This was not good, she raged to herself. How could that have happened? She had planned everything so carefully, made sure that the plants would know his unique feel, but of course, everything had gone wrong for her. Everything always went wrong for her; and instead of only creating a few harmless plants that could wrap him tightly and bring him back to her, she had created a mutant breed, one that was mindless of everything, except its ravenous hunger. And, because of her careful tending, the way she had embedded them with the knowledge to recognize and seek out his chi, they had attacked him.

Damn!

She wept, and clenched a handful of long hair in one hand, closing her eyes against the sight of his human face, eyes wide with fear, then pain; the sound of the ningen female screaming a name - his, presumably, since he had reacted to her words - the way he fell to the ground, falling and striking earth with a sound that echoed hollow and loud in her mind.

Through her shattered confidence, she could feel another’s presence; a stranger had invaded her sanctuary, and was coming closer with every heartbeat. Panicked, she sat up, pulling the worn, tearstained blanket around her thin shoulders, and tried to summon plants as he had once taught her to; create them in her mind and surround herself in a protective barrier of living green. But nothing came; her earlier failure had shaken any attempt to try anything; she shivered and cringed back, waiting for the stranger to show up, praying desperately that he would not hurt her too badly.

Through the weak light that streamed through the doorway, he appeared; his frame was small, almost delicate, but there was an underlying feeling of strength, one that made her ears press themselves flat against her skull in a gesture of fear and aggression. It didn’t fool him, though - he continued walking towards her, his steps slow, boots clicking loudly against the rotting wood of the floor. His hands were deep in his pockets, and his face was hidden, shadowed, but she knew there was a look of disapproval - of hatred - there. Another whimper escaped, as she watched him, unable to move, to speak, to defend herself. He stopped by her bedside, and just stood there; she could feel hot eyes glaring at her, wordlessly accusing.

Hiei frowned at the sobbing heap on the bed. This was pathetic; the youko-girl was barely a high B-Class - no more powerful than Yukina - and she folded so instantly, so easily. And yet, the plants she had created were dangerous; the toxins created inside them powerful enough to nearly kill Kurama; but how such a weak creature could control such power, he wasn’t quite sure.

The katana in his hand twitched slightly; it would be so easy to bring the blade up and slice her head from her scrawny neck; so easy to end her miserable life. But he did nothing, just merely watched her, as she inched further away from him, her thin, pale hands hiding her face from view, ears laid back against her head, tail tucked neatly between her legs, in a gesture of submission; of fear. Her thin neck lay within plain sight, almost as if she were daring him; challenging him to place his blade there and slice, daring him to end her life.

He did none of those, though a part of his mind urged him to, insisted in a shrill voice that it was justice. This youko hurt Kurama, that part of him whispered. No one lays a hand on my fox. No one. Kill her; she’ll only return and try again, and this time, you might not be so lucky ...

Hiei snarled mentally at himself, banished that insidious, possessive part of his soul to the back of his mind, where its murmurings and suggestions could easily be ignored. He sheathed his katana and reached out with one hand, snagging the collar of her tattered shirt and jerking her head up, pulling her close, so that they stood, face-to-face. The odd scar on her face seemed to glow in the ethereal light of his unbound Jagan, twining around her face like a long snake - or the black dragon that curled around his arm. Her eyes were sparking with unshed tears and alarm, widening when they focused on his Jagan, glowing open and purple in the center of his forehead.

“Who are you?” he asked in a low voice, punctuating his question with a rough shake. She squeaked, and hid her eyes, refusing to answer. He grew tired of waiting, and shook her again, repeating his question. “Who the hell are you?”

She heaved a dry breath, licked dry lips with a dry tongue before attempting to respond. “I ... I ... my name is Ayame,” she murmured, trying to look away, trying to break her gaze with those hard red eyes, eerily lit by the blue-violet glow of the Jagan. Thin little hands came up to grip Hiei’s, tried to break his grip with a pitifully weak strength; he shook her off and continued to glare.

“What did you want with Kurama?”

“I ... I wanted ... he was mine, once,” she whispered softly, still unable to look away. She said nothing more, though another whimper escaped from her throat as she noticed his frown deepening.

He had been hers, once? What the hell? Hiei wondered, staring at the girl. She was feeble, in mind, body, and power - how the hell could she have ever been able to call the silver Youko hers? Kurama was strong; his tastes ran to those who were strong; those who might, on occasion, need outside help, but, for the most part, as independent as he was. This sniveling creature had the audacity to say that she had once shared Kurama’s bed, once been privy to those warm, loving, and utterly random smiles that the youko would flash, had once known the touch of his hands, the same hands that Hiei had come to know so well.

But she wasn’t lying. The Jagan’s Sight proved the truth of her words, and it sickened him. “How did you ever seduce him into your bed?” he demanded harshly, tightening his grip slightly on her shoulders, until he heard the soft tissue and bone creak in protest. She winced, more in fear than growing pain, and twisted in his grasp, trying to free herself, though she was unable to break free.

“I ... I found him, one day, on the roadside,” she conceded, finally. “He ... he was hurt. Badly. Bleeding - maybe even dying. He looked at me, and ... and he ... he asked for some water. I ... I couldn’t let him die; I’m a healer, gods preserve! It’s not ... my nature ... it won’t let me kill, or leave someone to die. I took him home. Helped him; tended to his wounds. He thanked me.” She sighed heavily, still squirming under his grip. “I fell in love with him. I wanted to make him mine. And I did. He was mine, for a short, short while ... and then he left. I lost him. He was gone!” Her voice rose to an unnatural wail. “He was gone!!”

Hiei finally took pity on the child, releasing her and stepping back, watching with an indifferent face as she crumbled, sobbing loudly. Her explanation rang true, both in his ears, which had been long-trained against false truths, and his Jagan, which slowly closed as he rebound it, hiding it from sight. The katana, which lay neatly against a post of her bed, was taken up again, as he glanced down at her contemptuously. He would still have to check her story against Kurama’s, but for now, he would assume she was right. Once more, that little part of his mind awoke, screamed for blood, for vengeance against the soul who dared hurt Kurama ... but he shoved it down again, vanishing from her house, this forest ... from the Makai entirely. He had discovered what he had come to learn, and saw no need in sticking around thereafter.

Never wanted to hurt you, beloved ... in her mind, she was leaning against the headrest of the bed, his head in her lap, and she was stroking that fine silver hair, telling him everything she had intended to tell him, before he had vanished into the thunderstorm, into the night. His golden eyes were half-closed with lazy content, and she smiled to see him so happy; he was finally hers again!

And then, suddenly, the image was shattered; once more, she saw the stranger’s piercing red eyes, as well as the Evil Eye on his forehead, the one that entered her mind, pierced her thoughts and the haze that had surrounded her continuously after his disappearance. Once more, his deep voice echoed, demanding and wringing answers from her, and with every word, he seemed to grow in height, until he towered over her, frightening and intensely angry.

I never wanted to hurt him, she wailed again, though her small voice was drowned out by a deeper one, male, voicing questions that held thinly-veiled accusations. Could he be this new lover the blind-seer had spoken of? He certainly had the same protectiveness, the same possessiveness, that her beloved had always seemed to inspire in others; that fact was a very likely possibility. He ... he was competition. She sniffled, tried to bring her frayed nerves together, to think clearly.

So, taking him from the Ningenkai was no longer a good option ... he seemed like he wanted ... like he wanted to stay in this world, with weak creatures such as humans ... she stiffened her back as much as she could and dragged herself off the broken-down bed, staring at her wide-eyed, deadly pale face in the mirror. She looked terrible; he would never be able to recognize her, should he see her now. Hesitantly, she lifted hands to her face, clearing thick, ratty black hair from her vision; began to plait it into the old braid with trembling fingers.

Slowly, her old face began to emerge, the younger, quiet, happier girl she had once been appearing through the shambles of an older, grieved self. Age had matured her face, and now, she looked the same, but different; lines under her mouth and eyes were things she couldn’t erase, but they gave her a sense of age, of power; she no longer seemed like the frail girl he had once known, nor like the wreck that the stranger had confronted. She was someone else.

In the back of her mind, the germ of an idea began, small and weak, at first, until the breath of interested fanned it into a fiery blaze. The idea consumed her, made a strange, unfamiliar smile appear; she nodded to herself in satisfaction. She would win her lover back slowly ... first, she would seduce his body, then his mind ... and then, finally, his heart.

“Really, ’Kaasan,” Kurama protested, as his mother offered to come over to his apartment and help him get adjusted for the umpteenth, “I’m fine. Really. The pain’s all but gone, and I have no problem moving about. I don’t need a baby-sitter.” He smiled gently at her halfhearted protest, coaching his voice into a soothing, warmhearted tone. “I know you’re worried, ’Kaasan,” he told her, “but really, I am fine. If I need help, you’ll be the first one I call for, okay? Okay, then; goodnight, ’Kaasan. Yes, I love you too.” He listened for a few more seconds, then began to laugh. “Okay, okay! Goodnight!” He set the phone down with a firm click, chuckling to himself.

“What’s so funny?” Hiei’s quiet voice broke into his thoughts, and he turned to his lover, amused. The smaller youkai was seated atop a kitchen counter, legs neatly folded, one eyebrow arched in what might be mistaken for affectionate exasperation on anyone else. On Hiei, it merely came across as curious, in a much gentler way than he usually expressed it. Kurama merely shook his head and swept his hair from his face, still laughing.

“Oh, nothing really important - just something ’Kaasan said,” Kurama assured him, walking past him to secure the windows, briefly touching the cool Plexiglas with one hand, staring into the sky, smiling slightly, lost in reminiscence. The glaring lights of the city drowned out the gentle glow of the stars; that was the one of the few things he missed about Shiori’s home; it had been set farther away from the heart of the city, and therefore, the stars were easier to see.

He shook his head fondly, then turned and left the room, flipping the light switch. He narrowed his eyes in suppressed amusement, allowing a smile to cross his face as he heard Hiei sputter a protest, and then the little youkai was standing beside him, glaring at him through narrowed red eyes. Kurama only winked cheerfully, as he went around the small apartment, systematically turning the lights out as he went. By the time they got to the bedroom, he had somehow worked the front of his shirt open as well, staring at Hiei with an innocent blankness when the Koorime pointed it out, then doffing the item. The pale skin of his bare chest was caught by the faint moonlight that shone through the bedroom window, turning his skin to marble and the dragon necklace to molten silver.

Kurama draped the cloth haphazardly in its usual place, hanging loosely off the chair head, before diving into the unmade sheets of the bed, burrowing through them like a mole, until he was wrapped up in a filmy cocoon of white sheets, blinking at Hiei from the small cavern, green eyes stained to some dark, otherworldly color by the silvery light. Propping himself up on his elbows, he stared, unblinking, at his lover, his posture similar to that of a lordly feline. After a few minutes of their little staring contest, Kurama unwrapped himself from his ridiculous position, and grinned ferally at Hiei, reaching out a coyly beckoning hand. Hiei glowered at him, but obeyed the command, silently joining his lover on the bed, a mental smile on his lips as his lover drew him down.