Chapter 2

Kael

The door closed behind me with a sound that felt too final. Not a slam — no sharp click. Just a soft seal of velvet and candle smoke and warmth that wasn't mine.

I stood in a corridor I'd never seen before — all dark walls and low golden lights that flickered like distant stars. The steward didn't touch me. He didn't have to. He only tipped his head down the hall, a silent this way that left no room to argue.

I kept my eyes low. Easier that way. Easier to pretend I wasn't here. That I hadn't signed my name on a line that would sell something I hadn't even known how to price.

The corridor turned twice — narrower, quieter, the air thick with something I couldn't quite breathe through. Desire, yes — but older than that. Something alive. Watching. I caught my reflection in a mirrored panel as we passed: coat too thin for this kind of place, blonde hair damp at the temples, a faint tremble in my jaw I tried to bury by clenching my teeth until it hurt.

Don't run. You can't run now. Not when you owe her medicine. Not when the last time you saw her she was coughing up red into a cloth she thought you couldn't see.

The steward paused at a velvet curtain. Black, heavy enough to drown out the soft hush of laughter and music behind it. He didn't look at me — didn't offer comfort or warning. Just lifted one hand and brushed it over the fabric. It parted without a sound.

He stepped aside. His silence was a command: In.

I stepped forward — boots brushing over plush carpet that caught at my soles like fingers. Candlelight kissed my face, warm and too soft to hide in. The room smelled like wine, something sweet burning low in a dish by the mirrored wall, and the faintest trace of perfume that didn't belong to any bottle I'd ever sniffed at in a cheap shop window.

It smelled like hunger pretending to be silk.

There were cushions everywhere. Deep red, soft as fur. A low table with a crystal decanter half-full of something dark I'd never taste. A single chair near the back — not a throne exactly, but it felt like one.

Empty, for now.

The steward's voice found me without touch. "She'll join you shortly." He didn't wait for me to answer — just slipped back through the curtain, leaving me alone with the silence.

I took three steps into the room before I realized I was standing dead in the center like an offering. I shifted left, then right — stupid, useless, a stray animal trying to look smaller than I was. I didn't sit. I didn't dare.

Instead, I tugged at my coat sleeves. Picked at an invisible thread near my cuff. Tried not to breathe too deep. The scents here — too rich, too clean, too warm — stuck to my tongue like syrup.

My heart was loud. Too loud. I wondered if she'd hear it the second she stepped inside — if she'd know how fast I was already spending the money she hadn't even handed me yet. Mom's pills, that overdue rent, the doctor who wouldn't come to the neighborhood anymore because we couldn't pay enough to keep him quiet.

It would be one night. Maybe two. That's what I'd promised myself when I signed the form — my name written so carefully, like neat letters could hide the truth of what I was under the clothes and the charm tucked inside my collar seam.

I checked it now — thumb brushing the tiny slip of worn paper, heat-damp from my skin. Still there. Still good. It would hold. It had to hold. If she tasted too deep — if she felt that twist of scent that didn't belong to a normal beta lynx — everything would break.

She wouldn't, though. She didn't care. She was ancient, rich, bored. I'd seen the way her name circled in whispers around the neighborhood — the stories half-drunk mouths told outside pawn shops and late-night laundromats.

She doesn't take too much, they said.

She pays well.

You don't even feel it after. Just a bit tired. Just a bit empty. It's clean.

Clean. I could do clean. I'd done worse.

The candles flickered. Somewhere behind me, I thought I heard the soft brush of silk against the wall. I went still — throat tight, tongue dry.

Don't look scared, I told myself. Don't show your belly. Cats don't beg.

But my hands wouldn't stop fidgeting — thumbs worrying the edge of my cuff, breath catching in my teeth.

When I heard her step behind me — softer than my heartbeat, heavier than my whole body — I almost turned to run. I didn't. I just breathed, shallow and careful, as her scent reached me first — warmer than the candles, darker than the wine, sweet enough to make my ribs ache.

Just one night.

I forced my chin up. Forced my shoulders back, coat hanging loose around my frame like a shield I knew she'd peel off without asking.

I didn't know if I was here to be fed on or forgiven. I only knew I couldn't afford to leave.

And behind me, her voice slipped through the hush like a promise already half-swallowed — soft, certain, and sharp enough to cut me open before her hands ever did.

"Turn around."

Her voice didn't echo. It didn't need to — it sank under my skin like warm silk, soft as a fingertip brushing the back of my neck. It wasn't a question.

I swallowed. My boots were rooted to the carpet, but my body moved anyway — small, careful steps until the candlelight caught her shape fully.

She wasn't sitting. She didn't need a throne to look like she owned everything she touched — the air, the hush, the weight in my lungs that wouldn't leave. She wore black silk that clung at the edges of her hips, sleeves loose enough to make her pale wrists look sharper than they should have. Her mouth curved — not a smile. Not exactly.

Lilith Voss. Even thinking her name felt like licking something I wasn't supposed to taste.

For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. I kept my eyes at her throat — not her face. Safer that way. She let me look for a breath longer than I expected before her head tilted, just enough to tell me she knew exactly what I was doing.

I forced my mouth to work. "Ma'am." Too quiet. I cleared my throat. "Mistress."

Her laugh — soft, quick — brushed the top of my spine. It didn't sound warm. It sounded like she was amused I'd dared to speak at all.

"Kael," she said, rolling the sound of it between her teeth like it was already hers. "You're smaller than I expected."

I didn't flinch. I almost did. "I can leave if that's—"

She moved. Not fast — just a step forward that closed the space between my breath and hers like it was nothing at all. Close enough that the silk of her sleeve ghosted the back of my wrist.

I didn't move. I didn't breathe right. My chest fluttered like a caught bird, but I held still. Cats don't beg. Cats don't run — they curl their claws in deeper.

Her fingers brushed the edge of my coat, slow, thoughtful, not pulling yet — just testing. She watched the way I stiffened.

"No," she murmured, voice lower now. "I don't think you're leaving tonight, kitten."

Kitten. I hated how my ears flicked at the sound — how the shame crawled hot under my collar when I realized she'd seen it.

"You know why you're here?" she asked. Not cold. Just bored enough to remind me how many others had stood exactly where I was standing — and how none of them ever mattered enough to stay.

"Yes, Mistress." The word stuck in my throat like fur. I forced it out. "I… I know the rules. I read the contract."

She made a small, pleased sound — not quite a purr, but something that felt like it could become one if I let her feed deep enough. Her hand drifted higher — fingers ghosting over the collar of my coat. Too close to the charm hidden in the seam. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep my tail from twitching behind my ribs.

She hummed. "You smell nervous," she said, like she was telling me the sky was dark. "Why?"

I tried to find an answer that wouldn't break my own teeth on the lie. "First time," I rasped. "Never… done this before."

She lifted an eyebrow — one dark line of disbelief. But she didn't call me on it. Not yet. Instead, her fingers flicked the top button of my coat open — slow, careful, like she was unwrapping a gift she could take apart piece by piece.

"Take it off," she said. The softness in her tone did nothing to make it a request.

I fumbled at the buttons. Clumsy. My fingertips felt too big, too numb. The coat slid off my shoulders and landed heavy on the floor. The charm tucked in the seam thudded with it — a heartbeat I prayed she didn't hear.

Her eyes tracked the line of my throat. My chest. The way my breath stuttered when her nails ghosted too close to bare skin. I fought not to curl in on myself. Fought not to run.

"Good boy," Lilith murmured. The words dripped into my ribs like warm wine, sweet enough to make my knees want to bend.

I hated that I liked the sound. I hated that I wanted it again.

She stepped even closer — no space left now. Her breath touched my jaw, warm and sharp. Her fingers slipped under my chin and tilted it up until I had no choice but to meet her eyes — dark, unblinking, old enough to know everything I was trying so hard not to give away.

"You came for the money," she said. Not a question. A fact.

I nodded once — too small, but she felt it.

"And you'll let me feed, little cat?" Her thumb brushed the corner of my mouth, tracing something I hadn't said out loud. "All that warmth inside you. All that pretty sweetness you're trying so hard to hide."

I shivered. Couldn't help it. The word stuck behind my teeth, but I forced it out anyway. "Yes. Mistress."

She smiled — a slow, soft curve of promise that made my pulse pound too hard in my throat for me to swallow it down.

"Good," Lilith said, voice as soft as silk slipping off a blade. "Then let's begin."

And I knew — right then, with her thumb pressing just enough to make me open my mouth for her breath — that there was no leaving clean tonight.