Carrying a bowl of hot water and an armful of towels, she tiptoed back to her room and closed the door. Arranging a couple towels over her bed as padding, she laid the kitsune on his uninjured side. He looked so small and fragile. She lightly stroked the silky fur of his ear. A yokai. How strange. She’d thought of them as monsters for so long that a cute fox just didn’t fit with her perceptions.
Dipping a washcloth in the water, she carefully cleaned him up. The blood left a pink stain on his white fur that didn’t want to come out. She worked carefully around the wound on his chest and shoulder and continued down his foreleg. Her hands paused, cloth poised above him.
Wrapped several times around his leg, from just above his paw up to the elbow joint, was a string of onenju. The prayer beads, glossy red and the size of small marbles, blended into his bloodstained fur so well that she hadn’t noticed them before. She leaned in closer, eyebrows furrowed. Why would a yokai wear prayer beads? How had he gotten them on his leg? Someone must have put them on him.
Not sure what to do with them, she gave a halfhearted attempt at wiping around the beads but they were very much in the way. With a mental shrug, she hooked two fingers through the bottom loop and pulled it over the kitsune’s paw.
Her brain took a little too long to catch up with the sudden flare of heat that shot up her arm as soon as she touched the beads.
Power exploded out of the onenju. Hurled backward, she skidded across the floor. Glass shattered as the vases fell off the small shrine in the corner. Her skin tingled all over from the shivery touch of powerful ki released by the beads—oddly familiar ki. Gasping, she shoved herself up and turned, terrified she would find the kitsune torn apart by the discharge of power.
But the kitsune was gone, and something else entirely lay across her bed.
For the longest moment, her shock was so complete that even her heartbeat froze. Then it launched back to life, hammering against her ribs. She pushed herself along the floor until her back hit the wall. She blinked, and blinked again, but the sight didn’t change.
In the kitsune’s place, a human-shaped male was sprawled across her bed. A sleeveless white kosode covered his shoulders but left his muscular upper arms bare. Black material bound by red ties, the ends splayed across the floor like ribbons of blood, covered his forearms from his wrists to several inches above his elbows. A narrow black and red obi was wrapped around his waist above his black hakama, and his feet were bound in leather footwear. No weapons, but the red onenju gleamed around his right forearm.
As she tried hard to breathe normally, the kitsune-turned-man didn’t move except for the faint rise and fall of his chest. He was still unconscious. She swallowed hard, a touch of coherency returning to her thoughts. In the stories, kitsune were shape-shifters, weren’t they? But this one hadn’t changed shapes on his own; he was as comatose in this form as he’d been as a fox. Her touching the onenju around his arm must have triggered his transformation.
She took a few more deep breaths. The yokai was unconscious. He couldn’t hurt her—yet. She hadn’t been afraid of the kitsune, but this yokai was a whole different matter. Except he was unconscious. That was good.
Trembling, she rose to her feet, shuffled a few cautious steps closer, and stared down at him. Snow-white hair, as soft-looking as the fox’s fur, brushed across his forehead in a tousled mess—and poking out of his hair was a pair of white fox ears. His body was otherwise human, but he’d kept the ears. His eyes were closed. His face, slack in unconsciousness, had an oddly ageless quality to it; he could have been her age or a decade older. She just couldn’t tell.
She crept closer, unable to stop staring. A yokai lying on her bed. Somehow, it was a much bigger deal now than when he’d just been a fox. Maybe it was the increased mass, but his presence seemed to fill her bedroom. She sidled closer, watching his face. No change, not even a twitch.
Before she could chicken out, she stooped and brushed her fingers over his right ear, identical to the fox’s except a little bigger, the fur warm and silky. Bizarre. She slid her fingers down into his hair until she found the edge of his jawbone. No human ears hid in his hair. She supposed two pairs of ears would have been even weirder.
It was so strange. Yokai were supposed to be beasts, animals like the crow or monsters like the oni. Yet this creature on her bed could have been human if not for the unnaturally white hair and fox ears.
As her heart finally slowed, she sat back on her heels, at a total loss for what to do. She couldn’t carry him back to the storehouse, and she couldn’t leave him here; a full-grown man was a lot harder to hide than a small fox.
Her gaze travelled over him again, stuttering to a stop on his right arm. A jagged wound extended down his upper arm, leaking a small trickle of blood. He was still injured in this form. She should have realized his wounds wouldn’t just vanish. Mentally steeling herself, she retrieved her washcloth and the first aid kit from the debris; her room looked like a whirlwind had spun through it. If not for the storm outside, Fujimoto and Nanako would have been bursting through her door. She would have had a fun time trying to explain the unconscious yokai in her bed.
She knelt beside him. Watching his face for any sign of returning consciousness, she carefully wiped away the blood, then pulled out some gauze pads. She pressed a row of pads to the wound and wrapped white gauze around his upper arm to hold them in place. With another wary glance at his face, she tugged his kosode open to expose the second gouge that ran from his shoulder down one side of his chest—a very nicely toned chest.
Her cheeks heated as she applied another pad to his injury, ignoring the hard muscle under her hands. She’d never touched a man like this. In fact, she’d hardly touched anyone male aside from the occasional collision. Katsuo grabbing her elbow to steady her was about the most intimate contact she’d had since becoming the kamigakari. Now here she was with her hands on a man’s—well, a yokai’s—bare chest.
He wasn’t just attractively built either. He was actually incredibly handsome, with sculpted features that were defined but not too sharp, softened by his mess of hair—fur? He even outdid Katsuo, and that was saying something.
Not that she cared, of course. He was a yokai—a spiritual being, not a human, no matter how human he might look. She glanced at his fox ears to reinforce the thought. Definitely not human.
Since she couldn’t wrap his entire torso, she dug out the medical tape and secured the pads in place. Then she sat back and admired her work. Pretty good. He wouldn’t bleed all over his white kosode, at least. She repacked the first aid kit and set it aside. Now what?
Pursing her lips, she reached across him and tugged his kosode back into place, arranging it neatly. There, much better. Less distracting for her anyway. Was she really admiring the physique of a yokai? She needed to get a grip on herself. Putting one hand over her eyes, she took a long, deep breath. Feeling more centered, she dropped her hand.
And found gleaming ruby eyes looking back at her.
For a brief instant, she couldn’t move, caught in the yokai’s hooded, half-awake gaze and the puzzled crease between his brows.
Then panic burst through her and she flung herself away.
As she turned to bolt, he lunged. A hard yank on the long sleeve of her kimono pulled her backward off her feet. She fell on top of him. Writhing madly, she rolled away, only for him to grab her and haul her back again. One arm, strong as a steel bar, clamped around her middle, pinning her arms and trapping her against his chest.
His other hand closed around her throat and squeezed, applying just enough pressure to freeze her in place.
She panted, lightheaded from terror. Her arms were pinned. She couldn’t reach the ofuda in her sleeve pocket. She was helpless. Never in her life had she been physically restrained like this. Panic fuzzed the edges of her thoughts. Why hadn’t she gone to get Katsuo when the kitsune transformed? Why had she brought him back to her room in the first place?
The yokai didn’t move, just held her in place with a strength she couldn’t fight. She tipped her head back to see his face, to gauge his intent, but he wasn’t looking at her at all. His gaze traveled across the room, intent and analyzing. That bright intelligence glittered in his ruby eyes, same as it had when he was a fox.
Then those eyes flicked down and he appeared almost surprised to see her staring up at him. His mouth curved into a sly grin, flashing pointed canines that were far more reminiscent of his fox form than his human one.
His amusement at her terror sparked a tiny surge of anger. “Let me go!”
“Ah, little miko, didn’t anyone ever tell you not to run from yokai?” His deep, purring voice sent a shiver across her skin. He leaned down as his hand on her throat forced her head back. He brushed his nose along her jaw, from her chin up to her ear. “It’s the surest way to make us pounce,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.
Goose bumps raced down the back of her neck and she clenched her jaw. “Get your hands off me.”
He hummed as he pushed his face into her hair, inhaling through his nose. “But didn’t you put your hands on me first?”
“I was treating your wounds.” She summoned her most commanding tone, desperately hoping her voice wouldn’t quaver. “You’re proving that your kind’s reputation is well deserved with such disrespect and ingratitude toward the person who saved your life.”
His head came up and fear shot through her that she’d offended him, that he would surely kill her now. Instead, he made a thoughtful noise, and his hands fell away, releasing her.
She almost leaped out of his lap but remembered his comment about running from yokai. With more self-control than she’d thought she had, she carefully stood, walked four steps, and turned to face him. He stayed where he was, lounging half on the bed with his legs on the floor, casually propped up on one arm. His head tilted to one side as he watched her, the movement very foxlike with the actual vulpine ears. That slight, knowing grin played about his lips.
She sank down to kneel on the floor, mostly because her legs were shaking so badly she was afraid he’d notice. As nonchalantly as possible, she slid her hands into the opposite sleeves of her kimono and pinched her hidden ofuda between two fingers, ready to pull them out.
“No need for that, little miko,” he remarked, each word almost caressing her. How could he have such an otherworldly yet still human voice? “I will not harm you.”
She flushed, embarrassed she’d been so obvious, but didn’t let go of the ofuda. “What was that—that assault then?”
“Assault, you call it? That little embrace?”
“You—” She broke off with a small shake of her head. If he was determined to ignore the inappropriateness of forcefully holding a woman against him and rubbing his face on her, nothing she said would change his mind. “You have the manners of a dog.”
“Well … same family, you know. Foxes, dogs.” He shrugged. “What did you expect? The ritual greetings of the imperial court?”
“Some respect for the person who saved your life would have been welcome.”
“Ah, yes, you did save me, and I am very grateful.” He bowed from where he sat, somehow managing perfect grace despite his awkward position. To her surprise, he held the bow for several long seconds, denoting deep gratitude.
Sitting up, he idly tugged at a lock of his white hair as his gaze slid down her and back up again. “I am in your debt. Tell me your desire and I will fulfill it.”
“My—my desire?” she choked.
He smirked again. “A favor, little miko. I am saying I owe you a favor.”
“A—Oh. Right, yes.” Her cheeks burned in embarrassment. “My name isn’t ‘little miko.’”
“Miss Miko of the Amaterasu Shrine?”
“My name is Emi,” she said stiffly, not amused.
His smirk only grew. Giving him her first name was inappropriate in itself, but she didn’t want him to know her family name; there was a chance that even the yokai of the mountains had heard of the Kimura kamigakari.
“Emi,” he purred, making her face heat all over again.
She gritted her teeth. “Do you have a name?”
“Me?” His fox ears twitched. “You can call me Shiro.”
“Shiro,” she repeated disbelievingly. Not that it was a bad name, but one of its meanings was literally white. Somehow she doubted that was his actual name.
“Now, Emi of the shrine, tell me what you desire of me. I am at your command.”
This time, without the distraction of shock or discomfort, she recognized the ritual of his request. To repay his debt to her, he was offering to fulfill some sort of task or favor, similar to the worship and offerings given at a shrine in exchange for the kami’s goodwill or help. Kitsune were known for being extremely persistent in repaying their debts. The trait had spawned many, often humorous, children’s stories about them, as their efforts at repayment frequently caused the human more trouble than the favor was worth.
“You saved me first,” she said cautiously. “There is no debt between us.”
The wicked gleam of humor that had danced in his ruby eyes almost since the moment he awoke faded, and his sudden somber demeanor gave her pause.
“No,” he murmured, his voice smoother and deeper and somehow older. “You came back for me. I do owe you, and I will not accept your refusal.”
--
Red Winter
The Red Winter Trilogy / Book One
Copyright © 2016 by Annette Marie
www.annettemarie.ca
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations for review purposes.
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