Chapter 81: She Has the Nuclear Launch Codes Now
We finish the shower like champions. She’s boneless in my coils as I play snake-shaped loofah, trying not to get hard again while washing suds from her hair.
I’m failing, just a little.
I towel her off, then myself. My tail makes quick work of the bathroom floor. Water on tile is the enemy, and I have trauma.
She’s on the edge of the sink, wrapped in a towel, blinking sleepily and doing that thing where she chews her lip and pretends not to be watching me. Like I’m not a literal snake the size of a mattress, and she’s not the one covered in bite marks.
I look in the mirror just to check. Yep, I’m still a cobra. Still have the face of a guy who hasn’t slept in two weeks and is about to make the world’s worst decision.
"Lyra shifts under the towel, her voice muffled. "Hey. Are you okay?"
"Fine, im just checking if I look like the kind of bastard who’d fuck someone senseless and then immediately bail to play video games."
She grins, eyes gleaming with that brain-addled afterglow. "You don’t."
God. She’s perfect.
I slither her back to the bed no, fuck it, I carry her, bridal style with my coils because I have a point to prove—and deposit her gently on the side that’s not soaked. Then I stand guard while she re-bundles herself in sheets, humming and making it very clear she wants nothing more than to pass out until next Thursday.
I should let her sleep. I really, really should.
I lean down and do my best attempt at a forehead kiss, which is hard when your mouth is a snake snout with fangs, but I manage something close enough. She giggles at the attempt, sleepy and warm, and I pull back and just look at her for a second.
"I love you," I whisper, quiet enough that maybe she doesn’t even hear it. Honestly? Might be the best part of the whole night. I’m feeling pretty damn pleased when I notice the faint pink glow coming off her skin.
Huh, that’s weird, do elves glow?
But something’s wrong. A prickle crawls up my neck, the kind that says a cop is tailing your car. It’s not guilt—I think I’ve forgotten what that feels like. Not dread, either. It’s an alarm bell at the edge of my vision, something refusing to come into focus.
System, show me my stats.
[System: You sure, mate?]
why...
Name: Matthew Vane (Matt)
Current Form:[Cupid’s Ballistic Succubus Cobra]
Rank: D
Indulgence Points (IP): 83
EXP: 7,000 / 20,000xp
Family tree: 1 father mafia boss.
Skills-
[Gaze of the Hypno-Noodle (Rank D)]
[Blood Venom (Rank D)] (TRULY OP)
Evolution skills -
Evolution skill (Lust Surge)
Evolution skill (Cupid’s Arrow)
That’s... not right.
I look back. Harder this time, like maybe if I stare at the panel hard enough my missing skill will pop back in. But it’s not there.
No Ouroboros Thrall-Bite, hell theres no "Ouroboros" anything.
No mention of the one skill that’s the entire reason I can mindfuck girls into being my loyal thralls and then have the world’s hottest off-brand snake sex with them. It’s just gone.
[System: HAHAHAHA Oi fuckwit, Lyra has TAKEN your Ouroboros Thrall-Bite (Rank D)]
...Old Mate, where’d my skill go, Old Mate, where the fuck is my skill gone?
[System: Nah yeah nah, yeah she took it, it’s hers now. Apparently when you bond sometimes you can lose your skills to your partner! That’s nifty, ain’t it?]
No, no way. Wait, so now I only have 2 skills and 2 evolution skills?
[System: yeah pretty much, though I think i warned you? maybe, or I was meant to.]
She took it? Like, as in, the skill left me and is now hers?
I sneak a glance at Lyra, who’s snoring into my pillow, the world’s happiest post-coital elf. There is absolutely no way she’s ready for what’s coming if she accidentally works out how to use the skill.
I need to figure out how to explain this without sounding like I’ve just gifted her the nuclear launch codes.
Lyra squeaks once in her sleep, flips over, and settles again. She’s blissfully unaware.
Me? I’m a wreck.
I slip back under the covers, curl around her, and hum a soft tune to calm my own shaking. She nuzzles in closer, cheek against my scales, a goofy little smile on her face.
Thirty minutes later, I’m still staring at her peaceful features, running through a hundred disastrous scenarios: waking her up, blurting out that she now has my signature move, and watching her immediately bite me into submission and make me bark for treats.
I try to psych myself up with a mental Rocky montage. Finally, I muster the courage and gently poke her cheek with my tail.
She grunts like a cat being disturbed by a vacuum, flips back over, and burrows under my arm again. It’s adorable, but I feel her forehead heat up the moment she notices my eyes on her.
"...You’re staring," she mumbles. "Why?"
"Checking that you’re alive; you lost a lot of fluids last night. Hydration matters."
She snorts. "Says the walking dehydration hazard."
I want to die, but also: point taken.
Lyra stretches, arms above her head, bare skin shining in the morning light. She either doesn’t realise how distracting it is, or she does, and she’s enjoying it.
"So," she says, "what’s up?"
Now or never. If I don’t blurt it out, I’m hiding under the bed until next Tuesday.
"Okay, I need to tell you something. It’s important."
She sits up, towel clinging precariously, and I try to force myself not to stare. I fail.
"Are you breaking up with me?" she asks, dead serious. "Because if so, I don’t agree."
I almost laugh. Definitely cry if I don’t.
"No, not that. It’s, um..." How do I even say this? "You know how we bonded, like magically?"
"Not really. But I do know I can smell you from far away. And, yeah. I guess we did." She hugs the towel a little tighter, her cheeks flushing.
I look away, man, that’s way too much joy.
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