Page 137 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
“Yes.”
“And you’re okay with that, too?”
His dad kind of smirked. “Yes.”
“Even if I can’t figure this out?”
“You will.”
Gingko wished he had half his father’s confidence. “How can you be sure?”
Argent said, “I can make the way more clear.”
He could? Gingko swore softly and complained, “Well, what are you waiting for?”
A flicker of amusement played across his father’s face. And then Gingko’s mind went utterly blank as lips covered his own. What the hell?
Michael cleared his throat. “As you may recall, a kiss is often the traditional avenue for….”
Gingko tuned out the lecture since he already knew this wasn’t a kiss. He’d been in love before and shared plenty of kisses with girls who’d outgrown him while he outlived them. Nope, this was something else entirely.
Brave boy.His dad’s voice was somehow in his head.Let me give you this much, at least.
Give something?
Gingko tried to make sense of the strange sensations. The blaze-blue flames seemed to want a way in, but what for? He craved Tsumiko’s soul, but this was his dad. It wasn’t as if he could take from him since they were both Amaranthine. Well … he was half. And the swirling foxfire was going to consume him. Unless he consumed it first.
Wait.
If it was his Amaranthine half that loved the flavor of a reaver’s soul, what about his human half? Was it his human side that found the flames so enticing? That would explain a lot. Maybe everything.
Because Gingko was part human, he wasn’t a proper fox. But because he was part human, his dad could do something like this. And for the tending to work, Gingko was going to have to do something really scary. Trust Dad.
Clarity brought the needed convergence, and Gingko swayed in the center of a storm. Heaviness and lightness. Giddy warmth and icy flames. Argent Mettlebright and Tsumiko Hajime were the strongest of their kind, but their power didn’t clash. They’d woven their souls together to create a shelter. For him.
Dad wrapped both arms around his shoulders and murmured nonsense in his ear. The same sort of stuff Michael gushed over his children—endearments and praise.
Gingko’s chin trembled. He thought he might be crying. Ducking his head, he grabbed hold. Blood welled up under his claws, but his father didn’t flinch away. Thick blood flowed over hot skin, and its scent filled Gingko’s nose, anchoring him in one of those visceral ways Michael always harped about.
His dad. His blood. His birthright.
With a soft whine, Gingko felt a piece of himself peel away. Spilling outward but still linked, it hung limp to the floor, bringing a coo of delight from Tsumiko. Michael gave a low whistle, and Gingko stirred enough to crane his neck. A fox’s tail trailed to the floor behind him, white-tipped silver like his father’s.
“Well done.”
Argent’s voice was a purr of pride. The quiver it sent through Gingko’s ears was familiar enough. Entirely new was the way happiness now translated into the gentle sway of his tail.
SIXTY ONE
Counting Costs
A few days later, Tsumiko stumbled across Michael and Deece in one of the small parlors. The two sat with eyes closed, hands entwined, their faces wholly taken by matching expressions of peace. She hadn’t meant to interrupt, but Deece stirred from his reverie, ever on guard, and Michael turned her way.
“Good morning, Tsumiko. Did you need either of us?”
“I was looking for Gingko.”
“Ah. He’s not here.” Michael held up a hand and clarified. “Gingko left the estate. He passed through the wards yesterday and has yet to return.”
