Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
Consume
Nyomi
Kenji disappeared through the exit, and I watched him go until the shadows swallowed him whole.
Then I turned to face Hiroko.
She stood a few feet in front of me. That black leather kimono fit her like armor—stitched tight, gleaming under the candlelight.
Her gray hair pulled back in that severe knot.
Eyes sharp and assessing the whole scene.
I wondered what she thought about Kenji’s romantic dinner.
Then, her gaze landed on my neck.
On the bite marks.
She didn't flinch, but she did blink. And then her gaze moved on like she'd filed the information away in a drawer she'd open later.
Behind her, the two assistants weren't as composed. They spotted the bite marks and then I caught the glance between them—quick, wide-eyed, mouths pressed tight to keep from reacting.
One of them touched her own neck. Unconsciously. Like she could feel the sting just from looking at mine.
That told me everything.
Hiroko stepped forward. "Are you ready for your surprise today?"
I smoothed my hands down my sides. "I think. Kenji says it will be hot."
"That's an understatement." She turned and walked toward the far corridor without another word.
I fell into step beside her. “Are you going to give me a hint of what he has in store?”
“Absolutely not.”
“I thought we were cool.”
“We are, but the Dragon is much scarier.”
I grinned.
"I can tell you that we're going to leave the main house to get you dressed. You'll ride with me on my golf cart."
"Okay."
We moved quickly.
Down the hall.
Through the door.
Outside into the cool air.
The sun was setting, painting the sky in streaks of orange and gold. An ocean breeze lifted the hem of my phoenix gown.
The air carried the scent of ocean and woodsmoke, and unlike this morning it smelled more like a smoldering campfire, not carnage.
I looked to the left.
The pyre was gone.
Only embers remained, glowing orange in the fading light. But the people were still gathered around it. Some talking. Some singing. A few strumming instruments I didn't recognize.
Children chased each other through the grass, their laughter bright and unafraid.
No one seemed sad or traumatized. They actually looked like a family gathering after a long day like burning traitors alive was just another Tuesday.
This was what Hiro had told me about earlier. How the burning made the people feel safe. Protected. How it brought them together instead of tearing them apart.
Wow. This is definitely a different world.
As I walked toward the golf cart, people noticed me.
Conversations paused.
Heads turned.
A woman near the embers saw me first. She straightened, pressed her hand to her chest, and bowed.
Deep.
Respectful.
Then the man beside her did the same.
Then two more.
It moved through the crowd like a wave. One by one, people stopped what they were doing and bowed. Not out of fear. I knew what fear looked like on this island. I'd seen it directed at Kenji. At Reo. At the Fangs.
This wasn't that.
This was gratitude.
Hiroko smiled.
My throat tightened.
I didn't bow back. Didn't wave. Didn't know what the protocol was for something like this. So I just nodded and kept walking.
But my hands were shaking at my sides. Because no one had ever bowed to me before. Not once in my life. And here, on an island full of killers and loyalists who had just watched a hundred bodies burn, I was being honored.
When we reached the golf cart, the assistants climbed in the front. Hiroko and I settled into the back.
The cart hummed to life and pulled away from the embers, heading deeper into the island.
I took that time to fully take the space all in.
Trees thickened around us. The sunset filtered through the branches in golden shafts.
Hints of the smog from the pyre still lingered faintly in the air, but it was clearing.
Lifting.
Making way for the clean salt of the ocean and the soft char of woodsmoke.
Hiroko glanced at my neck again.
I felt her eyes trace the left side. Then the right. Her expression didn't change, but her jaw tightened.
She said nothing.
The cart continued down the path. Further along the island, more people appeared—gathered in clusters, playing cards, sharing food. A group of children kicked a ball across a clearing. Someone had even set up a small grill and was cooking fish over open flames.
A woman at the grill looked up as we passed. She smiled at me and held up a skewer of fish like an offering.
I smiled back.
And something cracked open in my chest. Because this morning I woke up to ash falling like snow and a mountain of burning bodies. I thought morale would be shattered. Thought people would be hiding in their homes, terrified of the Dragon's wrath.
Instead, they were grilling fish and kicking soccer balls.
This island doesn't mourn traitors. It celebrates their deaths.
"You've been very busy since I’ve last seen you."
I turned to her. "I have."
"You found the spies."
I blinked. "How did you know that?"
"The whole island knows, Nyomi, that you're the one who found them. Reo definitely made sure the news spread. You're becoming quite important around here."
I didn't know what to say to that. So, I said nothing and glanced over my shoulder.
The pyre was far behind us now—just a faint orange glow through the trees. The crackling had faded. The smoke had thinned. But I could still see the embers. Still feel the heat of it in my memory.
"What did you think?" I looked back at Hiroko.
“What did I think about what?”
“What did you think, when you woke up this morning and saw that pyre of traitors?"
Hiroko didn't hesitate. "I felt safe for the first time since the Dragon bombed Tokyo."
"Safe?"
"Yes." She nodded. "That pyre told me that the chances of the Dragon being victorious against the Fox are high. Higher than I ever thought."
Damn. You were right again, Hiro.
She folded her hands in her lap. "It made me much more confident that this war will end faster than we all expected."
I watched her profile in the fading light. The sharp line of her jaw. The stillness of her expression. "Interesting."
Hiroko glanced at me. "Why?"
"I was just wondering." I turned back to face the path ahead. "That's all."
Just learning about this new world.
The silence stretched between us.
The cart hummed.
The trees thickened.
Hiroko spoke, "What's going on with these marks on your neck?"
My hand flew up instinctively. Touched the tender skin, and actually. . .relished in the sting of it.
"What happened?" Hiroko leaned closer and studied the wounds in the fading light. "Who bit you?"
"Kenji."
Hiroko’s face remained composed and unreadable, but I saw her hands fold tighter in her lap. Saw the slight tension in her shoulders. "I see."
The golf cart continued through the darkening trees. The sunset bled into purple and blue as the first stars began to emerge.
"Biting." Hiroko let out a long breath. "It is what we call edge play."
I looked at her.
"It sits on the border between pleasure and real danger. There are levels. Gentle bites—teasing, playful. They leave temporary marks that fade in hours. Then there are harder bites. Bruising bites. Those last days." She paused. "And then there are bites that break skin."
Her eyes moved to my neck again. "He broke your skin."
“He did.”
"When someone bites hard enough to draw blood, they've crossed into. . .”
“What?”
“Primal territory." Hiroko's voice remained steady. "It's not about pain or pleasure anymore. It's about marking. Claiming. Making you his in a way everyone can see."
The word claiming settled into my chest.
"The neck and shoulders are the most common places for this kind of. . .claiming bite. Visible. Undeniable." She exhaled slowly. "A brand."
Brand.
The word burned through me. And I didn't hate it. That scared me more than anything Hiroko had said so far.
I thought of Kenji’s teeth sinking into my flesh. The pain that twisted into pleasure. The blood running down my skin in the shower spray.
"In BDSM, we call the desire for biting odaxelagnia. The arousal from biting or being bitten. It releases endorphins for both people—the one biting and the one being bitten. It can create a high unlike anything else."
I remembered the high. The dizzying, spinning, devastating high of his teeth in my flesh.
"I knew the Dragon would never be fully submissive." Hiroko turned to look at me directly. "Even when I was teaching you, I understood that. A man like him—built for war, raised on violence—he would always have a part of himself that couldn't fully surrender."
The trees grew darker around us.
Denser.
"But I didn't expect this level of primal behavior. I didn't expect him to bite you like an animal claiming its mate."
The words hung in the air between us.
"I'm going to tell you a story. And I need you to listen."
“Okay.” My stomach tightened.
"Years ago, I knew a dominatrix. Very experienced.
Very skilled. She had been in the lifestyle for over two decades.
Knew every protocol. Every safety measure.
Every sign of danger." Hiroko's hands remained folded in her lap.
"One day, she took on a new submissive. A doctor.
Educated. Refined. Wealthy. He seemed perfect. "
The cart continued through the darkness.
The trees pressed closer.
"But over time, something shifted in him. He became obsessed with her. Not just devoted. Consumed. He started biting her during their sessions.”
I widened my eyes.
“He would bite her hard enough to draw blood. In fact. . .he wanted to drink her blood. Said it made him feel closer to her."
I swallowed.
"Then he began collecting pieces of her. Strands of hair. He would eat them right in front of her."
"What?" The word came out before I could stop it.
"Keep in mind that she didn't live with him. Still, he paid extra to come to her home for their sessions and leave.”
“Was that dangerous?”
“It was. I would never do that with any clients. Yet, everything seemed just fine for a year.”