Despite moving well past my limits of hunger, and thoroughly exhausting myself, my mind felt sharp and clear, devoid of fears, concerns, and emotions. My therapy was having a beneficial effect, preparing me, re-forging me into a sharper blade.
I felt eyes on me again—not the same as before—and knew they belonged to more than one person. They watched intently, and not just my act of sharpening their blades, but the set of my shoulders, the way my hips settled into the stool, the tilt of my head, the way my damp hair hung loose, the shaking in my hands, the hunger in my belly, the mind guiding my actions.
They didn’t just watch me. The minds behind those eyes took in all that extra, often-overlooked data about me, and came to a crystal-clear conclusion. A definition for me. I wasn’t sure how I knew such a thing—all from glances felt upon my back—but I was certain of it.
I finally stood from the stool, stretched out my back, carefully picked up the sharpened, polished, and oiled blades, and returned them to their place on the weapons rack. The eyes followed my every move, my every thought.
I took two steps back from the rack, lowered my eyes as I bowed faintly, and then I slowly turned to find my next chore.
The world suddenly tilted; I lost my balance as my vision rapidly dwindled down to a tunnel, threatening to drown me entirely in a fog of darkness.
Chapter 49
Soft, sure, feather-light hands caught me so gently and swiftly that it felt like nothing had actually touched me. I simply stopped falling, but so gradually and smoothly that I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment I had stopped. It was the strangest sensation.
My vision slowly expanded, widening out from the momentary narrow tunnel. Dehydration. I was dehydrated.
I hadn’t eaten or consumed any significant amount of liquid since my return to Kansas City from the Doors. I began to open my mouth to apologize but a silk finger pressed my lips closed the moment before my lips parted, anticipating my thoughts before even I had.
I did not nod or make eye contact with my savior. He pulled his finger away. The man—apparently very strong—suddenly swept me off my feet so effortlessly and smoothly that it felt like a choreographed dance. Then he was carrying me back to the house and through two rooms before slowing in a dimly lit room that featured a wooden square of flooring seeming to float in the center of a pond. A low table with a single pillow occupied the wooden floor, and a small waterfall bubbled over tiers of rocks before falling into the pond. Dozens of large orange and white koi fish circled the pond, swimming lazily.
A bowl of rice, a pair of chopsticks, a small cup, and a clay jug of tea sat on the table. My savior set me back down, supporting my shoulders with both hands in his feather-light, strong-as-iron, grip. I carefully knelt down on the pillow, moving slowly so as not to lose my balance or let the blood rush to my head. It took me a moment to realize my savior no longer touched me, and that I couldn’t recall when he had broken physical contact.
But I knew he was still in the room, those eyes as piercing as I had felt outside. The same man who had approached me from behind to observe me sharpening the blades.
I scooped up the chopsticks and spun them up into my hair to hold it back rather than use them to eat the rice. I thought I heard a muffled sound, but it was soon replaced by the gentle whisper of the rice paper door sliding closed, leaving me in the room to sip my tea in peace, and to watch the koi fish.
I drank the tea until it was finished, appreciating this new clarity of mind. I had passed the state of hunger that hurt—I didn’t know exactly when—and now felt a hollowness within my core. At the same time, I felt fuller in other ways, in other places.
My mind attempted to consider my savior—his identity, his purpose, his decision—but I succinctly slashed those errant thoughts to ribbons.
I noticed, for the first time, a small bell with a silk ribbon tied to the end sitting on the floor beside my pillow. I picked it up and gave it a faint jingle, the sound startlingly loud after the silence I had cloaked myself in so far this evening.
The shōji ahead of me slid open to reveal a young woman kneeling on the other side of the threshold, her eyes downcast as she held out a hand to encourage me to join her. I left the dishes on the table and very carefully climbed to my feet.
I entered the room to find it much warmer than any I had been in so far. Soft, gentle hands trailed down my neck and over my shoulders, as one would touch a skittish horse in order to bond with it. I wasn’t successful in hiding my instinctive flinch, but the hands never slowed or reacted other than to trail down my ribs and around my waist. My skin tingled where she touched me, like she was drawing lines of electric current down my body—faint blooms of energy seemed to pop beneath my skin in a pleasant, relaxing way.
She untied my belt, slowly unwrapping me, never breaking the contact of her fingers to my body—if one hand untied or unwound, the other continued to drift and dance up and down my lower back or shoulders. She folded the sash into a neat square and set it down beside me before moving on to my sweaty canvas robe. She was surprisingly fast, but thankfully motioned for me to take off both pairs of pants myself. She took them from me, never meeting my eyes, but smiling to herself as if listening to her favorite song in her mind.
I wore only my sweat-slicked silk robes, now.
She slowly turned me to face her, untied my second sash and folded it into a neat square faster than I could have curled it up into a tight ball. She set her surprisingly warm hands on my shoulders, squeezed gently, and then trailed the pads down my biceps, dancing and tapping as they drifted down my forearms, my palms, and my fingers, which she gently gripped and used to guide me down into a kneeling position, mirroring the motion herself until we knelt before each other, as my robe billowed around me.
I stared wonderingly at her pale flushed lips, her delicate chin, and the porcelain hollow of her throat, counting the slow throbs of her pulse from the veins visible beneath her thin skin. My breathing was deep and slow, but my heart was racing, and my skin was tingling slightly.
Still smiling to her inner song—seeming to stare deep within my body, not at the exterior of my body—she reached for my hip with one hand, her other resting on my upper thigh, and tugged the ribbon loose. She casually fluffed out that half of the robe, letting it fall loosely at my hip and shoulder. Before I had time to even consider being self-conscious about my nudity, she had already untied the second string and flicked the corner of the robe free so that the entire garment fell into a silken pile around me.
Warm air danced over my sweaty chest, and it took me a moment to realize that I had my eyes closed, I was panting, and my body shook with faint tremors. My body felt awakened, my skin tingling with energy as every once-normal sensation was suddenly amplified.
I heard a squishing sound and then the scent of fresh roses filled the room as water splashed into a puddle behind me.
Before I could flinch at the sound, a hot sponge pressed firmly but gently into the back of my neck—hot, soapy, oily water trailed down my spine and lower back, dripping onto my heels and the bottoms of my feet since I was kneeling. The sponge moved, splashed, was squeezed again, and placed on my shoulder to the same effect.
I lost myself in the sensation of hot, scented oil sliding down my body, washing away sweat, dirt, and even the last residues of stress, replaced by a deep, powerful calm within my soul. A distant part of me wondered whether my bather was activating my chakras or if the sheer act of sensual physical contact was causing me to feel this way. To feel as if I was about to explode in one shuddering breath, not unlike a toe-curling, eye-rolling orgasm.
But one of the soul. A soulgasm.
Soon I was steaming, dripping wet, and my lips were parted as I relished my newfound euphoria. And then she repeated the process over the front of my shoulders. My back arched and I whimpered like a plucked string on a guitar, feeling as if every note—every squeeze of the sponge—was bringing me closer and closer to some long-lost part of myself.
> As far as I knew, I blanked out for a good ten minutes, because I found it near impossible to open my eyes, only stirring because I no longer felt the sponge washing my thighs in soothing, circular motions. Water dripped from my breasts onto my inner thigh, and my body was so worked up I thought I might have to go take a long trip to Fae and pay Grimm whatever he asked to watch Alice for a few hours while I checked out the inside of Nate’s igloo.
It wasn’t that I necessarily felt sexually aroused but more that my body was so alive right now—so hyper-aware of every sensation—that I wanted to have that last drink and see what happened. I decided she was secretly a tantric goddess, and that was all there was to it.
She had washed away more than dirt and sweat and stress from my body. She had polished off years of tarnish from my soul.
A thick, fluffy robe was placed around my shoulders, trapping in the heat, and a moment later, I heard the partition slide open behind me.
I glanced over my shoulder to see the exotic woman kneeling on the other side, smiling brightly at me as it slid closed. I spotted a cup of jasmine tea before me and a black stone sitting beside it. The word Hope was etched into the surface, and I found a grin threatening to split my cheeks entirely in two.
I scooped up the flat stone in one hand—it was as hot as one could get without causing discomfort—and the tea in the other, downing it in one quick pull. A pallet heaped with furs and blankets beside a small fire murmured seductively to me, and I had no willpower to deny its temptations. I slid under the blankets, twitching and biting my lips at the sensory explosions of fur caressing my skin. I tucked the blankets up to my chin, smiling to myself as I clutched my fortune stone to my chest, shivering as the stone seemed to melt deeper and deeper into my chest before sleep embraced me in strong, loving arms that smelled of licorice and mint.
Chapter 50
I woke to find two sets of garments beside my bed—both wrapped up with a silk ribbon, like gifts—as well as a bowl of fresh fruit and tea. I studied the two sets of garments thoughtfully as I broke my fast.
One set was the clothes I had arrived in—the white jeans and blouse I had worn to Dorian’s party—now cleaned and neatly folded up with my Darling and Dear jacket. They had even made sure to fold the jacket so that the figurines and my silver butterfly charms were protected. Still, I unwrapped it enough to verify their safety and authenticity.
This was still Kansas City, after all.
The other set of clothing was the white set of ninja-looking garb Yín had shown me in the armory room yesterday. The same set I had approved of but not worn, choosing the canvas robes instead.
Out of respect—and coolness factor—I chose the ninja set, of course.
I put on the new clothing, taking care to be methodical and conscious of every motion, clasp, or tie, using the process as a form of meditation.
But I didn’t immediately leave Xuanwu’s home. I still maintained my silence, and the detached calm I’d achieved the previous night had still been with me when I woke. My head was clear and determined, and I felt at peace with my plan of attack for tonight. Even still, I wanted to drink up every drop of this tranquility that I could while I had the chance.
So I silently served tea to several of the shadowy ninjas, paying more attention to their clothing and overall appearance than I had last night. I wore almost identical clothes to them now, only mine were white. I didn’t make eye contact with them, but I let myself be more aware of them. They, in turn, seemed more open to having me do so. Which is strange to say, because they hadn’t done anything yesterday to make me feel unwelcome or anything, but I felt a mild kinship with them today.
I never saw my tantric bather again, although I wished I could have thanked her in some small way, even if I didn’t quite know what that would be. Even a smile of gratitude would have sufficed.
I saw a monk making kanji drawings with a large, fat brush as long as his leg—more like a mop than a paintbrush. The end result was an incredibly complex piece of beautiful calligraphy that he silently rolled up and gave me as a gift, making my eyes water—especially when he placed a finger over my lips as I opened my mouth to verbally thank him.
Later, I saw him using the broom I had borrowed yesterday.
I spent a considerable amount of time sitting before the gong all by myself, staring out at the field of apple blossoms as I meditated upon recent events—simply observing the facts from a slightly different perspective. Hindsight. Occasionally, I felt specters in my mind, shadowy forms politely shifting on the outskirts of my focus, observing and passing on without comment or intrusion—the ninjas or monks watching me from an astral state, I presumed, assessing me, reading me.
Xuanwu came to sit beside me at one point, radiating cold air as we watched the apple blossoms in companionable silence. He eventually placed a claw on my shoulder, kissed me on the side of the head, and left.
I thought about that for a very long time, ignoring the startled looks from absolutely everyone who had seen Xuanwu’s gesture of affection.
I finally decided it was time for me to get back to work, and that’s when I realized that I hadn’t spoken a single word for more than twelve hours.
And mankind did rejoice! Hallelujah!
Yín, as if reading my mind, had been waiting for me. We exited the house and I walked down the front steps, tugging a few straps on my new clothing to get familiar with the apparent weapons straps and buckles hidden all over. They were similar to tactical clothing in that way, just for blades rather than guns and ammo. I clutched the bundle of my old clothes in the other hand as I turned back to Yín, dipping my chin.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” I told him. “I needed it.” The act of speaking felt both physically and socially strange.
He bowed respectfully. “You are always welcome, White Rose. Thorns and all,” he added, winking playfully. His smile slowly faded, and he leaned closer as if to ask a private question. “Why did you visit us in person rather than using the figurine Xuanwu gave you?”
I smiled. “I didn’t come here to recruit. I came here to unshoulder my own mental baggage. To cleanse my mind. To prepare. I haven’t decided—”
I cut off, suddenly hyper-aware of a shadow in my peripheral vision that hadn’t been there a moment ago. It was no more than two paces away, standing beside the trunk of a tree. I slowly turned to find one of the ninjas staring at me. Even as I watched, the flickering shadows faded away, leaving just the man in black, and I somehow knew he was the one who had saved me from falling last night.
I was sure I hadn’t seen him today while serving the ninjas tea.
“You do not dictate where a petal falls or where death blooms. That is for me to decide, White Rose,” he said calmly, his voice a low hum.
I lowered my chin respectfully, despite his tone. He was a handsome man, even with the three faint scars down his unshaven cheeks, and I could tell he was very strong despite his unassuming, lean body type. He had handled me like a kitten last night and, seeing him now, I was somewhat surprised. He was a few inches taller than me, and the top of his hair was pulled back into a short tail that just touched the back of his neck, leaving the hair on the sides of his head to brush his jaws like scythes. His dark eyes threatened to draw me in until I averted them with a shallow exhale.
“We go where we are needed,” he said, “and tonight, we are needed outside a church—no matter what some may or may not decide,” he said in a low tone, repeating the word I had used a moment ago.
“Thank you…” I trailed off, not knowing his name.
He smirked in amusement. “I am called Ryuu, and I would whisper the name of Old Death into your enemies’ ears. As would my brothers.”
Yín was noticeably submissive, keeping his eyes lowered and not making any sound that could be taken as an interruption. He respected and feared this Ryuu.
“What would you have my Shinobi do, White Rose?” Ryuu asked.
I thought about that, very hard, reali
zing there was no way for me to turn him down without looking disrespectful. “I need a vampire captured and brought to me in secret.” His dark eyes flickered at the edges, a twitch of amusement at me telling a ninja—a Shinobi, apparently—to be discreet. I would have to read up on their culture after all of this was said and done. My training in the martial arts had only given me a mildly more extensive understanding than the average American.
“What particulars do you require?” he asked. I arched a brow in confusion. He used hand gestures to accompany his explanation. “Tall, short, male, female, fat, skinny, strong, weak or…” he smiled darkly, “or would you have me open Roland Haviar’s throat?”
I shook my head firmly, decisively, my eyes flashing territorially. “He is mine,” I snarled.
Ryuu dipped his chin, an echo of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.
“I need someone loyal to Roland, someone devoted to his own wickedness,” I told Ryuu. “You have watched these streets. I’m sure you could find one you know to be cruel.”
He nodded without hesitation. “I will gift wrap him up and deliver him to you shortly.”
I frowned suspiciously. “Do you have a phone so I can tell you where I will—”
“I have no need. I know where you are. Always.”
He stepped backwards without a noise, and then simply faded from view as if I’d only imagined him. I shivered slightly at that—and I thought I heard a faint, responding chuckle at my reaction, but that could have been a leaf tumbling across the grass.
I turned back to Yín, shaking my head. “I will return when this is finished. I think I have much to learn,” I admitted.
He dipped his head. “We are always learning, always searching for new understandings. You are more than welcome to return.”
Feathers and Fire Series Box Set 2 Page 84