The boy with the pitchfork had finally managed to reach that infernal dry spot right between her primary wings.
It seemed almost a pity to eat him. But, Tradition, and all that.
She’d roast him first, of course. Dragon-fire killed the pain and added a crispy outer shell that was just so… She was distracted from her search for the perfect word by another irritating itch. This time it was just above her left ear-slit.
“Boy,” she growled, as sweetly as she could. “I need your assistance again.”
He went to work, raking the tines of his fork up and down the specified quadrant of her body.
She knew it was bad form to play with her food for this long, but she couldn’t help it!
Ever since Blood of Bathory had switched to GMO virgin’s blood in their moisturizer, it had been SO much less effective.