Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox

by Forthright

  Leaping to one side, the vixen scanned the clifftops, and Tsumiko recoiled from the familiar greed in her gaze. Had that same lady fox actually tracked her down? Was she bent on acquiring the soul of a beacon?

  Michael muttered, “Oh, no, you don’t.” Power pulsed and swirled around them. It was as if a scrim dropped between the three of them and the sea, translucent as a filmy curtain shivering in a summer breeze. He said, “Best to keep what secrets we can. She may know that Miss Tsumiko is lady of the manor, but we’re under no obligation to introduce her to our gardener.”

  Gingko said, “Bet she wasn’t expecting anything more challenging than Minx.”

  “Lady Nona has badly underestimated our defenses,” agreed Michael.

  The pitch of battle escalated until all Tsumiko could see was a writhing, whirling tangle of fur—red and silver. “What can I do?” she asked.

  Michael ignored the question, addressing Gingko. “No matter what happens, keep Tsumiko safe. Even if it means going into hiding.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Are all your old bolt-holes still warded?”

  “Yeah, they’re good to go.”

  Tsumiko swayed. “Is it going that badly?”

  Michael’s tone remained light. “Just a precaution.”

  Angry yips and growls became screams, and Tsumiko’s hands slipped over her ears. This was a hundred times worse than the cat fights that sometimes broke out in the alleys behind the school. While she would have liked to turn away, it was more important to know if Argent was all right.

  Wait.

  She might not be able to support Michael, but couldn’t she send her strength to Argent? Touching the beads at her wrist, she asked, “Can’t I help Argent?”

  “Don’t remove your ward,” Michael said sharply. “Any power you release onto the battle field would be lapped up by both of them. And Lady Nona is probably hoping you’ll expose yourself.”

  “You’d be gone in a snap,” Gingko said, snatching at the air. “Gobbled up in one gulp.”

  “She’d actually eat me?”

  “Given the state she’s in, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Michael said. “And with you gone, Argent’s life would be forfeit. The only way you can help him now is to stay hidden.”

  “Dad’s existence might be outed, and she’s gotta figure you’re his source of strength. But we don’t need to advertise the fact that you’re also his biggest vulnerability.”

  Fear trickled icily into Tsumiko’s knees, weakening them.

  Gingko wrapped his arm round her waist and hauled her close. “Calm down. He’s got the upper hand.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “There’s blood in the air,” he said grimly. “Trust me, it’ll be over soon.”

  Over was good, provided the outcome was favorable. “Can he win?” she whispered.

  “No doubt,” said Gingko. “He’s defending his home.”

  The foxes ranged back and forth, sometimes pressing toward the shore, only to push out across increasingly hectic waters. Suddenly, the combatants broke apart with an angry roar, and Tsumiko shuddered. Blood matted the red fox’s forelimb, which had been cruelly wrenched and dangled uselessly in its socket. Again, the vixen screamed, a horrible, hair-raising blast of emotion, before turning all nine tails to flee.

  The silver fox gave chase for a short distance, snapping at her heels.

  “See?” said Gingko.

  Tsumiko managed a small nod, but there was neither triumph nor relief in this victory.

  Argent’s tails slowly lowered, trailing in the water as his sides heaved. Sansa shouted at him, and the great fox turned his head, searching. Michael let the barrier drop, and Argent wheeled to shore. He left blood on the sand as he hobbled toward the cliff.

  Rearing up, he planted his forepaws on the ground before them, peering down a narrow muzzle streaked with blood. With an awkward scrabble, he dragged himself upward. Gingko and Michael pulled Tsumiko back to make room as the beast sagged to the ground. In a whirlwind of light as blue as Argent’s blaze, the giant fox vanished, leaving a crumpled form on the grass.

  They hurried forward, and Tsumiko’s soul clenched in dismay. Now that Argent had reverted to a man’s form, it was easier to see how badly he was injured. And that he was in danger of bleeding out.

  TWENTY FIVE

  Bloody Bindings

  Argent stirred and stilled, wincing at the unfamiliar spike of pain across his senses. He knew well the fizzing warnings and dreadful weight of disobedience that accompanied his bond; its punishment ranged from dull to debilitating. But this was physical pain. How long had it been? A century or two, surely, since a mistress’s husband made free with whip or blade in retaliation for some slight—real or imagined.

  Wounded, but surrounded by familiar scents, Michael’s in the foreground. So he was safe in the ward’s keeping. Which meant the tightness around his abdomen and chest weren’t bonds, but bandages.

  The mild droning that had woken Argent resolved into a voice. “Amaranthine have both strength and longevity, but therein lies an inherent weakness, at least by human standards.”

  Argent’s focus sharpened. Lecture had always been Michael’s way of calming the distraught, as if the flow of information could soothe away troubles.

  “Injuries like these are slow to heal; bones take months to knit, and open wounds need regular cleansing and careful binding.” A subtle tension entered his tones. “If secrecy weren’t of greater importance, I would call for an Amaranthine healer. But Sansa has learned both nursing and an herbalist’s lore, and many of the remedies do as well for one species as the other.”

  “Oh.”

  The single syllable identified Michael’s audience, and Argent’s focus swung to the opposite side of the room with dizzying speed. His mistress. Tsumiko. And she was unhappy. With him? Warnings buzzed through their bond, hinting at punishment.

  “Our researchers point to our similar biology as proof that the human and inhuman races derived from a single source. We’re similar despite our differences, which allows for hybrids.”

  A low grunt from the corner. Gingko.

  Michael rambled on. “Many things take longer for the Amaranthine—maturation, gestation, oh, and sleep. They can go without for long periods, only to retreat into slumber for days once they reach the point of exhaustion.”

  “Like now?” Tsumiko asked.

  “Don’t let Dad fool you,” came a gruff mutter. “He’s been awake for a bit.”

  The mattress dipped, pinning the blankets at Argent’s thigh. He fought the weight of his eyelids, which suggested he’d been given a heavy dose of Huddlebud nectar. Where had Sansa gotten her hands on something so potent?

  “Argent?”

  Tsumiko leaned over him, eyes too wide, face too pale, scent spiced by fear. He used to relish the underlying trepidation in a mistress’s manner, but Tsumiko’s made a shambles of old ways. This was not fear of him, but fear for him. How backward.

  Argent grabbed for her, but the unsteady swipe of claws only netted him a handful of hair. Using it to tug her closer, he caught at her with his other hand, but the twisting motion sent fresh pain lancing across his ribs, driving the breath from his lungs. His hiss of protest turned into a low whine.

  “Let him,” urged Michael. “Tending will help along the mending process and distract him from the pain.”

  Tsumiko asked, “Won’t he be more susceptible to addiction like this?”

  “Yes.” Michael’s calm slipped slightly. “But what else can we do?”

  The pleading edge set Argent’s stomach roiling. As manager of Stately House, he was responsible for maintaining peace for all who lived here. If Michael was unhappy, Argent was derelict in his duties. Because it was Michael’s job to be happy. Enough for all of them.

  “Bring Sansa,” Michael
said softly, and the door opened and closed.

  Argent struggled against the nectar’s muddling, reviewing the events that had landed him in bed. Nona was a clever grasper. Her ascension to the Five during the Emergence hadn’t surprised him, but he’d enjoyed reminding the nine-tail that even at her best, he was better. He’d driven her off, protected their home, earned preening and praise and pampering alike.

  He pulled at Tsumiko again, growling in frustration when she extricated herself and stepped out of reach. She returned with one of Sansa’s bitter teas and held a spoon to his lips. “Take a few sips,” she whispered.

  He would have resisted if not for his need to obey. With a half-hearted glare, he submitted to the dose. Gingko returned with Sansa, whose drawn face sent a pang through Argent’s conscience. Was she putting too much on herself again? But he couldn’t detect any injury or ailment.

  Tsumiko carried away the cup, and when she returned, he plucked at her sleeve. She was still too far away. Hadn’t he earned some comfort? He craved closeness, assurance, the press of warm skin, and perhaps even a taste of …. Argent drew up short with a languid blink. How much nectar had they given him? Didn’t they know the stories? But they were reavers. Of course they knew.

  Instincts on the rise. Inhibitions at low ebb. In the old days, he could have simply devoured her and been done. Instead, he was doomed to deepening humiliation. He twisted away, only to pull at wounds that seeped and stung.

  “Argent, you’ll hurt yourself,” protested Tsumiko.

  “I am well aware of my condition.” His voice was rough, slurred at the edges, and he cringed at the lack of precision. To his increasing mortification, a sulky demand slipped out. “You should tend me.”

  Sansa’s face filled his view. “Harm her, and I will end you. Yes?”

  Argent managed a trace of hauteur. “Likewise.”

  Amusement flickered across Sansa’s face, and she nodded. “Tsumiko is the strongest, safest pain reliever available to us. All natural and easily administered.” Folding back the corner of Argent’s blankets, the woman said, “In.”

  Michael quickly backed her up. “He’ll sleep for days. Let him rebuild his strength.”

  “I’ll keep watch,” said Gingko. “But why worry? A word from her is all it’ll take to stop him cold.”

  “Don’t discount the potency of fox dreams,” warned Michael.

  Gingko shrugged. “I’ll keep watch, Tsumiko. You’ll be fine. And thanks.”

  The young woman hovered tantalizingly close, almost within Argent’s clutches, but she peered in his son’s direction. “For what?”

  Gingko gruffly replied, “For being what he needs.”

  Need? Argent’s snort sent a twinge through his side. He neither wanted nor needed the hold this woman had over him. All he wanted was to hold her. For a little while. Maybe then this vexing need would fade away.

  TWENTY SIX

  Nestle

  Tsumiko wasn’t sure what woke her until another lick raised goose flesh on her whole body. The slow drag of a warm tongue made it halfway along one shoulder before the fabric of her shirt checked its progress.

  Argent curled around her from behind, one hand splayed over her belly, his other arm supporting their shared pillow. His strained breathing had evened out and deepened into something that felt more natural. Good. She was grateful for any sign of improvement. At least, she assumed these were good signs. It was hard to interpret all of Argent’s little noises—grumbles, sighs, hums. And now licking?

  Another heated swirl against her skin derailed her thoughts, and she lifted her head.

  Gingko sat in the chair by the window, reading by moonlight. One of his ears swiveled her way.

  “What’s he doing?” she whispered.

  “Making you blush.”

  “I meant why.”

  “Dunno for sure,” Ginko replied, flipping a page. “Maybe you find him attractive. You gotta admit he’s in decent shape for an old guy. I hear it happens all the time, nurses falling for their patients. Can’t say I empathize, though. There’s nothing romantic about seeing someone suffer. Guess I didn’t inherit Dad’s sadistic streak.”

  Tsumiko took some comfort from her friend’s bland teasing. He wasn’t worried. Tsumiko lay her head back down. “You know what I meant.”

  Gingko set aside his book. “Relax, Tsumiko. He’s not trying to seduce you. Dad’s sort of … comforting himself.”

  “This is normal for Amaranthine?”

  “Not all clans, but ours for sure. When I was little, all I wanted to do was nestle.” Easing from his seat, Gingko crept to her side of the bed. “Most of what comes naturally to foxes doesn’t fall in line with human propriety. Dad’s bottled up instincts are sneaking free. Foxes want to taste, to touch, to pet, to play.”

  Tsumiko tried not to squirm when Argent nosed her neck before hiding his face in her hair. “So he’s treating me like he’d treat you?”

  Gingko’s gaze lingered on his father. “Yeah, he used to.”

  “Do you want to trade places?”

  Surprise turned into a crooked smile. “With which one of you?”

  Tsumiko reached for Gingko’s hand. “Do foxes outgrow the need to nestle?”

  “Judging by the clench Dad’s got you in, I’d say no.” He smoothed his thumb over her knuckles. “But he stopped holding me a long ways back. No more fox lore for bedtime stories.”

  She asked, “If he stopped when you were young, how do you know so much about foxes?”

  “Reavers and their books.” Gingko lowered his gaze. “Michael and Sansa are the latest in a long line of reavers assigned to Dad.”

  “Wait. Doesn’t that mean there are people who know about Argent?”

  “No. Reavers have their own systems of governance and education, and graduates are registered with the In-between so they’ll receive communiques. But that just means they know Michael and Sansa are here. Not why they’re here.”

  “The Hajime family hired reavers willing to keep their secret?”

  “Yeah. And it’s turned as generational as your bond. Michael’s grandad was Argent’s ward, and his granddad before him.”

  Tsumiko added up the decades and said, “You’re a lot older than you look.”

  “Not if I’m spouting hearsay.”

  She wasn’t fooled. “Were they good to you?”

  “While I was here.” Gingko scooted closer, resting his head on the mattress. “That’s about the same time I took to exploring.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “Nowhere at first. Just wandering and watching people. But someone spotted me, and before I knew it, I was surrounded by wolves. There’s a pack west of here, and they decided I needed protecting.” Gingko’s gaze slid to his father. “When I get lonely, I run with them.”

  “Wolves nestle?”

  “Plenty.” He grinned sheepishly. “I made a friend in the pack, and he helped me sort out which parts of me were human and which ones were from my Amaranthine heritage. But I had to be careful so they wouldn’t find out about Dad.”

  Tsumiko pulled her hand free so she could pet his ears. “You must love kids.”

  His brows lifted at the sudden change in topic. “Michael’s and Sansa’s are the only ones I’ve spent any time with. They’d bring home their homework, so I got lectured by seven-year-old experts. And they liked to practice on me.”

  She smiled. “And children want to be hugged and held.”

  His ears flicked forward and back. “Guess so.”

  “You must be looking forward to the new baby’s arrival.”

  Gingko hid his face against the mattress. But he didn’t deny it.

  TWENTY SEVEN

  Tactical Retreat

  Argent tightened his grasp and sighed as giddy waves washed over him, not quite pleasure, but close enough to pu
sh away the pain. The tip of his tongue touched damp skin. How long had he been laving the girl’s shoulder? Tsumiko lay docile in his grasp, more trusting than any maiden should be, given the cultural impropriety of their positions. Stranger still, she was awake.

  “Feeling better?” she asked.

  “Don’t trouble yourself on my account.” His voice crackled, dry with disuse.

  From across the room, Gingko said, “Lousy bluff. He’s still in pain.”

  Argent turned slowly, testing his limits and finding them far too quickly. Unknit bones ground, stitches pulled, and scabbed skin tore.

  Gingko jumped up, grousing oaths. “Don’t open your wounds! Or do you want to spend a couple more days in bed with Tsumiko?”

  “Days?”

  “Two. Nearly three.” Gingko scowled and said, “Don’t push it.”

  Argent tucked his chin, hiding his face against his mistress’s back. She wore soft flannel. Pajamas. They’d put her to bed with him? He closed his eyes and focused on more basic things. Like breathing.

  Tea and tonic. Astringent herbs. Tsumiko’s calm and Gingko’s concern. Argent stirred restlessly. “What are you doing here? You should be patrolling the boundaries.”

  “I do,” he retorted. “Every couple hours.”

  “And?”

  Gingko reported, “No signs of reconnaissance or retaliation.”

  There wouldn’t be. Nona was better than that. Argent said, “Get Michael.”

  For once, the boy excused himself without argument.

  Tsumiko turned toward him. “You seem better.”

  Argent sourly asked, “Why are you here?”

  “Medical reasons,” she replied. “Dosage against pain. And Gingko said this is how fox families take care of each other.”

  “You are neither fox nor family.”

  “You didn’t seem to mind.”

  Michael entered, his expression grim, and he wasted no time. “We’ve come up with a contingency plan. Are you alert enough to hear it?”