Page 129 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
Here and there, he left a footprint on a snowy ridgepole. A patronizing touch. Like a parent’s game with weanling kits just learning to track.
Senna’s sharp yap was unladylike in the extreme.
Nona’s growl encouraged a fresh burst of speed.
Tsumiko remained quiet, tucked up against him, her hand resting over his blaze in silent offer of support. It was his bound duty to make sure she survived this, yet there was no pinch of obligation. Because she made no demands, he was free to choose this. To choose her.
Wild urges begged for his attention. This wasn’t the time to indulge them, but he refused to banish them. Not when they werehis. Argent was remembering himself. Relearning himself. And reveling in the rise of instincts—pure as moonlight, clear as skies, and as exhilarating as the wind in one’s tails.
She was trembling, and he nuzzled her hair. “Are you afraid?”
“C-cold.” Tsumiko smiled wanly. “Are they following?”
“Close on our heels. Though not as close as they think.”
“An illusion?” She stretched to peek over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t a nine-tail fox be immune to tricks?”
“You would think.” Argent chuckled darkly. “If I had shown them the impossible, they might suspect, but I have only given what they expected to gain.”
“Good,” she murmured.
“Very.”
“Does that mean you’ve drawn them into a fox dream?”
Argent huffed. “So you know about those? I suppose Michael warned you what I can do.”
“I’ve experienced one.” Her brows knit. “Don’t you remember? You showed me those two—Senna and Nona.”
“I would remember such a thing,” he countered. But she had no reason to lie. And now that he thought of it, how did Tsumiko know the second vixen’s name?
Tsumiko cheeks colored to match the rosy pink of her nose. “You were different, but you were you.”
That blush intrigued Argent. “I will hear more about this dream we shared.”
He was making her uncomfortable, and Kyrie picked up on it. This was hardly the best time for the boy to prove that he knew how to cry. Tsumiko did her best to hush him.
“Relax. His cries will only serve to intrigue.” Argent rumbled soothingly to Kyrie even as he wove the baby’s cries into his illusion. Telltale whimpers to spike the vixens’ curiosity and draw them deeper into his thrall.
“What do they see?” she asked.
“They pursue the seven-tailed reynard Nona remembers from our last skirmish.”
“They think you’ve transformed.”
He hummed an affirmative. But most of his attention was taken up by his search. He needed a setting in which his burgeoning plan could succeed. Somewhere without a human populace, since the reavers wouldn’t thank him for endangering the alliance. The strongholds of the In-between were out as well. Their wards would hinder—or at the very least hamper—his scheme.
Then he spied a spacious tract of open land. Dazzling sigils marked the boundaries of a forested compound. But they weren’t anchors for any sort of barrier. Only markers to broadcast the claim of its owner.
Typical. And world famous.
Up until the Emergence, this property was thought to be the ancestral estate of a wealthy silk baron, but its front gate had become a regular feature on international news channels, the backdrop for countless press conferences. This was the Starmark compound, home to the leader of the dog clans.
If Argent could pull this off, it would be an exquisite deception.
Sailing past the boundary, he modified his illusion, crafting sigils on the fly. The challenge sent his blood singing—familiar, but on a scale that excited him. True, he’d carved a haven for himself in the midst of hostile territory. Stately House’s conservatory was a masterpiece of intricate, interlocking sigils. Effective, despite the limits placed on his power. Creating a stage for this scene was similar, yet simpler, for his strength was at its peak. The illusion practically wove itself.
“What’s happening?” whispered Tsumiko.
