Eternal Samurai

by B. D. Heywood

  “I always heal fast.” He recalled a Santa Fe emergency room doctor making remarks like “unnatural” and “inhuman” after Tatsu recovered from a severe beating at school. He remembered it was one more difference that added to his shame.

  “Your combat clothes are truly remarkable. I have no doubt they saved your life, prevented you from being severely burned.”

  No, you saved me from being burned, the thought filled Tatsu with a rush of gratitude. He wrapped his arms around his chest and stared at the vampire’s implacable face.

  “, sō desu ka, regardless of the reason, I thank the Buddha that you survived.” Arisada brought the soup to the table, returned to the kitchen for the food.

  An unexpected tenderness filled Tatsu, quickly chased by an embarrassment that warmed the tips of his ears. He looked away, fighting the need to blurt out his feeling. “So this is your home? Don’t you think a traditional Japanese house would be a bit obvious?”

  “Only the interior is Japanese. The exterior resembles a brick ranch, boarded up and long abandoned. It is quite safe.”

  “Yeah, safe all right. How the hell do you get out of here? Fly through the roof?

  Unexpected laughter spilled from Arisada’s beautiful mouth. “Mochiron. Of course, I am a vampire after all. Rest assured, the only entrances are very well hidden.”

  “And you did this yourself?”

  “I had help. The original home was designed around an indoor swimming pool. I simply rearranged everything with a little modification. The house is lightproof and impregnable.”

  “Huh, some modification. How can you keep this place a secret from your own Master?”

  “We are not all fanatical followers of the Daimyō’s path. There are a few trusted kyūketsuki who keep my secrets as I do theirs.” In fact, stirrings of rebellion rippled among the Tendai Clan. Many were tired of Sadomori’s pathological hatred, his sadistic torture of kyūketsuki and humans alike. A revolution threatened.

  Arisada pushed those thoughts aside as he placed plates of steaming oyako donburi on the table. “Please, eat, you need the nourishment.”

  Tatsu, overwhelmed by a strange comfort, dove into the meal. It was wonderful. He hadn’t eaten food like this since he left Japan. “I thought vampires didn’t eat real … er.… human food.”

  “It won’t sustain us but old habits die hard. I like the ritual of the meal, neh?”

  Tatsu finished the soup and, dug into the steaming rice dish. After a few minutes silence, lowered his half-empty bowl. “Why did Sadomori steal the virus? Makes no sense.”

  The vampire poured them each a cup of tea before replying. “I am certain he plans to use it as a biological weapon. Create a vast army.”

  “An army for what?”

  “To rule. He is a sociopath. Until he has complete power over this area, he will not rest. Over the centuries, he has succeeded many times.”

  “Jigoku. I’ve got to let the Major know.”

  “Fornax has informed him.”

  Fornax. Arisada’s Primary. Jealousy pricked Tatsu. He glared at Arisada. “So, how much danger are you in?” he asked over the bowl held beneath his lips.

  “Sadomori is hunting me as well as everyone in your company. But you already know, I will never regret my choice.”

  Tatsu recalled that moment when he saw Arisada’s back ravage by hideous burns. All resistance dissolved in a whirlwind of love—a tumultuous, never-letting-go love, so different from the quiet certainty of his feelings for Sage.

  He shoveled the last of the dish into his mouth. “Gomen nasai for the food.” He lowered the empty bowl, aligning the chopsticks precisely across the rim to distract himself.

  The vampire cleared the table then brought a flask of sake and two tiny cups from the low sideboard. “This may help you relax. Your injuries were severe.”

  “Not as bad as yours. I saw your back. The tattoo…” In distress, Tatsu’s voice trialed off.

  “It is no matter. You wear a tattoo also. Tell me about it.” Please, let the reason behind the design be superficial, a mere youthful fancy, he silently prayed.

  “It is the mons of my family, the Kurosakis. Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious. It is an unusual design.” He hid his shock. Tatsu was Kurosaki. Never would Arisada would reveal his knowledge of Sadomori’s centuries-long vendetta against that house. To avoid further questions, Arisada rose and left the room. When he returned, he handed Tatsu three objects. “Your harness, wakizashi and tanto. I regret there was no time to find your katana. Your clothing is in the bedroom closet.”

  Tatsu smoothed unsure fingers over the worn leather. Sadness from the loss of his katana thickened in his throat. “Domo arigatō gozaimasu, Saito-san.” He stood and began to bow. The room swirled around him. His knees buckled.

  The warmth and strength of Arisada’s arms enfolded him. The vampire guided him back to his room, helped him ease onto the bed. Before the blackness rolled over him, lips brush his forehead. Heard a whispered, “Daisuki, Tatsu-kun.”

  Fourteen hours later, Tatsu stood beneath a hot shower marveling how good his body felt. He flexed his arms, stretched his legs. Slid his hands down his soap-slicked chest to his belly. No signs of injuries. No scars either. When he stepped out naked and wet, an unmistakable sex-filled murmur of appreciation startled him.

  “I forgot these last night.” Arisada held out fresh towels.

  “Bullshit, you just want to check out my ass.” Tatsu tried to snap as his skin warmed all over.

  “Tatsu-kun, I have been checking out your ass and the rest of you for nearly a week. I am happy to say that it and other parts of you grow healthier every day.”

  A slight stir in the air and Arisada stood behind Tatsu. He settled a fluffy towel over Tatsu’s shoulders. “You missed a spot of soap,” the vampire murmured with a gentle caress of fabric. Arisada smiled at the flurry of goose bumps popping out over the youth’s honey-colored skin. “Let me dry you.”

  Before Tatsu could protest, the plush towel moved over his back, down his spine, over his buttocks, his thighs. Want took charge of a brain that begged for the vampire’s touch on his bare skin. With a sudden and painful urgency, his cock filled, jutting outward, the head shiny with drops of precum. Fakku, in another second he would turn and shove his dick between the vampire’s thighs.

  Arisada peered over that shoulder down the planes of the torso to the hard prick, visibly bouncing with every pounding heartbeat. How he ached to slide his hands around those sharp hipbones, comb his fingers through those curling pubes, take that hot pillar of flesh.

  Fakku, Arisada’s cock screamed for him to bend Tatsu over the sink, spread his buttcheeks and core him hard and fast. Dangerous, too dangerous. Hissing with sheer frustration, the vampire’s hands stilled.

  Tatsu felt Arisada withdraw. The mood that promised such possibilities had suddenly evaporated. Confused, Tatsu snatched the towel, twisted it around his waist and spun to face the vampire.

  “Domo arigatō, I can dry myself.” Arousal edged his voice high. He blushed at his hard-on tenting the fabric.

  “Very well. I’ll leave,” a slight note of petulance in Arisada’s voice. The folds of his silk yukata provided no cover for his erection. Arisada backed further away before Tatsu’s ineffective glare. He asked Tatsu to join him in the chashitsu for tea and breakfast. Muttering something about a cold shower and clothing with belts and zippers, Arisada fled.

  “Breakfast? Rather have you,” Tatsu mumbled.

  Half an hour later, they knelt on the cushions around the chashitsu. Arisada stirred the tea before setting food before Tatsu. He yearned to lean across the small table, place one finger below Tatsu’s chin, tilt his face up and kiss him. Settled for a compliment instead. “You look stunning in that yukata.”

  “Stop looking at me like I am a girl,” Tatsu barked as pink dusted his cheeks.

  The vampire’s mouth quirked upward. “Believe me, Tatsukun, if you were a girl, I would not loo
k at you at all.”

  “Whatever,” Tatsu tried to sound disgruntled but it came off badly. “Have you always liked men?” he asked even as he yelled at his brain to “stop with the horny pictures.”

  A look of amusement lightened Arisada’s countenance. “Yes. Women are charming and delightful. But sexually, they never interest me.”

  “Anyone else besides this Nowaki?” That he asked such a blunt question surprised him. Yet, he was desperate to know.

  “Hai, I have shared my bed with dozens of others, but only truly loved the one,” the kyūketsuki replied. “And he is you.”

  “Pretty convenient that I like men.” Tatsu forced indifference into his voice. Knew he failed. He didn’t have butterflies in his stomach; he had bats that flapped like mad each time he looked at the gorgeous creature before him.

  “Convenience has nothing to do with it. You are the choice of Nowaki’s tamashii.”

  “So, you are saying I’m your type?” Tatsu smiled knowing the effect his dimples would have on the vampire—hell on most gay men. What was he doing, flirting with a vampire over coffee? No, he was flirting with a vampire that he was in love with over coffee. The whole thing was fucking insane.

  He knew as much as he needed to report to his superior, he did not want this time with Arisada to end. Thinking about that exquisite moment in Kuboto Garden when Arisada’s mouth first enveloped his cock sent a slow burn from ass through his balls to the throbbing tip of his now hard dick. Kuso, he wanted that mouth on him again—like right now.

  “Don’t suppose you’ve got a cigarette?” He managed another smile.

  That smile disarmed Arisada. His eyes took on a lambent glow. He needed to remove himself from the temptation of the boy’s aroused body. “No, sorry, I don’t smoke. However, I have something to show you. Please, follow me.”

  Arisada rose and led them through the garden to the shoin. At the rack of weapons, Arisada selected a kotagiri, a sword longer and more curved than a traditional katana. Reverence marked his face as he unsheathed the blade. Candlelight sparked off the steel.

  “This was crafted nearly six centuries ago. It is my personal weapon superior only to the one I lost in the battle at Miidera.” He bowed to the sword, sheathed it and placed it back in the bamboo rack. With a small frown, Arisada looked over the others. Then he handed Tatsu a simple, yet elegant katana in a black, lacquered saya.

  The weapon fitted Tatsu’s hands as if it belonged. Even in the simplicity of the ancient leather braid wound around the tsuka, Tatsu saw the sword’s incomparable worth. He whipped the blade out. The katana’s perfection took his breath—the lines along the polished edge, the symmetry of the blood groove. With a gasp, Tatsu knew he was holding a sword made by the incomparable swordsmith Ikkansai Kasama Shigetsugu. A genuine Ikkansai had not been seen in more than a century.

  “It is magnificent.” Regret over the loss of his own katana stilled Tatsu’s words of admiration. He sheathed the sword and started to hand it back to Arisada.

  “No, please keep it. Let it be a humble replacement for the sword of your ancestors.”

  Tatsu shook his head. “Domo arigatō, Saito-san, it is a priceless gift. I would be honored to accept it, but I cannot.” To emphasize his refusal, he set the weapon back in its resting place in the rack. He feared accepting such a gift from a vampire, no matter how noble the intent, would insult Ojii-san’s memory.

  “Very well. It will be yours when you are ready.” Disappointment clouded Arisada’s golden eyes. He closed the shoin door, and they walked in an oddly comfortable silence back to the chashitsu.

  The occasional brush of the vampire’s shoulder against his sent heat sizzling over Tatsu’s skin. He wanted to do something about it, touch Arisada’s hand, kiss him, anything. Confusion stopped him.

  Back at the dining room, Arisada fetched a fresh bottle of sake and poured them each a bowel. They knelt and sipped. Aware of the vampire across from him, watching him with lambent, concerned eyes, Tatsu relaxed. The liquor spread a warm lassitude though his aching body.

  “Who is Sage? It is clear you loved him. Dozo, please tell me about him.”

  Tatsu’s eyes widened at the suddenness of the question. How had the vampire known about Sage?

  Arisada shrugged, the silk of his kimono rustling over his shoulders. “You called for him many times during your delirium. Is he someone you love?” He did not mention the desperate longing in Tatsu’s voice each time he uttered the name.

  Tatsu put the sake bowel down hard enough to crack it. Stared at it as if it would shatter all on its own. “Sumimasen,” he muttered smoothing one finger over the fragile porcelain. He did not want to talk about Sage, about what he had lost. However, under the vampire’s gentle gaze, the words tumbled out.

  “Sage was a boy at my school. I fell in love with him. I was only twelve, too young to understand it. Years later, we got together for a brief time. He didn’t stay. I don’t know why. End of story. He was my first.… and only.” Tatsu held a sob hard in his throat until the pain burned. Dammit, where was all this weepy shit coming from anyway? He was trained to crush his emotions, hide them behind honor and duty. Sorrow warred with shame. Sorrow won.

  “We never forget our first love. It is always the most precious no matter how brief or how it ends.” Arisada moved beside Tatsu, wrapped his arms around him, and placed a soft kiss on the side of Tatsu’s head. He offered solace the same way he soothed Nowaki-kun centuries ago. “There is no disgrace in grieving for what is lost.”

  The vampire’s wisdom promised comfort. Still, Tatsu pulled back, fearful of needing more. How could he take solace from this creature? “I don’t understand what is happening to me. These feelings. You are making me kuruwaseru.”

  “Making you crazy, neh?” Arisada smiled. “Samurai are not robots. We are as moved by the exquisite perfection of haiku as that found in seppuku. We are fearless in the face of death yet weep freely at the right provocation. But I seriously doubt if you’re crazy. Perhaps it is love?” Arisada’s soft laugh chased away Tatsu’s melancholy. “So, before either of us does something rash, Tatsu-kun, meet me in the ikinewa in an hour. Then we will go to your Major.”

  Back in the bedroom, Tatsu pulled on his TAC pants, a thick roll-neck sweater and the new leather jacket left on the bed. Regretted the loss of his old one. He grimaced as he strapped on his harness, feeling it list to the left without the weight of the katana.

  With an impatient gesture, he opened the door to the ikinewa, bowed, then stepped in. Arisada, dressed in samurai garb, knelt before the small alter. His kotagiri rested behind him on the floor. After a moment, he bowed, forehead to the ground, then stood, fixed his sword in his obi and crossed to Tatsu. His sun-bright gaze reflected only serenity. “Do you trust me?”

  Tatsu eyes said he did.

  “Have you fallen in love with me?” A playful glint danced in those burnished eyes.

  “Yes, it makes no sense, but yes.”

  “Love does not have to make sense. It makes itself known, and we are its captives.” Arisada handed Tatsu a small sandlewood box carved with images of cranes.

  The intensity of the moment was too much. “What are we, engaged now?” Tatsu joked to squelch the want running riot in his body, revving up his heartbeat, making his mind and his blood head south to his prick.

  Arisada pointed to the box. “Perhaps? It depends on what you do with that.”

  With a muttered, “Ah, what the hell,” Tatsu opened the lid. A small jade ball mounted on a steel pin nestled in the white satin lining. “What’s this?”

  Arisada held up a thick needle. “A small favor? Pierce my tongue then I will insert the stud.”

  “No. You’re out of your fucking mind. It will hurt like hell.” He closed the lid and pushed the box toward Arisada.

  The vampire’s deep laugh held only delight. “What do you mean hurt? The pain is nothing. I will heal in minutes. But this stone will represent a part of you I will carry inside fore
ver. It will be our bond.” Arisada picked out the stud and twirled it in the light so it reflected it pure color. “Imperial jade, very rare, very precious. And the exact shade of your eyes.”

  “I won’t. It is barbaric.” Tatsu reiterated his refusal and moved to leave. Arisada’s grip on his elbow stopped him.

  “We live in barbaric times, neh? This is my choosing, please honor it.”

  “It will hurt,” Tatsu repeated stubbornly trying to find a way out of this bizarre request yet unable to refuse the one he loved.

  “Not as much as my heart if you do not grant me this.” Arisada crooked his head sideways. His golden eyes glowed with trust as he handed Tatsu the sharp needle. “Kudesai, please. Consider it payment for saving your life.”

  Tatsu shook his head. “Freaking blackmailer.” As often as his swords had inflicted pain on others, this was different.

  “By Hachiman, I can’t believe I am doing this.” His fingers shook slightly as he positioned the needle under the vampire’s tongue. He took a deep breath and thrust. Felt the vampire’s fang tips graze his knuckle before retracting.

  Arisada snapped the barbell into the ball and smiled. “Arigatō, Tatsu-kun for making this bond with me. You have made me very happy.” He brushed his lips over Tatsu’s forehead. “Now, we will go see your Major.”

  Tatsu clutched the needle with its minute drop of blood. Why did that word bond sound more like a farewell?

  .

  Twenty-One

  Unable to contain his agitation, the Major paced the confines of his small office. His eyes were hollow, his wispy hair disheveled. An uncharacteristic stubble covered his face. He clenched his jaw to control his frustration. He had lost men before, courageous men who died protecting others, men he esteemed. Some had been his friends. Until four days ago, the thought he’d lost two more, Murtagh and Cobb. His relief at the news that Tatsu was alive almost moved him to tears.