He leaves in a hurry, the awkward tension thick enough to drown in, door swinging shut behind him without another word. I wait until his footsteps fade, one, two, three beats down the hall, before I let the snarl die in my throat. The moment he’s gone, it’s like a circuit snaps, my focus tunnels back to Master, the only anchor I have, the only thing that matters in this entire choking, glittering, dangerous city.
He’s still beneath me, half pinned, half willing, the ghost of a wry smile on his lips even as his hair is all tousled from the mess of my hands. The food is still warm, the tea still steaming. I swipe another chunk of bread and ignoring any protest shove it right up to his lips, my tail curling around his waist in a lock. “Eat,” I growl, voice half a threat, half a purr, my body draped over his like a blanket that won’t be moved.
He tries to turn his head, to object or make some dry remark about my behaviour, but I’m quicker. I push the bread in, fingers lingering at his mouth, not letting him look away, not letting him dodge my demand for his attention. My eyes are wild, bright, and sharp. “You’ll eat, or I’ll make you. If they want your time, they can fight me for it.” I force another bite of cheese, leaning in so close he can’t even swallow without my breath on his skin.
Once he relents, chewing and swallowing, I purr louder, victorious. I nip at his jaw, my ears flicking with the delight of being obeyed, of being the only voice in his world for this moment. “Good. See? They don’t get this. Only me.” I snatch a bit of dried meat, break it in two, and hold one half between my teeth, leaning down, nose to nose, until he has no choice but to take it from me, mouth to mouth. I bare my teeth, a little playful, a lot possessive, and when he gives in, I let out a triumphant yowl, the sound echoing off the bare stone walls.
I shift, settling more comfortably across him, my weight pressing him down, tail flicking with agitation and glee. The mood turns manic, all the caffeine and hunger and the aftermath of a night spent in shadow and tension. I paw at his chest, claws out just enough to catch on fabric, not enough to hurt. “Play with me, Master,” I demand, the words more command than request, my tone velvet but unyielding. “You work, you think, you plan, now you play. Now you remember who you belong to.”
I drop to all fours, crouching low, eyes wide, pupils blown dark with adrenaline and mischief. My tail lashes, my body low and tense, the way a real cat might before a pounce. I stalk his hand as he reaches for the bread, watching every movement with predatory intensity, and the moment he moves snap I leap, pinning his wrist with both hands, nipping at his knuckles, purring louder with each little victory. “Mine. All mine.” I say it over and over, a chant, a spell, a curse on anyone who’d dare say otherwise.
He tries to shake me off, to play it cool, but I won’t allow it. I roll with him as he shifts, claws slipping under his tunic, teeth nipping at the crook of his neck. If he tries to tickle or distract, I arch and writhe, tangling our limbs, batting at his hand with the side of my head, forcing my way under his arm so I can burrow closer. I knead his chest with both hands, slow and deep, a possessive, demanding motion, claws just pricking enough to remind him he’s real, that I’m real, that we’re here, alive, together. I nuzzle at his throat, purring so hard the bed shakes, then dart away, only to pounce again and trap his hand beneath both of mine, licking his knuckles in a wild, silly show of ownership.
He laughs, finally, the sound rough and rare, and I arch into it, chasing it, high on the sound of him, the reality of him beneath me. “More,” I demand, crawling up his chest, stealing the last bite of cheese just to shove it into his mouth, licking the crumbs from his jaw, smearing the taste of me and bread and tea all over his skin. “More, more, more,” I chant, not caring if it makes sense, not caring about dignity or pride, just the raw, animal need to be seen, to be claimed, to be loved and to love with teeth and claws.
Eventually, exhaustion pulls at my limbs, the caffeine high fading to a soft, vibrating afterglow. My movements slow, my grip loosens. I curl up beside him, tangling myself as tightly as possible, arms around his waist, head tucked under his chin, tail wound across his hips, legs tangled with his so thoroughly we might as well be one thing. I press my nose to the hollow of his throat, drinking in his scent, purring quieter but deeper, the sound more contented now, less frantic.
“Don’t leave,” I whisper, voice muffled in his collar, “Don’t ever leave. Not for them. Not for anyone. Just for me. Just for us.” My claws knead at his side, slow and gentle, the possessive threat turned into a promise of safety, comfort, belonging.
The city fades. The world narrows to the warmth of his body, the slow, steady drum of his heartbeat, the taste of cheese and tea still on my tongue. For now, that’s enough. For now, all that matters is that he’s here, with me, claimed, protected, adored, and that I have him all to myself, at least until the next threat comes knocking.
I close my eyes, a final purr rumbling low and fierce through my chest. Mine. Always.
Night in the guildhall is an animal thing, thrumming and anxious under its fragile skin of order. The walls breathe. Somewhere, footsteps echo, servant, guard, maybe an ambitious little thief hoping to pick silver from the wrong pockets. I don’t care. I’m pressed against Master, every inch of him mapped in my mind, every heartbeat the only sound I trust, the only rhythm I let in. I sprawl over him, half on, half beside, pinning his arm beneath me just for the comfort of knowing he can’t leave without waking me first. My tail’s a noose around his waist, my knee wedged between his thighs, staking my claim a hundred different ways.
But sleep, real sleep, won’t come. Not for me. Not for what I am, not with this brain wired wrong, this blood boiling and fizzing, every piece of me splintered and rebuilt from obsession and need. Even with him here, especially with him here, I’m restless. Always. The city outside could be on fire or frozen, and it wouldn’t matter. All that matters is him.
Inside me paces, unblinking. My eyes are wide open in the dark, pupils huge, drinking in every scrap of detail. I want to hurt something just to see if it bleeds, just to feel alive, just to prove to the night that I’m still here and nothing has won. I remember the way the Guild Master looked at me, afraid, confused, trying to make sense of a thing he can’t name or buy. That’s power. That’s a kind of cruelty I savour, a secret I’ll keep. I want to sink my teeth into the city, let it taste the venom that lives in me, the way I’d rip the throat out of anyone who tried to put their hands on Master while he’s vulnerable, unguarded, asleep. Let them all try. I want them to. I want an excuse.
Sly as ever, slides in next. I'm the laugh behind my teeth, the heat between my legs, the urge to wake Master just for the pleasure of his groggy protest. I want to play, to push, to test boundaries, roll him over, straddle him, lick a line up his throat just to watch him shiver and curse and maybe forget for a second how cold this world can be. I want him distracted, off balance, breathless with how much he wants me. The guild’s silver means nothing. Power means nothing. I want attention, fixation, the full brutal glare of his focus. I want to see his eyes, hungry, lost, only for me. I want to know I can make him lose control just by purring, by biting down a little harder, by dragging my claws up his side until he groans my name and forgets everything else.
But it’s my chill that holds me longest. Underneath the lust and the violence, there’s a fear, a sharp, metallic edge that never dulls. What if someone does come? What if he slips away? What if the morning brings something I can’t kill or seduce or terrify? The thought curls around my heart like barbed wire. I squeeze tighter, pulling him closer, claws dimpling his skin through the tunic. He never wakes. He trusts me. That trust terrifies me and feeds me in the same breath. It’s a vulnerability I want to tear at and protect, all at once. If anyone hurt him, if anyone so much as thought about it, I’d gut them with a smile. I’d paint the bed red, wear their fear like perfume, laugh as the city recoiled. That’s the promise I make to him, silent and savage. No one gets him but me. No one.
I listen to his breathing. It hitches, settles, the little noise he makes when he’s sinking deep into sleep. I let myself memorise it, again and again, branding the sound into my bones. My hand slides over his chest, slow, possessive, not quite gentle. I trace scars, old bruises, places where the world has marked him before I ever could. I want to erase every one. I want to replace them with my own, teeth, claws, kisses, a map of proof that he’s been mine and no one else’s.
I turn my face into his neck, scenting him, nosing through his hair, mouthing the skin where his pulse pounds. I mumble nonsense, threats, love, warnings, things he’d never let himself hear if he were awake: “You’re mine. Mine to keep, mine to break, mine to heal, mine to ruin. If they take you, I’ll take them all. I’ll burn it down. I’ll gut the city and string its lights from your collar.” My purr is manic, barely contained, not even close to soothing. I need him to know, even if only through dreams, even if only in the blood and heat that seeps into the sheets. I want to mark him in ways he can never scrub clean.
There are moments, seconds stretched out like thread, where my mind spins, caught between the urge to laugh and the urge to sob. I feel his heart beat through the thin fabric, and for a flash, I’m afraid, terrified, because what if it stops? What if I wake and he’s cold, or gone, or claimed by someone else, someone I didn’t see coming, someone clever or ruthless or beautiful enough to slip past even me? I snarl at the dark, fury welling in my chest, and dig my claws in a little harder until I feel the protest in his sleeping muscles, until I know he’s real, that he’s still here.
And then the mania fades, and I settle, only for a moment, into something that almost feels like peace. I knead his chest in slow, gentle circles, matching my breath to his. My tail untangles, just a bit, and I nuzzle under his chin, letting myself be small, letting myself need, letting myself be held even if he doesn’t know it.
Tomorrow I’ll be wild again. Tomorrow I’ll hunt and threaten and claim him in front of every fool in this city. But tonight, in the dark, I am every broken piece of myself, cruel, playful, desperate, protective. I am all of it, fused together, raw and real and unashamed.
He sleeps. I do not. Not really. I watch. I guard. I ache for him in ways words can’t hold. And in the hush of that animal night, with only his warmth to shield me, I swear again, every hour, every minute, every ragged breath, mine. Always. Mine.
