The girl was discontent, that much Sesshoumaru could tell. Her shoulders were square and tense as she glared down into the bowl she held, the pace at which she was shoveling its contents into her mouth undeterred by her dismal mood. He resented being attuned to her emotions as much as he resented being attracted to her physically, and so his attitude mirrored her own.

Staring into the hearth, he considered what she and the old woman had said. Good, perhaps he could concede, but how was it sweet to look after one of his own? Rin was his ward–a human child, true, and yet still she belonged to him. And did he not care for what belonged to him above all else?

That was not tenderness–not sweetness, as these soft-hearted mortals sought to romanticize it. It was duty, and he carried it out to the utmost extent.

His eyes rested once more upon the girl–Kagome. Even in his thoughts, he was addressing her by name with increasing regularity, and the familiarity of it–the ease of it–was unsettling to say the least.

Once again, he found himself comparing her to Rin. Both human, both female–strong-spirited and sentimental. But with Rin he felt no tension. Instinctively, he knew that she was not a threat to him. The miko, on the other hand…

She threatened everything.

“Um…would you like some?”

His gaze rose from her lips to her glittering eyes. “No.”

“Oh right,” she said, lowering the proffered bowl. “I forgot that you don’t eat ‘human food.’ What do you eat, then?”

“Meat,” he answered, returning his attention to the flames.

“Meat, huh? Well, I can pick out some chunks of chicken if you want–”

“Not cooked.” His eyes cut back to her. “Fresh.”

Her face fell. “Oh.”

She seemed repulsed by the idea–as repulsed as he felt looking at the weak, broken-down scraps humans preferred to consume. Dry and bloodless flesh, robbed of its true potency and sustenance. It was no wonder her kind were so frail compared to youkai.

“But you must be hungry,” she said, frowning at him in concern.

He glanced away. In truth, he was ravenous–for food, least of all. Though why she should worry herself over this escaped him.

“Milord!” Jakken exclaimed, inserting himself between Sesshoumaru and the object of his more pressing appetite. “Allow this Jakken to procure your meal. I shall fell you a mighty stag!”

There were no stags within ten miles of this place. Still, a reprieve from his vassal was a welcome notion. His eyes closed briefly in agitation.

“See that you do,” he commanded.

As the imp scurried off on his fool’s errand, Sesshoumaru contemplated how to best address his true needs. Relieved though he was not to have succeeded in the attempt, he did not condemn himself for his actions the previous night. Even in the grips of fever, he had understood that this obsessive lust he harbored for the miko required an outlet.

It was a distraction, a deadly preoccupation that, indeed, had nearly cost him his life. It must be dealt with–soon.

He studied her fair face, lit by the glow of the hearth. She was beautiful, and for a human she was powerful. But she was no enchantress. Even as he looked at her, he could see the child in her still–bright and guileless, like his Rin. But she would never belong to him.

He would bed her. He would break her, and when he was finished, her hateful hold over him would be broken, at last.

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi