Morning light leaks through the cracked shutters in thin stripes across the tangled wreck of sheets and limbs that is us. I wake first, like always, ears twitching at the faint clatter of carts outside, tail already curled three times around Master’s thigh, holding him trapped against me. My cheek is pressed to his chest, rising and falling with his slow breaths, one arm locked around his waist, claws lightly hooked into his skin so he can’t shift without me knowing. Blonde hair spills everywhere, over his shoulder, across my face, mingling with his until no one could tell where I end and he begins.
The door still hangs crooked off its hinges, a jagged mouth letting cold air and hallway noise seep in, but Master doesn’t even glance at it. He’s had worse rooms, worse nights, worse mornings. And now he has me. That’s all that matters. I nuzzle higher.
I’m halfway through purring louder, when heavy boots thunder down the corridor. My ears snap flat, a snarl ripping out of me before the knock even lands. The leader from last night shoves the broken door aside and steps in without waiting, face grim but different now, calculating, almost respectful. He stops just inside the threshold, eyes flicking over the spear and shield I left within reach, then to the way I’m wrapped around Master like a living chain.
I’m on my knees in an instant, body arched between him and Master, tail bushed huge, claws out, lips peeled back in a vicious hiss. Blonde hair falls wild over my shoulders, blue eyes slitted and glowing. One hand plants on Master’s chest, pinning him protectively to the mattress even though he doesn’t need it, the other reaches for the spear haft, fingers curling around it, ready to drive the copper iron point through the leader’s throat if he so much as breathes wrong.
But the man raises both hands, slow, palms out. “Easy, kitten,” he mutters, voice rough but lacking last night’s venom. “Not here to drag anyone out. Here to hire you. Properly this time. After last night… council wants people who can get things done quiet and messy when needed. You two just proved you’re exactly that.”
My snarl doesn’t fade, but my ears flick forward a fraction, listening. The spear stays leveled at his chest, tail lashing hard.
Master stirs beneath me, his chest rising slow and deep, and the low murmur rolls out of him. “Give us some embercrack tea and we’ll be right with you.”
That’s all. No glance at the splintered door, no flicker of annoyance at the man still standing in our room, no memory of last night’s swords and threats. Just calm, lazy command, as if the leader is a servant who wandered in with breakfast instead of the same fool who tried to drag us out hours ago.
My ears flick back hard, a fresh snarl vibrating in my throat. The spear is still gripped tight in my right hand, shield strapped to my left forearm, tail bushed huge and lashing side to side, slapping the mattress with sharp thumps. Every hair on my body bristles at the audacity of this intruder thinking he can come back, thinking he can offer anything to my Master without begging on his knees first.
But Master’s words sink into me He’s not worried. He’s not even bothered. Which means I decide how much blood gets spilled this morning.
I uncoil from my protective crouch, rising to my full height between the leader and the bed, spear tip lifting until it hovers a finger’s breadth from the man’s throat. My tail snaps around Master’s ankle under the sheets, looping twice, anchoring me to him even as I lean forward.
“Embercrack tea,” I echo, voice a velvet hiss dripping with venom and mockery. “Hot. Strong. Two cups. One for my Master, one for me. You have until the steam stops rising to bring it back here, or I’ll carve a new smile across your neck and drink it from your skull instead.”
My free hand reaches back without looking, fingers sliding possessively over Master’s chest, claws dragging lightly through the fabric to feel his heartbeat, steady, perfect, mine.
The leader swallows, eyes flicking from the spear point to Master’s bored expression, then back to my slitted, glowing stare. He backs up a step, hands still raised, and nods once, jerky.
I don’t lower the spear until he’s out in the corridor. Only then do I let it fall, spinning to pounce back onto the bed. I drop my face to his neck, inhaling deep.
My purr erupts, broken and trembling. “You didn’t even flinch,” I whisper against his pulse, voice cracking with manic adoration. “You sent him running twice now. All mine. My perfect, untouchable Master.”
We push out of the room just as the first weak rays of morning claw through the guildhall windows, the broken door scraping uselessly behind us. The leader trails a few steps back, muttering something about schedules and briefings, but I ignore him, my focus locked entirely on Master. My tail snaps around his wrist the instant we hit the corridor, looping tight.
He's half asleep still, eyes hooded, steps dragging in that uncharacteristic haze that makes my fur bristle with worry. He bumps into a low bench first, knee clipping the edge with a dull thud, then veers into a hanging tapestry, the fabric against his shoulder as he rights himself without a word. My ears flatten, a low whine slipping out before I can stop it, his brain isn't what I'm used to prowling through. I lean in close, nose twitching, drawing in his scent deep and deliberate, letting it flood my senses until I can taste the edges of his thoughts through our bond.
It's... empty. Not crowded, shadowy or full of secrets and schemes where I love to lurk. No, this is a vast, echoing room, plenty of space to roam, walls stretching endless, but barren, no furniture to hide behind, no whispers to chase, no dark nooks to curl up in and watch his mind spin webs. Just quiet, sleepy void, and it makes my chest ache with a frantic need to fill it, to wake him up, to make him whole again so I can dive back in and never surface.
I press tighter against his side, arm sliding through his, tail squeezing his wrist harder, rubbing my cheek along his bicep. My purr starts low and urgent, vibrating against him, willing some of my manic energy to seep through the bond and spark him back to life. "Master," I murmur, voice soft but edged with that desperate adoration, "watch the corner, there's a crate." I guide him with a gentle tug, body molding to his like a second skin, ears swiveling to catch every shuffle of his boots.
We reach the council chambers without more incidents, the heavy doors creaking open under the leader's shove. The room is dim, morning light filtering through high windows in pale shafts, the long table still scattered with last night's maps and empty goblets. A few councilors mill about, faces turning our way with wary nods, but Master doesn't acknowledge them. He heads straight for the sideboard where a steaming pot of embercrack tea waits, fresh, sharp, the bitter, mushroom scent.
His movements are automatic, foggy, and I watch with wide eyes as he grabs two shallow bowls from a stack, strangely two bowls instead of the usual mugs or cups, like his hands forgot the shape of things. He pours the dark, steaming liquid into them with a slow tilt, overfilling one until it sloshes over the rim, dripping onto the wood. The councilors exchange glances, the leader clears his throat awkwardly, but I don't care about them. My tail lashes once, then curls back around Master's leg, anchoring me.
I snatch one of the bowls before he can set it down wrong, inhaling the steam deep, letting the embercrack bite wake my senses sharper. But my free hand reaches for him, claws grazing his knuckles, rubbing slow circles over his skin. "Here, Master," I whisper, voice trembling. "Drink. It'll chase the fog away." I nuzzle his shoulder, purring louder now, body leaning into him.
We settle at the long council table, Master dropping into a chair. I slide in right beside him of course. My spear and shield lean against the chair leg within easy reach, because even in the heart of the guildhall I trust nothing that isn’t him.
The bowl of embercrack tea steams in front of him. He wraps both hands around it like it’s a steaming mug of broth, lifts it to his lips, and just… sips. Slow, messy sips, head tilted forward, elbows on the table, hunched over it like some back alley goblin nursing the only warm thing he’s seen in days. A few drops spill down his chin, he doesn’t bother wiping them. The sight punches me straight in the chest.
Mire Point. The memory slams into me. Back home in the fetid heart of Bogclutch, Master looks just like one of them right now, my brilliant, lethal, untouchable Master reduced to a sleepy goblin slurping his breakfast.
I stare, transfixed, claws digging lightly into the tabletop. The councilors are talking, something about routes, schedules, hazard pay, but their voices are just buzzing insects. All I see is him, all I feel is the bond thrumming with that strange, hollow quiet still echoing inside his head.
My own bowl sits untouched in front of me. I could drink it properly, lift it dainty in one hand, sip like a civilized thing. Or… A slow, wicked grin spreads across my face, sharp and feral.
I slide off the chair without a sound, dropping to all fours right there on the cold floor beside his seat. Tail high, ears forward, I crawl under the table’s edge until I’m between his boots. The councilors falter mid sentence, someone clears their throat. I don’t care. Let them watch.
I lower my head to the bowl he pushed toward my place, front braced on either side of it, and lap. Long, deliberate strokes of my tongue, gathering the hot, bitter embercrack straight from the surface, purring loud enough that the vibration hums through the table legs into his shins. My eyes stay locked on his face the whole time, slitted and glowing, daring him to notice, to wake up, to give me even a flicker of that sharp mind I’m starving for.
I lap until the bowl is half empty, until the taste burns sharp down my throat and the steam bathes my face, until my purr is a constant, rolling growl of devotion and mischief. Then I sit back on my haunches, lick my chin clean with slow, exaggerated swipes of my tongue, and rest my cheek on his knee under the table.
My pupils blow wide open, blue irises shrinking. My tail bushes out huge, thrashing so hard it knocks over a chair with a crash that echoes off the rafters. I surge up from the floor in one explosive leap, landing on the table itself, boots thudding onto polished wood, bowls rattling, papers . The councilors jerk back, one of them actually falling out of his seat, but I don’t see them
My heart is hammering so fast it feels like it’s trying to claw its way out of my chest and into his. Every nerve is singing, screaming, alive. My claws scrape deep gouges into the tabletop as I stalk straight across it toward him, tail lashing wild arcs, ears pinned forward, grin splitting my face so wide it hurts.
“Master..Master..Master..Master..”
The word runs out of me in a manic rush, high and breathless and cracked with pure, unfiltered delirium. My face is inches from his, nose almost brushing his, eyes huge and glowing and completely, gloriously wrecked on caffeine.
I can’t stop moving. I press my forehead to his, panting hot and fast, tail coiling around his wrist and yanking his hand up to my throat because I need him to feel how fast my pulse is racing.
“Master,” I whine, the sound breaking into a manic giggle that bubbles up and spills over, “too much embercrack and not enough you, fix it fix it please.” I’m shaking, grinning, wild, every inch of me buzzing with a frantic pulse.
Master’s hand settles on my head, fingers dragging slow and firm from top to bottom in that single, grounding pat that cuts through the caffeine storm, and then he turns to the leader, voice already sliding back into that cool, wakeful noir drawl: “Alright. Talk.”
“New player on the east” the leader growls, voice pitched low so the scribes in the corner can pretend they’re not listening. “Showed up three weeks ago, started undercutting our tariffs, poaching runners, burning two of our warehouses like it was a greeting card.” He shoves the pouch forward until it stops an inch from Master’s bowl. “We’ve had enough of this new one squatting on our turf. Guild territory lines have been drawn in blood for decades, this city’s carved up neat, and nobody gets to redraw the map without paying the toll.”
His fingers drum the table, impatient. “There’s a mid level fixer from their side coming in tonight. Neutral ground, Name’s Varkis Reed. We want you two to sit pretty, buy him a drink, and pull everything he knows about their supply routes, backers, and drop points. Quiet if you can. Loud if you have to.” His gaze flicks to me for the first time, just a flash, and I bare my fangs in a slow, lazy grin that promises loud would be so much more fun. “Silver on the table is half up front. Other half when Reed’s either singing or bleeding.”
The pouch sits there glinting, fat and arrogant, like it thinks it can buy us. My tail lashes once, hard, slapping Master’s ankle in a possessive snap. The embercrack is still sizzling through my veins, making every heartbeat feel like a war drum, and the thought of some upstart daring to anger the streets makes the fur along my spine bristle electric.
I lean forward over the table, slow and deliberate, letting my cloak slide off one shoulder so the dark blue collar at my throat catches the lamplight, Master’s Property etched in silver thread for anyone stupid enough to forget. My claws rake lightly across the wood as I drag the pouch toward us, not asking, just taking, because everything offered to Master automatically belongs to me too. The coins clink inside.
“Cartel,” I purr, voice syrupy and razor sharp, rolling the name around my tongue like I’m tasting how it’ll sound screamed. “Pretty name for people about to learn what happens when fresh meat wanders into a den that’s already marked.” I tip the pouch just enough for a cascade of silver to spill across the table. My ears flick forward, tail tightening around Master’s leg until my fluff brushes his skin under the fabric. “We’ll meet your little fixer. We’ll smile. We’ll buy him that drink.”
I rise up on my knees, leaning over Master’s shoulder so my chest presses to his back, arms sliding around his neck from behind in a stranglehold. My cheek rubs slow and deliberate along his jaw, marking him again because the room is full of eyes and I want every single one to remember whose territory this really is. “And when we’re done,” I whisper loud enough for the whole table to hear, “Varkis Reed will tell us everything. Who signs their ledgers. Which throats we slit first.”
My claws trace idle circles on Master’s collarbone through his tunic, light enough not to break skin but firm enough. The embercrack high is cresting now, making my pupils huge, my grin manic wide. “This city’s been carved up neat, you said. Good. We like neat. We’ll just carve our initials a little deeper into the new kids until they remember whose streets these are.”
Master’s voice cuts through the chamber, “Fair enough. I suppose we could head that way.”
The words are casual, almost bored, but they land in my blood like molten silver. My ears snap forward so hard the tips tremble, tail lashing once in a wild arc before it coils even tighter around his waist.
Then his hand settles over mine, warm, heavy, deliberate. Fingers spread across my knuckles, pinning my claws gently to his chest. “Good cat,” he murmurs, low enough that it’s meant just for me, but loud enough that the nearest hear it and pretend they didn’t.
The praise detonates behind my ribs. A shudder rolls through my whole body, violent and electric. My purr erupts in a broken, jagged roar. I arch into his touch instantly, pressing my cheek hard against his palm, rubbing slow, desperate circles, smearing my scent into his skin like I’m trying to brand it permanently.
“Good cat,” he said. Good cat.
The words loop in my head, manic and intoxicating, drowning out everything else. My claws flex under his hand, not scratching, just kneading in tiny, worshipful pulses against his tunic. I twist in his lap until I’m facing him fully.
I don’t care that the leader is still standing there, that the councilors are shifting awkwardly in their seats. Let them see exactly what “good cat” does to me.
I drag my lips up to his ear,“All for you, Master. Every drop of blood we spill tonight, every secret we tear out of that fixer’s throat, every scream we wring from their little cartel, it’s all because you called me good.I’ll make them regret ever looking at the streets. I’ll make the east run red just to hear you say it again.”
