Surrender to Darkness Page 11

  Buried in the depths of Sora’s calm gaze was a glint of something hard. “And I’m not interested in helping you obtain your goal without knowing more about you and your motivations.”

  Hell and damnation.

  It was a reasonable request. He wouldn’t hand over a valuable relic to someone he knew nothing about, either. It would be a lot easier to capitulate if the old man weren’t so bloody annoying, though.

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ll answer a few questions. But first, I’ve got one of my own.”

  Sora spread his hands wide. “Ask.”

  “If I satisfy you that my credentials are genuine, will you help me convince Kiyoko to give up the Veil?”

  He shook his head. “I would recommend she keep it.”

  “Even when you know that every moment she holds on to it endangers her? Why?”

  “Why are you so certain she in danger?”

  “Because I’ve seen the lengths Satan is willing to go to acquire these relics and increase his power. He’s not sending callow, inexperienced demons to seek them out. He’s sending his most formidable warriors. None of whom have been easy to defeat, by the way, even by immortal standards. Even with an army of ninjas at her back, Kiyoko doesn’t have the strength to withstand such an assault.”

  “Kiyoko-san is unique.”

  Murdoch nodded. “Sure, she’s a gifted swordsman. I admit that. But those skills won’t be enough. Defeating a couple of pith demons who steal souls is not the same as defeating a martial demon capable of demolishing buildings. Or a lure demon capable of twisting your very thoughts.”

  The old man set aside the scroll and moved the podium, then rose to his feet in a dignified flow of limbs. His robes never once revealed more than a socked toe. “She is the only one in a millennium to display equal mastery of the martial arts, the mystic arts, and divination. The only one born with the true promise of her ancestors.”

  Murdoch sighed. “Look, I’d be the first to acknowledge that the woman is bloody marvelous. But she’s human, damn it. She can die. Far too easily, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Which brings us full circle,” the old man said. “I know you are Death’s servant, that you owe her your allegiance and your obeisance. I presume that means you are here to collect a soul. Whose?”

  A ripple of displeasure ran down Murdoch’s spine at the word servant. “I am no one’s servant. I gather souls, as is my duty, but I do not blindly follow orders.”

  Sora frowned. “Does that mean you can refuse to collect a soul marked by Death?”

  “No. If she places her helix upon someone’s cheek, then the fate of that soul has been decided—a fate I can neither change nor deny. But I do not answer only to Death. I also answer to my conscience. And that leads me to further my own tasks, such as keeping dark relics out of Satan’s hands.” Murdoch pushed to his feet, now towering over the old sensei. “I am not here on a mission for Death.”

  “Does she know that you are here?”

  Murdoch grimaced. “Without a doubt.”

  “Then she supports the protection of these relics?”

  “Supports is too strong a word,” Murdoch said drily. “Condones would be closer to the truth.”

  “Until such time as it interferes with her own ambitions.”

  Murdoch skewed a glance at the old man. “Aye, that’s probably accurate.”

  Sora turned and shut the doors on the painted cabinet. “Thank you for your honest and helpful responses, Mr. Murdoch. I’ll offer this in return: Help Kiyoko-san understand your berserker and you’ll make it easier for her to give up the Veil.”

  Murdoch frowned. “I’ll tell her what I know, but I do not fully understand the beast myself. The potion I drank was the instrument of a Norse god.”

  Sora nodded. “Odin, the god of war. I’ve read several accounts of his soldiers having such skills. Fear not—Kiyoko’s interest lies less in the origins of the berserker than in how it manifests inside you.”

  “Why does she need that information?”

  “She’s on a personal journey.”

  “A journey? What does that mean? Can you never just answer a question with a simple truth?” Murdoch demanded, exasperated. “Does everything need to be a bloody riddle?”

  “Calm is a virtue, Mr. Murdoch,” Sora admonished.

  “So is being direct. Answer the question. Why does Kiyoko need to know anything about my berserker?”

  “I should think that is obvious.” Sora tucked his hands into his long sleeves. “Based on the way she’s able to instantly call your berserker to the surface, it’s clear that she and it have a common destiny.”

  She and it? “That’s ridiculous.”

  Sora shrugged. “I believe that Kiyoko-san is the lake of tranquillity needed to balance your berserker’s existence.”

  Tranquillity? Was the man mad? When the two of them touched, anything resembling tranquillity flew right out the window. For both of them. Kiyoko felt exactly the same sensations he did. He’d stake his very existence on it. But she’d clearly never mentioned her hot, sweaty, and totally stirred-up feelings to her revered mentor.

  Maybe he should set the record straight.

  Kiyoko knew the instant Murdoch entered the meditation hall. Not because he made any noise. Just the opposite—the silence in the room deepened. Perhaps his body blocked the wind at the door, or perhaps his weight upon the floor silenced the faint creaks of the building. Whatever the cause, the quiet grew.

  “Come in, Murdoch,” she encouraged, without lifting her eyes. “I hope you dressed comfortably. After meditation, I thought we’d take a run outside the compound.”

  He crossed the room and without a word dropped to the cushion in front of her. As usual, his legs were encased in black jeans and when he knelt, the material pulled snug over the heavy sinews of his thighs. Kiyoko tried not to notice.

  But the dreams that had tormented her all night did not make it easy.

  He cupped his hands together and made a perfect oval with his thumbs. “I just had a little heart-to-heart with Sora-san.”

  The gentle rumble of his accent sent a thrill over her skin. The deep roll of his r’s evoked a rush of vivid memory. In her dream, he had groaned when she clutched at the long locks of his hair and opened her mouth to his kiss. Deep and guttural, a perfect reflection of satisfaction.

  “Oh?” she responded, more breathless than she’d planned.

  A brief pause. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Nothing a peaceful meditation and a run through the forest wouldn’t cure. She let go of the memory, settled her breathing, and sought the serenity of blending her being with the world around her.

  “He has no clue about the raging-hot desire, does he?”

  Her eyes flew up to meet his. And a furious blush rose in her cheeks as a myriad of dreamy details escaped the tethers of her mind. The rough texture of his callused hands on her buttocks, the hungry demand of his lips on hers, the unbearable tension in her belly. “What?”

  He stared at her. His brows furrowed.

  She licked her lips, which were suddenly dry, and his gaze dropped to them briefly before returning to her eyes.

  “Why are you blushing?”

  “I’m not used to talking about raging-hot desire with a man I barely know,” she said. The blush deepened with her lie. If he only knew where her imagination had taken her this morning …

  He leaned closer. “It’s more than that.”

  She lowered her eyes to avoid the perceptive intensity of his. “I hope you didn’t take it upon yourself to educate Sora-sensei.”

  “You can barely look at me. Why?”

  “I’ve already explained why. We should focus on our meditation. Lower your gaze, Murdoch.”

  For a moment she thought she had succeeded in diverting him. But then he murmured, “I don’t know about you, but I didn’t sleep very well last night. Crazy dreams. I was in the middle of a truly wicked one when Yoshio
woke me.”

  Kiyoko’s breath snagged in her throat. No. Surely not.

  “This will be a good test of your concentration, then,” she said, resisting the urge to look up. “See if you can put your difficult night behind you and bring peace to your thoughts.”

  “Did I imply my night was difficult? My apologies. Nothing could be further from the truth. The dreams were very enjoyable. So enjoyable that I resented being woken.”

  Kiyoko swallowed.

  The same was true for her. She still felt cheated. The dream had seemed so blissfully real that when she woke alone, she had actually shed a tear. Just one. “You are not giving this exercise your full attention, Murdoch. Pay attention to your breathing.”

  “I’d rather pay attention to yours.”

  This time she did not succeed in taming her gaze. Her eyes lifted. And the smoldering heat in his eyes nearly bowled her over. “You are creating complications that will not serve either of us well. Inner peace comes from stemming your desires and embracing simplicity.”

  He continued to speak as if he had not heard her. “You know what’s strange? I’d swear that everything in my dream was real. Not a single detail was wrong.” Closing his eyes, he leaned toward her hair and breathed deep. “Not one.”

  Kiyoko relaxed a little.

  Perhaps he hadn’t had the same dream as she, after all. Because hers had gone far beyond the superficial. She had discovered several things about Murdoch that were currently hidden beneath a layer of demure clothing. There was no way to know if the muscles on his back were truly as toned as they had appeared, or whether there was actually a thick white scar on his left shoulder blade.

  “That’s not the proper breathing technique,” she coached. “Pull each breath into your belly.”

  “Every nuance of your scent, every glisten of light in your hair, every shadowy curve of your flesh is accurate.”

  Her heart tripped and stumbled. Flesh? How much flesh?

  “You dreamed of me?” she asked, aiming for an appropriately scandalized note. In truth, a bead of warm pleasure burst in her chest. His description of her was almost poetic.

  “Aye.”

  He didn’t sit back, just opened his eyes. And explored her face in slow, steamy detail. As if there were some secret hidden in her features that he must puzzle out.

  “As I said, it was a very enjoyable dream.”

  He was close enough that Kiyoko could have touched him. Rubbed her thumb over his bottom lip, as she had done in the dream. If only she dared to bridge the four-inch gap between them, she could confirm whether the taste of his lips ran as true to her fantasy as his enticing scent—soapy freshness blended with hints of male musk and leather.

  But, of course, that was impossible. One moment of contact and the fantasy would come to an abrupt end. There would be no kiss, no groan, no caress. Just a quick descent into berserker rage and a dash for the door.

  Kiyoko grimaced.

  Murdoch was a test of her commitment.

  “I’m happy that I was able to please you. Now sit back and relax, Murdoch.”

  He smiled, a slow bloom of wry amusement. “More tease than please, I’m afraid. The dream didn’t last nearly long enough.”

  She favored him with her best imitation of a cool stare. “If this is the extent of your self-discipline, I admit to being disappointed. For some reason, I assumed a man of your sword skills would have more willpower.”

  The insult rolled off him without denting his smile. “I’ve decided self-discipline is overrated. Stamina is a better quality in a warrior. I pride myself on having the strength and endurance to last the full stretch of battle and not fall short of victory.”

  Kiyoko nearly choked.

  Even though English was her second language, it was impossible to miss his underlying meaning. Arrogant didn’t even begin to describe the man.

  “Did you come here to talk or to train, Murdoch? If talk is your goal, I suggest you return to the main hall and seek out one of the other senshi. If improving your skills is your aim, you must apply yourself.”

  He sat back. “Talk is merely a diversion, and I can train anywhere, at any time. I came here to be with you.”

  It was difficult to find fault with such blunt honesty.

  “Then please adhere to my conditions for remaining,” she said. “Put your all into the training, or find some other way to while away the hours.”

  “As you wish.”

  Without further quarrel, he lowered his eyes and resumed the proper physical alignment.

  Kiyoko studied him for a moment, admiring the width of his brow and the strong angle of his chin. Then she, too, settled into a peaceful pose.

  Sifting through Kiyoko’s thoughts was not as easy as Azazel had hoped.

  This was her second visit to the cottage, and he still didn’t have the information he wanted. He pushed away from the table and studied his handiwork. The will-sap spell wasn’t the problem. Her eyes were blank, the corporate reports forgotten. She responded eagerly to his every command. She would offer up the balance of her bank account if he were to ask. But her responses to his questions about the Veil were decidedly vague and unhelpful.

  Someone, perhaps even Kiyoko herself, had put a memory charm on her.

  And thus far, no amount of mystical pushing, pulling, or shaking had broken it.

  He snatched her pen from her nerveless fingers, closing his fist tightly around the cylinder. Tighter, until he felt the soft metal give. Then tighter still. He crushed the engraved writing implement into a mangled metal ball, then threw it across the room. If he didn’t need Kiyoko’s skills as a yin-yang master to unlock the dark side of the Veil, he’d kill her right now.

  Bitch.

  Apparently, locating the Veil would require a more creative solution. A back door, if you will. She had information inside that pretty little head that would aid him. No doubt of that. It was simply a matter of asking the right questions and using the right amount of force.

  Murdoch’s patience was near its end.

  Since querying the senshi had not turned up any clues to the whereabouts of the Veil, and Sora had refused to order Kiyoko to hand it over, inspecting her jewelry was the obvious next step. But he preferred to borrow the items without her knowledge, and that required excellent timing and a very careful touch.

  Unfortunately, he was a little short on steadiness. Thanks to a second straight night of heated dreams, the tension in his body had reached a fever pitch. He could barely lift a bottle of ale to his lips without spilling half the contents.

  Working up a sweat in the outdoor exercise yard helped to dissipate some of the harrowing frustration, so he spent a good portion of his spare time there. Umiko had miraculously procured loose navy track pants and a pair of canvas trainers, both in his size. She had delivered them to him yesterday with a case of Sapporo ale, thereby becoming one of his favorite people in the world, her dragonlike protection of her mistress notwithstanding.

  “Mr. Murdoch?”

  He lowered his sword and pivoted.

  There before him, resplendent in a sharply tailored dark gray suit, white shirt, and blue-striped tie, was Ryuji Watanabe. Smiling. Friendly. Even faintly admiring.

  “Aye?”

  “Pardon my interruption, but I wondered if you might have seen Kiyoko-san this morning? She and I were to review the fixed-assets report at nine, but she did not meet me as planned.”

  “Perhaps she recalled that it was Sunday and decided to take a break,” Murdoch suggested nicely. One of the primary assults on his patience was the endless time she spent with Watanabe, poring over corporate financial data.

  “Perhaps,” Watanabe said with a rueful smile. “But it was her idea to work today, not mine. The incident with Takeo has heightened her fears that the company might fall prey to betrayal from within. I take it you haven’t seen her?”

  “No.”

  “Since I appear to have some free time,” Watanabe said, “would you care to
join me for a coffee? I acquired a taste for Starbucks when I lived in Boston, and I’ve brewed a pot in my cottage.”

  Murdoch glanced down at his damp and wrinkled T-shirt. “Regrettably, I’m in sore need of a shower before I contemplate socializing.”

  “I understand. Would it offend your sensibilities if I remain here to watch you practice? Your sword and cutting techniques are different from those of the others. Very elegant and, judging by the hum of the air as your blade passes, deceptively powerful.”

  It was damned hard to hate a man who plied you with compliments.

  “Have you studied the sword yourself?” Murdoch asked, as he moved smoothly from ox guard to cross strike and back to ox guard.

  “No,” said Watanabe with a short laugh. “A few obligatory lessons in kendo are all I can claim. I’m much more formidable with a pen.”

  Or a man who feels no shame in admitting his limits.

  Damn him.

  “Yoshio mentioned that Kiyoko went for a run a half hour ago,” Murdoch offered grudgingly. “She should return shortly.”

  “Excellent. I’ll be able to reschedule our meeting.” Watanabe pointed to Murdoch’s weapon. “Is this a Scottish blade? The design on the hilt appears to be some sort of knot work.”

  Murdoch held the blade out so the other man could view it better. “No, it’s Norse. A Viking blade forged in the thirteenth century.”

  Watanabe’s eyebrows lifted. “And it’s still usable? I would have thought such an old blade would be severely worn.”

  “It’s been treated well,” Murdoch said. “Regularly cleaned and oiled, and never permitted to rust. It’s still in excellent shape.”

  “But not as strong as a blade made from today’s modern steel composites, I should imagine.”

  Murdoch nodded. “You know your metals.”

  Watanabe shrugged. “In addition to the food products for which we are most renowned, Ashida Corporation manufactures home appliances. One of our more profitable divisions.”

  “Have you worked for the company long?”

  “Only a year.” The Japanese man’s gaze slid left, to the figure of Yoshio, who had stopped his own training to watch Murdoch. When the young warrior realized he’d been noticed, he bowed to Watanabe and resumed his sparring with another senshi. “Kiyoko’s father hired me away from a major competitor with the specific goal of having me replace him one day. Little did we know that one day would arrive so soon.”