SINFUL DESIRES のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

Chapter 1: The Small BoatThe boat smelled like salt, diesel, and this faint sweet thing Isa couldn’t quite place, maybe old fruit, or engine oil mixed with something floral from the mainland. She’d been on research boats before, sure, but never anything this tiny. Never one where the walls were so thin she could literally hear the other person breathing just two feet away on the other side.Zamir was in there now. She could hear the shuffle of his camera equipment, the soft curse when something clattered to the floor.Isa spread her charts across the narrow galley table, weighted down the corners with coffee mugs. Her hands moved in practiced strokes, pencil scratching across paper. The archipelago took shape slowly. Patience was her skill. Precision.“You still use paper?”She hadn’t heard him come out. His voice was low, accent soft around the edges. Nigerian, she’d guessed, though she hadn’t asked.“Digital fails,” she said without looking up. “Paper doesn’t.”He leaned against th

Chapter One: The WitnessThe blood was still wet on the pavement when Poesy turned the corner.She stopped. Her heels clicked once, twice on the concrete, then went silent. The man on the ground wasn’t moving. The other man standing over him held a gun, barrel still smoking in the streetlight.Their eyes met.Poesy’s heart slammed against her ribs. She should run. Scream. Do something other than stand there like an idiot.The man with the gun pulled out his phone.She ran.Her apartment was four blocks away. She made it three before a black car pulled up beside her. The back door opened.“Get in.” The voice was calm. Cold.Poesy kept walking.The car crawled along next to her. “You can get in the car, or I can make you get in the car. Your choice.”She looked. The man in the back seat wasn’t the shooter. This one wore an expensive suit, dark hair slicked back, face carved from stone. She knew who he was. Everyone who worked for the organization knew Dmitri Castellane.The fixer.“I di

Chapter One: FrictionThe arson investigator showed up at the station on a Tuesday, right when Briony was trying to choke down cold coffee and pretend she wasn’t running on three hours of sleep.“Lieutenant Navarre?” His voice was smooth. Professional. The kind that probably never cracked under pressure.She looked up. Tall, dark skin, wire-rimmed glasses that made him look more like a professor than someone who spent his days sifting through ash. He wore slacks and a button-down, no tie. Everything about him screamed desk job.“That’s me.” She set down the coffee. “You must be the investigator.”“Idris Somerfield.” He held out his hand.His grip was firm. His palm was soft. No calluses. She pulled her hand back.“So what do you need from us?” she asked.“Cooperation. These fires are escalating. Four in two weeks, all in your district. I need to understand your response patterns, how fast you’re getting to scenes, what you’re seeing.”“We’re getting there as fast as we can. Seeing bui

Chapter One: RescueI was drowning when I first saw him.Not the dramatic kind. The quiet kind. The water pulling me out, my arms too tired to fight, saltwater burning my throat every time I tried to breathe.I’d been in the ocean for maybe ten minutes. Long enough to think I knew what I was doing. Long enough to be completely wrong.Then arms wrapped around me. Strong. Sure. A voice in my ear saying, “I’ve got you. Stop fighting.”I stopped. Let him pull me. The shore got closer. My feet found sand.We stumbled onto the beach. I collapsed, coughing. He knelt beside me, one hand on my back.“You okay?”I looked up. Tan skin, dark hair wet and sticking to his forehead, eyes the color of sea glass. A red lifeguard tank top that showed off shoulders built for swimming.“I’m fine,” I managed. My voice sounded like gravel.“You’re not fine. You almost drowned.”“I was handling it.”He laughed. “Yeah, you were handling it great.”Heat crawled up my neck. Not from the sun. “I didn’t need sav

Chapter One: RivalryThe bladesmith was already set up when Séverin arrived.Of course he was. Andor Vale was always first, always prepared, always showing off his perfectly organized workspace like it was some kind of statement.Séverin dropped his bags next to his half of the shared tent. Sawdust puffed up from the canvas floor. Andor looked over, his jaw tightening.“Morning,” Séverin said.“You’re late.”“Faire doesn’t open for two hours.”“Some of us like to be ready.”“Some of us don’t need two hours to arrange our tools.”Andor’s eyes narrowed. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair pulled back in a knot and a scar across his left eyebrow. His hands were permanently stained with forge soot. Right now, they gripped a piece of steel like he wanted to bend it in half.“At least my tools are sharp,” Andor said.“My tools are plenty sharp.”“For whittling, maybe.”Heat crawled up Séverin’s neck. “Bow making is an art.”“So is blade smithing. The difference is my work can actu