Rin hadn't spoken for nearly an hour.
She sank into the bath until the water lapped at her collarbone, its heat seeping into bruises that no longer screamed with every breath.
Clove oil and pine smoke wove through the steam, curling around her bare skin like a lover's whisper.
She leaned back, head resting against the polished stone rim, golden eyes half-lidded, her dark gray hair fanning across the water's surface.
Kio entered without a sound, a fresh robe draped over one arm, a tray balanced in his hand.
Only then did Rin stir, her tail flicking lazily beneath the surface.
"Did you sharpen your knives?" she rasped, eyes still closed, voice rough as if dragged over gravel.
"Didn't need to," Kio said, setting the tray on the bath's edge.
A bowl of boar stew, steam curling upward.
A thick slice of dark bread.
A shot of whiskey, amber and sharp.
And a small glass vial, filled with a viscous, golden liquid that caught the candlelight.
Rin opened her eyes, sitting up slowly.
Water slid down her muscled frame in rivulets, tracing the scars and curves of her body.
She plucked the vial from the tray, turning it between two calloused fingers.
Her nostrils flared, beast senses catching the faint, herbal tang.
"Heat suppressant," she said, voice low. "Beastkind-tier. Where the fuck did you get this?"
"I make it," Kio said, his tone as steady as the stone beneath him.
"You're no brewer."
"No."
She stared at the vial, her tail stirring the water with a soft ripple.
A memory flickered in her golden eyes.
"You've given this to me before, haven't you?"
"Yes."
"When I nearly jumped you in front of those merchants?"
His lips curved—a small, knowing smile that sent a shiver through her, sharper than the bath's fading warmth.
Rin snorted softly, then tossed back the whiskey in one swallow, ignoring the stew.
She pressed the vial to her lips, tipped it back, and drank, the golden liquid sliding down her throat with a faint, bitter burn.
Silence fell, heavy but not unkind, like a blanket settling over bare skin.
"Tell me what happened," Kio said at last, his voice low, a quiet command wrapped in care.
Rin exhaled, the sound sharp but not weary—relieved, as if she'd been waiting for the question.
She leaned her elbows on the rim, water dripping from her forearms.
"They weren't normal beasts," she said.
"Too fast. Too smart. Two flanked me while a third faked a charge, like soldiers trained to kill. But they were rotted—hollow. You ever seen something with dead eyes still think?"
"Yes," Kio said, settling onto a stool beside the tub, his posture relaxed but his gaze unyielding.
Her ears twitched. "You know what they were?"
"Maybe."
Her eyes narrowed, a spark of challenge flaring. "Why didn't you warn me?"
"I wasn't sure you'd come back."
A beat.
Then her laugh—low, jagged, like a blade catching light.
"Fuck you."
Kio shrugged, unperturbed, his calm a counterpoint to her fire.
Rin leaned closer, breasts just above the waterline, her voice dropping to a growl. "You think I'm not strong enough?"
"I think you are. Now."
Her tail swished, a single, deliberate flick that sent ripples across the bath.
"Still," she muttered, "I could've used that silvered blade oil you gave me last time."
"It's in your saddlebag."
She froze, then tilted her head, a dangerous smile curling her lips. "You're fucking with me."
"You'll see."
Her smile grew, sharp and curious, a predator sizing up prey—or a partner. "Sometimes I wonder if you're a god playing tavernkeep."
"And sometimes I wonder why you come back bloodied when you could be upstairs, legs spread, begging for release."
Rin's laugh was a purr now, low and warm.
She rose from the bath, water cascading down her body, each droplet tracing the claw-scarred curves of her thighs, her toned abs, her full breasts. "Oh, don't worry," she said, voice dripping with promise. "I plan to make up for that. Tonight."
Kio met her gaze, his eyes steady, a predator's stillness in a human frame. "You will be blindfolded. Restrained. Used."
"Thought you'd never ask," she murmured, her tail giving a single, eager wag.
She took the towel he offered, drying herself with slowness, every movement a challenge, every glance an invitation.
Then she walked out, naked and unashamed, her footsteps echoing softly in the hall.
Kio rose, picking up the empty vial from the tray.
He turned it in his hand, its glass catching the faint glow of the candles.
His fingers shimmered for a moment— a fleeting, unnatural light—before he clenched his fist, snuffing it out.
He slipped the vial into his coat and turned to prepare the ropes.