XV. The Perks of Surrender

Georgia woke to the taste of salt and copper, her skull throbbing. The room stank of burnt sage and sex—Lanie’s idea of purification. Memory flooded back in shards: the stranger’s hands, Lanie’s laughter, the violence of her own body betraying her. She gagged, bile rising, but her throat clenched around nothing.

“There she is,” Lanie purred, fingers tangled in Georgia’s hair—now silk where there had been split ends. “My masterpiece.”

Georgia swung before thought could catch up—a haymaker forged in the molten core of violation. Her fist cracked Lanie’s jaw, blood blooming like a poppy in reverse. Lanie staggered, spine hitting the wall with a crunch. She laughed, thumbing the crimson streak on her split lip.

“There’s my girl,” she crooned, her voice honeyed gravel. “Took you long enough.”

“Whore!” Georgia rasped. Her voice wasn’t hers. Smokier. A whiskey-slick purr that rattled her ribs.

Georgia stared at her bloodied knuckles. This isn’t me. But the lie was obvious. It was her, entirely her. Muscle memory from the past.

Lanie spat ruby onto the carpet. “Feel better? Or do you need to break a lamp, too?” She grabbed Georgia’s wrist, iron grip beneath velvet skin. “C’mon. Let’s ruin something worth breaking.”

Lanie dragged her to the mirror, heavy feet carving trenches in the carpet like cigarette burns. Georgia’s reflection hit like a crowbar to the gut. She stood tall as a war monument, corded muscle and wrath-forged grace. Hips flared like canyon curves carved by a vengeful river—built to drown men and birth wild things. Breasts high and defiant, nipples hard as railroad spikes.

Her skin glowed like a dive-bar jukebox at last call, fractured light and danger. The dragon tattoo coiled from shoulder to breast to thigh. Obsidian scales dissolving into rose-gold filigree that converged at her clit. There, a sword-and-shield charm glinted, rubies smouldering like trapped coals.

“Still works,” Lanie said, thumb tracing the piercing like a trigger. Georgia’s breath hitched, a traitorous moan slipping free. “Just… less discount rack.” Lanie’s grin sharpened. “That poet’s muse? Bet she’d weep. But honey—” Her nails dug into Georgia’s hip, “—it’s all malleable as a wishbone. Want it to dangle like a chandelier? Just wish.”

“Claire?” Georgia laughed, the sound a shudder. “Only skank I see is you… cock-hoarder.”

Lanie’s smirk didn’t waver. “Darling, I’m a curator. You’re the one creaming over groupies.”

Georgia’s laugh sharpened, a blade honed on seventeen years of shared rot. “Jealousy’s cute on you, Lanie. Matches the desperation stink.” She flicked a nail at Lanie’s sweat-slick collarbone.

“What’s wrong? Dragon scales not keeping up with the mileage?”

Lanie’s talons drew blood now, droplets beading Georgia’s jaw. “Cute? You were cute when you sobbed through your first binding. Begged me to stop while your little cocklet wept.” She leaned in, breath hot as a lit fuse. “Now look at you—screaming like a barn owl over third-rate tongue. Pathetic.”

Georgia didn’t flinch. “At least Claire wanted me. Not like John—what’s his name?” She snorted. “Guy came harder for his own limericks than your pussy. Even his cum looked bored.”

A muscle twitched in Lanie’s neck. “John paid the bills, baby. Claire paid in… what? Gas-station sonnets and daddy issues?”

“She paid in devotion.” Georgia’s smile was a shiv. “Remember that? Or did you pawn yours off with my balls?”

Lanie’s grip constricted, scales rippling down her arms. “George’s balls funded our wardrobe, sweetheart. All that lace men loved clawing off? That’s your pension plan.” She gestured to Georgia’s body, voice dripping venom. “Hell, this little Valkyrie upgrade? All thanks to your… generosity.”

“I am NOT your fucking wardrobe!” Georgia hissed, stepping closer until their breath mingled like lit gasoline. “Funny. I can’t recall George ever needing sequins to make you howl. Just his cock and your real voice.”

Lanie’s pupils slit, wings trembling—

A tear streaked her cheek. Then another. “You are…,” she rasped, hands desperately grabbing Georgia’s shoulders. “Mine.”

Georgia stiffened. “Lanie—”

“Don’t ever leave me.” Lanie kissed her—hard, desperate—lips salt-stung and trembling. Georgia resisted, fists clenched, until Lanie’s whimper cracked like a dropped vial.

‘Fuck.’

Georgia’s resolve frayed. She kissed back, hungry and hateful, teeth clashing like warring blades. Lanie moaned into her mouth, tears smearing between them, hands fumbling at the piercing—

“Christ.” Georgia tore free, laugh shuddering. “You’re sick.”

Lanie’s teeth found her earlobe, bite drawing blood. “Told you. Surrender’s got… perks.”

A snick sliced the air—not a sound, but a sensation, like satin tearing between teeth. Like a blade between ribs.

The battle-worn lovers turned towards the unholy sound.

 
 
XVI. Warrior Unleashed

The man’s edges blurred. First, his silhouette fraying into smoke the colour of absinthe left to stagnate in a drained flask. His form dissolved stitch by stitch, threads lifting like moths drawn to a pyre.

The cock—thick, veined, defiantly corporeal—remained suspended in the haze. Ribbons of smoke coiled around it, glowing faintly as if lit by swallowed lightning.

Then, a laugh. Clove-soaked. Lethal.

Evelyn stepped through the vapour, smoke clinging to her like a lover desperate for one last kiss. It condensed into a corset of emerald sequins and thigh-high boots that gleamed like oil spills under a full moon. The cock arched, untouched by the theatrics—still rigid, still hers, now crowned by a gold hoop that caught the light like a challenge.

“Ta-da,” she purred, sweeping into a bow that would have earned roses at a funeral. “And you called my illusions gauche, Lanie.”
Lanie snorted, talons retracting to polished nails. “Knew that dick was too… Kafkaesque to be real. What’s next? A haiku etched into your pubes?”

Evelyn’s laugh was all fangs. “Says the woman who turned a trailer-park mutt into the spitting image of Niyathera.” She stepped closer, her shadow swallowing Georgia’s reflection in the cracked mirror. “Admit it. You've missed my flair.”

Georgia met her gaze, the dragon tattoo contorting beneath her skin. Scales rippled like storm clouds over badlands.

Lightning-fast, she lunged.

“L-Lanie—” Evelyn choked, clawing at Georgia’s wrist. “Leash your… bitch—”

“Enough,” Lanie commanded, voice fraying like overworked twine.

Georgia didn’t listen.

“I said ENOUGH!” Lanie’s telepathic lash struck—a barbed-wire snare meant to cripple.

The demon… No… this was something else… roared.

Fire erupted in Georgia’s mind, incinerating the spell to ash. Lanie screamed, flames cascading down her arms, her hair catching like a dry brush.

“NO!” Georgia dropped Evelyn, lunging to smother the fire with her own body. She cradled Lanie’s head in her lap, hands blistering as she patted out the embers. “Stay with me—stay—”

Evelyn crawled closer, trembling. “Let me… I can…”

Georgia bared bloodied teeth. “Touch her and I’ll rip your head off.”

“I wish I hated you,” Evelyn whispered, raw. “Would make this easier.” She pressed a hand to Lanie’s charred chest, ignoring Georgia’s growl. “But no… I’m just a bitch who can’t quit a lost cause.”

Her magic surged—a verdant green, like wet earth after rain and blooming lilies choked by cemetery silt. Lanie’s skin knit itself back together, scales reglazing like kiln-fired enamel. Evelyn gasped, veins gilding gold then blackening as the spell siphoned her marrow.

“Blood magic… cuts both ways,” Lanie rasped, eyelids fluttering.

Evelyn collapsed against Georgia’s shoulder, breath ragged. “No shit… Sherlock Whore.”

The three women sat tangled in the wreckage—Lanie limp in Georgia’s lap, Evelyn’s head lolling against her arm. The tattoo now quiet, its fury spent.

“You’re… heavy,” Georgia muttered.

Evelyn snorted. “Says the girl with a literal dragon lying on her lap.”

Lanie’s smirk was a ghost of its former blade as she mouthed, "Still… got moves. Her

gaze locked with Evelyn’s, telepathy humming between them like a live wire: *Xan.*

Evelyn stiffened. *You knew?*
Of course, witch. *Since your 'recovery.' I chose not to intrude.* Lanie’s mental voice demanded. *Looks like time to come clean though.* Evelyn simply nodded.

Georgia stared at the ceiling, where plaster rained down like funeral ash. “What now?”

Evelyn’s fingers brushed Lanie’s cheek—a ghost of a touch. “Now… we talk.”

 
 
XVII. Weaving the tale

The three women perched on the edge of the bed, a tangle of tension and teeth. Lanie lit a cigarette with a flick of her wrist, the flame sputtering like a dying star. Smoke coiled around Evelyn’s face, catching the greasy sheen of the bedroom’s antique chandelier. "My turn first. Since when?” Lanie rasped, her voice ground glass and sulphur.

Evelyn’s gaze slid to Georgia—seated squarely in the middle, spine steel straight.

“Since the closet at the ball,” Evelyn purred, curls fracturing light like shattered kaleidoscope glass. “Watching you shack up with that—” A derisive nod toward Lanie, “—bargain-bin Charon cosplay. What was he, a hedge-fund sorcerer with mummy's Amex? Please. You used to devour Titans, Lanie. Now you were licking crumbs.”

Georgia’s knuckles blanched, the air curdling—burnt ozone and scorched rituals.

Georgia’s knuckles whitened, the air thickening—burnt clove and sweat, ozone, and old spells.

Lanie’s fangs were a jagged heirloom dagger. “Careful, witch. That’s my magnum opus you’re insulting.” She exhaled smoke rings that unravelled into nothing.

“Magnum opus?” Evelyn laughed, like champagne flutes shattering in a cathedral. “Darling, your magnum opus is a taxidermied dumpster fire. But fine—let’s call it visionary. I fed you Alaric, didn’t I? That spreadsheet with a pulse? Planted a tracer in his Rolex, figured he’d keep you busy while I peeled back the wards on your little… project.”

She breathed, breath sweet as poisoned syrup. “Six scrying pools turned to dust. Two hex-familiars retired to a farm upstate—though their yapping was worse than their bite. And Alaric?” Her smile sharpened. “Had to scrub his prefrontal cortex after he tripped over your CV, 'Dragonmother'. He sobbed like a novitiate caught defiling the sacristy. Almost made me nostalgic.”

Georgia’s voice sharpened to a whetstone’s edge. “Why wait ’til now?”

Evelyn’s smirk faltered—a hairline crack in lacquer. “Because watching you thrash? Flail? Play martyr in last season’s leather?” Her tongue darted over crimson lips. “It was… instructive. Served a purpose.”

Lanie barked a laugh, smoke tendrils writhing. “The Wyrm’s always savoured rot.”

“And you’ve got a fetish for choke chains.” Evelyn closed the gap, her mammoth meat pressing into Georgia’s thigh—unyielding, the gold hoop glinting like a guillotine’s blade. “But let’s skip the martyr monologue. I’ve craved this—” Her nails raked Georgia’s ribs, etching blood-moon crescents, “—since the armistice.”

Lanie arched a brow. “You… huh? Wanting this I get. But before? Also never pinned why you’d trade that for—” She gestured at Evelyn’s silhouette, “—this. But George?”

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, but before we spiral into your sordid fanfic—” she mimed gagging, “—let me finish.”

Her hand slid higher, fingertips branding Georgia’s sternum. “When you marched into negotiations as the Demon of the Iron March. Non-magicals' attack hound, slaughterer of the Obsidian Coven—with Lanie draped on your arm like a trophy wife. Oh, she masked it well and she played it so... so sweet. Dragon queen turned Stepford smoke show, still clutching your spend under that prim dress. Thought no one noticed? I did.”

Georgia’s jaw tightened. “I do not recall you being there.”

“Oh, I was.” Evelyn’s voice dropped, venom and velvet. “Pissed enough to melt diamonds. You—the great butcher who cleaved through sorcerers like kindling—suddenly playing peacemaker? And excelling? Don’t fret, I’ll take that secret to the pyre.”

Her thumb buried itself into Georgia’s hipbone. “Wanted to fuck you up that day. Not kill you, given the peace at stake. Just… crack a rib. Dislocate that smug jaw. Remind you what happens when gods get annoyed.”

Lanie stubbed her cigarette into the ashtray, the embers hissing. “Jealousy’s a rancid perfume, Ev.”

“Jealous?” Evelyn’s grin was a scalpel dipped in honey. “Of what? Watching the Demon trade his claws for a clipboard? Or watching you trade your crown for a collar?” She leaned into Georgia’s ear, breath scalding. Ruining you is sweeter than murder. And darlin’… I’ve got a sweet tooth.”

Georgia’s fists trembled, the tattoo writhing beneath her skin. Lanie caught her wrist, thumb circling her pulse. “Baby, breathe. You’re a lit match in a powder keg. Let me cast one spell. Trust me?”

Georgia’s laugh frayed, a torn flag in a storm, but her gaze never wavered. “Every cut, every burn—I let you carve into me. Because I saw it. Every time. That flicker in your eyes—like you were flaying yourself alive with every wound you gave me.” Her thumb brushed the blistered skin of Lanie’s forearm, voice splintering. “Do it.”

Lanie stilled. Her breath, a snapped high-tension cable spitting sparks.

“Seventeen years,” Georgia pressed, words raw as an exposed nerve. “Seventeen years of you being your blade and your whetstone. I know you like I know my own breath. Every time you sold yourself to some shallow dick, I watched you bleed out a little more. You think I didn’t see it? The way you’d hollow your own ribs to make room for the next betrayal?”

Her voice dropped, gravel and grief. “You’d escalate—deeper, crueller—hoping I’d break. But I saw the truth. Every scar you etched on me was a confession. A prayer.”

Lanie’s eyes glinted, bleeding cursed gemstones.

“It hurt,” Georgia hissed. “Like tearing out my own heart. Again. And again. But I’d stitch it back each time, because I knew—whatever this was, whatever you needed to exorcise—you needed me to survive it. To witness it.” Her palm pressed over Lanie’s chest, where a heartbeat thrashed like a caged thing. “So do it. Finish the damn tapestry.”

Lanie’s breath snagged—a snapped banjo wire. She cradled Georgia’s face, tears glinting like falling diamonds. “One last stitch, sugar.” The kiss was salt and smoke, a confession pressed into Georgia’s lips. Then her hands glowed, amber runes twisting serpent-like up her wrists. Not the cold precision of traditional spellwork, but something feverish, alive. She laid her hand upon Georgia's chest.

The spell hit like a honey-drenched thunderclap. Georgia convulsed, a scream tearing loose as heat erupted from the charm, her dragon tattoo writhing like smoke on a smoldering oil drum. Muscles to mush, but the hunger? Oh goddess. It clawed at her ribs, a famished beast. "L-Lanie—!"

“Surrender,” Lanie drawled, smoke seeping from her grin like a rusted tailpipe. “Spiked with a burning need to be stuffed. Need to thank Ev for her little homebrew. Figured you’d hate it less if it came gift-wrapped with pleasure.” Her smirk wavered—a crack in the porcelain. Georgia saw it.

Evelyn’s grin only sharpened. “Oh, our girl here will hate it just enough.”

The kiss was abrupt—Evelyn’s mouth a lit fuse. Georgia’s back hit the silk duvet, the charm humming as Evelyn’s fingers closed around it.

“Wai—”

“No.” Evelyn’s teeth scraped her jugular, voice a velvet garrote. “I’ve waited through ceasefires and your insufferable self-actualisation phases. . No bullshit hesitation.”

Georgia’s protest dissolved into a moan.

Lanie watched, sprawled like a debauched monarch. “Y’know, we could multitask. Ruin her while we revisit history.”

Evelyn nipped Georgia’s collarbone, drawing a ruby bead. “Mmm, etiquette says the guest of honour gets ravaged first.” Her lips closed around Georgia’s nipple—a bite that carved a scream into a laugh. “As the bards say—” Another bite, claiming, “—hospitality is just cruelty in lace.”

Georgia’s curse fractured into a gasp. “Fucking… harpies…”

Lanie’s talons traced the dragon’s spine down Georgia’s thigh. “Guilty.”

“No refunds,” Evelyn purred, gold hoop flashing as she mounted Georgia, the bedframe creaking like a gallows rope.

Outside, the moon drowned in smog. Somewhere, a streetlamp buzzed its last rites. The night stretched its jaws wider—a feral thing, all hunger and no patience.

 
 
XVIII. The centre of attention

Georgia hung suspended between them—Evelyn’s cock buried to the hilt, Lanie’s tongue down her throat. One hand clawed the headboard, the other twisted in sweat-slick sheets. Her back arched like a bowstring, thighs splayed wide as Evelyn’s talons bit into her hips. Lanie’s teeth followed, claiming Georgia’s lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

“X-Xanathar—!” Georgia gasped, the name torn loose as Evelyn snapped her hips forward.

“Got it in one, cupcake.” Evelyn’s grin split the dim light, oil-slick and feral. Her true form flickered—scales rippling beneath human skin, pupils swallowing the room whole. “Who else could stomach your mess?”

Lanie snorted, her laugh smoke-rough as she palmed Georgia’s breast. “Dragon Daddy likes playing dress-up? Should’ve guessed. Those boots?” She flicked Evelyn’s thigh-high stiletto. "Scream midlife crisis hag.”

“Says the hag hoarding moth-eaten lingerie.” Evelyn’s thrusts turned jagged, the bedframe screeching. “Fuck—breathe, Georgia. You’re built like a brick shithouse.”

Georgia’s breath hitched—sharp as a switchblade’s click—as her own magic surged. Ribs cinched corset-tight without Lanie’s hand, bones grinding like bad gears in a stolen car. Hips narrowed, breasts swelling until the dragon tattoo rippled like a living thing. “F-fuck—!”

“Hush, cupcake.” Lanie’s nail traced Georgia’s collarbone. “Delicate. Busty. Think… tragic opera heroine.” She smirked, thumb brushing Georgia’s split lip. “With a side of back-alley flexibility.”

Lanie’s grin cut through the haze, her fingers mocking a conductor’s wave. “There she is—Van Gogh with a vag. Shape it, baby.”

Georgia moaned, the change flowing through her—her power now, free and feral. One moment, broad shoulders, a warrior goddess; the next, coltish limbs and trapped-ballerina energy.

Evelyn snarled, claws digging deep as Georgia's curved to an impossible shape. "Lovely parlour trick. Now look at your mistress, love." She pinned Georgia's chin, wrenching her face towards Lanie. "You are her masterpiece at its peak."

Georgia’s breath stuttered—half terror, half ecstasy. It was Lanie’s will that let her morph into this new shape. Soft. Small. A hummingbird heartbeat where once a demon had thundered. Could she will it too? Could George return?

Lanie's smile faltered, only for an instant. "Male frames? Gas station sushi vs. THIS baby. You're the finest Wagyu now.” She kissed Georgia’s temple, voice dropping. “I'll miss my George beyond anything. But this...?” Her hand drifted between Georgia’s thighs. “This keeps you, keeps us alive.”

Georgia’s back arched in response. Entirely her choice this time, spine curving like a drawn bow as she smiled in rapture. “D-don’t need yo—nh!—your—permission.”

Lanie’s laugh cracked like a whip. “Attagirl. Now bend like your daddy wants you to.”

Evelyn’s laugh dripped venom. “Saint Georgia—dragon slayer, lace model.” She slammed deeper, Georgia’s gasp dissolving into a whine.

“Arch. Higher.”

Georgia obeyed, arching back until her spine creaked. "F-fuck—me—harder—."

“Louder,” Evelyn hissed, her conquering cock pulsing as Georgia’s willing walls clenched in surrender.

“P-please—.”

Evelyn stilled, cock twitching deep. A talon grazed Georgia’s throat.

“Please…?”

Lanie’s hand slid to Georgia’s generous breast, pinching a nipple hard. “Specify, roadkill. Call her Daddy.”

Georgia’s hips jerked—Evelyn’s thrusts were now shallow, teasing. “N-no—”

Lanie dragged Georgia up as she ground up to her. Her clit piercing rubbing against Lanie’s bare cunt as the dragon queen wrenched her upright. Georgia’s scream fractured—Lanie swallowed it whole, their mouths fused in a kiss that tasted like ash and stolen confessions. Juices slicked their thighs, the rose-gold charm between Georgia’s legs humming like a wasp trapped in amber.

“Why—?” Georgia choked, her hips stuttering between Lanie’s merciless grind and Evelyn’s piston drives.

Lanie tore her hungry mouth away from Georgia's, scales flickering across her cheeks.

“Because I love you and she—” Her throat clicked, gaze darting to Evelyn—before her smirk hardened. “—this. Our chaos. Our beautiful fucking mess.” She slammed Georgia back onto Evelyn’s cock, her voice a serrated whisper. "You will always be the heart.”

Evelyn laughed, the sound ricocheting off Georgia’s spine. "Nngh—ah! You’ll love u... this.”

Evelyn’s thrusts became erratic. Georgia's back bowed like a violin string about to snap, her scream muffled against Lanie's teeth. "Nnghhh—ah!—Daddy—!"

The title tore loose from her lips—half sob, half snarl.

Lanie moved like a struck match—yanking Georgia into a tighter hug still impaled on Evelyn. The shift punched a scream from Georgia’s lungs, drowned by Lanie’s kiss. Teeth and tongue and smoke, arms vice-locked around her ribs.

“There’s my choking hazard,” Lanie rasped against her mouth.

Evelyn’s claws anchored Georgia’s hips, driving up into the new angle. “Attagirl.”

“She is ours," their synchronised grins said.

Georgia’s world narrowed to fracture points. Lanie’s grip bruising her biceps, Evelyn’s scales shredding her thighs, the charm searing her clit like a brand. Her back arched between them, a bowstring snapped mid-draw.

Evelyn came first, scales erupting down her arms as her spend flooded Georgia. The other two followed with silent screams, their orgasms a wildfire that scorched each other's throats.

Outside, dawn bled through grease-smeared windows. A moth beat its wings once—twice—against the bulb before spiralling into the ashtray’s graveyard of butts.

 
 
Continued in Part 7