by Aja James
Ryu’s body hummed with energy from her blood. He could feel himself healing faster, the torn tissues beneath his skin knitting together as if time was on rewind and the wounds never were.
Never before had he received such a powerful, intense infusion of vitality through the taking of blood and even souls. He’d only fed before from targets he hunted, and occasionally when he was between missions and needed blood to maintain his edge. What he didn’t tell Ava earlier was that he’d seldom fed from females, and only when they were his prey as part of a mission.
The experience of a vampire feeding by the subject depended on the mix of chemistry from both predator and prey. Because his intention had always been violence, followed shortly by death, the corresponding fear spiked in his victims. The process for them was far from pleasant, and the taste of their soured blood and blackened souls had never made him hunger for more.
He’d never known pleasure until Ava. The insatiable desire for more of her blood, more of the rapture to be found inside her body.
Since the moment they touched on the plane, his body had begun to transform, his physical responses exploding beyond his control, dragging his emotions, confused and tattered, in their wake.
If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought that he’d bonded with her. If he had been a Dark One born, she could have been his Blooded Mate. But that wasn’t possible for vampires made…
Was it?
Ryu tucked the top of her head beneath his chin and wrapped his body tighter around hers, cocooning her in his heat, enfolding her with his strength.
As he slid into the world of dreams, his heart sent out a fervent wish that escaped beyond the fetters of his conscious mind: he wished he was different; he wished he could hold onto her forever…
Sengoku period, 15th century Edo.
Over the next ten years, Ryu followed the mysterious man who had taken him in that fateful spring day.
He did everything he was told, and did it better than all the other apprentices who worked and trained and lived at the Inari shrine with him. He’d come to realize that they were under the tutelage of a shinobi. Perhaps the most powerful in all of Japan.
Not much was known about the Master, not even his name. He came and went as he pleased, knowing that his disciples would continue with their routines with or without his presence. He’d never stipulated any consequences for disobedience. There hadn’t seemed to be any need for it, because everyone followed his instructions to the letter.
Given that they were Ninjas and operated mostly at night, it was no surprise that the Master preferred to rest during the day—none of them knew where. At night, he sometimes made an appearance during training or held conversations in private to hand out new assignments.
There were no visitors to the shrine, but there was a pattern that Ryu recognized. Every sennight, the Master would make a trip down the mountain to Edo castle. Ryu’s path had crossed his once while on a mission.
The Master’s eyes had glowed red, and there had been a trickle of blood by his mouth.
It was strange, when Ryu stopped to think about it, that the Master hardly looked older than the eldest trainee, who was only a few years older than Ryu himself. And in the ten years that Ryu had known him, the Master never seemed to age.
Ryu was clothed, he was fed, he slept under a roof and never lacked for essentials. He survived, but it was as if his spirit had departed from his body, for he never had hope for the future, never thought about the past, only focusing on the minutes and hours ahead of him each day, so that he could get through the grueling regimen the Master set without breaking, so that he could do it all over again the next day.
Though he trained with the other boys, he stayed mostly to himself. They all did. Comradery and friendship were implicitly discouraged. Each of them seemed to have nightmares of their own that they preferred to keep to themselves. They only interacted during training, and only to beat each other to a pulp with first blunted, then real weapons.
Once he mastered the skills the Master taught them, Ryu began to do small jobs that required stealth and cunning. He became extremely proficient and efficient at gathering information. Most of the time he preferred traditional methods of searching, tracking, bribery and the ability to be at the right place at the right time listening in on the right conversations.
But sometimes, he also made use of his own body as currency. He’d realized at a very early age that both men and women found him attractive and were willing to give him what he wanted in return for either his attention, affection or sex. He didn’t enjoy the encounters, but if using himself could help him achieve his goals faster, he was not squeamish about it.
It was better that he used himself rather than someone else using him.
In his twentieth year, the Master decided to broaden the spectrum of his missions.
“You are ready, Ryu,” the Master said, strolling leisurely in the courtyard, taking his time to appreciate the giant cherry tree that was just beginning to bloom.
“Tonight, you have a new mission.”
“Yes, Master,” Ryu acknowledged, crouching on his left knee, his right arm draped over the other, head bent. He was already dressed for the mission in loose black shirt and pants, a black scarf wrapped around his hair and another covering the lower half of his face.
“The Shogun’s second mistress. You will see to her death within three days through any means you deem most expedient and untraceable.”
A kill order. Ryu’s first.
All of the apprentices except Ryu and one other boy had received such missions years ago, some of the boys even younger than Ryu. The Master doled out different missions to different boys for reasons he didn’t share. Ryu had wondered why he had been given no kill orders until now, when he was the apprentice most skilled in combat by far.
“Because you were not ready,” the Master answered Ryu’s unspoken question.
He often did that, the Master. He seemed to know exactly what others were thinking, sometimes even before they were aware of the thought themselves.
“This is not your first time to kill, is it, Ryu?” the Master said quietly, coming to stand before him, twirling a perfect cherry blossom between his fingers.
Ryu’s eyelids fluttered as he tried to force his memories back behind the walls he’d erected ten years ago.
“But killing does not come… naturally to you,” the Master continued, his tone considering. “The only reason you are still here is because your skills in combat prevent the others from dealing you a debilitating or lethal blow.”
Indeed, a couple of other apprentices had been killed or maimed in combat training and were sent away. Most of the trainees fought for life and death every time they sparred.
“You also tend to have mercy on your opponents, only putting them out of commission temporarily, leaving no permanent damage. It takes considerable skill, that.”
It was true, Ryu used his skills to prevent injury and death rather than inflict it.
“Your mercy makes them hate you more, you know.”
Yes, Ryu knew. Of all the apprentices, he was the one everyone, except the new boy who had only been with them for a few months, tried their utmost to do violence to. There was a savagery and competitiveness amongst the trainees, and Ryu was always the one to beat.
Literally.
Everyone wanted to take him down and claim top spot. Even though there was no reward for winning every fight. The Master treated him no differently; if anything, he worked Ryu harder than everyone else. He always ate last because of his chores and was always left the worst of the scraps.
Ryu had the most grueling chores, from mucking the outhouse to carrying water for everyone from the well some distance away, up and down the mountain every morning, noon and night.
Just this morning the Master asked him to replace all of the large porcelain rice vases in the shrine with new ones from a potter’s donkey-drawn cart at the foot of the mountain. Because the vases were f
ragile, Ryu could only carry two or three at a time. It had taken him half a dozen extra trips up and down the mountain.
“I shall complete the mission, Master,” Ryu committed, lest all this conversation was leading to doubt about his ability to execute.
“You do not ask why this woman is the target.”
“It is not my place to ask,” Ryu said. He had never asked why. Some of the other boys did, not that the Master chose to explain.
“Do you even know who the second mistress of the Shogun is?”
Ryu frowned in thought. He knew who the wife of the Shogun was. Everyone in the city knew. He might be able to recall the name and face of the first mistress, but the second…
“Misaki Handa.”
Ryu’s heart chilled. He thought frantically that there were many Misaki’s, it was a fairly common name—
“The woman who birthed you, I believe.”
In shock, Ryu forgot to keep his head bowed and looked up at the Master with wide, horrified eyes.
The Master stared down at him with hypnotic black eyes so similar to his own that Ryu felt like he was looking in a mirror.
“W-Why?” Ryu whispered.
“She’s in the way,” the Master said. “We are at war. Kyoto has already been burned to the ground. The succession needs to be decided.”
The Master tipped his head and looked over Ryu curiously.
“I am not telling you anything you do not know, am I Ryu? Unlike the others, you never boast, never put on displays, but I know you have taught yourself to read and write. I know you do not ask why you are performing the missions because you have figured out the reasons yourself. You are well aware of the political turmoil around you.”
Ryu lowered his eyes again. He did not realize how much the Master saw.
“I do not like to pick sides, but there is one’s longevity to consider,” the Master continued, twirling the cherry blossom idly.
“Misaki is in conspiracy with other daimyōs to remove the one we have. Why she chooses to do this, who knows, who cares. But she is too much of a threat to the Shogunate to be ignored.”
The Master looked down at him again. With his head lowered, Ryu could not see the strange glint in the Master’s eyes.
“As to why I am giving you this mission…”
Ryu raised his head again, holding his breath for the Master to continue.
He stayed quiet for such a long time that Ryu thought he would not say more.
Finally, the Master said in a quiet, silky voice that belied its deadly undertone, “She was not the best of mothers, was she, Ryu? One wonders whether she was a mother to you at all apart from bringing you into this world. Haven’t you ever hated her for what she did to you? Haven’t you ever wanted revenge?”
No, Ryu thought to himself. He had shut her completely from his mind. He felt nothing at all for her. And whatever she did to him, she was his mother.
“She is your weakness, Ryu,” the Master said. “You must destroy your weaknesses if you want to survive in this world. One day, your compassion, your morality, you sense of justice, your forgiveness—they will be the means to your end, but before that, they will bring you endless pain.”
Would that be so bad? Ryu thought, to die when one had no real appetite for life?
The Master smiled that ironic half-smile of which Ryu had learned to be wary.
“Would you prefer death to carrying out this mission, then?” Again, he seemed to know what Ryu was thinking.
Ryu remained silent. He would accept whatever verdict the Master gave, but he would not go quietly to his death.
It was the same philosophy with which he lived his life at the shrine—he would not seek harm nor seek to harm others, but neither was he afraid of death were it to come for him.
There was a sense of accomplishment in his missions. They provided some meaning to his days and nights. Thus far, he felt that his missions had helped move Japan in the right direction. Perhaps the Master didn’t care about sides, but Ryu was glad they seemed to be working for the side that would have the most potential to unify Japan and end the civil war.
But if the missions were to end? He didn’t know anything beyond the life of a shinobi. Ryu knew that no one would miss him should his insignificant life be snuffed out like a candle.
The Master sighed.
“Very well, I’ll give you a different mission.”
With not a small amount of disbelief, Ryu took his new orders. More of the same, gather intel tomorrow night at a specific location, etcetera.
What about Misaki Handa?
But the Master said no more after giving Ryu his instructions. He gazed up at the cherry tree as if it held some mystery he wanted to unravel.
The next night, as Ryu was carrying out his mission, he witnessed the Master take matters into his own hands when he ended Misaki’s life.
Chapter Thirteen
“Ava Alessandra Monroe! You had me worried sick! Why haven’t you called before now? Are you all right?”
Ava cringed at her mother’s voice, made shrill by frantic worry.
“I’m sorry, ma, there was an accident at the labs. You might have seen it on the news, but I don’t know if it’s made the international coverage. I’m absolutely all right. Not a scratch on me. But I lost my phone and laptop and haven’t been able to get to one until now.”
She’d been too busy having orgies with the fantasy love of her life, was what held her up, but she wasn’t going to share that with her mother.
Ryu was in the bathroom right now taking a shower, and Ava really wanted to join him, but decided that letting her folks know she was safe was slightly more important at the moment, given she’d been MIA for over two days already.
Ryu had set her up with a secure line to do a voice call with her mother, but said that a video call was too risky for technical reasons Ava didn’t entirely absorb.
It was just as well. If Ana Lucia Monroe could see her daughter’s face—her eyes literally shimmering with stars in them, her cheeks rosy with a post-coital flush, her lips swollen from kisses—she’d know immediately Ava had been laid but good. And like any self-respecting mother, Ana would have barraged her with questions for the next hour or three.
Her mother exhaled with relief.
“You nearly gave your father and I a heart attack, you know.”
“Is Papa—”
“He’s fine, don’t worry. He’s made of sterner stuff than me. Said that man of yours will take care of you.”
Ava blinked. “Really?”
“You know how he gets these feelings about things. Says it’s his mystical Celtic heritage and all that.”
“Just from a name?” Ava was intrigued. Her father didn’t have many instances of these feelings. But when he did he’d always been spot on.
“From the way you talk about your sweetheart, honey,” her mother said, then pulled away from the speaker to say something to her father.
“Your father asks whether you’re with this Ryu right now.” There was some disgruntlement or surprise in her mother’s voice, probably because she hadn’t thought to ask herself.
“Um…”
“That’s a yes.”
Ava huffed. She never got away with anything with her mother.
“He’s taking care of me,” she admitted. Very very good care of her.
There was a screech of glee on the other line and Ava turned her ear away from the speaker and grimaced.
“Put him on the line! I want to talk to him!”
“Mom—”
“And don’t say he can’t come on, because I know he’ll want to make a good first impression on his prospective parents-in-law.”
“Mom!”
“Ava, we don’t bite, you know we’re teddy bears. I can butter him up for you, tell him about all your most endearing traits, the ones that don’t evolve around your work.”
“He’s in the shower and—”
Ava clapped a hand over her mouth while more g
leeful screeching ensued half way around the world.
Ryu chose that moment to emerge from the bathroom with a towel wrapped low around his hips, so low she saw clearly the veins leading from his lower abdominals to his groin like arrows pointing to the Promised Land.
“What is it?” he asked, taking in her strange expression, a mix between dry-mouthed lust and chagrin.
“Oh my Lord! Is that him? He sounds waayyy sexier than you let on, Ava!”
Ryu froze in the process of running a smaller towel over his wet hair, his eyes darting from the speaker to Ava, whose look of chagrin turned into an uncomfortable wince.
“Ryu? Is that you, honey? May I call you Ryu? This is Ava’s mama, Ana Lucia Monroe.”
Ryu’s eyes widened as he realized the magnitude of the booby-trap he’d stepped into. He looked to Ava for guidance, for help, but she just clamped her mouth shut and stared back at him.
And then she shrugged, as if to say, “sorry dude, nothing I can do for you here.”
“Ryu? Are you there?”
“Ah…” He stalled for time while he wrapped the towel more securely around his hips, as if Ava’s mother were standing in front of him right now. As if, were that the case, a tightly wrapped towel versus a loosely wrapped one would have made a significant difference in his presentatbility.
“I am just so happy you’ve decided to take our Ava out,” Mrs. Monroe continued, not seeming to need much in the way of response from him. “She’s coming off a long relationship drought.”
Ava slapped a hand on her forehead and closed her eyes.
Ryu’s eyes darted to her nervously.
“But you know, that’s because she takes her relationships very seriously. Our Ava is a good, chaste girl.”
Ava’s whole face was now cupped in her hands.
“She can’t say enough good things about you, Ryu,” her mother gushed on, “We, Ava’s father and I, that is, can’t wait to meet you.”
“Mrs. Monroe—”
“Call me Ana Lucia, honey,” Ava’s mother interjected, “or better yet, call me Ma. Ava does.” At this she giggled girlishly, as if tickled pink at the notion.
