Eternal Samurai (46 page)

“Virus?”

Tatsu pointed to the container a few feet away against the wall. Without warning, his eyes rolled up, and he sagged against Arisada’s chest. Thin arcs of blood pulsed up from the holes in his neck.

In a single fluid movement, the Cajun scooped up Tatsu’s limp body and threw him over his shoulder. “Let’s go. Major says we’ve got three minutes before the place comes down,” he barked at the stunned vampire.

“C’mon, Arisada. Move your vampire ass!” Galloway grabbed the biocontainer and charged after his partner.

Without thought, Arisada retrieved his
kotagiri
and the Ikkansai. He staggered after them, clutching his belly. Through blurred vision, he saw Tatsu’s arms flop against Passebon with every step. The Cajun’s back and thighs were drenched in blood. But it wasn’t the hideous sight of Tatsu’s flayed skin that filled Arisada with a terrible despair. It was the knowledge that there was nothing to save Tatsu from becoming Sadomori’s last kill.

The blasts that killed the Space Needle were inoffensive compare to the resulting devastation. Simultaneous explosions ripped the Needle’s bowels apart, demolished the foundation of each tower leg. The edifice groaned, swayed on its fractured supports as if reluctant to give up its life. One by one, its steel beams bent then snapped like rotted timber. With a deafening, mind-shattering roar, the sixty-year-old edifice crashed to the ground, pulverizing everything along beneath it.

Arisada staggered over ground that bucked beneath his feet. Great, running fissures engulfed men and vampires. Thick, blinding clouds of dust billowed into the sky, boiled over several blocks, turning everyone and everything cement grey.

A piece of flying concrete smashed between his shoulders. knocking him down. He lay stunned on the shuddering earth. After an unknowable time, he struggled to his knees, peered through the tornado of dust and grit. Searched with raw desperation for the huge man carrying Tatsu. Finally, saw the Cajun lay the pale, inert form onto the ground next to one of the Colony’s vehicles.

Someone yelled for Wyckes. The man limped over to Tatsu and crouched beside the still youth. After an endless moment, the doctor shook his head. “No good. He’s dead.”

An animal scream ripped from Arisada’s throat as the world narrowed into those two immutable words. Even as he stumbled toward them, Galloway and Passebon picked up the limp body of Tatsu Cobb and placed it in the Humvee. Without a backward glance, the two men jumped in the cab. Doors slammed. Tires spun.

Arisada’s gore-soaked hand reached out—imploring and futile—as the truck tore away leaving the acrid stench of burnt rubber in its wake. His muscles lost all strength, and he collapsed again to his hands and knees, unable to hold his head up. He heard the Major call for Fornax, heard someone reply that the vampire was dead. Hands grabbed Arisada and helped him stand. He stepped in the direction of the vanished men. An iron grip on his shoulder, halted him.

“He is one of ours. We take care of our own.” Major Blenheim squeezed once, a fleeting gesture of consolation, then strode quickly toward the last truck. In seconds the site was deserted save for the corpses of vampires.

Mindless with grief, Arisada staggered to his car. His slashed belly continued to pump out his life force, defying even His body began to start to shut down, organs going into shock, limbs turning numb. He did not care. Let his life leave him. It was only fit. His heart so recently full of love was now dead. The loss so enormous as to defy all understanding.

He did not recall driving from the devastation. When he halted the Audi, he stared without comprehension at the unseemly number of indentured wandering the sidewalks of the Alki Compound. Why were they milling about, bleating like frightened sheep, gesturing toward the massive plume of smoke and dust obscuring the night sky?

A visceral savagery possessed him at his first sight of sustenance. His fangs tore through cartilage and arteries as he took his prey with wanton savagery. He ignored the gore covering his mouth, flowing down his chin, drenching his filthy clothing. For the first time in centuries, he felt no guilt for their deaths. His grief obliterated all rationale, all remorse and all morality.

.

Twenty-Four

K
yuketsuki
Saito Arisada was mere hours from his death. He embraced it with gratitude. In the morning, he would walk through the forest, stand on the beach and watch the sun’s first rays dance over the waves. Although not the honorable act of
seppuku
, this death would be fitting. He had lost his
nunmei no hito
, his soulmate, and with it, all reason to live.

“Oh,
koibito
, forgive me. I failed you,” he murmured as he recalled his desperate search for Tatsu. The dust from the Needle still blanketed the city, when four days later Arisada wandered through Tatsu’s apartment. His footsteps echoed in the empty rooms. Not a single sign indicated the boy had ever lived there. The Leper Colony, likewise, deserted. He caught the scent of freshly cremated remains. In that hollow place of the dead, Arisada’s soul shattered. He collapsed on the cold, damp floor, dropped his head into his hands and keened.

First a ritual bath, the symbolic cleansing of the mundane world from his body. For a time, he sat in the
ikinewa
gazing fondly at each plant and flower. As he meditated he drifted in time, savoring every tender memory then cast it away to drift like cherry blossoms in a spring breeze He wrote a long poem begging for forgiveness for his sins and paying homage to Nowaki and Tatsu—his two lovers, one beautiful soul..

“
Namu Amida Butsu
.” One-hundred eight times he recited it while moving each onyx stone of his mala through his fingers. Time had worn away the engraving of infinity on the beads yet its meaning remained etched in his heart. One-hundred-eight times he avowed his veneration for the compassionate Amida Buddha.

Sunrise and the end of his suffering was an hour away.

A faint rumble like the gathering of a huge storm invaded his awareness. A wild, unreasonable hope flared through him. The rumble grew into a roar before the motorcycle engine stuttered into silence. He’d never moved that fast in his entire existence yet it seemed to take an eternity to dash through the mud to the small barn that housed his Audi.

Arisada skidded to a halt, unbreathing, struck immobile by the sight of Tatsu dropping the Drifter onto its kickstand beside the car. Arisada’s heart hammered high into his throat. It was as if he were seeing the youth for the first time, exquisitely new and unknown, and yet wonderfully old and known.

The boy was drenched. He dismounted, his long leg sliding over the seat of the bike, ass muscles outlined by wet leather chaps. Shook his tangled hair, flinging water in all directions.

“You are alive?” Arisada’s incredulity drowned in a sublime wash of happiness. His arms enveloped Tatsu, his body pressed against the cold, clammy leather of the motorcycle jacket. “I was certain you were dead,” Arisada’s choked voice vibrated against Tatsu’s wet neck.

A tiny huff of contentment slipped from Tatsu. He curled his arms tight and hard around the quivering shoulders, his cheek rubbing against Arisada’s head. “Dammit, you are hard to find. I’ve been riding around this island all night in this fucking rain.”

Abruptly, they disentangled and stepped away, distancing themselves an arm’s length from each other and the intensity of their feelings.

How are—?”

“I’m freezing, and I’ve been through hell. But I’m better than you. Do you know you’re naked?” Tatsu interrupted with no sign of teasing on his face.

Hapless in the clutches of his emotions, Arisada silently waved them into the house. But as he followed the boy into the
genkan,
fear shredded Arisada’s euphoria. There was no denying those edgy movements and small uncertainties that turned Tatsu’s gliding samurai walk into a parody of its former elegance. That rigid back, locked shoulders. The boy was using every iota of his samurai discipline to hide an unspeakable violation.

Tatsu removed his boots before stripping off his wet chaps and jacket, and hanging them on hooks. He dug out the Kings, put one to his mouth, began to flick his lighter.

With quivering fingers, Arisada plucked the cigarette from Tatsu’s lips. “Let me give you something better.” He leaned in and fused their lips in a devouring kiss.

For one, long hungry moment, Tatsu leaned into that kiss. He chased his tongue in deep, relishing Arisada’s taste. Then he snapped his head back and stepped away. Stared at the vampire with jade eyes as cold and hard as their namesake, empty of all warmth and innocence and trust.

Arisada lowered his head. “
Sumimasen.
Cobb-san.”

Tatsu ducked his head once but his gaze remained hollow. Still, even this polite gesture was precious to Arisada. With a sudden conviction, he knew what had happened to the boy. Knew the horror of it because he’d lived the same horror.

Arisada waved toward the far bedroom, the one where he’d nursed Tatsu back to health. “Please, you are wet and cold. You must be exhausted. Warm yourself under the shower. There are clean garments in the closet. I will make some tea. Some hot sake as well. Join me in the
chashitsu
.” His invitation was as impersonal as if addressing a casual visitor instead of his life’s love. But his sad gaze clung to Tatsu’s stiffly retreating back, only turning away when the boy slid the door shut.

A moment later, the innocuous sound of running water broke Arisada’s self-control. He bowed his head and wept. His
koibito
was alive! No matter the boy’s reason for seeking him out, even if only to revile him, Arisada’s beloved lived. For that alone, his heart soared with indescribable gratitude.

The simple acts of getting dressed and preparing the refreshments, calmed Arisada’s mind. Deep, slow breathing stopped the trembling of his body. With deliberate care, he arranged the tea things, the warm rice liquor and bowls on a tray and carried them into the tearoom.

Tatsu, wrapped in a black yukata, bowed at the entrance then knelt stiffly on the
zabuton
.

“
Domo arigatō
for your gracious hospitality, Saito-san.” He felt detached, body and mind so numb he was unable to offer anything more than the required formality of polite strangers.

With the calm, deliberate motions that the proper serving of tea required, the vampire arranged the cups, then blended the powder and hot water with quick stirs of the tea whisk. His face reflected only the serenity that comes with the gentle art of
chaiki
.

The last time Tatsu sat for a tea ceremony was with his mother only a few weeks before she died. Now in that same time-honored ritual, a vampire gracefully offered him a porcelain
chawan
filled with a fragrant liquid.

As Tatsu accepted the bowl, a twinge of emotion stirred behind that stone wall built around his heart during the last few days. Tatsu could not tell if the feeling was sorrow for his lost past or fear about his future. Knew he hated that Arisada was the only one who could tear down that wall.

“Wait here. I have something for you.” Arisada left the room in a rustle of silk. When he returned, he handed the Ikkansai to Tatsu who accepted it with silent gratitude and shaking hands. He bowed then knelt again on the
zabuton,
placing the sword behind him in the position of total trust. He lifted his cup. It quivered in his hand.

After a few sips, Tatsu looked into Arisada’s eyes, startled to see the shimmer of tears. Saw also the unmistakable love in their golden orbs. The rawness of that emotion scared him. He didn’t want any part of it.

“Wyckes pronounced you dead,” Arisada’s quiet tone belied his roiling emotions.

“Think a few stabs and bruises could kill me?” Tatsu tried a false bravado that he certainly didn’t feel. “What about you? Sadomori ran a sword into you.”

“My injuries were not severe,” Arisada caught Tatsu’s frown at his lie. “Many were not so fortunate. My dear Fornax is dead. Some of your teammates as well.”

“
Hai,
three of the Seattle team, six of the Snake Eaters. Bell’s still in a coma. Cooperhayes dead. The Major is devastated. Guess they were really special to each other. He went back to England. Shut the company down.”

“Sadomori fed from you. How is it you live?”

“Hell, Arisada, I’m a Leper.”

The vampire looked confused. “
Wakarimasen
?”

“Aha, finally something you don’t understand,” Tatsu snorted with a sardonic twist of his mouth. “I’m immune from the virus because … well … I already have it in me. Sadomori infected me the night he killed my family. I don’t know how, but I survived it, stayed human.”

“
A, sō desu ka.
” The vampire’s pale face almost flushed pink with embarrassment. How could he not know of this condition, this immunity? A heartbeat later, his next thought nearly devastated him. In a voice that grated as if he had swallowed gravel, Arisada forced out the question. “Did Sadomori…?”

A terrible, bruised gaze turned those green eyes to stone. “He tried, couldn’t get it up. Just used the whip handle.” Tatsu thought he could just say it, reveal the unthinkable, but the words turned to poison in his mouth. Since he regained consciousness, he’d planned this moment—being able to tell Arisada of the torture, simply saying it, getting it out of the way. Was sure the hate that was eating his soul would dissipate with the telling. He was wrong.

Tatsu’s unemotional reply horrified Arisada. He started to reach for the boy but dropped his hand at the banality of the gesture. “Oh my
koibito
… that you were hurt so.” He choked back his outrage.

“While he was doing it, he described everything he did to you, thought it would break me. Didn’t work. Made me so fucking angry. I thought only about killing him. And then I did.” Within his cold, clinical voice, Tatsu heard a desperate plea for understanding. He had dreamed of the comfort he would take from Arisada. Instead, raw panic overtook him. He was going fucking insane, nothing made sense any more. He had to get away from the very person who moments ago he looked to for succor.