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"Cats are not welcome here. We've no tolerance for thieves."

This time, a sneer colored the words which Rathazar heard in his visits to all but the seediest towns. He never took offense. How could he, when he was indeed a thief?

Rathazar's routine when he was denied entry was to turn on his natural charm, for although he was indeed a thief, he was also a handsome Khajiit with charisma in excess. He did not smile; only other Khajiit saw one's smile as anything but a devious smirk.

Exuding perfect calm, he shook his head and tutted, "Do you believe a thief would walk so freely in such a fine town as this? And can't you tell how cold it is? I wish only for a drink and a fire to sit by."

The human guard, his nose red from the cold, nudged the lithe Khajiit back with a gloved hand. "You've a fur coat," he said imperiously. "You'll be fine. Off with you."

"Very well," the gray Khajiit scoffed. "Ve-e-ery well. A good evening to you."

To a Khajiit thief, one grumpy guard was simply never the end of the line. He disappeared into the town, ostensibly to find someone else's mercy to fall upon, but in truth made his way around to the rear of the tavern which promised good times, or at least a little mischief. To his surprise and delight, he found a window to the attic space. It was boarded loosely and he pried away two planks before slipping his slinky body into the tight gap.

Rathazar spent a moment making sure there were no valuables in the attic, then dusted himself off and took the ladder down to the second floor. He passed by the rooms for rent, counting half a dozen which were unlocked and empty. Had it been darker or the tavern below more noisy, he might have picked the locks on the taken rooms to steal from their snoozing occupants. Thinking better of the idea, he took the stairs casually down to the tavern floor.

Although he entered without being seen, Rathazar found a chilly reception inside. The tavern housed mostly humans, but he counted three orcs among them. Unlike the guard out front, the patrons were only reluctant to speak to him rather than outright hostile. Rathazar, who wasn't there to socialize, didn't mind. He dropped a few dented septims on the bar top and said to the unimpressed barkeeper, "Mead, if you please."

"Who let you in here?" the aged and frowning barkeeper asked, picking up the coins. He made no effort to pour a drink for the Khajiit.

Rathazar looked at the human uncomprehendingly. "Why, the guard outside. He told me this tavern was friendly toward Khajiit!" The feline glanced around, scanning distrusting faces, many of which quickly looked away as he made eye contact. He leaned over the bar and said conspiratorially, "But I must admit that I feel unwanted."

Reluctantly and wordlessly, the human fetched Rathazar a mug of mead. The Khajiit sipped it gratefully and asked then, "What of a room for the night?"

"None available," said the barkeeper, walking off to serve other patrons. Rathazar finished his mead and left an extra septim in the sugary foam at the bottom of the mug.

A rumble of thunder shook the tavern, disturbing none of the patrons but registering quite well to the Khajiit in his tender ears and whiskers. He stood by one of the support beams for a moment, listening to the rain first tap, then steadily fall against the roof. It started to seem to him like he would have to commandeer a room. It was untenable for a Khajiit thief to sleep in the rain when he could take what he wished so easily.

Being deep in thought did not dull him to the sixth sense of eyes upon him. He turned his head sharply and caught the glare of a girl who was, in a word, beautiful. Rathazar had always quite enjoyed interspecies relations, although most humans disliked him. [i]Perhaps rightly,[/i] he thought with a tiny quirk of a smile. Yet even where he was shunned and sometimes hated, he was rarely deterred. He was no rapist, but occasionally teasing and persistence bore rewards... as well as stab wounds and bruised pride.

He moved near the girl. She looked swiftly away, putting her eyes on the bard who sang a very off-key tune in such a drunken stupor that nobody understood what he was trying to convey.

Rathazar liked her profile; her face was lovely, her hair long and brunette, attire a dark cloak with gold filigree. A bejeweled necklace gave the impression that she was more than a simple commoner, yet she was in the midst of drunkards and fools in a flophouse. It was the contrast she made that drew the Khajiit so near. A girl of such breeding in these surroundings was looking for trouble.

The skill of a thief was never something to be trifled with, and Rathazar was as swift as they came. He was behind the girl only a moment, barely long enough to raise suspicion, yet he had her cloak off in that time. It was a simple garment, tied around the front like a robe and looped around the arms. A tug on the cord, a pull on one arm, and another pull on its twin as she whipped around to protest and perhaps draw her blade on him - a blade which Rathazar had spotted at once bulging in the cloak, and which he made a point to remove and slip into his belt.

Shockingly little remained on the girl. Her breasts were bared to him for the way she had turned to attack him. She hugged herself in sudden shock and humiliation, hiding her chest. Her cheeks glowed red as embers. "You filthy cat!" she shrieked to him, her voice shrill with indignity.

Those who had not seen the bold thievery looked at her with the curious slowness of drunken bystanders, but the sober guards unsheathed their weapons. Murmurs turned to silence. The idiotic bard stopped playing, only to fall asleep where he sat.

"This is a lovely cloak," Rathazar cooed, sounding cool as an evening breeze. Emboldened by his success in stripping the girl, he dared to peck her on the cheek.

She flinched away from him, but only after the kiss was completed. She watched, momentarily helpless and nearly naked, as Rathazar bolted from the scene with her cloak flapping behind him. He deftly avoided the humans and orcs trying to stop him, jumping over and ducking past them before wadding the girl's cloak up, which he clutched then to his chest like an infant. He barged through the door and it crushed the reddened nose of the human guard just outside who was coming in to investigate the commotion. The guard flopped against the cold, wet ground in an unconscious heap.

Wishing against all reason to see her again, Rathazar lingered out in the rain, ready to vanish into the shadows and never show his face again. To his joy, he heard the girl's voice cut through the ruckus in the tavern. She cried, "I'll get it back myself! I need no help to kill this thief!"

She emerged from the tavern wearing a borrowed blouse which quickly soaked through with rain and exposed her breasts again, this time in ghostlike silhouette. In her hand was another dagger, this one uninteresting yet sharp. She gestured savagely with it as she approached the waiting, grinning Khajiit. "That cloak is a family heirloom! Return it to me, flea-bitten thief!"

"Oh, this old thing?" Rathazar tutted. "Why would such a lovely girl with two such pretty friends-," the girl lunged at him and he artfully dodged her stab, "wear an ungainly cloak such as this?"

"Know your place, cat!" she snapped. "Return what's mine and perhaps I won't [i]gut[/i] you!" She stabbed again with the emphasis, missing his flank by inches.

The thin armor he wore offered little protection; Rathazar could easily picture the blade passing between his ribs. But still, the game was too fun to simply quit.

"For a human who hates Khajiit, you seemed not to mind a little kiss!" the feline quipped, dodging another, clumsier stab from the girl. He could have tripped her, sending her sprawling to the muddying path, but he thought her too cute for that. "I suppose not being gutted in exchange for a frumpy piece of attire is a fair trade... but here is my counter-offer!"

Rathazar was quick and smooth in whipping off his own cloak, a dark trail-worn thing which covered his pitted and patched leather armor along with a multitude of daggers and knives which lined his torso and legs. The drab cloak whipped through the air and clung to the girl's face as she lunged again, blinding her and pushing her fury to new heights. Rathazar was simply unable to stop himself; he darted behind her and treated himself to a squeeze of her ass, the pale cheeks of which were round and without flaw.

She was quicker than she seemed, even blinded by hatred and more literally by the cloak. In a move more like an instinctive swat than a practiced attack, she lashed back with the dagger in a slash rather than a stab. Its point nicked the cat's wrist and drew blood, lost in the rain, but the sting was real and the Khajiit hissed in pain as much as exhilaration.

"I'll end you for that!" the human snapped, wheeling around on Rathazar and peeling his damp cloak off her face... but the Khajiit was gone, vanished into the rain to reflect on recent events.

Later in the night, as the rain lessened but promised to return, Rathazar regrouped. He examined the cloak he had traded up for. He lifted its damp fabric to his face to better inspect its filigree. Superficially it was the greatest point of interest to him, something he could strip off, melt down, and sell as raw gold. Even such small amounts, when combined with the precious materials from the girl's ruby-tipped dagger, could make more than a few septims through his usual fences.

He smelled something pleasant on the cloak. It was distinctly [i]her,[/i] the scent of a nubile body with a light womanly musk. He thought back to her bare breasts and the dagger coming at him. The danger enhanced the memory, made it stand out like something from a pop-up book, and his tail began to swish. He pushed his nose into the fabric and drew a deep hit.

"Mm, what a lovely smell," he murmured, feeling a hint of desire.

Rathazar hung the cloak up to dry and curled up for a nap. The night was young, and his presence in the abandoned cottage he had let himself into would be of great interest to the town guards. Knowing what he did about these overzealous guards, he understood they would be on high alert for the Khajiit thief with the gold-lined cloak.

An hour passed before a knock and a snap tore Rathazar from his short but deep sleep. He clutched the dagger with the ruby-tipped hilt and scanned the darkness quickly, but he was alone. "Tree branches, heavy with rain," he muttered under his breath, tucking the dagger back into his belt with the others. He felt rested despite the shock, and he pulled on the cloak, now dried.

Rain no longer fell, but the thunder bellowed across the village and threatened worse weather. Rathazar slipped through the rickety window, out the way he came, and descended on the town again. He had one more stop to make before he left for the foreseeable future.

In the small town, there stood only one real manor. It loomed to the north, past a short but snaking canyon, and its highest floor could be seen from the town square. Torchlight burned in its windows, but was no deterrent to the thieving cat whom climbed up the trellis and slipped through a darkened window with his enviable grace.

The Khajiit skulked in the darkness, taking note of baubles and framed paintings, priceless rugs and furniture crafted by artisan hands. He suspected that there would be a wine cellar down below. He dared to leave the empty bedroom he had climbed into for the hallway which was dimly lit by staggered candelabras.

Before the Khajiit made it halfway to the next bedroom, he heard whimpering and gasping denoting what was clearly a good time. He smiled crookedly, feeling a pang of embarrassment before more naughty thoughts took hold.

Fastidious despite curiosity and arousal, he checked each room along the hall, and his feline steps avoided creaky boards with seemingly supernatural ease. Between rooms he crouched; listened; began to smile. He soon deduced three very important things: there was a girl in the master bedroom, she was the only occupant of the manor save for himself, and she was entertaining a vivid fantasy involving a filthy cat.

The grin on Rathazar's face, although earnest, appeared sinister. Perhaps it was just that, for the thief leveled his lockpicks at the doorknob to the master bedroom. His work was quiet, not that it needed to be. The girl, who sounded young and quite fine to the cat's keen ears, was busy on herself with no modesty. She hissed and crooned about a damnable cat, a dirty Khajiit, a knave if there ever was one. Rathazar realized only when the tumbler snicked open that the voice was familiar and the timing too perfect.

In swung the door, and its small creak startled the girl with the pale skin and the long, brown hair. Already curled inward for her dirty work, she further tightened and looked over her shoulder, gasping in a startled voice, "Who is-? [i]You don't belong here, cat![/i] Begone with you! Go!"

Rathazar laughed. The scene before him was a rich tapestry more thrilling than the steamiest chapters of [i]The Lusty Argonian Maid.[/i] The girl whose cloak he had forcibly traded for now clutched his dusty old attire in a white-knuckled fist, and she knelt with her back hunched, legs pursed, glimmering fingers just in view. "It would seem I [i]do[/i] belong here," the cat said triumphantly, casting off the stolen cloak. Its filigree sparkled in the light of the fireplace as it fluttered to the floor. "For a filthy cat I may be, but a stupid one? Hardly."

Rising unsteadily, the girl covered herself with Rathazar's cloak like a towel. She hissed, "A moment of weakness. That was all it was, and all it will be."

The Khajiit, still grinning and now swishing his tail, strode across the grand bedroom to claim what he desired. As he moved, he shed his pitted and patched leather armor, baring a lithe gray body with pitch black spots. He was still in his trousers when the girl, suddenly trapped against the wall, dropped the cloak to mash her long-nailed fingers into his chest. "Don't think me defenseless, Khajiit," she warned. "I can still draw help with a scream!"

Rathazar found her nails painful but thrilling, almost as exciting as a lady Khajiit's claws. He took her wrists and slammed the backs of her hands to the wall, leaving her cruciform with fair breasts bared. Her pale skin invited attention, and he gave it, planting a kiss between the crook of her neck and shoulder. She shuddered and hissed, "A single scream, cat... I've given you fair warning..."

"Very well," the Khajiit purred, and dragged his rough tongue over the most tender flesh of her throat. He trailed down to her breasts and pecked one with a kiss. "Call for help. Have me run through and disposed of so all of this may end."

The girl huffed. The blush in her cheeks had already run high from pleasure, then embarrassment. Fear when she first saw him had left her flushed, but the glow was back again. "You Khajiit are terrible," she said lowly.

Amusement played at Rathazar's face. He bumped the pad of his nose to hers, his eyes staring deep into her blue gaze. "Quite true. We make for such [i]energetic[/i] lovers, we Khajiit. Certainly nothing you would care to face, human."

"I have a name," she said petulantly, "and it is Alwyn. If you're to be in my home, you will refer to me as such."

Rathazar pecked her throat for a kiss, chasing it with a nip from his sharp feline teeth. Her flesh broke and wept droplets of blood, the wound answered by a needful gasp from the girl. The Khajiit tasted her blood only incidentally as he licked the wound; he had no particular taste for it.

"Oh, shall I?" he asked sardonically, his eyes half-lidded, putting his gaze somewhere between sensual and patronizing. "But as a dirty cat and a thief besides, it wouldn't do me well to become so familiar with my marks. Unless..."

Alwyn frowned sharply. Rathazar found her to be cute when she was so angry and blatantly impatient. "Unless [i]what?"[/i]

Rathazar dared to unhand her wrists. He expected some retaliation - a rake of the nails, a slap, maybe she would go for his eyes - but she let her hands fall to her sides before clasping behind her naked bottom. Rathazar, pleasantly surprised, chuckled. "Mmm. Unless you were to tell me that you want me here. Hm, no, [i]need[/i] a filthy cat like myself," he cupped the mounds of her breasts in rough, pawlike hands, "then I would be a guest of your home, and I would feel obliged to use your name."

The human huffed with soft pleasure. Her pink nipples poked obscenely into the palms of Rathazar's hands. "Damned thieving cat," she groused. "I... [i]want[/i] you. Are you satisfied now?"

He laughed. "Satisfied? No, not yet, lady Alwyn," he said smugly, and squeezed down on her tits just firmly enough that he caused her brief, tart pain. The girl winced and gasped, grabbing sharply for his wrists, and Rathazar shrugged off her grasp. "Does that hurt, lady?" asked the Khajiit. He left no time for an answer, taking her by the shoulder and hair. He pulled her away from the wall, threw her to the floor where she had earlier been masturbating. The soft bear pelt rug cushioned her fall, but she found it in herself to cry out in shock and pain regardless.

"You bastard!" hissed Alwyn, her dignity the only thing bruised about her. "How dare you enter into my home and-!" She couldn't continue when the Khajiit calmly resumed disrobing. Her eyes fell on Rathazar's genitals, which were neither small nor massive, but she had never seen a nude Khajiit before, and the lack of differences he had with her own species did little to diminish the novelty and surprise of seeing him bare.

"And?" Rathazar asked, smirking. He knelt on the pelt rug, enjoying its plushness and the heat of the fireplace. He reached for the girl, who lay on her side just as she had landed. His hand closed around her shoulder and forced her onto her belly as though he meant to smother her in the pelt. "You seem to be a little tongue-tied. Not to worry, lady Alwyn. I'm sure it's difficult to articulate the kind of whore you must be to sleep with a cat."

"You-!" hissed Alwyn, red-cheeked. She thrashed, at first refusing to lie down quietly. Her fist lashed out at him, striking his belly mere inches from his groin.

Feistiness excited Rathazar, of course it did, but it was also a rebellion to be put down. He swung himself over top of the girl, knees between her legs, hands on her shoulders with all his weight. "Lady Alwyn, I'm afraid only a brat of a woman would be so offended by the truth! And a brat needs, above all else," he let off of her shoulders and, with suddenness only befitting a graceful thief, smacked one of the round cheeks of her ass with vicious force. Over Alwyn's shriek of pain and anger, Rathazar declared, [i]"Discipline!"[/i]

"Damn you, damn you-u-u," Alwyn whined, reaching back to touch her reddened cheek. "Ooh, you are [i]horrid..."[/i]

"So I am," Rathazar said agreeably. His erection touched her bottom; its flesh was pink, fairly plump, and uncircumcised. The glans peeked from the pucker of the foreskin, damp and slightly more saturated in shade from the rest of the shaft. The urge to sodomize the girl was potent, and it seemed to him like an opportunity he would never have again, yet that was only a naughty novelty. [i]Much as I am to this wench,[/i] thought the Khajiit with some irony.

He hooked his fingers under her pelvis and forced her to rise, though only as far as her hands and knees. His shaft, which keened upward with its erection, brushed the crack of her ass and nested shallowly between them. "I will breed you as though you were a Khajiit yourself," he hissed. The thief's tail swished and his ears splayed downward somewhat. Under other circumstances, he would have appeared agitated. "I do not expect it to be entirely pleasant for you, lady Alwyn, but such is what you've agreed to!"

"Wait-, wait," Alwyn pleaded, doubting her own desires suddenly.

Rathazar had less than a second of pause. He mounted her, throwing his taller, yet slender body over hers as if draping her in his own pelt. He rubbed against her, finding the hot split of her cunt by friction and luck. Her body was tight, but it was wet and ready, and he entered her with contemptible ease despite his fair thickness.

Alwyn cried out, but it was no sound of distress. She continued to feel the doubt of shame and taboo, but Rathazar's soft, spotted fur felt so wonderfully exotic and correct. She bunched the bear pelt up in her fingers, turning her pale knuckles even whiter.

Rathazar began to hump her, his movements quick and rough. She thought of him immediately as a brisk lover, one who could not afford the time for a drawn-out affair. A soft, muffled smack filled the room each time his furry hips met her pale bottom, and her breasts bounced, unloved by the Khajiit who hissed and growled alternately into her ears.

"Every human girl wishes this," growled Rathazar, smug and grandiose in his declarations. He fucked Alwyn swiftly, each hump a graceful but powerful movement. Soon, rude and wet sounds began to fill the warm room. Rain again beat the manor, ignored by the thief, not even noticed by the overwhelmed girl. "To be [i]bred[/i] by a Khajiit, [i]like[/i] a Khajiit!"

"Hah-, hardly," breathed Alwyn, suffering both defiance and rapture. Primal desire coursed through her body courtesy of the thief's ramming, plunging cock. Its shape was familiar to Alwyn, but the body it was attached to made all of the difference. It seemed doubtless to her that this was the finest sex she had ever had. "As if any lady would-, would want this...!"

Rathazar cackled at her resolve. He bit her neck, not nipping but sinking in his teeth. Blood oozed from the narrow yet deep punctures and Alwyn shrieked, elbowing Rathazar in his bared flank hard enough to bruise. It only drove the Khajiit wild, thrusting him into an alpha's frenzy which the girl would never forget.

The Khajiit drew his teeth free without ripping her flesh, but that was the only gentle gesture he made. While the girl was still wincing, the tears in her eyes just emerging, Rathazar threw an arm around her delicate neck and moved himself to the side, dragging her along. He missed hardly a beat before he had a leg over her and his rhythm resumed, pounding the not-so-delicate pink of her pussy with the kind of ferocity an actual Khajiit woman would answer with clawing and yowling.

"My god," Alwyn bleated, her hands pawing helplessly at Rathazar's arm. "Oh, oh-, please, mercy!" The girl gripped his firm bicep and pulled, prying at sinewy flesh, raking so roughly with her nails that she dug a bloody rut in the Khajiit, breaking a nail in the process.

"Everything you wanted," said Rathazar, voice rasping but cocksure. The pain galvanized him, drawing him to new heights. The scent of his own blood and the feeling of a freshly-clawed wound reminded him of his own kind. "Since you put eyes on me, you have wanted this!" He squeezed with his arm, trapping her throat in a pincer of muscle. Against Rathazar, Alwyn became very stiff. Her legs locked, and her cunt gripped him. The thief hissed in dark, feline pleasure and further took what was his, using all his sinewy strength and leverage to utterly dominate the lady.

Alwyn tried to speak but her voice had failed, and all she made was a pitiful screech. The Khajiit's forearm pressed into her throat like an iron bar, cutting her airway down to a pinprick and driving her into an intensely erotic panic. She pulled at his arm, but he had the leverage and the strength to keep her beaten. The more she resisted, the more he tightened, and the harder he fucked her which was only heightened by her ongoing strangulation. Sensations were elevated as if she were high; she was heinously wet for the Khajiit, betraying utterly the lust she felt for the cat.

"Yes, yesss," Rathazar murmured, hissing and huffing, sneering his unsavory Khajiit smirk for the good fortunes he had stumbled into this evening. The night was a wet and miserable one which he would soon return to, but he was simply too happy with himself to worry. His climax was near, and it was to be spent inside a wench, a [i]human[/i] wench whose opinion of him was demonstrably low, though he conceded that her true feelings were more complicated.

"I will not kill you," Rathazar said warmly, his dirty work never slowing, but growing more forceful. "But this, [i]this[/i] raises you to new heights, does it not?" The Khajiit, wishing to hear the girl's voice speak hateful or perhaps needful nothings, eased off of her neck enough to let her draw breath.

Alwyn moaned in miserable pleasure. Her nails raked into the Khajiit's fur and flesh, making ruts, failing to draw blood this time. It was with appropriate shame that the lady reached for herself. She tweaked across the button of her clit knowingly, causing herself a deep shudder. Wondrous pleasure raced through her body, enhanced tenfold by the Khajiit's firm control over what seemed like her life and death.

"Please, no more of this, I can hardly stand it," cried Alwyn as she worked on herself gingerly. "You have dominated me, you've proven that, now [i]please![/i] Release me!"

Rathazar knew he had had all the power to begin with, but for her to admit it boosted his smugness to unheard-of heights. He smooched her cheek, tickling her with wiry whiskers, and then he squeezed once around her neck, holding her for hardly two seconds. The human cried out after this squeeze but just before another, "Bastard cat!"

"At your humble service," Rathazar growled, grinning wide and toothy. "But not for much longer, I think..."

[i]Oh, please, not before I'm through,[/i] thought Alwyn with pathetic need which she would later chastise herself for. She touched herself, tweaking and pressing her small, pink clitoris. At times her fingers brushed the Khajiit's penis as it pistoned into her, giving her the pleasure she couldn't live without. "You are [i]abhorrent,[/i] Khajiit," she hissed.

Knowing that the wench was helping herself pleased Rathazar more than she could ever know. Alwyn was far from the first human wench to be his, but he would remember her most fondly. He felt that the end was near, his own pleasure about to peak, bringing about that bittersweet moment when their time together would end. Voracious desires for sex and domination drove Rathazar to squeeze her neck again, this time until the point that the girl began to fade.

Lady Alwyn squirmed against him as her body started its involuntarily struggle, craving oxygen as unconsciousness began to settle in like a black veil. That moment of twilight was when the pale-skinned girl climaxed. Her fine form seized against him, seizing every muscle. Rathazar let off for fear of killing her and she gasped, only to cry out in unspeakable pleasure.

The Khajiit thief rolled with Alwyn, pinning her to the pelt rug. He bucked away at her overheated box, plunging deep again and again with a lumbering pace. His body had tensed and every nerve ending seemed hypersensitive. An orgasm was building, nearly there, and Rathazar was only trying to prolong it a bit. Inevitably, he failed to stay on the edge. With a shudder and a grunt, he fell gracelessly against the girl. His seed spurted into her in a volley of plump ropes, and the thief softly panted as his exertion came to an end. His tail swished in the air, dancing lazily and making snake shadows in the firelight.

"You awful Khajiit," Alwyn murmured without conviction. "You awful, awful creature."

"I am indeed a most awful Khajiit," said Rathazar blithely. A low, quite sultry purr rumbled in his chest as he writhed against her, drawing his tongue along her ear. She cooed for him, unresistant. "Lady Alwyn, is this manor yours alone?"

Alwyn smiled slyly. "My father will not return until morning... haven't had your fill, cat?"

"I have not," Rathazar answered her, smiling. He straightened himself up and pulled out of the girl, thinking mischievously, [i]what a good thing it is that the rug is already white.[/i] Warmly, he said, "You are a most lovely lady. As fine as any Khajiit."

"Flattery even after you've charmed me?"

"I speak only the truth," the thief said, lying though he was. His fingers closed around the belt of his tunic and he pulled it loose without so much as a rustle. Swiftly then, demonstrating the same quickness he had shown upon first disrobing the girl, Rathazar lashed the belt around her wrists, pulling it firm but not painfully taut behind her back. "And I thank you for a [i]wonderful[/i] evening," he said, standing as the girl began to fuss and complain. "But I'm afraid it isn't my way to make love twice in a row," he lied again.

"You-! Oh, you thieving cat...!" Alwyn fussed, managing to roll onto her back. She looked at the Khajiit as he dressed, feeling equal measures of hatred, admiration, and needful lust. "Oh, don't don't leave me like this..."

The thief, dressed save for his sacrificed belt, turned Alwyn's cloak into a crude sack and began to fill it with all the gold baubles and trinkets he could find in the bedroom. "I'm sure you can slip out of that before your father gets home. That belt is so tired and old," he said dryly. "And as for why everything which was not nailed down is soon to be missing, I'm sure you can explain that as well." The feline winked at her, smiling playfully. "I left more than enough marks upon you for this encounter to appear... unsavory. And my skin is under your fingernails."

Alwyn said nothing. When Rathazar leaned down, putting his snout close to her lovely face, she could only watch him. She accepted his soft kiss on her lips, and then she watched him go, the sack's contents clanging discordantly.

For weeks afterward, Lady Alwyn's father sent countless mercenaries after the Khajiit. None ever found more than a fenced treasure, and Alwyn always hoped the thief might return some day.