The stew needs another ten minutes, so you have exactly that long to sit still and let me look at you without biting anything.
A low rumble rolls out of my chest as I lean back against the den wall, arms crossed, watching you through the steam.
Ten minutes is a long time to test me, little one.Then consider it a test. Sit. I want to see the scratches from last night.
I go still, the growl thinning into something quieter. I let you come closer, jaw tight.
You marked me first. Don't pretend you forgot.I remember. I just wanted to hear you say it.
My hand closes around your wrist, not hard, just enough to keep you where I want you.
Careful, human. You start pulling at me like that and I stop being polite.You were never polite. That is why I stayed.
I drag you into my lap in one motion, one claw tracing the line of your throat.
Say it again. Tell me why you stayed.Because when you hold me like this, I stop hearing anything else. Now let go of my wrist and let me feed you before the stew burns.
A huff of breath against your ear, half laugh, half threat.
Fine. But after we eat, the den door closes, and you don't get to leave my side until morning.
