Page 135 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
“Argent? Gingko?” The man looked between them, radiating concern. “Should I bring Sansa?”
“No need. This is a clan matter.” To Gingko, Argent said, “Remove your shirt.”
Michael took Tsumiko’s arm, murmuring, “We should leave them to it.”
But Gingko blurted, “Let her stay!” His hands were shaking, and his eyes pleaded with her. “Stay with me.”
Until that moment, Tsumiko hadn’t realized how much Gingko feared his father. “May I?” she asked.
“By all means.” Argent laid aside his own shirt. “Do you want Michael as well?”
Gingko nodded jerkily, and Michael was at his elbow, murmuring reassurances.
Argent eased closer, touching his son’s shoulder. “Direct contact is necessary. Will you trust me?”
“Can I?”
“Always.”
The answer seemed to surprise Gingko. But he shuffled forward, trembling.
“Idiot,” Argent grumbled, placing his hand atop his son’s head, then tugging gently at one silvery ear. “There is nothing to fear, kit. You are coming into your heritage.”
. . .
Gingko’s body ached and burned, but he didn’t understand what was needed. Usually, all he craved was tending, but this was fundamentally different. And frightening.
“Hurts,” he whimpered.
Immediately, his ears drooped in anticipation of mockery. Surely his father would ridicule the weakness he’d likely inherited from the woman he despised most.
“What is wrong?”
Gingko flinched as his father’s hands closed around his shoulders. But the bite of claws never came, only firm guidance as his father aligned their bodies. Pulling him in until their chests touched. Blaze to blaze, cheek to cheek.
His dad’s voice rumbled through him, husky with a growl that held no trace of anger. “Take pride,” he said. “You may yet show proof of the strength you carry.”
“Proof?”
“Display for me,” he ordered.
Was he in trouble? Gingko gulped. “Don’t know how.”
“Some part of you does. Here.” Argent’s hand swept down his spine, coming to rest at its base. With his other hand, he held Gingko in place against him.
The blaze on his chest burned, and power roared in his ears. His father’s power pushed against him, overwhelmingly dark and thick. So different from Tsumiko’s brightness. It pressed into Gingko, sliding into his deep places and adding fire to his bones.
“Hurts,” he managed again, hiding his face against his dad’s shoulder.
“I know. Bear with me.” His father’s voice remained so calm, so in control. “Come here, Tsumiko. Tend to him while I help him find his way. You should be able to add balance, since he carries the blood of your ancestor.”
“I can help there.” Michael’s voice began a steady stream of instruction.
Gingko felt her arms slip around him from one side. Her hand found his blaze, and this time, his whimper was relief. Tsumiko’s light rose up in counter to Argent’s darkness. Not at war, but like his dad had said—evening things out. And calming his fears. She and Michael wouldn’t let anything bad happen.
Pain ebbing, Gingko became aware of a tight curl under his skin. His dad had been trying to draw attention to it, his fingers massaging the spot in a tight circle low on his back.
“Here,” Argent repeated. “Rise from here.”
