He couldn't stop watching her.
She was his, whether she denied it or not, she belonged to him.
Her promise not to run away was completely certain; the woman didn't bother trying to elude him and stayed in one place. She was also thoroughly obedient, she didn't reprimand him and she didn't give him any sort of defiance when he came to see her, but the priestess was open with her true feelings: giving him scornful smiles and ignorant chuckles.
"What's the matter Naraku?" she'd ask a baleful smirk on her lips. "Afraid that I shall try and leave?"
His usual indifferent façade would always remain intact, never breaking under her close scrutiny, though deep inside he'd always feel his ire rise, his hand itching to slap her winsome face to leave a bruise, which would always heal in a few hours.
Afterwards, the self-proclaimed hanyou would leave her in the village to tend to the sick and wounded. He leered at the thought; was that how she thought to redeem herself? Her past sins and mistakes would take much more to repent than simply helping those who seeked her services. There was nothing that she could do to make her forget the pain in her soul. And that was how he wanted it to be.
Dark ominous clouds hover overhead his large castle, the body he had suited him well, the prince of the clan whom he had slaughtered and used the skin to mold onto his own flesh and create it as a guise while he rid the carcass to several of the demons he bore in his clay pots.
An impassive expression remained on Naraku's face, sliding his crimson orbs over to the gleaming mirror that was placed before him, taking in the resurrected woman's small smile as she assured to the safety of a soldier's condition. He let his usual scowl deepen, trying to understand the miko who had taken his only chance to absorb the jewel for his personal gain.
Pathetic, he'd say continuously in his mind. How did that priestess overcome his plans? How was it that she was able to hold onto the love that had been so mercilessly shattered? Anyone would've prayed their wish into the jewel, and in the process it could've become tainted and then, it would be in his possession. Somehow, she had managed to evade such a thing. How did she foresee such an event?
Naraku leaned back against the wall, his mind tossing the occurrences and possibilities to see how she was able to hold such selflessness in her breaking heart. Damn that woman and her habitual kindness. The half-demon had always questioned her actions, always pondering what the little witch was scheming to bring him to destruction.
The dawn would slowly approach, light seeping out from the horizon as he continued to stay in his earlier night's position. A ray of gold flickered on the glass, shining implicitly on the surface to hit him in the face, nearly blinding him. Hiding his annoyance at the brightness, he commanded the miasma to block the sun, swirling around in the sky until the last shade of blue was painted with grey and black.
Naraku turned his attention back to the white and silver mirror that his minion Kanna always held in her hands. Making a small gesture with his hand, the young girl blankly nodded as she lifted up the object, images flashing through it for a few seconds until a woman with black tresses came into perspective.
His mask was cold and hard, showing no sign of emotion, while deep inside his molded flesh, the heart beat and stirred wildly as it realized that the eyes above were feasting themselves upon the woman it continued to desire. Keeping his red oculars focused solely on the miko, the puppeteer mentally heaved a pensive sigh.
What would it take to destroy the infernal heart of the bandit who sought and lusted after the virgin maiden? It always pulsed rapidly when it sensed her, or when his voice whispered her name. Onigumo was a fool to believe that the priestess would return his feelings, especially when she had claimed her love to that half-breed. So he took the greedy human's jealousy and spite, knowing that his soul could easily be bended to fulfill his own purposes.
And the miko was able to foil that plan as well.
Appearing in front of the small village she resided in, Naraku sensed her spiritual powers radiating from somewhere in the forest. He floated towards the source, stopping shortly once he had discovered her with a bucket in hand; splashing water onto her back and it seemed that she felt like cleansing herself. He smirked devilishly.
"For what reason does a dead woman need to bathe for?" the hanyou asked her sadistically.
Pausing slightly, Kikyo turned her head and glanced at him over her shoulder. Returning to her preoccupation, the priestess lifted the bucket and poured the cold liquid over her head, wearing a simple white robe as it soaked into her clothes. She disregarded him for several moments, neither speaking as he waited for the incorrigible woman to lash out some sort of response.
She startled him inwardly when she slowly rose to her feet, her dark hair no longer bound to the tenuous ribbon that always held it behind her head.
"Is there a reason you have come for me?" she inquired, her tone low but sourness detected in every word.
Diverting his attention to something other than her, he replied nonchalantly. "Merely wanted to know how you were doing, priestess,"
She sniffed derisively. "You never have come to merely check on me Naraku; pray tell me your real reason,"
The hanyou flew quickly until he stood a few feet from her, his face inches from her own till he could see himself in those mahogany orbs that had darkened explicably when he came near.
"Watch your tongue woman; lest you wish for me to end your life,"
Kikyo laughed bitterly, anger evident on her face as she craned her head to look at him. "You jest surely. You are Onigumo, and therefore you cannot kill me. Besides, he has already fulfilled what you could not,"
Naraku continued to stare at her impassively, even as he lifted his hand and backhanded her across the face for irking him that way.
"You still do not learn anything Kikyo?" he asked deadly soft.
The miko didn't raise her hand to cup her cheek, for physical pain was something she could not feel, her tone bored as her eyes flashed with anger. Fully rising to her full height, Kikyo stood in place as she cocked her head at an arrogant angle.
"There's nothing else to learn; I am dead,"
The hanyou narrowed his crimson orbs as he spun on his heel and repeated his once spoken sentence. "You'll come to see me Kikyo; remember… you are mine."
The priestess quietly entered the room, her senses mildly on alert as her eyes followed the slick shadow that rested near the wall next to a small window. Sitting across the room from him, Kikyo only kept her eyes straight ahead, watching the fog outside relentlessly shield the domain from the light.
Gradually, she inclined her head towards his direction, his black silhouette outlined by the dim light of the candle that flickered feebly in the room. She felt the hatred for him spark, as strong as her resentment to another hanyou that had entered her life and left her to alone to suffer in the consequences she had brought on herself.
Naraku glanced at her, and they met each other's wary gaze. Kikyo noticed this and chuckled amusedly.
"Do you fear me, Naraku?"
Inhaling and exhaling deep breaths through his nostrils, he asked her, "Should I?"
She spared him a meager look before answering. "From the way you have seated yourself so far from me, it would give the impression that you have grown to feel fear for me…Onigumo."
At this, he rose from his spot, striding over to her, his steps echoing in the room. Kneeling before her, Naraku shifted himself closer to her till his nose barely touched hers, a finger stroking absentmindedly along the nape of her neck.
"Do not call me that name," the hanyou told her. "I am no longer the wounded man you tended to in the cave; and to answer... I am not in the slightest afraid of you, Kikyo."
"Are you certain?" the dead miko inquired, her body rigid under his touch but she held in the urge to shiver in disgust.
He lightly smirked at her. "I am."
Kikyo held her gaze with his, not giving in at all as he inched closer to her, his breath hot in her ear, his finger continuing its own way of repulsing her by lingering on her cheek and trailing down to her neck till it reached the spot where a pulse should be.
"Kikyo… why do you bother trying to live this cursed existence? There is nothing here for you,"
Narrowing her brown eyes, she whispered harshly. "I only struggle to live on to see to your death."
"Is that so?" his tone holding skeptical laughter. "You've had many chances, even now, and you have yet to kill me. Why is that?"
She suddenly pulled away from him, no longer bearing to hear his voice in her ear and feel his hand on her face.
"Do not test me Naraku; if you truly wish to perish by my hands, then let me demonstrate to you how well I could do it,"
Her sudden anger intrigued him, so the puppeteer urged her. "Try it."
Kikyo edged over to him, her hand reaching out to scathe his skin as purifying energy surged from inside and out of her palm, the sound of sizzling flesh from his burning skin. Naraku watched her as she kept the delicate hand on him and raised a querying brow. The hanyou had her close enough; he could end her life with one simple strike of a tentacle and make sure she never returned from the netherworld.
Instead, he surprised her, and himself, when he had snaked an arm around her slim waist, which caused her to retract her hand from him and press both hands on his chest to push him away.
"You still didn't kill me," Naraku murmured.
Kikyo tilted her head, mahogany orbs flashing as they instantly clashed with crimson pools, microscopic hints of an evil gleam lurking in their depths. Scooting nearer, the half-demon brushed his lips against the priestess's, a hand sensuously sliding up and down her back.
Breathing in sharply, Kikyo abruptly jerked back, her eyes wavering from him to the door but she made no attempt to bolt for the shoji and merely sat there, waiting for him to make the first move.
An uncontrollable smirk tugged at his lips in sadistic glee as he stood and sauntered toward her to kneel behind her, a hand kneading her back in a light massage as he prodded again in her ear.
"Tell me miko; what are your true intentions? Surely you do not believe that my death will manage to bring you back to life,"
She glared at him angrily from over her shoulder before speaking in a much clipped tone. "Why should I even think of such a preposterous thing? It's rather obvious that I will not be brought back by your death Onigumo, I only seek your permanent demise."
Closing his eyes at the name she used, he continued on in a much calmer and, if possible, more gentle dead tone.
"Priestess… do you still wish to say that name when the person who bore it is no longer alive?"
"True," she answered readily. "But his heart is still within you." And as if to make a point, or to aggravate him, she lethargically turned around in his grip and pressed a cool palm right above his chest and a rapid beat could be made out through the clothes.
Curse that bandit's heart! The hanyou thought in growing resentment and irritation. The longer he held the woman, the quicker the pulse.
Kikyo couldn't help but let a smile of satisfaction out onto her face as she met his gaze. He couldn't deny that the organ inside didn't belong to the human he had cheated on. If she wasn't able to return to the living, then she would see to making him suffer in deep humiliation just as he had made her and her beloved suffer through the lies, binding them in the shackles of guilt and fear.
Glancing at her, Naraku let his crimson oculars roam down her form, her pale flesh from the touch of death glowing from the dim light. Peering into those dull dark eyes, he mentally scrunched his face as he tried to discern what was going on her head, but to no avail as her face was void of the slightest trace emotion, and couldn't see what secrets and plots lay beneath the veils of her eyelashes.
Rising steadily to her feet, Kikyo kept her gaze trained on his figure, watching him warily for any sign of danger; instead he too stood to his full height, towering over her form and she leaned her head backwards to keep her mahogany orbs on his.
Reaching out, Naraku cupped the side of her face, stroking her clay body as his hand seemed to grow cold by simply touching her. This intrigued him, and he moved forward, closing the space in-between them, and dipping his head lower till he mouth was barely an inch away from her own.
"You belong to me…Kikyo."
Seething inwardly, she swatted his hand away from her face, taking a step back to keep him at an arm's length distance.
"How am I yours filthy half-breed?" she spat rudely at him, her voice low and ominous. "Do you honestly think that for the slightest minute I could belong to you?"
In the blink of an eye, he was in front of her, a hand gripping her tightly by the wrist whilst the other claimed itself upon the side of her torso, his nails digging into her soft flesh.
"How?" he questioned, never averting his gaze as he spoke. "You belong to me because without me, you'd have no purpose in this false life you choose to have. Without your hate for me, you'd accept death and let it take you for its own once more; without me, you wouldn't feel freer or more alive than you used to before your death, would you priestess?"
Knitting her elegant eyebrows together, Kikyo realized what he meant, the answers dawning on her as he slowly released her from his hard grasp.
He spoke the truth… In his own maniacal and sinister way, he had spoken the truth that others could not see, nor wanted to understand.
Disgusted of the fact, she spun on her heel and headed towards the shoji, where he instantly blocked the exit with his body.
"Did I hurt you miko?" Naraku asked spitefully, a little wicked gleam entering his eyes. "Did I suggest a notion that contained some hint of fallacy?"
Kikyo's eyes flashed and something dark crossed her face. "You're nothing but scum hanyou."
Lowering his head, the half-demon slid a hand across her bangs, brushing them aside as to get full view of her eyes swirling with contempt. He found it fascinating when she would outwardly display her emotions in front of him, for it revealed to him exactly what annoyed her, what disturbed her, and what aroused her. Even though she didn't show it, he knew that the sheer idea of death not only saddened her, it allowed her feel. She might no longer be a part of this world, but she still held basic dark desires that could bend and twist a human to insanity or bliss.
Placing a hand behind the small of her back, Naraku smirked at her iron will right before he gently placed a soft kiss on the nape of her neck, skimming his mouth upwards till it reached her lips. Kikyo grew stiff but didn't pull away. A chuckle rumbled in the back of his throat when he felt her body still in his embrace; pulling slowly away, Naraku ravished himself by placing heated kisses along her collarbone and shoulder, his nose pushing away the fabric that clothed her body.
Capturing her mouth with his again, the puppeteer traced a lean finger idly down her cheek, tentatively sliding a slick muscle into her moist cavern; cold and unfeeling from deaths' own kiss. He ravished her taste as one of his hands pulled aside the haori and slid it down her shoulder, revealing the valley of her breasts.
Kikyo stood in her spot, her eyes glazed over with a distant look. Even as he continued to caress her, the miko didn't flinch, and remained rooted as though in a trance.
The hanyou noticed the rigidness in her form and smirked against her ear. "What's the matter priestess? Would you prefer it if I took the form of your other hanyou?"
At this Kikyo's mind came crashing down, and she felt dizziness take over her. The miko's posture suddenly relaxed, and she slumped an inch as though submitting defeat. This made Naraku smile in delight to have made her lose her arrogance.
Moving her downward, slowly and deliberately, he busied himself by making lazy circles with his tongue along her skin, moving with a swift expertise and untied the robes that covered her figure. It surprised him that she didn't push him away, nor did she whisper anything of repugnance or hate, but only laid in her place on the futon, as dead as the doll she was created to be.
A sneer of disdain came out on his lips, nuzzling his face closer into the crook of her neck and her cold flesh seemed to warm up from the heat radiating off his own. She fought to remain as belligerent as possible, for if her stoic mask were to break, she wasn't sure what emotion would surface if he were to see her in such a defenseless state. It disgusted her to no end that he was on top of her, stroking her smooth creamy belly.
Realizing that she was in need for more souls, Naraku allowed one of the Soul Collectors to enter the small erroneous room, the Shinidamachuu silkily flying through the abyss and feeding a soul to its mistress, before it was suddenly forced back out from the barrier.
"I'll allow only a certain amount of souls to come in Kikyo," he whispered harshly into the ebon hair, becoming even a darker shade due to the insignificant flickers of the candle that fought to not be blown out by the next gentle puff of wind.
"Naraku… why have you brought me here?"
The question was unexpected; for she has been here for a while now, yet she had not asked what purpose he had to bring her over. Lowering his eyelids, the half-demon pressed his mouth on her cheek, his fingers gingerly grazing the smoothness of her porcelain skin and moving in-between her thighs.
"To kill Inuyasha."
Kikyo chuckled lightly, almost barely audible. "How?"
At this, he let a smile adorn his face, looking as tender as one would gaze down upon a lover, but the crimson orbs above showed the domineering ecstatic glee of his affection for causing her pain.
"By taking the woman he'll never feel again."
Her body jerked and he gripped the sides of her pelvis with both hands, drawing her body even nearer to his. Kissing her hungrily on the shoulders and collarbone, he gruelingly pushed himself inside her, wondering if her cries would bring him pleasure in her agony, whether from physical torment or emotional mattered not.
She seethed through her teeth, not expecting to feel something as real, for it was impossible for this shell to react to such a movement. She knew that she had lost, for the façade shattered the instant he had thrusted into her body, moving in deeper, more sensuous motions as he played with a lock of her hair. Kikyo struggled not to cry from the pain, the barrier she forced upon herself now broken, and he pulled her out from the solitary sanctuary he had now breeched.
Straddling his hips, she cursed her clay husk, wondering how he was able to manipulate it, bend it to his will. Molding a mound of flesh in his hand, Naraku enjoyed her sweet smell, the wonderful scent of death was filling his nostrils and he moved on gentler, and more docile than he was a few moments before. He believed that she tasted so much better as a dead woman, to feel her frozen soul cry out from the inner agony and torment he had brought her half a century ago, and to see her show it now.
"Tell me, what you are planning priestess," he demanded, not even a question.
The resurrected woman fluttered open her eyes, focusing on the man whom gazed down at her naked form.
"Nothing," she whispered simply.
"Nothing," he repeated in the same toneless voice she had used on him.
He suddenly struck her across the face, and she turned her head to look back at him, craning her elegant neck to get a better glimpse of what emotion now leaked from those murky red depths; and she noticed that he had not struck her out of rage, but from a fear that he was unknown to.
"Hm, you truly do not fear me do you," she whispered, popping herself up on her elbows to lean her head onto his bare chest. Playing along, she knew that he didn't have to answer, for she knew that deep down, he felt some sort of fear that led to his resentment.
Regaining his earlier composure, he nodded and tilted her head back with his finger, capturing her mouth and pushing her back down, went on with his own business, roughly moving in and out of her bare splendor, letting himself relax and grazed the taut of her mammilla with his fangs, her artificially blunt nails scratching his back.
His flesh stuck to hers due to the sweat and heat he had gained from lavishing her, while hers remained as cold to the touch as it was when she had entered his domain. Pools of blood and chocolate mixed with the others, each trying to repress different emotions from building up and rising to burst, and both trying to decipher the hidden meanings and secrets behind the stony faces.
But those thoughts vanished from the young woman's head when she felt his lips skim across her own, demanding entrance; and as his dark mane tangled itself with hers, creating a storm of black to curtain the two dead figures caught in a fierce lip lock, Kikyo could've sworn that the reason she felt a cool drop of liquid stream down her face was because she saw the ghost of golden suns gaze back down at her where Naraku had been positioned, their resplendence etching into her present memory, and not the figments of her past which had belonged to the keeper of the jewel.
For they were not the same person; they only shared the same name.
Realizing this, she returned her murderer's kiss.