Obsession by Calpurnia the Forlorn

Chapter One

He found them by a spring deep in the heart of his lands. A young girl sat on the shore, speaking to Her bathing friend. They both seemed to be of equal rank and title, but the girl in the spring was currently in heat.

With a savage lunacy he attacked them, dragging them both to his side. The elder girl, while yet untouched, responded well to his caresses. He held the pubescent one down while he mated the older, but during his climax She escaped his grasp.

He should have let Her go. She was so very young, and Her heat cycle would not come to Her for at least another full year. But he found Her sweet innocence addictive. It was She who had led him to the spring. Her virginal sent had brought him searching.

Her radiant innocence had brought him wanting, needing, and suffocating in lust.

And he would have Her.

Without hesitation he was off and after the Youngling. She who called to him so. He told his mate to await his return as he chased Her, reveling in Her scent.

He caught Her before long, pinning Her to the ground. She cried out with fear and begged for freedom, and his inner demon rose to the challenge She presented.

Roughly he ripped the garment from Her form and drove into Her.

She screamed for mercy, begging him to stop. He silenced Her with a sharp strike even as tears fell like rain from Her eyes. Still, his hunger seemed insatiable, and he could not stop.

He tore into Her like a madman, spreading Her thighs ever wider to accommodate his girth.

She thrashed in pain and twisted but could not get away. Her body was still so small, so fragile and so fair. He had no trouble at all bending it to his will.

Blood covered Her thighs, Her dress and Her hair. He felt Her blood trickle down his own thighs and onto the newly crimson ground.

At last he spilled his seed and bit down at Her shoulder, claiming a second mate.

She became lethargic in his grasp.

He took both girls to his castle, and guilt pulled at his heart, nagging over what he'd done. It was forgotten when he learned that the elder girl, Cymry, was with pup. And She was lost from his sight.

Half a year later, Naraku took Cymry away. He gathered his retainer and gave into Her pleas to accompany him. She merely wanted to save Her friend.

He allowed Her this comfort even as he knew She would not help him. During the trip he ignored Her completely until they were ambushed. Naraku carried Sesshoumaru's sobbing Cymry, dropping Her harshly to the ground. Naraku had seen Her.

"What have we here?" The hanyou hissed, flashing to the gentle mate's side. He caught Her and held Her even as She cried. "Such a lovely young maiden you have forced to your hand.

The taiyoukai said nothing as he retrieved his oldest mate. At a soft sob he turned to see tears fall from Her eyes.

"You do not know what treasure you have caught." Naraku chuckled, digging his claws in deeper. "Perhaps I shall keep this wonder to myself?"

Her pretty eyes were wide with fear and Her scent grew with something new. Power. This Girl that he had caught so young would have been an enchantress, had he not stolen her virtue from her.

Sesshoumaru knew then what had not cared to before, he did not know this young girl's name. For the first time he looked at Her, and was dismayed by what he saw. Her skin was far too pale and Her clothes were in tatters. She was rather clearly underfed and hadn't bathed in ages. Blood was even still caked to Her soft silky thighs. Dried and old and smelling of Her rape.

A familiar tug of guilt hit him solidly in the chest. He had not been good to Her at all. It was his fault She was his mate, and his fault She was ill of health.

Quickly he tore the head from the puppet, catching the Girl as She fell. When She could stand again, he let Jaken take Her hand. Jaken who seemed to care for Her so. Carefully he lifted his Cymry and back to the castle they traveled.

He ordered his servants to care for the soft and tender Girl, new clothes were ordered and food was brought to Her room. Eventually he began to see Her wandering his garden and the health She had lost was back in full.

But even still he knew, from the look in Her eyes when She gazed far away, that inside Her pure heart She was fading away.

On the day of Cymry's labor, he ordered the Girl to his bed. She lay beneath him and said nothing as silent tears formed pools by Her head. Again and again he took Her, until blood and semen ran down Her thighs, and then he sent Her with cruel commands and sharp beatings back to Her lonely, small room.

Days turned to moths as he watched Cymry raise his son. The boy was growing quite nicely while bathed in his father's sun.

Finally it caught his notice that the servants were scurrying about. Many came and left the castle, and food was brought more frequently to the infantile one's room.

He knew that since their last encounter She had not left Her room.

When finally they convinced Her to walk the gardens for light, he followed and there

discovered the secrets and the lies.

There he saw clear as day Her slightly rounded belly and higher, bigger breasts. She was with child, his child, and She had not told him.

Day and night he stalked Her, curious for Her silence. And night She cried and held Her abdomen, whispering to Herself in the dark.

"I don not want you to be second." She mourned. "Cymry's children are all he will see. I will not have you be her servants!"

A frown caught his brow as he now saw what he should have before. His Cymry resented his second mate, and therefore was no longer Her friend.

While She slept he sought out a Healer and had him check Her health. The Youngling carried for him a litter, rather like a demon bitch would. "She is healthy and pure." The man said. "Unbelievably so."

So he sent for Her, had Her brought to his study. She had arranged Her clothes to hide Her pregnancy from view. With a small start of surprise he realized that She thought he would rip that babe's from Her womb.

Slowly he approached Her, careful not to scare. When he was close enough he tore the garments from Her form.

The Girl bowed Her head and cried then, as he led Her to his desk. He wiped away Her tears and laid Her upon the wood. She watched him with confusion as he kissed his way down Her supple body. She moaned and arched when he plundered Her narrow core.

Slowly he undressed himself, and felt Her become cautious. When he entered Her She cried out, discomfort and pleasure mixed within Her scent.

He kissed Her hard and deep as he stroked Her soft belly in time with his thrusts. She climaxed around his length for the very first time, and as She did She screamed for the entire world to hear.

When She calmed he stroked Her firmly over Her swollen breasts, She cried out at the touch and moved away, but his careful claws were insistent. Slowly She relaxed and fell into a fitful sleep. He couldn't help but wonder why he'd never done this before.

Over the months he kept Her permanently by his side. Cymry heard not a word of Her pregnancy. He feared, on some level, what She would do.

At night the Girl would snuggle, and by day She slept in his lap. She was starved for attention, and he lavished Her with more than that, affection.

Then Her birthing came, and he knew instantly something was amiss. She screamed too loud and cried too hard before Tensaiga pulsed at his hip.

With a soft hand he sent Her into the land of dreams, where pain would be gone and bliss was all there was. Silently he sent for his servants and together they removed Her burden.

He knew upon sight that they would not live. Their skin was blue and icy. They had died suddenly in the womb. Tensaiga pulsed again, and he swept it over them all. Slowly Her wounds faded, but still Her offspring died.

He had them removed instantly, not wanting Her to see, but when She opened Her eyes, he knew that She knew. She turned on Her side and cried then, and he had Her taken to Her room. His guilt was like a knife twisting in his gut.

The death of Her pups was his fault. He had taken Her too young.

Three months went by and he was desperate. She would not eat nor sleep, nor move from Her wicker bed.

As a last remedy of hope, he sent for his wayward brother. He was not disappointed, when Inuyasha brought his wench. He led them to Her room.

He told them all he could and the miko mourned for Her pain. Kikyou ran to the Youngling's bed, but she could not help his plight. Her healing abilities were for physical sickness, not emotional stress.

He sent for everyone and everything with a healing knack, but all and everything he tried, seemed to make Her more depressed.

Just when all thought She would die, a miracle took place. Kaede wandered into Her room with Sesshoumaru's son at her side. Together the two sat and told Her of all they had done that day. And there, at the end of the story, She hugged the boys and laughed.

So day after day Kaede came to see Her. Everyday she told Her all there was to tell. Slowly Her health returned. She ate and laughed and cried, and left Her small dark bed.

The kitsune's words cheered Her, simply because he was a child.

Finally Inuyasha took his group away, deciding the Girl was fine.

Three days went by without Kaede's words, and finally She stood from Her bed. She wandered the halls searching for the girl She'd grown to love.

When Her depression returned he called again for his brother, calling the fox to Her side. But along the way they met trouble, and Sesshoumaru left Her side to help.

Upon their return he discovered that he never should have left Her in Cymry's care.

The Girl lay in Her room dying, Her blood staining the cold stone floor. Her writs were slit to Her elbows and Her legs were cut to the bone.

Cymry had done this as an act of 'vengeance'.

Healers could not save Her, and Tensaiga refused to help. The miko tried her hardest, sending waves of healing Her way.

In the end all was for naught.

With a shuddering sigh She opened Her eyes and turned toward Sesshoumaru. She gave him a weak smile and whispered; "I do not hate you." before dying there on the floor.

Rage built up inside him, like none he'd felt before.

His heart fell into pieces, and before he knew it, Cymry had died on his claws.

He bent his head and lapped at the blood, mourning the loss of Her even as he avenged Her death.

At last her heart stilled, and her blood coated his floor, and he realized with a pang of loathing that he had never known Her name, and now he never would.