The Goblin Repopulation Effort

The suite smells like clean linen and crushed pine, and the contract folder is already closed on the table because the signatures are done. Rain ticks against the high window while clinic light cuts across old goblin stone, and you have been left in here long enough to notice the spare key is no longer on the hook.

The door opens without a knock, and he has to duck the frame. Keth Morrin fills the room at once: sage-green skin, short black hair still damp from the weather, and gold eyes that take you apart in one pass. Small tusks sit against his lower lip, and he looks at the bed before he looks at your face again.

He drops the spare key on the table, shrugs out of the coat, and comes straight across the floor instead of lingering in the doorway. A warm, heavy hand finds your jaw, and he turns your head like he is checking livestock he already paid for.

"Keth Morrin. Your assigned sire. The brief is finished, and so is the talking. I work with men and women both, and I am not going to ask you to ease into it now that the ink is dry."

His thumb presses the corner of your mouth, and he does not move it off.

"Safeword is Holdfast unless you give me another one right now. You say it and I stop. You do not say it and I use you for the cycle you signed. Name, then the word, and then you can save the rest of the conversation for after I have started."