Page 157 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
More than anything, Argent dreaded the moment he would need to pull free. On their last attempt, he could have killed her. Even now, the backlash of a broken link could punish either of them. Maybe both.
But the sting of the whip never came. And Hisoka’s voice was in his ear. “She is free. You are next.”
Was it possible?
“It is safe to fight,” said Lapis. “Rise up. Break away.”
Argent drew upon his considerable resources, brandishing the full flourish of his tails with a snarl of defiance. Something snapped, and he recoiled, swaying back into a combined embrace. Hisoka steadied him with an arm around his shoulders; Lapis had him by the waist. Power roared in Argent’s ears as he struggled against the indignity of a swoon.
And then Michael’s arms were around him, and the man was laughing and crying.
“Foolish boy,” murmured Argent, trying not to cling too desperately.
Gingko pushed into their huddle, displacing Lapis as a pillar of support. “Well?” he demanded. “Did it work?”
Surrounded as he was by people taller than he, Argent couldn’t see Tsumiko. Worse, he couldn’t feel her. Not a trace. Which should have been a herald of success, but Argent’s stomach plunged. Pushing past the rest, he stumbled in his urgency to reach Tsumiko. She was alive, but anxious. Pale and patient in her vow of silence. Unfettered, yet bound by an unchanging desire.
“Did itwork?” Gingko repeated.
Argent put the matter to the test in an act of flagrant disobedience; he kissed her.
SIXTY FIVE
Gingko Grove
Argent glanced up when Gingko slammed into their chamber and formed a hasty sigil to camouflage the door behind him. A flimsy attempt. Subtly reinforcing the ward, Argent ensured his son’s barricade would hold. He looked as if he needed a little room to breathe.
Gingko’s hair had been trimmed and brushed to glossy perfection, and he was dressed with a delicate extravagance that suited the Mettlebright clan’s ancestral home. But his tail was puffed to twice its usual size, and his ears were nearly flat against his skull. He looked for all the world like a kitten in need of escape from a doting mistress. The only thing lacking was a satin bow around his neck.
Keeping his tone light, Argent remarked, “Your grandmother has taken a liking to you.”
Swearing softly, Gingko turned and went very still. “Dad?”
“Tsk. You sound uncertain.”
His son edged closer, gaze wandering from top to toe and back again. “What happened to you?”
“Tradition.” Argent turned the question around. “What happened to you?”
Gingko grimaced.
“Come.” Even though he may have been little more than a last resort, Argent was gratified that his son stepped so quickly into the offered refuge of his arms. Gingko had come along to claim his place as Argent’s son and heir. Their household would be entered into the family registry during tonight’s grand celebration.
Argent smoothed his thumb over the embroidered crest proudly displayed on Gingko’s finery—a nested pair of golden leaves on a field of Mettlebright blue, their fanning edges silvered by frost. “Well?” he prompted.
“I want my jeans back. And a long, empty beach. And my garden.”
“And Lilya?”
“Her and little bro, too.” Gingko barely kept the whine from his voice. “How much longer are they gonna drag this out?”
“I was gone for averylong time, and I have returned with a son. Such things tend to cause a stir.” Argent sighed. “Before I could advance, I needed to return here, to conclude my proving journey, to be recognized, to claim a place.”
“Thisisn’t our place,” whispered Gingko.
“Indeed, no.” Argent allowed a little of his own restlessness past the serene face he’d shown to those of his home den. “Our clan will have us for a little while longer, but they cannot hold us.”
“Nice for a change.”
