Chains of Silk and Steel Ch. 06

Chapter Six

Kaiyan

Kaiyan left his chambers, adjusting the sleeves of his yukata. His mind was divided between two matters--one a man, the other a woman. The former was a thorn soon to be plucked from his side. But the latter was proving to be something much more intriguing. And far more tempting.

It had been an hour since he left his study, but Sayuri's breath was still on his skin. He could feel it--hot and shallow, the way it had quickened when he leaned in, his lips hovering over hers. The blush that had bloomed across her cheeks when he'd tugged the sash from her robes still colored his mind.

He should not have pushed her that far. And yet, he would do it again. Every inch he gained from her only made him want to take more.

Kaiyan turned down the corridor, the night air brushing his face, cool against the flush lingering beneath his skin. But it did nothing to temper the heat coiled low in his gut.

Renji was already waiting near the path leading to the bathhouse, arms folded, his face half-lit by the nearby lantern. His gaze flicked upward at the sound of Kaiyan's approach. He offered a subtle bow, but there was a spark in his eyes.

"You have something," Kaiyan said. It was not a question.

"It took some convincing." Renji stepped forward, producing a folded slip from his sleeve. "But once the guard felt assured you meant the girl no harm, he told me everything. Even thought you could help. He gave me this." He handed over the parchment.

Kaiyan unfolded it, the paper whispering between his fingers. Dark ink traced elegant characters across the page. A name--Sata Nobuyuki.

Renji spoke again, his tone even. "He said she's been asking after this nobleman since she arrived."

Kaiyan's jaw tightened. Recognition was not immediate, but it was there--like the brush of a blade along skin, a warning before the cut. He had heard it before. Whispers in court. Rumors murmured over sake cups and concealed behind fans.

A man who promised the world with one hand while stripping girls bare with the other. A womanizer of the cruelest sort.

The pieces were sliding together. The Makoto girl had died in ruin. Sayuri must have tried to avenge her sister through poison.

This was the bastard behind it all. It had to be.

Kaiyan closed the parchment slowly, tucking it into his robes. His gaze lifted to Renji, but he did not speak. He didn't need to. This would be handled.

A muscle worked in his temple as he forced the name aside. There was something else pressing harder against his ribs. Something far more immediate.

"This... guard," he said, his tone low. "Tell me."

"Takeda Hiro," Renji replied. "Lower barracks. Good at his post, but easily overlooked."

Kaiyan absorbed that. A nobody. As he expected. And yet, he had something Kaiyan wanted.

His eyes flicked to his lieutenant. Renji was hesitating. Not out of uncertainty--but because he knew his master. Kaiyan had never worn his displeasure lightly. When it came, it settled like frost over stone--cold, lingering, deadly.

"There's more," Kaiyan grumbled. "Out with it."

"She... meets him at night, my lord."

Kaiyan's pulse kicked--hard. His fingers twitched, hands curling slowly into fists. The image struck like a physical blow--Sayuri slipping from her chambers after dark. Moans carried on heavy breaths. Fingers tangled in hair. Hands caressing bare skin.

A rush of heat flooded his chest--desire and rage, indistinguishable. She was his.

"It's not as you think," Renji said quickly. "He's young. Thick around the middle. No soldier. No threat."

"No threat?" Kaiyan repeated through clenched teeth. If she'd gone to him at night--the boy was beyond a threat...

Kaiyan had never agreed with the Emperor's Severance Mandate. The old way had been brutal--a tradition borrowed from foreign courts, where men were rendered eunuchs the moment they entered service. A previous emperor had adopted the practice to mirror the efficiency and loyalty of the great dynasties beyond their borders. But in doing so, he had turned his halls into a place of quiet suffering. That cruelty had been outlawed under the current reign, but what replaced it was no kinder.

Now, those in the lower ranks--guards, servants, those without titles or bloodlines to shield them--kept their manhood. But if they were caught bedding a woman, their lives were forfeit. The women fared better--lashes, humiliation--but at least they lived.

Kaiyan had always viewed it as wasteful--good men executed for the most basic of instincts. But the thought of another man's hands on Sayuri--on his woman--made something twist and blacken inside him.

He would not kill the boy.

But part of him wanted to.

Renji, ever perceptive, shot him a flat look. "They meet to play Go. Nothing more."

Kaiyan blinked. Go. The word landed with a dull thud in his mind, so out of place it almost made him pause. After everything he'd imagined--flesh on flesh, breathless sighs in the dark--this was what he was given?

He forced his eyes back to Renji. "And... you believe him?"

Renji held his gaze. "I do."

Kaiyan exhaled slowly, but the weight inside him did not lift. Renji was not a man who was easily deceived. In all their years--through battlefields soaked in blood, through palace halls dripping with deceit--Renji had never failed him. If his lieutenant truly thought the girl had sought the guard out for nothing more than board games and information, it was probably true.

It should have been enough. And yet...

Why had she gone to a boy--a guard--when she could have come to him?

Kaiyan commanded armies. He had spies in every province. He could have had any nobleman she wanted dragged from his house and deposited at her feet.

If she wanted Sata, all she had to do was ask.

Kaiyan stopped at the bathhouse entrance, the scent of cedarwood and lotus water curling in his lungs. Steam billowed from the small vents near the foundation, slithering into the night air like pale serpents.

He sighed, thumb pressing lightly over the spot where Sata's name rested inside his robes. "I want everything," he said evenly. "Business. Holdings. Connections. And when you find him--"

"I'll bring him to you," Renji finished the thought.

Kaiyan gave a single nod, but his thoughts were already elsewhere--on her. Always on her.

Renji shifted, smirking faintly when his eyes slipped to the bathhouse door, though it lacked any real bite. "And your chambers, my lord? Shall I--"

Kaiyan cut him off with a low laugh, though it was strained now--more breath than mirth. "You obviously don't know this girl."

Renji's grin widened. "I've never known one to deny your bed."

Kaiyan's mouth curved faintly, but his voice was softer--quieter, almost to himself. "She's not like most girls."

She was not like any girl.

"See it done," Kaiyan said, his tone cool once more. He turned toward the doors as Renji bowed. "Your presence is not required here tonight."

He slid the door open, and humid heat enveloped him as he stepped inside. The faint gurgle of flowing water filled the space, accompanied by the distant drip of condensation trailing down stone. Steam hung heavy in the air, clinging to the brass lanterns that lined the walls, their light softened to a molten glow.

Polished stone platforms framed the large bath--a basin carved deep into the earth, its edges worn smooth by years of heat and water. The surface was alive, fed by hidden channels that sent gentle ripples across the water, catching the light like gold threading through silk.

His eyes found her at once--kneeling at the water's edge, sleeves pushed back, arms bared to the elbow, fingers skimming the surface as she tested its heat. Her hair was twisted back, but loose strands clung to the curve of her neck, dark against the white of the attendant's robes she'd changed into--a lighter material meant for movement. The thin fabric stretched as she leaned, and his gaze flicked to where the dampness pressed cloth to skin, hinting at the swell of her breasts beneath. The heat had brought color to her cheeks, a soft flush that crept to the hollow of her throat.

Kaiyan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed lazily over his chest, but his body was far from relaxed. His gaze followed her every movement, each detail adding to the ache building in his gut.

She looked small--kneeling, tending--yet it wasn't fragility he saw. It was intimacy. A softer version of the woman who glared at him to mask her fears. It contrasted the sharp tongue she so often wielded like a blade. The same tongue that made him want to curse her and claim her in the same breath.

"You're lovely like this," he said, his eyes tracing over every inch of her--every curve softened by heat, each line blurred by steam. "When you stop fighting me."

Her fingertips stilled against the basin's edge, and her spine straightened, shoulders drawing back. Those light eyes found him, and her gaze sharpened, her mouth pressing into that familiar line--defiance raised like armor.

Kaiyan pushed off the wall, his steps scuffing softly against stone. He closed the distance with the same inevitability that made men fear him on the battlefield--as though he had already won before the first strike landed.

Sayuri rose to her feet, and he stopped before her. Close enough to feel the heat of her body melding into the air. Close enough to see the pulse beating at her throat, quick and light, betraying her every effort to appear composed.

His gaze never left her face as his hand slid to his waist, finding the knot of his robe, fabric clinging briefly to his skin before yielding to his fingers. A single pull and the garment parted, slipping from his shoulders in a whisper of silk, cascading down the hard planes of his body before pooling at his feet.

He stood before her. Bare. Unapologetic and proud.

Sayuri glared at him, sharp and fierce--but then, as if pulled by something beyond her will, her gaze flicked downward.

He watched her take him in. The breath she failed to catch. The way her lashes fluttered, as though she was fighting the urge to stare. He could feel her eyes traveling his skin--on the ridges of his abdomen, the grooves of his hips, and lower still, to the length of his flaccid cock--heavy and thick, resting at the apex of his thighs.

Her lips parted before she caught herself, the sound of her exhale feather-light in the steam. A flicker of her pulse, the soft tension in her jaw, a too-quick swallow--he knew this game. Knew how women looked at him, their gaze lingering, how their thighs pressed together, how their voices softened as they succumbed to him.

But she was different, and he wasn't disappointed when she forced her chin up, snapping her eyes back to his--as if sheer will alone could erase what she had already seen. Her glare hardened, but her breath had yet to steady.

Kaiyan chuckled and brushed past her and into the water. His foot met the first submerged stair; he descended, water licking up his calves. Another step and the warmth wrapped higher, licking at his thighs. He lowered himself completely, and the bath claimed him to the waist. Water lapped over his skin, heat rising in thick waves as he sank deeper, settling against the smooth stone edge.

He drew in a breath, the citrus-laced steam curling through his lungs, heavy and heady. His fingers drifted along the water's surface before he lifted them, splashing the warmth onto his face, then dragging a slow hand through his hair.

His gaze lifted, and when it caught hers, she jerked. As expected, she turned on her heel, striding toward the exit.

"Stay."

Her steps faltered. Slowly, reluctantly, she turned back.

"You've drawn my bath," he mused. "Surely you don't think your duties end there?"

She froze, her fingers twitching at her sides. Her lashes dipped as her gaze flicked to the water--to where his naked body lay hidden beneath the surface. Then, just as quickly, her shoulders squared, her expression smoothing over with irritation.

"Are nobles incapable of washing themselves?" she demanded.

"Most, yes," he chuckled. "But tonight, I find myself enjoying the idea of your hands on me."

Her nostrils flared, and for a moment, he thought she might walk away. But then, jaw tight, she stepped forward, lowering herself beside the bath. She reached for the pitcher, her fingers trembling with barely restrained rage.

Kaiyan stretched his arms along the bath's stone edge, watching as she plunged the vessel into the water and lifted it again in a jerky motion. The corner of his mouth twitched. She was going to dump it unceremoniously over his head.

"Think carefully," he warned in a low voice. "If you do that, I'll have no choice but to pull you in with me." His gaze drifted over her, and he caught his bottom lip between his teeth before his eyes returned to her face. "And if you think I won't strip that sodden uniform from your body before you can scramble out, you're sorely mistaken."

Sayuri hesitated, the pitcher hovering over his head, knuckles whitening. A battle crossed her face--pride warring with caution. Her glare was sharp enough to flay flesh from bone, but she said nothing. The risk wasn't worth the reward--for her, at least.

He leaned his head back against the stone, exposing the strong line of his throat. "Well?"

Sayuri's eyes narrowed, and her jaw clenched. Then, with a sharp breath through her nose, she tipped the pitcher.

Warm water cascaded down his hair, running in rivulets over his shoulders and into the bath. The heat was pleasant, but not as much as the victory.

She reached for the vial of oil at the bath's edge, dipping her fingers into the liquid before smoothing it through his hair--if smoothing could be considered the right word.

She was rough. Punishing.

Kaiyan smiled, the hint of a chuckle curling in his chest. He let his eyes drift shut, indulging in the sensation of her fingers combing through the strands, massaging his scalp with too much force, as if she were trying to scrub the very arrogance from his skin.

But touch was a treacherous thing.

The longer she worked, the slower her movements became. The bite of her fingers softened, aggression ebbing away. He listened to the shift in her breathing--shallower now, lighter, as though her mind had finally caught up with what her hands were doing.

Kaiyan opened his eyes--and found her watching him.

For just a moment, her gaze lingered. He felt it like a brush of fingers--dragging over his lips, trailing along his jaw and down the slope of his neck, straying to where water glistened over his muscled chest.

Then, as if catching herself, her eyes flicked away. But there was color in her cheeks--a lovely shade of pink. He wanted to reach out and touch it. But that would only send her running.

She reached for the pitcher again, but this time, the tremble in her fingers was anything but wrath. Still avoiding his eyes, she moved behind him.

Kaiyan smirked, closing his eyes once more. She started on his shoulders, pouring a scented salve into her palms before pressing her fingers into his skin. His amusement deepened--until she began to work.

At first, her frustration remained in her touch, the tension bleeding from her fingertips as if trying to push him away through pressure alone. But the longer she touched him, the more her movements changed--lingering rather than resisting. He was all man beneath the water, and though she might try to pretend otherwise, he knew she was all too aware of it. Just as he was.

Her hands slid up the slope of his shoulders, and he hummed low in his throat as she found the base of his neck, her fingers kneading the knot there. She hesitated at the sound, but her hands did not leave him.

She moved lower, palms skimming the broad expanse of his back, following the lines of old scars, the taut ridges of muscles.

Kaiyan exhaled, sinking further into the heat, letting her touch seep through his skin and settle into his bones. The warmth of the water lapping softly against his chest, the press of her fingertips dragging slow and sure over his body, the light scrape of her nails, the way her palms molded to him--it was too easy to indulge in. Too easy to imagine those fingers moving over him for an entirely different purpose. Exploring him. Wanting him. Claiming him as her own.

The thought stirred something thick and heavy inside him. He groaned as his cock swelled, the ache spreading, a slow pulse that tightened his sac and sent a deep pull through his core.

Sayuri's fingers twitched, and her breath caught for just a moment before she continued. Her hands smoothed over the sculpted planes of his chest, lingering on the steady rise and fall of his breath. Her touch was different now--lighter, more tentative. As if she'd forgotten what she was meant to be doing, caught in the moment just as much as he was.

His cock throbbed beneath the water, desperate for her touch, for the heat of her cunt. He pictured burying himself inside her and imagined the soft moans she would spill against his lips. His pulse spiked, hunger gnawing, demanding. But he remained still, letting her explore.

Then--she paused.

Kaiyan's eyes slid open. Her hand hovered over the ink on his chest, fingertips softly grazing the black lines curling along his skin. Her brows drew together, caught between curiosity and restraint. He didn't move, simply watched as she took him in, her gaze flickering with unspoken thoughts.

Sayuri started to withdraw, but Kaiyan caught her wrist, guiding her back. She tensed when he pressed her fingertips to his inked skin. Women had touched him before--tracing muscle, dragging fingers over heated flesh--but none had ever touched the tattoo. Not like this. Not with purpose.

"You should ask," he murmured, his voice husky with lingering arousal. His thumb grazed the skin at her wrist, just above the delicate blue veins. The rhythm beneath it was fast. Unsteady.

He released her, and this time, she didn't pull away. Her hand curved over his pectoral, soft and warm.

Sayuri swallowed. Her eyes met his for a breath before dropping to where her fingers rested. Water beaded over the black lines, slicking the beast's inky form. She studied it with wide eyes, taking in the sweeping curves, the clawed limbs. Her fingers moved--a slow, soft stroke over the beast's elongated spine.

Kaiyan inhaled slow and deep, heat simmering beneath his skin.

She wanted to ask. He could see it in the way her lips parted, how her fingers carefully followed the slopes of inked muscle--as though feeling the story might be the same as hearing it.

"It's a Baku," he said when it became clear she wouldn't.

Her teeth caught her lip, brows knitting in thought. He wanted to smooth the lines from her forehead, to free her lip from its hold--then claim it with his own.

"The dream eater," she breathed.

A corner of his mouth lifted. She truly was full of surprises. Her eyes flicked up to his, still so full of questions.

"My mother used to tell me a story," he answered her look, his voice lower now, as if speaking the memory aloud might somehow summon its ghost. "She said the Baku is a beast with the power to devour nightmares."

Sayuri watched him carefully, her fingers still resting on his chest. "... You had nightmares?"

Kaiyan huffed out a quiet laugh, though there was little humor in it. Had. As if growing into a man meant he could simply cast aside the fears that plagued him.

"Perhaps I still do," he murmured, his gaze drifting past her, unfocused, staring at something far beyond the room. Some part of him still felt like that child, lying awake in the dark, the vastness of his chambers too big for a boy alone, the flicking candlelight casting shadows that looked like figures, watching, waiting, reaching.

He blinked, pulling himself back. Sayuri's eyes met his, wide and shining in the lantern light. He offered a small smile before brushing a strand of hair from her face. Something stirred in his chest when she didn't flinch.

"But my mother had a solution," he continued. "She told me that if I ever feared what haunted me in the dark, all I had to do was call upon the Baku. And it would take them from me."

"And did it?"

"Some." He stared at her for a moment. "But not all."

Nightmares had a way of shifting with age. Instead of monsters and ghosts, his fears had twisted into something less tangible--loneliness, isolation--things much harder to banish.

Sayuri didn't speak, but her hand curled slightly against his chest, fingertips pressing a little deeper into his skin. It was a simple touch, yet it reached much further. Almost like she was grounding him.

"Of course," Kaiyan said after a moment, shifting his thoughts back to the story, "the Baku required payment."

He lifted his left hand, turning his palm up to reveal the faint scar carved across its center. The thin, red line--nearly faded to pink--was still there.

The color drained from her face as her eyes shot to his. "Blood?"

He dipped his chin. "My mother paid the price for me when I was a boy," he said, watching her gaze drop to the scar. "But when she was gone, when I became a man, I continued to make the offering myself."

Sayuri's lips moved wordlessly as if her mind was turning, piecing together his words rather than simply accepting them. That, more than anything, drew him in.

"The Baku does not simply take nightmares," his voice deepened, a quiet rumble beneath the hush of water lapping at his body. "It takes fear."

"Fear is a weakness," she said softly, but there was no judgment in her tone--only distaste, as though she resented how others viewed it.

"My mother never saw it like that," he went on. "She never tried to beat the fear out of me. Instead, she offered a way to help me cope."

Her eyes lingered on his hand. "But that scar isn't from childhood."

"The Baku isn't just a child's tale. Long ago, soldiers believed in it, too. Warriors would offer blood before battle, believing it would take their fear--grant them favor on the battlefield."

Sayuri's gaze lifted slowly, settling on his face. "And... you believe?"

He shook his head. "No. I do not fear death."

"But..." her hand trembled slightly as she reached out. Her fingertips grazed his palm. "You still spill your blood." It wasn't a question. The mark on his hand had not yet faded to the silvery hue of long-healed scars.

"Every time I sheath my sword."

"But why?" she asked.

Kaiyan exhaled slowly. "Because the men I cut down have no time to offer their own. So I pay the price they cannot."

She bit her lip, her eyes on her fingertips as she lightly traced the scar, following the line his dagger had left behind.

"I spill my blood," he said quietly, "so I do not forget."

His gaze lingered on his open hand a moment longer before shifting back to her. She hadn't moved, her eyes drifting from his scar to his tattoo and, finally, to his face.

It should have felt strange, speaking of it aloud, yet it hadn't. Sayuri had listened. Not with pity nor dismissal--but with understanding.

And that made him want her even more.

Kaiyan had never shared this story with anyone else. Had never cared to. Superstitions were for fools and frightened men on the battlefield--and he was neither. He didn't believe the Baku would come for his fears, and yet he still made the offering. Because if there was any chance--no matter how small--it was worth it.

His eyes dropped to her wrist. Water beaded over the dark skin just below her hand--the birthmark shaped like a moth's unfurling wings. Her fingertips still rested in his palm, and he curled his fingers gently around her hand, his thumb brushing over her damp skin. She stiffened--but she did not pull away.

Slowly, he lifted her wrist to his lips. Her pulse pounded against his mouth, quick and frantic.

"Some believe a mark like this means your soul belongs to another," Kaiyan murmured, pressing another kiss to her wrist. "If that's true... then perhaps I was always meant to be the one to catch you."

He heard her exhale--the faintest, unsteady breath. Felt the way her fingers flexed, as if unsure whether to grasp onto him or to tear herself free.

She was afraid.

But of what?

Of him?

"Do I not please you, little moth?" he asked, his voice like silk and shadow. His eyes rose to meet hers, and a single tremor ran through her body, passing into his.

She opened her mouth, then closed it, only a breath escaping.

Kaiyan pressed his lips to her forearm, letting them linger. He settled her hand over his chest, forcing her fingers down his sternum, over the ridges of his abdomen. "Does my body not please you?"

"No." The word came out too fast, too breathy.

A slow smile curved his lips.

"My face?" He dragged another kiss up her arm, his eyes on hers, watching, waiting.

She didn't stop him.

His voice dropped to something almost soft. Dangerous. "Perhaps it is my presence that displeases you."

He lifted her hand and placed it against his face, feeling the warmth of her fingers against his cheek. He inhaled deeply. Water and the oil, and something beneath it--something uniquely her. White sage.

"Do you not want me, Sayuri?"

"I..." She swallowed the rest of her words. But he didn't need them. Her body answered for her.

The way her fingers tightened around the basin's edge as he leaned in, water lapping softly, droplets trailing down his body as he lifted himself to her height. The shudder of her breath as he caught the front of her robes, pulling her closer. The way she shifted, her thighs pressing together beneath the thin fabric as if seeking relief--just as his lips brushed the delicate slope of her exposed collarbone.

Mine. The thought hit him hard. It coiled in his chest, pulsed in the ache of his cock, in the restraint holding him together by threads. Gods, he wanted her.

Women had often joined him in the bathhouse--washing him, attending to him. It always ended the same way: their hands eager, their bodies willing--a quick and simple release. Nothing more than convenience, easily forgotten. But none had ever made him ache like this. None had ever made his blood burn or stirred him beyond mere satisfaction into something deeper, darker and infinitely more consuming. Even the relentless pounding in his veins, the way he throbbed beneath the water, was new.

It was desire--but heightened, sharpened by her alone.

He could feel that same tension mirrored in her, no matter how fiercely she tried to deny it.

"You can say no all you want, little moth," he said against her skin. "But I know the truth."

She wanted him. She had always wanted him. But she was fighting it--fighting herself. And he wouldn't let her win.

"Shall I tell you how I know you desire me?" His smirk returned at the inhale she tried too hard to swallow. He lowered his voice, dragging her into the depths of his whisper. "Your breath. The way it shakes. Like you're trying to hold it back before I can steal it from you."

He proved his point. Dipping his head, his lips grazed the spot below her ear, and her breath stilled. A shudder ran through her.

"The way you tremble." His hand slipped from the water, catching the hem of her robe and pushing it slowly up her legs.

"The way your thighs press together when I touch you," his voice turned husky as his thumb grazed the inside of her knee.

His lips brushed the hollow of her throat, and her hands balled into fists, stuffed into her lap as if she were fighting the urge to reach for him.

"The way your cunt clenches when I kiss you," he groaned, his grip tightening on her knee as he pictured the feel of her squeezing his cock. "Like you're aching to be filled."

A shaky breath left her lips--the softest of moans. She didn't deny it. Couldn't. Her silence was as good as an admission.

His cock pulsed beneath the water, swollen and tender, straining to take her. To make her break apart beneath him. To ruin her.

He fisted the hem of her skirt, pushing it higher, past the softness of her thighs. For a moment, he imagined her spreading her legs for him, leaning back, her hands trembling as they would tangle in his hair, pulling his head closer so he could taste the sweetness dripping from her cunt.

He was done waiting.

Kaiyan dipped his head, his lips grazing the skin of her inner thigh, just above her knee. He lingered, tasting the heat of her, the pulse fluttering beneath her skin. Her legs tensed, but she didn't push him away.

He kissed her again, slower this time, dragging his mouth along the soft skin, savoring the way she trembled, the way her hands pressed harder against her robes as if the pressure could relieve the ache between her legs.

But that was his job. He would have her--make her fall apart against his lips, make her sob his name as she shattered around his tongue. And then...

Then he would take her. Bury himself inside her and claim her in every way he'd imagined.

Sayuri's breath came in quick, uneven bursts as his lips followed up the seam of her legs. Her hand, bracing on the floor, curled instinctively, fingertips brushing his discarded robes beside her hip. The soft, unmistakable rustle of paper scraping lightly against stone sounded.

She froze.

He felt the shift in her instantly. Her muscles tightened, body rigid, breath halting mid-inhale. Kaiyan paused, lifting his head slowly, his gaze flicking to her face.

She wasn't looking at him. She was staring down, her eyes wide, fixed on something half-hidden beneath his robes. He followed her gaze, understanding like ice in his gut as he saw the open parchment, the bold, inked characters now plainly visible in the lantern light.

Sata Nobuyuki.

He swore quietly, but it was too late. She'd already seen.

Sayuri's eyes shot back to his. The heat in her eyes--the need, the surrender--was gone, fury and betrayal remaining in its place. It burned hot beneath the surface, warring with everything he had awoken inside her.

She shoved him away with a strangled gasp and shot to her feet, stumbling backward. "We're done here," she snapped.

"Are we?" he countered.

Kaiyan stood. Water sluiced down his skin, trailing over the lines of his muscles, glistening on the ridges of his abdomen. His cock was hard, standing at attention, bobbing toward his stomach, throbbing with the barely contained need to feel her cunt, warm and wet, taking him in.

He let her see all of him. Let her grasp exactly what she'd done to him. Let her understand that her fear changed nothing--not his desire, not hers.

Sayuri's breath caught as her gaze dropped to his length. Her hands curled into fists, clenched against her thighs. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and her eyes lifted to his. For a moment, she stood there, staring at him. Then, with a sharp inhale, she turned away.

"Dress yourself for once," she hissed, grabbing a drying cloth and launching it at him.

He caught it before it could drop into the water. Sayuri spun sharply on her heel, her hair loosening as she moved, a flash of cornflower blue silk fluttering silently to the stones as she yanked the door open. It rattled on its tracks as she fled, her clipped steps quickly fading down the corridor.

Kaiyan exhaled slowly, pressing the cloth to his skin as he emerged from the bath. Slowly, he ran it down his arms, over his chest, across his stomach. His arousal did not fade. Nor did the fire curling beneath his skin.

She was fighting him. Fighting herself. But fear was an obstacle he would see fit to overcome.

His eyes slid to the ribbon lying abandoned on the stones. He strode over to it, stooping down to lift it from the ground. The silk threaded softly through his fingers, and he closed his fist around it.

"Tonight, little moth," he murmured softly, glancing one final time at the ribbon curled in his hand. "Tonight, I shall spill my blood to take your fear."