by Forthright
SEVEN
First Kiss
Tsumiko rolled her eyes to the side.
Michael was there, gnawing worriedly at his lip. He tapped Argent’s shoulder, triggering another low growl. “Gently, friend.” And to her, “Please, let him satisfy the requirements of the bond.”
Really. She should be mortified that her first kiss was a chaperoned affair. Then again, this strange, inhuman creature wasn’t making love. To live, Argent needed to remake the bond he’d lost when Lady Eimi died.
This was his kiss of life, almost like the resuscitation technique she’d learned at school. But instead of feeding him air, she’d give up a little piece of her soul. It occurred to her then—albeit fleetingly—that this was an exchange. What had her predecessors bought with their kisses?
She opened her mouth, and he sighed against her lips.
Tentative flicks shifted into bolder exploration, which sent Tsumiko’s heart racing. Argent brought a hand up to cup her cheek, and the growl was back. Not the warning growl he’d given Michael, but a deeper rumble. Satisfaction?
Tsumiko liked that approval vastly more than Argent’s previous disdain, so she searched for a way to feed it. Focusing on the way his appetite collided with her awareness, she did her best to be hospitable. She caught hold of his clawing need and drew him closer, welcoming him in, unlocking her stores, inviting him to feast.
She went up on tiptoe, placing both hands over his blaze. Argent groaned, and his arms slipped around her, cradling her close. Distantly, Tsumiko heard Michael’s voice.
“That’s probably enough.”
Was she kissing him back? No, that wasn’t possible. This wasn’t a kiss.
Michael’s hand gripped her shoulder. “Push him away, miss. He’ll obey.”
But how could they stop? He was still so empty.
“Argent!” Michael said sharply. “You’re deepening the bond!”
Her butler dragged his lips from hers with obvious reluctance, straightening and averting his gaze.
Tsumiko could feel the frustration pouring off him, and she shared it. “He needs more! Can’t you see how shriveled he is?”
Michael grimaced. “Yes, miss. But you’re giving him too much, too fast.”
Argent stepped back, and Michael caught her arm, replacing the bracelet that would keep her soul under wraps. She rubbed at the heavy beads on her wrist. “Argent, am I wrong?”
Her butler turned away and began buttoning his shirt.
Michael said, “We’ve succeeded; the bond is renewed. Anything further would be entirely up to you, miss.” Taking a cautious tone, he added, “She’s kind to offer. Argent?”
“As you say, it is entirely up to the mistress.”
A full sentence. Tsumiko chose to ignore the dislike lacing his demure. “Then let’s continue.”
“All right. What would you be comfortable with?” Michael glanced between them. “The more intimate the connection, the faster he can absorb….”
“What’s the rush?” she interrupted. “Can we do it slowly? Is that possible?”
“Certainly, miss. Let’s find a more appropriate setting.”
Argent bowed his head and led the way into one of Stately House’s many sitting rooms. This one had an abundance of curio cabinets and an exquisite set of painted screens. Michael took Argent’s suit coat and gestured for him to use a deep sofa. “I’m taking off her bracelet again,” he warned.
Tsumiko didn’t like being talked about as if she wasn’t right there, but hadn’t she been doing the same to Argent? That would have to stop.
Michael undid her clasp again, murmuring, “I’ll try to add a small break in the warding, enough to allow for a trickle. That should be safe for both of you.”
“Is there some danger?”
“Not if we’re careful.” Michael looked to Argent. “Nurturing through the bond will do him some much-needed good. But deepening the bond would be … inadvisable.”
Her butler sat forward, elbows on his knees as he watched her with unnerving intensity.
Michael returned the bracelet and waited until she’d fixed the clasp. Nodding in satisfaction, he said, “Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be back shortly with Sansa; she’ll be done with her patrol soon.”
Tsumiko thanked him and turned back to Argent, who’d returned to glaring at the floor. She asked, “How close do I need to be?”
His gaze flicked briefly to her face. “Closer than either of us might wish.”
“Then we should follow Michael’s advice. What will be the most comfortable?”
“Tsk.” Argent pulled a footstool close and settled back against the cushions. Holding out his hand, he said, “Come here, mistress.”
Her fingertips brushed his palm, and his claws caught her attention—clean ivory, highly polished, and tapering to dangerous points. But they didn’t even graze her when his hand closed around her wrist.
Guiding her into range, he murmured, “I did warn you.” Then with a quick tug, he sent her sprawling. Across his chest.
She stiffened in surprise.
“Comfortable?” he inquired condescendingly.
She gritted her teeth and rearranged herself, ending in a position that distributed her weight evenly and gave her a place to lay her head.
When Michael returned a few moments later, his eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t comment on finding Tsumiko straddling her butler. “Try to relax,” he said kindly.
Argent snorted.
Tsumiko tended to agree, but she did try. Laying her cheek against the starched cloth of his half-buttoned shirt, she listened to his heartbeat. Gradually, the erratic pounding settled into a slower rhythm, and she tucked her hand under her cheek, right over Argent’s blaze.
Michael offered a few words of advice, then left them alone.
Again, Tsumiko searched for the needy rift in her butler’s soul. Turning her attention inward, she tried to encourage the trickle Michael had allowed them. It wasn’t much. Barely anything was getting through. She would need hours to tend to her Amaranthine.
Suddenly, fingers tangled in Tsumiko’s hair, tilting her face upward. They were so close. Was he going to kiss her again?
“I hate you.”
Considerably relieved, Tsumiko said, “I know. But it feels like you need me.”
His fingers tightened in her hair, and he pulled her closer.
Tsumiko could see every gray lash fringing his eyes … and the slightly glazed quality of his glare. Michael had said something about reavers’ souls being as addictive as drugs. Was Argent high?
“I hate you,” he repeated.
She tried to nod, but his firm hold kept her from moving. “I don’t blame you.”
He studied her face. “But I want you.”
“That’s harder for me to understand, but I can tell there’s something lacking.” Tsumiko asked, “Do you think it’s because of the bond? I don’t know much about reavers.”
“I hate you.”
She sighed. “I’d probably hate me, too. Is this enough contact? Can you take what you need this way?”
His head dipped, only to jerk sideways. “But I want more.”
“Okay. I’ll try to help.”
Laying flush against his chest, she sought that thin stream and worked at widening the gap. She wasn’t sure she was making a difference until Argent let slip a soft groan. Wrapping both arms around her, he curled to bury his nose against her neck and muttered, “I hate you.”
This time, Tsumiko didn’t believe him.
EIGHT
Reorientation
Argent woke by increments, fighting past an unaccustomed sluggishness. He blinked languidly at the ceiling, sifting through odd sensations and vague impressions. Had he been sleeping? During the day? He wasn’t ill; neither did he seem to be recovering from some i
njury. On the contrary, he felt good. Better than good, he was replete.
How long had it been since a reaver allowed him to take his fill?
Never. His mistresses always left him wanting.
What changed?
A disturbing thought emerged from the pleasurable haze. Had he consumed a whole soul? Surely not. Reavers frowned upon murder as a matter of principle, and Sansa would kill him before allowing him to run rampant. Unless … had all this brimming power somehow gone to his head?
Was Michael safe? Where was Sansa?
Unsettled, Argent shifted under the weight of … ah. His new mistress. Confusion ebbed away, and he adjusted his hold on Tsumiko, whose scent and soul further anchored him.
Judging by the lengthening shadows, they’d slept away most of the day. And during that time, he’d reached a saturation point without draining her considerable resources. The excess swirled aimlessly throughout the room, as comforting as the blanket Sansa had tucked around them.
He allowed himself a few minutes to bask. Until he noticed the drool collecting in the vicinity of his collarbone. Loosening his embrace, Argent’s hands slid down Tsumiko’s sides to the gentle swell of her hips, ready to push her away. “Mistress?”
She raised her head and blinked several times. “Argent.”
“Are you quite finished?”
With a mumbled apology, she slid off to kneel on the cushions at his side. “Did you get enough?”
“Somehow.”
Argent waited to see what she would do once the fog of sleep left her eyes. Most of his young mistresses were inclined to shriek or shy away, but Tsumiko spied the drool puddle and dabbed at it with the sleeve of her sweater.
She said, “You have a strange way of eating.”
“Do you mean the kiss?”
Tsumiko touched her lips and nodded.
If what Michael said about her background was true, this girl’s ignorance was to be expected. While Argent was obligated to protect his mistress, it wasn’t his job to correct her misconceptions. He could leave her tutelage to the reavers.
Or perhaps he could use her naiveté to some advantage.
“The kiss was for the bond,” he said. “It is customary to offer a taste of what I cannot have in order to make me more pliant to the whims of my captor.”
Tsumiko’s eyes widened. “That’s terrible.”
“Quite.” He sat forward and surveyed the crumpled state of his shirt. He would need to change.
“I won’t neglect you.” She touched his arm. “No one should have to go hungry.”
Argent snorted. “You are not food.”
“Oh. What do you eat normally?”
“Our diets are similar. Sampling power like yours is purely recreational.”
She shook her head. “Michael said you needed me.”
“There was a time when I took what I liked when I liked. But with you, I cannot help myself. My mistress alone can yield what I crave.”
“How do I do that?”
Her attitude baffled Argent, but he wasn’t about to complain. “Eimi held my hand. Michael prefers an embrace.”
Tsumiko relaxed noticeably. “That makes more sense than kisses, since they hold a different meaning for humans.”
“Meaning varies, but a kiss is still a kiss for my kind.”
“But that means …” she began, her lips turning down. “Did it bother you to have to kiss someone you hate?”
Argent smoothly sidestepped the question. “Did it bother you to be kissed?”
“At first.”
He wasn’t accustomed to such transparency. Argent wondered how far he could push before she resorted to a lie. “What changed?”
“When I stopped thinking of it as a kiss.”
“What did it become?”
“I’m … not sure.” Tsumiko began fiddling with her necklace. “Are you truly mine?”
“Irrevocably.”
“How can you tell the bond is in place?”
“I have been through this many times; it is always the same.”
Tsumiko sighed. “Can’t I simply set you free?”
Argent stared at her in stunned silence.
“Wouldn’t you prefer that?” she pressed.
Every fiber of Argent’s being screamed yes. But reality wasn’t about wishes or preferences. The bond was well-made, and he couldn’t escape its thrall. Hiding behind an injured tone, he asked, “You do not want me?”
“No one should own another person.”
“Yet here we are.” He bared his fangs. “And neither can escape.”
“Hasn’t anyone ever tried?”
“A foolish question.” He pushed closer and spoke into her ear. “If I could go, I would be gone.”
Tsumiko didn’t bat an eye or blush, and Argent found her composure infuriating. She was by far the calmest woman he’d ever had the misfortune of serving. He should have been grateful.
Perversely, he wanted to fluster her, so he pressed his lips to hers—quick and light.
With a small pout of confusion, she asked, “What was that for?”
Argent felt it best to remind her where things stood. “I hate you.”
“Irrevocably?”
He nodded once.
“Too bad. Until I figure out how to set you free, it would have been nice to be friends.”
NINE
Stately House
Tsumiko spent the next two days acquainting herself with Stately House and getting lost in the process. Her new home had the slapdash feel of a building that had been added to throughout many decades. Some hallways led nowhere, and she discovered half-stories between the upper floors. Several rooms didn’t open onto the hallways, but were linked together in an architectural daisy chain. This mansion needed a map.
Lord Percival, the husband who’d added Smythe to Aunt Eimi’s name, had come from England. In every room, Tsumiko found influences from both East and West—a mahogany grandfather clock, a footed shogi board, a billiard parlor, and an onsen-style bath. The extravagances were offset by absurdities that gave the place a homey feel despite its size.
“I guess this is what happens when people from two different worlds decide to share one life.” Her words echoed off stone walls in a circular tower with windows overlooking the ocean. Stately House was refined and inspired, but it existed in such isolation. Like the emptiness clawing inside Argent, the building longed for a soul, for the liveliness and laughter of a loving family.
Which made Tsumiko miss the crowded halls and dormitories that she’d once called home. But even more, she found herself missing Akira. Giving herself up for lost, she sat in a windowseat and brought out her phone. School should be out by now, so it was safe to send her younger brother a text.
I’m lost.
Where are you, Sis?
Inside my house.
Lost in your own house
It’s SO big. I want to show you.
Can you come during winter break?
Can’t.
Promised to teach Suuzu our New Year’s customs
He’s Rivven
You know one?
I told you about him in my last letter!
At the time, Tsumiko had thought Akira was referring to a game character or something. He’d met one of the Amaranthine as well? She misspelled several words in her excitement to find out more, which slowed down her response.
The boy who is a bird?
Yeah, him
Hang on
He’s right here.
Moments later, Akira passed along a snapshot of a boy wearing a high-collared school uniform. He had brown skin, a hooked nose, unruly black hair, and a faint smile. The boy might have passed for a typical exchange student if it weren’t for his eyes. A second picture followed, a selfie in which Ak
ira grinned up at her while the Amaranthine leaned in from behind, his arms around her little brother’s shoulders—possessive, protective. The close-up confirmed the vibrant orange of his eyes and revealed clawed hands.
Akira texted fast.
Bout time you got a phone so I can show you stuff
Suuzu is my best friend
We share a room in the dorm
He wishes to greet my esteemed nestmate
He says stuff like that
I’m glad you have Suuzu.
Tell him I’m honored to know him.
There’s an Amaranthine here, too.
But he’s hard to get to know.
Which clan?
Fox.
Suuzu says to be careful of tricks
How many tails?
Pardon?
He says with foxes, the more tails,
the more trouble
Not sure, but don’t worry. I’ll be fine.
When you visit, bring Suuzu. He’s very welcome.
After her brother’s enthusiastic acceptance, she tucked away her phone and puzzled over this newest bit of information. How did one go about asking their butler if he had a tail … or tails?
Shaking her head, she decided to look for the nearest stairway. If nothing else, she knew the kitchen was down, and Sansa probably had lunch ready by now. But when she left the tower room, her steps faltered.
She was quite sure that the room she’d passed through earlier had pale blue walls. Hadn’t the trim been white? And she distinctly remembered tiptoeing across plush carpeting daubed with yellow flower petals. But now the room was the deep green of forests, and the bare boards underfoot were stained such a dark brown, they were nearly black.
Tsumiko looked back, checking to see if there was another door. But no, she stood in the only entrance. Was the blue room beyond this one, then? Maybe she was simply mixed up.
But the next room was yellow, then one with red decor. And she didn’t see the door to the stairs. Had she missed it?