Oh, Mika, Mika - Chapter 5

Wisdom over Warfare

            This was the third time Raizo found himself on his back.

            Noriko stood above him calmly, her face neutral, her breathing even, and her face annoyingly free of sweat.  Raizo, on the other hand, felt his whole body perspiring; his wife-beater was soaked through, and he couldn’t help but wonder how the Murasaki ninja had taken him out so easily…thrice.

            “You have strength and speed, Raizo-san,” she coolly shook her head, as though reading his thoughts.  “But your mentality is flawed.  When you go for the death blow so eagerly, your opponent only resists that much more.”  Gracefully, she circled him, looking down at his sweaty form.  “The key is to neutralize your target first, and quickly so, without killing them.  Death comes later…painless, and without knowing.”

            Raizo’s mind suddenly flashed back to one of the first attempts on his life in Berlin.

            Hi…excuse me. If it’s not too much trouble…could you help me with this? 

            The Murasaki ninja at the Laundromat had tried to “talk” to him.  She’d smiled sweetly, beguilingly at him.  He’d fleetingly wondered why she even bothered.  Ninja did not “chat” with targets; they simply eliminated them.

            “I don’t understand,” Raizo finally admitted, and blinked at how breathless he already was.  A round of feminine snickers rippled through the room; he didn’t bother looking at the kneeling ninja to his right; Shiori no doubt had taken a front row seat for his humiliation.

            “Are we killers?” Noriko mused.  “Yes.  But as Takako-sama teaches us, ‘a killer can be as humane as a monk tending to a wounded traveler.’”  She chuckled softly, going to the weapons rack and casually choosing a polished black naginata.  “The Ozunu frighten their targets with letters of black sand.  They emerge from the shadows and let their targets see them coming—this too cruel, Raizo-san.  It is better to let a target go peacefully…in their sleep, even.”

            “And do you think killing them kindly will save you from hell?” Raizo chuckled, slowly rising to his feet.  “You think technique can change what we really are?”  He laughed harsh, bitter laughter, his head rolling back and his hair dripping sweat.  “Is that what the Murasaki tells itself?  It makes sense.  Every clan has its lies; the Ozunu called itself ‘family’; Lord Ozunu himself often called our training ‘gifts’.  As though this life could be a gift to any child.”

            Noriko clearly didn’t like what he was saying, even as she struggled to hang onto her signature calm.  And Raizo could feel the Murasaki stiffening, as though he’d just uttered some horrific form of blasphemy.

            Raizo smirked sadistically, pushing their buttons a little further.

            “So,” he snickered, “what lies did your proud Murasaki mother tell you…Noriko-san?”

***

            Mika Coretti, despite herself, was steadily falling in love with the Murasaki.

            The library had computers only, a series of flat-screened black Dells which archived five centuries worth of diaries and letters.  The walls were painted with murals, like her room was.  They were also faded, but they were still beautiful.  They were showed women, beautiful women dressed in gorgeous, brilliantly colorful robes and carrying blood-tipped daggers and fans.

            “Who are these women?” Mika asked, breathless with awe and she circled the room in a daze, the well-worn tatami mats soft beneath her feet.

            “These were Murasaki who poised as oiran or geisha to eliminate their targets,” Kiyomi explained off-handedly, using a Braille keyboard to rapidly access the Murasaki records.  A feminine, albeit computerized, voice responded to her input.

            “In the old days,” the blind teenager explained, “Murasaki studied with geisha and oiran to learn their abilities of appearing charming, irresistible, and most importantly, harmless.  We did not always dress in black and haunt the night, you know.”

            “I see,” Mika murmured, already in another world.  “How many such Murasaki were there?”

            “Three hundred and forty-seven,” Kiyomi recited crispy.  “Murasaki Rin was the deadliest.  She logged over a thousand kills by the end of the 18^th Century.  Such was her killing that the clan poets wrote, ‘For the grim sound of a samurai’s rolling head doth Mistress Rin live.’  Of course…before she was a Murasaki, Rin was Ozunu.”

            Mika’s head snapped towards Kiyomi.  “She was Ozunu?”

            Kiyomi nodded.  “She was in love with a fellow ninja named Katsuro.  That, as you know, was strictly forbidden by the Ozunu.  Rin was the superior warrior, so they decided she’d get to live.  When they were only fourteen years old, the Ozunu clan lord sent Katsuro to kill a samurai, long before the boy was even ready.  Needless to say, the samurai sent young Katsuro’s body floating down the Shinano-gawa.”

            Mika frown slightly.  “So…Rin switched sides?  Is it really that easy?”

            Kiyomi shook her head, confirming Mika’s suspicions.  “It’s never that simple.  The Ozunu weren’t happy with her inevitable outrage and sought to cut out her heart as punishment, but as usual, Murasaki wisdom prevailed.”

            “Your history is most fascinating,” Mika sighed blissfully, closing her eyes and leaning against a mural.

            “You’re logged in to workstation seven,” Kiyomi told her.  “Your password is ichiban.  Read all the ‘fascinating’ history you like.”

            Lunchtime arrived around noon.  Sweaty and numb, the Murasaki warriors filed in for their afternoon meal.  Raizo came last, moving stiffly and trying not to flinch.  He was the sweatiest and bloodiest one there.  Only when he dropped to his knees by her at the table did she notice the horrific oozing lashes across his back.

            “What the fuck?”

            The words flew from Mika’s mouth before she could even think.  The split second after they emerged, she half-expected to be carted off to the whipping post herself…best case scenario, of course.

            Instead, Noriko spoke up with her usual, dignified cool.  “Raizo questioned the purpose and humanity of this clan,” she answered simply.  “Guest or not, such blasphemy will not be tolerated.  Above all, Murasaki prize family.  For centuries we have tried to build strong, long-lasting bloodlines.”  Her eyes narrowed slightly on Raizo.  “We will not have our legacy debased by an Ozunu sadist.”

            “Be that as it may, you’re still killers,” Mika snapped, even as her mind advised her to do otherwise.  Woman…what are you doing?  You better shut the fuck up while your mouth is still in tact, bitch!  “Call it whatever you want…at the end of the day, you’re still murderers.”

            Shiori chortled, “Oh, please.  One person’s murderer is another person’s problem-solver, Mika.”

            “And against many odds we have maintained an exceptional legacy,” Noriko reiterated.

            “Oh, I’ve read all about your legacy,” Mika snorted, filled with a bravado she could best describe as insane.  “I spent the whole morning reading about your legacy.  I pored over volumes filled with…with samurai heads rolling across tatami mats—” and here Shiori and several other Murasaki burst into snickers, even as Mika furiously went on, “—blood spattering the walls of teahouses, and ninja posing as geisha or oiran, while hiding sheathed daggers in their vaginas just so they could pass friggin’ weapons checks!”

            Raizo’s head snapped her away as he blinked in disbelief.  “What?!??” he exclaimed.  He turned bewildered—and slightly accusing—eyes onto Noriko.  “The Murasaki said that was just a myth!”

            “We have no shame in our work,” Noriko replied coldly, ignoring Raizo.  “A true warrior knows no shame.”

            Mika was suddenly on her feet, shouting at Noriko without thinking.  “A true warrior fights out in the open!” she yelled.  “Against an equally matched opponent!”  She felt Raizo twitch next to her and ignored it—for now.  She had read way too many disturbing things this morning and she had a few things to say—to someone…anyone— about this madness called “ninjitsu.”

            “This taking of life—for money, of all things—is not honorable,” Mika spat, and with far more venom she ever knew she had.  Her eyes seem to fire dark bolts of pure rage.  She didn’t miss how the eyes of the Murasaki widened as she stood and went off like a woman possessed.  “The power over life and death belongs only to the gods.  Ninja are not gods.  No…you’re just a bunch of dark alley blades for hire!  Your clans are no different from big city gangs filled common street thugs!  Come on, Raizo!”  She grabbed Raizo’s arm and jerked him forcefully to his feet, eliciting a tiny yelp from him.  She dragged him from the dining room, out the door, through the main hall where all the red fountains stood (whose water she now understood was reddened with actual human blood…in keeping with an “old tradition”), and upstairs to her room.

            Meanwhile, Raizo was turned on as hell.

            The lashes of the whip burned and oozed, but he’d suffered far worse before.  He was “spoiled” now.  A life without daily abuse was still unfamiliar to him, even after all these years.  And after seeing Mika stand up to over a dozen seasoned ninjas, he barely felt the lashes at all.

            She knelt at her futon, carelessly ripping up one of the dresses Shiori had brought her, no doubt to bind his wounds (which were already slowly healing anyway…but she was about to put her hands him and there was no way Raizo was discouraging that).  Willingly he lay down on the futon on his stomach, folding his arms beneath his head and closing his eyes.

            “They had no right,” Mika grumbled angrily.  She lightly placed strips of cloth against his bleeding flesh; her gentle touch warmed him.  He felt himself grow hard against the mat.  “What about the no-harm clause they touted when we first got here?”

            “Lady Kameyo made it clear that if I step out of line I’m to be ‘corrected’, remember?” Raizo snorted softly, his eyes still closed.  “Shiori was clearly overjoyed to apply the whip; it was like a great honor for her.  In many ways, she reminds me of this ‘older brother’ I had within the clan.  Takeshi was his name; he was my greatest rival.  Because Ozunu had the rule of failure being sewn into the flesh—hence my scars,” Raizo absently gestured, eyes still dreamily closed, “—Takeshi loathed losing a match…least of all to me.  When I bested him while blindfolded one time,” Raizo snickered, “it was as though I’d cut off his balls and handed them Lord Ozunu.”

            Raizo laughed freely for a moment, as she rarely heard him do.  It was rich, deep, rumbling yet musical laughter; he had a singer’s voice.  It went well with his dancer’s body….

            I’m touching him, Mika panicked suddenly.  He’s shirtless and sweaty and we’re alone and I’m touching him.  What if…stuff starts happening again?  What if Noriko walks in and tells me it’s my turn at the whipping post?!??

            “Takeshi was such an ass-kissing apple-polisher,” Raizo mumbled with bitterness so sudden, Mika wondered if she’d missed something he’d said.  “No wonder he took such pleasure in executing Kiriko in front of me.”

            He stiffened as soon as the feminine name came out of his mouth; even Mika paused, hands in mid-air as she fleetingly wondered, Why am I still bandaging him?  He’s practically healed already.

And while we’re on the subject…who the hell was Kiriko?

            Raizo rolled over suddenly, smiling sweetly and murmuring, “Mika, Mika…why’d you stop touch—”

            “Kiriko?” she demanded, her voice dangerously soft and light, like a sweet summer breeze, heralding a violent thunderstorm.  The part of her brain which connected to her mouth was slowly shutting off again, much like it had down in the dining hall.

            Raizo opened his mouth but he was dealing with a jealous woman now, and no gentle explanations were going to save him.

            “Mika—”

            Mika practically lunged forward, planting her open mouth on his, kissing him angrily.

            I left my job for him.

            Raizo was dazed at first, but then caught himself and starting kissing her back.  He let her head, let her take whatever it was she wanted or needed—anything to keep from having “the conversation.”

            He didn’t have to rip the dress from her sleek, dark body; he wanted to but at the rate they were going she’d run out of clothes.  Besides, she was sliding out of the dress on her own, untying the straps around her neck and letting it fall, baring her splendid round breasts.

            I left my life for him.

            Raizo watched her step from the fallen white cloth, before she came to plant a knee on either side of him.  With a flash of purposeful, wicked defiance in her eyes, Mika leaned in towards his navel, dragging her tongue slowly and cruelly up his chest, sopping blood and sweat.

            I almost died for him.

            His mouth hung open as she worked her mouth over his bruises and scars, causing blood to pool even faster in his groin, until his breath was coming fast and he was unsure how much longer he could just lie there while a naked woman licked him.

            “Mika—”

            “Shhh!” she silenced him harshly, slipping her fingers into his waistband and firmly pushing down.  She kissed her way down—wetly, teasingly—to where he strained towards her, throbbing and pulsating.

            “Mika—”

            She pounced without hesitating, taking him into her mouth and hands, working him relentless and deliberately, her mind focused on a single notion as she stroked, tugged, and orally caressed until Raizo was lying back, head rolling to side to side as he gave in.

            I don’t know who all came before me, but as far I’m concerned now, he belongs to me.

            “Oh, Mika…Mika…Mika, Mika, Mika….”

            He made the mistake of glimpsing down at her, to see her head vigorously moving as her mouth pleasured him in an almost brutal manner.  The afternoon light caught the glint of copper in her cornrows, that ridiculously efficient hairstyle of hers which he knew more Murasaki were going to adopt once they mastered the technique.  Mika’s hands slickly worked him, her mouth diligently worked him…circling, laving, sucking and stroking until his eyes simply rolled into the back of his head.

            When he finally exploded, Raizo lost sight and hearing, faded into the warm black, forgetting who and where he was.

            Mika wordlessly watched him collapse into weariness, recalling words she’d only read hours earlier.

            I am who am named Midori by my Murasaki kin do write these words devout…I follow the will of Takako without question, and will choose crossing minds over crossing blades in the name of war.  I will build walls rather than brave battlefields, for in so doing, I shall ever protect what is mine.

            And that which is mine shall be touched by none else.

            Mika pulled his pants off fully, while he was still too dazed and euphoric to protest.  She wasn’t finished with him.

Not by a long shot.

Oh, Mika, Mika - Chapter 4

Stories on the Wall

While Mika was getting detailed history lesson, Raizo was getting a lot less.

Sipping lukewarm tea in a sitting room covered with aging tatami mats, he knelt across from Noriko, watching her warily, unwilling to simply accept her non-answers.  She either really didn’t know much, or knew but didn’t want to spill ahead of schedule and risk incurring her mistress’s wrath.

I wonder, Raizo mused, how the Murasaki punish their own for telling too much.  His clan leaders had never hesitated to cut out the tongues of talkative students; Lord Ozunu himself had been known to say he didn’t see why his children needed to talk anyhow.  Silence was a ninja’s first language after all, was it not?

“Kameyo-sama has been meeting with heads of all the other clans trying to stop the bloodshed,” Noriko said neutrally.  “The other clans tracked down all remaining Ozunu and wiped them out—except for you.  But they will try; in order for another to assume the title of Elder Clan, every last one of you must be exterminated.”

“Unless Kameyo-sama’s wisdom prevails,” Raizo said neutrally.  “She has mediated clan disputes before.”

“Several times,” Noriko nodded, “since before you and I were born.  However, this is about far more than money or territory, Raizo.  For the first time in our entire history, we are back to eight clans.  You haven’t seen true carnage until you see pride, greed, and envy full consume hundreds of warriors.”

Raizo blinked.  “Envy?  Envy for what?”

Noriko snorted.  “The Ozunu mastered shadow-bending a full century before the other clans.  The Ozunu mastered self-healing, which no other clan ever did.  Lord Ozunu himself was the wealthiest of the clan lords, and for the past five hundred years, his clan was every government’s first choice when they needed a rival taken out.”  She gave a wry smirk.  “Resentment is truly an ugly thing, Raizo, especially when it’s had centuries to fester.”

Raizo paused to digest this bit of information, still trying to see where he fit in.  Even after his death, clan war would continue so…why?  Why was Lady Kameyo protecting him?  Was she going to offer his head up to the highest bidder?

“I need to see Mika,” he said suddenly.  “Now.”

“We’ve been over this,” Noriko sighed.  “She’s safe.”

“I know she’s safe,” Raizo replied curtly, letting his irritation show, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t see her…now.”

Noriko paused, eyeing him for a moment before giving in and leading the way.  They found Mika Coretti and Shiori still together.  Shiori was sitting cross-legged and eyeing herself in hand-held mirror while Mika knelt behind her, skillfully braiding the ninja’s hair.  For some reason, the sight of them like that disturbed the living hell out of him.

Mika had just finished the last braid when Raizo entered the room like a towering storm, glaring at Shiori.

“Get out,” he ordered her, stepping aside from the darkened doorway.  “Now.”

Shiori snorted derisively instead, calmly patting her head to make sure her cornrows were tight enough.  “Or you’ll do what?” she asked.

“The last time I crossed paths with a Murasaki,” Raizo told her honestly, “I cut her up and stuffed in her a dryer in a downtown Laundromat.”

Behind Shiori, Mika stiffened at his declaration, and Raizo cursed himself for speaking thusly in front of her.  But what was done could not be undone, and now he had to finish what he started.

So he took a menacing step towards Shiori.  “The First Law of the Murasaki forbids you from harming me or Mika,” he said in an iron tone, “but even if there were still any Ozunu laws left, none of them would forbid me from doing to you what I did to your sister.”

Shiori dropped the mirror at once and smoothly rose to her feet, quick as lightning.  Mika’s breath audibly caught; her special heart began to pound.  Raizo steeled himself against instinctively snapping the Shiori’s neck.

At least…not in front of Mika.  He’d done enough violence in front of her.

“Since we’re talking plainly, I should you remind you that you’re not in Berlin,” Shiori told Raizo with equal honesty.  “You’re no longer a ‘favored son’.  You are not here as a ‘guest’, and no one in this house will be dying for you or by your hand.  Kameyo-sama made it very clear that if you start any of your antics here, your life is forfeit—comprends-tu?”

Raizo didn’t flinch, and his words came out dangerously low.  “Stay away from Mika,” he warned, never taking his eyes away from hers.

“Why?” Shiori scoffed gaily.  “You obviously can’t.”  She leaned into whisper very lightly, so Mika couldn’t hear, “I can smell her on your breath.  Is she as sweet as she smells?”

“Get out.”

Shiori laughed loudly, practically skipping from Mika’s room and sliding the door shut behind her.  Raizo immediately set about to do damage control; it was important Mika understood exactly what she was dealing with.

“She likes you,” he blurted without thinking, before mentally kicking himself.  That’s not…quite…how I wanted to start this….

“So?” Mika asked defiantly, rising to her feet.  “I don’t feel like getting stabbed in the chest again, Raizo, so she can like me all she wants.  They all can like me.  You’d do well to make them like you too, you know.”

“No, Mika,” he shook his head, coming forward slowly.  “I mean, she…likes you.”

Mika blinked, taking a second to understand.  “Ohhhhhhh,” she nodded.  She shook her head as if to clear it.  “I still don’t see the problem.  Her affection still works to my advantage.”

Raizo’s eyebrow shot up.  “You sound like a ninja,” he observed, and there was a hint of alarm in his voice.

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult,” Mika replied.

“Neither do I,” he said truthfully.  “This is not what I wanted for you.  I wanted to wait until things were more…normal…for us.”

Oh, Mika mentally snorted.  So now he wants to talk about that.  Why?  Because he thinks someone else is interested?

She couldn’t deny that the notion of his jealousy gave her a powerful surge of pleasure.

“Mika,” he began gingerly but seriously, “the Murasaki are extremely charming, sophisticated and beautiful…but they are killers, Mika, which is precisely why they work so hard to develop those traits.  So when Shiori laughs with you and tells you stories—”

“She’s simply earning my trust?”  Mika finished for him.  “Making me more comfortable?  Trying to get me in bed by wooing me first?  Gee…’cause that such a terrible way to initiate—”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen like that!” Raizo interrupted her urgently, grabbing both of her arms and holding them lightly.  “Like I said, I wanted to wait.  I thought things could be normal for us.  Yesterday, I went to see Maslow.  I went to promise him you’d be safe with me, but now…now we are here, dealing with this…and it’s all my fault.”

Mika sighed wearily, shaking her head.  “To hear Shiori talk, this really isn’t your fault.  Clan wars come and go; all they need is an excuse to start.  If it hadn’t been you, it would’ve been something else.”

“This is different,” Raizo shook his head.  “I wish it wasn’t but it is.  This is bigger, even bigger than I thought.  Lady Kameyo arrives tomorrow and I grow more and more…concerned.  She’s diffused conflicts before, but this one may be too great for her.”  He got that faraway look again, as though he remembering something painful; it caused his brow to furrow ominously before he returned to the here and now.

“In the meantime, Mika, watch yourself,” he cautioned lowly.  “No matter how pleasant they are, no matter how sweetly they smile, do not trust them.”

He was leaning forward, as if to kiss her, when Noriko entered suddenly, and Mika knew it was time for Raizo to go.  She didn’t like how far apart they were being kept; it smelled too much like divide and conquer.  But they were outnumbered and in no position to object.

That night, Mika lay awake on her cool futon, pondering the faded images spread across her walls.  Who had slept in this room before her?  Was she too a soldier dead and gone?

Shiori arrived at dawn, swathed in a sheer white cloth.  She woke Mika with a firm shake.  “Viens,” she greeted Mika, “it’s time for the morning bath.”

The bathhouse was located in the west wing of the first floor of Hotel Red Sand.  There were no partitions and no shower heads, just tub after wooden tub of steaming water.  Dozens of Murasaki ninja filed through, ranging from their late teens to mid-thirties, it seemed.  They stripped down without hesitance, and to Mika’s surprise, even chatted with each other.

“Get undressed,” Shiori ordered, and Mika raised an eyebrow.  What was with ninja always trying to get her to strip?

Wearily, she complied, noticing how openly Shiori appreciated her naked form.  It was on the tip of her tongue to let the ninja know she’d spent her junior year in college as a payback lesbian, only to find the whole thing simply wasn’t for her.  But then…Mika reconsidered.

She sank into a tub, gratefully immersing herself in the hot water.  Shiori shed her white cloth and joined her, talking all the while.

“Our meals are simple,” she explained.  “I hope you know how to use chopsticks.  While I am at practice, Kiyomi will be your guide.  She’s that pretty blind one over there.”  She gestured to a girl no more than fifteen or so being helped into her tub.  The child was very lovely, with a purely innocent face.  “She was born blind,” Shiori explained, “which meant she could never be an assassin, of course.  However, Kiyomi has an impeccable memory and has committed herself to memorizing and recording Murasaki history.”

“And Raizo?  Where will he be?”

“Raizo will be at practice with us,” Shiori blinked, as though it were obvious.  “There is much we can him teach, and vice versa.”  She snorted, lightly sponging her arms.  “Alors, it will keep him alive.  For a while, anyway.

“One of our sisters did not come home this morning,” Shiori went on, as the old crone from the day before hobbled about, passing out strange green leaves with which the women scrubbed themselves.  Mika reasoned it had to do with eliminating scents.

What does it do for cellulite?

“You can have her clothes,” Shiori announced simply.  “And before you say no, remember that we cannot have you greeting Lady Kameyo in jeans and a T-shirt, Mika.  Mika,” she laughed suddenly.  “Do you know what your name means in our language?  It means ‘beautiful fragrance.’”  She laughed again.  “Beautiful fragrance…like pineapple.”

Mika had no clue what to say to that, so she just let Shiori ramble on.

“Three meals a day are served, Mika, and only three.  You may not want to miss any of them.  You might find them quite bland, but Raizo will no doubt think they are gourmet.  The Ozunu never did feed their children well, you know.”

“You seemed know a lot about the way of the Ozunu,” Mika remarked.

“More than the sword,” Shiori shrugged, “more than blending into shadow…knowledge is true power, Mika.”

“I see.”

“Not yet,” Shiori chuckled.  “But you will.”

            The clothes delivered to her room were simple but highly flattering.  She was given, for starters, a plain white linen backless dress which tied around her neck and flowed breezily about her body.  She tried not to think about its unfortunate previous owner, but couldn’t help but wonder what her name had been.

            The library was in the north wing of the hotel where Raizo was staying; she knew that by the time she got to go there, he would already be gone.  Even now he was probably bathing alone in a giant wooden tub somewhere.  Her body warmed to think him of naked and soaking alone somewhere, his body surrounded by delicate tufts of steam.

            There was a large room on the first floor for meals.  Lit with candles, its floor was covered in mats, and it has a single, very long table around which the Murasaki knelt, eating noodles and vegetables from wooden bowls.  A young girl served boiled meat, but it looked rather plain, so Mika abstained.

            Raizo was late; he came in wearing only black cotton pants, his long hair still wet and dripping tantalizing droplets upon shoulders; they cruelly slid down his sculpted shoulders and chest.  Mika tried not to stare; however, she noticed some of the other women smirking at one another knowingly.

            How long has it been since these bitches got some?  And did any of them ever sleep with him?  I think he would at least mention that!

            Mika immediately pushed that thought far from her mind, trying to focus on her meal.  The vegetables weren’t cooked all the way, so they were still crisp and nutritious.  The clear soup was hot, filling, and tangy; it went well with the noodles.  The tea was flavorful, slightly bitter but in a good way.  She longed for chilled pineapple juice, but knew better than to hold her breath.

            After the meal, Shiori escorted Mika back to her room where she was instructed to wait for Kiyomi.  Shiori was gone not five minutes before Raizo showed up.  He lingered by the door for some reason, with an oddly discomfited look.

            “I have been…invited to practice with them,” he told her uneasily.  “When you see me at lunch, I may look a bit bloody.”

            “I’ve seen you half-dead, remember?” she reminded him softly.  She sighed and came over to him.  She meant to reach out and reassuringly pat his shoulder but instead she wound up pinned to the wall.

            It took her a full second to realize Raizo was kissing her deeply, thoroughly exploring her mouth with his tongue while his hands roamed over her body.

            “Mika,” he murmured, sounding defeated, “Mika…what are you wearing?”

            She tried to reply but he didn’t break the next kiss for several long moments; by the time he lowered his searing mouth to her neck and clavicle, Mika’d already forgotten what she was going to say.  Her fingers sank into his damp hair as she passionately kissed him back, feeling him grow hard against her.

            “Mika….”

            He slid her dress up, reaching underneath and stripping away her panties without hesitation.

            Morning wood, she reasoned fleetingly.  Turns even the sanest men into morons.

            She wanted to object, to let him know Kiyomi was coming to find her, but as always, Raizo was several steps ahead.  Already his black pants where pushed down to mid-thigh, while he impatiently hoisted her legs around his waist and quickly took her against the wall before she could talk some sense into him.

            “Mika….”

            He really needed to stop saying her name.  Combined with his slow, steady movements, and the muscles tensing delectably in his neck and shoulders, he was making her lose her wits, her awareness of their surroundings which, last she checked, they weren’t supposed to do.

            “…can’t…dress…like that…,” he rasped between kisses, never breaking rhythm (indeed, he sped it up instead).  “…dress…hides…nothing…too…sheer…so sheer, Mika….”

            Damn you, Shiori!

            Mika clutched his shoulders tightly, linking her ankles behind his waist and eagerly moving with him, suddenly not caring if they were walked in on or not.  In fact, the chance of being caught only made it all the more exciting; after all, the Murasaki were doing their darndest to keep them apart and it was infuriating.

While his left arm remained wrapped around her hips, Raizo’s right hand found its way to her breasts, squeezing and massaging beneath her white dress, driving her to move her hips faster.  He was so slick…even as he filled her again and again he was deliciously slick and—

“Mika-san?” a young voice called from the other side of her door.  “Mika-san, are you in?”

Raizo’s hand immediately flew from Mika’s breasts to cover her mouth.  He pulled her away from the wall and looked directly into her eyes, daring her to make a sound.

“Shiori sent me,” Kiyomi went on, her accent heavily—and surprisingly—British.  “I’m supposed to show you the library.”

Mika wanted to tell the poor girl she was being savagely pounded into at the moment and would have to reschedule; Raizo was clearly excited by this little twist in events.  Biting his bottom lip to keep himself from groaning aloud, he kept his hand over her mouth and deviously maintained strict, unflinching eye contact with her.

Oh, my!  I never would’ve guessed he was this big of a perv!

To be honest…it was hot.

“I guess you’ve already gone on without me,” Kiyomi sighed.  Her footsteps soon faded down the hall.

A white hot explosion ripped through them both.  Their already sweaty bodies tensed; she clenched tightly as he emptied himself.  It took them a long while to slow their breathing and heart rates, but when they finally did, Raizo gently set her down and pulled his pants back up.

“I’m liking this more and more,” he murmured, eyes twinkling as he leaned in for a deep, slow kiss which flushed them both with warmth.  “It’ll be a challenge to keep this up with all the interruptions.”

Mika giggled like a drunken schoolgirl.  “You think we’ll get in trouble?”

Raizo kissed her again before musing, “It’ll be worth it.”

            When he slid her door open, they were both shocked to find a terse young Kiyomi standing right on the other side, arms folded primly across her chest.

            “Raizo-san,” the girl asked crisply, “are you not supposed to be at practice?”

            His mouth fell open, and attempted to speak.  “I—”

            “You thought I’d walked away,” Kiyomi snorted, “when it’s the oldest trick in the book.  Don’t think because I’m blind I’m stupid.  Even someone who’s deaf in one ear could hear what was going on in there.  Bodies tend to make a lot of noise, you know.”  She cocked her head to one side, eyes eerily unblinking.  “With my hearing, I could hear you coming a mile away.”

            “Kiyomi-cha—”

            “Don’t even bother condescending to me, mate,” the girl chortled.  “Murasaki bear their own, remember?  You do realize that requires at least two people, don’t you?  I hate to break it to you, ‘bad boy’, but there’s a lot of fucking that goes on this hotel, and I’ve heard much nastier, thank you very much.  Now, get on to practice before you’re late and Noriko orders fifty lashes of the razor whip.”

            Raizo mutely slipped by the Kiyomi and hastily took off.

            “Now, Mika-san,” the child-woman scathingly continued, stepping into the room and causing Mika to take a step back, “I should probably make it clear right away that I don’t appreciate being ignored.  I spent the first ten years of my life being ignored in this hellhole and I’m never going back to that.  So the next time I’m sent to babysit you, you better answer your door the first time I call.  Because if you don’t, I will tell Lady Kameyo herself that you two think it’s appropriate to indulgently play ‘honeymoon’ during a clan war.

            “Now…step lightly,” she said firmly, turning and heading out the door.  “The library’s this way.”

Oh, Mika, Mika - Chapter 3

Scarlet Wolves

Mika Coretti wasn’t surprised Raizo brought about her second orgasm with his mouth…again.

What…the…hell…is happening here?

Even as her body clenched and tightened beneath his and her nails clawed deep into his sweaty back…even as his hips labored on, driving into her and shaking the whole bed, she dimly thought about how fuzzy she still was on the why of the situation.

Why?  Why now?

His sudden low rasp cut into her thoughts.  “Mika….”

She could tell he wasn’t going to last much longer.  Their bed was practically shrieking bloody murder under Raizo’s frenzied assault.  Long gone were the smooth, deliberately moves and soft, low gasps.  Gone were his discipline and his rational calm; Raizo was a man unhinged and undone by desire…and she had brought it about.

Is that why I woke up to him going down on me?  He saw my tits…and just couldn’t hold back anymore?

Fresh off the heels of her second orgasm, Mika immediately felt a third coming.

She’d done this to him—of course he wanted her!  He’d just played it cool all long.  Allowing her to come away with him, always slowly undressing in front her, noticing everything she changed about herself and paying her compliments accordingly, finding every excuse to say her name….

How did I miss that?

“Mika…Mika….”

She felt the inner tidal wave building again, the familiar tingling and tightening heating her entire body as her sweat mixed with his and soaked the sheets.  He was unable to focus, to keep his eyes open as he rained her mouth, neck, and breasts with hot, moist kisses, moaning her name between them.

She felt it was her turn to take command.

On impulse, Mika gripped his shoulders and forcefully rolled them both over, firmly placing herself on top and controlling the movements.  She didn’t slow down and tease him; she simply bit her bottom lip and focused on channeling all her energy into her hips, riding him as ferociously as he had her.  Raizo’s head rolled back, spilling black hair across pale pillows as he groaned in surrender.  The great soldier, the infamously feared assassin…reduced to mindless moaning by a woman.

“Mika…fuck—”

It was the first obscenity she’d ever heard him say and the mere utterance made them both lose it.  Giving themselves over to sheer insanity, the two erupted…Mika felt her eyesight darken as her body filled with violent, scorching hot liquid bursts.  Her shuddered violently before collapsing next to his, and for a time, she knew neither sight nor sound.

They slept for a time, noses pressed against each other’s, arms possessively draped across each other and legs intertwined.  The sweat cooled and dried from their naked bodies, evaporating and filling the hotel room with their mingled scents.  At dawn, Mika was the first to wake.

She smirked at the sleeping Raizo, amused that she’d worn him out in less time than a horde of masked killers.  Triumphant and naked, she sauntered into the bathroom, blasting the hot water, taking her time to soak in the wet heat, and smiling at the slightly bruised, throbbing feel between her thighs.

He wanted her.  All this time, he wanted, to the point that at the mere sight of her breasts, he could hold himself back no more.

What’s he going to say when he wakes up?

She stepped from the mists of the shower stall, drying off lightly and heading to the mini-bar.  She poured the last cup of her organic pineapple juice and savored its sweetness, recalling Raizo’s words from the night before.

…you taste just like pineapple.

Mika smiled blissfully, eyes closed until she heard him stir and rise up from their bed.

“My turn, I guess,” he mumbled sleepily, sliding out of bed in his black jockeys and heading off to the shower.  Mika sifted through her clothes, looking for something “efficient”, as usual, while she craved the bran muffin which usually accompanied her juice.  She lived in jeans these days, it seemed; jeans and plain tops.  Normally, she’d be worried, but it didn’t bother her so much this time.

It didn’t matter.  It hadn’t mattered.  It wasn’t going to matter ever again.

When he emerged from the shower, all friendly smiles as usual, Mika noticed he still wasn’t talking about what happened.  Her curiosity kept her silent; she wanted to see how a man like Raizo handled this sort of thing.  He’d clearly had lovers before; he knew his way around the female body far too well not to.  And a man didn’t develop his level of stamina without sufficient practice.

Mika suddenly had a disturbing flash of Raizo throwing some unknown woman onto all fours and driving into her from behind.  The image made her twitch.  She tried to stop her mind before it ran away with itself, but she was too late.  Now the questions were bubbling to the surface, and each one bothered her more than the last.

How many women had Raizo slept with?  Was he ever in love with any of them?  Did he accidentally knock up some chick and not know about it?

Did he have a “type”?  Was she his “type”?  Or maybe last night was curiosity thing…maybe that’s why he’d let her come along because he’d just wanted to know what she’d be like in bed…maybe he had a fetish…maybe—

Maybe this is precisely why I shouldn’t be thinking about this shit, Mika cringed, willing her anxiety to silence itself before all her girlhood insecurities came flooding back.  Like…did he notice cellulite?  She didn’t have much, and the seaweed soap she’d been using had done wonders so far—dear God…did stretch marks turn him off?  She made sure to rub hers with cocoa butter every morning…or at least she used to, back before her new “all things unscented” kicked.  And fuck—would they have to keep their sex in the dark so he wouldn’t see that ludicrous tattoo she got the drunken summer of her sophomore year….

Woman, stop! Mika yelled at herself, even as she smiled sweetly back at Raizo while they packed their belongings and headed out into downtown Bordeaux.  There were more important things than stretch marks and cellulite and Pam Grier with an afro….

As soon as they entered growing cold of the outside world, Mika immediately noticed how quickly Raizo’s grimness returned.  He walked stiffly, as though trying to appear “harmless” while still keeping his wits and reflexes about him.

“When we go to Hotel Red Sand,” he said lowly, “do not tell the Murasaki anything about yourself.  Deflect every question, and listen closely to whatever they say.”

Mika asked him flat out, “You think you’ll think they’ll kill us in our sleep?”

“No,” he shook his head.  “If there is any clan with a sense of honor, it’s the sisters of Ozunu.  They have mediated disputes and ended clan wars throughout the centuries.  They have promoted ideas of unity and kinship amongst the clans.”

Mika was confused.  “Then…I don’t see the problem.”

“Their first priority are the clans,” Raizo replied darkly, “Their ultimate loyalty is to the clans.  They will do whatever they believe is in the best interest of the clan, not outsiders like you and me.  You see, from childhood, ninja are raised to think individual lives are meaningless compared to that of the clan as a unit.”  He paused, as he often did, no doubt remembering some unpleasant training exercise from his childhood experience.  “An assassin cannot fulfill her duty if she values the life of her target.”

“Have you met many of the Murasaki?” Mika asked.

“Several over the years,” Raizo nodded.

“What are they like?”

“Efficient warriors,” he told her bluntly, “as skilled, focused, and ruthless as any of the other clans.  One tried to kill me in Berlin, while I was doing my laundry.”

  “But if you killed her—and I’m guessing you did since you’re still here—how will the Murasaki receive you?”

Rain chuckled softly, which Mika found odd.  What could possibly be humorous about their situation?

“The clans live by similar philosophy, Mika,” he explained, and she didn’t miss the delicate shiver he caused by saying her name.  “Failure is not tolerated.  It is better to die on a mission than to live…while your target also still lives.”  He shrugged.  “I did her favor.”

There was something deeply wrong with what he said, but Mika couldn’t quite put her finger on it.  In the meantime, she had other questions.  “Who runs the Murasaki?”

“They are led by Lady Kameyo,” Raizo replied, as his eyes took on a faraway look.  “They call her the Tortoise Woman…for her wisdom.”

“How old is she?”

Raizo shrugged.  “Sixty-something by now, maybe even seventy.  I only met her once when I was a child.  She came to our compound when I was about nine or ten to see Lord Ozunu.  I poured their tea while they talked, and I remember she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.  Very graceful, very strong.  She wielded shuriken and naginata with skill superior even to that of Lord Ozunu himself.”

Mika was both impressed and intimidated.  It was great to hear about strong women within the clans.  But at the same, they were walking into the lioness’s den and she wasn’t sure how safe she felt about that.

Hotel Red Sand, though tall and covering several thousand square feet, looked old and neglected on the outside; indeed, people walked by its faded and peeling crimson walls and boarded up windows without a second glance.  Mika was briefly amused by how this clan of ninja had a safehouse in the middle of a city and nobody except them knew.

Hiding in plain sight, she smiled to herself.  Amazing.

A very old woman with milky eyes and wild gray hair opened the large creaky wooden double doors.  She took one look at them before wordlessly letting them in.  Clearly, they were expected.

Though rather dark, the inside starkly contrasted the outside; the walls were freshly painted a resplendent scarlet shade, and the windows and doorways were draped with long, black lace curtains.  Black marble fountains flowed red water over red sand, and thick incense burned on numerous altars of female deities from ages past.  Mika vaguely recognized a few here and there…she knew Amaterasu by the brilliant sun backing her, and Omoikane, a goddess of wisdom, by the tortoise she cradled in her arms.

“You are Raizo, last of the Ozunu,” a voice stated crisply in a French-flavored Japanese accent, causing the two strangers to turn.  “And you are Mika Coretti.”

A tall, well-built woman with a prim chignon and loose-fitting black sleeveless tunic and pants approached them barefoot from the smoky shadows.  She was a beautiful, clear-skinned woman, but like Raizo, she had scars.  Unlike Raizo, however, she deftly incorporated hers into her many colorful tattoos.

She clearly wasn’t asking, so Raizo and Mika didn’t answer.

“I am Noriko,” the woman went on.  “Lady Kameyo says we are to house you until she arrives tomorrow night.  She says you are under our protection.”  She looked over Raizo coldly.  “No man has ever stayed at Hotel Red Sand, much less one who brought about the death of his entire clan.  Nevertheless, we have prepared a room for you in the North Wing.”

Raizo arched an eyebrow.  “Mika says with me.”

Noriko rolled her dark eyes.  “Unlike some, Raizo, Murasaki do not break our word, and we would never mistreat a female guest.  You would know this,” she added sarcastically, “if your Ozunu blood weren’t so thin.”

“Ozunu blood was never my blood,” Raizo snickered humorlessly, “as I am guessing Murasaki blood was never yours.”

Noriko laughed, and despite the woman’s musical voice, Mika still cringed.

“We Murasaki bear our own, Raizo,” she snorted.  “Not all clans are orphan-thieves.  I am true Murasaki, as was my mother, and her mother before her.”

Raizo was taken aback; he blinked speechlessly for several seconds and it did not make Mika feel better.  Their survival depended upon Raizo not being surprised, much less by the little things.

“Yes,” Noriko nodded, genuinely amused, “Like Takako, ‘I am warrior from the womb.’”

It was Mika’s turn to blink.  I must have missed that verse in my research.

“This is Shiori; you met on the bridge, yesterday,” Noriko introduced.  Shiori had appeared from nowhere, it seemed; Mika had to take a step back in surprise as the lithe woman suddenly drew abreast of her.  “Shiori, take Mika to her room.  Raizo, we must speak.”  Noriko gestured to some shadowy doorway, and Raizo nodded.

But before they could walk off, Shiori stated clearly, “I like how this one smells.  So sweet…just like pineapple.”

Raizo shot a deadly look at Shiori, who merely grinned in return.

As Noriko finally led Raizo away by the arm and Mika’s jaw lay on the floor, Shiori snickered, looking her over and cocking her head to the side.  She really was a pretty woman, late twenties.  Like Noriko, she was clear-skinned, dressed in a black sleeveless tunic and over matching pants, her tattoos and makeup disguising her scars.  Unlike Noriko, however, Shiori was wearing her long, midnight-colored hair down.  It fell in splendid waves about her shoulders.

Shiori reached out slowly, carefully and delicately fingered Mika’s coppery cornrows.  Mika was used to people touching her hair without her permission, but it never stop infuriating her.  In defiant annoyance, she reached out and touched Shiori’s hair right back.

It didn’t faze the young ninja, though.  In fact, Shiori actually remarked, “Your hairstyle is both flattering and efficient.  You must do mine the same way.”

Mika raised an eyebrow.  “I’ll teach you how to do it yourself,” she offered, “if you tell me all about the Murasaki.”

Shiori laughed.  “Pourquoi, Mika?  So you can type up a pretty report and mail it Maslow?”

“Hardly,” Mika snorted.  She wasn’t normally a sarcastic woman, but for some reason, Shiori brought it out of her in waves.  “I’m just curious how an all-female clan survived the obviously patriarchal system of the ninja.”

There was a flicker in Shiori’s eyes; she hadn’t been expecting that.  Mika felt an immediate twinge of self-satisfaction.

See, bitch?  I can bust out the surprises too.

“Viens avec moi,” Shiori said suddenly, and headed for a shadowy doorway in the western wall.

The doorway led to some cramped stairs, which in turn led to the darkened second floor.  Shiori moved swiftly and deftly through the unlit halls, and Mika had to work to keep up.  They finally came to a small room with tatami-covered floors, a plain futon, and mural-painted walls.  There were some blankets folded in one corner, and a table of candles and incense in another.  Shiori lit a few candles and stood up, wallowing in the flickering light.

“We wake at dawn here,” she told Mika.  “No exceptions.  You will bathe with the rest of us in the bathhouse so we do not waste time and water.  We eat all our meals together as well.  Obviously,” she smirked, “you will not practice with us, but you may browse our library.  We have five centuries’ worth of diaries written by thousands of members of the Murasaki.”  She relished the look of awe on Mika’s face.

“Who was Takako?” Mika asked suddenly.

“You have heard of Lady Murasaki Shikibu the novelist, oui?” Shiori asked.

Mika nodded.  “Murasaki Shikibu wasn’t her real name,” she said in a daze.  “Some think she was the Imperial Court lady-in-waiting, Fujiwara…Takako.”  Mika took a step back, blinking in shock.

Shiori shook her head.  “It’s not what you think.  Like many ninja, our Takako had a different name as a child.  Her blood was common, and her family poor.  Her parents sold her into her servitude when she was four, and the people who purchased her were Ozunu.  She was given the name ‘Akane’ – ‘brilliant red’.

“When she was fourteen, a daimyo sent his daughter to the Imperial Court in hopes of acquiring a royal marriage.  Naturally, their rivals would not stand for it.   They called upon the Ozunu to take out the daimyo’s daughter, and young ‘Akane’ was chosen.  She infiltrated the court as a maiden, where she glimpsed the beauty and the elegance of Heian noblewomen.  She stayed much longer than she was supposed to, learning about poetry, music, dance from the many ladies-in-waiting to Empress Shoshi.  When she had learned enough, she completed her task, returned home with target’s head and a new name: Murasaki Takako.”

Mika raised an eyebrow.  “I take it the Ozunu didn’t much care for her little makeover.”

Shiori her head.  “Non…they were appalled.  They didn’t like for their students to be literate and appreciative of cultural finery.  They thought it was frivolous distraction which would inspire students to run away, especially the female ones.  But Takako argued that by combining creative arts with martial arts, many techniques could be improved—and she was right.”

“How did she get to form her own clan?”  Mika couldn’t deny the burning curiosity.  She was becoming deeply…in awe of the Murasaki, and she wasn’t entirely sure that was a good thing.

“When she was twenty,” Shiori explained coolly clan war broke out when two ninja from different clans broke the rules and fell in love, and sought to have a child.  Takako argued on their behalf, saying it would be more efficient if clans bred their own children, but this time, the clan lords refused to listen.  She—and several other female ninja—withdrew to a seaside village and stayed neutral while the clans fought.  When the dust settled, as they say, many lives were lost and the Ozunu was in no shape to force Takako’s hand.  She created her own, the Murasaki, and its very first law was to never needlessly take the life of a fellow ninja.”

“But Raizo broke that law,” Mika pointed suddenly on edge.

“He is Ozunu,” Shiori shook her head, “not Murasaki.  He follows…different laws.”

Mika stared at her.  “Different how?”

Shiori paused, as though mulling her words over carefully before replying, “Well, let’s just say that of all the clans, the physical—and mental—conditioning of the Ozunu was the most…sadistic.”