Chapter 2
Chapter two
The Test
Nyomi
The door opened.
Kenji stepped back inside, and the world I’d just been safe in—the bed, the caresses, the warmth—snapped into a harder shape.
The air thinned.
Behind Kenji, three men poured through the threshold radiating quiet menace that made the room shrink around my shoulders.
O-kay. . .
Reo came too, silent and with a small notebook in his right hand.
What the hell is going on? Why does he need all of these people?
I stood immediately, silk robe tight against my skin, heart hammering in my chest.
A moment ago, I had been folded into a sensual forever made of breath and skin. Now it felt like my future had sharp teeth that could tear me open.
This wasn’t about pillow talk anymore. Not about love confessions or teasing chuckles against my spine.
This was about something larger, heavier, sharper.
Deadlier.
Kenji wanted me to do something for him, something that smelled like strategy, blood, and war.
What could this test be about?
My pulse spiked with excitement and dread.
Until this moment, I’d believed my place in his war would be at the edges—cooking meals, tending wounds, offering a soft voice to brutal men who brought the night home on their boots.
But now?
The Dragon had summoned me to the center of some secret plan, and. . .I had no idea why.
Kenji crossed the room and came to stand at my side. He brushed the small of my back with his big palm. It was a simple pass of heat, but it anchored me.
I breathed in his scent and let it calm my nerves.
I had so many damned questions, but his men were now in the room. I didn’t want to barrel him with my hysteria. I needed to play the part of the Dragon’s Heart—confident, strong, and capable of whatever the fuck this was.
On the left side of the room, Reo leaned against the wall. Even half-shadowed, he looked unfairly gorgeous—like a mafia nerd that had been dragged out of an expensive library.
He wore traditional black Japanese pajamas. They weren’t the cotton button-downs and drawstring pants Americans called pajamas, no plaid flannel or cartoon prints.
Zo had something similar and told me they were called jinbei, a two-piece set cut like a short kimono on top with matching pants.
The top overlapped left over right across Reo’s chest, held by narrow inner and outer ties instead of buttons. Reo’s jinbei hung open just enough to reveal the ladder of his collarbones. The sleeves were half-length and loose. The pants were straight-legged.
It was all elegance disguised as sleepwear.
Reo looked freshly woken too—hair mussed, a shadow of sleep at the corners of his eyes—but the faint smile playing on his mouth for some reason said he’d been waiting for this moment and was super excited that it was about to happen.
Reo flipped the notebook open and clicked a pen. Then, his gaze caught mine. He winked. “You will do just fine, Nyomi.”
I swallowed hard, wondering if he’d actually be scoring me like some professor grading a student on an exam.
Reo’s smirk definitely said he knew something I didn’t, and the notebook in his hand wasn’t for records—it was also for leverage.
But how, why, and leverage with whom?
At my side, Kenji’s hand tightened at my waist. “Tora, I want you to look at these three men. Take them in, and then let me know when you are done.”
What am I supposed to be looking for?
I wasn’t sure if Kenji was testing my skill or my soul, but either way, I wanted to win.
Alright. Let’s see. . .
I dragged my gaze to the three men Kenji had brought in. They were three shadows solidified into muscle, danger, and flesh.
I knew one of them.
Kaoru.
His long pink hair was a neon slash in the room. The first time I’d seen him was on Kenji’s and my first date. He’d been sweet and a tiny bit flirtatious.
Definitely a ladies’ man.
However, now all that charm was off, folded away with the same efficiency as a weapon cleaned and cased. The angles of his face were too beautiful and too sharp all at once—cheekbones cut by a vindictive god, a mouth that could ruin hope. His suit perfectly hugged his body.
However, even at rest, Kaoru appeared ready to kill.
Got him. Now who’s next?
I put my view on the other two men.
The man on the left—broad through the chest, narrower at the hips, posture welded straight. His hair was buzzed close at the sides, left slightly longer on top, combed flat like a habit he didn’t have to think about.
Shoes matte, not glossy.
Combat ready.
There was angry scar tissue on his knuckles and neck.
He lives close to violence, not just orders it. Plus, his posture says soldier, but his silence says elite killer.
I looked closer. He had scars on his neck and near his ears, but. . .they didn’t look like they had come from fighting.
Some sort of rash. . .maybe. . .
As I watched him, he scratched the side of his face like he had a major itch that he was trying to avoid touching.
What’s up with that?
Either way, he gave the vibe of a drill sergeant that got hard from folding their bed sheet so tight he could bounce a quarter off it.
He watched me without blinking, and I filed that away too.
If he blinks too much. Then. . .that’s his tell. Okay. Let’s go to the other guy.
The last man on the right looked like sin washed in ritual. He wore white from throat to ankle, a long collarless jacket tailored close over straight trousers.
White should have made him look softer. It didn’t. However, it at least made the stillness around him sharper. He was the knife you’d missed because the light blinded you.
His hair fell to his waist in an immaculate braid, smooth as a river pulled through fingers.
No facial hair.
No visible tattoos.
His hands were so goddamn beautiful that I was actually jealous—long fingers, trimmed nails, the faintest sheen at his cuticles like someone oiled them daily for him.
He definitely didn’t do it himself. His whole look and facial expression is giving high levels of PAMPERED.
On his wrist, a bracelet of something pale—bone? Ivory?—was stacked with a gold chain of jeweled beads that appeared very much real and even. . .ancient.
That wasn’t bought from a store. That was passed down many, many times.
He stood with his weight centered over the arches of both feet, a dancer’s neutral position, poised to pivot without warning.
When he breathed, his shoulders barely moved.
Minimalist style? He’s probably super wealthy? Definitely didn’t starve as a kid, and did not grow up on the streets either.
In fact, this wasn’t the wealth you flashed in clubs; this was dynastic, temple-deep wealth, the kind that could buy a bloodline.
He looked at me and did not look away. There was no challenge in it, just this air of boredom.
He’s not pleased to be here, but he will do so out of fierce loyalty to Kenji.
I wondered what Kenji had done to get such great loyalty from such a wealthy man. That fact would be super important for some reason.
“Okay.” I drew a slow breath and put my gaze back on Kenji. “I’m done.”
“Good, Tora. Do you have any questions so far?”
“I know Kaoru. But what are the other men’s names?”
Something sharp flickered over Kenji’s face.
Rage?
Jealousy?
He definitely didn’t like me remembering Kaoru’s name.
Reo scribbled something.
Moving his hand from my back, Kenji put on a forced calm expression, but I could still feel the Dragon simmering angrily beneath. “You don’t need to know their names at this time.”
“Okay.”
“Are you ready for your test?”
My mouth went dry. “Yes.”
The faintest curve touched his mouth. “Each man will say three statements about himself. Two statements will be true. One statement will be a lie.”
“And I have to spot the lie?”
“Correct.”
“Any other rules?”
“You may ask them one question for each of the three sentences they say. Obviously, you can’t ask them about which statement they are lying about.”
“Got it. So. . .one question per statement?”
He nodded. “No more than one for each statement, so choose carefully.”
“So. . .I can ask three questions per man?”
“Yes.”
“And their answers to my questions. . .are they obligated to tell the truth?”
“Yes. They will answer your questions truthfully.”
Reo’s pen paused over his notebook as if he’d been expecting my barrage. The corner of his mouth tipped up.
Kenji didn’t look at him; he watched only me.
Three statements. One lie. Two truths.
I eyed Kenji. “Time limit?”
Reo’s voice slid in, smooth. “You have two minutes with each man. That's total. If you waste it on your first question, the clock won’t forgive you.”
“Alright.” I put my view back on Kenji. “Can I ask the same question to more than one man?”
“You may.”
“Can I ask a trick question? Something that corners him? Or is that considered out of bounds?”
Reo clicked his pen once, clearly amused. “You can be as clever as you like. However, remain focused. You are testing their truthfulness.”
Aww. So you want to see if I can quickly tell when a person is lying without much information or conversation. Why?
Now I was getting why Kenji brought extra men in. He knew I could already catch him in a lie so there would be no reason for him to be the test.
However, three men I didn’t know. . .that would be a good gauge of my skills.
This wasn’t just going to be a test of lies either, it would be a duel.
Me versus them.
Their composure against my instinct.
Kenji’s pride against my wit.
Well. . .this is interesting as hell.
I steadied myself, hoping I got this right.
Bring it on then. This test could be fun.
“I have another question.” I studied Kenji, pulse fluttering like a moth too close to fire. “Can I touch them?”
The room shifted.
Reo’s pen paused mid-scratch. From the corner of my eye I saw his mouth twitch, like he was fighting not to grin.
Meanwhile, Kenji’s eyes widened, and the temperature dropped like a window had blown open to winter. Violence blazed through his gaze—molten, merciless.
He didn’t answer right away. He only stared, every line of his body pulled taut, like he was weighing whether to cage me or let me burn myself alive.
“Tora. . .” His voice was a growl that crawled under my skin. “Be careful.”
I blinked. “I don’t mean sexually touch them. Skin carries truths mouths can hide. A hand on their pulse could—”
Fast, Kenji’s hand locked around my waist as if to chain me in place. “If their pulse touches your hand, Tora, I’ll rip their hearts from their chests myself.”
My bottom lip quivered. “Kenji. . .sometimes you can get the truth faster if you touch the person.”
Kenji’s nostrils flared. Then, he leaned down until his mouth was at my ear, his voice was a growl decorated with knives. “If you touch them, I will kill them. Not after. Not later. I’ll kill them the moment your hand leaves their skin.”
My breath caught. “But they’re your Fangs. You trust them. You know it won’t be anything sexual.”
He blinked and leaned back, studying me again. “Why do you think they are my Fangs? I never said they were. Is it because Kaoru is with them?”
“No.” I shrugged out of his hold. “It’s just. I have this feeling that they’re not just soldiers. They’re your Fangs.”
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut.
Kenji’s head tilted. “Well. . .you’re wrong. They’re just two guards that I grabbed on the way to getting Reo. Kaoru just happened to be talking to Reo when I found him, so I brought him along too.”
Lies.
But, I wouldn’t boldly call the Dragon a liar in front of his men. I would need to. . .politely infer it.
“That’s interesting. . .” I gestured to the three men. “I guess I was. . .fooled.”
“You were.”
“It’s just. . .the way they stand. The way they breathe.
Plus, you brought them into your bedroom with your Tiger who is.
. .naked under a silk robe. That makes them trusted, intimate men from your inner circle.
It makes me think that. . .these men would die for you, not because you order them to, but because they couldn’t stand to see you bleed. ”
The man in the middle shifted slightly, and there was the barest tightening at his jaw.
He loves Kenji a lot. I definitely have to get his name. He’ll always keep Kenji safe.
“But. . .” I nodded. “If you say they’re not your Fangs. . .who am I to question that?”
Kenji’s lips curved—not into a smile, but into that dangerous sneer that was half denial, half pride. “They’re just Scales, Tora.”
I frowned. “Respectfully, I must disagree. They’re your Fangs.”
Reo smirked and scribbled a note.
Kenji crossed his muscular arms over his big chest. “Regardless, don’t touch them.”
“I won’t.” I nodded, rolling the rules through my head until they stuck: Three statements. One lie. One question per statement. They must give truthful answers. Two minutes per man. No touching. Like. . .NO TOUCHING.
I looked at the men. “What happens if I’m wrong about a statement being a lie?”
“Then, you fail the whole test.”
Reo raised his hand holding the pen. “Actually, it will only be a fail if she gets it wrong for two men. I think she can have one incorrect guess.”
“No.” Kenji shook his head. “She should have it correct for all three men. That is the only way she can pass.”
Reo pushed it a little bit more. “I’m not sure if that would be fair, Kenji. The first man may need to be a warmup.”
“She won’t get warmups in the real world.” He frowned at Reo. “Not when this is life or death.”
I blinked.
Of course, the Dragon didn’t hand out warm-ups, not even for the woman he was falling in love with. Instead, he tossed me into the fire to see if I would burn or become the flames.
He returned his view to me. “You get one wrong and you fail the test. Do you understand?”
“Yes, but what happens if I fail?”
“Then, they leave and we go back to bed.”
“And if I pass?”
“Then, they still leave and we go back to bed, but later we will need to have a discussion about a. . .strategy Reo has in his foolish mind.”
A shiver raced down my spine.
Reo thinks I should do something and Kenji disagrees.
I looked at the men again, trying to strip them down with observation and leave my fear on the floor.
“Are you ready, Tora?”
Only two minutes for each man.
Tick.
Tock.
Already I could feel the walls pressing closer.
I swallowed. “Yes. I’m ready.”