Eternal Samurai

by B. D. Heywood

  Tatsu sagged against the vampire, and let Arisada guide him on rubbery legs to a building. He slid down the wall, landed on his butt on the cold pavement.

  “Do not move, koibito. You are bleeding heavily.”

  “Leave me alone,” Tatsu groaned. Waves of nausea roiled through him. He peered up at the blurry figure crouched in front. Arisada’s voice was distant, as if muted by the fog.

  The vampire ignored the plea. He opened Tatsu’s jacket and probed his wound. His hunger flared in response to the sweet, copper smell. His fangs appeared so fast they almost tore his lips. Worse, was the nearly blinding lust to possess this boy, to bare that tender ass and bury his cock in it. Arisada felt disgust at his reaction.

  “Your jacket kept the knife from going deeper. You’ll live.” The vampire’s voice turned cold, but the backs of his fingers brushed warmth down Tatsu’s cheek.

  “Wait, don’t …, Kudesai. Please. Don’t go, must talk.…” Tatsu leaned into the haunting warmth from those fingers. Shouts approached; the words distorted and full of alarm. Another brief caress over his face. Then nothing but the chilly night air. He opened his mouth to call out but the world swam away.

  “You can talk to him now.” Tatsu heard a muffled voice followed by the sound of a curtain drawn aside. His mouth was as dry as a desert sandstorm. He opened his eyes, vision gradually sharpening until shapes and light became distinct. He recognized the Colony’s infirmary. His stomach, encased in a tight bandage, hurt like hell. His wrist throbbed with a dull, insistent ache underneath a cast. The room spun for a crazy moment as he pushed himself upright in the bed.

  Wyckes, brows knitted in a doctorly frown, hovered over him. The Major and Cooperhayes stood at the foot of his bed. Fornax, arms folded, lounged against the far wall. His inscrutable stare fixed on Tatsu.

  “Bana?” Tatsu croaked, swallowed and asked again.

  “Take it easy, Cobb. You have a hole in your side and a fractured wrist. Lost a lot of blood. Nothing serious. Be grateful for your Leper constitution. A normal human would be dead. You’ll only be sidelined for a week.” Wyckes handed Tatsu a glass and a couple of pills. Tatsu gulped the water; shook his head at the pills.

  “Mr. Cobb, I’d like your report on the events of forty-eight hours ago,” the Major ordered.

  Kuso, he’d been unconscious for two days. Tatsu averted his face and fiddled with the cast around his wrist as he sought for a convincing explanation. In the clipped words required of a military debriefing, he reported the events of that horrific night. Steeling his expression against the lie, he claimed Bana’s erratic shooting killed most of the pack. Perhaps some of them ran off, he was fuzzy on that part. He omitted that part about how a vampire, Saito Arisada, had saved his life. Relief washed through him when the Major nodded his acceptance of the story.

  “What will happen to Bana?” Tatsu could not accept his partner was no longer human.

  “Bana is fortunate. Tendai’s border is only a kilometer from where he turned,” Fornax stepped closer to Tatsu’s bed, looked down at the pale boy.

  Tatsu winced at the word turned. “How can you say he is fortunate? He’s a vampire for fuck’s sake, a bloodsucker like you.” Tatsu glared at Fornax.

  “Mr. Cobb, stand down. Fornax is here to help Mr. Murtagh, if possible. But have no doubt there is no cure, no coming back from the change.” The sorrow in the Major’s voice confirmed the worst: Bana was now the enemy.

  “We don’t know why the virus activates in Lepers. The change occurs without warning; the physical transformation is often within a few hours. It is the reason people fear V-negs almost as much as bloodsuckers.” Wyckes’ face reflected a mix of sorrow and frustration. He’d been researching a cure for the Leper disease for years. So far, found nothing. And another of their own was lost.

  “Major, how can we help him?” There was no way Tatsu was going to lose another person he cared about. “He is … was my partner. We just cannot leave him out there.” He threw off the covers and climbed naked out of the bed. Stood on wobbly legs and struggled to pull on his shirt with one arm. Wyckes clucked once at the boy’s stubborn efforts then insisted on dressing him.

  “Either he will adapt or he will die. The newly turned are usually nothing more than ravenous animals. There is no predicting how long this adjustment phase lasts. At least Bana retained enough of his human sense to recognize you. It sounds like at some point he tried to protect you during the fight,” the vampire said.

  “Hai, he did.” Bana had certainly acted human, a least for a few minutes, when he fired at the pack. “So now we go fetch him, neh?”

  “Fukanō, impossible Cobb-san. You know this.” Fornax visibly curbed his anger. “There is nothing we can do. By now, Bana has fed several times and is no doubt inside Tendai. Ukita Sadomori always knows when new kyūketsuki arrive. He might ignore Bana for a while. But if he discovers he was a hunter, the Daimyō will torture him into revealing all he knows about the Colony. Then he will send Bana against us. Would any of us trust Murtagh if he returns?”

  The finality of Fornax’s words sent cold shivers down Tatsu’s spine. But the Major trusts you and you’re a bloodsucker, Tatsu wanted to argue. He held his tongue not knowing why Fornax worked for the Leper Colony. Whatever the reason, it had to be profound. Fornax had been kyūketsuki for four-hundred years.

  Tatsu thought of Arisada clinging to his honor and his faith even as his human side was ripped from him. Arisada walked between the two worlds, loving a human—yeah him, Tatsu Cobb, the very confused human—yet owing allegiance to the monster Ukita Sadomori.

  Fornax touched Tatsu on the shoulder in an uncharacteristic gesture of comfort. Tatsu flinched away. The vampire stepped back. “I will speak with him. Perhaps he will respond to me although I am not his Seisakusha.”

  “What does you not being his Seisakusha have to do with it?”

  A look of reluctance crossed Fornix’s face. “There is a blood bond between every vampire and their creator, their Seisakusha. Some like to think it is mystical. In truth, it is merely DNA recognizing itself in another. The bond often results in a dominant/submissive relationship. Sometimes it can become something more.”

  “Did that happen to you?” Tatsu asked.

  “Not really. My real name is Fukashima Hideo. I was a hasebe, a potter, living in a village near Nagasaki during the time of Tokugawa shogunate.”

  “You don’t look Japanese.” Tatsu was surprised by the vampire’s origin.

  “I take after my father, a Portuguese sailor from a trading ship that came to Nipon in 1598. I never knew him. I was barely in my twenties, when the army conscripted me into the Shogun’s army as ashigaru. The life expectancy of a foot soldier was very short. I was mortally wounded at the Battle of Nagashino. Battles always draw kyūketsuki who feed off the wounded. I was bitten and left for dead. My mother found me and hid me from the army. She cared for me. When I emerged from the coma, I was an animal. Her blood was my first meal. A week later, my Seisakusha found me, and at great risk, protected me. I gave him my loyalty and my love.”

  Tatsu shuddered at the clinical way the vampire told his story. “Who was your creator?” A cold dead crawled into his gut. Why did he already know the answer?

  “Saito Arisada.” Fornax saw the momentary flash of anger in Tatsu’s eyes.

  The intense jealousy took Tatsu by surprise. Fornax was bound to Arisada! Had the two been lovers? Were they lovers now? The thought was unbearable. He hid the roiling emotion behind a wince of pain yet knew he had not deceived Fornax. “Why are you with the Leper Colony now Fukashima-san?”

  “I prefer the name Fornax. My reasons for joining the Colony are none of your concern. Just know that we fight on the same side. Even though I am Saito-san’s Primary, I do not answer to the Daimyō.”

  “Tell me, Fukashima-san,” Tatsu deliberately reiterated Fornax’s Japanese name. “Do you know if Ukita Sadomori has scars across his back?”

  Fornax recognized Tatsu’s p
loy in reminding him of the honor of a man of Japan. “Ukita is covered by tattoos, almost head to foot. If there are any scars on his body, I do not know of them.” He exited the room, cutting off any further questions.

  “Mr. Cobb for the next week, you are on medical restriction. Until Dr. Wyckes clears you, you will assist Mr. Cooperhayes. Your motorcycle will remain locked in the motor pool. Under no circumstances are you to look for Mr. Murtagh. That is a direct order. Are we clear?” the Major said.

  “Wakatta.” Tatsu gave the Englishman a shaky nod. He knew the Major was right. What if Bana attacked him? No matter. He felt certain if he reasoned with the man—the vampire—he could talk Bana back to their side. Maybe if he could find Arisada, the vampire would help. If he could find him.

  .

  Fourteen

  Tatsu flexed his wrist, marveling how in only eight days it had healed enough for him to ride his bike. His ribs still hurt but no sign of a scar. Being a Leper had its benefits, he mused as he wheeled the Drifter into the street.

  Movement on the edge of his vision caught his eye. Moonlit clouds created eerie shadows around the figure lounging against a silver car. Tatsu dropped the bike onto its kickstand, and reached over his shoulder. Before his hand touched his katana, Arisada stood before him.

  “Konbawa, Cobb-san. Watashitachi hanaseru? May I speak with you?”

  “Konbawa, Saito-san.” Tatsu fell into the formal speech, curbing his impatience. He could count the number of days since he last saw the flame-haired vampire. Eight. Almost the same number of days he’d jacked off while fantasizing about Arisada’s lips, his mouth, his tongue.

  Inadvertently, Tatsu licked his lips in a primal gesture as his gaze swept Arisada’s body. Tatsu’s heart thundered its way up his throat. His body warmed all over, balls, ass, cock, nipples, armpits. All over.

  “I have been trying to reach you. Where have you been?” Tatsu flushed at the rudeness of his question.

  The corners of Arisada’s mouth quirked up. “You’ve missed me?” He countered to evade Tatsu’s question. He had fought his desire to see the boy, fought it and lost. Arisada was as trapped by his own needs as much as any human caught within a vampire’s thrall. Now standing next to the one he adored, his blood boiled, filling him with a throbbing want.

  “Iie, no, I haven’t missed you. I need your help.” Tatsu snapped. Followed immediately by a bob of an apologetic bow. “Sumimasen, I’m sorry. Forgive my lack of manners.”

  Arisada repressed a smile. Tatsu’s rude speech then apologetic nod was so endearingly like Nowaki. But Arisada needed to feed. It had been five days, and he was ravenous. “Perhaps we can meet later?”

  Tatsu knew he heard more in that simple invitation. A powerful rush flooded his body. He hardened with a speed he never experienced. Mounted the bike to hide his erection. “Tell me where and when,” he stuttered.

  The sight of the boy’s tight, muscled buttocks—deliciously outlined by leather chaps—settle on the motorcycle seat seriously threatened Arisada’s restraint. He wanted to take him right then, right there.

  The vampire moved to the Drifter’s handlebars and dropped his slim fingers over those on the clutch lever. Excitement raced through him at the slight tremor in those fingers beneath his.

  “Are you familiar with Kuboto Garden?”

  At the that touch, Tatsu’s heart revved insanely up into the red zone. He knew Arisada heard it. Sexual energy crackled between them, wild and undeniable. One glance down at the prominent bulge in the vampire’s crotch confirmed it.

  “Haven’t exactly had time for sightseeing,” Tatsu muttered trying to mask the heat thrumming along every nerve.

  “Dozo, give me your cell.” Arisada held out his slim hand.

  Unthinking, Tatsu, handed over the instrument.

  The vampire tapped the keys. “This is my number.”

  “What, vampires have cell phones?” Tatsu blurted, fascinated by the graceful movements of those fingers.

  “Phones, computers, cars, everything except a dental plan,” Arisada smiled at the incredulous look on the youth’s face. “Please, call me after you finish work. I will give you directions.” He handed the instrument back with a bow, pulled on a pair of leather driving gloves and turned back to his car. In the act of opening the door, Arisada looked back at Tatsu. A sliver of moonlight cut through the clouds. It limned Arisada’s loose mane, turning it into living flame.

  Tatsu forgot to breath at Arisada’s sheer beauty. Driven by unaccustomed impulse, he lifted his cell and snapped a photo. He figured the Colony should have it for its files. Ah, who was he kidding? He wanted the image of the vampire for himself.

  He stared at the sleek car pulling into the street. “The bloodsucker drives an Audi, go figure,” he muttered as he fired up the bike.

  Tatsu’s discipline was pretty ragged by the end of the night. Many times he had to force his attention back to the dull duty of guarding a warehouse. He could not keep his mind off the movement of Arisada’s elegant fingers, picturing them touching his body, caressing his nipples, wrapped around his prick.

  Tatsu turned down the usual post-work breakfast invitation. He flipped off Phoenix who had made a pathetic Bana-style joke about “Ninja Boy going for a piece of ass.” As Tatsu roared out of the motorpool, he wondered if that was what he was doing—going for a piece of vampire ass.

  A mile from the Leper Colony, Tatsu halted the bike. Kuso, he must be crazy even to think of fucking Arisada. His traitorous dick, pressing hard against the zipper of his pants, said he wasn’t crazy enough. With quick, no-turning-back-now jabs, he dialed Arisada’s number, then almost ended the call halfway through the first ring. The vampire answered at that moment.

  The Audi sat alone near the entrance to the Garden, Tatsu parked his bike a couple of feet from the silver car, and sat for a while surveilling the area. The only movement was the wind stirring the leaves of the surrounding trees. Sensing no threat, he lit a cigarette, leaned his ass against the bike, and tried to figure out why the fuck he was here. Sure, he hoped Arisada would reveal the identity of the scarred vampire. But that was part bullshit.

  He looked down at his new leather pants. They were tight in all the right places, outlining the bulge at his crotch, molding the hard lines of his thigh muscle, hugging his ass. Left no doubt he was cruising for the vampire.

  “Dammit, I’m totally baka,” he murmured. He ground the cigarette beneath a hard twist of his boot. Against all reason, he trusted Arisada. Trusted him and wanted him. Still, with a soft hiss, he drew the katana. There was trust and there was stupidity.

  Slipping from shadow to shadow, Tatsu moved under the wooden archways of the entrance that resembled the Shitennoji Temple in Nagasaki. The Garden reminded Tatsu of the popular Tsukiyama or hill-garden landscaping so popular in his hometown. Its small hills and circular paths meandered among massive trees and groomed foliage.

  He moved into the deep stillness, treading avoiding the gravel path, using the damp grass to muffle the crunch of his footfalls. Tranquility stole over him. His naked blade seemed an affront to the peace of the tiny park.

  Tatsu lingered at a Shinto shrine, brushed his fingers over the cold stone, felt a moment’s guilt that he had nothing to offer. The sound of running water guided him to the spot where Arisada said to meet. He paused several feet from the wooden Japanese bridge arching across the stream.

  He sensed the vampire seconds before the figure materialized from the mist. The vampire had discarded his trench coat. His black sweater and tight pants molded his compact, hard body, accentuated his narrow waist and the lines of slim, athletic legs. Part of his hair was knotted samurai-style on the crown of his head. The rest flowed in burnished lengths over his shoulders.

  Breath blasted from between Tatsu’s parted lips. Shimatta, nothing should look that sexy. His fingers tingled with the urge to comb through that silken mass.

  “Domo arigatō, Cobb-san. I am honored you chose to meet me here.” Arisada b
owed. Such formality when he really wanted to blurt out every expression of a love he’d suppressed for eons.

  He gave Tatsu a slow heated look, drawing his eyes up those long legs encased by supple, black leather. He made a point to linger on that prominent bulge of sex at the groin. Let Tatsu know he liked what he saw.

  “Why here?” Thrown by the desire vibrating between them, Tatsu abandoned any show of politeness.

  “I find tranquility and peace here. The Garden exists only because of the monumental effort of the Asian people living nearby. Although this place is a mere echo of home, an echo is all most of us have.”

  The vampire’s nostrils flared. “The sakura are blooming but not for much longer. Their blossoms are so delicate, their beauty so fleeting.” He plucked a handful of pale petals then cast them free, watching them drift from his fingers. Without another word, he walked to the center of the arched bridge and stared down at the tumbling water. Tatsu moved beside him.

  “People say this bridge represents the difficulty of living an honorable life; hard to walk up and hard to walk down. Do you believe that?” Arisada murmured almost to himself as he stroked the worn, red wood of the railing. Without waiting for Tatsu’s reply, the vampire crossed to the other side of the bridge. He turned north deeper into the garden.

  “Where are we going?” Tatsu demanded before realizing he was ogling the play of muscles of the vampire’s ass. “Jigoku, I’m nuts,” he muttered. Still, he could not tear his gaze from those rounded, compact glutes as they bunched under the linen of the immaculately tailored trousers.

  The vampire smiled as he heard Tatsu’s self-admonition. He knew exactly where the youth was looking. Within a few strides, they were walking side-by-side. Arisada felt the emotional conflict radiating from Tatsu’s body, the almost imperceptible catch in the boy’s breathing. Tatsu’s lust was at war with his hate. Arisada wondered which would win.

  The burbling of the stream faded as they entered a copse of Cyprus trees. The mist left shimmering droplets on the leaves. Large stones stood in stark relief to the lushness of the verdant landscape. Just then, the fog thickened, enveloping them in an ethereal cloak. The real world melted away.