man had materialized from the very air. Fingers brushed his bruised throat, gold eyes narrowing. Kamui nodded, swallowing painfully, letting the light touch of those fingers erase the memory of a crushing hand. But then they were withdrawn and the man stepped past him.
“Such a waste.” Kamui turned, finding him kneeling beside the still-warm body, staring at the puddle of blood where the head had been. The cloak had fluttered open, almost covering bloodless limbs, so that Kamui could see it was printed with a large gold symbol he didn’t recognize, like an open circle with points like the rays of a sun, pierced through by a crimson, sword-like object. Still kneeling, Fuuma flipped the cloak aside. First, he turned over one limp arm, revealing the small, hidden crossbow there that had been fitted with a small arrow. Fuuma frowned at the liquid glistening along the tip before his attention was caught by something slung along the belt at the waist. Pulling it free, he examined the vial of blood with surprise and distaste before crushing it in his hand.
“What was that?” Kamui asked, coming up beside him.
“Vampire blood.” Fuuma shook the droplets from his fingers. “Something’s wrong. He doesn’t smell right.”
“A vampire?” Kamui glanced at him quizzically, but Fuuma shook his head. “What does it mean?”
“I don’t know.” Fuuma stood, dragging the boy into his arms, eyes flickering along the rest of the alley warily.
“Fuuma!” Kamui protested, squirming in his embrace. “It hurts! Let me go!” But Fuuma only tightened his hold on the boy.
"Hush." He’d run into hunters before, but nothing quite like this, and he didn’t trust it. Kamui was only human.
Keeping one arm slung around the boy’s waist in a near-crushing grip, he led them back home.
Author Note: And ‘that’ is about as blatant as my clues get. ^_^ Yes, I know, I taught Kamui how to S.I.N.G. (minus the G), don’t hurt me. And man, I don’t know how many times I reworked the beginning of this thing. I still don’t like it. -_- *gives up* On the bright side, the next chapter is one a lot of people have been looking forward to (and the one I dreaded writing), seeing as how it contains a rather key fight scene (I hate writing fights! T_T). Three more objects from the books (two this chapter, one last chapter). One’s pretty nondescript though. Oh, and the girl last chapter was actually a character too, if a nameless one.
P.S.: Don't try to link characters together. They're not necessarily on the sides you think they are.
Chapter: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen
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Rating: M
Genre: Angst/Horror
Characters: Subaru, Seishirou, Kamui, Fuuma
Summary: It all started when Subaru accidentally brought one home. Now Kamui and Subaru find themselves running for their lives, wrapped up in a fight neither could have foreseen.
Warnings: Vampirism, blood, physical abuse, nondescript nudity, etc.
Word Count: 5,500 approx.
Chapter 8
Starvation
Thump. The unique sound of a body collapsing to the floor echoed down the hall outside. Seishirou paused in the middle of soaking a washcloth under the faucet.
“Really now, Subaru-kun,” he muttered, the Seishirou in the mirror scowling back. Shaking his head, he turned and headed back down the corridor, already knowing what he’d find. Seishirou had just about given up on it, on the whole thing: trying in vain to keep Subaru from following him around, attempting to coerce him into eating (which was met each time with spectacular failure), dealing with the consequences. The boy could be so stubborn…
Rounding a corner, Seishirou found what he’d known he would.
Subaru lay curled on the cold stone in a taut little ball, arms crossed around his waist and hands clenched so tightly on his elbows the white fingernails were raking bloody gashes into the skin. Seishirou’s eyes narrowed at the familiar spectacle, and he was suddenly angry. Angry with Subaru for doing this to himself. Angry with the boy for being so stupidly stubborn. Angry with himself, because he’d been wrong… He’d been so sure Subaru would have to give in. He’d never expected it to go on this long. And the boy showed no signs of giving in anytime soon.
With a yank, Seishirou pried those claw-like hands away before they could do any more damage or permanently mar that pretty skin and pinned them together in one strong hand, jerking them above the boy’s head and out of the way. Immediately, that lithe little body jackknifed beneath him violently, almost managing to tear itself free of his hold. Quickly, he pinned one long leg with his knee, holding the boy immobile while that body thrashed and arced and attempted to tear itself apart, the hunger eating away at it from the inside out.
The boy’s jaw clenched against the agony that was tearing him apart. Enduring it silently, Seishirou knew. Subaru would never utter even a whimper, not if it meant imposing his pain on anyone else.
Seishirou watched the boy expressionlessly as the hunger took its toll. When at last the fit had ended and the boy lay panting weakly, dazed emerald eyes unfocused, he lifted the limp body into his arms and carried him back to the couch, laying him down gently. Then he went to get the washcloth from earlier and dab away the crystalline sheen of sweat that covered Subaru’s fine skin.
Seishirou didn’t understand. He’d tried on several occasions to get the boy to come with him outside, but each time his request had been met with frantic apologies and terrified green eyes. He studied the thin little thing on his couch thoughtfully. The change had taken place perfectly. There was nothing wrong with it, Seishirou was certain. But the boy’s soul was rejecting it… rejecting it on such a base level, every particle of his being denying what he’d become, what he needed to do now to survive.
Seishirou couldn’t help but wonder… how much longer? How much longer could the boy’s body hold out...
Days passed, and Seishirou watched as even the effort of standing left Subaru shaking and pale. Yet, the boy continued to try to follow Seishirou around, obstinately attempting to go after him anytime he left the room. The really annoying thing about it was how the boy would insist on being fine and smile weakly at him, too polite to bother anyone with his troubles. Somehow, Subaru’s attempts to belittle his own impending demise were aggravating. Like it didn’t matter. Like no one would care. Like everything Seishirou had done to keep him alive meant nothing. Was he really just going to accept his death as inevitable?
No, Seishirou wouldn’t stand for it. He wouldn’t let the boy throw away everything he’d worked to accomplish, but… he didn’t know how to stop it either. He’d thought up all sorts of possible solutions. He’d even considered bringing a human home and locking the two of them in together, hoping that would finally break the boy’s willpower. But he didn’t like the idea of anyone else with his Subaru. The very thought was displeasing enough to dissuade him. And the more he considered it, the more adamant he became to keep Subaru to himself.
But while Seishirou struggled to find a suitable solution, Subaru endured the whole thing wordlessly, ashamed when the man would have to sit beside him and hold him until he could move again. But glad. Sometimes the periods he spent paralyzed were brief, other times horrendously long, and sometimes he’d come back to himself with Seishirou still pinning him down to keep him from thrashing and hurting himself. But even then, even with the raw, ravenous pain eating him away from the inside, he refused to utter a whimper, clamping down on the instinct until his jaw ached and his throat was sore. Subaru hated it, hated it, because he was sure he was being a bother for Seishirou. If he just ate something… But the very thought of the little girl made his stomach cramp until he was violently sick.
And in any case, as much as he knew he was bothering Seishirou, he liked being alone even less. With his strength failing, the wide, desolate rooms seemed terrifying things. The times when Seishirou went outside were the worst. When that happened, Subaru would curl up on the man’s bed, twisting nervous fingers in the sheets, and breathe in the man’s scent.
He was becoming intimately familiar with the contents of Seishirou’s room-in particular, the strange, intriguing objects on the dresser. Time had given him the opportunity to memorize their look and feel: the cylindrical one-the one with ancient symbols marked on it and a ring of tiny metal bars connecting the gold framework on either end-made him shudder every time he studied it, as if its every curve and plane was comprised of liquid sorrow. There was a terrible story behind that particular object, Subaru was sure. And the other one, the curious pendant in the form of an open golden circle with protruding points like the rays of a sun-he couldn’t help but wonder what value that one held for Seishirou. But it was only an idle thought-an attempt to forget how lonely and empty everything was when the man would have to go out.
Sometimes, when he was alone with only Seishirou’s black blankets for comfort, he’d think of Kamui and wonder if he was alright and what had happened to him-a question Subaru figured now he’d never have answered. It had been so long now since he’d seen his brother. The few times he’d questioned Seishirou, the man had replied tersely that he was still searching for Kamui and no, Subaru was not to go outside to try and help. Subaru would never disobey Seishirou, but there were times… times he felt inexplicably worried, that intuitive knowledge that something was wrong, and longed desperately to find his twin-sometimes pacing anxiously, sometimes going stone still and waiting, every sense stretched out to its fullest. It seemed so long since they’d seen each other. He wondered what Kamui would even think if he saw him now…
But there was no way he could look for Kamui now, he knew, not when he'd finally lost even the strength to get up to follow Seishirou, his body unable to sustain itself, slowly shutting down. Long hours were spent sleeping, too weak to stay awake for long. He would tremble whenever Seishirou held him, but he didn’t want Seishirou to go away either, wrapping shivering hands in the man's shirt so tightly Seishirou thought he might have to break the boy’s fingers to get him off. So Seishirou spent more and more time in the room, holding that frail body, until even the shivering stopped. Until he was forced to come to the realization that Subaru wasn’t going to suddenly wake up and come to his senses. The boy was going to starve to death, and there was nothing he could do to stop it…
Seishirou stood for a moment in the doorway of his room, taking in the scene before him. Subaru lay in a crumpled white heap on the black blankets. He didn’t stir when Seishirou came in, nor when the man sat down on the bed beside him. He had always been pale, but now he looked nearly translucent, thin and frail, so easily broken. Slowly, carefully, Seishirou laid strong hands along the boy’s cheeks, framing the porcelain face, and slowly forced the boy to look up at him, the better to see those emerald eyes. They stared up at him blankly, sea green splashes against white-washed waves, distant and drifting and edged with subdued flashes of coherency like the swift flicks of lightning from a far-off storm, brief but brilliant. More and more, the bits that made up Subaru (bursts of personality, bits of understanding, beautiful smiles) were fading, flickering in and out like the last sparks of a dying flame.
Stroking one fine-boned cheek, Seishirou noted with distaste the marks starvation had left on that pretty body, the slight discoloration as of bruising between the bones. The boy was too thin and too weak, hollows showing along his ribcage and clavicle and jaw. It was most displeasing to see his property marked in such a way. It was also very disquieting to know that in this the boy had escaped him. He would fail at stopping this. He could do nothing other than fail.
Wrapping one arm around slender shoulders and another under that thin waist, he transferred the boy onto his lap. It was like shifting eiderdown, the remaining physical wisps of a soul that might blow away if touched wrong. Subaru didn’t protest, didn’t move, but merely lay weightless in his arms. Letting the long, slender legs drape over his knees, Seishirou cradled the boy’s head to his shoulder and gently ran the tip of his finger along the curves of the boy’s ear.
“Seishirou-san…” It was a sigh, a mere hint of recognition. Seishirou released a breath he hadn't known he was holding.
At least it was a reaction.
One thin arm stirred faintly and reached shaking fingers up in a trembling caress against the side of his neck. Seishirou reached his own hand up to cover the boy’s, holding him steady. The cold tip of a nose brushed his jaw, feather-light and fleeting, before a face buried itself under his chin, instinctively seeking warmth. He could just feel the whisper of lashes along his skin. Then the boy’s head turned just a fraction of an inch, and Seishirou stilled, surprised, at the soft, questioning flick of a tongue against his throat. A distressed mewl echoed from the boy’s constricted throat, weak panting stirring against the column of Seishirou’s neck.
“Yes,” Seishirou whispered, half giving his consent, half a sigh of relief. He held absolutely still, afraid the wrong move would bring the boy back to himself (whatever had caused this lapse in Subaru’s resolve, Seishirou had no intention of impeding it), but wary of anyone being so close. Rose-petal lips hovered over the pulse point for a heart’s flutter of time before a soft cry heralded surrender and the cat-like nip of teeth. Seishirou expected the initial sting, but it never came. Subaru’s bite, like everything about the boy, was gentle, and Seishirou found it amusing that, even delirious and starved to death, the boy was so concerned about hurting others as to think of them first. And then there was only the feel of the boy’s mouth at his throat, faint and weak though the hold was… a frond’s wind-blown skim over calm water, pleasure rippling outward from that kiss, a slow and steady riptide pulling him down, sucking him under. He placed a hand at the back of the boy’s head, half supporting him, half pushing him closer. Subaru was so thin his shirt hung loosely over his shoulders, more like a shroud than a shirt, making it easy for Seishirou to slip the hand that wasn’t caught in fine black hair under it, ghosting fingers up the boy’s back. A shiver ran through that pretty body at his touch. Pleased by this reaction, he started a slower, more thorough investigation, methodically exploring each vertebra and circling every exposed bone with a sharp fingernail.
The boy was usually so skittish, it was something of a pleasant surprise to have a Subaru in his arms whose guard was so delightfully down. He took full advantage, finding every spot on the boy’s sides that made him squirm faintly, amused by the half-drowned squeaks of protest his attentions got him. As long as he was concentrating on that, he could almost ignore the instincts that were screaming danger in his skull. To drink the blood of another vampire was to gain their strength, a trick Seishirou had used often on others… before killing them. And to allow anyone access to his own throat went against every deeply engraved instinct he possessed. The pleasure that rippled through him only served to increase his wariness as it tried to drag him down into languid complacence. If it hadn’t been Subaru…
Only one other person had ever tasted his blood before. Only one person had ever been strong enough to repeatedly take his blood against his will. She had enjoyed feeling him jerk beneath her when she punished him for denying her, but she wasn’t going to bother him again. There was nothing of her in Subaru’s shy touches, and yet, even after so many years, he couldn’t erase the memories of fangs being buried painfully into his throat, his strength being stolen from him again and again. But this was different. He’d had a choice. And he was stronger now. He could detach the boy whenever he wanted. Not that he wanted to. Subaru was like a very warm kitten curled up on his lap. The contentment he radiated was contagious.
Seishirou allowed the ecstasy of the boy’s bite to pervade him, wash away the worries and the inhibitions and the cruel claws of ghostly memories, and just enjoy the moment. Really, he mused, he should have thought of this solution sooner. It seemed ridiculous now that he’d ever tried to make the boy share this gift with some random human. His. The boy was his.
And all the while, Subaru clung to him, the hand at the back of his neck the finest grade of steel, seemingly fragile but with a shimmer of underlying strength. Those too-thin arms clung to him so fiercely he was afraid he’d have to snap them to free himself. And then, all too soon, he felt lashes fly wide against his skin as the boy came back to himself and jerked away with a gasp, tearing free of the bite with a suddenness that sent a jarring stab of pain through Seishirou’s neck. He didn’t get very far though: Seishirou’s arms wrapped around behind him like bars, keeping him locked safely within his hold. Seishirou frowned in displeasure.
“Seishirou-san! I’m so sorry!” Subaru’s green gaze was wide and horrified. He pressed back as far as he could against the restricting bars of Seishirou’s arms as though he was some sort of plague that could be avoided by maintaining a good enough distance.
“You can’t possibly have drunk enough.” Seishirou ignored the boy’s protests and dragged him closer. It helped that the boy’s protesting struggles were still pitifully weak. Subaru had been all but starved to death a few minutes ago, and he wasn’t going to let the boy get away with that anymore. “Again,” he commanded, trapping the boy against his chest.
“No, no, I might hurt you.” Subaru shook his head frantically, hands squirming up between them in an attempt to push them apart, arching away firmly from full contact. But he was still weak and Seishirou was strong, crushing them together effortlessly. It was cute the way the boy was worried about him… but pointless.
“Subaru-kun,” Seishirou took the boy’s face in his hands, forcing those emerald eyes to look at him. “I won’t let you hurt me. Trust me.” Subaru still looked doubtful, worry etched in the set of his brows and the turn of his lips.
“But… being bitten hurts. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Hurts?” Seishirou echoed, frowning. But of course, the only time he’d bitten Subaru, he’d lost control. Of course Subaru wouldn’t think it could be any different… He groaned. Was that what had caused the whole mess? “Biting can hurt,” he agreed, “but it can also be very pleasant. It depends on you. The weaker you are, the less control you’ll have. As long as you eat regularly, you’ll never have to worry.” With one hand he reached out to smooth the worry lines from Subaru’s forehead and draw the boy closer again. “Trust me,” he repeated.
“Seishirou-san, I… don’t know…” Subaru stared at the man, dismayed. What if Seishirou was wrong? What if it hurt him? But he seemed to want it, and Subaru didn’t want to disappoint him, and surely… surely Seishirou knew what he was doing. “But I do trust you.” Finally, tentatively, Subaru’s fangs nipped at Seishirou’s neck, drawing blood. The world seemed to dissolve for a few seconds in a white sheen of bliss before coalescing again.
Subaru wasn’t at all sure about the thing. It was just so… awkward, and embarrassing, and surely he was hurting Seishirou… But… it did feel good, very much so. A shimmering sort of pleasure spreading through him, washing away old memories. And from the content rumbling of Seishirou’s chest against the palms of his hands and the way the man was gently tugging at the hair along the nape of his neck in an absentminded sort of way, Seishirou felt it too. For a few minutes Subaru let himself enjoy the intoxicating warmth and… safety in the thing. Then Seishirou hummed a bit, and Subaru felt the vibrations of it through the man’s throat, against his lips, and it was a very funny feeling. Frowning, he pulled away.
“Seishirou-san!” He pinned the man with a flustered gaze, eyebrows drawn in accusation. “That tickles!” Seishirou blinked at him.
Then broke into chuckles.
“You’re laughing at me!” Subaru protested, but his lips twitched against his will, and it only caused Seishirou to laugh harder, and pretty soon Subaru was giggling as well, and it was all very pleasant, and all in all it took some time before either of them could look at each other again with any degree of solemnity.
“Is it really okay?” Subaru finally asked, after he’d managed to more or less stifle the strangely buoyant feeling bubbling inside him.
“It pleases me very much.” Seishirou’s smile was soft for once, gentle. Then he tilted his head thoughtfully. “Subaru-kun, from now on you must bite only me.”
“What?!” Subaru’s eyes flew wide again.
“You are forbidden from biting humans or other vampires from now on. Only me. You must bite only me. No one else. Do you understand?” He had decided. Subaru was never going to go to some human for anything he needed ever again. Drinking his blood, with all the power and weight of centuries it contained, would make the boy stronger. But more importantly, Subaru would never have to touch anyone else. No undeserving human would ever get to feel the rapture of Subaru’s bite.
“You…” Subaru spluttered, dismayed. “You have the strangest… The strangest…” At a loss for words, he finally stopped and shook his head. “No one else,” he agreed, amusement sparkling in his eyes. Really, the man could be picky about the strangest things. But he had been right. It had been… pleasant. Subaru felt himself blush again. Thinking about it was strangely embarrassing. But for the first time in a long time, he felt… sated. And it felt good.
He leaned again Seishirou, warm and content, feeling the man’s fingers tugging faintly at his hair, until finally his eyelids closed and it all stopped mattering anyway.
“Oof!” Kamui lost his balance and landed on the ground. Again. Grumbling, he pulled himself to his feet and dusted himself off. Of course, no sooner had he done so than someone else bumped into him, jostling him sideways. The streets were just too crowded. It didn’t help that he was rather short and people had a tendency to overlook him. Stumbling, he pushed his way through the throng, squeezing between people when they wouldn’t move, to where Fuuma waited. The space around the man was oddly clear, annoying enough. Fuuma seemed to naturally repel crowds. Kamui wasn’t sure if it was his height, his imposing nature, the elegant clothes he preferred that clearly marked his rank, or just instincts that naturally shrieked danger when wandering too close. Whatever the case, as long as Kamui stayed nearby, he had no problems. It was just that there were so many interesting things in the city! He hadn’t really noticed before-he’d been too busy focusing on finding Subaru-but there were all sorts of strange foods and foreign clothes and ornaments and charms. The number of new things was endless.
A display of expensive powders in vibrant colors caught his eye, and he paused to stare at it quizzically. It was only a few seconds, but he knew it was too long when he was jostled suddenly forward by the crowd again, shoving him up into a wooden support beam. He tried to find his way back toward Fuuma, but the crush of people kept him pinned.
“Kamui!” The voice cracked over the crowd, cold and commanding, sending people scurrying out of the way. No one wanted the voice’s owner to turn on them. Finding the way before him suddenly wide open, Kamui blushed in embarrassment and hurried to Fuuma’s side, to that small circle of safety that always encompassed the man, free from the throng.
Fuuma had teased him mercilessly about his habit of getting mobbed ever since the first night they’d gone out into the city. Still, it had been enjoyable just to be outside and stretch his legs, even if the first night had come with a visual clarity and heightened perception of sound that had been all but deafening. It had also been disconcerting to realize just how easily Fuuma could jerk him around-heal him or hurt him on a whim-frightening how much power the man had over him. Was that what he’d been aiming at when he’d healed him? To frighten him? To show Kamui how absolute his power was? Kamui could only be glad that this time… Fuuma had chosen to heal…
At least, waking up the morning after to the slowly dawning comprehension that he was no longer confined to bed had been exhilarating. He’d spent that first day afterward using his new-found freedom to its fullest, exploring every staircase and unlocked door in Fuuma’s house, practically refusing to sit down. The maids had been exceptionally patient, tracking him down to inform him of meals. But afterward, he’d gone right back to exploring.
At some point he’d gotten a bit turned around in the library and had ended up in front of a display of two ornate, twin swords secured to the wall. That was when Fuuma found him.
It had been wonderfully freeing. And even if it had come with the cost of promising to never leave, truthfully, that hadn’t been so hard to promise. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else he wanted to go. Here, at least, it was nice to know that he was wanted. That someone would notice if he just disappeared. That there was a place where he could stay. It felt good. Even if it meant a new set of bruises every other day or an occasional broken bone. Well, everything had its price. Gold. Blood. What was the difference? At least Fuuma treated him well… in his own unique way, of course, but Kamui had come to accept that. To expect it. The man seemed to enjoy his pain, to examine it and measure it as if it had a solid, quantifiable existence. And while Kamui couldn’t say he enjoyed it, it was a real, tangible thing to hang onto, like an anchor in a storm. And strangely, the danger the man presented seemed… safe. Being with Fuuma was somehow reassuring-the promise that there was at last an end to the constant running and the burning houses and the lost loved ones and the sea of bodies that had always followed them. As long as he was careful, he could stay with Fuuma and perhaps no one else need get hurt.
Then Fuuma’s hand caught his and tugged him closer, and Kamui came back to the present with a small jolt.
“If you get lost or trampled to death, I will not be pleased.” Fuuma smirked down at him, then, when Kamui gave an adorable scowl, started chuckling. It had only been recently that the boy had become more vocal about his displeasure, had dared to stand up to him. Fuuma found the sudden show of temper somewhat amusing. Kamui had never found the will to fight him before. But he liked it. The boy had spirit after all…
It never occurred to Fuuma that he hadn’t had a second’s thought of disposing of the boy in weeks. If the thought had come up at all, it had been small and fleeting and easily shoved aside in favor of other things, like the feel of the boy’s soft breath stirring against his side as he slept or the image of wide amethyst eyes tilted up at him wonderingly or the sound of a pretty voice moaning his name as he lapped at a pale throat. There was always something more interesting to distract him from thoughts of the boy’s fate. Therein lay the problem… there were too many things he liked about the boy, especially when he was in his arms: the way the boy initially struggled against him futilely, the settling of supple limbs in his arms when the boy finally gave in, the small violence of nails in his scalp, the vibrations of a throat against his mouth as the boy cried out.
Taking Kamui’s hand in his own, he began guiding them away from the teeming marketplace, towards more deserted side streets. As insatiable as the boy’s curiosity was, it was better to distance him from temptation. It was only practical to get lost so many times after all.
Once they were out of sight, the high walls of buildings running parallel on either side of them and the echoes of the boy’s shorter steps hurrying to keep up with his long strides sharp in his ears, he slowed down, distracted from his purpose when Kamui tilted his head up to stare at the sky wonderingly as they walked, eyes glittering with reflected starlight.
Or maybe he wanted to be distracted. He certainly didn’t want to look too closely at the boy’s death. Kamui was too small and… and temporary as it was. Surely there was no need to rush things.
Kamui gasped in surprise as he was pushed suddenly against a wall, Fuuma’s arms coming up on either side of him. He was pretty like that, eyes still wide, the rasp of brick catching in his hair. For several minutes, Fuuma stared down at him, breathing in the smell of him. Everything else-the shouting from the streets behind them, the stamp of feet, and the hundreds of other living noises-meant nothing compared to the sound of the heart beating resolutely in the boy before him. Fuuma listened to it, knowing how easy it would be to make it stutter to an end. And yet, it would gutter out eventually anyway… How much longer? A hundred beats? A thousand? Why had he ever wanted to kill the boy in the first place? When time was already doing it for him…
He couldn’t think of a single reason.
Strangely desperate, he started to lean down, lips whispering over the boy’s ear. But then, at the last second, a glint of mischief lit those amethyst eyes.
Kamui ducked under his arm with almost agile ease and danced backward down the alley away from him with a teasing grin. Fuuma blinked for a moment, surprised. Then he grinned back, a predatory show of interest, and slowly stalked after the boy, a lithe ripple of power, all dangerous grace. Kamui tilted his head, considering the man. A gentle breeze stirred silken strands of unruly hair about his face, and he retreated with an impish, sidelong slide of eyes.
His backward glide carried him to the corner of a dark intersection just as a sudden torrent of wind howled down the alley. The laughter flickered out of amethyst eyes, replaced by surprise as he briefly fought to keep his footing.
A sudden shimmer of movement to his left had him whipping around… too slow…
…then an arm wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his sides, another hand coming up in a powerful grip around his throat.
“Are you the one who’s seen Sakurazuka-san and escaped?” The voice whispered from somewhere above his head. Kamui choked. Then, as Fuuma started towards them, the voice barked out a “Don’t move!” Fuuma’s eyes narrowed before he took another deliberate step forward. In response, the wind picked up, razor-sharp, tearing strips from his shirt. “I said, don’t move.”
“One of the Families,” Fuuma replied, contemptuously, stepping forward again. “You’ll have to come up with better tricks to hurt me.”
“You know nothing. I’d cut you to ribbons where you stand, but it’d be a shame to waste all that precious blood.” The ends of a cloak fluttered out around Kamui, whipping wildly in the wind. The arm wrapped around his waist and the hand at his throat was unnaturally strong, unbreakable. Kamui fought for breath, feet scraping dusty trails in the dirt. It wasn’t until the hand released him, only to be raised in a perfect line towards Fuuma, the edges of that cloak falling away, that he could see what had been concealed by a long sleeve: a flash of silver, the tip of something longer hidden by cloth. Kamui sucked in air and his lips thinned into a determined line.
“Don’t.” Kamui’s foot came down on the instep of the concealed figure behind him. “Forget.” It loosened the stranglehold on his arms just enough to allow him to tear one free and thrust it back, over his shoulder, crunching the man’s nose. “About.” And then down again, jabbing his elbow backwards into the solar plexus behind him. “Me.” There was a pained hiss from his captor, and the hood of the cloak fell away, revealing a head of brown hair, before Fuuma took advantage of his distraction, springing forward. Kamui felt a whoosh of air brush his face, the whirl of something passing by too close, then there was a thud behind him. He blinked.
“Are you alright?” Fuuma was suddenly beside him, pulling him close, leaving Kamui with the impression the man had materialized from the very air. Fingers brushed his bruised throat, gold eyes narrowing. Kamui nodded, swallowing painfully, letting the light touch of those fingers erase the memory of a crushing hand. But then they were withdrawn and the man stepped past him.
“Such a waste.” Kamui turned, finding him kneeling beside the still-warm body, staring at the puddle of blood where the head had been. The cloak had fluttered open, almost covering bloodless limbs, so that Kamui could see it was printed with a large gold symbol he didn’t recognize, like an open circle with points like the rays of a sun, pierced through by a crimson, sword-like object. Still kneeling, Fuuma flipped the cloak aside. First, he turned over one limp arm, revealing the small, hidden crossbow there that had been fitted with a small arrow. Fuuma frowned at the liquid glistening along the tip before his attention was caught by something slung along the belt at the waist. Pulling it free, he examined the vial of blood with surprise and distaste before crushing it in his hand.
“What was that?” Kamui asked, coming up beside him.
“Vampire blood.” Fuuma shook the droplets from his fingers. “Something’s wrong. He doesn’t smell right.”
“A vampire?” Kamui glanced at him quizzically, but Fuuma shook his head. “What does it mean?”
“I don’t know.” Fuuma stood, dragging the boy into his arms, eyes flickering along the rest of the alley warily.
“Fuuma!” Kamui protested, squirming in his embrace. “It hurts! Let me go!” But Fuuma only tightened his hold on the boy.
"Hush." He’d run into hunters before, but nothing quite like this, and he didn’t trust it. Kamui was only human.
Keeping one arm slung around the boy’s waist in a near-crushing grip, he led them back home.
Author Note: And ‘that’ is about as blatant as my clues get. ^_^ Yes, I know, I taught Kamui how to S.I.N.G. (minus the G), don’t hurt me. And man, I don’t know how many times I reworked the beginning of this thing. I still don’t like it. -_- *gives up* On the bright side, the next chapter is one a lot of people have been looking forward to (and the one I dreaded writing), seeing as how it contains a rather key fight scene (I hate writing fights! T_T). Three more objects from the books (two this chapter, one last chapter). One’s pretty nondescript though. Oh, and the girl last chapter was actually a character too, if a nameless one.
P.S.: Don't try to link characters together. They're not necessarily on the sides you think they are.
Chapter: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen
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