The bricks were warm against her cold skin.  It was the middle of the night, the moon was high, and it was late autumn at best, but the bricks were warm .

Or rather, she was so cold that the small amount of warmth left in the bricks was almost as good as a jacket.

She didn’t dare be seen by anyone.  Not out here, in the suburbs of Tokyo, wearing a white kosode dressed right over left.  If she didn’t feel like she’d be exposing herself to people by redressing outside, she would’ve done it already… but propriety demanded she keep the ensemble together.

Even if she was dressed for death, it wasn’t quite enough to make her undress in public.

“The fuck is this, seriously?” Kagome whispered, bundling herself into the corner of an alley.  Her mouth ached. Her stomach turned and growled at the same time. She didn’t care how cold the concrete must be beneath her feet, but in her mind, she could recall the comfort of her mattress at home, of the thick duvet filled to capacity with feathers, of a cup of hot, green tea and her mother’s sasamochi .  What she wouldn’t give for all of that just right then, but there was no way she could go home.  

Not when she was supposed to be dead; not when she was supposed to have been cremated already, as evidenced by the room they’d had her laid in, and the box that had loosely held her in place.

Dear gods above, what would’ve happened if she hadn’t woken up?

Crouching and curling around her knees, Kagome tried to remember.  She could recall the hospital. Her mother, brother, and grandfather looking at her with worried faces, a doctor with calculating, black eyes that seemed misplaced on his face.  She remembered screaming machines, the world fading to black.

That was all.

Kagome’s memories skipped a blank that felt ages long before appearing in the crematorium, and then her desperate escape.  If she was at the crematorium, that meant her family had already mourned over her body for days. They’d seen her in a coffin, laid flowers on her, kept vigil for her.  She was no expert on funerals, but days of an open casket meant everyone knew she was dead.

Though apparently, rumors of her death were greatly exaggerated.  Otherwise, what would she be doing out here?

The sound of cautious footsteps reverberated in her ears, and the shock was almost palpable as the person came to a stop over her.  She froze; it had to be the wee hours of the morning yet, so how was someone awake to find her here? A drunk? A criminal? Dread settled on her heavily, and Kagome didn’t dare raise her head.  The feet left in a hurry.

Just as she was breathing a sigh of relief, more feet came.  She tried to sink into the corner even further, but there was heavy breathing over her and she could feel it when one of them knelt over her, and she just wanted to run —

“Hey, what’s a baby like you doing out this late at night?  The sun’ll be comin’ up soon.”

He has a nice voice , came the thought.  Kagome hesitated, but eventually raised her head to face him — and met a pair of eyes that were a deep, mesmerizing blue.  An unreasonably unfathomable blue. She hadn’t understood what poets were going on about when they declared themselves breathless at one beauty or another, but now she did.  Air escaped her lungs, leaving her unable to answer.

He looked worried.  He sounded worried.  The man tried again, “You’re not safe here.  Where’s your sire?”

With a nervous swallow, she shook her head.  Words. Words would be good about now. “I don’t- I mean, what…?”

Still distracted by his eyes, it was impossible to miss the moment dark pupils narrowed to thin slits.

“...  Your sire.  Who created you?” he asked, voice strained.  His nerves were getting to her, pulling her out of ocean eyes and bringing her back to overwhelming reality — cold concrete, fast-approaching dawn, and a kimono for burial.  Kagome licked her lips, gaze falling to her knees.

“I’m… not sure what you mean.”

She didn’t know the man, but he sounded furious when he spoke again.  “Who the hell would leave you on your own at a time like this?”  There wasn’t time to formulate a response before he tossed his jacket over her head, the smell of pine and leather and male encasing her as he barked out orders.  “Ginta, call that damn monk and tell him to get his girl to raid the blood bank.  It’s better than nothing. Hakkaku, get the boys organized. We’ve got to find her sire.  This bullshit cannot happen again. Ginta, after you call Miroku, get Ayame on the line and tell her to haul some of her old things to my apartment.  I know she’s probably still pissed at me, but we can’t have this one running around in funeral shit.”

Kagome was forcibly jostled to her feet, an arm around her shoulders, her toes tripping and scraping against the ground as he dragged her along.  By the end of the alley, when the sounds of the echoes around her changed, the man hauled her into his arms. More jackets were piled on her torso and legs.   They also smelled of pine and leather, and different notes of spicy masculinity. Confused and on the verge of flailing for her balance, the gruff voice of the man carrying her rumbled by her ear, “Don’t move too much.  We’ll get you somewhere safe, so just behave.”

“What the- no seriously, where are you taking me?” she started, finally coming back to herself now that distracting eyes weren’t being so distracting.  His chest vibrated in a rumble she didn’t know what to do with.

“If I knew who was responsible for this, I’d take you there.  And then knock their fucking teeth out,” he growled. “Since I don’t know, I’m taking you to our enclave.  It’s better than nothing; there are rooms safe for babes like you, so at least you won’t—”

“Would you stop calling me a baby?  I’m a grown woman.”

“You’re a fucking baby who hasn’t even had her first blood yet.”

“If that’s a comment about my fertility I swear to god —”

“HELL NO.”  His hands gripped until it hurt a little, but she tried to move as little as possible.  The warmth was glorious. She wasn’t really mad. Half of it was teasing, the other half unbearable indignity of being treated like a child by someone so attractive.  “I’m saying what kind of sire leaves their child alone without even telling them what’s happened? Did they say anything to you at all?”

Kagome didn’t reply.  She pursed her lips and went over her memories again, skimming them.  Mama, Grandfather, Souta, the doctor; the hospital and its impeccably sterile crematorium.  Waking up in a flimsy box for burning. The scream of machines in her ears was headache-inducing even when she just imagined it.  The hallways were dark and empty when she fled, eschewing the idea of stealing a forgotten jacket to cover her burial garb. The smell of death and bleach and alcohol was everywhere.  Blood and decay. It made more of an impression now than it had then, her mind calm enough to organize what her senses had stored away for her.

“Hey,” he prompted gruffly, “ Did they ?”

Beneath the jacket, Kagome shook her head.  “No one was there but me.”

When the man deposited her on a sofa some thirty minutes later, Kagome knew she was somewhere louder than outside, and while enclosed, the area was absolutely enormous.  The smell of leather and fur didn’t abate, but it was padded out with the smells of food and drink. After a few minutes, the jacket was pulled off her head, and she was faced with a large warehouse… or something like it.

Bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling by the dozens cast the whole building in a dim, golden light.  Exposed brick and corrugated metal tastefully decorated the walls. Concrete floors were painted with epic adventures and deep, red runes like an immortal tapestry.  Rich, red upholstery covered a variety of lounges and chairs, and fur throws in grizzled grays, browns, and silvers were strewn across anywhere it seemed likely for someone to sit.

“Welcome to the Enclave.”

Kagome turned to look at her host, now perched on a tall, wingback chair.  He was examining her in a very disconcerting way when the sharp, quick footsteps of another drew her attention.

Before she could catch a glimpse though, a mound of cloth hit her square in the face.

“Kouga.  I swear, you say you reject me for no damn reason, but then call beggaring my clothes for this ?”

Kagome took issue with being called ‘ this .’  

At least she now had a name.  ‘Kouga’ was grimacing when she finally managed to pull through the pile of clothing articles.

“She’s a baby, Ayame.  Even you wouldn’t leave her there like that.”  The female turned and looked at her for real this time, eying the white kosode with distaste.  “See?”

“Fine.  I understand.  What are you going to do about it?  It can’t stay here.”

Kagome took issue with being called ‘ it ,’ too.  With a snarl, she stood from her seat and sent the offerings tumbling to the floor.  “Is it too much for anyone’s manners around here to ask my name ?  Instead of calling me baby and   child and it , for gods’ sakes, just ask my name!”

Ayame eyed her warily, and a little sulkily, before deeming to say, “Fine.  Tell us.”

“ Ask .  You’re a grown woman, surely you’ve got some manners somewhere,” Kagome snapped.  She heard a suspicious snicker from Kouga’s direction. “I’ve heard your name already, Ayame-san , so no need to introduce yourself first.”

Ayame put the livid in lividity; red from ears to neck, green eyes narrowing in indignation, she growled, “Have some yourself, brat .  You don’t belong here, so don’t make out like you do!”

“I don’t care whether I belong or not.  It doesn’t stop you from being civil,” Kagome snipped.  “I’d as soon stay in funeral garb as use clothes from a- a—”

“You can call her a bitch, little one.  She can’t deny it.” Kouga smirked and stood, scooping the clothes up from the floor, depositing them in her arms.  “But to make up for her bad manners, I’ll ask you. What’s your name?”

Kagome pouted down at the clothes.  They were nice clothes.  They were brands she’d never been able to afford in all her life, and looked barely worn.  She glanced up at Kouga, and with a sigh, said, “Higurashi Kagome. My family owns the Higurashi Shrine in Shizuoka.”

The red-head hissed.  “You brought an exorcist here?!”

Kouga seemed to give her a cautious sniff.  Kagome wanted to pinch his nose, because don’t sniff me, even I don’t know when the last time I had a bath was , but she tamped down the fidgets as he made a face and said, “She’s got power — don’t know how it stood the change — but I don’t think she’s trained.”

Feeling like the man was on her side — more than anyone else at the moment, anyway — Kagome finally felt relaxed enough to ask.  “So… okay, exorcist or priestess whatever aside… what do you mean by change? And earlier you were asking about a sire…?”

It felt like the whole room went silent.  Dozens of eyes stared at her, Kouga and Ayame not excluded.

“You… you’re serious?”

Kagome didn’t like the note of disbelief there, so she braced for the worst.  “I woke up alone in a crematorium just hours from being turned to ash. What am I missing?”

The clamor that overtook the room was impressive.  She heard sharp yips like dogs getting their tails stepped on, several swears of varying strength, at least one “DEAR MARY MOTHER OF GOD” and several calls for the blood of the idiot that did this.  Ayame stood aghast, so horrified her lips curled back to reveal unexpectedly sharp canines. It was the first clue that registered.

They had fangs.

With a hard swallow, Kagome turned to Kouga just as he leaned over to look her in the eye, taking her by the shoulders.  He made a few false starts, and finally croaked a dry, “I don’t have any experience with this. We can’t make new ones like they can, so I’m sorry.  You’re- damn, I’m sorry.”

Kagome felt her heartbeat speed up.  What clues did she miss? Kouga pulled on her gently until she sat down on the couch again, those mesmerizing eyes still locked on to hers as he knelt, begging her to understand.  Just as he opened his mouth, another clatter loud enough to wake the dead rattled through the building, followed by a sing-song voice Kagome knew all-too-well.

“Miroku the traveling priest, at your service!  Now, where’s this baby vampire I’ve heard about?”

Baby vampire .

Looking the monk in the eye, Kagome declared, “Miroku-sama, that joke is in bad taste.”

He froze, smile disappearing in an instant.  Plastic bags bulged around red things she didn’t want to know what were.  Behind him, a man with a silvery mohawk trailed in with a nervous smile and a tail tucked between his legs.

It seemed as if the haze of fear and worry that had clouded her mind the last several hours was gone at last.  As Hakkaku closed the door behind him, Kagome felt a great lot of rage building up in her chest and, cooling it to Arctic temperatures, she leveled the man a fearsome look.

“Am I a vampire?”  Despite several yards of distance, she could distinctly see the nervous gulp that bobbed his Adam’s apple.  “Miroku-sama. That was not a rhetorical question.   Am I a vampire ?”

Trying for a lighter tone despite his brows scrunched with worry, he said, “Just a baby one.”

Kouga’s head dropped to her lap, and she heard a grumble resembling, “Not the way I thought that’d go…”

After several frozen minutes, Miroku set the plastic sacks on the coffee table in front of her.  They were filled with blood bags, marked ‘clean’ and with signs of his girlfriend’s father’s blood bank on the front.

“Does Sango-chan steal blood for you often?” she asked dryly.  Miroku winced, but still offered a stilted smile.

“Only in cases like these, Kagome-sama.”

“Explain.”

He settled on the couch by her, and Kagome latched on to Kouga’s hands when he went to remove them.  They felt like summer, toasty warm against her frigid skin, and they damn well weren’t going anywhere while she had to listen to this.  Miroku tugged at his ponytail, his old nervous tell, before settling back against the couch and starting.

“What do you know?”

“That I woke up before being burned to death.  Quit stalling.” She actually pitied him a little, his face going from pale to pasty white when she snapped.  With a deep breath, he continued.

“About two weeks ago, you were on a train on the Chuo Line.  Someone parked a vehicle on the tracks, and the train couldn’t stop in time,” he started.  Kagome nodded, brows still knit together. He sighed and continued. “You were in one of the forward cars.  Pretty much everyone from the first three cars is dead. You were the only one who made it out of the second car, by some miracle.

“They took you to the nearby hospital.  At first, they couldn’t tell anything. Then it seemed like you were miraculously getting better.  No one had any suggestions why, but you were getting stronger.” He hesitated, swallowing. “Then… then out of the blue, you withered practically overnight.  Less than 24 hours after you started going downhill, you were dead. The doctors didn’t have any explanation for that, either.”

“That was the bite sinking in,” Kouga stated, and Miroku nodded in agreement.

“That’s what makes sense.  The bite kills you quickly, but not right away,” he replied, the facts flowing easily off his tongue.  Kagome couldn’t help but note how used to this he was. “Hakkaku tells me you don’t know your sire. That makes things harder, but not impossible.  We’ll get Inuyasha to talk to the local Coven and see if anyone comes forward. In the meanwhile,” he glanced toward the blood packs on the table, “you really… you really need to eat something.”

She glanced at the blood, swishing in its plastic containers.  Her tongue was twitching, her saliva pooling; some part of her thought it looked delectable, but the rest…  She shook her head. “I don’t think I can stomach that just yet.”

“You’d best stay here.  Sunrise was a few minutes ago, and you’ll burn easily,” he said softly.  Kagome looked down at Kouga then, and he gave her a smile that was only a little strained.

“Aw, hell.  One vampire in a lunacy of werewolves won’t be a big deal.”

She couldn’t help the quirk of lips that came with that.  “A lunacy is it.”

“It is.”

Miroku got her attention by leaning over, and offered a wan smile.  “Kagome-sama, I am very, very glad you are alright. Even if you are a vampire.  Sango has cried for days in her grief.”

“Judging by how red your eyes are, you haven’t been much different,” she offered.  

Neither mentioned Kagome’s family.  No doubt they were even more distraught, even more grieved than her best friend.  There was no way she could reveal this to them though; how could she just waltz up to her family shrine and say, “Hi everyone!  I’m not dead, I’m just a vampire now!  Sorry about that expensive funeral. I bet my eulogy was great, lol.”  

No way in hell.

“Will you be alright here?  Kouga-sama is a very important male in Tokyo.  You didn’t even react when he said you would be staying amongst his wolves,” Miroku asked, just a little worried.  Kagome gave a half-laugh, tossing her chin in Hakkaku’s direction.

“How many other mythological creatures could be walking around with tails?”

“Many indeed, though you make your point.”

Kagome stared at the hands she had in a stranglehold on her lap, her smile fading until worry marred her face.  Several moments of silence passed between them. Ayame fussed at a few nearby people before turning and leaving, red tail swishing as she went.  The two dozen men and women milling about thinned as they left in one direction or another. A few blobs that she’d first thought were throw rugs turned out to be actual wolves — which were supposed to be extinct in Japan, but here they were, fat and happy and yawning widely as they got comfortable on various patches of carpet or overstuffed furniture.

“Really, I think I’m in shock,” she said quietly.  Miroku nodded, his eyes resting on the same scene. Kouga was watching her quietly with those still overwhelmingly-blue eyes.  Kagome touched a tongue to one of her canines, ignoring the prick and lack of blood to follow. “I can tell I’m different. The cold doesn’t bother me, and my teeth are sharper, and my senses are better than before.  I can see the tails on these people, and their fangs, and I haven’t missed when their eyes went all cat-slit over one thing or another… but to tell me I’m a vampire?”

“If it helps any, you’re a very pretty vampire,” Kouga quipped.  Kagome startled, looked down at him, and just as she was about to ask what he meant, he said, “Were your eyes always this blue?”

She turned to Miroku with a sick look on her face.  He pulled at his ponytail.