Illicit Alliance

	The island of Dokuro- a local tribal word for ‘Murderous’, apparently- was every bit the filthy, overcrowded, dangerous tropical hell-hole it was rumored to be. The streets, if you could really call them that, were shit-stained slop trails between ramshackle buildings mostly made of broken-down hulls, shipping containers and coral walls. The humid air hung thick with a fog comprised only partially of water, mostly a mélange of disparate cooking steam, wood and charcoal smoke, and tobacco. An endless barrage of varied paw and hoof-prints stamped down the earth, palm fronds and overgrown vines bursting with torn, wide leaves barged into every available splatter of sunlight, and everything reeked of far too many furred bodies and musk, food, sewage, rotting vegetation and the distinct sour notes of alcohol, both good and very, very bad.
	In short, perfection. Exactly my kind of town.
	My contact in this grotto seemed equally at home here, which I have to admit, was somewhat surprising me. I’d expected this unusual liaison would be as amusing as it was bound to be awkward, but I guess I’d underestimated the man I’d come here to meet. Or overestimated? 
	The point is, I’d thought this kind of culture, this kind of atmosphere, beneath a Crown Admiral of Amuresca. To be fair, I’d also imagined him different, in every conceivable way.
	The cattle dog, a full head shorter than me easily, walked at my hip without any airs or dismissive, disgusted looks towards his surroundings. He wore an outfit of humble clothing fatigued in all the right places to suggest he’d long owned them, not some temporary disguise meant to cover his true station. His fur was peppered not only with the spots one might expect from his breed, but black scarred divots in places, mostly clustered around his muzzle. Gunpowder burns, signs his nose had been broken more than once, minor scars from claws, probably from open fists. One of his ears had a temporary notch in it, like he’s caught something recently. I got those all the time from scraps. It’d heal up, but this one had certainly happened at least in the last week.
	I had to admit a grudging respect. This wasn’t some Pedigree swan.
	Of course, I’d known that. I’d dug up all I could on the fabled upstart ‘Cerberus Admiral’ before I’d arranged this meeting. There were certainly enough rumors swirling the seas about him by now, since he’d taken to hunting the trade routes a few years back. He’d come the fuck out of nowhere with an old fleet trussed up in new sails, a totally new, terrifying style no one quite knew how to handle yet, and an inconvenient, never-fail ability to ‘spook’ his prey. By that I mean, he seemed to know just how to sail up your tail out of nowhere, make it clear by means of a flank that he could send you to the rocky bottom if he so chose, and then give you the merciful but humiliating choice to run, or stand and fight.
	Thus far, on the three occasions he’d caught me unawares, I had run. I’m not a stupid man.
	It could be hard to separate the man from the myth, (a fact I relied on quite heavily for my own reputation) but I knew a few things for certain. He was new money- not a merchant made good, not a magnate, but a navy man who’d married up. Way up, based on what I’d heard. Probably blackmail or some kind of pregnancy involved. He’d inherited an already infamous fleet, if a dated one, but if their recent performance was any indication, they’d modernized and slimmed down the Cerberus galleons. This Admiral preferred speed over firepower. Not that he lacked either.
	He was a mongrel, a lesser breed, he’d probably grown up poor. Which means he’d worked his way through the navy the old-fashioned way… and he knew his ships in a way a blue blood wouldn’t, from the rigging up. Most of these curs, they didn’t have a background with a shipwright family like I did, and that was an edge I had on them. 
	I had more time in the game, though. At least, when it came to managing being a Privateer in Amurescan waters. Denholme- that was his name, Luther Denholme- might have had me beat in time on the water owing entirely to being around a decade my senior, but he’d mostly served up north before his recent good fortune, apparently. With Richter… devil take that bastard’s soul. He’d not been particularly merciful to my brothers, unlike his protégé. 
	Ha, protégé. If the rumors were to be believed, more than that.
	I had a good contract coming up. A rare one, a year-long duration, for a particular Carvecian shipping fleet no one would miss. But they had connections in Amuresca, some kind of Pedigree magnate… it was threadbare, but problematic enough that I knew I’d be risking technical piracy on Denholme’s territory. And that bastard swung a wide leg. I didn’t want to leave anything to chance. There’d be other hunters, there always were, but morale was particularly low amongst my boys whenever the subject of Denholme came up. He’d put the fear of god in my men.
	I glanced down at the fairly unimpressive man. If they could see him now.
	But, a big part of Piracy… pardon me… Privateering, was managing risk. And sometimes that wasn’t as exciting as out-maneuvering an enemy fleet. Sometimes it meant sharing a drink with the sort of people who specialized in killing you, or otherwise fucking up your money-making ventures, and twisting their arm a little. Building bridges, you know.
	Blackmail. Threats. Bribes. Whatever worked.
	I didn’t know what this man’s plan here was, yet. But I had an inkling, and I was determined this negotiation was going to go my way.
	We’d met near the docks, both come here on smaller vessels, as low key as we were able. In Denholme’s case, he’d somehow hopped a fishing boat I know-not-where and disembarked like any other mutt in between jobs, blending in like a ghost. I’d come in yesterday and enjoyed the night-life until now, and set up my little trap. I wasn’t really able to keep as low a profile as he was, but that was a given. I was known in most shithole ports like this, and I wasn’t about to powder my gorgeous black fur, wear anything less than my usual dashing apparel, (I only owned well-tailored double-breasted coats at this point anyway) cut my mane of dreads or go without my gold and beads. Wolf’s gotta have style.
	I picked him out at the desired meeting spot, a busted maidenhead they’d propped up in the ‘square’ as a sort of statue. Mostly by the smell of it, a place to piss. I’d greeted him warmly, he’d returned the greeting far more perfunctorily, and we’d made for the nearest dive I knew of that was any good. Or at least, that’s what I’d told him. He didn’t seem to care where we sat down to have a drink and speak, but I’d had a plan if he wanted to pick the place. A kid was keeping an eye out, to tell my ‘secret weapon’ where to find us.
	Still, this worked better. He’d be settled in and waiting.
	We ducked, (or rather I did, Denholme didn’t need to) beneath the tilting awning over an open-air bar. This was where I’d passed out last night, a delightful little establishment serving up rum, hookah and lasses plying their professional services. Some of them quite shamelessly, around the back corner of the building nearby, which you could easily spy from here if you were of a mind. No private rooms, no rooms of any kind really, but those were rare in a port like this anyway. Most men here slept on their ships, in and around the docks, slumped over a table or a crate in a place like this, or if they’d gotten particularly shitfaced and no one’d been looking out for them, in the sands to get bitten up by the rats and mosquitoes.
	We moved past a rowdy dice game and a marten I was dead certain was about to heave- on second thought, best to give him some space, that’d be distracting- around the back, then. An open table, if you could call it that, beckoned to me. Three crates. Just enough.
	I plopped myself down, splaying one leg over my knee and smiling toothily at the man across from me as he took a seat. He didn’t exactly move like a proper gentleman himself, but he seemed at least more reserved than I. Maybe wary. Watchful, at least. His gold eyes scanned the place briefly, but he must not have seen him yet, because he still seemed relaxed enough.
	The woman working the bar knew not to bother asking. Just as Denholme had begun to open his mouth to say something, a heavy brown glass bottle clunked down between us, the busy otter sparing us barely a glance except to take a coin from my offered hand, before heading off to another table.
	“I’m assuming you carry your own measures cup,” I said, fishing mine from beneath my coat, and uncorking the bottle to pour for myself first. Only polite.
	He watched me, gaze steady. But before I’d begun to drink, he took the bottle and poured for himself. “Unnecessary,” he said calmly. “I don’t care who drinks first. I’m fairly certain if you wanted to kill me, you wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of arranging this meeting.”
	“Maybe I wanted you alone,” I couldn’t help myself. Seriously, what the hell? My mouth.
	He arched an eyebrow and finished downing his first cup before replying to me, “Why do you want to convince me you’re planning to make a go at me?” He dismissed it outright, pouring himself more of the rum. “No. Your reckless reputation’s hot air. You’re careful, Reed.”
	I pounded a flat palm into my chest, dramatically. “Sir, you wound me.”
	“You’ve run from me thrice.” He pointed out. “Don’t think I don’t keep track. That Man-of-War of yours is hard to scrub from one’s memory, no matter how much elbow you put into it.” He got a vague smile that made my belly flip over, for some reason. “Even if I only ever really see her from behind.” 
	My eyebrow twitched. “You calling me a coward, Denholme?”
	“Risk averse,” he corrected me. “No insult meant. I’d count myself in that category. I breathe a sigh every time I force a retreat.”
	The admission warmed me to him some. Which was annoying. I was starting to like the cur.
	“You have me squarely out-gunned,” I said. “Easily best me in maneuvering capability. Where’s the risk for you?”
	“I’d consider losing even one of my beloved vessels to your behemoth a risk,” he said, clapping his cup down on the table.
	“Then maybe you ought to stop threatening me with them,” I replied wryly.
	“I believe that’s why we’re here, is it not?” He countered coolly.
	“Yes, yes,” I sighed, glancing once around the room. I caught sight of the gold-furred, large ears I was looking for, smiled briefly to myself, then back at him. “Look, I’m going to cut right to the chase. I’m not one to avoid foreplay usually, but you’re not my type.”
	Finally, a reaction. Just a brief tensing, barely recognizable, in his shoulders. But it was there.
	“You’re not mine, either,” he assured me. “So, spit it out. I know about the contract on the Lancaster fleet.”
	“Do you foresee getting involved?” I asked outright.
	“The Magnate is a Pedigree,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You know very well I’d have to, regardless how I feel on the matter. That’s why we’re here.”
	“And that isn’t negotiable?”
	He leaned back, the crate beneath him shifting. He was fidgeting. Good. I’d shaken him with the insincere flirtation. “What exactly do you want me to say?” He asked. “If we cross paths, it can’t be helped. I won’t be gunning for you specifically, if that’s your worry. The Lancaster fleet’s dirty. Everyone knows it. And I’m no friend of the Magnate.”
	“You said yourself you don’t like the thought of engaging my Manoratha,” I said. “I’m asking that you turn a blind eye. Neither of us want this, apparently. Seems there’s an obvious conclusion to be drawn there. You scratch my back-“
	“How exactly would you be ‘scratching my back’?” He snuffed. 
	“By not gunning down one of your little vessels in an engagement neither of us want,” I said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. It seemed pretty rational to me.  
	“We both get that,” he reasoned, “but you’ll also be pilfering spoils. What about me?”
	I couldn’t help it. A grin split my muzzle, realization dawning. “You want a cut of the take?”
	Alright, then. Maybe this man could be reasoned with. No need for my ‘asset’ to put in work. This could go smoother than I’d ever hoped for.
	“No cargo,” he insisted. “Coin only.”
	“That has me putting in more legwork for a bribe than I’d like,” I muttered. “What about something that can’t spoil? Lancaster moves a lot of lamp oil, I hear.”
	“No cargo,” he repeated. “Harder to explain away. My vessels are strictly military. Coin only.” He snapped his golden-eyed gaze to mine. “Twenty percent.”
	I laughed out loud, pretty sure I felt my teeth rattle. “Arrogant little mongrel,” I said between huffs, “aren’t you? I’d heard you were low-born, but you’re as greedy as a Pedigree, alright.”
	He narrowed his eyes at me. I wasn’t sure which part he’d taken offense to, but the calm demeanor had dropped. He had his game face on now. “It’s an opening offer,” he said. “Make me a counter.”
	“What could you need that much coin for?” I demanded. “You’re not exactly scraping by.”
	“It’s no concern of yours,” he stated plainly. 
	I arched an eyebrow at him. Was his inheritance not all I’d heard? The Cerberus fleet was pretty small, as far as fleets went, and they’d undergone massive repairs and re-fittings lately. Or maybe he wasn’t financially endorsed by the Crown? That seemed unlikely, but it would have given him a lot more leeway to do as he pleased with his command.
	That had to be it. He was starved for capital. He’d probably have to suck up to the throne to finance his fleet eventually, or else let them go derelict. Or sell them off. And given what the Amurescan throne had been squandering their resources on of late, they wouldn’t throw coin at an Admiral without tasking them to… hold down one of their crumbling Colonies, or something.
	“You’re financing your independence,” I said with certainty. If I was right, he didn’t bother to confirm it. But he also didn’t refute it, which I took as an affirmative. “Look, I feel for you, mate,” I said honestly, “but I’m also starved for capital. We all are. So, you’re going to have to come down. Way down.”
	“Fifteen percent.”
	“Five,” I said, pouring myself another cup, “and count yourself lucky I’ll give you that much.”
	“You’re acting as if you have the advantage here,” he said, splaying his hands before him. “This is a mutually-beneficial arrangement, like you said. Let’s respect one another enough to meet somewhere in the middle.”
	“Five,” I said again, and lifted an arm to snap in the direction of someone over his shoulder. He must have assumed I was calling the bartender over, because he didn’t bother to turn. “And I may not hold all the cards,” I said before he could counter me again, “but I’ve got one in particular I think you might want to consider.”
	“Luther…” the voice broke through the din of the outdoor bar, piercing the moment like a blade. I smiled slowly as the cattle dog’s seemingly unflappable confidence finally fell away, and he froze in place, ears tipping back rigidly. He turned slowly, looking up at the fennec standing nervously behind us.
	I’m not into men, but I have to admit, Denholme had good taste. From the moment I found the lad, dug him out of the Huudari brothel in Aleshfaric, I’d had to appreciate the golden-furred fennec’s soft beauty. It was troublesome, really, keeping someone like him aboard the Manoratha. Like trying to keep a fresh cut chop safe from a swarm of sharks. Usually when I brought someone so well-groomed, so pretty and gentile, so obviously a prostitute aboard my vessel, they were on the menu for the boys. Respectful-like, of course, and well-paid. We didn’t tolerate abuses of working pleasure folk on my ship.
	Explaining repeatedly that yes, first off, the fennec was a man, (he wasn’t feminine exactly, but for a sailor into his cups…) and no, he was not on-board for anything other than contract negotiations, was a hard sell. There’d been talk, I’m sure. Already, some of my men were having a good laugh at my expense. But hell, let ‘em. It’s not as if I cared how men bunked up on my ship, so why should I care what they said about me? Anyone fool enough to underestimate me for it would probably find other reason to challenge me down the line, so if they showed their true stripes now, all the better. I’d deal with them. 
At least if the men thought this was what I went in for, they’d think I only went in for the prettiest boys.	  
	“Come on, now,” I gestured between the two of them, “say hello. I brought that gorgeous lad a long way to meet you again. Don’t insult me by pretending you don’t know him, now.”
	The cattle dog’s expression, over the course of half a minute, had gone from cold congeniality to white hot fury, burning in the pits of his eyes. It was honestly a little intimidating, although I couldn’t let him see that. I could almost feel it radiating off of him, like killing intent made manifest. I glanced briefly around, to be certain my men were present, in case this became a fight after all.
	I’d been expecting to catch him off-guard, but this was more of a reaction than I’d bargained for. Always a possibility with blackmail. Might’ve mis-calculated… what would I do if I actually had to kill him here? I started going over possibilities in my head.
	Denholme turned slowly, a slight quake in his jaw as he finally spoke to the fennec. “Kafele,” he said quietly, “are you in danger?”
	The fennec quickly shook his head, earrings tinkling with the gesture. His arms shifted nervously, knuckles prominent as he gripped one wrist tightly by his other hand. “No, Kavish,” I didn’t miss the term of supplication he used, already begging forgiveness. “Admiral Reed has been kind to me.”
	Denholme’s gaze flicked once back towards me, murderously. I only smiled innocently in return. “Then, how is it you are here?” he asked carefully.
	“Family debts,” I filled in for him, wanting to get through this as quickly as possible, and cool Denholme’s anger. I felt like the reunited couple might go on for a while if I just let them talk it out, and I knew the fennec well enough by now to appreciate he wasn’t the most socially confident person. He’d probably babble. “I don’t know how much you inquired about his financial condition when you two were… acquainted,” I said, putting up a hand as Denholme bared his fangs, and pressing on, “but Kafele here’s got an uncle with a bad habit, and a pack of siblings to feed. They’re deep in the hole with the Beshlaika Clan. Bad enough they were considering an indenture contract to pay it down.”
	Denholme looked back to the fennec as though he’d been struck. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the hints of betrayal I saw there were because he was coming to grips with the fact that his whore had sold him out. But actually, I think it was something else.
	“Why didn’t you tell me?” He demanded in a harsh whisper. As if I couldn’t hear them. This was getting good.
	“This was long after your stay in port,” the fennec insisted. “At least, the worst of it was. And in any case, I wouldn’t have wanted to impose on you.”
	The first hint of hurt shown through, “You clearly didn’t mind sharing your woes with him,” Denholme barely avoided snapping.
	“Now, to be fair,” I cleared my throat, honestly not wanting to interrupt this little spat, it was getting pretty cute. “My lads didn’t really give him much of a choice in the matter. Once we’d dug him up, we weren’t about to let our efforts be in vain.”
	“So, he is here by force, then,” the cattle dog’s eyes narrowed, hand on the hilt of his saber.
	“We ain’t laid a hand on him,” I insisted. “Just some heavy-handed ‘convincing’. And in any case, it’s not like you left the lad with a lifeline. He’s not yours to save, Denholme,” I shrugged as casually as I could. “Way I hear it, you were pretty firm on that when you left port.”
	Behind him, I saw the fennec’s shoulders sag, something deep and raw in his eyes, like torn stitches opening afresh an old wound. It made me horribly uncomfortable, a sinking sensation in my gut, the kind I only get when I know I’ve overstepped into dangerous waters I have no right to be in. Like in this moment, I was the villain.
	It’d pass. It always did, eventually.
	Denholme’s muzzle was set in a firm line, the edges of his eyes red. His whole aura was pressing down on me like deep, deep water, and for a few moments I earnestly did not know what he planned to do. The silence stretched on far too long.
	“You don’t intend to keep him, do you?” He asked at length, voice tight.
	“I’m no slaver,” I spat out, irritably. “He’s here to make a point. That’s all. After this, he goes back to his family. That was the agreement, s’what we paid him for.”
	“What, precisely, was your ‘point’?” the Admiral asked, flatly.
	Here, I paused. “Wh-“ shit, don’t stumble over your words. Feed it to him if he really has to hear it out loud. “Obviously,” I strained, “that I can unearth your secrets. Those that’d sit poorly with your fleet. Your Captains. Your wife.”
	For some reason, he laughed at that. It was bitter, but undeniably, genuinely amused. He didn’t betray why, but I could guess. They had some kind of arrangement?
	“Is that all?” he asked after giving me another silent space to continue.
	I looked past him, to the crestfallen, beautiful fox whose heart he’d apparently broken. The man. Whose heart he’d broken.
	“Isn’t that enough?” I said disbelievingly.
	He took another long moment, before replying coldly, in one word. “No.”
	“What do you mean ‘no’?” I tried to force him to clarify.
	“I mean you’re not getting five percent this way,” he said, pocketing his cup and standing slowly. “You’re not getting anything, actually. I’ll see you on the water.”
	The warning- the promise, was exactly as chilling as he intended it to be. “You can’t just say ‘no’ to this!” I exclaimed, standing and blocking his path before he could leave.
	He assessed me, all that fury still there, but behind that irritating mask of cold indifference again. He turned to regard the fennec. “Kafele and I need to speak. Excuse us.”
	“You can’t just leave with him-“ I reached for the fennec’s wrist as Denholme turned to usher him away, and that was the first of several major mistakes I’d make that night.
	Normally, I’d say I was a pretty skilled swordsman. Maybe not the best, (okay definitely not the best) and maybe I relied on my pistols more often than I should, but I shouldn’t have been so easy to catch off-guard. Especially when I’d seen he was keeping a hand on his hilt, before.
	But damn if the man wasn’t fast. He had his saber unsheathed, swung in an arc and pressing the collar of my coat into thick fur of my throat, just like that. At once, my men sprung to their feet around us, weapons drawn in six different places, three pistols pointed his way and several more blades.
	But the edge of his sword was already biting through my collar, and I could feel the strength in his arm, and see the conviction in those predatory eyes of his. He was angry enough to do it.
	I lifted my hands, palms uncurling. “It’s alright, gents,” I eased my men, lest one of them twitch and fire. “Let’s all calm down. Denholme, I’m sure dying in a muddy pit like this isn’t worth satisfying your temper, however righteously pissed you might feel towards me right now.”
	“You clearly don’t know me at all,” he growled, “if you think dying in obscurity is something I’m not prepared for.”
	I took in a shuddering breath, reaching over slowly with my free hand to grip the tip of his sword, “I believe you,” I said, slowly tipping it away from my neck. “And you’re right. I didn’t gather enough intel on you. Clearly.”
	“Clearly,” he repeated, voice like gravel. His sword was falling from my neck, and I felt like I might be able to breathe again. At the last minute, almost as an afterthought, he withdrew it far too quickly, slicing along the finger and palm I’d risked pushing it away with. I yelped out, and heard the click of several pistols, but held my other hand up once again to stay my men’s trigger fingers.
	It would be abominably stupid to kill a Crown Admiral over what amounted to a bad paper cut.
	Dumbstruck, I stared down at my bleeding palm as he wiped his sword on his coat and re-sheathed it. By the time I looked up again, all I caught was his retreating figure, tailed by the fennec.
	“Kafele!” I called out to him. “You know where we’re moored. Return to us before tomorrow night if you want your trip home, as promised.”
	He stopped briefly to bow in our direction. “Thank you, Admiral Reed.”
	“I honor my contracts,” I said, my voice gone bitter as I watched any hope for this alliance crumble away before my eyes.
	Shit. Shit, shit, SHIT.
	I found myself staring at my palm again, still processing what had just happened. Vaguely, I heard one of my boys sidle up to my left, asking quietly, “Admiral? What jus’happened?”
	I dropped my hand and loosed a long sigh. “I fucked up,” I said at last.

	Later that night, I tried to drink my troubles away. As one does.
	I was midway through a pretty expensive bottle and deep down in the hole of aching worry and fear that I might’ve just doomed my fleet to be hunted to the ends of the earth by an angry cattle dog, when I saw her. 
	That peach-soft fur, like cinnamon drifting through fresh cream, with a dash of nutmeg stripes… damn, did I forget to eat dinner? Did I just… drink… for dinner?
	Eh.
	Lotus, that was her name. I’d seen- heard of her before, of course. There weren’t many women with ships beneath their command, although it was certainly more common for Huudari women. But rarer still for a tigress. Usually if you ran across a lady Privateer, she’d be a hyena. Maybe a lioness. But I’d heard of her, she had two excellent little galleons beneath her flag, although I couldn’t remember their names at the moment. She’d carved out a niche for herself taking smaller contracts, and distinguished herself by preying primarily on other Privateers. It took stones to deliberately target armed vessels.
	It had to be her, there couldn’t be another tigress who happened to be in this part of the world, on these trade routes, wearing a pistol on each of her well-appointed hips, her fangs gleaming in the lantern-light as she laughed uproariously amongst a table of men, all decked out in red and maroon with gold bedazzling her ears and nose and she was STUNNING. Just… a goddess. And while I knew some of that was the drink talking, not all of it was the drink talking.
	This. This was exactly what I needed, to recover from this disaster of a day.
	Silently swearing my allegiance to any god or spirit that would have me, I plucked up my bottle and crossed the bar towards her, praying for luck this night.
	Her eyes caught mine all but immediately, and the slow smile that split her large feline muzzle, (those beautiful cheek ruffs, I wanted to feel them smiling into my palms) was very promising. Very, very promising.
	“Grayson Reed,” she purred my way. That wasn’t the drink talking, I swear she literally purred.
	“Lotus,” I rumbled in return. “Fate conspires to brighten my evening.”
	“Indeed,” she said, her voice sly and mirthful. “I’d been getting a bit bored, myself. But the way I hear it, when you’re about, nothing’s ever really… boring.”
	“My reputation proceeds me,” I said wryly, pulling up a chair at her table. The men around her must have been her own sailors, because with a few dismissive flicks of one of her pink-padded hands, they began to disperse, only grumbling a bit. I put down the bottle I’d been drinking and I saw her appraise it approvingly. “Although I do believe that’s a kind way of saying I make trouble wherever I go.”
	“If I didn’t like trouble,” she said, reaching for the bottle and pouring some of it for herself, maintaining eye contact with me the whole while, “I wouldn’t exactly be in my line of work, now would I?”
	“Touche,” I chuckled, shaking out my dreads and propping my muzzle up on my bandaged palm. She seemed to notice, almost appearing concerned. Likely because it still smelled like fresh blood. “Yeah,” I grumbled, “I’ve had… a day.”
	“How bad of a day?” She asked, curiously. I knew she was plumbing me for information, probably trying to decide if keeping company here with me right now would be worth it to her, but I didn’t care.
	“Nothing some fine company wouldn’t smooth over,” I assured her.
	She smiled. “It’s not often one gets the chance to sit down with the fabled Manoratha Admiral. You’re welcome at my table.” She sipped my good rum, smirking over her cup, “You could sit a little closer, even.”
	I grinned like a fool. Tonight was working out.

	I-don’t-know-how many hours and drinks later, I was unburdening myself to Lotus, and she was listening with her body pressed against mine, one arm snaked beneath my coat, wrapped around my back. That’s as far as it had gone so far, but judging by the way her broad, soft palm was stroking through my belly fur, and her eyes would take occasional journeys down my uncovered chest, I had this one in the bag. Big cats did this thing with their tails when they were eyeing prey. Twitching about, swiping back and forth, dancing just out of the field of my vision. She was either planning to eat me or fuck me, or both.
	“I wasn’looking to piss him off like I did,” I muttered. “No’that much, anyway. I mean what the hell? I’ve pulled this trick on five… six other Amur before, no problem. Dig up the mistress, y’know. Should be open an’shut. Man reacted like I’d set’is tail on fire. Uncalled-for.” I took another swig from the bottle, realizing belatedly that we’d apparently drained it at some point during our conversation.
	“But it’s not the same,” she said, quietly.
	I had to look down towards her, curious why her voice had gotten so much quieter. This was no soft-spoken demure thing. “What d’you mean?”
	“It’s not just some ‘mistress’,” she said. “It’s heavier than an affair. Darker secret. Heresy.”
	“It’s a poorly-kept secret, is what it is,” I rolled my eyes. “Heard about it long before we dug the whore up. I’d wager to guess his kin have heard the stories, too.”
	“Right, but they can’t confirm it,” she said. “Can’t prove it. You could have.”
	“That was the whole damned point, yeah,” I said.
	“You know what they do to Heretics in Amuresca, right?” she asked, again keeping her voice down.
	I went silent. I was a shit liar when I was drunk, but beyond that, I didn’t feel like I should deny it. Yes, I’d known the sword I’d be holding over his head. Again, that had been the whole point-
	Oh.
	“I think he was afraid,” Lotus said, tipping her head back to brush her muzzle past my throat, “not just angry. You thrust his greatest fear in his face. That’ll bring out the beast in most people.”
	“Huhh,” I drawled quietly, bewitched by the low thrum emanating from her throat. She clearly wasn’t judging me for what I’d done, which is saying something, because I was beginning to.
	I put the bottle down. Hadn’t the point of all of this been to forget the events of the day? And here I was talking about it, while a gorgeous woman was practically straddling me, giving me every indication that she wanted to bed me.
	Not here, though. Someone like her. . . deserved better than a public rut in a dirty bar.
	“Do you want to go someplace?” I began to ask her.
	“Yes,” she all but cut me off, making my heart jump in my chest. I don’t know what I’d done right tonight, but I wasn’t about to question it.
	So, without much further ado, we rose and headed off arm-in-arm. She was leaning somewhat heavily against me, either because she was drunker than she seemed, or because she wanted more of an excuse to touch me. Regardless, I liked the way her heat bled into me, how the scent of her fur was all I could smell. Patchouli, rum, leather, and the distinct, thrilling aroma of genuine female arousal. I’d worried briefly, before we’d really got to drinking, that she seemed a bit too eager. Like maybe this was a power play, although I couldn’t think what she’d have to gain other than my good graces. And that would’ve been fine, but honestly, I respected her a lot more as a woman chasing her passions.
	We barely made it to her place- she had a place, apparently. I was surprised she wasn’t just sleeping on her ship, but I knew a few sailors who liked to get solid ground beneath their feet whenever they could, so I tried not to judge. It was a nice little shack, a palace compared to most of the dwellings on this island, on a lot full of other white-washed shacks just like it, lifted on stilts with a creaking plank floor, simple amenities consisting of a bucket wash basin, an uneven table, and an old four-poster bed someone had likely stripped from a scuttled ship.
	Honestly, I barely had time to take in my surroundings before the fierce tigress had thrown me unceremoniously onto the bed, shoving me off my feet like it was nothing to her. The woman was nearly as tall as me and possessing of the kind of coiled strength you’d expect from a big cat. As she shrugged the blood-red coat from her shoulders, her figure silhouetted and wrapped in silver from the moonlight piercing between the slats of the shack, I admired the powerful contours beneath. Her fur roiled like waves, soft velvet over a muscular core, folding around her curves. And I’d only just gotten a peek.
	“Undress,” she growled, unclasping her belt and hanging her pistols over a nearby chair.
	I didn’t need to be told twice. Unfortunately, my hands were refusing to work with me as dexterously as I’d hoped- shite, I was really drunk, wasn’t I? No matter. I could tell by the discomfort growing in my britches that it wouldn’t be a problem. I’d need to remember to drink a lot of water when this was over, that’s all.
	“Everything,” she said when I’d gotten down to only my lower garments. “I want to see all of you, wolf. Let’s see if the reality lives up to the legend.”
	“Generally,” I spoke to ease the awkwardness of how long it was taking me to disarm and disrobe, “I’m not th’one putting on a show, like this. So you’ll have to forgive-“ I stumbled as I got out of a spat, “-my… clumsiness.”
	She continued to watch, making no move to strip any of her own remaining garments. Her eyes roved me hungrily, with that same dangerous glint that made my spine crawl in all the right ways. Her tail thrashed about lazily. “I refuse to believe you’ve never let a woman order you about. And if so, shame on you.”
	“Not many women are as comfortable as you seem to be giving orders,” I huffed out, grinning.
	She approached me, hips swaying with her steps, tail following suit in opposing directions behind her. “Does it displease you?” she asked quietly.
	“No,” the choked utterance came out more desperate than I’d wanted it to sound. God, I was hard. I’d heard tigers liked to play with their food, but…
	She smiled knowingly and finally stood before me, her hands moving to inspect me, going right for the goods. I let out a short ‘Ha’ of a gasp as her large paw closed around my cock, her hand both calloused along the pads and soft where the fur fluffed up around them. The dual sensation as she stroked me- coaxing me embarrassingly easily the remaining way out of my sheath- was already setting my head spinning.
	She seemed to be measuring me out, gauging whether I’d suit her or not. I should have said something, quipped at her, teased her, defended my honor somehow. She was treating me like a pig at a fair. Next, she’d be trussing me up like one.
	Why did that thought shoot straight down to my groin?
	“Hmmm,” she purred thoughtfully, noting the bulge of my knot inside my sheath, her paw shamelessly gripping me there, next. That got a groan out of me, for sure. “Don’t get ahead of me,” she gave my cock a light slap, stepping around me, her tail curling over my hip as she made for the bed.
	I’d finally managed to strip out of my britches at that, so I joined her, leaning my bulk down beside where she eventually sat. The old wood of the bed groaned beneath our combined body-weight, and I found it was just large enough that only my toes needed hang off the end. Probably made for dogs, a little small for a wolf. Certainly too small for a wolf and a tiger, but I didn’t exactly mind the thought of cuddling up to her all night.
	She was still wearing a maroon-colored, light cotton shirt tucked into her just slightly too-tight leather britches, the excess of her fur and curves spilling over the hem. I could see the way she was packed into them from the moonlight easily piercing the thin fabric of her shirt, although the swell of her ample bosom was somewhat more restrained, probably wrapped or bound by some kind of undergarment. Given how curvaceous she was, I could understand why. Wouldn’t do to have those getting in the way in a fight, or… swaying into a lit candle, or something.
	Oh, I wanted to see how they swayed.
	I began to reach to tug free the hem of her shirt, but she slapped my hand away, one of her claws catching on the wrap around my injured palm. I glanced down, noting the amply-sized claw tugging at the bandage, then back up at her muzzle as it curled into a thirsty smirk.
	“No touching,” she commanded. “Not yet.”
	I’m sure I whined. She chuckled at me, and shoved me down onto the bed, prowling atop me. Her weight felt… good, crushing me down into the old, worn blankets. Powerful thighs encased my hips, the heat between her legs teasing at my cock and making it jump against my belly. She finally set her hands to me again like she had been in the bar, sliding them up my torso, stroking and feeling the contours of my body. She bit at her lower muzzle, her claw-tips moving over the contours of my ribs as I took a deep breath in, strong fingers eventually finding and kneading at my nipples, my chest. 
	“Ahhh-“ I huffed out in surprise at the sensation. “I-I’m not… a woman.”
	“If you were, I wouldn’t be enjoying this nearly so much,” she said with a glint of fang in her smile. She leaned down over me slowly, her broad, rough tongue lathing once at where she was squeezing. “Do you not like it?”
	The fact was, I liked it more than I was comfortable with. I’d never known my chest was so sensitive… well, you learn new things every day. “I swear to God woman,” I breathed out, “if you tickle me-“ 
	Her laughter came freely and immediately. “Oh-ho!” she leaned on her elbows over me, tail thrashing. “Have I unearthed the great Manoratha Admiral’s one weakness?”
	“I will piss on your bed,” I said flatly. “Don’t try me.”
	She continued laughing, leaning over to one of the bedposts to grab for something. “Cross my heart,” she promised. 
	When she came back into my field of vision, I saw what she was holding, and my heart skipped a beat. If anything, her grin grew, dangling the bundle of red rope before me.
	“Is… that silk?” I asked warily. I knew to ask, at this point. I could handle a rough night, but my hand was already injured.
	She began to twine and curl it around her hands, stretching it out. “’Tis,” she purred. “Of course. I’m not cruel.”
	I let out a long, shuddering breath. “My reputation really does proceed me.”
	“Denholme’s not the only one whose bedroom habits have become fodder for the creativity of bored sailors,” she clucked her tongue. “But it’s alright. You’re in good company.”
	“Obviously,” I said, entranced by her hands as they wound the red rope about. “You came prepared.”
	“I have a favorite on my ship,” she assured me. “But breaking in the Grayson Reed… far more exciting. Couldn’t pass up the opportunity.” And at that she’d gripped one of my wrists, yanking it up to the headboard. I watched her every motion, as she expertly bound and knotted my wrists with the skill and precision of both a sailor, and someone who favored knots for more pleasurable activities.
	Honestly, I hadn’t actually done this many times. Thrice with the same woman, but although she’d been a professional, her heart hadn’t really been in it, and that had soured the experience somewhat. Once with a Carvecian woman who hadn’t known what she was doing, we’d used the wrong kind of rope, I’d had to explain away the raw patches on my wrists for weeks afterwards, but… we’d both enjoyed ourselves despite all the fumbling, and I feel like if we’d had more time together we might’ve gotten it right. I couldn’t understand men who preferred inexperienced women. Territorial bastards.
	Lotus seemed both well-versed, and eager. The scent of her arousal had grown- you couldn’t fake that. I flexed my legs against the bed, toes digging into the rough blankets. I could hardly stand it anymore.
	I tried to lift my head to at least nuzzle against her cheek ruff while she leaned over me, but in response she only bit my ear. Hard.
	“Not yet,” she whispered.
	“I think I might literally die if I have to wait much longer…”
	“Impatient,” she chided, sitting back to admire her work once I was well and truly bound. I tried testing the restraints, and found the more I pulled, the tighter they cinched around my wrists. To a point. 
	“Perfect,” she cooed. And then she hiked her hip over my body so that she was alongside me, and slid off the bed.
	Off. The bed.
	I watched her, befuddled, as she fixed her shirt somewhat and sidled up to my right, her eyes still roaming me appraisingly. I felt a tickling at the back of my neck, like a flight response. A warning. The haze of alcohol and lust was clouding my senses, but some part of me still remembered this woman was a predator. Although, at this point, what good it might do me…
	“He’s bound, then?”
	Oh fuck.
	Oh. FUCK.
	I struggled against the bindings the second I heard his voice, but of course it was no use. The bed shook as I craned my neck up as well as I could, the unmistakable silhouette standing just outside the slats of the shack on the beach outside. A head shorter than me, squared shoulders under a rough coat, triangular ears. That fucking Amurescan accent.
	“What do you take me for?” Lotus replied, mock offended. “You think I don’t know my knots? High insult.”
	“Fine. Not like I can’t handle him, anyway,” the door pushed open.
	“He’s hammered,” she assured him, giving a sloppy smile of her own. “Good rum. He was half a bottle into it already when I found him.”
	Found me?
	I loosed a long groan, reality catching up with me all at once. Of course. Of course. My luck was never this good. Why the hell had I ever thought something might go right for me today? Any day?
	Literally any day.
	Luther fucking Denholme strode up beside the bed, golden eyes deliberately avoiding taking in my state of undress, and moving straight to my face. Like he was some shy fucking maid. “How’re you doing tonight, Reed?” he asked almost casually.
	“You rotten, cock-sucking bastard,” I slurred out viciously.
	“You have me, utterly,” he said, unblinking.

End Part 1