Surrender to Darkness Page 19

  But she was surprised by the hummingbird-fast beat of the duel. And by the snarling aggression on their handsome faces. A serious business, this battle. Murdoch’s swings sang with power and precision, but Webster appeared to be holding his own, attacking and parrying with breathtaking agility.

  Both men scored on each other within seconds. Murdoch took a cut to the left arm and Webster a slice to the shoulder. Neither paid any mind. They continued to draw blood with a cavalier attitude that made Kiyoko wince.

  “My money’s on Murdoch,” said one nearby Soul Gatherer.

  “Don’t be so sure,” responded his colleague, tugging his wallet out of his pants and peeling off two twenties. “He won’t let the berserker rise during a practice duel, so I’m betting Webster kicks his ass.”

  “You’re on.”

  Kiyoko grimaced. Bloodthirsty savages, the lot of them. She grabbed Yoshio’s sleeve. “Come on. The cafeteria will be nearly empty with this going on.”

  “You don’t want to wait and see if Murdoch wins?”

  “No, watching two men slice themselves to ribbons will make it difficult to swallow my breakfast.”

  He peered over his shoulder at the fight. “None of the wounds are overly deep. They’ll heal within hours.”

  “That’s hardly the point.” Kiyoko sighed. Yoshio was as bad as the others. He couldn’t look away. “Stay, if you like. I’m going back to the house.”

  Her partner nodded, clearly distracted.

  Men.

  As she exited the arena into a dull, cloudy morning, she narrowly avoided bumping into Ryuji, who was on his way inside. “My apologies, Ryuji-san. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  He smiled. “Neither was I.”

  It was a very nice smile, one Kiyoko could not help but return. Vaguely self-deprecating to start, warmly admiring to finish. Hard to resist. He was an attractive man, especially in his pale blue sweater and dark gray pants. More important, he knew everything there was to know about Ashida Corporation and could help her understand some of the odd expenses she’d mulled over in the financial reports.

  Cold, dry numbers were just the thing she needed to flush the last of those lingering dreams from her mind. “Have you had breakfast?”

  “Tea only.”

  “Would you like to join me?”

  “I would.” He glanced at the painted white doors of the arena. “Did you happen to see young Emily Lewis inside? Her father asked me to give her a message if I saw her.”

  Kiyoko recalled her scan of the bleachers. “I don’t believe she’s here.”

  “Then I don’t suppose the message will matter. He is delayed in attending her practice.” He offered his arm. “Shall we go to the cafeteria? They have a small but freshly made selection of sushi. I was actually hoping to talk you about the audit. A number of art pieces belonging to the company are unaccounted for, and I fear they may have been lost along with your father’s house. Would you be willing to go through the list with me?”

  Kiyoko took his arm. “I’d be happy to.”

  Her father had greatly admired Ryuji. Not just for his business sense, which Tatsu Ashida had lauded both publicly and privately, but also for his dedication to his family. Ryuji supported his widowed mother, his two unmarried sisters, and a host of aunts and uncles.

  Her father had never pressured her to look at Ryuji with an eye toward marriage, but he hadn’t made a secret of his hopes, either.

  Unfortunately, there was no spark. At least not on her side. And there was certainly nothing remotely like the fiery need Murdoch inspired in her.

  “Kiyoko.”

  Her heart did a strange little dance at the rumbled syllables of her name. Amazing. It was almost as if she could conjure Murdoch just by thinking of him.

  She halted, ignoring Ryuji’s stiff arm and obvious reluctance to stop. Turning, she faced Murdoch. And suffered another torrid wave of embarrassment. He was fully dressed—if you didn’t count the numerous slices left by Brian’s sword—but in her mind’s eye he was as naked as he’d been in her dream. The dream where she had brought him to—

  “Yes?” she choked out.

  “I need to speak with you.”

  “Surely it can wait until after breakfast, Mr. Murdoch?” Ryuji said nicely. “A half hour would give you time to patch up those wounds and avoid bleeding all over Kiyoko-san.”

  Murdoch favored Ryuji with a cool look. “No, it can’t wait.”

  Kiyoko assessed the cuts on his flesh. None were serious, thankfully. “Who won the duel?”

  “Webster.”

  Not a hint of shame or disappointment colored his voice. Not an ounce of concern that he’d been beaten. How many men could claim such an unshakable ego?

  “Did you forfeit?” she asked, curious.

  “No.”

  “But you allowed it to end,” she guessed.

  Murdoch didn’t respond. He just stared at her, his eyes steady and intense. The man had an amazing ability to lay claim to her without saying a single word.

  “I’m having breakfast with Watanabe-san,” she said firmly. “Afterward, I’ll be practicing zazen in my room. If you wish to speak with me, visit then.”

  The muscles in his jaw flexed.

  Hoping to circumvent a regrettable spill of anger, she turned away.

  “Kiyoko.”

  There was a wealth of steely promise stuffed into that one word, leaving no doubt that Murdoch was about to take action and that the result wouldn’t be to her liking.

  She spun around.

  “Come here,” he demanded softly.

  Her pride screamed for her to ignore the autocratic command, or even sneer at it. But wisdom prevailed. Murdoch’s sure-footed stance hearkened back to his roots as a medieval warrior—wild, untamed, and unpredictable. Every sinew in his body was coiled tight, every inch of skin radiating fierce intensity. She suspected he was not above punching Ryuji in the face and tossing her over his shoulder.

  With a faint tremble, she walked toward him.

  She halted several feet away, but he closed the gap with a decisive step. The steamy scent of leather and spent energy washed over her, and her heart skipped a beat. He stared into her eyes for a long, searing moment, then bent to her ear. He spoke in a voice so low and intimate that damp heat stirred the hairs at her temple. “If you are truly fond of Watanabe, do not touch him again.”

  Her lips tightened.

  How dare he—

  “I don’t understand the strange bond between us,” he said softly. “But I accept it. Make no mistake. After what we shared last night, there is no going back. You are mine.”

  Kiyoko was left staring at his back as he opened the door to the arena and disappeared inside.

  14

  Murdoch searched high and low for Sora, and finally found him up on the hill where the tennis courts used to be. Lying in the crater Rodriguez had made last summer, staring up at the clouds with Emily.

  “What in the bloody blazes are you doing?” he asked, glaring down at the pair from the edge of the crater.

  Emily sat up, grinning.

  “The sensei is teaching me about yin and yang. Totally neat stuff. Day and night, hot and cold, male and female. Each one complements and transforms the other. I’m the yin to Carlos’s yang. That’s why we fit so well together.”

  Murdoch winced internally.

  Ah, Christ. Just when Emily might be turning the corner on her lost relationship with Rodriguez, the old man was stirring things up again.

  “And the lesson requires lying in the dirt because … ?”

  Sora responded, still peacefully reposed, watching a thin cloud drift overhead. “We were exploring contrasts.”

  “We were also getting a feel for the five elements,” added Emily as she scrambled up the crater wall to Murdoch’s side. “Wind, water, earth, wood, and fire.”

  “Fire?”

  She shrugged. “We’re having a really dry winter this year, so no actual flames. But Ca
rlos created this crater with fire, so I figured it was the next best thing.”

  Murdoch sighed. “Emily, Carlos is—”

  “Gone. Yeah, I know.” She caught the look on his face and added, “Don’t worry. I’m not sneaking off to visit him. He asked to be left alone, so I’m leaving him alone.”

  “Good lass,” Murdoch said.

  “But I can still feel him.”

  If Carlos had been within range of his fist at that moment, Murdoch would have given the Soul Gatherer the thrashing of his life. There was hope in Emily’s eyes—bright, shining hope that the lad would return one day and pick up where they’d left off. Whatever he’d written in his good-bye note hadn’t been enough. He’d left room for her to dream.

  Which meant that there was more heartache to come. Because a relationship between Carlos and Emily was even more impossible than one between him and Kiyoko. The berserker wasn’t a monster. It was just careless. The thing that lived inside Carlos and urged him toward violence? Definitely a monster. A red-eyed, crater-forming, skin-searing monster. The explosive battle of last spring had made that painfully clear.

  Knowing she could sense Carlos anywhere in the world and visit him in the blink of an eye was frightening. But there was nothing to be done about it, except pray that she stayed away.

  “I need to have a few private words with the sensei,” he said. “Would you mind heading back to the house on your own?”

  Some of the sparkle left her eyes. “Guess not.”

  “Thank you.” He caught her arm as she turned to depart. “I’m driving into town later. Want to come along?”

  “In what? Brian sold your Mustang, so you’ve got no wheels.” Her eyes widened. “Wait. Unless … ? Jeez, are you offering me a ride on the Triumph?”

  “Absolutely not. Your mother would slay me if I let you on the bike. I’ll borrow a car.”

  “You’re no fun.” But she smiled. “Come find me when you’re done.” Then she trekked down the hill.

  “What did you wish to discuss, Mr. Murdoch?”

  Murdoch faced the old man, who now stood on the grass a few feet away, brushing dirt off his robes. “The missing scrolls.”

  “That will be difficult, as I no longer have them.”

  “So you say.”

  Sora sent him a thoughtful look. “Are you suggesting I made a pretense of their disappearance? Why would I do that?”

  “To manipulate Kiyoko. Despite her very convincing explanation, I don’t believe those papers outline an ordinary coming-of-age ritual. More likely, they offer the promise of greater powers.”

  “They do.”

  Murdoch frowned. “You don’t deny the true nature of the ritual? That it’s intended to increase her demon-slaying powers?”

  “No,” replied Sora. “But I do deny stealing the scrolls.”

  “I want the truth this time, old man. What does the ritual do? And what are the risks to Kiyoko?”

  Sora returned his gaze calmly. “Why do you assume Kiyoko faces any danger in performing the ritual?”

  “Because nothing in this world is free,” Murdoch said grimly. He ought to know. “Power always comes with a price. Now, cease your dissembling. What does the ritual do?”

  “I cannot say.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because once I tell you, you’ll be obligated to share the information with your master.”

  “My master? You mean Webster?”

  “No, I mean Death.”

  Murdoch blinked. His last conversation with the lethal goddess came into mind. The one where she’d called Sora a thief. “You know one another.”

  “Not really. More like passing acquaintances.”

  “But you stole something from her.”

  Sora shrugged his thin shoulders. “A debatable point. The item in question was never actually hers.”

  “What was it?”

  “I cannot say.”

  Murdoch resisted the urge to grab the man and shake him. Sora was definitely hellspawn. He was too annoying not to be. “Blast it, man. Kiyoko’s life is at stake. Stop being so damned difficult.”

  “I am as eager to save Kiyoko as you are, Mr. Murdoch.” The sensei tucked his hands into his sleeves.

  “Then why not tell me the truth? Why not let me help?”

  “Because you would hand Kiyoko over to Death in the blink of an eye.”

  Murdoch stiffened. “That’s a filthy lie.”

  “Is it?” Silver-white brows knitted over dark eyes. “What happens when Death lays a hand on you, Mr. Murdoch?”

  Murdoch’s heart hit the wall of his chest at terminal velocity. The instant Death touched him, she gained access to his memories. All of them. He could keep nothing secret, even if he wanted to. But—“She’s not interested in Kiyoko. She has her eye on a different target.”

  “Are you willing to gamble Kiyoko’s life on that?”

  A heavy weight settled on Murdoch’s shoulders. The only safe bet was that Death would always be a sly bitch. “No.”

  “Then put aside your curiosity about the ritual. Focus your efforts on routing the demons.”

  “You ask too much.” Murdoch folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t trust you.”

  “Not surprising. I’ve yet to give you reason.” Sora smiled. The sort of benign, know-it-all smile that never failed to grate on the nerves. “In all honesty, to win the day, there’s only one person you need have faith in. Yourself. I would start there.”

  The old man nodded pleasantly, then traced Emily’s grass-flattened footprints down the hill.

  Wretch.

  “I sold the statue on the black market for three hundred thousand dollars. It would help me out if you would tell the insurance company that it was in the house when it burned, so I can avoid jail.”

  Kiyoko lifted her gaze from her tea. “What?”

  “Just checking to see if you were listening.” Ryuji smiled and poured them both more tea. “You’re bored.”

  Her cheeks grew warm. Ryuji had been an excellent breakfast companion. While they ate, he amused her with stories about his childhood in rural Nagano, politely inquired about typical onmyōji rituals, and even shared a few memories of her beloved father.

  But he was not Murdoch.

  “Not bored,” she said. “Momentarily distracted. So much has happened in the past few days.”

  “Then I suggest we resume our business talks. The corporate art list still needs to be reviewed. It’s in my room at the bunkhouse.”

  Ryuji’s smile was so engaging, Kiyoko almost said yes. But time had a tendency to run away on her during sessions with him. Minutes turned into hours. “Would you mind terribly if we postponed? I promised Murdoch I would meet with him after breakfast.”

  The smile disappeared. “I was hoping to get your sign-off this morning, so I could fax it to the office. It won’t take long, I promise. Half an hour at most.”

  “I hate to inconvenience Murdoch more than I have already. As you no doubt noticed, he was very eager to speak with me.”

  A crease on Ryuji’s brow briefly signaled his displeasure. “Later today, then?”

  They agreed on a time and place to get together and then she left him in the cafeteria, eyeing a cinnamon sticky bun smothered in white icing.

  She fully expected to bump into Murdoch on the way back—he’d staked his claim, after all. Every rumble of deep male voice made her heart flutter, every heavy footstep in the gravel behind her made her head turn. But none of the Soul Gatherers she met on her return to the ranch house were six foot five and Scottish.

  Sighing, she pushed open the door …

  … and nearly took Yoshio’s nose off.

  “My apologies, Yoshio-san,” she said as he leapt back. “I was—” Distracted by thoughts of Murdoch. Again. “Lost in thought.”

  “No apology necessary, Kiyoko-san. The fault is mine.” His face pale, the young man bowed politely, then ducked out the door.

  She stared at the closed door
, frowning.

  What had he—

  “I take it you can now fit me into your busy social calendar?” drawled the low voice she’d wanted to hear for the past five minutes.

  She spun around.

  Murdoch was lounging against the doorjamb leading into the living room, a wry smile on his lips and a giant mug of coffee in his hand. The sight of him sucked the air out of the room. Broad shoulders draped in smooth white cotton, narrow hips encased in low-slung black jeans, and muscular forearms sprinkled with dark hair. Handsome beyond belief.

  And he knew it.

  Kiyoko licked her dry lips. “I’m about to meditate.”

  “Good,” he said. “Let’s go upstairs and get started.”

  “I don’t think it would be appropriate for us to be alone, given the … uh, given the …”

  “Dreams we’ve been sharing?” he finished for her.

  “Yes.”

  He pushed away from the wall and sauntered toward her. “Lass, we’ve already hit second base and we’re rounding the corner toward third. At this point, modesty is a rather insubstantial barrier.”

  “Dreams are not reality.” She backed up a step.

  “Are you certain? You have a birthmark just below your right breast. How real is that?” he asked softly.

  Her cheeks flamed. “Sora-san told you.”

  “No, I’ve seen it. I’ve kissed it.”

  Desperate to shut out his all-too-perceptive gaze, she buried her face in her hands. “Stop.”

  Heavy footsteps skipped down the stairs from the second floor. “Is everything all right?” asked a male voice. A milder version of Murdoch’s Scottish brogue, barely noticeable. MacGregor.

  “We’re fine,” Murdoch responded, taking up a protective stance, his back to her. Hiding her embarrassment from prying eyes. “Headed back to the hospital, are you?”

  “Aye.” A pause. “Are you sure everything is all right?”

  Kiyoko took a deep calming breath and stepped out from behind her huge shield. “Yes, everything is fine. Please offer Rachel-san my most sincere apologies. I’m relieved to know she and the baby are healthy.”

  MacGregor smiled. “It was an accident—think no more of it. I’ll be bringing Rachel and Kate home later today.”