Red Winter (The Red Winter Trilogy Book 1) by Annette Marie
Before she could chicken out, she stooped and brushed her fingers over his right ear, identical to the fox’s except a little bigger, the fur warm and silky. Bizarre. She slid her fingers down into his hair until she found the edge of his jawbone. No human ears hid in his hair. She supposed two pairs of ears would have been even weirder.
It was so strange. Yokai were supposed to be beasts, animals like the crow or monsters like the oni. Yet this creature on her bed could have been human if not for the unnaturally white hair and fox ears.
As her heart finally slowed, she sat back on her heels, at a total loss for what to do. She couldn’t carry him back to the storehouse, and she couldn’t leave him here; a full-grown man was a lot harder to hide than a small fox.
Her gaze travelled over him again, stuttering to a stop on his right arm. A jagged wound extended down his upper arm, leaking a small trickle of blood. He was still injured in this form. She should have realized his wounds wouldn’t just vanish. Mentally steeling herself, she retrieved her washcloth and the first aid kit from the debris; her room looked like a whirlwind had spun through it. If not for the storm outside, Fujimoto and Nanako would have been bursting through her door. She would have had a fun time trying to explain the unconscious yokai in her bed.
She knelt beside him. Watching his face for any sign of returning consciousness, she carefully wiped away the blood, then pulled out some gauze pads. She pressed a row of pads to the wound and wrapped white gauze around his upper arm to hold them in place. With another wary glance at his face, she tugged his kosode open to expose the second gouge that ran from his shoulder down one side of his chest—a very nicely toned chest.
Her cheeks heated as she applied another pad to his injury, ignoring the hard muscle under her hands. She’d never touched a man like this. In fact, she’d hardly touched anyone male aside from the occasional collision. Katsuo grabbing her elbow to steady her was about the most intimate contact she’d had since becoming the kamigakari. Now here she was with her hands on a man’s—well, a yokai’s—bare chest.
He wasn’t just attractively built either. He was actually incredibly handsome, with sculpted features that were defined but not too sharp, softened by his mess of hair—fur? He even outdid Katsuo, and that was saying something.
Not that she cared, of course. He was a yokai—a spiritual being, not a human, no matter how human he might look. She glanced at his fox ears to reinforce the thought. Definitely not human.
Since she couldn’t wrap his entire torso, she dug out the medical tape and secured the pads in place. Then she sat back and admired her work. Pretty good. He wouldn’t bleed all over his white kosode, at least. She repacked the first aid kit and set it aside. Now what?
Pursing her lips, she reached across him and tugged his kosode back into place, arranging it neatly. There, much better. Less distracting for her anyway. Was she really admiring the physique of a yokai? She needed to get a grip on herself. Putting one hand over her eyes, she took a long, deep breath. Feeling more centered, she dropped her hand.
And found gleaming ruby eyes looking back at her.
For a brief instant, she couldn’t move, caught in the yokai’s hooded, half-awake gaze and the puzzled crease between his brows.
Then panic burst through her and she flung herself away.
As she turned to bolt, he lunged. A hard yank on the long sleeve of her kimono pulled her backward off her feet. She fell on top of him. Writhing madly, she rolled away, only for him to grab her and haul her back again. One arm, strong as a steel bar, clamped around her middle, pinning her arms and trapping her against his chest.
His other hand closed around her throat and squeezed, applying just enough pressure to freeze her in place.
She panted, lightheaded from terror. Her arms were pinned. She couldn’t reach the ofuda in her sleeve pocket. She was helpless. Never in her life had she been physically restrained like this. Panic fuzzed the edges of her thoughts. Why hadn’t she gone to get Katsuo when the kitsune transformed? Why had she brought him back to her room in the first place?
The yokai didn’t move, just held her in place with a strength she couldn’t fight. She tipped her head back to see his face, to gauge his intent, but he wasn’t looking at her at all. His gaze traveled across the room, intent and analyzing. That bright intelligence glittered in his ruby eyes, same as it had when he was a fox.
Then those eyes flicked down and he appeared almost surprised to see her staring up at him. His mouth curved into a sly grin, flashing pointed canines that were far more reminiscent of his fox form than his human one.
His amusement at her terror sparked a tiny surge of anger. “Let me go!”
“Ah, little miko, didn’t anyone ever tell you not to run from yokai?” His deep, purring voice sent a shiver across her skin. He leaned down as his hand on her throat forced her head back. He brushed his nose along her jaw, from her chin up to her ear. “It’s the surest way to make us pounce,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.
Goose bumps raced down the back of her neck and she clenched her jaw. “Get your hands off me.”
He hummed as he pushed his face into her hair, inhaling through his nose. “But didn’t you put your hands on me first?”
“I was treating your wounds.” She summoned her most commanding tone, desperately hoping her voice wouldn’t quaver. “You’re proving that your kind’s reputation is well deserved with such disrespect and ingratitude toward the person who saved your life.”
His head came up and fear shot through her that she’d offended him, that he would surely kill her now. Instead, he made a thoughtful noise, and his hands fell away, releasing her.
She almost leaped out of his lap but remembered his comment about running from yokai. With more self-control than she’d thought she had, she carefully stood, walked four steps, and turned to face him. He stayed where he was, lounging half on the bed with his legs on the floor, casually propped up on one arm. His head tilted to one side as he watched her, the movement very foxlike with the actual vulpine ears. That slight, knowing grin played about his lips.
She sank down to kneel on the floor, mostly because her legs were shaking so badly she was afraid he’d notice. As nonchalantly as possible, she slid her hands into the opposite sleeves of her kimono and pinched her hidden ofuda between two fingers, ready to pull them out.
“No need for that, little miko,” he remarked, each word almost caressing her. How could he have such an otherworldly yet still human voice? “I will not harm you.”
She flushed, embarrassed she’d been so obvious, but didn’t let go of the ofuda. “What was that—that assault then?”
“Assault, you call it? That little embrace?”
“You—” She broke off with a small shake of her head. If he was determined to ignore the inappropriateness of forcefully holding a woman against him and rubbing his face on her, nothing she said would change his mind. “You have the manners of a dog.”
“Well … same family, you know. Foxes, dogs.” He shrugged. “What did you expect? The ritual greetings of the imperial court?”
“Some respect for the person who saved your life would have been welcome.”
“Ah, yes, you did save me, and I am very grateful.” He bowed from where he sat, somehow managing perfect grace despite his awkward position. To her surprise, he held the bow for several long seconds, denoting deep gratitude.
Sitting up, he idly tugged at a lock of his white hair as his gaze slid down her and back up again. “I am in your debt. Tell me your desire and I will fulfill it.”
“My—my desire?” she choked.
He smirked again. “A favor, little miko. I am saying I owe you a favor.”
“A—Oh. Right, yes.” Her cheeks burned in embarrassment. “My name isn’t ‘little miko.’”
“Miss Miko of the Amaterasu Shrine?”
“My name is Emi,” she said stiffly, not amused.
His smirk only grew. Giving him her first name wa
“Emi,” he purred, making her face heat all over again.
She gritted her teeth. “Do you have a name?”
“Me?” His fox ears twitched. “You can call me Shiro.”
“Shiro,” she repeated disbelievingly. Not that it was a bad name, but one of its meanings was literally white. Somehow she doubted that was his actual name.
“Now, Emi of the shrine, tell me what you desire of me. I am at your command.”
This time, without the distraction of shock or discomfort, she recognized the ritual of his request. To repay his debt to her, he was offering to fulfill some sort of task or favor, similar to the worship and offerings given at a shrine in exchange for the kami’s goodwill or help. Kitsune were known for being extremely persistent in repaying their debts. The trait had spawned many, often humorous, children’s stories about them, as their efforts at repayment frequently caused the human more trouble than the favor was worth.
“You saved me first,” she said cautiously. “There is no debt between us.”
The wicked gleam of humor that had danced in his ruby eyes almost since the moment he awoke faded, and his sudden somber demeanor gave her pause.
“No,” he murmured, his voice smoother and deeper and somehow older. “You came back for me. I do owe you, and I will not accept your refusal.”
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her expression neutral. Without that smirk that made her want to hit him, his face was even more alluring, his eyes drawing her in and holding her prisoner. He wouldn’t leave until he repaid her. He would follow her around for years if he had to, because a debt unpaid was a strike against his honor that he could not allow. Not that she had years.
The easiest solution would be to name a small task he could complete for her, something just serious enough for him to accept as a fair exchange. But she couldn’t think of a single thing he could do for her that would satisfy the debt between them. What did she need from a yokai? Her only problems were directly related to being a kamigakari—mainly, her impending demise—and that was hardly something a kitsune could assist her with. An Amatsukami had claimed her body and soul, and the only power on heaven or earth that could possibly change that was another Amatsukami.
Her breath stilled in her chest at the thought. Could another Amatsukami change her fate? Why would they? They wanted Amaterasu to join them. But she could at least ask for the truth, ask if Amaterasu’s power would really consume her. Maybe the kannushi manual was wrong. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, to know for sure.
She couldn’t go searching for an Amatsukami herself, but the yokai in front of her was offering to complete a favor for her. The request was ridiculous, but on the off chance he agreed, at least he would be doing something useful for her. And most importantly, it would get him away from the shrine before Fujimoto or Nanako discovered him.
She gave him an appraising look. “I have a request.”
He tilted his head, ears twitching again. Beyond the windows, the storm raged on.
“I want you to find an Amatsukami and take me to them.”
His mouth fell open, all signs of sly humor vanishing beneath befuddled disbelief. “You want me to what?”
“Find me an Amatsukami,” she repeated. “I need to speak to one of them.”
“You’re at an Amatsukami shrine. If you want to speak with one, go pray.”
“In person, obviously.”
He stared at her, his reaction almost exactly what she’d expected. If he turned her down, then she could send him away. Problem solved.
Finally, he said, “I thought you were a miko. Don’t you know that humans do not speak to Amatsukami? Only the kami’s highest-ranked human servants will ever even see them in the mortal world.”
“That’s why I need your help.”
“Me?” He sighed in a long-suffering way, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. “Little miko, I am a yokai, not a kami. We are actually quite different, you see.”
“I’m fully aware of that.” She shrugged. “You said you owe me a debt, and this is the only thing I need help with.”
His ears swiveled back, almost flattening to his head as a dangerous sort of fire sparked in his eyes. Then that sly grin stretched his lips and he lifted his chin.
“Now, now, little miko. I owe you a favor commensurate with the debt. What you ask …” He clucked his tongue. “A yokai like me going anywhere near an Amatsukami, let alone searching one out … I would be risking life and limb at every turn.” He spread his hands, the red onenju gleaming around his wrist. “I would be defenseless. Do you think that a fair request?”
She hadn’t gone through all that effort to save him only to get him killed as he tried to complete an absurdly difficult and dangerous—for a yokai—favor. Besides, she was pretty sure that even if he did accept, he wouldn’t succeed—at least not in time for it to make a difference to her.
“I guess not,” she said. “But that means there’s nothing else you can do for me, so you can leave.”
His mouth twisted in surprise at how easily she’d given up on her request. “There might be one way I can help you.”
Despite herself, her curiosity kindled. “Oh?”
Raising his arm, he glanced at the onenju looped three times around his forearm, on top of the black material that wrapped his arm from wrist to elbow. He extended his arm into the space between them, the ends of the sleeve’s red ties swaying from his elbow.
“Can you pull the beads off?”
She automatically reached for the string of beads before catching herself. What about the dangerous burst of power the onenju had released the last time she’d messed with them?
“Why don’t you do it yourself?” she asked suspiciously, her hand poised just above his wrist.
“Humor me.”
“No,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “I don’t think so.”
Dark emotion flashed across his face in a vicious snarl that was gone so fast she wasn’t sure she’d seen it. He dropped his arm and leaned back, blowing his hair off his forehead in a long exhale. The white locks resettled in his eyes, more tousled than before.
“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you,” he said with a shrug.
“Why not?”
He wiggled his onenju-wrapped arm. “I can’t remove them myself.”
“So?”
“They’re cursed. The spell within them interferes with my ki. With the onenju in place, I am defenseless; I can’t even outmatch an oni. However, if you removed the beads, freeing me from the curse, I could fulfill your request to find an Amatsukami.”
She folded her hands in her lap, buying herself some time to think. Had this been his plan from the moment he offered her a favor? Would he have claimed her request too difficult or dangerous for him with the onenju wrapped around his arm, regardless of what she’d asked? Whether he’d planned it or not, he wanted her to remove the beads and he was using the favor he owed her as a way to maneuver her into it.
Someone had cursed him. Only a very powerful being could make a spell like that—either another yokai or a kami—and she had no way of finding out why. He would lie if she asked, she was certain. For all she knew, he could be cursed because he was a murderous psychopath. Did she dare unseal his power? He might turn on her the instant she did.
“I don’t think removing those beads is a good idea,” she told him.
“You won’t remove them even for a meeting with an Amatsukami, as you requested?”
The dangerous gleam in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. “You refused my request because it’s too perilous. I free you from any debt to me. You can leave.”
A growl crept into his purring tones. “It doesn’t work like that.”
She folded her arms, praying he couldn’t sense her racing pulse. “I have no other requests for you. Please leave.”
His eyes narrowed to ruby slits. He uncoiled from his slouch, flowing to his feet with liquid grace. Before she could react, he was in front of her, his hand sliding into her hair behind her head and forcing her face up. He leaned down until their noses almost touched, his stare capturing hers like scorching chains.
“I accept your request, little miko,” he crooned in tones of fire and ice, his voice searing her soul. “Pray you do not come to regret it.”
He released her so suddenly that she fell back, her lungs still locked. Light shimmered over him, flickering like red and blue flames. It flared, blinding her, and when she could see again, a small white fox stood in his place. The kitsune cast one more burning ruby glare across her before he turned and trotted toward the outer wall of her bedroom. Flames flickered across him and he jumped at the wall. His body passed through the solid wood as if it was nothing more than an illusion—or he was no more than a specter. Then he was gone.
Gasping in her first breath since he’d grabbed her, she crawled on trembling limbs to the wall and pressed her hand against its unyielding surface. A spiritual being indeed.
Trembling and exhausted, she slumped against the wall. She’d accidentally made a bargain with a yokai—a yokai she suspected was far more dangerous than she’d guessed. And she didn’t know which prospect caused her heart to pound more: that he would fail and never return, or that he might succeed.
Chapter 10
A quiet tapping on her door dragged her from a restless sleep. Her eyes fluttered open. The tap came again, bringing her wide awake. Was Shiro back, knocking on her door? But why would the yokai knock on her door when he could walk through walls? Outside the window, the dim light of daybreak leaked through the cloud cover. It was barely past dawn and she’d only been asleep for a couple hours.
Shrugging off her apprehension, she got up and adjusted her sleeping robe. Creeping to the door, she slid it open a crack.
Katsuo stood in the enclosed hallway, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot; guardian or not, it wasn’t appropriate for a male to hang around her bedroom. A memory flashed through her: Shiro sliding his nose along the underside of her jaw, his warm breath on her ear. Heat rushed to her face and she shoved the memory aside.