The inn smelled like scorched wood and burned linen.
Rykarion stood near the shattered wall, sleeves rolled up, holding a beam twice his size over one shoulder like it was made of paper. He adjusted the frame with one hand, set it into place, then stepped back.
"Alright," he muttered. "That's the last support. Should hold."
Meyra knelt nearby, sweat on her brow, hammer in hand as she secured the new nails into the floorboards. Her long hair was tied up in a quick knot, but a few strands kept slipping loose and framing her face.
She looked up at him. "You're surprisingly useful for a guy who breaks everything."
He gave her a half-smile. "You break one wall and suddenly you're the villain."
"You blew someone through it," she shot back, rising to her feet, hips cocked to one side. "That's more than one wall, Rykarion."
He shrugged. "He deserved it."
Their eyes met.
She sighed, turning to wipe her hands on a cloth, then walked over to the broken windowsill. "This place was built to survive Qi clashes, you know. Not house-wrecking brawls."
He stepped up behind her, glancing out over the city rooftops. "Maybe the next guy who tries to sneak in will think twice."
She chuckled.
Then fell silent.
The breeze rolled in again—soft and cool, brushing against their skin and stirring the scent of ash and warm tea still faint in the air.
Meyra turned slightly, catching a better look at him. His robe was still open, exposing his chest, the faint shimmer of dragon-blooded Qi pulsing under his skin.
She didn't look away.
Not this time.
"…What are you really?" she asked, voice lower now.
Rykarion tilted his head. "Dangerous."
"Mm. Figured that part out already."
She stepped closer, barefoot on the dusty floor, stopping just in front of him. Her eyes traced the edge of the golden mark glowing near his collarbone.
"Your aura," she said, voice quiet, "feels… ancient. Like something I read about in myth scrolls."
He didn't answer.
Not directly.
But he leaned forward—just enough for her to feel the heat again.
It rolled off him like a heartbeat. Alive. Slow. Powerful.
Their eyes locked.
He lifted a hand—softly—pushing back one of the strands of hair falling in front of her eye.
His fingers lingered just a second longer than they needed to.
Meyra's breath caught.
Neither moved.
The room was quiet again.
But it wasn't calm.
It was tense.
Warm.
The space between them was thin—almost gone.
Their faces—
An inch apart.
Neither looked away.
The air between them pulsed—thick with unspoken heat.
Rykarion's fingers were still brushing the side of Meyra's face, his knuckles warm against her skin. She didn't pull away. Didn't even breathe right. Her chest rose slowly, lips parted, eyes locked to his like something magnetic had wrapped around her spine and held her there.
Outside, the wind moved the curtains. Lantern light flickered.
But neither of them moved.
Not until she whispered—
"…You really don't know how to behave, do you?"
Rykarion smirked faintly.
"Never learned."
His voice was low. Rough. Like it was carrying something just beneath the surface—something wild. His hand slid down, fingertips trailing the curve of her jaw, then resting just beneath her chin. Her skin was hot, not from the fire, but from him.
She leaned in.
He didn't stop her.
Didn't speak.
Just let the closeness coil tighter. Until their foreheads brushed.
Until her breath hit his lips.
Her hands moved, resting against his bare chest—slowly, fingers splayed across the faint shimmer of golden light still pulsing from his skin. She could feel it. Not just heat.
Power.
Sleeping. Breathing. Barely contained.
She looked up at him again.
His eyes burned gold.
Not brightly.
But deeply.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
"I should walk away," she breathed, half-laughing. "You're nothing but trouble."
He leaned closer, lips barely hovering above hers.
"But you're still here."
Silence.
Then—
Her fingers tightened against his chest.
Their lips didn't meet.
Not yet.
But they didn't need to—not with how close they were. Not with the way their bodies had already aligned, drawn together like gravity had made a decision without asking either of them.
One breath apart.
One wrong move from setting the whole night on fire.
And neither one of them looked ready to stop it.
For a second, time didn't move.
Rykarion was still. Watching. Waiting. Golden eyes glowing low like the last pulse of a dying sun.
Then—
Meyra closed the space.
She moved in—slow, deliberate, her breath brushing his lips. Her hand slid up his chest, curling around the back of his neck. And without asking, without warning—
She kissed him.
Soft at first. Testing.
Then deeper.
Hungrier.
Rykarion didn't hesitate. He kissed her back, hand sliding around her waist, pulling her in. Their bodies pressed close—heat bleeding between them like fire meeting silk. It wasn't desperate, but it wasn't gentle either. It was full of everything they hadn't said since he walked through her doors.
She moaned softly against his mouth, fingers tightening in his hair as he pushed her gently against the nearest beam—what used to be part of a wall. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, slow but firm, like he meant every second of it.
Her leg brushed against his. His hand gripped her hip, thumb tracing circles just beneath the hem of her robe.
The inn was quiet.
Only the sound of their breathing, the faint hum of power under his skin, and the creak of old wood between movements.
Meyra broke the kiss first—barely.
Their foreheads touched, breaths uneven.
Her lips were swollen. Her cheeks flushed.
She looked up at him.
"You kiss like someone who doesn't get told no," she whispered.
Rykarion smirked, voice low and rough.
"That's because I don't."
She laughed—soft and wicked—then leaned in again, teeth grazing his bottom lip before she bit it gently, just enough to make him growl under his breath.
"You're trouble," she whispered, heat dancing behind her eyes.
He pressed his forehead to hers.
"I warned you."
Then they kissed again, harder this time.
Fingers tangled in robes.
Breathless.
Unfiltered.
And behind it all—something building.
Heat.
Tension.
Want.
The room hadn't cooled since the fight. Now it was hotter than ever.
And neither of them seemed in a rush to stop it.
Meyra broke the kiss again as she knelt down still looking at his eyes, "I like the way you look at me," she said as she unbuckled his belt letting his pants full off, then what she saw blew her minds out.
"You carry that around everyday?" She asked with wide eyes as she stared at his 9 inches cock.