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Authors: Annette McCleave

BOOK: Surrender to Darkness
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“Our students are there as well,” she reminded him.
“Still, you are only barely recovered from the illness you suffered after your father’s death. I’m the one who found you, remember? For a moment, I thought you were dead, too.”
Trying to heal her father’s wounds had almost killed her. Spurred by her father’s last gasping breaths, she had attempted an ancient and powerful
onmyōji
healing spell. The potent words had eased his pain and stopped the ravage of the demon fireballs, but performing the spell had consumed a massive amount of her core energy. Unable to accept that she’d arrived too late to save him, she ignored the cautionary voice in her head and continued the incantation until her voice was hoarse, mindless of the growing weakness in her limbs.
But he died anyway.
With a shallow heartbeat and clammy skin, she had collapsed on the floor of the parking garage, next to her father’s blackened body. That was when Ryuji had stumbled across them both.
Kiyoko squeezed Ryuji’s hand in return.
“I do remember. Thank you.”
“Those three days after the attack on your father were the most frightening of my life,” he confessed. “The intensity of your grief nearly took you from us.”
Not grief, a waning life force. She’d have been dead now if Sora hadn’t suggested using the Veil as a cure, but Ryuji didn’t need to know that.
“But I’m fine now.” She gently separated her hand from his and stood. Ryuji was nineteen years her senior, but she hardly noticed the age gap. He was not the least bit stuffy, and they shared a quiet bond of memories of her father. She enjoyed that. “Could you call the car for me? I’d like to return home.”
He nodded. Picking up the phone, he placed a quick call to his assistant, arranging for the limousine to take her back to the house. When he ended the call, he shot her a thoughtful look.
“Do not think I am being too forward, Kiyoko-san, but I have a suggestion that might ease both our concerns.”
Curious, Kiyoko said, “Go on.”
“Technology makes our lives very simple these days. With little effort, I can temporarily move my office to the dojo compound and run the company as if I were here in the office. You would be able to complete the review of the company reports without leaving the countryside, and I would rest more thoroughly knowing exactly where Mr. Murdoch was at any given moment.”
Kiyoko hid a smile.
Murdoch wasn’t quite as easily boxed as Ryuji might have believed. But it was an intriguing idea just the same.
“I would, of course, sleep in the compound with the students, not up at the house.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said, gathering up her sweater and slipping her arms in the sleeves. “Yamashita-sensei’s cabin stands empty since he moved into the main house. You may stay there.”
He bowed. “Thank you. I’ll call home and have my housekeeper pack up my necessities. If you don’t mind a short detour to pick them up, I’ll accompany you on the return trip.”
“I don’t mind at all.”
As she belted her sweater, he asked, “Dare I ask where Mr. Murdoch will be sleeping?”
An excellent question—one to which she’d given absolutely no thought. Murdoch had said he would stay at the compound until he got what he came for. How long he would hold out was anyone’s guess, but it was safe to assume several days at least.
“He prefers to bunk with the students,” she said. Inviting Murdoch into her house was impossible for many reasons, and Ryuji wouldn’t welcome sharing the sensei’s cabin. Not with the Scotsman. “Sleeping arrangements are a low priority for him.”
And if they weren’t … ?
Well, she’d deal with that later.
 
Murdoch used the day as effectively as possible. An angel came for the souls of the two fallen
senshi
a little after ten in the morning. After that, he questioned each of the senior
onmyōji
warriors about Kiyoko and her attire, careful not to give away his motive. Judging by the smirks he received, most thought he was completely besotted with the lass. No matter.
He was casually interrogating the warrior known as Yoshio when he heard the limousine pull up in front of the main gate. He ignored the sudden acceleration of his pulse and did his best to quash a vision of Kiyoko elegantly stepping out of the car into the late-afternoon sunshine.
Attractive, aye.
Off-limits? Most definitely.
As the car door clicked open and the low notes of her voice filtered into the air, it grew increasingly more difficult to keep his gaze locked on the black-belted warrior, who was offering to show him several specialized sword moves. But somehow he managed.
His rigid self-discipline did him proud … until he heard Kiyoko laugh. A light bubble of genuine amusement. Then his focus shattered. Despite his determination to ignore her, his head swiveled of its own accord. His eyes honed in on her oval face and curved lips with pinpoint accuracy.
But his pleasure was swiftly dashed.
Standing next to Kiyoko, with a proprietary hand on her arm, was Ryuji Watanabe. He was whispering into her ear, and it was clear that the attractive, well-dressed company president had coaxed the delightful laugh from Kiyoko. A low growl formed in Murdoch’s throat, and he found his fist wrapped around the hilt of his sword in a single, thoughtless moment.
Fortunately, his loss of control was brief.
Sanity—and the realization that Watanabe would soon climb back into the car and return to the city—prevailed. Murdoch tamed his inner beast with a mental cuff to the head. He forced his fingers to release the sword and drop to his side. Kiyoko Ashida was not, nor ever would be, his. As Sora-san would no doubt say, they were on two different paths. Why couldn’t his berserker accept that? Why was it suddenly so bloody attuned to a woman? To
this
woman?
He stood calmly, shoulders sloped with feigned nonchalance, as the limousine driver walked around to the boot of the car, opened the lid, and began lifting boxes to the gravel driveway. The significance didn’t register until a futuristic black box with a telescoped chrome handle and wheels was plunked down next to the others.
Not a computer box. Not a briefcase. A suitcase.
He lifted his eyes to Kiyoko’s face once more.
She was looking at him.
“I trust the
senshi
found you a bunk to call your own, Mr. Murdoch?” she asked.
“Aye.”
“Good. Because we picked up your bag at the hotel and settled your account. We’ll see you in the morning.” She nodded politely, took Watanabe’s arm, and led the Japanese man past the gate and down the stone path toward the house.
Murdoch’s gut knotted so tight he could barely breathe. Apparently, while he bedded down in the drafty bunkhouse surrounded by snoring young men, Watanabe would be sleeping under Kiyoko’s roof. Even with the dragon lady keeping watch, that notion didn’t sit well.
Not one little bit.
 
“Are you annoyed with Mr. Murdoch?” Sora asked, as he sipped his tea. The lantern lights were low and the midnight air cloaked the house in a peaceful hush. “You refused his every request to meet this evening.”
“No.” She had avoided him, but not because she was annoyed. Kiyoko bent and touched her nose to her knees, enjoying the stretch of her tight leg muscles. Wearing high heels all day had cramped her calves. “But I do find him rather forceful. I needed time to think, and he barely gives me room to breathe.”
“Indeed.”
Palms flat on the tatami, she slid smoothly into the plank position. “Does the divination my father did at my birth give any clue to
how
I will transcend?”
“It only identified you as the one who will join Abe no Seimei in the endless fight. You know this already.”
“It foretold my unique ability to manipulate the Veil’s power,” she pointed out.
“That was part of the prophecy. Proof, if you will, that you are indeed the descendant with the right skills.”
She sighed. “Does that not suggest that as my ability to leverage the Veil decreases, my right to transcend wanes, too?”
“No. It is not your skill that is waning, but rather the blanket spell cast over Veil’s dark side. As with anything in nature, the two halves are in a constant struggle for balance, and for a time, the dark side is winning. It is consuming the positive energy flow.”
Kiyoko walked her feet back to her hands, then slowly rose to full height. “Which would not be a problem if I didn’t depend on that energy for survival.”
Glancing up from his tea, Sora nodded. “If we can find some way to tap into Mr. Murdoch’s dormant power, are you prepared to transcend immediately? Abe no Seimei did not transcend until he had lived a full life as a mortal. But your choices are different.”
She gave her mentor a rueful smile. “Choices? In a month or two the positive energy from the Veil will be completely gone.”
“You have at least one option. If you walk away from your current role and cease to use magic, you could live another decade or longer.”
Kiyoko stared at him. Abandon the fight against evil? Let others take up swords against the demons while she sat back and watched? Not possible. “I can’t do that.”
“Then we must move swiftly. While you are still healthy and the chances of success are excellent.”
“Shall I explain my destiny to Murdoch then? Ask him to aid me?”
“To do so will doom your efforts,” Sora said. “To successfully transcend, you must hide your soul from the goddess of Death. Since she is Mr. Murdoch’s master, sharing the details of your destiny with him is the same as sharing them with her.”
“Oh.” Did he share
everything
with Death? How disconcerting. “Leveraging Murdoch’s power won’t be easy. The energy that surges through me when we touch is too vigorous to contain.”
“Now, perhaps. But with practice, you will learn the exact nature of its ebb and flow.”
“So long as Murdoch’s berserker doesn’t kill me in the process,” she responded drily.
“I don’t believe he wants to kill you.”
Kiyoko barely held back a flush. She didn’t believe he wanted to kill her, either. “I meant in the maelstrom of his rage, by accident.”
Sora was silent for a moment. “Perhaps we can reduce that risk. If you were to teach him the art of
zazen
, he might gain a stronger rein over his berserker.”
“I’m not certain allowing him to join the meditation sessions would be wise. There’s a possibility that he’ll lose control of his berserker as he struggles with the concept of inner release. He may end up disrupting the sessions.”
“I agree. Individual tutoring would be best.”
The skin between Kiyoko’s breasts suffered a sudden wave of damp heat. “You wish me to spend time
alone
with him?”
“I do. But I can see the notion concerns you.” Sora’s eyes narrowed. “Does your reluctance have anything to do with the invitation you extended to Watanabe-san?”
“No,” she protested. “Watanabe-san offered to set up a temporary office in your old cottage to save me further trips into the city. Once we complete the review of the company reports, he will return to Sapporo.”
“Then it is fear that motivates you.”
Fear of falling victim to her own desires, perhaps. “Although fear sometimes halts us when we should move forward, it is also a reminder of the possible consequences. More time spent with Mr. Murdoch will increase the chance of an accidental touch.”
He nodded again. “But if you replace chance with purpose, and slowly accustom him to your touch, his response may lose its fury.”
Kiyoko stuffed her feet into a pair of sandals, then joined him at the table. Kneeling on a dark blue cushion, she reached for the stoneware teapot. “So, the plan is twofold: teach him better control and train him to my touch?”
A low chuckle escaped Sora’s lips. “Mr. Murdoch must, of course, be a willing pupil. Fortunately, I believe he aspires to greater self-discipline, so he should be amenable to your teachings.”
She refilled the sensei’s cup, then poured tea for herself. “I’m not so sure. If he thinks it will endanger me, he’s likely to refuse.”
Sora smiled. “Then your first task is to convince him that you will remain safe.”
Kiyoko grimaced. “No. First, I must convince myself.”
7
F
rustrated
didn’t even begin to describe Murdoch’s mood.
As if Kiyoko’s refusal to see him last night weren’t galling enough, she’d managed to elude him this morning, too. He’d stalked up the pathway to her home first thing, determined to gain entry. Even the dragon lady hadn’t been able to hold him off. Hounded by a furious spate of Japanese he had no hope of understanding, he had searched every room. But the house was empty. No Kiyoko. It was only when he consulted with his new friends in the dojo compound that he discovered her whereabouts. She and a team of warriors had departed on a demon hunt in the middle of the night.

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