Page 69 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
“I can see you are worried.” Hisoka generously offered, “Have it and be done. Only then can we move forward.”
And so Michael made his bed on the floor and lit two candles to read by, for his guests favored firelight and moonlight to harsher conventions. He sprawled on his stomach, chin propped on a fist as he worked his way through a thick dossier. The hour grew late, then early, and the only sounds in the room were the dance of twin flames, the slow turn of pages, and the stealthy approach of a rust-colored cat roughly the size of their sedan.
Finally.
Whether driven by instinct or by resolve, Deece curled against Michael’s hip. Silent vibrations suggested that the young male had found some small measure of trust. A good start. And a welcome distraction from the disturbing story unfolding through crisp reaver reports, rambling victim testimonies, an excess of medical jargon, and glossy photographs of crime scenes that spanned three continents.
At some point toward dawn, Hisoka slipped out, presumably to prowl the perimeter. Head aching, heart sick, Michael snuffed the guttering candles and dropped into an exhausted doze.
. . .
Michael woke to fur. Lots andlotsof fur. But not the encompassing wall of pewter he remembered from his school days. This was brindled mahogany, and his predicament was akin to those nights when Minx decided she wanted to share the bed with him and Sansa.
To sleep this deeply, Deece must have pushed himself to exhaustion’s edge, worrying over coming into intimate contact with a reaver. Yet he’d changed. Overnight. Then again, felines were notorious for running hot or cold in their attitudes. Hisoka was the only cat Michael had ever met who could pull offwarm.
Working an arm free, he stroked the sleeping feline, earning a basso purr that cut short the moment Deece woke. Michael quietly said, “It’s only me.”
Deece’s head lifted, and orange eyes considered the man he’d been using as a pillow.
Michael said, “You seem more comfortable in this form.”
The cat tensed, poised to spring away.
“I won’t harm you,” he promised. “And I understand your reservations. Most Amaranthine I’ve known can’t explainwhythey crave a reaver’s tending. Are you afraid I’ll hold some power over you? That you’ll regret giving in to curiosity?”
Deece’s gaze slipped sideways.
“Your clan must have high hopes for you.”
Nothing.
“And your uncle must cherish you.”
An ear twitched.
Michael went back to threading his fingers through thick fur. “He left so many responsibilities behind, yet he isn’t rushing you. And if you’ll pardon the self-adulation, he brought you tome.”
Deece’s gaze was back on him.
“Your uncle knows I have excellent control. I can hold back all but the barest whiff of power. There’s no chance you’ll be overwhelmed.” Michael offered a small smile. “We could try a little now, while it’s just the two of us. Not a proper tending, of course. It would be more like … catching the scent of distant flowers. Barely there, yet discernable.”
The cat’s tail flicked in Michael’s periphery.
“I should warn you. As a ward, I’m used to weaving the essence of my soul into barriers to hold others at bay. But tending gives me the chance to hold someone close.” Michael quietly confessed, “I get terribly attached.”
Deece shifted over him, planting paws on either side of Michael’s chest. Posturing.
Michael let his arms fall to either side, calm despite the naïve bid for dominance. He probably shouldn’t mention that he was the highest ranked ward to come out of Ingress in centuries. Deece was skittish enough. Yet here was more proof of how much Hisoka-sensei doted on this boy. He was providing his nephew the edge that only came from mingling with potent souls.
Lowering his head, Deece touched his tongue to Michael’s forehead. Permission.
Michael responded slowly and with great care. Like the scattering sparks that rise over stirred embers, there and gone in the same instant. Like dropping granules of salt one by one until they tip the balance. Just enough to hint at the shape, sense, and scent of Deece’s unwarranted fear.
Deece’s head canted to one side, whiskers aquiver.
“Did you feel that?” Michael murmured.
The cat nosed at his chest as if searching for something lost.
