Master finally pulls back first, slow, reluctant, his nose dragging one last time along my throat. His hand releases my tail with a final squeeze. The fire roars distant now, orange glow radiating everywhere but up here it's just us, our scents tangled with ownership and joint possession.
He shifts me in his arms, effortless with one hand under my thighs and starts the descent. No leaps this time, he picks his way down the warehouse side, boots finding crates and ledges. I cling the whole way, purring jagged against his neck until the ground is under our feet and Master finally sets me down. I sigh yet I'm molded back to his side.
We walk. Like nothing just happened. Like we didn't cause an explosion. The walk back stretches on. Of course I stay glued with my body brushing his with every stride, claws lightly hooked in his sleeve because distance is threat itself. Through the bond, his mind hums steady with plans and observations running through constantly.
The Sapphire guildhouse looms up ahead, banners flying. The gates are open, unusual this late and as we push through, the courtyard's lit brighter than normal, torches on every wall. My ears prick forward sharp, tail tightening around his leg just because something's off.
The guild master waits dead center as we walk in. his flanked by six guards, blades at hips, eyes hard and waiting. They spot us instantly "You two. Inside. Now."
Master doesn't flinch, just keeps walking, pulling me along like it's another errand. But the guards move two step forward to "escort" us, hands reaching out casual but firm. One grabs Master's arm, fingers closing around his arm.
They touch him, touch my Master. The world snaps red. A snarl rips out of me as my tail bushes huge, ears flattening as I surge forward. My spear's in hand before I think, copper-iron tip gleaming under torchlight, shield snapping up on my forearm. I plant myself between them and him, body coiled low, lips peeled back showcasing my fangs in a grin. The guard who grabbed his arm freezes, fingers still on Master's sleeve, and that's his mistake.
I launch, claws out, spear thrusting once to knock his hand away, then slashing the shaft across his knuckles. He yelps, staggering back, but I'm already on the other one, shield bashing his chest with a thud. "Touch him again," I hiss "and I'll carve your hands off and feed them to you finger by finger. He's mine, mine and you don't get to lay a filthy paw on what's mine."
The guild master barks something, hold, stand down, but the other guards draw iron, circling wary. I don't care. I simply couldn't care less. My purr twists into a growl, body vibrating with rage, eyes slitted as I back up against Master, pressing flat to his front, tail snapping around his waist to anchor us. Through the bond, I feel his calm amusement, that quiet room in his head watching the play, but it only fuels me, makes me bare my teeth wider because no one touches him. No one.
One guard lunges, stupid, sword high and I meet him snarling, spear parrying the blade aside with a clang, then driving the butt into his gut. He doubles over, and I follow with a claw slash across his cheek, shallow, bloody and a fine warning. Another swings at my flank, I duck low on all fours, tail whipping his legs out from under him, then pounce back up to shield bash. They back off quick, breathing hard, blades trembling because yeah, they remember now, that I'm not just some pet. I'm the blade that guards her master, his wife and his shadow.
The guild master steps forward, hands raised slow. "Enough! Stand down all of you." His eyes flick to Master, then me, calculating. "We know about the fire. Sapphire's got questions. Inside, now. No more games."
“Funny enough,” Master then says, not even raising his voice, tone completely neutral, “we were just coming back to give you an update. Shame you had to anger a cat instead of being civil.” He lets the words hang a second, eyes flicking over the guild master. “Oh, and by the way, you owe me a single gold coin on top of our wages. Information cost from the fixer.”
He doesn’t wait for a reply. His hand lifts, fingers finding the base of my right ear, scratching slow and firm in that perfect rhythm. The rage in my blood stutters, then melts into something hotter, needier. My snarl fades to a broken purr, ears twitching forward under his touch as I lean hard into his palm with my eyes slitting half shut.
Then he leans in, lips brushing the soft part of my ear. “Good cat,” he whispers. “You’re such a good wife now, aren’t you.”
The words hit like a brand. My whole body shudders. A high, fractured whine spills out of me before I can stop it. My free hand fists in his tunic, claws pricking skin through fabric, while I turn my face into his neck and rub frantically, cheek, nose, lips, marking him over and over in desperate strokes.
Wife. He called me wife. Not pet. Not kitten. Wife. My ears flatten in overwhelmed bliss, then flick forward again, trembling. I nip the edge of his jaw, sharp, claiming, then soothe it with my tongue.
The guild master clears his throat, loud, awkward. “Inside,” he snaps, but the edge is gone, replaced by something closer to resignation. “Both of you. And keep that damn cat leashed before she guts half my watch.”
Master doesn’t answer him. He just keeps scratching behind my ear, slow circles that make my eyes roll back pulling me tighter to his side as we move toward the doors. The guards part fast this time, blades sheathed, eyes averted, no one dares reach for him again.
I nuzzle harder under his chin, fangs grazing his neck, voice a cracked whisper meant only for him. “Wife,” I breathe. “Say it again later. When we’re alone.” My claws knead his side through the tunic, rhythmic, reverent. “I’ll be so good, Master. Your good wife. I’ll burn the whole city down for you if you ask.”
He doesn’t reply out loud, just presses one more kiss to the top of my head, fingers lingering in my hair, and guides us through the doors into the warm glow of the guildhall. The manifest is still tucked against his chest, proof of the fire we lit, but right now that feels secondary.
We push through into a meeting room. The table stretches long and dark between us and the guild master, polished walnut, candles in iron holders are everywhere. The guild master sits at the far end, elbows planted, fingers down. Guards line the walls, eight of them, Sapphire blues and chainmail, hands resting on sword hilts, postures rigid but eyes flicking between us and their boss. No one speaks. The room feels like it's holding its breath.
Master doesn't pause. He walks the full length of the table calm as if he is taking a causal walk. I follow half a step behind, tail low and slow swaying, ears forward, every muscle coiled under the surface. He reaches the chair opposite the guild master, high backed, carved with the Sapphire crest and drops into it without ceremony, leaning back just enough to look relaxed, one hand resting loose on the armrest.
I don't sit.
I vault onto the table, boots thudding light on the wood as I land in a low crouch. My knees bend deep, back hunched forward like a cat that's decided the table is its rock and the room is its territory. Kite shield rests easy on my left arm, angled up just enough to catch light on the edge, it's semi raised but lazy, almost arrogant. Spear in my right hand, tip pointed down and forward, not quite threatening the guild master but close enough that if he so much as twitches wrong, I can drive it through his throat.
My tail lashes once, slow and deliberate, brushing the table's edge before it curls high behind me. My blonde hair spills wild over my shoulders as I hunch lower rolling forward. I must look completely egotistic, entitled and utterly unapologetic. This table is mine now. This room is mine. And the man at the far end better remember who guards the one who actually matters.
The guild master stares at me for a long beat, jaw tight, then shifts his gaze to Master. "You let her stand on a council table like it's a scratching post?"
Master doesn't even glance my way. His voice stays that same neutral tone as always, "She stands where she wants. You want her down, ask her yourself." A pause, deliberate. "Or try to make her. See how that goes."
I bare my fangs in a slow lazy grin, tail flicking once more. The guards shift, subtle, uneasy but no one moves. They remember the courtyard. They remember the blood on my claws from the ones who touched him.
Master leans forward slightly, elbows on the table now, fingers interlaced. "Warehouse 12 is still burning, blue tarps, alchemical crates. Manifest's in my pouch, ledgers, seals, shipment logs. All yours. Proof the cartel proxies just lost their biggest score of the month." He pats the pouch once, casual. "Crimson's fingerprints are all over it. They're using the Cartel to squeeze you without getting their own hands dirty. We interrupted that. You're welcome."
The guild master's eyes narrow, flicking to the pouch, then back to Master's face. "You burned a warehouse on Sapphire adjacent without clearance. Started a fire that could draw Republic watch scrutiny. Could drag Crimson retaliation straight to our door."
Master shrugs, one shoulder lifting lazy. "Or it forces Crimson to rethink using proxies. Makes them show their hand. Either way, you get the manifest, the Cartel bleeds, and Sapphire looks like the one who struck first without starting an open war." He reaches into the pouch, pulls the folded pages, and slides them down the long table, slow yet deliberate.
The guild master stares at the manifest for a long moment, then looks up at me, hunched, spoiled, wild, spear half raised like a queen on her throne. His jaw works. "Get her off my table."
Master's hand lifts and settles on my back, fingers pressing once. "She's fine where she is." Then, softer, just for me but loud enough the room hears, "Good wife. Stay pretty."
My tail lashes once in pure euphoria, ears flicking forward, body arching slightly under his touch.
“So one gold piece for what I paid Reed,” master says “and payment for the logs. At the end of the day I got the job done. Doesn’t matter how.” He lets that sit a second and then yawns. “So stop being scared little Alderians and instead. If you want them gone, then take them. At the end of the day a merchant republic works off coin. Or are you not a big guild?” Another pause, shorter this time, eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Huh? Or do you really not know whom me and the cat are?”
I stay exactly where I am, hunched low on the table, knees bent, spear haft resting diagonal across my thighs, kite shield angled lazy but ready.
Then he finally speaks. “You burned a warehouse without sanction. Started a blaze that’s still lighting half the district. City watch is crawling around, asking questions. Crimson will hear about this by morning, if they haven’t already. And you sit there asking for pocket change and calling us cowards.”
Master doesn’t blink. “I’m asking for what I spent and what I earned. The manifest’s real. The Cartel’s hurting. Crimson’s proxies just lost a fortune in alchemicals and whatever else was in those crates. You wanted them squeezed, you got squeezed. Now pay up, or admit you’re too small to play in the big leagues.”
I shift my weight forward a fraction, enough to make the table creak under me. My tail lashes once, slow and deliberate and one of the guards makes a small noise in his throat, hand twitching toward his hilt. My eyes snap to him instant, fangs flashing in a wider grin and he instantly freezes
The guild master exhales through his nose. His gaze flicks to the pouch at Master’s belt, then to me. He reaches into his own vest, pulls a small coin purse, counts out one gold piece with deliberate slowness, and slides it down the table.
“There’s your gold,” he says, voice flat. “And the logs are worth the standard rate for high risk extraction. Thirty silver each, plus hazard. Sixty total. Take it or leave it.”
Master doesn’t move to touch the coin. He just leans back again, one hand dropping to rest on my calf where my boot’s planted on the table beside his chair. “It is a start,” he says. “But we both know the Cartel bleed means Sapphire gains ground. Means you owe more than pocket change for turning a proxy war into your advantage.”
He scratches behind my ear whilst the guild master just stares at us, at Master’s bored calm, at me purring and purring under the scratch. “You’re impossible.” he says.
Master shrugs. “We’re effective.”
A long silence stretches but eventually the guild master simply nods. “Sixty silver now. Another forty when the Cartel pulls back and if Crimson comes knocking, you two handle the knock.” He reaches under the table, pulls a small lockbox, counts out the coins with precision and simply slides the stack across.
Master takes it without looking away. “Deal.”
I finally straighten a fraction, still crouched and still very much on the table but leaning back now.
The guild master stands. “Get off my table.”
The guild master rises from his chair as if he is trying to look authoritative, the way men in fancy posh clothes with "titles" always do.
He stops a pace from the table’s edge, close enough I can smell some masking scent in his hair. His hand lifts slow, palm up.
My reaction is instant.
I surge upright in a flash of motion. My Lips peel back from fangs in a hiss that starts low and builds into a rattling snarl, ears flattened razor flat.
Master’s chair scrapes back. Steel whispers free of its sheath, the clan redstone noble sword.“I didn’t give you permission to touch her, now did I?”.
The guild master’s eyes flick to the blade, he recongises the design right away, eyes now clearly confused on whom we are.
Master doesn’t take his eyes off the guild master, doesn’t even blink. But his next words are clearly for me, pitched soft, intimate, like we’re the only two people in the world. “Unless you wish to feel someone else’s hand on you for once in your life.”
My hiss cuts off mid breath,“Touch me,” I hiss “and I’ll make sure every hand that ever comes near you again remembers what my claws feel like first.”
The guild master exhales through his nose, slow, like he’s forcing calm. “We’re done here,” he says, voice tight. “Take your coin. Take your leave.”
Master pauses as we go to leave the room. Without a word he reaches for the sideboard tray, someone’s left a fresh pot of embercrack tea steaming there. He lifts teapot and tilts it over our matching flasks pouring it in slowly. The sharp, bitter mushroom scent floods the air between us until he caps both flasks and clips them to our belts.
He then turns to me as his hands slide under my thighs and behind my back in the same motion he used on the rooftops. I’m airborne for half a heartbeat then cradled against his chest again, legs draped over his arm. My tail curls twice around his forearm, fluff brushing his elbow, anchoring me as he starts walking down the corridor.
“Hmm,” he murmurs against my temple, voice low, “What a holiday thus far, my dear kitten.”
The words sink into me soft and warm. Holiday. Like we’ve been sightseeing instead of burning warehouses and baring steel in council rooms. I huff a laugh against his throat, half purr, half whine deciding to use that to nuzzle beneath his ear.
Suddenly his free hand finds my tail. Fingers close around the base, gentle but certain, a deliberate stroke. He follows the line of my thoughts through the bond like he’s reading a map only he can see. The vast room of his mind opens wider for me, but this time he’s the one stepping inside mine. He knows exactly where the craving starts. He knows the pace I need right now, not frantic, not gentle but firm, unhurried and possessive. He knows the exact spots I want simply from invading the bond.
While he is doing this he carries me to one of the guildhouse balconies. He sets me down gentle on the wide balcony, my boots finding the edge, knees bending so I perch safely. I don’t let go completely though, one of my hands stays on his cloak, claws hooked through the wool, tail still curled twice around his forearm.
The city spreads out below us, that particular warehouse district still has the orange glow of the fire, contained now, stopped by the massive stone fire breaks that carve Merchant Cross into districts. The rich don’t let fire cross their lines, they let it eat the poor and call it contained.
Master pulls his flask free, unscrews the cap, takes a deep swallow of the embercrack tea, I mirror him instantly, fumbling mine open with one hand, the other still gripping his cloak. The tea burns going down yet waking every part inside of me. I tilt my head back, let the warmth spread through my chest, then hold the flask out toward his.
He taps his against mine, a soft clink happens like a toast to nothing and everything. We drink in silence for a moment, side by side on the ledge whilst watching the distant orange pulse fade to embers. My tail flicks slow arcs behind me, brushing his calf then curls back around his wrist again.
I lean my shoulder into his side, cheek rubbing once along his arm, slow and deliberate. The bond hums quiet between us.
The fire down there did damage, warehouses gutted, crates of alchemicals turned to slag, Cartel runners scrambling in the smoke. But the upper districts sleep sound. Wells stand ready, fire breaks wide as streets, guards posted to keep the blaze from creeping elsewhere.
“Contained,” I murmur, voice husky from the tea and the night. “They’ll call it contained. Let it smolder while they sleep.”
He doesn’t answer right away. but through the bond he feels it all. So I nip his throat lightly. “Holiday’s not over yet, Master,” I whisper “We’ve got tea, we’ve got firelight, we’ve got the whole damn city below us thinking it’s safe just take me home after this.”
He exhales, “Eventually" he says.
I melt against him, tail squeezing, claws kneading his cloak, face buried deeper in his neck.
