Chapter 20, The return to Mireclaw
We step out of the dust and dark, crossing back into the half-lit sprawl of the market district. The barn HQ is as Mireclaw left it, wooden, old banners, doors warped from too many years fighting, Mireclaw’s perched atop a makeshift throne of crates and plundered furniture, one leg slung over the other, tail coiled around her ankle.
She sees us and cocks her head, a sly smile flickering across black-painted lips, tone all mock-relief with a razor edge. “Oh, you two are alive. For a moment there I thought the pit had finally claimed you. Shame, really, I was almost looking forward to telling the survivors what became of the famous Master and his… beast. Did you find the Swarm, or just more corpses for the counting? No matter. You’re here. That’s what matters.” She makes a show of stretching, as if boredom is the only thing that’s ever threatened her reign. “I trust you left the city a little lighter for our troubles?”
Her gaze lingers on Master’s collar, on me, a little too long. Her tail lashes, never casual, always marking territory, always questioning what’s hers and what might be stolen.
I bare my teeth in a smile, sliding to Master’s side, never more than a breath away, claws ghosting over my spear. The Bond pulses, my hackles prickling as the rival’s words slip through the air like poison.
A pulse of possessive violence races up my spine as Mireclaw speaks, her lazy, venomous drawl lingering in the rafters. The barn is half-shadow and old sawdust, the air tense with the weight of her ambition and the ghosts she’s buried to keep her seat. I watch the way her eyes flick between us,Master’s collar, my claws, her tail never quite still. She’s clever enough to feign boredom, but the scent beneath it is pure hunger, territorial and sharp.
I step forward, muscles rolling under the dark blue tunic, tail raised high, slow and deliberate, claiming the ground between us inch by inch. I can feel her eyes trying to measure my intention, maybe even my sanity. Good. Let her wonder.
I bare my teeth in a slow, mocking grin, one that’s all threat and no play. “Alive? No thanks to you, High Watcher.” The words come out low and honeyed, “Shame you weren’t there to see the pit. Would’ve loved to toss you in, just to see if you’d crawl out or drown in the stink.” I let the words twist, let my yandere delight shimmer through, every syllable meant to dig, to remind her she’s prey pretending at predator.
My claws flex at my sides, every movement coiled and ready. I walk a slow circle around Master, never breaking eye contact with Mireclaw, tail curling around his leg. I make a point of showing her my neck, the collar, the claim that no one, including her, will ever break.
I let my voice drop, cold and clear. “The Swarm’s not here. All your little plans, all your desperate hopes for power, mean nothing. Black Fang’s gutted, their blood’s still warm, and we’re back. You’re still just a cat with borrowed claws, Mireclaw. Don’t forget it.” I smile, wide and sharp, letting her see the edge in my eyes. “You want something done? Ask, but mind your place. My Master’s not your errand boy. And I’m not your friend.”
I can feel the Bond vibrating with my possessiveness, the need to prove, to dominate, to leave a mark she’ll never wash out. My ears flatten, my voice softens, a purr now, cruel and dangerous. “Try to use us again, and I’ll carve your ambitions into the barn walls. You want loyalty, buy a dog. You want survival, STAY OUT OF OUR WAY.”
Then, just as quick, I let the tension drop. I slide back to Master, nuzzle his arm, my tail wrapping possessively. I make sure she sees it, how little she matters compared to him, how she could never understand the violence it would take to separate us.
And I laugh, a sharp, delighted sound that fills the barn, echoing off the timbers and reminding every shadow that I am alive, I am dangerous, and above all, I am his. Whatever game Mireclaw plays, she’ll never win while I still draw breath.
Rage simmers under my skin, sharp and trembling, every muscle pulled taut as a bowstring as I bare my teeth at Mireclaw. My tail thrashes, ears pinned, heart thudding with the old, familiar need to protect, to destroy, to own. The Bond is a live wire, but suddenly, Master’s thoughts just vanish. Gone. The psychic hum I’ve grown addicted to is silence, cold and sudden.
For a split second, it’s like I can’t breathe, like he’s slipped into another world just out of reach.
He turns, neutral, detached, voice level as slate. “I have a present, Mireclaw.” Nothing in his tone, no warmth, no malice, just fact. The words hit the air and twist everything in the room, the lazy swagger in Mireclaw’s eyes vanishes, replaced by bright, hungry anticipation. She straightens on her makeshift throne, green eyes wide, pupils dilated, ears flicked forward. Her tail arches high, hopeful, greedy, like a mongrel shown a bone, forgetting the hand that might snap her jaw shut.
That’s all it takes. Jealousy is fire in my gut, a rabid thing clawing up my throat. The Bond’s silence burns. My tail coils so tight it aches, claws biting into my palm. I want to lunge, to leap at her, to rake her eyes out before she even gets a chance to touch what’s his. My eyes narrow, tracking every twitch of her fingers, every eager lean forward. She’s practically panting for it, ready to lap up whatever scrap he offers.
The urge to strike, to mark him again as mine, is nearly overwhelming. I press closer to Master, breath hot, a low warning growl trembling just under my tongue. She doesn’t see him, doesn’t know him like I do, hasn’t earned the right. It doesn’t matter what the present is, it could be a knife, a curse, or a corpse, it’s the attention, the possibility, the way her eyes light up as if he’s hers, even for a moment. It’s an insult.
I fix my gaze on her, unblinking, daring her to reach, daring her to try to take a single thing from my world. All I want is to see the hope in her eyes turn to fear, to see her remember that there’s only one predator here, and she’s sitting at his feet.
His words snap through the barn, flat as a judge’s verdict, so cold it leaves no room for argument. “Give her the three heads.” The command is simple, clinical, just another task to complete, as if the world isn’t still trembling from the violence we left behind. The Bond stays eerily quiet, but his authority cuts deeper than any psychic lash.
For a moment, I stare at him, eyes wide, ears flattened, tail frozen in mid-swing. Rage flickers at the edge of my vision, he wants me to hand them over, me to do it, as if Mireclaw has earned even the stink of our kills. I want to hiss, to refuse, to spit in her greedy, expectant face. But Master’s order is a chain around my throat, and my obedience, my love, burns hotter than my jealousy.
I move, every gesture precise, predatory, a performance for both of them. My claws sink into the rough sack at my hip, the one knotted and blood-heavy, barely cleaned from our last stop. I lift it with care, as if it’s precious. Mireclaw’s eyes widen with real excitement now, that hungry gleam back in full force, she leans forward, her lips curling in anticipation.
I stalk forward, never blinking, never dropping my gaze from hers. I make her feel every step, make the weight of the heads seem heavier, the air itself thicker with threat. I kneel, mocking the gesture, parodying a servant’s bow, and untie the sack, dumping the grisly trophies at her feet with a dull, wet thud. Three heads, faces twisted in terror and surprise, blood caked in their hair, eyes glassy and accusing.
Mireclaw recoils for a second, breath caught, then grins, wide and sharp, like she’s been handed a kingdom on a platter. “Oh, you really are efficient, aren’t you?” she purrs, glancing from the heads to Master, then back to me, her tail flicking with greedy pleasure. “This will send a message.”
I stay on my haunches, body coiled tight, letting her feel my hatred, letting her see the truth in my eyes: she only owns what we allow. The Bond aches in its silence, and all I want is for this wretched rival to choke on her own ambition.
Mireclaw leans back in her throne of crates, one hand curling possessively around the burlap sack, the other petting the severed heads as if they were gifts from an adoring suitor. Her green eyes glitter in the barn’s half-light, smug and triumphant, her tail waving in slow satisfaction. She drinks in the fear these grisly trophies will spread, already plotting how to bend everything to her will. Around us, the barn is tense, quiet, thick with the promise of violence, and I feel every shadow pressing close.
Master stands a little apart, his presence as cold and certain as the sword at his hip. The Bond’s silence is maddening but rage pulses in my veins, hotter than any wound, sharper than any blade. I can feel Mireclaw’s eyes on me, lingering, mocking, her lips twisted in that little smirk, as if she’s already forgotten what I am, as if she thinks for one second that she’s the only predator in the room.
My claws flex against the wood. I taste blood, my own, from biting back the urge to snarl, and hers, imagined, warm and sweet. All my muscles bunch, ready to spring. The Bond is an ache, an itch.
That’s enough.
I snap.
I’m a blur, a streak of blue and white, crossing the ground in a heartbeat. I leap, not with a weapon, not with any plan but violence, just claws, fangs, and the shrieking rage of a cat who will not be mocked, not be challenged, not share her Master’s shadow with anyone. My mind goes blank, world narrowing to the scent of Mireclaw’s fear, the gleam of her teeth as she realises, too late, what’s coming for her.
She shrieks, half rage, half glee, this is what she wanted, what she feared, what she tried to provoke. She’s a catgirl, too; her own claws flash out, fangs bared, tail thrashing wildly as she surges up to meet me. We crash together in a blur of fur and fury, claws raking, teeth snapping, bodies rolling across the straw and dirt.
Aliza, 16 DEX +4, Catgirl Instinct, +2, Caffeine boost, +2, Protective Fury +2, Master’s proximity +1 = 27
Mireclaw, 17, Dex, +4, Catgirl Instinct, +2, Ambition, +2 = 25
We’re a cyclone, fur flying, claws slashing, fangs snapping inches from each other’s throats. She’s strong, fast, desperate, her own rage and pride giving her a fighting edge, but I am faster, more vicious, more lost to the thrill. My claws catch her across the cheek, blood beads in her black fur, she lands a blow to my ribs, tearing fabric, leaving burning lines, but I don’t care. I laugh, wild and manic, the sound bubbling up from somewhere bottomless. She hisses, writhes, tries to throw me off, but I ride her down, pressing her face into the dirt.
She twists, nearly dislodges me, but I bite her ear with my fangs, hard, vicious, possessive. She howls, struggling, tail lashing so hard it cracks like a whip. We tumble, claws locked, bodies tangling in a heap of rage, violence, and mutual contempt. She tries to rake my belly, but I twist, pinning her arms with my knees, slamming her back into the crates.
For a heartbeat, we freeze, both panting, wild-eyed, blood running in thin rivulets down our fur. I stare down at her, every muscle trembling, the Bond screaming for release. “You’ll never be me,” I snarl, words barely more than a growl. “You’ll never have him. You’ll never even come close.”
She spits blood, eyes defiant, but the fear is there, she knows I could kill her, knows I want to, knows I would if Master allowed it. For one electric moment, the whole barn is nothing but the sound of our breathing and the wild, ragged beat of our hearts.
And then, as if the world snaps back into focus, Master’s voice cuts through the haze. He’s still cold, still in control, not a hair out of place. “If you two are finished, I believe the heads of the Black Fang leader and the two lieutenants should be enough as payment of promise.” His tone is flat, matter of fact, as if feral catgirl combat is just another day at the office.
He turns without waiting for a reply, already halfway to the door, cloak swirling behind him. Mireclaw shoves me off, hissing, scrambling to right herself, pride wounded, fur and face streaked with blood. I bare my fangs in a final, triumphant smile, letting her see the wild joy in my eyes, she lost, she knows it, and she’ll remember.
The Bond pulls me like a leash. I bolt after Master on all fours, leaping from the barn before the pain of distance can become agony, my mind still ringing with the taste of victory and the wild, animal glee of battle. Five feet. No more, no less. That’s my world, and I wouldn’t trade it for all the thrones in Maw Mine.
I stand, blood sticky on my fur, body humming with adrenaline and the wild, sour taste of victory. My breath is ragged, chest rising and falling.
Then Master’s hand comes down, slow, firm, gentle but unyielding, between my ears, fingers sliding through the mess of my blonde hair, rubbing just right at the base of my skull. The tension bleeds out of me all at once. My tail arches, body shuddering with a soft, broken purr I don’t bother to hide. For a moment, all the rage, all the violence, all the twisted, jealous ache falls away, replaced by the simple, primal comfort of his touch. I lean into it shamelessly, all claws and bravado forgotten, eyes half-shut, heart racing for all the right reasons now.
Master sighs, a tired sound, older than the city, heavier than all the blood we’ve spilled tonight. His voice is quiet, but every word is shaped by the weight of too many schemes, too many dead ends. “You know this leaves a single district left. We’ve gone through the expansion district owned by The Ren, the market and fishing districts under the Vigilance, checked with the Vel’Rasa order in the fishing district, checked the mining district and arena districts under Black Fang… that leaves only Embercrack’s own district.”
He sighs again, and I can feel the resignation in his bones, the cynicism etched into every syllable. "Of course nothing is ever simple". My ears flick back, the Bond tightening with his fatigue, his frustration, a shared sense that the city is always one step ahead, that every answer leads to another locked door.
He lets his hand linger a moment longer, the warmth soaking down to my marrow, before pulling away. “Come now. Let’s just get some tea and deal with this later.” The command is soft, but it’s absolute, and I obey before the Bond can even sting at the thought of being left behind.
I slip to his side, brushing up against his hip, tail twining around his wrist, every movement a silent vow. The city can burn, the rivals can plot, the districts can tear themselves apart, none of it matters, not for these few precious minutes. We move together, slipping out into the cooling night, leaving the barn and its petty wars behind.
The promise of tea is more than comfort, it’s a brief, stolen peace. As we walk, I keep myself pressed against him, breathing in his scent, ears tuned to his heart, every sense fixed on the five-foot radius that is my universe. I don’t care about Embercrack’s secrets, not yet. All that matters is the certainty of his hand in my fur, the taste of his approval, the knowledge that, for now, I am wanted.
