Surrender to Darkness Read Online Free PDF
Author: Annette McCleave
he responded. “You are, after all, our majority shareholder.” He offered her a gracious bow, then got back in the car.
As the limousine circled the small parking lot and headed back down the lane to the main road, Sora observed, “He’s smitten with you.”
Kiyoko frowned. “He knows my commitment to the onmyōji .”
“Your father married. It’s not beyond imagining for you to wed someday, too.”
“My father didn’t share my destiny, sensei. Or face my current dilemma. How can I marry a man when I know that I will be leaving him soon to join Abe no Seimei in the great fight? Besides, Watanabe-san has said nothing to indicate an interest.”
Her mentor accepted the arm she offered him. “Perhaps not, but he has hardly left your side since Tatsu-san died. And by wedding him you would guarantee the company a strong future.”
Kiyoko resisted a grimace. Her commitment to the survival of her father’s company was no secret—she had abandoned the familiarity of the dojo every day for the last week to examine the company accounts. This was Sora’s subtle way of questioning the wisdom of her decision. “With the current spread of evil, there are no guarantees.”
Passing by the gate to the training compound, they strolled down the path to the house, a low-lying mist clinging to their feet. The sprawling, single-story traditional home sat majestically on a rocky outcrop overlooking the valley, the peak of Mount Tengu in the distance. The view was unrivaled. Kiyoko’s father had built the house adjacent to the much older dojo before she had been born. The house was large by Japanese standards, a gift offered to his new bride in 1975. Too large, really, which was why she had begged the sensei to move in with her when her father passed away three months ago.
They were met at the main entrance by Kiyoko’s only formal retainer, Umiko. The woman was nearing seventy, but she had served the Ashida family with straight-backed devotion for more than fifty years, and she proudly served Kiyoko. Almost as if she’d caught word of Kiyoko’s arrival from the wind itself, the housekeeper held a tray of rice crackers and green tea, steam still rising from the pot. No doubt her prescience was attributable to something much more mundane than the wind—like a quick call from the limo driver as he pulled up—but Kiyoko preferred an air of mystery over the truth.
Umiko slid open the decorated shoji partition, stood, and placed the tray on the low table in the main room. Then she bowed and retreated to the kitchen, her cream-colored kimono softly rustling against her ankles.
Kiyoko knelt on the square cushion before the table and lifted the pot. “Tea, sensei?”
He nodded. “Explain to me, in detail if you will, precisely what occurred when Murdoch-san touched you.”
Because she’d been expecting the question, Kiyoko was able to tame the color in her cheeks. But not the tiny flip of her heart. “For a brief moment, I experienced a deep and intimate connection with the man.”
Sora’s gaze found hers as he accepted the brimming teacup. “Did you share some of your own energy, as I taught you to do when healing?”
“No.” She forced a swallow of tea down her tight throat. She had not attempted that maneuver since she’d stumbled upon the crumpled figure of her father in the office garage, severely burned and near death. “I have no energy to spare—you know that.”
“Then how do we explain the man’s sudden ferocity?”
Kiyoko shook her head. “He already had the power, dormant within each cell of his body. My touch released it, though I know not how.” Which was true, but only half the story. Explaining the rush of arousal that had preceded Murdoch’s descent into fury was a little awkward. Tiny ripples of sweet desire still washed over her from time to time.
“Dormant power,” repeated Sora thoughtfully. “Hmmm. I’ve seen descriptions of something similar, but I cannot recall where. I will
As the limousine circled the small parking lot and headed back down the lane to the main road, Sora observed, “He’s smitten with you.”
Kiyoko frowned. “He knows my commitment to the onmyōji .”
“Your father married. It’s not beyond imagining for you to wed someday, too.”
“My father didn’t share my destiny, sensei. Or face my current dilemma. How can I marry a man when I know that I will be leaving him soon to join Abe no Seimei in the great fight? Besides, Watanabe-san has said nothing to indicate an interest.”
Her mentor accepted the arm she offered him. “Perhaps not, but he has hardly left your side since Tatsu-san died. And by wedding him you would guarantee the company a strong future.”
Kiyoko resisted a grimace. Her commitment to the survival of her father’s company was no secret—she had abandoned the familiarity of the dojo every day for the last week to examine the company accounts. This was Sora’s subtle way of questioning the wisdom of her decision. “With the current spread of evil, there are no guarantees.”
Passing by the gate to the training compound, they strolled down the path to the house, a low-lying mist clinging to their feet. The sprawling, single-story traditional home sat majestically on a rocky outcrop overlooking the valley, the peak of Mount Tengu in the distance. The view was unrivaled. Kiyoko’s father had built the house adjacent to the much older dojo before she had been born. The house was large by Japanese standards, a gift offered to his new bride in 1975. Too large, really, which was why she had begged the sensei to move in with her when her father passed away three months ago.
They were met at the main entrance by Kiyoko’s only formal retainer, Umiko. The woman was nearing seventy, but she had served the Ashida family with straight-backed devotion for more than fifty years, and she proudly served Kiyoko. Almost as if she’d caught word of Kiyoko’s arrival from the wind itself, the housekeeper held a tray of rice crackers and green tea, steam still rising from the pot. No doubt her prescience was attributable to something much more mundane than the wind—like a quick call from the limo driver as he pulled up—but Kiyoko preferred an air of mystery over the truth.
Umiko slid open the decorated shoji partition, stood, and placed the tray on the low table in the main room. Then she bowed and retreated to the kitchen, her cream-colored kimono softly rustling against her ankles.
Kiyoko knelt on the square cushion before the table and lifted the pot. “Tea, sensei?”
He nodded. “Explain to me, in detail if you will, precisely what occurred when Murdoch-san touched you.”
Because she’d been expecting the question, Kiyoko was able to tame the color in her cheeks. But not the tiny flip of her heart. “For a brief moment, I experienced a deep and intimate connection with the man.”
Sora’s gaze found hers as he accepted the brimming teacup. “Did you share some of your own energy, as I taught you to do when healing?”
“No.” She forced a swallow of tea down her tight throat. She had not attempted that maneuver since she’d stumbled upon the crumpled figure of her father in the office garage, severely burned and near death. “I have no energy to spare—you know that.”
“Then how do we explain the man’s sudden ferocity?”
Kiyoko shook her head. “He already had the power, dormant within each cell of his body. My touch released it, though I know not how.” Which was true, but only half the story. Explaining the rush of arousal that had preceded Murdoch’s descent into fury was a little awkward. Tiny ripples of sweet desire still washed over her from time to time.
“Dormant power,” repeated Sora thoughtfully. “Hmmm. I’ve seen descriptions of something similar, but I cannot recall where. I will