Blood, Sweat, and Tears - Chapter 2

---

The sunset cast crimson rays across the city, bathing Kyoto in red as Yuki and Shura made their way to the park closest to their apartment.

It was a gorgeous summer evening, hot without being scorching, clouds streaking the sky, and they were joined on the pathway by a trickle of couples, families, and schoolchildren. Merielle had stayed behind, sending them off with a kiss and a playful swat to Yuki's ass, promising refreshments when they returned with a mischievous twinkle that suggested food wasn't all the selkie had on the menu.

Shura was getting used to the bustle of the city. It still wasn't as idyllic as Hanei; Kyoto was noisy and crowded, and the miasma of urban life sometimes rattled in her ears, threatening to overload her senses. The faint stench of gasoline and pollution also wasn’t something the kitsune could easily shake, even after a handful of times of it permeating into her clothes and fur and hair.

Still, she couldn't deny it was becoming a second home. After a few trips of sleeping in a sterile guest room, Shura had dragged in a much bigger suitcase on her next visit. Potted plants now dotted the windowsill, the flowers and foliage a little lusher and more vibrant every time she saw them—under Merielle’s care, Shura would bet. On the back of the light birchwood desk, a row of calligraphy fans stood propped open on their stands. An eclectic collection of cultural and history books, manga, and comics and figurines lined the bookshelf—and if Shura was honest, she still wasn’t used to the fact that she could just go into a store and find them right there, all shiny and unscratched and ripe for the plucking. The closet was no longer empty, housing a few outfits, a yoga mat, and some dumbbells tucked neatly in the corner. And there, mounted on the wall opposite her bed, was a katana and a bokken—gifts from Yuki that Shura cherished deeply, no matter how she swore when it came time to use them.

But it wasn’t just that, of course. Even the warmest, most well-furnished home could feel empty without the right people. Shura could say many things about how she felt about Kyoto... lonely was sure as hell not one of them.

As they made their way along a tree-flanked path, Shura's pulse quickened, and she worked her gum like a stress toy.

Yesterday's lesson had left an indelible mark. Even after a good night's sleep, she'd woken up aching and sore and agonizingly wanting, the ghost of that yank still sitting hollowly in her chest. When Yuki had mentioned another chance to impress, Shura thought it would be just like last night. Bet on it. She’d replayed the lesson over and over again, plotting how she could produce a Shadow as they visited a temple and shopped for groceries. Afterward, Shura had expected to be ordered into the living room... but when Yuki grabbed a sketchbook and told Shura to put her shoes on instead, the platform of certainty she’d been building all day collapsed like a rickety rice-paper shitshow.

They walked along in silence, Shura blowing bubbles to try to soothe her simmering nerves. She expected them to keep following the path. They’d been here before and she knew this eventually led to a pond flanked with suiseki, walkways, and benches. It was a popular gathering spot where Merielle had fed the fish flicking beneath the waters.

As they drew closer, though, Yuki suddenly glanced over her shoulder and flicked her head at a smaller, off-branching path. This one wasn’t paved and wove deeper into the trees, though Shura could make out footprints embedded in the packed dirt. The further they went, the more the rest of the world faded away until there was nothing but them and chirping birds and dancing patches of amber sunlight trickling through swaying foliage.

Finally, the suspense became too much. “Where are we going? What are we doing here?” Shura asked.

“Patience, Bubblegum,” Yuki said. “We’re almost there.”

Shura grimaced, but didn’t press the issue. If the stubborn, codgy bitch didn’t want to tell, there was nothing she could do except wait... Wait, wait, wait, while her heart thrummed and the back of her throat filled with lead.

They came to a stop moments later, partway along the winding path. Turning, Yuki grinned and spread her arms. “We’re here.”

What?

“And, uhhh...” Shura didn’t have to make a show of looking around, confusion writ across her furrowed brow as she looked at the trees and leaves and, quite honestly, sheer nothingness around them. “Where exactly is here supposed to b-”

Her sentence was cut off as Yuki shoved her. Shura’s feet slipped on the leaves and her tails shot out, balancing her on the uneven path. Stumbling, she instinctively snapped into a fighter’s stance, one foot behind the other, knees slightly bent. But before she could do more than that, Yuki swept a tail behind Shura’s knees. As the kitsune fell, pitching towards the ground, the nogitsune grabbed her, pushing her up against a tree.

Shura gasped, breath rattling from her lungs, the bark rough against her shoulders. “Hey, what the f-?!”

Yuki kissed her, smothering Shura’s startled gasp. Their lips barely touched before the nogitsune shoved her tongue into Shura’s mouth, punching through the kitsune's meagre resistance as her fingers dug into Shura’s shoulders, nearly daring her to resist.

Like hell was she going down without a fight! But much like their spirited sparring sessions, the second Shura gave up an edge, bared a weakness for a split second too long, she was fucked—metaphorically then, and usually physically after. Moaning in shock and diluted protest, Shura squirmed, thrusting her tongue back against Yuki’s.

Yuki pinned the kitsune’s tongue easily, dominating her, swarming her with a cocktail of her taste and scent that left Shura gasping breathlessly against her Mistress. A smug chuckle painted Yuki’s slow, heated breaths, her tongue swiping over the kitsune’s lips.

There were times she took Shura fast, throwing her apprentice to the mat like a sack of potatoes before straddling her. This wasn’t one of them. With Shura pinned against the tree trunk, and the nogitsune standing so close that any move Shura tried would have all the force of a wet, newborn kit, she took her sweet, sweet time, painting every inch of the kitsune’s mouth, sucking on her tongue and grazing just enough with her teeth that Shura emitted a startled gasp.

Yuki looked up and their eyes met. It was brief—but in that single glance, frozen cerulean meeting dazed, molten gold, Shura knew the nogitsune had won.

Chuckling again, Yuki pulled back just enough that Shura could feel her breath against her slick lips. Yuki reached up, grazing Shura’s collarbone before sliding down into her shirt and cupping beneath her bra. Shura’s nipple was soft... for now. A few circles of her thumb took care of that, coaxing the semi-erect nipple into a fully hardened nub. Her fingers rubbed and pinched, using the golden piercings as an anchor to tug until Shura’s whimper thrummed against her tongue. The other hand kept her shoulder pinned as Yuki leaned in again, claiming her in a slow, possessive kiss. At the same time, her knee rose between the kitsune’s legs, nudging them apart just enough that she could tease her slit through the fabric of her jean shorts.

Shura closed her eyes and moaned shallowly, her head against the trunk. She couldn't help but squirm beneath the teasing, grazing touch of Yuki's impossibly soft fingers, her breaths growing as thick as the humid evening air. One of them hitched in her throat as Yuki squeezed hard on her piercing, the barbell sending jolts of pain-twined pleasure plunging into her stomach. Mistress always knew how to strafe that perfect tightrope of pain and pleasure.

And once again, Shura found herself careening dangerously towards a fever pitch. The bitch still hadn’t let her cum. Thinking about how to produce a Shadow had been a good distraction..., but Shura’s body didn’t seem to share her determination to fixate on anything but the brazier’s fire simmering between her legs.

Goddess damnit all, she hadn’t come down at all from when Yuki had left her twitching on the floor. How the fuck was this fair?! Only the threat of being discovered stopped Shura from making a noise. She bit her lip hard, swallowing her whimpers as she felt her panties dampen and she prayed, and prayed, and prayed a little more, that no one was coming down the path...

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Yuki murmured against the kitsune’s lips. Her knee slid back and forth, teasing Shura’s clit through her shorts, and it was all she could do not to grind against it. Yuki’s hand kept groping as Shura shuddered beneath her touch. “In twenty minutes, I’m going to fuck you in that nice, open garden. So, unless you want everyone to know what a little exhibitionist slut you are... you are going to clear it.”

Shura’s eyes grew, her breaths anemic as her ears twitched. So that was it? But... But that didn't have anything to do with Shadows at all!

As if Yuki had read her mind, the nogitsune continued. "I've been thinking... and I think I know what your problem is. I've been trying to have you make a Shadow, an illusion that the target can touch. It's an illusion of something where there is nothing, and a compulsion so that the target avoids interacting with that space and lets them prove that that illusion is irrational. Right?"

Right. Shura didn’t need a reminder of what Shadows could do. She’d gone to bed with it, curled up around her pillow, sleep dancing tauntingly out of her grasp as her pussy clenched on phantom tails, unable to shake the illusion of Shadow Yuki’s juices on her lips...

But she’d learned one thing. Well, two. First, Shadows were possible. Yuki had proven it. Second, that meant she could learn how to do it. She was going to, goddess-damn it! And when she did, she was going to be super duper smug as fuck, and have that Shadow walk right up to Yuki, and—

Yuki gave a small sigh, interrupting her triumphant daydream. "That way of thinking about it isn't very helpful to you. The illusion isn't the part you are having trouble with." She paused for a moment. "So, Bubblegum, show me that you've been paying attention. How do Hanei's wards work?"

Shura hadn't been expecting that. Her mind had been focused on her illusions, on what she had tried yesterday that hadn't succeeded. And how she was going to make it work. The sudden change of topic caught her off guard. "Uh..." she said, trying to redirect her thoughts from her mistress' taste lingering in her mouth. "They... hide the village. Make sure people can't find it."

"But that's not all, right?" Yuki prodded.

"Well, no," Shura admitted. "An illusion wouldn't be enough if someone suspected the general direction of the town, so the ward also directs them away. Sends them elsewhere. ‘Turn around, get lost, go in circles.’ That's the real protection. The illusion hiding the village is mostly to keep them from realizing what the magic is doing."

Yuki nodded approvingly. "So in other words," the nogitsune said, "It's a compulsion enchantment, telling the target to avoid a place. Then you have an illusion there to protect it by making the target not question the irrational compulsion."

"Uh, obviously. You know these wards as well as I do."

"I know them better than you do," Yuki purred, but while her eyes glinted, she didn't allow herself to be distracted. "So... what is the difference between that and an illusion of a person they can feel, and a compulsion enchantment that protects it by keeping the target from putting their hand through the empty space and realizing they are behaving irrationally?"

Shura narrowed her eyes. "They're completely different! You don't push a ward at someone... you let them come into it. You cover an area ahead of time, and let them subject themselves to the enchantment! You can't just..."

Her voice trailed off as she considered. Yuki, blessedly, gave her a moment before she continued. "Can't you?" the nogitsune probed. "Have you never had any ideas about how you would project a ward onto someone else? What about when you set one up in the Paradisium hallway that the vulpan were fighting through at that very second?"

"I..." Shura said slowly, chewing her gum. "Does that work?"

Yuki, surprisingly, shrugged. "I don't know. That's not the mental framework Seijun taught me to do it with, but I can't see how it's meaningfully different. She always said every student learns differently, and the way she taught me how to do a lot of things wasn’t how she taught others. But… as long as you are using the same enchantments, and the same illusion, it shouldn't matter to your foxfire if you are thinking about it like you're balancing a ward instead of an illusion... you are just much more familiar and confident with wards."

Yuki shrugged again. "It won't solve your focus problems. The reason we use ward stones to keep those wards up isn't just so they stay running when you aren't there... it's because holding that magic together in the right place is hard. But it should make you more efficient. Let's try an experiment, Bubblegum... put a ward on this park. Make people leave. And make an illusion that gives them a reason to leave so they don't question it. Something big, undetailed, vague... it doesn't need to be nearly as detailed or as focus-heavy as a person, not this time. Let's start smaller." The nogitsune pushed back, standing upright. "Twenty minutes, Bubblegum. Good luck..."

The sight of Yuki walking away startled her from her thoughts. "Wait... Where are you going?"

"A vantage point not far from here. Your time limit is just enough for a quick sketch.”

Well, that explained the sketchbook at least. Despite the worry niggling at her, Shura was glad her mistress was making art again. She always seemed lighter, happier, more at peace with the world, when she was creating something.

And then Yuki left, leaving Shura to listen to her fading footsteps.

Twenty minutes...

Shit.

Frowning, the kitsune stared at the garden beyond the branches. There were maybe twelve people milling around—some lounging on benches, some wandering the paths around the lake, a guy trying to teach his girlfriend to skip rocks. None of them were bunched super closely together.

Double shit.

Shura blew out a breath. Calm. She could do this. A night’s rest had been more than enough to replenish her foxfire and she hefted it like a favored weapon. If Mistress Yuki was right—and Shura really, really, reeeally didn’t want to think about what would happen if she wasn’t—then this particular magic wasn’t something Shura hadn’t done before. Far from it, actually. It was magic that she was pretty fucking good at, if she did say so herself. But what kind of illusion would work here?

The advantage with Hanei was its position, buried deep in thick forest and far from the beaten path. It wasn’t a stretch for even experienced hikers to get lost, so the enchantment simply amplified a belief that was already there.

Maybe she could... blow something up? No, that would be nonsensical. Stone didn’t just explode out of nowhere. Neither did ponds or trees. This wasn’t a low-budget action film. They needed to believe it could happen, or Shura would draw much more attention to things than she wanted.

Hmm...

As she completed her sweep of the area, her gaze shifted up. Dusk had fallen. A thin broth of amber-lit clouds had blown in on the breeze, carpeting the sky. They weren’t quite thick enough, but... that didn’t matter, did it? That was the beauty of an illusion. The kitsune lowered her gaze to the gardens again, an idea brewing.

Gratitude for the warm weather swarmed her. Everyone was dressed lightly. Only a few people had a jacket, and no one had an umbrella. Perfect.

Shura grinned, the smile revealing her pointed canines. Hell, yeah. She could do this.

Probably.

Rolling out her shoulders, she blew a breath and beckoned. Her foxfire answered. From her vantage point, she could see everyone. It was probably something Yuki had thought about and planned, come to think of it... but all that mattered here was winning—not the fact that despite Shura’s best efforts, the nogitsune was always effortlessly a few steps ahead.

Her fists clenched, tails bristling in anticipation. This was going to need a lot of concentration, and she only had one shot. Shura wasn’t going to fuck it up... but she couldn’t deny the anxiety that raised the hackles on her neck.

Fuck it. No more doubts. Go time!

With that, the kitsune pushed. Her foxfire cascaded outwards, rippling over the park and its inhabitants like a wave gently broaching shore. They wouldn’t feel anything, not yet... first, Shura did a quick check, ensuring she could “feel” all of them, threads of foxfire drawn from them to her. Without that crucial link, the rest would fail. Satisfied, she began weaving.

As Yuki had explained, she needed two threads to pull this off. First, the ward. Second, the illusion. Shura needed to cleave them together effortlessly. A huge delay in one or the other would shatter the whole thing, like a plate dropped to the floor.

The first was... well, it wouldn’t be easy... but it would be familiar. What had seemed impossible before, pushing feeling into someone, was now a well-developed muscle. Shura just needed to do a heavier lift here. The second... a brief flash of uncertainty passed over her. It would depend on how well she pulled off the first. If the illusion failed, they might not obey the urges the ward gave them. If they started questioning...

Well. Best not to think about that.

Shura bulled forward. Breathing deep, she drew on a recent memory. Hanei, in the forest. She’d been training nearby when thunder cracked and lightning split the sky. Within minutes, the kitsune had found herself absolutely drenched, her chattering teeth doing little to preserve any warmth. That had sucked. But rather than focusing on how she’d shivered, the squelch of water pooling in her sneakers, she narrowed in on the rain. How the pattering drops felt against her skin. The way each one soaked into her clothes and traced crevasses down her face and slid down the exposed muscle of her stomach, left bare by her sports bra since it had been so goddamn nice when she’d left the house, so who needed a hoodie?

With that feeling anchored firmly in her mind, she fed it along the threads of foxfire that connected her to each person. Then, a split second before those feelings hit, she shoved hard on the other thread she’d been weaving. The illusion of rain falling from the barely thick-enough clouds drifting above.

Sweat prickled the back of Shura’s neck and forehead. The effort of holding the two threads was mighty. They constantly threatened to fray. One slip in concentration, and they would dissolve. Shura growled her determination through her teeth and held, like suspending a weight she wasn’t used to holding.

One moment. Two. Three... She wouldn’t know if it worked until someone reacted, and the wait was an agonizing chasm between her and success...

“Mommy, it’s raining!” a child shouted.

And that, right then, was the sweetest fucking thing Shura had ever heard.

“You’re right! We’d better go, quick. Come on, Yuta, before you catch cold...”

The burble of voices grew louder, ranging from surprise to playful yelps as they “felt” the drops pelting them. Shura watched, awestruck, as people began leaving the gardens, most of them running for the cover of the trees.

It... It worked. Just like Yuki said. And while it had taken more effort, the smug nogitsune had been right: Looked at this way, making a shadow wasn’t very different from making a ward at all. Changing her perspective had changed everything else, because it was something Shura knew she could do.

Shura sauntered through the trees into the garden, hands slowly rising to cup behind her head, blue tails swishing, her nonchalant stride masking her excitement. Oh, wait till Yuki saw this. Not only had Shura done as she’d been asked, but it’d been... well, if not easy, much less of a strain than yesterday.

With time to spare, thank you very much.

Not even the slight tic of annoyance that Mistress Yuki had been right, that pivoting her perspective to think about it like a ward had helped, could dampen the kitsune’s victory knell.

It was dark now, and the streetlamps had turned on, bathing the garden in a comfortable, if sterile, light. Shura had just reached the center of the garden when the sound of falling footsteps drew her attention. Swiveling towards them, Shura grinned, her chest swelling with triumph.

“Suck it! Told you I... could...”

The triumphant exclamation fell off her lips, and something else surged into its place. Because...

That wasn’t Yuki.

A man strode towards her. His sleeveless shirt exposed the crags of his biceps and forearms, carved even deeper by the light. The fabric was almost shorn to the V of his chest, and Shura didn’t have to squint to see the abs carved underneath. He walked smoothly despite his stocky build, his imposing figure cutting an intimidating silhouette against the streetlamps’ harsh glow. In fact, the way he moved was almost... too smooth?

Shura took half a step back, hackles rising. A low growl budded in her throat. With every step he took, the kitsune’s senses festered, her hands winding into tight fists. Something was very, very wrong here, and though she didn’t know quite what it was yet, she knew enough not to dismiss her instincts.

The man drew closer, and as he stood just a few feet away, a realization snapped into place.

He was too fucking still. It hadn’t been immediately obvious when he was moving, but it was impossible to ignore now.

Even the most disciplined human couldn't ignore their physiology. No matter how much training they did, there was still an ingrained tendency to twitch and sway and fidget—the result of billions of signals being processed through the body in milliseconds. Over time, someone might learn how to suppress some of those signals. But not all of them. Not the way this guy did. The shadows across his pecs didn’t shift. Didn’t so much as quiver.

It was undeniable now, as his chiseled body came into focus.

His chest wasn't moving.

He wasn't breathing.

“You aren’t here...” he said. His voice was quieter, softer, than his physique would suggest. Almost pensive in a way, each word glazed with an accent she'd never heard before. A scoff. A head shake of disgust. “How many foxes can there be in this Чёртов city?”

He knew. He wasn't human and he knew what she was. For a moment, Shura thought she’d let her illusions drop. But a quick check, and... no, they were still there.

So fucking how?!

Shura’s jaw flexed, teeth grinding as she fought for words that refused to find their footing. Everything in her screamed to attack. Something stronger held her back, rooting her in place.

The man took his time glancing around, as if Shura wasn't even there, before fixing a piercing, haunting gaze on her. "Where is she?" he finally asked.

“What?”

“Where is the selkie?”

Merielle? Shura's eyes widened. Why was this freak looking for Merielle? How did he know who she was?

“I have no idea who the fuck you’re talking about.”

The man sighed, shaking his head again. He muttered to himself in a foreign language, but Shura didn’t need to understand to hear the comtempt woven into each word, like she’d just served him matcha with spit in it. He raised his gaze, a bemused smile curling his lips.

And then, finally, Shura saw the color of his eyes, glinting in the lamplight.

Crimson.

Shura froze.

No.

Oh fuck, no.

The answer of what he was left her nearly as paralyzed as the implication. Yuki and Merielle didn’t speak much about how they’d met. But it didn’t take a genius to parse their shared glances, and Shura often pretended to miss the comforting touches they gave one another whenever the topic came up. Something had happened and it had been bad enough to spook even Yuki, who hid it with furtive grimaces or told them they had to keep a low profile, that certain activities were off limits even if Shura didn’t quite understand why...

And one of those whys was here now, standing in front of her, a nightmare ripped from books and myths.

As if sensing her trepidation, the man’s smile widened. “I’ll ask you one more time, милая. And I would appreciate an honest answer. I am... not a man of patience, you see. Now, if you would be so kind... Where. Is. The. Selkie?”

Every part of her wanted to look away. Her pride refused to let her. Shura stared him dead-ass in the face and conjured a scowl to be proud of. “Look, dumbass. I—”

Whoa. As she kept his gaze, the kitsune reeled. Much like the tug from yesterday, it wasn’t a physical sensation, but she felt it nonetheless. A pressure, almost, latching right onto her. But... wait, why was that important? It wasn’t, was it? All that mattered, in this very second, was answering this nice, handsome man’s question. Staring into his eyes only emphasized that. He’d asked so politely, after all, and Shura did know where Merielle was...It was easy enough to just—

This freaky bastard is looking for Red.

But maybe that reason was for good. She couldn’t know otherwise. Shura had only known Merielle for eighteen months. Maybe he was here to help, and Inari knew they could use some of that if more of them, worse ones, were coming...

This freaky fuck is looking for Merielle.

It didn’t feel right, however feeble that feeling was.

No, but that feeling wasn’t right, remember? She wanted to tell him where the selkie was. He deserved to know, whoever he was. She could lead him right back to the apartment—

No, but it was right. It was.

Tails twitching, Shura forced her words out, each syllable sticky and wrong because she knew it wasn't the answer he wanted. "Are you stupid or deaf or something? Like I said, I have no clue who the fuck that is."

“Hmm... I see. I might as well have some fun with you before I resume my search, then.” He stood, shoulders apart, hands behind his back, and quirked a grin that oozed sliminess and death. “It’s too bad, little one. You are so pretty. But after all... no one will care about another dead fox whore.”

Stalking closer, his shadow lengthened across the dirt until he stood just feet away. He wasn't much taller than her, yet Shura couldn't help but feel dwarfed by his presence. His facial features were as carved as the rest of him, from the scar that flitted across his cheek, to the hard line of his jaw and his brows set beneath short, chestnut hair. Shadows draped across his body, only serving to etch the lines of his muscles deeper into impossibly pale flesh. He was... handsome, Shura supposed, but in an unnatural way. Like immortality had made him perfect in ways no living thing ever could be.

He stared at her and his gaze pierced deep, as though he was looking into her. As he did, that feeling stabbed at her again. A weight, pushing against her brain stem and bones and consciousness, against the very fabric that made her who she was. Like Shura should be taking a knee, paying deference, showing him a proper amount of respect, or something. That she should be grateful for the opportunity, somehow...

Then his face moved, porcelain lips shifting into a jagged smirk. And there, pointed and nestled on the top row of his mouth, was the thing that thoroughly fucked Shura's last hope that she might somehow be wrong about all of this.

Fangs.

“I’ll make you a deal,” the vampire said, his smile smarmy as he drank in her fear. “Show me you’re not a meek, worthless slut. That you’re worth my time. And maybe I’ll let you dig a grave when I’m done with you instead of leaving you in the park to rot.”

Run. She had to run. Shura had been training hard, yes, and her combat had evolved by leaps and bounds, yes—but if the stories were true...

But run where? The apartment was the only place Shura knew. She couldn’t go there now. Hanei was maybe the only other safe place, and that was thousands of miles away by bullet train. Somehow, she didn’t think this guy fancied a train ride.

Another thought rang, clear and steady through the weird fog clouding her mind.

She had to fight.

This time, Shura obeyed without question.

The kitsune struck first. She dropped into a fighting stance as her tails shot forward, aiming to grab him. But the vampire stepped back and easily out of range, bored almost, confirming another fear that had clogged her throat ever since he’d called her a fox. That he did so reconfirmed Shura’s fear—he could see her tails, piercing right through her illusions.

Shit.

No time to dwell on it.

Shura drew her tails back and lunged, throwing a quick punch at his head, then torquing her hips to drive all her strength into punching at where his solar plexus would be if he—hopefully—ducked.

He didn’t. Almost lazily, he caught the fist aiming for his head and blocked her other punch with his forearm, sweeping it out of harm’s way. She growled, her expression not belying her shock. Hitting him was like hitting stone. There was no give. No flesh. No warmth.

Their eyes met, the vampire’s wide with crazed, sinister pleasure. Then, he kicked her in the stomach. They were too close for the blow to hurt, but it forced Shura back more than she expected. Grunting, her tails fanned out behind her. He closed the gap, snapping a blindingly fast kick at Shura’s head, hitting air as the kitsune barely ducked out of the way. His foot hadn’t met the ground when Shura anchored her tails and kicked at his temple. The vampire raised a hand, this time catching her ankle.

Perfect. Tails braced, she launched upward and flung another kick at his face. From her periphery, she saw his other hand rising towards it. This time, she was ready. Catching his wrist with her last free tail, she propelled herself forward—and this time, limbs held, there was nothing he could do to stop her. The kitsune’s foot caught him square in the face, carrying her full weight behind it.

There was no crunch of breaking bone, but it didn’t matter. His head whipped around as he snarled, releasing her.

The kitsune landed, expelling a breath that holy shit, it’d worked. Nervous electricity wound her muscles tight, tails bristling in a taut, blue fan.

She had a split second. If she could just—

But the vampire recovered fast. His head whipped back around, crimson eyes brimming with anger. All of his playfulness had evaporated on the skillet of his fury.

He launched himself at her...and fucking shit, he was fast.

Shura’s eyes flared. Her weight had shifted onto her back foot, preparing for another strike—but it was far too late. His marble sledgehammer of a fist came right at her face, much, much too fast to duck.

Exhaling through the ice clogging her throat, Shura wrapped her tails around the legs of a park bench and yanked. The force pulled her sideways, and his punch barely whistled above her head. The kitsune’s hackles rose as it just barely missed her cheekbone, the near impact of it making her shudder.

Yeah. She never wanted to find out how one of those felt. Ever. No fucking thank you.

She barely had time to think about it when another blow came. The vampire didn’t move so much as snap from one vicious attack to the next, each as deadly as the last. His pace was blistering. Relentless. His bloodless muscles simply went from one thing to the next, with none of the fatigue or hesitation or calculations or fumbles that meant humans could never be that fast, or that strong, or that precise. It was also helped by the fact he didn’t need to breathe.

Shura, on the other hand, very much did.

She felt it. The air somehow both a thick and thin broth in her lungs. Sweat misting her skin. The sand seeming to weigh down her body as the kitsune fought to block or deflect blows or just get out of the range of the cinderblocks he called hands and feet, their dance taking them all across the garden that she was suddenly Inari-blessedly thankful was empty. She needed her tails just to keep up, even if they were useless because he could see through her illusions. Still, Shura tried to hit back—and the ones she did land, he didn’t even seem to feel.

All the while, the thought she’d been trying to suppress surged forward.

She needed Yuki.

Twenty minutes.

How long had it been?

Just a little more, Shura told herself. Any minute now, Yuki would be here. She’d know exactly what to do, and then, together, they would send him back to whatever Dracula-ass castle he’d crawled out of—

Suddenly, Shura’s feet left the floor. A cold, merciless grip had closed over two of her tails, sending twin spires of panic and agony lancing through her. She’d been a microsecond too slow.

Her remaining tails shot out, seeking something to grab—and they closed over air.

There was nothing she could do as he swung her around. Nothing she could do when he let go. Nothing she could do when she spun and smashed into a tall, prominent stone in the center of the garden, landing with a splash in the pond.

Blinding pain erupted through her. Shura screamed in a soundless gurgle of bubbles, inhaling a mouthful of murky water as the crunch reverberated through her skull. Spluttering, she pushed herself up... and that pain knifed through her again, obliterating her sight in a sweep of black. The kitsune gasped and heaved for breath, spitting the taste of pond and fish shit from her mouth as water streamed off her. Agony pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat as dread squeezed her lungs.

She was fucked.

She knew that without even trying anything.

Still, the kitsune grit her teeth. Because as that thought emerged, another snuffed it out. Shura couldn’t give up. Goddamn wouldn’t.

Too bad her body didn’t get the memo.

Somewhat balanced, Shura gingerly lowered her right leg...and immediately cried out. It felt like someone had taken a hammer to her knee and then used it as a pincushion. The pain radiated through the holes all the way into her brainstem. She bit down hard, barely keeping the scream behind her teeth.

Soft footsteps scuffled across stone.

Her head snapped up as the vampire approached, taking his time as he stepped off the edge of the path and into the water. Shura heard more than saw him as she rapidly blinked away the black spots swarming her vision.

Get up. She needed to get up. But Inari, her head rang so badly. Tendrils of nausea wrapped her lungs and she already knew she might pass out if she tried again. But somehow, with him right there, she had to—

Looming above her, the vampire’s shadow snuffed out the night. He looked down at her for a moment, crimson eyes contemplative. Then slowly, he raised his foot. Shura froze, breathless.

The vampire stomped on her hand.

Water splashed around them as she gasped, trying instinctively to wrench free... but the vampire simply waited her out, pinning her there as he stared.

“Don’t run away,” he said quietly, commandingly. “There is no escaping this.”

Inari, Shura couldn’t think. The whatever-the-hell he could do was like a fog swaddling her brain. Still, she glared up at him with as much heat as she could muster, squeezing a few strained syllables between her teeth. “Screw you. Who said anything about running away?”

Teeth gnashing, Shura yanked her trapped hand. But the vampire’s foot was like the rest of him—a concrete pillar, cementing her in place. All she achieved was giving herself another volatile frisson of fear and frustration. Frustration at her weakness, her inability to do something.

The vampire chuckled, his grin widening. He twisted his foot, the bones in Shura’s hand creaking beneath the force. “Ah, милая. You’ll have to try much, much harder than that. Though I suppose this is the most you’re capable of. Oh, what a plague it is, to be weak and mort—”

Nine vibrant-blue tails darted towards him, gathered into a pointed battering ram. It had taken her a second to do it, which Shura had bought by “trying” to pull her hand free, hopefully providing a distraction that he wasn’t paying attention to. Now, she thrust forward with all her strength.

Instead of being struck or ducking out of the way, the vampire’s eyes flared. The sun had long set, but somehow his crimson eyes still flashed with a preternatural brightness, lit from within by some unseen power.

And then, mid-lunge, Shura’s tails fell.

No. They didn’t fall. They collapsed, as though she no longer had control.

The kitsune gasped, the vampire’s foot the only thing that stopped her from reeling back. It felt like a wave had slammed into her. Her tails pooled limply around her in the water—and all the while, the vampire hadn’t even moved. He’d just stared, and somehow that had sapped every ounce of strength Shura had.

No myth had ever spoken about vampires having powers like that. Even among them, this one was strong.

The vampire’s face darkened as he stared down at her, his eyes glowing. “Try that again, and I’ll rip them off one by one and choke you to death with them.”

Shura wanted to say something. Something cunning. Something brave. Hell, even something insulting. Just, something.

But.... words failed. Despite all of her growth, despite her newfound confidence, Shura hadn’t been so close to death since the vulpan had been nearly snapping at her throat. She was scared, and though a part of her wished she could muster a response that would make Yuki proud, one dominant thought wiped out all else.

She wanted to live, damn it.

He looked down at her, and even though she was scared as all hell, Shura forced herself to meet his gaze.

He had her trapped. He knew it. They both did.

And with that, his expression relaxed.

It was odd seeing it happen on a vampire. His face shifted far too smoothly, only sharpening the eeriness that had gripped Shura since she’d first set eyes on him.

As their gazes locked, the kitsune’s golden eyes widened. Because there it was again—that pressure, nudging its way in. Was he going to ask about Red again?

She wasn’t giving up Merielle’s location. No fucking way. Shura steeled herself, ready for the invasive thoughts that came last time. She was ready to show the fucker what was what, that his coiffed ass wasn’t going to get what he wanted.

Except—the thoughts never came.

Shura blinked, confused for a moment. But then, seconds later, she felt it.

The weight of his eyes shifted from nudging to pressing. It didn’t demand anything from her this time. Didn’t shove thoughts into her head that were gift-wrapped in her own voice, tempting her to open them. It was almost like... like...

Something had pulled her into the ocean, deep beneath the waves. The water pressed against her, the pressure a swaddling cocoon. Even though nothing physically touched her, Shura suddenly found herself a little breathless.

He was pushing down on her soul, Shura realized. The kitsune didn’t know how she knew that—but she knew she was right. Whereas before he’d been trying to coax information, now he was trying to crush her.

Yeah? Bring it, you crusty, blood-sucking antique.

Gathering her middling strength, Shura tried to push back. She didn’t know if it worked... she was trusting her instincts, just like with foxfire. And it might have been in her head, but maybe, just maybe, for a fleeting second, the pressure seemed to lessen.

Surprise flashed across the vampire’s face. He crooked his brow, contemplating her, then smiled. At the same time, he ground his foot, pressing the kitsune’s hand into the concrete pond bottom.

Her bones creaked in agony. She could barely wiggle her fingers, let alone much else.

The pressure grew.

Despite the alarms ringing in her head, Shura growled and shoved back.

It grew again. His foot twisted, grinding her further into the concrete.

She shoved again. Her bones ached.

And again. This time, it seeped through her skin, pressing into her bones, squeezing into her very being.

Oh, Inari. It was getting harder to breathe. Shura’s breaths grew ragged, and it was getting harder to ignore how each one grew thicker and thicker—like molasses clinging to her lungs.

Give up, a voice whispered through his crimson eyes. It is much easier on the other side...

She hissed quietly, straining beneath the tension as she blinked tears from her eyes. Suddenly, it seemed like she wasn’t just resisting the ocean’s weight on top of her. His stare cast a boulder onto her shoulders, which Shura had no hope of carrying.

Everything in her screamed to wrench her gaze away. Told her that continuing to look at him would do nothing good. And yet, somehow, the kitsune was captivated. No—she was trapped.

She groaned shakily, mustering all the will she had left. But this time, when she tried to push, it felt like slamming her fists into an unstoppable force.

Her bones screamed for mercy.

And finally, no matter how hard she tried, despite all her efforts, Shura gasped like a drowned animal desperate for breath.

Oh goddess, it was too much. He was too much. She couldn’t—

Crack.

Bones broke. Shura screamed. A fiery agony swept through her ruined, shattered hand. Instinct demanded that she pull away, but even that was beyond her. The kitsune’s rattling cries tapered into breathless whimpers as the searing pain faded into dull, agonizing throbs.

About six forevers seemed to pass before the vampire finally released his foot, bringing a fresh wave of misery as blood rushed into her crushed hand.

He grabbed her neck and yanked her up, jostling her knee. Shura hissed, but she didn’t have time to do much more before he slammed her against the stone. The black spots were starting to wink, fade, and seep, just in time to see him raise his free hand. He slapped her, light enough that it didn’t hurt, hard enough that it still stung.

“Well, that was disappointing,” he said. “I must admit, милая, you have more... how do the Americans like to say... spunk than I thought. Not many can say they’ve landed a hit on me. But alas, in the end...” his hand squeezed harder. Shura wheezed, too weak to even kick, her fingers scrabbling at what felt like stone as she scraped at his hand. The vampire chuckled and leaned closer, his still, freakily leering face filling her vision. He smiled, and she saw those teeth again, hungry and glinting with saliva. Shura’s head felt like it was about to explode, the black ebbing more and more inward, his crimson eyes boring into her and filling her vision.

She was going to die.

Nothing had ever seemed truer than in that moment. Shura was going to die, and there was...nothing... she could...do...

Her eyes began rolling upward when, suddenly, the man snarled in annoyance, his head snapping to the side strangely.

“Drop her,” a voice said.

That, right then, was the sweetest thing Shura had ever heard. She nearly sagged, her throat straining against the vampire’s fingers in a choked, grateful sob. Even on the fringe of consciousness, she could pick out that voice anywhere.

Yuki.

The nogitsune stood at the pond’s edge. Everything was hazy in Shura’s wavering vision, but her Mistress’ silhouette was stark nonetheless, drawn sharply against the moonlight behind her.

The vampire’s fingers loosened slightly around Shura’s neck, letting her draw a precious sip of air as his surprise dissolved into a cold, mirthless chuckle. “Mordred’s whore... It’s about time.”

“I said. Drop. Her,” Yuki snarled quietly. Her voice rang with icy authority across the still, silent park. She held something in her hand, gently tossing it as she spoke.

A rock.

In her delusion, Shura wheezed out a laugh. Oh, Inari. Only Yuki, of all people, would pelt a vampire in the head with a rock she’d picked up off the ground.

Pain consumed her again as the vampire complied, letting Shura crumple to the ground. She didn’t have enough air to scream, but her pained gasp flooded her lungs with pond water again. Kicking with her good leg, the kitsune eventually righted herself, sputtering and shaking the wet hair from her eyes.

The vampire had turned away and stepped in front of her, completely unconcerned about exposing his back.

“So kind of you to come directly to me,” he said silkily. “I have spent many, many hours searching. You fox whores are slippery little things. But now that I have you, I’ll ask you the same thing I asked this blue-haired fucktoy. Where. Is. Merielle?”

Shura’s heart pounded in her throat, her voice frozen. But unlike her, Yuki didn’t look shocked by the question.

“Merielle who? Was that one of the selkie slut’s names?” Yuki shrugged, not missing a beat. “Honestly, I have no idea where she got to. Tell Mordred to go fish.”

The vampire stared at her for a moment, then sighed. “You lie poorly. But fine. If that’s the way you want to do things...”

His stance changed, one foot moving behind the other, muscles sliding beneath stony, undead skin. “I’ll just have to extract it from you.”

Shura’s eyes widened in alarm, but all Yuki did was laugh. How could she have such nonchalance, such confidence, in front of a vampire?

“Yeah... small problem with that. You’ll have to take me down first.”

Suddenly, another Yuki appeared from behind the stone pillar, directly above Shura.

A Shadow!

No... Shura focused, remembering yesterday’s lesson. She’d gotten it backwards. The Shadow was standing across the pond. The Shadow had thrown the rock. Which meant the real Yuki was above her, planning for a sneak attack.

Shura’s eyes shot wide, the implication of it all sliding into place.

Everything slowed. Not a little, the way it seemed to when she was dialed in during a sparring match. Impossibly. Or maybe it was just her sheer, primal desperation to stop what she knew was about to happen.

Yuki’s Shadow lunged forward, her awesome power and speed carrying her across the pond. Her fist was poised for a strike—but it was just a distraction as the real Yuki prepared to strike, taking advantage of the distraction and the vampire’s exposed back.

In any other scenario, against any other opponent, it would have worked. But in this case...

“No!” the kitsune screamed. It probably wasn’t as loud as it sounded in her ears. Shura didn’t think she had any air left in her lungs.

Both Yukis closed the gap on the vampire at the same time. Like Shura, the Shadow aimed a punch straight for his throat while the real Yuki threw herself at him. If he dodged the Shadow’s blow, he’d be off balance, and Yuki’s unexpected strike should have given her a handy advantage in the ensuing fight.

Instead, the vampire waited until the Shadow’s fist was mere centimeters from his face—and then he pivoted. It happened so fast, the movement was little more than a blur. He caught Yuki—the real Yuki—by the throat, stopping her mid-attack. The surprise and sheer strength of him scattered the nogitsune’s concentration. Her Shadow disintegrated, shimmering out of existence like ash blown in the wind.

“Insolent bitch,” he said. “Mordred should have made a cumrag from you when he had the chance.”

Shura watched, horrified, as the vampire raised his fist and smashed it right into Yuki’s temple. The force of the blow rocked the nogitsune’s head...and then she went completely still.

NO!

Her mind refused to accept what she’d just seen. Yuki was the strongest fighter Shura knew. Stronger than Ichika. Perhaps the strongest Hanei ever had. She used foxfire in ways no one had ever thought of. And yet...

She couldn’t help but stare with wide, horrified eyes as the nogitsune dangled limply from the vampire’s grip.

Oh, Inari. Inari, no, please. Please don’t let her be...

But she didn’t have long to think about it before he turned his attention back to her.

Even as her mind screamed at her to do something, Shura froze. The vampire’s shadow stretched over her, blotting out the sky and the moonlight and the stars. There was nothing left except for the glimmer of his hellish scarlet eyes. The kitsune cowered before them, drawing into herself even as she hated her cowardice.

This was it. Surely...

The vampire brought his hand up across his shoulder with his fingers drawn together. “Pray to your pathetic goddess. This is a much better fate than you deserve.”

Shura saw a flash, felt a jolt of pain—

And then everything went black.

-

Consciousness returned in dregs.

Shura groaned, stirring quietly against her cold pillow. She was awake, but her mind and body seemed to disagree with that in principle. It was like her eyes were glued shut, and while she lay here, she was content for things to stay that way. Her other senses quested outward, her hearing kicking in first.

Birds.

Their chirps painted the sky, as they sometimes did in the Kyoto mornings. So it wasn’t that late, then. Good. That she could hear them must have meant she’d left her window open. That wasn’t so unusual... it was summer, after all.

Her head pounded in a ruthless rhythm, she noticed, and her knee ached, throbbing beneath her skin. Actually, all of her did. The kitsune moaned, rolling onto her back.

Another training session, then. That made sense. Yuki must have really put her through her paces. Which meant... damn it, Shura had failed at producing a Shadow. Again.

How the hell did Mistress make it look so easy? It seemed all she had to do was breathe, and there it was, another Yuki lunging towards her.

Lunging. Why did that sound so familiar? Why did that niggle in the back of her mind like—

Shura’s eyes shot open, gasping. Adrenaline surged through her as the memory yanked her from semi-consciousness, as though she’d been plunged into an icy pool. Her heart raced, sweat beading across cool skin. Electricity raced through her as she jolted upright—and the world lurched violently, a miasma of black blotting her vision and threatening to pull her back under.

Groaning, head throbbing, Shura gingerly tried again. Gradually, her vision sharpened and the scene came into focus in smudges of green and grey. A park... the one near their apartment?

The kitsune frowned. But why would she have woken up here...?

Then it all came flooding back.

Yuki’s task. The park. Shura’s success. And then that dark, shadowy figure stalking towards her...

No.

Goosebumps broke across her skin. It wasn’t dawn yet, judging from the sky. Only a few wispy rays of sun warmed the horizon, not quite enough to stave off the night’s chill. Her body was in the pool, her head on the stone ledge. The vampire’s strength had been a twisted blessing—Shura might have drowned if she hadn’t been thrown so far by his strike.

Shivering, the kitsune looked at herself. Her knee had healed, and she knew she’d be able to place weight on it as though nothing had happened. But her hand...

Shura could barely look at it. It had healed crookedly, her fingers twisted and mangled beyond use.

And looking around confirmed her worst fear.

Yuki was gone.