CHAPTER FOURTEEN

If this had happened an hour earlier, he would have been shocked; but his inhibitions were lost in the mist with his fear, and he wasted no time moralizing. His clothes were in a pile with hers at the speed of thought, though somehow still not fast enough; then he lay in the sand, stretching himself out full-length beside her.

He savored the sight of her first, refusing to rush, wanting the full sensory experience. Her hair was spread out in a beautiful dark fan on the sand, the red painted black by the silver-blue diffuse glow of moonlight through the haze of thick mist. When a wave came in and lapped at her legs up to the thighs, her nipples hardened, causing an equal reaction in him, though lower down.

She was as perfect as he’d known she would be, far more lovely than he had been able to see when he glimpsed her the night she shifted to her owl form. The dark markings on the right side of her body were colorful tattoos in beautiful spiral and knotwork designs that were both alien and familiar to him somehow. The hills and valleys of her curves were like a landscape he'd once called home, but had long forgotten. He wanted nothing more in this life than to go home again.

Her eyes were full of starlight and ocean mist; he let himself bathe in them at last, and it was a relief, like the first deep breath of sweet air after a long illness. Her lips parted, full and soft, trembling a little with her emotion.

Neither of them spoke; this was too sacred to be interrupted with words. She could finally let herself gaze at him the way she wanted to, without holding back for his sake; she knew there was a great deal of trouble still ahead, but for these moments, they belonged as completely to each other as when they had first awoken into the light together, so many thousands of years and dozens of lifetimes ago. Grief would come again to them soon enough; this was time for joy.

In this lifetime he looked very much as he had the first time, Thalia mused, when they arrived on Gaia and spent their days and nights in the purity of love and joy that came only with innocence.

His eyes were the color of dark honey, amber with streaks of gold and copper; she looked into their depths, admiring the elegant almond shape framed by long dark lashes, slender black brows slanting above them. His shoulder-length black hair hung into them, unruly as his spirit. She traced the line of his brow with delicate fingertips, down to his high, proud cheekbones and sharp jawline.

His ears were slightly pointed; if he but knew it, she thought, he looked nearly as Fae as she did. It was as if thousands of years had lifted away from them both, leaving them as gloriously fearless as they had once been in their long-ago innocence.

She let her eyes travel lower, admiring his long, lean, muscular build held now just beside her own body. His many scars did not detract from his beauty to her; it was part of who he had become, and he was perfect in her sight.

At last he touched her, almost timidly at first, his fingers stroking her face. When he touched her mouth she opened it; his finger tasted of sea air and salty ocean. She closed her lips around it and explored it with her tongue and teeth, startling him into more aggressive desire. His breath quickened with his pulse, and when she opened her lips again his hand finally explored her beautiful body, from her shoulder over her breasts, down to her thighs.

Her arms came up around him, caressing the silk-encased steel of all that lean muscle, loving how her touch made him shiver. She brought her hands up to his face, then brought his face down to hers, and at last their lips met again, remembering, rejoicing, opening to let them deepen the kiss.

He moved over her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Growing impatient in the swelling tide of her desire, she brought one of her hands down to his sex; she found it pulsing and hard, more than ready for her. She fondled it, thinking how familiar and yet utterly new even this was to her, making him gasp and break the kiss. She lifted her hips so his shaft was poised to enter her, then waited.

He stared into her eyes, dazed, still half convinced this was all just another dream of her from which he would wake in his quarters frustrated and half-mad with wanting her.

Finally he let himself go, thrusting deep, making her cry out in startled pleasure. She squeezed her thighs around him, moving her hips and reaching up to embrace him, to bring his mouth back to hers as they began to move together in their ancient rhythm.

His mouth moved lower, down to her throat and the hollow between her clavicles, then to her smooth, full breasts; she cried out in her first climax when he took her nipples into his mouth, one after the other. The ripples of her pleasure drove him higher, but he held on somehow until she reached her next peak, and then they plunged into the zenith together, losing all sense of separateness in their joined glory.

There was nothing here but what was ancient; the wind, the waves, the sand, sky, sea and land, surrounding two of their elder creatures in blessing, shrouding them continually in the swirling mists of time and space. The moon looked down upon them fondly, bathing the lovers in her silver light.

The ocean splashed them both awake as the mists were beginning to lift and the moon was nearing her zenith. Tetsuya woke first, since he was now the one on the sand with Thalia nestled on top of him.

He lay there perfectly still, disoriented and not sure whether he was more appalled or exultant. This was what he had selfishly wanted since the first moment he saw her, and now he was honor-bound to her; but it went completely against what he believed was best for her. He cursed himself for losing control, yet could not see how it might have been avoided when he looked back at the circumstances. In fact, he was growing hard for her again just lying here with her, cold water and shock notwithstanding.

The next wave reached Thalia, who woke startled, her eyes wide and dark. She took a moment to remember where she was, and when she looked down and saw him, her face lit up with such happiness that he was even more appalled at himself and what he had done. No one who knew what he really was could possibly look that happy about being stuck with him for a lifetime, he told himself.

The next moment, however, she remembered little Daishiro, and guilt pricked her. She got up, cursing. “I can’t believe I forgot Dai-chan!” she exclaimed. “We’ve got to get back. Kiri-san’s probably having fits!” She paused long enough to embrace him once more, her arms around his neck and her body fitted to his, her delicate fingers threaded through his silky black hair, her lips against his. “I love you,” she said, the magic of her voice filling the simple phrase with vivid, soaring melody.

The next moment she backed away and transformed again into the sleek chestnut mare. She stood and flicked her tail as he got dressed and checked to be certain her clothes were still there as well.

Tetsuya’s head was spinning; all of this was happening too fast. He was still questioning whether this could be just a dream, despite the fact that he knew now it was not.

She stopped in a deserted alley near the carriage, and he guarded the entrance while she shifted back to her human shape, then dressed. One of her undergarments was missing, but there was nothing to be done about that now. The same could be said for her hair, which was a wild, salty tangle. Tetsuya knew this would not escape the notice of anyone who saw her between now and when she could clean up. He looked disordered himself, though less so than she did.

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He steeled himself for the inevitable consequences of his rash actions. He could never say he regretted what had happened; those moments with her somewhere between land and sea and sky, lost in her love and beauty, had made him understand for the first time what philosophers and poets conceived a paradise to describe. He had finally felt fully alive, ancient and young at once, consumed with passion and drowned in love, embodying paradoxes he had always dismissed as nonsense when he read them in poems.

Yet at the same time, he knew very well there would be unpleasant scenes ahead, and he was bitterly angry with himself for being weak, for choosing what he wanted over what he knew was best for Thalia.

He felt as if he loved her more than his own soul, but told himself if that were true, he would never have touched her, condemning her to either stay with him in a life of blood and misery, or face censure in the eyes of the society she had just begun to join. He was furious with himself; he swore that he would at least be honest, and not claim to love her, when the only one he loved was himself.

So when she had said that she loved him, it hurt him terrifically not to say it back. He did not think she noticed that time, but eventually she would. He drove in silence, hating himself, until she noticed his foul mood.

“Tetsu, what’s wrong?” she asked.

“I was so wrong to touch you,” he said. “I knew better, but I could not stop myself, and now it’s too late.” She was shocked and hurt, he saw.

“How can you say that?” she asked in a small voice. “How can you doubt that all the glory we just shared was absolutely right for us both? Do you not remember me? Don’t you know how long we’ve lived and loved?”

He did not have the courage to look at her, so he stared out the window after pulling up in front of Kirito's place.

“All I know, Thalia, is that I’ve always sworn never to settle down with a wife and family, because I am not made for that kind of purity. I was trained as a warrior from as long ago as I can remember, one who protects what is pure and lovely without the arrogance to claim any right to share in it. I live on the edge of death, and have brought that death to so many others I’ve long since lost count. The blood I’ve shed is a permanent stain on my soul; I feel that every waking moment of every day. It’s irresponsible to live as if I was made for the beauty and joy of a peaceful life. I live by my sword, and will most likely die by it.

“If that weren’t enough, I’ve been a bloodthirsty, unnatural creature since childhood. I am not fit to be loved, Thalia, especially not by you. Despite knowing this, I took what I wanted from you; I could not overcome my selfishness. So I’m prepared to pay for my error in the best way I can. I won’t dishonor you; we’ll marry if you insist, but I can't make you happy. It’s best if you don’t get close to me.”

Thalia’s voice shook with anger and pain when she spoke again. “You dishonor me, and yourself, with everything you just said. Living on the edge of death is what we all do as mortals, you pretentious bastard. And how can you believe that I, a Fury, would tolerate you for one moment if you were anything near as murderous as you make yourself sound? Do you think I wouldn’t know it, see it, and punish you?

“I can’t see your words as anything but excuses. We will most certainly not marry, if that’s how you’re going to tell yourself, and me, that you feel. I don’t know how you can take something as beautiful as what we have and spit on it by claiming it's not meant for you, but I won’t take a marriage that’s tossed at me full of regret, just because you feel you’ve gone against your precious code of honor.”

With that, she threw the door open and flew out of the carriage to get away from him. He heaved a troubled sigh and got out after her, but did not follow her. He stood against the carriage half-door thinking about what the hell he was going to do if she refused to marry him. Commit seppuku, he supposed. That would be the only honorable option left.

Thalia came into Kirito's office like a hurricane.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said without a greeting, her voice trembling. “I know it was taking advantage, it won’t happen again.”

Saya stared up at her, aghast.

“The hell happened to you?” Kirito demanded, taking in her sand-matted, tangled hair, her disarranged clothing, and her obvious agitation. “Who attacked you? Where?” he was getting his boots on and reaching for his katana before she even began to formulate a reply.

“Please, it’s not important,” she stammered, giving him a hideous parody of a smile. “Where’s Dai-chan? I can pay you more tomorrow, I’ve just left my wallet somewhere.”

“Shut up, woman, and answer my questions!” Kirito shouted, really worried now, especially when she failed to raise an eyebrow and say something mocking about the contradiction in his instructions. “Something horrible obviously happened – don’t wake that kid up yet!”

“I promise to explain tomorrow,” she said; she needed time to figure out what to say, and her mind was in turmoil. “Please don’t shout at me,” she added, a tear falling from one eye. She covered it as quickly as she could, but it was too late. She gave up and went into the other room to get Daishiro.

Kirito went outside, perceiving the Vice-Commander standing nonchalantly beside the carriage, his face a sullen mask of apathy. He felt a great wave of disappointment in his friend rise up in him as if in reaction to a direct betrayal. He took his wooden sword and leaped, stopping with the point at Harada’s throat. Harada stood there, ignoring Kirito as completely as if he were made of mist.

“What did you do to Thalia-chan?” Kirito asked in a low voice.

“Nothing at all,” Thalia said from the stairs, sounding much more like herself. She had realized when she heard Kirito pounding down the steps what was happening. “Can’t you stop behaving like my overprotective father? We had a run-in with the Tigress and her thugs at the docks. It was a little rough and tumble, and I’m still uptight about it. That’s all.”

Kirito took his sword away from Tetsuya’s throat.

“Is that true?” Kirito asked Tetsuya, who looked at him for the first time. The Vice-Chief’s eyes were bleaker than usual, full of pain and darkness.

“Yes,” he said, willing to play along if this was how she wanted to spin it. Maybe it would work for her; as for him, he would always know what he’d done to her, and he would never forgive himself. He never forgave himself anything; he had no illusions about the type of man he was.

“Why didn’t you say something? I might’ve killed you!” Kirito said.

“Don’t make me laugh,” Tetsuya retorted. “You’re a hundred years too early to succeed at killing me,” he added with a snort.

This, Kirito thought, was a good imitation of the kind of banter they always engaged in, but it was not good enough. Something was very wrong with both his friends. Still, he thought, if they agree to cover it up, perhaps a real friend should let them do it. They might be able to resolve this on their own, whatever it was.

“Don’t tempt me to prove to you just how sadly wrong you are,” Kirito taunted, putting his bokuto away.

Satisfied that there would be no bloodshed, Thalia went back inside to get Daishiro-chan.

“She looks like she’s been dragged backward through seven kinds of hell,” Kirito said when she’d gone. “Sorry I came at you like that, you just seemed like the logical person to blame when she wouldn’t say what happened.”

“Thanks a lot,” Harada replied sarcastically. “It’s fine, and you’re right, she’s shaken up. You’re also right that it’s my fault. I can’t trust myself to take her out alone.”

They seemed to be having two conversations at once, Kirito thought. The one on top, where they pretended to accept Thalia’s version of the story; and the one underneath, the real one, which no one acknowledged.

“I haven’t forgotten about the wedding invitation,” Kirito said.

“Nor have I,” Tetsuya replied. “At this point, however, she won’t have me.”

Kirito was taken aback; had he been reading her wrong? No wonder the Vice-Chief didn’t care if his throat was stabbed – he had been rejected by the only woman who could ever be a match for him.

Tetsuya glanced at Kirito’s shocked expression and laughed bitterly. “Don’t be surprised,” he said. “She’s not stupid.”

“No, but if she rejected your offer, she’s sending very mixed signals,” Kirito replied, serious for once. “I don’t know what’s really going on, but you two have a chance at something great. If I know you, you’ll do something to fuck it up. Don’t, you idiot.”

“You’re an idiot if you think there has ever been a chance for something great to happen to a woman who chooses me. I have nothing but blood and tears to offer; that’s no life for any woman, let alone Thalia.”

The door creaked open, and she appeared carrying Daishiro, followed by Saya, who looked anxious.

“Good night, Saya-chan, and thank you for being so wonderful with Daishiro-chan all day,” Thalia said with a bright smile.

“He’s a great kid,” Saya replied with a grin. “Good night, Thalia-san. I hope you feel better in the morning,” she added, letting her worry look out of her eyes a little.

At the carriage, Thalia thanked Kirito again, smiling softly at him; he believed in that smile, although it was stretched thin over a heaving mass of pain; he just hoped something would occur to make both these idiots happy before they died stupidly of unrequited love that was actually very much requited.

“What’s happening there, Kiri-chan?” Saya asked when they left.

“Not sure, but one or both of them is making things a lot harder than they need to be,” he replied, shaking his head. “I need some ice cream. Being so close to all that emotion makes me cranky.”