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Blood is the New Black	By : QueenoftheDream Category: InuYasha > Het - Male/Female > Sessh?maru/Kagome > Sessh?maru/Kagome Views: 5749 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha, nor the characters from it. I made no money in writing this fiction.

Chapter List
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Kagome regarded the stranger named Vince from behind guarded eyes. “Word on the street is that you know what’s what,” she murmured. The crowd in the upstairs lounge resumed their activities that had been interrupted by her arrival, but they kept furtive eyes on her from all corners of the room. Her lips wrapped around the straw and sipped at the chilled blood.
Vince’s eyes trained on her, clearly taking her measure. “Word on the street is that you’re the Prince’s new dog. In my territory, it’s every man for himself. No Prince here to cover your ass,” he responded. His fingers drummed lazily against the worn wood of the bar, and she set her glass down as she sucked on her teeth.
“I play for my own team,” she murmured, running her finger along the rim of her glass. “That means I speak with who I want, when I want, if I want. There are advantages to both sides of the story, both teams.” He lifted his chin, and she met his gaze. “That’s what I’m here for. I know her side of the story. What’s yours?”
He gave a small chuckle. “Right. Tell you what: I give you the lowdown, and you can figure out where you stand from there. No judgements, no sales pitch. Just the facts. You’re a dangerous little piece of bait, you know that, girl?” She ran her tongue across her top teeth and raised her eyebrows.
His thin upper lip lifted in a smirk. “Well, at the heart, Anarchs reject the status quo and the Camarilla. Their rules are antiquated and no longer apply to modern society.” Kagome daintily cocked her head to the side at his blatant statement. She saw Dakota and Gavin lurking near the exit, their hands in their pockets and thin shoulders hunched in an attempt at nonchalant stealth.
“The Masquerade,” he continued, “is a bullshit label for common sense practice. You don’t need to be told not to murder your neighbors. It’s the same thing here: we don’t need some capes imposing common sense laws in a thinly-veiled imposition of their control over us. We shouldn’t have to get permission to sire childer just because some old bastard claims it’s ‘his territory’ and wishes to enact control over destiny. It’s simply... unnecessary.” Kagome nodded and licked her lips. His eyes were locked onto her, and she was left with the distinct feeling of being a prey animal. His sweet Portuguese-tinged voice soothed her nerves, but his eyes spoke of a predatory nature.
“You see, the Camarilla works like, what’s the word… a pyramid scheme. The Ancients and elders sit at the top and control their childer and domains. Those below them control those below them, and so on, so you and I are at the bottom of the vampire food chain. We are slaves to what amounts to a corporate blood-sucking enterprise, much like the economy of modern America. It’s all a power play, and the little guy always suffers under the thumb of their so-called ‘superiors’ just so said ‘superiors’ can gain power, influence, money, whatever. We of the Anarch movement find all of this to be unnecessary power-mongering and advocate for a Free State instead. A true democratic society or even communistic society rather than a monarchy, oligarchy, tyranny, or whatever label you want to slap on the situation here.”
“Uh huh…” Kagome trailed off. “So why oppose the Camarilla if you fundamentally agree with their so-called common sense principles? Or most of them anyway. I mean, it seems like you’re a Prince of Anarchs.”
His nostrils flared, and he lifted his chin imperiously. “You don’t know any better, so I’ll let it slide.” One long finger jutted out to lift her chin, and he leaned forward. On the surface, the gesture was sensual, but the narrowed look on his face conveyed otherwise. “But the next time you say something so foolish, someone might rip that lovely little tongue from your skull, and I might not stop them. It would be a shame to put it to waste. I wonder what it could do for me.” He withdrew his hand, and she almost shuddered.
She pursed her lips and cast her eyes down. Less than fifteen minutes into their interaction and she’d apparently fucked it up already. Smooth, Kagome. Smooth. She certainly didn’t expect him to keep speaking, so it startled her when he continued his Anarchs 101 lecture.
“There are no Princes, no royalty, no CEOs in the Anarchs. We’re a Free State of equals, which means that the whole structure of the Camarilla goes against our principles. We speak when we want and do what we think is right and we answer to no one but ourselves.” Prince or no, Vince exuded a quality of leadership, of influence in the community. His voice and confidence were something that people were instinctually drawn to and would willingly listen to. Everything about him, from his timbre of voice to his posture indicated authority, sureness of will, and underneath it all, the raw power to back it up.
“Right,” she murmured as she hopped off the barstool. The band downstairs had done the impossible and turned up their music even louder, so she leaned in close to Vince’s face, brushing aside a lock of his hair. “And what do you think is right?” she breathed into his ear before sauntering down the stairs.
The crowd pulsed, and she skirted along the paper-covered walls to avoid the mosh pits. She made her way to the back wall and turned to watch the young men flailing and wailing on stage, keeping her left hand upon the cool wall. His voice whispered in her ear, and the grating music in the background faded to nothing as her world turned to a haze. This was the chase she was waiting for. Predator versus prey.
“What I want is for those who have power to topple.” His muscled arms wound around her waist, and she bit her lip.
“Topple down, down, down,” he rumbled, and her head fell back. Without preamble, his hands cupped her breasts through the thin material of her tank top and squeezed as she shrugged out of the denim jacket. It dangled from her right hand. “The question is,” he continued, and she felt like she was trapped in a thrilling tango of life and death, “whether they go willingly.” His fingers dug into her flesh, and her back arched as heat flooded her veins and warmed her flesh. She let out a moan when he bent his head to speak against her ear, and he pulled her back toward the staircase.
“Or do I have to hunt them down, one by one?” he purred against her throat, and she shivered at the contact of his stubble against the soft flesh. He pressed her into the far corner of the room, lifting her for easier access, and she wrapped her legs around his pelvis as he ravaged her neck. That her skirt was hitched around her waist like a hussy never even crossed her mind. Her arms twined around his neck, and the jean jacket fell from her hand as liquid fire coursed through her veins. The room in front of her was a sea of chaos as people threw themselves into each other and the stage and the terrible screeching of the band persisted.
“Maybe you won’t have to hunt,” she panted as his tongue darted out to ghost over where her pulse point once resided. His thumbs dug into the sides of her breasts and his fingers, the back of her ribcage, and she could feel her flesh parting under his sharp nails. She raked her fingernails up the fabric covering his back rougher than she’d ever dared in any of her encounters. “Maybe, with the right amount of force, they will give in.” She bucked her pelvis forward and yelped as she came into contact with his cold belt buckle.
Vince’s teeth grazed her collarbone. “Maybe. Whether through coercion or violence, I always get my way. Best you remember that, querida.” She arched her back, pushing her chest forward into his clawed hands and the pain they brought. His sank his fangs into her neck, and she cried out as rivulets of blood trickled down her flesh. His hands shredded through her tank top and raked over her chest, leaving shallow, weeping scratches in his wake.
Her nerves were on fire and she dragged her nails along his neck and throat as he removed his fangs from her throat. The blood flowed freely, dribbling over her collarbone and down her chest. His thumbs swiped over her nipples, smearing the trail of blood across her left breast in a red arc.
“Florzinha vermelha, truly the most tantalizing little piece of bait,” he whispered before he claimed her mouth. His lips were cool and held the pungent, metallic taste of blood as they worked against hers. His hands snaked down to rest upon her hips, and she nipped at his tongue, which released his own blood into the heady cocktail swirling under their tongues and spilling down their chins.
The electricity racing through her veins was approaching a fever pitch when Vince pulled back. Kagome moaned and leaned forward, but his eyes were narrowed and his muscles were completely still. A sly grin spread across his face, and with more gentleness than expected, lowered her to stand on shaky legs. “Something wicked this way comes,” he murmured through the smile. Before she could even say anything, he had furtively slipped back behind the ‘Employees Only’ sign and headed up the stairs, leaving her smeared in blood and in tattered clothes on the dance floor.
With a huff, Kagome bent to pick up her black jacket and slipped it on. She slumped against the wall, and watched the majority of the crowd file out of the bar. The show was over, and the band was schlepping their equipment off the small stage in between swigs of cheap beer. A few faithful patrons sat at the bar, nursing their various poisons as the noise steadily died down. She was about to leave when she saw a figure emerge from the shadows on the other side of the venue and walk pointedly in her direction. She hurriedly attempted to wipe the bloody smears she knew ringed her mouth with her sleeve and yanked the jacket closed in an effort at a shred of modesty.
A flash of recognition jolted through her mind. The approaching male was the young man who had spoken up in the “Camarilla fortress” on the night of her turning. He flung his long braid over his shoulder and gave her a small, polite smile as he approached. She smiled back, a little relieved to find what seemed like a friendly face without the promise of subterfuge and hidden motivations.
“I believe we’ve met before,” he said when he came within distance.
Shit. She forgot the guy’s name. Martin? Manfred? Manners? Manners!
“Yes, ehm, Mr. M-Manners…?” She trailed off, hopeful that she didn’t get it wrong.
The young man barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “God, no. Will Braddock. If you ever call me by that dickhead’s name again, I’ll have to break your cute little fingers off and shove ‘em down your throat,” he said sweetly with a disarming smile, but his eyes spoke the truth of the statement.
“Sorry about that, Braddock. I, uh, didn’t really get to know you guys during my welcome party,” Kagome chuckled, casting her eyes at the floor. She drew the jacket tighter around herself, hoping somewhere in the back of her mind that she could just melt into a puddle of goo and slither away from the situation.
He waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, don’t worry about it. Looks like I missed tonight’s band. Antiquated Sheepherders or some crap like that?”
Laughter bubbled up Kagome’s throat. “Anachronistic Goatmen apparently,” she tittered. He shrugged.
“Whatever. I hope Vicente hasn’t been causing too much of a ruckus while I was out,” he drawled sarcastically, a smile crinkling his young, unlined face. Kagome stared on in confusion. Why on Earth was a Camarilla hotshot bumming around a local Anarch hangout? Her body went cold. What if it was a trap?
Braddock must have seen the vaguely nauseated look on her face, and he sidled up to lean his back against the wall next to her. “Just because I am the Primogen for the Brujah clan in San Diego,” he lowly mumbled, just audible enough that she could make out his words, “that doesn’t mean I’m a Cammy bootlicker. I’m just the Anarch that they powwow with when shit goes sour. Believe me, it inevitably goes sour,” he chortled and reached up to scratch unconsciously at his jawline.
“But what about Vince? Doesn’t he own the club?” Kagome voiced.
“Nah. He owns the club, but that’s about it. If we left him in charge, the city would be reduced to ashes in a matter of hours. Doesn’t have much of a head for politics or negotiations, that one.” He laughed outright, and Kagome giggled alongside him. True, judging by their brief interaction, Vince seemed to be a pretty straight-to-the-chase guy. No bullshitting, no beating around the bush.
Braddock turned and extended his right hand toward her. She hesitantly took it, clasping her jacket shut with her other hand. “I think it’s time for a proper introduction, since you seem to be stickin’ around, kiddo.”
Her eyebrows flew up. “Kiddo?’ You don’t look a day over eighteen,” she chuckled, and he gave her a conceding smile.
“That may be so, but looks can be deceiving. I was turned when I was seventeen, but in terms of years of existence, I’m easily old enough to be your father.” Kagome mentally sighed. Two fuckups with this guy already, and it had been less than five minutes. It had to be some sort of record. “Anyway,” he continued without missing a beat, “Will Braddock. You?”
“Ehm, Kagome. Kagome Higurashi.” Sesshomaru would most likely kill her if he knew she’d used her real name. Well, screw him. Braddock’s cheeks lifted in a toothy smile just as a bullet whizzed past her head and lodged in the wood paneling next to her.
She screamed and brought her hands up to cover her head as a barrage of bullets sprayed across the venue, taking out several patrons at the bar. An eerie chorus of whooping and howling sounded outside, and Braddock roughly grabbed her by the arm and darted over to the door to the stairwell.
“Upstairs and out the window,” he shouted as he rammed the locked door open with his shoulder and dragged her up the steps. The second floor was entirely empty, and Kagome spotted an open window.
“It’s been absolutely peachy, but we’ll have to catch up some other time. Out you go,” Braddock rasped as Kagome squeezed through the small opening. Her feet dangled in the open air, and she hopped out into the dark alleyway below, hoping her ankles wouldn’t end up lodged somewhere in her ribcage.
The fall jarred her bones, but did no real damage, and when she straightened, she reoriented herself. Keeping to the shadows, she slunk forward toward the main street. A howl pierced the air behind her, and she leapt forward just as something behind her swiped at her arm, shredding the right sleeve of her jacket. She shrieked and bolted toward the street, where she could see there were at least three other armed guerillas. She took her chances and swung a left, sprinting down the street as fast as she could as she heard the crack of firing guns and bullets whirring past her.
There was nowhere to duck into to hide, so Kagome kept running. Although the insane gunmen were tiny specks in the night behind her and probably couldn’t see where she went, she erred on the side of caution and ran past her apartment complex and doubled around the block, hopping the fence in the back and slinking to the front door. As soon as she closed the glass door of the building behind her, she leaned against the metal mailboxes and tried to steady her trembling hands. She trudged up the steps to her apartment, uncaring if she woke the neighbors with her whimpering.
It took her a few tries to steady her hand enough to put the key in the lock and turn the handle. When she opened the door, she saw Sesshomaru sitting, as usual, at the kitchen table. His face, however, instantly transformed from dull disinterest to vague concern as she flung herself in the door. Belatedly, she realized what a mess she must look: swollen lips, mussed hair, tattered clothes, tits out in the open, and blood smeared down her torso.
“I take it you met the Anarchs?” he started lightly, folding the newspaper and removing his feet from her table. She dissolved into messy, blubbering tears and crashed to her knees. Sesshomaru stood and, after closing the door behind his despondent childe, knelt before her.
She scrubbed at her eyes with her ruined jacket, undoubtedly leaving streaks of bloody tears all over her face. “I talked with Vince,” she hiccupped. Sesshomaru stared, draping one arm over his knee while he waited for her to recollect herself.
With as much dignity as she could muster, she pushed herself to her feet and sank into one of the plastic chairs. “Talked with Vince and the Brujah Primogen.” She sniffled.
“Braddock?” Sesshomaru sounded surprised, and he sat back in his usual chair across from her. “Quit crying. I didn’t imagine he’d be there. Looks like all your stars were lined up, kid.” He picked up a pen and began filling in the Sudoku in the paper. “So, what did you think? Did it give you added perspective to your precarious teetering on the edge of existence?”
She huffed at him angrily and sat up. “Well, I didn’t have a whole lot of time for inner reflection since a bunch of crazy people came up and shot up the damned bar.” He put the pen down and looked at her.
“They mowed all the people inside down, and everyone upstairs was gone. I had to sneak out of a fucking window. Nobody even came inside, just shot the building up.”
“A Sabbat raid?” Sesshomaru’s voice was incredulous, and his eyes were wide.
“I don’t fuckin’ know,” Kagome bit back as she stood up. She could feel the blood drying and caking to her skin, and she itched for a warm shower. “Do the Sabbat howl like escaped lunatics?” Sesshomaru nodded, but his eyes were glued to her abdomen.
“Looks like one nipped you,” he mumbled, and she screwed her face up in irritated confusion. She looked down and saw that she had a ragged, bloody crater in the left side of her abdomen. Her jaw fell open, and her ears started to ring. The tops of her thighs were covered in blood. Her knees wobbled, and Sesshomaru caught her elbow and yanked her into the bathroom.
“You still owe me a bathroom door,” she woozily stated, and he smacked her upside the head as he guided her down to sit on the toilet seat. Without preamble, he dove two fingers into the wound, and she shrieked, flapping her hands. He caught one with his other hand and gave her a hard, uncompassionate stare.
“The wound will close on its own, but the bullet has to be extracted,” he ground out, enunciating each word as if speaking to an errant child. Kagome whimpered, and his fingers dug around into the seeping wound. She bunched up the fabric of her sleeve and bit down, weeping bitterly as his fingers flexed, trying to find the bullet.
His mouth was set in a thin line, and his eyebrows lifted as his fingertips closed around something hard. He eased it out of the wound, and threw the offending projectile into the little plastic trash bin. Kagome was white-faced and gripped the bathroom counter with her free hand. He grabbed the collar of her ruined jacket and tried tugging it off, much to her alarm.
“We need to make sure you don’t have any more of those things stuck in you before you get in the shower.” Her teary eyes narrowed at him.
“I can do it myself,” she hiccupped and slid her jacket off. He rolled his eyes.
“At this point, I wouldn’t even trust you to be able to tie your shoes properly,” he sardonically grumbled, and he picked at the remnants of her shredded tank top with distaste written plainly on his face. “I don’t even want to know,” he muttered.
She stood and let him strip her of clothes, and she soon stood naked and bloody before his gaze. He gave her a once over, raising an eyebrow at the gouges along her ribcage and the clear teeth imprints on her neck, but said nothing. She had no more gunshot wounds, so he left her to bathe. Not that she was afforded much privacy anyway since her apartment was still sans a bathroom door thanks to her reckless sire…
Kagome sat in the shower and let the hot water beat down on her. The hole in her gut was markedly smaller and oozing less, but was nonetheless painful as hell. With careful, slow motions, she wiped and scrubbed the blood from her body and hair. After she finished, she wrapped a towel around her body and stepped into the living room to thank Sesshomaru for essentially performing field surgery on her.
When she stepped in the living room, she was faced with Sesshomaru staring impassively at an angry red stain on the light blue carpet. He aimed a spray bottle of bleach at it while he worked his boot under a clean white towel on the ground. She whimpered, and he turned around.
“Don’t touch it, please,” she pleaded and fled into her room to dress as quickly as she could. Dirty and worn her living room carpet may be, but a gigantic rusty brown blood stain marbled with white bleach spots was far from inconspicuous. She hurried into the kitchen and came back with an old washrag and a bowl filled with soapy water. Sesshomaru was sitting on the couch, bottle of bleach sitting innocently at his feet. He watched as she carefully removed the stain, which gradually faded under her ministrations.
“So,” he began conversationally, “what have you learned today?” She let out a tired chuckle.

*Cape: a derogatory term for a Camarilla vampire. This is a reference to the stereotypical Victorian upper crust cape-wearing socialite vampire, like Dracula.
“Querida” and “Florzinha vermelha” mean “dear” and “little red flower” in Portuguese respectively.
Note: Someone brought up a pretty valid point in a review. I neglected to mention that I was drawing from both the Vampire the Masquerade computer game AND the tabletop D&D style game upon which the PC game was based. The D&D rules and characteristics given to vampires are more realistic and make them less overpowered. If Kagome could just mind-control everyone and erase their memories after feeding, it just takes the edge and sense of danger off of the whole existence of vampires. Older, more experienced vampires might have that ability, but she’s fresh off the docks here. So! Sorry for any confusion here. Totally my bad for not mentioning that I’m using two (equally canon, imo) sources here.
This chapter was inspired by the song "Fragments of Faith" by Lacuna Coil.
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Blood is the New Black