The Dragon 4

  Kenya Wright

  Copyright © 2026 by Kenya Wright

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  Prologue

  That Smile

  Hiro

  I couldn't close my eyes to sleep.

  The moment darkness fell around my lids, she was there. Nura—dark brown skin, breathtaking face, her lips curved, the faintest smile meant only for me.

  And then the horror came.

  Her, chained and forced to sit on the floor beneath my father as if he were higher and she was lower.

  Her, turning her face in my direction and giving me that smile again.

  And then—time slowed.

  The muzzle flashed. I saw the bullet leave the barrel, cut through the air between them—between my father's hand and her head—in a trajectory I would trace in my mind for the rest of my life.

  That smile was still on her face.

  Her eyes still held that warmth.

  The bullet traveled through inches of air, then less, moving toward the side of her head where her skin looked so soft, where I'd hoped to press my lips after our date.

  Contact.

  The metal kissed bone.

  For a fraction of a breath, nothing—and then everything.

  The skull resisted, then gave way.

  I saw. . .I saw. . .the fracture lines spider outward from the point of entry, a grotesque starburst blooming across the curve of her head. The bullet punched through, carrying pieces of her with it.

  Fragments of bone.

  Dark matter.

  The very essence of who she was, atomized.

  The exit wound erupted.

  Everything that made her sprayed outward in a mist of red. A horrific flower blooming in reverse, petals flying away instead of unfurling.

  And through it all, impossibly, that smile remained on her face.

  Her eyes hadn't changed yet. They were still looking at me with that warmth, even as she ceased to exist. It took a heartbeat for gravity to claim her, then she was gone.

  Sound came last.

  My screams.

  The gunshot's sharp, final crack.

  I saw it again and again.

  That smile. . .

  Why had she smiled at me like that?

  As if she were giving me a secret gift in the middle of brutal violence.

  What had that smile promised?

  A future I’d never earned?

  A forgiveness I hadn’t asked for and didn't deserve?

  The guilt hit hardest because her smile had been for me alone, intimate and trusting, and I had nothing to return it with but silence and a body that couldn’t move under my father's men.

  That smile.

  It stung because surviving felt like theft—like I’d kept her life while she was taken, and every breath I drew after felt borrowed from her lungs.

  That smile.

  Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it and the bullet leaving the barrel. Every time, that same fucking bullet made that same fucking journey. Every time, her skull fractured in that same starburst pattern. Every time, that smile stayed frozen on her face as everything behind it ceased to be.

  Every single time.

  Over and over.

  Since that night, my body hadn’t been mine. My stomach coiled on itself, hungry but unwilling to take food. My chest cinched tight; every breath dragged like it was hooked to barbed wire. My hands shook, even when I kept them clenched until the knuckles split.

  I walked.

  I fought.

  I planned, but the hours dissolved into one endless blur.

  My head throbbed from sleepless nights, blood buzzing at the base of my skull like hornets.

  I kept moving because the second I stopped, that smile waited in the stillness.

  That. . .smile.

  The Claws didn’t ask why my eyes were red, why I kept a bottle at my side but never seemed drunk.

  They knew not to.

  If Kenji or Reo tried to look too close, I gave them the sharp edge of silence. Because I knew if I spoke her name aloud my voice would break. And once it broke, I didn’t think I could put myself back together.

  So I clenched my jaw until it ached.

  I pressed my teeth against sleep.

  I fucked men and women, but not for pleasure, just for something to leave my body.

  I let my heart hollow itself out day by day, an organ crashing and burning from the inside.

  My Father, the Fox, thought he was untouchable.

  He was wrong.

  I would unmake him. Not quickly—no, that would be mercy, and mercy died with Nura's smile.

  Together, with my brother, Kenji, I would carve his death the way a master carved stone, chipping away piece by piece, day by day, until there was nothing left but dust. I would strip him of his empire first—his money, his soldiers, his name.

  I would take his allies and turn them into ghosts.

  I would poison every well he drank from, burn every bridge he thought would hold him.

  And when he had nothing left, when he was small, powerless, and alone the way Nura had been in those final moments, when he finally understood what it meant to be beneath someone—then I would take his breath.

  Slowly.

  The way he'd taken hers in an instant, I would take his, over hours.

  Over days if I could manage it.

  I would make him feel every second draining away, make him beg for the mercy of that single bullet he'd given her.

  I would watch his eyes go wide with the same terror she must have felt, hear him plead the way she never got the chance to.

  I would break every bone that had held him upright.

  Shatter the finger that had pulled that trigger.

  Tear apart every piece of him that had dared to exist in a world where she could not.

  And when it was finally done, when even the memory of his voice was ash scattered to wind, when his name became a curse that mothers whispered to frighten children, when the very ground where he'd stood had been salted and poisoned so nothing would ever grow there again, only then, maybe, would that smile let me rest.

  And maybe. . .

  just maybe. . .

  I would smile too.

  Chapter one

  Aftercare

  Nyomi

  I once read in some glossy magazine that lying in your lover’s arms could help you live longer. The article claimed it was about oxytocin, lowered cortisol, and steady heartbeats syncing, all triggering a reduction in heart disease, fewer strokes, maybe even a slower march toward death itself.

  At the time, I scoffed.

  Not because I didn’t believe in the science.

  It just felt like a cruel joke.

  I didn’t have anyone’s arms to hold me through the night. There wasn’t a man out in the world that I trusted enough to carry the weight of my baggage and imperfections without dropping me.

  Articles like that were for women who already had everything I didn’t—ringed fingers, shared mortgages, steady marriages, or at least boyfriends who texted back.

  So many nights, my phone had been my only bed partner, glowing blue in the dark, showing nothing worth staying awake for.

  Sometimes the ache of empty sheets swallowed me whole.

  But now. . .now as I lay naked in Kenji’s muscular arms, with the furnace of his chest pressed to my back, his skin hot and damp against mine, not even air left between us, his breath sensually feathering the nape of my neck, and his palm heavy and warm on my bare thigh. . .I believed every damn word.

  Hell, I felt immortal.

  As if my life had stretched its claws into forever simply because this dangerous, impossible man refused to let me go.

  My shoulder ached in a steady, obedient throb where a neat square of gauze had been taped over his bite. Edges smooth. No tugging. Kenji had cleaned and wrapped his mark.

  Saline.

  Ointment.

  Gauze.

  He’d kissed the skin beside the wound.

  The rest of my body tingled too—muscles trembling faintly, pussy sore from everything his cock had demanded.

  And yet the erotic discomfort felt holy, not destructive. It was the kind of pain that said I was alive, claimed, tended to. That I had given and been given to.

  That maybe forever wasn’t just for other people.

  Kenji’s muscular hold was warmth pressed along my spine, a cage as much as a comfort, his thigh braced between mine, his heartbeat drumming slow into my back like a second pulse.

  His scent wrapped around me too—smoked sandalwood and candied ginger.

  Fiery, warm, and sweet.

  Wood left to smolder.

  Sugar just starting to burn.

  Heady.

  Decadent.

  Slipping down my throat like forbidden liquor.

  Each exhale made my body soften deeper into his.

  His every inhale pressed me tighter into the wall of his abs, as they rose and fell against my spine.

  In fact, breathing him in was just another form of being consumed—heat sliding into my lungs, his skin fusing with mine, as if no border between us existed anymore.

  His cock pressed up against my ass, heavy and unapologetic. The pierced tip tickled m
e sometimes when he shifted. It was a teasing brush that sent sparks through the soreness already between my thighs.

  It was also a promise of an orgasm he hadn’t even given me yet.

  His balls rested against me too, warm and heavy, a silken drag of heat that made me crave him.

  His body was a fortress wrapped around me, all walls, gates, and unbreakable stone, and yet inside those walls I had never felt freer. The heat of his cock pressed to my ass, the heavy drag of his balls against me—those were the anchors that told me eternity wasn’t some faraway horizon measured in clocks or calendars.

  Eternity was touch.

  It was the way his sweat still slicked our skin together, sealing me to him like mortar between bricks.

  It was the way his breath moved over my ear, rough and steady, a sound I could live inside of and never get bored with.

  It was the sensual ache of the bite he’d branded into my shoulder.

  Forever was built out of flesh and pulse, out of the shiver that traveled my spine every time his pierced tip nudged me.

  Forever was not endless days.

  It was skin against skin.

  His hunger carved into me, my surrender etched into him.

  The salt of his skin clung to my lips where I’d kissed his wrist before we went to bed, double checking that I hadn’t cuffed him too tight when we played in the water.

  Right here in bed with him now. . .and like a crazy person, I licked my lips and smiled.

  How could the man everyone in Japan feared be the only place I’d ever felt safe?

  On the nightstand sat evidence of our mutual soothing of each other: two empty hand-painted porcelain teacups; a small silver pot with its lid askew; empty bowls of fruit; a dish of honey imported from Kyoto orchards, crystallized at the rim where I’d dipped a silver spoon that still gleamed in the shadows; folded hand towels we’d used; and a scatter of crushed flower petals.

  I’d rubbed arnica into his wrists and ankles, then held each joint and kissed the center of his palm and the bony knobs of his ankles like I was telling his body thank you for giving itself to me.

  The room still smelled faintly of chamomile and lust, that strange marriage of calm and carnality.

  His handcuffs lay coiled on the chair like snakes sleeping off their hunger.

  Hiroko had told me that aftercare was a simple word for a whole religion built on one simple truth: If I break you open, I’ll stay to piece you back together again.

  It was faith.

  It was ritual—water offered like communion, the slow feeding of fruit whose sweetness lingered against the salt of skin, a warm cloth pressed to flesh like a blessing, a blanket draped over bare shoulders carrying the faint scent of smoke.

  A tender oath whispered: you’re safe, you’re mine, you’re here.

  It was holding each other when the adrenaline still roared, when the body shook with leftover lightning, when breath still carried the copper tang of blood.

  It was forgiveness without needing to ask, love woven straight into bruises and bite marks.

  I thought of every lover I’d had before, every man who had dared to touch me, and realized none of them had ever made me feel this alive. None had ever made me feel this close to passionate destruction.

  To my surprise, Kenji’s hand shifted, sliding slowly along my side.

  He’s still awake.

  Excitement hit me.

  His calloused fingertips traced the curve of my waist as if mapping my body all over again.

  Naughty Dragon.

  A shiver ran through me when his mouth found the back of my neck, then lower, kissing a slow trail down the knobs of my spine. The scrape of his teeth, the heat of his lips, the low groan that rumbled in his chest—it all melted into me until I wasn’t sure which heartbeat was mine.

  Very naughty.

  My eyes fluttered open, and through the curtains billowing at the windows I caught the fading light. The sky outside had bruised into indigo and gold. The sun was already gone as evening stretched her arms across the island.

  I kept my voice low. “You should be asleep.”

  Kenji’s lips brushed just below my shoulder blade. “I’m not used to sleeping with anyone in my bed.”

  I grinned. “Should I leave, then?”

  His palm tightened possessively on my hip. “Only if you want me to follow you to wherever you go.”

  “You need to go to sleep.”

  “I need some more pussy.” Without shame, he began to grind his cock against my ass.

  I chuckled.

  “Something funny, Tora?”

  “You’ve had quite enough pussy today.”

  “I am the Dragon.” Those words were a growl that vibrated against my back. “I decide how much of your pussy is enough.”

  I rolled my eyes. “But I am the Tiger, and only I decide when the Dragon’s cock gets fed.”

  “Mmmm.” He groaned low in his chest. The sound vibrated against my spine and was almost better than an orgasm because it told me that I owned the hunger of a man that controlled empires.

  I slipped out of his arms and rolled around to face him.

  The dim light cut across his face, and for a moment I forgot to breathe.

  Kenji’s beauty was never soft. It was carved from sharpness—cheekbones cut high, a jaw that looked like it could crush stone, stubble shadowing the lower half of his face like dark smoke.

  His mouth was full, indecently so, lips that should have belonged to a man who recited poetry, not one who ordered executions.

  I’d seen men try to look dangerous before.

  Kenji didn’t try.

  His face was both threat and invitation.

  Menace and hunger.

  He could ruin me with one kiss.

  He could tear me apart with one look.

  His eyes—God, his eyes—fire with a glint that shifted too quickly, danger and desire blazing so close together it made me dizzy. They could narrow into razors in a heartbeat, but just now they were heavy-lidded, molten, drinking me in like I was the only thing left for him to live for.

  My gaze fell lower, and the breath I’d managed to catch left me again.

  His body was ink coiled over muscle that strained against skin. Dragons snarled across his chest, scales glinting dark red as though slick with fresh kill. Their claws dug into his flesh, eternal conquerors marking their territory.

  The hydra wound around his ribs, heads twisting like it wanted me for itself.

  An oni demon writhed on his shoulder, teeth bared in a promise of violence.

  And then—the katana. Black ink, blade pointed down toward his groin, sharp as a secret, daring me to test whether the threat ended in his tattoo or between his legs.

  As always, it was too much.

  Too much beauty.

  Too much terror.

  And the worst part?

  He knew what he fucking did to me. I saw it in the slow curl of his mouth, the way his eyes narrowed just enough to tell me he could read my pulse without touching me.

  I lifted my gaze back to those piercing eyes. “In the tub. . .during the breath play.”

  He quirked his brows.

  My voice fell to a whisper. “You were in subspace at the time but. . .you told me you loved me.”

  “Because I do.”

  A shiver ran through me. “That. . .scared me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because. . .I feel the same way too. . .I’m just. . .not ready to say it.”

  “But you must say it.”

  “What if it’s too soon?”

  “None of that matters, Tora. It’s just us two. Together. In this bed. Heads on the same pillow. Holding each other and listening to our whispers. Skin to skin. Saying what our hearts truly feel.”

  “But. . .” My pulse skipped.

  Then raced.

  Then stopped entirely when his eyes pinned me.

  My bottom lip quivered. “I love you, Kenji.”

  “I love you too, and will always love you. There will never be another woman after you. No one else can compare.”

  My heart pounded in my ears.

  Those words were so much I had to sit with them and close my eyes just to let them imprint into my heart and drown any fear away.

  Damn. . .

  And in that instant, I realized loving the Dragon would never save me—only ruin me beautifully.

  Fuck it. Then that is just what will be. . .

  I opened my eyes.

  He continued to watch me.