After all of that drama we just as easily slip back through the skylight the same way we came in, silent, fluid and no trace left behind well besides the two cooling bodies. Master goes first, and then I follow, pulling myself up in a single effortless motion.

  No one sees us drop down the side wall, Master's feet find the same crumbling mortar holds he used on the way up as I scramble down beside him in four quick leaps, claws scraping faint lines down the wall. We hit the cobbles of Blackspire Lane together, soft thuds, barely audible.

  The street is empty. The drunk from earlier has staggered off, most passerbyes have gone back to their taverns or simply home. The ledger sits warm and heavy inside Master's cloak, pressed against his ribs where I can smell it every time I lean in, red sharkskin, and fresh wax that's clearly been applied.

  I don't wait for permission.

  The moment our boots touch stone, my hand snaps out, claws retracted but fingers curling hard around the front of masters shirt. I yank him toward me, forceful, possessive and leaving no room for hesitation. He doesn't resist. Doesn't even blink. Just lets me pull him in until our chests bump, until my tail coils twice around his waist.

  I bring him close. Closer. My free hand slides up the back of his neck, fingers threading into short hair at the nape. The bond flares bright between us, his calm threading through my storm.

  Then I move. Slow. Deliberate. One step sideways, my boot sliding against his, guiding him with the press of my thigh. He follows, effortless, like he's always known the steps. My tail tightens around his waist, pulling him tighter still, until there's no space left, until every shift of my hips rocks against his.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  We slow dance. Right there in the middle of Blackspire Lane. No music. No audience yet my tail sways with us in slow arcs that brush his legs, curl around his ankles then unwrap to loop higher again. My claws hook gentle into the fabric at his back, kneading slow circles through leather, claiming every inch I can reach without tearing.

  I nuzzle into the crook of his neck, cheek rubbing hard along his jaw, then down his throat marking him with my scent until everything is all buried under wild musk and embercrack warmth.

  One slow turn and then my hips roll against his, guiding him in a lazy circle that carries us a few paces down the lane. My ears flick forward, then soften, flattening halfway in pure, spoiled bliss. My blue eyes are half lidded whilst watching his face, his expression stays calm, always calm, even when my tail squeezes his waist hard enough to make his breath hitch the tiniest fraction.

  Another turn. Slower this time. My hand at his nape slides down this time as it then settles on his back, pressing him closer until our heartbeats sync through the bond, through the skin, through everything. My tail unwraps from his waist only to curl three times around his thigh, high and possessive.

  I bare my fangs, just a flash, against his throat. Not biting. Not yet. Just reminding. As we continue to dance, slowly throughout the street as if we were the only two souls alive.

  Then suddenly with no warning and no shift in expression. One hand slides under my thighs, the other hooks behind my back in that familiar cradle grip master uses and with that i'm in his arms.

  I huff once, half surprise, half spoiled delight and then melt into him completely. My arms loop around his neck as he carries me back towards the guildhall.