His words settle over me, soft but unyielding, “Feeling better, my dear?”, the question more a statement, more a reassurance than a real request for an answer. The sound of it tugs at something deep in my chest, something raw and trembling, that old wound that only he can soothe. The world is blurry at the edges, but the pain has receded, chased away by the bitter medicine and the constant, grounding press of his arms.

  I nuzzle deeper into his chest, breathing in his scent, letting the Bond anchor me fully again. The ache in my head is almost gone, my stomach no longer twisting, the trembling replaced by a bone deep contentment, a safety I only ever feel in his hold. My tail winds lazily around his wrist, claws kneading the fabric of his shirt, slow and languid.

  I let my lips brush his jaw, voice coming out in a gentle, purring hush, all the need still there but softened now by gratitude and relief. “Mm, better, Master. Much better now that you’re here. Always better when you’re holding me. I’d die a thousand times just to wake up like this, with you, after everything.”

  A little tremor runs through me, but it’s not fear or weakness, just the aftertaste of obsession and devotion, the reminder that I’ll never need anything but his presence. “Thank you for fixing me,” I murmur, nuzzling his throat, every movement possessive and tender at once. “Don’t let go yet… not until I say so.”

  I cling closer, melting into his arms, the Bond a warm, steady current. The world could fall apart outside that little inn room, bandits, storms, betrayal, chaos. I don’t care. As long as I’m here, held and safe, I can take anything. I purr softly, letting the sound fill the quiet, content for now to let him decide what comes next, knowing whatever it is, we’ll face it together.

  His arms close around me, strong and sure, and for a moment I melt into the hug, limbs limp, eyes half-closed, purring with quiet, shivering relief. The Bond sings between us, steady and warm, a reassurance deeper than words or even touch. Everything else fades: the taste of bile, the ache of the hangover, even the remnants of humiliation are washed out by the comfort of his embrace.

  “Of course,” he says, voice rumbling low, a rare softness hidden under all the layers of cynicism and command. He holds me tighter, one hand stroking my hair, the other firm at the base of my spine. Just don’t have an aftershock when the sun hits… The words are half-warning, half-tease, as if he knows how fragile I am after a night like that, as if he’ll still be here no matter what the morning brings.

  He presses dried venison into my hands, a thick, rich slice, the flavour smoky, salty, filling. I take it gratefully, biting off a piece, letting the simple act of chewing ground me in the present. The canteen is cool against my lips, water cutting through the last dregs of sickness. My stomach, still uneasy, accepts it, slowly, but with the kind of animal gratitude that comes from being cared for, even when I’ve earned nothing but trouble.

  He sits beside me, opening his own share, tearing into the venison with the detached efficiency that marks all his movements. There’s a comfort in the ritual, meat and water, the oldest kind of breakfast, shared between survivors before the world calls for violence again. I watch him, every twitch of his muscles, every flicker of his eyes. My tail curls, content now, a slow winding around his leg, the possessive need settling into something gentler.

  "We have tons of dried deer", he says, and I can’t help but smile, a little lopsided, still faintly embarrassed, but soft with contentment. “Good thing,” I purr, voice scratchy but bright, “because I’ll need all my strength to keep up with you, Master.” I take another bite, letting the salt and smoke settle my nerves, every sense tuned to the steady pulse of the Bond.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  The sun cuts through the shutters, painting stripes across the whitewashed walls. I don’t care if I’m ruined by light or by love, he’s here, feeding me, holding me, calling me his. That’s all I need. I finish my breakfast in silence, every moment a slow recovery, every heartbeat a vow, I won’t let go, not today, not ever.

  

  We sit together in the gentle hush of the inn room, the taste of venison and cool spring water settling my stomach, his presence calming my soul. For a few precious minutes, time stretches out, just the two of us, murmuring in low voices, our words for no one but ourselves. I press close, drinking in every syllable, letting the world shrink down to Master’s heartbeat and the steady brush of his hand along my spine. He talks, sometimes little things about the road ahead, sometimes nothing at all, letting silence fill in the spaces where fear or longing used to live.

  I cling, arms wound tight around his waist, tail wrapped snug around his thigh, unwilling to let go even for a moment. Each heartbeat is a reminder that I’m alive, that he’s real, that we survived another night, another storm, another pit of our own making. My thoughts circle lazily, never straying far from him. We should get moving… I think, but the warmth of him, the steady, grounding rhythm of the Bond, makes me want to stay just a few heartbeats more, to lose myself in his nearness.

  But Master is never idle for long. The peace is always temporary, the quiet only a prelude to the next act. Suddenly, he moves, uncoiling from the bed with that swift, certain grace that marks every decision he makes. The abrupt shift jolts me from my half-doze, and I cling tighter, claws digging lightly into his shirt, legs wrapping instinctively around his hips as if gravity itself will punish me for letting go. For a moment, I’m a bundle of fur and tangled limbs, breath caught in my chest, eyes wide and pleading.

  He doesn’t slow, doesn’t give me time to gather my composure. He stands, straightening to his full height, and I’m left dangling, clutching at him, the Bond humming with amusement and the old, sly exasperation. He glances down, eyes cool and sharp, a small smirk at the corner of his mouth. I can’t help but flush, part humiliation, part pride, part unbreakable need. I want to hide, but I want him to see me even more.

  “Come on,” he says, his tone brisk and commanding, slicing through my haze. “It’s still at least half a day’s travel to Maw Graven. Or has my pet forgotten why we’re even here?” The word pet lands sharp and possessive, a collar around my heart, the Bond pulsing in response, equal parts command and invitation.

  For a heartbeat, shame and longing battle inside me. I nuzzle against his chest, tail lashing, forcing a low, rumbling purr from my throat. “I haven’t forgotten, Master,” I murmur, voice breathless and raw. “I never forget. I just… don’t want to leave your side. Not for a single step. I want to be where you are, always.” My words tumble out in a rush, desperate and true. “We’re here to hunt the Swarm, to chase down Mira and her secrets. To make sure no one in this gods forsaken land ever dares threaten you, or take you away from me.”

  He stands firm, unyielding, the anchor in my storm. I cling tighter for just a moment, then force myself to loosen my grip, sliding down to stand beside him, unsteady but determined. My tail wraps possessively around his wrist, a silent promise that I will never stray too far, never let anyone come between us. I meet his eyes, fierce and wild, every muscle in my body aching to prove myself worthy of the path he’s chosen.

  “Let’s go, Master,” I whisper, voice low and sure. “Let’s finish this. I’ll be your shadow, your claws, your shield. Just… don’t leave me behind.”

  He leads, I follow, and together we step out into the light, the Bond thrumming between us like a living thread. Maw Graven waits, half a day ahead, the next secret, the next battle. And I will be at his side for every step, no matter how dark the road becomes.