Hot & Cold

Cold. That was all she knew. The frigid blade pierced her skin and seeped into her bones; surrounding her and encompassing her existence. Where was she? How long had she been there? If she had been capable of thought in that moment she would have questioned. But no thought could penetrate the mind numbing sensation. Minutes? Hours? Years? She could not know. Time meant nothing to her.

Ask anyone who knew her and they could tell you. They could tell you that their beloved friend/sister/teacher/neighbor had disappeared three weeks ago without a trace. They would tell you of her captors (everyone knew who had taken her) and their relentless hatred of a certain someone. They would tell you of that certain someone who had barely slept or eaten since she had been taken. Who had spent every possible moment frantically scouring every corner of every place he could get to in search of her.

If you asked him, if you could get him to stop a moment and speak that is, he would tell you that they had taken her from him. They had taken his light, his happiness, his Kaoru. And he would tell you that it was all his fault.

He rarely cried. If he shed tears for everything worth the sorrow he would never stop. But the moment he saw her pinned to the wall, lifeless, with a bloody cross menacingly carved into her soft cheek, he could not find the strength to hold back the soul wrenching wails. Only later would he discover that she was still alive. That the horrible mutilation had been done to a body double, not her. And only later would his anger burn so hotly as if to incinerate her captors under his intense gaze. As tears didn't come easily for the man neither did rage. But that woman made him unpredictable.

As she knew nothing but the cold of her confinement, he knew nothing but the heat of his malice. He would search to the corners of the earth if he must. And he would kill—yes, kill—anyone foolish enough to stand in his way. And, as it would be, he would kill very few. Not many live that would purposefully evoke that wrath of the Battosai. The consequences were far too dire.

But it mattered not how much blood he spilled. The heat of his anger would never cool until he had her safe: wrapped in his arms. His warmth would pierce her frozen world and return her to life. And hell beware if anyone or anything ever took her away from him again.