by C. A. Storm
My eyes watered. My skin itched. My nose twitched.
I sneezed.
Violently, explosively, again and again, with enough force, I’m quite honestly surprised I didn’t spontaneously combust.
Gagging, I pounded on the button to lower the window, sticking my head out to try and get some fresh air. Yes, even the polluted air of Tokyo was far better to breath in than the putrid, musty smell of wet canine.
Guh!
When my sinuses had finally cleared, I pulled my head back in and glared at Yuki. Somehow, I knew it was her fault, but I couldn’t quite figure out how the little minx had managed to find the one thing guaranteed to set me off. Yes, I am a feline and I am allergic to dogs.
Yet, her gaze was pure confused innocence as she turned around to check on me.
“Are you okay, Kurokō-san?” Even her voice was laced with just the right amount of concern for a new acquaintance; even one assigned to accompany her by her stepmother, who wasn’t universally loved and adored, and liked it that way.
“Fine,” I muttered, suspiciously looking around and trying to take shallow scents, trying to find where that obnoxious odor had come from.
Yuki still smelled faintly of winter snow, and Gozu smelled as he always did, like a big, juicy slab of prime Kōbe beef, ready to be devoured, overlaid with the scent of the musky cologne he always wore, but I could only pick up the faintest hint of dog now, like a distant echo and barely there.
I continued to glare at Yuki, still suspicious, particularly when she handed me an unopened pack of tissue from her backpack.
“Here you go, Koh,” she said, then continued on blithely, “I hope you don’t mind if I call you Koh, I figure we’re going to be working together, and since we’re going to be in the US, best get into the habit now.”
Reluctantly accepting the tissue, I had to turn my head to blow my nose. So undignified, and not exactly a way a guy wanted to impress a pretty lady.
I paused.
Wait, I shouldn’t be thinking of her that way. She was too young, too naïve, and if Amaya had her way, she was doomed anyway.
Turning back to her, my expression purposefully schooled into one of idle amusement, I replied, “That’s fine, Yuki, and a sound plan,” in English. Proper English, not that ridiculous “American English,” which just sounded plain lazy to my ears.
Her slender eyebrows lifted, and a smile turned her plump, luscious, pale pink lips upward and revealed a dimple in both cheeks. “Oh, a British accent then?” she inquired, switching over to English herself, and even I had to admit, her soft, lilting voice gave the flat, American-accented words a certain charming quality. She truly sounded like she had been born in America, despite having been born in Japan.
Yes, I had one of my contacts put together a file on Shiro Yuki. I had spent the drive to her apartment reading over the scant file, but there hadn’t been much on her. Compared to the rest of her Clan, she was something of an enigma.
The Shiro Clan had a reputation; a very well-deserved reputation. The closest comparison I could make for the Shiro Clan yuki-onna was that they were what the Europeans would dub “Amazons.” Matriarchal, borderline misandrists—justifiably so, given their history—and intensely loyal to their Clan. One of the smaller Clans, they were nevertheless quite well-known and few risked drawing their wrath.
Trust me, you didn’t want to see a bunch of howling women, mounted on motorcycles, wielding rocket launchers, barbed wire-wrapped bats and other brutal weapons, cloaked in a blizzard as they bore down upon you with the all the fury of their ancestor, Susanō, the god of storms and sea.
The legends around her Clan were many, particularly about Grandmother Winter, and her three hell-raising daughters, but Shiro Yuki?
I knew she was born in the Oku-Hida region of the Gifu Prefecture. She went to the most elite human high school in all of Japan, Horikoshi Gakuen, on a full scholarship and had graduated with top marks, which meant she was extremely intelligent; yet, she had chosen to go to a common university in the United States, forgoing an Ivy League school for some unknown reason.
I knew her height, weight, and physical characteristics, or at least what information the National Archives had on her official human life.
I even knew where she worked as a human, though that only filled me with wry amusement. She didn’t seem the type, but then again, I of all people should know you should never judge someone by their appearance.
But beyond that, her file had been depressingly scant. Even her unofficial documents, the Shadow Records kept by the Kage, only detailed that her few assignments had all been carried out swiftly, with ruthless precision—although, it looked like she had only been given reclamation missions. So, at the very least, I knew she was a capable thief.
Hopefully she was capable of what Amaya had tasked her with. I needed her to be more than capable. It was the only way to get the Kuroikagami. It was the only way I could repay the debt I owed.
When her eyes narrowed on me, I realized I had taken perhaps a beat too long in responding to her question. “Yes, of course,” I finally said. “I spent quite a few years in Hong Kong on business, so it seemed prudent to pick up the language.”
“Ah,” she nodded in response. “That makes sense.”
Then she shrugged and turned around, reengaging Gozu in conversation and ignoring me completely.
That was rather unexpected.
I’m not used to being ignored.
I mean, I don’t think I’m needy. And I’m only as vain as any other feline, which is to say, yes, this entire world and every other was created solely to be my playground, and all its inhabitants are either entertainment, toys, servants, or food—and sometimes, all of the above.
But, for someone to actually turn their back on me? To ignore me utterly and completely, despite knowing that they’re in my presence?
Perhaps this was a new game.
But what game?
Should I pester her to get her attention back or ignore her?
I had already lost the first game because of that foul stench making me sneeze.
Pulling out my sunglasses, I put them on and relaxed back against the leather seat, deciding to just study her for a while. She was an intriguing puzzle; one I looked forward to pulling apart to get to the secrets hidden inside.
The game was afoot!
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Yuki | Haneda Airport International Terminal, Tokyo, Japan | 2017年12月6日
I could feel his eyes burning into the back of my head, even through the dark sunglasses he had put on.
Not a bad idea.
Dawn was just tinting the sky pink, like hanafubuki—a blizzard of cherry blossoms—caught on the wind and scattered throughout the heavens for the gods to enjoy.
Retrieving my sunglasses from my backpack, I slipped them on and leaned back, subtly trying to observe the cat…er, man…in the back seat.
Miki hadn’t been able to pull up any information on him at all, which was saying something. Miki had skills when it came to information retrieval, but his lack of information was a bit disturbing. It meant he had no electronic trail, at all, which, in this day and age, was quite impressive. Even on the Shadow Net he didn’t seem to exist, except in rumors, message threads that just trailed off into nothingness without warning.
No one was talking. Yet. Knowing Miki, however, if any information existed, eventually she’d find it.
In the human flesh he wore, he was almost model handsome, but the tight, black turtleneck shirt he wore revealed a surprisingly powerful build. His muscles seemed to have muscles, and even the leather jacket he wore over the turtleneck only seemed to emphasize his thick arms and strong shoulders.
He was probably a little taller than average for a Japanese male, which gave him at least 20 or more centimeters over me. Good thing I was used to being shorter than just about every adult in the room.
Everything about him spoke a casual elegance, a man comfortable in his flesh and, going by
the Matsuda sunglasses, the black-on-black Citizen Eco-Drive One watch, and the clearly expensive leather jacket and clothes, he enjoyed the finer things in life.
Hey, when you’ve attended an elite high school filled with some of the wealthiest kids in Japan, you learn to quickly assess brand, quality, and cut, even if you don’t care about any of that yourself.
I mean, it’s not like my Clan was poor. At all. But we’re all raised to support ourselves, to do things on our own. The Clan was there if needed, but we’re all not-so-gently kicked out of the nest and expected to fly on our own.
Instead of living the high life, most of the Shiro Clan donated to women’s organizations, supported abandoned children, or put the money back into the Clan’s extensive real estate empire, which took a lot of money to keep up and out of the hands of developers.
Personally, I was more comfortable in blue jeans and tank tops than I was in strapless gowns or power suits, but between my grandmother and my biological father, they had ensured I had been given all the advantages they could, before I was let out on my own.
I was quite comfortably middle class, all under my own power, and except for Clan and Buzoko obligations, I didn’t owe anyone a thing. My day job supplemented my gaming and chocolate addictions, and my night job kept me in fighting shape, so I was content.
Finally, Gozu pulled the SUV up before the International Departures gate at Haneda Airport, and without a word, Kurokō slipped out of the back while I hopped down from the front.
Gozu hurried around to the back, unloading the luggage. My one bag and Kurokō’s four.
I must have gawked at the four large suitcases, because Kurokō’s voice was amused as he commented, “I like to be prepared, like those American Boy Scouts.”
“As long as you don’t expect me to carry them,” I muttered, shaking my head as I watched one of the attendants scurrying to get our bags checked in and wheeled away.
Shouldering my bag and backpack, I was suddenly engulfed in a massive pair of arms and picked up off the ground as Gozu gave me a huge, tight hug.
Dangling from his arms like a limp doll, I sighed and gave in, returning the hug. Gozu and his partner had unofficially adopted me, watching out for me whenever I visited my father’s household, so I let them get away with what no one else could, and in return, gave them what I gave few others—affection.
“I’ll be okay, Go-kun,” I mumbled, my voice muffled against the solid slabs of his pectoral muscles while his huge hand patted my back fondly.
“Yes, be good, Yu-chan,” he boomed, although to give him credit, that was his version of a whisper. Suddenly, his gravelly voice turned hard, vicious, as I heard him continue, “And you, neko, protect our Yu-chan, or we will tie you to a tree by your tails and use your head for batting practice.”
Putting me back down on my feet, Gozu stepped back and once more assumed a proper, respectful demeanor. Dipping into a deep bow towards me, he said, “Sayonara, Yuki-hime.”
Giving Kurokō another threatening glare, Gozu growled, “Neko,” in disdainful dismissal, before he stomped back to the SUV and got inside, peeling out with a purpose.
Trying not to smirk, I turned towards Kurokō and waved toward the doors inside, “Shall we go, Koh?”
A dark brow rose over the rim of his sunglasses, but he gave me a blinding smile as he dipped a bow, “Of course, princess. Your flying chariot awaits.” Sweeping his arm outward, he continued, “Ladies first.”
Refusing to stand there in a paralysis of politeness, I nodded and went in, ready to get this job over and done with.
America, here we come!
Chapter 6
Yuki | Somewhere Over the Pacific | 2017年12月6日
The most annoying thing about flying from Japan to America is the International Date Line, particularly when it’s a direct flight that left in the morning. See, our flight left Tokyo on Wednesday, December 6th, at 6:15 AM, but we’re arriving in Denver on Wednesday, December 6h, at 12:35 AM, give or take any delays. Does my head in, and that’s not even figuring for jet lag, then letting my body adjust to a completely different time zone—not even taking my hangover into account.
However, flying this new first-slash-business class? Well, it was sinfully decadent to be able to stretch out and take up as much space as I possibly could. I mean, yeah, I’m “petite,” but economy class seats are just uncomfortable no matter what size you are.
Not wanting to engage the “enemy,” also known as Kurokō, while nursing a hangover, as soon as we taxied down the runway, I slipped on my big headphones, slid on an eye mask, pulled on the plush, complimentary blanket, and tried to catch up on my sleep.
Sadly, I will admit, it took me awhile to fall asleep. Not because of the engines or the noise of the other occupants in the plane, but because I could feel Kurokō’s body in the seat next to mine.
He had graciously given me the window seat, placing himself between me and the aisle. I tried to pretend it was because he was feeling protective, but I had to remind myself that he was assigned to me by Amaya-sama, which meant he was my observer and her agent, and not a graciously assigned protector and accomplice. I had no doubt that if Amaya-sama really was plotting my death, he was part of that plan.
Like my grandmother said, you just cannot trust a cat.
Yet, that didn’t seem to matter to my body, or my libido. I could feel the heat of his body, even separated as we were, and I ached to soak in his heat and feed that insatiable hunger for warmth all yuki-onna were cursed with, like moths to flame.
I tried to block him out, with my eyes covered and my ears filled with the gentle, soothing strains of…okay, that’s a lie, I was totally listening to Babymetal. I’m a sucker for heavy metal (blame my mom) and JPop (blame my younger half-sister), so an idol band that combines the two? Yep, my not-so-secret obsession, right behind chocolate.
I think Tsubasa is still bitter she didn’t come up with the concept first. A recovering, former JPop Idol herself, she’s now managing a new group of young girls (Yōkai, of course) going by Kowai-Kawaii, determined to knock a few JPop bands from the top spots. But that’s another story entirely.
‘Psst,’ Masa murmured in my mind, breaking silence for the first time since she had “snarled” at Kurokō.
Reaching up, placing my hand over the medallion nestled on my chest, I mentally formed my words. ‘What is it, Masa?’
‘Do we really have to work with this cat?’ I was impressed at the sheer amount of scorn she injected into that single word.
‘Yes, we’re sort of stuck with him,’ I returned, but as I continued, I struggled to contain a smile, carefully schooling my face to remain neutral as if I was drifting off to sleep, ‘But don’t worry, he may have been assigned as my keeper, but we can figure out how to keep him chasing after his own tails.’
The sound of Masa’s barking laughter had me smiling.
Unfortunately, my last thought as I drifted off to an exhausted, hungover slumber, was of Kurokō.
I wonder just how hot he really burns.
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Kurokō | Somewhere Over the Pacific | 2017年12月6日
She’s still playing the Ignore Kurokō game, I thought in disbelief as I watched Yuki slip on the eye mask and headphones.
Frustrating female!
For a brief moment, I thought I caught a whiff of that canine stench, but I was distracted by our flight attendant as she stopped by our row.
“Good morning, sir. I’ll be your attendant this flight.” I glanced up and met a pair of dark eyes, eyes that regarded me with a polite distance that didn’t fool me in the slightest. Beneath the faint floral scent of her perfume, I could scent her interest, could hear the quickening of her heartbeat, see the flutter of her pulse and the dilation of her pupils—all clear signals of attraction. “I’m Eriko. Is there anything I can bring you?”
She was the epitome of classic Japanese attractiveness, with her black hair slicked back in a neat bun, and a perfectly presse
d uniform that emphasized her long, lean frame. Her make-up was subtle, emphasizing her eyes and pale pink lips, and as her manicured hand rested lightly on my forearm as she awaited my response, I realized I felt nothing. Not a single spark of attraction, which was not like me at all.
I couldn’t resist comparing her to the obstinately distant female curled up beneath a blanket beside me.
With a sigh, I managed a small grin and dipped my head, “Just a cup of coffee, please, black with extra sugar. And could you bring some water for my companion? She may be thirsty when she wakes up.”
Her eyes briefly flicked toward Yuki, and that professional mask once more slid into place as she straightened and gave me a patently false smile. Crossing her hands before her, she dipped into a half-bow as she replied, “Of course, sir. We’ll bring it right to you. Please, enjoy your flight.”
As she walked away, I stared at her ass as it swayed.
My brow furrowed as I realized, Nothing.
Weird.
If not for the fact I had felt more than a stirring earlier, when I had watched Yuki walking toward the SUV, I’d have thought Amaya had placed some sort of binding on my libido. Sadly, my reputation as a bit of a tomcat wasn’t completely unwarranted.
Left alone with my thoughts, I turned my head to stare fixedly at Yuki’s slumbering form.
Tsukiyomi’s Pale Face, I thought ruefully, I think she’s winning again.
I tried to console myself with the fact she was cheating, but even during the ride to the airport, I could smell her exhaustion…and more than a bit of sake in her bloodstream.
Resigned to trying to find some way to entertain myself during the flight, and after regretfully conceding that frightening the humans could result in a crash in the middle of the ocean, I pulled out my tablet and headphones, and figuring I wouldn’t be caught, fired up a video from my hidden stash.
❆❅❆
Yuki | Somewhere Over the Pacific | 2017年12月6日
Dreaming. I knew I was dreaming, but I couldn’t wake myself up. I was caught.
