Chapter 27 The Claws
Chapter twenty-seven
The Claws
Nyomi
“Thank you, Tora.” Kenji took my hand and guided me to the end of the table where three seats were waiting.
He pulled out the chair in the middle for me.
“Thank you.” I lowered into it.
Kenji sat on my right. The moment his body settled into the chair, his hand found my thigh under the table, claiming me.
Heat bloomed where his palm pressed through the fabric.
His thumb traced a slow circle against my thigh, once, twice, grounding me with his touch while his face remained impassive to the room.
To everyone else, the Dragon sat in perfect stillness.
But beneath the table, his fingers flexed possessively against my skin, and I felt the message vibrating through his touch: You're not alone. I'm right here. You're mine, and I protect what's mine.
My pulse steadied under his hand.
Reo took the seat on my left.
The Dragon and the Roar flanked me. I felt so protected and supported.
A soft knock sounded at the smaller door near the bar cart. It opened just enough for Sako to enter with a cart of teapots and cups.
Since I was in hunting mode, I took the time to check Sako too.
Sako’s gaze went to Kenji first—automatic deference—then to the Roar, me, next the Fangs and Claws. His shoulders stayed straight, but tension clung to him.
He’s worried about something.
He circled the table with a quiet, practiced grace—each step a soft whisper against the polished floor.
The porcelain rattled faintly on the lacquered tray, the delicate chime somehow sharpening the tension around us.
A clean ribbon of steam curled upward from each cup, carrying the scent of honeyed lavender and chamomile.
Sako set the first cup before Kenji with both hands and bowed his head just slightly. The steam washed over Kenji’s knuckles.
Next, he moved to me. The cup he placed at my side was warm enough that the heat pulsed against my wrist before I even touched it. The fragrant vapor rose around me.
Reo’s cup landed with the lightest tap, barely a sound, though the steam fogged the edge of his glasses instantly. He blinked once, clearing his view.
After that, Sako made his way around the table, offering each man his own plume of heat and calm.
The scent grew stronger as he moved—an enveloping wave of honeyed lavender and chamomile warmth drifting between the weapons, the muscle, the cold eyes assessing.
Even the air thickened with it, as if the tea itself were trying to soothe tempers the room could no longer contain.
And the whole time, I watched Sako.
He didn’t flinch under Kenji’s glance.
He didn’t stare too long at me.
He didn’t scan the exits like a man plotting escape.
He just looked like someone afraid his friends might die.
Our gazes brushed as he stepped back.
Fear.
Unmistakable.
Bone-deep.
But my guess was that it wasn’t the fear of a man with secrets. I believed it was the fear of a man who loved people and had to watch them walk into war.
His hands hadn’t shaken when he poured tea. His jaw never clenched. His eyes stayed clear. No darting glances at exits. No hesitation near Kenji.
I'd seen guilty fear before—it made people smaller, quieter, invisible.
Sako stood straighter.
It’s loyal fear.
The kind that made men stay when any sane person would run.
Loyal fear had a shape—upright posture, steady breath, eyes that never looked for exits because leaving wasn’t an option.
I’d seen it in soldiers, in whistleblowers, in activists who stood up to power knowing it could cost them everything.
Sako wore that same quiet bravery like a second skin.
Yeah. I don’t think he is the spy right now. He’s giving off the energy of super loyal.
But I filed him for further investigation anyway.
Fear made people do stupid things.
Even the most loyal.
Sako returned to the end of the table, got close to me, and leaned over. “Ms. Palmer, I left three new packages in your office this morning.”
“Packages?”
“Yes.” A hint of apology softened his face. “They arrived with the morning shipment. Likely more books. Would you like me to open them for you and place them on the shelves?”
“That’s okay,” I smiled. “I’ll handle it myself after the meeting.”
“As you wish.” He inclined his head. “By the way, are there any changes you need made to your office?”
“No way. You did an incredible job. I’ll take it from here. Thank you so much.”
Warmth flickered through his expression, subtle but unmistakable.
“It was my pleasure. Organizing your office felt. . .oddly familiar.” A small smile touched his mouth. “As if I were writing a book myself.”
I smiled back. “Then you’re already a natural. Perhaps, you should consider writing a book one day. I bet you would have tons to say.”
He blinked and then his smile widened. “After helping you with your office, I got pretty excited about the idea of writing so. . .I may write something. Of course I will want to talk to you.”
“Good. I would love to help you get on the path of writing.”
“I’m honored.” Sako bowed once more, softer this time, almost personal, and then stepped away.
Kenji turned to him. “Thank you, Sako.”
He slipped away.
The door closed.
He’s fine. Just shaken. But. . .I should talk to him later. Make sure it’s only the war he’s afraid of and not something else. Also. . .he may have seen something that could be helpful.
He had more access to the house than others. Also, servants tended to be invisible allowing them to witness a great number of things.
The room shifted after Sako left—chairs creaked, breaths steadied, hands returned to weapons or pockets. A few held low conversation with each other.
A minute later, Reo stood and everyone went silent and put their attention on him. “We’re waiting for Hiro. He just woke up. But for now, I should get introductions out of the way.”
One of the Claws spoke, “Hiro was sleeping?”
“Yes.”
The Claw blinked a few times as if absolutely shocked by the news.
Reo began to introduce the Fangs to me one by one. With each name, I did another assessment and cleared them once again.
After that, Reo gestured to the other side of the table. “Nyomi, now allow me to introduce the Dragon's Claws.”
Alright. Let’s see who everyone is.
Reo gestured to the first man—the one that asked the question about Hiro sleeping. “This is Kaede. Hiro's second-in-command.”
I took him in.
Kaede was. . .beautifully dangerous. Platinum-blond hair pulled into a low knot at the nape of his neck, high-collared black suit so pristine it looked like he'd just put it on.
One glass eye caught the light, the other—the real one—studied me with careful accuracy.
His posture was perfectly still.
His hands were covered in leather gloves and he had them folded on the table.
I put my view back on his face. It was very feminine and almost too perfect to be real. Had he worn his long hair down and put on a coat of lipstick, he could have easily passed as a woman.
A pretty killer. Interesting.
I monitored Kaede’s body language. The respect when he glanced at Kenji. The protective angle of his shoulders.
He’s loyal to Kenji. Absolutely, unquestionably loyal.
Then, he looked at me and his mouth tightened.
He doesn’t trust me. Interesting.
That's what his expression said.
Not hostility.
Just. . .withholding judgment.
Kaede placed that glass eye in better view as if he wanted me to truly see it.
Oh my.
The glass eye was exquisite. Elegant and definitely custom-made. A crystal-clear iris with a sapphire pupil and gilded rim. Beneath the surface, threads of gold and mother-of-pearl shimmered.
The eye alone could have been showcased in the Louvre.
However, the glass eye also made me wonder what violence had taken the real one. A blade? A bullet? Torture? And when? How young had he been when someone tried to end him and failed?
Kaede showing off his glass eye to me. . .I'd witnessed this move before. Caleb Ward had done the same thing with his limp, playing up the injury to seem non-threatening before he struck.
But Kaede wasn't trying to appear harmless. He was doing the opposite—showing me his scar like a resume. A reminder that he'd survived something that should have killed him. A warning that underestimating him was fatal.
Hmmm. I still don’t think he’s the spy. Just pretty, clever, and probably very fucking lethal.
Reo went to the next Claw. “This is Daisuke. He is Hiro’s Shadow specialist.”
I didn’t know what a Shadow specialist was, but I bet it dealt with hiding in the darkness and observing. It made sense if that was true because Daisuke wore charcoal gray and was nearly invisible despite sitting right there.
How is he doing that? Blending into the setting like a chameleon. This is fascinating.
Daisuke had a black mohawk that cut a sharp ridge over his head. His eyes were still along with the rest of his body. He ignored me and put his view on Kenji as if waiting for the Dragon to let him know when he needed him.
He’s. . .protective of Kenji.
I could see that immediately.
But toward me?
Uncertainty.
He’s thinking. . .why is she in here? We don't know her. Can she be trusted?
Like the other Claw, he said nothing to me.
Just watched.
The Claws don’t trust easily at all. Or. . .they just don’t like me.
I wanted to shrink under their stares, but I wouldn’t dare. Instead, I met them head-on.
I’m the fucking Tiger. . .so. . .don’t you mess with me either. . .
On another note. . .I could feel Kenji's gaze on me the entire time too.
Not a protective gaze.
Not even one that said he was worried.
It was hungry.
The Dragon was watching me hunt, and it turned him on.
Okay. . .the Dragon loves seeing his Tiger bare her claws.
My thighs clenched under the table.
No. No. Stay focused.
Reo pointed to the next Claw. “This is Toma. He’s a Weapons specialist.”