Page 103 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
“Provoking, surely.”
The teasing light dwindled to nothing. Jacques whispered, “When you go, take me with you.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I feel safest when you’re close.”
“Naroo-soh seems to have taken a personal interest in this case. His instincts will see you safe.” Argent stepped back, pocketing his gloves. “Trust the wolves.”
In an unprecedented show of good sense, Jacques murmured, “Right. If you say so.”
. . .
When Tsumiko emerged from her room late that afternoon, Yvette pounced. One of the smaller sitting rooms needed decking for yet another upcoming party. While Tsumiko helped unwrap glittering trinkets for a pair of fragrant pines, she divided her attention between her chatty hostess and Stewart, who’d been tapped as translator.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice. “I can’t keep up with her.”
“Argent stopped trying.” Tsumiko smiled ruefully. “You may stick to the important parts or summarize.”
He chuckled. “I have yet to hear something of true import. She has lapsed into a treatise on hats.”
Far more interesting were stories about Boniface and Jacques when they were little boys. And Yvette’s attempts to explain the meanings behind the Smythe family Christmas traditions. Tsumiko accepted these lessons with good grace, though she probably knew the truth behind the trappings far better than they.
At some point, Boniface wandered in, causing his mother’s stories to take a new theme.
Stewart sighed. “Be proud of your Uncle Bonnie, Miss Tsumiko. He is clearly our Aunt Yvette’s crowning achievement.”
Jacques ambled in and claimed the seat closest to Tsumiko. With his arrival, Stewart warmed to his task, translating all of Uncle Jackie’s silly asides. These three were grown men, but it was so obvious that they were still very much a trio of boyhood friends. Stories mingled. Banter flew. Even when she didn’t catch the words, she understood the good humor warming their tones. A welcome respite from recent worries.
She was glad for them, but growing distracted. And not simply because she was an outsider to their memories. Argent had entered and watched over her from the far end of the room. And for lack of a better word, he was experimenting.
A bump. A nudge. A slide. His whisper-light touches might not have been physical, but the flutter of contact was as real as her reaver heritage. She could feel his tentative intrusions and left herself wide to them. Wouldn’t it be for the best if he explored the ties that bound him? The key to unlocking their lives might be hidden somewhere in her soul. Surely this was more constructive than waiting for Michael to uncover a pertinent passage in one of his dusty tomes.
In any case, Tsumiko yielded as his cautious rummaging gained confidence.
She had no reason to resist. He had no reason to fear.
They were so close. And closer to finding equal footing.
. . .
Argent had strained at the end of a leash for so long, he hardly knew what to do with the slack. Respite—even release—from commands had been gratifying enough, but Tsumiko went further. This was not an absence of command; this was an invitation to seize control. How far would it take him? How much could he take?
Latching on, he mingled and meddled with increasing audacity. Tsumiko let him press, guide, and funnel her resources. He reveled in his newfound command. No longer a beggar, he laid claim to greater portions. No longer drowning in her ocean, he swam in it, sailed across it, bridged it, and channeled portions into his own deepening reserves.
All without a thought to consequences.
. . .
Restlessness drove Argent into the midnight sky. He’d delved heedlessly, imbibed deeply, and taken so much, his wilder impulses brimmed over. Leaping higher, he strove to outrun the prickle under his skin. Tingles burned along his spine, setting every hair on end. He sprang higher, until his breath came in steaming gasps, crystalizing in thin air, falling toward the moonwashed landscape far below.
What was this sensation? Argent grappled with memories long buried. What had she done to him?
Biting clarity slammed him to a standstill. Suspended in the silent expanse, he took stock until he was certain, then went limp. How had he missed something so obvious? How could he have forgotten? Argent somersaulted out of control, tumbling muzzle over tails.
He halted the giddying plunge, righting himself and surging toward Smythe land. Like tides to the shore, like stars in their courses, like the moon silvering the tips of his seven tails, his path was fixed. And its end was her.
. . .
