Chapter 42 What Held Us Together
Chapter forty-two
What Held Us Together
Nyomi
The Fangs had relaxed a little bit since Kenji's call, since Reo had confirmed to Yoichi that they were sure the Fox still didn't know where the island was.
An hour later, I stood in the kitchen with my hip pressed against the edge of the counter, and my fingers drumming against the cool stone.
Rin had not returned. That made me a little worried. I knew what he was planning and was sure that his servants had already finished a copper silk bag to be put over Deja’s head.
But I also knew Deja could handle herself and had eaten men alive for suggesting less.
They’re both grown. All will be fine.
Satoshi and Zo hadn’t returned either. Apparently, that washing off session would be lasting the rest of the day.
Alright. What would be a good dinner for Kenji and the men? They’ll be exhausted when they arrive.
The sun had started its descent outside, and the light was pouring through the windows. It had gone soft and golden as it spilled across the countertops in long, warm streaks and caught the steam rising from a pot of water Chef Bunzō had set to boil.
The heat of the setting sun touched the side of my neck and forearm, making everything feel slower than it was.
Kaoru sat on a stool at the far end of the island with one ankle crossed over the other. Every few minutes, he would glance up at the door.
Yoichi leaned against the wall near the window with his muscular arms folded and watched everything. The fading light cut across his jaw and turned his eyes bright amber.
Meanwhile, a handful of armed guards stood near each doorway. Still. Hands clasped in front of them.
Chef Bunzō and his assistants moved through the space.
One woman slid a knife through a block of tuna in clean strokes. The blade tapped the board in a rhythmic beat.
On the right, a man rinsed vegetables under a stream of water.
Near one of the stoves, a woman tossed chopped garlic in an oiled pan. The rich aroma spread and curled through the kitchen.
My stomach tightened, but not from hunger.
I'd gathered the Chef and his staff to have a meal ready for Kenji's arrival.
However, I was still unsure of what we would be eating.
I muttered, “Fuck.”
“You’re thinking too hard about this.” Kaoru rose from his seat and came over to me. “The fact that they’ll arrive to a meal is enough. Usually, when we return from a big mission, we all go off on our own and figure out what we’ll eat.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded. “Kenji might eat with the Roar or Hiro, but that barely happens.”
“There’s not a big. . .I don’t know.” I held out my hands. “Like a big final meal celebration?”
Yoichi snorted.
Kaoru shook his head. “Never that. If anything, Hiro may pour a drink for everyone and we all toast to those that died.”
“Oh no. We have to change that. I think afterwards. . .getting together is important. If only to. . .process as a group.”
Kaoru tilted his head to the side. “Process what?”
“Everything that happened.”
Kaoru chuckled.
“Hmmm.” Yoichi shifted against the wall and unfolded those big arms. "She's actually right."
Kaoru looked at him. “What?”
“Long ago. . .” Yoichi's gaze went somewhere far away, past us and the kitchen.
"After a battle, samurai would gather and share a meal together.
It wasn't about celebration. It was about honoring what had been endured.
The living sat together and ate, and the dead were spoken of by name so that their spirits would know they hadn't been forgotten. "
I smiled.
His voice dropped lower, quieter. "And the food was simple. Rice. Fish. Whatever could be prepared. But. . .”
He let out a long breath. “but it was the sitting together. . .that was what held us together."
He blinked and cleared his throat. "Or so I've read."
Kaoru laughed. "Ignore Yoichi. He always talks like he was around during the samurai times."
Yoichi rolled his eyes.
Kaoru waved a hand. "Who really knows what they did?"
Yoichi said nothing. Just turned back to the window and refolded his arms. But something in his jaw tightened, and the amber in his eyes caught the last of the light in a way that didn't quite look natural.
I studied him for a second longer than I should have and then let it go. “Well. . .whether the samurai did it or not. . .I love the idea of us doing that tonight.”
Kaoru leaned against the counter near me. His long pink hair fell around his face. “Hey. Like I said, they’ll love it regardless.”
“Good. And I won’t force it on them. If people don’t want to eat and just go back to their villa, that’s cool too.”
Kaoru smirked. “The Claws are attention-greedy psychos, they’ll stay and eat everything up.”
“Be nice. I love the Claws.”
“But not as much as you love the Fangs. We’re in your heart.”
“Wow. At least the Fangs are humble.”
“Exactly. We are the most humble of them all.”
I chuckled.
Kaoru pointed at my hair. "You really look beautiful. I like this a lot."
"Thanks."
Yoichi cleared his throat.
Kaoru sighed.
I pulled my phone out and checked it again.
No new messages.
Kenji was still on his way back.
Chef Bunzō began to wash his hands. “What are you thinking we should put together?”
“Well. . .” I sighed. “I’m not sure. I don’t want to hit them with my comfort foods. I’m more hoping to lean toward your expertise.”
"I’m actually not sure either. I just know that we definitely should make something everybody can sit down and eat when they get back. That seems to be what your main goal is. What do you think?"
“That’s exactly what I want.” I tapped the counter again. “So. . .I have a question. When someone dies, what do you typically eat? Like traditionally in Japan."
Kaoru and Yoichi considered that.
Chef Bunzō dried off his hands. "In my house, my mother would prepare simple food, when a family member died. Shojin Ryori.”
I studied him. “What’s that?”
“It originated from Zen Buddhist monks and emphasizes mindfulness, seasonality, and zero waste. Therefore, it follows the ‘rule of five.’"
“Okay.”
“We would do five colors. Typically, white, black, yellow, green, red. Then, there would be a focus on five methods, raw, simmered, grilled, steamed, and fried. And you wouldn’t have any meat or fish."
“I’m intrigued by that.” I rubbed my chin.
"There’s Ohagi," Yoichi added quietly. "Sweet rice balls covered in red bean paste. My grandfather always made them for memorial services. It was about honoring the deceased."
Kaoru quirked his brows. “What do you all do in the States?”
“Oh. In my culture, it's different. We call it a homegoing meal.
Or a repast. It's about abundance and feeding people through grief.” I thought about a typical menu.
“So we’re talking heavy stuff. Soul food.
Fried chicken, mac and cheese, collard greens, cornbread. All the comfort food you can think of."
Kaoru widened his eyes. "I like the sound of that."
I thought about Hiroko and what she might have wanted.
"Let's do Shojin Ryori tonight. I like that it is simple and traditional. The Claw’s cocktail party and the whole dinner after will probably be tomorrow. That’s going to be big and full of food.
But tonight. . .tonight should be about honoring the ones that we lost."
Chef Bunzō bowed. "We will prepare it."
He turned and started giving instructions to his assistants in Japanese. They moved quickly, pulling out vegetables, tofu, rice, and miso paste.
I watched them work and felt Hiroko's voice echo in my head.
"And this—this moment tonight is not just sex. This is strategy. A man on his knees doesn't just want to fuck you. He wants forgiveness. He wants to crawl inside the heat and the hurt and ask to be let in."
My chest tightened as I thought about that memory.
She'd taught me how to stand in my power.
How are you gone?
I pressed my hand to my mouth and took a breath.
Kaoru stepped closer. "Are you okay?"
I nodded. "Yeah. I just. . .keep thinking about Hiroko."
"That's normal," Yoichi said. "Grief doesn't go away quickly."
I'd lost people before, but this felt different. Hiroko had been more than just someone I knew. She'd been a mentor and a mother figure in the short time I'd known her.
"When a dragon kneels, he owns the floor."
Her past words cut through me like a knife.
In my mind, I could see her saying it. See the way her eyes had sparkled with wisdom.
I turned away from Kaoru and Yoichi and walked over to the window.
The sun was almost down now. The sky was streaked with pink and orange, and the ocean stretched out endlessly in front of me.
Hurry up, Kenji. I want to be in your arms and just truly know that you are safe.
After a while, the air in the kitchen transformed into a symphony of scents—earthy root vegetables, the sharp tang of miso, the clean smell of steamed rice.
My mouth watered.
I thought of Hiroko again.
I didn’t even get to say goodbye. That feels so wrong. . .
I wanted to cry some more, but wouldn’t let myself. I had to keep myself together.
I turned back to Kaoru. "Can you bring me a book from my bedroom? It’s called, ‘When the Dragon Swallowed the Moon.’"
He bobbed his head. "I'll get it."
“Thanks.”
He left the kitchen, and I sat down at the small table near the window.
Yoichi appeared beside the table and set a glass of water next to my wine without saying a word. Then he went back to the wall.
How did he know I needed this?
“Thank you.”
“No problem, Nyomi.”
I took a sip and then thought about Kaoru bringing me When the Dragon Swallowed the Moon.
I took another sip.
Yeah. That’s what I need.
Books had always comforted me.
When I was a kid and my mother was too drunk to notice I existed, I'd lose myself in stories.
When I was older and the world felt too heavy, I'd disappear into someone else's life for a while.
Into their problems.
Their love.
Their victories.
That's why I wrote.
To give other people that same escape.
To help them forget the sadness of death, the reality of pain and stress, the anxious weight of living.
Art always helped people survive the roughest times in life.
It saved them.
And right now, I needed to be saved from my grief.
Kaoru came back a few minutes later with the book in his hands. "Here you go."
"Thank you."
He smiled and went back to leaning against the counter.
I ran my fingers over the cover and thought about where I’d left off.
The heroine, Sol had been lying between her two dragon shifter mates. There’d been talk of her going through, the ripening which seemed like it would be a horny phase for female dragon shifters.
I hope so. I’m here for all the filthy sex.
Hiroko’s words entered my mind.
"Remember. Don't let his presence knock you off your throne. A dragon's fire is only as strong as the woman who dares to breathe through the smoke."
I swallowed, closed my eyes, and let the grief wash over me. Let myself feel this overwhelming sadness for a moment instead of pushing it away.
How did she die? Should I even ask about all the dreaded details? Fuck. . .
"Many women in my world have told their stories. I'm not sure what mine would offer now. Perhaps, I should leave this dream alone."
All I knew for sure was that I was going to honor her. She’d wanted me to write a book about her life and that would be my first priority after this war ended.
It just made me sad that we wouldn’t be together. I’d imagined us celebrating at her book launch and watching her during the book tour doing tons of interviews.
She would have flipped the world around with all of her bold statements to women.
Damn it.
This time, I took a large gulp of the wine, opened the book, and found the passage where Sol was lying between Korin and Pyrran, learning about the ripening, swallowing the moon, and becoming a goddess.
I settled deeper into my chair. Took another sip of wine. Let the kitchen sounds fade into the background—the chopping, the sizzling, the quiet murmur of Chef Bunzō giving out more instructions.
And I let myself escape into dragons and immortal, fated love.
Into a world where the heroine was powerful, protected, and wanted.