Eidolon

Rei eased off the bed, her whole body vibrating with a strange, unreleased excitement. She moved to pick up the clothes Reon had discarded. With an urge she couldn’t explain, she brought the soft linen to her face and inhaled deeply. His scent, clean soap, fresh sweat, cold mountain air and something uniquely Reon, filled her senses, and a powerful wave of desire washed over her, leaving her dizzy.

Its intensity confused her. She tried to ascribe it all to his likeness to Karasu, a simple trick of memory and longing. But as she gathered and folded the clothes, as she dressed in a dark red silk kimono from his wardrobe and went to clean the kitchen, her thoughts circled, making comparisons.

Karasu was a man of few words. He was commanding, dominating, but not conversational during sex; he never asked what she wanted or liked, not with words. His communication was physical, a language of glances and touch. Reon was a talker; sometimes poetic, mostly throwing orders. He demanded obedience, but before he had stopped, it was clear he desired not just to voice his own want, but to hear Rei voice hers.

Why had he stopped? What exactly was it he didn’t know whether he wanted? This question, this secret about his inner world, fascinated her. And that was the true source of her turmoil. If her intense attraction to him was merely a ghost of her old love, then why was she so consumed with the mystery of Reon’s own desires? Why did she find herself wanting to please him, for him to choose to please her? The attraction was no longer a simple echo. It was becoming something new, and that realization felt far more dangerous than any punishment.

Reon moved with swift, determined strides to his expansive bathroom, a space sheathed in the same smooth, beige stone as his kitchen. Without hesitation, he twisted the shower knobs, turning the water to its coldest possible setting. He stepped under the icy spray, a shudder wracking his frame as he watched his stubborn erection finally, mercifully, subside. A breath of relief escaped him.

He had been so close to abandoning the intricate game, to simply taking Rei, submitting entirely to the primal want she ignited in him. Him, losing control over his own desire for a concubine, it was unprecedented. A tense, disbelieving laugh burst from his lips, doing little to soothe the turbulence within. He turned off the water and dried himself roughly, his mind churning.

This new set of paradoxical wants was infuriating. He wanted to control her, to ravish her, to bend her to his will completely. Yet, a competing, equally powerful urge demanded that she want him. The pleasure of claiming her, of possessing her like the living work of art she was, of controlling her most intimate moments, even though Kumi technically owned her, was intoxicating. It ran parallel to the deeply annoying knowledge that Kumi had a prior claim, that her heart beat for his subordinate.

Why did he suddenly care what she wanted? The question echoed uselessly in his mind. Visions of her struck him: her luminous black eyes, the perfect shape of her buttocks, her mouth, the arches of shaved hair at the junction of her thighs. The images threatened to provoke another powerful surge of desire. With a growl of frustration, Reon angrily grabbed one of his white training gi, threw it on, and marched towards the ceremonial hall.

He threw himself into his katas like a man possessed. Each punch, each kick, each fluid transition was executed with violent precision, a physical manifestation of his internal war. The sweat that beaded on his skin and the burn in his muscles began to clear the static from his mind, but in the newfound clarity, a more terrifying realization dawned.

With dread coiling in his gut, he understood that this chaotic mix of obsession, possession and a desperate, inexplicable need for reciprocation, was perhaps what people meant when they spoke of falling in love. He had never personally understood it before, the romantic poems, the clingy fixations of past lovers. They had always seemed like a foreign language, a weakness he was immune to. He had adored women, favored them, enjoyed them, but he had never cared for them in a way that spoke of a future. He had never felt the need to bind one to him, to ensure a connection that stretched beyond the lasting moments of physical needs.

When he thought of Kitsu, he didn’t precisely envision a future with her. But the thought of her future with Kumi almost made him nauseous. A vision of her holding Kumi’s child in her arms, her loyalty and love forever cemented to his subordinate emerged; an image so unwelcome, so violently offensive, that it provoked a fury he could barely contain.

A guttural roar tore from his throat as he spun, his fist stopping a hair’s breadth from the unyielding surface of a stone pillar, the force of the aborted blow shaking his entire arm. The cold, hard stone was a stark reminder of the impossible situation he was in: a master dangerously close to becoming undone by a shared concubine.

After filling and starting the dishwasher, transferring the leftovers into shiny stainless steel containers and storing them in the fridge, Rei moved toward the ceremonial hall. Her mind was a turbulent sea, churning with the sensual, surprisingly pleasant memory of Reon’s hands and mouth on her body, the fear of the punishments he might force upon her, combined with the more insidious fear that she didn’t mind the prospects as much as she felt she should.

Moving cautiously down the stone-pillared hallway, the sounds reached her long before she arrived: the controlled exhalations of his breath and the powerful, rhythmic whirl of his kata. She paused at the entrance, her own breathing growing rapid and shallow in response to the unleashed energy emanating from the room. 

Stepping inside, her eyes spotted him instantly, his piercing blue eyes meeting hers in a flicker of acknowledgment in their intense focus, but without him breaking his rhythm. He moved through the final combinations of the form, his sweat-sheened body a testament to both his mastery and his physical perfection. Every muscle, honed and defined, contracted and extended with an unparalleled, lethal grace. The sight of him, so completely in his element, fanned the embers of her attraction into a fresh, warm flame.

Trying to temper her reaction, she moved silently to the table where the cold tea still sat and settled onto a cushion. But her eyes remained locked on him, studying the fluid power of his movements, the absolute control he wielded over his own body. It was both terrifying and mesmerizing. Rei’s eyes drifted to her shopping bag. An idea, both bold and pragmatic, sparked within her. 

She had brought the new training clothes on a whim, hoping that perhaps, despite everything, she might be able to train with Reon here. She loved martial arts, and though Reon had been cruel, using their sparring during the ritual as a means of humiliation and control, she couldn’t deny the value of what she had witnessed. She had seen new moves, understood her own weaknesses in a stark new light and been exposed to a level of skill that was both daunting and inspiring.

Rei genuinely wanted to train with him. Not as a punishment, but as a student. The desire was a clean, sharp line cutting through the tangled mess of fear and attraction. She approached the bag, pulling the deep red gi from it, the fabric unfolding in her hands as she placed it on the table tentatively.