The first crash of iron rips through the quiet of our sleep. My ears snap straight up, twitching toward the sound before my eyes even open all the way. The guildhouse corridors are thick but distance doesn’t matter, iron on iron, boots on floors, doors splintering somewhere far down the hall whilst shouts follow, sharp and panicked.
I’m already moving.
My tail lashes low as I uncoil from where I’d wrapped myself around master, chest to his back, legs tangled, one arm slung possessively over his ribs. The bond hums warm between us, whilst his thoughts drifting lazy.
Suddendly though in the doorway the guild master steps over with his face all flushed red with fury and something close to terror. Two of his Sapphire guards stumble in behind him, swords already drawn, but their eyes are wide, darting. He doesn’t even look at them. His gaze locks straight on my MASTER. on the shape of him under the blankets.
He takes one step toward the bed. My snarl starts somewhere deep in my chest and rips out before I even realize I’ve moved. I launch off the mattress in a single silent bound, claws fully extended, tail whipping behind me. He barely has time to register the blur of blonde and dark blue before I’m on him.
My knees slam into his chest. We hit the floor together, him backward, me riding him down,a shame it has to be him below me but still my left hand pins his sword arm to the rug, my right claws go right under his chin, digging in.
“Touch him,” I hiss “and I carve your spine out through your mouth and wear it like a necklace.”
His mouth opens, closes, opens again. Confusion crashes across his face and behind him master lifts his head just enough to peer over the edge of the pillow. “Not now,” he mutters, voice thick with sleep. “We’re resting.” He then flops back down, dragging the blanket higher over his head whilst rolling onto the side facing away from the door.
The guild leader struggles under my grip. His free hand claws at my tail but I squeeze harder whilst clawing at his throat, bleeding it slightly for even daring to touch me at all.
“The, the Cartel. They sent a strike unit. After your little stunt with Warehouse 12. They’re inside the walls. They’re killing my men. They want you two.” His eyes flick toward the bed again, desperate. “They want both of you."
My laugh is short and one of the guards takes a hesitant step forward, sword rising. My head snaps toward him. He freezes mid stride, “Move again,” I tell him softly, “and I’ll use your friend’s head as a hat.”
The guard swallows. He doesn’t move. I then turn my attention back to the guild leader “You think this is about the warehouse ? About Crimson proxies and alchemical crates ?” My tail then tightens around his throat. “This is about you forgetting your place. You paid us. You used us. And now, when the wolves come sniffing because of the bone we tossed them, you think you can just collect us like stray animals ?”
His face purples. “They’re they’re carving through the lower halls. My best men are down there bleeding. If you don’t..”
I cut him off by dragging one claws slow and deliberate along his chin. “If I don’t what ? Help you? Save your precious guildhouse ?” My lips curl baring fangs “Maybe I let them finish the job. Maybe I help them. Maybe I sit on this very bed and watch while they gut every last one of you who ever looked at my dear master like he was merchandise.”
The leader begins pleading “Please,” he rasps. “Please. Help us. I’ll, I’ll pay double. Triple. Whatever you want.”
My ears flick forward. I tilt my head, considering him like a mouse that’s finally learned to squeak properly. “Triple,” I repeat slowly “and an apology to my master for waking him up and to me for thinking you could touch what belongs to me.”
I then instantly prowl back to the bed, vaulting lightly onto the mattress nuzzling hard against the side of masters throat, fangs grazing skin just enough to remind him that I’m here,
The bond lights up the moment he matches me and presses his nose to my neck inhaling. "Good kitten." The words aren’t spoken, instead they're sent directly through the bond. Instant euphoria crashes through me in a single moment, chest blooming hot, ears pinning back in helpless bliss whilst a ragged purr tears out of my throat.
He doesn’t linger on it however. Doesn’t need to. One slow inhale against my throat, one last brush of lips over the spot where my collar sits, and then he’s moving. He stands. Slow. Unhurried.
Master rubs one hand across his eyes as he stands, the blanket slides off him right away and he walks toward the door. The two Sapphire guards snap to something resembling attention, swords still half drawn, eyes flicking between him and me like they’re waiting for the next explosion.
The guild master hauls himself upright against the wall, one hand pressed to the shallow cuts on his throat, the other braced on the wall. His face is red and white, pride and terror.
Master doesn’t even really glance at them. He nods once. A small, polite dip of his head. The same nod he’d give a servant who held a door open or a merchant who didn’t shortchange him on tea but nothing more. No words, not really a real acknowledgment of the situation that just happened. Just that calm, sleepy nod, and then he keeps walking.
His right hand drops to his side as he passes the threshold, fingers loose and trailing, palm open toward the corridor like an invitation only I would ever recognise and with that I’m already moving.
Four limbs hit the floor, my tail lashes once, high and proud, before it settles into a slow sway. I surge forward on all fours, closing the distance in an instant and shove the top of my head straight into the cup of his waiting palm.
His fingers close instantly around the base of my ears. Not grabbing. Never grabbing. Just settling, firm, warm, possessive. Thumb strokes once along the sensitive part behind my right ear. My tail curls twice around his calf as I match his stride.
The guild leader stumbles after us, voice cracking on the first word. “Wait” yet master doesn’t break step so neither do I.
We move down the corridor together. First a Sapphire guard rounds the corner ahead, armor dented, blood on his cheek, sword red to the crossguard. He freezes when he sees us. His eyes dart to Master, then to me crouched at his side like a hunting cat on a leash made of nothing but trust.
Master nods at him too. Same small, polite motion. The guard swallows, steps aside without a word, and presses his back to the wall. We keep walking, down the main stairs now. Shouts and iron blades rise from below.
His fingers never leave my ears. I nuzzle harder into his palm, fangs grazing the edge of his thumb now but not quite biting, just reminding. My purr stays loud and deliberate as we pass every guard.
We reach the landing above the great hall. Bodies litter the marble, Sapphire blues mostly, a few in darker Cartel leathers. Blood tracks across the floor in smeared footprints.
Master pauses at the top of the stairs just for a second. His hand slides from my ears down the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, until he simply takes out his crossbow and begins to fire off bolts. Sapphire guards line the stairway whilst a group of cartel members are all lined together. He doesn't even aim just fires randomly again and again. Attackers fall, attackers get wounded yet I feel through the bond his bored, he wants me to jump but I won't, that would be further than 5 ft.
The great hall below us is already a butcher’s yard yet Sapphire’s line holds the bottom of the grand staircase. Not pretty. Not heroic. Just professional. Eight men in chainmail and blue tabards, shields locked edge to edge in a shallow crescent across the lowest six steps. Behind them, two ranks of crossbowmen, another ten or twelve. The formation isn’t flashy. It’s textbook.
The Cartel continues to try anyway. They come in waves, small, controlled pushes. First squad rushes, shields up. Sapphire crossbows fire. Two men drop instantly, one pinned whilst the rest scatter back into the courtyard. No panic. They just reset.
Second push comes faster. A dozen this time, throwing smoke pots first. The Sapphire line coughs but doesn’t break. Shields stay locked. Crossbows loose again, slower this time because of the smoke, but still methodical. A Cartel man staggers, bolt through his thigh, another takes one in the shoulder. They reach the foot of the stairs, barely might I add and start climbing over their own dead.
That’s when the line shifts. The front rank of Sapphire drops to one knee in perfect unison, shields still raised. The second rank steps forward over them. The Cartel hits the sword wall. iron scrapes iron, someone screams as a sworf takes him under the ribs. The formation doesn’t advance. It just stands. Absorbs. Pushes back with short and brutal thrusts. Bodies pile up whilst blood runs down the steps.
Master watches it all from the landing above, one hand still resting on the nape of my neck, fingers loose in my hair. His breathing stays even. Almost bored. My tail sways slow behind me, brushing his calf, ears forward and twitching. The bond hums quiet between us, his calm seeping into me.
A third push comes. Bigger. Twenty this time, maybe more. They’ve learned, just bodies just mass assault. They charge straight at the bottleneck, shields overlapped, blades low. The Sapphire crossbows loose in volleys now, three, four, five at a time. Bolts slap into wood and meat with dull thuds. Men fall but yet others step over them. They reach the sword line again however this time a few break through the flanks, two slip past the left edge.
The Sapphire formation doesn’t buckle. The flank man pivots, shield smashing into one attacker’s face with a wet crunch. The other gets a sword through the gut from the second rank. Both go down, the line resets and shields lock again.
Master works methodically. Span. Load. Fire. Span. Load. Fire. Each shot not aimed, each one finding something though. The Cartel notices. Heads turn upward. A few point. Shouts ripple back through their line.
Master doesn’t flinch and the Cartel tries one last rush, desperate now, no formation, just bodies throwing themselves at the bottleneck. Maybe fifteen make it to the foot of the stairs. Master steps out from cover. He shoulders the crossbow again. Aims longer this time. The bolt flies straight and level, catches the Cartel squad leader square in the mouth as he’s shouting orders. The man’s head snaps back and whilst he drops the rest of the cartel rout.
Silence falls whilst the Sapphire line holds position for another long minute before the sergeant calls “Stand down.” Men slump. Some sit right where they are whilst others lean on weapons.
Master lowers the crossbow and I rise from my crouch to match him for the first few steps before straightening to walk at his hip again. My tail brushes his calf once, slow and deliberate. The bond pulses, his quiet satisfaction threading through my restless energy. Not triumphant. Just done.
The guild master is waiting at the top landing, face pale, hands shaking. He’s been watching from the doorway of our room, still in his blood specked vest. When Master reaches him, the guild master opens his mouth, probably to say something about the fight, the losses, the triple pay.
Master doesn’t stop. He nods once, same small, polite dip of the chin he gave the guards earlier and just keeps walking past. Barefoot. Unhurried. Hand trailing again, fingers loose.
I shove my head into his palm without breaking stride. His fingers close around the base of my ears, thumb stroking once behind the right one. My purr kicks up immediately, loud enough to echo in the suddenly quiet corridor.
The door to our room no longer hangs crooked on broken hinges. Someone’s come through while we were downstairs carving up the night, replaced the splintered oak with fresh, solid wood. The air inside smells different too, beeswax polish, fresh linen and the faint metallic tang of coin instead of blood. They’ve been busy trying to make amends after watching us walk through their slaughter.
I slip in half a step behind him, tail low and slow swaying, ears swiveling forward to catch every sound. The corridor behind us is quiet now, too quiet. My claws flex once against the floor before I rise to two feet, boots silent on the rug. I don’t like how clean it smells. Clean means they touched our space. Clean means they were here without me watching.
Master doesn’t seem to care. He walks straight to a low table in which a small leather pouch is sitting, dark brown and held tight with a fancy black cord, no crest, no guild mark, nothing to claim it. Beside it, a single folded sheet of heavy paper, sealed with plain black wax, no impression. Deliberately anonymous. Spy work. I hate it already.
My tail lashes once, sharp, irritated whilst brushing the back of his calf as I prowl up beside him. I press my whole side against his hip, shoulder to thigh, like I’m reminding the room who actually owns this space.
He breaks the seal with with fingers. Just opens it, scans the lines before setting it down flat on the table so I can see too. The writing is precise.
The Cartel safehouse at 17 Blackspire Lane. Third floor, rear garret, iron shutters painted green. Target: ledger book bound in red sharkskin, brass clasp, marked with three crossed quills. You do not act on our behalf. You are not in our employ. Success or failure is yours alone. If taken, we will deny knowledge. If killed, we will not mourn. Payment in advance: fifty silver.
Fifty silver. Five gold coins’ worth, sitting pretty in that pouch like it’s supposed to impress us. I bare my fangs in a slow, silent hiss. My tail curls tight around his ankle once, possessive.
Master exhales through his nose. He picks up the pouch, weighs it in his palm once, deliberate, unhurried, then tosses it lightly onto the bed. It lands with a soft clink against the rumpled sheets we left earlier. My eyes follow it, then snap back to him.
He turns to face me fully. His hand lifts, settles on the side of my neck, thumb pressing once against the pulse under my collar.
"They think they can hire us again" I send through the bond, voice sharp even in thought. "Think they can leave notes and coin like we’re errand cats. Like we won’t remember how they tried to drag you out of bed an hour ago."
His fingers slide up as he scratches once behind my ear, slow and firm. A ragged purr tears out of me despite the anger simmering under my skin. My claws hook into the front of his shirt.
"They’re scared" he sends back, calm as ever. "Scared enough to pay in advance. Scared enough to pretend we’re disposable."
I press my face into his throat inhaling his scent. “They don’t get to pretend,” I murmur aloud, voice husky, thick with tea and violence. “Not after tonight. Not after they watched you walk through their dead like they were furniture.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just keeps scratching behind my ear, slow circles that make my eyes slit. Eventually though he reaches past me, picks the letter up again. Folds it once, neat, then tucks it into the inner pocket of the cloak.
I don’t move away. My claws stay hooked in his shirt. My tail stays wrapped around his wrist. My ears stay forward, listening to the guildhouse settle, distant voices of guards sweeping glass, the soft thump of bodies being dragged, the faint crackle of braziers being relit downstairs.
