Chapter 9 The Dragon’s Reach
Chapter nine
The Dragon’s Reach
Nyomi
The next morning, I woke, pinned beneath Kenji's arm. His huge, muscular body curved around me like I was something precious he'd die defending.
For one disorienting second, I forgot my own name and only knew the soothing warmth of Kenji's chest against my spine, the possessive weight of his arm across my waist, and his breath painting heat down the curve of my neck.
This was it. The scene in the fantasy novel where Sol woke in the dragon's protective embrace.
Sol had been terrified—naked, confused, surrounded by treasure in Korin's lair with no memory of how her clothes disappeared. She'd tried to slip away while he slept, tiptoeing through mountains of gold and jewels, desperate for escape.
I understood her panic now, but our situations were opposite in the way that mattered most.
She didn't know why she was there, but I knew exactly how I had ended up in my dragon's bed, and I was quite pleased.
She'd woken to find herself claimed without choosing it.
I walked into this claiming with my eyes wide open.
Still, some things were exactly the same.
The way Korin's wing had moved with Sol when she shifted—protective even in sleep. In that moment, Kenji's arm adjusted as I breathed, tightening slightly as if sensing even in unconsciousness that I might slip away.
That same impossible safety Sol must have felt, of being held by something—someone—so dangerous.
And even more, leaving Kenji's embrace felt like tearing my lungs away from oxygen.
Sol had described it perfectly in that scene—the terrible comfort of a dragon's heat, the way her body betrayed her by wanting to stay even when her mind screamed run.
But I had to move.
I had things to do, a life that existed beyond these silk sheets and this dangerous man's embrace.
Slowly—so slowly—I began to slide downward beneath his arm, using the sheets as leverage.
Without warning, his arm tightened, locking me in place.
Kenji. . .go back to sleep.
I froze, holding my breath until his breathing resumed its deep, steady pattern.
Okay. Let’s try this again.
It took a few minutes of inch by inch moving, but finally, I slipped free.
My feet touched the cool floor, and the loss of his heat felt like punishment.
I stood beside the bed for a moment, unable to look away.
Kenji sprawled across the mattress, one arm still reaching for where I'd been, his fingers slightly curled as if trying to hold onto my ghost. His dark hair fell across his forehead, softening the sharp angles of his face.
That mouth that had bitten me, claimed me, whispered love against my skin—now relaxed, almost innocent in sleep.
Beautiful, dangerous man.
His chest rose and fell in that deep, steady rhythm that had lulled me to sleep last night. Even now, I could see the power in him—the thick muscle of his shoulders, the defined lines of his torso, the way his body took up space, owning the world.
The Dragon was at rest, and all that violent power appeared temporarily banked.
But I knew the truth.
One wrong move, one loud sound, and those eyes would snap open—golden and alert, predator awakened. He'd reach for me before his mind even caught up to his instincts.
I smiled.
Part of me wanted him to wake. Wanted him to pull me back into that furnace of heat and make the decision for me.
The other part—the part that still remembered who I was before him—forced my feet to move toward the closet.
But the writer in me—the part that existed long before the Dragon claimed me—had already started making lists in my head.
Check messages. Make sure everyone back home knows I'm okay after the bombs. Get a thick notebook from the office. Then, map out the timeline for Hiroko's memoir. Also. . .outline new chapter structure for the sex industry book. Oh yeah. Figure out how to balance both projects while Kenji's at war.
I had two books to write, interviews to re-schedule, research to organize. Hiroko's story deserved my full attention, and so did the book I'd been dreaming about for years—the one that would expose the truth about Japan's underground sex industry.
Kenji's war might be tearing through the criminal underworld, but my work wouldn't wait.
And I refused to be the woman who lost herself completely in a man's arms, no matter how perfect those arms felt.
Quietly, I padded toward the closet, my mind already racing through interview questions and chapter outlines.
Inside it, I grabbed the first comfortable things I found—black yoga pants that felt obscenely expensive against my skin and a simple grey shirt that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe back in the States.
Everything in this closet was designer, tailored, and perfect.
I dressed quickly, aware that every second I took was another second Kenji might wake and pull me back to bed.
Not that I'd fight him very hard.
Once dressed, I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and slipped out of the bedroom.
Seven big guards stood in the hallway.
Oh damn.
I stopped, taking them in with the same assessing eye I'd used during last night's test.
The one nearest the door had his weight distributed evenly—ready to move but not tense. His hands hung loose at his sides, no white knuckles, no clenched fists. When his eyes met mine, they were alert but not hostile.
Alright. He’s. . .loyal and. . .confident in his position here.
The second guard had a small scar above his left eyebrow and wore his suit like a second skin—comfortable, lived-in. I guessed that he'd been doing this job long enough that the uniform didn't feel like a costume. His stance mirrored the first guard's.
Also loyal.
I scanned the rest quickly. Same tells—relaxed but alert postures, clean weapons maintenance. I could see the careful way they wore their shoulder holsters. I noted everyone’s direct eye contact that held full respect to me rather than challenge.
All of them are safe.
These weren't men who questioned their orders or secretly worked for the Fox. These were some of Kenji's most loyal guards.
Of course Reo would have the best watching us.
I nodded at them. “Good morning.”
They politely nodded back.
I headed off.
Three of the guards followed as I moved down the hallway. Not threatening, just. . .accompanying. That told me that Reo had assigned a small new unit to shadow the Tiger wherever she wandered.
Interesting.
The one on my left and with the scar, lifted his wrist to his mouth. A small communication device must have been built into his watch because he began to speak into it, "Reo, the Tiger is up and moving."
Oh okay.
I quirked my brows.
It was hard not to feel like the First Lady or something—three Secret Service agents trailing behind me while I padded down the hallway.
A small laugh escaped before I could stop it.
The guards exchanged quick glances but said nothing.
Last night I'd vetted Kenji's inner circle like I was screening Cabinet members. This morning, I had armed escorts reporting my movements to his Chief of Operations.
The absurdity of it hit me fresh.
Weeks ago, I'd been in New York, not broke, but not rich either pitching book proposals and happy that at least one editor thought the Japan story would be a good idea.
That publishing house approval had been the most momentous thing of the year.
Now so much had changed.
Two beeps came from the guard’s watch, then Reo's voice came in, rough and groggy. "Where is the Tiger going?"
The guard looked at me, clearly unsure how to answer.
I smiled. "I want to get some items out of my office and then I want to make tea."
He repeated my words into the watch verbatim.
Reo's response came with what sounded like a sigh. "Tell her we have people to do that."
I grinned at the guard. "Tell him he sounds exhausted and I'm perfectly safe. He can go back to sleep."
The guard delivered the message. His mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile.
Another pause.
Then, Reo responded, "Tell the Tiger thank you for her concern and that I expect a report of her returning to the Dragon within the hour."
Uh. . .okay.
I blinked.
Dude just gave me a curfew to be back in Kenji's arms.
I was a grown ass woman, but I understood. Kenji would be possessive about where I was, especially with a spy on the island.
And Reo—loyal, efficient Reo—was probably operating on two hours of sleep and doing his best to manage both the Dragon's obsessive need to know my location and his own need to collapse.
"Understood," I nodded.
The three of them fell into step around me as I made my way through the mansion—one slightly ahead, two flanking.
Professional.
Unobtrusive.
The kind of protection that looked casual but was absolutely lethal.
Alright. Time to check messages.
I pulled out my phone as we walked, checking my missed calls.
Oh shit.
Four from Grandma.
Four from Deja, my natural hair stylist.
One from my editor.
My stomach tightened.
Charleston was thirteen hours behind Tokyo. That meant it was barely past dinnertime.
I called grandma first and lifted the phone to my ear.
She answered on the second ring. "Baby girl! Are you calling from Japan?"
"Hey, Grandma." Relief flooded me from just hearing her voice. "Yeah, I'm still here. I saw your missed calls and—"
"Lord, child, I've been worried sick. All that mess on the news about bombs in Tokyo, and I'm thinking my grandbaby is over there in the middle of some terrorist attack zone—"
"I'm safe, Grandma. I promise. I'm not even in Tokyo right now. I'm on a private Japanese island far away from the destruction and completely fine."
"Private island?" Her voice pitched up. "What kind of journalism work are you doing on a private island?"
“Umm. . .” I bit my lip. "Actually. . .I met someone."
Silence.
"Someone? Like a man someone?"
"Yes." My cheeks heated.
"Now Nyomi. . ." Her voice took on that tone—the one that meant she was about to deliver wisdom whether I wanted it or not. "Don't you get tangled up with some strange man until I meet him. You know the rules. You hear me?”