Dark Tempest (The Red Winter Trilogy Book 2)

by Annette Marie

  Hot ki pulsated through her body. Amaterasu wasn’t taking control of her. Was she too weak and injured to withstand Amaterasu’s spirit this time? But how was Emi supposed to heal herself without Amaterasu’s help?

  Darkness crept through her, calling her to give in, to relax, to sleep. To give up. But she couldn’t. Shiro needed her.

  Amaterasu had healed her once before. She’d felt it. She’d experienced heat gathering in her injury and the scorching pain of flesh knitting together faster than nature had ever intended. If she’d experienced it, couldn’t she duplicate it? But she didn’t remember what Amaterasu had done.

  Some knowledge runs deeper than memory.

  A wheezing breath slid from her broken lungs. She imagined filling her torso with warm white light. She imagined her injuries absorbing the light and the holes from the dragon’s fangs closing.

  Agony speared her chest. Her body arched up from the ground. Shiro’s hands on her face were all she could feel except for the pain. It seemed to go on forever, torment raging through her body, constricting her lungs and suffocating her.

  She gasped and air filled her lungs. The pain faded and hollow coldness filled her body in the absence of Amaterasu’s power. Shiro lifted one hand from her face, and she felt his touch as he checked her wounds.

  His hand on her cheek tightened, and then his mouth was covering hers.

  She gasped against his lips, her eyes flying open. He lifted her into his arms, his mouth still crushed against hers. She wrapped her trembling arms around his neck, kissing him with the same desperation, the same fierce need.

  Too soon, he lifted his head. He stood, holding her tight against him with one arm. She clung to him, dizzy and trembling with weakness. Roaring walls of fire surrounded them, leaving only the circle in which they stood untouched. The black skeletons of trees were already crumbling as the flames surged higher. The air rippled and shimmered with heat, but she hardly felt it.

  Shiro tensed as he gathered himself, then he sprang upward. Kitsunebi formed under his feet and he landed on the flames as though they were floating stepping stones. He bounded into the sky, racing above the raging inferno. The fire had already engulfed a vast band of forest, and flames were spreading fast in every direction.

  A dark shadow swept out of the thick columns of smoke. The massive raven drifted on outspread wings, carrying a weakly struggling dragon in his talons. His beak flashed down. He ripped out the dragon’s throat in a spray of black blood and released it, letting the creature plummet into the flames.

  The raven tucked its wings and dove toward the tree line where Orochi had emerged from the earth. Shiro sped after him and Emi could only clutch his neck, dizzy and sick and barely able to see as smoke stung her eyes.

  Just before reaching the ground, the raven’s form softened. The darkness lifted away from him, dissolving to nothing, and Yumei’s winged form landed at the edge of the trees just before the churned earth. Shiro landed beside him with a crackle of dried leaves.

  Yumei folded his wings against his back. His kosode was half shredded and blood soaked the dark material.

  “Do you plan to reduce the entire island to ash, Inari?” Susano’s question preceded him from the shadows as he stepped out of the trees. He too showed signs of battle, with deep gouges marring one arm and blood streaking his face. Byakko limped after him, looking even worse.

  “Perhaps,” Shiro answered. “I see you have yet to recover Murakumo.”

  “Orochi knows I seek it.” Susano gestured with one hand. “He guards it and will not shift.”

  A hundred yards away, in the center of the overturned forest and disturbed earth, a writhing mass of dragons twisted ceaselessly. As Emi watched, another dragon flew out of the clouds of smoke, its scales blackened by fire, and dropped down to join the mass.

  “We could not breach his defenses,” Susano continued. “Perhaps the four of us together—”

  “No,” Shiro said, looking at Yumei and Byakko. “Not those two. Not in that condition.”

  “You suggest we abandon the battle?” Susano asked, a growl vibrating through his words.

  “Not what I’m suggesting at all.”

  Shiro turned and pushed Emi into Yumei’s arms. As surprised as she was, the Tengu almost dropped her. Stepping back, Shiro extended his newly freed hands and with matching swirls of fire, his short swords took form.

  “Tell me, Susano,” he said. “Have we ever fought side by side before?”

  Susano’s eyes narrowed. “Not precisely.”

  His lips curved in response, but it wasn’t Shiro’s usual grin. It was Inari’s sharp, dangerous smile. He lifted his swords, the final loop of the onenju gleaming around his wrist, and pointed the blades away from each other. Fire erupted over the swords and filled the gap between the hilts. The flames brightened until they were incandescent, then extinguished with a final flicker.

  Instead of his swords, he now held a long crimson staff with a wide, single-edged blade at each end. Red symbols shimmered over the haft, ever shifting and gliding over the glossy surface. Blades and staff combined, the weapon was longer than he was tall and glowed with eerie power.

  He spun the staff with easy, familiar grace, the blades whistling through the air. Behind him, six spectral tails of flame lashed and danced. His kitsunebi sparked to life around him, the flames rippling and dancing before they flared outward. The orbs expanded and warped, taking the form of large phantom foxes with glowing eyes and two tails each.

  Shiro stepped up beside Susano. “I’ll try not to scorch you too badly.”

  Susano slipped a hand into his sleeves and pulled out his ofuda. Selecting one, he slapped it against Shiro’s upper arm. It glowed faintly.

  “It would be a shame to stop your heart with a stray bolt.” He turned toward the dragons. “Cut straight through them. I will be right behind you.”

  Dread stirred in Emi’s chest. Struggling through her lethargy, she opened her mouth to call out Shiro’s name and stop him.

  In a surge of flame, he launched toward the dragons. Fire gathered around him, rippling in his wake and mixing with his phantom tails. His kitsunebi foxes bounded at his side, their fiery paws running on air and their flaming fangs bared. Susano ran after him.

  The dragons rose and separated, braced to meet them.

  Shiro charged into their midst. Fire exploded from him, sparks filling the air. Flames spun wildly, forming a raging cyclone that spread outward. Shiro and the dragons disappeared into the towering fireball. Emi’s hands clenched, her lungs locked in terror.

  Lightning crackled over Susano and wind spiraled around him. He hurtled forward in a sudden, blinding-fast movement and vanished into the fiery torrent along with Shiro. Spouts of spinning flame and flashes of light blasted out from the cyclone of smoke and fire.

  Shiro sprang clear of the blaze, his double-bladed staff in one hand. He landed and bolted back toward them. Behind him, all eight dragons burst out of the fireball, flying in every direction—fleeing? The whirling mass of fire, smoke, and crackling light parted, revealing a brief glimpse of Susano with his arms raised, a length of glowing steel extending from the hilt in his hands.

  A loud rumble shuddered through the sky. The stars vanished as clouds rolled over the island, forming with unbelievable speed. They thickened rapidly as the sky rumbled again. The inferno devouring the forest lit the underside of the clouds an eerie scarlet.

  With a deafening crack, a lightning bolt arched down from the clouds and struck the point of Susano’s sword.

  Shiro reached the spot where they waited but didn’t slow. Instead, he sprinted past them. Spinning with Emi in his arms, Yumei half ran, half flew after Shiro, Byakko right behind him. Shiro leaped upward and his kitsunebi formed beneath his feet as he bounded through the air. Wings snapping open, Yumei followed him into the sky.

  From over his shoulder, Emi saw light flash brightly. The glow expanded upward, forming eight long lines. Orochi’s behemoth eight-headed
body once again took form. The dragon roared in rage.

  In answer, thunder tore through the sky as lightning arced within the clouds.

  Emi gripped Yumei’s shoulder. “Wait! We can’t leave Susano!”

  “We are too close,” he replied tersely.

  “But—”

  “The tempest comes.” Byakko appeared beside them, coasting along gusts of wind. “The Kunitsukami of the Storm once again holds Murakumo, and all in his path will be destroyed.”

  Shiro didn’t stop until he reached the edge of the volcanic crater. Yumei landed on the rocky ledge and the moment his feet touched the earth, she pulled free and rushed to Shiro as he braced himself with his bladed staff, breathing hard. She touched his arm, her gaze searching him for new injuries.

  Standing beside them, Yumei sighed in an almost longing way. “It has been longer than I care to recall since I have witnessed the strength of a Kunitsukami unleashed.”

  Emi turned. Above the crater, the sky roiled like a boiling ocean. Black clouds seethed, lit from within by ceaseless lightning. Spinning cyclones snaked down from the storm, ripping across the land. They met the inferno in the forest and sucked up the flames. In the center of it all, Orochi writhed, his bellows audible even above the endless rolling thunder.

  The clouds roiled even more violently, and then a shape took form, descending from the heart of the tempest. The serpentine body uncoiled, graceful spines running down the length of its back. White light glowed from the seams of its plated scales and lightning crackled over its body. Dark clouds clung to it, trailing after it with each flowing movement.

  Orochi screamed in fury. The new dragon opened its jaws and lightning boiled from its throat. The clouds churned, spinning together, and light gathered within them.

  With a boom to shatter the heavens themselves, an immense bolt of lightning leaped from the sky. It passed through the storm dragon and split into a thousand deadly spears of light that struck Orochi. The world turned blinding white.

  Shiro grabbed Emi and turned his back to the storm, shielding her with his body. Hot wind blasted over them, carrying a wave of smoking debris and glowing ash.

  When the wind faded, he let his arm fall and turned back. Emi gingerly peered around him into the crater. The clouds spiraled slowly, almost lazily. Where Orochi had been was a smoking pit littered with the torn pieces of the humongous beast, completely obliterated by lightning.

  Above it, the storm dragon hovered, undulating languidly. Though scarcely a quarter the size of Orochi, the dragon sent a shiver of fear through Emi. Light still glowed from between the creature’s scales as though it were filled with lightning instead of flesh and blood.

  The true form of the Kunitsukami of the Storm.

  With a shuddering exhalation, she leaned against Shiro, too exhausted to do anything more. Susano had retrieved his sword. Though she should have rejoiced in their victory, she found herself staring at the destruction, overwhelmed by the wonder and terror of the full power of a Kunitsukami.

  Chapter 25

  A loud shout jarred Emi awake. She forced her eyes open, blinking away the gritty feeling of having slept too long.

  The rumble of nearby male voices continued, and she picked out Shiro’s smooth tones. Since no one sounded upset, she didn’t jump up, but confusion crinkled her brow. Why were they being so noisy?

  Wincing and huffing silently at her aching muscles, she sat up. A blanket slid down her front, revealing an unfamiliar peach kimono with a pattern of flower petals. She frowned. She didn’t remember changing. In fact, she didn’t remember much beyond leaning against Shiro, weighed down by exhaustion while they waited for Susano to join them so they could leave Orochi’s island.

  She tugged her kimono open to examine her torso. The black kamigakari mark stood out starkly against her skin. The only sign that a dragon had almost bitten her in half was the pink line curving along her ribcage.

  Readjusting the kimono, she extricated herself from the blankets and peered around. She recognized the far end of their room at the Ajisai inn, but paneled walls had been set up to partition a small space for her futon. She smoothed her hair, wondering how long she’d been asleep. Her chest still felt hollow and empty, depleted of ki.

  “Seriously?” Shiro exclaimed from the other side of the thin wall. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  With a flicker of concern, Emi rose on wobbly legs and slid a panel aside to step into the room beyond.

  Three yokai sat on the floor around the low table, and she quickly determined it hadn’t been that long since she’d fallen asleep. Shiro, Yumei, and Susano were liberally wrapped in white bandages, the cloth strips wound about various portions of their arms and torsos. She could see exactly how bandaged they were because none of them were wearing anything but hakama, the garments tied low around their hips.

  Heat flooded her cheeks. She briefly considered retreating back into her separate space but at that moment, Shiro glanced over and saw her. Resting one forearm on his upraised knee, he half turned, and, bandages aside, gave her an excellent view of one well-muscled arm and the planes of his chest.

  “Ah, the little miko awakens. You’re up earlier than we expected.”

  “Well,” she mumbled, her gaze darting across them in search of a safe place to stop, “you weren’t being especially quiet.”

  Though she was trying hard not to notice, Yumei and Susano were as fine to look at as Shiro, with lean bodies and hard muscles. Hastily focusing on Shiro, she almost stepped back into the safety of her room, but then she noticed the faint but distinct flush in his cheeks. Worry immediately sparked. Was he feverish? How bad were his wounds? He appeared to have the fewest injuries—or at least the fewest bandages—but was he more hurt than she’d realized?

  She opened her mouth to ask but Susano spoke first.

  “Do not delay,” he told Shiro sharply. “You lost the round, Inari.”

  Emi blinked in confusion, her mouth still open.

  Shiro groaned and picked up a small white cup from the table. As he tossed it back, Susano thumped another cup down in front of him. Shiro downed that one too.

  “What …” She looked from the cup in his hand to the table. The remains of a meal and an assortment of white flasks and small cups littered the tabletop. “Is that sake?”

  She strode to the table and stopped between Shiro and Yumei. The smell of alcohol wafted over her. Her incredulous stare dropped to Shiro. “Are you drunk?”

  “Not drunk,” he said with a grin. “Yet.”

  “If you keep losing, you will be soon,” Yumei said dryly, lifting a flask and pouring more liquid into Shiro’s cup.

  “You …” She shook her head. Two Kunitsukami, a Prince of Shadows, and enough bottles of sake to fill a bathtub.

  “What are you looking at us like that for?” Shiro rolled his eyes. “I told you before that we yokai are a casual bunch.”

  She stared at him, unable to find her voice to express her utter disbelief. Didn’t they think there were more important things to do than play drinking games?

  Shiro turned to the others. “Do you see that look? She’s judging us.”

  “Maybe she judges your repeated losses,” Susano suggested.

  “I’ve only lost two more rounds than you. The real problem here is Yumei.” Shiro pointed rather aggressively at the Tengu. “You’ve only lost once. Are you cheating?”

  “I have no need to cheat.” Yumei sipped his drink. “I spent a thousand years drinking with my daitengu. One does not lose to his own generals.”

  Susano grunted. “Have you ever drunk with Sarutahiko?”

  Yumei winced ever so slightly—the equivalent of an obvious cringe for anyone else. “Only once. It is not a mistake I will repeat.”

  “A wise decision.” Susano slanted a look at Shiro. “I have never gotten drunk with you before, Inari. Not in all the eons of our existence.”

  “First time for everything.”

  Emi had been about to spea
k, but she lost her train of thought when Susano said “eons.”

  With his drink in one hand, Yumei braced his elbow on the table and propped his chin on his palm. “Whose turn is it?”

  Susano pushed the flask of sake toward him. “Yours.”

  “No, it’s my turn,” Shiro said. “You just went.”

  “Have you drunk away your wits? It is Yumei’s turn.”

  She looked across the three yokai again. “Where’s Byakko?”

  “He left earlier in the evening,” Yumei answered as Shiro and Susano continued to argue. “Obligations he could no longer delay, he said.”

  “What sort of obligations?”

  “Most yokai of certain standing bear the duties of a ruling lord, with territory and vassals to protect.”

  She pursed her lips. “But not you?”

  He looked up at her, and unlike Shiro and Susano, his eyes were clear and sharp. The other two might have decided to relax and drink more than was probably wise, but Yumei hadn’t let his guard down.

  Or maybe, she realized, it was because Shiro and Susano were drinking that Yumei wasn’t. He may no longer have a vast territory and an army of yokai, but the Tengu still carried the duties of a guardian upon his shoulders. He would protect the two Kunitsukami for as long as they needed him.

  Pressing her hands to her thighs, she bent forward in a bow, wordlessly conveying her understanding—and her respect. When she straightened, he studied her before nodding an acknowledgement.

  It took her a moment to realize the room had fallen silent.

  “What’s up with you two?” Shiro asked.

  Emi turned to him and her gaze disobediently slipped down to his unclad torso. Her cheeks heated again. “Nothing. I—I’m going to get some fresh air.”

  Leaving the three yokai to their drinks, she hurried to the sliding doors and slipped out onto the walkway. Only when her stockinged feet touched the cold wood and the icy breeze washed over her did she remember the weather wasn’t appropriate for a midnight stroll outside.

  Wrapping her arms around herself, she stubbornly strode away from the doors, unwilling to go back inside. She stopped at the far end of the walkway and leaned her shoulder against a pillar. A gentle curtain of snowflakes drifted down from the dark sky, partially obscuring the small, snow-covered garden. She closed her eyes in an attempt to relax, but all that did was make it easier for her mind to replay the sights from inside the room. Susano and Yumei might have been more than sufficiently attractive to anyone else, but Shiro was the one who made her pulse quicken in a most uncomfortable fashion.