EIGHTEEN
Eastern Bride
Sinder limped along the path to his new quarters. Zisa’s guest house was small by any standard, but it wasn’t a comfortless, woods-damp tent. And it was safe. Right now, Sinder desperately needed that sense of security.
Even with Michaelson absent from their ranks, the recruits were getting on nicely, and Sinder was hiding fresh bruises. He’d barely managed to convince Torloo he could make it back on his own. It wasn’t that far. It wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t going to get any easier.
All Sinder wanted was a soft bed. And he wouldn’t refuse a dosing once Timur finished up his First Day duties with the campers. Sinder stumbled and swore, quickly straightening when he realized that Fend was sprawled across Zisa’s doorstep. Very much alert.
“I’m fine,” Sinder muttered.
Fend’s lids lowered a fraction. So skeptical.
With a hushing motion, he eased around the big feline. “Between you and me, this is nothing compared to what’s ahead. So leave it.”
A foolish demand. Fend couldn’t exactly spread Sinder’s paltry secrets.
He laid back his ears and glared.
“You know, you’re probably right.” Indulging in a tired sigh, Sinder whispered, “I like that about cats.”
Darned if the big feline didn’t roll his eyes. Fend rose, stretched, and walked away, tail lashing.
Pushing through the door, Sinder drew up short. As grateful as he’d been for the company that Timur and Mikoto provided, he’d expected an empty house at this hour. Instead, he walked in on what could only be described as a drinking party.
Ginkgo lifted a beer bottle in greeting. “Grab a seat, Sinder. I’ll pour you a glass.”
Zisa frisked forward to kiss Sinder. “Welcome home.”
“I didn’t realize you were entertaining.” Absentmindedly returning the greeting, he tallied up the tree’s guest list.
Waaseyaa sat in the corner, cradling Timur’s sleeping son.
Ginkgo’s mood was as high as his color.
The man in their midst pushed up his glasses and offered a small nod.
“Salali captured him and brought him to me.” Zisa fluttered over to the man, draping himself around the newcomer’s shoulders. “He is mine now.”
Rather than deny the tree’s claim, the man smiled and touched Zisa’s arms.
Sinder’s synapses belatedly fired, and he put a name to the face. “You’ve kidnapped Lord Mossberne’s eastern bride?”
Tenma Subaru’s hands formed a greeting. “Hello, Sinder.”
Did everyone know his name?
Ginkgo grinned, “You’ve met Tenma?”
“No.” With an apologetic posture to soften a blunt truth, Sinder admitted, “I’ve seen his file.”
Tenma stood and offered his hand. “Nice to meet you. Sorry for imposing.”
“Not a problem,” he lied.
Something in the man’s expression shifted, and he firmly said, “Sit by me.”
“Yeah, join us.” Ginkgo was already pouring a fresh glass, and he picked up the thread of the story he’d been telling. Something involving Isla, who was clearly a mutual friend.
Sinder eased to a seat at the crowded little table. Zisa plied him with snacks, but he only picked at them. A hand found Sinder’s under the table. Tenma never looked away from Ginkgo as his fingers slid between Sinder’s, pressing a crystal between their palms.
An offer?
Pretending fascination with the foam on his drink, Sinder triggered the ward that promised privacy. Almost at once, Tenma was there. A willing soul.
Sinder liked both the offer of comfort and the challenge it represented. Could he indulge without tipping off the others at the table? Probably not if Waaseyaa had been the one offering, but Tenma’s reserves were modest. And unique.
If he were entirely honest, Sinder hadn’t only seen Tenma’s file, he’d helped compile it. He knew what this was. He even knew what to do—theoretically. Sinder tried a little squeeze that was supposed to mean, Sure about this?
Two heart thuds later, Tenma pulled Sinder’s hand into his lap and covered it with his other.
So he composed himself outwardly and worked on a little inner investment. Because according to reports, Tenma Subaru turned pebbles into gemstones and dewdrops into deepening pools. Give a little; gain the sky.
“Hey, there.” A hand lightly pressed Sinder’s forehead, and he twisted away from it. “Come on, Damsel. You’re getting heavy. Tenma’s only human, you know.”
Sinder’s eyes popped open, and he groaned.
Ginkgo chuckled. “Rough day?”
“Worst for me. Best for those recruits.” Reluctantly pulling away from Tenma’s warmth, he was grateful when the man didn’t let go of his hand. “Can’t really complain, since that’s the goal.”
“You should have said something,” grumbled the fox crosser, who was such a nanny. “Are you hurt?”
“Me? I’m in heaven.” Which wasn’t really a lie. Tenma had a rep for good reason.
Tenma quietly contradicted. “He’s in pain.”
Ginkgo growled. “Want me to find Colt Alpenglow?”
“No.” Easing more of his weight off Tenma, Sinder muttered, “Rather have Michaelson.”
“No kidding?” Ginkgo looked ready to tease, but the door swung open.
Daylight was softening toward twilight, and Mikoto stood uncertainly on the threshold, eyes rimmed in red and ankles imperiled by his little nipper of a pup. The young man’s confusion was no different than Sinder’s upon finding the house cram-packed.
“Good evening?”
Mikoto didn’t sound sure, and he looked emotionally mangled. Could be grieving, yet. Sinder didn’t know the kid well enough to say for certain.
Waaseyaa stood and passed the napping little one to Ginkgo. Hurrying to Mikoto, he drew the young man further into the room and closed the door behind him. Zisa was there with soft words and tiptoe kisses, which Mikoto bowed his head to accept. He outstripped these ancients, yet he seemed young and lost and entirely overwhelmed.
Ginkgo gave them several moments, then repeated his earlier question. “Rough day?”
Mikoto nodded.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here. You can shore up our gap. Once Timur arrives, Sinder will have a full harem.”
Sinder couldn’t help but snort. “A harem full of males?”
“Perfect for our Damsel.” Ginkgo lowered his voice. “You’re awfully ragged for someone who’s just come off a long sleep.”
Which was true. And sobering.
A chair scraped, and Sinder lost hold of Tenma, who moved around the table to offer his palms to Mikoto.
“Hello. My name is Tenma Subaru. May I know your name?”
With only a moment’s hesitation, the young headman returned the greeting. “Mikoto.”
“And your clan?”
Everyone in the room turned to stare at Tenma.
Pushing at his glasses, he asked, “I apologize. Are you … unaffiliated? Some are, I know.”
Mikoto finally found his voice. “I am Mikoto Reaver.”