Sesshomaru stood at the edge of a small clearing, his youki and scent restrained to keep from alerting those sleeping on the ground before him. He recognized the odors of the monk and slayer, intermingled in an unmistakable sign that they had been sexually intimate recently. His gaze slid across the twin lumps under a shared bedroll and settled on the fox kit. The kitsune slept deeply – lying on his back in a nest of soft blankets and crinkly wrappers with his mouth open and the strong, saccharine smell of the miko's candy on him. It was the sleep of a growing youkai, one that would only be disturbed by the pulse of youki, or the alarmed aura of his pack, warning him of danger.

Finally, Sesshomaru's eyes rested on the miko. The futon she had carried with her while they had traveled together – so briefly, so long ago, and yet not – was in evidence. He could see nothing of the female except a wave of black, silky hair that spilled from inside her covering. Carnations and dogwood emanated from her and tugged on the fire that yet coursed through his veins.

It had taken less time than he expected to break free of his meditation. The moon was still high and it had not been long since the miko had finished cleansing herself at the stream when he was at last able to stand and swiftly right his clothes. He found it unnecessary to waste time cleaning himself – as his seed had landed entirely on the woman. The memory of her flushed skin and hooded eyes might as well have been prey racing across his path, or a feast laid out before one starved, considering the way his beast reacted. It tensed, still and predatory inside him, while it examined her scent. It would have lunged for her, but Sesshomaru refused the action.

He was mildly surprised when his beast obeyed.

The heat still flowed in his blood. But it did not boil. His control was slipping; he could ascertain that much, but not how quickly it would disappear altogether. Still, the experience was one that he wished to test. Multiple times. This night. For some reason - perhaps some implausible combination of female, meditation, and long denial of his own cravings – he had dominance over his instincts in the wake of their act. Sesshomaru had always, at least since his second heat, dreaded – or more accurately, detested – the weakness brought by the Call. It was not the carnality or the intimacy of the actions taken in heat, although the latter was not entirely preferable, that disturbed him. It was the inability to determine his own behavior and will; the knowledge, the deep-seated feeling, that he was powerless over something as insubstantial as his desires was galling and loathsome.

His reasons for denying himself and entering the meditative hibernation were moot. His beast was free; and it would force his logical mind into a state of helpless darkness while it glutted itself with the miko's body if Sesshomaru did not take steps to ensure continued satiation. The miko will enjoy the experience. His thought was both an observation and a promise. He could still smell her arousal on himself. She had stained him with her scent: his lips, his chest, the skin made damp by her own liquid while she tasted his. She found him desirable, and he had the skill to ensure that she would be far too occupied with the sensations he could draw from her body to be distracted by annoying human emotions such as guilt, shame, and embarrassment.

His decision had been made before he reached the clearing. Sometime in the moments between his completion in her hands and her leave-taking, he had decided she would be his for the duration of his Call. One month. One cycle of the moon. Twenty-seven nights remaining. He had only to remove her from her companions without provoking an argument with his irritatingly protective half-brother or the humans. Arguments would lead to an uninspired and tedious sparring match. Which would inevitably lead to the hanyou's blood on the ground. Then the miko would rush to the pup's side... A growl rose in his throat and Sesshomaru forced it back. The sound would have woken the pack. More importantly, it was another sign that his beast had laid claim to the miko's body. Sesshomaru was still in control, and as much as he disliked his sibling, he would not slay him over a female. No matter how lush and delicious. If for no other reason than his instincts would demand it, he refused to permit them to draw the pup's blood. The daiyoukai would be master of everything he desired, including himself. Including the woman.

The miko would belong to him and no other until the next full moon – or she expired from exhaustion, whichever event occurred first. He would not allow her to choose another over him. The very idea of the human woman, any female, considering that he might be in competition with another, any other, especially Inuyasha, was ridiculous. Ridiculous and infuriating. There was no competition. Would never be. Sesshomaru was superior. Perfection.

A smirk, something darkly lustful and searingly unforgettable, flashed in the shadows. She had already admitted his perfection. Admired it. While she had her legs wrapped around his waist and her hands on his bare flesh. If she survived the passion he would incite in her, the intensity he would burden her with, then she would know, without any room for doubt, that his perfection was absolute.

Sesshomaru tested the air again. The hanyou was far upwind of the clearing. He was close enough to hear any screams or cries for assistance, but not to smell an intruder among his pack. Foolish, to leave those under his protection. To leave her. Even if a disturbance alerted him, it would take Inuyasha precious minutes to return. Sesshomaru would be far away, his scent erased by water, wind, and youki by the time the miko's absence was noted. The daiyoukai could not formulate a reason why his uncouth sibling would have removed himself from the others, but it only eased the capture of his prey. He slipped around the fire, staying close to the edge where grass blended into undergrowth and trees. The smoldering fire crackled, the sound loud in his preternatural ears, but none stirred.

The female slept soundly. Spent, he thought arrogantly. Inebriated, he reminded himself. He shouldered her worn yellow bag and slid both arms under the woman – picking her up inside her bedroll. He was distantly aware of how difficult the task would have been had his arm not regenerated when he created his sword. At the time, he had thought only of how his combat skills would be improved with two hands. Breathing deeply of pink flowers and red berries, he considered that the disability would have hindered his power to bring pleasure as well. He made a mental note to inform the miko so that she might admire his ability to regenerate, and so that she could properly thank him for the experiences he would give her as a result.

As he stalked away silently, his footfalls hidden by youkai grace and speed, he discovered his own private joke. Although he had reevaluated many things in recent years, his was still the path of conquest. He admired the soft black wave that spilled across his white sleeve and the pale pink curve of an ear that was revealed by the shifting bag. The miko slept on, unaware that she was the next to be conquered.