Blood Brothers (6 page)

Sakurai straightened and frowned at Kuro’s harsh tone. Had he done or said something to displease their master? He looked up and followed the samurai’s unforgiving glare, where it rested on Kiyoshi’s doubled-over form. Sakurai’s heart sank.

“Kuro-sama,” he said quickly. “The sun has already set, we should go and finish off the last of Nobunaga’s men.” As he rose to his feet, he pulled on his
hakama
and quickly gathered his
katana
from the floor. He tucked the sword through the tie to the loose-fitting pants and pulled back his long hair away from his face.

“You are a good son, Sakurai,” Kuro said. The softness of his voice did little to mask the anger in his words. No, not anger…disappointment.

“We’re
both
good sons, Kuro-sama.” Liu held his breath. Anything Kuro would ask of him, he would do without question. The samurai was a being of terrible beauty for whom cruelty and love were one and the same. Kuro’s power was a living thing all of its own that radiated from his body as strongly as the sun’s rays pierced the sky. Kuro woke a part of Sakurai the young man had never known existed, and Sakurai

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Blood Brothers

doubted if even a god could be mightier. When he followed Kuro’s gaze to Kiyoshi once more, this time Sakurai felt shame.

“Such weakness…” Kuro hissed.

“No,” Sakurai answered, as desperate to convince himself as he was his master. “It’s only that he hasn’t fed in a few days. Kiyoshi thirsts, that’s all…”

“Lies!”
Kuro countered silently.

Sakurai’s stomach lurched. A week had passed since the last life Kiyoshi had taken, and even then he’d been reluctant to drink the woman’s blood. How worried Kiyoshi was that night, upset that maybe he’d killed one of the many widows who had children to care for, alone now that her husband lay dead thanks to the warring lords. He’d barely been able to swallow down half her blood.

“What sign of weakness could be greater than placing one’s survival
behind such a petty quality as mercy?”
Sakurai could think of only one other.

“Of course Kiyoshi-kun will fight for you.” Sakurai narrowed his eyes at his brother. “He’ll kill without remorse.”

“We shall see.” Kuro left in silence. Sakurai flinched as the wood slammed shut, then turned to Kiyoshi.

“Don’t you dare offend him,” he warned angrily. “Kuro-sama has given us
everything
, and you insist on being so ungrateful. You
will
kill for him tonight…or forfeit your own life.”

Kiyoshi looked up, impaling him with those childlike eyes. Sakurai turned away so Kiyoshi could not see the blood that splattered his lips as he bit down on his tongue. He felt sick that he should even have to threaten his beloved friend with such words, but they’d passed over his lips before he knew what was being said. Sakurai could never bring

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himself to murder Kiyoshi, not when he loved him so much. But that love was now tainted with shame…

He followed after Kuro through the
shoji
, closing it hard enough to make the paper tremble in its wooden panes. Stepping out onto the empty, snow-covered street outside the inn, he cursed under his breath.

Samurai flanked him on all sides, hidden in shadows his keen eyes could see through. More than a dozen of them, dressed in full armor, their swords drawn and at the ready. They moved forward all at once.

“They have not harmed me, boy,”
Kuro’s voice assured him from within his own mind
. “Do what you will with them.”

Sakurai laughed.

The first two men fell to the ground in four halves for showing their intended strikes too soon. Sakurai read their movements as he was taught to by Kuro, and dealt with them quickly enough by finding the weak places where their armor was tied together with leather cords. The next three who charged him fared no better. For all the skill with a
katana
they might have possessed over Sakurai, they could not match his inhuman speed, or his viciousness. Sakurai released his frustration over Kiyoshi with each flash of bloodied steel through the cold night air, cutting off limbs and heads without pause.

One samurai he grabbed as the man collapsed forward, clutching at the wound on his belly that had pierced through his armor and into his flesh. Sakurai ripped off the
nodowa
shielding the samurai’s throat and bit down with savage hunger. As Sakurai drank the thick blood gushing from the torn vein, the man struggled to scream and push away. His hands fell from his waist and his bowels spilled onto the trampled snow.

A moment later, he went completely limp and Sakurai dropped the samurai’s bloodless corpse.

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Blood Brothers

Those who remained alive and with enough of a hold on their composure, froze in mid-step. Their sense of honor stopped them from fleeing, though any amount of wisdom would tell them staying was beyond futile.

“Destroy them all, Sakurai.”
Kuro’s voice filled Sakurai’s mind and he shivered with pleasure. A black wolf moved among the shadows between the wooden buildings, the
ookami’s
crimson eyes glowing in the darkness. Even in the form of a beast, his master’s power was immense.

“Yes, Kuro-sama,” Sakurai whispered, knowing these samurai would only be the first to fall. The rest of the village would soon join them.

Kiyoshi watched the carnage from a crack in the
shoji
. Liu—Sakurai he corrected himself—ran through the soldiers as though he were the experienced warrior and they mere farmer’s children. Limbs flew, blood spurted, heads hit the snowy ground with dull thuds, staining the world red. Kiyoshi’s stomach ached, his new fangs extended with the craving for the blood, and yet he held himself back, gripped the framing around the door with enough force to splinter the wood.

The wolf that was Kuro feasted upon the dead, as did Liu. Pain wracked his own stomach and though he hated himself, Kiyoshi slipped from the inn and pounced upon one of the fallen men. Eagerly he lapped up the blood that still oozed from the man’s chest, then lunged at another who pulled himself from the shadows and swung his sword at Liu with his remaining arm.

Kuro in his wolf form trotted over to Sakurai and licked the blood that covered his chin. Sakurai let his master—his father—nuzzle him with his coarse, furry head. “I told you,
chichi-ue
. I told you he would kill.”

Sakurai raised his sword and licked off some of the blood from the flat edge of the blade. He laughed again, clearly intoxicated by the blood’s

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taste. His eyes flashed, opalescent in the winter’s pale moonlight, eager for more.

“See, Kiyoshi-kun, you can’t deny yourself.” Sakurai approached him and rested a bloodstained hand on Kiyoshi’s shoulder. “Enjoy this—seek out the thrill. These mortals are
nothing
compared to us.”

Kiyoshi saw Sakurai’s lips move and heard his friend’s voice, but those were Kuro’s words. He let Sakurai pull him up, let himself be led into the center of the little village where a few brave men gathered with their simple weapons and farm implements. He watched as the carnage began again, this time with Kuro-sama in his human form leading the onslaught.

Kiyoshi drew blood as well, but only from those who attacked him.

The village men lay dead, dismembered, their blood becoming like
sake
to his brother and Kuro. They were clearly drunk on it and the thrill of the power they wielded. Kiyoshi wished he could be like them, but he couldn’t. Kuro pointed to the first of the scattered village houses. “Bring me the women and children.”

Sakurai grinned a vicious grin and dashed forward.

“No,” Kiyoshi said. “I won’t do it.”

“What?” Sakurai froze in mid-step and turned on his heel. “What did you say?”

“You know what I said,
ge-ge
,” Kiyoshi answered softly. But he stared into Sakurai’s eyes without a hint of hesitation.

“Don’t even
dare
call me ‘brother’.” Sakurai was at his side in an instant, grabbing the front of his kimono. “Everything you say is an insult to me, and worse—to Kuro-sama!”

He forced down on Kiyoshi until the younger man fell to his knees in the snow with a pained grunt. “Apologize to our father and obey! Show him we’re both good sons!”

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Blood Brothers

“No.”

“Show him or I’ll beat you.”

“Or slit his throat,” Kuro muttered.

Sakurai looked up at Kuro-sama. The samurai produced a
tanto
and held the dagger before him for Sakurai to take.

“Make your choice, boy,”
Kuro’s voice rang inside his head
. “Accept
the world I offer or allow this unworthy thing to hold you back. Allow him
to drag you once more to the rice fields where you can die as much a
pathetic weakling as he is. He disgusts me. He should disgust you. How
could you soil yourself with such a useless being?”

Sakurai shook with a rage over Kiyoshi’s failings, a rage that came from somewhere outside himself. Swift enough so that the weapon was a mere flash in the darkness, he flicked the deadly blade across Kiyoshi’s throat and strode away even before his little brother fell face first into the snow.

Kuro followed him into the nearest house.

Kiyoshi’s body was gone by the time they finished gorging themselves on sex and blood.

“You let him live.”

“He was dragged away by the wolves you summoned.”

“As you wish,” Kuro said with a knowing smirk. He placed his arm around Sakurai’s shoulders. “Come, my son. We have a very interesting life to start leading.”

“Yes,
chichi-ue
.” Sakurai smiled, his pulse thundering in his ears with the excitement of things to come.

Snow drifted down from the sky as he and his master crossed the silent village. Already the white flakes had begun to cover the red streaks of blood and signs of carnage left in the two vampire’s wake. When they stepped over the place where Kiyoshi had fallen, Sakurai made certain

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his gaze never shifted from its place at the edge of the village where his future with Kuro lay.

Not once did he glance back. His heart held no regrets.

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Blood Brothers

1864, outside Edo

The last brief frost of early Spring had already passed, leaving the air crisp and smelling of new life. Plum blossoms filled the trees lining the trail, some drifting slowly to the damp earth as the breeze jostled them from their branches.

Though having witnessed more than two hundred of these seasons, Kiyoshi still marveled at this renewal of spirit, of life. As he approached the village at the top of the path, he reached out to capture one of the blossoms, cradling it in a hand as pale and delicate as the
yae-ume
flower itself. So fragile this blossom’s life had been…much like that belonging to the two boys running up the trail behind Kiyoshi. He could sense their excitement and hear their hearts pounding from exertion even before they appeared around the bend at the bottom of the hill.

They were only about ten and fifteen years of age, hardly more than children. The older one was tall for his age with long, black hair loosely bound in a ponytail at the base of his neck, the other small and struggling to keep up with the first boy.

Brothers. What similarities in features their faces didn’t have, the matching scent of their blood provided.

Kiyoshi moved off the road quickly, dropping the blossom as pangs of hunger knotted up his belly. He hadn’t fed in a long while and he didn’t

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want to now, certainly not on these two children. But something about them made the ache in his soul almost unbearable.

“
Ani-ue
! Wait for me!” the younger boy cried out.

The older one slowed his pace, grabbed the small one’s hand and helped him forward. “Sanyu-chan, I won’t leave you behind.” He smiled, scooping up his younger brother in his arms. “I’ll carry you the rest of the way.”

Kiyoshi’s eyes stung as tears welled up beneath his lashes. He understood the ache inside of him now. How these two children reminded him of his own past…the small one of himself, the older one of someone who had once cared for him that way. Until that fateful day when the demon samurai had come to them.

“Where are you going?” Kiyoshi asked, stepping around the plum trees, reaching out as though he could catch these precious little ones as he had the blossom.

The boys stopped and stared in surprise at Kiyoshi, not having seen from where he’d appeared. “Oh.” The older one gulped down some more air, catching his breath. “Are you just traveling through the countryside?”

Kiyoshi nodded.

“Tonight, there’s a famous
kabuki
troupe from Edo visiting the village up this way. There’s going to be a performance. My brother and I want to make it there before nightfall so we can see it.”

“Ah.” Kiyoshi nodded again, smiling as Sanyu hid shyly behind his older brother’s tall form. “Maybe I’ll see the play too.”

“Yes.” The elder boy grinned and bowed at the waist politely. “We should get going. It was nice talking to you. Come, Sanyu-chan.”

“You’re such a good brother,” Kiyoshi said softly. “Never change, and take care of him always.”

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Blood Brothers

The boy bowed again. “I’ll take care of him forever.” He took his little brother by the hand and they continued on their way.

Kiyoshi watched them, smiling at the young one who glanced back.

The feelings inside him of him were calmed at last, and he stepped onto the road. Perhaps he would go see that
kabuki
performance and think of those two boys who would also be watching.

Kabuki
’s art rested in artifice after all, and Kiyoshi could pretend it was himself and Liu taking in the play from the rear of the theater—two friends closer than brothers, letting nothing and no one drive them apart.