He moves to speak, lips barely parting, but I’m already ahead of him. My head tilts in that animal way, unblinking, gaze tracking every flicker of tension across his features, how the pulse beats beneath his jaw, how his pupils contract when he’s focused, how the subtle shift of his weight means he’s already thinking escape, next step, next threat. I breathe in deep, letting his scent fill every corner of my mind, iron and sweat, leather, the trace of blood. It’s intoxicating, grounding, a reminder, THAT HIS MINE, and that whatever happens next, the Bond is absolute.
He doesn’t even get the first word out before his thoughts spill over the tether, as vivid as speech. We need to sneak out of here, no time for mistakes. But as long as we’re in their district, might as well keep looking. Move quiet, keep her close. If we’re fast, we can.
I cut his very thoughts off, voice soft and razor-bright, “You’re thinking we need to sneak out, but since we’re in their district, we should keep looking. Black Fang will be crawling, but the Swarm won’t expect us to stay exposed.” My tail flicks, a wicked grin curling my lips as I lean in, enjoying the shock that flickers behind his eyes, just for a second. He’s always been hard to catch off guard, but this is new, this knowing. I taste his surprise, that flash of confusion, almost suspicion, as if he’s wondering if he actually said anything out loud.
He looks at me, silent, a frown carved deep as canyon rock, eyes darting, calculating, questioning, maybe even a little wary. I just stare back, playful and defiant, letting the Bond show me every little storm in his mind. The silence stretches, thick with tension, before his thoughts stumble out again, She’s faster now. Closer. Like she can smell my thoughts.
I tilt my head further, as if I can hear the words forming before he does, and then, just to see if I can, whisper, “You’re wondering if I can smell your thoughts. Maybe I can. Maybe I always could, and you just weren’t close enough to notice.” My smile is sly, curling at the edges, bright and dangerous. I flick my tail again, moving just a little closer, closing that small distance with a predatory languor, basking in the power of the Bond, in the taste of his confusion and frustration. It’s delicious.
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He mutters, half to himself, “Need to do this quietly. Last thing we need is noise. Or blood. Not until we’re out.” The thought flashes across the Bond before the words, and I’m already grinning wider, a choked giggle bubbling up, dancing between us like a secret. “Well,” I purr, “I won’t be more than five feet away from you, will I? I suppose no murder for me, not for now.” My tone drips with mock sadness, but the laughter in my voice is real, sharp, wicked, bright as broken glass in moonlight. “Guess you’ll have to do all the quiet creeping, Master. I’ll just follow along, all obedient, no claws, no screams, no fun.” My smile is all teeth, all challenge, the slyest promise in the world.
He looks at me as if he’s seeing a ghost, or a new kind of problem, mind spinning with the possibilities, the risks. I can feel his heartbeat picking up, the flicker of anticipation and caution running beneath the surface.
I lean in, nuzzling his shoulder, voice a murmur just for him. “You’ll never be ALONE, EVER again, you know. Not even in your own head. Five feet or less, Master. I can hear you. I can smell you. I can taste your heartbeat, every thought, every twitch of muscle.” My voice is honey and venom, the possessive heat of a cat who’ll never let go, not for the world. “You might as well get used to it. I’m not letting go.”
He gives me that world-weary, noir detective sigh, the one that says he’s resigned to the insanity, that he’ll carry on anyway because that’s who he is. “Right…” he says, voice flat, eyes searching, already moving on, already plotting. His mind clicks back into motion, always two steps ahead, always searching for the next threat, the next angle, the next way out.
But I stay close, always close, always watching, tracking the rhythm of his heart, the cadence of his thoughts, never letting him slip an inch beyond my reach. Five feet. The world is small now, and I like it that way. No rivals. No gaps. No loneliness, ever again.
He packs up the last of the bedroll, grabs the venison, checks his sword and crossbow. I hover, a shadow, a guardian, a wife, an obsession, tail flicking, eyes never leaving him, every sense alive to the tension in his frame, the tilt of his head, the unspoken command always waiting.
“Lead on, Master,” I say, the words low and sly, breath brushing his ear as I claim my place at his side, a promise and a threat in equal measure. “I’ll be right here. Always.” And I follow, footsteps silent, laughter echoing in the Bond, eyes never blinking, never breaking away, waiting for the world to make its next mistake.
