We were still in the diner. Morning light oozed in through the blinds, trying to pretend the night hadn't happened. Kaito was nursing the last of his lukewarm coffee while Vinyl tried—and failed—not to knock over the syrup bottle again. I was debating whether to order more grits or just steal his.
I watched the trucker shuffle out after June's words landed. Not like a man chased off—more like someone who finally accepted that chapter was over. I had to hand it to her—she handled rejection with more grace than most people handled compliments. Made me wonder how often she had to soften the blow like that, knowing it still cut on both ends.
June wiped her hands on a rag again, her smile polite but just distant enough to tell you she'd closed the file on that whole situation. Even in the warm morning light, she didn't shimmer like most folks. She glowed faint, a little gooey around the edges like her shape wasn't fully settled. Pretty, but in a way that felt like she'd had to design herself piece by piece. She wore red slacks and a crisp white blouse—stylish in a way I couldn't quite place, like there was some meaning behind the colors I didn't have the context to catch. Long limbs, glossy pink eyeshadow that never seemed to smear, lips that always looked freshly painted. And yeah, when she brought you something—menus, refills, even plates of food—there was sometimes this quiet, squishy sound, like jelly pressed into silk.
Didn't make her less graceful. Just made her different. Made you realize she wasn't sculpted like the rest of us. She was poured—intentionally. And she held together just fine.
That's when the trucker werewolf walked back in.
He looked different. Calmer. Sadder. Like someone who'd read the last page of the book and didn't like how it ended. The aura around him had settled—still bestial, still haunted, but less angry now. Just... tired.
June clocked him before anyone else. She moved smoothly from behind the counter, no fear in her stride. Her voice was gentler than last night.
"Hey," she said. "About earlier... I get it. You felt something. Thought it meant more. But it didn't. That doesn't make you bad—it just means we both wanted different things."
He stared at her for a second, jaw tight. Then nodded. Not much. Just enough.
"Now go eat something greasy and remember it was one night, not a promise."
He sat down heavily, pulled a napkin from the dispenser, and started writing.
Not a note. A sigil. Magic-scripted. Kaito and I both stiffened.
I could feel it in the air—like a hum building under the linoleum. The trucker whispered a few words, pressed his palm to the paper, and let it vanish in smoke.
Kaito murmured, "He just lit a mission flare."
I raised a brow. "In the diner?"
Kaito was already reaching into his coat, fishing out a shimmering teal shard. "That was a public contract call. Group protection job. Real deal."
The radio at our table buzzed, voice crackling through static:
"Shipment ward failing. Headless-class hunter inbound. Requesting armed escort. Repeat—this is a group call. All capable agents may respond."
I looked at Kaito.
He just grinned. "What do you say, partner?"
"You had that shard the whole time?" I asked, folding my arms.
"A man's gotta have secrets," he said, flipping it onto the table. It flared once, then blinked out. Mission accepted.
June didn't say anything at first. She was just pouring our refills when she caught sight of the crystal shard still faintly glowing on the table. She paused, left a coffee-stained bracelet next to it with her finger, then smiled like someone who'd just recognized an old badge.
"Sonter designation: Moon Gel Maven, Rank Tequila," she said casually, still holding the pot. "Been a while since I clocked in."
Kaito arched a brow, clearly impressed. "Rank Tequila? That's no joke."
I squinted at him. "Why do you sound impressed like she just wrestled a banshee?"
He shrugged, half-smiling. "Because she probably did. That rank's not given, it's earned—with explosions."
June shrugged as she slid into the booth beside Kaito, one arm draped along the backrest like she belonged there. "Bold, layered, a little too reckless—like a shot of truth with a glass-shard rim—sounded about right at the time. Rank names might sound cute, but trust me, they come with body counts."
I blinked. "Wait, are y'all ranked by drinks?"
"Of course," she said, deadpan. "It's how we remember who's likely to burn down a bar versus who actually finishes paperwork."
That stuck in my head for a second. I leaned toward Kaito. "So... what's your rank?"
He gave a low whistle through his teeth. "Whiskey."
June blinked, surprised. "You're Whiskey? Damn, I thought you were off the board."
I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Neither of them answered right away.
Kaito just said, "C'mon. We'll explain on the way. June, you got a place?"
"Rented a motel room nearby," she replied, pulling a slip of paper from her pocket. "Address is on there. Meet me in an hour. Room 207."
The next scene was the three of us inside her motel room, dimly lit and cluttered with magical tools, oil pots, and the scent of citrus and steel. June was setting up something on the floor—runes, candles, a softly glowing circle.
Kaito motioned toward it. "There's a new boring way to check someone's rank now—paperwork and spellbooks—but this is how we used to do it. For first timers? Still tradition. It's special. Step in the circle."
I stepped into it slowly and immediately wrinkled my nose. The colors were hideous—too bright, like a spilled cocktail fight. Neon oranges, sickly greens, glittering violets that didn't match anything except maybe a fever dream. Bottles hovered around me in a lazy orbit, each with glowing labels: Rum, Vodka, Brandy, Tequila, Whiskey...
Kaito stepped beside me, arms folded. "The colors change depending on the person. So do the objects. Some people get goblets, some get vintage cans. You? You're seeing bottles. That's good."
I glanced around, still skeptical. "And... beer?"
He shook his head. "Beer's a starter rank. Works if you're fresh—like straight up baby-new to the world. Everything after beer? That's where it starts to matter."
I caught June smirking in the corner, already lighting a slow-burning candle. She didn't say anything, but there was this energy in the room—like whatever came next, it mattered.
One bottle broke from the orbit, drifting down in front of me like it had made a decision. Clear, sharp, sleek—its label pulsed with clean light: Vodka.
Kaito nodded like he'd expected it. "Yeah. That fits."
"Wait, Vodka?" June tapped her foot lightly, eyebrows lifted. "Didn't expect that."
"What does it mean?" I asked, watching the bottle hover.
"Cold, clean, surgical," Kaito said, and though his tone was all business, there was a glint in his eye like he was proud. "Healers, interrogators. People who can separate emotion from execution. Doesn't mean you're cold-hearted—it means you're precise. Purposeful. Efficient as hell."
I raised my brow. "Sounds flattering and terrifying."
June held out a glass, and the Vodka bottle poured itself without spilling a drop. Kaito's Whiskey and her Tequila did the same.
"To team spirit," June said, lifting her drink.
We clinked glasses and drank.
June looked down at her own teal crystal and gave a satisfied nod. "Contract won't kick in till sundown. We've got time off."
Kaito stretched. "Come on," he said to me. "Let's go get our own room."
The motel suite he found was almost absurdly nice. Velvet curtains. Whisper-quiet AC. Bathtub big enough to drown politics in. I raised an eyebrow.
"This comes with jobs like this," Kaito said, tossing the keycard on the side table. "They say it's to build team spirit. Personally? I think they just like giving us weird memories."
I sat on the edge of the bed, watching him. "You realize Vinyl just left you, right?"
Kaito didn't miss a beat. "He'll come back. Got sent to a familiar hot spot tied to the job. Happens with creature-linked familiars—they know when to give space."
I nodded slowly, still chewing on that. "Okay... but how long have you been using our performances as a front for this kind of stuff?"
Kaito gave that same low whistle again, rubbing the back of his neck like the question tickled a memory. "Ever since that traveling circus picked us up. You weren't the only one who didn't know. Nice handful of us traveled together back then. Temporary gig. No name, no banner, just vibes and contracts."
I picked up a pillow and chucked it at him. "You jerk."
"Hey!" he laughed, dodging with a grin. "You didn't ask. And you looked so happy dancing under those lights."
I snorted, falling into that nagging tone I knew he hated. "The only reason I didn't ask was because I thought you were just some normal drifter. A little weird, sure—but harmless. My folks? They were right about you in a way. Gave me some money not to go with you."
Kaito's face did that silent 'bitch, what the fuck' look, and he leaned back with an irritated scoff. "Oh, so we're doing this now?"
"Just saying," I snapped, folding my arms with attitude, like I was daring him to deny it.
He shook his head, then slammed his hand down on the dresser hard enough to rattle the lamp. "I've had better offers to join official teams—real ones. Paid better. Safer. But I didn't leave. Know why?"
I didn't flinch. I glared, jaw tight. "Why?"
"Because of you," he snapped, voice hot and rough. "Because you were there, and I wasn't gonna leave you behind. Don't act like you were the only one taking a risk."
I got in his face then, voice rising sharp enough to slice the room in half. "Well, I might not have been the only one—" I was ready to say more, to throw every frustrated feeling I had at him, but those demon eyes of his locked onto mine and something just... snapped.
Not in a bad way. In a way that made my heart stutter.
Instead of yelling, I kissed him.
Kaito barely had a second to register it before he swept his arm across the table, knocking off everything—papers, the glass, even the lamp—just to kiss me back like he meant it.
"Fuck yes!" he said loud and proud, voice still rough with heat as he pulled me closer like he'd been waiting for that exact moment to exist.
But before things could melt into soft moans and tangled sheets, I pulled back just enough to talk. The thought hit me like a slap to my own ego: I think the sex was good—no, I know it was good. But I couldn't tell if that was adrenaline, rage, or just sheer dumb luck.
Out loud, though, I said, "You're hiding way more than you let on."
He blinked, mouth still half on my jaw. "...You're really doing this now?"
I didn't answer—not with words. I pushed him back until his spine hit the motel door with a thud and kissed the side of his neck, rough and deliberate. He groaned, arms catching me like instinct. In one movement, his hands slid down, grabbed my thighs, and lifted me—like I weighed nothing.
My breath hitched when I felt it—sharp, curved. Claws. Not metaphorical. Real.
I pulled back enough to look him in the face. "When the fuck did you get claws?"
He was panting now, pupils blown wide, lips parted in something half-lust, half-warning. "My job isn't my only secret."
He didn't wait for my reply—just let his mouth find mine again, hungry. But then his lips trailed lower, along my jaw, to my neck—and that's when I felt it. A tongue, slick and warm, dragging slow like honey... except it had texture. Not rough like sandpaper, but something else. Spiked, somehow—like it should hurt, but didn't. It felt stupidly good.
I almost moaned. Almost.
But I caught myself, jaw locking. I wasn't letting that distract me. Not when I still had questions he hadn't answered.
I pulled back, heat buzzing low in my belly, breath shallow against the weight of him. "You're hiding shit. Deep shit. And I might not know the whole story, but I can feel it in your touch. That's not just power—it's history. Folklore baked into your damn bones."
He exhaled like he'd been holding it for centuries, jaw tight, eyes glowing just a little too hot.
I pressed my hand to his chest, still defiant. "I don't give a fuck what you are—mostly. Demon, cursed, something in between—I don't care. Just answer me this... Aren't you still just a man under all that magic? A human with warlock shit and a real bad habit of making me crave you like sin?"
Kaito groaned low and sudden, then grabbed me and threw me onto the bed with enough force to knock the air out of me—but not rough, just raw. My heart jumped. I didn't know if I should be offended or stupidly turned on.
He didn't climb on me right away. No, he prowled—each step a slow threat wrapped in silk. He checked the windows, the locks, the very seams in the curtain like he was sealing the room off from reality. When he turned back, his voice had changed—richer, guttural, ancient.
"Keep your legs right where they are."
My entire body flushed like I'd been licked by fire.
He stepped toward me again, and this time, I saw it—his form unraveling at the seams. Skin no longer skin, but living parchment traced with molten script. His tattoos glowed gold like scripture burned into obsidian. His hair shimmered like wildfire and shadow, his silhouette sharpened until he looked less like a man and more like temptation given muscle and myth.
Then he bent close and kissed me—slow at first, deliberate, like he was savoring me. But then his tongue slid deeper, parting my lips with something longer than any human could offer. It was inhuman, ridged, and wet with heat, curling down into me like a sin I couldn't name.
I should've panicked. Should've pulled away. But I could still breathe. Somehow. Like my lungs understood this wasn't about air—it was about surrender.
His tongue brushed places no one had ever touched, like it was tasting secrets inside me I didn't know I'd locked away. Spiked, but soft. Dangerous, but tender.
I gasped into his mouth, and the noise came out like a prayer.
I gasped, my thighs clenching around nothing.
"You see me now," he said, voice molten, a rumble that vibrated in my bones.
Except it wasn't just my bones—it was my whole body. My skin hummed. My ribs trembled. My throat echoed. I was ringing, inside and out, like the chimes that gave us our power, like something sacred had been struck deep inside me.
I stared, lips parted, breath shallow but not panicked. My thighs tightened again, my pulse skipping in time with the shimmer under my skin. It was too much and not enough.
Then I screamed.
Not from terror.
From joy. From resonance. The kind that blooms in your bones when something ancient and right clicks into place. I was grinning like an idiot and practically trembling with it.
"You're a damn incubus!" I gasped, laughing breathlessly.
His face faltered.
"Excuse me?" he said, the offense slicing through the smoke of seduction like a cold wind. "Incubus?"
I shrugged, still smiling. "It was my best guess!"
He narrowed his eyes, but the shadows curling off him deepened with satisfaction.
"No," he said slowly, stepping in so close the room blurred behind his heat. "I'm something older than that. A demon god... in love with a woman who clearly has no fear—but plenty of mouth."
I was just about to kiss him again when reality slapped me across the brain. "Wait," I whispered, eyes narrowing. "How the hell am I supposed to survive sex with a demon god?"
Kaito grinned wide, almost boyish—if boys had fangs and a god complex. "Funny thing I meant to tell you. You're technically my high priestess right now."
I blinked. "That sounds fake but okay."
Then I made the mistake of muttering, "Wait—if I'm Vodka and June's Tequila, then you being Whiskey doesn't even make sense. You should be Brandy. Or Absinthe. Hell, maybe something new."
He didn't reply. He just knelt.
Tongue.
Down below.
And I forgot how to speak English for a solid minute.
The next three hours blurred like a fever dream. When I finally came back to myself, I was sprawled back on the bed, hair tangled, thighs aching in the best way, lungs just barely catching up. Smoke curled out of my mouth like I'd swallowed a symphony of sighs and it turned to vapor. Every nerve still hummed with aftershocks.
Kaito was sprawled out beside me, just as wrecked and radiant, his demon form still pulsing faint heat against my skin. One arm flung over his head, chest rising slow and steady, he looked like sin resting between battles. Then, with a slow exhale, his body shifted—like silk melting off fire—until only his human form remained. Wild red hair, tattoos humming under the surface, and that maddening, soul-smug smirk.
He turned to look at me, voice low and lazy.
"See?" he said, like he hadn't just rewritten the laws of anatomy. "Perfectly alive."
I snapped my fingers and groaned, the realization sinking in like a hangover mid-high. "Oh my god... That's why you won't marry me, huh? History's full of stories where gods marry mortals and it never ends well. You think I'm gonna explode or something?"
Kaito glanced over, still stretched out and sinfully smug. "It's not that simple."
"Try me," I said, resting an arm over my forehead.
He hesitated. Then: "The process of marrying me—really marrying me—means you become like me. You'd stop aging. Your soul would start... shifting. It's not some poetic bond. It's sacred. Transformative. And honestly? Kinda scary as hell. I didn't think you were ready."
I let the silence stretch for a beat, then exhaled. "Okay. Fair. Still gonna ask about it later."
Then I blinked and pointed a finger at him. "Wait—I'm still mad at you."
Kaito laughed, deep and unapologetic. "Are you sure you were mad... or just kinda horny?"
I rolled my eyes and smirked. "Can't it be both?"