Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 154368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 772(@200wpm)___ 617(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 772(@200wpm)___ 617(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Like salt.
Like brine.
Like the cold depths that never saw sunlight.
And the rocks at the bottom of the sea—worn smooth by currents, heavy with the weight of water that had been pressing down for centuries.
I breathed him in.
And sank into the ocean of him.
The watery surface broke. Cool relief washed over my overheated skin—my flushed cheeks, my burning forehead, the back of my neck where sweat had gathered. The heat loosened its grip.
Then deeper I sank until the water closed over my head and sound changed, going muffled.
Distant.
The crackle of flames faded.
The kitchen noise softened to nothing.
Just the low thrum of pressure against my ears and the steady rhythm of Hiro's heartbeat beneath my cheek.
Deeper still.
The cold seeped through my chest. Into my smoke-scorched lungs. I took a breath and tasted salt instead of ash.
Clean.
Cool peace.
The fire couldn't follow me here.
My pulse slowed.
My trembling stopped.
The throbbing in my burned fingertips dulled to a faraway ache—pain that belonged to a woman on the surface, not the one drifting down here in the dark ocean.
And at the bottom, there was that continued silence.
No pyre.
No bodies.
No flames licking at the edges of my mind.
Just cold. Just quiet. Just the heavy, pressing calm of water that had been holding the earth together since before fire ever learned to burn.
I shivered in relief and whispered, “Thank you, Hiro.”
It hit me then. How similar Kenji and Hiro were. These two brothers.
Yet how they were so different too.
Kenji was fire. Sandalwood and burning ginger. He consumed me. Scorched me. Left me branded with bite marks and heat that never fully disappeared.
Hiro was water. Cool and deep. The kind of calm that came after a storm had already torn through everything.
Both dangerous.
Both capable of killing me without trying.
And yet here I was.
Held by one while branded by the other.
Hiro’s chest was firm against my cheek. For a moment, neither of us spoke. I just stayed there in his arms, burned fingers throbbing against the wet towel.
This is so backwards.
Yesterday, I'd been the one holding Hiro. Right here. This same kitchen. I'd wrapped my arms around this man while he shook apart from his own memories. His own trauma. The weight of everything he carried beneath all that ink and muscle.
I'd hugged him so he would know that he wasn't alone.
And now I was the one breaking today.
And now he was the one catching the pieces.
Hiro ended the silence. "What's wrong, sis?"
I smiled at his saying sis.
“Who do I have to kill?”
I widened my eyes because for any other man that would have just been a silly expression, but for Hiro. . .I had no doubt that he would kill for me.
I let out a long breath. "No worries. I'm fine now."
"Try again."
My throat tightened. "I'm just. . .struggling."
His arms tightened. His chin came to rest on top of my head. "Nyomi. . ."
His chest vibrated against my cheek. "You're loving my brother. You’re healing me. Every day. Your food. Your presence."
Hiro. . .
His voice dropped lower. "Let me heal you."
The words cracked something open in my chest.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but the images were already there—waiting behind my lids like predators.
Fire.
Smoke.
Burning bodies.
Ash floating in the air.
I shivered. "The pyre of traitors on fire. I just can’t get it out of my mind."
Hiro stiffened. “They burnt the rest of the traitors this morning?”
“Yes. You didn’t see it?”
“No. I just woke up and came down here.”
“To get breakfast?”
“I was tracking your scent.”
I opened my eyes. “What?”
“I told you that your scent is locked down in my brain."
“Yeah, but I thought that was a joke.”
“I never joke about things like that.”
O-kay. . .
I should have left his hold then. I was calm now and felt safe, but. . .his arms felt too good.
He spoke, “Where were you going today?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why would you be over by the cliffs?”
“I wasn’t by the cliffs.”
“But you saw the pyre.”
“No, Hiro. The pyre was burning outside our bedroom window.”
“What?” His whole body went rigid against mine, muscles locking, breath catching. “Outside my brother’s window?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck.” A long exhale. I felt it move through his chest, felt the way his arms adjusted around me—not releasing, but recalibrating. Processing. "My brother would have never wanted you to see that."
"Well, I did." My voice came out rougher than I intended. "And my head is a bit fucked up, but I’ll be okay."
“It’s alright to not be okay for a while after seeing something like that.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“But I’m sure you’ve seen worse.”
“I have and each time I was fucked up from it, I gave that time.”
“How?”
“I just allowed myself to not be okay. You know that. You saw me yesterday.” He sighed again. “What’s going through your head?”
“The vision of it all. The burning bodies. The smell of it. The sound.” I swallowed. “But then there’s the. . .guilt.”
“Yes. . .the guilt.”