Page 17

Dove

“Our weapons have the ability to house spirits, both our own and others,”

Elder Peter said in the sweltering hot room, the Forgefire raged at full blast on the chilly day. “The more they are used, the more power a weapon can contain. Which is why when a kitsune dies, their weapon is donated to the shrine of their choice to be cared for eternally by the Holy Foxes.”

I couldn’t pretend to be as interested in the material as the other weapon-users in the room. The information had been pounded into my brain from a very young age. At only five, I had been given the task of scrubbing areas of grout between the tiles. While we worked, Elder Jane told us the importance of the weapons and not to touch them until we earned the honor. She spoke of the Forgefire like it was a living being. And explained how much better weapons-users were than us. How we should beg for the goddess to bless us, better us, make us just like them.

“Our weapons hold great value in our religion, both spiritually and physically,”

Elder Peter drawled on as he circled the room, holding the red belt at his waist. Each step he took, the thick white fabric of his robe swooshed around his legs “Our weapons are an extension of our own spirit, our own souls.”

Blah, blah, blah…

“You must forge your weapons with the greatest of attention to detail, keep them clean and polished, honor them.”

I was already sketching out my newest design for my next weapon. Which metal, what type of handle, how many times to fold the platinum of the blade.

“Another katana?”

Seven asked dubiously from beside me.

“An odachi,”

I responded in a whisper. “Can’t you tell?”

Seven shrugged, “That will be a little big for you, won’t it?”

“I did my measurements. It won’t drag on the ground if that’s what you’re asking.”

Seven smirked, “Yeah, but you’re so short, an odachi is for...you know...big kitsune. Warriors.”

“I am a warrior,” I hissed.

Elder Peter cleared his throat, “Am I interrupting you, Dove?”

I glanced to my side, noticing that Seven had disappeared back into the Shadow Vale once again so that I would get in trouble for his disruptions.

When the class settled down, I informed the Elder of the amount of metal I needed and began to let it heat as I glared at where I knew Seven lurked after getting me in trouble in class.

I stayed late after the class finished, continuing to fold the metal, pressing it with a clamp, refolding, clamping again.

“Ah, in the style of Damascus steel,”

Elder Peter commented as he watched me continue to work. “And on your own this time? No Forge Master to help you?”

“Kairos is busy today,”

I grumbled, keeping my eyes focused on my work, reminded that he had a meeting with his father again today, whom I still had yet to meet.

As I banged the metal into shape, Seven, of course, had to give his opinion.

“It looks a little small—”

“I’m shorter than you, remember? And what happened to you thinking it was too big?”

He smirked, and tried to distract me from my work, putting his chin atop my head. “How could I forget? Maybe if you actually put some effort into it this time, it won’t shatter again.”

“Great observation, Seven.”

Elder Peter cleared his throat, “Seven is more than proficient at Forging, Dove. I suggest you take his advice.”

“If he’s so proficient, why isn’t he a Forge Master?”

Elder Peter scowled. He’d been unsure where I ranked ever since it became known that I was a Disciple, so he didn’t scold me for my insubordination. “Because while his Forging is extremely skilled, he never shows up to class.”

“Yeah, Fated, maybe try listening to me,”

Seven goaded.

“Don’t you have demons to kill or something,”

I snapped.

“I’m on Fated protection duty,”

he mused sadly. His eyes drifted off as though he was imagining himself killing a demon or some other exciting task. For the next several days, I worked on the blade during my free hours between and after classes.

Seven became increasingly more bored, and subsequently, annoying.

“Enko or Rhys or Kairos couldn’t come today?” I whined.

“I’m sure they’re on their way, I texted them a couple minutes ago about how feisty you’re being and about how I might take you out back to kiss or kill you. Fight or fuck you.”

My cheeks heated.

Seven sniffed at the air. “Really? That turns you on?”

In revenge I shot a thought his way. Seven pushed me up against the wall, my hand slipped into his pants his cock making it a tight fit as I wrapped my hand around his girth and stroked up his length—

Seven grabbed my wrist, not giving me time to finish clamping the metal. He dragged me after him into the metal storage closet, where the dim lighting made him look even darker. His ruby eyes flickered pure danger, making me tremble in lust and confusion.

“Wha—”

“I think it’s time you got punished for your little games. The others aren’t here to protect you, Fated. I warned you before.”

Every bit of me strummed with excitement as Seven pushed me against the wall, his lips locking with mine, tongue probing curiously. He tasted of sweet mint, he smelled of pine. His entire body pressed up against mine, his hands roaming freely as mine fiddled over him. His front half clenched tightly as my hand slipped under his shirt and over the trail of dark hair below his belly button.

“You make it so hard, Fated,”

he breathed against my hair.

“Your cock?”

“No.”

He pulled back at my joke with an appreciative grin. “To not take you right here against this wall. To please you. Claim you.”

Butterflies wandered freely in my stomach as he leaned forward and began to stroke my hair, kissing my forehead, bringing his fingers under my pants and between my legs. My hand went lower, reaching into his pants and touching him, and for once, he didn’t stop me. Instead he let me stroke his length as he let out a long moan. “Yes, good girl.”

I kept going, fascinated with the pleasure I could bring him with something so simple as his finger rubbed against my sex. But I kept my eyes on him. His head tilted back, his lips parted slightly as he exhaled.

The realization of what we were doing crossed his features. His eyes snapped down to me and he cleared his throat. His hand ran through his hair as he backed away, yanking his hand out of my pants, breathing heavily, eyes dilated and freely inspecting me. I stroked his shaft again and he grabbed my wrist tightly, tugging me away from our game.

“I’m going to the temple to pray,”

he said suddenly, spinning around and leaving me there hot and heavy and wanting for more. “Or to hunt some demons. Or take a long, long cold shower.”

He paused, glancing back, “Don’t tell the others I let you touch…” he hesitated, clearing his throat and practically sprinted from the dark storage room.