Page 11 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
His fingers tightened in her hair, and he pulled her closer.
Tsumiko could see every gray lash fringing his eyes … and the slightly glazed quality of his glare. Michael had said something about reavers’ souls being as addictive as drugs. Was Argent high?
“I hate you,” he repeated.
She tried to nod, but his firm hold kept her from moving. “I don’t blame you.”
He studied her face. “But I want you.”
“That’s harder for me to understand, but I can tell there’s something lacking.” Tsumiko asked, “Do you think it’s because of the bond? I don’t know much about reavers.”
“I hate you.”
She sighed. “I’d probably hate me, too. Is this enough contact? Can you take what you need this way?”
His head dipped, only to jerk sideways. “But I want more.”
“Okay. I’ll try to help.”
Laying flush against his chest, she sought that thin stream and worked at widening the gap. She wasn’t sure she was making a difference until Argent let slip a soft groan. Wrapping both arms around her, he curled to bury his nose against her neck and muttered, “I hate you.”
This time, Tsumiko didn’t believe him.
EIGHT
Reorientation
Argent woke by increments, fighting past an unaccustomed sluggishness. He blinked languidly at the ceiling, sifting through odd sensations and vague impressions. Had he been sleeping? During the day? He wasn’t ill; neither did he seem to be recovering from some injury. On the contrary, he felt good. Better than good, he wasreplete.
How long had it been since a reaver allowed him to take his fill?
Never. His mistresses always left him wanting.
What changed?
A disturbing thought emerged from the pleasurable haze. Had he consumed awholesoul? Surely not. Reavers frowned upon murder as a matter of principle, and Sansa would kill him before allowing him to run rampant. Unless … had all this brimming power somehow gone to his head?
Was Michael safe? Where was Sansa?
Unsettled, Argent shifted under the weight of … ah. His new mistress. Confusion ebbed away, and he adjusted his hold on Tsumiko, whose scent and soul further anchored him.
Judging by the lengthening shadows, they’d slept away most of the day. And during that time, he’d reached a saturation pointwithoutdraining her considerable resources. The excess swirled aimlessly throughout the room, as comforting as the blanket Sansa had tucked around them.
He allowed himself a few minutes to bask. Until he noticed the drool collecting in the vicinity of his collarbone. Loosening his embrace, Argent’s hands slid down Tsumiko’s sides to the gentle swell of her hips, ready to push her away. “Mistress?”
She raised her head and blinked several times. “Argent.”
“Are you quite finished?”
With a mumbled apology, she slid off to kneel on the cushions at his side. “Did you get enough?”
“Somehow.”
Argent waited to see what she would do once the fog of sleep left her eyes. Most of his young mistresses were inclined to shriek or shy away, but Tsumiko spied the drool puddle and dabbed at it with the sleeve of her sweater.
She said, “You have a strange way of eating.”
“Do you mean the kiss?”
