Excerpt challenge - day eight

Okay - I've passed the one week mark and I'm still keeping up! Today's entry in the bouncing WIP challenge is from Onna Bugeisha. When Hiroshi is forced into an apprenticeship Jun finds out in the worst possible way.

Jun was pulled from his misery by the sound of footsteps on the engawa. “You came back.” He ran out into the hall to greet his lover, only to find the entry filled with soldiers. “How dare you break into a lady's home,” he hissed. “Leave at once.”

“We are here to collect Murakami-san's belongings. Step aside or we will have to restrain you,” the leader of the group explained.

The soldiers filled the space, pawing through chests to create a messy pile of male clothing. “Stop that,” Jun shrieked, throwing himself against the nearest samurai in an attempt to snatch back the garments clenched in his fist.

“You would be smart not to fight us,” the leader of the squad insisted. “We would prefer not to restrain you.”

“Take your hands off Hiroshi's things. He'll punish you for this insolence.”

“Murakami-san will not be returning.” The commander's grip on Jun tightened. “His father will no longer tolerate this assignation. Hiroshi is being sent to live with Yakushi-sama. It is past time for him to be trained in the way of budo. Do yourself a favor and forget you ever met, for it is certain you will never meet again.”

“Hiroshi would never abandon me,” Jun sobbed. “We are eternal lovers. We swore never to be parted.”

“That is not a promise he was free to make to a woman like you. The daimyo's heir needs a match worthy of his family name. No street whore, no matter how lovely, could ever hope to win his hand.”

“I am no whore.” Jun rose to his full height, glaring imperiously at the men surrounding him. 

“You aren't a woman, either,” the guard realized. “Hey, this girl is a man.” The atmosphere in the room turned dark. The samurai amused themselves by shoving Jun back and forth between them, stripping off layers with each pass. Finally he was naked except for remnant face paint smeared across his cheek and a single kanzashi caught in the tangle of his hair.

“You'll pay for this.” Jun found himself pressed onto the tatami, rough hands leaving bruises on soft flesh. His protests faded under the onslaught, all his energy focused on weathering the storm.

One by one the soldiers took their turn, filling Jun's mouth or ass. He gagged as semen blocked his throat, thrashing and coughing. His lips were turning blue when he finally vomited up the contents of his stomach on the man currently using him. The punch to the head that followed rendered him unconscious, not that his abusers cared.

When the last of them had taken his pleasure they gathered Hiroshi's things and left. The battered man on the tatami would never again be thought beautiful. And deep in his ocean lair, Susanoo smiled.

Day seven excerpt challenge

Okay - it's day seven - a full week and I've managed to stay on schedule (I know, a minor miracle). I'm still alternating, so it's a Ripples day. Something a bit more upbeat today, though - it isn't all gloom and doom, I promise!

In the world of the ninja only one thing is certain, death. Whether it be swift or slow, peaceful or filled with pain, few could escape its clutches and make it to thirty. To reach the age of forty, as both Yoshi and Makoto had, was nearly impossible.

The corollary to this, of course, is how rarely shinobi, even retired ones, have a chance to relax and just enjoy a little normalcy. Yoshi was determined to enjoy the opportunity while he had it. After all, their official honeymoon ended tomorrow. He was sure the Shuhan was chomping at the bit to have Makoto back in his office taking a bit of the workload. Tonight was a rare chance to socialize without work getting in the way. The press of a warm body against his back distracted him from his train of thought. He leaned back into the interrogator and tilted his head for a kiss. “I missed you,” the shadow wolf admitted.

“You know Souta's going to freak out when he sees that, don't you?” Makoto deftly changed the subject as he watched his husband touch his tattoo for the thousandth time.

“Better here in our house than out in public somewhere,” Yoshi decided. “Everyone's going to see it eventually.”

“I may have to quit my job and spend my days guarding you from your legion of stalkers.” The interrogator leaned in to release a warm breath against the kanji standing out in stark contrast to the pale skin it decorated.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” The shadow wolf pulled away to continue cooking. “Be useful and set the table.”

“You must have noticed them. You are a ninja after all, and they're hardly subtle.” Makoto shook his head. “Don't play innocent with me.” He grabbed plates and chopsticks and carried them into the lounge and dropped them on the kotatsu.

“You could at least spread them around. The Shuhan is coming for dinner, after all.”

“Don't change the subject. Daisuke won't care and you know it," Makoto retorted. "We were talking about the small army of fans stalking you around town.”

“You're imagining things. It's just the novelty of our marriage. You'll see, it will all die down in a week or two.”

“I seriously doubt that anyone who sees you is going to forget you, sweetheart.” The interrogator wrapped strong arms around his husband, pulling him back into a broad chest so his tongue could trace the inky marks proudly displayed at the juncture of neck and shoulder. “Has anyone mentioned this?”

“Mayu, of course,” Yoshi replied with a chuckle. “She waffles between it being sweet and disturbing.”

“Disturbing how?”

“A mark of ownership, like branding a cow. It's alright,” Yoshi hastened to add when the look on the interrogator's face became ever more stricken. “I reminded her it was my choice and told her to butt out.”

“Sweetheart, if it's a problem you could cover it.” Sharp teeth nervously worried Makoto's lower lip. “The last thing I want is for people to think you're my property.”

“You don't want people to know I belong to you?” Yoshi's brows knitted together as his smiling face grew solemn. “If that pleases you.” He traced some kanji in the air and touched two fingers to the mark so it faded into his skin, leaving no indication it was ever there.

“That's not what I meant.” Makoto formed the kanji to dispel the concealment. “I just don't want you to feel uncomfortable. People can be so rude.”

“Why would I care what they say?” The shadow wolf gave an eloquent shrug. “What could they possibly come up with that would be worse than the truth? I'm sure more than one person has made a snide comment about you being my bitch . . . hmm, Takahashi-san?”

“Who in the hell do you think would actually say something like that to me? You do remember what I do, don't you?”

“Don't be an idiot.” Yoshi swatted the torture master aside to get to the oven. “There are plenty of people who aren't fooled by your bad ass routine. In fact, there's two of them now,” he continued blithely when the bell rang. “Go let our guests in.”

“We aren't done talking about this,” Makoto warned as he opened the door.

Day Six in my excerpt challenge

It's day six, and, as I am alternating between my two most active WIP, today is an Onna Bugeisha day. A bit more of the interplay between Hiroshi and Kenshin at the start of their training together.

By the time night fell Hiroshi was more exhausted than he thought possible. The afternoon passed in a blur, 'falling training' mostly consisted of Kenshin throwing him into things at high speed. His bruises were bruised. All he could think of was a long soak in the furo followed by sleeping for a week.

When he failed to appear for dinner Kenshin went looking. The last thing he needed was his apprentice escaping from his home on the first day. When he went to check the bathhouse he found his wayward pupil sound asleep in the furo, head barely above the water line. His fingers hovered above black clouds and half a flower intricately inked on an exposed shoulder. Of all the secrets his student held, this was one he never expected. “Oi, wake up, time for dinner.”

Hiroshi woke in a world of pain. The hot water did little to relieve the ache of muscles pushed far beyond their usual bounds. “Huh, what?”

“I would not have expected you to have a tattoo. Such a rebellious student I've managed to end up with. Sakura at dawn, and done by an irezumi master.”

“It's permanent, of course I went to a master.” Kenshin's gentle teasing picked at his student's last thread of patience. “Is nothing in my life private anymore?”

“Not from me.”

The smug smile on his master's face pushed the normally reserved Hiroshi over the edge. “You have got to be kidding me. As if being relegated to this mausoleum isn't enough, now you're spying and prying for my father as well?”

“My questions are my own,” Kenshin retorted. “And what I find is for me as well. You flatter yourself. A boy like you isn't worthy of such a grand plot. Now get out and dress, our dinner is getting cold.” He reached out to give Hiroshi a hand, only to have his arm slapped away.

“I'm perfectly capable of getting out of a tub on my own. Now turn around, I don't need you ogling me.”

“You think an awful lot of yourself. Why sakura? I would have pegged you for a dragon or perhaps yokai. Something more obviously manly, in any event.”

“It was Jun's suggestion,” Hiroshi admitted. “He thought it suited my personality.”

“Indeed.” Kenshin stepped behind his student, tracing the pattern with calloused fingers. “It is beautiful. New life from the darkness. I approve.”

“Thank you, I guess. Not that I need your approval.”

“Sit.” Kenshin pushed his student down onto the bathing stool, then knelt in front of him. “I want you to be able to walk tomorrow.” Strong fingers began kneading tired feet, pushing into tender arches until they relaxed. “Next time tell me when I'm pushing you too hard.”

“I did. You laughed at me.”

“My apologies, I forget not everyone works themselves as hard as I do.” Knotted calves gradually eased under the insistent pressure, and Hiroshi groaned, curling into the painful bliss. “After we eat I'll give you some lineament for your hands. It will toughen the skin so it doesn't tear. For now we will alternate days, swordsmanship one day, hand to hand the next. Just until you get used to the routine.”

“I'll try harder, I promise.”

“You did very well for your first day. I just set my expectations too high. We will find a balance, I'm sure.” Kenshin stood and hoisted him to his feet. “Better? Do you think you can walk to the table?”

“I'll manage. Give me a few minutes to dress and I'll join you.”

Excerpt challenge, day five

Today's entry in my excerpt a day challenge to myself is from Ripples. I'm midway through a total rewrite with major plot changes . . .but I'm pretty sure this part stays.

Makoto looked over at his slumbering husband with a frown. Even from halfway across the yard he could see how thin the other man was. Pi'natsu had even come to him and asked him to intervene, explaining how worried the pack was about their master. He had soothed the wolves as best he could, but inside he shared their concern. The last six months had aged the shadow wolf ten years and the interrogator worried he didn't have much time left.

“Sweetheart, wake up, it’s time for dinner,” he whispered as he gently shook a bony shoulder.

“Hmmm, what time is it?” Yoshi rasped hoarsely as he slowly stretched, reluctantly pulling himself from the cocoon of sleep and into the real world.

“Almost six,” the interrogator rumbled. “Dinner’s on the table, otherwise I would have let you sleep.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” the shadow wolf assured him. “It smells delicious.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Makoto scolded, arms folded across his chest.

“What? It does smell good, I’m hungry.” Yoshi retorted as he stood and headed towards the house.

“Stop.” The interrogator caught a thin wrist in his large hand and pulled the shadow wolf into his arms. “You know what I mean, don’t joke about your death. It hurts to think you’d leave me so easily.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t mean anything by it.” Yoshi kissed the scar running across his husband’s cheek before heading into the house, leaving the interrogator to stare pensively after him.

Hiroshi's training begins

Today's excerpt is from Onna Bugeisha - Hiroshi's training begins

Dawn spread fingers of fire across the heavens, ribbons of rosy light painting abstract patterns on the shoji and rousing Hiroshi from a restless sleep.

“Time for morning kata.” Kenshin's too cheery greeting rattled the bones of his apprentice's skull.

“It's barely dawn. Why do we have to start so early?” Hiroshi groaned, pulling the covers over his face and snuggling deeper into the futon.

“The day is most productive when it starts with exercise.” Kenshin yanked the covers off his slumbering apprentice, prodding him off the futon with his foot. “We rise at this time every day, I'm sure in time you will get used to it.”

“I seriously doubt that.” Hiroshi scrubbed a hand across his eyes, squinting up at the mirthful face of his master. “You are getting far too much enjoyment out of this.”

“What do you usually do in the morning?”

“I sleep through the morning, like any civilized person.” The curt reply was a sharp contrast to the whirlwind hair and pillow creases marring otherwise perfect cheekbones. “Couldn't we skip morning practice and start after lunch?”

“And then you'll want to wait until evening. You've spent enough years dawdling in bed, time to actually do something.” A strong hand latched onto Hiroshi's rumpled yukata and heaved him to his feet. “Your father expects me to turn you into a warrior. Get dressed and meet me in the dojo. The sooner we start, the sooner you get breakfast.”

The strappy ties on his hakama were a puzzle he couldn't decode in his half asleep state. Forty minutes passed before Hiroshi entered the dojo, hair roughly scraped back into a bushy tail, hakama tied in an impatient knot barely restraining his crumpled yukata. The sight of his new master peacefully meditating, hair and garments perfectly arranged, was enough to drive him to despair.

“I see you finally made it.” Dark eyes opened to study his reluctant student. “Tomorrow I will expect you to join me for meditation. Clarity of mind is crucial for productive training.”

“Clarity of mind assumes I am actually awake,” Hiroshi quipped. “I'm not sure that is possible so early in the morning.”

Kenshin's laugh was open and unexpected. “Let's get started.” He selected a bokken from the weapons rack. “Show me what you know.” He handed the wooden sword to his student, ignoring the electric tingle that rushed through him when their fingers brushed.

Hiroshi wobbled through the first of the simple kata he remembered, conscious of the poor showing he was making. As much as he disliked the warrior arts he wanted to make a good impression on the man who was giving up so much to train him. His attention was focused on Kenshin's reaction, further distracting him from what he should have been doing.

“Just stop,” Kenshin snapped. “Obviously we need to start at the beginning.” He snatched the bokken from lax fingers. “Lesson number one, how to properly hold a sword. Like this, see, all the work is done by these fingers, the others are just a guide.”

He handed the weapon back and watched critically as his apprentice tried to duplicate what he had been shown. “Better, but more space between your hands. It's a lever, you get more power that way.” Calloused fingers wrapped around Hiroshi's pampered digits, sparking another frisson at the contact.

The next few hours passed in a blur. When Kenshin finally called a halt the bokken needed to be pried out of his student's hands. “I think I'll be doing that cut in my sleep,” Hiroshi grumbled.

“Just make sure you soak your hands after we eat. I wouldn't want you to be unable to practice tomorrow.”

“Are we done for today?” The hopeful look directed in Kenshin's direction had him feeling momentarily guilty.

“We're done for this morning. Let's get something to eat and then we'll work on hand to hand skills for awhile.”

“How many of hours do you practice each day?”

“That depends on my duties. Eight to ten hours when I'm home, less if we're in the field.”

“Just kill me now,” Hiroshi declared. “There's no way I'll survive the week.”

the end of his world

I've decided to alternate excerpts from my current batch of WIPs - so here's a snippet from Ripples, the final book in the Shinobi Saga.

It was quiet. Too quiet. The bank of monitors watched dark and silent over the still form swathed in bandages. Yoshi hovered over the bed, hesitant to touch for fear of causing more pain.

“You can't hurt him.” The shadow wolf spun to face the nurse. It wasn't often someone snuck up on him. “He's heavily medicated. With luck he'll just slip away without regaining consciousness.”

“What would be lucky about that?”

“No pain,” she whispered, quickly jotting down some things in her chart. “Stay as long as you like. We ease the visiting rules in circumstances like these.”

The shadow wolf eased onto the bed, careful not to jostle any of the bandaged limbs, and rested his head on the broad chest. This was the beat that kept his world turning. The slow steady sound of his life dissolving around him.

He could have been there forever, or no time at all, lost in the steady rush of blood through the otherwise lifeless body. And then, a skipped beat, and another. Yoshi wondered if, perhaps, he could match the rhythm. Anything was preferable to watching while his world came to an end.

My brain is on fire

So, yesterday I posted an excerpt from the work in editing. Today I'm going to switch it up and post a bit from the piece currently burning up my brain and trying to flow out my fingers. 

An onna bugeisha is a warrior princess, and the emperor's sister Mai wants nothing more than to be just that. Her brother and his council want her safely married and far away.Thus begins this twisted quadrangle of love and desire set in 16th century Japan. Mai sets her sights on the stoic samurai, Kenshin. Kenshin desires his new apprentice, his master's son Hiroshi. Hiroshi longs for his lover, the cross-dressing actor Jun. And Jun, well he just wants revenge. Duty, honor, love and bloodshed collide in this tale of homoerotic love. 

Intrigued? Check out my Pinterest board for some visuals I'm using for inspiration.

Jun studied his reflection in the small hand mirror, tilting his head from side to side to make sure the illusion was perfect. “How do I look?”

“You look beautiful, as always,” Hiroshi assured him. Indeed, with his makeup applied and dressed in layers of silk Jun could rival any courtesan. “Are you off to the theater, then?”

“No, silly. I'm going with you.”

An icy frisson crept up Hiroshi's spine. Jun might be beautiful, but the thought of passing him off as a woman to his father was one he couldn't contemplate. “That would not be wise. If you are discovered we will both suffer for it. Just wait here for me, I will be back soon.”

“But if he thinks you've found someone he will stop pushing you to marry. I do not wish to lose you to another.” Jun pressed himself against his lover, using all his skill to convince Hiroshi to go along with his plan.

The heady scent of sandalwood and sakura left Hiroshi breathless. It was all he could do to fight the urge to unwrap the layers hiding his lover from view and carry him back to bed. For a moment he was lost in contemplation, picturing that perfect mask smeared across pristine sheets. The consequences of being late to a meeting with his father, though, outweighed his burgeoning erection. “It is impossible. Even if he were to believe your disguise, you lack the pedigree he demands. I will deal with my father. I've managed to evade his matchmaking this long, I'm sure today will be no different.”

Jun's smile slid into a pout. “But I get so lonely when you're away. You wouldn't want me to have to seek another's company.”

“Threatening me isn't going to change my mind.” The blatant manipulation turned regret into anger. “Perhaps it is time I find a more suitable consort.” Hiroshi pushed his lover away to continue dressing, pulling on his heavily embroidered kamishimo and sliding his swords into the proper place. And then he was gone.

The mirror smashed against the wall, followed by an assortment of bottles and boxes as Jun vented his fury on the contents of his dressing table. Rage dissipated and turned to tears. The illusion broke, leaving a weeping mess crumpled in its wake.