The Hollow Feeling
Chapter twenty-eight
Nyomi
When I opened my eyes the next morning, incense drifted through the dimly lit bedroom. The warm smoke curled above the bed in twirling ribbons and sandalwood filled my nose.
I spotted the small clay burner on a low table near the window, and its ember glowed red under a thin gray line of smoke.
The mattress under me stretched huge across the room. Kenji's arm lay possessively across my waist. His body wrapped around mine from behind and held me tight. His calm breaths skittered across the crown of my head.
I listened to him breathe, and then I sank back into sleep.
Hours later, I woke again to sunlight and in a new position with my head against Kenji’s chest. His heart thumped a melody into my ears. Faint sandalwood still hung in the air. Birds sang outside the window. Tokyo’s melodic city hum ran under the birds.
I opened my eyes and slowly leaned my head back.
Kenji was watching me. His head rested on the pillow, and his mouth was curved into a satisfied smile. “Good morning, Tora.”
I yawned. “Good morning, Dragon.”
Love moved through our bond first. It felt so good to feel his warmth in the middle of my chest.
I widened my eyes. “Mmm. I still feel your emotions through our bond.”
“And what do you feel, Tora?”
I smiled. “You love me so much.”
“I do.”
“And what do you feel from me with our bond?”
“Absolute, endless love. Healing. Comforting. Protective love.” He breathed me in. “The sort of love. . .I never knew existed.”
“Me too.”
Then, under his love, his rage arrived too, swirling around the bond. I tensed. His rage sat coiled inside him. It was a poisonous snake on a warm rock, waiting for vengeance. I struggled to hold both at once, and I suspected I always would.
Kenji studied me. “Did you sleep well?”
“I did.”
“Good.” Kenji lifted his hand and slid his knuckles down the side of my face.
His touch traced from my temple to the edge of my jaw, and his thumb brushed the corner of my mouth.
Then his palm settled at the curve of my neck.
His fingers stretched into my braids, and the warmth of him spread down to my collarbone.
I leaned into his hand. “Will this be our mornings from now on?”
“Most of the time.” He kept his hand there for a few seconds. His fingers stayed in my braids, and his thumb kept stroking the corner of my mouth. But his gaze darkened as he glanced at the scratches from Kiko. “You’ve killed someone for the first time.”
“I did.”
“How do you feel, Tora?”
“Hollow. Is that normal?”
“Yes.”
I studied his face. “How long does it last?”
“The hollow feeling?”
I nodded.
Kenji’s thumb slowed against my skin. “That depends on what you try to put inside it.”
“What does that mean?”
“Some people fill the emptiness with liquor. Some use drugs. Sex. Violence. More killing.” His fingers tightened slightly in my braids. “Others fill it with excuses. They repeat that the person deserved to die until they no longer remember why they pulled the trigger.”
I swallowed. “And what did you fill it with?”
Kenji stared past me toward the morning light. “For a long time. . .I filled the hollowness with more rage. I made myself angry enough that I did not have to feel anything else.”
I raised my hands and rested them against his chest. “Did it work?”
“For a while, and then the anger began needing to be fed.”
A chill brushed through me.
Kenji looked back at me. “That is the danger no one tells you about. Violence can make itself useful. At first, you use it to survive. Then you use it to protect someone. Then you use it because it solves problems quickly.”
His gaze held mine. “Eventually, it begins creating problems merely so it can solve them.”
I let out a slow breath. “I. . .watched the life leave her as I choked her.”
“Did you like it?”
“Y-yes. She was looking at me with all of this fear. Finally. And. . .I liked that she finally understood that I was the one ending her life.”
Silence ran between us.
He brushed his thumb beneath my eye. “You must never lie to yourself about why you killed her, Tora.”
“I won’t.” I shivered.
“Then, tell me.”
“Why?”
“Because this is the way to make the hollow feeling lessen.”
I swallowed. “I killed Kiko because. . .I was so fucking mad. I killed her because. . .after protecting her and her unborn children. . .I had to sacrifice mine. I killed her because. . .I didn’t think she deserved a happy ending. Are those. . .bad reasons?”
“No.”
“I don’t regret it.”
“Good. Just. . .next time let me do it so that. . .you don’t have to carry things like this. You are my queen.”
I pressed my palm over his heart. “Queens kill for their kings too, Dragon.”
He curved his mouth into a smile. “Is that right, Tora?”
“Yes. And you are my king, if someone comes for what is ours, and you’re busy already shedding blood well then. . .I will do all the things that must be done.”
“That. . .I know.” He held my gaze.
Sighing, I lowered my view and stared at the dark tattooed dragon curling over his chest. “I keep waiting to feel bad about killing her. It hasn’t come.”
“You may feel bad one day. Remorse does not always arrive when the blood is warm. Sometimes the body is too busy surviving.”
“What if it hits me later?”
His gaze sharpened. “Then, you let it hurt without deciding that the pain must destroy you.”
The birds continued singing outside.
Somewhere far below us, a horn sounded in the street. Life moved through Tokyo as though no one had died. As though my soul had not changed.
Kenji’s palm slid down my back in one slow pass.
“You will remember strange things. Most of the time it isn’t even important things.
You may forget her face, but remember the sound of her dying.
You may forget what you said, yet clearly remember the smell of the room.
You may wake from a dream with your heart racing and not know why. ”
My throat tightened.
He felt it through the bond.
His arm closed more firmly around me. “You may become angry when you are actually afraid. You may feel nothing when you believe you should be grieving. You may laugh at the wrong moment. You may want me to touch you. You may not want anyone near you. None of those things make you cruel.”
For several heartbeats, the only sound between us was our breathing. Then, the bond trembled, and Kenji spoke, "I feared I would never be able to touch you again."
Those words sank deep into me, sending ripples low in my belly.
"During the war." His bottom lip quivered. "Every time I set someone on fire. Every time I got closer to Akiro and my father. Every time a bullet came close to ending me. . .I kept thinking. . .If I die here, I won’t ever feel her in my arms again. . ."
My throat tightened.
"Last night. . .I stopped fighting for the empire. Stopped fighting for revenge. I even stopped fighting for my brother." His thumb pressed harder against my mouth. "I fought to get back to you."
"Kenji. . ."
"Even now. . .I’m not sure that this is just a cruel dream. Is the war truly over? Are you really right here?”
I met his gaze. “I’m here, baby. And I’m not going anywhere.”
His hand tightened in my braids. "Say it again."
"I'm here."
Then his mouth crashed onto mine, and he kissed me like some part of him was still trapped on that island in the middle of the war, with bullets tearing through the air and death reaching for everything he loved.
I felt the battle inside him.
The dreadful violence still sharpening his blood.
The ragged desperation still clawing through his chest.
The savage relief of a man who had spent hours believing that every breath might be his last—and that even if he survived, he might return to find me gone.
All of it burned through our bond at once.
Fear disguised as hunger.
Grief disguised as possession.
Love so ferocious it had forgotten how to be gentle.
His hand fisted in my braids and pulled me closer, as though the space between our bodies was another enemy he needed to destroy.
His mouth moved over mine with the same ruthless purpose he had carried into war.
He kissed me like he was searching for wounds.
Like he needed to taste my breath and feel my pulse and verify, again and again, that I was warm.
Alive.
His.
And beneath the desperation, I felt something darker.
The Dragon had won, but victory had not soothed him. It had only shown him how much there was to lose—every man who had fallen, every bullet that had nearly found him, every second death had stood close enough to whisper in his ear.
He poured all of it into my mouth.
The rage of surviving.
The guilt of returning.
The animal terror of loving someone in a world determined to take everything from him.
His kiss became a confession his pride would never allow him to speak.
“I was afraid.”
“I almost did not come home.”
“I cannot lose you.”
“I will burn the world before I let death touch you.”
And I answered him the only way I could. I wrapped my arms around him and let him feel my heartbeat against his chest.
Living.
Loving.
Waiting for him.
I moaned against his lips.
My body woke all at once. My nipples hardened against the silk. Between my thighs, I went slick and hot within seconds. The bond throbbed under my sternum, and I could feel his lust rising to meet mine, dark, molten, and enormous.
He pulled back just enough to speak against my mouth. "Take this top off."
"You take it off."
His eyes went black. "Careful, Tora."
"Or what, Dragon?"
His hand slid from my braids down to the strap of the silk gown at my shoulder. He hooked one finger under the fabric and dragged it down slow, watching my face the entire time. The silk slid off my shoulder and pooled at my elbow.
Then the other side.
Next, he tugged the whole thing down to my waist and stopped. “You are mine. Say it.”
“Well. . .I’m still in the decision phase. You haven’t truly earned me yet.”
His hand rose to my throat. His fingers wrapped around the sides. His thumb pressed against the pulse under my jaw. “Earn you?”