Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox

by Forthright

  The more he thought about it, the more the vibrations deep in his chest resembled a primal warning. And that would most definitely cause a scene. Which would do nothing to support his own strategies. Still, when Stewart took Tsumiko’s hands into his own, Argent snapped.

  “Say goodnight, mistress,” he all but growled.

  Her small frown may have been protest, or simply confusion. But she complied. “Yes, Argent.” Gently extracting her hands, she bowed to Stewart. “I’ll look forward to it. Good night, Uncle Stewie.”

  . . .

  Tsumiko had dealt with several versions of Argent thus far—wary, defiant, sly, aloof, mysterious. She’d seen him dosed into docility with some kind of Amaranthine nectar, but this was the first time she’d witnessed something so … violent.

  When she slipped from the ensuite in her nightgown, icy air swirled around her bare ankles, carrying bright blue flower petals. They kissed her feet as she hurried to close the balcony door. “Did you toss out my bouquet?” she asked.

  A grunt.

  She surveyed other signs of an unprecedented upheaval. Crumpled shreds of tissue paper littered the floor, and the green smell of bruised leaves hung in the air. Crossing to the seemingly ageless person sulking on the bench at the foot of her bed, she asked, “Is this some kind of protest?”

  Another grunt.

  She unwound bandages, baring skin so new, it still had a rosy blush. “We can leave these off. The wounds have healed.”

  He nodded.

  “Another week of Sansa’s tonics, though.”

  A grimace.

  “But more importantly, you need fresh air and exercise.”

  Argent’s shoulders tensed.

  Tsumiko tried not to be hurt. He had given her the barest glimpse of his humiliation under her predecessors. After centuries of cruel usage, was it any wonder he refused to take her at her word? Trust couldn’t be forced, and she had no idea how to give him the freedom he craved. But she could offer a tiny taste.

  “You have to obey me.”

  “Yes.”

  “No matter what?” she asked solemnly.

  “Yes.”

  Flatness was back in his tone, a wary weariness. As if she’d finally done as he expected. As if she’d use him because she could.

  “What if I told you—ordered you—to take the night off?” Her fingertips rested on his bare shoulder. “To fly as far as you can, to run wild, to feel the wind in your tails. And to be back in time for breakfast.”

  Silence quavered between them, and suddenly, he was on his knees before her.

  Tsumiko didn’t want him abasing himself or begging. She tugged at his arm, protesting, “Don’t!”

  But he caught her wrists, held her captive with a look. “Say it,” he said fiercely. His lips brushed her knuckles. “Grant it.”

  That hurt. That he thought she’d tease him with a treat, then withhold it. But she set aside her feelings and answered him in kind. Taking his hands, she kissed his knuckles and repeated her order in even tones. “Argent, take tonight for yourself. Fly freely. Run wild. Do as you please.”

  His only answer was a shaky exhale.

  Then she was in a whirlwind of power and petals, hair whipping up and blinding her. When the storm died, she shivered, for the balcony doors were once more wide-flung, and she was alone.

  He was gone. So far gone, she couldn’t feel him.

  After months living with the constant press of his presence, he’d left a gaping void, brutal as death, bleak as its aftermath. He was gone. Because that’s all he’d ever wanted. To go.

  That also hurt. And Tsumiko’s conscience writhed, for she’d uncovered an uncomfortable truth.

  She didn’t want Argent to go.

  . . .

  He dropped into an empty place. Claws dug in, tearing cold earth, and he sniffed foreign soil. Wind ruffled his fur, setting every strand on end, and he spun in place. Springing, whirling, dancing. He rolled on the ground, no doubt grinding mud into his fur, staining the silver with bruised grasses, tangling his fur with leaf and twig. Making a mess. Because he could.

  The bonds were still there, but they held him lightly. Argent could feel them slip, loose without letting go. As he pushed farther from his mistress, she was letting out the lead, giving him his head, and permission was sweet.

  It was deliciously maddening. He wanted more.

  Argent lunged into the sky, plowing upward through clouds that left dew upon his coat as he broke through into starlight. Keen eyes caught the shimmer of galaxies spinning through a vastness he couldn’t touch, yet he careened higher, heedless of thin air and wiser courses. He would do as he pleased because he could.

  A taste of freedom. A foretaste of glories. To slip his bonds and fly far and fast … but perhaps not forever.

  His frenzied rise slowed, and he drifted on eddying currents, letting them push his mind in a new direction. What should he do with his promised freedom? Was it too early to plan? Captivity had been easier without the torture of wanting things, so he was out of practice. Had he regained enough of himself to be selfish?

  A battle loomed ahead. Nona needed toppling. And if the cat could see reason and give Argent his rightful place, a host of new challenges awaited. Something more absorbing than polishing teaspoons. Better employment for a fox of his talents. Maybe even the authority to prevent others from suffering as he had. As Gingko might have.

  Argent would protect his son. By any means. Even diplomacy.

  Yes, that sounded right.

  He might not know the exact shape his future would take, but one thing was certain. She would be there. Argent craved the headiness of her tending and the surge of strength that came with her touch. Could he persuade her onto the path he wished to take? He did not want her going to another. What would it take to convince her to remain, to allow him to sate his growing need for her?

  Oh, yes. He definitely remembered what it was to be selfish. And Argent wanted nothing more than more.

  And she would give it. Had all but promised it. Because he was free until sunrise. And she’d commanded him to do as he pleased.

  Argent ran, doubling his speed, pushing his limits, weighing the consequences, firming his resolve. He could see his course so clearly now. Because the path home was lit by a beacon.

  FORTY FIVE

  Drowning

  Tsumiko woke when someone slid under the covers with her. There was little doubt as to whom, and she smiled at the familiar press of Argent’s presence. He smelled of damp and sea and the skies overhead, and she started when he touched her. “Your hands are freezing.”

  “It is winter, and you turned me out.”

  “Did you have fun?”

  He pulled until she rolled in his direction, and she let him drag her into his embrace. Usually, he was more sly about nestling, but tonight’s flight had left him bolder, wilder. She peered toward the balcony doors, which he’d remembered to shut this time around. That was a mercy. But dawn’s light wasn’t showing past its panes. It was still night.

  “I thought you’d stay out as long as you could.” Tsumiko ran her hand over a bare shoulder. “Are you hurt? Did something happen?”

  “I am uninjured.” He nosed her jawline and murmured, “Thank you for your concern.”

  “Did you fly?”

  He hummed an affirmative as he fit his body more fully against hers, and Tsumiko fought to keep her composure. This was different. He was different.

  “Are you drunk?” she whispered.

  “Are you offering?” His fingers made a slow slide to the beads at her wrist. With needy petulance, he demanded, “Tend me.”

  Tsumiko might not be experienced, but she was far from clueless. Nestling was a comfort she could freely give, but Argent wasn’t behaving like an Amaranthine in need of tending. He was acting like a needy male.
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  “Argent, what are you doing?”

  He kissed her, light upon her lips. “Whatever I want.”

  “But you don’t want me.”

  “I lied.”

  His next kiss slowly deepened, and her resistance wavered. What was this restless energy thrumming under her skin? This urgency. Did it have something to do with her being a reaver? Or … was she acting like a needy female?

  Oh.

  She pushed at him, and he gave her room to breathe. Barely.

  His words formed against her lips, close enough to caress. “Do not leave me wanting.”

  . . .

  Argent wasn’t drunk, but flight had left him giddy, and Tsumiko was responding to his attentions. He lapped at her parted lips, and his hand glided to the curve of her hip. This woman. Her soul had both seduced and sated him. He could do that for her. He could make her body sing.

  But then she spoke. “Argent, no kissing.”

  A command. A harsh reminder of how little his wants meant.

  Obedience kept his lips from her skin, but not his teeth. Nipping her earlobe, he whispered, “Why not?”

  “B-because you’re doing things out of order.”

  She trembled, but not with fear, and his fingers retraced their lazy course, seeking more shivers.

  “Because there’s a chance that things will change once you’re free.”

  Argent stilled, insulted. “I know my own mind.”

  “Then there’s no need to rush.”

  Frustration rattled in his chest. A huge part of him was frantic to get what he craved—to bite deep, to drink deep, to plow deep.

  “Your hands,” she said firmly. “If you need it, you can still hold me, but don’t let them wander.”

  He clung stubbornly, but with soft words, she denied him. On some level, he might have been relieved. That she was the same. That she could not be swayed. Foxes trusted few, if any, for they understood evasion, illusion, loopholes, and lies. But Tsumiko wouldn’t resort to wiles or bend to instinct. The strength of her convictions steadied them both, and in her faithfulness he would find rescue.

  Argent quietly spoke an apology against her ear.

  “It’s okay. Just relax.”

  That was not happening anytime soon, but Argent retreated enough to hide the fact. Only to be stopped by a kiss on his cheek.

  “Tsumiko?”

  She asked, “Could you turn on a light, please?”

  He reached for the switch that illuminated the bedside lamps and quickly dimmed them. Sliding back into the pocket of warmth at Tsumiko’s side, he met her wide-eyed look with a lift of his brows.

  “What are you wearing?” she whispered.

  “Precious little.”

  “Oh.” She rallied somewhat. “Are you feeling better?”

  Argent rejected five indelicate responses before settling on the safest answer. “No.”

  “Show me your tails.”

  Whether she’d meant to command him or not mattered little. It was an invitation to display. Casually sliding the blankets low around his hips, he brought out all seven and waited for her reaction.

  Tsumiko finally said, “You don’t look annoyed.”

  “And how do I look?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not supposed to make personal remarks about an Amaranthine’s tails.”

  “I will make an exception.”

  “Well, when a cat is annoyed, its tail puffs and twitches.”

  He eased back into her personal space. Not looming in the proper sense, but posturing nonetheless. “I am not a cat.”

  “I know.” Tsumiko smiled apologetically. “But I don’t have experience with any other kind of pet.”

  Really. He nipped her ear. “I am not a pet.”

  “They sway.” She made a slow, waving movement with her arm. “What does it mean when your tails sway? Oh, now they’ve gone sort of twitchy. Was it a rude question?”

  “Not rude.” Argent sighed. He knew what she was trying to do. Calm him down. Calm herself down. Defuse the tension. Distract him from his failed seduction with the harmlessness of small talk. Argent shut his eyes against the humiliation. “You have all of the ignorance and curiosity of a kit, with none of the instincts.”

  “So I’m allowed to ask?”

  “You may ask.”

  “Do you need tending?”

  Argent huffed. “I thought you were interested in my tails.”

  “Very much. But I can talk and tend at the same time.”

  “It is the least you can do.” Given the ongoing debacle, he supposed he was owed some comforting. So he pulled pillows into alignment and hid his face against her throat. Her fingers stroked through his hair, and he stole a quick lick.

  She began afresh. “Tell me what it means when your tails sway.”

  “That I am comfortable.”

  “With me?”

  “Clearly.” His tails came around, trailing over her bare arm, tickling under her chin, looping around her body from every direction.

  Tsumiko asked, “What does this mean?”

  “There is an element of protectiveness.” He wanted to kiss her but couldn’t. “More often than not, tangling a female in one’s tails signals attraction and … intentions.”

  “What kinds of intentions?” she asked softly.

  “You need to ask?”

  Tsumiko said, “Yes. Otherwise, I won’t know for sure. And I need to be sure.”

  “The intent to share a den.”

  “We already live together. Both here and at Stately House.”

  Argent could be clear when he wished. “A vow of sole fidelity. Pleasurable pursuits of an intimate nature. The establishment of a family.”

  “Are you proposing?”

  He had been prepared to do far more than suggest. “Yes.”

  “Oh.” Puzzlement seeped through their connection. “Are you teasing me?”

  “Only as much as you are teasing me.”

  Tsumiko’s hand tightened in his hair, and he lifted his head. She said, “I will see you freed.”

  “So you say.”

  “I’ll keep my word,” she pledged.

  “I await the day.”

  “Good idea. We’ll wait until then.”

  Argent searched her face, his gaze lingering longest on her lips. Such a stubborn line. “You will not give your answer until the day you keep your promise?”

  Tsumiko solemnly said, “That day will be my answer.”

  It took several moments for the import of her words to put a sway in Argent’s tails.

  “What?” she whispered.

  “You are resolved to free me.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “So you are resolved to accept me.”

  She offered no correction or clarification. Only another question. “Do Amaranthine fall in love?”

  “Once in a great while.”

  Tsumiko repaid him for his reticence, far more richly than he deserved. For she slipped the bracelet from her wrist. Power flowed around them in ribbons, sliding against him as if she had not five or seven or nine tails, but a hundred. Tsumiko might withhold kisses, but in all else, she was generosity itself.

  Argent made a frantic bid to contain his beacon’s brilliance, lest she lure in every Ephemera from the surrounding countryside. Or attract the attention of any nearby Kith and Kindred. Veiling their room in illusory distractions, he gathering up the overflow. It was like trying to cup the sea in one’s palms.

  For centuries, he’d learned to get by on dribbles and sips from tainted puddles, but this girl had him drowning, and the only way to survive was to drink the ocean dry.

  FORTY SIX

  Representations

  The following morning found Argent at Eimi’s graveside, a fol
ded newspaper tucked under his arm. Standing calf-deep in snow, he sifted through a lifetime of chaff, seeking the scant handful of kernels he’d hoarded as precious.

  A son. A friend. A home. And now a beacon. And hope.

  Unfolding the newsprint, Argent knelt to lay the battered remains of Tsumiko’s bouquet on the cold marble marker bearing Percival’s and Eimi’s names. Vivid petals slipped between his fingers, scattering in the breathless silence, catching on grainy snow.

  “I liked you, Eimi.” His voice puffed in the air. “You were silly and harmless. The lesser of all evils.”

  He stood, jaw working. Of all his mistresses, Eimi was the first he’d dreaded losing. The first he’d missed. The first whose passing he’d met with grief.

  “You were kind to my son, and for that, I will always be grateful. He loved you, loved being a part of the family you created.”

  Argent lowered his head and his voice. Honesty could not hurt her now.

  “But he hated you for the same reason I did. You kept me.”

  Eimi had loved him too much to let him go. Not with the lust-ridden greed of Gingko’s mother or the passion for power that put him at the mercy of so many. But the essence and the end had been the same. Her will over his. She had perpetuated his enslavement.

  “Michael never told me the lengths to which you went in order to find a successor.”

  He had already begun brooding by then. Hadn’t wanted to think what might happen to his son, to his friend, to their home.

  “You were not perfect, Eimi. But she is.” Argent’s voice cracked. “So I will choose to believe that she is a better representation of your regard for my existence. You found her for me. You gave her to me. And I am going to keep her.”

  What an empty promise. In a handful of decades, he would strew petals on Tsumiko’s grave. He muffled a bitter laugh in the collar of his coat. “Inasmuch as anything so ephemeral can be kept.”