Master rises from his chair with that effortless calm that makes my blood hum. “Come on then, kitten,” he says, voice low and even.
He taps the back of his calf twice, sharp, deliberate, the signal that shoots straight through me like a command etched in fire. My ears flick forward hard, tail lashing once in a wild arc before I drop from his lap to the floor in a fluid crouch, the silver pouch clutched tight in one fist because no one else gets to touch what’s ours.
I’m on him in an instant, pressing my full length against his leg as he turns to leave, cheek rubbing hard along the back of his calf in slow, possessive drags, once, twice, three times, scenting him thoroughly, marking every inch of fabric. My purr explodes out of me, ragged and euphoric, vibrating up his leg. The councilors are already forgotten shadows, the leader might as well be dust.
Through the bond, I feel it, a long, quiet sigh echoing in that vast room of his mind, resigned, maybe a little weary another job, another night, another war we didn’t start but will damn well finish. It tugs at something deep in my chest, sharp and protective, making my claws flex against the floorboards. I butt my head against his knee, hard enough to nudge him.
I rise up on my knees as he strides toward the doors, slipping under his arm to mold myself to his side, arm locking around his waist, tail snapping around his thigh twice. “I’ve got you,” I whisper. “Tonight we carve up their little cartel, spill their secrets, burn their routes to ash. And when it’s done, I’ll make that sigh turn into something better.”
The sun’s already gone by the time we hit the east, the sky a bruised purple, lanterns flickering. My tail lashes the whole walk there, embercrack still fizzing in my veins, ears swiveling at every creak. I stay glued to Master’s side, arm locked through his, claws digging lightly into his sleeve, cheek rubbing his shoulder every few steps just to keep our scents tangled.
We push through the tavern doors into a haze of pipe smoke and low murmurs. The back room’s already set, private, curtained off, a low round table ringed by a curved couch plush enough for deals and desperate enough for blood. Varkis Reed lounges dead center on the couch, legs sprawled, a smug little king in cheap velvet, rings glinting on every finger. Four security goons loom around the entrance archway, arms crossed, blades obvious under cloaks, eyes flat and professional.
Master doesn’t slow. Doesn’t acknowledge the room, the stares, the sudden hush. He just walks straight for the couch like the whole tavern was built for him. The security moves fast, two of them step forward in perfect sync, blocking the archway with bodies and quiet menace, hands already on hilts. “Private meet,” one grunts. “Invitation only.”
My reaction is instant, explosive. A snarl rips out of me low and feral, tail bushing huge, ears flattening to razor slits as I surge forward half a step ahead of Master. My spear’s already half raised, shield strapped tight to my forearm, claws flexing with the need to tear throats. I drop into a crouch, body coiled like a spring. “Touch him,” I hiss, voice velvet and venom, “and I’ll paint this room with every drop you’ve got.”
The goons hesitate, just a flicker, but it’s enough. Master doesn’t even break stride. He sidesteps the whole thing smooth as smoke, hand dipping into his pocket and coming up with a fat handful of silver coins that catch the lamplight like stars. He flips one idly between his fingers.
Reed’s eyes flick to the silver, then to Master’s face, then to me, still crouched and vibrating with murder, and he chuckles, low. “Let ’em through,” he says, waving a lazy hand. “Anyone flashes that much upfront earns a seat.”
The security parts like curtains. I straighten slowly, spear lowering but not relaxing, tail lashing hard enough to whistle as I follow Master in. My purr starts the instant we’re past them, jagged and possessive.
The couch is round, plush, built for circles of false intimacy. Reed stays dead center, reclining like he owns the night. Master drops into the curve right beside him, close enough for talking, far enough for blades. I don’t even pretend to choose a separate seat.
I vault lightly onto the couch and curl straight into Master’s lap, knees folding, body molding to his chest like I was carved to fit there. My tail loops twice around his waist, tight and anchoring, fluff brushing his back. One arm locks around his neck, claws kneading lightly at his shoulder through the tunic, the other rests on his thigh, fingers splayed possessively.
Master leans forward just enough to command the space. "Let's cut the dance. Cartel's routes, warehouses, drop points. Backers pulling their strings. Names, dates, the works. Start talking."
Reed smirks, lounging deeper into the couch's center, eyes flicking over us with amusement. His gaze lingers on me, too long, too appraising, and my fur bristles under the cloak, tail tightening hard enough to dig fluff into Master's side. "Straight to business. I like that." He chuckles, low, swirling his drink. "Though I have to say, you've got interesting taste in... pets. Exotic little thing, isn't she? Claws and all. Bet she keeps you warm on cold jobs."
The word pet lands like a slap. My lips peel back instantly, a hiss ripping out sharp and venomous, ears flattening to razor slits as I half rise in Master's lap, body coiling like a spring, claws unsheathing with an audible click. One hand slams down on the table edge, gouging wood, the other locking around Master's neck from behind, protective, possessive. My tail lashes wild, thumping his back hard enough to jolt him, purr twisting into a guttural growl that fills the room. "Call me a pet again," I snarl, voice velvet wrapped razor wire, eyes glowing slitted and manic in the dim light, "and you'll beg for the mercy you won't get."
The security shifts at the entrance, hands twitching toward hilts, but Reed just laughs, nervous at the edges, and raises a placating hand. "Easy, kitten. No offense meant. Just saying... information like this? Real intel ? Doesn't come cheap."
Through the bond, I feel it clear, Master's preference boiling under that calm surface, a dark, violent urge to skip the games, crack the fixer's skull against the table, and beat the answers out until the couch runs red. But he reins it in, slides on that pretty, detached mask like it's second skin.
He doesn't even glance at me, just dips two fingers into his pouch and draws out a single gold coin, thick, heavy, stamped. He sets it on the table with deliberate care, then slides it across the wood slow, the scrape loud in the sudden hush, until it stops right under Reed's nose.
The fixer leans forward, eyes widening like a starving man spotting meat. He pinches the coin between fingers, holding it up to the lamplight, turning it slow, examining the edges, the mint mark, the weight like it's some rare artifact.
I settle back into Master's lap with a huff, body molding flush again, tail snapping around his torso twice, anchoring us tight. My cheek rubs hard along his jaw, marking him fresh, purring jagged and triumphant.
Reed leans back. He tucks the value into his vest pocket, patting it once, possessive in his own pathetic way. "Good start," he drawls, voice dripping false charm. "But real maps, real names, the kind that get a man floated face down, those need more time, so come back tomorrow"
The security shift behind us subtle but ready. My ears pin flat instantly, a low growl vibrating up from my chest, tail lashing hard enough to thump Master's thigh. Tomorrow ? This worm thinks he can dangle secrets like string and make my Master wait ? The urge to launch across the table and open his throat flashes.
But then I feel it through the bond, that cool, patient amusement flickering under his calm calculation that says he'll play this game a little longer, let the fixer think he's in control.
I twist in Master's lap with sudden grace, flipping over onto my back in one single roll, belly exposed, legs across his thighs like the most spoiled housecat demanding tribute. My cloak falls open, tunic riding up just enough to bare a strip of skin, tail curling high and flicking lazy arcs in the air before looping loosely around his wrist.
"Masterrrr," I whine drawing the word out long and needy, voice pitched high and playful, paws kneading the air toward his hands. "Belly rubs," I demand in a breathy purr, grinning wide enough to flash fangs, completely ignoring Reed and his goons. "Your kitten's been so good, threatened the bad men, stayed in your lap like a proper pet, didn't even bite the greasy one yet. Reward time."
Master tilts his head just enough to look down at me, upside down from my perspective and then his hand finally descends, palm spreading warm and firm across my exposed belly.
My purr tuns into a roar, legs kicking helplessly in the air, tail thrashing wild arcs before snapping tight around his forearm to lock his hand in place. I twist under his touch, embercrack high showing once again under his attention, turning me into a trembling, purring mess right there on his lap.
"Yes yes yes, Master.." The words spill out, high and needy, my grin splitting wide flashing every fang. I rub my belly harder into his hand, guiding him with tiny rolls. The security goons shift awkwardly, Reed's smirk falters into something uncertain, but I don't care.
Then his voice drifts down cutting through my euphoria, "You aren't getting a drink tonight. Gods forbid what you'd do if you had a sip of something."
The denial hits like a splash of cold water, my ears flick back for a heartbeat, tail pausing mid lash and a soft theatrical whine escapes my throat as I pout. "Masterrrr," I complain, drawing it out long and sulky, "not even a little sip ? I'd be so good, promise I'd only climb you twice instead of five times, maybe just bite one stranger instead of all of them..."
But the pout melts almost instantly into giggles, body arching again under his continued rubs because even the refusal is perfect, he's thinking about me, protecting me from myself, keeping me sharp for tomorrow's blood. I flip myself right side up in a sudden twist, straddling his lap properly now. "Fine," I murmur.
Master doesn't say a word, just slides one arm under my knees and the other behind my back whilst lifting me cleanly out of his lap like I weigh nothing. My tail loops instantly around his forearm, anchoring me to him, while my arms lock around his neck, face burrowing hard into the crook of his throat with a ragged euphoric purr. I rub my cheek along his jaw in frantic possessive drags marking him as mine.
He carries me out past Reed, cradling me close to his chest like something precious and dangerous all at once. He doesn't head for the streets. Instead he angles toward the shadowed alley beside the Anchor, finds the stacked crates and climbs.
We crest the roofline and he settles on the ridge. The view spills out below, the massive arch lit by flickering torches, carts rumbling through even at night, guards in corporate colors checking papers, the whole city's trade pulsing under lamplight and moonlight.
Master's voice drifts out then, "This city's a rigged game, kitten. Merchant Gate's, every cart rolling through pays the vig, every crate stamped with some guild's brand. Cartels think they can muscle in, redraw the table stakes. But the house always wins... and tonight, we're the house."
He shifts me slightly in his arms, one hand sliding up to cup the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair as he keeps talking, eyes fixed on the gate below. "They'll bleed silver tomorrow, thinking it buys them time. But time's just the river we drown them in. One gold coin at a time, one secret at a time, until their whole cartel washes out."
"Master," I breathe against him, voice cracked, "I'll burn it all down for you, drown them all, just to watch you deal the final hand." I nip his earlobe hard enough to sting. "Tomorrow we bleed them dry. Tonight... tonight just hold me here, where the whole world looks small and you're everything."
I curl tighter in his cradle, face buried in his neck, tail lashing slow possessive arcs against the night sky.
The night went slow on that rooftop, Merchant Gate's torches flickering like dying embers below us while Master held me close, his voice trailing off into the quiet. I stayed curled in his arms the whole time, tail wrapped around his wrist, face pressed to his neck, breathing him. Eventually he carried me down the same way he'd brought me up and we slipped back to the guildhall without a word to anyone.
The room was still a wreck from the guards kicking the door in nights ago, but Master didn't care. He dumped his cloak on the chair, stripped down to basics, and pulled me into bed like it was routine. I clung the whole night but he slept solid, arm heavy over my waist. Through the bond it was that same vast room again, quiet and empty, but warmer now, like he'd left the door open for me to prowl.
Morning soon came, Master woke first this time, sliding out from under me without a sound. I whined and reached for him, claws hooking his tunic, but he just patted my head once, firm, grounding, and muttered something about getting moving. I scrambled after him, dressing quick, spear and shield strapped on because you never know. Breakfast was whatever stale bread the hall kitchen shoved at us, I ate double, tearing into it with my teeth while pressed to his side, tail flicking against his boot under the table.
The day dragged and by afternoon the embercrack crash hit me hard, limbs heavy, ears drooping, but still I didn't complain. Just leaned on him more, rubbing my cheek on his arm and drawing strength from his steady pace.
Evening rolled in and we headed back to the Black Anchor early. The tavern was busier tonight but the back room was waiting, same as before.
The security goons were at the archway again, four of them, same faces. They spotted us coming and went stiff, hands twitching near hilts, eyes flicking away quick. Yesterday's show was still fresh, I guess me flipping in his lap, belly up and whining for rubs like a housecat in front of them all startled them. They were off put, alright. Not scared exactly, but uncomfortable, like they'd seen something private they shouldn't have and couldn't scrub it from their heads.
Master didn't slow, just nodded once as we passed. They parted without a word this time, no blocking, no grunts about invitations. One even stepped back extra far, giving us space like we carried plague. I couldn't help the grin that split my face, fangs flashing as I pressed closer to Master, tail tightening around his wrist. Let them squirm. Let them remember who owns the room before we even sit.
Reed was already there, sprawled central on the round couch again, a half empty bottle on the table and fresh rings glinting on his fingers, like he'd spent our gold already. His smirk was back.
Reed poured three glasses, sliding one our way. Master ignored it. I didn't even glance, still banned from drinks, and the denial made me pout out loud.
"Alright," Reed said, leaning forward, elbows on the table. " Cartel's not some fly by night crew. They've got three main drops coming in weekly, two by marsh, one forest from the west. Half the crates are lined with false bottoms, weapons, dust, whatever pays best."
He pulled a folded map from his vest, spreading it on the table. Crude ink lines marked routes, X's for warehouses, names scrawled beside them. "Backers? That's the juicy bit. Not just some rogue traders. Word is they're bankrolled quiet by Crimson, yeah, those ones. They want to squeeze Sapphire out without open war, use cartel as proxies. Plausible deniability. If Sapphire hits back direct, they claim clean hands."
I leaned forward over Master's shoulder, ears pricking, tail lashing once against his side. Crimson, big players, old money, the kind that owned half the councilors in fancy robes. This wasn't just turf squabble, it was layers, the kind of corporate knife fight that left guilds bleeding slow.
Reed tapped a warehouse X. "But here's the hook. Cartels got a shipment coming tomorrow night, big one, direct from Crimson contacts. If someone... interrupted it, say, burned a warehouse or lifted the manifest, it'd hurt. Bad. Force the cartel to scramble, maybe expose more." His eyes flicked between us, calculating. "I'm not asking charity. Do that, bring me proof, ledger pages, seals, whatever and I'll give you the full list, every runner, every safe house, every bribe paid to city watch. Enough to gut the Cartel root and stem. Sapphire pays big for that kind of win, yeah?"
Typical fixer play, dangle half the info, tie the rest to a job that risks our necks. He thought he was clever, turning us into his blades while he sat safe. Through the bond I felt Master's calm, that quiet weighing of odds, no spike of anger, just the slow turn of gears.
I couldn't hold back a low growl, claws digging into Master's thigh through the fabric. "You want us to stick our necks out for your bonus info?" My voice came out husky, edged. "After making us wait a day ?"
Reed shrugged, smirk holding. "Business, kitten. Risk for reward. You two look like you handle risk fine."
Master's hand settled on my waist, fingers pressing once, steady, wait. He leaned forward slight, voice cool. "Details on the shipment. Guards, timing, layout."
Reed grinned wider, sliding a scrap of paper across. "Midnight tomorrow. Warehouse twelve warehouse row, building marked with blue tarps. Twenty Cartel blades, maybe more. Cargo's crated alchemicals, flammable as hell if you know how to spark it. Easy burn if that's your play."
He sat back, pouring himself another drink. "Clock's ticking. You in?"
The room hung quiet except for distant tavern noise leaking through the curtain. I nuzzled harder into Master's neck, purring jagged, tail squeezing his waist because whatever he decided, I'd follow, burn the warehouse, gut the guards, drag the manifest back in blood if that's what it took. The map lay there, routes staring up like veins waiting to be cut. Tomorrow night just got interesting.
Master picked up the scrap, folding it slow. "We'll see."
