Page 7 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
Anyone with a glimmer of potential was snatched young and raised in the In-between’s world of wards and warriors. But this girl was no common reaver. Surely, she was a beacon. And untouched. Argent’s mouth watered, and he touched the tip of his tongue to a fang. In millennia long past, his kind would have feasted on such a soul and known satisfaction.
This new mistress should have gathered up her power to fend him off, but the little fool showed all the innocence of a child lost in the wood—too trusting and deliciously vulnerable. Her excess trailed outward, brushing up against his darkness.
Had no one warned her about predators?
Oh, how he would have loved to toy with her in the old way and teach her fear. But those were pretty daydreams, made possible by the feeding Michael had pressed on him the night before. Without it, Argent would have been on his knees, drunk on this childish woman’s dazzling soul.
“Here, miss. This has been passed down through many generations—very old, very reliable.” Michael brought out a strand of amethyst beads much like his own. “It’s important that you wear this at all times.”
“What does it do?” she asked.
“The bracelet is a ward. In a sense, it hides you.”
“Why do I need to hide?”
With a low chuckle, Michael said, “Trust me, miss. All manner of Amaranthine will be attracted to a soul like yours. And wedon’twant that kind of attention.”
As soon as Michael locked the clasp, the thick haze of power vanished. To Argent’s utter mortification, he missed it … wanted more … might even beg for it. And with that knowledge came fury. Because when the time came to renew the bond, it would take. And strongly. Because he wanted another taste of this girl’s rare soul, even if the cost was another lifetime of obedience.
SIX
Generational Bond
Tsumiko wasn’t accustomed to staring at people; she had no wish to be rude. But the person before her was strange in wonderful ways. The articles Mr. West had passed along often extolled the beauty of the inhuman races, and they hadn’t exaggerated. High cheekbones, pointed ears, silver hair framing a lean face, and icy blue eyes with cat-slit pupils—her new butler had an otherworldly aesthetic. Formal Western attire only added to his elegance.
But he was glaring. And that worried her.
“Are you sure we should go through with this?” she asked Michael.
“The sooner, the better,” he said. “I’ve reviewed all the forms, and it won’t take long. I also prepared an inner room, so we’ll have a bit of privacy.”
“There’s no one else here.” Tsumiko darted a glance in Argent’s direction, but the butler’s stoicism gave away nothing.
“It’s safer. These things are usually done under lock and key.” Michael hustled them into a parlor with draped windows. “And Argent will need to … well … as you can see.”
Tsumiko followed the man’s gaze and immediately averted her eyes. “Why is Argent undressing?” she asked in a tight voice.
“Only partially,” Michael said, all apology. “To uncover his blaze.”
“Which is …?”
“In simple terms, a focal point for his essence. Many consider the mark secret, even sacred. That’s why we’re giving Argent as much privacy as possible.” Michael’s rambling explanation drew up short, and he quietly added, “You and I will be the only humans left who’ve seen it.”
“If it’s so private, why show me at all?”
“Skin-to-skin contact is necessary.”
Tsumiko stood rigid, inwardly berating herself for not asking the kinds of questions that would have prepared her for silvery hair, icy hauteur, and bared blazes. None of the paperwork she’d signed had hinted at intimate contact.
She was still bothered that when she accepted the Hajime-Smythe fortune, she’d become more than an employer for one Amaranthine butler. She’dinheritedhim, as if he were a thing rather than a person. He was a Hajime family heirloom, and a well-loved one. Lady Eimi’s personal letter had carried her final wish.
Tending to our Amaranthine, my most precious bequest, falls to you. Forgive me for imposing upon you, niece, but I must trust someone. And so I am trusting you.
Michael took her elbow and guided her to Argent, who’d laid aside coat, vest, and tie. His starched white shirt hung open. Tsumiko tried not to look, but an unexpected splash of color drew her gaze to his pale chest. Wisps and whorls of forget-me-not blue seemed to have been painted directly onto his skin. The pattern wasn’t quite a flower, yet it was as beautiful as any bloom. And it felt familiar.
Suddenly, she realized where she’d seen it before. “It looks just like …” But she cut herself off. If the mark was something personal, her comment might offend.
“Foxfire,” finished Michael. “I’ve always thought his blaze resembles a wisp of foxfire.”
