Another Cunning Plan

Finally, Kaisen came to a stop near Roland, who was still sprawled on the ground like a worn-out rug. Their eyes met and locked—none of that macho, "I-hate-you" nonsense anymore.

Roland was prideful, sure, but he wasn't dumb enough to ignore a savior, especially when said savior just saved his sorry, wheezing ass from becoming dog food.

A cat would sooner choke on a hairball than say "thank you" to anyone, but Roland didn't see Kaisen as an enemy anymore.

Hell, at this point, none of the cats saw him as anything less than a shirtless demigod who'd dropped in to flex his muscles and save the day.

Kaisen reached out a hand to Roland, his perfectly sculpted arm practically glowing under the battlefield sun.

"You're hurt, no need for more—"

Roland blurted, puffing out his chest like he wasn't bleeding out and about two seconds away from passing out.

"I can still whoop a hundred more mutts if I have to."