Eternal Samurai

by B. D. Heywood

  “What was his name?”

  “Sumimasen, wakarimasen.”

  “Don’t give me that ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand’ crap. Who was he, the one who broke your heart?”

  “No one. And it is none of your business.”

  “Probably not. You hide it well but part of being a good actor is reading people. I see it in your eyes. A demon is riding you, and it ain’t just that monster you’re hunting.”

  He bridled at Galloway’s impertinence. His life back in New Mexico had nothing to do with now. “I left Santa Fe for only one reason. To kill vampires.”

  Galloway sidled over to Tatsu, leaned down almost nose-to-nose. “Bullshit, Ninja Boy.”

  Beneath the acrid smell of cordite, Tatsu caught the heady musk of male sweat with that sweet undernote that always meant arousal. Tatsu’s heart revved up. Loneliness coupled with a good dose of sexual frustration overrode any cautious message his brain was hammering at him. His look skittered from Galloway’s deep-cerulean eyes to his full lips and back. No need to wonder if Galloway was growing hard. Just as hard as Tatsu.

  Galloway sighed, shifted imperceptibly closer, placed one finger under Tatsu’s chin and lifted his head. “God, you’re so fucking pretty,” the blond breathed.

  Tatsu knew he should pull away yet his brain-cock connection screamed for that kiss. He closed his eyes and lifted his chin.

  The door to the range beeped and slid aside with a screech.

  “Shit,” Galloway muttered under his breath and stepped over to the bench. With a slight look of chagrin, he glanced at Tatsu. “Sorry, Cobb. Kinda forgot myself for a moment.”

  “Mondai nai, no problem,” Tatsu nodded, and knew it was all right between them. Also knew nothing was going to happen. For Tatsu could tell that Kaiden Galloway was plagued by his own demons.

  It had been a week since Tatsu had joined the Colony and already he felt like he’d made a mistake—two mistakes if he counted that dumb move with Galloway at the range the other night.

  Tatsu had learned a little about Tendai’s vampires but not enough. Bana was helping, in his shoot-from-the-hip way. Through some unspoken agreement, they had developed a bizarre interrogation method of any rogue vampire caught during an operation. Bana enthusiastically applied Fiona followed by Tatsu threatening with his swords. So far, their tag-team approach ended in a couple of grisly deaths but no solid information. Tatsu despaired that their system was going to take more patience than he had. And Tatsu had left patience somewhere back in Santa Fe.

  He shook off his misgivings. He’d give the Colony another couple of weeks. He owned that much loyalty to the Major. And the job did have its perks.

  With his first paycheck, he’d moved into the furnished, apartment above the dojo. It offered only the bare essentials for living, but Tatsu needed nothing more. And he liked that the bedroom had a balcony where he could admire the view while he smoked.

  Tonight, the damp chill of a pending storm caught him as he stepped out. He pulled out a pack of Canadian Kings, lit one and took a deep drag. He plucked a sliver of tobacco from the tip of his tongue, took another deep drag. But tonight the ritual failed to soothe. He leaned on the balustrade. A thin curl of cigarette smoke drifted into the air, drew his attention up to the silvery clouds scudding across the sky like the flying mane of a wild horse. Then the image of Arisada spun down his spine and straight into his prick.

  Kuso, thinking of that damn vampire was not going to help! Tatsu flicked the smoldering butt over the railing and went back inside to change. He didn’t need any cock-stirring, ball-throbbing fantasies. What he needed was some hard-assed sword practice.

  Hidden across the street, Arisada watched Tatsu lean on the balcony rail. Since he last saw the boy a week ago at the Belladonna, Arisada had fought his craving to seek him out. Centuries of yearning had defeated him. Now as he viewed the youth again, an unutterable joy filled him. For just one more taste of those tender lips, Arisada would embrace an eternity of dishonor.

  The vampire ignored the growl of the incoming storm, his eyes riveted on that slim form standing three floors above him. Arisada stared with an odd fascination when Tatsu flicked away the used butt in a shower of sparks. Saw the boy turn and leave, resolution stiffening those young shoulders. The glass door slid closed with an odd finality.

  Arisada lingered in the wet street, and stared at the cigarette’s thin paper dissolving in the puddle. Watched the tobacco swirl around and sink out of sight. His need for fukushū, for revenge, had vanished in much the same way.

  The vampire smelled the sea-salt of tears and touched his cheek. His hand came away red. Why was he crying? The boy. The boy meant everything. But what was he going to do about it?

  His gliding walk took him over the wet pavement in seconds. Silently, he entered the darkness of the dojo.

  Tatsu stood immobile, weapons held precisely apart to inflict the most damage on multiple attackers. He focused on his tanden, seeking that emptiness known as ku, that place needed before facing mortal combat. He was unable to find it.

  The simplicity of executing every kata with precision and purpose usually drove all other thought from Tatsu’s mind. His spirit vibrated on a higher plane dictated by the needs of the art of the sword.

  Yet, since he’d met Arisada, an undeniable anticipation had tempered his concentration. Couldn’t have anything to do with the hope of seeing the vampire once again? Or the thick pulse throbbing in his loins at the memory of that braid whipping in the air or smoky tones of the vampire’s voice? Or the feel of that kiss burning across his lips every time he thought about it?

  Just when Tatsu decided, tonight like every night, Arisada was never going to appear, the vampire stepped into the shiaijo. As before, he held his sword in the position of neutrality. Dressed in a white hakama and keiko-gi with a scarlet obi, Arisada bowed deeply from the waist.

  “You have been hoping I’d return.” Arisada didn’t wait for a reply but selected an iaito then stepped before the mat and bowed. “You are a superb fighter. Would you agree to tachiuchi.” The challenge glittered in his golden eyes.

  Tatsu gritted his teeth at the arrogance of the vampire’s statement and at its truth. All consideration of his information-getting plan submerged beneath that ineffable sense of connection filled Tatsu. Perhaps because Saito Arisada was a Master swordsman, perhaps a Sword Saint. Face the vampire, defeat him, demand answers. Then maybe kill him. Hell, the opportunity was too much to refuse.

  “We fight with real swords?” Tatsu knew the vampire was talking about live steel, the blades only allowed to kiss the opponent yet still offer the threat of a cut. The control and skill of both fighters would be a supreme test for both of them. Tatsu also knew Arisada would not temper his strikes out of any foolish regard that Tatsu was simply human.

  “You may use two swords if you prefer, Cobb-san.” Arisada’s mouth twitched in a ghost of a smile. His breath caught at the excitement in those stunning emerald eyes, the surprising dusting of pink across the tops of the youth’s cheeks.

  “Iie, one will suffice.” Tatsu bobbed his head. He took his katana and moved onto the mat.

  “Perhaps, we should place a wager on the outcome. If I lose, I will answer your questions. If I win, I claim only an honorable favor, neh Cobb-san?” Arisada suggested.

  “Watashi wa anata no chōsen o ukeireru” Tatsu accepted the challenge. This was what he wanted, a strategy to force the truth from the vampire. “Be prepared to lose.” Tatsu had no doubt honor would dictate that the vampire answer Tatsu’s questions with complete honesty.

  “Your confidence is delightful, Cobb-san. Perhaps my curiosity about your request will slow my hand. Make me careless.”

  The seductive note in that warm baritone sent shivers rippling down Tatsu’s spine. Shivers that had nothing to do with vengeance and everything to do with a deep throb in his prick. “Perhaps I will surprise you with what I want.” He heard the playful tone in his reply. Kuso, was he flirti
ng with the vampire now? Embarrassed, he coughed to cover up the thought. He caught Arisada’s slight smile. A smile that said the vampire was enjoying his effect on Tatsu’s libido.

  “First to draw blood, Saito-sensei.”

  “Wakatta, of course.”

  They crouched on the mat for a moment. A flicker of understanding rippled between them before they signaled their readiness by loosening their katanas an inch from the scabbard. As one, they sprang to their feet and drew their swords. Tatsu raised his above his head in the jodan position. The vampire mirrored his pose. Air whistled. Their swords descended and met with a loud ring.

  Tatsu fought as if his life depended on the outcome of this match. As perhaps it did. His body hummed with exhilaration as he met every move of Arisada’s blade. Sweat formed a fine sheen over his skin and plastered his hair to his face. But the longer they sparred, the more his uncertainty grew. Why the hell was he observing the rules of shinkendo? Why did he not simply kill this creature? Yet, he knew why. He wanted to feel that beautiful seductive dance of the swords between them again.

  Arisada never allowed it. The vampire pressed hard and long, gave no quarter even as he admired Tatsu’s instinctive mastery of the sword.

  But the seductive note in that warm baritone sent shivers rippling down Tatsu’s spine. Shivers that had nothing to do with vengeance and everything to do with a deep throb in his prick.

  Step, strike, balance, defend, spin, attack. Every muscle ached. His breath came in shorter and shorter gasps. The katana’s weight increased with each cut. Knowing his human body could not outlast the endurance of a vampire, Tatsu delved deep within his determination, drew upon every last measure of strength. He lost track of time.

  Arisada did not. He sensed dawn was minutes away. His concentration wavered for a split second. Tatsu saw it and drove into the offense in one last desperate effort. He shifted his weight forward and caught the vampire’s katana just front of its square tsuba. With an unorthodox twist, Tatsu flipped the sword from Arisada’s fingers and sent it spinning into the air.

  Faster than any human, Arisada leaped up, grabbed the blade and slashed it diagonally downward toward the floor. Tatsu jerked his exposed foot away and faded to the side. He swept his sword in a counter cut. The katana met with a ring, slid together in a whispered glide, parted. Arisada’s continued its descent as Tatsu dropped to one knee and whipped his sword into jodansuki, an uppercut toward Arisada’s exposed arm. The tip caressed the cloth of the keiko-gi, cutting the garment and revealing the skin beneath, smooth and untouched. Tatsu savored a flash of triumph.

  Arisada stepped back, moved his sword in a salute, signaling the end of the fight. “I believe I have won.” He pointed his blade tip toward the mat. “Look at your foot.”

  Tatsu stared down in disbelief at the minute drop of crimson on his bare ankle. He had not felt the cut. “What happened to not taking unfair advantage?” Admiration coupled with a surge of disappointment caught him by surprise.

  “My sweet boy, your lesson for tonight is who needed to win the most. I couldn’t resist. I want my prize more than you.” Arisada snapped his katana into its saya. A second later, he stood before Tatsu, so close they were chest to chest.

  Tatsu breathed in the heady scent of the kyūketsuki’s body—the rich male tang, musky, a faint copper note. Shimatta, he had to be crazy. Arisada smelled so good. That scent sent a surge of arousal throughout his body, boiling his blood with need. Some instinct—or maybe it was his own need—told him what the vampire offered.

  Fakku. He needed to kiss this gorgeous creature and all else be damned. Tatsu lowered his head a fraction and was met with the sweet press of Arisada’s closed mouth, a kiss all the more arousing for its tender restraint. His hand found that thick braid, silky soft, flowing beneath his fingertips as if it had life of its own. He stroked down its satiny, knotted length, his hand gripping it like a cock. Heard a moan escape Arisada. Then, the delicious touch of those lips left Tatsu. A slight breeze and the vampire was gone.

  “Hey, boyo, get your fekkin’ head outa your ass.” Bana’s yell reverberated through the cab of the Humvee. Tires squealed as Tatsu wrenched the truck’s steering wheel but was unable to miss sideswiping a rusted car parked in the narrow street. The screech of metal against metal drowned Bana’s next string of profanity.

  Jigoku, why the hell had he insisted on driving back to the Leper Colony after the operation tonight? Maybe because Bana drove with such recklessness, Tatsu often thought they would survive any combat assignment only to die in a tangled wreck of metal and engine parts.

  This time, it was Tatsu in a godawful hurry. Before they left, the Major had announced the erratic DataStream was once again operable. At last, Tatsu could search worldwide for information on Seattle’s vampire clan. He told himself he needed every scrap of intel for his quest. In reality, he knew he wanted to know everything about Saito Arisada. Because … well … he couldn’t get his mind off the beautiful kyūketsuki.

  The creature’s golden, almond-shaped eyes were so full of an undefined promise. Visions of that sensual smile played constantly at the edges of Cobb’s mind. His brain would not shut out the feel of the vampire’s soft, kissable mouth.

  These thoughts about the flame-haired vampire were driving Tatsu kuruu. And being crazy put his team at risk. While on assignment two nights ago, a small pack of vampires jumped them. If not for Passebon’s incredible reflexes and that crossbow of his, Tatsu would be dead.

  Bana grumbled at him some more back at the Colony as they wrote their reports. “Dunno what’s got inta yer head, boyo, but you’d better get back in the game before you get us both killed.” The Irishman flung the warning at Tatsu before he stomped out the door.

  Dammit, Bana was right, yet Tatsu dismissed his partner’s words the instant he punched the keyboard of the Colony’s computer. Even knowing the DataStream was a mishmash of corrupt information, Tatsu hunted through the so-called global service with a ruthless obsession. It took several hours to scroll through hundreds of pages that amounted to a Vampire 101 course. long lists of the names of those killed during Japan’s KyūKetsuki Pogroms. Tatsu knew the records could not be complete. More than any other nationality, Japanese vampires were masters of subterfuge, able to remain hidden much like ancient Ninjas.

  He dug out any bit of information—fact, fiction, rumor, myth, he didn’t care—on Saito Arisada. Many powerful vampires were open about their histories since the virus outed them. Not Arisada. The sparse data described the crimson-haired vampire as Japanese—Tatsu knew that—of an ancient noble family from the Echigo Province—that was a surprise. Now, second-in-command of the Tendai Clan. Knew that too. Flagged him as extremely dangerous—no shit! Nothing more.

  You’re a secretive kono yarou, Tatsu sneered. Secretive but fucking hot, the horny part of his brain fired back.

  Research on Ukita Sadomori yielded two pages in kanji from a Japanese history book about the Ukita family line annihilated a thousand years ago. A dozen hysterical newspaper articles the year Sadomori took over Seattle’s vampires. Headline news about the decapitation of the three government negotiators. Several graphic photos of the bodies. A long psychoanalysis treatise from some professor in Rostock University that postulated Ukita Sadomori was no ordinary vampire. As if there was such a thing as an “ordinary” vampire. The article stated Ukita had an antisocial personality, was definitely a sadist, a torturer and mass murderer. It concluded with the hypothesis that some of the more despotic rulers throughout history were really Ukita.

  No mention of a Koji Nowaki.

  Tatsu shut off the computer, leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette. Considered his strategy. His instinct cried out that the killer was among this city’s vampire population. And Sadomori and Arisada topped the list of probables.

  Fucking kyūketsuki. Why didn’t he kill Saito Arisada the minute he revealed his nature? Was it Arisada’s quiet demeanor, his calm, sincere voice, those serene golden eyes? Or hi
s stunning beauty that could not hide the spirit of a samurai that dwelled within.

  Perhaps, this idea to force information from Arisada was foolish. At times, Tatsu felt baka, stupid, for even thinking of it. If Saito Arisada was not the killer, the fucking red-haired vampire must know who was. Next time Arisada showed his face, Tatsu would show no mercy. He’d bleed the answers out of him. He’d enjoy seeing those freakish gold eyes fill with fear when the vampire realized he was about to die.

  But the pulse of heat in Tatsu’s groin said he craved something else. Against all reason, against all sanity, against all honor, Tatsu’s body wanted that beautiful creature pressing hot and hard and shuddering with desire against him.

  He re-created every detail of that moment the vampire kissed him. Warmth coiled through his balls and his cock. He rubbed the bulge crowding his pants, was tempted to jack off right there.

  Then shame engulfed him. How could he think of Arisada with anything less than loathing? He told himself he was angry for losing the fight, at being kissed against his will by his enemy. He knew he was lying. True, Arisada had kissed him. But he’d had wanted it.

  Two weeks after that kiss, Tatsu’s flagging patience was rewarded. The moment Arisada entered the dojo, Tatsu fired a salvo of angry questions. “Why do you keep coming here? Who the fuck is this Koji Nowaki? What’s he got to do with me?”

  “I’ll answer all your questions on one condition.” Arisada’s eyes glittered, the pupils large.

  “What condition?” Tatsu noted the vampire did not place his katana near the door. Instead, it rested on Arisada’s left hip, the combat side.

  “Tachiuchi? Our own weapons. Again, whoever draws first blood wins. If I lose, I will do as you wish. If I win, I want something from you, neh Cobb-san?” Arisada intended to make Tatsu promise to leave the city immediately, to give up his quest for fukushū.