Dark Tempest (The Red Winter Trilogy Book 2)

by Annette Marie

  “Breathe this,” he said, a feral smile sliding across his lips. He clamped his hand over the yokai’s mouth, shoving his head back into the wall.

  Flame surged around Shiro’s fingers and the yokai screamed, the sound muffled by Shiro’s hand. The yokai convulsed in agony for a long minute before sagging. Shiro pulled his hand back and the yokai crumpled to the floor, his dead stare empty and smoke rising from his charred mouth.

  Shiro turned to the other yokai—his lookalike, still bound by Emi’s ofuda. Identical red eyes met before Shiro seized the yokai by the face. Her ofuda flared blue and turned to ash beneath his hand. He spun the yokai around and slammed his head into the wall.

  “Who—” He slammed the yokai’s head into the wall again. “—said—” Another slam. “—you—could—impersonate—me?”

  He punctuated each word with the bang of the yokai’s head hitting the wall. With the final impact, the imposter let out a pitiful wail. Shimmers and dancing green light whirled over his body, and when it faded, a completely different yokai cowered before Shiro: dark ears with white fur sprouting from inside them, ruffled, pale brown hair with dark roots, and a bushy tail that trembled noticeably. Shiro let go of the yokai’s face and he curled into a ball, whimpering and holding his head.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whined. “He made me do it.”

  Shiro’s expression didn’t soften. “You still did it.”

  “He was going to steal my breath!”

  “You were going to steal my human.”

  “Please, please, don’t kill me.”

  Shiro crouched beside the yokai. “Did you see what I did to the yamachichi?”

  The yokai whimpered again.

  “That will be a sweet caress compared to what the Tengu will do to you when he hears about this.”

  “N-no, please don’t …”

  “Well …” Shiro leaned over him. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll plead your case to the Tengu and ask him to spare you—if you do something for me.”

  The yokai peeked at Shiro with terrified brown eyes.

  “Do you see that miko?” Shiro tipped his head toward Emi, where she was leaning against the wall, still winded. “I want you to take her form.”

  “H-her?”

  “Yes. Take her form. Then I want you to prance through the whole inn, making sure everyone sees you. Understand?”

  The yokai nodded unsteadily.

  “And then you will leave the inn and go into the mountains.”

  “Where in the mountains?”

  “I don’t care. But I want you to make sure that any yokai who follow you keep following you. Do you understand?”

  Comprehension dawned on the yokai’s face. “For how long?”

  “Two days. Then you can take another form and escape. You’re good at escaping, yes?”

  The yokai nodded again.

  “Good. And tanuki?” Shiro leaned in, his grin closer to a malevolent leer. “If you don’t do exactly as I said, I won’t be the one to find you. The Tengu will. His crows will be watching you, so don’t give him a reason to hunt you down.”

  “Y-yes. I’ll do it exactly like you said, I swear.”

  Shiro stood. The tanuki clambered to his feet and brushed off his clothes, more to mask his continued shaking than out of concern for his appearance. He squinted at Emi and concentration tightened his face. His body shimmered brightly again, and when the green light faded, Emi’s perfect doppelganger stood in his place.

  She gaped at her own face, her long hair hanging loose around her hips, her white kimono and red hakama pristine and perfect.

  “Is this good?” the tanuki asked Shiro in a light, sweet feminine tone. He—she?—smiled prettily.

  “Good. Get going.”

  The Emi imposter sashayed past Shiro and disappeared into the shadowy hallway. Emi frowned after the yokai. She did not sway her hips like that when she walked. How ridiculous.

  Shiro turned to her. “Come on. We need to get you out of sight so none of your hunters realize there are now two of you.”

  He reached for her. As his hand—the same hand with which he’d wielded the flames that had killed the other yokai—came toward her, she flinched, unable to stop herself. His hand faltered, then closed gently around her elbow and pulled her up. She scrambled to her feet, her knees still weak, and avoided looking at the dead yokai on the floor—but she couldn’t block out the stench of roasted flesh.

  Shiro led her back to their room. She stumbled in, wishing her legs would regain some strength, and leaned back against the wall. The yamachichi’s ability to steal the air out of her lungs had been more terrifying than she wanted to admit. With her eyes closed, she again saw Shiro’s dark smile as he shoved a handful of fire into the yokai’s mouth and incinerated him alive from the inside. A shudder rolled over her.

  The door thumped shut. A moment later, warm fingers touched her chin, lifting her face. Her eyes flew open.

  Shiro turned her head to one side as he peered at her neck. “Looks like it’s just a bruise. Does it hurt to breathe?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  His gaze rose to meet hers and glinted with challenge.

  “Do you fear me now?” he asked softly.

  He had burned a yokai alive in front of her. A yokai that had attacked her … tried to suffocate her … and would have killed her for a bounty. Yamachichi were featured in many tales where they snuck into people’s homes and sucked the breath out of a sleeping human, leaving the victim’s family to find the dead body in the morning. A monster in the truest sense of the word.

  “No,” she answered firmly.

  “I told you before—”

  “That I’m a fool for not fearing you?” She closed her hand around his wrist, where he still held her chin. “You told me once you would kill me if you had a good reason. Is that still true?”

  Shadows slid through his eyes. “How did you figure out the tanuki wasn’t me?”

  She raised her eyebrows at his evasiveness and released his wrist. He lowered his hand from her face, but he didn’t step back, still standing close.

  “He called me ‘little miko’ like you do,” she said, “but he was doing it wrong. Then I saw the onenju was missing, and I realized it couldn’t be you.”

  “Is there a wrong way to call you little miko?”

  “No … it’s just different when you do it.”

  “Different how?”

  “I … I don’t know.” She shifted her weight, intending to slide along the wall to get out from in front of him. He planted his hand on the wall beside her, blocking her escape with his arm. His bare arm.

  Before she could stop herself, her gaze dropped to his naked torso, sliding from his chest down to his flat, muscular stomach and the ties of his hakama wrapped low around his hips. She jerked her attention back up where it belonged, her face flaming.

  “I—I’m okay now,” she forced out in a whisper.

  “I had assumed as much.”

  Why was he standing so close? Why wasn’t he letting her step away?

  “You … you can move now.”

  His head tilted to one side as he smiled—that sly, mischievous smirk that had once driven her crazy and now inexplicably warmed her.

  “Do you want me to move?” he asked, a purr sliding through his deep voice.

  Her face blanched at the familiar question and a tremor ran through her. Did she want him to move? He was so close, warmth radiating off him.

  His smile widened, showing a hint of teeth. He leaned closer, closing the distance between their faces, and her lungs froze. The tip of his nose touched her cheek before drawing a whisper-light line to her ear. He shifted even closer.

  “Do you want me to move now?”

  His warm breath on her ear sent a shiver down her spine and started slow, weightless somersaults in her middle. Barely an inch of space separated their bodies. She sucked in air to calm her galloping heart. She should tell him to move. She definitely
should. But for some reason, she couldn’t remember why that was the right answer.

  His lips suddenly brushed her earlobe, then slid slowly down the side of her neck, sending tingles racing over her skin. Heat swooped through her center.

  When he reached the spot where her neck joined her shoulder, his tongue flicked against her skin, tasting her. She gasped soundlessly, rigid with tension and pressed hard against the wall.

  “How about now?” he asked.

  She couldn’t make a sound. She didn’t know what she would say if she could speak. Her blood coursed through her like flames.

  His lips touched her neck again, sliding back up to the soft spot under her jaw. His teeth grazed her.

  “Shiro!” she gasped hoarsely.

  “That’s not an answer,” he murmured against her throat, again sliding the points of his canines over her skin.

  “I …” She panted, trying to assemble her scattered thoughts. “Why are you so persistent about asking me that?”

  “Why?” His head came up and her ability to breathe vanished entirely. His eyes seared her, taking her apart piece by piece and laying claim to each one. His smile had never looked more dangerous—or more alluring.

  “So you can’t lie to yourself, little miko.” His purring voice caressed her, unraveling her. “So you can’t tell yourself the evil yokai forced himself on you.”

  He leaned closer, bracing his other hand on the wall, trapping her between his arms. His mouth dropped toward hers but stopped with scarcely a whisper of space between them, hovering so close.

  “Are you lying to yourself, little miko?” he crooned. “Tell me to move.”

  His stare held her prisoner, sucking her in until she was drowning, denying her any escape. His lips, so close, taunted her. No part of him touched her, yet her nerves tingled with sensation—with anticipation. She flattened her hands against the wall, afraid of what they might do if she moved them.

  “Say the words, Emi,” he breathed. “Tell me you don’t want me.”

  Eyes wide, she trembled, unable to speak, unable to think. He was telling her what to say, but she couldn’t say it. She didn’t want to.

  “Shiro.” She wasn’t sure what she’d intended to say, but his name came out in a pleading whisper and even she could hear the longing in it.

  That was all the answer he needed.

  His mouth closed over hers and he pushed into her, crushing her against the wall. Every lean, hard plane of his body pressed into her as he kissed her with fierce, undeniable hunger. Heat plunged through her, lighting her on fire.

  His fingers closed over her chin again, holding her mouth where he wanted it. He slid his other arm around the small of her back and pulled her tight against him. She gasped, her feet barely touching the floor.

  Chest heaving, she tentatively brushed her fingers over his bare side. His breath caught and she snatched her hand back, uncertain.

  He lifted his head. Releasing her jaw, he captured her wrist and pressed her hand firmly to his stomach, surprising her. He brought his face back to hers, but this time the touch of his lips was soft, teasing her, gently exploring instead of taking what he wanted. Her fingers flexed against him and he released her wrist, tangling his hand in her hair at the nape of her neck instead.

  Timidly, she slid her hand over him, over the wondrous feeling of warm skin and hard muscle beneath. She brought her other hand up and found his skin with her fingertips. At her sudden touch, the muscles beneath her hands tightened. She ran her hands up his abs and over his chest, savoring every moment of her skin touching his.

  His lips moved over hers, softly encouraging until she forgot she was nervous, forgot she didn’t know how to kiss a man. Lost in the feel of his body beneath her hands, of his mouth on hers, she kissed him back, moving her lips like he moved his until finally she parted her lips for him. His tongue slipped into her mouth and she nearly went limp as new sensations danced through her, running in tingling lines to the pool of warmth in her belly.

  He scooped her against him and again pushed her into the wall. His mouth locked on hers, lips and tongue moving with growing urgency as his hunger broke free again. Her hands slid across his shoulders and up his neck into his damp hair. She pulled him harder into her, telling him she wanted more. She wanted him. The need smoldered through every inch of her body.

  He growled against her mouth. The sound, layered with desire and his own need, sent another hot wave rushing through her.

  The door slid open with a loud clack.

  Shiro broke their kiss and turned his head to the door, keeping her pinned against the wall. Panic and embarrassment burst through her but she couldn’t move, couldn’t even hide.

  Yumei stood in the threshold, disgust flickering across his face. “Get off her, kitsune.”

  “You have the worst timing,” Shiro complained.

  “I would call it excellent timing.” Yumei strode into the room and grabbed Shiro’s arm, yanking him away from Emi. “Have you abandoned your wish to be free of the onenju?”

  “Of course not,” Shiro grumbled, folding his arms.

  Her face flaming, Emi stayed where she was, wishing she could melt into the wall and vanish.

  “Then keep your hands off the kamigakari,” Yumei ordered flatly. “If you compromise her purity, you will sabotage your own salvation.”

  Her purity. She hadn’t even considered whether intimacy with Shiro would threaten her purity. If she strayed too far from makoto no kokoro, the state of inner harmony, her ability to receive and channel Amaterasu’s ki would be reduced or even crippled. Without Amaterasu’s power, she wouldn’t be able to remove the onenju.

  She flicked an alarmed glance at Shiro, who returned her look with a wrinkle of worry between his brows. He must not have thought of that potential consequence either. To protect her purity, Ishida and the other kannushi had kept her separated from men, from any kind of physical temptation. However, they’d also restricted her from many things that she didn’t think were directly related to her purity.

  She didn’t know if intimacy could ruin her makoto no kokoro, but she couldn’t risk it. Her inner turmoil over the truth of her fate and the adventures of the past few weeks had completely dismantled her normal kamigakari routines, leaving her far from a peaceful, harmonious state, even without additional distractions. Freeing Shiro from the onenju was too important, and the solstice was only a month away. She had to be as pure as possible to ensure her body survived Amaterasu’s descension.

  Her quivering hand rose to her lips and she forced herself to look away from Shiro. The breathless elation she’d felt moments before shriveled inside her, replaced with an ache that ran deep into her heart.

  Chapter 16

  The red torii sent a pang of lonely longing through Emi. As she bowed automatically, she thought of the small, humble torii at the Shirayuri Shrine. Everything had seemed so simple when she had first passed beneath that torii, expecting to spend a peaceful, if boring, two months at the shrine before meeting her destiny on the solstice. So much had changed since then.

  She walked through the torii, falling into step beside Shiro. They hadn’t had any opportunity to speak privately since Yumei had interrupted them the previous evening. The Tengu had hardly left their room, though whether he’d been supervising her or simply had no reason to leave, she wasn’t sure.

  Ahead of them, he strode side by side with another yokai: the silver-haired, tiger-eared Byakko. His fine white kosode and hakama, accented with pale blue and touches of shimmering silver, would have inspired envy in an emperor, and a flowing haori rippled out behind him, brushing the snow-dusted ground as he walked.

  Byakko was their guide. When Yumei had approached him for information about an underground location where Izanami’s power held sway over the land, Byakko had immediately suggested this place.

  The collection of buildings was all too familiar—a rundown washing fountain, a small hall of worship with crumbling roof tiles, and a weathere
d stage for ceremonies and dances. Many shrines, especially the smallest ones, didn’t have fulltime kannushi to care for them, but at the air of neglect that hung around the buildings, she wondered if a kannushi maintained this shrine at all. Her skin prickled with nerves, the feeling heightened by the warmth of unfamiliar kami power leaking from the earth beneath her feet. This was Izanami’s domain and Emi had never felt more like an intruder.

  Byakko led them past the shrine buildings onto a path edged with a low rope fence and mature maple trees on one side. On the other, rising toward the summit of the mountain above, the rocky cliff wall leaned over the footpath. Moss clung to the jagged rock, and yesterday’s storm had blown away most of the snow.

  The sidewalk wound along the base of the cliff. With Shiro beside her, she followed Byakko and Yumei to a sharp bend where the rock jutted out from the stone wall.

  Around the corner, three large square openings had been cut into the flat cliff face. Within them, shadows swallowed all light, leaving no indication of how far back the tunnels went. In front of the openings, five tombstones with square bases and carved oval markers stood in a perfect line parallel to the sidewalk.

  “The Tenjikubotan burial caves,” Byakko said in his slow, deep voice. “The original caves have existed as long as the mountain itself. Fifteen hundred years ago, human worshippers of Izanami began using them to store the ashes of their dead in the hopes of earning Izanami’s blessing on their journey to Yomi.”

  For those who ascribed to the belief, Yomi was the fourth realm—the underworld where human spirits passed after death. Earth, the realm where humans lived, Tsuchi, the spirit realm of the yokai, and Takamahara, the heavenly realm of the kami, completed the set. As the Amatsukami of the Earth, Izanami was sometimes thought to be the guardian kami of Yomi.

  “Humans believe evil spirits haunt the caves,” Byakko continued. “I have seen no sign of spirits here, evil or otherwise, but the yokai of the area avoid this place. Some say that deep within the inner labyrinth slumbers a terrible beast that devours any intruder, body and soul, leaving no ki to revive from Tsuchi. Others say that, should you wander too deep, you will fall into Yomi, never to return.”