Dragon Sigils

Warlock Ch 422. Dragon Sigils

Across the bed, Lysandra smirked lazily, stretching her arms above her head like a lounging cat.

"Just a reminder, Warlock. Dragons…" she said, voice syrupy and casual, "have a ridiculous stamina for everything…"

Damian froze halfway through buckling his belt, squinting at her suspiciously.

"Hopefully I don't die because of it."

Lysandra laughed, a low, musical sound that vibrated pleasantly in the air between them.

"No," she said, rising smoothly from the bed without a shred of shame. "You won't."

And before he could lob back another sarcastic comment, she leaned forward and kissed him again—quick, decisive, a claiming peck on the lips.

Then she pulled back, cool and composed as ever, grabbing a cloth from a nearby dresser.

Damian, still sitting on the edge of the bed, caught the faint glimmer of crimson against her inner thigh—the unmistakable sight of virgin blood.