by Sessha Batto
SHADOW WOLF
By
Sessha Batto
Will love be sacrificed when duty and honor rule all?
The life of a shinobi is, at its best, a selfless devotion to duty. In modern day Japan, the ninja legends live on in a grim saga of political maneuverings, betrayal, sexual abuse, torture and dark homoeroticism.
The Shinobi clans lurk in the shadows, performing services that not even the hardened Yakuza will touch. Takahashi Yoshi fulfills his duty with soul-stripping resolve, each assignment driving a nail into a coffin of lost faith. After years of sexual abuse and torture in the name of clan honor, Yoshi must learn to trust, but the man who offers him hope is himself flawed. Sasaki Makoto has spent a career in torture and interrogation, exploring not only the dark secrets of his clan’s enemies, but also the darkness within his own heart.
How far must Yoshi run to escape his shame and torment? And what price freedom when fear and self-loathing threaten to upend the hard fought struggle to find meaning and safety in a world fraught with danger.
Yoshi seeks time and space, only to find himself once more at the mercy of power mongers and despots. When Makoto finds him, Yoshi is broken in more than body. Near death, his spirit recedes to find safety within, locking out all who care.
They say time will heal but the path to acceptance is never easy, the roadblocks many and none will emerge unscathed as Yoshi embarks on a struggle for balance.
SHADOW WOLF
Copyright ©2012 Sessha Batto
Second electronic edition
Published in the United States of America with international distribution.
Cover Design by Sessha Batto
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the copyright owner except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Dedication:
Although writing is a solitary process, the birthing of a story most certainly is not. I need to thank my husband and son for their infinite patience, my pre-reader Anzia, for her love, support, and unflagging belief in me and this project, and my editor Diane, for her encouragement and guidance.
THE FIRST GATE
CONCEALED IN SHADOW
Takahashi Yoshi had a secret. Okay, to be honest, he had lots of secrets. But this was a secret he tried to keep even from himself. The infamous shadow wolf of the Takahashi clan was exhausted, splattered with blood and other best left unidentified substances, and sported several nasty wounds. Right now a hot shower and a soft bed were what he really needed. Instead he was lounging aimlessly in a tacky love hotel, trying to find excuses not to go home. Coming up with no better option, he decided to stop delaying the inevitable and gathered his belongings.
Home … it felt awkward on his tongue. Although his ancestral home in Chiba was where his loyalty lay, he found himself spending less and less time there. Although that bitch Rin has no problem tracking me down when she needs me, no matter where I hide. The bitch in question being the shuhan, or leader, of Kobayashi shuudan.
Still, it will be nice to go home again, he mused as he carefully pulled his usual clothes over too pale skin. He peered at his reflection with a grimace, just long enough to put in the colored contact he used to hide his right eye.
People would be amazed at how accurate some of these cheesy flicks are. Yoshi's gaze once again turned to the otherwise ridiculous movie on the television featuring black clad ninja performing amazing feats. Although I hardly fit the profile, it's awfully hard to fade into the night when you look like this.
The Takahashi clan had long been instrumental in maintaining the shuudan's preeminence in the shadowy underworld the shinobi clans were relegated to in this modern age. Espionage, sabotage, assassination; these were the clans' stock in trade, selling their skills to the highest bidder, be it greedy corporation, panicked individual or ruthless Yakuza kingpin. In return they eked out a marginal, secretive existence in their ancestral strongholds, melting unnoticed into the everyday hustle and bustle of the busy cities where they carried out their assignments.
Well, most of us blend in. Yoshi's eyes narrowed when he once again caught sight of his reflection. All the Takahashi were instantly recognizable by their striking snow white hair. His clan even selectively bred for the trait, since it seemed to be linked to greater powers of ki manipulation. In Yoshi's case this genetic tinkering had been both a blessing and a curse. The last Takahashi not only had white hair, his skin was the color of alabaster. His eyes were even more disconcerting, one a smokey grey, the other an eerie red. The taunts of 'evil eye' flung at him by children and adults alike only served to isolate him from everyone outside his family.
The pressure of the shuudan's hatred and mistrust acted as a catalyst for the evolution of his ki reserves and control, allowing him to learn the most advanced techniques with ease. It was, therefore, no surprise that he pushed himself to begin active duty, becoming an elite assassin before reaching his teens.
That was a long, long time ago, no one says those things anymore … at least, not to my face. The face in question regarded him dispassionately from the mirror, and Yoshi took a moment to study it, hoping to find what others seemed to see when they looked at him. High cheekbones, long aquiline nose and plump lips under a messy fall of glittering white hair. His coldly handsome, slightly stern visage looked more like a portrait carved in glistening marble than a living breathing man.
That's one good thing about going home, he realized, mouth twisting into a rueful smirk. I can uncover my face and no one stares. After all, it was a secluded ninja stronghold, odd characteristics were more the norm than the exception. No one dared taunt the fearsome shinobi about his coloring these days, something he appreciated more and more as he aged.
He suddenly felt the weight of every one of his thirty-five years, and Yoshi idly wondered if perhaps it was time to put an end to the farce his life had become. Not yet, he decided after carefully considering it for a moment. I am shinobi, my duty is to my clan and my shuudan. My own desires are unimportant. When I am no longer needed, perhaps. Abandoning the pointless train of thought he turned back to his task, packing the last few personal items strewn around the room. After one final look, he switched off the television and departed, suddenly eager to return to what passed for normalcy in his life.
No one noticed as a pale figure passed silently overhead, running across the rooftops under the moonlight. Once safely outside the city proper, Yoshi stopped to appreciate the harvest moon hanging low in the sky. He made a series of hand motions to focus his ki, and a milling knot of wolves appeared in a puff of smoke. “Shall we run?” Yoshi broke into a smile when they began to bay their approval and gave into the urge to join them, letting out a fierce howl of his own before loping off in the direction of home, the pack spreading out to flank him.
****
Sasaki Makoto surveyed his afternoon's work with distaste. This captive had been disgustingly easy to break, happily revealing his company's secrets almost as soon as the interrogator began. I hate dealing with civilians, he decided, shaking his head at the mess. No challenge whatsoever. Of course, just a glimpse of the torture master was generally enough to make even a hardened warrior piss his pants. At a towering six foot four inches, the muscular nin was a mountain compared to
the average Japanese. One look at the scars snaking their way across his impassive face and it became painfully clear that Kobayashi's head of covert operations was no stranger to the giving, or receiving, of pain and would not be dissuaded from his goal. Once that became obvious his captives were more than willing to blab whatever secrets they held in hopes of saving themselves. It was unfortunate that they never realized how their cooperation only made the punishment worse.
Weak, disgusting little worms, don't they know where their loyalties should lie? The scars Makoto wore so easily were a reminder of his own time in captivity. Unlike his 'guests' however, the stoic ninja had never breathed a word, even after several weeks of grueling torture. He had no idea why Iwagashi shuudan suddenly decided to release him, but he was grateful nevertheless. No one knew just how close he had been to breaking down and spilling everything he knew about his clan and its defenses.
His mind drifted back to his return home. The first few weeks were hazy, filled with painkillers and long, unpleasant medical treatments. After that what he remembered best were the shocked and disgusted looks on his former friends' faces when they laid eyes on him for the first time. “It's not so bad,” a few of them ventured, but the lie was easy to read.
It was then that he chose his current occupation, studying under masters of interrogation, psychoanalysis, and torture. He had dedicated his life to guaranteeing that no one from Kobayashi shuudan would ever go through what he had. Now, twenty years later, he was tired. The reason why he continued to do his duty day after day no longer seemed as clear, and he often found himself wondering why he bothered protecting the very people who rejected him.
Now is not the time for this. The torture master headed for his office to deal with the paperwork threatening to overtake his desk.
“Boss,” his aide ventured tentatively, “they caught a spy snooping around. He's prepped and waiting for you.”
“You know where I'll be.” Makoto shut his thoughts away and fixed his face into its usual slightly sadistic mask. He headed back the way he had come, hoping to finish with his new 'guest' quickly. Although I don't know why I'm in such a hurry, it's not like I have anything to go home to. With that thought reverberating in his head he opened the door to the interrogation room. He fixed the panicked man strapped into the chair with a sharp eye, sending him a smile showing way too many teeth for anyone's comfort.
“Let's get started, shall we?” he said by way of greeting, the smile never leaving his face. After a while he put his unsettled thoughts aside and relaxed into the familiar work, humming to himself even though it couldn't be heard over his victim's screams.
****
At least it's late enough that everyone should be gone, the shadow wolf concluded as he slipped into headquarters. He headed for the locker room, his only desire to scrub off the taint of his latest assignment. The last Takahashi warily checked the entire area, scanning for nearby ki, before quickly disrobing and getting into the shower.
None of this was unusual behavior for the reclusive shinobi, but tonight his reasons were different. He turned the water as hot as it would go, scrubbing his skin vigorously with a brush until it was red and raw. His agonized whimpers dissolved into anguished sobs barely hidden by the rushing water.
I am shinobi, I must master my emotions. The words kept running through Yoshi's brain, but tonight he couldn’t seem to summon his usual control. He dropped to his knees, hot water searing his back as hot tears seared his soul.
****
Makoto stood and stretched, releasing the tension that built up during his last interrogation. His most recent 'guest' had taken longer than usual to break. All he wanted was to fall into bed and sleep for eight hours. Better clean up first. His face twisted into a rueful smirk as he glanced down at his gore streaked form. He pulled out some spare clothes and headed to the locker room to clean up, anxious to spare himself the mess at home. Once inside the interrogator stripped, concluding after a quick appraisal that his clothes weren’t worth salvaging. That decided he dropped them in the incinerator bin, grabbed a towel, and headed for the showers.
His steps slowed as he approached the door. Someone inside was screaming in agony, their ki flaring wildly in response. Maybe I shouldn't go in. His hands unconsciously balled into fists as the voice rose to a broken howl. He stretched out his senses, hoping to get an idea of just who he was dealing with and why they were so out of control. He was surprised to find that, even in distress, whoever it was still managed to keep their identity hidden. Fuck it. I’m head of covert operations. I need to know if something is wrong with one of my men.
The torture master pushed the door open, peering cautiously inside. “Takahashi-san,” he yelped in surprise. He was so riveted by the hate-filled eyes that swiveled to meet his that he missed the tell-tale hand gestures Yoshi made. The white-haired shinobi simply disappeared, leaving the torture master staring at the swirl of smoke left in his wake.
Shit, shit, shit, Makoto of all people. How the hell am I supposed to hide anything from him? Yoshi reappeared in his own bathroom, still driven by the compulsion to rid himself of any evidence of his recent duties. He flipped the shower to hot and climbed inside, coating a rough sponge with antibacterial soap and scrubbing already red skin. When the hot water ran out he slumped to the shower floor, unwilling to bother moving himself any further.
“Boss, you can’t just sit there,” a stocky brown wolf argued from the doorway. “You’re bleeding, you need to take care of it.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore Pi-natsu,” Yoshi whispered. “He saw me, and once one person in the shuudan knows something, everyone does.”
“He, who, saw you, where?” the demon replied in confusion.
“Sasaki Makoto, in the showers, at headquarters.” The elite flopped onto his side and shut his eyes in an attempt to block out the world.
Pi-natsu huffed in exasperation. They weren’t playing Ninja Clue, a real answer would have been helpful. He trotted out into the bedroom, tugged a pillow off the bed and into the bathroom. He nudged snowy strands until the unresponsive man shifted his head onto the pillow before dragging a blanket over his shivering form. Calling the rest of the pack he left them standing guard while he went to look for the source of the problem.
“Hey, you, Sasaki.”
Makoto peered out his door in search of the person calling him, there weren’t many ninja who would bang on his door and then have the balls to run away.
“Down here,” the gruff voice continued. “I have a bone to pick with you.”
“Indeed,” the torture specialist rumbled as he eyed the glaring wolf in surprise, “and it is?”
“I need to know what you did to the boss. He's bleeding and he won’t take care of it. He's just lying in the bottom of the shower staring at the wall,” the demon familiar replied, worry apparent in his tone.
“Who's your boss?” Makoto asked. “I tend to have that effect on people.”
“Takahashi Yoshi. Now what did you do to him?” Pi-natsu demanded with a threatening growl.
“I didn’t do anything to Takahashi-san. I ran into him at headquarters, but we didn’t even speak. He was already upset when I got there,” Makoto defended himself. “I don’t know why you’re blaming me.”
“He said you were the reason he wasn’t getting up. I asked and he said ‘Makoto, the showers, headquarters’. You know, I don’t have a lot to work with here, a little cooperation would be appreciated,” the wolf groused.
“Why don’t I go with you and talk to him,” the interrogator suggested. “Maybe I can figure out what the problem is.” Technically Yoshi was covert ops, even if he did report directly to the Kobayashi no Shuhan, and that made him Makoto's business. Nevertheless, the torture master had a feeling his attention would not be appreciated.
The demon growled something unintelligible, and they disappeared with a pop of displaced air. Makoto's stomach twisted, his natural paranoia kicking into high gear at traveling under another's po
wer. They appeared just outside the bathroom door, the wolf carefully nosing it open to check before motioning for the interrogator to follow. “Hey, boss, I brought Sasaki-san here to straighten things out with you. Please get up.”
The shadow wolf didn’t even attempt to cover himself, much less move. “I’m fine Sasaki-san, I’m sorry Pi-natsu bothered you,” he rasped. “Thank you for humoring him.”
“He said you were bleeding,” the interrogator ventured. “I can assist you now that I’m here.”
“That won’t be necessary,” came the frosty reply. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“Capable and willing are not the same thing.” Makoto bent down and scooped up the startled nin. Yoshi panicked when hands brushed against his bare flesh and he struggled to push away from the contact.
“Don’t touch me.” He twisted himself out of the interrogator's arms, landing hard on the bathroom floor. “Please, I’ll do whatever you want.”
“It's alright,” the torture master whispered as he scooted closer, unwilling to make the mistake of underestimating the damage Yoshi could do if he so chose. He swept an appraising eye over the huddled form, stifling a growl at the sluggishly bleeding whip marks artfully cross-hatching cracked, reddened skin. “Why didn’t you go see Rin when you got back? She would have had someone treat this while you gave her your report.” The interrogator paused before continuing in a barely audible whisper. “How long did they torture you before you escaped?”
“Rin has no desire to see me like this,” the shadow wolf insisted. “You don’t understand.”
