He jolts awake, no gentle stirring, no sleepy confusion, just sudden, sharp movement as if pulled up from a nightmare or yanked into action by instincts that never let him rest. His heart hammers, his breath is already steady and cold. He doesn’t look at me at first. He sits, spine stiff, eyes half in the dark, already somewhere else. All at once, the bond snaps wide open and I’m caught in a flood.

  Not thoughts, not really. Schematics. Calculations. Possibilities. Risks. Orders. His mind spits out routes and danger points and escape plans faster than I can even breathe. It’s a machine, whirring at a speed that leaves my own brain lagging, every moment cross referenced, every threat assigned a counter, every person we’ve seen or heard about in the last three days sorted by usefulness and potential danger. He’s a storm. I am tangled in it.

  My tail whips and my ears flatten, pupils blown wide. I’m half up, crouched beside him, claws sunk into the bedding, panting, head swimming, heart thundering. I can taste the adrenaline, thick and sour, making my mouth water, making my fur stand on end. His pulse is an alarm in my skull, his thoughts a tidal wave I can’t ride or outswim.

  I nose at his temple, frantic, desperate to ground myself, to get a whiff of what he’s really feeling beneath all the cold logic, but his head’s a fortress, steel and stone and razor wire, every wall bristling with plans. I snarl, a broken, hungry sound, as if by biting him I can slow his mind, drag him back down to me, to the bed, to the warmth and the now.

  But it’s useless. He’s moving already, boots on, belt buckled, gear checked, eyes scanning the shadows for threats that aren’t even real yet. I scramble after, breathless, caught in the crossfire of his intent, every step a new permutation, a new crisis, a new plan of attack or retreat. My claws click against the floor, my senses a mess, I can’t keep up, I want to scream, but I don’t dare. He’s Master. He’s already gone, chasing something I can barely see, and I have to follow, have to keep up, have to be there before someone else gets to him first.

  His plans become my world. His adrenaline becomes my own. My mind and nose chase the echo of his every move, no matter how fast, no matter how much it hurts.

  He stops so abruptly I nearly crash into him, tail flicking wild, claws half drawn as if expecting a threat from every shadow in the room. His voice cuts through the chaos in my head, cold, even, no hint of the storm I just rode through the bond. “Looks like we’ll just have to pay a visit to this other guildhall.” No drama, no pause, just a plan dropping into place. Then he turns, his gaze landing on me.

  He tilts his head, just the faintest curl at the edge of his mouth, and says, “Bad dream or something? You look like you’ve been dragged through the sky.” The words are plain, dry, utterly unfazed by the mess I’ve become. I realize my fur is bristling, my breathing shallow, pupils wide and wild, every inch of me trembling from the aftershocks of his thoughts running riot through my mind.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  I bare my teeth, half snarl, half grin, ears still pinned. “You call that a dream? I call that a tornado with your name stamped on every broken piece.” My voice cracks with adrenaline, purr twisted into a growl, claws flexing at my sides. I lurch closer, pressing against him as if the world might spin off its axis if I don’t keep a grip. “You want to drag me through the sky, Master, you better be ready for me to bite when we land.”

  I press my nose to his throat, desperate to scent him, to anchor myself, to steal a little calm from his unshakable presence. My tail coils around his thigh, refusing to let go, breath ragged as I force myself to slow down. “Next time, you warn me before you go tearing the world apart with your mind. Or at least let me ride lead, not get tossed like some mere pet.” My voice softens, defiance giving way to need, to that shaky devotion only he ever sees. “I’ll keep up. Always. But you’re not leaving me behind not ever.”

  He then speaks and his words sting, but there’s no real bite. just that flat, amused truth that always leaves me clawing for the upper hand. “Oh please, you chose to sniff inside my head. Don’t think I didn’t catch you there, distracting me as I was looking at all the empirical data.” He pats the back of my neck, casual, dismissive. But he should know better than to offer an inch. Especially now.

  I push back hard, nose jammed under his jaw, breath hot against his throat. I shove my head up into him, not asking, not waiting, tail lashing behind me in sharp, defiant arcs. The contact is sudden, needy, a demand and a challenge at once. I rub my face up and down his neck and jaw, marking him with scent, all but headbutting his chin. I force him to feel the brunt of my need, the weight of my claim, the fact that I’m not just a voice in his head, I’m flesh and fur and insistence.

  I press in again, harder this time, eyes slitted in bliss and irritation. I rub my cheeks against him, then slide up and butt my forehead into his jaw, hard enough that he has to brace or stumble. My tail hooks around his leg, anchoring, refusing to let him step away. I purr, loud, unashamed, the rough, rattling kind that’s half threat, half plea. The whole world narrows to this contact, this moment, this animal need.

  Like a housecat desperate for attention, I weave around him, curling under his hand, pushing my head under his palm until his fingers are forced to scratch behind my ears. I flick my tail and give a deep, satisfied mrrrrow, the sound echoing in the narrow room. When he doesn’t scratch hard enough, I reach up, claws extended just a fraction, pawing at his sleeve until he relents, giving in to the demand for touch and worship and reassurance.

  Then I flop down at his feet, dramatic and sprawled, rolling onto my back with my stomach exposed, tail flicking, looking up with wide, possessive blue eyes. I dare him to ignore me. I dare him to move without giving me my due.

  “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before teasing a cat with a mind like mine, Master,” I purr, claws flexing in the air, “because I’ll always make you pay the toll. And I’ll never stop coming back for more.”

  I stretch smug, every line of my body screaming ownership, challenge, devotion, all wrapped up in the simple, unbreakable ritual of being the one thing he can never outthink or outmaneuver.