The command doesn’t arrive as a word. It doesn’t arrive as a sound. It detonates directly behind my eyes.

  Heel.

  The bond hits me like a falling boulder, slamming through my skull, ripping my breath away in a single violent jolt. My entire body convulses in instinct before I can think, before I can breathe, before I can decide anything at all. One moment I’m smirking, sharp and smug and cruel, tail wrapped tight around him in playful dominance. The next I’m scrambling.

  The mania flips inside me. Heat, delight, arrogance, gone. Replaced by a full?body spike of dread so intense it nearly knocks the air out of my lungs. My ears snap flat. My tail unravels around him in a panicked shiver. My breath catches, sharp and frantic.

  I don’t choose to move my body just obeys.

  My nose buries against his chest, pressing again and again, desperate and wild, frantic little nudges searching for danger, fear, fury, anything. I paw at his shirt, claws barely contained, trying to check his pulse, his breathing, the tension in his muscles, the tone of his scent.

  “Master, Master, Master", The words tumble out of me in a cracked whisper, breath shaking, pupils blown wide. My whole body curls around him like a shield made of trembling limbs, my mind spiralling in the bond, slamming into every wall looking for an explanation, for reassurance, for a sign that he isn't angry, that I haven’t shattered something without knowing.

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  The mania reverses so hard it feels like my skull is splitting. One second I was grinning. The next I’m shaking. “Are you hurt?” “Are you angry?” “Did I do something wrong?”

  “Master, look at me, look at me, I’m here”

  I nose at his jaw, at his cheek, at his throat, tiny panicked touches as if trying to physically fix whatever I might have broken without realising it. My tail wraps around his leg again, but not out of pride or ownership. Out of fear. Fear of losing his warmth. Fear of displeasing him. Fear of the bond going silent.

  One whispered psychic command. One single thought thrown into the bond. And I fold instantly. Kneeling mentally. Curling physically. Clinging desperately. The manic grin is gone. The sly cruelty dissolves. All that remains is raw, shaking instinct.

  My forehead presses against his collarbone again. “Please… talk to me…” I breathe, voice tiny, terrified, almost childlike in its fracture.

  Then he just pets my head, fingers weaving through my hair, scratching behind my ears with that slow, detached calm. I shiver under his hand, leaning into the touch so hard it almost hurts, needing him to ground me, to remind me that I’m still wanted, still his, not in trouble, not about to be thrown out like some ruined toy.

  He sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as if nothing happened, as if my mind isn’t a storm of panic and need. "Come on then, let’s go get some breakfast." No emotion, no accusation. Just an order, as easy as breathing. I nod, quick and eager, tail coiling round his leg for reassurance, forcing my body to calm, to shrink down, to be the good little thing he expects.

  I slide off the bed, hovering at his side, every muscle strung tight, eyes never leaving him. My purr comes back, thin, nervous, but there, rubbing my head against his arm with a desperate, apologetic need, as if I can erase whatever made him snap the leash. My ears flatten, and I follow him to the door, always one step behind, heart pounding, ready to prove I can obey, I can behave, I can be exactly what he wants.