"Shion?" It came out as a low hiss, rising up as acid from Aya's throat, rolling on his tongue as a raspy, broken whisper and finally spilling from his lips with liquid heat. Anger so heavy on his tone of voice it was almost palpable in the air.

It all came back in a hot rush, pieces of conversations, jaded warmth of remembered touch - Kikyo had always known how to play this game of proximity. Used, Ran had never seen it. Aya wasn't as blind.

"Quit playing around," he snapped, voice dangerously low, the violet of his eyes violent, ready to damage. "Shion taught nothing of killing to me. Unlike with a katana, I'm talented in murder."