The Heart of a Fox

by T. Isilwath

  “You look good,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. He wasn’t certain, but he thought she sounded a little sad.

  “Joanna-sama,” he breathed, trying to put everything he wanted to say into speaking her name.

  “You look like a Cherokee. I wasn’t sure how the ribbon shirt would turn out, but I think it looks really nice on you.”

  He took her hands and held them close to his chest. “I love the new clothing. Thank you for your gift. I am very honored. I am honored that you would make the clothing of your people for me.”

  “Regalia clothing is the only clothing I know how to make. Michael and I worked on his dancing outfits together,” she replied simply, her voice catching on the name of her lost love.

  He tried not to remind her of her fiancé or of her life in the future, and he hated it when the look of longing and homesickness marred her face. He squeezed her hands lightly to get her attention and smiled softly at her.

  “It is the emotion behind your actions which is most important. You obviously thought me worthy of your tribe’s clothing. I promise to always strive to live up to your faith in me. I would be Cherokee for you if I could,” he vowed.

  She smiled, but her face was still sad. “You already are. You already embrace much of what it means to be Cherokee. You are honorable, trustworthy and faithful. You remain true to your people and those you love. You honor the earth and all the living things sharing the world with you. You may not be Cherokee by blood, but you are Cherokee in heart, and that is what matters.” Her words warmed him, and he pressed his forehead to hers in a gesture of affection. “Thank you. Those are high praises.”

  She stepped back and looked down at the woven reed mat she had spread out as a blanket for their meal. Several baskets with different foodstuffs were arranged on the mat, and two small platform stools defined the eating places.

  He could smell the roast duck in the reed containers and his stomach growled.

  “Would you like to do the honors?” she asked him, snickering slightly.

  “Honors?” he repeated, confused.

  She pointed to a pile of four long poles lying next to a string of paper lanterns. “Sink the poles and hang the lanterns so we can have our own festival decorations.”

  Grinning, he happily obliged and picked up one of the poles, forcing it into the ground far enough for it to stand straight and firm. Then he repeated the action with the remaining three poles, defining a square around the mat and the immediate area. Once the poles were up, he and Joanna hung the ropes and lanterns, and Joanna lit the lanterns with some of her magic fire sticks. The end result was their own private festival all lit up as brightly as any village fair.

  No one had ever gone to such lengths to make an evening special just for him, and tears pricked the corners of his eyes as she reached out and took his hand, bidding him to sit next to her and join her in eating the meal she had prepared. One by one she opened each container of food, revealing delicacy after delicacy to his hungry gaze. In addition to the duck, she had made several other dishes associated with the harvest season such as onion and mushroom soup, salted fish, and, wonder of wonders, two dishes made with new rice: new rice with sliced mushrooms and new rice with chestnuts. For dessert, she had sliced persimmons and nashi pears, drizzled with honey. It was a feast fit for the Emperor, but it was to be shared only between the two of them. He felt almost dizzy with happiness and anticipation.

  As she divided up his portion of each dish and placed it in individual serving cups on his platform stool, his hands began to shake, and he could barely hold onto the chopsticks. She lit a fire and boiled water for tea, and he saw her take two sips of vinegar before eating so the sour liquid would help keep her blood sugar under control. She grimaced at the nasty taste, and he felt a pang in his heart for her discomfort, but when she heard him whine low in his throat, she just shook her head and patted his hand reassuringly.

  “It’s okay, Aki. It’s not that bad,” she assured him.

  “I wish you didn’t have to do it,” he said fervently.

  “I know, but it can’t be helped. We do what we have to do, ne?”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it,” he complained. His only consolation was knowing that her scent was “normal” with no hint of her blood sugar being too high or low. His senses were at their most powerful right now, and he knew he would smell a change in her scent right away.

  Her smile turned soft and loving, making his heartbeat speed up and his palms sweat, and he dropped the chopsticks when she leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

  “Akihiro, my fox. My sweet, sweet fox who would take all my pain and hardship and carry it himself if he could,” she mused tenderly.

  “Yes. Always,” he replied with conviction. “If it were within my power, you would never know a day of hardship or a moment of pain.” She looked at him with warmth and understanding as she brushed a stray tendril of his unruly red hair away from his face. “I know. But life is pain, Aki.

  If we don’t know pain, how can we fully appreciate pleasure? If we don’t know sadness, how can we feel joy? And if we don’t know what it is like to face death, how can we truly begin to live?”

  She took his hand and held it, curling her fingers around his own and making him blush. “Yes, the circumstances surrounding my situation aren’t the happiest, and I certainly would not have chosen this path if I had known how things were going to be, but I am very glad that I am with you.”

  “Joanna-sama,” he whispered, lifting her hand to his lips and nuzzling his nose into her palm. “I treasure every moment that I am with you, and I swear to you that I will find a way for us to enjoy many years together.”

  “Thank you, Akihiro.”

  ‘No, thank you, my vixen, for loving me. I love you so much and I don’t intend to ever let you go.’

  She gently tugged her hand from his grasp and gave him back his chopsticks. “We should eat. The food is best when hot.” They ate and as they did so, the sun set and the moon began to rise. The great goddess of the night was at Her fullest and She bathed the hillside with Her silvery light. Below them in the village, they could see the bobbing lights of the lanterns rocking on their anchor strings and heard the occasional song or cheer rising up to their high vantage point.

  Joanna had brought Iris with her, and she played for him when they were finished eating. They set the platform stools aside to make room for her to put the gitaa on her lap, and he leaned back to listen as she began to sing. He still loved to hear her play, and her voice always made him feel cherished because she would sing special songs for him: songs in her English and Tsalagi languages that no one else would understand. When she played for the villagers, she would only sing simple folk songs or songs Kaemon or Suzuka had taught her, never the others, the ones from her world. Those songs were secret songs for his ears alone, and it was only in those secret songs that the true beauty of her voice was revealed. Every time she sang for him, a small part of his heart rejoiced jealously that no one but him would ever hear those specific words from her mouth or hear those particular notes played from the gitaa she strummed so lovingly with her hands. Those songs were his, and no one could ever take them from him.

  As the moon reached her zenith, he blew out the lanterns so nothing would interfere with their view as Joanna put Iris down and settled against him with her back to his chest. The material of her dress was impossibly soft, not like silk which was thin and smooth, but thick and fluffy like a newborn kit’s fur.

  Joanna had called the material brushed velveteen, and he’d never felt anything like it. It was warm and irresistible, and he found himself unconsciously stroking it as one would a soft pelt. She didn’t seem to mind.

  The actual outfit, he discovered, was in three pieces. There was a short sleeved top and a long, layered skirt, then both of these were surrounded by a large shawl that draped over Joanna’s shoulders to create the cascading water effect. She called the clothing The Long Pe
rson precisely because it mimicked water, and Long Person was the Cherokee term for river. He remembered seeing the garments in one of Joanna’s photographs. He’d liked it in the picture, but he hadn’t known that she had the actual clothing with her. Somehow she had remembered how much he had liked her clothes in the photograph and wore the dress to please him. He could certainly say that he was pleased, but he could also say the same for her, as was evidenced by the welcoming tinge to her scent.

  Holding her, watching the full moon rise, and looking down on the village in the valley below, he felt an overwhelming sense of peace and contentment.

  Joanna’s warm body comfortably cradled in the circle of his arms, the back of her head resting against his shoulder so her hair tickled his nose, seemed so perfect and right that he didn’t want to move or do anything that would otherwise interrupt their private moment together. Closing his eyes and resting his cheek against the side of her head, he sighed happily and pulled her closer.

  “Mou, it’s a shame that you could not eat any of the new rice,” he commented, nuzzling the top of her ear.

  Because she didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks, she hadn’t eaten any of the delicious rice dishes she had prepared for him. She had also abstained from eating any of the sweetened fruit.

  “It’s okay,” she replied, her voice soft and relaxed.

  Reaching over with one hand, he picked up the last slice of persimmon and used it to scrape up the last of the new rice in one of the bowls, bringing it up to his lips and slipping it into his mouth.

  “Mmmmm,” he sighed contentedly, licking his fingertips. “That is so good. The best ever. I wish you could taste it.”

  She turned her head, and he could see her looking at him through the corner of her eye, then her mouth curled up into a wry smile and her scent suddenly changed. He was still reeling from the spike in her smell when she half turned in his arms and pressed her lips to his, her mouth opening to kiss him.

  He was so shocked that he froze, at a loss for what to do, then her tongue flicked out and licked his lips before slipping into his mouth and teasing his upper jaw.

  “Mmmm, you’re right. It does taste good,” she breathed, her voice low and husky in a way he had never heard before.

  He stared at her, his heart pounding and his breath coming in short gasps, as she looked at him with an expression he couldn’t identify but that his body recognized because it was reacting. He was tingling all over and heat was rushing through his blood, making him lightheaded.

  “Jo…” he tried, but her hands gripped the sides of his face and pulled his lips down to hers for another kiss.

  He resisted for a moment then gave in as she deepened the kiss, his mind regaining control over his limbs and making them move. His arms closed around her and pulled her to him as he tried to follow her lead and learn from her. He had never been kissed before (at least not like this) so he had no idea what to do. She did, however, and he mimicked her, opening his mouth and working his lips against hers in a mirror of her own actions. Her scent changed again, and his body knew it to be arousal even if it took his mind a few moments to catch up. He groaned low in his throat as she began to use her hands to stroke his chest and neck, and he kneaded the back of her shoulder blades while trying not to scratch her with his claws.

  One slight push from her and he fell back, landing with a soft thud on the reed mat and taking her with him. She hovered above him, the generous folds of her large shawl pooling around them as she continued to kiss him. He reached up and put his hands around her waist, feeling that it was a safe thing for him to do, and tried not to be so concerned about his claws because worrying about them was distracting. Her lips left his mouth and moved to his throat, licking and kissing the pulse point on his neck. When she nipped him there he began to whimper, his back arching up as he fisted his hands into her clothing.

  His whole body was on fire, his clothes too tight, and his mind drowning in an ocean of new sensations that threatened to overwhelm him. He was in such a state of emotional overload that he wasn’t certain which half of him was fully in control: his fox blood or his runaway human side. Both were reeling from the kisses, the touches, the heat that raged through his blood. His hips bucked up, the burning between his legs becoming unbearable, as she refused to let up her assault. Sounds he didn’t recognize as his own voice were coming out of his mouth, and he was unable to stop them as he writhed beneath her.

  She knew exactly what to do, his wicked vixen, his goddess, and she did not hesitate in her seduction of his innocent body. He knew in some small corner of his mind that he was about to enter a world of pleasure he had thought he would be forever denied, but he had never dreamed that it would ever feel this good. He knew of carnal pleasures. He was not ignorant to the ways of men with women and the mechanics of mating. He knew that the act felt very good, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality of it or the strength of what he was feeling.

  He needed. He needed something, but he didn’t know how to ask. He lifted his hips and cried out when she licked his ear and her hands slipped under his shirt to stroke his chest. Shocks like lightning coursed through his body with each touch, and the pleasure was so sharp it was almost painful. It hurt, but the pain was so good that he didn’t want it to end. He never wanted it to end. He wanted her to keep going, to take him as far as she could, to make him a man in ways he had never thought he could ever be.

  He was begging and he knew it, the whines and whimpering pleas falling from his wet lips, then her knee slipped between his thighs and pressed against him in just the right spot. Her mouth covering his swallowed his howl as he bucked against her leg, and the fire in his groin flared out of control.

  He didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was the tiny part of his brain that was still working. Maybe it was a shift in the wind that brought the new scent to his nostrils, and his heightened fox senses immediately registered it as a threat. Whatever it was, his ardor suddenly cooled as his body came to full alert. Joanna noticed the change immediately and lifted her head to look at him.

  “What is it?” she asked, her voice breathless.

  “Danger,” he rasped, getting his breathing, and his body, under control.

  Her eyes widened and she scrambled off him, crouching on the mat and looking to him for guidance. He sat up, straightened his clothing and moved to his knees, his body poised for battle. He perked his ears and he could hear them, at least three men, drunk on saké and looking for trouble.

  He growled low in his throat, and he could feel the ridge of fur on the back of his neck bristle in agitation. He knew the three who approached. They were the village rabble-rousers, always drinking too much, working too little and causing upset wherever they went. The last thing he needed right now was for them to come up the hill and hassle him and his vixen.

  “Aki?” Joanna whispered next to him, her voice worried.

  “It’s Soka and his two friends,” he ground out through gritted teeth.

  “What the hell do they want?” she asked, relaxing and getting irritated. He smiled. His vixen was upset about being interrupted too.

  “I don’t know, but I think we are about to find out.”

  “I may just kick their dumb asses off this hillside for crashing our private party,” she complained, making him giggle.

  “Should I let you handle them then?” he questioned with amusement.

  She huffed. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I may do serious damage to their unborn kids.”

  He laughed and grinned at her, and as such was not prepared for the rock that hit him on the side of the head. He gasped and rubbed the sore spot as he turned to face the three drunkards who had just crested the top of the hill.

  “Hey!” he yelled angrily.

  “Get out of here, cur,” the largest and drunkest of the three, Soka, slurred.

  He growled and stood up, swiping another poorly aimed rock out of the air.

  All the jovial feelings and mild
irritation he had entertained disappeared with their unprovoked attack, and he felt the fox in him, already close to the surface, stir and roil with anger.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing, assholes?” he demanded.

  Soka’s right-hand man and partner in crime, Taro, grinned lopsidedly. “We saw your lanterns up here earlier, then saw you put them out. We decided that it wasn’t right for a worthless half-breed to get a woman tonight when we had none so we came up to join the fun.” He paused and leered at Joanna. “What do you say, girl? How about a real man?”

  He heard Joanna’s sharp intake of breath, smelled the anger in her scent, and part of him thrilled at the fact that he smelled no fear from her. His vixen was strong and fearless by his side, and her faith in him gave him the courage to stand up to three men who had delighted in tormenting him almost from the moment they were born.

  “Get out of here, Soka and take your friends with you,” he warned.

  “Shut up, you freak,” Taro spat. “How dare you talk to us like that!”

  “I’ll speak whatever way I choose, human. You are intruding on our private meal. You are the outsider here.”

  “Why don’t we let the lady speak for herself?” the third man, Hachi, replied.

  “I not interested,” his vixen answered firmly, standing tall and proud next to him. “Go away.”

  He looked at her with pride and satisfaction. For once in his life, a female had chosen him over other males, and he wasn’t about to let three drunken fools take her from him.

  “Oi, you have a mouth on you, woman. You should show some respect to those better than you,” Soka remarked snidely.

  “Drunk men stupid,” Joanna answered, crossing her arms and looking the men firmly in the eye.