Summary: AU Inuyasha modern-era fic: A mysterious stranger saves Kagome's life after she and Sango are in a car accident, but leaves before the paramedics arrive. She does not know his name, but she can never forget the eyes of her savior.

For Sassy

Disclaimer: Copyright of Inuyasha belongs to Rumiko Takahashi. I do not own it or 'The Princess and the Warrior,' an awesome German film, of which the title (not the story) is pulled from. This is merely for my amusement and the amusement of my readers.

The Princess and the Warrior
Chapter One: The Accident

Upon the densely populated streets of Tokyo, the rain fell heavy like a waterfall. The flashing billboard lights and signs, the taillights of the line of cars congesting the city's byways, and the flashes of lightening stood out in the blackness of the evening. The windows of the 1999 blue Mirage Asti were fogged despite the defrost system working overtime, and the squeak of the windshield wipers had replaced the sound of the radio about the time Sango realized she and Kagome were lost.

"Where are we?" Sango questioned, not bothering to hide her irritation. Her back hunched as she leaned forward, hoping it would make it easier to see through the mess of traffic and weather limiting her vision. Her knuckles turned white at the death grip she had on the steering wheel. "Kags, I don't think we're anywhere near Hachioji Studio. This neighborhood looks too rough."

In the passenger seat beside her, Kagome Higurashi skimmed a road map of Tokyo. Her chocolate-brown eyes glared at the offending piece of parchment. "Ugh, Sango, I cannot even find this street! I'm going to miss my audition," she wailed in frustration.

"Calm down, Kags," Sango reassured her. "Let me just get to that gas station and we will ask for directions."

"Are you sure that's the best idea?" Kagome asked, shifting her gaze out through the fogged passenger window. She wiped away the moisture and didn't like the look of the neighborhood beyond. The buildings were in disrepair; the neon signs flickered and flashed from age; the streets were littered; and the buildings wore graffiti. As for the people, rough was the only polite way to describe the denizens of this area. The sight gave her chills.

"Would you prefer to miss your audition? Give up on those dreams of yours?" Sango countered. She didn't dare take her eyes off the road to glance at her friend. She already knew what Kagome's answer would be. The girl had been on pins and needles all week over the company auditions at Hachioji Studio. If she were selected, the classical dancer would have a foot in the door of every major dance company in Japan as well as connections in London and New York. This was her dream, and Sango was going to get her there.

Sango pressed down on the gas, speeding up with the flow of traffic. She used her sleeve to clear the fog from the inside of her windshield. Her vision tunneled to focus on the red glow of taillights, which were her only guide up the four-lane street. The rush of water, the whine of the wiper blades, the crack of thunder all sounded, and then came the long, drawn-out call of an air horn. It was followed quickly by Kagome's petrified scream. As Sango glanced to the right, a bright light filled her vision before the quiet void of nothingness enveloped her.

—

The time between impact and when the car came to settle felt like an eternity to the occupants in the crumpled car frame. In realty, only seconds had passed, but they were more than enough for shattered glass and twisted metal to do their work upon the girls' bodies.

Kagome's eyes blinked. Her head ached and she could not focus her thoughts through the pounding at her right temple. 'What was wrong? What had happened'? she wondered. Like a bird just learning to fly, she had soared high that day, on the verge of beginning a grand adventure, and now … they had crashed.

Through hazy vision, Kagome could see the crowd gathering and gawking at the two vehicles blocking the thoroughfare: Sango's car and a semi-truck. Some pointed, some talked on their cell phones, while others shouted and scrambled about, but none came for her, no one came for Sango. 'Help,' she pleaded silently.

Her thoughts scattered like a drunken person, who was too inebriated to follow a single train of thought. The blurred figures outside the vehicle floated across her vision like ghosts in the night. Were they real? Was she dead? 'Kami, help us. Help Sango.'

"Sango," Kagome tried to whisper. Her throat hurt; her body ached; and for the first time, the young woman noticed her own labored breath as the roar echoing in her ears. She rolled her head against the seat's neck rest, trying to find her best friend. The older girl was slumped against the steering wheel; blood oozed from a wound on her forehead. Her arms hung limply at her side. Bits of shattered glass shimmered in her hair under the effects of the flickering streetlights.

'Sango,' she tried again, but no sound emitted from her throat. 'Sango!' she persisted, but her pleas were lost, only to dwell within her clouded mind. Kagome gasped as she tried to rouse her best friend; the more she tried to call for the brunette, the more the dancer chocked, until finally, the woman realized she could no longer breathe.

Immediately, Kagome began to panic. She reached for the seat belt and successfully unhooked the buckle. She fought with the door handle, but she lacked the energy to force it open. She emitted a garbled scream, interrupted by coughs and sputters. She slumped farther into the seat, too weak to save her own life, and she knew in that moment the truth of her pain-filled nightmare — She was going to die. The door would not open; she could not move. And now, she could smell the gasoline keeping the shadowed orbs at bay. Tears streamed down her face.

Kagome tried to scream again, but nothing crossed her lips. She lifted a shaking hand to reach out, to plead with the apparitions to release her from her hell and relieve her pain. Noting a discoloration to her hand, she lifted her arm farther, rolling her wrist to look at her palm. It was covered in blood that now dripped off her fingertips. Her glazed orbs scanned up the elevated appendage, seeking the origin of the copper-red liquid. Her hand then lightly brushed her throat, the source of so much pain, and then quickly pulled away from the shock of what she found. It was there, the wound that spilled her life as freely as the sky drenched the earth. She was going die.

Resigned to her fate, Kagome closed her eyes and waited for the blackness of death to claim her.

The groans of twisted metal filled the injured woman's ears like a foghorn in the depths of night. Black lashes fluttered until her eyes were mere slits, and she could finally see the face of one of the ghosts haunting her hazy vision. A man, not much older than she, dug through the wreckage. His jet-black hair hung long to frame a handsome face with golden eyes that glowed like a watchtower beckoning a traveler home. Those molten-gold spheres transfixed her, and she could not look away.

The man pulled the crumpled door from the vehicle's frame, letting it fall into the roadway. He scooped her up into his arms and freed her from the totaled Mirage. Water soaked through her sweats as he placed her on the sidewalk. She shivered from the cold, but still only stared incoherently at the figure hovering above her. His large body shielded her smaller frame from the subsiding rain.

"Can you hear me?" he asked. She could only gaze into the celestial suns of his eyes for a few more moments before her mind slipped away once more. Her eyelids slid shut. His hand guided her chin and he shook her gently, forcing her to open them. The pain in her chest, at her throat, in her head was almost unbearable; she just wanted to sleep now that she was free from the wreckage, but her hero refused to let her give in. "Hey, look at me; don't close your eyes," he ordered.

Kagome nodded, or at least she thought she had. Time blurred and swirled as it blended with her overwhelming pain. She just wanted it to end, but the persistent ghost kept haunting her. She watched as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a ballpoint pen. "This is going to hurt," he warned in a gentle voice.

Kagome panicked when he straddled her. With blurred vision, she watched as he popped the top and bottom off the writing instrument, leaving only the hollow plastic tube. From another pocket, he pulled a knife and brought it to her throat. She tried to scream, but still nothing escaped. She squeezed her eyes closed; heavy tears mixed with the raindrops striking her cheeks. 'What was he doing?' He was hurting her … he was … she could breathe. Kagome's eyelids popped open in surprise, and then began an endless cycle of fluttering open and close in the midst of her agony.

He carefully picked up one of her arms and placed one hand at her throat and then the other. His face hovered above Kagome's. She tried to gasp, but whatever actions he took to allow her air made her unable to do so. He moved a little closer, and the dancer could feel his warm breath upon the side of her cold face now.

"Keep your hands at your throat; you need to keep the tube there," he ordered.

'Tube,' she wondered, already forgetting he had pulled apart a ballpoint.

"Just keep breathing, girl, calm, slow breaths." His lips pressed her cheek, warming the chilled surface. "May whatever Kami you believe in protect you," he said.

He stood up, pulled off his coat, draped it over the accident victim, and then sprinted off into the cold, wet evening. Seconds later, paramedics stood where the young man had been. Their dark eyes hovered in her field of vision just before she passed out, but it was not these new men she would remember. It would be his eyes that would haunt her dreams.