As we leave, I drift close, closer than anyone else would dare. My tail snakes around Master’s waist, possessive, protective, staking my claim.

  The walk to the private quarters is a procession of power plays. The guards, more relaxed now, trade glances, some bored, some sizing us up, some smart enough to be wary. My ears catch every sound, a muttered insult, a snatch of gossip, the hollow hush of expensive boots on the stairwell. I log every detail for later, my mind spinning with caffeine bright clarity and the dark, twisted joy that comes with being useful, with being needed by the one who matters.

  The quarters are small but clean, the sort of place for important guests who aren’t meant to get too comfortable. Two narrow beds, a wash stand, a window that looks out over slate rooftops and guttering lamps. There’s a meal laid out bread, hard cheese, spiced wine. I ignore it at first, pacing the perimeter. My tail flicks, ears up, senses wild and greedy. Only when I’m certain we’re alone do I allow myself to melt against Master’s side, wrapping myself around him with a low, manic laugh.

  Mine. Always mine.

  I whisper, soft and sweet, “Let them think they’ve tamed us. Let them think they’re using us. Tomorrow night, I’ll show them what happens to anyone who underestimates us, what happens when they let the wrong monster through the door. The city belongs to whoever’s willing to bite hardest. And I’ll bite until there’s nothing left to steal.”

  He sits, the lines of his shoulders relaxed but his eyes sharper than glass, picking methodically at the bread and cheese. The water sloshes as he fills his canteen, the quietest, most domestic noise. I pace behind him, ears twitching, tail sweeping the air and every time I blink I catch a different piece of his thoughts, cold calculations, strategy, flashes of old memory, suspicion, opportunity, the taste of power, the acid scent of risk..

  His mind moves in impossible patterns, too many layers, too many plans. I try to follow, but every time I reach for one thread it shatters into something else.

  His voice cuts through the storm, clear and utterly unmoved: “Come now, kitten.” Just that. No patience for my spinning, no softness. I’m still caught in his thoughts, staggering on the edge of his awareness, my claws flexing at empty air, my tail lashing with agitation. I can barely hear him, the world spinning, every sound warped and strange.

  And then he moves. Moves in that way that makes me feel weightless and utterly owned, sweeping me up without effort, as if I weigh nothing, as if I’m his to pick up and put down whenever he wants. His arms are unyielding and for a single I’m airborne, limbs flailing, tail bristling, my entire sense of self torn free from the floor. He crushes me against his chest and the world slams back into focus, a snarl building in my throat, instinct clawing at control, hunger and shame and rage all knotted in one wild, broken purr.

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  But he doesn’t give me time to thrash. He pulls a small pouch from his belt, one of those damned little bundles of bitter herbs. With one hand, he pins me to him, with the other, he stuffs the herbs right under my nose, relentless, clinical, ruthless. The stench hits me like a slap, sour and biting and green. My ears flatten, I sneeze, and the haze breaks. All at once, every scrap of Master’s thoughts shatter and drift away, replaced by the overwhelming need for air and the living.

  Suddenly, I’m clinging, "Masterrrrrrr" claws hooked in his tunic, legs wound tight around his waist, tail twined vicious and desperate. I bury my face against his chest, breathing hard, shaking, half mad with gratitude and humiliation and raw, feral love.

  His words land soft, no judgement, no anger, just that cool, unbothered neutrality he wields. “Have you forgotten that we’ve got to do this quietly, you know, I love the way we came here for a break but then how can I be surprised that this happened when my wife is a half feral.” He speaks the word ‘wife’ like it’s just another fact in a ledger, something true and eternal and utterly without drama, and I want to shriek with joy and snap at his throat in the same broken breath.

  I bristle, tail whipping, fur ruffled with a flare of violent pride, half feral? He says it as if it’s a mild inconvenience, as if he didn’t pick me, claim me, bind me to him with blood and madness. I cling tighter, pressing every line of my body against his, claws biting through fabric into skin, daring the world to pry me off. My ears flatten with wild amusement and vicious love. My purr becomes a growl, low and feral, half threat, half desperate craving to be acknowledged.

  He sets me down with a practised carelessness that only makes the humiliation sharper. I glare up at him, eyes wide, pupils blown out, lips curled in a grin too sharp to be safe. “Quietly?” I echo, laughter all teeth and claws, voice trembling with the need to both obey and disobey. “You married half feral on purpose, don’t pretend you don’t love it. No one breaks things better than I do, and you like seeing them scramble, don’t you? You love knowing the only thing between this city and chaos is me wrapped around you like a noose.” My tail flicks, ears twitch, staking my territory with manic glee.

  He moves to the bed, casual, composed, as if inviting me to simply sit is the most natural thing in the world. The bed is small, too small for comfort, just big enough for two bodies pressed so close there’s nowhere to run. He sprawls on his side. I prowl over, never breaking eye contact, shedding the last coils of adrenaline as I crawl up onto the bed, tail curling in lazy arcs.

  The room falls away, leaving only the heat of his body, the rhythm of his breathing, the pulse of his heart beneath my ear. I press close, inhaling his scent, letting the world narrow to the small space between us. My purr is a rumble. “If I’m going to crawl around in your head, you should’ve made your thoughts easier to read. You can lock the doors all you like, I’ll still pick every one clean.” I bite at his jaw, just enough to leave a mark, my tail curling tighter around his thigh. “Let them all try to guess who owns who. I’ll always make it obvious. I want the world to choke on the truth of it.”