Both wrapped around her like she was the axis their world turned on.
The painting was tasteful but unmistakably sensual. The way their bodies curved together. The intimacy in every touch. The absolute devotion in their golden gazes as they held her between them.
This wasn't just sex.
This was worship.
Damn. I need to get back to the book. I’m ready for this scene.
I stepped back and snapped pictures. Then, a thought came to me.
My brain scrambled to connect the pieces.
The dragon. The woman with ice powers. The hoard. The twins. The gold and black color scheme repeated in every painting.
And then the twilight walls. The gold veining. The carefully chosen color palette for all of the furniture.
My eyes swept the room again, seeing details I'd missed before.
The coffee table held an art book, but beneath it were other books.
I crouched down and snapped more pictures.
Multiple copies of the same book. Different editions. Some in Japanese, some in English, one that looked ancient and leather-bound.
When the Dragon Swallowed the Moon.
I reached out and slid one of the copies from the stack, my fingers brushing the worn spine. Touching it felt invasive in a way looking didn’t—as if I’d crossed a boundary they never expected anyone to cross. The book was warm, like someone had held it recently.
I straightened slowly. “Who decorated this room?”
“They did. Granted, this looks exactly like their living room in Tokyo.”
The side table nearby held hand-painted bookmarks depicting three dragons. There were also small figurines of dragons carved from obsidian and gold and one in ivory.
Next to those were candle holders shaped like dragon claws.
Even the plants on the windowsill—I looked closer—night-blooming jasmine and moonflowers. Their white petals glowed in the dim light.
Every single detail drives back to the story.
I sighed. "This is fromWhen the Dragon Swallowed the Moon."
"It is."
“Who painted them?”
“Mami.”
“Damn. She’s super talented.”
“She is.”
“So the Scales love the book too.”
"No."
I blinked. “No?”
