Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 154368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 772(@200wpm)___ 617(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 772(@200wpm)___ 617(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
The realization settled into my chest.
Why is he dressed this way?
Whatever had brought the Lion to my island, he hadn't come expecting peace.
His men—around twenty Russians in dark suits—stood in a line behind him. Still as statues. Eyes that tracked movement without appearing to move at all.
Why the hell would you come here?
As I got close, Kazimir reached into his jacket and pulled out a cigar.
Next, he walked right toward the pyre.
Huh?
He got closer.
Closer still.
Until he was standing at the very edge of the flames. Heat shimmered around him. Ash settled on his shoulders.
And then Kazimir leaned in toward the fire and burning bodies and then crouched by one of the burning skulls.
What the fuck is he doing?
The skull sat low in the pyre—half-swallowed by stacked ribs, splintered femurs, and the other men’s torsos slumped. The heat had erased its identity. The skin was dark, crusted over, and cooked into a blistered lacquer. The man’s melted eyes had become glossy pits, the lids fused and cracking. The mouth hung open in a permanent, slack scream—gaping, black, rimmed with ash—teeth exposed like white stones in a burned-out cave.
Kazimir didn’t flinch as he crouched by that head. And with the calm precision of a man choosing a wine, the Lion reached out the hand holding the cigar and angled his wrist until his cigar’s tip hovered inches above the flaming skull.
What is wrong with him? Surely, he or his men had a lighter.
A tongue of flame curled up from the dead man’s brow and kissed his cigar.
The wrapper darkened.
The tip glowed.
Kazimir rolled it slowly.
A thin strand of melted flesh sloughed from the head’s cheekbone and dropped onto the coals below with a wet hiss.
The stench—fat and smoke—pushed into the air in a thick wave.
Satisfied with the light, Kazimir rose, put the cigar to his mouth, and drew in once. Deep. The cigar flared bright as a wound.
Then he exhaled, and the smoke left his mouth, drifting over along the heap of bodies.
My stomach clenched.
Disgust crawled up my throat.
He took another long pull and let the smoke curl from his lips.
He's enjoying this.
Kazimir blew out a long plume of smoke and turned to me. To my surprise, a smile spread across his face, wide and warm, like we were old friends.
Like we were the same.
My stomach turned for a different reason now.
I got close to him, stopping and keeping three feet between us.
“This is quite impressive.” Kazimir gestured back to the pyre. “I love it.”
I parted my lips in shock.
If the Lion thinks this is impressive, then maybe I did go too far.
I pushed that thought out of my head. “Good morning, Kazimir.”
The Lion nodded.
"You're a long way from home."
"Not true, my friend.”
“No?”
“Home is wherever death burns brightest." He faced the pyre and gestured toward it with his cigar. "And today, my home appears to be here."
I did my best not to growl.
This is not your damned home Lion.
Behind me, Reo shifted closer.
My Fangs spread out with their hands near their weapons.
Many of my deadliest Scales were already outside, probably due to Reo’s orders. They saw our positioning and headed over, getting close to the Lion’s men, but not too close to cause perceived disrespect.
Kazimir took a puff of his cigar. “We should talk. You and I have much to discuss."
This is going to be bullshit. I can already tell deep in my gut.
I could feel it in my bones too, the particular burden of a conversation designed to cost me something. I just hoped I was ready to know what it was.
Chapter five
A History of Burning
Kenji
What could he want?
The question didn't circle.
It clawed.
Scraped against the inside of my skull while Kazimir stood before me, cigar trailing smoke, that predator's smile still curving his lips.
In front of us, the pyre roared.
The flames climbed toward the ash-choked sky, and the heat pressed against my face—aggressive, hungry, pushing into my skin until my eyes watered. Somewhere in the blaze, something popped. Wet and sharp. A skull, maybe. Or a joint finally surrendering to the fire.
I didn't flinch.
Neither did the Lion.
He stood close enough to burn. Close enough that the heat should have driven him back, should have made him sweat, should have done something to that massive body.
But Kazimir didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Just watched the flames with the stillness of a man who had long ago made peace with fire. That stillness unsettled me more than his presence.
Deep in my chest, the dragon stirred.
Not rage.
The movement was primal and said: This one is dangerous in ways we haven't mapped yet.
I kept my hands loose at my sides.
Kept my breathing even.
Watched him the way a predator watched another predator—with respect, with caution, with the understanding that a single wrong move could turn this conversation into carnage.
I looked at him. “How can I help you, Kazimir?”
The Lion took a long drag of his cigar and exhaled smoke toward the blazing dead. "Do you know who first burned men?"