Flame in the Mist (Flame in the Mist #1)(85)

“Close your eyes,” he said softly. In one hand he held a small earthenware pot filled with a black liquid.

She let her eyes fall shut, reveling in the darkness. Embracing her fears.

“Be as swift as the wind. As silent as the forest. As fierce as the fire. As unshakable as the mountain.” His words swept over Mariko as ōkami’s fingers brushed slowly across her eyelids, covering them with the same black paint they all wore. His touch was a flare of heat across her skin. When he finished, the wind took flight once more. The trees rustled with a sudden swish of air, and the branches creaked in celebration.

As though the forest itself were welcoming her.

—

Mariko tossed in her tent, sleep eluding her.

She did not understand why she could not rest.

The Black Clan had welcomed her. Not a single one of them had turned his back on her, though they all knew who she was. Though they all knew what she had done.

She’d deceived them. Infiltrated them. Cheated her way through their ranks. Outsmarted and betrayed them, several times over.

And they’d welcomed her for it, as though she’d always been one of their own.

No one in her life had ever welcomed Mariko for being herself. Not her parents. Never those in the nobility. Even Kenshin had wished her to be different. Wished her to conform, at least in the smallest of ways.

She had done none of those things.

Now there was nothing to fear. And still Mariko could not sleep.

Only when she paused to stare at the sloped ceiling of her tent did she understand why dreams continued to elude her. ōkami had not spoken to her. Save to tell her to close her eyes. Save to recite the refrain he’d once said to her in passing.

For the rest of the night, the Wolf had leaned against a twisted tree trunk as Yoshi had come to take her in a rather energetic embrace. As Ranmaru had clapped her on the back, his grin simultaneously knowing and secretive. As each member of the Black Clan had—in his own way—demonstrated his solidarity. Their sense of kinship with her.

Perhaps ōkami did not want Mariko to be here.

Perhaps he had objected and been overruled by a higher authority. Overruled by the forest itself. The trees must have known better than they that Hattori Mariko belonged—above all—beneath the forest’s sighing branches. Perhaps because she was far more inventive than all the men put together. Or perhaps the forest simply knew this was where someone like Mariko—a lost girl in search of a place to call home—could plant roots and flourish.

She tossed again, kicking up her thin woolen blanket. Wishing she’d had a chance to tell ōkami that Ranmaru had always known she was a girl.

Wondering if this revelation was worth seeding enmity between the two friends.

When the flap of her tent rose—washing cool night air across her skin—Mariko yanked a throwing star from beneath her pallet and sat up in the same motion.

ōkami crouched outside the entrance.

“Throw it or put it down.” He did not sound angry.

But Mariko did not discard the throwing star immediately.

He waited. “Are you going to invite me in?”

“Those are the words of a villain.”

“I am a villain. A deceiver. The son of a traitor. And so much more.”

“I know.”

“So then are you going to invite me in?”

“If I don’t?”

“Then I will never ask for an invitation again.”

Mariko moved aside, tossing off her thin blanket. She wore nothing but her white underrobe, but it did not matter. From him, she had nothing to hide. “Stay or go. I leave it to you. But you are welcome always. In all ways.”

ōkami dipped inside the tent, letting the flap fall behind him. Mariko did not ask why he’d come to her tent in the dead of night. She dared not hope to ask, the blood pounding through her veins.

He cast her a searching glance. “I was unfair to you earlier.”

“I lied to you,” she said simply. “And I hated you.”

“I wanted to hate you,” he said. “It would have been easier to hate you. But I couldn’t.” ōkami lay beside her, long and lean. “One day, I will tell you everything. About who I was. About where I came from.”

Mariko stretched out next to him, her fingers laced across her stomach. “I don’t care who you were. I only care who you are now. And that you are with me tonight.”

He turned toward her. “Always. In all ways.” ōkami stroked a thumb along her jaw. Mariko leaned into his touch as he framed her face between his hands. As he kissed her eyes closed.

“Look at me.” It sounded innocent.

But nothing ōkami ever said was innocent.

When Mariko opened her eyes to meet his, she saw a night full of stars.

“To me, you are magic.” His voice was soft. It slid over her skin like silk. The words he spoke were firm and unyielding. Steadfast. It gave Mariko comfort. For she, too, was equally unyielding. Equally steadfast.

She kissed his wrist, then reached for the loose collar of his kosode. Her hands brushed away the fabric, baring him to the darkness. When his fingers grazed the muslin of her thin underrobe, it sent a shiver down her back. The slide of the ties through his fingers was like a spark igniting in the dark.

“I want to lie here next to you tonight,” ōkami said.

“How unfortunate for you,” she murmured. “Because I want much more than that.”