Chapter 1 A Pyre of Souls #2
"If I do that—if I bring you into those decisions—do you understand what that means?" His eyes searched mine. "I have never answered to anyone. Not even my father. For me to answer to you. . ."
He shook his head slowly. "That puts you on a level no one has ever occupied. A level that should terrify you."
"I don't care."
"You should." His hand slid from my jaw to my throat, and those fingers settled over the bite marks he'd left there. "I've already claimed you. Bitten you. Already made you mine in ways you don't fully understand yet."
His thumb pressed against the bruised skin, and I gasped. "If I give you this power—the power to question my decisions, to shape them, to stop them—how much more do you think I'll need to consume?”
“Kenji—”
“How much deeper do you think I'll need to go?" His fingers trailed from my throat down to my collarbone, leaving a line of fire in their wake. Every nerve ending sparked where he touched, and I hated my body for it.
Hated how it leaned into him even now.
"I'm already under your skin. In your blood. If I go deeper. . ." His palm flattened over my heart, pressing until I could feel my own pulse beating against his hand.
The dragon-shadow pulsed behind him.
Eager.
Hungry.
He's warning me.
I understood that. He was telling me that if I demanded this, if I inserted myself into his darkest decisions, he would pull me even further into his world.
Into his fire.
There would be no part of me he didn't touch, didn't own, didn't burn.
And still. . .
I let out a long breath. "I need to know. I need to be part of this. I can't be kept in the dark while you. . ."
I gestured toward the window, toward the horror beyond. "I can't be protected from the truth and then stumble into it like this. It's worse. Don't you see that? It's so much worse."
“You weren’t supposed to see that—”
“Stop saying that. It’s not the point. I would have found out regardless—”
“You might not have—”
“I would have.” My heart boomed in my ears. “There’s ash falling all over the place and it fucking smells like someone is roasting meat all over the island.”
But it’s. . .bodies. . .
That sent my mind into hysteria.
Dear God.
I shook my head, trying to clear the horrible scent of charred human flesh from my nostrils.
My stomach churned. “You shouldn’t have burned the families.”
He put his hand back on my throat. “This is our way.”
“Then, change it.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Change it?"
"Yes."
"You speak of things you don't understand." An edge hit his tone. "This tradition is older than me. Older than my father. Older than his father before him. It exists for a reason."
"Then tell me the reason."
He released my throat and stepped back, and the loss of his heat felt like punishment. "If a man knows that only he will die for his treachery, he can weigh it. He can decide his life is worth the price. But if he knows his wife will burn? His mother? His father?"
Kenji shook his head slowly. "Then betrayal becomes unthinkable. The tradition doesn't just punish. It prevents."
"So, you're burning innocent people to send a message."
"I'm burning innocent people to save innocent people." His eyes never left mine. "Every family member on that pyre is a future betrayal that will never happen. A knife that will never find my back. A bullet that will never find yours or. . .our kids."
I blinked.
The logic was cold.
Brutal.
And horrifyingly coherent.
I hated that I understood it.
"That's not justice," I whispered. "That's terrorism."
"It's order." He didn’t flinch. "You think the yakuza survives on kindness? On mercy? We survive because our enemies know that crossing us means extinction. Not just for them—for everyone they love. That knowledge keeps more people alive than any mercy ever could."
"And what about the people on that pyre who did nothing wrong? The wife who didn't know her husband was a traitor? The mother who—"
"They might have known. Maybe not the exact details. But they knew something was up. They saw the additional money that didn’t match the job. They heard the whispered phone calls. They chose not to ask questions because the answers would make them complicit."
"That's not the same as—"
"Isn't it?" He tilted his head. "Ignorance is a choice, Tora. A comfortable one. These families chose comfort over truth, and that choice has a price."
“Or is that what you’re telling yourself, so you don’t feel guilty for killing them?”
He went still.
I frowned. “You’re the Dragon. You're not some middle manager following orders. You're not bound by what your father did or his father did. You are the tradition now. You decide what it means."
"Tora—"
"No. You don't get to hide behind 'this is our way' like you're powerless." My voice grew stronger, fueled by something I couldn't name. "You have more power than anyone in this world. You could burn every tradition to the ground and rebuild them however you want, and no one could stop you."
The dragon-shadow surged behind him and its jaws parted in what looked like a silent snarl.
But I didn't stop. "You chose to burn those families and it had nothing to do with tradition."
I was close enough to see the vein in his temple pulse. Close enough to watch his pupils dilate. Close enough to know I'd drawn blood with words alone.
“Tora.” He sneered. “It had everything to do with tradition—”
“Liar.”
Silence.
Kenji stared at me with an expression I couldn't read. The dragon-shadow coiled behind him, dense and dark, its form rippling like smoke in a wind I couldn't feel.
When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "No one has ever spoken to me like this."
"Maybe someone should have."
Another silence.
Longer this time.
Then, slowly, something shifted in his face. The stone mask cracked—not much, just a fracture—and beneath it I saw something that looked almost like wonder.
"You're asking me to be weaker."
"No." I shook my head. "I'm asking you to be stronger than your fear.'"
“Fear?”
“You’re scared others will betray you, so you did that pyre to terrify everyone else.”
“It will work.”
“It may not.”
He studied me for a long moment. To my surprise, the dragon-shadow slowly began to settle—not disappearing, but calming.
Folding its wings.
Lowering its head.
"The people outside." I shivered. "The ones watching.
The ones you forced to witness. They're loyal to you.
They love you. And you traumatized them today.
I bet their children saw that, Kenji. Families saw their friends burn.
You're about to go to war with your father—you need everyone strong, united, ready to fight.
Instead, you've weakened them. Terrified them.
Made them afraid of you when they should be afraid of him. "
His jaw tightened.
"What you did came from fear." I held his gaze even though part of me wanted to look away. "You're scared that others will betray you, so you wanted to make an example. Show everyone what happens. Make sure no one ever thinks about disloyalty again."
I shook my head. "But these people were already loyal. They didn't need to be punished for someone else's sins. They needed to trust you. And now. . ."
I didn't finish.
The silence stretched between us, heavy and charged.
And then for some reason. . .he placed his hand back on my throat, right over his bite marks.
And I could feel his pulse in his fingertips.
Racing.
Unsteady.
Finally, he exhaled. "You're shaking, Tora."
I was.
Still.
My whole body was trembling despite my firm words, despite my demands. The adrenaline was fading and leaving nothing but exhaustion and horror in its wake.
He pulled me against him.
I let him.
God help me, I let him.
His arms wrapped around me, and I pressed my face into his chest and breathed in the scent of him—not smoke, not burning, just him—and I shook apart in his embrace.
"I've got you." His voice rumbled through his chest and vibrated against my cheek. "I've got you, Tora."
His hand stroked down my back. His lips pressed against my hair. He held me like I was precious, like I was everything, like he hadn't just admitted to burning over a hundred people twenty feet from where we'd made love the night before.
I was still shaking when he tilted my chin up and kissed me. And God help me, it was fire. Not the monstrous blaze outside—not death, destruction, and the smell of burning flesh.
This was the other kind of fire.
The kind of heat that had cocooned me in bed this morning, made me feel safe, made me feel claimed.
I almost pulled away.
Almost.
But his hand was in my hair, and his mouth was soft, and the fire outside was still burning, as the fire within me blazed, and I kissed him anyway because I didn't know how to stop wanting him even when I should.
His lips moved against mine slowly, carefully, like he was asking a question he was afraid I'd answer wrong.
Those soft lips said:
Are we going to be okay?
Do you still want me?
Can you love the man who burns families?
His hand slid into my hair, cradling my skull, and the kiss deepened. Heat bloomed in my chest, spread through my veins, and I understood then that I would never be cold again.
Not as long as he loved me.
And. . .I was also slowly learning in my time with him that fire doesn't just warm.
Fire devours too.
And when he pulled back, breathing hard, his forehead pressed against mine, I knew I was already burning. I'd been burning since the first moment he touched me. The only question was whether I'd survive the blaze—or let it turn me to ash like those people outside.
And then he kissed me again. . .
And I kissed him back because I didn't know what else to do.
Because I loved him.
Because I was his.
Because the alternative was walking away, and he'd made it clear that wasn't an option, and maybe. . .I didn't want it to be anyway.
But my hands still trembled against his chest.
And the taste of ash still lingered in my throat.
And when he pulled back to look at me, I knew he could see what had happened to us in my gaze.
This had caused a break.
A crack between us.
Granted, our bond was not fully broken.
But it was different.
Damaged.
When he reached for my hand, I let him take it.
But I didn't squeeze back.
And I saw the moment he noticed.
He never said yes.
I'd demanded to be part of his decisions. I'd told him we needed to discuss things before he burned over a hundred people.
And he'd kissed me instead of answering.
The Dragon hadn't agreed to anything.
Right as I was about to double down on my demand, someone knocked at the door.
Kenji's whole body went rigid. The dragon-shadow, which had been almost peaceful, flared back to life—wings spreading, jaws parting.
Kenji’s voice came out sharp enough to cut. “What?”
"It's Reo. I didn’t want to bother you, but the Lion wants—"
“Tell him I will talk to him later.” Kenji glared at the door. “I’m busy!”
I almost jumped.
Reo cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, the Lion isn't on the phone."
I felt Kenji go still.
Completely, utterly still.
Even his breath stopped.
Reo continued, "The Lion and his men just landed on the island."
For three heartbeats, nothing happened.
Then Kenji released me and turned toward the door, and the dragon-shadow rose behind him like a tide of darkness, massive, terrible, and ready for war.
Kenji frowned at the door. “Tell the Lion, I will be out to greet him soon.”
What’s going on?