Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox (Amaranthine Saga Book 1)

by Forthright

  Michael slowed, turning off onto a road that was barely wide enough for the sedan. “You know about the Emergence of the new species?” At her quick nod, he continued, “They’re not actually new of course, but every nation has been working for the last six months to raise awareness about the so-called Rivven races.”

  “Yes. Mr. West explained that much.”

  “For starters, Rivven is a name coined by an American reporter, and it stuck. It’s a play on words, I suppose, since we are reavers.”

  Tsumiko leaned forward. “You’re a reaver?”

  “That’s right, miss. A fifteenth-generation reaver, ward class, originally from England.” He met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “I’ve lived at Stately House most of my life.”

  “Are you a relative of Aunt Eimi’s husband, then?”

  “No, miss. In a way, I was also chosen to ‘tend to our Amaranthine.’ You see, while they’re not offended by the Rivven label, these ancient people refer to themselves as the Amaranthine.”

  “My butler isn’t human?”

  “He is not.”

  “And my aunt is giving him to me.”

  “She has.”

  “Because I’m a reaver.”

  Michael laughed. “You most certainly are.”

  Tsumiko shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I thought one of the reasons the inhuman races came forward was so that they could be recognized as citizens of our planet, with the same inherent rights as humans.”

  “Yes.” Michael’s smile faded. “The leaders of the Five Clans are doing everything they can to establish a place for the Amaranthine. Peace treaties, alliances, registries, amendments, and bills of rights are being negotiated at the international level.”

  “Because the Amaranthine are people.”

  “They are.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Which part, miss?”

  Tsumiko would have thought it obvious. “How can I inherit a person?”

  FOUR

  Tend to Our Amaranthine

  Argent sat stiffly in his chair, waiting for the call he couldn’t avoid, let alone resist. Not long after sunset, a soft knock interrupted his brooding.

  “It’s only me.”

  “Enter.”

  Michael eased through the door and put it at his back. “Your new mistress is here.”

  “Was that today? It had entirely slipped my mind.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “That remains to be seen.” Argent gripped the arms of his chair more tightly, trying to hide his hands’ faint tremors. “Well?”

  “I’m optimistic.”

  “Yes, you are. Disgustingly so.”

  The reaver crossed to the room’s narrow bed and sat at its foot. “We had a nice long talk on the drive up. From what I’ve gathered, she was squirreled away in some religious school. Miss Tsumiko seemed half-convinced that she’d become caught up in an elaborate hoax.”

  “A stupid woman is almost as bad as a shrewd one.” Argent’s curled lip exposed one gleaming fang. “Worse if she simpers.”

  Michael chuckled. “I don’t think she’s the simpering type. But her ignorance may work in our favor. Sansa and I can—I don’t know—train her in, I suppose. We won’t let her misuse you.”

  “Entirely too optimistic.”

  “Lady Eimi did try to find a suitable match. Maybe you’ll like her.”

  Argent knew better. With a sigh, he asked, “When?”

  “Sansa is helping her settle in, so I’ll wait until morning to confirm her inheritance.”

  “A pretty euphemism.”

  “It is. I’m sorry.” Michael stepped closer. “Lady Eimi has been gone for nearly a month. You must be ebbing low, and that’s not a good place to be in for a binding.”

  Argent glowered at the floor.

  “Let me help you.”

  “If you must.”

  Michael fiddled with the catch of a beaded bracelet as he knelt before Argent. Unwinding it from his wrist, Michael’s power washed outward, filling the room with an essence few humans possessed … and few Amaranthine could resist.

  “I’m the one who should be groveling at your feet,” Argent muttered, claws biting wood.

  “I won’t tell if you don’t.” Michael leaned forward, signaling his willingness. “This would be easier if you grabbed hold.”

  He growled.

  “Don’t be shy,” the man coaxed. “We both know you need this.”

  Argent’s token resistance dwindled away, and he sagged into Michael’s embrace, barely suppressing a shudder as he basked in the unique radiance offered by a reaver’s soul. It wasn’t enough to satisfy the requirements of his bond, but it did help. He dragged the man closer, tightening his hold.

  Michael slid his arms around Argent’s back and offered soothing pats. “Wish I could do more.”

  “You do more than a proper captor should.”

  “Because we’re friends,” said Michael. “I’ve been in charge of you since I was fourteen. Though for all intents and purposes, I’ve been yours since I was three.”

  “Mine?” Argent snorted. “You are my keeper, and I have nothing.”

  “Surely the past few decades have given you some basis for trust?”

  “Foolish boy.”

  Michael’s voice came just as softly. “I won’t let her hurt you.”

  An impossible pledge. Argent had been through this too many times. By now, he should be numb to the humiliation. But in the end, the bond would rip him raw and debase him further. Nothing could spare Argent from the morrow’s pain, but he could spare Michael.

  He’d been hiding the hurt for centuries. What was one more lifetime? “I will be fine.”

  FIVE

  Rare Soul

  He hated her immediately.

  Sansa had served the girl breakfast out on the veranda. She was sitting in Eimi’s favorite chair, taking in the breathtaking view of the sea, and Argent despised her for trespassing on their grief.

  Tsumiko Hajime was everything one might expect from a big-city schoolgirl. Even her uniform remained intact—pleated skirt, wide collar, and a drooping cardigan stitched with a school logo. Argent muttered, “Is she twelve?”

  Michael made a soft noise of protest. “She may be petite, but she’s a woman of twenty.”

  “And still in middle school? She must be backward.”

  “Behave.”

  “Not unless she makes me.”

  Michael spared him an exasperated look, then opened the veranda doors. “Good morning, miss. Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  And then her eyes swung his way, and Argent waited to see what kind of life she would damn him to.

  She slid from her chair and offered a small bow. “How do you do? I’m Tsumiko Hajime.”

  Michael smoothly supplied a kinder introduction than Argent would have offered. “Miss Hajime, this is Argent. He’s your butler, so he manages the household. Argent, this is your new mistress.”

  Taking refuge in the ostentatious propriety to which he’d been trained, Argent executed a neat bow.

  Tsumiko searched his face, but not with the greed of a conqueror surveying her spoils. If anything, she seemed to be looking to him for some sign that she was welcome. She would not find it. Not from him.

  Except.

  By the ninth tail, her soul was staggering.

  Eddies of raw power twirled like ribbons around her body, lazily looping back, not quite contained, but restrained. He wondered what would happen to all that potential if she were angry, afraid, or at war. Fully unleashed, this girl might be the most powerful reaver he’d ever encountered. With enough training, she could rival the heads of the Five Clans.

  How could she be untrained?

  Any
one with a glimmer of potential was snatched young and raised in the In-between’s world of wards and warriors. But this girl was no common reaver. Surely, she was a beacon. And untouched. Argent’s mouth watered, and he touched the tip of his tongue to a fang. In millennia long past, his kind would have feasted on such a soul and known satisfaction.

  This new mistress should have gathered up her power to fend him off, but the little fool showed all the innocence of a child lost in the wood—too trusting and deliciously vulnerable. Her excess trailed outward, brushing up against his darkness.

  Had no one warned her about predators?

  Oh, how he would have loved to toy with her in the old way and teach her fear. But those were pretty daydreams, made possible by the feeding Michael had pressed on him the night before. Without it, Argent would have been on his knees, drunk on this childish woman’s dazzling soul.

  “Here, miss. This has been passed down through many generations—very old, very reliable.” Michael brought out a strand of amethyst beads much like his own. “It’s important that you wear this at all times.”

  “What does it do?” she asked.

  “The bracelet is a ward. In a sense, it hides you.”

  “Why do I need to hide?”

  With a low chuckle, Michael said, “Trust me, miss. All manner of Amaranthine will be attracted to a soul like yours. And we don’t want that kind of attention.”

  As soon as Michael locked the clasp, the thick haze of power vanished. To Argent’s utter mortification, he missed it … wanted more … might even beg for it. And with that knowledge came fury. Because when the time came to renew the bond, it would take. And strongly. Because he wanted another taste of this girl’s rare soul, even if the cost was another lifetime of obedience.

  SIX

  Generational Bond

  Tsumiko wasn’t accustomed to staring at people; she had no wish to be rude. But the person before her was strange in wonderful ways. The articles Mr. West had passed along often extolled the beauty of the inhuman races, and they hadn’t exaggerated. High cheekbones, pointed ears, silver hair framing a lean face, and icy blue eyes with cat-slit pupils—her new butler had an otherworldly aesthetic. Formal Western attire only added to his elegance.

  But he was glaring. And that worried her.

  “Are you sure we should go through with this?” she asked Michael.

  “The sooner, the better,” he said. “I’ve reviewed all the forms, and it won’t take long. I also prepared an inner room, so we’ll have a bit of privacy.”

  “There’s no one else here.” Tsumiko darted a glance in Argent’s direction, but the butler’s stoicism gave away nothing.

  “It’s safer. These things are usually done under lock and key.” Michael hustled them into a parlor with draped windows. “And Argent will need to … well … as you can see.”

  Tsumiko followed the man’s gaze and immediately averted her eyes. “Why is Argent undressing?” she asked in a tight voice.

  “Only partially,” Michael said, all apology. “To uncover his blaze.”

  “Which is …?”

  “In simple terms, a focal point for his essence. Many consider the mark secret, even sacred. That’s why we’re giving Argent as much privacy as possible.” Michael’s rambling explanation drew up short, and he quietly added, “You and I will be the only humans left who’ve seen it.”

  “If it’s so private, why show me at all?”

  “Skin-to-skin contact is necessary.”

  Tsumiko stood rigid, inwardly berating herself for not asking the kinds of questions that would have prepared her for silvery hair, icy hauteur, and bared blazes. None of the paperwork she’d signed had hinted at intimate contact.

  She was still bothered that when she accepted the Hajime-Smythe fortune, she’d become more than an employer for one Amaranthine butler. She’d inherited him, as if he were a thing rather than a person. He was a Hajime family heirloom, and a well-loved one. Lady Eimi’s personal letter had carried her final wish.

  Tending to our Amaranthine, my most precious bequest, falls to you. Forgive me for imposing upon you, niece, but I must trust someone. And so I am trusting you.

  Michael took her elbow and guided her to Argent, who’d laid aside coat, vest, and tie. His starched white shirt hung open. Tsumiko tried not to look, but an unexpected splash of color drew her gaze to his pale chest. Wisps and whorls of forget-me-not blue seemed to have been painted directly onto his skin. The pattern wasn’t quite a flower, yet it was as beautiful as any bloom. And it felt familiar.

  Suddenly, she realized where she’d seen it before. “It looks just like …” But she cut herself off. If the mark was something personal, her comment might offend.

  “Foxfire,” finished Michael. “I’ve always thought his blaze resembles a wisp of foxfire.”

  “Does that mean you’re a kitsune?”

  Argent snorted lightly. She had yet to hear him speak.

  Michael chuckled. “I’m sure that Amaranthine from the fox clans gave rise to legends of kitsune. But don’t mistake Argent for folklore. He’s quite real and in need of you.”

  Tsumiko slowly shook her head. “I don’t think he wants me.”

  “Please, miss. We really can’t put this off any longer. My friend requires your touch. If we don’t renew the bond, his very life is at risk.” Michael took her hand and pressed it to Argent’s chest. “Can’t you feel it?”

  Could she? Argent’s dislike was clear enough, but was she supposed to be able to feel something more? The skin under her hand was feverishly hot, and Argent radiated a strength that didn’t quite match his trim build. He looked fit enough, but underfed.

  And with that thought came a sudden certainty that the person before her was wasting away. If she focused on that emptiness, she could feel the hunger … and him. His scrutiny was like a physical touch, as if his attention licked at the edges of her existence. The sensation was decidedly odd, but not exactly frightening, so she explored it. Was this awareness what made her a reaver?

  She asked, “Do I have to say anything?”

  “No, miss. That’s my part of the proceedings,” said Michael.

  “So I just stand here?”

  “Until it’s your turn.”

  Tsumiko narrowed her eyes at him. “And what does my turn entail?”

  “Accepting your butler’s pledge of fealty.”

  She was quite prepared to quiz him into a corner and get proper answers, but at that moment, Michael undid the clasp on the bracelet he’d warned her not to remove. Argent’s breathing changed, and his heart pounded beneath her palm. His expression of aloof distaste had vanished, replaced by something heavy-lidded and hungry.

  “What just happened?” she whispered.

  “Without the beads, he’s feeling the full force of your soul.” Michael watched Argent carefully. “Judging by your reaction, she’ll do.”

  “Do not patronize,” the butler replied huskily.

  “Keep it together, old friend.”

  “What’s wrong?” Tsumiko asked, trying for a calming tone. “Am I hurting him?”

  “Not at all,” Michael assured. “Souls like yours and mine are attractive to the Amaranthine. They crave us like food, drink, or even a drug. In the old days, that made us prey, but reavers learned to defend themselves. These days, we’re allies, and we choose to share.”

  “He’s addicted?”

  Michael reached for his notes. “Not exactly. This is a generational bond, passed down through women in your family. When one mistress dies, he must renew the bond by accepting ties to a new mistress.”

  She searched Argent’s face, but he seemed dazed. Pressing her palm more firmly against his blaze, she asked, “Is this okay with you?”

  Argent blinked languidly, and for a moment he seemed to focus on her. But he offered no answer. Maybe okay
no longer mattered when you had no choice.

  “It’s a simple ritual,” Michael assured.

  She tried again. “I don’t like forcing him.”

  “He understands what’s happening, miss.”

  Michael wrapped a long strand of irregular crystals around his hand and placed it over hers. They were cold against her skin. When he began chanting in a language she didn’t recognize, the stones responded with a vibration that tickled.

  “What …?”

  He shook his head at her, not stopping the flow of words.

  She checked Argent, whose pupils were now blown wide. His breaths came in quick pants, and something was definitely happening. She could sense more now—bitterness, regret, and impotent fury. But strongest of all, she felt a desperate, clawing hunger.

  Murmuring a final string of meaningless syllables, Michael intoned, “Here is your mistress. Will you accept her?”

  Argent bent close, his breath fanning against her cheek as Tsumiko shied away.

  But Michael prevented her escape. “Let him. It’s part of the bonding.”

  Warm lips covered hers, and she froze.

  “Relax, miss. It’s only this once, but he needs to get a taste.” Michael’s hand remained on her back, rubbing small circles. “The Amaranthine have a complex culture, and they’re a visceral, tactile people, with heightened senses and basic instincts reminiscent of animals. Their pacts and pledges almost always involve taste or touch. A kiss offers both.”

  Tsumiko focused on Michael’s voice and forced herself to relax. A kiss to seal a pact. She could accept that on an intellectual level. But when Argent changed his angle of attack and lapped at her lips, she couldn’t help squeaking.

  “Take it slow, Argent. Let her adjust.”

  Her heart nearly stopped when her butler growled.

  “He needs a taste, miss.” Michael cleared his throat. “If you could … open your mouth?”