Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 161615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 539(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 539(@300wpm)
Lovingly sheltering.
She closed her eyes.
But sleep didn't come.
Instead, she lay there in the candlelit darkness, feeling them breathe against her, feeling the heat of them seeping through the silk, feeling her body thrum with an anticipation she couldn't name.
The dream played behind her eyelids on an endless loop.
Korin's ridged cock stretching her open. Pyrran's cool thickness claiming her from behind. Both of them thrusting in perfect unison, filling her completely, their seed flooding her with fire and frost until she shattered with pleasure.
Will it feel like that in real life?
The question burned through her like dragon fire.
Will it feel that good when they finally claim me? Will it feel even better?
And beneath that question, another one stirred.
Deeper.
Vaster.
What will it feel like to swallow the moon? What will it feel like to become a goddess? What will it feel like to hold that much power while they hold me between them?
Her dragon heart purred at the thought.
And, Sol shivered between her two kings.
The ripening was here.
The moon was waiting.
And she was already burning for everything that came next.
Chapter forty-five
A Prison for Burning
Kenji
Enough.
The word burned through my skull as I descended the stone steps into the prison beneath my mansion.
Enough with the snakes.
Enough with the betrayal.
Enough with decades of my father's poison seeping into every corner of my world while I was too blind to see it.
Enough.
With fire in mind, I had designed this prison with Reo.
The walls were reinforced concrete coated in heat-resistant ceramic tile—the same material used in industrial furnaces. The floor sloped toward drains that fed into an underground filtration system. Massive ventilation shafts lined the ceiling, engineered to pull smoke and the stench of burning flesh up and out before it could choke the air.
No windows.
No natural light.
Just harsh fluorescent bulbs that cast everything in a clinical, haunting glow.
This was where enemies came to burn.
This was where traitors came to scream.
And tonight, four people I had cared for would be in the furthest cell in the back of the prison, chained to the walls, and waiting for me to decide if they would live or die.
Reo walked on my right, his footsteps echoing against the concrete in steady, measured beats.
Hiro flanked my left, his presence quieter but no less lethal.
The corridor stretched before us—a gauntlet of iron bars and empty cells. Most stood vacant, their doors hanging open like hungry mouths. The few that were occupied held people I didn't bother to look at.
Not yet.
Not until I reached the ones who mattered.
An armed Scale kept guard every five feet. Each time they spotted us, they bowed.
A whimper slithered out from one of the cells as we passed.
Quiet.
Desperate.
The sound of a man who had screamed himself hoarse days ago and had nothing left but that pitiful, animal noise.
I didn't slow down.
The air grew colder as we descended deeper. Moisture clung to the walls, mixing with the metallic scent of blood.
The prison had been designed to hold heat when Totoro was active, but when dormant, it became a tomb of damp stone and endless shadow.
No toilets in these cells.
Just holes in the ground where prisoners pissed and shit like animals.
Dignity was not a luxury afforded to those who betrayed the Dragon.
Somewhere to our left, fingernails scraped against concrete—a slow, rhythmic drag that set my teeth on edge. Whether the prisoner was trying to escape or simply losing their mind, I didn't know.
I didn't care.
Reo’s voice came out calm. "We have a report from Paris.”
“Go ahead.”
“The Butcher has killed two of our spies."
I tensed, yet my stride didn't falter.
Two of my spies. Dead.
Reo continued, "Jean-Pierre is smart. When he learned about the bombs, he possibly knew that you had set him up this way and so. . .he tested his theory and found two.”
My voice came out harder than I intended. "He hasn't found and killed all of the spies. That’s good."
We passed another row of cells. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting strobing shadows across the bars. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped in a slow, maddening rhythm.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Like a clock counting down to someone’s death.
A voice drifted from a cell we neared—barely audible, trembling, speaking words I recognized as prayer.
I didn't know which god they were begging.
It didn't matter.
No gods answered in this place.
Only dragons.
Hiro spoke from my left. "And has our father called him?"
“Several times. Now we know the Butcher is not answering due to him thinking that we put spies in Paris.” Reo shrugged. "However, the Fox texted Jean-Pierre asking why he hasn't returned his calls."
I glanced at him. "And what did the Butcher say?"
"Jean-Pierre texted back that he had some house cleaning to do first and then he would call in the morning." Reo's jaw tightened. "Hours later, he killed two of our spies."
House cleaning.
Is that what he called it? Hunting down the men I had planted in his organization and no doubt slaughtering them like pigs with his deathly violin bow?