painting your soul with the colors of my words (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
luxken27fics) wrote2012-12-27 01:44 pm
luxken27fics) wrote2012-12-27 01:44 pm
Inuyasha | Oneshot: A Calculated Risk
Title: A Calculated Risk
Author: LuxKen27
Fandom: Inuyasha
Universe: Canon (Post-manga)
Genre: Family, Drama
Rating: T
Word Count: 5,573
Summary: Sesshoumaru’s mother would do anything to bring her son home. If that meant dispatching his human whore to the underworld? Well, then – all the better. Written for janey-in-a-bottle, for the 100th review of Fleeting.
Author’s Note: The concept of a ‘House of the Moon’ in relation to Sesshoumaru’s family/heritage is original to Resmiranda’s amazing epic fic Tales from the House of the Moon. I liked it so much that I’ve borrowed it and expanded upon it here. If you haven’t read that story yet, DO IT. You will not regret it!
DISCLAIMER: The Inuyasha concept, storyline, and characters are © 1996-2008 Rumiko Takahashi/Shogakukan/Viz Media. No money is being made from the creation of this material. No copyright infringement is intended.
~*~
The Most Venerable Lady of the West sighed as her gaze shifted to a nearby window. She stood in the middle of one of the many lengthy corridors of her castle in the sky, feeling lonely and bored and quite melancholy. Outside, the sun shone from the corner of a cloudless blue sky, beating down bright and warm, lighting the darkened hall and beckoning her into its warmth. She approached it, stepping into the space before the window, and turned her face to the sun, closing her eyes as it lit her alabaster skin with an almost golden glow. It felt nice, a welcome contrast to the icy cold interior of her home, but she knew better than to overindulge in such frivolity. These pleasures were fleeting at best, and frankly cruel at worst.
After a moment, she continued down the hall, her eyes sweeping up and lingering on the portraits that lined the walls. Generation after generation of her ancestors stared down at her, the long and proud lineage of the House of the Moon. She could trace her heritage back to the origins of the youkai race, a direct and unbroken line that had survived for hundreds of thousands of years. The portrait gallery only extended as far back as her great-great-grandsire, who had commissioned a painting of his family as a gift to his mate in celebration of the twentieth winter of their union. From there, the tradition began; by the time she came of age, sitting for the portrait was considered a familial rite of passage. As a female, she joined her mothers and grandmothers in the gallery on two separate occasions: upon the union with her chosen mate, and upon the birth of her first child. That was all that was asked of the ladies of her family: that they marry well, and bring the heir into this world, to carry on the power, and reach, and work that had turned their family into a dynasty.
She continued her languid stroll down the hall, unable to suppress another sigh as she came upon her likeness on the wall. She gazed up at the life-sized image of her wedding day, so stoic and serious beside the male who had been chosen for her mate when they were both but mere children. She remembered the agony of sitting for that portrait, the days and days it had taken of sitting stiff and still, of schooling her features into that impassive expression, of the weight of his hand on her right shoulder, the brush of cold steel against her left arm. He was a rare one, wielding his swords with his left hand instead of his right; the artist had made mention of that, how strange it was that his swords came between them in this, the very celebration and symbol of their union.
Her mate had simply chuckled, she remembered, squeezing her shoulder with his free hand, tossing off some light remark that had caused the artist to crack a smile and shake his head.
Even now, she could see the twinkle in his eye, the only hint of mirth in his otherwise staid expression. He stood tall beside her, dressed in the full regalia of his family’s house. She, too, wore a traditional wedding ensemble, complete with the luxurious heirloom mokomoko that she still wore to this day; the artist had taken liberty with it, using it to hide the hilt of his inherited sword so that it was barely visible between them.
It had never bothered her, until he left her. Now, she couldn’t look at this portrait without a bolt of bitterness scoring her spine. It had always been there, but she’d been too blind to see it: from the moment they were joined in this calculated union, they were also separated. Perhaps that was why it had been so easy for him to simply leave her, all those years later.
Perhaps.
Her heart only grew heavier as her eyes slid to the next portrait – the last portrait in the gallery. She gazed up at her former self, holding her young son in her arms. Again, her expression was impassive, but she could see the softness of her eyes, denoting pride, and love, and a fierce maternal instinct. This portrait had taken considerably longer to complete – her son had never known stillness as a child – and there were many days when the sun began to wane before they were released from the sitting. He would squirm and cry and yawn and tug at her hair, begging to be let go, to burn off the energy that brimmed over within him. She’d held him close in response, rocking gently back and forth with tiny, imperceptible movements, whispering comforts in his ear. She could still remember the weight of him in her lap, the silken suikan he wore and how it had grown hot and clammy beneath her grip, how stiff and sore she was at the end of each day, until she thought her bones might break from disuse.
None of that discomfort was visible in the finished portrait. To look at it was to think that he had been a perfect child, just as somber and serious as his parents, one who could sit quietly for hours at a time. He had his father’s face and build, even as a child, and she had loved him dearly for it. He had sealed her place in their family, for which she could only feel grateful.
Even after she had been cast aside by her mate, she retained her stature and her nobility, for she was the mother of his heir. The fact that Sesshoumaru had been left in her care had only further cemented her status. She would forever be the Most Venerable Lady of the West, and for that, she would be remembered proudly as a daughter of the House of the Moon.
That was, perhaps, all she had to cling to these days. She walked the halls of this castle alone, day after day, and had for hundreds of years. Her servants might’ve thought her mad, forever roaming the halls in search of something elusive, something just beyond her reach. She was restless, yes, but she knew what she wanted. She even knew how to get it.
She was simply biding her time.
She took a step forward, reaching out to touch the painted likeness of her son. “Sesshoumaru,” she sighed, tracing her fingers along the tiny scope of his face – the roundness of his cheek, the bow of his mouth, the tiny crescent moon on his forehead. “Have you truly left your old mother alone for good?” she mused, eyeing his bright, blank, innocent amber stare. “And after everything I’ve done for you?”
A grim smile curled the corners of her mouth. She stepped back, tucking her hands into the voluminous sleeves of her royal robes, and regarded her child. She might have been enchanted by his father, but she had truly adored him, and would’ve gone to the ends of the earth to protect him from harm. Propriety demanded that she not indulge him; after sitting for this portrait, it was but on a rare occasion that she would hold him so closely again, or press her lips against his baby-soft skin, or feel his tiny claws tangling in her hair. Never again would he sit in her lap, squirming or otherwise.
Still, she watched over him, sometimes from afar. There was no greater youki bond than the one between a mother and her child; thus, she let him go when he broke away from her, when he took up his quest for his father’s sword, when he set about rebuilding the kingdom he’d known only fleetingly as a boy. He had left her as an anguished child, but he had grown and matured into a proud taiyoukai, fulfilling the promise that his father had squandered. She had even helped him with that journey – helped him study and appreciate the sword he’d disregarded from the start, helped him learn what it meant to be a warrior instead of a selfish and careless murderer.
He had repaid her that kindness in his own, indirect way. It was with great pride that he reconquered his childhood home, the earth-bound fortress that his father had commissioned in her honor when he convinced her to leave her familial castle in the sky. He’d wanted to live in the midst of his inherited lands, closer to the kingdoms he’d one day conquer and rule, and had brushed aside her protests about being in such close proximity to humanity, a far inferior race than their own. He even built her a castle and named it the House of the Moon, a crass and ostentatious gesture that she accepted for what it was. He was trying, at least – which was more than could be said for the mates of her acquaintances.
It was at that earth-bound House of the Moon that she was mired with her youkai son when the charming Inu no Tashio decided to abandon them for a human whore and the bastard son he’d sired with her. It was at that earth-bound fortress of stone and wood and steel that her son’s heart was broken and shuttered, his life taking an irrevocable and completely unnecessary turn. It was at that earth-bound castle that they learned of his death, the fracturing of the kingdom he’d spent his life building, and watched the Western Lands fall into war and despair once more.
She’d left it at the first opportunity, and hadn’t looked back.
Hence her shock and poorly-hidden disgust when Sesshoumaru announced that he had retaken it, and rebuilt it “better than ever before.” It wouldn’t have taken much, in her opinion; she remembered the ruins the castle had fallen into by the time she’d made her escape from it. She couldn’t imagine moving back, descending upon the earth once more, even if her son had done it in her honor.
No, she’d told him, she would not leave her castle in the sky, the true House of the Moon, if such a thing could even exist.
He’d accepted her decision wordlessly and left.
He had yet to return, even for a visit.
If he thought he’d cut her out of his life, however, he was sorely mistaken. The meidou seki was still in her possession. The heavy black moonstone still rested around her neck, the final piece of her daily royal outfitting. It was still spiritually connected to Tenseiga, though the sword’s latent attack was no longer its own. And, though he now had a sword of his own, Bakusaiga, he still carried his father’s heirloom.
Thus, she could still see him whenever she wanted, and could still watch over him from afar.
Her gaze moved to the blank wall beside this last portrait, and she frowned. Her estrangement from her only son was no reason to break the centuries-old tradition of capturing these rites of passage; goodness knows there had been plenty of strained relationships amongst her ancestors. Some had speculated that ice flowed in their veins instead of blood, yet somehow, they persevered.
Sesshoumaru might have been content to forge his own path, but he was still bound by familial obligation. He, too, would take a mate and bring an heir into this world. They belonged on this wall, in this gallery, continuing the long and proud history of their lineage.
It would not stop with her – of that she was surely determined.
She pondered as she stared at the blank slate beside her son’s childhood portrait. “Have you replaced me yet, my child?” she murmured, taking hold of the meidou seki and lifting it so that she might peer into it. “Has someone else taken my title and made me a dowager?”
The stone warmed in her hands, its latent power gathering at its center, the surface lighting from within and finally turning translucent. “Show me,” she commanded, and the magical moonstone complied, offering her a bird’s eye view into her son’s world.
The earth-bound fortress had become quite impressive by human standards, though it still paled in comparison to the ethereal palace in which she resided. By contrast, however, it was teeming with life, the youkai energy so concentrated that it threatened to overwhelm her, even from afar. She searched for her son and found him easily, commanding what appeared to be a meeting of his armed guard. They spoke of military strategies and formations and quite frankly, it bored her. She moved on, following the latent trail of her son’s youki, curious to see where – or with whom – the concentrations of it were the highest.
She found his private quarters, on the opposite side of the castle from where she’d presided previously, and briefly, she wondered if that had been a conscious decision. Her musings were interrupted when someone entered his bedchamber, and she zeroed in on that person. It appeared to be a female, and it seemed she was putting something away, bustling to and from various wardrobes and chests that lined one side of the room. She watched this strange female carefully. She moved with great familiarity around the room, but not with the deference of a servant. Surely not…?
“Oh.” An unpleasant bolt of surprise sliced through her when the girl finally turned, only to reveal herself as a human – and one whose aura practically glowed with her son’s youki. She frowned fiercely, her hands closing around the mediou seki.
“Are you doomed to repeat all of your father’s mistakes, Sesshoumaru?” she sighed, studying this human girl with new interest. She appeared to be young, with brown hair and plain features, dressed in nondescript white and red clothes. She knew enough that this was not the garb of human royalty, and it certainly was not that of youkai royalty, either. Perhaps this girl was merely a passing fancy, or a favored concubine?
No – his youki was far too concentrated on her. This girl was not his whore.
There was something else that unnerved her as well. She looked almost hauntingly familiar – the shape of her face, the turn of her nose, the curve of her mouth. The Most Venerable Lady of the West had seen this girl before, but where?
She chuckled as she finally placed the image in her memory. “Oh, darling,” she mused, watching as the girl left her son’s bedchamber and his private quarters altogether. “This simply will not do.”
Her gaze grew misty as she looked away from the meidou seki, its magic dissolving without her attention. “It seems I made a mistake all those years ago,” she murmured to herself, letting the moonstone fall back into place against her chest. “One that needs to be rectified immediately.”
~*~
She waited until the sun set, shrouding the world below in darkness. It was never truly dark at her castle in the sky; moonlight streamed into every corner of her home, softer than the sun, but following the same pattern of dawn and dusk. She thrived in the moonlight, as had all of her ancestors before her. Humanity, however, were at their most vulnerable in the dark.
She finished her evening meal and retired to her bedchamber, going through the final motions of her daily routine. She traded the layers of royal robes for a lighter yukata, and pulled a fine silk kimono over her shoulders as well, belting it into place. It was snowy white, the family crest of her mate’s house dotting the sleeves and throat with its simple red three-flower design. It had been an age since she’d worn such a thing, but then, it had also been an age since she’d seen her precious child.
She wanted to wear something he’d find familiar for his return.
She picked up the meidou seki and summoned its power, closing her eyes briefly as she reviewed her plan. It would be simple, and swift, and would immediately correct the mistake she’d made in indulging her child with one final whimsy. It would also bring him here, to her home – to his home, his real home, to the place where he ultimately belonged. He would not be happy, but he’d get over that soon enough. He would eventually understand that she was only protecting him, as she always had, saving him from making what had been his father’s most costly mistake.
When she opened her eyes, she looked down, staring into her son’s bedchamber. She was not surprised to see the human girl curled up alone on the thin mattress, blissfully asleep, her mind already lost to consciousness. She was not surprised to note her son sitting nearby on the floor, watching the girl sleep, on guard in the dark against any who would threaten her. His amber eyes seemed to glow almost iridescent, and she felt her youki tug at her heart. She did not wish to be cruel, not with the child whom she so adored.
Still – she could not allow him to walk down this road, to tarnish the name of her family, his ancestors. She would not allow him to be the end of their royal lineage. Not while she still drew breath, at least.
“Vanquish that human to hell,” she commanded in a calm, cool voice, using the power of her youki – and its bond with her son’s – to strip the girl of his protection as, in an instant, she completely disappeared.
Sesshoumaru was on his feet in a flash, wielding his sword as he looked around the darkened room, only to find nothing. Realization dawned on him and he looked up, straight at her, his eyes flashing with sinister ice. He replaced his sword at his side and turned, disappearing from the scope of the mediou seki. She reached out with her youki and felt his – it was the same as before, pleasantly devoid of sudden stress or strain.
Perhaps this will go better than I anticipated, she thought to herself, lowering the mediou seki to her dressing table and reaching for a brush. She pulled it through her curtain of silver hair before standing and tightening the tie of the obi at her waist.
It was time to greet her son.
~*~
He was waiting for her by the time she made it to her personal solar, already settled in her favorite chair near the fireplace. His eyes followed her as she entered the room and strode past him, lowering herself daintily into the seat across from him.
“My darling,” she said warmly, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips, “to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
His eyes narrowed as he regarded her. “I believe you’re already aware of the reason I’m here,” he replied smoothly, relaxing into the overstuffed chair.
She pouted. “Indeed,” she admitted, “but is that any way to greet your mother?”
He simply stared at her in response, his expression calm and impassive. He’d taken off his swords, resting them lightly against the side of his chair. His youki was banked, brimming quietly just below his surface. For all intents and purposes, he appeared completely comfortable and at ease, as if he frequented his mother’s solar on a daily basis.
She sat primly across the way, still smiling, taking in the entirety of his appearance. He was taller than she remembered, with long, lean limbs and his father’s deceptively slim build. His features were his own, however, fine-boned and aristocratic, still without even a hint of age, beyond the maturity of experience. He had her eyes, and her hair, and her beautiful alabaster skin, albeit a shade darker than her own. Her heart flooded with love and pride as she traced his features with her eyes, finally coming to rest on the indigo crescent moon on his forehead, half-hidden by his hair.
Yes, she thought with pride, this is my son.
“Mother,” he finally said, heaving a sigh of utter boredom, “need I even ask what you’ve done?”
She shrugged. “Merely what I’ve always done,” she replied. “Protect you.”
He lifted an incredulous brow. “From a human girl?” he inquired curiously. “How quaint.”
“Need I remind you of your father’s dalliance?” she chided. “I simply don’t wish to see you make the same mistakes, dear.”
Sesshoumaru’s features twisted into an ugly sneer. “Izayoi was a whore,” he spat, “and useful for little more beyond that.” His expression calmed as he took a deep breath. “She stole Father away from you, but Kagome has not stolen me.”
Her eyebrows shot up with surprise. “Kagome?” she echoed. “But I thought the girl’s name was Rin?” She tilted her head as she studied her son curiously. “You’ve had more than one human companion?”
“No,” came the measured reply, but she sensed his youki flare defensively at her accusation.
She smiled again, leaning forward in her seat. “Well? Don’t keep your mother in suspense, child.”
His expression turned sinister beneath his mask of impassive calm. “I owe you no explanation,” he informed her flatly, “but I believe you owe me one. What did you do with her? Cast her into hell?”
She shrugged. “Right where she belongs,” she replied.
“And if I told you she was carrying your grandchild?” he challenged, leveling a cold stare at her.
She lifted her eyes to his. “I have no use for hanyou,” she reminded him, gauging his reaction very carefully. “And you shouldn’t lie to your mother, child. It isn’t very nice.”
His expression didn’t change, but when she released her youki, shrouding him, he repelled it away, suggesting he wasn’t nearly as calm and cool as he appeared. She closed her eyes, concentrating, reaching across their bond to understand just exactly how this was affecting him. She’d expected upset, and rage, and fits of screaming or anger – very much as when he was a child, squirming in her arms and wishing to get away, to burn off the energy he didn’t yet know how to contain or control. If not an emotional meltdown, than at least some sort of declaration or grand gesture, something that would betray his vulnerability, his attachment to this human, or at the very least his reasons for defying her, the very female who’d given him life.
“Why, Sesshoumaru?” she whispered.
“Why what?” he returned, his tone as cold as his glare.
She opened her eyes. “Why do you feel the same sort of anguish now as you did when your father left?”
He averted his gaze but didn’t respond.
She sat back in her chair as she regarded him, her thoughts piling atop one another in rapid succession. Obviously, this human meant something to her son – something quite important for him to keep her so close, to have poured so much of his youki into her aura, to allow her to share in every personal detail of his life. And if, somehow, this was not the same little girl she brought back to life all those years ago…?
She’d made a grave miscalculation. She’d thought that by casting this girl into hell, she’d also sent her beyond his reach. He would come here – he’d have to come here, to her, in order to demand that she be restored to him. He couldn’t use Tenseiga to open a meidou in order to follow her into the underworld, or to bring her back to life. He would have to rely on her compassion, on her vulnerability as his mother, to get what he wanted.
But if this wasn’t little Rin…then why was he here? Why was he simply sitting there while this girl suffered in hell, if she meant so much to him? It was the attachment that allowed him to feel remorse, regret, another person’s despair. He was unsettled about this – he couldn’t hide that from her, or from their youki bond – but apparently not enough to do anything about it.
Had she inadvertently shuttered his heart, as he father did all those years ago with his abandonment?
“Tell me what this girl means to you,” she suddenly said. “I wish to understand your actions.”
He was silent for a long moment, long enough to make her wonder if he would even acknowledge her demand, much less comply with it. He closed his hand around the sheathed blades of his swords at his side as he composed his thoughts.
Finally, he spoke. “Kagome is my equal,” he told her, releasing his hold on his swords. “She is no mere human – she is the one who defeated Naraku.” He lifted his eyes to meet his mother’s. “She possesses spiritual power unequalled by any other being on earth, and even a great many of the ethereal.”
“So it was in your best interest to ally yourself with her, instead of making her your enemy,” she mused.
He gave a short nod. “It is because of her strength and the power she possesses that I’ve been able to reclaim so many of my father’s lands.” He gave her a very deliberate look. “She is the sole reason I was able to retake the House of the Moon so swiftly and efficiently.”
In spite of herself, the Most Venerable Lady of the West felt impressed by this kernel of truth. She had hated her so-called castle of the earth, but the fortress had been her son’s childhood home, the only known source of stability in his otherwise turbulent life. He’d wandered, as his father had wandered before him, but when it came time for him to settle, he’d returned there.
Not here, to the home of his ancestors, but to the home his father had made for him.
He had even invited her back there, into her rightful role as mistress of the household – but she had rejected it…and, perhaps, him. Was this the reason he never bothered to visit her or her familial lands?
“Do you hate me, my darling?” she blurted out, before she could stop herself. She wasn’t sure she could bear the thought, much less live with such a reality.
Sesshoumaru sighed. “No, Mother,” he replied. “I simply understand you, perhaps better than you even realize.”
She rose, smoothing her hands over the front of her kimono, and caught her son’s glance, as if he was only just noticing her choice of wardrobe. He looked away and frowned, ignoring her as she walked out of the room.
She returned a short time later, the mediou seki dangling from its chain between her fingers. Sesshoumaru hadn’t moved in her absence, still sitting in her favorite chair (she wondered if he realized this was the chair from their dreaded family portrait), still staring into the empty fireplace. She approached him, sliding down to sit beside him on the arm of the chair, and held out the black moonstone, drawing his attention once more.
“Show me,” she said quietly, draping her free arm around her son’s shoulders.
Together, they watched the meidou seki react, glowing from within, and finally opening a window into the underworld. The girl – Kagome – lay on her side in the darkness, not unlike how she’d lain in Sesshoumaru’s bed a scant few hours before. She was not peaceful, however, caught up in blissful slumber; instead, she wept, tears pooling on the ground beside her.
She narrowed the scope of the mediou, bringing Kagome into focus, close enough to see – to hear – to feel. The girl’s silent tears grew exponentially, sobs welling and breaking in her chest now, her shoulders shaking under the weight of her grief.
She narrowed a look at her son from the corner of her eye, gauging his reaction. He stared into the moonstone emotionlessly, his features schooled into a carefully blank expression. Even as Kagome’s sobs worsened, as she turned to lay flat on her belly and bury her face in her arms, he did not move, sitting as still as a statue.
She reached out with her youki, across their mother-child bond, and felt the anguish he held just below the surface. She watched, and waited, wondering when the moment would come that it would be too much for him. If he cared for her as much as he’d implied, there would be a breaking point.
She held the meidou seki steady, the stone warm against the palm of her hand, and continued to peer imperiously into the underworld. She lowered her head, resting it gently against her son’s, closing the arm around his shoulder as Kagome began to wail, shaking and shivering and curling herself into a ball.
She felt it, the moment it overwhelmed her son, seconds before his youki flared out in distress, filling the room with the heat of his agony. If she had been anyone other than his mother, it would have burned straight through her flesh. As it was, she held onto him, clasping the meidou seki in one hand as she folded her son into her embrace, unable to stop herself from offering the comfort he so clearly needed, even at her own peril.
“Mother,” he whispered, his breath short and sharp against her chest.
She nodded, closing her eyes and lowering the black moonstone, its magic dissolving in a glow of inner light. She pressed a kiss into her son’s hair as she let him go, pulling away, sitting back, freeing him in the same moment that Kagome appeared in an unceremonious heap at their feet.
Sesshoumaru knelt beside the girl, brushing a hand through her hair. “Kagome,” he murmured, tracing his thumb across the crest of her cheek.
The Most Venerable Lady of the West looked over her son’s shoulder, faintly surprised to see that the girl was breathing. “She lives?” she mused aloud.
“She has survived hell before,” he returned quietly, pushing Kagome’s hair from her shoulder, gently nudging her onto her back. “I knew she would again.”
His mother narrowed her eyes as she stared down at her son, knowing full well he’d had no such confidence. Still, it explained why he had been in no hurry to follow this girl into the underworld, or to find some desperate way to rescue her.
Kagome opened her eyes, gasping for air as if she was drowning. “Sesshoumaru,” she choked out, her voice barely more than a whisper. Her eyes filled with tears as she reached for him, flinging her arms around his neck and pulling him close. “I dreamed…”
“It was no dream,” he told her, returning her fervent embrace, hugging her close as he pulled himself upright, all in one fluid, graceful motion.
“But why would I be there again?” she blubbered as he wrapped his mokomoko around her. “Why did I have to relive such terrible things? The battle with Naraku – losing my friends – standing by helplessly while they slaughtered my husband – ”
“Stop this,” he commanded her with a gentle shake. “You are here now, with me. You’re fine.”
She nodded, wiping away her tears before clutching at him again, burying her head in the hollow of his neck. “Don’t ever leave me,” she pleaded.
He nodded, touching her face again, closing his hand over the cascade of her hair as he held her.
His mother noted the way their auras blended together, his youki mixing effortlessly with her spiritual power, and how it seemed to help calm the human girl.
Kagome looked up into her son’s eyes. “I don’t think I could handle losing yet another person I love,” she murmured, pressing a comfort-seeking kiss to his lips.
She took a step back, into the shadows of the room, sensing her presence as intrusive to her son and his human companion. Not even she could deny the obvious love the girl had for him, and felt a twinge of jealousy that it was given so freely. She had never known the love of a mate herself, even though she’d lain awake many a night during and after her union, wishing that she had.
Though she might have wanted otherwise for him, it seemed her son truly had found his equal in this human. This exceptional human, so different from the rest of mankind. So different from her mate’s submissive whore.
Perhaps, with time, the idea would become more palatable to her.
“Darling,” she said, drawing the attention of her son and the girl. “Are you not going to introduce your mother?”
Sesshoumaru rose, but Kagome didn’t, bowing her head in shock and deference. “My lady,” she choked out, before her son hauled her to her feet.
The Most Venerable Lady of the West stared imperiously at the girl, until her cheeks bloomed with color from her scrutiny. “Who are your people, girl?”
“My what?” Kagome stuttered, utterly confused.
“Mother,” Sesshoumaru intoned witheringly.
She turned her attention to her only child, sweeping forward to cup his face in her hands, the meidou seki still dangling from her fingertips. “Do be a dear, darling, and come visit your mother more often,” she chided. “You would be kind to keep an old woman company.”
Sesshoumaru scowled, and she couldn’t resist one final tease. “Bring the girl,” she urged cheekily, “she is a delightful curiosity! And you still have to sit for your wedding portrait.” A calculating smile rose to her lips as the girl, Kagome, paled at his side. “I won’t take no for an answer.”
Author: LuxKen27
Fandom: Inuyasha
Universe: Canon (Post-manga)
Genre: Family, Drama
Rating: T
Word Count: 5,573
Summary: Sesshoumaru’s mother would do anything to bring her son home. If that meant dispatching his human whore to the underworld? Well, then – all the better. Written for janey-in-a-bottle, for the 100th review of Fleeting.
Author’s Note: The concept of a ‘House of the Moon’ in relation to Sesshoumaru’s family/heritage is original to Resmiranda’s amazing epic fic Tales from the House of the Moon. I liked it so much that I’ve borrowed it and expanded upon it here. If you haven’t read that story yet, DO IT. You will not regret it!
DISCLAIMER: The Inuyasha concept, storyline, and characters are © 1996-2008 Rumiko Takahashi/Shogakukan/Viz Media. No money is being made from the creation of this material. No copyright infringement is intended.
The Most Venerable Lady of the West sighed as her gaze shifted to a nearby window. She stood in the middle of one of the many lengthy corridors of her castle in the sky, feeling lonely and bored and quite melancholy. Outside, the sun shone from the corner of a cloudless blue sky, beating down bright and warm, lighting the darkened hall and beckoning her into its warmth. She approached it, stepping into the space before the window, and turned her face to the sun, closing her eyes as it lit her alabaster skin with an almost golden glow. It felt nice, a welcome contrast to the icy cold interior of her home, but she knew better than to overindulge in such frivolity. These pleasures were fleeting at best, and frankly cruel at worst.
After a moment, she continued down the hall, her eyes sweeping up and lingering on the portraits that lined the walls. Generation after generation of her ancestors stared down at her, the long and proud lineage of the House of the Moon. She could trace her heritage back to the origins of the youkai race, a direct and unbroken line that had survived for hundreds of thousands of years. The portrait gallery only extended as far back as her great-great-grandsire, who had commissioned a painting of his family as a gift to his mate in celebration of the twentieth winter of their union. From there, the tradition began; by the time she came of age, sitting for the portrait was considered a familial rite of passage. As a female, she joined her mothers and grandmothers in the gallery on two separate occasions: upon the union with her chosen mate, and upon the birth of her first child. That was all that was asked of the ladies of her family: that they marry well, and bring the heir into this world, to carry on the power, and reach, and work that had turned their family into a dynasty.
She continued her languid stroll down the hall, unable to suppress another sigh as she came upon her likeness on the wall. She gazed up at the life-sized image of her wedding day, so stoic and serious beside the male who had been chosen for her mate when they were both but mere children. She remembered the agony of sitting for that portrait, the days and days it had taken of sitting stiff and still, of schooling her features into that impassive expression, of the weight of his hand on her right shoulder, the brush of cold steel against her left arm. He was a rare one, wielding his swords with his left hand instead of his right; the artist had made mention of that, how strange it was that his swords came between them in this, the very celebration and symbol of their union.
Her mate had simply chuckled, she remembered, squeezing her shoulder with his free hand, tossing off some light remark that had caused the artist to crack a smile and shake his head.
Even now, she could see the twinkle in his eye, the only hint of mirth in his otherwise staid expression. He stood tall beside her, dressed in the full regalia of his family’s house. She, too, wore a traditional wedding ensemble, complete with the luxurious heirloom mokomoko that she still wore to this day; the artist had taken liberty with it, using it to hide the hilt of his inherited sword so that it was barely visible between them.
It had never bothered her, until he left her. Now, she couldn’t look at this portrait without a bolt of bitterness scoring her spine. It had always been there, but she’d been too blind to see it: from the moment they were joined in this calculated union, they were also separated. Perhaps that was why it had been so easy for him to simply leave her, all those years later.
Perhaps.
Her heart only grew heavier as her eyes slid to the next portrait – the last portrait in the gallery. She gazed up at her former self, holding her young son in her arms. Again, her expression was impassive, but she could see the softness of her eyes, denoting pride, and love, and a fierce maternal instinct. This portrait had taken considerably longer to complete – her son had never known stillness as a child – and there were many days when the sun began to wane before they were released from the sitting. He would squirm and cry and yawn and tug at her hair, begging to be let go, to burn off the energy that brimmed over within him. She’d held him close in response, rocking gently back and forth with tiny, imperceptible movements, whispering comforts in his ear. She could still remember the weight of him in her lap, the silken suikan he wore and how it had grown hot and clammy beneath her grip, how stiff and sore she was at the end of each day, until she thought her bones might break from disuse.
None of that discomfort was visible in the finished portrait. To look at it was to think that he had been a perfect child, just as somber and serious as his parents, one who could sit quietly for hours at a time. He had his father’s face and build, even as a child, and she had loved him dearly for it. He had sealed her place in their family, for which she could only feel grateful.
Even after she had been cast aside by her mate, she retained her stature and her nobility, for she was the mother of his heir. The fact that Sesshoumaru had been left in her care had only further cemented her status. She would forever be the Most Venerable Lady of the West, and for that, she would be remembered proudly as a daughter of the House of the Moon.
That was, perhaps, all she had to cling to these days. She walked the halls of this castle alone, day after day, and had for hundreds of years. Her servants might’ve thought her mad, forever roaming the halls in search of something elusive, something just beyond her reach. She was restless, yes, but she knew what she wanted. She even knew how to get it.
She was simply biding her time.
She took a step forward, reaching out to touch the painted likeness of her son. “Sesshoumaru,” she sighed, tracing her fingers along the tiny scope of his face – the roundness of his cheek, the bow of his mouth, the tiny crescent moon on his forehead. “Have you truly left your old mother alone for good?” she mused, eyeing his bright, blank, innocent amber stare. “And after everything I’ve done for you?”
A grim smile curled the corners of her mouth. She stepped back, tucking her hands into the voluminous sleeves of her royal robes, and regarded her child. She might have been enchanted by his father, but she had truly adored him, and would’ve gone to the ends of the earth to protect him from harm. Propriety demanded that she not indulge him; after sitting for this portrait, it was but on a rare occasion that she would hold him so closely again, or press her lips against his baby-soft skin, or feel his tiny claws tangling in her hair. Never again would he sit in her lap, squirming or otherwise.
Still, she watched over him, sometimes from afar. There was no greater youki bond than the one between a mother and her child; thus, she let him go when he broke away from her, when he took up his quest for his father’s sword, when he set about rebuilding the kingdom he’d known only fleetingly as a boy. He had left her as an anguished child, but he had grown and matured into a proud taiyoukai, fulfilling the promise that his father had squandered. She had even helped him with that journey – helped him study and appreciate the sword he’d disregarded from the start, helped him learn what it meant to be a warrior instead of a selfish and careless murderer.
He had repaid her that kindness in his own, indirect way. It was with great pride that he reconquered his childhood home, the earth-bound fortress that his father had commissioned in her honor when he convinced her to leave her familial castle in the sky. He’d wanted to live in the midst of his inherited lands, closer to the kingdoms he’d one day conquer and rule, and had brushed aside her protests about being in such close proximity to humanity, a far inferior race than their own. He even built her a castle and named it the House of the Moon, a crass and ostentatious gesture that she accepted for what it was. He was trying, at least – which was more than could be said for the mates of her acquaintances.
It was at that earth-bound House of the Moon that she was mired with her youkai son when the charming Inu no Tashio decided to abandon them for a human whore and the bastard son he’d sired with her. It was at that earth-bound fortress of stone and wood and steel that her son’s heart was broken and shuttered, his life taking an irrevocable and completely unnecessary turn. It was at that earth-bound castle that they learned of his death, the fracturing of the kingdom he’d spent his life building, and watched the Western Lands fall into war and despair once more.
She’d left it at the first opportunity, and hadn’t looked back.
Hence her shock and poorly-hidden disgust when Sesshoumaru announced that he had retaken it, and rebuilt it “better than ever before.” It wouldn’t have taken much, in her opinion; she remembered the ruins the castle had fallen into by the time she’d made her escape from it. She couldn’t imagine moving back, descending upon the earth once more, even if her son had done it in her honor.
No, she’d told him, she would not leave her castle in the sky, the true House of the Moon, if such a thing could even exist.
He’d accepted her decision wordlessly and left.
He had yet to return, even for a visit.
If he thought he’d cut her out of his life, however, he was sorely mistaken. The meidou seki was still in her possession. The heavy black moonstone still rested around her neck, the final piece of her daily royal outfitting. It was still spiritually connected to Tenseiga, though the sword’s latent attack was no longer its own. And, though he now had a sword of his own, Bakusaiga, he still carried his father’s heirloom.
Thus, she could still see him whenever she wanted, and could still watch over him from afar.
Her gaze moved to the blank wall beside this last portrait, and she frowned. Her estrangement from her only son was no reason to break the centuries-old tradition of capturing these rites of passage; goodness knows there had been plenty of strained relationships amongst her ancestors. Some had speculated that ice flowed in their veins instead of blood, yet somehow, they persevered.
Sesshoumaru might have been content to forge his own path, but he was still bound by familial obligation. He, too, would take a mate and bring an heir into this world. They belonged on this wall, in this gallery, continuing the long and proud history of their lineage.
It would not stop with her – of that she was surely determined.
She pondered as she stared at the blank slate beside her son’s childhood portrait. “Have you replaced me yet, my child?” she murmured, taking hold of the meidou seki and lifting it so that she might peer into it. “Has someone else taken my title and made me a dowager?”
The stone warmed in her hands, its latent power gathering at its center, the surface lighting from within and finally turning translucent. “Show me,” she commanded, and the magical moonstone complied, offering her a bird’s eye view into her son’s world.
The earth-bound fortress had become quite impressive by human standards, though it still paled in comparison to the ethereal palace in which she resided. By contrast, however, it was teeming with life, the youkai energy so concentrated that it threatened to overwhelm her, even from afar. She searched for her son and found him easily, commanding what appeared to be a meeting of his armed guard. They spoke of military strategies and formations and quite frankly, it bored her. She moved on, following the latent trail of her son’s youki, curious to see where – or with whom – the concentrations of it were the highest.
She found his private quarters, on the opposite side of the castle from where she’d presided previously, and briefly, she wondered if that had been a conscious decision. Her musings were interrupted when someone entered his bedchamber, and she zeroed in on that person. It appeared to be a female, and it seemed she was putting something away, bustling to and from various wardrobes and chests that lined one side of the room. She watched this strange female carefully. She moved with great familiarity around the room, but not with the deference of a servant. Surely not…?
“Oh.” An unpleasant bolt of surprise sliced through her when the girl finally turned, only to reveal herself as a human – and one whose aura practically glowed with her son’s youki. She frowned fiercely, her hands closing around the mediou seki.
“Are you doomed to repeat all of your father’s mistakes, Sesshoumaru?” she sighed, studying this human girl with new interest. She appeared to be young, with brown hair and plain features, dressed in nondescript white and red clothes. She knew enough that this was not the garb of human royalty, and it certainly was not that of youkai royalty, either. Perhaps this girl was merely a passing fancy, or a favored concubine?
No – his youki was far too concentrated on her. This girl was not his whore.
There was something else that unnerved her as well. She looked almost hauntingly familiar – the shape of her face, the turn of her nose, the curve of her mouth. The Most Venerable Lady of the West had seen this girl before, but where?
She chuckled as she finally placed the image in her memory. “Oh, darling,” she mused, watching as the girl left her son’s bedchamber and his private quarters altogether. “This simply will not do.”
Her gaze grew misty as she looked away from the meidou seki, its magic dissolving without her attention. “It seems I made a mistake all those years ago,” she murmured to herself, letting the moonstone fall back into place against her chest. “One that needs to be rectified immediately.”
She waited until the sun set, shrouding the world below in darkness. It was never truly dark at her castle in the sky; moonlight streamed into every corner of her home, softer than the sun, but following the same pattern of dawn and dusk. She thrived in the moonlight, as had all of her ancestors before her. Humanity, however, were at their most vulnerable in the dark.
She finished her evening meal and retired to her bedchamber, going through the final motions of her daily routine. She traded the layers of royal robes for a lighter yukata, and pulled a fine silk kimono over her shoulders as well, belting it into place. It was snowy white, the family crest of her mate’s house dotting the sleeves and throat with its simple red three-flower design. It had been an age since she’d worn such a thing, but then, it had also been an age since she’d seen her precious child.
She wanted to wear something he’d find familiar for his return.
She picked up the meidou seki and summoned its power, closing her eyes briefly as she reviewed her plan. It would be simple, and swift, and would immediately correct the mistake she’d made in indulging her child with one final whimsy. It would also bring him here, to her home – to his home, his real home, to the place where he ultimately belonged. He would not be happy, but he’d get over that soon enough. He would eventually understand that she was only protecting him, as she always had, saving him from making what had been his father’s most costly mistake.
When she opened her eyes, she looked down, staring into her son’s bedchamber. She was not surprised to see the human girl curled up alone on the thin mattress, blissfully asleep, her mind already lost to consciousness. She was not surprised to note her son sitting nearby on the floor, watching the girl sleep, on guard in the dark against any who would threaten her. His amber eyes seemed to glow almost iridescent, and she felt her youki tug at her heart. She did not wish to be cruel, not with the child whom she so adored.
Still – she could not allow him to walk down this road, to tarnish the name of her family, his ancestors. She would not allow him to be the end of their royal lineage. Not while she still drew breath, at least.
“Vanquish that human to hell,” she commanded in a calm, cool voice, using the power of her youki – and its bond with her son’s – to strip the girl of his protection as, in an instant, she completely disappeared.
Sesshoumaru was on his feet in a flash, wielding his sword as he looked around the darkened room, only to find nothing. Realization dawned on him and he looked up, straight at her, his eyes flashing with sinister ice. He replaced his sword at his side and turned, disappearing from the scope of the mediou seki. She reached out with her youki and felt his – it was the same as before, pleasantly devoid of sudden stress or strain.
Perhaps this will go better than I anticipated, she thought to herself, lowering the mediou seki to her dressing table and reaching for a brush. She pulled it through her curtain of silver hair before standing and tightening the tie of the obi at her waist.
It was time to greet her son.
He was waiting for her by the time she made it to her personal solar, already settled in her favorite chair near the fireplace. His eyes followed her as she entered the room and strode past him, lowering herself daintily into the seat across from him.
“My darling,” she said warmly, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips, “to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
His eyes narrowed as he regarded her. “I believe you’re already aware of the reason I’m here,” he replied smoothly, relaxing into the overstuffed chair.
She pouted. “Indeed,” she admitted, “but is that any way to greet your mother?”
He simply stared at her in response, his expression calm and impassive. He’d taken off his swords, resting them lightly against the side of his chair. His youki was banked, brimming quietly just below his surface. For all intents and purposes, he appeared completely comfortable and at ease, as if he frequented his mother’s solar on a daily basis.
She sat primly across the way, still smiling, taking in the entirety of his appearance. He was taller than she remembered, with long, lean limbs and his father’s deceptively slim build. His features were his own, however, fine-boned and aristocratic, still without even a hint of age, beyond the maturity of experience. He had her eyes, and her hair, and her beautiful alabaster skin, albeit a shade darker than her own. Her heart flooded with love and pride as she traced his features with her eyes, finally coming to rest on the indigo crescent moon on his forehead, half-hidden by his hair.
Yes, she thought with pride, this is my son.
“Mother,” he finally said, heaving a sigh of utter boredom, “need I even ask what you’ve done?”
She shrugged. “Merely what I’ve always done,” she replied. “Protect you.”
He lifted an incredulous brow. “From a human girl?” he inquired curiously. “How quaint.”
“Need I remind you of your father’s dalliance?” she chided. “I simply don’t wish to see you make the same mistakes, dear.”
Sesshoumaru’s features twisted into an ugly sneer. “Izayoi was a whore,” he spat, “and useful for little more beyond that.” His expression calmed as he took a deep breath. “She stole Father away from you, but Kagome has not stolen me.”
Her eyebrows shot up with surprise. “Kagome?” she echoed. “But I thought the girl’s name was Rin?” She tilted her head as she studied her son curiously. “You’ve had more than one human companion?”
“No,” came the measured reply, but she sensed his youki flare defensively at her accusation.
She smiled again, leaning forward in her seat. “Well? Don’t keep your mother in suspense, child.”
His expression turned sinister beneath his mask of impassive calm. “I owe you no explanation,” he informed her flatly, “but I believe you owe me one. What did you do with her? Cast her into hell?”
She shrugged. “Right where she belongs,” she replied.
“And if I told you she was carrying your grandchild?” he challenged, leveling a cold stare at her.
She lifted her eyes to his. “I have no use for hanyou,” she reminded him, gauging his reaction very carefully. “And you shouldn’t lie to your mother, child. It isn’t very nice.”
His expression didn’t change, but when she released her youki, shrouding him, he repelled it away, suggesting he wasn’t nearly as calm and cool as he appeared. She closed her eyes, concentrating, reaching across their bond to understand just exactly how this was affecting him. She’d expected upset, and rage, and fits of screaming or anger – very much as when he was a child, squirming in her arms and wishing to get away, to burn off the energy he didn’t yet know how to contain or control. If not an emotional meltdown, than at least some sort of declaration or grand gesture, something that would betray his vulnerability, his attachment to this human, or at the very least his reasons for defying her, the very female who’d given him life.
“Why, Sesshoumaru?” she whispered.
“Why what?” he returned, his tone as cold as his glare.
She opened her eyes. “Why do you feel the same sort of anguish now as you did when your father left?”
He averted his gaze but didn’t respond.
She sat back in her chair as she regarded him, her thoughts piling atop one another in rapid succession. Obviously, this human meant something to her son – something quite important for him to keep her so close, to have poured so much of his youki into her aura, to allow her to share in every personal detail of his life. And if, somehow, this was not the same little girl she brought back to life all those years ago…?
She’d made a grave miscalculation. She’d thought that by casting this girl into hell, she’d also sent her beyond his reach. He would come here – he’d have to come here, to her, in order to demand that she be restored to him. He couldn’t use Tenseiga to open a meidou in order to follow her into the underworld, or to bring her back to life. He would have to rely on her compassion, on her vulnerability as his mother, to get what he wanted.
But if this wasn’t little Rin…then why was he here? Why was he simply sitting there while this girl suffered in hell, if she meant so much to him? It was the attachment that allowed him to feel remorse, regret, another person’s despair. He was unsettled about this – he couldn’t hide that from her, or from their youki bond – but apparently not enough to do anything about it.
Had she inadvertently shuttered his heart, as he father did all those years ago with his abandonment?
“Tell me what this girl means to you,” she suddenly said. “I wish to understand your actions.”
He was silent for a long moment, long enough to make her wonder if he would even acknowledge her demand, much less comply with it. He closed his hand around the sheathed blades of his swords at his side as he composed his thoughts.
Finally, he spoke. “Kagome is my equal,” he told her, releasing his hold on his swords. “She is no mere human – she is the one who defeated Naraku.” He lifted his eyes to meet his mother’s. “She possesses spiritual power unequalled by any other being on earth, and even a great many of the ethereal.”
“So it was in your best interest to ally yourself with her, instead of making her your enemy,” she mused.
He gave a short nod. “It is because of her strength and the power she possesses that I’ve been able to reclaim so many of my father’s lands.” He gave her a very deliberate look. “She is the sole reason I was able to retake the House of the Moon so swiftly and efficiently.”
In spite of herself, the Most Venerable Lady of the West felt impressed by this kernel of truth. She had hated her so-called castle of the earth, but the fortress had been her son’s childhood home, the only known source of stability in his otherwise turbulent life. He’d wandered, as his father had wandered before him, but when it came time for him to settle, he’d returned there.
Not here, to the home of his ancestors, but to the home his father had made for him.
He had even invited her back there, into her rightful role as mistress of the household – but she had rejected it…and, perhaps, him. Was this the reason he never bothered to visit her or her familial lands?
“Do you hate me, my darling?” she blurted out, before she could stop herself. She wasn’t sure she could bear the thought, much less live with such a reality.
Sesshoumaru sighed. “No, Mother,” he replied. “I simply understand you, perhaps better than you even realize.”
She rose, smoothing her hands over the front of her kimono, and caught her son’s glance, as if he was only just noticing her choice of wardrobe. He looked away and frowned, ignoring her as she walked out of the room.
She returned a short time later, the mediou seki dangling from its chain between her fingers. Sesshoumaru hadn’t moved in her absence, still sitting in her favorite chair (she wondered if he realized this was the chair from their dreaded family portrait), still staring into the empty fireplace. She approached him, sliding down to sit beside him on the arm of the chair, and held out the black moonstone, drawing his attention once more.
“Show me,” she said quietly, draping her free arm around her son’s shoulders.
Together, they watched the meidou seki react, glowing from within, and finally opening a window into the underworld. The girl – Kagome – lay on her side in the darkness, not unlike how she’d lain in Sesshoumaru’s bed a scant few hours before. She was not peaceful, however, caught up in blissful slumber; instead, she wept, tears pooling on the ground beside her.
She narrowed the scope of the mediou, bringing Kagome into focus, close enough to see – to hear – to feel. The girl’s silent tears grew exponentially, sobs welling and breaking in her chest now, her shoulders shaking under the weight of her grief.
She narrowed a look at her son from the corner of her eye, gauging his reaction. He stared into the moonstone emotionlessly, his features schooled into a carefully blank expression. Even as Kagome’s sobs worsened, as she turned to lay flat on her belly and bury her face in her arms, he did not move, sitting as still as a statue.
She reached out with her youki, across their mother-child bond, and felt the anguish he held just below the surface. She watched, and waited, wondering when the moment would come that it would be too much for him. If he cared for her as much as he’d implied, there would be a breaking point.
She held the meidou seki steady, the stone warm against the palm of her hand, and continued to peer imperiously into the underworld. She lowered her head, resting it gently against her son’s, closing the arm around his shoulder as Kagome began to wail, shaking and shivering and curling herself into a ball.
She felt it, the moment it overwhelmed her son, seconds before his youki flared out in distress, filling the room with the heat of his agony. If she had been anyone other than his mother, it would have burned straight through her flesh. As it was, she held onto him, clasping the meidou seki in one hand as she folded her son into her embrace, unable to stop herself from offering the comfort he so clearly needed, even at her own peril.
“Mother,” he whispered, his breath short and sharp against her chest.
She nodded, closing her eyes and lowering the black moonstone, its magic dissolving in a glow of inner light. She pressed a kiss into her son’s hair as she let him go, pulling away, sitting back, freeing him in the same moment that Kagome appeared in an unceremonious heap at their feet.
Sesshoumaru knelt beside the girl, brushing a hand through her hair. “Kagome,” he murmured, tracing his thumb across the crest of her cheek.
The Most Venerable Lady of the West looked over her son’s shoulder, faintly surprised to see that the girl was breathing. “She lives?” she mused aloud.
“She has survived hell before,” he returned quietly, pushing Kagome’s hair from her shoulder, gently nudging her onto her back. “I knew she would again.”
His mother narrowed her eyes as she stared down at her son, knowing full well he’d had no such confidence. Still, it explained why he had been in no hurry to follow this girl into the underworld, or to find some desperate way to rescue her.
Kagome opened her eyes, gasping for air as if she was drowning. “Sesshoumaru,” she choked out, her voice barely more than a whisper. Her eyes filled with tears as she reached for him, flinging her arms around his neck and pulling him close. “I dreamed…”
“It was no dream,” he told her, returning her fervent embrace, hugging her close as he pulled himself upright, all in one fluid, graceful motion.
“But why would I be there again?” she blubbered as he wrapped his mokomoko around her. “Why did I have to relive such terrible things? The battle with Naraku – losing my friends – standing by helplessly while they slaughtered my husband – ”
“Stop this,” he commanded her with a gentle shake. “You are here now, with me. You’re fine.”
She nodded, wiping away her tears before clutching at him again, burying her head in the hollow of his neck. “Don’t ever leave me,” she pleaded.
He nodded, touching her face again, closing his hand over the cascade of her hair as he held her.
His mother noted the way their auras blended together, his youki mixing effortlessly with her spiritual power, and how it seemed to help calm the human girl.
Kagome looked up into her son’s eyes. “I don’t think I could handle losing yet another person I love,” she murmured, pressing a comfort-seeking kiss to his lips.
She took a step back, into the shadows of the room, sensing her presence as intrusive to her son and his human companion. Not even she could deny the obvious love the girl had for him, and felt a twinge of jealousy that it was given so freely. She had never known the love of a mate herself, even though she’d lain awake many a night during and after her union, wishing that she had.
Though she might have wanted otherwise for him, it seemed her son truly had found his equal in this human. This exceptional human, so different from the rest of mankind. So different from her mate’s submissive whore.
Perhaps, with time, the idea would become more palatable to her.
“Darling,” she said, drawing the attention of her son and the girl. “Are you not going to introduce your mother?”
Sesshoumaru rose, but Kagome didn’t, bowing her head in shock and deference. “My lady,” she choked out, before her son hauled her to her feet.
The Most Venerable Lady of the West stared imperiously at the girl, until her cheeks bloomed with color from her scrutiny. “Who are your people, girl?”
“My what?” Kagome stuttered, utterly confused.
“Mother,” Sesshoumaru intoned witheringly.
She turned her attention to her only child, sweeping forward to cup his face in her hands, the meidou seki still dangling from her fingertips. “Do be a dear, darling, and come visit your mother more often,” she chided. “You would be kind to keep an old woman company.”
Sesshoumaru scowled, and she couldn’t resist one final tease. “Bring the girl,” she urged cheekily, “she is a delightful curiosity! And you still have to sit for your wedding portrait.” A calculating smile rose to her lips as the girl, Kagome, paled at his side. “I won’t take no for an answer.”