Chapter Text
Chapter One: This Is Why I Don’t Date (But Also, Maybe?)
It was 2:17PM on a Wednesday when Kagome Higurashi reached the most logical conclusion of any adult woman who had just eaten cake alone at her kitchen table while watching a documentary about red pandas mating.
She needed to go on a date.
Not because she was lonely. No, never that. She had plenty of companionship: her houseplants, her extremely judgmental cat, and the dozens of over-enthusiastic aunties who offered unsolicited advice every time she stepped foot into the family shrine.
(“You should try the temple speed-dating mixer! You could meet a nice water god!”)
But because—objectively speaking—twenty-six years without even a kiss was getting… embarrassing. Concerning, even.
She was pretty. Or so she assumed, based on the fact that tourists still left her little origami hearts folded into shrine prayer slips. She was smart, emotionally literate (mostly), had a career, hobbies, and the ability to purify cursed objects with a glare. What more did the universe want?
So she did it.
She downloaded Spark, the top-rated dating app for humans, demons, and the deeply confused hybrids in between. The app tagline was: “Find your spark—before someone else does.” Which sounded vaguely threatening, but okay.
She made her profile. Uploaded a photo where she didn’t look too spiritual or too “I-accidentally-sealed-a-demon-with-a-broken-prayer-bead,” and answered the personality questions as best she could.
Species: Human (Miko)
Occupation: Shrine Caretaker, Spiritual
Looking for: Someone who doesn’t immediately burst into flames if we kiss. Low bar, really.
Within twenty minutes of swiping?
She had matched with every single person she liked.
And not just matched—messaged.
All of them. Immediately. With polite intros. Thoughtful emojis. Some had full paragraphs of flirty banter, compliments, even a few offers to cook dinner.
“I thought this was supposed to be a hellscape,” Kagome muttered, peering at her phone with increasing suspicion. “Where are the men who ‘forgot to read the bio’ and call me ‘babe’ after one syllable?”
Instead, she was now in eleven active conversations.
Twelve.
Now thirteen.
“Oh no,” she whispered as a new one popped in:
‘You have the most radiant energy I’ve ever seen in a miko. I would honor you with devotion and citrus fruits.’
That was from someone named Kazuhiko. Who had a respectable job as an accountant. And appeared to be part-dragon.
What was happening?
How were all of them good? Why were they good?
“Do I just…respond to all of them?” she asked out loud to no one but her cat, who blinked slowly, silently judging her life choices.
She tried. She did! She answered every message, carefully and politely. She even said thank you when one of them offered to take her to dinner and introduce her to his mother who apparently ran an interspecies therapy group.
It was exhausting.
But then he appeared.
Profile:
Name: Kōga
Species: Yōkai (Wolf Tribe)
Occupation: Pack Leader. Security Consultant. Alpha, but like, emotionally available.
Bio: “Swipe right if you like running, stargazing, or threatening people who mess with you.”
Photo: Wild black hair, blue eyes, cocky grin, shirtless—but in a wholesome ‘I’m proud of my cardio’ way.
She paused.
Something about him looked…familiar. Like he’d run across her dreams once and knocked over a lamp on the way out.
She swiped.
A second later, the message arrived:
Kōga: You’re gorgeous. What time is dinner?
Kagome blinked. Then blinked again.
Kagome: That was fast.
Kōga: So’s my loyalty. Say the word, I’ll book the best table in Tokyo.
Kagome: You don’t even know if I’m weird yet.
Kōga: I hope you’re weird. That’s half the fun.
Kagome: Most men start slower.
Kōga: I’m not most men. I’m punctual and I have a motorcycle.
Kagome: That’s…a lot.
Kōga: Not even close. Say yes and I’ll bring you flowers and dessert options.
Too much. Far too much. And somehow, also…kind of perfect?
No. No, she told herself. He was way too eager. And no man should be that hot and that decisive. It was suspicious. Alarming, even.
So she did what any overly cautious, spiritually powerful, semi-panicked woman would do:
She texted him her running route.
Dropped a pin.
Kagome: Meet me here. 10PM.
Kōga: …That’s a trail.
Kagome: Yes. We walk. Talk. Assess if you’re a serial killer.
Kōga: That’s your date plan?
Kagome: I’m a priestess. I do thorough vetting.
Kōga: So if I pass the test…
Kagome: Then we can do your five-star thing. But wear running shoes. And no weapons.
Kōga: Hot.
Kagome: Don’t make it weird.
Kōga: Already marked my calendar. I’ll bring snacks.
That was it. It was done. She had officially scheduled a date with a hot wolf demon.
At night.
In the woods.
This would absolutely end in either romance or an exorcism.
Possibly both.
Kagome put her phone down, stared at the ceiling, and wondered if she needed to tell someone where she was going. Or leave a note. Or call her mother. But what would she even say?
Hi Mom. Meeting a yōkai in the forest. If I vanish, please sage my room and feed the cat.
With a groan, she stood up, stretched, and started getting ready.
By 9:00PM, she’d changed her outfit five times, packed a salt pouch in her sock, and stood in front of the mirror aggressively pep-talking herself.
“You’re smart. You’re powerful. You’re technically in charge of a small shrine empire and you once defeated a cursed doll with a rice ball. You can do this.”
By 9:45, she was lacing up her sneakers.
By 9:57, she was at the trail entrance, hoodie zipped, hair tied back, spiritual wards stuffed into her jacket pockets.
And as the clock ticked closer to ten, Kagome Higurashi—miko, ghost therapist, first-time dater—took a deep breath, looked up at the stars, and braced herself.
Because apparently, this was how you started dating now.
Kōga stared at his phone like it had personally insulted his bloodline.
A pin. She dropped a pin.
Not a dress code. Not a location to meet with people around. Not a time with “lol I’ll text you if I’m free” energy.
No. A GPS marker.
To a dimly lit, mostly abandoned nighttime running trail in the middle of Tokyo’s urban sprawl.
At 10PM.
The wind demon prince blinked once, slowly. Then again. Then dragged a clawed hand down his face and muttered, “I’m being set up. This is how I die.”
He stood in his apartment, shirtless and damp from a recent run, trying to figure out if this bold little human priestess was genuinely into fitness or just extremely unbothered by the idea of becoming true crime podcast material.
“Who the hell does this?” he demanded, pacing. “A walk? At night? Alone?”
Where were her instincts? Where was her fear? Didn’t humans talk constantly about not going out alone after dark? He had read the articles. He had seen the infographics. There were entire comment threads about women bringing pepper spray to check the mail.
But this woman—Kagome—not only invited a stranger to meet her in the woods at night, she said it like she was the danger.
He reread the chat for the tenth time.
Kagome: Meet me here. 10PM.
Kōga: …That’s a trail.
Kagome: Yes. We walk. Talk. Assess if you’re a serial killer.
Kōga: That’s your date plan?
Kagome: I’m a priestess. I do thorough vetting.
Kōga: So if I pass the test…
Kagome: Then we can do your five-star thing. But wear running shoes. And no weapons.
Kōga: Hot.
Kagome: Don’t make it weird.
“I wasn’t trying to make it weird!” he shouted into the void. “She made it weird! Who says ‘no weapons’ like that’s casual?!”
He paced faster.
This was a trap. It had to be.
Either she was fake—just some demon-hunting catfish trying to lure out rogue yōkai with testosterone issues—
Or she was an assassin.
Or worse: an optimist.
The worst kind of woman. The kind that thought the world was generally fine. The kind who probably read the terms and conditions before clicking “accept.” The kind who made men like him—feral, fast, and allergic to shoes that weren’t performance grade—look deeply unprepared.
But then again…
She had said she was a priestess.
A powerful one. One that could apparently incinerate him if she decided the vibes were off.
And he couldn’t lie—he kinda liked that.
“Shit,” he muttered, flopping into a squat and running both hands through his hair. “She’s either going to hex me or marry me. There is no in-between.”
Still, the whole thing felt off.
And by off, he meant suspiciously intriguing in the exact way that made his pack groan and his enemies take notes.
He did a systems check.
Weapons? None. As requested.
Backup? On standby. Hidden. Because he was not an idiot.
Outfit? Tank top, running shoes, joggers, and a hoodie just in case she liked her men less aggressively jacked on arrival.
Exit plan? Six. Including one where he climbed a tree. Because his ego was robust, not suicidal.
Snacks? Two protein bars and a bottle of water. If this woman made him walk for two hours, he wasn’t doing it hungry.
“Alright,” he sighed, rising to his feet, “time to see if I’m about to get mugged by a woman in spiritual yoga pants.”
He left the apartment just before nine-thirty, heart steady but thoughts spiraling in every direction. As he made his way across the city, the hum of lights and the occasional flutter of wings overhead reminded him that this world wasn’t built for the slow or the soft.
And yet, here was Kagome.
Bold.
Unfiltered.
Dropping pins like she was summoning him.
Like she knew he’d come.
And he did. Of course he did.
Because curiosity killed the cat, but wolves? Wolves ran toward it to see what was worth dying for.
He reached the edge of the trail at 9:59.
Moonlight spilled across the pavement, dappling the trees. The path stretched ahead, quiet and curved, framed by rustling leaves and the scent of jasmine and summer sweat. He crouched low, sniffed the air, listened for anything off.
Nothing.
Just wind. Earth. Silence.
And then—
A scent.
Holy. Sweet.
Human.
Her.
He closed his eyes, inhaled once more, and let instinct settle into his bones.
Kōga stepped onto the trail at precisely ten o’clock.
And waited.
Chapter 2
Notes:
Okay, real talk.
Did my man offer a five-star seafood restaurant right after we matched? Absolutely. Came in swinging. Real alpha energy. He also bragged about being a Leo, which—cute. Except I know nothing about astrology, so I ignored that completely, dropped him a pin, and told him to meet me at 11PM.
In a random-ass neighborhood.
Because listen. I was not missing my nightly run just because some man wanted to impress me with oysters and ambiance. I had priorities.
Did he show up?
Yes.Did he later confess he thought I was either a catfish, the mafia, or someone trying to mug him?
Also yes.Did he instead get a five-foot blonde girl in cute workout gear looking way too cheerful for almost midnight?
Correct.And was I originally going to make him walk three miles, but then silently bumped it to six just to test him?
Absolutely.The man took it like a champ. Didn’t complain once. And halfway through, when I made a dumb joke about ghost-hunting raccoons or something, he mumbled an “I love you” under his breath. We still laugh about it.
But the best part?
This man, genuinely trying to prove to his boys that he hadn’t been murdered, tried to take a stealthy selfie with both of us.
I dodged it like a pro.
He ended up with a blurry photo of someone’s Halloween lawn skeletons and half his face looking terrified.
I snorted and called him Picasso.
Which—fun fact—is still his nickname in my phone.
Years later.So yes, this story is chaos.
But it’s our chaos.
And it’s absolutely getting written but in the Inu Yasha universe.
Chapter Text
Chapter Two: Midnight Jog and Mild Identity Crisis
Kōga POV
He’d expected a lot of things.
An ambush. A prank. A weird girl with a fox filter and boundary issues.
But what Kōga had not expected…was this.
Because when he texted “I’m here,” expecting a shadowy figure or perhaps a disembodied voice demanding a password, what he got instead—what walked toward his car like it was any other Tuesday—was a tiny, breathtaking priestess.
Wearing shorts.
And a sports bra.
And a lightweight jacket she didn’t bother to zip, because apparently logic and self-preservation had never met this woman in their lives.
“Is this normal?” he muttered to himself, watching her stride out of the darkness like a spiritual Nike ad. “Is she possessed? Does she jog away from crime scenes?”
Because Kagome? Kagome Higurashi didn’t saunter or fidget or sneak glances at him to check if he matched his profile. She walked with the calm confidence of someone who absolutely could purify him into ash and wouldn’t even pause her step count doing it.
She reached him, took one look at his stunned face, and sighed.
“Five miles too much for you?” she asked, tone flat.
He blinked. “…Excuse me?”
“I normally do six, but I already got a warmup in.” She started walking. “If you need to stretch or something, now’s your moment.”
And just like that, she turned her back on him—turned her back on a wolf demon—and began walking down the moonlit trail with all the urgency of someone contemplating podcast recommendations.
Kōga stood there, a full ten seconds behind reality, before the insult caught up to his pride.
“Too much for me?! I run eight before breakfast—wait, no—hey!”
He jogged up to catch her, still trying to process everything. No catfish. No trap. Just a strong, actual miko out here conducting a romantic background check at jogging speed.
By the end of the first mile, his thoughts had devolved into:
• She’s real.
• She’s fast.
• She’s not even breathing heavy.
• Is this what attraction feels like? Or am I just lightheaded?
Conversation was light at first. Mostly because he was still slightly appalled and, fine, distracted.
The glow of her skin. The graceful roll of her stride. The way she subtly checked her smartwatch before glancing at him, silently judging his cardiovascular performance.
She was calm. Controlled. Slightly intimidating.
And he was having the time of his life.
“Y’know,” he finally said during mile two, “most people start with coffee.”
“Most people don’t schedule their spiritual cleanse and compatibility evaluation on the same night,” she replied, shrugging. “Efficiency matters.”
He let out a low laugh, watching the way her hair bounced in its ponytail. “So this is an interview?”
“Obviously.”
“And if I fail?”
“You’ll know. It’ll burn.”
Oh.
He stumbled. A little.
Recovering quickly, he tossed a smirk her way. “Lucky for you, I’m on the Demon Council. I’ve got references.”
She snorted. Snorted. Without even slowing down.
“Me too,” she said airily, as if that wasn’t a mic drop. “Like it’s hard?”
He stopped walking. “Wait—what?”
“I’m on the Holy Council,” she replied, still walking, like she hadn’t just dropped a grenade into his worldview. “I specialize in sanctified law and demonic taxonomy. Limitations, capabilities, interbreeding conflicts, that sort of thing.”
He blinked. “You… what?”
She finally glanced over her shoulder at him, eyebrows raised. “What? You thought I dropped a pin to a midnight trail because I was normal?”
This woman was insane.
Beautiful. Brilliant. Borderline feral.
And he was deeply, profoundly into it.
Kōga jogged to catch up, heart thudding harder now—possibly due to arousal, possibly due to panic. He hadn’t decided.
But one thing was very, very clear:
He was not the apex predator in this dynamic.
And, gods help him, that might’ve been the most attractive thing about her so far.
Okay.
So.
Maybe inviting a stranger from a dating app to meet her in the woods at 10PM wasn’t the sanest idea she’d ever had.
It felt fine at the time.
She was a trained spiritualist. A holy council member. She could identify eight kinds of demon by scent alone, and she had once banished a cursed frog spirit mid-latte. What was one flirty wolf guy going to do?
Besides, her walk was sacred. Literal stress relief. Sacred endorphins. The calm of moonlight and cardio. If some guy wanted to get to know her, she wasn’t going to sit awkwardly across from him at a restaurant trying to guess if his last relationship ended with closure or a restraining order. No. She needed data.
She needed to see how he moved. How he kept pace. What happened when he got winded, if he got winded at all.
And, well, also see if she needed to purify him mid-jog.
But the moment she saw his face—his expression—when she stepped onto that trail?
She remembered.
Oh. Right.
This was probably serial-killer behavior.
His eyes had gone wide, like she’d just stepped out of a UFO and asked him to hold a cursed object. He looked so alarmed that she almost turned around and told him she was just doing a bit for a college project.
But then he blinked, recovered, and followed. No protest. No creepy vibes. Just… a kind of dazed, baffled obedience.
Like she was an equation he hadn’t solved yet.
The first mile had been quiet. Not awkward quiet, but that kind of processing silence where two people weren’t sure whether they were building trust or waiting for the other to combust.
But by mile two?
Things started to loosen.
She didn’t miss how his breathing leveled quickly. Or how he paced himself to her stride without hovering too close. He didn’t puff up or make weird competitive grunts. He didn’t even flirt too hard. Just existed. With jokes. And sharp humor. And mild disbelief every time she mentioned her work with the holy council, like her resume gave him an identity crisis.
And, yeah, okay. He was very cute.
That didn’t hurt.
Tall, broad-shouldered, all messy hair and blue eyes and a voice that sounded like it should only be used for midnight confessions or podcast narrations about morally gray antiheroes.
“Didn’t think I’d be sweating this much on a date,” he muttered around mile three.
“That’s because this is technically a screening,” she replied sweetly. “If you make it past five miles without complaining or combusting, you might earn coffee.”
“Wait, this is a test?”
“You think I take random wolf men to dinner without a trial run? Please.”
He laughed. “This is the most intense first date I’ve ever had.”
“And how many women have you matched with who could throw a sacred barrier around you if your vibes are off?”
“…Okay, fair.”
And then—just past the halfway point, while they walked off a hill and the moonlight filtered through the trees just right—he mumbled it.
Quiet.
Barely audible.
Probably not meant to be heard.
“…Gods, I love you.”
Kagome did not stumble.
She did not stop walking.
She simply looked ahead, deadpan expression locked in place, as her heart did a backflip in her chest like it was auditioning for an Olympic team.
He didn’t seem to realize he’d said it.
She wasn’t even sure he heard himself.
And she? She said nothing.
Because you don’t ruin an accidentally sincere moment like that. You log it. Save it. Commit it to memory and smile about it three hours later while brushing your teeth.
But damn if there wasn’t going to be a second date now.
She didn’t care if he tried to be cool about it later. If he denied it. If he backpedaled.
It was done.
Filed under: Reasons to Continue This Madness.
And then, as if he hadn’t just whispered a possible soul vow under his breath, he did something even more suspicious.
He pulled out his phone.
And tried—very badly—to take a stealthy photo of them together.
She saw the angle. The tilt. The side eye.
He didn’t even use the silent shutter setting.
She sidestepped like a pro, dodging out of frame at the last second with a smug little hop.
Click.
“Gotcha,” he said.
She turned, raised an eyebrow, and held out her hand. “Let me see it.”
He hesitated. “What if it’s cute?”
She didn’t blink.
He sighed and showed her the screen.
The photo was, in fact, not cute.
It was blurry. Her outline was half-vanished in motion. His face was barely in frame, caught mid-concentration like he was trying to aim a camera with a broken compass.
She snorted.
“Well, well, look at you, Lord of Blurry Vibes,” she teased, handing the phone back. “You trying to summon ghosts with that resolution?”
He groaned. “It’s atmospheric!”
“It’s embarrassing.”
He looked genuinely put out for a moment before cracking a grin. “Fine. You get one nickname. But next time I’m getting a good one.”
“Next time, huh?” she said lightly.
His eyes flicked to hers. “I mean…assuming you don’t smite me by the fifth mile.”
She smiled.
“Keep pace,” she said, “and I might let you take a second blurry photo.”
He grinned. Wide. Feral. Adorable.
And Kagome?
Kagome kept walking—heart racing, face warm, and one step closer to wondering if dating wasn’t so bad after all.
Chapter 3
Notes:
I’m writing this and giggling, because… the memories.
Did I politely walk my man to his vehicle and dismiss him like a composed adult trying to “play it cool”?
Yup.Did he look vaguely offended and mildly panicked, like this was secretly a one-and-done date and he was being sweetly ghosted in real time?
Also yes.Did he sit in his car and wait even after I told him I had more miles to run?
Yup.So what did I do? I walked away. Calmly. Casually. Like I wasn’t already kicking my feet internally and trying not to scream into the moonlight.
And did this man IMMEDIATELY text me while I was still mid-walk—like he could sense he needed to be the emotionally transparent one—and give me a 12/10 star rating for the evening?
Yes. Yes, he did.
And THEN he informed me that showing up to a random forest pin drop at almost midnight was the most terrifying and exhilarating thing he’d done in a long time.
Oh, love. It’s weird. It’s wonderful.
And clearly it was meant to be chronicled in chaotic, giggle-fueled fiction.Thanks for coming along for the ride.
P.S: The chaos only gets worst
Chapter Text
Chapter Three: Sweetly Dismissed and Deeply Offended
Kōga POV –
Six miles.
They’d walked all six miles.
Not jogged. Not sprinted. Just… walked. A slow, steady pace under the moonlight like this was normal, like late-night cardio spiritual interviews were standard dating protocol and not the holy equivalent of Navy SEAL training with emotional stakes.
And he’d kept up. He hadn’t even broken a sweat after the second mile—not that she noticed. She was too busy evaluating him like a damn tax return.
But somewhere around the fifth mile, when she’d started talking about interspecies ethical guidelines and laughing at his description of the Southern Lords’ annual budget meetings (“They fund what with public money?!”), something in him had snapped.
Not in a bad way. Not in a “run for the hills she’s terrifying” kind of way.
No.
It was worse.
He liked her.
He really, really liked her.
And now here they were, walking the last stretch of trail, the lamps of the parking lot coming into view through the trees, and he was doing something he hadn’t done since puberty: he was nervous.
Not for his life. Not for her powers. Not even for his dignity.
But because he didn’t want the night to end.
She’d taken him in a full circle, like she’d mapped it all out, like she had planned to bring him right back where he started and then end it.
She didn’t stumble. Didn’t slow down. Didn’t offer a “let’s sit and talk a while” or a “do you want a drink from the vending machine?” or even a casual “wow, time really flew.”
Nope.
Kagome Higurashi walked him right up to his own car like she was escorting a civilian off sacred ground.
He paused beside the door, awkwardly hovering with his hand on the handle like some lovesick pup.
“You sure I can’t walk you to your car?” he offered, desperately polite, hoping for even thirty more seconds of her time.
She smirked. “That’s sweet.”
Sweet.
He’d been called many things. Dangerous. Arrogant. Menace.
But sweet? That one stung in a weirdly domestic way.
“…But I have three more miles to cover,” she added, stretching her arms over her head like she hadn’t just walked the damn moon.
His jaw dropped. “Three more miles?”
She gave him a look. “I didn’t get my full run in earlier.”
And that was it.
No offer to join. No “walk me partway.” No lingering glance or “text me when you get home.”
Just a casual you may leave now, delivered with the calm serenity of a woman who didn’t realize she’d just drop-kicked him out of her orbit.
Kōga was offended.
He could do three more miles. Hell, he could do ten. Backwards. In the snow. With ankle weights and bad Spotify reception. But she hadn’t asked. She hadn’t invited.
She’d dismissed him.
With a smile.
He cleared his throat, trying not to look like a kicked puppy. “Well… I enjoyed our walk.”
She just hummed. A literal “hmm” of vague acknowledgment, like she’d already moved on to her next mental task and had filed him under: Test Subject: Initial Scan Complete. Status: Non-threatening. Slightly amusing.
Kōga blinked. Huffed. And got into his car, trying to tell himself he was not sulking.
She didn’t even wait to see if he drove off.
She turned.
Spun on her heel.
And walked—no, strutted—right back to the trail like she lived there. Like she had a little shrine cottage tucked in the bushes and was going to go home to light a candle and read tomes about yokai reproductive law while sipping lemon water.
He watched her go.
Didn’t even pretend to start the engine.
Just sat there, stunned, as she disappeared under the treeline again like a creature of myth who’d briefly come to test him and then vanished into the woods to flirt with moonlight and talk to fox spirits.
“Holy fuck,” he whispered.
He was absolutely, irrevocably smitten.
And he hadn’t even gotten her last name.
She had walked him to his vehicle like a goddamn professional.
Chin high. Expression calm. Heart rate only slightly elevated—and that didn’t count because they’d just walked six miles. Six miles of steady pacing, subtle glances, mental checklists, and casual banter that made her want to melt into a puddle of ill-advised attachment.
She had nailed it.
On the outside, anyway.
Inside?
Chaos. Absolute shrieking chaos.
Because Kōga had been everything he promised in that profile photo—cocky, fast, built like a runner with a superiority complex—and somehow… so much more.
He was funny. And smart. And didn’t talk over her once. He let her set the pace, answered her questions without posturing, and didn’t flinch when she rattled off the difference between northern and southern thunder demons like it was normal trail conversation.
He laughed when she teased him. Preened when she complimented his stamina. And that one moment—that one tiny accidental moment—when he mumbled that “I love you” under his breath?
Yeah, she heard it.
No, she wasn’t going to bring it up.
Yes, she was going to scream about it later.
But right now?
Right now she had to keep her face composed.
Which was very hard to do when the man you’d just walked with for ninety minutes looked at you like you’d personally rewritten his worldview. And then offered to walk you to your car like a gentleman whose love language was physical protection and lingering goodbyes.
She had smirked.
Said the line.
“I’ve got three more miles to cover.”
It was a lie.
A bold-faced, cardio-themed lie.
She didn’t need more miles.
What she needed was to not look like she was about to beg for a second date right there in the parking lot like a woman freshly baptized in wolf demon pheromones.
Because she’d read articles. Listened to friends. Seen the TikToks.
“Don’t act too interested.”
“Play it cool.”
“Don’t smile too much. Don’t text too soon. Don’t scare him off with eagerness.”
Which was stupid, frankly. But fine. She could play along for now. If she grinned at him the way she wanted to, she’d end up embarrassing herself into celibacy.
So instead, she turned around.
Walked away.
Back to the trail.
Not because she needed the steps.
Because she needed to walk off the grin that was trying to claw its way across her face. Because if she didn’t, she’d start giggling like a feral teenager at a sleepover.
And that was not the vibe she was going for.
Nope. She was mature. Elegant. Mysterious. Enigmatic spiritual powerhouse, remember?
Not someone who felt a ridiculous flutter in her stomach because the cocky wolf demon had looked vaguely offended to be sent home like a date who didn’t want the night to end.
She heard the faint click of his car door.
Then the engine.
Then the low rumble of him pulling out of the lot and driving off.
She waited.
Three seconds.
Five.
Then—
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE—!”
The sound ripped out of her like a squeaky balloon being sat on by the weight of her giddy, traitorous emotions. She slapped her hands over her mouth, then immediately dropped them and doubled over in a breathless laugh.
“Oh my god,” she hissed between cackles, bracing her hands on her knees. “What is wrong with me?!”
The leaves rustled gently in response.
“I just dismissed a ten-out-of-ten man like he was a politely returned DoorDash order, and he still looked like he wanted to walk me to the shrine and meet my grandmother.”
She stood upright again, brushing her hair out of her face, heart still beating too fast. Grin completely out now. Full beam.
And all she could think, as she turned back down the trail for one final walk, was:
Please, universe. Don’t let that be a one-time thing.
Chapter 4
Notes:
Guys. Fun fact.
We are both prior military but complete opposite jobs. So did my man send me a full-blown sitrep after our first date, complete with a 12/10 rating, bullet points, and documentation of how smitten he was?
Absolutely. Tactical flirtation at its finest.And did I, in turn, open up my Notes app like a lovesick analyst and start a personal documentary titled “The Adventures”?
Yes. Yes, I did.I just pulled it up the other day, and folks…I stopped at date 97.
Ninety-seven.Sue me. I like data.
I had sections. Tabs. First date. First visit. First sleepover. First painting date (yes, it was chaotic). Six months. One year.
I even had monthly check-in questions.
“How are we doing?”
“What can we do better?”
“What’s your current favorite thing about me that isn’t my butt?” (That one stayed in rotation.)And did I, three months in, share this entire emotional spreadsheet with him like a madwoman on a mission?
Sure did.You’d think he’d run.
Nope.
He opened a new section and added my traits and superpowers.Want to see what he wrote?
“Romantic in her own way. Analytical (can make me see things differently). Listens to my stupid anxieties. Calms the storm in my head even when I’m being a bit spicy.”
Spicy. He said spicy. I swooned.And what did I write for him?
“Situational awareness: chef’s kiss. Fun to discuss anything and everything with. Teaches me things in a safe environment and without judgment.”
Basically a human golden retriever with emotional intelligence.Also—did he offer to pick me up or send me an Uber for our first date?
He did. Multiple times.Did I accept?
Absolutely not.Because I do things on my terms.
With backup plans. And five escape routes. And probably holy water in my purse.Look, was it love at first trail walk? No. But was it the start of the weirdest, most beautiful, tactical little love story?
Yeah. Yeah, it was.Awws are allowed.
Chapter Text
Chapter Four: Pack Panic and Emotional Damage
Kōga POV –
Kōga slammed open the front door like a man who had either found true love or just lost a full government budget meeting to bureaucratic nonsense.
The wolves looked up from the living room like startled puppies caught mid-snack raid. Raku was holding a protein shake and a dumbbell. Ginta was on the couch pretending he wasn’t watching a romcom. Hakkaku had a face mask on, and didn’t even pretend to be ashamed.
“You’re back early,” Ginta offered carefully.
“You’re back sweaty,” Raku added, less carefully.
“You’re back feral,” Hakkaku muttered, peeling his sheet mask off.
Kōga threw himself onto the oversized sectional with the dramatic weight of a man who had just experienced something.
“Wildest. Fucking. Date.”
The wolves collectively blinked.
Then Raku squinted. “…Did she try to kill you?”
“No.”
“Did you try to kill her?”
“No!”
“…Then what’s the problem?”
Kōga sat up, ran a hand through his hair, and looked at them like he’d been personally betrayed by the cosmos. “The universe is laughing at me, guys.”
Hakkaku frowned. “You’re going to need more than that, Alpha.”
Kōga pointed at absolutely nothing in the room. “She’s hot. She’s smart. She’s on the Holy Council. She has legs for days and holy power in her eyebrows and she dismissed me to my own damn car like a mom who had to put her toddler down for a nap.”
The silence was deafening.
“I offered to walk her to her car. And you know what she said? She said, ‘That’s sweet’ and kept walking.”
Ginta choked on his water. “She ‘that’s sweet’ed you?!”
“I have never in my life felt so politely benched.”
Raku leaned forward, eyes wide. “Okay. Back up. Start at the beginning. You met her where again?”
“She dropped a pin, Raku. A pin. To a forest trail. At 10PM.”
“You went?!” all three wolves shouted at once, leaping to their feet.
“I had backup! And no weapons. Per her request. Because apparently I like to flirt with danger now.”
“This is a security risk!” Hakkaku shouted. “You’re a high-ranking council official! You don’t just show up to mysterious GPS coordinates like a horny intern!”
“She could’ve cursed you!” Raku yelled.
“She did, emotionally!” Kōga yelled back.
The room exploded into chaos. Someone grabbed a whiteboard. Bets were being scribbled. Raku asked if she had poison lips. Ginta wanted to know if she glowed in the dark. Hakkaku was googling whether love-induced memory loss was a demon symptom.
But Kōga?
Kōga pulled out his phone.
He tapped out a message like it was an official communique.
To: Kagome Higurashi
Subject: Post-Date Council Debrief – SitRepAssessment complete. You passed with alarming colors. Current status: mildly obsessed. I would like to proceed with formal dinner, ideally indoors, no trail shoes required. Recommend seafood. Will comply with any dietary restrictions or post-walk rituals.
P.S. I behaved. That alone deserves a second date.
– Councilman Kōga of the Eastern Division, Pack Alpha, Still Sweaty from Cardio But Emotionally Vested.
The wolves stared over his shoulder in silent judgment.
“You sent her a sitrep?” Ginta whispered. “What is wrong with you?”
“She speaks fluent council sarcasm,” Kōga muttered.
And then—
Ping.
Kagome:
Fine. I’ll allow it. But don’t get your hopes up.
The room went dead silent.
Kōga clutched the phone to his chest like it held his soul.
“She said yes.”
“She said barely yes,” Raku corrected.
“She said ‘fine,’” Hakkaku added, voice reverent. “She fine-d him. That’s so hot.”
Kōga stood up with purpose. Opened a reservation app with military precision. Selected the highest-rated seafood restaurant within a ten-mile radius, booked a table for two, and attached the following message:
To: Kagome
Location: Suiren Coastal Cuisine
Time: 7PM
I’ll send a car if you want. Or I can pick you up. Or you can arrive mysteriously from the shadows. No wrong answer. Just tell me what shoes to wear.
Her response was immediate.
Kagome:
I’ll be there. No car. I’m not twelve.
Kōga put his phone down slowly.
Turned to his wolves.
And declared: “It’s happening.”
They exploded.
Bets were flying. Ginta started drawing a “Date Scoreboard.” Hakkaku was muttering something about courtship omens. Raku sat down with his notebook labeled “When Alpha Falls” and began scribbling observations like a wildlife researcher.
They were terrified.
Terrified that their alpha, the man who used to date out of boredom and post thirst traps with meaningful captions like “Try and keep up” was now texting long-winded marine-themed invitations and scheduling emotional joyrides with a priestess who mocked his job title.
“Do you even like seafood?” Raku asked quietly.
“I’d eat sandpaper if she said it was a tasting menu,” Kōga growled.
“Oh gods,” Ginta whispered. “He’s gone.”
Kagome stared at her phone, eyes wide, lips twitching as she read the message again.
And then again.
And then again, because no matter how many times she re-read Kōga’s text, she still couldn’t decide if she wanted to laugh, blush, or frame it in her future “How We Met” slideshow.
To: Kagome Higurashi
Subject: Post-Date Council Debrief – SitRep
Assessment complete. You passed with alarming colors. Current status: mildly obsessed. I would like to proceed with formal dinner, ideally indoors, no trail shoes required. Recommend seafood. Will comply with any dietary restrictions or post-walk rituals.
P.S. I behaved. That alone deserves a second date.
– Councilman Kōga of the Eastern Division, Pack Alpha, Still Sweaty from Cardio But Emotionally Vested.
Kagome very calmly threw her phone onto her bed and smothered her face into a pillow before letting out the loudest snort-laugh in the history of blessed women trying to keep it together.
She loved that he did this.
She hated that she loved it.
Because she had spent years—literal years—rolling her eyes at every romantic novel that used the phrase “something about him was different.” And now here she was, half-tempted to go out and buy a scrapbooking kit for a man she’d technically only spent ninety minutes with.
Still. She had to be cautious. Not just emotionally. Practically.
So when he offered to pick her up or send a car? She took a breath. Recalled every “don’t get murdered” post she’d ever seen. And made the call.
To: Kōga
I’ll be there. No car. I’m not twelve.
She followed the rules, though. Even if she was going to a very public, very nice seafood restaurant, she’d get there the smart way. No personal car. No demon limo. No letting her brain say “sure he’s fine, look at the cheekbones.”
Uber only. No traceable trail. Sage in her purse. Holy water in a discreet perfume bottle. And her best highlighter, because glow was non-negotiable.
And with that in place, she opened the app she always opened after anything vaguely eventful.
Notes.
Because if her life was going to get romantic-whiplash-level chaotic, she was going to document it like a researcher preparing a thesis defense titled:
“So Apparently Wolves Are Hot Now: A Cautionary Tale.”
She clicked New Note, titled it:
Kōga.
Then began to type:
Date One:
Format: Walk/interrogation/hike in the dark.
Location: Forest trail (10PM).
Duration: 6 miles.
Subject arrived on time. No visible weapons. Vibes: Aggressively charming. Energy: Husky in a man’s body. Hair: Somehow windy even without wind.
Conversation pacing matched walking pace. Not annoying. Actually funny. Survived five jokes, three snarky comments, one accidental “I love you.” (Yes. He said it. We’re not talking about it.)
Attempted stealth photo: Failed. Laughed when I caught him. 2/10 photography. Nicknamed him “Lord Blurry Vibes.”
Escorted him to his own car. Was sweet about it. Tried to linger. I told him I had three more miles. (Lie. Just needed to scream privately.)
He looked disappointed. He still left. Did not pout. Massive green flag.
Tentative conclusion: Possibly cursed. Very much my type. Immediate second date scheduled. Mild panic ensuing.
Next step: Dinner. Indoors. Clothes required. Emotional safety TBD.
She reread it.
Smiled.
Then locked her phone, leaned back into her pillows, and stared at the ceiling for a long, quiet moment.
Somewhere in the background, her cat meowed judgmentally.
“I know,” she whispered to herself. “This is either going to be the best idea I’ve ever had…or I’m going to end up barefoot and love-bitten in a pack territory group photo.”
Either way?
She was already picking out her dress.
Chapter 5
Notes:
Okay, again—full disclaimer.
I normally hate high-end restaurants. Like, deeply. I think they’re overpriced, overly quiet, and everyone’s pretending their duck foam didn’t taste like existential dread. I’m a hole-in-the-wall girl. I want chaotic mom-and-pop shops where the tables wobble and the food changes your life.
My man? HUGE fan of fancy seafood spots. So after our very successful “maybe this isn’t a serial killer” walk and his enthusiastic invite to a five-star restaurant, I said sure. I dressed the part. Took an Uber. Walked in like I wasn’t about to have a full mental panic spiral.
Because listen—the silverware. The silence. The polite murmurs and wine lists the size of encyclopedias. I was trying so hard to look composed while my inner monologue was just feral screaming and budget math. I didn’t want to be that person ordering the most expensive thing on the menu. But jokes on me: everything was expensive.
So like the good little former Slavic poverty child I am, I just slapped on a classy smile and let him order for me. And y’all—he did it. Drinks. Appetizers. Main course. Smooth as hell. Turned on and absolutely mortified at the responsibility I’d just dropped in his lap.
Now? We laugh about it constantly. It’s our origin story. And yes—I still let him order for me. And every time, we just smile at each other like we’re in on the best inside joke of all time.
Chapter Text
Chapter Five: Fake It Till You… Accidentally Declare a Wolf Your Sommelier
Kagome POV –
She took an Uber.
Like a responsible woman. Like someone who read the internet’s wisdom and said, “Yes, I value my organs.”
No personal car. No ride from the maybe-boyfriend-wolf-demon. No entry in tomorrow’s headlines reading, “Local Priestess Vanishes After Accepting Date With Suspiciously Hot Councilman.”
Her driver, bless his soul, tried to make small talk. But all she could do was nod politely, mentally rehearse how not to trip in heels, and check her phone for the seventh time.
Kōga [11:07AM]: Morning. Hope you slept well. Or at least didn’t run ten miles.
Kōga [12:48PM]: I was going to wait to text again but I’m impatient. This counts as council business now.
Kōga [2:32PM]: If you ghost me, I will file a formal complaint with the holy council for emotional negligence.
Kōga [4:11PM]: Also, what do you not eat? And can I get bonus points if I guess your drink order?
She’d only replied between shrine duties and spiritual consultations—so, basically never fast enough for a feral attention-deficit demon. But when she finally texted at
6:47PM that she was ten minutes out, he sent:
Kōga: I’m already here. Reservation is under my name. But I’ll wait at the door.
Of course he was already there.
Punctual. Eager. Probably pacing like he was protecting a perimeter.
And here she was.
In a dress.
A dress that clung a little more than she expected, flowed just enough when she walked, and—most importantly—made her feel like a woman who might actually know what wine pairings were. Her hair was down, face lightly done, spiritual wards discreetly tucked in her clutch. She had even worn the earrings that said “I am elegant and unbothered by chaos.”
She was lying to herself. But damn it, she was going to look confident if it killed her.
And when she saw him—leaning near the front entrance, suit jacket unbuttoned, black shirt rolled at the sleeves, eyes scanning the sidewalk like a military recon op—she had to take a deep breath and remind herself not to trip on her feelings.
Because Kōga looked edible. And the way his gaze landed on her? Like she’d just descended from the heavens with holy fire and lip gloss.
“Kagome,” he said, as if the name tasted expensive in his mouth.
“Councilman,” she replied sweetly, brushing imaginary lint from her dress.
He offered his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world, and she took it. Because sure, she was internally vibrating like a cursed tuning fork, but her face said, “I brunch like this every Sunday.”
The hostess greeted them with a knowing smile and led them through marble flooring, ambient lighting, and tables that probably cost more than her entire shrine budget. And she pretended not to panic. Pretended not to notice the cutlery.
And oh, there was so much cutlery.
So. Many. Forks.
Three on each side. A tiny spoon. Something that looked like a dessert dagger. And when the server handed her the wine list the size of a medieval spell book, her brain short-circuited.
But did she let it show?
No.
She was grace incarnate. She would not be the woman who panicked over oysters.
The waiter smiled at them. “Would you like to start with drinks and appetizers?”
Kagome blinked once.
Then turned to the waiter. Turned back to Kōga. Smiled the most serene, composed smile she could manage and said:
“He’ll order for me.”
There was a pause.
A heartbeat of pure, horrified silence.
And Kōga—gods bless him—went through all five stages of panic in his eyes alone. First came shock. Then confusion. Then mild betrayal. Then resolve. Then smugness.
“Of course I will,” he said with dangerous ease, turning to the waiter like this had always been the plan. “We’ll start with the uni tartare and a half-dozen oysters—grilled, not raw. She likes flavor. Two glasses of the yuzu saké. Light on the citrus.”
Kagome nodded as if she absolutely would have chosen those things. As if she hadn’t just avoided a panic attack by turning her entire meal into a pop quiz for someone else.
Inside?
She was screaming. But on the outside? She took her napkin, laid it on her lap like a duchess, and smiled.
Like she belonged here. Like she wasn’t wondering if the spoon with the hole in it was cursed.
And as Kōga looked across the table—charm back in full force, pride simmering in his grin, and cheeks just a little pink from surprise—she thought:
He really did pull that off.
He had told her he’d wait at the door.
He hadn’t told her that he’d also been there twenty minutes early, nervously pacing the sidewalk like a war general planning a dinner raid.
He’d passed the front window of the restaurant four times. Checked his reflection in the glass twice. Did pushups in the car before going in. At one point, he even asked the valet if his aura looked “too aggressive.”
He didn’t know what kind of priestess etiquette was required for this.
But when Kagome Higurashi stepped out of her Uber?
The world paused.
Hair down, sleek and glowing under the soft streetlights. Dress flowing around her legs like something out of a dream sequence. Calm expression, confident posture, like she dined in five-star places on Tuesdays just for the ambience and didn’t even need a reservation.
He almost turned and walked back into traffic.
Because gods, she was beautiful.
And not just stunning—composed. Effortlessly intimidating. Like she could balance a wine glass on her aura alone and still detect spiritual disturbances in a three-mile radius.
And for a second—a full, soul-shaking second—Kōga worried she might be bored.
That she might walk in, sip a drink, find his table manners underwhelming, and disappear into the night with nothing but a polite nod and a Yelp review titled “Nice effort, not my eternal mate.”
But then she looked at him. Really looked. With that little up-and-down flick of her eyes and the barest smile—like she was sizing him up and finding the results… acceptable. Promising, even.
And he’d never felt so proud of his own posture in his life.
He offered her his arm. She took it. And inside they went. Smooth. Cool. Sophisticated as hell.
Until the waiter arrived.
And smiled.
“Would you like to start with drinks and appetizers?”
And then.
Then.
This woman—this elegant, soft-voiced, mysterious force of nature—
Turned to the waiter. Smiled.
And said, “He’ll order for me.”
Kōga blacked out for a second.
Did his brain glitch? Did he hallucinate that? Did the Holy Council put her up to this as a test? Was he about to be excommunicated from dating for sweating too hard over an oyster order?
No woman—ever—had said that to him before. Not like that. Not with full expectation, confidence, and grace like she knew he could lead her through appetizers, drinks, the main course and the rest of her life if she let him.
And gods help him—
He was so turned on.
And so. Completely. Unprepared.
He smiled. Smooth. Totally fine. Not at all panicking. And he rolled with it.
“Tartare and grilled oysters to start,” he said, voice steady despite the spiritual earthquake happening in his chest. “Yuzu saké for both of us.”
And when their drinks came, she nodded like a queen approving of a well-behaved vassal.
She sipped quietly. Ate with calm poise. Occasionally gave him a glance that could have launched a war or ended one.
And he just watched her.
Watched her act like she wasn’t shaking up every part of his life with her perfectly measured silence and unreadable smirks.
Halfway through the meal, their drinks were low. He ordered another round without asking.
She just hummed. Sipped. Tilted her head in amused approval like of course he did.
And when the waiter returned to ask about entrées? She looked up. Gave him a glance. And didn’t say a word.
She was waiting for him to order dinner too.
And that was the moment. Right there. That exact blink. That tiny flicker of trust. That flick of her eyes that said, “Your move, Alpha.”
That was when Kōga, Councilman, Pack Leader, feared by lesser demons and immune to political drama, decided with absolute certainty that he was going to marry this woman.
Not now. Not tomorrow. But someday.
Because any woman who could confidently delegate a seafood menu and her potential future to him with nothing but a silent eyebrow raise?
Was it.
“Two miso-glazed sea bass,” he said smoothly. “And can we get the garlic butter lobster skewers on the side?”
The waiter nodded and left.
Kōga grinned.
And across the table, Kagome picked up her drink again.
Sipped.
And—finally—smiled like she knew exactly what she was doing to him.
Chapter 6
Notes:
So fun fact: People watching? Officially our thing.
Our first dinner date? We sat there, quietly judging other couples like two emotionally stable raccoons in nice outfits. It was glorious. Still is. We’ve made it a regular sport. Bonus points if someone argues during dessert.
But then. Then.
After this man treated me to an expensive, fancy, borderline-royal seafood dinner, what did he do? Did he take me home to digest in peace like a gentleman?
No.
He drove me to a wine and paint studio.
A surprise wine and paint studio. I had never done one before. And listen—I love art.
Painting? Yes.
Drawing? Love.
Writing? Hello, obviously.
Dancing, photography, artsy chaos in general? Inject it into my bloodstream.So was I in heaven? Oh, absolutely.
This man, however?
Followed ZERO instructions.
None. Nada. Not one single step.The poor instructor was trying to guide us through painting a peaceful lake at sunset and he was over there painting some wild wolf volcano expressionist chaos that looked like it was emotionally sponsored by primal instincts and glitter trauma.
And we? We were cackling. Full-on grinning, wheezing, making each other laugh the entire time while other couples painted quietly and looked like they were either arguing telepathically or filing for divorce mid-brushstroke.
Did we enjoy ourselves? More than anyone in that room. Possibly in the history of wine and paint nights.
And yes—yes—those first paintings are still in the house. (I say first because this chaotic tradition became a yearly event.)
Moral of the story: sometimes the fancy seafood is great…but the unhinged paint goblin with wine? He’s the keeper.
Chapter Text
Chapter Six: You Thought Dinner Was the Main Course? That’s Cute.
Kōga POV –
Dinner was perfect.
Not just the food—though, objectively, it was excellent. Sea bass cooked to buttery, flaky perfection. Lobster skewers with enough garlic to ward off dark spirits and bad decisions. Sake that went down too easy. Kagome had eaten every bite with grace and precision, like a woman raised in a temple but trained by Michelin stars.
But what got him?
Was the silence.
Not awkward silence. Not “I’m bored and waiting to go home” silence.
It was intentional.
Kagome wasn’t sitting across from him trying to impress. She wasn’t flirting aggressively or fake-laughing at his jokes. She was sipping her drink, eyes cool, posture calm, and every now and then—subtly, casually—she would glance to the side.
And then again.
And again.
She was people watching.
It took Kōga a full three minutes to realize she wasn’t zoning out.
She was gathering intel.
And once he caught on?
He leaned in, mimicking her lean, smirking. “What do you think of that couple in the corner?”
She didn’t even blink. “Second date. He wore a suit to impress her. She’s debating if he’s pretentious or charming.”
Kōga blinked. “What?!”
Kagome sipped her drink. “He picked the wine. She laughed politely. Her shoes are still on, though. If she were bored, they’d be off by now. She’s not into him yet, but she’s not leaving.”
He looked over again.
Holy shit.
She was right.
He turned back to her, completely awed. “Okay. Table six?”
Kagome tilted her head. “Married. Ten years. She didn’t order dessert because she’s trying to guilt him into giving her his. He knows. He’s already given up the cheesecake in his head.”
Kōga barked a laugh. “That’s terrifying.”
“It’s called observation,” she said, smirking. “Try it sometime, Councilman.”
So he did. He watched people. Made a few guesses. Shared a theory about a couple at the bar being work rivals on a fake date. She didn’t interrupt once. Just listened. Actually listened. Full eye contact. Thoughtful nods. Feedback when he finished, like she was tuning into him, not just waiting for her turn to talk.
Where the hell had this woman come from?
He’d been on plenty of dates. Lavish dinners. Flirty banter. Obvious angles. Girls who perked up when they learned his position on the Demon Council, or when they realized he could afford ten of these dinners without blinking.
But this?
This felt like a conversation. Like connection. Like war games, but with really excellent table service.
When the plates were cleared and the server offered dessert, she politely declined, dabbing her lips with her napkin like a woman who had just conquered the evening.
Kōga almost let her have that.
Almost.
He leaned back, cleared his throat, and casually dropped: “You do realize dinner wasn’t the entire date, right?”
Kagome’s brow arched, delicate and dangerous. “Oh?”
He shrugged, pulling out his wallet to settle the bill with the kind of ease that said this isn’t the flex, darling. I am.
“We have another scheduled stop.”
Her eyes narrowed, intrigued. “Do we.”
He nodded. “I’ll drive you there. You can Uber home after. Or teleport. Or float back on a cloud. Dealer’s choice.”
She tilted her head. “And this next stop… is it a gentlemanly activity?”
He smirked. “It better be. You’re gonna need to be artistic.”
Her eyes lit with suspicion and amusement. “So I’m being kidnapped… for an arts and crafts ambush.”
“I prefer ‘scheduled bonding activity,’” he said smoothly, standing and offering her his hand. “Come on, shrine maiden. You survived dinner. Now show me if you can paint.”
And for the first time all night?
She looked genuinely caught off guard.
Which meant?
Victory.
By the time she and Kōga had torn through the appetizer plate and finished quietly observing other couples like undercover dating analysts, Kagome had relaxed into something dangerously close to comfort.
Which was terrifying.
Because Kōga wasn’t just attractive. He was intuitive. Funny. Observant when it mattered. And he let her talk without hijacking the moment. His energy was magnetic in a way that didn’t suffocate, just pulled at her like gravity. Like maybe she could orbit here for a while.
And then—just when she thought she’d navigated the whole elegant dinner-date thing without falling into any emotional holes—he said it.
“Now show me if you can paint.”
Excuse me?
She blinked. Actually blinked. Once. Twice. Because for the first time that night, she was caught off guard.
“Paint?” she echoed.
He grinned. “Come on.”
He offered his arm again and led her to his car with the kind of casual dominance that was becoming infuriatingly hot. She could’ve said no. Could’ve insisted she had a curfew or made up a shrine fire emergency.
But instead?
She got in the car.
Because curiosity was a dangerous thing when it wore a tailored jacket and smelled like cedar and victory.
They drove for five minutes through the lit-up veins of the city, the silence filled only by soft jazz and whatever mental screaming she was doing in her own skull.
When he pulled into a small plaza and parked in front of a cheerful storefront with twinkle lights and the words Sip & Splash: Wine & Paint Studio in curly gold letters—
Kagome laughed.
Couldn’t stop it. It burst out of her so fast she slapped a hand over her mouth in shock.
“You picked this?”
Kōga just smirked as he got out and walked around to open her door. “What? You don’t think I’m artistic?”
“I thought I was being kidnapped for a second date,” she muttered, accepting his hand. “Not taken to a divorced aunt’s birthday party.”
“You’re welcome.” He grinned. “It’s BYO-wolf. You’re lucky I didn’t pick pottery.”
Inside, the space was already set up with easels, canvases, and rows of half-full wine glasses lined up like tiny emotional support potions. The scent of acrylic paint and overpriced chardonnay greeted them like old friends. There were seven other couples, three very aggressive glitter paintings, and one instructor who looked both entirely underpaid and extremely ready to guide them all to their inner Van Gogh.
Kagome took a seat at their station, already biting back another grin.
This wasn’t what she expected.
Not the romance, the dinner, or the arts and crafts follow-up with wine and wolves.
The instructor began giving directions. Step by step. Brush by brush. Simple strokes. Everyone was supposed to be painting the same tree-lined moonlit lake.
Kagome listened.
Mostly.
Kōga?
Absolutely did not.
She glanced at him ten minutes in.
He was not painting a lake.
He was… what was that? A mountain? A volcano? A very aggressive wolf snout?
“Kōga,” she whispered, squinting at his canvas. “You’re not listening.”
“I am listening,” he whispered back, dipping his brush in entirely the wrong color. “With my heart.”
“That’s not the brush she told you to use.”
“She’s stifling my creative instincts.”
“That is not a tree.”
“It’s a symbolic gesture of masculine energy,” he said solemnly.
She snorted and nearly knocked her wine over.
“Okay, Bob Ross, reel it in.”
He grinned, dipping his brush again, flicking paint with reckless abandon. “Wolves don’t always listen to words,” he said smoothly, eyes gleaming under the dim studio lights. “We follow feeling.”
“Is that your excuse for disobeying an instructor with a clipboard and trauma?”
“She lost me when she said ‘neutral tones.’ What is this, a beige prison?”
Kagome shook her head, trying and failing not to laugh as he continued painting whatever wild, chaotic fever dream he was calling “expression.”
“Fine,” she muttered. “But when you end up painting some erotic interpretation of your soul, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He leaned in, voice low and dangerous and far too close to her ear.
“You’d love my soul. It’s loud, messy, and completely devoted.”
Her brush froze mid-stroke.
And she hated how much she wanted to turn her whole body toward him like a sunflower chasing warmth.
She didn’t. She sipped her wine. And said nothing. But her cheeks? Yeah. They were doing things.
And this man? Was absolutely going to get a third date.
Even if his painting looked like a possessed thunderstorm with abs.
Chapter 7
Notes:
You know, I never really understood the phrase “if they wanted to, they would”—
Not until I met this man.Because, my friends…that is the literal definition of our life.
He lived 45-50 minutes away from me. And yet? Somehow, not ever an issue. Last-minute plans? We were there. Tired? Didn’t matter. Rain? Still met up. I’d text him, “Hey, want to join me for a walk?” and this man—who worked 10+ hour shifts—would just be like: “Absolutely not...”
…As in, “Absolutely not missing it.”Every weekend? Spent together. Like clockwork.
Sometimes I think back on the amount of driving we did for each other and I want to cry. Or sleep. Or both.And even now? When I’m grumpy? He’ll look at me with all the seriousness in the world and say:
“Ah yes, I haven’t kissed you today. Let me fix that.”
Or:
“It’s been a few weeks since we had an authentic date night—let’s go.”He doesn’t just show up.
He shows the hell up.And after our paint date, did I go home and decide, “Wow, let me casually walk five miles under the stars”?
Yes.
Did he ask if he could join?
Also yes.
Did this man—tired, probably surviving off caffeine and sheer romantic conviction—literally drive another 40 minutes to walk beside me?Absolutely.
So yeah.
If they wanted to, they would.
And if they don’t? You deserve better.
End of story.
Chapter Text
Chapter Seven: Sir, You Are Smiling Like a Man Who Just Got Proposed to at a Paint Studio
Kōga POV –
Gods, he was having the fucking time of his life.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this hard. Or smiled this much. Or sat in a room full of other people and genuinely didn’t give a damn that most of them looked like they were trying to mentally dissolve their spouses.
Because across the paint-splattered table from him?
Sat Kagome Higurashi.
Tipsy.
Giggling.
Snorting.
And trying so hard not to laugh at his chaotic canvas that she was practically vibrating with effort.
Every time she glanced over at his “art” (which now looked like a muscular wolf howling at a moon-shaped meatball), she made this soft, wheezing sound and covered her mouth with her wine glass like she was trying to preserve his dignity.
“Are those…abs?” she asked, absolutely cackling now, cheeks flushed with chardonnay and mischief.
“They’re metaphorical,” he defended, straight-faced. “Symbolic of inner strength. And masculinity.”
“They look like stress lines and regret.”
“They’re both,” he replied solemnly.
She lost it. Full-blown snort.
And Kōga? He was gone. Done for. In love. Possibly eternally ruined. Because holy shit, this woman was magnificent.
He watched her—hair down and wild, eyes bright, shoulders shaking with barely-contained laughter—and knew right then and there that he could spend the rest of his life painting terrible wolves if it meant he got to hear that laugh every week.
Around them, the other couples looked bored out of their minds. One woman was clearly texting someone under the table. A guy in a blazer was arguing with his girlfriend about brush technique like it was an Olympic sport. But here? In this little pocket of chaos?
Everything was perfect.
And when he leaned over and whispered, “Okay, but can I get a real selfie this time?” she paused…tilted her head…and said—
“Sure.”
Sure.
Not a snarky dodge. Not a pretend camera shy. Not a blurry action shot this time.
She actually smiled.
And let him hold up his phone.
And posed next to him like they’d been doing this forever.
And damn it, the photo came out perfect. Her head tilted against his just slightly. His grin wide and smug. Paint-streaked canvases in the background. It looked like a magazine ad for “Hot Councilmen Who Craft.”
They finished the night laughing their way through clean-up, her hiccuping halfway through her final signature on the corner of her painting.
“Your wolf has eight abs,” she muttered.
He beamed. “He’s very disciplined.”
“You’re very unhinged.”
And when he walked her to the curb afterward, outside the studio under strings of glowing fairy lights, he offered—casually, gently, not pushing—“Want a ride home?”
She shook her head, adjusting her jacket and pulling her phone out. “Still playing it safe. Uber’s already on the way.”
He nodded, hiding the tiny flicker of disappointment behind a smile.
But then—
As she handed him her painting and tucked his beside it, she looked up at him with that maddening little smirk and said:
“Keep them. I expect to see them hung up in our future home.”
Static. Actual static. His brain short-circuited so hard he was pretty sure he forgot how vowels worked.
She said it so casually. So playfully.
But there was a sparkle in her eyes like she knew exactly what she was doing. Like she’d just tossed a little emotional grenade over her shoulder and wanted to see what he did with it.
He grinned.
Wide. Sharp. Stupid.
The kind of grin that made mortals uneasy and wolves start planning a nursery.
He stepped back, one hand on the ridiculous, blessed wolf painting she’d gifted him, and watched her get into the Uber like she hadn’t just turned his whole damn night into a marriage proposal in disguise.
And when the car pulled away, he just stood there.
Grinning.
Like a man who’d just been told, You’re mine. Eventually. Probably soon.
And gods help him—
He couldn’t wait.
Kagome got into the Uber like she hadn’t just left a paint-splattered fever dream of a date with a demon councilman who ordered her dinner, painted with his soul, and smiled like he already knew what color she wanted the walls in their shared future kitchen.
“Destination?” the driver asked.
She cleared her throat. “Higurashi Shrine, please.”
As the car pulled out of the parking lot and into the glow of the city, she folded her hands calmly in her lap, stared out the window…
And tried so hard not to burst into full, unhinged laughter.
Because holy shit. What the hell had just happened?!
Dinner? Incredible.
Paint and wine? Unexpectedly delightful.
Her date? A wolf demon with abs, charm, emotional depth, and a strategic affection deployment plan.
He was dangerous in the way that made her want to call her therapist and say, “Good news: I’ve fallen in love. Bad news: I think he has already begun redecorating our hypothetical shared living space.”
And then—
Ping.
A message came through.
She opened it and immediately slapped a hand over her mouth.
It was the selfie. The perfect one. Kōga had sent it to her, no caption, just that same stupidly beautiful grin and her leaning toward him like she’d been summoned by pheromones.
She looked happy. Not guarded. Not tense. Just…happy.
Against her better judgment (and all common sense), she saved the image to her phone. Then opened his contact.
Edit Contact
Add Photo
Selected: Idiotic Grinning Wolf Photo
Caption: “Lord of Abs and Emotional Surprises”
She closed her phone, stared out the window, and whispered to herself, “I’m in so much trouble.”
When she finally arrived at the shrine gates and thanked her driver, she stepped out into the cool air of early nightfall. The shrine was peaceful, still. Her cat blinked at her from the porch as if to say, You reek of pheromones and regret.
Her phone pinged again.
Kōga [10:48PM]: Status report on shrine priestess. Confirm arrival. I require intel and emotional reassurance.
Kōga [10:49PM]: (Also I had to talk Ginta down from trying to hang the wolf painting in the war room.)
Kōga [10:50PM]: Please advise.
Kagome grinned and dropped her bag just inside the entryway.
Kagome [10:52PM]: Arrived safe. Shrine unburnt. Ghosts calm. Cat judgmental.
Kagome [10:53PM]: About to go on my walk.
There was a pause.
Then—
Kōga [10:54PM]: Do you need company?
Kōga [10:54PM]: Not offering because I’m clingy. Offering because I’m deeply invested in your emotional safety and getting a second chance to look at you under moonlight.
Her heart did a somersault.
A giddy, borderline-idiotic somersault.
She hesitated for a second.
Was she allowed to say yes? Was it too soon? Was she about to make a mistake?
And then she thought about the way he’d looked at her. Listened. Watched. Painted absolutely nothing of value on that canvas but with full conviction. And she realized—
She wanted more.
Kagome [10:56PM]: If you want.
Kagome [10:56PM]: Same place.
She stared at the message.
Read it again.
And tried so hard not to get her hopes up.
Then—
Kōga [10:57PM]: I’ll see you in 40 minutes, beautiful.
Kōga [10:57PM]: Don’t start without me. Or I’m invoking clause 3B of the Holy-Wolf Treaty and demanding equal cardio time.
She laughed. Out loud. Alone on her porch.
Because what else could she do?
She had just casually, calmly agreed to see him again tonight.
In the woods.
At nearly midnight.
Like this was normal.
She ran inside to change—trail clothes, shoes, jacket, ponytail—and caught her reflection in the mirror.
Her cheeks were pink. Her eyes were bright.
She looked like a woman who knew someone was driving across the city just to walk beside her.
And gods.
She liked that feeling.
A lot.
Chapter Text
Chapter Eight: The Wolves Are Not Okay
Kōga POV –
The second Kōga walked into the house, paint-scented and smug, he knew he wasn’t going to make it ten steps without a full-on pack interrogation.
“HE RETURNS!” Ginta bellowed from the living room like he was announcing the return of a conquering war general or an emotionally attached idiot. “DID YOU PAINT WITH YOUR FEELINGS, ALPHA?”
Raku emerged from the kitchen with a slice of pizza and a deeply concerned expression. “Did you cry? Did she cry? Did you both cry? Is that why you smell like wine and low self-esteem?”
Hakkaku flopped over the couch back dramatically. “Is there a selfie? I know there’s a selfie. You better have a selfie.”
Kōga didn’t even flinch. Just grinned, pulled his phone from his pocket, and held it up.
The wolves crowded instantly like seagulls on a dropped sandwich.
“Oh damn,” Ginta breathed, leaning in. “She’s hot.”
“She’s got the same hair color as you,” Raku muttered, tilting his head. “That’s weirdly couple-core.”
“And the eyes,” Hakkaku pointed out. “You both look like you could spiritually co-own a moon cult.”
Kōga smirked, swiping to the second picture.
The paintings.
“Oh my gods,” Ginta whispered. “You really painted abs on a wolf.”
“With emotional shading,” Kōga corrected proudly.
“It looks like your soul joined a gym,” Raku muttered.
“It looks like your soul joined a boy band,” Hakkaku added.
“Shut up,” Kōga said, but he was beaming. Full teeth. Unashamed. “She laughed at it. She actually laughed so hard she snorted.”
“You made a holy council member snort?!” Raku gasped.
“She snorted, then flirted, then told me to keep the paintings for our future home,” Kōga said, pointing to his chest. “I nearly had a stroke. But I played it cool.”
They all stared at him.
“You absolutely did not play it cool,” Ginta said.
“You probably did that stupid smitten grin,” Hakkaku muttered.
“Shut up,” Kōga said again, grinning even harder.
He went to drop his keys and was halfway to grabbing water when his phone lit up.
Ping.
Kagome [10:56PM]: If you want.
Kagome [10:56PM]: Same place.
He stared at it. Read it twice.
And then a third time, because his heart definitely skipped.
“Oh no,” Raku whispered. “What was that look?”
“What look?” Ginta asked.
“That look,” Hakkaku said, pointing. “That soulmate look. I’ve only seen it once. When Kōga got free barbecue samples at the food expo.”
“I gotta go,” Kōga said suddenly, grabbing his jacket.
“What?!”
“She invited me on her run.”
“NOW?!” Ginta’s voice cracked.
“It’s 11PM,” Raku exclaimed.
“Exactly,” Kōga said, already halfway out the door. “Witching hour cardio. Romance level: advanced.”
“Is this your third date today?” Hakkaku shouted.
“It counts as the same day if I didn’t sleep!” Kōga yelled back.
The door slammed.
Silence.
Then Raku whispered, “He’s gonna mate her before the full moon.”
Hakkaku nodded. “We should start prepping a gift basket.”
Ginta sat down, wide-eyed. “Do we even own a gift basket?”
“No,” Raku said solemnly. “But we’re about to.”
Kōga was already halfway into a new shirt before his keys hit the front door hook.
Sweatpants? On.
Black t-shirt? On.
Shoes? Didn’t matter. He’d burn through them if she smiled too hard.
Hair?
High ponytail. Battle-ready.
He could’ve run.
Easily.
Thirty minutes at top wolf speed? More like twelve. But what if she wanted to grab food after? What if she wanted to hang out and talk? What if she wanted to sit on a park bench and philosophize about interspecies diplomacy while eating gas station mochi?
No. He needed the car.
The car meant options. Comfort. Authority. And, if necessary, snack acquisition capabilities.
He was not about to lose a second spontaneous date because he’d arrived like a dramatic wolf tornado with no drinks, no jacket, and nothing to offer except elevated heart rates and a strong sense of smell.
The car was the smart move.
By the time he pulled up to the trail—the same exact place she’d first pinned to him like an emotional landmine just 24 hours ago—his pulse was steady, his grin feral, and he felt ready for anything.
Until he stepped out of the car.
And saw her.
Leaning against a tree like some midnight nymph forged from chaos and confidence. Sports bra. Running shorts. Hair tied up. Skin glowing faintly under the moonlight like she’d just been painted by the gods and then dared someone to touch her.
Kōga’s brain made a pop noise, and then ceased all useful function for three full seconds.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” he called as he approached, hands sliding into his pockets like he hadn’t just tripped over his own heartbeat. “You know what you look like, don’t you?”
She tilted her head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “What? This?” She glanced down at herself. “This is my ‘practical for exercise’ look.”
“Sure it is,” he said, grinning. “And I only wore this shirt because the paint from dinner’s still drying.”
She smirked. “Is that what you tell all the girls?”
He stepped a little closer. “There are no other girls. You think I keep emergency post-paint-night sweatpants for just anyone?”
She rolled her eyes but the flush on her cheeks said she liked it. “And here I thought you were trying to impress me.”
“Oh, I am,” he said smoothly, letting his voice drop a little. “But you’re making it very difficult not to get distracted.”
“By my running shoes?”
“By the whole ‘hot priestess casually summoning me with a pin drop’ vibe you’ve got going. It’s lethal.”
She laughed. “I didn’t summon you. I said if you want.”
“And I very much wanted,” he said, now toe to toe with her. “Because apparently I’m the kind of guy who shows up for a third date in one day like an emotionally available golden retriever with fangs.”
She leaned against the tree a little more, still smirking. “Third date, huh?”
He shrugged. “You invited me. That counts.”
“And if I start running now?”
“I’ll keep up.”
“And if I want to walk again?”
“I’ll match pace.”
“And if I want to stop and sit on the bench by the old shrine lanterns and talk about everything and nothing until sunrise?”
His smile softened, eyes warm. “Then I’ll listen.”
Silence fell between them for a moment, quiet and thick and glittering with all the unsaid things that didn’t need to be rushed.
Then she turned, walking toward the trail entrance. “Come on, Wolf Boy. Let’s see if your stamina holds up without grilled oysters powering you.”
He chuckled, falling into step beside her.
“Keep talking like that, and this is going to turn into date four.”
And gods help him—
He meant it.
Kagome saw him step out of his car and immediately wanted to scream at the universe.
Sweatpants.
T-shirt.
Hair tied up in a casually perfect ponytail that no man had any right pulling off.
It was some kind of sorcery. He looked like a midnight fantasy—casual, smug, stupidly handsome—and she had to physically dig her fingernails into her palm to stop herself from making some unholy sound of appreciation.
Because that should be illegal.
There should be laws.
Council ordinances.
Holy writs declaring that men were not allowed to look like that when a woman was already emotionally compromised.
And then?
Then he started flirting.
Smooth. Unbothered. A little smug.
Words gliding from his mouth like he knew how they’d land.
And gods help her, they did.
She held it together. Mostly.
Matched his pace like she was unaffected. Pretended her thighs weren’t already warm. Acted like she didn’t want to physically unravel every time he glanced her way.
They walked. One mile, two. Slow. Quiet.
And then—
He grabbed her hand.
Just reached out, interlaced their fingers, like it was nothing.
And she wanted to hum. Or whimper. Or melt into a puddle of well-educated shrine maiden shame.
Because it wasn’t just the contact—it was the way he held her.
Confidently. Firmly. Thumb brushing back and forth, like he couldn’t stop touching her. Like he needed to remember it was real. And every brush felt like it had a purpose. Like it was saying, I see you. I want you. I’m not going anywhere.
And she?
She nearly lost it.
Her breath hitched. She swallowed hard. Closed her eyes for a second just to keep herself upright.
He glanced at her.
She looked away, huffing, pretending to be extremely fascinated with a squirrel darting into the bushes.
Mile two was where she broke.
Because without thinking—without overanalyzing or mentally writing a diary entry in real-time—she started stroking his hand back.
Her thumb moved over his knuckles. Light. Thoughtful. Slow.
And he noticed.
God, he noticed.
He went quiet.
Smirk tugging at his lips.
Eyes flicking to her and lingering.
His voice, when he spoke next, had shifted.
Lower. Rougher.
Still playful, but dripping with something darker, heavier.
“You know,” he murmured, his thumb now sweeping over the back of her hand in slow, hypnotic circles, “if you keep doing that, I’m gonna start thinking you’re into me.”
She snorted, half laughing.
“Oh please.”
But he leaned in—just a little—just enough for her to feel the heat of his body, and said with maddening softness:
“I was already having a hard time keeping my thoughts pure. Then you showed up in shorts again. And now you’re petting me like a housewife claiming her prize.”
And then—
Gods forgive her—
He added, voice smooth and sinful:
“Be honest. You ever fantasize about me taking you right off this trail? Bet you’d be loud for me, priestess.”
Snap.
She didn’t think.
Didn’t debate.
Didn’t do anything except crash her mouth onto his like instinct had taken over.
One hand fisting his shirt.
The other on his chest.
And fuck if he didn’t groan like he’d been waiting for it all night.
He responded instantly.
Grabbed her hips. Pulled her into him. One large hand slipping down to cup her ass, the other cradling her head like he didn’t trust the world to keep her safe.
His lips slanted over hers, commanding, deep and filthy and hungry. Tongue teasing, then pressing forward like he was tasting something forbidden and already addicted.
And then he lifted her.
Off the ground.
She gasped into his mouth—surprised and half-sobbing—and wrapped her legs around his waist without thinking. He pinned her back gently against a nearby tree, not breaking the kiss, hands firm and everywhere.
He kissed like he fought—purposeful, relentless, intense.
His mouth moved against hers like he meant to devour her.
Like this kiss wasn’t just a kiss—it was a claim.
A promise.
A warning.
His hips pressed between her thighs, and she could feel it.
All of him.
Hot. Hard. Absolutely not pretending this was still just a casual night run.
She whimpered into the kiss, one hand in his hair now, the other clutching his shoulder like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth.
“Kōga—” she whispered against his lips.
He kissed the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, before murmuring into her skin:
“You kissed me first, beautiful. You started it.”
And she absolutely would not survive the rest of this night.
Chapter 9
Notes:
Guys.
Did we make out in the woods?
Yes.Did I put boundaries in place after?
Absolutely.Did this poor man essentially become involuntarily celibate for 10+ dates purely out of respect for those boundaries?
Also yes.This man was a saint. A patient, loyal, sweaty saint in trail shoes.
But—and I cannot stress this enough—this man has not been neglected since we became official.
Which is a story (and several chaotic chapters) for the future.P.S. Please don’t take your dates on midnight walks. I don’t care how romantic it sounds or how much main character energy you’re channeling. It’s a bad idea. Your therapist and local emergency services will thank you.
Love you all. Let’s continue this trail of emotional thirst together.
Chapter Text
Chapter Nine: Repressed Desires and Respectable Cardio
Kagome POV –
She had no idea how her back ended up against a tree. Or how her legs had wrapped around his waist. Or how her hand was still tangled in his hair while his mouth tasted her like she was dessert, destiny, and divine retribution all in one bite.
She did know that her bra was dangerously close to being irrelevant. And that his body pressed between her thighs felt illegal. And that if she made one more noise, the gods themselves were going to revoke her priestess license and start listing her shrine on Yelp as “morally compromised.”
With great effort—and maybe a tiny internal scream—Kagome broke the kiss, breathless and blinking, her fingers still gripping his shirt like she hadn’t fully informed her limbs this was over.
“Kōga,” she whispered, voice shaky but firm.
He hummed against her jaw. “Hmm?”
“We need to focus,” she managed, squirming slightly until he reluctantly set her down. “On walking. Like the original plan.”
He blinked down at her, pupils still dilated and mouth swollen like he’d just emerged from battle. “Walking?”
“Yes,” she said, smoothing down her hair. “The thing where feet go forward and tongues stay in their respective mouths.”
He grinned—the smug bastard—but stepped back, hands raised like a man willing to surrender to her moral high ground if it meant she kept blushing like that.
“Got it. No more handsy activities,” he said. “Unless you trip and I catch you. Or you faint. Or wolves attack. In which case, all bets are off and I’m touching wherever necessary.”
“Kōga.”
He winked. “Yes, shrine maiden.”
They started walking again, back on the trail, her legs slightly wobbly and her entire nervous system still vibrating from whatever the hell that kiss had been.
Kagome kept her gaze forward, posture straight, and every internal thought screaming the same thing on loop:
Be a lady. Be a lady. Be a—
—tongue. His tongue. Focus! Focus!
—lady.
Because this—this whole situation—was dangerously close to unraveling. Her thighs were still betraying her. Her lips were tingling. And her heart?
Oh, her heart was doing somersaults.
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.
He was walking quietly beside her now, hands tucked into his pockets, perfectly behaved… but his smile?
Still cocky.
Still victorious.
Still carved with the knowledge that she had kissed him.
Not the other way around.
She was tempted—so tempted—to kiss him again.
But no.
No.
She was better than this.
She was a woman of restraint. A lady of dignity. A council-appointed holy figure trained in composure, control, and—
He scratched the back of his neck and the bottom of his t-shirt lifted slightly, exposing a sliver of hard, tan skin and the deep, tantalizing V-shape of his hipbones.
She looked away so fast she almost tripped.
Be a lady.
Be a lady.
Be a motherfucking lady.
Kōga chuckled beside her. “Doing okay over there?”
“I’m fine,” she lied with the grace of a seasoned spiritual fraud.
“Need water? Holy oil? A bucket of ice?”
“I need you to behave.”
He leaned a little closer, voice low. “You’re the one who climbed me like a tree.”
She didn’t respond. She couldn’t.Because if she did? She wasn’t sure she’d stop herself from doing it again.
They were walking again.
Step, step, breath. Cool night air. Crisp leaves underfoot. Tree branches casting soft shadows under the moonlight.
Idyllic. Serene. Peaceful.
And yet?
Kagome was mentally screaming.
Because behind the very practiced, extremely polite expression on her face, she was one inch from feral.
She kept her arms carefully at her sides, her hands politely empty, and her eyes fixed on the path ahead like it held all the answers to her very rapidly crumbling self-control.
And in her mind?
A very simple mantra repeated over and over again:
I cannot be fucked in the woods.
I cannot be fucked in the woods.
I cannot be f—
“Everything alright, priestess?” Kōga asked, casually, voice entirely too smooth.
She inhaled.
Smiled.
Nodded like she wasn’t internally vibrating at a frequency only horny ghosts could detect. “Of course. Just enjoying the fresh air.”
He hummed.
She could feel his amusement. Radiating off of him like smug body heat.
Because he knew.
Oh, he knew she was trying to collect herself. He was walking like a perfect gentleman—hands in his pockets, gaze forward—but the man was practically glowing with self-satisfaction.
It was the smug quiet of a wolf who had already chased the rabbit, nipped it, and now was just strolling beside it while it pretended it hadn’t enjoyed being hunted.
“You’re walking a little faster than usual,” he observed lightly.
“I am not,” she said, speeding up.
“You keep muttering.”
“I do not.”
“You just said something about being… what was it? Railed in the—?”
She slapped a hand over his mouth so fast it was pure reflex.
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” she hissed, eyes wide.
He blinked at her. Then, slowly, lowered her hand from his mouth and gave her the most unfair smile ever created.
“Kagome,” he said softly, “I may be a wolf, but I’m not a barbarian. I would never defile a lady in the woods.”
She exhaled in relief.
Then he added, voice lower: “Unless she asked really, really nicely.”
“Oh my god—” she stopped walking entirely, planted her hands on her hips, and stared at the sky like it might drop a celestial punishment on her for thinking about it.
Which she was.
She absolutely was.
Because the visual? Of that voice, and those hands, and his mouth—
She shook her head so hard her ponytail slapped her in the face.
Kōga tilted his head at her with faux innocence. “Something wrong?”
“No,” she said, voice very controlled. “I just remembered that I’m a woman of virtue.”
“I support your virtue,” he said solemnly. “I’d even help guard it. Personally. With great care.”
“Stop.”
“Just saying. Very supportive.”
“Stop talking.”
He chuckled but fell into step beside her again, posture calm, eyes ahead. And even though he didn’t touch her, she could still feel the memory of his hands on her thighs, his mouth on hers, his hips pinning her to that tree—
Focus.
Shrine maiden.
Saint.
A beacon of restraint.
She repeated her new, upgraded mantra:
Do not get railed in the woods.
Do not get railed in the woods.
Do not—
“Your breathing changed,” Kōga murmured.
“IT’S A HILL,” she snapped.
There was no hill.
He smirked. “Sure.”
They walked. In silence. She adjusted her sports bra with the serenity of a woman who might commit murder.
And Kōga? He just kept walking. Like the gentleman he was. While radiating absolute menace.
And she?
She had never suffered so beautifully in her entire life.
Chapter Text
Chapter Ten: Three Dates, One Wolf, Zero Regrets
Kōga POV
Kōga was having the absolute time of his life. And not just in a casual, “wow, dating is fun” way.
No.
He was radiating the deep, bone-melting satisfaction of a man who had won.
Because this second walk? This midnight encore of flirtation and restraint? It held more power than the first one ever could.
The first walk, sure, had been exciting. He’d said something stupid like “Gods, I love you” under his breath and spent six miles trying to act like it hadn’t happened. But this walk?
This walk had included a kiss.
No, not a kiss—a phenomenon.
This walk had featured Kagome Higurashi pressed against a tree, moaning into his mouth, thighs locked around him like she was spiritually fated to do so.
And, if that weren’t already enough to give him religion?
She’d mumbled, dazed and breathless and entirely too adorable:
“I cannot be fucked in the woods.”
And that sentence? That exact cluster of words now lived rent-free in his mind, playing on repeat like his favorite song.
He’d never been so into someone’s moral resolve in his life.
So yes. He was smiling. Grinning, really. All wolf teeth and barely restrained glee.
Because she’d kissed him. Climbed him. Then pulled back and declared spiritual boundaries with the force of a martyr and the voice of someone who really, really needed to not be kissed again right then or she might combust.
And now?
They’d made it back to the parking lot.
The walk had technically ended.
And he could’ve let it go.
Could’ve bowed out, said goodnight, gone home with that kiss seared into his memory and called it a perfect night.
But he was Kōga.
And this was Date Three.
So he turned to her, cool and calm, like he hadn’t just spent the last half hour restraining the urge to throw her over his shoulder and propose.
“Hey,” he said softly, glancing toward his Jeep. “I know the walk’s over, but…”
She looked at him, eyes cautious but curious.
“Would you,” he continued, tone deliberately casual, “want to get some dessert? Maybe tea? There’s a spot still open down the road.”
She blinked. No huff. No sarcastic retort. No sudden need to do cardio penance for temptation.
Just a pause.
And then—
A nod.
“Sure.”
He didn’t even try to hide the way his face lit up.
“Great,” he said, walking over and pulling open the passenger-side door to his Jeep. “Hop in.”
She stepped toward him, brushing past with that signature calm like she wasn’t actively destabilizing every cell in his body, and slid into the seat.
Kōga shut the door, rounded the front with a smirk he could no longer suppress, and whispered under his breath as he got behind the wheel:
“Three dates. One day. And she still wants tea. Someone call the gods—I’m about to ascend.”
Chapter 11
Notes:
Guys.
I was lounging peacefully in bed, minding my own business, when this man—my man—casually hits me with:
“Weird how our story hasn’t been updated in a while.”
SIR.
Stop lurking on my account like a book club gremlin. This isn’t for you. This is for my readers. The ones who patiently wait for chaos, kisses, and slow-burn thirst content. You don’t even have a nerd bone in your body unless it’s video games and yelling at loading screens.
But gods, he tries.
Because he knows I’m the biggest closeted nerd on this side of the shrine and if someone so much as mentions an RPG I will suddenly forget what professionalism is.Speaking of which—story time.
Mid-meeting. Totally normal. Someone mentions their favorite video game. I chime in with Dragon Age and MMORPGs.
Cue:
The Senior Manager of our training department literally pausing the meeting to say:“Yeah…you look like a Dragon Age kind of girl.”
And before I could even respond, my current manager goes off mute like a knight entering battle and says:
“Don’t listen to him. That’s disrespectful. You give Dragon’s Dogma vibes. More fire. More edge.”
I have never been so seen. Or so violently typecasted.
Naturally, the two of them proceeded to blame me for completely derailing the meeting with my taste in RPGs.
But thankfully, the training manager adjusted:“Okay, okay. Older Dragon Age games. With grit and fire. Not the new one.”
So now here I am.
Shamed. Summoned. Called out by both coworkers and my partner, who has apparently decided this fanfic is his now too.It’s been a week. I’ve been roasted. So here’s your damn update.
Because apparently, love is having someone monitor your writing schedule like it’s part of a deployment timeline.
Chapter Text
Chapter Eleven: Silence Is Safer When You’re Spiraling
Kagome POV –
She was being fed.
Again.
Not metaphorically. Not spiritually. No deep metaphors about love languages or acts of service. No.
She was literally, physically, emotionally being fed—by the same wolf who, less than an hour ago, had her pinned to a tree, kissing her like he was trying to leave a soulprint.
And now?
Now she was sitting across from him at a quiet late-night café, in a dim booth with fairy lights, a half-eaten strawberry tart, and a teacup full of jasmine that tasted like serenity if serenity came with a side of emotional whiplash.
And the man across from her?
Cool as you like.
Sitting there in his damn sweatpants and that stretched black t-shirt, casually sipping tea and making lowkey conversation like he hadn’t tried to become one with her in a forest. Like they were normal people. On a normal date.
“I don’t trust macarons,” he was saying, peering at the dessert tray with deep suspicion. “They’re too smug. Like they know they’re expensive.”
Kagome made a noise somewhere between a hum and a please don’t look at me while I’m stuffing my mouth with anxiety, and took another bite of her pastry.
Because this?
This was dangerous.
This was a man who could casually order her food, flirt until she blushed down to her ankles, kiss her like his tongue had a personal vendetta, and then turn around and talk about macarons like a perfectly unbothered domestic partner.
And her?
She was hanging on by a thread.
Her inner voice had turned into a full-blown emergency broadcast system:
DO NOT SPEAK.
DO NOT FLIRT.
DO NOT TELL HIM HE CAN HAVE YOUR FUTURE.
Because if she opened her mouth—if she dared to engage—she was one stolen sip of his tea away from offering him her shrine, her pension, and unlimited access to her body and Netflix password.
So instead?
She chewed.
And nodded.
And sipped her jasmine tea like it was a sacred relic warding off madness.
Kōga, the menace, continued like this was nothing.
“Do you think it’s weird to name a house?” he asked, now poking at a cream puff. “Because I feel like when we buy one someday, it should have a name. Something cool. With ‘Den’ in it.”
She choked.
On air.
On tea.
On the concept of we and someday and buy one.
He looked up, entirely too innocent. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she squeaked, grabbing her teacup with both hands like it could anchor her to this plane of existence.
“Too hot?”
Yes. You. This. Life.
“No. Just—” She waved a hand vaguely toward her throat. “Emotion.”
He snorted and took another bite of pastry.
And Kagome?
She sat there, staring at the wolf across from her, as he calmly discussed real estate and dessert hierarchy like her thighs hadn’t still not recovered from the pressure of his body, and her mouth hadn’t memorized the exact shape of his lips.
And she thought—very clearly, very deliberately—
I cannot keep doing this.
I am not built for casual dating.
This man can have me. I am done.
No contract. No further interviews. No more dates. Just a formal offering of soul and snuggles.
But instead of saying that—thank the gods—she shoved another spoonful of strawberry tart in her mouth and nodded along.
Because she was not allowed to fall in love over pastries.
Not tonight.
Not out loud.
Not while he was calling eclairs “dangerously slutty.”
Kagome was still chewing, still internally screaming, and still pretending her thighs hadn’t clenched at the mere sound of the word “den” when Kōga—casual as ever—leaned back, licked a smudge of cream from his thumb, and asked:
“So, what are your views on pastries, anyway?”
She blinked.
Her views?
Oh. You mean the part of her that was currently imagining his mouth covered in frosting, his hands wrapped around her thighs again, and zero lace between them and gravity? Those views?
“Meh,” she said coolly, stabbing her fork into the remaining half of her tart with the clinical precision of a woman absolutely not thinking about being taken against a bakery counter.
He raised a brow. “Meh?”
She shrugged, perfecting her tone of disinterest. “Pastries are fine. Dramatic. Flaky. High maintenance. You bite into one and suddenly it’s a performance.”
He snorted. “You just described half the demon court.”
“And half the women you’ve dated, probably,” she added sweetly, sipping her tea without making eye contact.
His laughter came out low and surprised, his grin flashing with full teeth.
“Damn, priestess. That was cold.”
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug and fought every atom in her body that wanted to giggle like a schoolgirl who had just roasted her crush and got a gold star for it.
She could not let him know she was absolutely fucking smitten. No. This was a game of dignity. Of restraint. Of holy reputation and firm emotional fencing.
Because if she slipped?
If she even glanced at him for too long?
She’d end up saying things like, “Name our future children after eclairs,” and “Yes, I’ll move in right now.”
So she maintained her posture.
Sipped her tea.
Ate her damn pastry.
And pretended she wasn’t picturing him shirtless in her kitchen, offering her fresh croissants and absolutely nothing else for hours.
When the plates were cleared and she’d successfully not declared her eternal love over powdered sugar, he glanced at his phone, then back at her.
“So,” he said lightly, “tomorrow at 6?”
She blinked.
He smiled. “I’ll text you the details.”
“Sure,” she said automatically, mind still halfway buried in his laugh from five minutes ago.
And then—like a woman possessed—she rattled off her number. Seven digits. Without thinking. Clear as day.
He pulled out his phone, entered it with ease, then showed her the name he’d saved it under: “Priestess Problem 😈”
It wasn’t until after she heard the quiet ding of his screen locking that her brain caught up to what had just happened. Previously, they had just been texting only through the app.
She narrowed her eyes. “Wait a second.”
He blinked innocently.
“You tricked me into giving you my number.”
He shrugged, completely unapologetic. “I asked a yes-or-no question. You offered classified contact information. I merely accepted the blessing.”
She stared at him, jaw half open, half scandalized, half…impressed.
“And I suppose you just accidentally said six?”
“Oh no,” he said, standing up and stretching with that lithe, wolfish grace that should not be legal in sweatpants. “That was entirely premeditated.”
“And you’re proud of that?”
He leaned down, grabbed their box of leftover pastries, and tossed her a wink.
“I’m proud of a lot of things tonight. Getting your number just happens to be the one that gets a framed plaque.”
Kagome sat there, dumbfounded, watching him walk toward the counter with the confidence of a man who was now three dates in, kiss-confirmed, and casually scheduling more with zero resistance.
She was supposed to be immune to this.
She was supposed to be a spiritual fortress.
But as she stood up to follow him, her phone buzzed in her pocket.
New message:
Tomorrow’s gonna be fun. Wear something I can stare at. 😈
Her soul ascended and screamed all at once.
She was so screwed.
Chapter 12
Notes:
Fun fact:
The man deleted the dating app. Three dates in. Did he tell me? Absolutely not. Because apparently, in his head, we were already official.
Let me break it down for you:
• Date One (before it even began): He posted on social media that he “had a good feeling about this one.”
• Post-dinner (yes, the one where I pretended I knew what fork to use): He posted that I “might be the one.”
• Painting date (where I finally let him take a selfie): He posted the photo immediately.
Caption? Something like “A man couldn't ask for a more perfect date night or a more perfect woman to be his partner in crime with.” (I had to go back and look.)And me?
Unaware of any of this. Because I’m not a fan of social media. I was over here playing it cool, trying not to start naming our hypothetical children after baked goods.
Meanwhile, this wolf was out here announcing our love story like a political campaign.
So if you’re wondering who fell first?
It was him. Loudly. Publicly. Digitally documented.I was just trying not to be too obviously how smitten I was.
Chapter Text
Chapter Twelve: The Wolf Prince Scores (Again)
Kōga POV –
Kōga was pleased with himself.
No—scratch that.
He was the literal embodiment of smug satisfaction.
If smugness were an art, he was painting a mural. If confidence were currency, he was Jeff Bezos. If being effortlessly victorious in romance were a sport, he had just won the gold, kissed the medal, and flexed for the camera.
Gods, he was on fire.
He leaned back in the driver’s seat of his Jeep, one hand casually draped over the wheel, as he coasted down the street toward her trailhead drop-off. The radio played low. The pastries in the back seat smelled like sugary victory. And his entire soul hummed with wolfish contentment.
Because today?
Today had been perfect.
He’d started with a bold message. An official dinner date. And a painting session where she snorted like a goddess of chaos. Landed a midnight trail date.
Gotten a kiss. A real kiss. One that included full mouth worship, thigh gripping, spiritual surrender and her mumbling “I cannot be fucked in the woods” like a prayer to her ancestors.
He’d followed that up with dessert and tea where she’d been—
He actually sighed aloud.
Stunning.
Sharp.
A little unhinged.
Absolutely his type.
Watching her eat pastries like she was trying to distract herself from launching across the table and ruining both of their lives was pure magic.
And when she casually threw out a “half the women you’ve dated, probably” in reference to the dramatic behavior of macarons?
He nearly proposed on the spot.
She didn’t even blink when she said it—just lifted her teacup and sipped like she hadn’t just drop-kicked his ego for sport.
And gods help him, he’d smiled harder than he had in months. She was everything he didn’t know he wanted—elegant, funny, powerful, emotionally unpredictable in the sexiest possible way—and tonight? He’d gotten everything.
A kiss.
A date.
Her number.
Plans for tomorrow.
And—maybe most importantly—he now had two ridiculous paintings in the backseat and a selfie that might as well be titled proof I’m punching above my weight class.
When he pulled into the trail parking lot, the moon still hanging high and smug above the trees, he parked, turned to her, and tried to offer the bare minimum of alpha-level responsibility.
“Want me to take you to your actual place?”
Kagome looked at him, expression unreadable, a hint of a smile playing at her lips.
“No thanks,” she said, grabbing her water bottle and stretching slightly. “I’ll walk.”
Kōga blinked.
“But like…where?”
She just smiled, stepped out, closed the door, and—once again—walked directly back into the woods.
Vanishing into the shadows like a damn legend.
No address.
No pin.
No shrine.
Just…trees.
“What are you?” he muttered to himself, watching her disappear. “A forest spirit? A fox in priestess cosplay?”
He sat there for a beat, grinning like a fool, watching the spot where she’d vanished.
Still no clue where she lived. Still denied access to whatever magical glade or secret teleportation scroll she used to exit dates like an enigma wrapped in leggings.
But none of it mattered.
Because she kept saying yes. And she kept showing up. And tomorrow? He already had plans.
And maybe—just maybe—he’d finally find out what kind of woman could kiss him stupid, roast him in public, steal his heart, and still walk away barefoot into the moonlight like she was made of smoke and temptation.
The wolf prince was in deep.
And damn it, he loved it.
Kōga stepped into the mountain lodge he called home and shut the door behind him with the air of a man who had conquered an empire, kissed the queen, and rode home on a throne made of good decisions and smug grins.
He actually sighed. Out loud. Like a teen girl after her first real kiss.
An exhale full of stars, secrets, and spiritually fulfilling pastry consumption.
It was humiliating. It was beautiful. He didn’t care.
The house was quiet for exactly four seconds.
Then—
“Yo,” came Ginta’s voice from the living room. “How’d the second walk go?”
Hakkaku appeared next, already grinning like an idiot. “Or was it the third date? Did you get married? Move in? Name your pups?”
Kōga didn’t answer. He just walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge, grabbed a drink, leaned on the counter, and—without even looking at them—said, “It ended in dessert.”
The room froze.
Ginta blinked. “Is…that a metaphor?”
“Wait,” Hakkaku narrowed his eyes, “does that mean you—?”
“Did you clap cheeks in the woods?” one of the younger wolves called from the hallway.
Kōga spit his drink.
“No!” he barked, choking. “What the—no, you degenerates!”
Ginta raised both eyebrows. “So it’s not a metaphor?”
“It was literal dessert,” Kōga snapped. “Pastries. Tea. Sugar. A quiet cafe.”
“…so like, after the—?”
“No one got laid!” Kōga yelled, exasperated. “Gods! Do any of you know what a proper courtship looks like?”
A pause.
The entire room: noises of confusion and vague sounds of shame.
“So…” Hakkaku asked slowly, “she kissed you, then walked back into the woods. Again. Alone.”
“Yes.”
“And you still don’t know where she lives?”
“No.”
“And this is all going really well in your mind?”
Kōga stared into the middle distance. His eyes dreamy. His smirk helpless. His soul clearly vibrating on another plane.
“She insulted my dating history while sipping jasmine tea with flawless posture,” he murmured. “Then gave me her number like it was my reward for surviving. I don’t care if she lives in a tree. She’s perfect.”
A beat.
“You’re so whipped it’s actually scary,” one of the younger wolves said, wide-eyed.
“Does this mean you’re retiring from the dating scene?” Ginta asked, mock horror in his tone. “We’ll have to cancel the Thursday rotation board!”
“I deleted all the dating apps,” Kōga replied casually, tossing his phone onto the counter like it no longer held temptation or power.
Hakkaku made the sound of a dying wildebeest. “You what?”
“I’m reformed,” Kōga said, stretching with the kind of relaxed muscle roll that said ‘I got to kiss a priestess against a tree tonight and I’m winning at life.’ “I’m a one-priestess wolf now.”
Ginta turned to the others. “Someone check the moon phase. Did he hit his head?”
“No,” Kōga said, walking toward the hallway, drink in hand. “I hit the jackpot. And tomorrow at six? Round four begins.”
Behind him, the pack erupted into chaos.
“Someone place bets on how long it takes him to learn her address.”
“Ten dates. Minimum.”
“He’ll follow her into the woods like a lost puppy before that.”
“Do we need to assign a tracking team?”
Kōga ignored them. He just grinned. Because her number was saved. Her kisses were burned into his memory.
And tomorrow? Tomorrow, she’d let him feed her again. Saint or not, this priestess had no idea what kind of patient, pastry-fueled, absolute simp of a wolf she was dealing with.
And he?
He was ready.
Chapter 13
Notes:
Guys.
The amount of nights we spent on the phone?? The way we just… kept the call going??
Like, not even talking sometimes. Just vibing. Existing. Breathing in sync like we were on a romantic crime stakeout. It was unhinged.And yes.
Did this man—bold as hell—change my contact to “future wife” less than a week in?
Absolutely.
Zero hesitation.
Didn’t even blink.The audacity. The confidence. The prophecy.
And you know what?
I respected it.Bold of him? Yes.
Correct of him? Also yes.Stay tuned. It only gets worse (better). 😂
Chapter Text
Chapter Thirteen: The Late-Night Call
Kagome POV –
Kagome was trying to go to bed.
Keyword: trying.
She’d changed into her softest sleep shirt, one of those oversized ones that made her feel like a cloud. Her room at the shrine was still and silent, faintly lit by the paper lantern she always left on for Rin during her night rounds. Her phone was across the futon, facedown like it was misbehaving.
And yet…she couldn’t sleep.
Her body was tired—yes. Her eyes were heavy. Her legs sore from the walk (and from clinging to Kōga’s waist like a tree demon in heat, thank you very much). But her brain?
Her brain was in full soap opera mode.
She replayed the date. The kiss. The dessert.
The grin he wore when she gave him her number. The way his thumb had brushed her hand when they walked. The fact that he’d offered—so gently—to drive her home, and still didn’t push when she turned him down.
The audacity of this wolf.
And then her phone buzzed.
Once.
Twice.
She flipped it over. Kōga.
Kōga [12:27AM]: You asleep?
Kōga [12:27AM]: Don’t lie. I can feel your brain spiraling from here.
She stared at the texts, smiling despite herself. Her fingers hovered over the screen for a moment.
Before she could reply, the phone rang.
She jumped slightly, heart pounding for no real reason except that his name on her screen lit something giddy in her chest.
She hesitated, then answered.
“Hey,” she said softly, curling under the blanket.
His voice came through the line, low and warm, laced with a roughness that made her toes curl. “Couldn’t sleep either, huh?”
“No,” she admitted. “But I was… working.”
“You’re lying,” he said immediately, and she could hear the grin.
“I am not. I have council paperwork.”
“While you’re lying in bed.”
“I’m multitasking.”
“You sound like you’re under three blankets with your hair a mess and a pout on your face.”
She gasped. “How dare you.”
“Am I wrong?”
She opened her mouth to argue—then caught a glimpse of herself in the dark screen reflection. Hair? A mess. Face? Fully pouting. Blankets? An embarrassing total of four.
She sighed. “Fine. Maybe I lied a little.”
“I knew it,” he said smugly, and she could practically hear him shift in bed, sheets rustling. The sound sent a ripple down her spine.
“…Are you in bed?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
“I am,” he replied, voice softer now. “Pillow under my head. Shirt off. Still riding that post-date high.”
Her stomach flipped.
“Shirt off, huh?” she muttered, biting her lip.
“You thinking about it?” he asked, teasing and just the slightest bit suggestive.
“I’m a councilwoman,” she said primly.
“And I’m a wolf,” he said back, “who thinks about you regardless of titles.”
She swallowed.
Then he added, voice quieter, gentler, “Council keep you busy?”
She blinked. “Um…yeah. It’s…a lot. The reports. The spiritual classifications. The petitions for inter-species matters. Half the time I’m translating ancient texts or mediating between demon breeds that think their mating rights were infringed on because someone sneezed in their territory.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“It is.” She sighed. “Rewarding… but exhausting.”
“Do you get time to relax?”
She paused. “Not…often.”
He didn’t say anything for a second. Then, gently:
“What do you do when you do get time?”
Her mouth tilted in a smile she didn’t realize she’d made. “Hike. Run. Bake. Sleep. Argue with Inuyasha over politics until he sulks.”
“Bet you’re cute when you’re smug.”
“Bet you’re cute when you pout.”
“Oh, I am,” he confirmed. “It’s tragic.”
She laughed softly, settling more comfortably under the covers.
He kept his voice low, intimate, as if trying not to break the calm. “You ever think about settling down?”
“…What do you mean?”
“Like—marriage. A mate. Kids. A house with named rooms and an overwatered fern you keep forgetting to kill.”
She was quiet for a moment.
“I used to think about it,” she said truthfully. “Before council life. Before my powers took over my schedule. Then I convinced myself it was a luxury. A distraction.”
“And now?”
She bit her lip, uncertain.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “It’s… not off the table.”
“You want kids?”
“I think…” She paused. “I want something that feels like belonging. Whether that’s a family, or a home, or… a person.”
There was a silence on the line. A deep, understanding kind of quiet.
“…I think you deserve that,” he said softly.
She closed her eyes, a lump forming in her throat she wasn’t ready to explain.
“And you?” she asked, voice barely a whisper. “Do you want all that?”
“I didn’t used to,” he admitted. “Used to think it’d slow me down. That power and status was the goal. But now…”
He paused.
“Now I think I just want someone I don’t have to pretend with.”
She smiled faintly. “You’re not very good at pretending anyway.”
“Exactly. Which is why I like you.”
Silence again. But a warm one. Gentle. Comfortable.
She yawned. He heard it.
“Sleepy?”
“A little.”
“I’ll let you go.”
“No,” she said quickly, too quickly. “Stay.”
He didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease.
“Okay,” he murmured. “I’ll stay.”
And just like that, they kept talking. Lightly. Softly. She told him about the shrine’s fox spirit who kept stealing offerings. He told her about one of his lieutenants who accidentally attended a yoga class thinking it was a summoning circle.
And slowly… her words slowed. Her laughter grew sleepy. Her breaths deeper.
She drifted.
And Kōga, still listening, voice barely audible now, whispered into the receiver, “Goodnight, beautiful.”
He didn’t hang up.
He just laid there.
Listening to her sleep.
Like she was the most important sound in the world.
She was asleep.
And he was done for.
Not in the dramatic, overly emotional kind of way. Not the way the younger wolves in his pack claimed to be “destroyed” when their flings ghosted them after two dates and a shared boba.
No. This was different. This was deep.
Kagome had fallen asleep mid-call—her voice drifting off during a half-sentence about how shrine foxes were surprisingly vindictive, the sound of her breath steady, slow, and now the only thing echoing through his phone speaker.
She hadn’t hung up. Hadn’t said goodbye.
She just trusted him enough to stay on the line.
And that?
That was it for him.
Kōga lay in bed, flat on his back, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to all his damn feelings. But it didn’t. It just stared back, silent and judgmental, like it knew he was about to do something stupidly emotional.
Because gods help him—
He had fallen.
So.
Fucking.
Hard.
It wasn’t just the kiss. It wasn’t the laugh-snorts or her sass or the way she said his name like it was something sacred. It was all of it. Her presence. Her power. Her peace.
She didn’t play games. She didn’t fawn over his rank or his wealth or his stupid muscle ratio. She just roasted him in cafes, kissed him with devastating intensity, and talked to him like he mattered.
Really mattered.
He glanced at his phone.
The call was still going. 1 hour, 42 minutes. Her soft breath still humming through the speaker.
He tapped the screen gently and opened her contact profile.
Previously saved as:
Priestess Problem 😈
He stared at the little name field for a long moment.
Then deleted it. Slowly.
Typed something else.
Future Wife ✨💍
He stared at it. Smirked.
“Too soon?” he asked no one.
Then, more to himself: “Yeah. Probably.”
Beat. He grinned harder.
“Still true though.”
He didn’t hit send. He didn’t text her. He didn’t wake her up.
Instead, he put the phone gently on the pillow beside him, speaker still on, volume low. Let her breathing fill the space around him. Let the night sink in.
Because she was asleep.
And she trusted him with that silence.
And he?
He was already hers.
Chapter 14
Notes:
Fun fact.
One of the very first things I told this man was:
“Hey, just a heads up—I sleep talk. Sometimes I sleep walk. Not a lot. Maybe once a year. But sleep talking? That’s a daily subscription.”He smiled. Nodded. Did the classic “sure, babe” expression. The kind you give when you think the other person is being a little dramatic and kind of adorable and clearly exaggerating.
Spoiler alert: I was not exaggerating.
This man was not ready.He has since been lovingly traumatized by the reality of my nighttime monologues. He’s also had the great honor of hearing my family roast me into oblivion over it. Highlights include:
• Me at age 9 trying to walk outside at 2AM to pick mushrooms.
• Me at 12 trying to leave the house to “find the cake I left in the wind.”
• And my sibling casually adding, “Sometimes I just encourage her, even when she’s not speaking English. It’s fun.”So yeah. Night calls? Full of discovery.
At one point, mid-conversation, he paused and said, “Did you know you respond to my questions while asleep?”
There will absolutely be a future chapter for the first time he witnessed my sleep walking. The man was terrified. He thought he was being haunted. He wasn’t sure whether to shake me, guide me back to bed, or perform an exorcism.
Romance, you guys. It’s just sleepwalking with extra steps.
Stay tuned.
Chapter Text
Chapter Fourteen: 3AM Confessions from a Sleepy Priestess
Kōga POV –
Kōga woke up to the shrill warning of impending disaster.
Low battery. 10% remaining.
He blinked in the dark, disoriented, phone screen casting an eerie glow on the sheets next to him. His brain processed the situation sluggishly—nighttime, bedroom, the faint ache of a smile that had apparently lingered even in sleep.
And then—ah. Right.
The call.
The priestess.
He picked the phone up from the pillow like it was holy, glanced at the time—3:08AM—and smiled again without meaning to. The call was still going.
2 hours, 41 minutes.
No disconnection. No accidental end. No forgotten line.
Just her.
Soft, steady breathing on the other end. A few occasional shifts—blanket rustling, a sigh here and there. But still there. Still with him.
He should’ve hung up hours ago. Should’ve let her rest, let the line die peacefully like some symbolic boundary of restraint and respect.
But instead?
He’d laid there, listening.
Letting the sound of her sleep settle into his bones like it belonged there.
Until now.
Now he sat up, thumb hovering over the “end call” button, preparing to finally do the responsible thing—
And then she mumbled.
At first, it was just a sleepy sound. Something like “nnnuhhhhgh”— the universal noise of a woman dreaming about bureaucracy or minor war crimes.
He froze.
Then:
“…no, I told you, the yokai marriage permits have to go through the Western office,” she mumbled, voice groggy and faraway.
Kōga blinked.
Was she…dream-working?
She sighed again, turned over—he could hear the blanket shift.
“And if one more demon noble tries to argue biological rites override licensing protocol, I will literally hex their dick into an alternate timeline…”
He slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.
His priestess was doing council paperwork in her sleep.
And not just that—petty paperwork. Dangerous, high-stakes diplomacy, apparently. Possibly with genital-based retribution.
Gods. He was in so deep.
More rustling.
Then her voice again, groggy but with that same irritated dignity he’d seen earlier at dinner:
“…it’s the wolves, probably. Cocky little bastards.”
His eyes widened, delighted. Now we’re getting somewhere.
“They think they’re charming, but they’re going to be the death of me…”
Kōga grinned like a man discovering gold in his backyard.
“Little bastards,” he repeated under his breath, biting down a laugh.
Then came the final blow.
She shifted again, face clearly buried in a pillow, voice muffled—but the words were devastatingly clear.
“No, he’s awful, Sango…”
He paused. Sango? She’s having full-blown girl talk in her dreams now?
“He tries to drop me off at home… and I have to walk in the woods to let my excitement out…”
Kōga made a noise so inhumanly high-pitched it nearly disrupted the phone connection.
He had never in his life both swooned and panicked so violently at once.
Excitement.
EXCITEMENT.
She walked it off.
Like he was some kind of hormonal earthquake and she had to physically burn off the aftermath.
“Oh my gods,” he whispered, covering his face with one hand, staring up at the ceiling like it could save him from spontaneously combusting. “She’s into me. She’s so into me.”
He wanted to scream. He wanted to run laps. He wanted to replay the sentence “he’s awful, Sango” until it became a ringtone.
But instead?
He laid back down slowly.
Very slowly.
Phone still beside him, volume turned just low enough that he wouldn’t miss a single muttered threat against demon bureaucrats or bedroom confessions disguised as logistical grievances.
He let out one slow, shaken breath.
Grinned.
And whispered to no one, “You’re lucky I’m a gentleman, priestess. Otherwise I’d be on your shrine steps tomorrow morning with a marriage contract and breakfast.”
Then, finally—mercifully—he turned his phone to battery saver mode, adjusted his pillow, and closed his eyes.
And drifted off to sleep with one last sleepy, smug thought:
She walked in the woods because of me.
Chapter Text
Chapter Fifteen: The Morning After (Still on the Line)
Kagome POV –
Kagome woke up to three strange things.
One: her phone was hotter than the surface of the sun.
Two: her battery was teetering on 2% and flashing red like it was auditioning for a disaster movie.
And three: there was a deep, gruff male voice actively speaking into her ear, and it wasn’t hers.
She blinked herself into awareness, throat dry, eyes grainy with sleep, still wrapped up in her blanket like a freshly steamed dumpling. Her phone had slipped down beside her head, cradled dangerously close to both her face and impending death by overheating.
And someone—someone with a voice like low gravel and early morning testosterone—was speaking.
“Morning, fuckers,” the voice said.
Kagome froze.
What the hell—
Another voice replied, full of sarcasm and sleepy irritation. “Oh good. The sun is up and so is the asshole brigade.”
She stared at her phone.
The call was still going.
6 hours, 14 minutes.
She sat up slowly, cringing as the movement tugged at every muscle in her body that had not fully recovered from yesterday’s extracurricular activities. Carefully, she lifted the phone and peeked at the screen. Still connected. Still live. And apparently, now functioning as an unwilling fly on the wall in the middle of Kōga’s entire pack’s breakfast routine.
“…I’m just saying,” another voice chimed in—Hakkaku, she recognized from a previous council meet (and the man’s entire personality being chaos wrapped in questionable choices), “you snored so hard last night, I thought someone was summoning an elder god.”
“Shut up,” someone else grunted. “You reeked of body spray and desperation.”
Kagome stared at the ceiling, absolutely mortified but unable to hang up. Her priestess powers had never once prepared her for this level of auditory eavesdropping.
Meanwhile, Kōga—because of course it was him—was still wearing his earbuds, apparently going about his entire morning with the phone in his pocket like he hadn’t fallen asleep with her still on the line.
Gods.
She could hear clinking. Plates. The sound of someone pouring coffee—loudly, aggressively, like they were trying to drown the other wolves out with caffeine. Chairs scraping. Boots being stomped on purpose.
And Kōga’s voice again, louder now. “Everyone eat. I swear to every god if one of you passes out during patrol again because you skipped breakfast, I will personally make you eat gravel.”
“You sound like a single father,” someone muttered.
“I am a single father,” Kōga replied. “To thirty-seven emotionally constipated wolves and one ex who still sends me threatening birthday cards.”
That got a round of laughs. Kagome, against her better judgment, smiled.
They were bickering like brothers. Sarcastic, chaotic, obviously too powerful for their own good—but there was something genuinely endearing about the way they moved around each other. She could hear Ginta and Hakkaku throwing verbal jabs, someone doing dishes, someone else talking about supply runs and paperwork. Kōga interrupted here and there—not loudly, not bossy, just making sure things were moving.
“Ginta, don’t forget the council forms from last week,” he called. “And Hakkaku, you’re on transport duty. If I see another elder waiting for a ride because you overslept—”
“I get it, I get it! One time!”
“Five times,” someone corrected.
“And Kagura wants the final schedule for the spring mediation talks,” Kōga continued. “We’re not showing up looking like a feral fraternity again.”
“No promises.”
Kagome tucked the blanket around her chest, phone still clutched, listening like a spy—but a spy with butterflies in her stomach.
Because he hadn’t mentioned her.
Not once.
And weirdly…that was kind of wonderful.
He wasn’t bragging. Wasn’t showing off. Wasn’t lording the date or the kiss or the call over anyone. He was just…living. Leading. Functioning.
And she?
She was quietly listening in on his world. His rhythm. His pack.
And gods, it sounded warm.
Eventually, as the chaos settled and she heard the familiar scrape of boots and the slam of a door, Kōga’s voice came again—faintly, clearly walking now.
“Alright, we’re heading out. Hakkaku, Ginta—grab your files.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Then don’t make me your Alpha, dumbass.”
The sound of amused grumbling followed.
And just like that, she could hear them getting in a vehicle—door shuts, engine humming.
They were off to work.
Still no mention of her. Still no call disconnect.
She stared at her screen one more time.
6 hours, 19 minutes.
And with the gentlest of touches, she lifted her thumb…and pressed “End Call.”
The line went silent.
Her room was still. Her heart was not.
Kagome set the phone down, finally able to breathe, but smiling like someone who had accidentally overheard a secret she hadn’t meant to love this much.
And somewhere in the back of her heart, she thought:
I could get used to that.
Chapter 16
Notes:
We Made It to the Weekend, Loves 💕
And what am I doing right now?
Oh, just sitting in the tub like a spoiled forest nymph while my man is behind me—dyeing my hair and giving me my rightful head rubs. 👑
For those curious: I’ve been natural blonde for the past few years, and as much as I love her…sometimes a girl craves ✨ transformation ✨. So we’re going silver-grey again. That cute, stormy vibe I had like four years ago? Yeah. She’s making a comeback.
And of course, my man—wonderful, capable, long-suffering saint that he is—goes, “You probably just asked me to do this because you’re overdue for head rubs.”
And listen.
He’s not wrong.
Was it a calculated move?
Possibly.
Does it feel amazing and worth every ounce of manipulation?
Absolutely.Anyway. I hope you are all getting your weekend rituals in. Head rubs. Hair dye. Snacks. Maybe a demon boyfriend who listens to your sleep mumbling. Whatever works.
Stay cozy, chaotic, and a little unhinged. 💕
Love always,
– Me, the silver-fox-in-progress 🦊🩶
Chapter Text
Chapter Sixteen: The Line Goes Quiet
Kōga POV –
The soft chime in his ear wasn’t loud. Barely noticeable. Just a quiet little beep signaling the end of a call.
But Kōga heard it.
Even over the sound of the pack’s usual morning nonsense—Hakkaku yelling at Ginta about eating the last sweet bun, one of the younger wolves complaining about the temperature of the coffee, the metal slam of lockers and the hum of the jeep warming up outside—he caught it. That little tone.
The call had ended.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t sigh. Just smiled.
One of those low, private smiles—the kind he’d never admit to in public. The kind he only wore when she was involved.
Because truth was?
He knew she’d stayed on the call. He’d known since about an hour after he woke up.
He’d stirred around 6 a.m.—body stiff, mouth dry, the faint memory of falling asleep to her breathing still lingering in his chest. He hadn’t said anything. Just slipped out of bed, pulled on sweatpants, threw his earbuds in, and tucked his phone into his back pocket as if it were instinct.
Because maybe—just maybe—she’d still be there.
And maybe she’d wake up and need him.
Ask for something. Want to say good morning. Say she couldn’t sleep well. Say she remembered his voice from the night before and missed it already.
So he didn’t hang up. Didn’t say a word. Just went about his morning, letting her stay there if she wanted to. Letting her listen.
He wasn’t sure when he’d forgotten. When she became a quiet fixture in his day instead of an awareness. Somewhere between barking at Ginta to pack extra rations and threatening to exile Hakkaku over forgetting the schedule, he’d stopped noticing.
She’d just…been there. Not watching. Not judging. Just present. Like it was natural. Like she belonged.
And the thing that got him most—what really gripped him—was that he hadn’t said anything about her to the pack. Hadn’t bragged. Hadn’t flexed.
He could’ve. Hell, they expected it. One date and a selfie used to earn a full debriefing at the breakfast table.
But her? He didn’t want to share her. Not yet. Not while it still felt like he was learning her in pieces—through her laugh, her sighs, the way she called him awful in her sleep with a tone that made his spine tingle.
She was his little secret right now. His quiet. His calm in the chaos.
And the fact that she’d listened to all of this—his world, unfiltered and unpolished—and hadn’t hung up right away? That meant something.
The pack piled into the jeep—Ginta riding shotgun, Hakkaku sprawled out in the back like his limbs were personally offended by structure—and Kōga slid into the driver’s seat, earbuds still in.
The silence where her breath used to be echoed for a second longer.
He pulled the buds out slowly, coiled the cord, and tucked them in the glove box like a memory.
“You good?” Ginta asked, cracking open a bottle of something that smelled like synthetic blueberries and regret.
Kōga didn’t look over. He just turned the ignition, rolled his neck once, and let the smile curl at the edge of his mouth.
“Better than good.”
Because she had stayed. And for a few quiet hours, she’d walked beside him—not in person, not hand in hand, but still there. And he hadn’t minded one bit.
By the time they pulled into the Council Headquarters parking lot, Kōga had shaken off the last trace of dreamy morning silence. The building rose like a mismatched temple—half pristine white spires from the Holy Delegation, half ancient stone and obsidian spires belonging to the Demon Delegation.
Like every meeting of species and politics, it looked like a high-stakes wedding between two families who barely tolerated each other and only stayed civil because divorce meant war.
Kōga parked the jeep in their usual spot, nodded at security, and walked toward the Demon Delegation wing, flanked by Ginta and Hakkaku—both of whom were already gossiping about who was likely to screw up the morning’s assignments first.
“Bet it’s Ittan,” Hakkaku muttered. “He forgot his badge again.”
“Idiot thinks mind-reading is a valid form of clearance,” Ginta replied.
They were just rounding the archway toward their side of the chamber when voices—human voices—cut across the corridor. Loud, breathless, giddy.
From the Holy Delegation.
Which was, in itself, shocking. Those people spoke like they were born in a library and had never once laughed.
“I swear to you,” one voice whispered, high-pitched and disbelieving, “I saw her. She was on the dating app.”
Kōga and his wolves stopped dead.
Ginta turned, eyebrows rising. “Oh no. Not the priests. Are they gossiping?”
“Someone bless this day,” Hakkaku whispered. “I want in.”
“She’s not even interested in dating,” another voice snapped, sterner, annoyed. “That must’ve been a fake profile. She would never use something like that.”
Kōga tilted his head. The voices were clearer now. They were just outside the barrier separating the holy wing from the joint meeting hall. He knew that second voice—barely. Human. Ran the Holy Order’s Human Containment Unit. What was his name again?
Kohaku. That was it. Young. Dangerous. Annoyingly calm.
“I told you!” the first priest said triumphantly. “She was on the app for two days, and then she deleted it. But I took a screenshot!”
That caught Kōga’s attention in a very specific way.
He edged closer to the stone column and peeked.
And there—hovering over a glowing tablet—was a group of priests crowding around a screenshot like it was holy scripture.
Kagome Higurashi’s dating profile.
There was her name. Her smile. That one picture she’d taken on the temple steps, trying to look casual and failing because her eyes sparkled too much.
Oh shit.
Kōga didn’t know if he wanted to laugh, cry, or tackle the entire holy floor. Because yeah, he had scooped her up fast. But he didn’t know she’d deleted the app. Or that her holy order had apparently formed a fan club around her love life like she was the spiritual version of a K-drama lead.
And then—like fate personally wanted to ruin his week—Kohaku narrowed his eyes, pulled out his phone, and muttered:
“She didn’t tell me.”
The man pressed a button. Put it on speaker.
Kōga’s heart stopped.
“Shhh,” Kohaku ordered. “All of you, shut it.”
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Groggy voice on the other end. “Kohaku, it’s not even nine. What do you want.”
And then—
“You weren’t gonna give a guy a heads up that you were going into the dating world, Princess?”
Kōga nearly fell over. Ginta audibly choked. Hakkaku wheezed. There was a beat of silence. And then Kagome’s voice—sleepy, annoyed, but very much hers—came through loud and clear:
“Kohaku, I do not need to announce to the holy delegation if I need to get laid.”
Chaos. Instant chaos. Ginta backed into a wall. Hakkaku clutched his heart like he’d just seen the gates of enlightenment.
Kohaku laughed, absolutely no shame in his tone. “You’re on speakerphone, by the way.”
Another pause.
A long, tired sigh. “You know what? Fine. I deleted the damn app anyway. Tell whoever’s gossiping to shut the fuck up.”
There was a ripple of muffled gasps and shuffles from the holy side.
Then—footsteps. High heels. A new voice.
“Give me the phone.”
A woman stepped through the doors, sharp-eyed and grinning like she’d just found treasure.
“Sango?” Hakkaku whispered. “Wait, that’s the big sister?”
“Badass slayer, remember?” Ginta whispered back.
Sango—cool, calm, terrifying—looked at the priests, then into the phone with unbothered grace.
“How’s that wolf doing?” she asked cheerfully. “Is he able to keep up with your runs?”
Kōga’s soul left his body.
Kagome snorted on the line. “Tell your brother to stop calling me for stupid shit.”
“I would,” Sango replied, walking toward the center of the holy hall like she owned it, “but then I’d miss moments like this.”
Kohaku took his phone back, cheeks tinged pink.
One of the priests turned to another, whispering frantically. “Wait. She swiped on a demon?”
“A wolf demon,” someone else muttered, horrified.
And on the line? Kagome giggled. Actually giggled.
“Sango, hang up before I throw myself into the purification spring.”
“Gladly,” Sango said, and then—before hanging up—turned to the room and glared at everyone.
“You’re all grown-ass men in robes,” she said flatly. “Maybe stop gossiping like teenage girls and go purify something.”
Click. The line went dead. Silence.
Then Ginta burst out laughing.
Hakkaku smacked Kōga on the back. “Bro. She roasted the entire clergy and you didn’t even have to lift a finger.”
Kōga just stood there, halfway between euphoric and mildly terrified.
Because not only had he gotten the girl—
Apparently? He had gotten the holy order’s number one problem child. And gods help him, he wouldn’t change a thing.
Chapter Text
Chapter Seventeen: Wolf in the Fine Print
Kagome POV
Kagome was not a morning person.
Scratch that—she could be a morning person. Under the right circumstances. For instance, if the sun gently kissed her eyelids awake, the birds sang a soft welcome into her temple windows, and not a single person on her contact list texted, called, or emotionally hijacked her at ungodly hours.
Today was not one of those mornings.
Today was a slow descent into bureaucratic hell.
First, she’d been woken by a shrill buzz and Kohaku’s voice on speakerphone, announcing to the entire holy delegation—and possibly half of Japan—that she’d joined a dating app. Then came Sango, gleefully using her position as Big Sister and Public Menace to pile on the chaos.
Then, as if that hadn’t been enough embarrassment for one priestess to endure before 9AM, Council Administration decided to ruin her life further.
She was curled in bed, hair an absolute disaster, under-eye bags threatening sainthood, clutching a cup of green tea like it was her last tether to this dimension, when the email came through.
Subject: Urgent: Council Unity Delegation - Kyoto Trip Approval Needed
She blinked at it.
Unity trip.
Kyoto.
Blessing a mountain.
Easy enough.
She sipped her tea and opened the message, skimming through the paragraphs. It was the usual nonsense:
“To further spiritual-demihuman alliance progress…”
“Symbolic blessings to be done alongside the territorial representatives…”
“Important show of cooperation for public-facing demon-human policy…”
She sighed. Already tired. Probably still running off trail-induced oxytocin from last night.
She scrolled. Saw the phrase “mountains under wolf tribe protection.”
And like a complete, starry-eyed idiot, she typed:
Yes. Confirmed. Will attend.
She didn’t ask who was going. Didn’t ask which wolves. Didn’t even check to see if this was a public event or a ceremonial one. Her brain? Completely short-circuited by one stupid little phrase: wolf delegation.
And if there was even a chance that the Kyoto territory involved a certain blue-eyed menace with an ego and thighs that haunted her dreams, well—
She was doomed.
She clicked “Send” and tossed the phone onto her futon, groaning like it personally betrayed her.
“You absolute dumbass.” She glared at herself in the mirror across the room. “You are supposed to be a high-ranking priestess. A council member. A voice of balance and reason.”
And yet here she was.
Approving field work on zero hours of sleep, motivated by hormones and the delusional hope of seeing a certain wolf prince in a sleeveless top standing on a mountain, talking about peace treaties while somehow smelling like cedar and chaos.
The phone dinged again.
From: Council Delegation Liaison
Subject: Kyoto Trip Coordination“Thank you for confirming, Councilwoman Higurashi. We are now forwarding your attendance to the Alpha Wolf Representative of the Kyoto Mountains for final coordination and site planning. Expect communication shortly.”
She stared at the email.
Stared harder.
And then groaned.
“Oh gods.”
Because she knew who that was.
There weren’t many wolves trusted to represent Kyoto. It was sacred land—half temple, half demon territory, all tightly managed by a very specific bloodline. And if they were involving the Alpha for this kind of PR stunt?
It was him.
Of course it was him.
She fell backward onto the futon with a soft whump, flinging an arm over her face.
“I have made a grave tactical error,” she muttered.
Because now?
Now she was going to be stuck on a mountain for three days with the same man who’d kissed her like sin, fed her pastries, walked her at midnight, and made her giggle through council scandal gossip.
And she’d said yes without thinking.
Because she was smitten.
And an idiot.
A smitten, idiot, demon-dating, forest-kissing priestess with zero impulse control.
She groaned again into the silence.
And somewhere—she could feel it—that damn wolf was already grinning.
It didn’t take long.
Of course it didn’t.
Because the universe had apparently decided today was “Test Kagome’s Will to Live” day. First came the email approval chain. Then came the flash of regret. And now?
Now came him.
Her phone buzzed.
Kōga 🐺🔥:
Morning, priestess. Hope you’re well-rested and spiritually hydrated.
She glared at the screen. Suspicious. Too friendly. Too…smugly neutral.
Then another buzz.
A screenshot.
The forwarded council approval thread.
Subject: Unity Blessing – Kyoto Territory Alpha Confirmation Request
“Dear Lord Kōga,
Councilwoman Kagome Higurashi has confirmed attendance for the upcoming mountain unity event in Kyoto. Please advise if you are able to coordinate joint appearance, site management, and media protocol.”
Attached directly underneath:
Reply from: Lord Kōga
“Absolutely. Thrilled to host her. Accommodations will be handled. Site tours optional. I’m sure she’ll be in very good hands.”
Her mouth dropped open.
Another text followed.
Kōga 🐺🔥:
You know, there are other ways to tell me you want to spend four uninterrupted nights with me. Same mountain. Same hotel.
If you wanted to see the ancestral home and meet the family, you could’ve just said so. 😏
Dead.
She was dead.
Her soul left her body and floated somewhere into the sacred stratosphere where spiritual humiliation went to die.
She buried her face in a pillow and let out a muffled scream.
And her phone buzzed again.
Kōga 🐺🔥:
Fast-track dating mode, huh? First kiss in the woods, now ceremonial bonding and house tours. Next you’ll be joining the pack group chat. I’ll save you a slot.
She sat up and stared at the phone like it had personally betrayed her.
This man.
This wolf.
Was having the time of his damn life.
And sure enough, another message came through:
Kōga 🐺🔥:
So what do you want to do first? Bless the sacred spring? See the moon shrine? Cuddle near a hot spring and talk about baby names?
I’m flexible. Let me know.
She wanted to melt into the tatami.
She could feel the smug radiating through the screen. She hadn’t even landed in Kyoto and he was already acting like she’d proposed.
With trembling fingers, she typed:
Kagome:
I confirmed ONE trip. For diplomatic purposes.
Do not start planning pack dinner parties and dowry negotiations.
He didn’t even pause.
Kōga 🐺🔥:
Too late. Ginta’s already designing the seating chart.
And I’m pretty sure Hakkaku’s trying to figure out what kind of cake you like.
She could see him grinning. That cocky, fanged smirk. Probably somewhere near a jeep or a council hallway, phone in one hand, full-body swagger dialed up to eleven.
And the worst part?
She was smiling.
Because even mortified, she liked the attention.
Even flustered, she liked him.
Which made it worse.
So much worse.
She tossed the phone across her futon like it was infected.
But it buzzed again.
Kōga 🐺🔥:
You know…
You didn’t ask who the wolf rep was.
Were you hoping it’d be me?
She flopped onto her side, groaning into her mattress.
She had no defense. No snark. No argument.
Because yes.
Yes, she had.
And that cocky bastard knew it.
Chapter Text
Chapter Eighteen: Spiritually Filthy
Kōga POV –
He was in fucking heaven.
And for once in his long, bureaucratically tormented life, the Council—that hellpit of endless forms, bickering lords, and ceremonial monotony—had handed him a job that he wanted to do with every fiber of his smug, over-caffeinated, dangerously horny soul.
Bless the Kyoto mountains?
With Kagome Higurashi?
Yes, Council. Daddy accepts.
Because look—he was a modern man. He was adaptable. Enlightened. Didn’t even start fights at Council meetings anymore unless provoked first.
But even he had to admit that most of their assigned joint projects sucked demon ass.
Until now.
Now they wanted him to be a diplomatic host, a gracious territorial leader, a welcoming Alpha figurehead for a “symbolic unity tour”—with none other than his priestess in tow. The same woman who had kissed him breathless in a moonlit forest, called him awful with bedroom eyes, and muttered things like “I cannot be fucked in the woods” while wrapped around his waist.
And now? Now she was coming to his home turf. As part of her job.
“Work assignment,” she’d probably say.
“Fated courtship ritual,” he corrected spiritually.
Did he used to think the Kyoto mountains were perfectly fine without blessings?
Yes. Absolutely.
They had wild boars, rich ley lines, sacred waterfalls, and enough holy fog to make tourists wet themselves on arrival. He had grown up scaling those peaks. Fought wars in their valleys. Slept beneath the stars in his beast form under those cedar trees.
They were clean. Pure. Majestic. Or so he used to think.
But now?
Oh, those mountains were filthy.
Sinfully filthy.
Spiritually disgusting, even.
He could feel it now. Every corner of his ancestral home tainted by impure energy. Maybe even cursed.
They needed cleansing. Desperately.
And who better to do that than the High Priestess herself?
His High Priestess.
He didn’t even care if the blessing was symbolic. Hell, she could walk in circles with incense and call it a day. He would personally build a ceremonial shrine at each elevation mark and volunteer to carry the entire offering set up the hill with no shirt and righteous purpose.
Four uninterrupted days?
Please.
Four days of her in his home range. With him. Shared council meetings. Shared transportation. Shared hotel. Shared hotel.
He was absolutely giddy.
And sure, the council probably assumed he’d assign her some assistant handler to “coordinate the daily site maps and media briefings.”
No.
He would be the handler. He was handling everything.
He would personally walk her from shrine to shrine. Escort her from valley to summit. Take her to the moon shrine by lantern light and hold her hand the entire way like a gentleman with barely suppressed wolf instincts.
And gods—gods—what if four days wasn’t enough?
Those mountains were large. Ancient. Dense.
The filth?
It was deep.
Embedded.
Generational.
She might need more time. A full week, perhaps. Ten days, even. Anything to make sure her work was thorough.
He could certainly volunteer his body for testing. Just to ensure the spiritual transfer was successful. He could already see the itinerary forming in his head. Strategic stops. Lunch breaks with scenic views. Late-night check-ins to review the purification progress (in matching robes and nothing else).
He was going to be so respectful. And maybe a little shirtless. Maybe a lot shirtless. For spiritual transparency.
When Ginta wandered into his office with a fresh batch of reports and caught him mid-smirk, he paused at the door.
“Did you just…purr?”
Kōga didn’t even deny it.
“I have a blessing mission,” he said smugly, lacing his fingers behind his head like the picture of destiny fulfilled.
“Oh gods,” Ginta muttered, walking away.
Kōga spun in his chair. Because finally. Finally, he had been given divine purpose. And that purpose? Was getting blessed by Kagome Higurashi.
Repeatedly.
Respectfully.
Over the course of several spiritually necessary days.
If that wasn’t fate, he didn’t know what was.
Kōga sat at his desk, fingers steepled under his chin, staring down at the blank notepad in front of him like it held the secrets of the universe.
It didn’t. Not yet. But soon?
It would contain a plan so airtight, so charming, so strategically romantic and spiritually justified that it would live in the annals of demon-council romance history for generations.
The Kyoto Mountain Blessing Itinerary.
Also known as: Operation Get My Future Wife To Realize She’s My Future Wife, But Subtly.
It started innocent enough. Day One: Arrival. Scenic drive up the lowlands. Light trailwalking. Historical context briefing. Maybe a light lunch of foraged demon fruit and an explanation of how purification would interact with the local ley lines.
But that wasn’t enough. Oh no. Because four days Four days was nothing. Four days was a fever dream. A tease. A spiritual slap to the face. Kagome Higurashi needed time to properly assess the area. To feel it out. To…you know. Spiritually connect.
Which is why he was now crafting an email to the council with all the gravitas of a holy decree.
To: Council Admin + Demon Delegation Logistics
Subject: Potential Extension Request for Kyoto Blessing AssignmentDear Council,
As Alpha of the Kyoto territory, I must stress the deeply rooted spiritual complexities within our land. Due to the sacred nature of the ley lines, and the unique relationship between the shrine system and demonic energy, it is possible the joint delegation may need more than the allotted four days to complete a thorough, high-standard purification.
I, Lord Kōga, humbly submit my availability for continued escort and assistance to Councilwoman Higurashi for as long as required to meet spiritual benchmarks.
I will keep the council informed if an extension becomes necessary.
He sat back, rereading it with a proud little grin. It was formal. It was logical. It was dripping with ulterior motives that no one could legally object to.
He hit send.
Then started drafting a second itinerary.
Contingency Itinerary: Days 5–10.
Because, let’s be honest—what if the mountain was just really dirty?
She’d probably want to circle back and double-check the shrine fields. Maybe linger in the sacred pool caverns. Purify the moonspring… at sunset… when the moonlight filtered just right through the branches and she looked over at him and realized.
Realized what he knew the second she huffed at him in running shorts and challenged him to a five-mile walk:
That they were it. They were endgame.
And yeah, maybe she hadn’t caught up to that fact just yet, what with her whole “focus on being a professional” and “don’t get railed in the woods” self-discipline phase.
But that’s what the blessing trip was for. It was a slow burn spiritual awakening. With snacks. And maybe matching bathrobes.
Because if he did this right?
If he kept the flirting tasteful, the professionalism high, the assistance respectful and the trail snacks legendary?
She’d start to see it too. That this—them—wasn’t just a flirtation or a fling or a wildly irresponsible use of public service travel funds. This was fate. This was holy ground. And he was the wolf destined to walk it beside her.
He sat back in his chair, kicked his boots up on the desk, and let out a slow, satisfied breath.
Kagome Higurashi was coming to his mountains. And if the ancestors were half as invested as he was? Then by the end of this trip? She wouldn’t just be blessing the land.
She’d be claiming it.
And him.
Chapter Text
Chapter Nineteen : No Plural. Just Vibes.
Kagome POV –
Kagome was halfway through organizing her shrine supplies for the week—charms in one box, cleansing scrolls in another, ceremonial underwear in a separate bag because she refused to tempt the gods—when the council email hit her inbox.
Subject: Kyoto Blessing Delegation – Final Logistics
She opened it, squinting slightly. She’d barely had time to finish her tea. These things were usually cold, corporate, and formatted by some poor intern using an outdated Word template.
But this?
Oh no.
This was polished. Streamlined. Efficient.
Too efficient.
Dear Councilwoman Higurashi,
Your Kyoto delegation trip will begin tomorrow morning. All transportation, accommodations, and dietary arrangements have been handled by the Kyoto Alpha Representative.
Lord Kōga will personally oversee your travel, hospitality, safety, and itinerary.
Please be aware that due to the spiritual complexity of the terrain, Lord Kōga has preemptively submitted a request for potential trip extension to ensure full purification is achieved. The Council has approved this measure in advance.
She blinked. Read it again.
Then slowly sat back in her chair and let out the longest, most exasperated sigh of her professional career.
“…You smug, scheming wolf bastard.”
Because this? This wasn’t diplomacy. This wasn’t interspecies unity or holy work.
This was dating logistics disguised as spiritual necessity.
He had submitted a pre-approved extension before she’d even packed a bag. He’d arranged every meal, every room, every transport plan, like this was his own personal getaway.
She scrolled further.
Accommodation Notes:
— Reserved lodging: Ryokan-style mountain inn
— Private suite reserved by delegation head
— Onsen access included for post-trail recovery
— All handled directly by Kyoto Alpha
She stopped.
Went back.
Read it again.
“Private suite reserved by delegation head.”
There was no “s.”
No mention of suites plural.
Just one set of accommodations.
Singular. Direct. Entirely coordinated by him.
Her hand slapped to her mouth to hide the laugh that tried to escape.
This man.
This delusional, incredible, dangerously charming man had absolutely booked them one shared ryokan suite.
Because of course he did.
Of course the same man who took her on three dates in one day, made her eat pastries while flirting about fate, and kissed her senseless in the woods while whispering things about being “celibate for spiritual clarity” was now sliding in a room-share under the sacred banner of “delegation practicality.”
She opened her phone. Fired off a message without thinking.
Kagome:
So I got the email.
Bold of you to submit a trip extension before the trip even began.
Also. Curious about the lodging situation.
No mention of “rooms.” Just… “room.”
Care to explain, oh benevolent delegation head?
The three little dots popped up immediately.
She could see the smirk forming in real time.
Kōga :
Ah, good. You saw the itinerary.
Don’t worry—everything’s been handled with your comfort in mind.
Two rooms wouldn’t be practical.
What if I needed to check on your wellbeing in the middle of the night?
She choked on her tea.
Kōga :
This is a high-altitude purification mission. Safety is key.
Council expects me to be responsive.
Also, the inn only had the honeymoon suite left.
Probably. Probably that’s what happened.
She threw her head back and laughed so loud, the ofuda in the shrine office fluttered off the shelf. Her phone buzzed again before she could type a response.
Kōga :
Don’t worry, priestess. I promise to remain utterly professional.
Unless you cough in your sleep. Then I might need to gently hold your hand for health monitoring purposes.
Protocol.
She dragged a hand down her face, grinning like an idiot, stomach fluttering with joy and disaster. She hated how much she liked it. Loved how much he made her laugh even when she wanted to throttle him.
She fired off her reply:
Kagome:
You’re lucky I’m a holy woman.
Any other girl would’ve banished you by now.
Kōga 🐺🔥:
You wouldn’t dare.
You love me in theory. You’re just waiting for field verification.
She dropped her phone onto her futon and let herself howl—a laugh so unholy, so loud and delighted, that a passing monk paused by the shrine doors and frowned in sacred confusion.
Let him wonder.
Let them all wonder.
Because Kagome Higurashi was packing for a trip she wasn’t going to survive with her composure intact.
Packing for a council-sanctioned diplomatic mission was supposed to be simple.
You needed the basics: shrine attire, demon-friendly hiking boots, spiritual supplies, documents, and a polite but firm demeanor that said, “I am here for peaceful unity, not flirtation, please stop sniffing me.”
Kagome was usually very good at this.
But now?
Now she was kneeling on her tatami floor surrounded by chaos—hiking leggings, ceremonial robes, a swimsuit that may or may not still have a price tag on it, and one lace lingerie set she packed on pure impulse.
And her phone.
Buzzing again.
Because of course he was texting.
Kōga :
Just checking: bringing your swimsuit for the onsen, right?
Unless you’re more of a “natural” kind of girl. In which case, I’ll…adapt.
Her head hit the pile of folded socks with a groan so loud the local kami probably registered it as a prayer.
“Lord, grant me patience. Or strike him with a sandal from the heavens.”
She typed back:
Kagome:
I’m bringing a swimsuit.
Because I’m not a feral animal who strips naked on sacred rocks.
The response came before she could finish folding her third set of leggings.
Kōga :
Noted.
But just so we’re clear…if you do decide to abandon modesty for spiritual reasons, I support your journey 100%.
He was so proud of himself, she could feel it through the text.
She stared at her open suitcase and sighed, then shoved the swimsuit in on top of her towel and reorganized her piles. She had enough for 4 days, obviously. But considering that someone had submitted a preemptive extension form, she was packing light extras. Just in case.
A second hiking set.
A couple of lounge outfits.
Extra hair ties.
And yes—one set of lace lingerie, because she was a fool. A weak, giddy, temptation-embracing fool.
It was black. Strappy. Unholy.
She told herself it was just to feel confident. Just to wear under her ceremonial robes. A little personal boost.
Right.
And wolves didn’t howl at the moon.
On a whim, she snapped a photo of her open suitcase—tastefully messy, with workout clothes and robes half-folded, a sliver of swimsuit visible. But in the lower right corner, tucked beside the socks like an innocent shadow of sin?
The lace.
It peeked out just barely.
She stared at the photo for five whole seconds. Then—like the masochist she clearly was—sent it.
Kagome:
Packed and ready.
4 to 10 days depending on how blessed your spiritually filthy mountains are.
There was no response for a solid minute.
Then another.
And then—oh gods—three text bubbles.
She braced herself.
Kōga :
…Is that what I think it is in the corner?
Kōga :Because if it is—
That’s definitely going to help ensure holy-demon relations stay strong.
Maybe even produce some future ambassadors. Little peacekeeping pups. You know. For diplomacy.
She dropped her phone, face burning so hot the floor felt like lava.
She scrambled, grabbed it, and typed furiously.
Kagome:
IT’S UNDERWEAR.
NORMAL.
HUMAN.
UNDERWEAR.Kōga :
Sexy. Human. Underwear.
That I’m now spiritually obligated to protect with my life.
I’m taking this seriously, priestess. For the good of interspecies cooperation.
She let out a strangled half-laugh, half-scream and rolled over onto her futon dramatically, one arm flung over her face.
He was going to kill her.
One shameless message at a time.
Kōga :
Just saying…if that lace makes an appearance during this trip, I’ll consider it divine confirmation we’re fated.
Kagome:If you even breathe in the direction of that lingerie, I will purify you with the force of ten suns.
Kōga 🐺🔥:
Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t thank you for it.
She screamed into a pillow.
And smiled. Because gods help her, she was actually excited.
The trip wasn’t until tomorrow, and she already felt like she’d been spiritually seduced by Google Calendar and a flirt-happy wolf with an authority complex.
But she zipped her suitcase closed, set her alarm, and pulled the lace set deeper into the fold.
Chapter Text
Chapter Twenty: The Countdown and the Lingerie
Kōga POV –
Kōga was not known for two things.
Patience.
Or calm.
Could he technically possess both? Sure. Under extreme duress. When monks were watching. Or when Kagome was watching. But left to his own devices—say, after midnight with nothing but a suitcase full of extra grooming supplies and a mental image of black lace whispering destiny—Kōga was about as calm as a feral dog at a steakhouse.
The trip was four hours away.
Four.
Entire.
Fucking.
Hours.
And here he was. Wide awake. Shirtless. Pacing the perimeter of his room like a ghost wolf haunting his own excitement.
Because this wasn’t just a Council trip. This wasn’t a routine “smile for the cameras” summit. This was her. With him. On his mountain. Under his roof. For multiple nights.
And gods, gods, gods—he could not stop thinking about that goddamn suitcase.
He had been doing so well. Planning. Prepping. Acting like a responsible delegation head. Smiling politely in emails. Requesting trip extensions for spiritual reasons. He was basically a saint with fangs.
And then she sent that photo.
One innocent picture.
Of socks. Of robes. Of exercise gear.
And lingerie.
Lace. Black. Barely visible. Tucked just enough in the corner to make his brain explode into glitter and fire.
And he—idiot that he was—had responded like a man possessed. Mentioned peacekeeping. Pups, for heaven’s sake. Little holy-demon unity pups wearing ceremonial sashes and chewing on sacred pacifiers.
What was wrong with him?
He’d blacked out.
He hadn’t even meant to say that part out loud, let alone text it.
But now?
Now it was 12:41 a.m., and he was internally replaying that moment on a loop while his wolves snored in the hallway and his phone sat mocking him on the dresser like the cursed relic it was.
“Alright,” he muttered to no one. “We’re fine. You’re fine. You’re just going to escort a powerful, sarcastic priestess to your ancestral home. Who you may or may not be madly in love with. Who also may or may not own lace that could make you abandon your last shred of dignity.”
He walked to the window.
Opened it.
Let the cool air slap him like it was an intervention.
He needed to calm down. He needed to sleep. He needed to not be visibly trembling at the idea of accidentally brushing her hand while walking side-by-side through the sacred mountain trails.
But instead?
He sat down at his desk. Opened his itinerary draft again. And wrote in a new line under Evening Activities:
Optional sacred hot spring soak. May require priestess supervision.
For spiritual health. Probably.
He stared at it. Then sighed. What was happening to him? He had handled weapons negotiations with less intensity. Survived border skirmishes without breaking a sweat. He was the Alpha of Kyoto.
And yet one woman in sneakers and sass had reduced him to a hormonal teenager with a war budget.
He checked the clock.
3 hours, 19 minutes until pickup.
He opened his phone.
Scrolled to her name.
Future Wife.
Smiled like an idiot.
Then turned off the light, laid down, and whispered to the ceiling, “Don’t let me fuck this up. But also, if she wears that lingerie…I might be legally obligated to marry her.”
Kōga did not sleep.
Not a wink. Not a doze. Not even a suspicious power nap disguised as meditation.
He stared at his ceiling all night, mentally rearranging luggage compartments to make room for her suitcase, rehearsing polite greetings that didn’t include the phrase “You smell like my soulmate,” and visualizing every possible version of her arriving at the door: hair up, hair down, sleepy-eyed, fully dressed and judgmental.
It didn’t matter how she showed up.
He was ready to be obliterated.
By 4:52 a.m., he was already in the jeep. Hair brushed. Breath mint annihilated. Spiritual composure? Hanging on by a single thread and a Spotify playlist titled Blessed and Horny.
And at exactly 5:00 a.m. on the dot, because he was a gentleman and a menace, he texted her:
Kōga :
Morning, beautiful.
On my way to pick you up
Can’t wait to spiritually cleanse the mountains with you. And maybe hold your hand if the ley lines allow it.
He stared at the screen. Waited.
No read receipt.
No typing bubbles.
No response.
Okay. Okay. That was fine.
She was probably asleep. Like a normal, responsible adult who didn’t spend the entire night planning casual ways to get a priestess to fall in love with him via hot spring diplomacy.
He waited a full ninety seconds.
Then threw the jeep into gear and started driving anyway. Because was she technically still asleep? Probably. Had she responded to the pickup confirmation? No. Was that going to stop him? Absolutely not.
Because Kōga wasn’t just a wolf. He was a committed wolf.
And if this woman wanted to act like they weren’t both in the throes of the most flirtatiously chaotic work-trip courtship in history? Fine. But he would be outside her gate in fifteen minutes. With coffee. And a travel thermos full of good intentions and zero chill.
He had already left the house, mind you. Hair tied back, black joggers on (snug, naturally—he knew what he was doing), with a casual fitted tee that said, I woke up like this but also I could carry you up a mountain if needed. The wolf was ready.
As he turned onto the quiet road leading to her shrine, he grinned to himself. The sun wasn’t even up properly. Birds were still judging him. Somewhere, his ancestors were probably facepalming.
But he didn’t care.
This was happening.
No sleep. No plan B.
Just pure, unhinged, high-functioning spiritual lust.
The best kind.
He slowed as the gates came into view and parked like he belonged there—which he fully intended to, eventually. Pulled the coffee carrier from the passenger seat and texted again:
Kōga :
At your gate.
Brought caffeine and restrained desire.
One of those is negotiable.
Still no answer.
He leaned back in the driver’s seat, put on some light music, and sipped his coffee while watching the sun begin to rise over the shrine’s roofline.
It was peaceful.
Sacred, even.
Until he remembered she hadn’t texted back. Still. Which meant she was either actively ignoring him (unlikely, he hoped), or—far more dangerously—still asleep. Unaware that her wildly overinvested wolf was parked at her shrine gate like an over-caffeinated stalker with a hero complex.
So, like any normal man running on zero hours of sleep and 110% infatuation, he picked up his phone and hit call.
It rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
And then, in the groggiest, most sleep-wrecked voice he had ever heard in his entire damn life:
“…’lo?”
He grinned. Bit back the completely inappropriate urge to growl mine into the speaker. “Morning, sunshine.”
A muffled groan. “Kōga. What time is it.”
“It’s five-fifteen. I brought coffee. You can sleep in the car.”
Another groan. Then something that sounded suspiciously like a pillow being thrown. “Fine. Five minutes. Don’t talk to me.”
“I’ll be respectfully silent,” he promised, practically wagging his invisible tail.
Five minutes later—on the dot, because of course she was precise even while half-conscious—the shrine doors slid open, and out walked his doom.
Hair a disaster. Oversized t-shirt hanging off one shoulder. Flip flops. Dragging a suitcase behind her like she’d fought demons all night. And all he could think was: Please gods, let her be wearing shorts. Please don’t let my death be caused by bare thighs and enlightenment.
She yawned, didn’t look at him once, opened the back of his jeep, tossed her suitcase in with one arm, then shuffled to the passenger side with the grace of a dying cryptid.
When she opened the door and climbed in, he nearly dropped his coffee.
“Don’t talk,” she mumbled. “I’m getting dressed in the car. Later. When I care about existing.”
“Noted,” he whispered, reverent, like he’d just seen a kami descend from the heavens.
She grabbed a soft blanket from the backseat, draped it over her legs like a queen of spiritual boundaries, then—without warning—slid across the console and used his arm as a pillow.
Just like that.
Casual.
Deadly.
He forgot how lungs worked for a second.
She shifted, adjusted the blanket, muttered something about needing to curse whoever invented dawn, and then settled in.
Cheek to his bicep. Breath slow and warm. Hair tickling his elbow.
Kōga did not breathe. He refused to breathe. Because breathing might startle her, and startling her might cause her to sit up, and sitting up would mean he’d lose the best goddamn five minutes of his entire existence.
So he sat there. Completely still. One arm claimed by a half-conscious priestess wrapped in a blanket burrito of sleepy defiance, and wondered—quietly, deliriously—how the hell he’d gotten this lucky.
The jeep smelled like coffee and purification charms and something unmistakably her. His playlist was still going—something soft and instrumental—and for one perfect moment, everything else fell away.
No council. No mountains. No emails or schedules or half-muttered threats of purification.
Just her. Warm. Asleep. Trusting him.
He glanced down at the top of her head and grinned. He was so far gone it wasn’t even funny anymore.
Chapter Text
Chapter Twenty-One: The Precious Cargo and the Pillow Claim
Kōga POV –
Kōga drove like a man on a mission from the gods, ancestors, and every romantic comedy ever written. Not with haste—no. Speed had no place here. He wasn’t racing time; he was reverently ferrying destiny itself. The morning sun was barely peeking over the hills, bathing the narrow countryside roads in sleepy gold. His music was low, ambient, barely there, like background noise for a love story he hadn’t expected to be living so soon.
In the passenger seat beside him—half-wrapped in a blanket, hair a disheveled halo, oversized shirt drooping off one shoulder like sin dressed in cotton—was Kagome.
And she was asleep.
Fully, unashamedly asleep, having crawled into his jeep at five in the morning like it was her birthright, muttered something about dressing later, and—without a word more—slid across the middle console to drop her head against his arm like it belonged to her.
She didn’t even ask.
She didn’t have to.
His body had gone rigid at first, stunned into silence, the kind that only hits when something sacred and slightly ridiculous is happening. But he hadn’t moved. Wouldn’t dare. Her cheek was warm. Her breath soft against the slope of his bicep. Her fingers had briefly clutched the blanket like it was a peace treaty, then stilled.
And then?
She drooled.
Just a little.
A faint, warm dampness that hit his skin like a divine proclamation.
Kōga stared at the road ahead with wide eyes and a stupid grin that wouldn’t leave his face. He didn’t wipe it off. Didn’t react. Didn’t even allow himself to chuckle. Because somehow, it wasn’t funny—it was perfect. It was honest. Vulnerable. Human.
And gods, he was so far gone.
Somewhere between the shrine gates and the second turn toward the highway, it clicked. Not the casual realization kind. Not the slow-burn epiphany. No—this was a full-body, soul-deep knowing. The kind of clarity that didn’t come gently but hit like thunder in your chest.
He had fallen in love.
It wasn’t hypothetical anymore. It wasn’t a flirtatious maybe or a seductive possibility. It was fact. Proven in the way she had trusted him enough to fall asleep next to him in a vehicle that smelled like pine and wolf. Proven in the way she had muttered his name—his name—in her sleep, like it meant something, like it comforted her.
She didn’t even know what she was doing to him.
And gods, he hoped she never tried to weaponize it, because if she did? He’d fall to his knees. Gladly.
He adjusted his grip on the wheel slightly—only slightly—careful not to disturb her. His arm remained still, sacrificial. Already mildly sore, but he welcomed the ache. He’d take it. He’d take drool, cramped muscles, forty sleepless nights, anything, if it meant he got to hold her like this for just a little longer.
And he wasn’t imagining things. He’d done his homework.
After she fell asleep last night, he’d gotten curious. Opened the secured council database—not for anything creepy, just…curiosity. History. Background.
Kagome Higurashi, Priestess of the Eastern Shrine. Guardian of the Holy Order. Council-appointed liaison to both the demon and human delegations. Purification rank: top five percentile. Diplomatic score: flawless. Relationship history: nonexistent.
Her entire council reputation was a study in restraint. Warm but distant. Compassionate, but professional. Friendly, yet never inviting anything personal. She never dated. Never flirted. Never crossed a line.
And now?
Now she was curled up beside him, wrapped in his blanket like it was made for her, one thigh half-visible beneath her oversized shirt, and he was praying to every divine being in existence that she was in fact wearing shorts underneath it. His heart couldn’t take it otherwise.
She shifted. Soft. Innocent.
And then?
She mumbled his name again. Sleepily. Like a sigh. Like a thought that lived somewhere deep inside her where no council protocols or diplomatic rules could touch.
“Kōga…”
And then?
She huffed.
Not annoyed. Not distressed.
Just an irritated little breath, like even unconscious she could sense that he was smirking about it.
He choked down a laugh. Turned the wheel gently as the road curved, the forest thinning to hills and old farmland.
He was going to marry this woman.
It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a goal.
It was inevitable.
He would tell their pups this story one day—about the drool, and the t-shirt, and the car ride where their mother completely ruined him by accident.
He’d lean back in a chair with a mug of tea and say, “Kids, let me tell you how I fell in love with your mother before sunrise and spent the next forty years chasing after that exact same feeling.”
Because it wasn’t the way she looked.
Though, gods, that helped.
It was the trust.
The comfort.
The utter lack of pretense.
She had taken his arm like it was hers, and that was it. That was all it took.
And now he was driving through early morning light, bones aching, heart full, and soul screaming something ridiculous about fate and lace and how maybe—just maybe—those mountains really did need spiritual cleansing.
If only so she’d stay longer.
The sun had fully crested the horizon by the time the road smoothed out into a long stretch of winding mountain highway, but Kōga barely noticed. His attention was divided, split down the center like a man torn between watching the road and worshipping the sleepy figure beside him.
Kagome hadn’t moved much.
She’d shifted once—mumbling in protest like she was battling demons in her dreams, tugged the blanket up higher, and tucked her face even deeper into his arm like she was trying to crawl inside it. And that? That had just about ended him.
He’d barely slept, hadn’t eaten, and had consumed enough caffeine to be legally considered flammable. But none of that mattered. Because his arm was now officially her pillow, and that came with a sacred responsibility. He would drive across nations like this if he had to. Quiet. Steady. Holding still like his life depended on it. Which it kind of did.
Because this—this—was the sort of intimacy no amount of flirting or teasing could fake. The world had melted away in the hum of tires and the rise of soft sunlight, and all that remained was her, him, and the growing certainty that fate wasn’t just some old bedtime story told to pups.
It was real.
It was now.
And it drooled.
His grin widened at that. It was so minor. Just a little patch of damp warmth left cooling on his arm. A smudge of human vulnerability. But gods, if it wasn’t the most precious goddamn thing he’d ever experienced.
He’d spent a lifetime surrounded by expectation. Leadership. Command. Women who saw his rank before his face. People who heard “Alpha” and forgot he was a person underneath it. Most of his life had been battles—some diplomatic, some physical, most internal. Everything carefully composed.
And then there was her.
Unbrushed hair, an oversized t-shirt, a half-coherent insult at 5 a.m., and the audacity to sleep on him like he was just…safe.
And it wrecked him.
He could still smell her shampoo. Something soft—lavender maybe—with hints of sacred incense. She smelled like her shrine. Like holiness wrapped in warmth. Like she had been born somewhere between fire and peace and decided, just for fun, to unravel him with kindness.
She shifted again, her nose brushing his arm. He glanced over and—fuck.
Her lips were slightly parted. Her breathing deep. And the blanket had slipped, revealing one smooth thigh tucked beneath that criminally large t-shirt.
He turned back to the road before he made a sound he couldn’t take back.
Focus. Drive. Be good.
You’re driving the treasure of two delegations, not a date. You’re a professional, you absolute dumbass.
And still, the grin returned. Because she’d whispered his name.
And not the way people said his name in meetings. Not the clipped, official tone of council protocol. No titles. No reverence. Just… him. Personal. Soft. Like she’d been dreaming about him. Like she’d reached out for his presence even in sleep.
And that did things to him. Permanent things.
If she ever did this again—if she ever made a habit of sleeping in his jeep, or curling into his side, or claiming him without meaning to—he wasn’t going to survive it.
He wouldn’t need to.
Because if she kept this up, she’d never leave.
He’d see to it.
The thought made something primal hum beneath his skin. Not the demanding part of him—the alpha instinct that wanted to throw her over his shoulder and snarl “mine” to the heavens. No, this was gentler. Steadier. It wanted to feed her, shelter her, protect her from the weight she always seemed to carry so quietly. It wanted to know what she looked like first thing every morning for the rest of forever.
He thought about the trip. The hotel he’d chosen. The suite with one bed, because he was sneaky and spiritual boundaries required proximity. He thought about the hot springs and the lace and the very real chance that he was about to walk into four days of temptation disguised as holy unity.
And still, he wouldn’t trade it for anything.
He’d wait. Take his time. Let her catch up.
He’d fallen first. Hard. Loud. Shamelessly.
But she was falling too. He could feel it. In the way she trusted him enough to fall asleep with her face in his arm. In the way she let down walls, inch by inch, without realizing she was doing it.
He didn’t need her to declare anything. Didn’t need some dramatic confession.
He had time.
And hell—he had patience after all.
Because love like this? It was worth driving slow for.
Chapter 22
Notes:
Okay, but real talk?
The first road trip we ever took together? Yeah. It was eight hours away. Borderline middle of nowhere. Absolutely zero damn reception. Like—“if you die, no one is coming” levels of no signal. But gods…there were stars. And mountains. And silence so big you could hear your own thoughts echo. It was kind of terrifying. Kind of magical. And so chaotic.
Did we get lost? Yes. Three times.
Did we get stopped by a cop? Also yes. (Spoiler: He panicked. I played dumb. We lived.)
Did we spend one night sleeping in the truck and the rest in a majestic yurt thingy? Oh, absolutely. One of those round tent lodges with fairy lights and surprisingly excellent acoustics for playing music and cackling in bed at midnight.It was a core memory.
But here’s the kicker—on the way there? We left at 5AM.
Me? Half-clothed, barely functioning, armed with a blanket, a pillow, and a questionable suitcase.
Him? Bright-eyed. Buzzing. Plotting.Three hours in? This man started getting sleepy.
So what did I do?I drove the rest of the way. And what did he do? Talked. For hours. About us. Our life. Our future. The house. The kids. The dog names.
Mind you—we had only been dating a few months.And I? I should’ve been concerned.
Instead, I turned to him around hour six and said, “You’re naming our second child that? Bold.”
So yeah. If Kōga seems delusional in love right now?
It’s only because this part’s real. 😂
Chapter Text
Chapter Twenty Two: Traffic, T-Shirts, and Trouble
Kagome POV –
She woke up to a honk.
Not a subtle one either. Not a polite little pip-pip of a city car trying to ask for passage. No, this one was aggressive. Long. The kind of honk that came from the chest, from frustration, from someone five cars back having a nervous breakdown over rural construction detours and the audacity of trees to still exist.
Kagome stirred, slowly surfacing from a cocoon of warmth and blanket fuzz and sleep-induced peace. The seat beneath her shifted as she lifted her head. Her cheek made a quiet, embarrassing peel from something soft and firm—and oh, Kami. That was not a pillow.
That was an arm.
His arm.
Kōga.
She blinked herself awake and turned—blearily—to find the wolf in question staring at her like the sun had risen just for him.
He looked smug. Unbothered. Infuriatingly pleased with himself.
And handsome, in that way that was entirely unfair for a man running on no sleep and barely-tamed alpha energy in a plain black T-shirt and joggers. His hair was tied up at the nape of his neck, the messy ponytail somehow more attractive than any carefully curated council appearance she’d ever seen.
He gave her a slow, wolfish smirk.
“Good morning,” he said, voice smooth and gravelly like he hadn’t spoken in a while. “Sleep well?”
She sat up. Or tried to. Realized she was still wearing the same massive shirt from earlier, now slightly rumpled from the blanket nest she’d cocooned herself in. Her hair was a mess. Her face probably had blanket lines. She felt like spiritual roadkill.
She cleared her throat and rubbed her eyes. “Where are we?”
“About an hour outside the mountain pass,” he replied casually, gesturing to the long line of barely moving cars stretched ahead. “There’s construction or a tree fell. Something tragic.”
He turned slightly in his seat, arm still between them—warm, flexed, and now featuring a faint, unmistakable spot of dried drool right where her cheek had been.
She spotted it. He knew she spotted it. She tried not to die on the spot.
“I—did I—?”
“You absolutely did,” he said, grinning with way too much pride. “It was the highlight of my spiritual life.”
Kagome groaned and covered her face with one hand. “Please tell me I wasn’t…snoring.”
“Once. And it was cute. But mostly you just sighed a lot. And mumbled.”
She froze. Lowered her hand. Narrowed her eyes. “Mumbled?”
He nodded solemnly, like he was reporting on an important council finding. “Said my name. Then huffed. Like even asleep, you were annoyed at how charming I am.”
Her entire soul short-circuited.
“I hate you.”
“You’re adorable when you lie.”
She groaned again, this time into the blanket as she yanked it over her head. “I can’t believe I slept on you.”
“You claimed my arm like a territorial goddess,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Didn’t even ask permission. I was honored.”
She peeked out from the top of the blanket, scowling. “You’re enjoying this.”
“I’ve never enjoyed anything more.”
A soft breeze drifted through the crack in the window. Somewhere ahead, another car honked in impotent rage. Beside her, Kōga reached into the console and offered her a warm paper cup.
“Coffee,” he said. “Since you’re spiritually allergic to mornings.”
She took it. Sipped. Nearly wept.
And somehow, just like that, the whole moment tilted. There she was—sitting in a wolf’s jeep, wrapped in a blanket, in a shirt too big, sipping coffee with a dry mouth and puffy eyes while traffic crawled up the side of a mountain—
And she felt…content. She hadn’t planned this. Hadn’t planned any of this.
But here she was, letting him drive her toward some council-sanctioned mountain blessing, where he had absolutely manipulated the room arrangements, packed her snacks, and was likely planning six more dates disguised as “delegation unity.”
And she wasn’t even mad.
She glanced sideways at him, then out the window at the slow-moving cars. And for a second, she forgot she was Holy Order. Forgot she was supposed to be cautious and careful and composed.
She just felt like a girl in a car with someone who made her feel…safe.
“I guess there are worse places to be stuck in traffic,” she muttered.
He hummed. “With worse company.”
She sipped again. Eyed him.
“If you ever tell anyone about the drool—”
“I’m engraving it into our wedding vows.”
“Kōga.”
He laughed. And gods help her, she smiled.
“Our wedding vows?” she echoed, blinking at him over the rim of her coffee cup. “Just how far ahead have you been thinking, exactly?”
The words weren’t said with venom. No sharpness. Just curiosity—mild and weary and freshly woken. She expected him to laugh it off. Maybe smirk, tease her a little, offer one of his usual flirt-now-retreat-later quips.
But he didn’t.
Kōga turned in his seat, one arm braced casually over the wheel, the other draped in practiced ease along the window edge, his eyes half-lidded with that smug, utterly unrepentant look she was starting to realize meant he had a whole PowerPoint ready.
“Oh,” he said, with the kind of satisfaction reserved for people who got the last fry and the last word, “you’re going to love the lore.”
“…the lore.”
“Our lore.”
“You have lore—?”
“Obviously,” he said, rolling his neck like he’d been preparing for this very moment since birth. “Would you like to hear about our epic saga or just the highlights?”
Kagome blinked at him. “Kōga.”
“It all starts,” he said, eyes glinting like a man possessed, “with you. Pregnant.”
She choked on her coffee.
“Twins,” he clarified, as if that helped. “One looks like you, one looks like me. But both of them have your attitude and my lack of impulse control.”
“You’re actually deranged.”
“They’re going to be gorgeous little demons of chaos,” he mused, undeterred. “The girl will be able to scream loud enough to shatter glass. The boy will figure out how to break sacred barriers by the time he’s two. I’ve already accepted this.”
Kagome wiped her mouth and stared at him like he’d announced plans to build a shrine in her honor and name it “Hot Priestess Peak.”
“And where, in your little fever dream, do I weigh in on this?”
“You’re radiant, obviously,” he said, eyes dancing. “Pregnancy suits you. Glowing skin, divine aura. You lecture council members through gritted teeth while eating entire loaves of bread in one sitting. I make sure your shrine duties are covered and carry you up temple stairs like a man fulfilling a prophecy.”
“…Do I at least get to name the twins?”
“I already had names,” he said with faux offense. “But sure. We’ll pretend it’s a team effort.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Kōga.”
“I also included a cottage near the hot springs for weekend retreats,” he added helpfully, “with two wolf pups, your cursed cat, and probably a garden you’ll pretend to care about but I’ll end up watering.”
She bit back a laugh. Failed. Laughed anyway. “Is this normal behavior for you?”
“No,” he admitted cheerfully. “Usually I keep women at a distance and emotionally sabotage myself within two dates. But for you?” He leaned in, voice low, grin slow and warm. “For you, I’m all in.”
She stared at him, slightly horrified. Entirely amused. And just a little bit…
Melty.
Because damn it, he was ridiculous. Absolutely unhinged. Already planning their second child’s hairstyle and hypothetical council scandals. But he was also sweet. Attentive. Protective in a way that didn’t smother. And sincere in a way that didn’t scare her, only startled her with how easy it was to listen.
To believe.
To want.
Still, she couldn’t let him win entirely.
“So in this little ‘lore’ of yours,” she said slowly, “when do I finally realize you’re insane and push you off a cliff?”
Kōga just grinned wider. “About two years in. But you fall with me. It’s very romantic. Lots of gasping and dramatic slow motion.”
She groaned into her hands. “Gods, I should’ve let Kohaku set me up.”
“Blasphemy,” Kōga said, mock-wounded. “You chose me. Swiped right. Fell first. I’m merely catching you in elegant slow motion with matching couple tattoos in our future.”
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she muttered, face warm, heart stupid.
He chuckled, quiet and pleased, then gently tapped the steering wheel as traffic finally began crawling forward.
“You think this is bad,” he said. “Wait until you see the vision board.”
“Kōga.”
“I’ve got mood boards for our shrine, our kitchen aesthetic, and the wolves’ outfit choices for family portraits.”
“Kōga.”
“Oh, and our pups’ names start with ‘K’ for Kagome and Kōga. Branding.”
She turned to the window.
And smiled.
Because she was doomed.
And she didn’t mind.
Chapter 23
Notes:
The man and I are out. Music, beers and me sneaking in chapters when he and his boys are bullshitting. Sue me.
Chapter Text
Chapter Twenty-Three: The Lore is Law
Kōga POV –
She thought he was kidding.
Gods, bless her, she thought he was joking. Sitting there beside him with that tired smirk and disbelief in her eyes, coffee in hand and sleep still clinging to her lashes like she hadn’t just been drooling on his arm twenty minutes ago.
Kagome. His future. She thought the lore was banter. It wasn’t.
Kōga adjusted his grip on the wheel, traffic beginning to crawl like a tired beast up the hill, and suppressed a grin that could only be described as dangerously prophetic. Because he hadn’t imagined bits and pieces of a possible future with her. No—this man had seen it. He had sat inside the prophecy.
And by the gods, it was beautiful.
She had no idea how far gone he was. No clue how thoroughly and completely she’d ruined his life in the best possible way. Because the thing was?
He had always been a little feral.
Always too much.
Too fast.
Too protective.
Too intense.
And for most of his adult life, that had been a problem.
But then she came along—this beautiful, brilliant, accidentally seductive chaos priestess with a smart mouth and a stubborn sense of duty—and just…took his arm in a blanket at five in the morning and fell asleep on him like she was born to do it.
And it was over. Done. Finalized.
Signed, sealed, spiritually blessed.
He wanted her pregnant.
There, he said it.
Not today. Not tomorrow. But eventually?
Absolutely.
He could see it—her in a soft robe, hair a mess, scowling at him while yelling at the twins for climbing the temple roof again. A slight waddle in her step. A holy aura that glowed like she was brewing a tiny storm of spiritual and demonic energy in her womb and had no interest in apologizing for it.
And him? He’d be the idiot wolf bringing her spicy food, carrying her laundry, and growling at the council when they asked her to mediate anything more than what flavor mochi she wanted.
Because she deserved peace. Even when pregnant with their demon-human hybrid little monsters.
Speaking of monsters—
He’d already accepted their children would be absolute terrorists.
There was no alternative.
With her holy righteousness and his supernatural speed? Their pups would be tiny, adorable agents of spiritual chaos. Probably summoning spirits by accident. Running through shrines barefoot with purification wards stuck to their foreheads. Getting banned from the holy library by age five and blaming it on the cat.
And he would love it. He wanted the sleepless nights. The screaming. The chaos. The crayon on the council transcripts. Because it meant they built something together.
A legacy. A family. A future that made all the previous decades of political nonsense feel like background noise.
And it all started with her—hair messy, coffee in hand, smirking at him like he was some idiot for dreaming big. As if she didn’t just accidentally agree to a four-day “blessing” in his mountains that he had every intention of turning into an entire origin arc.
She had no idea. She had no idea that she was his endgame. His everything.
And maybe she didn’t need to know just yet.
Maybe she needed a little more time. A little more space. A few more teasing flirtations, some more midnight walks, and yes, a lot more of that lingerie she accidentally flashed in a packing photo.
But gods be good, he would give her all the time she wanted.
Because he already knew. She wasn’t a fling. She wasn’t a phase. She wasn’t even just a future mate. She was it.
Kagome Higurashi—High Priestess, Sacred Guardian, and the woman who would one day roll her eyes at him from across their shared bedroom while one pup climbed the ceiling and the other asked why wolves don’t wear pants.
And he’d kiss her forehead and say, “Because your mom didn’t ask for calm—she asked for me.”
Gods help her.
She had no idea what she started.
Chapter 24
Notes:
It is too early for me to be dying of allergies. But here we are. My reward for socializing outside last night.
So, took medicine so my eyes stop leaking, the sniffles and sneezing cease, and praying for it to start working so I can go back to bed.
Texas, you really did me dirty here with your trees.
Chapter Text
Chapter Twenty-Four: Animal Instincts & Hotel Etiquette
Kōga POV –
By the time the car crested the final ridge and the mountain hotel came into view, Kōga felt something primal rise in his chest—something beyond joy. Beyond pride.
Territorial.
The eastern mountains had always felt like home. Deeply his. Ancestral, familiar, drenched in history and packed full of things that smelled like pine, moss, and legacy. But driving through the winding road with Kagome asleep in his passenger seat? That was something else entirely.
That was holy.
That was fate, leather seats, drool, and destiny.
She shifted again, blanket pooled around her waist now, legs tucked beneath her, oversized shirt still slouching off one shoulder like sin itself. She hadn’t changed yet—still comfortably messy, completely divine, and somehow more alluring like this than any ceremonial priestess garb could manage.
And he? He was suffering.
Suffering and loving every goddamn minute of it.
He pulled into the hotel’s drop-off area, the stone-and-wood resort rising above them like a wolf-built fortress of peace offerings and hot springs. The place was modern but rustic—polished for council visits, with just enough charm to keep it from feeling like a political trap.
She stirred at the sound of the engine shift and blinked blearily at him.
“We here?” she mumbled, her voice like sandpaper and sunrise.
“Mhmm,” he said, smiling. “Welcome to Mount ‘Don’t Even Think About Getting Your Own Room.’”
That earned him a suspicious squint.
They stepped out of the jeep—he grabbed both of their bags before she could protest—and she followed him toward the main entrance in her oversized T-shirt, half-covered legs, hair still slightly matted from nap-induced chaos.
He had never loved anyone more.
Inside, the front desk clerk greeted him with an over-eager bow, already prepared. Council seals had a way of greasing wheels. He gave his name. Signed the forms. Took the single room keycard.
Kagome’s brows furrowed.
“Just one key?” she asked, like someone realizing they’d walked into a trap. “One room?”
“One suite,” he corrected smoothly, slipping the key into his back pocket. “Big one. Gorgeous view. Hot spring bath. Plenty of space to sprawl. Just how you like it.”
She paused mid-step.
“Wait—you weren’t kidding?”
“About what?”
“One room?”
“Of course not.”
Her mouth opened, then shut, and then opened again with that dangerous priestess frown like she was debating whether to purify him or just throw something heavy.
“I sleepwalk,” she warned, voice dry. “I drool. I steal blankets. I sometimes talk about policy mid-dream. And if I’m stressed, I kick. Ask anyone on the holy council.”
“Oh no,” he said, hand to heart, completely fake-concerned. “Blanket theft? The horror.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” He turned, flashed a grin over his shoulder. “I’m a light sleeper. A heavy cuddler. I talk in my sleep too—usually about how cute you are. Guess we’re a match made in nocturnal chaos.”
“Kōga.”
“Stuck with me.”
“You can still get your own room.”
He stepped into the elevator, gave her a faux-innocent blink as the doors began to close.
“Too late, priestess. Suite’s already blessed.”
She stomped in after him with an exasperated huff that sent delight coursing through his veins.
Truth be told, he hadn’t even considered booking two rooms. Not once. Not when the mission parameters were emailed. Not when he filled out the accommodation forms. Not even when the council agent asked if the priestess required separate quarters.
He had laughed.
Laughed and said, “She prefers to kick me awake anyway.”
And maybe, maybe, there was a small part of him that expected her to actually protest. Maybe he’d prepared himself for a mild explosion. A guilt trip. A scolding.
Instead? She warned him.
Warned him about her sleep habits. Her drool. Her fidgeting. Like she was worried about his comfort.
And that? That was the moment he knew he was winning. That she wasn’t planning to run. That she might protest in words, but her body was already turning toward him in the smallest, quietest, most subconscious ways.
She was here. With him. In his mountains. In his suite. In the goddamn center of the fantasy he’d been building since their first chaotic walk.
And by the time they reached the suite and he opened the door to let her in first, he already knew the future.
She’d kick. She’d mumble. She’d steal the sheets. And he’d love every second of it.
The moment the suite door swung open, Kōga stepped aside and gestured grandly with one arm, as if unveiling a palace to royalty. Because, in a way, he was.
And also? He wanted to see her reaction. Not the polite council priestess version. The real one.
And gods, she did not disappoint.
Kagome stepped in with her blanket still clutched around her shoulders like a shawl of suspicion, peered into the open space, and—
—paused.
He caught it. The sharp breath. The slight widening of her eyes. The soft little sound of admiration she made before immediately forcing her expression neutral.
He grinned.
The suite was ridiculous, and he’d picked it that way on purpose. Open-concept with massive windows looking out over a pine-covered valley. There was a balcony with seating and an outdoor private onsen, a sunken living space with a fireplace, a full kitchen stocked with snacks and tea, and of course—
One very large, very fluffy bed.
Kagome took two steps in, turned in a slow circle to take it all in, then crossed her arms and said, far too casually, “So… should I expect you to shift into a wolf now that we’re in your sacred ancestral territory?”
Kōga’s lips twitched.
“Oh, not in the near future,” he said smoothly, stepping in behind her and letting the door whisper shut behind them. “Human form allows me… far more options.”
She blinked. Paused.
He leaned down just slightly, dropped his voice low like heat curling at the base of her neck. “Shifting would mean paws. Claws. Fur.”
“And?” she asked, trying to sound bored. Failing miserably.
He gave her the kind of grin that probably got demons exiled from holy sites.
“And I prefer to keep my hands free,” he said slowly, “for far more interesting activities.”
Her eyes widened.
Then narrowed.
“You’re unbelievable,” she muttered, turning away quickly—too quickly—toward the minibar, as if coffee could save her now.
“I’m practical,” he corrected, utterly smug. “Besides, claws make it hard to unhook lingerie. I checked.”
She nearly choked on nothing.
He strolled past her like a menace with a purpose, placed their bags on the bench near the bed, then flopped down like a man who owned the entire forest outside and possibly half the country.
She made the mistake of turning to face him.
He was reclined slightly, arms behind his head, eyes glowing just a little too brightly in the natural morning light. Smug. Relaxed. Dangerous in the way only a man completely at peace with his own chaos could be.
Kagome sniffed.
“You have one bed.”
“I know.”
“And you’re not offering to sleep on the couch?”
“There’s no couch.”
“There’s the floor.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to sleep on my own floor. In my own territory. After I fed you twice, woke up at five to pick you up, and booked a view suite with heated floors and a private hot spring?”
She narrowed her eyes. “You make a compelling case.”
“Thank you. I’ll sleep on the left side.”
She stared.
He stared right back, smiling like the very concept of manners had never met him. And then, just before she could make some wisecrack about holy boundaries or how ridiculous he was being—
Her stomach growled. Loudly.
Kōga brightened like the morning sun.
“Breakfast?”
She gave him a flat look.
“Let me guess. You pre-ordered it.”
“Damn right. I told them to expect a spiritual miracle of a woman who runs miles before 8am and might require both caffeine and a carb offering.”
“…Did you just call me a spiritual miracle?”
“I absolutely did.”
She huffed. But when the knock came a few minutes later and breakfast trays arrived, she was the one already hovering near the door, blanket around her shoulders like royalty.
He watched her pile her plate with eggs, grilled fish, mochi, and fruit, then pretend like none of this was impressive. She sat at the table like she hadn’t been half-asleep fifteen minutes ago and now casually overlooked a panoramic mountain view like she’d personally blessed it.
Kōga poured her tea. Sat across from her. And just as she took her first sip?
He smirked and said, “If you sleepwalk into my arms tonight, I’m not moving you.”
She didn’t even look up.
“Only if you don’t drool on me.”
“Deal.”
Chapter Text
Chapter Twenty-Five: This Is How Pups Happen, Kagome
Kagome POV –
It had started so peacefully.
Kagome sipped from her ceramic teacup, legs tucked beneath her on the suite’s low-sitting breakfast bench, trying to remain the picture of calm while silently absorbing how ridiculously luxurious their accommodations were. Their room—no, their shared suite—overlooked the eastern mountains, morning mist still clinging to the ridgelines like silk, and the interior was all pale wood, cream linens, and soft glowing lanterns. It looked like a romantic getaway commercial. Which, she reminded herself, this was not. This was a professional work trip to bless a spiritually significant range of mountains.
Except the only thing being spiritually challenged was her self-control.
Kōga sat across from her in a matching yukata—because of course the hotel provided coordinating sets like it was trying to create mating season ambiance—and was somehow managing to look both perfectly civilized and absolutely dangerous at the same time. His hair was lazily tied back, his eyes bright even in the soft morning light, and he was currently licking the last bit of mochi syrup off his thumb like it was completely innocent behavior.
She tried not to stare. Really, she did.
And then he struck.
“So,” he said, too casually, like a man dropping a single match on a field of dry grass. “When do you wanna unpack?”
She blinked, halfway through a bite of rice.
“What?”
“Unpacking.” He nodded toward their suitcases stacked neatly in the corner. “We’re here for a few days. Might as well get settled. I figured we could do it together. Domestic bonding or whatever.”
Domestic. Bonding.
Kagome gave him a side-eye and chewed slowly. He just smiled and sipped his tea like he hadn’t just implied they were living together now. She swore to every god listening that this wolf was trying to fast-forward their entire lives like it was a montage.
She shrugged, still trying to keep it cool. “Yeah. Whenever’s fine.”
“Great,” he said brightly, setting his cup down with way too much cheer. “Let’s do it now.”
Before she could argue, he was on his feet, sauntering toward his suitcase with the slow, confident grace of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. He opened the case, pulled out a few folded shirts and travel pouches, and began placing them in the chest of drawers like this was just a perfectly normal morning in the home they obviously shared in his head.
And, like a fool, she followed suit.
She didn’t want to admit how good it felt. Folding her things beside his, arranging her clothes in neat stacks while he hummed softly and occasionally muttered things like “Damn, I forgot I packed this shirt,” and “Did I bring enough socks? Whatever, I’m going feral anyway.”
She sorted her shrine robes into one drawer. Her leggings, running tops, and a few casual dresses went into another. A pouch of toiletries, her brush, sunscreen. One step at a time, her life—her presence—was being tucked into this space alongside his. And it was almost…intimate. In a soft, terrifying way.
And then. At the bottom of the suitcase. A flash of lace. The lace.
“Oh?” he said.
Her blood ran cold.
“Nope—NO—Kōga—”
But it was too late.
He reached down, pulled the lacy little number out with all the reverence of a man retrieving a sacred scroll, and held it up like it was a prize. A black lace lingerie set—elegant, sheer in places, definitely not something she meant for him to actually see outside of the photo, especially not in the cold hard light of day—and he grinned like a wolf who had just sniffed out an entire roast.
“Kōga, give that back—”
“Now what is this?” he said with mock curiosity, already holding it up in front of her like he was measuring for fit. “This wasn’t on the council-approved packing list, priestess.”
“I didn’t mean to pack it—it just ended up—”
He stepped closer, holding the fabric up to her torso, tilting his head appraisingly. “No no, I think this was fate. Can’t argue with the gods.”
“Kōga.”
“This,” he said reverently, turning the hanger straps through his fingers, “is how pups happen, Kagome.”
She launched a throw pillow at his head. He ducked, laughing, holding the lingerie high above his head like it was a flag of victory.
“I hate you.”
He beamed. “You love me.”
“I am this close to purifying you.”
“And I’m this close to asking if you brought matching panties—”
She screamed into a pillow. He cackled.
When she finally dared to peek out from behind the safety of her hands, he was standing with the lace set still dangling in one hand, his head cocked, eyes gleaming with mischief.
“Just saying,” he added with exaggerated sincerity, “if that happens to be worn while we’re on this trip, it would really help strengthen holy-demon diplomatic relations. Possibly guarantee peace for the next decade.”
“Kōga, I bless mountains. Not your libido.”
“I’m talking about unity. And possible pups. For the cause.”
She threw her toiletry bag at him. He caught it without breaking eye contact.
He finally returned the set to the suitcase, but not before holding it up one last time and mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like, “Yep. That’s the one for the mating ceremony.”
Kagome collapsed onto the bed, laughing against her better judgment, face red, heart loud.
Because gods help her. She knew exactly how pups happened. And this wolf? He was going to be the death of her.
She had just finished repacking the lingerie and burying it under a completely judgment-free pile of leggings when she heard it. A sigh. Not just any sigh—the sigh. The kind that carried generations of romantic longing and future planning in one deeply content exhale.
Kagome froze.
He was behind her. Still standing there. Still smug. Still riding high off his lingerie victory.
Then came the words.
“I’ve got the clearest vision now.”
She turned slowly. “Don’t.”
“I can see it,” he said, dreamy and completely undeterred. “Our mating night.”
“Kōga—”
“It’s perfect.”
“Please stop talking.”
“The mountains will be bathed in moonlight. A light breeze. Sacred fire lit. You—standing by the hot springs—probably wearing this—” he motioned vaguely toward her suitcase with an unmistakably perverted glint, “—or nothing at all, if fate’s truly kind.”
“Kōga, I swear on the ancestors—”
“Don’t interrupt the vision, Kagome. I’m spiritually channeling.”
She sat down on the bed, face in her hands, already regretting every decision that led to this moment—including, but not limited to, breathing, packing lace, and ever responding to a dating app match with a man who considered spiritual channeling synonymous with erotic fanfiction.
“And then,” he continued, now pacing slowly across the room like a wolf philosopher, “you’ll probably pretend to be mad at me. Say something like ‘This was not part of the treaty.’ But your voice will wobble, because deep down, you know you want me to ravish you beneath the starlight.”
“Oh my god.”
“I’ll make a speech about peace between our people. About unity. About holy and demonic relations thriving. And you’ll roll your eyes—but then, bam. Clothes off.”
“BAM?” she repeated, horrified. “That’s how your vision goes?”
He turned dramatically. “The ancestors are watching, Kagome. They want pups. We want pups. It’s destiny.”
She threw a pillow at his chest. “You want pups. I want sleep.”
He caught the pillow easily and tucked it under his arm like it was a future child. “You’re just scared of how powerful our mating night will be. It’ll break spiritual barriers. Mountains will tremble.”
“Mountains will tremble?”
“Your reiki might actually detonate something. Honestly, I should alert the council.”
She groaned, flopping backwards onto the bed. “Please. I’m begging you. Just stop speaking.”
But he didn’t stop. No, Kōga had entered the prophecy zone.
“I’m thinking we start with the lace. Ease into things. Then the hot spring. Then maybe—”
“Kōga.”
“—some primal floor action—”
“Kōga!”
“—then a short break for snacks—”
“WHAT KIND OF MATING RITUAL HAS SNACKS?”
He looked genuinely offended. “All the best ones.”
Kagome sat up, blinking at him in exhausted disbelief. “You are actually broken.”
He grinned. “And yet you brought the lace.”
She growled. “By accident.”
He leaned down, placing both hands on the bed to cage her in. “Fate doesn’t make accidents, priestess.”
She stared up at him. Too close. Too smug. Too…irresistible.
“Are you going to let me work,” she muttered, “or are you going to keep planning our mating ceremony like it’s a seasonal festival?”
“I’m just trying to be prepared,” he said innocently. “I’m very responsible.”
“You’re very horny.”
He shrugged. “Same thing when you’re in love.”
Her heart skipped, betrayed by his casual delivery. She looked away, chewing the inside of her cheek. Gods help her. She was starting to see the vision too. And it was terrifying. And hot. And…maybe sacred?
She flopped backward again, groaning into the pillows while he sauntered off to fetch more tea like he hadn’t just crafted a spiritual prophecy about their future sex life.
Chapter Text
Chapter Twenty-Six: The Wolf Gets Closer
Kōga POV –
He could feel it.
The shift. The wobble in her carefully constructed emotional fortress. The faint but unmistakable flicker of want in the way she flopped into the pillows, groaning about his “audacity.” That wasn’t irritation. That was resistance dying slowly and deliciously under the weight of charm, prophecy, and perfectly timed mating jokes.
Gods, she was adorable.
“Ridiculous,” she’d mumbled into the fabric like it insulted her ancestors. “Absolutely ridiculous. Wolves and their mating nonsense.”
But she hadn’t left.
Hadn’t actually denied anything.
And that grin—that soft, startled, private little grin she wore like she didn’t want anyone, not even him, to see it? That was victory. Not the loud kind. The slow, quiet, permanent kind. The kind that burrows deep into a man’s ribcage and makes itself a damn home.
He was wearing her down.
She just didn’t know how far gone she already was.
And Kōga? He was the patient kind of predator when it counted. Wolves didn’t let go until they got what they wanted. And what he wanted—what he knew was his—was that priestess wrapped in lace, snorting into hotel pillows, trying desperately not to fall in love.
He could be civilized. He could take his time. Hell, he was even proud of himself for not immediately mounting her in the sacred bed they were now sharing for the next four days.
But if she thought for a second that he hadn’t memorized the exact spot in her suitcase where the lingerie lay hidden? Or that he hadn’t strategically unpacked all his things so she’d feel obliged to do the same? She clearly had no idea how wolves worked.
This wasn’t seduction. This was strategy. Every flirt? Calculated. Every joke? Precision-timed. Every sigh of happiness? Completely sincere.
She was fighting, sure. But not against him. She was fighting how much she already liked him. That was fine. He could handle it. He was a high-ranking demon with centuries of discipline, a vicious command of the battlefield, and (according to his last match’s text) an “unreasonably handsome face that made emotional stability difficult.”
He could definitely handle one very flustered priestess.
Still, he’d play it slow. For now. He’d make her tea. He’d let her take the bed while he took the couch—even though they both knew he’d end up waking up with her sprawled across him, claiming “the bed is too wide and empty, Kōga, you were closer.”
And he’d let her pretend she wasn’t picturing their mating night now too. That she hadn’t seen it all the way he had. Hot springs. Laughter. Maybe snacks.
Hell, she brought the lace.
The ancestors were watching. He was just honoring their will.
He stirred a bit more honey into her tea, carried it to her bedside, and leaned casually against the wall while she peered up at him with a pillow-shaped dent on her face and eyes that were a little too soft for someone trying to be unimpressed.
“Here,” he said simply, holding out the mug.
She sat up slowly, blinked, and took it from him with a wary arch of her brow.
“What’s in it?” she asked.
“Love and submission.”
She rolled her eyes. “So honey?”
“And fate,” he added with a wink.
Kagome muttered something under her breath that sounded dangerously like “I hate how charming you are,” but he let it go. Because she took a sip.
And didn’t stop smiling.
He was making progress. Not fast. Not dramatic. But deep.
She’d fall.
And when she did? She wouldn’t just crash. She’d dive—the same way she did everything else. And he’d be right there waiting. With a cup of tea. And probably no pants.
Just in case.
She was still face-down in the pillow.
Mumbling.
Grumbling.
Possibly inventing a new religion centered on how wolves were the universe’s test of mortal patience.
Kōga didn’t mind. In fact, he thrived in this environment. Give him a priestess wrapped in cotton, lace, and half-baked denial, and he’d give you a wolf fully in his element.
He leaned against the suite’s dresser, arms crossed, sipping the last of his tea and watching her try to fold herself into the mattress like the gods might spare her if she just became one with the bed.
It wasn’t going to work.
He knew her too well now. Knew she was only pretending to want space. That her dramatics were, in fact, the last trembling stand of a woman already halfway into his future.
“I’m just saying,” he said casually, “we don’t have to rush.”
A muffled sound of betrayal escaped from the pillows.
“We could go slow,” he added. “Real slow. Snail pace. Like, bless-one-rock-a-day pace.”
She lifted her head just enough to glare at him. “You’d lose your mind.”
He grinned. “Oh, absolutely. I’d unravel by day three. But I’d suffer for you, priestess.”
She groaned and rolled to her side. “You’re impossible.”
“But devoted,” he said cheerfully, crossing the room and sitting at the edge of the bed. “I can suffer delayed gratification if it means your spiritual needs are met.”
“That is not what you mean.”
He leaned in, dangerously close. “Fine. Maybe not just that.”
Her eyes narrowed, suspicious. “What exactly would I be blessing at this glacial pace?”
“Could be anything,” he shrugged, casually glancing toward the region of his body she absolutely refused to acknowledge with her eyes. “Could be something in desperate need of purification. Maybe even… something capable of producing twins.”
She threw a pillow at him. He caught it one-handed, without breaking eye contact. “Just saying. If we’re talking spiritual efficiency, one ritual, two kids? Seems worth exploring.”
“You’re the worst.”
“Yours,” he corrected.
That earned a snort, which was, in wolf language, progress. He stood then, stretching slowly, and walked toward the open suitcase she’d nearly finished unpacking. He reached down, pulled out a folded pair of socks, and held them up solemnly.
“These are cute.”
“Don’t touch my socks.”
He placed them reverently on top of her stack of shrine attire, then turned back to her with a playful gleam in his eye. “You want to bless a mountain today or nap until dinner?”
Kagome looked at him for a long moment. “Is there an option where I nap and you don’t say anything inappropriate for ten minutes?”
“Not unless I’m unconscious.”
She sighed, flopped backward, and mumbled something about wolves needing filters and holy water.
Kōga grinned and sat back beside her, gaze softening as he watched her stretch out across the bed like a satisfied cat. His satisfied cat. Or soon-to-be.
He’d wait. He’d tease. He’d flirt until her cheeks were permanently pink and she couldn’t remember what life was like before a certain fast-talking, too-handsome wolf stormed her shrine duties and filled her schedule with mating lore and pastry dates.
Because one way or another?
This priestess was going to fall. And he? Was going to give her the softest, filthiest, most blessed landing of her life.
Chapter Text
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Cleanse Me, Priestess
Kōga POV –
For a whole five seconds, Kōga behaved.
He raised his hands in mock surrender—palms up, face angelic, like the spiritual manifestation of virtue itself. A wolf saint.
“Okay,” he said solemnly, “I’ll give you reprieve. No jokes, no mating night lore, no talk of holy lingerie blessings.”
Kagome arched a brow but didn’t move from her sprawl on the bed. She didn’t trust him. He didn’t blame her.
“But,” he continued with a noble air, “I am contractually obligated to inform you that we must make progress today.”
She blinked up at him. “Progress?”
He nodded gravely. “Yes. Either we begin mountain purification rituals…or you purify me.”
The pillow that flew across the room came dangerously close to hitting a sacred family heirloom lamp. Kōga didn’t flinch. He caught it again, barely suppressing his grin. “Spiritual wellness is a spectrum, Kagome. I’m merely offering options.”
“You’re offering your body as a purification site.”
He tilted his head like he was genuinely considering that. “Honestly? I think it’s time the priestess council explored more hands-on approaches. I volunteer as tribute.”
“Kōga,” she groaned, dragging a blanket over her face like she could erase the last three minutes of conversation.
He walked over, tugged the edge of the blanket gently down until her nose and eyes were visible, and whispered like they were conspiring:
“Just think—how impressed the council will be when we return. ‘Alpha Kōga has been spiritually cleansed.’ You’d be a legend.”
Her lips twitched. Dangerous. That was the crack in the fortress.
“You said you’d play nice,” she reminded him.
“I am playing nice. I’m just proposing a very productive schedule. Purify a mountain. Purify a demon. Eat lunch. Repeat.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“But so organized.”
He stood straight again, tossing the pillow back where it belonged and gesturing toward the window, where the eastern mountains rolled in all their fog-kissed glory.
“Come on,” he said, softening his tone. “Let’s make it a day. You and me. Hiking the trails, doing actual holy work. And I’ll keep my hands to myself.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And your words?”
“Can’t promise that.”
“I figured.”
He offered a hand. “Let’s go, holy girl. Pick your poison: the mountain or me.”
Kagome muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “why not both?” under her breath as she sat up.
Kōga smiled so wide it hurt.
Kōga changed with the kind of efficiency only a wolf prince who knew he was about to spend a day alone in the wilderness with the love of his life could manage. Hiking boots. Light thermal shirt. Pack. Check. Bonus mini flask in case she needed “blessing juice”? Also check.
He was mid-slinging the pack over one shoulder when the bathroom door creaked open.
And then she stepped out.
Leggings. Tank top. High ponytail. Face neutral—no makeup, no fluff, no armor.
Just Kagome. Glowing and soft and stretching her arms over her head like she wasn’t the most powerful force in the entire mountain range.
And then she had the audacity to huff. As if she wasn’t fully aware of what she looked like. As if he was the problem here.
“Alright, wolf,” she said, tying the laces on her hiking boots and adjusting her sports watch, “give me a tour of my future kingdom.”
Sarcasm. He knew it was sarcasm.
And yet—
“Oh, I will,” Kōga said, already grinning as he moved to open the suite door for her. “And when we reach the third peak, I’ll show you where our pups will have their naming ceremony.”
“Kōga—”
“And then on the fourth trail we can discuss wedding procession routes. There’s a cliff that’ll make your holy friends weep with awe.”
“Kōga.”
“Honestly,” he continued conversationally as they made their way down the hall, “I think we’ll need to name the entire second valley after you. ‘Priestess Ridge.’ Very dignified. Great acoustics for morning announcements.”
“You’re insane.”
“Insanely devoted,” he corrected, pressing the elevator button with the smug confidence of a man who was already ten children deep into an imaginary future. “And spiritually aligned. Don’t forget aligned.”
She laughed. Actually laughed. A short, amused, disbelieving laugh that turned into a half-hearted shove against his arm as they stepped into the elevator.
He didn’t budge. Of course he didn’t.
“Seriously though,” she said, glancing up at him once they were enclosed in the elevator, “you’re really proud of this place, huh?”
He looked down at her, smile fading into something warmer. “Yeah. It’s home. Been in my family forever. My father used to tell me the mountains breathe, you know? That you could feel it if you sat still long enough.”
She tilted her head, curious. “And have you?”
“All the time.”
The elevator dinged. They stepped out into the crisp mountain air, and he gestured to the open trail ahead of them.
“Welcome to the start of your spiritual conquest,” he said dramatically, “and possibly your romantic downfall.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s hike.”
She gave him one last side-eye. But her smile betrayed her.
And Kōga? He was already planning where he’d build their second hot spring cabin. You know. For spiritual retreats.
Chapter Text
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Mountain Air and Slipping Guards
Kagome POV —
The mountain was obscene.
That was the first thought that crossed Kagome’s mind as they rounded a bend in the trail and were met with a sweeping panoramic view that looked like something torn from a high-end travel magazine. Not the filtered kind, not the kind sold to tourists with promises of enlightenment or mountaintop yoga retreats. This wasn’t curated beauty.
This was wild, unbothered splendor.
The sky hung low and impossibly wide, a silken canvas painted in layers of dawn gold and misted blue. The clouds kissed the distant peaks like lazy gods on vacation, and the air—gods, the air—smelled clean enough to bottle and sell for a fortune in Tokyo. Earthy and fresh, pine-laced and sun-warmed. Beneath her hiking boots, the ground was soft with needles and moss, worn by weather and wolf paws alike, and for once in her very long, very complicated life, she didn’t feel like she needed to be anywhere else.
Kagome had grown up surrounded by sacred trees, shrines, ancient stones soaked in reiki and old prayers whispered over incense. She knew what holy ground felt like. But this? This wasn’t holy.
It was primal.
And it welcomed her all the same.
She paused mid-step, her breath catching in her throat, the words she meant to say dissolving in the silence around them. The peace here wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t tentative. It was heavy and encompassing, folding around her shoulders like an old robe long lost and now returned. Something ancient inside her sighed in relief.
Her body did the same.
And without meaning to—without even realizing—she let out a low, soft sigh. The kind that slipped from the soul and into the open air like a confession.
It was dangerous, that sigh.
Because it was honest.
And unfortunately for her, she was walking next to a wolf demon who could hear a heartbeat shift from thirty paces, let alone the breath of a priestess standing beside him.
His head turned immediately.
She could feel his eyes before she saw them. That ever-watchful, ever-smirking expression was suddenly something else—something quieter and far more dangerous. He wasn’t looking at her like she was prey or entertainment.
He was looking at her like she was his.
Kagome stiffened. Instinctively. Reflexively. Because no. Absolutely not. She was not doing this. Not in the mountains. Not in leggings and a sweat-slicked tank top. Not surrounded by ancient pine and humming ley lines and a very satisfied demon prince with bedroom hair and a knowing smile.
She had boundaries. She had pride. She also had the emotional range of a dramatic shōjo heroine and an annoying weakness for sincerity wrapped in cocky flirtation. So. She immediately rerouted her thoughts into self-defense mode.
Nope, nope, nope. This was not home. This was not where she belonged. This was a mountain. An objectively stunning, spiritually potent mountain she was here to bless, not bond with emotionally. And that wolf was not helping.
Unfortunately, she made the fatal mistake of glancing at him.
And saw the look.
Kōga was watching her with the most ridiculous, knowing expression—brows slightly raised, mouth quirked just enough to be smug but not enough to be punchable. His arms were crossed lazily over his chest, stance relaxed but purposeful, like he’d planted himself in just the right position to maximize his charm and mountain glow. Sunlight caught in his hair. His lashes looked like they had their own fan club. And that smirk?
Weaponized.
“You good?” he asked, breaking the silence with casual amusement.
“I’m fine,” she replied quickly—too quickly.
“Caught you,” he said, tone practically singing.
“Caught me what?” she snapped, already defensive.
He just tilted his head toward her like she was a fascinating little puzzle he had already solved. “You were about to say it.”
“Say what?”
“That this place feels like home.”
“I—absolutely was not.”
“Don’t lie to a wolf on his own land, Kagome. We smell emotional surrender.”
She made a strangled noise halfway between a laugh and a cough. “That’s not even remotely a thing.”
“It’s completely a thing,” he countered, easily stepping over a gnarled root to keep pace beside her. “I’ve got a nose for devotion. Part of the alpha perks. You exhaled like your soul unclenched. I’m counting that as a verbal contract.”
“Verbal con—what??”
He didn’t bother answering. Just grinned wider.
Kagome groaned and picked up her pace like she could outrun the embarrassment. He followed, effortlessly. Of course he did.
But she couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up a second later. It escaped before she could catch it—bright, unfiltered, warm.
His smirk melted into something softer at the edges. Something dangerously tender. And her heart, that traitorous bastard, skipped a beat.
Gods help her, she liked it here.
And that damned wolf knew it.
The trail meandered along the eastern ridge like it had no real destination in mind, lazy and beautiful in the way only sacred places could afford to be. Morning light filtered through the high tree canopies, dancing in golden dapples across the rocky path ahead. Kōga had been unusually quiet for the last several minutes, his teasing simmering down into occasional glances and soft smiles that had her toes curling in her boots. She was dangerously close to relaxing.
And then, out of nowhere, he handed her a rock.
A literal rock.
She looked down at it in her palm, then slowly raised her gaze to meet his face. There was no hint of irony. No sheepish chuckle. Just Kōga, smug and handsome and clearly up to something.
“What,” she said, voice flat, “is this?”
He had the audacity to shrug. “A peace offering. Or a productivity offering, really. Since we’re not hiking the full mountain today, I thought you could bless something small. You know. Just to say we got work done.”
She blinked. Once. Twice. Her grip on the rock tightened.
“You think I’m here to sprinkle reiki dust like a glitter fairy?” she asked, tone deceptively calm.
“I mean…” He rubbed the back of his neck, grinning. “You are sparkly.”
“Kōga,” she warned.
“You are also pretty,” he added quickly, throwing in a wink like it would soften the blow. “And I figured you might want to ease into it. You’ve been traveling, adjusting—”
“Move,” she snapped.
“What?”
“Step. Aside.”
Without another word, she turned off the trail and walked to a small flat stretch of dirt nestled between two moss-covered boulders. The sunlight curved around it like it had been waiting all morning just to illuminate that one spot. With a huff of her own, she dropped the rock in the grass, kicked off her boots, and lowered herself cross-legged to the ground.
She looked every bit the image of a calm, focused priestess. Except for the narrowed eyes, the way her jaw clenched, and the rising thrum of reiki beginning to pulse from her skin.
“Since you think I need to be on top of your mountains to bless them,” she said sweetly, “I’m going to save us the hike.”
Kōga watched from the side, arms folded, looking far too entertained for his own good.
She closed her eyes.
And then, slowly, let go.
She rarely opened her full reserves of power. It wasn’t that she couldn’t—it was that she knew better. Power came with consequences. Burnout, exhaustion, spiritual rebound, even misalignment if the surrounding aura clashed too hard. But today? She didn’t care. She was tired of pretending. Tired of underplaying herself. And maybe, just maybe, a little tired of being called pretty instead of powerful.
The earth responded almost immediately.
A hum began low in her chest and expanded outward, spreading into her arms, her spine, her legs rooted to the ground like living pillars. She pressed her hands to the soil and felt it shudder beneath her. Energy poured from her fingers like wildfire—controlled, ancient, sacred.
She didn’t bless a rock.
She blessed the land.
The power pulsed through the base of the ridge like a wave crashing upward from below, blooming and rippling with purpose. Kagome poured herself into it. Every piece of spiritual strength she had spent years cultivating, bottling, controlling—she gave it freely to the land. To the mountains. To him.
She didn’t know how much time passed.
Only that when she finally opened her eyes, her heart was racing, her skin damp with sweat, and her breath shallow in her chest. She staggered to her feet, limbs shaking, and turned to look at Kōga with triumph in her gaze.
“There,” she said, panting. “Quarter of your mountain range. Blessed. Purified. Radiating with holy energy. No big deal—”
The world swayed.
Her stomach rolled.
Oh no.
She blinked hard, once, then twice. Her knees buckled. Her vision blurred at the edges, and her arms flailed out in slow, desperate reach for something—anything—to grab onto.
“No, no, no, no, no,” she whispered, defiant even in defeat. “I will not pass out. I will not give you—”
The sentence never finished.
Her vision went black.
And just before she hit the ground, she felt strong arms catch her—steady, solid, warm. Kōga’s voice, low and alarmed, murmured something she couldn’t make out. The last thing she registered was the steady rhythm of his heart as he pulled her close.
And then—nothing.
Chapter Text
Chapter Twenty-Nine– Not Impressed, Except Now
Kōga’s POV
Kōga wasn’t easily impressed. He didn’t say that with arrogance—it was just fact. He’d lived long enough to see daiyōkai level threats come and go, witnessed holy warriors burn their lives out in a single burst of light, and watched self-proclaimed alphas puff their chests only to fall to the next real test of power. Power was common. Control was rare. Grace under pressure? Rarer still.
And yet, here he stood.
Watching a human woman sit cross-legged in his ancestral lands and pull raw reiki from the marrow of the world like it belonged to her. As if she didn’t even question whether she had the right to it.
At first, he thought she was bluffing—some dramatic flare to prove a point. A harmless show of force.
But then her aura flared. And her body started to glow. Not spark. Not shimmer. Glow. Her entire frame pulsed with steady waves of purifying light, warm and golden and pure in a way he hadn’t seen in generations. He’d seen temple maidens bow before shrines, seen sanctified warriors summon spears of light. But this? This was divine in the old way. In the dangerous way.
His breath hitched in his throat.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t interrupt.
Because interrupting someone channeling enough holy power to cauterize the roots of a mountain was how demons died. He stood very still, slightly behind her and far enough that if she misfired, he might just walk away with a burn instead of a funeral.
And gods, it was beautiful.
She wasn’t just powerful. She was natural in it. The way her shoulders eased into the earth, her palms spread wide as if she could feel the rhythm of the stone beneath her, her breath slow and full. She didn’t dominate the power—she welcomed it, channeled it, shared it. She didn’t look like a woman trying to prove something.
She looked like a queen reclaiming land that was already hers.
He might’ve been falling in love before. Now? Now he was simply doomed.
Fifteen minutes passed. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink too hard. Her aura curled around her like smoke, and he let it wash over him—warm, bright, right. And he couldn’t help but think, as he watched her practically radiate divinity in the dirt of his homeland, that this was the vision he’d been chasing all his life.
When she finally opened her eyes, her pupils were blown wide and her body shuddering—but she stood. Goddess, she stood. Covered in sweat, breath ragged, looking smug and victorious and as stubborn as ever.
“There,” she panted. “Quarter of your mountain range. Blessed. Purified. Radiating with holy energy. No big deal—”
And then…it shifted. He heard her heart stutter. Not romantically. Literally.
Her scent changed. Her reiki stuttered. Her vision dimmed—he could see it in her eyes, the way her pupils trembled and then…flatlined.
“I will not pass out,” she muttered, swaying. “I will not give you—”
He moved before she dropped. Fast. Not his full speed—too sharp and she might’ve gotten whiplash—but fast enough that her knees hadn’t fully buckled before she was in his arms, weight cradled against his chest like she weighed nothing. His arms adjusted automatically, one behind her back, the other beneath her legs.
She went completely limp.
“Damn it,” he muttered, pressing his cheek briefly to her forehead. She was burning hot. Overdrawn. Her body had handled the spiritual pressure fine—up until the very moment it didn’t. And of course she’d tried to walk it off. Of course she’d rather collapse than let him win the argument.
“You absolute menace,” he muttered, holding her tighter.
This woman. This tiny, powerful, maddening priestess. She had a fifth of his raw power, two decades of life behind her, and still thought she could out-stubborn an alpha with centuries of experience.
And the worst part?
She could. She was.
He adjusted her closer to his chest, keeping her head against him as he listened to the slow, steady thump of her heart. She was breathing fine now, body already slipping into rest. Her lips were slightly parted, lashes fluttering, and every bit of that holy glow now just residual heat in his arms.
Kōga exhaled. Long and slow.
“Rest now,” he murmured, pressing his nose to her temple. “You already proved your point, Priestess.”
She didn’t stir. But her fingers, still curled lightly near his collar, twitched once.
And his heart—his stupid, hopeless, smitten heart—thudded like a war drum in his chest. This woman would be the death of him. And he’d greet it with a smile.
Kōga smiled—just slightly, just for a second—but only after he checked her vitals.
Her heartbeat had steadied into a slow, warm rhythm that reassured him. Her breathing had evened out, soft and shallow, a bit taxed but not strained. Her fingers had stopped twitching from reiki backlash, and her scent—gods, her scent—had begun to mellow from sheer overexertion back into something sweet, sun-warmed, and distinctly hers.
She was fine. She would be fine. And so—finally—he allowed himself the smallest, cocky smile. Then he adjusted his grip and carried her like the precious cargo she absolutely was.
They hadn’t even been outside for a full hour. One hour. And somehow, in that absurdly short amount of time, she’d managed to purify a quarter of his mountain range. A quarter. He wanted to be angry. Wanted to tell her off for overdoing it, for pushing past what was reasonable.
But he wasn’t angry.
He was floored.
No council mage, no traveling priest, no half-trained shrine keeper had ever managed that in his memory. Not in decades. Maybe not ever in his territory. She hadn’t even asked permission, hadn’t checked the landscape or the ley lines—she just sat down and did it. Because he’d handed her a rock and teased her. Because she wanted to make a point. Because she wanted to prove she wasn’t just a pretty face with political backing.
She wasn’t.
She was a fucking phenomenon.
Kōga took the path slowly, walking steady and quiet through the treeline as the wind shifted around him. The reiki she left behind was tangible—a humming signature that tickled his youkai senses with every step. Trees stretched taller. The grass had a richer hue. Even the wind smelled cleaner. The mountain breathed differently—and his instincts responded with something ancient, reverent, devoted.
“A priestess was here,” he murmured under his breath, adjusting her gently in his arms. “A priestess with the Alpha.”
The whole mountain would remember.
His lips twitched again at the thought.
By the time he got to the edge of the hotel and through the entry into their suite, she hadn’t stirred. And why would she? She’d dumped what had to be ninety percent of her reserves into the land with almost no cool-down period. She was completely, blissfully out.
Kōga stepped over the threshold and shut the door behind him with his foot. The room was still warm from the morning sun filtering through the sheer curtains, and he made a direct path to the bed. Not the couch. Not a chair. The bed. He’d promised her a room—he never promised her solitude.
He laid her down with careful precision, brushing her hair back from her face. She was still flushed with exertion, but not dangerously so. Her lashes twitched once, and her lips moved in some half-formed dream. His heart clenched.
What kind of woman passes out from a magical feat and still looks victorious?
His.
That’s who.
Kōga stood straight again, arms crossed, watching her for a long moment. The soft rise and fall of her chest. The gentle kick of her leg shifting beneath the sheets. She mumbled once in her sleep, something about wolves being smug bastards.
He smirked.
“Yeah, and you like it.”
His gaze flicked to her suitcase half-unpacked in the corner, to the delicate lingerie he’d seen earlier folded neatly beside her shrine robes. This woman…was a walking contradiction. And he wanted every piece of it.
He exhaled deeply and rolled his shoulders, finally letting himself feel the weight of what just happened.
This wasn’t some field trip. This wasn’t a flirtation.
She’d marked the mountain with her energy. Left behind proof of her strength, her conviction. It wasn’t just holy power—this was political. Symbolic. Everyone with a spiritual nose would know what happened here.
A priestess had walked with the Alpha.
A priestess had blessed his mountains.
He huffed, rubbing a hand through his hair, still shaking his head in stunned amusement. “Showing off,” he muttered. “That’s one of the damn courting steps.”
And gods help him, he was impressed.
More than that?
He was smitten.
And this? This was only the first day.
Chapter Text
Chapter Thirty — The Consequence of Swagger
Kagome’s POV
The first thing she felt was pain. A deep, pulsing, glaring ache radiating from the center of her skull like someone had cracked a glow stick full of regret and holy reiki and shook it around her frontal lobe.
“God dammit,” she mumbled into what she slowly realized was a pillow—not grass, not dirt, not divine earth—but a proper, luxurious, silken, pillow. A hotel pillow. Gods help her, she wasn’t even outdoors anymore.
Memory trickled back with sluggish cruelty.
She’d shown off.
Like a damn peacock on a divine caffeine high. Sat down like some divine little brat and said: Oh? Just a rock? Let me show you something, wolf-boy.
And she had. A quarter of the fucking mountain. Her spiritual pressure had roared out of her body like some unstoppable tidal wave and she’d let it happen. Because she was tired of being underestimated. Because he had teased her. Because part of her—an irrational, proud, smug part—wanted to be admired by him.
And then?
She passed out.
Like a dainty, wilting, flower of a shrine maiden.
Kagome groaned again, barely resisting the urge to bury her entire head into the mattress and scream into the expensive thread count. Her body was heavy, limbs aching with the telltale signs of magical depletion, and her pride? Her pride was screaming in embarrassment.
“Never going to live this fucking down,” she muttered, dragging a hand up to her face as if she could wipe away her own mortification with sheer force of will.
She tried to sit up—and immediately, warm, steady hands caught her beneath her shoulders, holding her upright with gentle strength.
She stiffened. “You should have just left me,” she grumbled before her eyes had even focused, still clinging to some delusion that maybe he hadn’t seen the whole thing. Maybe he’d just found her passed out. Maybe he hadn’t watched her collapse like a dramatic debutante whose corset was too tight.
But the response came with a chuckle. Deep. Warm. Unrepentant.
“Gods, I’m impulsive,” Kōga’s voice said from behind her, so pleased it made her temples throb. “But stupid?”
She opened her eyes slowly—regretfully—and blinked until her vision focused.
He was crouched beside the bed, looking at her with the kind of lazy male satisfaction that said, I caught you. I carried you. You passed out in my arms like a heroine in some swoony romance novel and now you’re mine forever.
And she hated how part of her wanted to melt.
He reached for a glass of water on the bedside table and held it out without a word. She took it, muttering a “thanks,” and drank slowly while refusing to make eye contact.
“You overdid it,” he said finally, tone low, not quite chastising but firm in that annoying Alpha protector way that made her want to throw the glass at him and then beg him to fluff her pillow. “Fifteen minutes of straight channeling? You’re lucky you didn’t short-circuit something.”
“I had it,” she insisted weakly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I was fine.”
“You were mid-sentence—arguing with me—as you passed out.”
She glared, cheeks flushed. “I stand by my point.”
Kōga just laughed. Not cruelly. Not smugly. But that quiet kind of laugh—the kind that came with pride. With warmth. “You’re a damn menace,” he said, brushing a piece of hair away from her face. “And I think the mountain likes you.”
She huffed, sinking back into the pillows, trying to decide if she should throw herself off the balcony or just fake her own death and move to a different region.
“Seriously though,” he added, more softly now. “You didn’t have to do all that.”
“I wanted to,” she said after a pause, voice quieter, less defensive. “You…you treat me like I’m capable. And I wanted to be.”
“You are,” he said instantly, with so much conviction it stunned her into silence. “But you don’t have to bleed yourself dry to prove it. Not to me. Not to anyone.”
And just like that, her heart did that thing. That stupid, full-body sigh of emotional affection that made her want to punch herself and cry at the same time.
She looked away.
“…You carried me?”
He tilted his head as if insulted she’d even asked. “Of course I did.”
“From the trail?”
“From the mountain. Through the trees. Into the car. Up the hotel steps. Down the hallway. Past two demon concierges and a bellboy who now probably thinks we were having wild sex on sacred land.”
Her face burst into flames. She kicked him under the blanket and he took it with a grin.
And then, softly—too softly—he added, “You scared me.”
That quiet admission cracked something inside her.
“I didn’t mean to,” she said.
“I know.” He exhaled, his hand warm on her shin beneath the blanket. “I’m not mad. Just…be careful. I’ve already started planning our future. Don’t make me pencil in ‘hospital visits’ this early in the plotline.”
She tried to sit up again, slower this time, bracing herself against the pillows as her body throbbed in weak protest. Her muscles ached like she’d run a marathon, then wrestled a spiritual dragon, and then tried to bench press a temple. Her head spun the second she lifted it more than a few inches and—
“Ah, ah,” Kōga chided, pressing a warm hand against her shoulder and guiding her right back down. “I wouldn’t do that just yet.”
She groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes. “Gods, how long was I out?”
“Couple hours. Just enough for me to update the council,” he said casually, sipping from a new cup of tea that he had absolutely not offered to her yet.
That made her freeze.
“…Update them on what?”
“Oh, you know,” he said lightly, like he wasn’t about to ruin her entire week. “That the beautiful, determined priestess accompanying me had decided to purify a quarter of the sacred eastern mountain range in one sitting.”
She groaned again, louder this time, into the expensive sheets.
“Oh, and that we’d be needing to extend the trip. Council health policy and all.”
She yanked her arm down and gave him a look—the kind of look that could stop small children and lesser men. “How long.”
“Two weeks,” he said, the picture of innocence.
“Two—” She tried to sit up again, failed gloriously, flopped backward with a pained hiss and stared at the ceiling in disbelief. “You asked the council for fourteen days because I passed out once?!”
“I told them it was due to an impressive but uncalibrated spiritual surge,” Kōga offered, not even bothering to hide his grin. “And that we might need more time to properly support your health, rest, hydration, and continued purification efforts.”
“They approved that?”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he leaned over her with an entirely too smug look. “They were impressed. Said they’d be updating the official spiritual logs. Not since the Warring States had a quarter of this range been purified by a single person in a single session.”
“I hate you.”
“They’re calling it the ‘Higurashi Bloom Effect.’ I may have helped suggest the name.”
She reached for a pillow to smother herself with.
“I figured if I said it was a bloom instead of a blast, it sounded gentler. More elegant. Like you were gently coaxing the sin from the stone instead of obliterating the mountain with holy fire.”
“Kōga—”
“Also, I said you might need a private hot spring soak tonight. You know. For muscle recovery and balance of spiritual output.”
“Of course you did.”
“And that I would personally make sure your energy stayed stable. As your host.”
She could barely lift her hand to throw the pillow at him, but she managed. It bounced off his head. He didn’t even flinch.
Two weeks.
Two weeks, in a mountainside hotel suite. With him. With her dumb traitorous heart that kept beating a little faster every time he hovered nearby. With her stupid soul that, if she was honest, didn’t feel quite so stupid when it was near his.
She sighed. Long and deep. Then pressed the back of her hand to her forehead like a dramatic heroine from a tragic romance.
“This is going to be a disaster.”
He just leaned forward, kissed her temple, and whispered, “This is going to be perfect.”
Chapter Text
Chapter Thirty-One — Trapped by a Wolf
Kōga’s POV
She tried to sit up again.
And Kōga? He didn’t even pretend to let her.
“Oh no, no, no, little priestess,” he said as he stepped forward and gently—very gently—pressed her shoulder back against the pillows. “That’s adorable, truly. But you’re not going anywhere.”
She groaned and rolled her eyes, muttering something about how she was fine, which was objectively untrue, considering she had done what no other holy person in living memory had managed to do: bless a quarter of a sacred mountain range and lose consciousness all before lunch.
He, meanwhile, had been standing there like a wolf-shaped lawn ornament, watching her glow with celestial fire like she was trying to challenge the gods themselves. And now? Now she was arguing about sitting upright as if she hadn’t done something cosmically reckless and wildly hot.
“I could purify you,” she mumbled, eyes still closed, face half buried in the pillow.
“You’ll have to stand up to do that, sweetheart,” he teased.
She swatted half-heartedly at his chest.
He caught her wrist, kissed her knuckles, and set her hand back under the blanket. “Try again when you’re not swaying like a drunk deer.”
“I’m not that tired.”
“You passed out mid-sentence.”
“I did not—”
“You said, and I quote,” he cleared his throat dramatically, “‘I will not pass out. I will not give you—’ and then you promptly gave me your whole body.”
She groaned and buried her face further in the pillow. “Never going to live that down.”
“Oh absolutely not. I’m having it carved into stone outside the mountain entrance. Maybe with a little plaque.”
“I hate you.”
He laughed and reached for the breakfast tray he’d ordered. “Yeah, but you hate me in my bed, wearing my blanket, eating my food, with my name listed as your emergency contact on the council health form.”
She cracked one eye open. “Wait. What?”
“You passed out, baby. Council protocol. Someone had to be listed. I figured you’d want someone with abs and emotional availability.”
“You’re the worst.”
He nodded proudly. “And the best you’ve ever had, which is saying something since I haven’t even kissed you today.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t protest when he slid the tray toward her and fluffed her pillow. She didn’t even argue when he sat beside her and tucked a rogue piece of hair behind her ear.
Instead, she asked dryly, “So what now? You’re going to nurse me back to health? Feed me grapes?”
He grinned. “Absolutely. I’ll peel ‘em too if you’re good. But just so you know—this is what happens when you try to show off in front of your man.”
“I was not showing off.”
“You absolutely were. You sat your pretty little ass in the dirt and zapped the earth like you were claiming it for the priestess kingdom.”
“Well,” she muttered, “if the shoe fits…”
“And then you passed out like a Regency-era noblewoman. I almost called the shrine for a fainting couch.”
That earned him a half-hearted pillow to the face.
He caught it, tossed it aside, and leaned down with a cocky smirk. “Listen, beautiful. We’ve got fourteen days of blessed government-mandated vacation. You are not getting up until your power’s back to full, your color’s returned, and I’ve coaxed at least three hot spring naps out of you.”
“You’re going to trap me in this room, aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “Trapped implies you want to leave.”
“I might.”
“You won’t.”
She gave him a look. “And if I do?”
He leaned in, brushing a kiss to her temple. “Then I’ll follow you like the lovesick mutt I am, and carry you back in my arms. Again.”
Her breath hitched slightly.
And that? That made him grin wider. Because as much as she played tough, her body always gave her away. The little flutters in her breath. The pause of her heartbeat when he got close. The soft way she curled toward him when she was asleep.
Gods, she was his.
He pulled back slightly and tapped her nose. “Rest, priestess. You’ve already blessed the mountains. Don’t make me bless you for overdoing it.”
Her cheeks flushed. “That’s not how purification works.”
“You keep telling yourself that.” He leaned back and plucked a strawberry from the tray. “Now eat your breakfast. I’ve got hot tea, buttery pastries, and if you’re very good, I might let you pick what movie we nap to later.”
She squinted at him. “This entire trip is going to be you soft-kidnapping me, isn’t it?”
“Not kidnapping,” he said cheerfully. “Just enthusiastic caretaking. With snacks.”
She sighed again, this time with a little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
He saw it.
And he tucked it away, deep in his chest, like it was already something sacred. Because this wasn’t just a trip. Not for him. This was the beginning. And by the end of it? She was going to know.
He waited until she finished nibbling at the corner of a croissant and pushed the tray a few inches away, her fingers too heavy and her limbs still too slow. Her stubborn pride kept her upright, barely, but he could tell it cost her.
And because he was a good mate-in-the-making—an excellent one, if anyone asked—he quietly set the tray aside and pulled the covers up over her legs again.
Then without a word, he kicked off his shoes, climbed in beside her, and tugged her against him like he’d done it a hundred times before.
She made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a grumble.
“You’re still recovering,” he said softly, nuzzling against her temple. “Just let me take care of you.”
He didn’t wait for permission. He’d already earned it, in the way her body relaxed just enough, in the way she didn’t tell him to stop or scoot away.
His fingers moved gently through her hair first—long strokes from scalp to end, combing out the tangles from wind and divine fury alike. She made a quiet, sleepy noise that he took as encouragement.
“Tomorrow,” he murmured, pressing a kiss just behind her ear, “we’ll walk again. Just a walk. No mountains. No blessings. No showing off for your very impressed demon boyfriend.”
She grunted. He smiled.
His hand trailed down from her hair to the slope of her neck, thumb brushing along her pulse.
“Maybe we’ll walk through the lowlands,” he mused, his voice slow and lazy as he mapped the line of her collarbone with his fingertips. “Let you breathe it all in. Let you rest.”
He shifted, pushing the blankets a bit lower. She stirred.
“Shhh,” he soothed. “Just me.”
And then his hands—those battle-calloused, warm-palmed hands—slid down to her shoulders. Gently at first. Pressing into the tension that had taken root deep between the muscles. He worked in slow circles, careful not to overdo it. She winced once. He eased up.
“You hold more stress than my entire council combined,” he whispered, amused.
“You are my stress,” she mumbled into the pillow.
He grinned. “Then I guess I should help relieve it.”
With that, he rolled her with practiced ease onto her stomach and straddled beside her, hands returning with more purpose now. Stronger, deeper. He worked at the knots under her shoulder blades, down her spine, then further, slowly pushing through the fatigue clinging to her body like a second skin.
She groaned—exhaustion, pleasure, relief. He didn’t know which, but it was a sound he planned to hear often.
“You’re a menace,” she muttered.
“I’m a gift,” he corrected, dragging his knuckles gently down the back of her thigh before switching sides. “The gods looked down at this chaotic, stubborn, brilliant priestess and said, ‘Let’s give her a wolf.’”
“You’re so full of yourself.”
“And yet,” he leaned down, lips brushing the top of her shoulder, “you’re still here. In my bed. Letting me rub all over you.”
She groaned again, this time lower. A sound of surrender. Or maybe satisfaction. He’d take either.
He continued—long, sweeping strokes down her back, alternating pressure with palms and thumbs. Her body gave under his hands like clay, melting with every pass.
Eventually, she stopped making sounds entirely. Not because she was asleep, but because she had no more to give him. No sass. No pushback. Just trust.
He leaned forward again and whispered against her ear, “I know you’re trying to pretend this is nothing. But you should know…”
She blinked slowly, only half-conscious.
“This is everything to me.”
And with that, he kissed her temple, tucked the blankets back up, and slid his arm under her waist—holding her close, safe, and silent.
Because she didn’t need to say it yet.
But he already knew.
Chapter Text
Chapter Thirty-Two — The Sleepy Confession
Kagome’s POV
She couldn’t feel her limbs.
Not in a bad way—no, nothing like that. This was something else. This was… softness. That dizzy, heavy, bone-deep softness that came after warmth, care, and the kind of massage that made her toes curl.
Her legs were tangled in the sheets. Her tank top was a little wrinkled. Her body felt like warm mochi. And somewhere between his hands on her spine and the kiss behind her ear, her brain had stopped bothering with coherent thought.
There was just heat now. And safety. And this infuriatingly good-smelling wolf who, of course, was spooning her as if he was her full-time blanket.
The worst part? She didn’t want to move. Not even an inch. Not even if the gods themselves came down and asked her to purify another mountain.
Her face was smushed against his chest. His bare chest. Because apparently he had decided that shirtlessness was part of the healing process.
Kagome had thoughts about that. None of them could be spoken out loud. At least… not without consequences.
“I’m gonna spill something stupid,” she whispered into his collarbone.
Kōga let out a low, amused hum. His palm rubbed slow, lazy circles over her back. “What, beautiful?”
She scrunched her nose against his skin. Gods, he was warm. Like a furnace designed specifically to short-circuit her priestess logic. She was supposed to be composed. Cool. Collected.
Instead, she was currently curled into a demon like a sleepy, emotionally unstable feral cat who had found her favorite blanket.
She took a breath.
“I like you,” she whispered.
There. Boom. Truth bomb. Spiritually blessed and soul-splitting.
But that wasn’t even the worst of it. Her voice cracked slightly, in the most vulnerable and sleepy way possible, when she added, “A lot.”
It was the “a lot” that did her in. The confession she hadn’t even meant to say out loud. She immediately buried her face against his chest, her nose sliding under his chin like she could stuff her mortification directly into his clavicle and be done with it.
There was a pause. A moment of quiet that stretched long enough for her to regret every life choice she’d made since downloading that damn dating app.
Then he chuckled. Low and rough, like it started in his stomach and rolled all the way up to his mouth.
She braced herself.
“Y’know,” he murmured, “I was hoping you’d say that…but not like this.”
She blinked. “Like what?”
“Half-asleep, hiding in my chest, with your voice all wobbly and your reiki still all over the damn mountains like a spiritual declaration of ‘this wolf is mine.’”
She groaned and tried to roll away.
He pulled her right back.
“Nuh-uh. You confessed, priestess. You don’t get to vanish after dropping a love grenade.”
“I didn’t say love!”
He smirked against her hair. “Not yet.”
She elbowed him half-heartedly, still too tired to mean it.
But his arms didn’t loosen. If anything, he wrapped her tighter against him, one hand stroking down the line of her spine until her breath evened out again.
“I like you too,” he whispered, voice quieter now. “A lot.”
She hummed. Sleep was winning again. Her limbs were molten. Her brain was mush. But her heart?
Gods help her—her heart felt light.
And for once, she didn’t stop it. Didn’t hide it. She let it bloom, curled up in the arms of the wolf she hadn’t seen coming, hadn’t planned for, and now couldn’t imagine letting go.
She was supposed to be asleep.
That had been the deal. Massage. Comfort. Maybe some soft jokes about spiritual overexertion. And then bed.
But her mind?
Her mind wasn’t playing fair.
She was warm. Curled into a space that should have felt too intimate, too soon, but instead felt—horrifyingly—like hers. The room was quiet except for the distant hum of the heater and the soft rise and fall of his breathing. One of his hands rested across her hip. The other? Somewhere tangled in her hair.
It was too perfect.
Too dangerous.
And because her mind never let her rest for long, the words slipped out before she could stop them.
“Do you think we would work?” she whispered, voice barely above the sheets.
There was a pause. Not heavy. Not shocked. Just stillness. His hand brushed her side, and she swore she felt him smile into her hair before his voice, low and steady, rumbled out.
“I don’t think things just work, beautiful. Not consistently.”
Her throat tightened.
“At least not on their own,” he went on, soft but firm. “People work. They decide to. They try. When it stops working, they fix it. And I think we could do that. I think we’d keep trying.”
She blinked. She hadn’t realized how scared she was until he answered. How much the quiet in her head had been screaming.
They were so different.
She was calm, cautious, a planner with a thousand second guesses. He was instinct, action, emotion and chaos wrapped in muscle and sass. How did that last?
“What if we can’t?” she asked.
It was stupid. Childish. But it was honest.
What if the spark wasn’t enough? What if life—council politics, human-demon diplomacy, expectations—got too heavy?
He was quiet again.
And then his arms tightened. Not crushing. Just present.
“Then I’ll ask you what’s broken. And we’ll fix it. And if we can’t fix it?”
She held her breath.
“Then we go slower. Or try another way. Or take a breath. But we don’t stop trying. Not unless you tell me you don’t want me anymore.”
Her heart squeezed.
“That won’t happen,” she whispered.
“Good,” he murmured, mouth brushing her temple. “Because I’m a stubborn bastard. And I’m pretty sure the only thing I want more than seeing you in that lace set… is waking up to you ten years from now with our pups trying to claw their way into our bed.”
She laughed. It was breathy and shaky and barely there. But it was real.
“Ten years?” she asked, teasing even through her nerves. “So you’re giving me some time?”
“I’m romantic like that,” he said, grinning.
She closed her eyes. Let herself sink back into him, just a little. No answers, no guarantees. Just this moment.
Just him.
And for the first time in what felt like years… the fear didn’t win.
Chapter 33
Notes:
Yes, it’s been three days. I know. But I swear I wasn’t slacking—I’ve been writing… just unofficially. Not updating. Not posting. Just chaotically typing across like four different tabs while prepping for work and trying to remember what universe I’m in.
Between storyline hopping, plot twists, and a very confused Google Docs folder, I’ve cranked out 30–35 chapters. But now comes the hard part: editing. Because apparently, my brain needs to double check that I didn’t give the wrong character a baby or have someone die twice.
So please forgive the delay. I haven’t forgotten. I’m just trying to make sure all these fictional people are still alive, in love, and not accidentally overlapping into the wrong stories.
Also, I really need to finish 5–10 projects soon. Having 20+ active stories is pure chaos. And yet…here we are.
Thanks for sticking with me through the madness.
Chapter Text
Chapter Thirty-Three — In the Dark, the Honest Things
Koga’s POV
She was spiraling.
Softly. Slowly. Not like a storm, but like something unraveling in the quiet, thread by thread, with no dramatic declarations—just breathy truths whispered into the warm space between their bodies.
And fuck, if he wasn’t smitten.
Because Kagome Higurashi, his soft-spoken priestess with sharp eyes and quick fire when provoked, had kept at least one wall up from the very beginning. Even when she kissed him, even when she let him carry her, massage her, even when she slept on his arm.
There had always been a thread of distance.
But not now.
“I’m afraid,” she whispered.
He didn’t move. Didn’t rush her. Just kept brushing his fingers slowly through her hair. “Of what, beautiful?”
She took a breath like the answer hurt to say.
“I just always thought I’d marry a human,” she confessed. “Because you guys don’t play fair. And I don’t think it’s fair to choose your team.”
Koga blinked. Processing. And then, because he was still a wolf and still himself, he snorted lightly.
“Demon kind?” he teased. “You didn’t want to root for our team?”
She didn’t laugh. She just sighed, heavy and honest.
“Humans don’t get your power. Or your lifespan. Or hundreds of years of knowledge. We do what we can,” she murmured. “So, I always figured I should champion my own side. Hell, I even dated my best friend’s brother in high school.”
Koga froze.
What the fuck.
He knew she was a late bloomer in the dating world. But there had been someone?
And worse—she had gone and casually dropped that at 2AM, like it wouldn’t shake him.
“Who?” he asked, trying to keep the growl out of his voice. “Some weak human boy?”
“Kohaku,” she said simply.
Koga’s jaw cracked.
Shit.
Okay. Not a weak human boy.
That was Sango’s little brother. The Kohaku. The one who led the Extermination Division. The one who trained with poison blades before he had a learner’s permit. The one who could probably kill a demon with a pinky and a scroll.
He cleared his throat. “Kohaku wasn’t bad,” she added.
And now? Koga did want to be jealous. Even if it was years ago. Because here she was, speaking like humans were these fragile, fleeting things—and yet she, the most powerful priestess he’d ever laid eyes on, had dated the literal poster child of danger and restraint.
She had walked the line between life and death way before he came into the picture.
“You always dated like that?” he finally asked. “Just… picking the highest-risk humans available?”
She chuckled against his chest. “It was one date. And I was fifteen. We split a soda.”
Koga rolled his eyes but tucked her tighter into his arms anyway. Because, sure—dating your own species made sense. But the idea that she thought she had to stay in that lane? That she didn’t think she could choose him?
That didn’t sit right.
“You ever think,” he said, “that maybe our difference in species is what makes us better?”
She didn’t answer, so he continued. His voice went soft, rough with sleep and belief.
“You defend, heal, and purify. I defend, attack, and protect. You think through things. I rush through them. You’re steady. I’m loud. You’re the holy. I’m the wild.”
A pause. A breath.
“You calm the world down, Kagome. I make sure the world doesn’t touch you until you say so.”
She looked up at him then. Just her eyes, peeking out from beneath his blanket and chest.
“And that works?” she asked.
“Hell yeah, it works,” he said. “We’re a complete strategy.”
She smiled, small and tired, but real.
“Just saying,” he murmured, placing a kiss to the crown of her head, “I don’t need someone like me. I’ve already got me. What I need is you.”
And she didn’t answer.
But she buried her face in his chest like a woman who believed it.
He could feel her breathing settle.
Not asleep yet—but close. One of those quiet, hazy spaces where the heart speaks louder than the brain, and fears come sliding out like mist curling through cracks in stone.
“And what if we don’t work?” she whispered, barely audible against his chest. “What if you want kids and I change my mind? Or you don’t want kids and I do? What if you—”
He didn’t let her finish.
Koga let out a soft huff and pressed a hand over her hair, gently stilling her spiraling thoughts.
“You’re spiraling, Kagome.”
She exhaled in defeat, her fingers fisting into the fabric of his shirt like she could hold herself together if she just gripped hard enough.
“I’m allowed to spiral,” she muttered. “This is a lot.”
He kissed the crown of her head. “Of course you’re allowed. Just… breathe, beautiful. I’m not going anywhere.”
There was a long silence, the kind that stretched between people trying to hold on to calm. And then—
“Aren’t you like… a prince or something?” she asked, her voice muffled but dripping with exasperated disbelief. “Shouldn’t there be, I don’t know, better wolf princesses out there?”
Koga burst out laughing. Real laughter. The kind that shook his chest and probably jostled her half-asleep body.
She elbowed him weakly. “I’m serious.”
He smirked, shifting just enough to meet her bleary eyes in the low light of the hotel room.
“Okay, Ms. Midoriko Descendent,” he teased, raising a brow. “You gonna sit there in all your holy bloodline, half-a-mountain-blessing, I-talk-in-my-sleep-while-saving-the-world glory and try to say I’m the one dating up?”
Her nose scrunched.
“You passed out after purifying a quarter of my ancestral land, and woke up pissed you didn’t make it halfway. You’re wearing my shirt right now. And you think I’m out here slumming it?”
“I didn’t say slumming—”
“Baby, listen.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, softer now. Quieter. “You could’ve chosen anyone. Hell, you could’ve not chosen. You didn’t have to get on that app. You didn’t have to swipe. You didn’t have to let me take you walking. Or kissing. Or feeding you three times in one night.”
She groaned softly, burying her face again. “Don’t remind me.”
“I will remind you,” he grinned. “Because it was the best fucking day of my life.”
She went still.
“And yeah,” he added, pressing his lips to her temple, “I’m technically royalty. But you? You’re the only one I’ve ever felt this shit with. And I’m not interested in anyone else. There are no ‘better’ wolf princesses. You’re it.”
She didn’t speak.
But her grip on him tightened. And her breath hitched. And after another moment, her body relaxed fully for the first time that night.
No more spirals.
Just her.
In his arms.
Finally resting
Chapter Text
Chapter Thirty-Four — Chosen
Kōga’s POV
Gods.
It had taken two full hours of quiet, vulnerable, soul-baring conversation for her to finally pass back out. But him?
He hadn’t minded a damn second of it.
Because every minute she stayed awake—curled into him, talking through fears she’d probably never spoken aloud before—was another thread stitching the two of them tighter together. Not with force. Not with some demon mating claim. Just intimacy. Truth. Time. The kind of time that built something sacred.
And tired, emotionally raw Kagome?
She was a fucking treasure.
She’d clung to him with sleepy hands and whispered thoughts like they were fragile, dangerous things. And maybe they were. She was so used to carrying the weight of everything. The holy order. The shrine. The council. Every exorcism, every healing, every public duty, every expectation that came with being a living relic of Midoriko’s bloodline.
But tonight? She hadn’t been any of those things.
She had been Kagome.
Just Kagome. A woman scared of being hurt. Scared of being wrong. Scared of giving someone her heart and having it mishandled.
And gods, if he didn’t fall all over again for the way she tried so hard to be rational. Like love could be mapped out. Like intimacy could be risk-assessed. Like the fact that he was a demon and she was human meant they were supposed to be on opposite teams.
Like she didn’t already know the second she touched him—he’d never let her go.
He’d stayed so still through it all. Let her tuck her nose against his throat. Let her knee hook over his thigh and her palm settle on his chest like she was grounding herself. And he just… let it happen.
Because that was how she gave herself.
Slowly. Carefully. With layers.
She whispered what-ifs between yawns, her mind looping through fears like it was trying to prepare for heartbreak. Like she was already waiting for the other shoe to drop. And maybe that was the human in her. The part that had lived too fast and been told too often that things fall apart, so hold them loosely.
But not this.
Not him.
She could grip him as tight or as cautious as she needed. He wasn’t going anywhere.
And when she murmured, “What if it doesn’t work?” he had to resist the urge to kiss her temple and say, then we try again until it does.
Because he meant it.
Love wasn’t a battlefield to win. It was a rhythm. A dance. Sometimes, it would be clumsy. Sometimes, it would be quiet. But it would always be theirs.
And gods, when she’d added, “I always thought I’d marry a human,” like it was a confession, like it was guilt she had to offload—he hadn’t even flinched.
Because this was the woman who had once dated Kohaku of all people. The human commander of the Demon Extermination Unit. A man who waged war for a living and probably tucked holy talismans into his body armor.
She didn’t just love danger.
She was danger.
And her saying she’d always imagined marrying a human didn’t scare him. Because she also said she liked him. A lot. And that? That was something Kōga could build a kingdom on.
Now, as she finally stilled in his arms—breathing even, lips parted slightly, face soft and peaceful—he tucked his chin over her head and closed his eyes.
He didn’t even care if she didn’t realize what tonight had meant.
Because he had.
She’d handed him her fears.
Not in screaming matches. Not in chaos. But in hushed tones and trembling fingers. Like someone who didn’t know if it was safe to speak too loudly. Who didn’t know if the moment would stay if she looked directly at it.
But he would hold it.
All of it.
Every fear. Every insecurity. Every unfinished sentence and hesitant pause.
He’d hold it like it was sacred.
Because it was.
And if she needed time? She could take it. If she needed boundaries? He’d honor them. If she needed someone to help her believe this could work?
Then he would wake up every morning and remind her.
He should’ve gone to sleep.
The lights were low, the air warm from the lingering sun, and Kagome was curled against him with that soft, sleep-weighted kind of cling that made a man feel like something between a pillow and a home. Her fingers twitched slightly against his chest, and every few minutes, her lips would move in half-formed thoughts.
And gods, he was a fool for it.
She mumbled like someone chasing the edge of a dream and reasoning through emotions at the same time. Her voice was faint, half-swallowed by sleep, but he heard every damn word.
“…you’re gonna hog the bed…”
He blinked, then let out a quiet chuckle, arm tightening around her. “I’m twice your size, sweetheart. I’m obligated to hog the bed. It’s in the Alpha Code. Section two, clause one: spread out like a smug bastard.”
She wrinkled her nose in her sleep, brows furrowing as if offended on a soul level.
“‘M serious,” she mumbled. “You’re gonna… flop.”
He grinned. “Flop lovingly. There’s a difference.”
She made a disgruntled little noise, more air than protest, and nuzzled further into his chest. Her cheek smushed against him, the curve of her nose cold against his collarbone. And just when he thought she might have settled—
“…how many kids?”
He froze. Then smiled. Oh, so that’s where this was going.
“Well,” he whispered, brushing a thumb over her shoulder and through her sleep-tangled hair, “depends. You want a sports team or a small village?”
She exhaled something that might’ve been a laugh—or a snore.
“Two,” he said softly. “Maybe three. Four if you keep looking at me like you do when I bring you tea.”
A pause. Then, from the depths of her dozy subconscious:
“…no evil twins.”
Kōga had to bite his damn tongue. His body shook with suppressed laughter as he leaned down and nuzzled her temple.
“Only the slightly chaotic kind. No evil,” he promised. “Just strong, fast, ridiculously good-looking pups who steal pastries and charm grandmas.”
Her voice slurred again. “You made me pastries…”
“Damn right I did,” he whispered against her hair. “You looked at me like I hung the moon after that.”
Silence. Then—so soft, he almost thought he imagined it—
“…like you…”
Gods.
He closed his eyes and just held her.
Not tightly. Not possessively. Just enough that she’d feel it if she drifted somewhere in that half-conscious state and wondered if he was still there. He wasn’t going anywhere.
Kagome breathed in deep, like the weight of the day was finally gone, and he stroked her back once—gentle, reverent, calm.
“Like you too, beautiful,” he whispered, lips at her hairline. “Always gonna like you. Always gonna choose you. Even in dreams.”
And with her sleep-filled babbles about blanket-stealing, wolves in the kitchen, and something about “puppy claws on the hardwood,” he finally let himself drift off—smiling.
Because there was no future he wanted more than this.
Even if she sleep-talked through all of it.
Chapter Text
Chapter Thirty-Five — Robes and Ramblings
Kōga’s POV
Kōga wasn’t sure what woke him.
Maybe it was the shift in pressure, the soft slide of cloth over tatami. Maybe it was the subtle prickle along his spine—the one he hadn’t felt since his time in the war, when midnight movements meant danger and survival depended on being the first to react.
He snapped awake in seconds, eyes cutting through the dim suite.
She wasn’t in bed.
The warmth beside him was gone. Her pillow still smelled like sleep and reiki, but the blanket was half-pushed back, and her scent? Moving.
Every instinct sharpened. He scanned the shadows, already halfway out of bed, muscles tight and heart slamming against his ribs. It wasn’t panic exactly—he didn’t panic—but it was the brand of alert that came when the person he cared most about was no longer where she should be.
And then he saw her.
Over by the small dresser near her suitcase. In his shirt, hair tousled and a faint moonlight cast against her bare legs. She was bent over, digging through folded clothes like a woman on a mission.
“Kagome?” he called, low and cautious.
No response.
She pulled out one of her shrine robes—white and pressed—and unfolded it with surprising precision.
He blinked. Slowly. Letting his body settle while his mind caught up.
Her words came in broken pieces, like a radio station just out of range. Not panicked. But not coherent either.
“…have to—presentation…shrine attire mandatory…can’t be late…”
Kōga blinked. “Oh, fuck me.”
She wasn’t awake. She was sleepwalking. And trying to dress herself for a council meeting.
“Kagome, babe,” he said carefully, stepping closer, hands raised in surrender like she was a spooked animal. “You’re not awake right now. You don’t need to get dressed. There’s no meeting.”
But she didn’t stop. Just kept fumbling with the robe, managing to tie it lopsided around her waist as she turned toward the door.
“Briefing…they need the—delegation notes. Gotta update the west.”
“No, no they don’t,” he said, lunging gently before she could unlock the deadbolt. Thank the gods he had double-locked it. He watched as she tried the handle, then stared at it. Head tilting. Like the door had offended her personally.
She stared at it for nearly thirty seconds.
“…why won’t it open…” she whispered.
Kōga placed a hand on the top of her head, guiding her softly but firmly away from the door.
“You’ve been locked in by security clearance, princess,” he said with an exaggeratedly serious tone. “No unauthorized departures after midnight unless you’re briefed by the alpha in bed.”
She blinked up at him, eyes glassy and confused. “I—I’m not—ready. Gotta bring incense—gods, I think I lost the pouch again.”
“You did. Totally gone. We’ll file a requisition request in the morning. Now c’mon.”
She resisted at first, squirming in his grip, but he easily guided her back toward the bed.
“I need to debrief you,” he added with mock gravity. “The fate of the demon-human treaty rests on you giving me your talking points from under this blanket.”
“But…but the shrine…”
“Yes, yes. The shrine’s in peril. But we can’t risk presenting without a well-rested priestess. You’ll compromise the whole meeting. That’s a class B diplomatic failure, Kagome.”
She blinked hard. Her brows furrowed like she was trying to calculate the failure rate of such a hypothetical.
“That’s…not good,” she mumbled. “Could jeopardize…western support…”
“Exactly,” he said, tucking the blanket around her as she sank into the mattress. “Now, start the briefing, Priestess. What’s the first order of business?”
She yawned and curled onto her side. “Uh… abolish that one guy who—brings weird snacks…during…sessions…”
“Consider him banished,” he said solemnly, sliding in behind her and wrapping his arms around her frame.
“Bless you,” she whispered, and he could’ve sworn she smiled.
Gods, what was his life?
The most powerful priestess of the age, sleepwalking in a wrinkled robe and trying to take over foreign policy half-asleep—and he was here. Wrangling her. Wrapping her in blankets like a feral kitten.
And he wouldn’t trade a single fucking second of it.
“Next time,” he whispered into her hair, “you’re gonna sleep so deeply I’ll have to bribe your soul to come back.”
She didn’t answer. Just sighed softly, melting back into him.
And he just held her, gently brushing his hand through her hair.
“Crazy little priestess,” he whispered. “Dreaming of robes and sutras while the rest of us are trying to dream of you.”
She sighed. A soft, content noise against his skin. And gods, he was going to need to put a ward on the door before she actually made it to the elevator next time.
But for now?
He tucked the blanket around her again, pulled her close, and muttered, “No more council meetings after midnight, beautiful. I forbid it.”
But Kōga didn’t sleep right away. He stayed awake a little longer. Just in case she tried to start a midnight press conference next.
Chapter Text
Chapter Thirty-Six — Sleepwalking Sovereign
Kōga’s POV
Kōga had faced armies. Sabotage missions. Rogue demon uprisings. Council audits. His own mother.
And yet—
Nothing had terrified him quite like the moment he realized Kagome had almost walked out of their hotel room in her sleep.
In a damn shrine robe.
What if he hadn’t locked the door? What if he hadn’t woken up to the sound of her rustling through luggage like a woman possessed by holy bureaucracy? What if she had walked out of the room, down the damn hall, and collapsed in front of the concierge mid-chant?
The council would never let him live that down.
And gods help him, he didn’t even care about that.
Because she could’ve been hurt.
He sat at the edge of their bed, elbow on his knee, hand rubbing the side of his face, watching the rise and fall of her chest. She’d finally gone fully still, curled into his blankets like a smug little burrito, oblivious to the emotional terrorism she had just unleashed.
She was ridiculous. A menace. A chaotic priestess with soft hair, a powerhouse of reiki and an apparent full commitment to international peacekeeping while unconscious.
And he? He was fucking smitten.
“Augh,” he muttered to himself, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’m gonna have to tether her to the damn bed.”
He didn’t even mean that in a sexy way. Well—maybe seventy percent safety, thirty percent sexy.
The idea of her just walking out, of being vulnerable while she wasn’t even awake to realize it, had planted a seed of dread deep in his chest. She didn’t even remember it, he knew that. She would probably laugh about it in the morning. Or groan and threaten him with holy fire if he ever told anyone.
But for him? It had shifted something.
Because he wanted to be there when things like this happened. To catch her every time she started spiraling, waking or asleep. To double-lock every door she might wander through. To build a world where she could feel safe and not need to be on guard.
And gods, that was terrifying.
He wasn’t used to feeling like this. Wasn’t used to worrying this much, this early.
She had wrapped herself around his heart like it was the most natural thing in the world. And he didn’t even remember giving her the damn key.
He looked at her again. Her lashes fluttered with some dream. Her lips twitched like she was mumbling something else—possibly another ordinance to pass through the council. Probably another demon to purify.
Kōga exhaled, slow and deep.
Tomorrow, he’d tell her the truth. That she scared the shit out of him sometimes. That she needed to stop pretending to be fine all the time and just lean on him. That if they were going to be serious—and they were—he was going to be glued to her side for as long as it took to keep her safe.
He didn’t go back to sleep.
Even with her tucked safely against his side, even with the door bolted, even with the priestess curled in a pile of blankets like the chaos never happened—Kōga was wide awake. Staring at the ceiling. Thinking.
Because yeah, he’d managed to secure this trip. He’d pulled the strings, wrapped it up in diplomacy, spiritual restoration, and something-something unity between the wolf demon tribes and the holy order. But all he could think now was:
What about after the two weeks?
What happens when she’s back in her city, her shrine, her own damn bed, and he’s not there to wake up when she starts wandering like a council-bound banshee in ceremonial robes?
What if he didn’t get there in time next time? What if something happened? What if someone used her sleepwalking against her?
He gritted his teeth. His claws twitched. The idea of someone harming her—touching her while she was vulnerable, confused, barely conscious—made his jaw ache. Because it wasn’t just the sleepwalking.
It was the reminder that she was still human. Still fragile. Still overworked, overwhelmed, and healing from gods knew what kind of burdened life. He hadn’t even asked her about the past. He knew council files—sure. Her resume. Her power level. Her combat experience. Her spiritual education and ability to purify minor gods with a frown.
But her childhood? Her patterns? What her worst nights were like? Why she carried herself like no one ever stayed long enough to carry part of the weight?
He knew none of it. And that? That wasn’t good enough.
He fished for his phone quietly, glanced down at her to make sure she was still asleep, then opened the pack group chat. Someone would be up. Wolves were terrible sleepers. And if nothing else, they were nosy bastards.
Kōga:
“Need info. You ever dealt with a sleepwalker?”
It didn’t take long. Less than a minute later:
Daichi:
“Lol yeah. My mom used to do it. My dad just followed her around the house with a blanket and eventually just kept her tethered to bed with weighted sheets. Love.”Rinji:
“Human thing. Could be trauma. Could be stress. Could be they’re not sleeping deeply. They drift between stages. Happens a lot in kids but some adults carry it.”Kenta:
“Honestly? Humans sleep better when they feel safe. That’s what I heard. Good bed, warm room. Comfort. Trust.”
Kōga stared at the last message.
Trust.
He looked at her. At the way her fingers had curled toward his shirt in her sleep. The way her breathing had evened out again. The little sigh she gave when he pulled the blanket up higher.
She hadn’t stirred once since.
Yeah. No fucking way was he letting her go back to sleeping alone after this trip. Two weeks wasn’t enough. Not when he had tasted what it was like to know she was beside him. Not when he knew she could need him at any hour.
She might not be ready to say it. But he was. She needed him. And he needed her like a heartbeat.
So he’d earn it. Prove it. Build it with her. Until she woke up not just in his bed, but knowing it was hers too. Until she realized she wasn’t alone anymore. And gods help any council member, demon, priest, or sleepwalking version of herself who tried to get between them.
Because moving forward? He’d be guarding her bed.
From dreams. From doubt. From everything—including herself.
Chapter Text
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Two Weeks, One Mission
Kōga – POV
By the time sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains of their mountain suite, the priestess stirred like nothing had happened.
No half-dressed escape attempts. No ceremonial robe-draped parade toward the wilderness. No mumbling about council schedules or strategic alliances while trying to open a locked hotel door.
Just a quiet yawn, a sleepy stretch, and a groggy, “Morning,” like she hadn’t made him question every ounce of peace he thought he’d earned in life.
And Kōga?
He’d been awake. Not just awake—wired. Hair still mussed from sleep, jaw tight, and hand twitching from the phantom weight of where it had locked the door last night a second time just to be sure.
She blinked at him, still tucked in bed. “Why do you look like you’ve fought a bear?”
He exhaled through his nose, the smallest laugh escaping before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Didn’t fight a bear. Just wrestled with reality.”
“You okay?”
“Fine,” he lied.
Because the truth? He had gone full feral protector in his brain for the last three hours—after managing to calm her sleepwalking ass down, guide her back into bed, and then scroll through sleep disorder forums and mental health subreddits like a desperate single father of four.
He had triple-checked every damn lock in the suite. Researched alarm chimes for hotel doors. Stood at the window to mentally map escape routes just in case she got a running start next time. He even considered sleeping with her shoes hidden.
And all while trying to plan how in hell he was going to convince the love of his life that after this little demon-holy summit? She was coming home with him.
That her shrine was cute. Lovely. Sure. But his mountains were built to protect her. His bed? Designed to hold her through her worst nights. His arms? Ready to block every nightmare. Every rogue memory. Every ounce of tired that turned her legs into wanderers.
But she wasn’t there yet. Not mentally. Not emotionally. Not spiritually. She still thought this was a trip. A brief affair. A pause from the bigger picture. She hadn’t realized yet that he was the bigger picture.
“Do I have something on my face?” she asked, now suspicious, brushing at her cheek with the sleeve of his shirt.
He smirked. “Yeah. Future.”
She was still brushing out her hair when she chirped, “I feel so much better today.”
She beamed at him through the mirror. “I think that rest really helped. I don’t even feel tired anymore.”
He blinked slowly, coffee in hand, trying to reconcile the image in front of him with the banshee-in-white from five hours earlier.
“That so?” he murmured, watching her pull on a tank top like she hadn’t almost broken his damn heart overnight.
“Yeah,” she nodded, still cheerful. “Headache’s gone. Body feels less heavy. And I don’t remember dreaming, which is nice. I hate vivid dreams. Don’t you?”
Kōga took a long sip of his coffee before responding.
“Nope. Don’t dream. I don’t sleep.”
She gave him a look. “You definitely sleep. I heard you snore the first night.”
“That was me meditating.”
She raised a brow.
He didn’t flinch.
She rolled her eyes and went back to tying up her ponytail. “Well, whatever you did worked. I slept like the dead.”
Kōga internally short-circuited.
Oh, she slept, alright. Just not in her damn bed. And she didn’t remember a single fucking thing.
When she finally turned to him fully dressed and smiling with her hands on her hips, he nearly choked on his second cup of coffee.
“Okay, wolf,” she grinned. “Tour me around this sacred mountain of yours. Let’s see what’s next on the priestess-to-do list.”
Kōga rose to his feet slowly, setting the mug down, eyes narrowing just enough for her to squint back.
“You really don’t remember anything from last night?” he asked.
“Not really. Why?” she tilted her head. “Did I drool on you again?”
Oh, gods.
“Among other things,” he muttered, stepping past her to grab his jacket. “Come on, I’ll explain on the hike.”
She followed him, completely unaware, blissfully ignorant, and suspiciously lighthearted.
But Kōga? Kōga wasn’t playing anymore. Two weeks. That’s all he had. Two weeks to convince this stubborn, glowing, half-feral priestess that she couldn’t go back to her shrine without him.
And whether she remembered it or not, she’d already proven why. Because he remembered. And he wasn’t going to forget.
The air was still cool when they started, soft with morning mist and the low murmur of the forest waking around them. Kōga chose the easiest path—not because he thought she couldn’t handle more, but because he needed a break. A soft one. No power displays. No passing out. No purification stunts. Just her. Breathing. Next to him.
She walked with her hands tucked behind her back, hair up in a messy tail, leggings hugging her legs, tank top catching the occasional dapple of sunlight. She looked like she belonged in the wild.
His wild.
“Where are we going?” she asked, glancing sideways.
“You’ll see,” he said, voice light.
She eyed him warily.
“I promise, it’s not strenuous,” he added. “But before we get there…”
Her brows raised.
“There are ground rules for today.”
“Oh?”
“Rule one,” he said, holding up a finger. “You are not allowed to purify a single rock, leaf, tree, blade of grass or otherwise attempt to re-bless my entire territory.”
Her lips twitched. “I only purified a quarter of the mountains.”
He gave her a look. “Exactly. One more quarter and we’re gonna have holy deer breakdancing in the meadows.”
She huffed a laugh and glanced down, the tips of her ears pink. But she nodded.
“Fine. No blessing.”
“Rule two,” he added, “you walk slow. You breathe. You don’t think about the council or timelines or what shrine attire you should’ve packed. Today you’re off-duty.”
She narrowed her eyes but didn’t argue.
“And rule three—” He paused, then reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently. “No spiraling.”
Kagome exhaled slowly. “What if I do spiral?”
“Then I hold the leash,” he grinned. “And we wait it out.”
She tried to roll her eyes, but the blush gave her away.
They walked in companionable silence after that, the path gently curving until the sound of rushing water reached them. When the trees parted, the view opened to reveal a secluded, pristine waterfall—silver and sharp in the morning light, cascading into a pool so clear you could see smooth stones at the bottom. Ferns framed the clearing. Moss spread like velvet across the rocks. The world here felt paused. Ancient.
She gasped. “It’s beautiful.”
Kōga’s chest swelled with something quiet. “My mother brought me here when I was little. Taught me how to swim. How to listen.”
“To the water?” she asked, stepping toward the edge.
He nodded. “The trees too. Said nature would speak to me if I ever got too damn loud to hear myself think.”
She smiled softly, crouching near the bank. “She sounds wise.”
“She was.” He joined her, crouching beside her, shoulder brushing hers. “Still is, even if she drives me insane.”
She chuckled but didn’t speak again right away.
Kōga leaned back on his hands, watching the water. “So,” he said lightly, “you wanna talk about your midnight escape attempt?”
She froze.
He glanced at her, biting back the grin.
“I—what?”
“Oh yeah,” he drawled. “Sleepwalking. Shrine robe. Mumbling about council meetings. Tried to unlock the hotel door—thank the gods I double-locked it.”
Kagome slowly buried her face in her hands. “No.”
“Yes.”
“I did not—”
“You stood there swaying in your robe, barefoot, staring at the door like it had personally betrayed you. You kept mumbling something about a schedule and not being late. And when you couldn’t open the lock? You just glared at it like sheer willpower might do the trick.”
She groaned.
“I had to bribe you back into bed by telling you I needed to be briefed on your talking points.”
She peeked through her fingers. “That… that sounds like something I’d believe.”
He cackled.
“Did I actually go to bed after that?”
“Oh, no. You tried to give me a lecture first.”
Her hands dropped. “A lecture?”
“Something about spiritual logistics and multi-region coverage ratios.”
She was full-on mortified now, pink creeping from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. “I hate everything.”
He leaned in, nosing her temple. “I loved it.”
She groaned again.
“Really,” he said softer now. “You scared the shit out of me, beautiful. But you also gave me a new hobby: making sure you never sleep alone again.”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stared at the water, quiet and overwhelmed. He reached for her hand again, fingers gentle.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he said. “Just…maybe don’t freak out if I’m sticking close.”
She glanced over, eyes soft. “I don’t mind,” she murmured. “But now I really can’t purify anything today.”
“See?” he grinned. “That’s the spirit. Baby steps.”
She shook her head and finally leaned into his side. “Your mother would be proud.”
“She’d be smug,” he corrected. “She told me I needed someone who could scare me.”
Kagome snorted. “Sounds like a wise woman.”
“Oh, she is. But not half as dangerous as you, priestess.”
Chapter Text
Chapter Thirty-Eight – Ripples and Roots
Kōga POV
He led her closer to the water’s edge, fingers still twined with hers. Not possessive—never that. But steady. Grounding. Gods, he liked the weight of her hand. The shape of her fingers against his. Even her silence was something warm when it was next to him.
The waterfall mist kissed her cheeks, dewing lashes he was far too enchanted by. She blinked up at the cascading silver and, for the first time since they arrived, looked like she wasn’t thinking. Not strategizing. Not calculating diplomatic approaches or spiritual logistics.
Just looking.
And then, her voice—soft, curious. “Tell me about your mother.”
He blinked. “What?”
She glanced at him. “You said she used to bring you here. She sounds like someone I would’ve liked.”
He chuckled, guiding them to a large flat stone warmed by the sun. He helped her settle, then dropped beside her, arms draped casually across his knees.
“Yeah, you probably would’ve. She’s tiny,” he said, holding up his fingers to show her height. “But terrifying. The kind of woman who could skin a deer, gut a man, and teach you how to count—all before breakfast.”
Kagome laughed, and gods, it lit something in his chest. He grinned at the sound. “She didn’t take shit from anyone. Dad used to joke that she married him because she needed a wolf who’d be smart enough to know when to shut up.”
“And was he?” Kagome asked, lifting a brow.
Kōga laughed. “Not even a little. They fought constantly. But it was the kind of fighting that meant something. You know? Like… they never raised their voices unless they cared.”
Kagome’s smile softened. “Sounds intense.”
“It was,” he agreed, gaze drifting back to the pool. “But it was love. You could see it. She’d lay into him one minute, then make his favorite stew the next without a word. And he’d spend an entire week collecting white stones from the riverbeds because she liked the way they looked in the garden.”
He felt her lean her shoulder into his just a little.
“Sounds like they were well-matched.”
“They were,” he said. “He was the loud one. Charismatic. Always first in and last out. She was the quiet blade in the dark. Calculated. Patient. Everyone feared her more.”
“And you?” she asked. “Who are you more like?”
He paused.
“My mother,” he said eventually. “In the ways that count.”
Kagome didn’t say anything for a moment. Then quietly, “That’s a good answer.”
He turned his head, studying her profile. How the sunlight haloed her. How her eyes stayed on the water, even as she listened to every syllable from his mouth. And gods—gods, she didn’t even know how deep in she was. She sat there, half-wrecked from her own power yesterday, hair in a tail, sweatshirt tied around her waist, and his, completely unknowingly.
He was already building stories around her. Lore for the pups. Lessons for his pack. He was going to marry her. Not now. Not today. But eventually. Slowly. Or quickly. However she wanted it.
And the fact that she didn’t see it yet?
Was almost sweet.
Almost.
“Any other parental stories?” she asked lightly, nudging him.
“Oh sure,” he smirked. “Dad once got his ass kicked by her for bringing home another female who was ‘just visiting the territory.’”
Kagome blinked. “Oh?”
“Yeah. Mother broke his nose. Then offered the female soup and told her she should aim higher.”
Kagome burst out laughing. Kōga grinned like a wolf. She was laughing with him. At him. And yet still nestled close, like it was natural. And maybe it was. Because from the moment she entered his mountains? They’d been home.
“Are they…still alive?” she asked after a quiet moment, her voice softer now. Thoughtful.
Kōga nodded, looking back out toward the waterfall. “Yeah. They are. Not in Japan, though. They relocated to the West right after World War Two.”
“Really?” she turned, brows lifted. “That far back?”
He shrugged, giving a lopsided smile. “Most of us did. It got…complicated here. Safer there. They found land, helped rebuild. Stayed. Didn’t want to come back.”
“Have you been to see them?”
“A few times,” he answered. “Enough that they know I’m not dead. Not enough that they stop sending judgmental letters.” His grin twitched. “They want grandpups. They always want grandpups.”
She chuckled quietly. “Sounds familiar.”
But he watched her then—really watched her. The way she was doing math in her head, probably sorting through the timeline, the years. Realizing, maybe for the first time, that there were whole pieces of his life she wouldn’t be able to grasp. Not yet.
Because how could she understand growing up in an era when maps were redrawn every decade and magic was fading into myth? How could someone who had only known twenty-something years truly hold the weight of centuries?
And it was fine. He didn’t need her to understand. Not now. Time and longevity? That would come later.
He planned to mate her. He had no doubts. And when that time came, when her life stretched with his, she’d have all the time in the world to catch up.
But now? She didn’t need to know that yet.
So he pivoted, smoothly.
“And what about you?” he asked, elbow nudging her side gently. “Your family?”
Kagome blinked at the shift, then nodded. “Yeah. My little brother, Sota. Not so little anymore. He’s taller than me now. Which is unfair. He eats like three bowls of rice a meal and still has abs.”
Kōga smirked. “Jealous?”
“A little,” she admitted, smiling. “And my mom. She’s…incredible. Strong in the way soft things can be. She’s never yelled at me once in my entire life, but somehow? She always makes me feel like I want to do better.”
“She sounds like my mother,” Kōga said, thoughtfully.
“She gardens. Makes everything from scratch. I think she still irons socks.”
He snorted. “That’s a crime.”
“I know, right?” Kagome laughed. “And then there’s my grandfather. A priest. He’s always yelling about demons and curses and ancient scrolls.”
Kōga’s eyebrow arched. “And he hasn’t exorcised me yet?”
“Give him time,” she teased. “He’s got bad knees.”
They both laughed, the sound gentle and easy between the trees.
Kagome looked away for a moment, fingers playing with the edge of her sweatshirt. “My father passed away before I was born.”
The air shifted. Just a bit. Kōga didn’t say anything at first—just let it sit.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured after a moment.
She nodded, but didn’t look sad. Not exactly. “It’s strange. You can’t miss someone you never met…but sometimes I still feel like there’s a space where he should be.”
He understood that. The ache of something unseen. The haunting shape of absence.
“You’re strong,” he said simply. Not to comfort. Not to patronize. Just truth.
“Sometimes,” she replied, voice quiet.
And then?
She turned back to the water. Letting the moment pass. Letting it breathe.
And Kōga watched her again, that same knot in his chest tightening. Not painful. Not unwelcome. Just…deep. Binding.
She didn’t know it yet. But she belonged here. Not just with the trees. Not just in his mountains. With him.
Chapter Text
Chapter Thirty-Nine – Marked and Unmarked
Kagome POV
They walked in easy silence, the kind that only formed between two people who didn’t feel the need to fill every second with words. The waterfall was close enough now that she could hear the music of it—low, rushing, ancient.
Kagome kicked off her shoes and dropped onto the cool grass beside the water’s edge. She lay down without ceremony, arms stretched out and hair fanned behind her like ink on parchment. The sun filtered through the canopy in golden patches, warming her face, her stomach. She sighed, utterly content.
Kōga, ever the wolf, didn’t sit at first. He stood at her side, arms crossed, eyes scanning the treetops as if still on some unspoken guard duty. Then, eventually, he knelt and settled next to her, legs folded lazily, one hand bracing him back while the other toyed with a blade of grass.
“Did your mother remarry?” he asked casually, like he was plucking a petal from the silence. “That is…common for humans, no?”
Kagome blinked up at the sky, lips quirking into a quiet smile. “No, actually. She didn’t.” She turned her head slightly, eyes narrowing in thought. “I don’t know much about Sōta’s dad, to be honest. We never really talked about it.”
Kōga made a thoughtful sound. “Strange.”
She snorted. “Strange for demons, maybe. But you say that like demons don’t move on or find someone new.”
Kōga let out a soft scoff and flopped back onto the grass beside her, now looking at the same sky. “It’s different. For most demons, we can only mark one person. That bond? It’s for life.”
Kagome tilted her head toward him, curiosity blooming.
“I suppose some breeds can mark more than one,” he continued. “But even then, the original mark has to be overwritten. A whole process. A lot of pain. And only a handful of breeds can even attempt it.”
She absorbed that quietly.
Kōga’s voice dropped, more reflective now. “But most of us? One mate. That’s it. Once the bond is formed, it’s done.”
“And if that mate dies?” she asked softly.
He glanced at her, then back to the sky. “You can take a wife. Or a lover. Even love them, sometimes. But…they won’t be marked. Not truly. They won’t have that same connection. That deep, binding pull. They won’t feel your instincts the same way. Won’t be able to calm you. Or call you back from bloodlust. Or anchor your soul.”
Kagome’s breath hitched just slightly.
There was something sacred in the way he said it. Not mournful, not bitter. Just honest. Like explaining the nature of gravity or the flow of a river. Something ancient and fixed and irreversible.
“Do demon women get to choose?” she asked. “Or is it the men who mark them?”
He smirked a little. “Depends on the breed. But most of the time? It’s mutual. Instinctual. If the female doesn’t accept the mark, it doesn’t take. If it does take, it’s because the two were… meant. On some primal level.”
She nodded slowly, gaze drifting back to the dancing leaves above. Her heart thudded just a little heavier than before.
“And what about you?” she asked, voice almost too quiet to carry. “Have you ever… marked someone?”
“No.”
He didn’t hesitate.
And the silence that followed was louder than any waterfall. He didn’t explain. Didn’t try to qualify or fill the space with a joke. He let the truth sit between them.
She swallowed, turned her eyes toward the rushing water, and said nothing more. But her fingers twitched once—closer to his.
And Kōga? He noticed.
The light breeze tugged at her ponytail as she continued to stare at the waterfall, the gentle thunder of it grounding, soothing, the same way Kōga’s presence beside her had slowly begun to feel—undeniably steady.
She turned her head toward him again, his arm behind his head, shirt slightly rumpled from the hike, one leg stretched out in front of him and the other bent just enough to rest his elbow.
She cleared her throat.
“So,” she said lightly. “Think I could bless the rest of the mountains today?”
Without missing a beat, he barked a laugh. “Absolutely not.”
She blinked. “I mean, I’m feeling better.”
He turned his head to face her, smirking like a man who’d already memorized her exact reaction and was waiting for it. “Don’t care. Trip’s already extended. Council approved it. You’re not lifting a single spiritual finger until your color is all the way back, your energy is stable, and I say so.”
Kagome rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips. “You’re such a tyrant.”
“I prefer ‘alpha,’ actually.”
She huffed a laugh and flopped back onto the grass again. “You know, if someone told me two weeks ago I’d be lying under a waterfall in wolf territory being told I can’t overachieve by a man who schedules our tea and hikes with militant precision…”
“You’d have what? Blessed all the mountains out of spite?”
“Probably.”
“That’s why you’re on a strict ‘no blessing’ diet for at least forty-eight hours.”
She snorted. “I’m starting to think this trip isn’t about the mountains at all.”
“Oh, it’s not,” he said without hesitation. “The land needed to be purified, sure, but I also needed an excuse to keep you in my territory, in my bed, for a respectable length of time. This whole thing’s a strategic romantic maneuver.”
She turned her face toward him slowly, brows raised. “You’re literally admitting to trapping me in your ancestral homeland with the guise of divine duty?”
He shrugged, smug as ever. “You agreed to it. Council sanctioned and everything.”
“Unbelievable.”
“And yet you’re still here,” he replied, flashing teeth.
Kagome shook her head, amused. “I’m here to work.”
“Not today.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Maybe,” he said, rolling to his side, propping himself on his elbow so he could study her. “Depends on how many hours you nap between now and then. And if you sleepwalk again, you’re on spiritual house arrest.”
“Oh my god,” she muttered into the grass.
“You love it.”
And she didn’t argue. Because maybe…she kind of did.
Chapter Text
Chapter Forty – Soft Landing
Kōga POV
She was enjoying herself. Kōga didn’t need to ask. He could hear it in the subtle shift of her breath when the wind danced across the field. He could see it in the way her shoulders relaxed for once—not from exhaustion, not from forced rest, but from something close to contentment. And he could smell it—gods, he could smell it. That soft sweetness her body gave off when she wasn’t under siege by stress or self-restraint.
It was the scent of ease. Of warmth. Of home.
Kagome had no idea how loud her peace was, not when the world had trained her to fight for every inch of it.
She’d sprawled in the grass after their long stroll beneath the trees, sunlight dappling across her collarbone, her arm tossed over her eyes to block out the brightness, and she’d let out a single, blissful sigh that had done more to gut him than any dramatic kiss or flowery confession ever could.
But then, the small twitching started.
It was subtle—just her nose at first, scrunching. Then her fingers brushing against the stalks at her side. Then a soft curse muttered under her breath.
“Ugh. This grass is itchy.”
Kōga didn’t even blink. He was beside her in a breath, crouching, and then settling at her side as if the solution had been obvious.
She lifted her head halfway to glare at him when she felt his hand slip beneath the base of her skull. “What are you—”
“Stop squirming, priestess,” he said smoothly. “I’m trying to be romantic.”
He slid beneath her with practiced ease, guiding her head right onto his lap as if it were the most natural place in the world. And maybe it was. Her hair spilled over his thigh in dark waves, and she blinked up at him, unimpressed. Or trying to be.
“You can’t just… turn into a pillow,” she grumbled.
He gave a half-shrug, the smirk on his face lazy and delighted. “Sure I can. Pillow. Protector. Future husband. I’m very versatile.”
Kagome narrowed her eyes. “You’re also impossible.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Her nose twitched again, but the glare softened as she shifted just slightly, readjusting her weight on his legs—more comfortable now, clearly. Her body betrayed her every time. The smallest sigh. The tiniest melt of tension.
“Your legs are warm,” she muttered like it was a complaint.
“I’ll add that to my mating resume,” he said, brushing a piece of hair from her cheek. “Hot thighs. Big heart. No shame.”
“No shame is right,” she said under her breath.
“Hey, you’re the one lying in my lap. You’ve officially surrendered.”
“I’ve surrendered to itchy grass, not to you.”
“Same thing,” he said, unable to stop the smug note in his voice.
And then she did the worst thing imaginable: she smiled.
Just a little. Barely there. But he caught it. That secret, half-asleep kind of smile people gave when they forgot the world was watching. The kind of smile that told him she felt safe.
That was more of a win than any mountain blessing.
So Kōga leaned back, kept his hand combing through her hair, and soaked it all in—the warmth, the weight of her in his lap, the trust.
His mountains had never looked better.
She’d been quiet for a while.
Not the awkward kind, not the kind that weighed down the air and filled it with unsaid things. No, this was the good kind. The quiet you earn. The kind that says you trust the silence between you to hold something sacred.
Kagome had been resting in his lap, one leg now bent slightly, her foot brushing against his thigh in a way that was either entirely innocent or karmic punishment for how much he wanted her. The sun had warmed the field around them to that perfect afternoon glow, and he’d lost himself in the rhythm of stroking her hair, letting each strand slide through his fingers like prayer beads.
So when she finally spoke, it broke the calm like a smooth stone dropped into water.
“What do you think will be the hardest?” she asked.
His brow furrowed slightly. “Huh?”
Her voice didn’t rise, just floated up with the breeze. “About us. Our relationship. Life. What do you think we’ll struggle with the most?”
Kōga blinked. Fucking gods. Be still his goddamn heart. Not “if we struggle.” Not “if this even works.” Not a vague what-if wrapped in emotional caution tape.
No. She’d said “our relationship.” Their life. Like it was a given. Like she was planning for it. Like he was already written into the future tense of her existence.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
His inner wolf was already losing his shit. Practically howling. Digging imaginary trenches in his chest and throwing flower petals in the air because finally. She wasn’t edging around the idea anymore. She was sitting in it. Naming it. Asking the kinds of questions people ask when they see someone in their forever.
Kōga took a breath, dragging his gaze up to the sky before looking back down at her, still lying across his lap with that dangerously open expression that always cracked him wide.
“You really want to go deep on a picnic?” he teased, voice warm.
Her lips twitched. “I’m serious.”
“Yeah. I can tell.” He exhaled through his nose, then tilted his head. “Alright. You want honesty?”
She nodded.
“I think…” he started slowly, “the hardest thing might be pacing. Or maybe patience. Or—I don’t know, expectations?”
She arched a brow, but didn’t interrupt.
“I’m a wolf,” he said, as if that explained anything. “I want to move fast. Claim fast. Mark fast. Mate fast. Build a life now. Wolves are like that. We find what we want, and we sink our teeth into it and never let go.”
He looked down at her meaningfully.
She blinked up at him, expression unreadable.
“But you,” he said softly, “you’re not like that. You think things through. You carry history and responsibility and a thousand people’s expectations, and you don’t move until you’ve weighed all of them. You’re human. You’re priestess. You’re careful.”
He smoothed his hand down her hair again.
“And I’m trying. I really am. But I think I’m gonna struggle with the wait. Not in a way that rushes you, not like that,” he added quickly. “Just… it’ll hurt a little. To want something and know I can’t reach for it until you’re ready.”
She stared at him for a long moment. Her face was still—neutral. But her fingers had found the edge of his shirt and curled around it, holding tight.
“What about you?” he asked quietly. “What do you think we’ll struggle with?”
She hesitated. “Maybe…I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep up.”
Kōga’s entire chest went still.
“Not power-wise,” she added quickly. “Not politically. Not even in bed—” she froze. “I mean—”
“Oh, please continue,” he grinned.
She groaned. “I meant, I’m afraid of not being able to keep up with you emotionally. You love fast. You love hard. I think I…unfold slower. And I’m scared that if I need too long, you’ll start to resent me for it.”
His hand stilled in her hair.
“Kagome,” he said, voice dropping. “Look at me.”
She turned her face up.
“You unfolding is the best part. It’s my favorite part. Every layer, every new moment you let me see more of you? That’s not something I’m waiting out. That’s something I’m enjoying.”
“But—”
“No buts,” he said, firm but fond. “You’re not behind. You’re not slower. You’re just you. And if all I ever get is the pace you give me? I’ll still be the luckiest fucking wolf on the planet.”
Her eyes softened. That dangerous, heartbreaking softness that made his entire soul ache.
And then she mumbled, “You’re ridiculous.”
“Probably,” he said. “But you love it.”
She didn’t argue. She just tucked her face into his stomach and exhaled.
And Kōga?
Kōga silently thanked every god, spirit, and mountain deity in the world. Because somehow, against every odd and despite every fear she was still carrying, she was giving him pieces of herself. One moment at a time.
And he would wait. For as long as it took. With everything he had.
Chapter Text
Chapter Forty-One – Fine
Kagome – POV
She was warm.
And not just temperature-warm, though that helped—his lap was a furnace and the sun overhead was practically blessing her priestess hair like some cosmic seal of approval. No, she was warm in that honey-glow kind of way. The one that sunk past skin and settled low and lazy into her bones. Comfortable. Safe.
And gods, so amused.
Because this wolf? This man? He wasn’t hiding it at all. He had clearly—clearly—already decided. There wasn’t even a shadow of doubt left in his voice, in the casual but careful way he played with strands of her hair, in the firm, grounded way he talked about their future like it was simply a series of calendar dates waiting to be flipped.
Kōga had chosen her. Somewhere between her sarcasm and her reiki and her late-night rambles about holy bureaucracy—he had locked in. She’d seen it coming, sure, but watching him sit there like a smug, sun-kissed prince while she rested on his thigh as if this were normal?
It was ridiculous.
And it was perfect.
And it was kind of driving her mad in the best possible way.
She tilted her head just slightly, letting her nose brush the fabric of his shirt as she let out a long-suffering huff.
He stilled.
That caught his attention.
“Kagome?” he asked, amused but cautious, like she might declare war or demand a treaty negotiation.
She sighed again, dramatically this time. “Fine,” she muttered into his thigh.
There was a beat of silence.
“…Fine what?” he asked, cautious now.
She turned her face a little more, glancing up at him with as much faux seriousness as she could summon while also trying not to laugh.
“We can be official,” she said, like it was a line from a courtroom verdict.
He blinked. “Official.”
“Mmhmm.” She nodded into his lap like that sealed the document.
Kōga was frozen. Absolutely still. She could feel him trying not to explode with joy. His hand paused mid-stroke through her hair like he was trying to let the words sink in. But not too hard, in case he scared her off.
“But,” she added quickly, lifting a finger to press it against his stomach without even looking. “Give it a few months before the ring, alright?”
And that?
That broke him.
Kōga barked out a laugh—sharp and loud and utterly delighted. His hand landed on her shoulder and he squeezed once before throwing his head back toward the sky like he couldn’t believe his luck.
“A few months?” he echoed. “You’re killing me, beautiful. I already have concepts for our wedding colors.”
She tilted her head to look up at him, squinting. “You do not.”
“I absolutely do,” he said proudly. “Mountain chic. Deep blues. Fur accents. Ceremony at sunrise, pups by next spring.”
“Kōga.”
He grinned wider, absolutely no shame in his bones. “What? You said a few months. Doesn’t mean I can’t be prepared.”
Kagome groaned and covered her face with both hands. “I hate that you’re this charming when you’re smug.”
“I love that you’re mine when you’re grumpy.”
“Not yours,” she muttered automatically, though it had far less heat than it once did.
He tapped her temple gently. “Keep telling yourself that, mate-to-be.”
She groaned louder. “Stop using the ‘m’ word so casually.”
“You literally just made us official,” he pointed out.
“That does not mean I’m ready for full-blown howling and claiming rituals!”
“You think we howl?” he teased, eyes dancing.
“I’m not googling it, Kōga.”
“I’ll show you later.”
“Stop.”
“You started it,” he grinned, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the crown of her head.
And damn it, she melted. A little too much. Because that was the problem with this whole situation—he was ridiculous and over-the-top and so fucking sure of her. And maybe she wasn’t there yet. Not all the way. But she was close.
Close enough to admit that the sound of his laugh made her smile.
Close enough to know that when she looked at him, her chest felt like maybe the future wasn’t as scary as she thought.
Close enough to think that if she really had to be claimed by someone—
—then maybe, just maybe, she was already halfway his.
Not that she’d admit it out loud. Yet.
A few more months.
And maybe a ring.
But today?
Today was official.
And the look on his face?
Made it feel like the world had finally started spinning in the right direction.
Chapter Text
Chapter Forty-Two — “Official”
Official.
The word played on a loop in Koga’s head like a spiritual mantra or a mating chant—or hell, a declaration shouted at the moon for all his ancestors to hear.
Official.
She had said it. In that sarcastic little huff of hers, face buried in his thigh like she was trying to suffocate her own feelings. And she’d said it so casually. Like she hadn’t just rewritten the next few centuries of his life with a single word.
Official.
Which meant everything and nothing. Meant they were together. Meant she was his. Meant she had given him the greenlight to claim her, court her, defend her, mate her—eventually. With patience. And strategy. And enough restraint not to pin her to the earth and propose with a literal blood oath and a hundred witnesses.
Koga was not known for patience. Or restraint. Or sanity.
But for her? He could learn.
They kept walking. Her hand swung beside his, knuckles brushing. His wolf was in heaven. He might have skipped. Just once. Don’t ask questions. He was allowed.
And then—gods help him—he pulled out his phone.
The Council’s official Demon Delegation Directory wasn’t exactly social media. It was a sanctioned database. Updated for transparency. Rank, residence, territory, political affiliations, mating status.
Mating status.
Koga tapped the field. Currently: “Unmated.”
He squinted. Technically true. But—
He backspaced the word and entered:
In a relationship.
With another tap, he typed:
Kagome Higurashi.
The second he saved the changes, the notification pinged, and his profile updated across the national registry.
And not even three seconds later? Her phone beeped.
Koga didn’t look. Not directly. He did not grin. Not hard, anyway. But his shoulder might have twitched in smug victory. Maybe he walked a little taller. Chin up. Ears perked.
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. Because she looked at him. Slowly. As if trying to determine if this man, this chaotic, smug, wild wolf of a man, had really just updated his official diplomatic record like they had signed treaty papers instead of lounging in nature and trading half-sarcastic love confessions.
“You did not just—” she started.
He didn’t meet her eyes.
“Transparency is a pillar of good governance,” he said.
“Gods, I hate you,” she muttered.
And then, like the absolute sunshine princess she was, she laughed. Laughed with her whole face. Leaned into him, shoulders shaking, nose scrunching, and looked at him like he was the dumbest and most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her.
And just like that, Koga decided “official” wasn’t enough.
He wanted permanent. Inked in soul and scent and blood and law.
But that? He’d save for later.
For now? He had a profile update and a girlfriend who didn’t run—and that, for a wolf like him, was already the start of forever.
Chapter Text
Chapter Forty-Three — “Altitude & Audacity”
Koga POV
There was no fucking way he was letting something so monumental, so sacred, as Kagome finally, finally becoming officially his, happen without a celebration. Not under his roof. Not on his land. Not in his goddamn ancestral mountains where he reigned supreme. Not a chance.
She’d said it. They were official.
And now the mountains had to hear it.
And more importantly?
The mountains had to see it.
He tapped his phone like a man on a mission, calling in a favor to the high-altitude restaurant nestled at the craggy top of the eastern ridge, normally reserved for bird demons or the occasional diplomat who didn’t mind the risk of altitude sickness. But that didn’t matter. Koga wasn’t there for the five-star menu or the rare mountain-root tea.
He needed views. Panoramas. The kind of scenery that humbled gods. He needed the wind high enough to carry scent markers to every corner of the region. And, alright, he also needed the staff to know his name, know her face, and put the two together in a lovely mental folder labeled: Do not separate. Ever.
“I made us a dinner reservation,” he said casually, later that afternoon as she curled up in the grass with a cup of tea like she wasn’t now a taken woman.
“Oh?” she asked, one brow lifting suspiciously. “Where?”
He stretched, cracked his neck, and smirked. “Top of the ridge. Altitude’s a bit intense. You’ll love it.”
“You mean the place only flying demons go?”
“I mean the place I’m going to carry you to,” he said, already crouching.
She stared. “No. No way.”
He rose, fast and firm, tossing her blanket aside like the audacity was physically offensive. “Beautiful, we’re official. You think I’m letting you hike like a peasant? On my mountain? During our celebration night?”
Before she could argue, his arms were around her. Bridal style. Casual. Secure.
“Koga—!”
“Shh,” he said, already bolting through the trees. “You’ll ruin the wind resistance if you whine.”
She shrieked once, loud and undignified, and then laughed. Arms looped around his neck instinctively, hair flying behind her like a ribbon in the wind. Her scent, light and fresh and fucking intoxicating, wrapped around him like the sky itself was blessing this moment.
They blurred past the trees. The dirt trail turned to packed stone. Forest gave way to open cliff edges and then finally—finally—after a nearly vertical sprint that most beings couldn’t do in under an hour, they crested the summit in twenty minutes flat.
He landed with a soft thud outside the restaurant’s carved stone archway, surrounded by drifting clouds and thin air and a dusk-lit horizon that looked hand-painted by celestial spirits.
The maître d’, a bird demon with feathers for eyebrows, blinked once.
“Alpha Koga,” he greeted. “You’re early.”
Koga shifted her in his arms, didn’t even pretend to let her down yet, and grinned. “Table for two. Balcony. Wind-facing. You know the drill.”
The demon’s eyes darted to Kagome and then back. “Of course. Right this way.”
Kagome hadn’t said anything since the last altitude shift. She was flushed. Windblown. Half-pissed, half-dazzled. Which honestly? Was the best look on her.
“You good?” he murmured, as he carried her inside like the princess she definitely was but would never admit to being.
“Your ego is astronomical,” she muttered.
“And yet you’re in my arms,” he replied smoothly. “As is your future.”
“Gods,” she groaned, hiding her face against his chest.
He just chuckled.
Because this was his moment. Their moment. On his land, in his territory, with the woman who was now, officially, undeniably his.
And dinner? Would just be the appetizer.
She hissed at him to put her down. Again.
That made five.
And did he listen? Absolutely not.
The maître d’ had tried not to look alarmed, or mildly scandalized, as Koga casually carried a full-grown woman through a fine-dining establishment like she was a ceremonial offering, or a trophy. The wolf had to admit: he was making a bit of a scene. But gods, how could he not? She was glaring, cheeks flushed, eyes all fire, huffing curses into his chest, and she was his.
Let the mountain know. Let the staff know. Let the damn council feel the seismic shift of this moment from wherever the hell they were. This wasn’t just a dinner. This was an announcement.
She wiggledd again.
“Koga,” she seethed under her breath, “I swear to all your ancestors—”
“They approve,” he replied, tone breezy. “In fact, they’re probably weeping tears of joy right now. Look at that fog. Pure emotional release.”
“Put me down.”
“In a minute, official girlfriend.”
She groaned. He grinned.
It wasn’t until the bird demon led them to the outermost table, one carved into the edge of a stone balcony hanging out over the entire mountain valley, that Koga finally, finally set her down. Not because she asked. But because he’d reached the place.
Their place.
And gods.
What a fucking view.
The sun was beginning to dip below the spine of the eastern peaks, casting long, streaking shadows across the blue-lavender ridges. Mist clung to the trees like silk, and down below—far, far below—was the tapestry of his homeland: winding rivers, cliffside forests, a sweep of untouched terrain that belonged entirely to his bloodline. To him. To her, now.
It was all theirs.
She stared. Quiet. Breath caught in her throat. And he didn’t say a word. Just watched her watching it. That expression, quiet awe, a little wonder, a spark of reverence. No one had ever looked at his land like this. No one had ever meant it the way she did.
Slowly, he slid a chair out for her. She blinked, startled, and then gave him a look as if to say You’re impossible before settling into the seat.
“Drink menu,” the server said quickly, dropping it off and backing away with respectful haste, because apparently the wolf prince hauling his mate through the air like a ceremony didn’t need more attention.
Koga sat across from her, chin propped on his hand, just looking.
“Stop staring,” she mumbled, opening the menu.
“I will. After you stop glowing.”
She glared.
“You’re lucky I didn’t purify you at the front door.”
“You tried. But you were too distracted by my muscles.”
“I was distracted by your ego.”
“Same difference.”
She huffed. But the smile that broke across her lips was involuntary, crooked, and entirely his.
He sat back, smug and entirely at peace. Because the truth was, this, this table, this view, this woman who had clawed her way into every last corner of his heart, was everything he’d ever wanted.
And now he was going to feed her, flirt with her, and mark this date down in his personal record book as:
The Day the Mountains Witnessed a Soft Launch of Forever.
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