The rain had been kind all day—gentle, like a whisper—but as twilight settled and the lanterns flickered awake inside the tavern, the skies cracked open in a sudden downpour.
Wood groaned.
Roof tiles clattered.
Mud sloshed in the footprints of the last caravan that had passed an hour earlier.
Kio didn't flinch.
He stood behind the counter, unperturbed, his hands moving with the quiet rhythm of ritual.
He polished a tankard, its pewter surface gleaming in the hearth's low, amber glow.
The tavern—Trail's End—hummed with stillness, a rare pause between the clamor of adventurers and the laughter of sated women.
No clinking glasses tonight.
No whispered boasts or tearful confessions.
Just the fire's crackle and the rain's relentless drum.
Until the door crashed open.
A gust of wind and water roared in, scattering embers across the hearthstones and tugging at the fresh linen cloth Kio had smoothed over the counter.
She stood in the doorway, a tempest made flesh—tall, mud-smeared, snarling.
Rin.
Her armor hung heavy with blood, some hers, most not.
Her half-cloak dangled from one shoulder, torn and useless, its clasp shattered.
Dark gray hair plastered her face, dripping onto the floorboards.
One beast ear twitched with raw irritation; the other lay flat, pinned by exhaustion.
Her golden eyes burned into Kio, sharp as a blade's edge, demanding something unspoken.
He didn't flinch.
He set the tankard down, reached for a towel, and folded it neatly on the counter's edge.
"I swear to every god that ever gave a beast breath," Rin growled, limping inside and kicking the door shut, "if I have to stand in this cursed rain one more second, I'll lose it."
Her voice was gravel and spite. "Where's my room?"
"Ready," Kio said, his tone smooth as worn leather. "Bath's being drawn. Back chamber. Floor's scrubbed. Sheets are warm."
Rin's eyes narrowed, but the iron in her shoulders softened—just a fraction, just enough to notice.
She didn't growl again.
"I smell stew."
"You do."
"Meat?"
"Boar."
Her lips twitched, a ghost of a smile. "You remembered."
Kio tilted his head, drying his hands with care, his silence louder than words.
Rin let her sword belt fall with a clatter that echoed off the wood-paneled walls like a challenge.
She shed her armor piece by piece, each movement slow, pained, revealing lean muscle and a lattice of fresh cuts along her ribs.
Her tail, slick and heavy, swayed low, dripping water like a rope begging for a tug.
By the time she reached the bar, she wore only soaked underwrappings and boots, her body radiating heat despite the chill.
"I'm not staying long," she said, voice rough as unhewn stone. "Just till I can walk without feeling like my ass is gonna split."
Kio's expression didn't shift. "You're limping."
"No shit, genius."
"Salve's mixed. On your room's shelf."
Rin snatched the towel, scrubbing it over her hair with a muttered curse in old beast-tongue—half insult, half prayer.
She leaned both hands on the bar, exhaling through her nose, as if forcing the world to bend to her rhythm.
"I killed twenty-seven corrupted beasts, Kio.Twenty-seven. One had three heads. Another screamed spells as it bled. I haven't slept more than an hour in three days." Her voice dropped, raw and jagged.
"And I'm so fucking pent-up I could ride your face till I scream, cry my eyes out, and still beg for more."
Kio's smile was a spark in the dim light—warm, knowing, dangerous.
Rin's breath hitched.
Not because he smiled.
Because he didn't speak.
He turned, ladled steaming boar stew into a bowl, and placed it before her, alongside a small glass of dark plum liquor.
Steam curled between them, a fragile veil over the tension that crackled in the air.
Rin stared at the meal.
Her shoulders sagged.
Her tail gave a single, reluctant wag.
"I'm gonna collapse," she whispered.
"I know."
"In your bath."
"I expect it."
She grabbed the bowl and glass, turning without ceremony, her steps slow and heavy toward the back hall where her room waited.
But halfway there, she stopped, her silhouette framed by the flickering light.
"Kio?"
"Yes?"
"I don't want comfort."
"I know."
"I want to be tied up. Blindfolded. Used."
A heartbeat of silence stretched taut.
"It's already prepared," he said, voice low, steady, a promise woven into the words.
Rin's laugh was broken glass and raw hunger, sharp enough to cut.
She vanished down the hall, leaving a trail of wet footprints and the faint, wild scent of blood, sweat, and need.
Kio returned to the counter.
Poured himself a finger of liquor.
And watched the rain lash the windows, as if it, too, yearned to be let inside.