Limitless Evolution As a Snake

Coiled and still. Panicking now would ruin the vibe I’ve spent the last ten minutes building.

"Channel," I say, like this is a totally normal thing to walk in on, "what’s up."

Channel’s face does this thing. Her mouth is still smiling, that bright plastic bimbo smile she’s been wearing all night, but her eyes go somewhere else entirely. Somewhere between throwing up and murdering someone. Maybe both at once, which honestly seems efficient.

I can only imagine what I look like right now. Cherry’s cum is literally dripping off my chin. I’m still parked between her legs as I live there, and to be honest, I kind of do; I just greeted this woman like she found us watching TV.

Cherry doesn’t even flinch. She just smiles down at me, all soft and satisfied, one hand still holding my fins on my ridge as she owns me. Which, at this point, is fair.

[System: WHAT DID I MISS? THIS IS GREAT, 20 IP, here ya go champion.]

Twenty? That’s it? I feel like I put in more effort than that.

[System: Fuck u cunt, take the twenty and be grateful.]

Technically I tongue fucked her too; does that not count for bonus points or something?

Old Mate goes quiet for a second like he’s actually considering it, then just cackles, the sound rattling around my head like a dropped bag of coins.

Channel still hasn’t moved. Still standing in the doorway like a mannequin that got real angry real fast.

Cherry tilts her head at her, sweet as anything. "Bad puppy," she says, voice all silk. "I’ll take you for a walk later."

Holy shit. The dommy succubus is out. A shiver runs down my spine that has nothing to do with fear.

Old Mate absolutely loses it at that, laughing so hard I swear I feel it behind my eyes.

I peel myself off the floor, wipe my face with the back of my smoked hand like I just finished a milkshake, and grab the box of tissues off the side table for Cherry. She takes them with a happy little hum, dabbing herself down.

Channel’s still boiling. I can practically see steam coming off her, that fake smile stretched so tight it looks like it might snap her jaw in half.

I hover over. "Hey, so, good news," I hiss. "I found you a job."

Cherry perks up from the couch. "Yeah, we do kind of need a guard dog around here."

Channel’s smile somehow gets wider and angrier at the same time, which shouldn’t be possible but here we are.

I glance back at Cherry, checking she’s alright, legs still wobbling up, cheeks flushed, grinning like she just won something.

She gives me a little nod, all good here, so I turn back to Channel and jerk my head toward the door. "C’mon. Follow me inside."

She doesn’t say a word, just falls into step behind me, wings twitching like she wants to use them for something other than flying.

We walk back through the warehouse, and I catch Lyra’s eye. She’s leaning against a packing crate, and she gives me a slow, knowing wink. No jealousy, no questions. Just amusement. God, I love that about her. It’s like she already knows exactly what kind of mess I just slithered out of and finds it as hilarious as I do.

Channel’s practically vibrating behind me the whole way, and I don’t even have to look to know what she’s thinking. What the actual fuck is happening right now?

Everyone can smell exactly what just went down, the scent of sex and satisfaction clinging to me like cologne. None of my people cares.

Now, the only ones who seem to have a problem with me are two rival mob bosses and their pet assassin. Honestly? It feels like a five-star review.

I lead her past the fairies packing dust, past Lyra still smirking at me from across the room, and into the little office we set up near the back. Papers everywhere, half a dozen mockup logos taped to the wall.

"So," I say, dropping into the office chair. It’s worn-out, but it feels like a throne.

Feels crazy that now I’m rebranding a casino and manipulating a harpy assassin. "We’re giving Cobra’s Casino a facelift."

Channel just folds her arms, radiating a murder energy so pure I can practically taste it.

Channel folds her arms, still radiating some kind of murder energy I can practically taste in the air.

"Cobra Casino. Dad likes it."

"Cool," Channel says flatly, clearly not caring, clearly still thinking about Cherry’s cum on my chin.

"And I need someone to run the marketing on the whole thing. Grand opening, PR, the works. Someone who can make this place look good for the cameras."

I shift my coils back, watching her face for the shift. "You’re the Director of Public Relations and Event Planning."

The change is instant like flipping a switch on a Christmas tree. "Wait, like... Director of Public Relations and Event Planning?!" Channel gasps, clutching her chest so hard her designer bag drops clean off her shoulder and hits the floor with a thud she doesn’t even notice. "Matt-y! Omg! Are you literally giving me a corner office with pink marble and a podium with a mic?! That is super duper sweet! I’m gonna plan the most to-die-for grand opening Twawi has ever seen! Like, literally to die for! There will be champagne fountains, cute little hors d’oeuvres, and maybe a tiny little lethal gas release if people don’t clap hard enough for us! You’re gonna look so stupidly proud up there with me, bestie!"

I stare at her, my brain doing a hard reboot. Holy shit, it worked. She went from homicidal rage to corporate retreat planner in five seconds flat. I might be a genius. Or I’ve just handed a box of matches to a pyromaniac.

"The gas thing," I say, keeping my voice level, "we’re not doing the gas thing."

"Obviously not for real, silly," she says, waving a hand like I just told a joke, except her eyes say otherwise for half a second before the sparkle comes back. "I mean, like, symbolically, maybe."

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