From the hill of treasure on the right, a low tremor rolled beneath the coins.
Still carrying her, Korin turned to the hill. “Open.”
From the slope of that golden hill, the coins shifted, then melted in slow ribbons of heat and light until soon a door revealed itself.
Seamless.
Tall.
Covered in claw marks.
It creaked open.
And that scent—roses and black violet, dusk and blood—poured out in a slow, seductive wave, wrapping itself around her body like a silk noose.
Next, came a distant roar that rose up from somewhere beyond the door.
Not Korin’s.
This one was colder.
Hungrier.
And Korin was taking her to it.
Chapter fourteen
A Soul Food Battle to the Death
Kenji
Japanese parables often used bamboo to illustrate themes of resilience, flexibility, and adaptability.
A common proverb stated, "The bamboo that bends with the wind is stronger than the oak that resists."
It sounded poetic.
It sounded wise.
But I was not born bamboo.
I was born steel. Wrought in fire. Sharpened in blood. Raised to bend for no one.
Let it be known. . .the second the wind shifted I would strike.
They interrupted my date.
They interruptedhermoans.
They tried to assassinate me, while I was inside my Tiger, not just inside her body, but within the place where she stored her fears, her love, her fire, her surrender.
And now?
I wanted to make someone bleed for that.
Hiro walked to my right.
Pissed.
