Round 67

Jeane’s wings unfurled completely now, dark leathery membranes stretching wide as if she might take flight at any moment. The sight was breathtaking and terrifying in equal measure—such a thing shouldn’t exist in this world, much less be standing calmly in the middle of a New York penthouse suite. Abby found herself rooted to the spot, her mind reeling with the implications. This wasn’t some elaborate costume or special effects trick; those wings were real, and they moved with a fluid grace that spoke of countless years spent soaring through the night sky.

The succubus turned her attention fully onto Silra now, her crimson eyes gleaming with an unmistakable warning. “Put your blade away,” Jeane said, her voice carrying an edge that brooked no argument. It was clear she’d dealt with this sort of protective aggression before—probably many times—and had developed ways to handle it quickly and efficiently. But despite the threat in her tone, there was also a subtle shift in her posture, a slight softening around her eyes as they flickered briefly toward Abby huddled against the wall.

“I won’t repeat myself,” Jeane continued, her gaze locked on Silra’s face now. “Your friend is perfectly safe here—at least for tonight.” The unspoken implication hung heavy between them: whether Abby remained safe beyond this evening would depend entirely on her own choices and how quickly she could be... persuaded to cooperate.