Page 42

Chapter 42

Kazashita

I regretted coming the moment I stepped into the tea house.

It wasn’t that I had anything against the place itself—it was fine. A quiet little establishment tucked between the bustling market streets, the kind of place where deals were made in hushed voices over delicate cups.

No, my regret came from whom I was meeting.

Taira.

I spotted her immediately. She was hard to miss.

Draped in silk a shade too rich for everyday wear, with golden pins catching the light in her carefully styled hair, she lounged at a table near the window, her posture languid, her raptor’s gaze sharp. When her eyes found me, she smirked.

I exhaled slowly and made my way to her table.

“Kazi.” She purred my name like it was some kind of secret between us.

I didn’t correct her or insist on any honorific, taking the seat across from her without ceremony. She had already ordered tea.

Good. The sooner this is over, the better.

“You look well,” she said, tilting her head, studying me like she was deciding whether or not to approve of what she saw. I wore a dark charcoal haori , the jacket simple yet tailored to fit me well. Beneath, a black kimono felt light against my skin. I had been tempted to wear the dirtiest, grimiest thing I owned, but disrespecting the tea house was a bridge too far, even if it would have irritated Taira wonderfully.

I met her gaze evenly. “I have been busy.”

“So I’ve heard.” Her lips curved. “Back on the island after so long, wrapped up in all sorts of things, I am sure.” She traced the rim of her cup with a single lacquered nail. “Yet you still found time to meet with me.”

I exhaled, already tired.

She wasn’t wrong, technically. I had agreed to this meeting, but only because she had been relentless. Taira wasn’t the type to let something—or someone—slip away without a fight. She had been my first crush—back when I was young, stupid, and full of foolish dreams. I had thought her beautiful, untouchable, something just out of reach. Now, sitting across from her, I realized she hadn’t changed.

And that was the problem.

She poured the tea, her movements graceful, practiced, calculated. Taira was always performing, always ensuring she had an audience and held their attention.

“It is good to see you, Kazi,” she said as she handed me a cup. Her index finger reached up and stroked mine as I accepted the tea.

“I doubt that.”

She gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in mock offense. “You wound me.”

I took a sip to avoid responding.

She smiled, unfazed. “You used to enjoy my company.”

“We were young.” I set the cup down. “That was a long time ago.”

She waved a hand, dismissing the idea. “A year, two? That is nothing, not for people like us, not for the whims of love.”

People like us? I wasn’t sure if she meant pirates, or islanders, or just fools who had once been too young to know any better.

“I came to make things clear, so there are no misunderstandings and each of us can move forward with our lives.” I waited until she was fully focused, then said it plainly, leaving no room for interpretation. “I do not want you, Taira, not now, not ever. We were never truly a couple, and we never will be. I may have fond memories of our time together, but no affection remains.”

She blinked.

Then she laughed.

It was soft, amused sound, like I had just told a joke she wasn’t sure she was supposed to find funny.

“Oh, Kazi.” She reached across the table, cold fingers grazing my wrist. “You say that now, but I know you. You always come back.”

Her touch lingered. I pulled my hand away.

“I am not coming back this time.”

Her smile stiffened.

She tilted her head, her expression still poised but her voice laced with something sharper as she spat her next words, “Is this about that boy?”

I didn’t react. She saw it anyway.

“Kaneko.” She said his name as though it was something distasteful.

“Taira, stop.” I sighed. “This is not about anyone beyond you and me.”

But that was a lie, wasn’t it? Because the truth—the thing I was only just starting to admit to myself—was that it was about Kaneko. My feelings for him had never been simple or clear. He’d been a captive, for gods’ sake, and I was his . . . What had I been?

What was I to him now?

All my angst, the inner confusion that turned in my chest, was about the way I had started to look at him without meaning to, about the way he had stopped looking at me with fear, about the way he challenged me, irritated me, intrigued me. It was about the way I thought of him at odd hours, wondered if he had eaten, wondered what he was thinking, wondered what it would be like if he ever smiled . . . just for me.

And that was something I had never felt for Taira. It was something I had never felt for anyone.

She must have seen something in my face, because her lips pressed into a thin line as she leaned forward, lowering her voice. “You’re throwing away something good for what? A slave? A rabid dog?”

“He is not a slave.” I held her gaze. “And it was never good.”

She laughed again, but this time it was bitter.

“Is that what you tell yourself?” she mused. “Fine. Let’s say I believe you.” She tapped a nail against her cup. “Tell me, Kazi—what exactly are you looking for, then? What is it you think you’ll find with him that you didn’t find with me?”

I didn’t answer right away. I didn’t trust myself to speak. Because I wasn’t sure I had the words for it yet—or the answers.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But it is not you.”

Her expression hardened.

She stood abruptly, the scrape of her chair cutting through the hushed murmur of the tea house. A few patrons turned their heads, but she didn’t care. She looked down at me, her eyes flashing with rage and wounded pride.

“I hope whatever you’re chasing is worth it,” she said coldly.

And then she was gone.

Her silks swayed behind her as she stormed out, her head held high, refusing to let me see her crumble. I didn’t watch her leave. Instead, I sat back, staring at my untouched tea, feeling . . .

Lighter.

Not happy, not yet, but relieved, and for the first time since I had arrived on this island, I let myself acknowledge something I had been pushing away.

I was drawn to Kaneko.

That thought terrified me, but it also thrilled me.

I picked up my cup and took a slow sip, letting the warmth and bitterness settle in my chest as memories warred with thoughts and dreams grasped the lifeline that was hope.

When I first pulled Kaneko from that ship, he had looked at me with nothing but hatred. There was no surprise in that. He had been captured, torn from his home, thrown into the hands of men he had been raised to believe were animals. And me? I had been one of them. Or at least, I had let him believe I was.

Even then, I had known I wasn’t like the others. I had never taken pleasure in the raids, never felt the thrill of watching a village burn or listening to the wails of families torn apart. I had done it because it was what I knew. Because survival meant following orders. Because, on some level, I had convinced myself that I had no other choice.

But then I met him.

And the way he looked at me—that fierce, unrelenting rage—it had forced me to ask myself questions I had been avoiding for years: Did I want to be this ? Did I want to be the kind of man that boys like Kaneko saw and feared? Did I want to burn and kill and—

My heart knew the answers back then, but my head, well, it understood now.

Somewhere along the way, Kaneko had stopped looking at me like I was a monster. I wasn’t sure when it happened. Was it in the jungle, when I’d shielded him from the worst of the dangers lurking in the shadows? Was it when I’d told him the truth—that he had been meant for the slave market, that I had been the one assigned to deliver him to a fate worse than death? Was it when I’d saved him from the pirates at the outer camp, when he watched me cut down six men without hesitation?

Or had it occurred in a smaller, quieter moment?

A moment he might not even remember? A look exchanged in passing or a night spent huddled against the cold, knowing that, for all his distrust, he was safer with me than he had been with anyone else in weeks?

I didn’t know, but I had felt the shift.

And now? He didn’t fear me at all. At least, I didn’t see fear in his gaze when it landed on me. That should have relieved me. Instead, it frightened me. Because if he didn’t fear me, if he no longer saw me as a monster, what did that make me? What did that make him?

Kaneko wasn’t just some boy I had saved. He wasn’t just another lost soul washed up on this island. I told myself that I had taken an interest in him because he reminded me of myself, because he was young and angry and desperate to hold on to something that was slipping through his fingers.

But was that the truth?

At least, was it the whole truth?

Because it wasn’t just that he reminded me of myself. It was that I liked watching him fight against this place, against his fate, even against me. He challenged me in ways no one else ever had. He had survived everything thrown at him and still had fire left in his veins.

And I noticed other things I shouldn’t.

Like the way his eyes darkened when he was deep in thought or the way his voice softened just a little when he spoke of his home, his people, the life he had lost. The way, when he laughed—truly laughed—it was something rare, something stolen, something not meant for this world but still here anyway.

And then there was the realization I had been pushing him away for days now. But why?

I didn’t just think about him. I missed him when he wasn’t around. I felt the absence of him like an ache in my chest, like a missing weight on my shoulders.

I had never felt that before.

Not for Taira.

Not for anyone.

I let out a breath and ran a hand through my hair. I was being an idiot, a damn fool. I should have seen this coming, whatever it was. And yet, here I was, sitting in a tea house, staring at floating leaves, and realizing that I was in trouble.

Because of what I felt for Kaneko?

Those feelings—those frustratingly infuriating, annoying, undeniable feelings—weren’t simple, not by any stretch. They weren’t concern or respect or even just desire. They were something deeper, more dangerous, something that lurked within the dark recesses of my soul and called to the very essence of who I was—or who I thought I was, at least.

They were feelings that, if I wasn’t careful, could tear me apart.

I had spent years believing I wasn’t capable of wanting something more, years telling myself that my life was meant to be lived on the edges, always moving, never lingering too long in one place, never letting anyone get close. Always alone.

But now . . .

I hadn’t exactly let him in, but I wanted to. I knew that now. Gods, I wanted to. And once he entered my world, my inner sphere, the place where my greatest desires and thoughts dwelled, I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to push him out again.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

I clenched my fists.

Then I sighed.

Then I laughed.

Because really, what a mess I had made for myself.

I pushed back from the table, stood, and stepped toward the door.

Toward him.