I could not live with that.
And yet.
If I asked her—if I laid the whole rite in her lap and she said yes—I'd be walking her into a war she held no blade in.
If I fell, she fell. I’d get shot and she would die in a kitchen, garden, or asleep beside a book, and she would never see the bullet that took her.
A cold shiver ran through me.
Was it love to offer her that? Or was it the most beautiful cage a man could ever build?
The dragon inside me wanted her tied.
Wanted her braided.
Wanted her so far inside my soul that even hell could not find a seam to pry.
The dragon did not care about the cost.
But, the man within—the one my mother had raised—cared about the cost more than he would ever say out loud.
Reo looked back at me. “Should I have a place prepared for the ritual?”
“Do it, but I’m not sure it will happen. I am going to let my Tiger choose.”
“Understood.”
We got to the dining room.
The guards opened the door, and this shocking sight hit me.
What the fuck is going on with this day?
Chapter eight
The Most Dangerous Fashion Show
Kenji
Thediningroomwasalready loud when we walked in.
The Claws' laughter rolled deep and unguarded. I'd never heard them sound so happy in my life.
And the space. . .my Tiger had transformed it. Two dozen black and silver candles threw flickering shadows across black velvet draping and polished wood. A soft piano moved through the speakers. Wax, dried flowers, and something older hung in the air. The Claws pointed, grinned, and high-fived like boys at a festival.
Candles and velvet. Fire on the table and music in the walls. That was all she'd done, and it had meant the world to them.
Very interesting, Tora.
But the real thing that shocked the shit out of me was the clothes.
They really took this Best Dressed contest seriously.
Hiro was already planted at the head of the table like he owned the estate and everyone in it.
A large hat sat on top of his head.
Massive.
