The rooftop settles after the watchers last wet exhale fades. His body lies where it fell, sprawled awkward across the roof, one arm flung out like he was reaching for something he never quite grasped. I don’t spare him another glance. He’s nothing now. Just cooling meat. Master’s already forgotten him.

  I purr. Low at first, then deeper, rolling through my chest until it vibrates against his ribs. The sound fills the night air between us, drowning the distant creak of noise. My tail squeezes his wrist once, hard and then loosens to sway lazy arcs that brush his right leg every few heartbeats.

  Master reaches into his inner pocket without looking away from the window twenty feet below. Pulls out our matching flask, embercrack tea still warm inside, the mushroom bitter scent rising sharp and comforting when he unscrews the cap. He takes a slow swallow first, throat working under my lips where I’ve pressed them to the pulse just below his jaw. Then he tilts the flask toward me.

  I don’t take it with my hands. I lean in, fangs grazing the sides, tongue curling to lap at the dark liquid. Hot. Bitter. Perfect. The burn spreads down my throat. I purr louder against his skin, grateful, possessive, utterly content.

  We stay like that. Hours bleed away. The moon climbs higher. Inside the window, the nervous one has finally stopped pacing. He’s slumped at the table now, head in his hands. The guard, broad, scarred, ale sour has dozed off against the wall, crossbow slipping from his lap to rest barrel down on the floorboards. No one comes to relieve them. No bells ring. No shadows move in the stairwell. The trap waits, patient and stupid, for intruders who aren’t coming.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  We don’t care. Master takes another slow swallow from his flask. I mirror him, lapping again. My ears twitch once at a distant noise, then flatten in contentment as his fingers slide up from my tail to cup the back of my neck. Thumb strokes the edge of my collar "master’s property", tracing the letters like he’s reminding himself, reminding me.

  I melt harder against him. My whole body presses along his side, chest to hip, thigh to thigh, until there’s no space left between us. My tail unwraps from his wrist only to loop three times around his forearm instead, squeezing once before then settling into slow sweeps. My claws hook gentle into his clothing fabric as I begin kneading slow circles that shred linen without meaning to. I don’t stop. I never stop.

  The bond hums between us, quiet and steady, just like it should. Hours slip past as Master shifts, just enough to pull me closer, arm draping loose around my shoulders now. I huff a soft, pleased sound against his neck and arch into the touch.

  He exhales soft, "Good kitten." The words bloom inside my skull as euphoria crashes through me again. I nuzzle harder, face buried deep in the crook of his neck now, just breathing him in, his scent, his warmth, his pulse under my lips.