by Lila Mina
“I will sleep over there on those covers. Wake me up if necessary, please,” she whispered. She laid down on the fluffy covers, turned her back to the couple and, exhausted, was soon asleep.
Angry whispers woke her up.
“– stop, I don’t want your apologies. It isn’t me you should apologize to, anyway. How? How can you do this to her? She must handle the worst of you, your most monstrous and terrible side, and what, she doesn’t deserve one moment of comfort with you? Why? Why are you so inflexible, so harsh with her? She is no robot or doll!”
“Enough! It is none of your concern,” Honda’s raspy voice replied.
“Yes, it is! She is in our home, she shares our bed, and I will not pretend there is no problem because you order me to. Don’t you dare break her! I will order her to leave before it gets to this, and I will not care if you are pleased or not!” Instead of the expected explosive anger, there was a long silence.
“I am not breaking her, Yuki san,” Honda asserted in a firm whisper. “I am giving her as much as she is giving me. It is not your place to criticize how I do it. She has all leeway to make me stop if she can’t manage it. Not only can she handle a lot, but she also has enough steel to stand up against me. And I will not blur the lines between all of us for some unrequited emotional purpose. If you wish to bring her comfort, you may do it. I am providing her with other sources of strength.”
There was the sound of bodies and bed sheets moving around. “Just make sure she always does it because she wants to, and not just by habit or mere wish to please you. I will not accept any kind of psychological or physical abuse, nothing where her consent is dubious.”
“You know that I find abuse repulsive and unacceptable,” he scoffed.
“I know, but it can happen because you do not want to see it,” Yuki warned, but the anger was gone from her voice. There was another silence. “What happened tonight, goshujin sama?” Yuki continued with a low voice. “Who…?”
“Enough. I will not discuss it.” It was a mistake to tread into those waters. Anger and tension were back in Honda’s voice.
Yuki let out a frustrated hiss. “I hope one day you will learn to also accept my way of helping you. A lot could be different if you let me in. I am tired. Good night.”
Without even waiting for his dismissal or any kind of reaction, Yuki trod out of his bedroom, stopping near Lana. Lana kept her eyes shut and attempted to regulate her breathing. Several minutes went by, and she was almost asleep again when a heavy hand dropped on her shoulder.
“Stop pretending.” Lana almost groaned aloud. Honda’s silhouette was illuminated by the garden lanterns outside; she sat up carefully on her knees, trying not to grimace. Her body hurt everywhere. She was still wearing his shirt, but now it was stained by blood from her arm wound and all the smaller bruises he had covered her with.
“My apologies. I have a light sleep.”
“Why did you go and fetch Yuki?” Honda asked, dismissing her apologies.
Lana sighed. “I thought there was nothing left I could do for you, that you needed additional… support, and that she was in the best position to do it. I didn’t expect her to take offense on my behalf.”
“You make wrong assumptions, about me and her. If I only included you tonight, I had my reasons, and not simply because you can deal with my more extreme demands. And I did not need any other kind of… support than what you gave me. Do not bring Yuki into this unless I say so.”
He was stern and unflinching, but at least he seemed to be back within his normal parameters of temper and self-control. Lana sighed again and bowed to accept his criticism. It wasn’t the time to argue or to ask what this madness had been all about. She found it hard not to yawn to his face.
“Now come, we need to dress those wounds, yours in particular.” He went to a chest drawer and took out a first-aid kit. “Show me your arm.”
He put on gloves, disinfected her cuts and arm wound, spread an antibiotic cream and put adhesive stripes on it with surprising expertise. Next, he asked her to do the same with his. She was less used to the process but managed to do a proper job.
He brought wet towels back from his bathroom and they used them to clean themselves up. Everything was done in an efficient manner, in silence, without any hint of seduction, just like when they were cleaning up the dojo and equipment. Any external observer would have had a hard time believing they had engaged in extreme sex that had shattered the limits of decency a few hours ago.
Cleaning herself up, Lana mulled over what she had overheard. There wasn’t much new, rather mere confirmation of what he had told her at the beginning. She didn’t try to guess what was amiss between Yuki and him. It wasn’t just a question of physical strength and kinks. It seemed like every time she assumed something about them, she got it wrong.
“It is late,” Honda broke the silence. “Thank you for your service, sleep well.” He didn’t suggest she join him.
This was fine with her, as even asleep, his presence could be physically and emotionally draining. As exhilarating and liberating as this last session had been, he had demanded enough for one night.
END OF BOOK ONE
Glossary of Japanese terms
Dogi: white pants and jacket used as training gear by aikido, judo and karate practitioners
Dojo-cho: leader of a martial art school
Genkan: entrance of a home
Goshujin sama: honored husband, honored lord/master
Hakama: black and flowing traditional trouser worn by aikido practitioners who hold a 'dan' rank (black belt)
Kohai: practitioner holding a lower rank
Kyu: grade conferred to Japanese martial arts practitioners before they achieve the first 'dan' rank
Mudansha: practitioner of a traditional Japanese martial arts who doesn't hold a 'dan' rank yet (black belt)
Neko: cat
Oku sama: (your, his) honored wife
- san: standard honorific put after a first or last name
- sama: respectful honorific put after a first or last name
Seiza: Japanese traditional way of sitting on your knees and ankles
Sempai: practitioner holding a higher rank
Shihan: master, expert in martial art
Shintoism: the main, traditional religion of Japan, along with Buddhism. Shintoism is an animistic religion: everything (including non-animated objects and elements such as wind, swords or stones) possesses a spirit
Shodan: first black belt rank
Tatami: straw mats used in dojo and in rooms inside Japanese houses
Ukemi: rolling, falling
Uke: attacker and recipient of a martial art technique
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The Saga Continues!
TEMPER: DREAD
Dutiful Devotion Will Heal Cursed Bodies and Souls
An unexpected discovery leads our trio to rethink their relationship together, and Lana to confront buried trauma. Meanwhile, shapeless and mortal danger looms on the horizon, forcing Honda to finally confess to Lana why he chose her. Their boundless thirst has cursed roots, and they have no choice: only together will they stand a chance to defeat the heinous monsters on their trail and put an end to the spiraling madness threatening them.
Desperate to protect her most precious treasure, Lana takes a radical decision in relation to Yuki and attempts to let go of her past. But the time for secrecy is over: on top of their struggles against timeless forces bent on destroying them, the trio must come out clean with their powerful clans if they want a chance at a real future together.
Available in paperback and ebook!
Amazon worldwide stores (now on KU!)
/> TEMPER: DELIVERANCE
Compassion and Boundless Desire Will Set Them Free
Pure joy and sweet bliss mingling with utter horror and heartbreaking agony. Pristine snow turns red during the first hours of the New Year in the snowy countryside of Nikko.
Harrowing sacrifice allows a battered Lana and her mournful companions to begin a new life as a family. Healing is a slow process though, and Lana battles with herself to understand her new identity and family dynamics.
But true deliverance and peace will come only when she confronts her real enemy.
Available in paperback and ebook!
Amazon worldwide stores (now on KU!)
Temper: Dread - Sneak Peek!
At that time of the day, the train was only moderately packed, and Lana found a seat right away. Once she had checked her emails, her eyes wandered over her fellow passengers. The car was quiet, something she still hadn’t got used to after years of commuting in noisy public transportation in Montreal. She welcomed it with pleasure as it created a break, a transition between her work and personal spaces.
Trains were a complex affair in Japan, particularly in Tokyo. People were forced to coexist and share their precious privacy with throngs of complete strangers for long periods of time, in anathema to local social and cultural rules.
To overcome such a nervous and emotional toll, everyone locked themselves up in their own world, going online, playing games, reading books, often falling asleep or in a half-sleep, half-meditative state that surprised visitors. Commuters liked to pretend they were not stuck in a steel box along with thousands of others, traveling alongside millions, crisscrossing the body of the restless Beast which was Tokyo. Silence was key to this affair, and disruption a severe breach of etiquette.
After three years in the city, Lana had yet to adopt those avoidance practices. People watching was one of her secret pleasures and trains were perfect for indulging in it. Today, she was lucky.
Right in front of her, sitting on the other side of the car, a twenty-something woman wearing a sharp dark blue business suit carried a shopping bag from an upscale department store with ‘Fuckin’ sales max 50% off’ in large, bold letters. She bit her cheek to stifle her bubbling mirth. Written in hopeless English, French or Italian to make bags or shirts look cool, these slogans were priceless. She took a pic to upload it to one of her favorite Facebook pages that collected those treasures.
Further down on her right, three elegant older ladies in shimmering kimono were going to a formal event or maybe see a kabuki play. Their heads brought together, they were quietly sharing the latest gossips; how long had they known each other? Forty, fifty years? On her left, five teenagers coming home after a baseball game were snoring, sprawled on their seats, their pristine white uniforms now dirty. Yes, trains carried the essence of Japan, its soul with its millions of facets.
An object touching her right foot broke her quiet contemplation. A plastic ball, red and white, had come to a rolling stop by her shoe. Lana picked it up. It was one of those bikkurapon–surprise-balls–children bought for 200 yen at the ubiquitous vending machines near the cashiers in supermarkets. It was hard to see what was inside, but it was the whole point. Usually, they contained stickers or erasers adorned with popular anime characters.
Lana took a peek on her right to identify its point of origin. From what she could see, there were no kids there. She quirked an eyebrow and put the ball in her bag. It was possible the toy had been rolling around the carriage for a while now. She would throw it out later. No need for a granny to twist her ankle on it.
Resting her head on the window behind her and closed her eyes, enjoying her favorite song. It was so tempting to fall asleep. But her station was four stops away now, and it would be annoying to miss it. Her eyes shot open when something else hit her foot. Another bikkurapon, this time green and white. Lana picked it up, and this time she leaned forward, looking harder on her right.
Ah, there. Gotcha.
Two short legs covered in pink and purple high socks were swinging from the seat right next to the farthest exit of the carriage, on the same side as Lana. She couldn’t see their owner, but she was young, bored, and unsupervised by the sleeping adult on her left.
Right then, the girl leaned forward and stared in Lana’s direction. Her face was covered by a white and soft pink mask to protect her against air pollution and virus. Low bangs of unruffled black hair hid her brow and eyes. Lana raised her hand and showed her the green ball, asking silently if this belonged to her. The girl kept staring at her, her legs moving in quick rhythm, but didn’t show any sign of recognition or acknowledgment.
Lana placed the green ball in her bag next to its red sibling. Eyes once again shut, she enjoyed the last stretch of her trip uninterrupted, softly rubbing her sternum. To her annoyance, her heartburns were flaring again. As the loudspeakers announced her station, she walked to the doors next to the girl to give her one last chance to get her toys back.
“Are those yours?” Lana said, handing out the two balls. The girl gazed back at her from behind her bangs and didn’t bother replying or making any move. Lana shrugged and stepped outside. Whatever.
Just as she was going to head toward the escalators leading to the main concourse, a banging sound from the inside of the train made her glance back. What she saw made her blood turn to ice. Shocked, she dropped the two balls that rolled away toward the tracks, but Lana couldn’t care less about them.
The girl had moved to sit on her knees and bang the windows as if in a tantrum. She had taken her mask off and revealed the most horribly scarred face Lana had ever seen. She had no mouth, only a huge hole splitting the bottom half of her face from ear to ear, in a mock version of a smile, revealing irregular teeth and a black tongue.
Lana was too stunned to look away, but a part of her wondered at the lack of reaction of the people around the girl who seemed oblivious to her behavior. The doors closed, and the train took off, leaving Lana shivering and almost nauseous as she stood motionless among the crowd pressing toward the exit.
Right then, a commuter pushed her from behind, and she lost her balance. There were no security barriers on the platforms of the old station. For a terrifying instant, unable to grab anything, Lana saw herself falling on the tracks. A hand seized her elbow and steadied her. She straightened up and faced her rescuer.
“Ahh… thank you… thank you very much,” she stammered.
The tall man holding her arm was also wearing a white mask, but his eyes smiled. “Please be always mindful of what is around you and watch where you are going. Those are yours, I believe,” he added, putting in her hand the two balls she had dropped.
Lana stared at them, confused. “Well, not really, I just found them on the --” Lana looked up and blinked. The man had already disappeared back into the crowd. The whole incident had lasted less than one minute, and she found herself alone on the platform, except for a couple of people waiting for the train running to downtown.
In a daze, Lana walked out the station. The incident and the afternoon’s relentless heat had drained her of all remaining energy. Walking home like she usually did seemed an impossible task. She hailed a taxi instead. As the driver navigated through the small residential streets of the upscale neighborhood, her fingers played mindlessly with the two plastic balls, once again in her bag.
Staring outside, she wondered if her fatigue could be a bad case of natsubate, the infamous summer lethargy that plagued so many every year. It would be a first for her, but a double dose of those homemade pickled plums Yuki made and stored in the pantry would do the trick to boost her up. Umeboshi were sour and salty but beat an aspirin and an apple.
There was an unknown car outside the gate, and Honda’s was in the garage. She came across an unfamiliar pair of shoes in the genkan. They had a visitor.
Upbeat music in her ears, Lana took off her pumps, put away her business jacket and bag, and went first to the kitchen for a large glass of chilled barley tea
. She picked up her mail on the counter, and while she was busy opening it, she walked out to go to her room. As tired and distracted as she was, she was deaf and blind to her surroundings.
She slammed into a wall right when she stepped out the kitchen. While everything in her hands flew around and clattered on the ground, for the second time in less than one hour, someone deftly caught her and kept her on her feet. When she registered who it was, Lana wished she had hit her head unconscious on the floor instead.
“I… Inoue shihan, my… my apologies…” Lana blurted out in a strangled voice. With their respective status, she was supposed to kneel to greet him, but he had yet to let go of her. In the back, Honda and Yuki stood, somber and mute, startled by her apparition.
“Martin san. I was on my way out, but the coincidence is fortunate,” Inoue grunted. “We can address this highly problematic situation once for all. I will talk with you now. Alone,” he added with a slight head move toward the owners of the house, ordering them to stay put. Not waiting for her reply, he steered her to the nearest tatami room. Lana didn’t even have the time to glance at her two companions. Panic squeezed her throat.
“Sit,” Inoue ordered before closing the sliding door behind them and facing her. He waited several minutes in silence, and her discomfort grew with each breath she took.
“Yesterday, you managed to be honest with me while expertly hiding the fact of the matter. My congratulations, you seemed to have adopted some specific Japanese talents. Honda san’s teachings are numerous,” Inoue said with heavy sarcasm. “But no more games. I will demand the same from you as I did from him a moment ago: the bare, unedited truth. Answer me now. Are you here out of free will, or do you feel coerced to do… whatever it is you do?”