The Mood Killer

With the abrasive texture of tree bark digging into her spine, Hana leaned back, her neck arched in surrender. Her lips were softly parted, her gaze lost in the man who stood over her.

Released from its customary binding, Jiro’s crimson hair tumbled over his shoulders, a fall of silk that veiled the brutal, jagged scar marring his brow. A knowing, predatory smile curved his lips, the kind that spoke of ownership, as his gaze devoured her from head to toe. In the sweltering heat of the moment, with the forest air hanging thick and heavy with unspoken desires, the profound inappropriateness of their intimacy never once crossed their minds.

A single finger trailed along the delicate curve of her jaw, a feather-light touch that descended with sly intent to the swell of her left breast. He captured the hardened peak between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it deftly.

The deliberate pressure wrung a sharp, involuntary gasp from her throat. As he lowered his head to her, claiming her with his mouth, she arched against the unyielding wood of the tree, her eyes clouded with a longing that was a perfect reflection of his own. His free hand became an instrument of exploration, mapping the contours of her body with an expert’s confidence. His nails raked lightly across a sensitive expanse of skin on her thigh, while his other hand kneaded a stubborn knot of tension from the small of her back.

She drew a sharp, shuddering breath as he pressed the unyielding ridge of his arousal against the juncture of her thighs, a sensation so overwhelming she had to bite her lip to stifle a moan.

Hana’s arms coiled around his neck, pulling him down to her. “Oh!” she cried, the sound a pure, unadulterated expression of delight.

A low, rumbling chuckle vibrated in his chest. He eased her further back against the tree, positioning himself to deliver a kiss of merciless passion.

“Gods above, I don’t think my eyes will ever recover from that,” a voice sliced through the tension-laden atmosphere. Cy stood a short distance away, a hand clamped over his face. “Of all the times to do this, you pick now? And here I was under the impression we were in the middle of a battle.”

He hadn’t meant to approach them, but a morbid fascination had triumphed over his better judgment.

Jiro recoiled with a guttural snarl, but Hana’s eyes remained shut, adrift in the lingering haze of ecstasy.

“Oh, for the love of—it’s you,” Jiro scowled, his voice saturated with grim exasperation. “Cy, Cy, Cy… the perpetual destroyer of moods.”

“Spare me, Jiro,” Cy retorted sharply. “There isn’t a single thing you could possibly say to make this any less of a compromising disaster.”

With visible reluctance, the two lovers disentangled themselves.

Hana’s lower lip protruded in a sullen pout. “You truly have a gift for ruining a moment, Cy. You know, you could have participated, if you weren’t so incurably rigid.”

Jiro emitted a snort of pure derision. “As if that would ever happen.”

Cy forcefully suppressed a rising tide of revulsion. “Listen, I need to know the whereabouts of the other team members. Don’t you dare tell me this is all you’ve been occupied with.”

Jiro flashed a roguish grin in Hana’s direction, which she answered with a look of shared, unapologetic complicity.

“And what if it was?” she challenged, her chin tilting upward.

Cy felt a bile-like dryness rise in his throat. “Did you somehow fail to notice the glaring evidence of a recent fight? And just how long has this been going on? I was certain Saku would never permit anyone to lay a finger on his younger sister.”

“Saku isn’t here!” Hana shot back, a defensive sharpness hardening her tone.

Jiro waved a hand in a gesture of casual dismissal. “It’s purely physical. It doesn’t mean a thing.”

Cy couldn’t ignore the whimsical, almost wistful sigh that escaped Hana as she gazed at Jiro. He had a strong suspicion the sentiment was not reciprocated, but that was hardly his affair.

“Well, a battle is currently taking place,” Cy pressed, feeling as though his efforts were entirely in vain. “And when we are finished with the enemy, the two of you will be personally apologizing to Cera for squandering everyone’s time.”

“And why should we do that?” Jiro countered, his chin jutting out in a show of defiance. “We don’t owe any of you anything.”

Cy rolled his eyes, abandoning all pretense of maintaining his composure. How long did the older man intend to prolong this adolescent rebellious streak? It was an unbecoming display. Jiro was an experienced and masterful fire-wielder, a man who would have been a far more suitable candidate for clan leader were it not for his corrosive disposition and his ingrained habit of challenging authority.

“It’s about time we located you,” a voice brimming with palpable relief called out from behind a nearby hut. Cera emerged. “We’ve been searching everywhere. Every one of these huts is identical.”

In spite of himself, the hint of a grin touched Cy’s lips. He was relieved to see she was unharmed. He raised a questioning eyebrow toward the vibrantly-haired twins who flanked her but held his tongue. He would inquire later, when they were alone.

“So, are we only missing Red and Argent?” Cera asked.

“No, we are present,” a voice declared from the rooftop above them.

“You absolute cretin!” a brown-haired woman shrieked at the man beside her. “I cannot believe you attempted to abandon me back there!”

Ignoring the woman’s tirade, the man, Argent, landed on the ground with fluid grace and compelled his companion, Red, into a bow at his side. “My sincerest apologies for our tardiness, Cera.”

Cera attempted a smile, but Cy could see the profound strain behind it; the expression failed to reach her eyes. She was coated in a layer of grime, and a long, ragged tear marred the fabric of her tunic.

“It appears I arrived too late for all the excitement,” the woman, Astra, sniffed with an air of theatrical annoyance. “I just want to crawl back into bed.”

“Astra,” murmured the turquoise-haired twin, “how kind of you to grace us with your presence. What is this, your fifth emergence from hibernation this year?”

Astra’s face contorted into a scowl. “I don’t recall extending an invitation to any diminutive creatures for this gathering, Ignis,” she snapped.

“It would seem we all have some catching up to do,” Cera interjected, her firm voice slicing through the escalating bickering. “Two of Krysta’s operatives are dead, and I am responsible. A third may still be at large.”

“I’m fairly certain there were only two,” Hana offered.

Cy cast a suspicious glance her way. How could she possibly be so certain of that?

“We will determine that later,” Cera stated, her natural authority quieting the group. “Reddington, Argent, Cy, Jiro—have any of you encountered these men?”

“Argent and I engaged the one who used bullets,” Red explained, “but he had us suppressed. We left to find reinforcements—well, a reinforcement.”

A menacing glint appeared in Astra’s eyes as she grinned. “Heh. With me here, you don’t require anyone else.”

The orange-haired twin raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Are you certain you didn’t simply frighten him away with that infamous morning breath of yours?”

“Ventus!” Astra roared, lunging toward the orange-haired twin, only to be yanked to a sudden stop by Red’s unyielding grip on her collar. She paused, then turned to flash Red a sly, appreciative smile.

Cy made a mental note of the interaction, a wry chuckle escaping him. Strange undercurrents of tension were sparking all over. He observed Cera and the orange-haired twin, Ventus, murmuring to one another. Something significant had occurred in his absence. He replayed Cera’s words in his mind: two of Krysta’s men are dead by my hand. She was a killer now. The act could not have been a simple one. No wonder her smile was so forced, a fragile mask stretched thin over a chasm of shame. It was a look Cy recognized with an intimate, sickening familiarity—he had worn the very same expression himself just a year prior.

He violently shoved the memory back into the shadowed recess of his mind where it belonged. For the time being, his sole duty was to watch Cera lead and to be there for her if she began to falter.

After a swift debriefing, Cera learned that Red and Argent had retrieved Astra from the palace to assist in watching the twins, a decision she acknowledged was a necessary evil. She was, however, utterly dumbfounded to discover what Hana and Jiro had been up to.

“You two… engaged in that?” she asked slowly, her eyes wide with incredulity.

Hana appeared to be a mixture of proud and sheepish, while Jiro simply looked profoundly bored.

Cera clapped them both soundly on the shoulder. “Good for you,” she said, her voice dripping with the condescension of a being far removed from such base mortal impulses. Then, rising on her tiptoes to reach Jiro, she seized each of them by an ear.

“You complete and utter imbeciles!” she hissed. “In the midst of a battle? Are you actively trying to get yourselves killed? You have a responsibility to think of the rest of us! What happens to this team if you die? Or what if we die while the two of you are off exploring each other’s tonsils?”

The remainder of the squad observed the scene with the weary resignation of an audience that had witnessed this particular drama unfold a hundred times before.

“Now,” Cera said, releasing her grip. “Have you seen the third man? Where did he go?”

“There wasn’t a third man,” Hana mumbled, wincing as she rubbed her sore ear. “We must have been mistaken.”

“That’s preposterous. The Seeress at the castle explicitly told the boys to anticipate three men. I was not informed of this.” Cera’s eyes blazed with a dangerous light.

“We never saw a third man,” Jiro insisted.

Ignis let out a snort of contempt. Cera silenced him with a sharp wave of her hand.

“Do you swear on your very lives?” She fixed her penetrating gaze first on the man, then on the girl.

“I swear on my chinny chin chin,” Jiro mocked.

A dangerous flicker ignited in Cera’s eyes. The sharp crack of her palm against Jiro’s cheek was unnervingly loud in the abrupt stillness that followed.

Hana gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Cy thought she looked almost thrilled by the violent display.

“Does anyone else feel inclined to play the role of class clown?” Cera challenged, her voice low and menacing.

The group was perfectly, utterly still.

“There is a third man out there,” Cera declared. “Eira is renowned for her accuracy. We are not eating until he is found.”

“Cera,” Argent interjected softly, “Eira’s visions are flawed roughly one in five times, particularly when an… exceptionally temperamental individual is involved in the event.”

Cera paused, mulling this over. “Alright. So you are suggesting she could be mistaken this time?”

Argent shrugged. “It would certainly seem so.”

“It will be your hide if he returns to slaughter us in our sleep,” Cera remarked with casual indifference, before gesturing for the group to follow her toward Perla’s restaurant. “Let’s grab a quick lunch and then we’ll meet the final member of our little company—our dear second-in-command.”

Cy’s shoulders tensed, but he kept his thoughts to himself. That was a conversation for Cera’s ears, and for hers alone.

As the group began to move, Cy felt a prickle of profound unease. Something was fundamentally awry. “They’re all gone,” he said, falling into step beside her. “The birds.”

“I know,” she murmured in response, her gaze fixed ahead. “They can sense the battles yet to come.”

They walked in silence for a few paces.

“Regarding Perla—” Cera started to say.

“We can discuss it later.”

She nodded, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said after another beat of silence. “For acting behind your back.”

Cy acknowledged her apology with a nod. “I don’t approve of it, but I understand your reasons for doing it.”

The familiar, weighted silence descended upon them once more, a comfortable shroud woven from shared history and unspoken truths.