To Honor: Vampire Assassin League #22 (4 page)

“What?” Takeshi replied.

“That little ‘human mind understanding’ comment. I’ll tell you what. Do you have a place I could camp out for the duration of this flight? Someplace...private?”

“Of course. There is a suite. In the tail section.”

He pointed to the darkened area behind him. She stood up. Takeshi followed suit. She was breathing hard. So was he. She narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him. She might as well be shooting green-tinted daggers. And then she turned abruptly, dismissing him as she walked through the door he’d shown her.

Everything had gone wrong. He didn’t know how. He knew why. He was completely at sea with her. He should have just kept her mesmerized.

Christine woke to the tinkling sound of splashing water and an aroma she couldn’t quite place. She stretched, nuzzling her cheek against a pillow that had the cool sensation of silk. Real silk.
Hmm
. She was having an incredible dream. She really wanted to stay in it. Especially with the soothing sound of water. She envisioned a stream of water flowing along a rock wall creating the splashing sound. Or maybe the splashing sound came as the water reached a base of stones, interspersed with flower petals.

And then it occurred to her. She’d probably left the shower running.

No.

Wait.

The shower aboard the jet was unbelievable. The showerhead had been enormous. The water pressure created an amazing massage effect. The sides had been covered with little painted tiles. The door was frosted glass. It had something she’d never experienced, too. That shower had been automated. She’d stepped in to an immediate spray of water of a perfect temperature, and when she’d finished and turned the door latch, the water had shut off.

All by itself.

That experience almost allowed a seed of doubt into her mind about her abductor: Takeshi Asourah. Such an idea wasn’t inconceivable.
I mean. Come on, Christine. He might have cultural issues with her gender...but he
was
dreamboat gorgeous and major sexy.
Every moment in his company sent her hormones on a roller-coaster ride she’d had trouble disguising. He was fit, too. Agile. He moved faster than she’d been able to track. He was probably packing a hell of a six-pack beneath his black shirt and jacket. Looked like he had world-class wealth, too.
And
connections. What else explained the email she’d been given...the one with her company code? She should give him a little break here.

Then again...

She wasn’t the type that fantasized about guys...especially one who denigrated her ability to comprehend. She didn’t let anybody put down her mental acuity. Not without a sharp taste of it first.

Christine opened her eyes. Gasped. And sat up.

Okay.

Her descent into madness was triggering all kinds of visual and auditory impossibilities. She wasn’t aboard the jet? How was that possible? She’d been exhausted, but had she really been
that
oblivious? She didn’t know why she asked it of herself. The answer was obvious. She was sitting in the center of a large span of bed, atop a platform inches above a wooden floor. The sheets were definitely made from silk. As was the Japanese undergarment called a
juban
that she wore. The pattern of cherry blossom trees against a vivid turquoise background was just as stunning as when she’d first seen it after her shower. She must have slept hard. The silk was wrinkled. And her hair could use a brushing.

For the first time in years, Christine felt really unsure. Frightened. It was like the time her adoptive mom had crept down the hall, strap in hand, and...

No.

She wouldn’t think of it.

That episode was history, and bad history at that. She’d conquered her demons. Moved on with life. Immersed herself in Eastern culture studies. Graduated at the top of her class. Become self-sufficient. Successful. A woman of self-confidence and purpose.

Her adoptive mother had been insane. And insanity wasn’t catching.

Christine got out of that situation by doing what she always did. Relying on what was real. Tangible. Physically verifiable. Exactly what she needed to do right now.

The bed she perched atop was in the center of an immense span of highly polished wood. The floor gleamed with streaks of light from some sort of illumination peeking through gauzy-looking panels. A fireplace owned the far wall, complete with a large raised hearth. There was a sliding door to the right of it. It looked constructed of light wood. Without a handle.
Good
. At least she knew the way out. And she wasn’t imprisoned. There were several pieces of furniture placed about the room, most constructed of wood, some in black lacquer or inlaid mother-of-pearl. A wooden chest sat beside her pallet. It held an incense bowl. She watched as a tiny bit of smoke wafted upward from it.

Well. That explained the aroma.

She swiveled slowly, pushing the mass of unbound hair over her shoulder.
Wait. What?
She should remember that. Her hair was loose. Her braid bands gone. How had that happened? And when?

Reality, Christine. Stick to the program.

Behind her was a fountain. Rectangular. Really tall. It was exactly as she’d pictured in her mind. Water flowed from the top, trickling along rock ledges before filling a pool at the bottom. She could see white flower petals floating in the pool. She scanned up. The ceiling appeared to be more wood, in an interlocking pattern. There was a large bit of white cloth hooked above her, forming a canopy. She looked back out at the room.

Well.

She didn’t know where she was, but it sure as hell wasn’t one of her places. They weren’t this nice. Or this spacious. So. That meant she must be in one of the options Mister Asourah had given her.
What had they been, again?
Was she in the high Himalayas? Doubtful. Myanmar? Possibly. He’d had other castles. She couldn’t remember where at the moment. She was only certain of two things in this alternate universe. She had her wits and she knew where to find the answers.  All she had to do was find him. And give him a piece of her mind.

Okay.

Maybe he deserved two pieces.

Christine scooted to an edge of the bed and stood up. The silk of her
juban
slid along her limbs, the sensation decadent as well as sinfully delicious.
Sinfully delicious?
She didn’t know where her head was. She wasn’t that romantic. And never this imaginative.

There was a
yukata
robe across the foot of the bed. It was crafted in the same turquoise shade as her undergarment. Christine shoved her arms through the sleeves, pulled her hair out, and tied the
obi
belt with a vicious motion that made it too tight, and entirely too form-revealing. She told herself she didn’t care. Mister Asourah might be trying to be a good host. Well. He was failing. She was an unwilling guest. And this was sexually suggestive attire. She smirked at a thought. She should probably be thankful he hadn’t given her all the pieces required for a kimono.

She’d have needed help.

There was a pair of fitted, leather-soled slippers tucked beneath the corner of the bed platform. Christine slid her feet into them. They fit perfectly. That was odd. She had particularly small feet. The slippers made her passage soundless as she padded across the floor. Each step sent a slide of silk along her legs. Arms. Belly. It was auditory. It was also sensual and arousing. She was actually tiptoeing as she approached the door. The wood whispered as it slid open.

She found herself in a hallway. A span of space went each direction, ending with shadows she couldn’t penetrate. The floor was another artwork of wood, assembled in a parquet pattern this time. The walls looked about as insubstantial as the ones in her bedroom. Neither direction looked more welcoming than the other, so Christine tossed a mental coin and went right. The hall seemed to go on forever. Once she reached the shadowy area, there was a corner. And more hall. Another corner. More hall again. Another corner. And again. There were sliding panels along one side, probably leading to rooms. She didn’t open any. She was trying not to get lost. She could always go back. But this was disconcerting. Her heartbeat quickened, matching her breathing. The air got moister. A fog developed near the floor, encasing her ankles. It wasn’t cold and clammy, but it sure as hell was creepy.
That’s it.
She was turning around. But just then a series of clanking and thudding sounds stopped her progress. They came in waves. Close by.

Really close.

Christine did exactly what a ‘too-stupid-to-live’ female in most in most fright films did - despite the audience’s groans. She tiptoed near to investigate. Slid the next door panel open. Peeked in...

And lost her ability to breathe.

Christine’s mind went blank. Her jaw dropped. Her eyes went wide. Alarm sounds rocketed through her ears. Her heart slammed through her chest. She rocked in place, and might have fallen if she hadn’t held to the door frame.

Well.
She’d found her host.

Takeshi was in the midst of a large room, wearing low-slung trousers...and not much else. She’d been accurate on his physique.
Oh, baby
. The guy was amazingly sculpted. Unbelievably so. It was apparent even as he moved at such blurring speed, Christine had trouble following him.

Takeshi was blind-folded, wielding two short swords, and completing all sorts of gyrations against a barrage of weaponry directed at him. Silver stars sent flickers of light and blizzards of slivers as he smacked them away. Scythe-things with long chains attached to them rattled and fell. Sharp blades thumped into the floor, lifting more wooden shrapnel. His attackers weren’t stationary, either. They were robotic things, hanging from the ceiling, moving about as they launched weapons at him. Christine stood rooted. Completely rapt. She’d seen lots of ninja movies. Admired the choreographed stunt-work. She’d never seen anything like this. Takeshi was perfection in motion. And he didn’t miss. Everything tossed at him failed to reach its target.

And then a burst of stars came right at her. Christine didn’t even have time to gasp. But Takeshi was there, materializing in front of her. Shielding her as he deflected the projectiles, making thudding sounds as they hit wood. All of them.

“Do not move,
watashi no ai.
”

My love?
Had she heard his whisper right?

“They are motion activated.”

He whistled and everything stopped. Christine’s breath came back with a rush that choked. Burned. Frightened. It wasn’t just at her near-escape, or what he’d called her. It was the view. He had a broad, muscled back. It was interspersed all over with scars. A lot of scars. From a lot of wounds.

Takeshi swiveled. Christine’s eyes widened farther. He had another array of scars on this side...and the most incredible body she’d ever seen. Or envisioned. Pecs flexed as he lifted an arm, defining a bicep and shoulder that went beyond sigh-worthiness. He pushed the blindfold to his forehead, defining his face...and those eyes. He had such hypnotic, tantalizing eyes. They darkened as he locked gazes with her, sending silent messages that every cell in her body heard. Shivers flew over her body, raising goosebumps that sensitized her skin even more against the silk. It defied reality. Transcended commonsense. And it demanded a reaction.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Something was wrong. She couldn’t quite place it. Something her vision recorded and her mind registered, despite impossibility. Improbability. Something about his lips...

She nodded.

“You are certain?”

He tipped his head toward her slightly, shadowing his features. She nodded again. She was losing her mind. Reason was escaping. Reality shifting. She’d never felt like this. Ever. She wasn’t led by sexuality. She’d been practically immune. She hadn’t even experimented until college. But something beyond the physical realm was at work here. Something massive. Uncontainable. It infused her body with more than sexual interest. More than lust. It controlled her movements. She watched her own hands shake as she reached for him.

Her hands stopped just shy of his belly, sending a red-hot flash arcing through him. Was this another sensation? Disappointment maybe?

Takeshi glanced down at her hands before looking back at her. That dragged him into a locked gaze with her hypnotic dragon green eyes again. He was breathing heavily. His heart was pounding. His canines had elongated enough to stab into his lower lip. None of it had been caused by physical exertion. That hadn’t affected him. Practice never did.

He knew the reason. He was near his mate. His
meito.
The one. And only. She was actually here. Standing before him.
Right there!
He hadn’t dared even dream of finding his mate. It was near impossible. Fate too fickle. The passage of time too vast.

And yet...here she was.

The realization of it went past elation. Further than euphoria. It was almost beyond containment. He was afraid the combination of emotions might show somewhere on his face for her to read. And spook her. So he waited, trying for
fudoshin
as he trembled in place, matching her breath-for-breath and heartbeat-to-heartbeat. The air grew heavy. Damp. Almost heated. Moisture erupted along his skin, raising goosebumps. It coated him, alternately heating and then chilling.

“Takeshi?”

He didn’t actually hear his name. He watched her mouth move and assigned the sound. He stepped closer, willing a touch, but her hands dropped. That’s when he knew for certain that the heat sensation was disappointment. It was tinged with a flash of anger, too.

“
Hai?
”

“Forgive me.”

“Forgive you?” he echoed.

“I...have violated your personal space. I...was taught better.”

She whispered it. Breath touched his exposed skin as her cheeks darkened with a blush.
Naraku!
The curse word for hell wasn’t sufficient for what happened. Everything within his frame reacted. Fire erupted somewhere deep in his belly. It flared outward, reaching every nerve ending. It sparked. Singed. Grew. Pounding hit his temples. His fangs sharpened, making small slices in his inner lip. All kinds of stimuli raced to his loins. His loose-fit trousers didn’t have enough room to hide this. Takeshi fought the physical reaction. Sent commands that got ignored. He pulled every muscle taut, trying to contain the scope of arousal. The unbelievable want. Supreme carnal desire. He’d never dealt with such a thing. Ever.

“It was...offensive,” she continued.

She was still whispering, sending the slightest touch of warm breath his direction. He trembled anew before conquering it. This was beginning to resemble torture.

“No,
watashi no ai.
No.”

Her eyes widened at his endearment. His voice cracked. The timbre was lower, too. He would’ve checked it, but nothing on his body was obeying. She had dark brown lashes surrounding her dragon green eyes. His legs wavered. He locked his knees to remain upright. That was more than stupid. The move sent proof of his arousal into view between them. He was in luck that she didn’t look anywhere but up at him.

“L-love?”

He would’ve smiled at her hesitation, but it might compound his trouble. He didn’t dare show his fangs. He settled for a nod. The center of her eyes darkened.
Imaimashi subete!
He silently damned everything. It didn’t help. She had the most amazing eyes! Looking into them clouded his mind, tied his tongue, and sent even more unnecessary stimuli right to his groin.

“I...do not understand.”

He lifted an eyebrow. He didn’t know how to answer. Or even if he should. He hadn’t believed love even existed until he’d found her.

“I mean...this...thing between us. This—uh. I just...I don’t know. What is happening here?”

“Would you like to find out?”

Damn everything again. His voice was still a croak of sound. He was trying desperately not to frighten, but everything worked against him. His tone projected something predatory. Dark. Sinful. He’d been mistaken, too. Her eyes might have been wide before, but they’d been nowhere near as shocked-looking as the expression he got with his question.

She broke eye contact, turning her focus on something in the approximate location of his chest. The twin spots atop her cheeks darkened again with her blush. Takeshi reached for her, very nearly grabbing her to him. His entire body pulsed toward her. And then he groaned. All without one bit of conscious volition. It took every ounce of strength at his disposal to rein it in. His frame went rigid with the expenditure of energy. He watched the slightest smile touch her lips. He’d been wrong. This was beyond torture. But then she looked back up at him.

And nodded.

Every thought fled, replaced by action. Nervous energy. Intense excitement. Takeshi reacted like a sprung trap, grabbing her to him and plastering her to him, and then he went airborne. The walls weren’t much of an issue. The rooms he spanned, even less. He slammed through any obstacle, intent on one objective. He was taking her to the center of his home. The place that held his history. His existence. His honor. It was his
honden
. His innermost sanctum, mirroring the man he’d been.

And the man he’d become.

Every second with her gave him more new sensations to experience and somehow absorb. He’d given up fighting it. His mate had too much in her arsenal. Her breath was only the first wave of her attack. Her artillery consisted now of how it felt to have her hands linked behind his head, her arms laced about his shoulders, her breasts pressed against his chest. Long locks of hair slithering along his skin. Her legs wrapped about his side. An ankle snagged around one of his knees. He was in an ecstasy of flesh-imbued awareness. The groan he gave contained every bit of it.

...and there!

He’d brought her to Katmassen Castle, the largest and oldest of his estates. It was built into the side of a volcano that disguised any errant smoke he made. The façade of Katmassen wasn’t impressive. It was mostly tumbled-down stones. Overgrown rock. A waterfall. It hadn’t been listed in a guidebook for almost a century. Historians had discounted it. Observers thought it a ruin of little interest. They were all wrong. He’d had levels constructed over the centuries, burrowing deep into the mountain. All of it hidden. Safe. Secure. And his sanctuary was at the core.

It looked just as he’d left it.

The fire pit in the center was down to a glow of embers, sending murky light onto an array of items. His cache of ninja ancestral weaponry. The ancient
Koka
-ninja attire called
shinobi shozoku.
The throwing stars known as
shuriken
. The
katanas
that had been used in the Imperial
Heian
period before sword-making became a national art. A set of
kubotan
arm-bands, complete with hidden throwing spikes
.
Several sets of
kamas
, placed against black silk, where flickers of firelight glanced off the steel scythe blades and the
manriki
chains that attached them.

Takeshi swooped past the array of weaponry, the motion stirring incense he’d left burning. A spiral of smoke surrounded and encased them. He landed with a jolt in the midst of his fountains. He had three of them, each sending rivulets of water cascading down over obstacles, making a soothing gurgle of sound. Everything was in place to assist with achieving
fudoshin.
Calm. Immobility
.

What a joke.

He was as far from that state as imaginable.

On their right was his bed. The one from the
Edo
period, when he’d been changed. His bed was constructed of dark wood, and draped with black silk to form an enclosure. More black silk coated his mattress, covered his pillows, and had been quilted into a comforter. All of it was lit with a greenish glow that came from the jade wall that was his headboard.

The translucent stone was the exact match to her eyes. He’d thought it the moment he’d seen her. Now, he was certain.

“Oh, my. Takeshi. Where are we?”

She spoke in a hushed tone that still sent waves through the incense-imbued air.

“My
honden.
”

“Your sanctuary? Oh. My. My. Again.”

She unlatched her ankles from about his leg and slid to the floor. Now, she stood beside him, still encased in his arms. She hadn’t moved much. If anything, she felt even closer. Takeshi’s body vibrated in place.

“Is...this real?”

“Yes.”

“All of it?”

He ordered his arms to loosen. Granting her release. Trying for space. Strength. “I...need to warn you, Christine.”

“Warn me? Okay. That sounds intriguing...in a scary kind of way.”

She ran her tongue along her upper lip. And then she smiled. Takeshi lurched instantly and completely. Her arms flexed about him. She still had one wrapped around his waist. The other hand was affixed to his chest where it burned. Branded. Singed. Using a fiery sensation that had nothing painful about it. He swore if she moved, he’d have a mark. He was losing his train of thought. His reasoning. His ability to speak. Every word carried a tremor.

“I am...Aka-sourah Clan.”

“I know. You told me.”

“Aka-sourah does not exist. Not...in any record. There is no history. It was a shadow clan. Trained in the dark arts.”

“Okay.”

“I am a ninja.”

“I know. You told me that, too.”

“There’s more.”

“Takeshi. You are incredibly sexy. You know that?”

He choked. Her fingers slid up his belly, trailing absolute fire that licked at flesh, before reaching bone. It tantalized. Excited. Addicted. He sucked in a breath that matched hers. He gave the same exhalation, too.

“You are not listening.”

She flashed an amused smile at him. His entire frame pulsed in place.

“Oh, yes. I am. Right here. Listening.”

“B-but...you are not hearing. Or I am woefully poor with words,
watashi no ai.
”

Somehow she moved closer. Her hand reached his throat, snaked about his neck, tipped his head toward her. Takeshi glanced down at the display of cleavage at the neckline of her
yukata
. Torment stole his reason. Sanity. Escaping hell sounded easier than containing the rush of emotion that swelled within him. His muscles bunched into knots. Grew painful.

“You keep calling me that...and you shouldn’t. We just met.”

“Yes. Thankfully.”

“What?”

“You are
watashi no ai,
Christine. I recognized you instantly.”

“Well...I think you need to get out more.”

She went on tiptoes, going close enough that each panted breath flashed across his lips. Her eyes were half-closed, too. Sparking green daggers right at him. Easily reaching his heart. And getting embedded there. The bestial energy he was holding back flexed with such power, he started shaking. It wasn’t from exertion anymore but from a harsher emotion: fear.

“Takeshi?”

His head dipped until his chin nearly touched his chest. He licked his lips. His tongue got nicked. He sucked on it for another moment while the entire planet seemed to wait. And then he told her the truth.

“My heart started beating the moment we met. I took my first breath. Felt chill again. Warmth. Emotion. You are my mate, Christine. My one. And only. That is why I call you my love. Because it is true.”

“Oh. Wow. I thought you woefully poor with words.”

“And I truly must warn you...while I still can.”

“About what?”

“I haven’t told you everything. There is more. I have a dark side. A...blackness beyond explanation.”

“Okay. I think you just went from incredibly sexy to super hot.”

If she glanced toward his mouth she couldn’t fail to see his fangs. There was no hiding them now. They’d gone to a puncturing sharpness and throbbed with thirst. But she didn’t alter her gaze. And nothing about its power on him weakened.

“You’re also just a bit dense.”

His brows rose.

“Don’t give me that look. I don’t know why I’m acting like this, either. I’m normally frigid. Aloof. Trust me. This is totally against my nature. But – like I keep saying – you’re incredibly sexy, uh...you have the hottest body I’ve ever seen, and um. Well. What else can I say? That looks like a really nice bed over there.”

“You must listen to me first. I am a vamp—!”

His words cut off as she lifted on tip-toes and touched her lips to his. He thought he’d readied but there was no preparing for this. He didn’t have the vampiric side under control. He barely had it leashed. Her kiss was too perfect. Too beatific. Too unbelievable. His fangs sliced her lip flesh. The first taste of their comingled fluid sent the world right off its axis, tilting the stone they stood on. Takeshi shifted his feet, tightened his legs muscles, and strove to maintain balance.