Chapter 21 Borrowed Time
Chapter twenty-one
Borrowed Time
Kenji
While the other helicopter took the Scales away, the guards fanned out across the island—close enough to kill for me, far enough to vanish into the scenery.
But for me, they didn't truly exist.
The world narrowed to my Tiger, and the way the wind caught her braids, teasing the tips along her neck and across her shoulder. The way her scent moved through the salt air—black amber and ripe plum—wrapping my senses in the silk of her.
Due to the war, this date on the island was borrowed time.
The silence before the bloody battle.
The romantic calm before the chaotic storm.
And I welcomed it.
Even dragons needed stillness before they burned the world.
Plus, rest would sharpen our blades.
Mine and hers.
I took her hand, and it smoothly fit against mine, small but fierce, soft fingers threading through as if claiming ground.
As we headed down the steps, I traced slow circles along the inside of her wrist with my thumb, feeling her pulse tap against my skin.
The stone steps descended from the helipad in a gentle curve, bordered by Satsuki azaleas in full bloom. They were deep pinks and soft whites.
The ocean breeze carried their sweet fragrance and mixed with the salt air.
“These flowers are so pretty.”
“I’m glad you like them.” I squeezed Nyomi's hand. "They’re from Kyoto. My landscape architect tried to convince me that local flowers would be easier to maintain out here, but I wanted these specifically."
“Why these flowers?”
I guided her down another step and stopped us at a bush. My hand possessively tightened around hers. Then, I leaned in closer.
"Satsuki means 'fifth month,'" I murmured against her ear.
She shivered.
I nipped at the lobe and licked my lips.
"The flowers bloom once a year, blazing with life, commanding all of Japan to witness their glory.
And then—" My voice dropped to a whisper as she released my hand to touch a flower.
The loss of her skin against mine felt like a physical wound.
I watched her fingers caress the delicate pink petals, imagining those same fingers trailing across my chest.
“Then?” she asked.
"Then the flowers wither and die, leaving nothing but memory and longing until the next bloom."
She looked up at me. "That's. . .a little sad that it’s such a short time of blooming."
"The short bloom is what makes them precious. If they bloomed all the time, no one would notice them. But because they're fleeting, because you can't have them whenever you want. . ." My voice dropped lower. "Every moment with them matters."
"So you brought them here." Her eyes searched mine. "To a place where hardly anyone would see them."
"I brought them here, because when something is rare and beautiful, I don't share it with the world. I keep it for myself.”
“You’re very much a dragon.”
“In some ways.”
“In most ways.” She put her focus back on those flowers and touched them.
And I lovingly watched.
The breeze lifted her braids again, carrying the sweet scent of the azaleas around us. Sunlight slid across her collarbone, and I obsessively followed it with my gaze.
The intensity of my want should have alarmed me.
Surely, this wasn't normal—the way every cell in my body oriented toward her like she was magnetic north. The way her absence felt like amputation.
I'd built empires, crushed enemies, commanded thousands of psychotic men without a tremor in my hand, but one look from her could bring me to my knees.
Is this healthy?
This obsession that made her pulse more important than my own heartbeat. . .
Probably not.
The Satsuki bloomed for weeks, brilliant and all-consuming, before they faded. What we had—this sharp, aching thing between us—didn’t feel fleeting like that.
It felt intense and inevitable.
And maybe that's what made it so dangerous.
I wasn't savoring borrowed time.
I was devouring immortality.
Her fingers left the petals, and I caught her hand again, needing that connection like oxygen. The relief of her skin against mine was pathetic, yet. . .revealing how much I had descended into madness.
Still. . .I didn't care.
I hope she never truly understands how much control she has over me. It’s too much power.
Enough power to make me think about rings hidden in velvet boxes.
About babies with her eyes and my rage.
About futures I'd never wanted until her.
Terror hit my chest.
The same terror I'd felt standing over my mother's remains in the morgue.
Over my brother's.
The fear that anything I loved would be ripped away, leaving me with nothing but the need to control what remained.
I'd built this island to control something.
Anything.
Now she was here, and I couldn't control how much I needed her.
Still, I pushed the terror away and led her down more steps.
"Again, they're really so stunning." She gazed at more flowers trailing the steps. "Once you brought them to this island, did you think they were worth the trouble?"
"Of course."
Below, the beach curved in a crescent of pristine white sand, almost blindingly bright in the sun.
The water beyond shimmered in that captivating blue-green, gentle waves creating a melodic whisper against the shore.
Nyomi stopped mid-step. "Kenji. . .the beach. Holy fuck."
“Do you like the sand?”
“God yes. It’s so white and shimmering.”
"I had seven hundred tons of sand delivered from Okinawa."
“Excuse me? Are you serious?”
"Definitely. I had the entire beach replaced."
She turned to me and widened her eyes. "So you just. . .redesigned the beach?"
"It wasn't perfect enough. The sand was this tannish brown." I pulled her closer as we continued down the steps.
Wrong.
Everything about it had been wrong.
The color, the texture, the way it didn't match the vision in my head—the vision of something I could fix, something I could make exactly right when everything else in my life had gone so catastrophically wrong.
An odd shiver ran through me.
I cleared my throat. "They had to be white to go with the perfect blue water. Do you see how clear the ocean is here?"
“Yes. I can see straight to the bottom even though we are so far out. It's going to be like swimming in glass.”
“Exactly, Tora.”
We reached the beach level, and I gestured toward the tree line where palms rustled in the breeze. "Those are sago palms mixed with Japanese black pines.”
I watched her take in the twisted pines, the way wonder softened her face. I'd spent three years perfecting this island, but I'd never once imagined sharing it. The trees I'd imported felt different with her here—less like possessions, more like offerings.
I shivered and cleared my throat. “See how the branches twist.”
“That’s lovely. Now. . .did you bring those trees here too or did they come with the island?”
"I brought them.”
She laughed and the musical sound vibrated through the space between us. And all I wanted to do was press my mouth there, just to feel the sound against my lips.
I grinned. “Tora, stop laughing at me.”
“Kenji, you are so extra.”
“I wanted this island to be a tropical paradise but with Japanese aesthetics." Between the trees, hibiscus bloomed in deep reds and pale pinks while bougainvillea climbed in magenta. The air here was thick with the perfume of flowers and warm earth.
“Still. . .” A soothing sigh left her lips. “You built a paradise."
"I did."
In the distance, partially hidden by the swaying tree line, the pavilion gleamed. Black glass and stone shimmering in the sunlight. They were clean lines against the blue sky.
I led her toward it.
“Now this is a masterpiece.” She widened her eyes. "So. . .what did my spoiled Dragon do to create this?”
“I overworked my architect.”
She chuckled. “Oh God. How?”
"It took him three years to build the final structure you see here."
Three years of tearing down what didn't match the image in my head.
Three years of my architect flying back and forth, rebuilding, adjusting, perfecting.
I let out a long breath. "I had him out here constantly rebuilding until I had exactly what I wanted."
Until I could look at something and not see chaos.
Not see death.
Not see the things I couldn't fix.
I nodded. "Tradition and luxury in one space. See the roofline?"
"Yeah. It looks like a temple, but it’s also very modern too."
"Exactly."
The palm shadows shifted across us as we walked.
Somewhere, a bird called—a distinctive three-note song that echoed through the trees.
Ho-ho-kekyo.
Nyomi tilted her head, listening.
"That’s the uguisu." I stopped us and scanned the foliage, searching for it and hoping I could show her the bird. "It’s the Japanese bush warbler.”
“What does it look like?”
“Small brown bird with an olive-green back. Nothing much to look at, but the song. . ." I paused as it called again, clear and melodious.
Ho-ho-kekyo. Ho-ho-kekyo.
"The song is why people have kept these birds for centuries."
“Wow.” Her face brightened with intrigue. “And these birds are native to this island?”
“Tora.” I laughed. “Do you not know me?”
“Kenji. . .you brought the birds here too?"
"Ten breeding pairs.” I had us head toward the pavilion again. “They've thrived here."
“Okay. I think you may have taken it a bit far."
“If I’m bringing sand, Tora, I’m definitely bringing birds.”
She snorted.
“Besides, Bashō wrote about them.” I thought for a minute and then recited what he said, “‘The uguisu sings, hopping from branch to branch of the plum tree.’”
“And what does that mean?”
“He meant that even the most beautiful song moves on. Nothing stays the same."
She was quiet for a moment, listening to another call drift through the warm air.
Ho-ho-kekyo. Ho-ho-kekyo.
She lifted her gaze to the trees and spotted the bird singing to us. "Flowers that bloom for a short time. Birds that sing, yet move on. Things that don't last for too long. And then all of that surrounding a modernized temple of worship in the middle of a small, isolated island."
She moved her gaze away from the bird and studied me.