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Skin Deep

Roland awoke face down on the front lawn of his home early in the morning with no immediate memory of how he had gotten there.

The soft grass tickled his face and so he raised his head and regretted the decision to do so almost instantly. His head throbbed with the force of a severe hangover. But he didn't drink, and couldn't fathom circumstances that would push him to do so. Dew clung to the emerald stalks and cooled his face as he set his head back down.

What on earth had happened?

Roland groaned as he clenched his eyes and tried to master the throbbing of his temples. It felt like his brain was trying to escape the ever tightening confines of his skull. After a few minutes breathing in the scent of mown grass, he rolled onto his back and sat up. And promptly regretted the decision to do so.

Of course, the eighteen year old then became aware of his body, and all the irregular sensations that followed.

His shirt was missing, replaced by a hugely oversized black leather duster. Moisture clung to his bare skin where he had been laying in the turf. Although unbuckled, his pants were on, though scuffed and dirty. Oh, and his shoes and socks were absent as well, leaving his feet cold. Overall, an odd state to be sure, but not entirely unfavorable. Nakedness was usually how these stories went.

A slight breeze fluttered, sending air across the slashes marring his chest. The stinging started a chain of discomfort that rippled through his body. Moderate slashes crisscrossed his chest, and the satin inside of the duster rubbed against the wounds on his back. Roland looked down to examine himself. It was as if he had been mauled by a clawed animal.

He tried to remember back...

...Raking across his back, moaning, growling, and whimpering in his ear as she gripped him tighter, her soft breasts rubbing against him as she...

Roland shook his head, trying to resolve the jumbled thoughts and recollections. Everything from the night before was a blur, starting when a friend offered to take him to a party. He had already been hanging out and figured it would have been fun.

Music throbbed, lights flashed, bodies moved rhythmically to the sounds. A girl sauntered through the press, through the chaos, aiming towards him straight and true. Her lips... those big lips, acid green lipstick giving her an exotic smile...

The boy rubbed a hand over his face to try and dispel the delirium. The more he thought, the more it all seemed like a dream.

...And below that smile was a neck with a shiny silver circle of metal around it. Her blouse was a softer green with ruffles of cloth pouring off of the sides, leaving the bust tight. And below that, she wore a short brown skirt, emphasizing the sway of her wide hips. Almost more eye-catching than her lips was the thick rain of curly purple hair. It fell to her mid-back and framed a soft face.

She said her name was Heather, and that she wanted to dance with him. Heather leaned forward as she made her offer, poignantly letting him get a good look at her bosom. Roland graciously accepted the offer. The curvaceous vixen took his hand with a grin and pulled him into the throng.

Roland could hardly hear himself think over the volume, but he was altogether more occupied with the sight of the sumptuous female undulating against him. She had wasted no time, pressing against him in a very forward, friendly way. The teen was thanking whatever beacon of light that had decided to shine on him.

The girl knew how to move, and dirty danced in many provocative, teasing ways. His heart nearly stopped when she wrapped her arms against him and whispered in his ear.

"Let's take this somewhere private." Her words smoldered in his skull, burning away every last bit of inhibition...

Testing his limbs, Roland stretched and stood, wiggling his toes in the soft lawn. Shrugging his shoulders to adjust the coat, he became aware of his most grievous of injuries. Across the teen's left shoulder and the side of his neck was a series of deep puncture wounds, like something vicious had bitten him.

Prodding gently at it, the burning sensation really started to set in. His nerves caught up with his waking mind, and the pain made his vision blur for a moment. Roland's left arm felt numb and lifeless beneath his crippled shoulder. Staggering towards his house, the boy was grateful it was early enough that hopefully none of his neighbors would see.

Let us take a moment to examine this strange turn of events.

Now, so far, perhaps not entirely strange, certainly not otherworldly or beyond the realm of reason. Roland Graves was not a particularly special boy. Perhaps a little pale, perhaps a little thin, youthful face with a few freckles, and just maybe a little smarter than the rest. Looking at him, with his red hair, high cheek bones and rather sunken sockets, you might never guess about what went on in beyond his quiet visage. The only hint might be gleaned from his sharp grey eyes.

Indeed the only truly aberrant thing to be found would be if one were to look at his pedigree, perhaps a strange pattern might emerge, but that was for the youth to discover as well.

Let us turn our gaze back upon him as he stumbles to the door of his normal urban household, a simple cutout like many others lining the street like so many other desolate mundanely similar locations. He failed to notice the car parked in the driveway, thinking his parents gone for the evening to sleep off another night of their drunken carousing with their own friends. It was a normal routine for the weekend. They often left him to his own devices, and he minded the arrangement not a bit.

Only when Roland found the door unlocked did he understand the full gravity of walking into his house looking like he had been mauled by a wolverine with a hangover after a night of partying.

Using what quick wit he had left from the grinding distractions against his nerves, he stopped before turning the nob all the way. Instead, he backed away slowly, and circled around the side of the two-story domicile. Being a rather strange lad, he had taken the opportunity to make the basement into his living area. The only way in was through a door in the laundry room or a small rectangular window hidden among some ferns.

Most of the time Roland kept it unlocked in case he decided to go on a walk after dark. Shadowed wanderings were one of his many passions. With the use of only one arm it was slightly more difficult than usual to shimmy through the tiny opening. Fortunately he had the foresight to situate his bed underneath it, providing a good landing point, and step up to the portal.

Even before his older brother had moved out to college, the entire basement had been his for the taking. Roland preferred it actually, the insulation keeping it warmer in the winter, and cooler in the summer. A generous bed, his own television with a modest library of personal movies and games, his computer, and a couch that had been salvaged from the side of the road, filled the five or so hundred square feet of cold cement flooring. Old rugs that had been reclaimed from being thrown out also adorned the area, providing plush, if rather mismatched, comfort.

The space lacked a toilet or a shower, but it did have a small water spout that Roland used to clean himself as best he could after stripping off his coat and pants. Splashing the cool liquid across his face and sipping a little bit of it too, helped clear some of the fog lingering in his mind...

...Heather dragged him out of the party, past drunken carousers and past the pool, past couples who had found their own areas of moderate privacy to get intimate. There was a small copse of trees where the music became an indiscernible mash of pulsing vibrations, yet was still loud enough to make it rather hard to concentrate.

She was very forward, pushing her lips against his. Her tongue and her mouth were very talented. Green and full, they moved circles around his, gently guiding his inexperienced self. Roland felt himself melting into the kiss, his mind becoming oblivious to everything but the feeling. Heather ran her hands across his chest, rubbing her legs and thighs against his own, and then wrapping her arms around him.

The girl gladly, eagerly took the lead. Roland had a momentary pang of guilt that perhaps he had simply been in the right place at the right time and been chosen through some drunken haze. When she brought his hand under her skirt, all such remorse was obliterated. The overriding wellspring of hormones, testosterone, and libido commanded him to act through simple instinct.

Once his hand was there, he eagerly groped her, sliding a hand up her thigh to touch the softness of her panties, and her warm mound beneath. His other arm came up to grip her tightly while he slid a finger along the cloth covering her already moist slit. She moaned in earnest, encouraging him to go further. The youth obliged the eager female, and pulled the crotch of her underwear out of the way to caress her shaved snatch directly.

He was clumsy, but eager. The tip of his digit carefully parted her outer lips as she spread her legs to allow him easier access. Juices coated his finger as he sought her entrance. Penetration was easy, aided by how aroused the girl already was. Roland was amazed at the tightness as she clenched around his intruding finger.

The scent of her was intoxicating as she groaned.

She lifted her top and her bra to reveal generous, perky breasts. Her hands came up and cupped them, giving her pink nipples a lavish squeeze. The boy was feeling adventurous and leaned down to latch onto one with his mouth. She jumped a little in surprise and arched her back in encouragement. He licked and sucked, and twirled his tongue around, teasing her areola.

"Oh!" She jumped in surprise when his teeth grazed her teat a little. "Eager boy. Here, lay back." She pushed him down into the grass and crawled up on top of him, kissing him up his chest and eventually his lips. She ground her crotch against his, leaving a small spot of wetness on his pants. Heather leaned back and spread her legs, giving him a nice view of her plain black panties.

Licking her lips, she hooked her thumbs through the waist and pulled them down to her knees. Roland got a very pleasing view of her silky smooth pussy. With her other hand she reached down and spread her glistening labia, exposing the lush pink of her inner lips and her hooded clit.

Roland was already rock hard, his cock painfully confined by his pants. Heather grinned at his expression of rapture at the sight of her sex. She stood slowly, swaying her hips to take off her panties. Then the girl bent straight over at the waist to unbuckle his pants, allowing his imagination to picture her bent over in such a manner. She shimmied his pants and boxers down to his knees, letting his cock free of its confines. Her eyes flashed in lusty desire, drinking in his generous length and girth.

The girl practically leaped back atop him. She didn't even waste time much foreplay, rubbing the soft petals of her womanhood along his shaft. Her nub was sensitive with arousal as she felt it touch and drag along the skin of his phallus. In just a few strokes she was practically gushing and he was slick with her love juices. A few up and downs had the tip of his sizable cock catch in her entrance only for her to slide away.

Roland still could hardly believe that it was really happening, but that wasn't going to stop him from enjoying the unexpected coupling to its fullest extent. She gave him her biggest, most mischievous, devious, slightly twisted of grins and lined herself up. The girl paused, possibly to savor the moment, maybe for dramatic effect.

Whatever the reason, she stopped with the very edge of his member at her velvet cunt, licked her lips, and sank down on him to the hilt.

He gasped and thrust his pelvis up in shock and unexpected pleasure. Such was the feeling of her pussy vising his maleness in tight undulating inner muscles, he very nearly popped right then. It was a struggle to check his arousal and stave off the orgasm welling up within him, threatening to overflow.

Heather let out a modest squeal of joy at feeling nice and full.

"Did you like that?" He could only nod in sincere earnest. "Then you'll really like this." Heather rotated her hips a little, letting her inner muscles massage his cock. Steadily, her groans became deeper and more powerful as her bouncing became a little more frenzied. It took the boy a few moments to discern the odd behavior taking over his partner. He was too caught up in the eager manner in which her pussy clamped and slid along his dick.

Soon her groaning took a pained echo and her limbs contorted in agonizing ways. Thighs clenched around him tightly enough to make it hard to breathe with the constricting of her muscles. The sounds she made transitioned from painful to excruciating as she bit down hard on her pulled up blouse, whimpering into the fabric as a loud crackling sound issued from her joints.

Roland was frozen in fear and concern over what was happening to the girl on top of him. Her insides were going crazy as well. It felt like his cock was trapped in a convulsing tunnel of soft flesh. The motions coaxing his member kept him hard even as his brain rebelled against what he was seeing and feeling. There was a tearing sound as her tight blouse split and a pop as her bra snapped.

Her face began to elongate, her mouth extending as her teeth grew longer. Her eyes were clenched tight as her hair lengthened and her hands clenched and grew into talons. Strangest of all, was her skin. It rippled and seemed to split and changed color. Her breasts turned a deep purple, erupting into a scaly pattern. Down her belly, it became more of a blue, fading in similar patterns all over her.

The girl became immensely heavier atop him as she changed.

Everything about her grew longer, sleeker, more draconic. A tail sprouted from her lower back and lashed against the ground. Wings burst from her back in wide leathery spans. The only clothing that survived the girl's transformation was her skirt with its stretchable band and the metal collar. The rest of her was naked and glorious in its scaly perfection.

All of her had grown larger, from her breasts to her legs, to the defined musculature of her stomach. And still she was impaled on the human's cock. At the apex she tilted her head back, her bright hair cascading and growing from her back, horns spearing up from the wild mane, and her mouth opened in a roar. Even at the volume the animalistic cry, no one was going to hear it over the thump of the bass rippling from the house.

The dragon girl looked at him with hunger in her slit-pupil gaze and licked her lips again, with a tongue long and serpentine. She undulated her hips a little to make sure he was still hard. Heather leaned down to whisper in his ear.

"You're mine now, virgin boy." Roland wasn't sure whether to pass out, or cum. So he just settled for feeling heat creep into his cheeks. The Were-Dragon was actually a little impressed with the teen. Even in her changed form, much larger anatomically, he still felt comfortably filling in her changed cunt.

She was able to exert greater control and milked the member trapped between her legs with expert clenches. The boy was completely at her mercy, and under her control. Slowly, she built her rhythm back up again, sliding her pussy up and down. Roland writhed in the grass. Even if he had been able to lift the several hundred pounds of muscle off of himself, his legs were hobbled by the clothing around his knees. She had planned her entrapment carefully.

The Were-Dragon was attempting to make the boy cum through her skillful fucking, but was starting to get close herself from the exertions. She lifted him up and adjusted herself so that she balanced on the balls of her feet, dipping her hips to envelop him with her scaled cunt. The longer thrusts stroked his shaft in all the right ways. Her insides were much different, containing a yielding passage to her deepest parts which he just barely reached. Ribbed internal walls moved up and down, meant to accommodate more prodigious cocks, but suited to his just fine.

Claws raked down his back, shredding his shirt, practically making his entire body explode with the pained ecstasy of the whole experience. The chemicals coursing through his blood, accumulated by the natural fight or flight response coupled with the increase in testosterone brought on by the mating caused him to lose his mind a little. A dragon tit swayed in front of his face so he latched onto it again, sucking hard and biting ever so lightly. The dragoness began panting hard; grinding him deeper into her as the intoxicating pheromones she exuded got to the boy.

She was in every way designed to be the deadliest of hunters, using all of her assets to trap prey, whether for a meal or for... other purposes.

Heather graced him with the fucking of a lifetime as she used him to fulfill her own lusts, pleasuring herself with his hard and ready rod. Over and over she plunged him deep into her hungry depths. Despite all his attempts to hold off on cumming, it was just too much for Roland. The dragoness sensed his approaching climax and increased her pace, slamming her soaking wet thighs down against him with loud slaps and smacks.

At last, the boy felt himself tip over the point of no return and there was only the feeling of orgasm. The boy's cock erupted in a stream of pent up seed that splashed into the dragon girl's cunt as she fucked herself to her own climax using the teen's cum. It was just the push that she had needed. Her razor sharp claws dug into him and her foot talons dug furrows into the ground as she slammed down twice more before letting her internal muscles milk him the rest of the way.

As with most first times, Roland had had no idea what he had been doing, and it had been over way too fast.

The Were-Dragon rubbed her stomach above where he had filled her so sumptuously. She rotated her hips a little and undulated her inner muscles to better feel where her cunt was filled and stretched.

Both of them shouted and moaned together in mutually explosive euphoria.

Before it was over, the Were-Dragon look straight into his flint grey orbs, smiled, and viciously bit down into his neck. Needle sharp fangs sank into his skin. A single 'Hrk' escaped his mouth as the full horror of his situation dawned on him. That singular moment stretched on for the sensation of seconds but in reality lasted less than a hundredth of that.

Roland's world went black...

...He splashed a little more water on his face to try and dispel the lingering images. For a little while, he convinced himself that it had all been some strange drug-induced prank. Had his friend slipped him something in a drink?

It was easier for his sanity to believe it had all been a hallucination coinciding with a horribly fitting set of injuries. That was the only rational way to justify it. He had probably passed out and gotten mauled by a dog our something. Yeah, that was much better for his sanity.

Backing up that theory was the intense thirst and hangover-like symptoms. So, the next step to resuming normality in his life involved removing the coat, putting on a fresh shirt, and headed upstairs. He knew every inch of the stairs heading up into the house kitchen and made not a sound and didn't step on a single creaky board.

On the threshold, after turning the knob, he heard his father on the phone.

"About the agreement... No, listen. Just listen. Yes it's still on. Haha. That's a good one. No, I'm upping it by two. Yes, two. You want them or not?!" His voice rose angrily, and then quickly fell into an oily tone. "Look, I understand how rare these things are. You ran the tests right? Yeah, I know how much they're worth. I know we ran into a bit of a snag involving the first one, but the next will go off without a hitch right? Yeah, that's what I thought.

"Then are you planning to pick up the goods? Excellent. And I trust the rest of the funds will be transferred promptly?"

Roland quietly retreated down to his room and rummaged for several half-empty bottles of water while he thought. He could hardly remember the last time he had heard his father sounding so happy. Especially regarding money. Johnson, his father, had been the sole provider of income for the household since divorcing the biological mother of his offspring.

The only thing of value that Roland could think of that was really left in the family was maybe an heirloom left by their great-grandfather, whose remaining possessions were stashed in the attic awaiting appraisal. Johnson must have finally found someone interested in the few bits of antique furniture.

Roland spent the rest of the day cloistered in the basement, left as usual to his own devices. This was nothing out of the ordinary and so was left undisturbed.

His mind was trapped in an introspective spiral, thinking back on the events of the party. He looked at it through different perspectives, eventually breaking it down to two possibilities. Either Roland had hallucinated it all, or it had really happened.

There was the rational explanation, that someone had probably slipped something hallucinogenic into his drink, or that maybe it had all been a dream. The sheer improbability of the events definitely lent credit to that argument. Finding himself passed out on his own front lawn was certainly symptomatic.

Of course there was always the chance that what he had seen, what he had... felt. It had really happened. There were the odd wounds, and the aching satisfaction emanating from his groin. What would he do if it had been real? Clearly the girl had wanted him to live, otherwise... well; he wouldn't be sitting and thinking about it.

He sat thinking, alternating between sitting and pacing, unable to focus on anything in particular. The young man carried on with this late into the evening, trying to come to grips with the sensory recollections and what he would do with them.

Later that night, he crept up into the attic to search through his grandfather's old things. In the bottom drawer of an ancient oak desk was a thick, heavily worn leather book. Streams of old parchment trailed out of the pages. When Roland first opened it, the sheaves were blank.

They did not stay blank for long.

***

Over the next few days, Roland felt himself changes. It came in fits and spurts or just hummed in the background of his being. Sometimes tremors would ripple up his arms, or down his legs and back. No part of him was spared. There was an entire day that his eyes burned and watered.

Quite possibly the worst part was his skin. It burned, itched, reddened, paled, stretched, and strained. The Graves child was a tortured mannequin of muscle and bone in a rebellious sack of thin leather.

The itching was the most wretched of the dermal afflictions. He first noticed it in math class. Slight irritation made the boy scratch. Just a little scratch, just to ease the minor annoyance of it. Then it started to burn. Nails dragging across skin ignited a fire like none he had ever felt. He very nearly screamed. Gradually, the burning receded and the itching returned.

Tentatively, he had scratched again, gentler this time. The inferno was lessened, however it threatened him with the consequences should he give in to the urge. But although the burning died down, the itching came back with a vengeance. Roland had to grip the legs of his desk to stop his hand from scraping dry flesh. Such was the intensity of the irritation that his arms vibrated in involuntary yearning.

Immense relief followed the eight hour episode.

The changes became visible after three days. Before, the boy had been like whipcord, thin yet strong, with sinewy muscles and a lean build. Now however, his physique had become quite chiseled. Thick bands of new strength rippled with his movement. He was not grotesquely enlarged, but it was plain to see that nearly every ounce of fat had been stripped from his young frame.

Much of his clothing no longer fit, and a nearly overpowering hunger gripped him at all hours. Tired, yet full of energy, he experienced these changes with an ambivalent mix of pain and pleasure. The strange agony and stretching pains came along with so many corporeal benefits.

For one thing, for every urge he felt, whether to eat or masturbate, the satisfaction he got from fulfilling them was tenfold. His senses became fine-tuned. He could hear conversations through walls, read notes being passed from across the cafeteria, and discern individuals by smell alone. Mental acuity embraced the boy, gifting him with immeasurably faster reflexes, memory, and perceptive cognition to go along with his enhanced senses.

There was another nuance as well, slowly, pervasively invading his mind. It was difficult for Roland to grasp, let along try and describe. It went beyond simply being able to see and hear better, it was an ability to know things. Sometimes before they even happened. He didn't quite understand it himself, but he learned to trust this new knowledge as it came to him.

Then there was his sex-drive and appeal.

Unknown to Roland, his body had begun to produce a supernatural cocktail of pheromones, hormones, and enzymes through the changes rampantly altering everything else about him. The chemicals proliferated in his blood to the point where they exuded from his very skin. When he walked, nearly every girl and not a few boys turned their head without entirely knowing why.

This manifested as trouble for Graves before too long.

He had been walking through the crowded halls between classes, deep in thought as he usually was. The manner in which he strode, the aggressive, predatory cant caught the eye of one particularly luscious teen. She stopped talking suddenly to stare at Roland as he passed. Her boyfriend, the one she had been talking to, followed her eyes and noticed Roland too. In a naturally neanderthal way, his testosterone clouded mind took it as a challenge for supremacy.

The athlete called out to him with a "Hey you!" with enough venom to make half the students in ear-shot stop and stare, including the target. He walked right up to Roland and prodded the dark youth in the chest with a finger. The bright colored jacket the jock wore was encrusted with badges of victory and participation in various sports. It was supposed to confer respect, but Roland felt only disgust at such displays.

"You think you're hot shit? You're nothin' you fuckin' goth freak. You got that? Stay away from my girlfriend." Roland raised an eyebrow incredulously at the jock, having never spoken to him before in his life. And while Graves did not consider himself a goth, he admittedly did prefer black clothing. He glanced behind the threatening teen out of reflexive curiosity. Taking the shift in gaze as a challenge, the over-muscled teenager swung a clumsy haymaker at Roland.

In his blind haste to make an example out of Roland, the jock neglected several details.

The first was the stature of his chosen target. They were both of equal height, conferring the assailant no advantage of reach or leverage. The second was that Roland's true size was hidden by his backpack and shirt. Having outgrown the majority of his wardrobe, he'd had to wear one of his brother's old oversized garments. A baggy shirt and loose pack did a lot to belie the strength lying underneath the surface.

Roland leaned back out of reach with contemptuous ease, slipping off the straps of his book bag in the same motion. Soon a circle had formed of inquisitive students, some braying for blood while others just cheered. The jock kept up the attack, throwing wild punches in the general direction of his target. He was committed to violence and wasn't planning on backing down until Roland was on the ground.

With breathtaking speed, the metamorphosed youth moved fluidly around the athlete's fists. He kept a very relaxed pose, contemptuously declining to even counter. Happy to just let the big oaf tire himself out hitting air.

All the while, Roland considered his options. Surely he could simply keep dodging until teachers came to break up the fight. Although tempting as it was to simply lay the fool out, as he was sure it was well within his ability to do so, Roland did not wish to trouble himself with the repercussions. However, the dark youth was a little affronted at the audacity of the assault, and offended by the jock's arrogance. With this in mind, he made his decision and smiled cruelly.

Momentarily slowed by his introspection, the jock caught the black shirt Graves was wearing and between their strength it was ripped almost entirely. Much abused, the garment hung on by only a sleeve. It had been cold that morning so Roland was wearing a dark tank top underneath the shirt. This just sullied his already blackening ire towards the attacker.

Allowing himself to be pushed back almost to the crowd, Roland waited for just the right moment to step aside. Instead of his intended target, the jock decked a freshman full in the face. The unfortunate victim toppled over backwards, blood spurting from a broken nose. There were cries of outrage which served to only anger the athlete further.

Not knowing how to learn from his mistakes, the tall aggressor followed Roland around the circle and swung low. Again he missed and caught his own girlfriend in the gut. The shouting died down a little as those who could see watched the girl's eyes bulge in shock before she crumpled and puked explosively onto the floor.

With near perfect timing, the teachers fought through the crowd just in time to watch the final spectacle.

Having enough faculties left to realize what he had done, the jock lost all reason. Yelling inarticulately, he charged full tilt towards Roland who had moved to the opposite side of the hall. When the athlete was at the peak of momentum, Graves sidestepped one last time using his torn shirt like a matador's cape. With a motion too quick to follow, he tripped the jock with a foot. Unable to stop, the teen careened into the metal lockers lining the walls. Three were dented inward from the force of his head and shoulders impacting them.

Nearly unconscious, the attacker slid to the ground with a groan. The sound of tender flesh hitting merciless steel was music to Roland's ears. His mirth very nearly overflowed into a full throated laugh. The youth kept his joy internalized however, better to play the victim. There was no doubt in his mind how the aftermath would go. There had been too many witnesses.

Graves imagined exactly what they would say.

'The boy attacked him over some imagined insult, injuring two bystanders before tripping into some lockers, knocking himself out.'

He was not far from wrong. Roland was escorted to the office to give a full account of what had happened while the casualties were attended to. Playing the part of the innocent victim to a tee, he won over the principle within moments. His perfect grades and shell-shocked speech reflected a model, if introspective, student. Countless first-hand accounts backed up every word.

Roland was given the option of going home early. Smiling and nodding and playing up his emotional distress, the boy agreed. The opportunity was perfect and he seized it, but did not call his father to come pick him up. He had important matters to attend.

***

Stepping into the strange shop was like stepping into another world.

Roland had walked for two hours to get to the center of his suburban town, replete with cheap outlet stores and strip malls. There was one in particular he had been searching for. The only mark was an intricate eye made from lit neon tubing. He had never really noticed the shop until then, passing it off as a beauty shop or maybe even an adult novelty store.

How wrong he had been.

The smell of incense smote him the moment he opened the door. Moderate lighting filled most of the store while small track lighting highlighted particular items set on pedestals. Shelves with statues, stones, books, and other, less easily identified items were wall to wall and stretched high up to the ceiling. The interior was much more spacious than the outside suggested, the one outlet occupying several thousand square feet at least.

Roland tentatively walked to the glass display case next to the antique-looking register. An elderly woman was fiddling with something beneath the case and straightened up at the boy's approach. Large golden earrings dangled among a few strands of curly hair that had sprung loose from her bun. She wore a purple gypsy dress and smiled in a warm way that pulled her few wrinkles tight.

"Hello dear, welcome to the Seeing Eye, how may I help you?" Graves fidgeted nervously before pulling out his grandfather's book.

"I was hoping you could appraise this for me." He set the aged volume on the counter. The shop owner turned the book and flipped open to a random page. Her eyes lit with an inner light.

"You're looking to sell this, hun? Do you know what it's really worth?" Roland took the book back and held onto it tightly.

"No, I have no intention of selling it. I just had to know if I had come to the right store." The middle-aged woman nodded in understanding.

"Ah, so all this is new to you. I remember what it was like the first time I found out. So I'll tell you what, go ahead and ask me anything you like. I'm sure you're brimming with questions, and I'd love to point you in the right direction."

"That's very kind of you. I was hoping you could tell me how much a magical creature is worth." He watched her reaction carefully.

"Oh my, you're a quick one aren't you? Well, that depends on the type of creature." The proprietor turned to one of the shelves behind the counter and pulled out a very thick volume. She grunted slightly with effort and opened the huge book. "So what are we talking about here?" In answer, Roland pulled the neck of his replacement shirt to the side.

"A vampire? Hmm, that can range from-" She stopped when he pulled the shirt further, revealing the double row of puncture marks. "A Were-Dragon. Good heavens boy, you are lucky to be alive, yes indeed. I assume you know what a Werewolf is?" Roland affirmed that he did.

"Then you've got the basics covered. There are a few differences though. A Were-Dragon still gets converted from a bite and changes for the first time on the night of their first full moon. After that you can gain voluntary control of the transformation. That's about where the similarities end however. A Were-Dragon has no fatal weakness and can regenerate anything but loss of the heart or decapitation. Not easy to do with scales like iron and bones like steel.

"The other important thing is the rather strict requirements for becoming one. Much like a vampire, you have to be a virgin to truly become one. But unlike vampires making non-virgins ghouls, the bite is simply fatal. A Were-Dragon can have sex with an intended target to increase the odds of the conversion taking. Sex magic is some of the most potent after all.

"A Werewolf bite will always convert, virgin or not unless the person dies of blood loss or from being eaten. Not only that, there has to be some magic in the blood. Quite a rare thing in this day and age. So the Dragon not only has to not kill the person, but that individual has to have all those traits.

"Sometimes a particularly powerful Werewolf can subvert those it bites and when slain the rest will revert to human, yet no such ability exists for Dragons. They are very independent and can go without any influence from their infector. One slain Dragon has no bearing on the rest.

"And for answer to your earlier question as to how much such a creature would be worth... well. Let's just say you could comfortably retire with the income of the hair and nail trimmings from one." She looked him thoroughly up and down as he considered her words.

"Then, I think there's something that I need."

"And what would that be, love?"

He told her.

"That's not going to come cheaply. What do you have for payment?" Roland offered his torn shirt and how it had come to be so damaged. "Genuine violence you say? Even killing intent? You drive a hard bargain. Hm, I expect more business from you, so I guess this will do." She took the tattered garment with a sly smile.

***

Later that night Roland was unable to settle, and with the setting of the sun decided to take a walk.

A strange compulsion made him take the large trench coat. The thick leather hung heavily from his shoulders in a pleasing way. He slid out of the basement window as always and set off. The path he took was familiar enough that he could navigate it even in the dark. At the end of his street where the houses petered off there was only a single street light. Beyond was nothing but open fields and retaining ponds.

Under that light, Heather waited.

The girl was in her human form, looking forlorn in a pair of jeans and a faded red blouse. Roland froze for a moment. He considered turning to run as fast as his legs would carry him, but he had already been spotted. She gestured for him to come with as she turned to walk down his path.

Roland had been half expecting her to show up. It was going to be a portentous night. He knew that from the outset. Heather's appearance only confirmed his final suspicions. She didn't speak for a long time, walking silently with the boy in tow. Graves allowed himself to be led far afield where most noise would go unheard.

***

And now, let us look elsewhere, to a dark walk of another nature, of another chance encounter with an unnatural creature. Only this one does not bode well for the target of the attentions.

Roland's little sister Sophie, a bright young girl, aged thirteen was walking home after doing her homework at a friend's house. It was getting dark, but she knew this way quite well, being only a half mile from where she lived with her older brother, father, and step mother. It was a path she had trod a hundred times at least.

A tall young man stepped into the light across the street, peering at her with silted eyes.

Sophie felt a tingling along her spine and looked over the pavement river. Seeing nothing, she continued. Or would have, if the pale boy hadn't been suddenly looming before her. With a jerk of surprise, the girl stopped. Clothed in an undershirt and belted shorts, he smiled at her. His pupils were so wide the orbs seemed only inky blackness. The boy was even barefoot.

He took a step to her right, getting closer.

Sophie tried to remember what to do in such situations, but the young man looked so strange. He seemed insane, unhinged. Although he bore no obvious weapon, his stance had a deadly slant. The girl was frozen as the boy circled her, padding silently on the balls of his feet.

A fanged smile.

A choked scream.

And then silence.

***

Unaware of the horror being perpetrated against his sibling, Roland continued to walk with the Dragon. They crested a grassy hill and stopped at last, the lights of the neighborhood far behind them. A seriously out of place street light illuminated a small patch of broken asphalt. The electricity had been left connected to the forgotten piece of construction and provided yellow phosphorescence. A cold front was moving in, pushing warm air before it so the night was comfortable.

Clouds obscured the sky.

Heather fell to her knees and whimpered, "I don't want to do this." Roland easily heard her words.

"Don't want to do what? If you don't want to, then why are you doing it?" He asked.

"You don't get it! You just don't." Heather cried in exasperation.

"If I don't understand, then make me understand. Why did you bite me then?"

"I bit you because I had to." She looked away, ashamed. "I cannot disobey my master." The girl fingered the metal hoop around her neck. "My master commanded me to turn you, so I did. You're the first boy I've ever turned. It was nice. You're nice. I didn't want to."

"Tell me who your master is." Roland set a hand on her shoulder. The girl threw off his hand and stood away, hugging herself with her arms.

"I can't. I'm forbidden. Gods, I don't want to turn again. It hurts so much. I don't want it to hurt." She shuddered and Graves simply stood by, lost as to what to say or do.

"Why me? Why did your master choose me?"

"Because she thought you would survive. Almost no one survives. She didn't forbid me from telling you that, of warning you. That was her mistake, not expressly barring me from talking to you before you change. You gotta learn to live and work with the little loopho- hrk!" She jerked suddenly and put both hands to her collar as if it was strangling her.

Heather took a moment to collect herself before calling out into the night. "Dawn! Melody! You two can come out now." Two girls emerged from the shadows around the hill and ran up to hide behind the one who called them. Both were dressed in simple jeans and thrifty tops. They were sixteen and seventeen respectively, with equally wild colored hair.

Both of them also wore simple metal circles around their necks.

Dawn, the youngest of the three, had straight neon blue locks. The middle one, Melody, had emerald green hair that fell in wavy curtains to her lower back. They looked like feral children, huddling behind their protector. Although they were youths, any normal human would be as a lamb compared to the girls. However they too had sharpened senses, and an awareness of the world that was extraordinary to say the least.

They could feel what was waiting within Roland. There was something strange, abnormal, and unknown, about the boy. Normally a Were-Dragon had to mate with someone to tell if they had potential, now they could feel it radiating from him. That made them fearful.

"He's the one, right Heather? Is... he's the one you bit? Are we gonna-" Dawn said.

"Ooh! He doesn't look... so bad. I wouldn't mind sucking his lollipop." Melody added provocatively, sticking a finger in her mouth for emphasis.

"Yes, girls, this is Roland Graves." The three Dragons looked at the dark youth and the clouds parted.

The full moon radiated beams of pure, changing light, and Roland felt something deep within come loose.

His pupils contracted sharply and became long reptilian slits. There was a single moment before the transformation took him fully in which he smiled and shrugged off the leather duster. He knew what was coming and braced himself in that split moment. For that infinitely negligible second, a tiny part of him that riled and raved and wished to remain human cried out. That humanity was snuffed like a candle before an ocean.

A real scream was torn from the boy's lips as his bones cracked and began to lengthen. His skin, already tormented from his body's preparation split in many places, scattering blood that steamed in the air. He hunched forward as the muscle surrounding his spine rapidly multiplied, stretching the vertebrae to make room for new segments.

For a few seconds the transformation slowed just a little, building up to a certain climax. Roland would have cracked a few teeth from clenching his jaw in agony if they hadn't been lengthening into fangs that pierced his gums. Chills ran up his back, eclipsing the pain for a moment before nearly every muscle not busy cramped.

Diaphragm seizing, Roland's breath was cut short as the flesh of his back boiled before bursting. Two huge leathery wings sprung open, glistening in newborn glory. Mucus, fluid, and ripped membrane splashed wetly all around. The wings had been gestating quietly in sacs beneath the teen's skin for several days and emerged with all the violence one would expect. The new bones slithered into their proper plane and jointed to his reinforced spine.

The girls standing by were equally horrified and transfixed, remembering the pain of their own first changes as well as awe at the explosive force of the one they were witnessing. Time dragged on slowly, seconds stretching into minutes.

A tail was next, emerging with slightly less force as again, his vertebrae multiplied. Roland swayed unsteadily on his feet as they tore from his shoes with sharp clawed intent. He gripped his head between his hands to try and hold it together as his temples split, pierced with obsidian horns. The bony protrusions curled down and forward like a ram's as his face started to elongate into a muzzle more befitting a Were-Dragon.

Still trying to keep his head in one piece, Roland stretched up onto the tips of his new claws and roared at the moon. In a final burst of transformation, his whole body elongated as his skin rippled and blackened into sleek, shiny new scales. A long, luxurious midnight mane hung from his neck in thick wet strands, weighted down by sweat and fluids. The whole ordeal had seemed to last an eternity.

Fully changed, Roland Graves stood for the first time as something truly inhuman. Standing nine feet tall with a wingspan easily over twenty. His scales were black as coal yet shimmered with a truly lustrous perfection. In the light, the membranous inside of his thick wings was the color of rich red wine. The rosy hue lent it a generously soft flesh tone.

Panting after the serious exertions, the new Dragon let his claws fall off his horns as he gazed, enraptured at the moon. The girls were just as fixated, though on him instead of the heavens. They were unprepared for just how big he had ended up. All of his clothes, oversized as they had been were destroyed except for the coat he had thrown off. Nearly two hours had gone by.

There was immeasurable danger with any Were's first change. The pain was usually too intense, the sensations and desires too powerful for anyone to be ready. Unprepared, the mind reverted to its baser instincts. And that usually spelled trouble for anyone within a thousand miles of several hundred pounds of out of control Dragon.

Heather, retaining enough sense to realize they were in immense danger in human form shook Dawn and Melody.

"Hurry, we've gotta change before he comes to his senses." The three quickly stripped naked and let the moonlight wash over them. Groaning and crying out, they transformed with much less fuss, mess, and in a shorter amount of time. Their crazed hair colors reflected their tones in Dragon form.

Heather was the tallest at a full seven feet of curly purple hair with double D tits. Next was Dawn. Although younger, she was next tallest at around six and three-quarters feet with soft blue coloring that almost made her look like Heather's sibling. And last was shy little Melody, barely topping six feet with emerald green scales and a faded brown belly. She resembled an autumn leaf more than anything with the way her long hair fell like a willow tree.

Roland's eyes had kept their flinty grey color, and fell to watch the Were-Dragons change, their skin shifting and their bones expanding, much as his had done. Panting and shaking, Melody reached into her clothes and pulled out a small jar. The youngest carefully unscrewed the lid with her claws and took out a generous dollop of white cream before passing it over to Heather. She scooped some of the contents out as well and gave the jar to Dawn.

Curiously, the huge male stood at a resting stance. His nerves still sang in the echo of such a shock. Waves of euphoria slowly glided along his altered self because of the stark contrast of now longer being in pain. And so he watched.

First Melody began, rubbing her dexterous fingers together. Then she smeared the cream on her stomach, moving her claws in a circle. A tiny moan escaped her lips as a tingling ran started in her delicate belly scales. Eventually her rubbing moved lower and higher, one claw going between her legs while the other cupped a generous breast. Almost immediately she cried out and fell to her knees as the feeling the cream brought on was too powerful.

Trying to quell the intensity, Melody reached both claws between her legs and succeeded in only strengthening the tingles. Wings spreading unconsciously, she lifted her tail a little. In moments, moisture was collecting along her scaly slit.

Dawn followed suit, rubbing the sensitizing gel over her front and under her tail. The youngest brazenly took another scoop and slid a digit up to the first knuckle into her tight, private passage, compounding its effect. She did it to mask her fear, to stop the quaking in her soul. Terror had gripped her spirit tightly at the sight of the black Dragon. Drowning her reservations in the arousal cream.

Hesitating, Heather considered throwing the white stuff down into the grass and taking wing. She felt dry as a bone between her legs and wanted nothing more than to run away. But she could not. Orders from her master were absolute, and they commanded she and her fellow dragonesses service the male to keep him from rampaging.

Then she remembered turning Roland, recalling how nice it had been to ride him. Dwelling on the experience for a moment, Heather felt a stirring deep within. Just a tiny little twinge, just enough to reassure her enough to apply the special unguent. And that washed away the last of her inhibitions as the salve took hold.

Nostrils flaring, Roland caught the scent of three fertile Dragons in heat. Their rubbing soon gave way to writhing undulations. Melody shook on her knees. Dawn had completely fallen over onto the grass. Heather alone kept standing, though just barely as she swayed. It was quite a sight.

The new Were-Dragon felt his own desires begin to flare. He started to grow hard at the spectacle. Three prime, fuckable dragonesses were laid out in front of him on a grassy platter.

Still on her knees, Melody noticed Roland's attention shift and watched his cock emerge. She gasped as the Dragon's glans enlarged and stood at attention in the night. He was easily fourteen inches long and thicker than her wrist. Staggering, she was the first to approach him. With one claw busy between her legs she crawled over to him down on her knees and carefully touched his right ankle. Submissively she caressed his scales, moving up his leg.

The large male made no move to stop the dragoness, so she took it as permission to touch him in a more intimate way.

She grasped the base of his shaft and was unable to wrap her claw around the entire girth. Melody stroked his cock slowly, feeling the thick, throbbing veins. His length throbbed. Entranced she wondered how it would feel in her mouth. Her lips parted, and she took the cock into her maw. Careful of her teeth, she wrapped her tongue around him and started to suck.

Getting him nice and slippery, Melody bobbed down further. Roland groaned ever so slightly in pleasure at the hot mouth wrapping his tip. Graced with a muzzle, she was comfortably able to get half way. One of her claws was busy between her legs while the other continued to stroke the half of him she couldn't reach yet.

Moving her head faster, she built up a good pace, sliding her long tongue up and down the underside of his tool while her soft lips applied generous pressure. Gradually, Roland felt a pressure deep within begin to build. Heather let him pop from her mouth once to bathe his length in feathery laps.

He grabbed her horns, making her jump a little in surprise as he forced her to take his cock deeper. Her cry of surprise was muffle by the meat filling her muzzle. Setting a more rapid pace, the male felt a climax rise. The mouth around his cock was very talented and he fucked it briefly before his first orgasm of the night overtook him.

Pressing his pelvis forward while pulling Melody closer by the horns, he shot his load down her throat. The girl's eyes opened in surprise as he drove himself so far. Her nose was barely two inches from his stomach.

She felt him pulse and throb and her throat worked automatically, tightening around his tip. The muscles worked to pull every last drop from him down into her stomach. Her muscles could be seen working to gulp down his seed with each pulse of Dragon cock. There was so much that her lungs began to cry out a little.

As Melody began to realize how much she had swallowed by the hot feeling in her gut, the revelation was such a turn on she felt herself cum. Humping down onto the claw that pleasured her, she felt her juices overflow even as Roland's torrent of seed petered off. Melody could do little more than pant around his length and suck the last bit out of him as she rode out her climax.

When she was able, the used Were-Dragon fell over onto the grass, her senses overloaded. She clutched an arm around her middle to try and contain the full feeling in her stomach. Quivering, she needed a few minutes to recover.

"Holy shit that was so fuckin' hot." Observed Dawn. Both she and Heather had nearly gone over the edge themselves watching the display of dominance. Still filled with trepidation and fear at the sight of the midnight black male, Dawn did not volunteer herself. So it fell to Heather to continue occupying the feral Were.

The shy purple dragoness approached on all fours. She got close enough for him to turn his gaze towards her. Spinning, she let her front fall into the grass and pushed her rear up. Her tail curled back until the tip touched her mid back and her wings were folded tightly against her body as she spread her legs lewdly wide.

Little beads of wetness glinted in the light like morning dew along her slit. Just her position, face down in the grass, was enough to spread her outer lips, revealing the intimate rosy pink of her vulva. Heather begged for him without saying a word, beckoned him without voice, and made full arousal return to his maleness with astounding speed.

Dawn padded over to Melody to get a better angle to watch Roland fuck the vulnerable soft purple cunt. The relatively small dragoness saw a single dribble of jizz slide down the side of Melody's mouth. Grinning, the rambunctious spirit licked the trail of intoxicating Dragon seed and soon found she wanted more. She kissed the green female deeply, licking around in her mouth for any cum that hadn't been swallowed.

Momentarily distracted, Roland returned to the task at hand, not one to leave a girl waiting. He positioned himself between Heather's legs, going down to his knees to get the perfect angle. The female quivered in fear and longing as he traced the tip of his cock up her slit, pressing slightly to catch her entrance with his glans. On target, the huge black Dragon penetrated the soft pussy.

Feeling his girth, his heat, and with the cream being spread to her insides, Heather softly screamed. Even when he had been human, Roland had been gifted, now changed, he was huge.

Her insides stretched deliciously around the massive dragonhood. Impaling her further, Roland slid deeper and deeper, never once pulling back or relenting. Applying steady pressure, inch by inch he violated her. Velvet plush walls eagerly pressed around the invading tool. Just as Heather thought there couldn't possibly be any more, when she felt full beyond compare, he thrust in his last few inches, bottoming out with a wet slap against her rump.

Almost beyond sanity, the dragoness came.

She had never known her pussy could feel so good. The idea that being fucked by a male would be so pleasurable had never occurred to the sometimes meek, always bashful teen. Her love tunnel was just long enough to accommodate the huge girth forced upon it. If she was to be truthful his root, which was his thickest part did hurt a little. However this slight discomfort was overshadowed by the rest of him, the arousal gel, and her orgasm.

The tip of his cock had pushed just the right button inside her. Heather felt the most intense orgasm of her life ripple through her body. It was like she was turning for the first time again. Claws and talons dug furrows into the grass while her back contorted. Although they had been clenched tight, her wings now flared open of their own accord and flapped a little in helplessness as she nearly lost total control of her body.

Waves of euphoria coursed through her as she completely soaked both of their crotches where they were joined.

Slowly though, it did end, and left her with a most satisfying feeling. Things were only just beginning. Roland pulled back a bit and glided back in, once more hitting the spot at her furthest depths Heather hadn't even been aware of until then. Gradually he found a good pace, keeping his thrusts short, not wanting to leave any of his cock out of her decadently sumptuous flower.

Looking down, Roland watched his root connect to where her petals were stretched brutally thin. Following the sight up, he saw a few beads of sweat trace down her luscious rump and the little rosebud of her tailhole. Heather's mane was in complete disarray, hanging in tangled curtains from her neck.

They both relaxed into the rhythm and enjoyed the ride. He grabbed her hips and thrust with greater leverage. Rocking with each push, her breasts were pressed into the soft grass. Another orgasm was steadily building within the delicate purple dragoness.

While they copulated with increasing fervor, Melody and Dawn were busy pleasuring each other. Still kissing, they had entwined their limbs together atop the hill. Dawn stroked a claw down Melody's back, caressing the sensitive base of her wings. Her tail curled up to caress her lover's soaking wet slit.

The green hide was spread gently by the blunt blue tail. Together they became a melody of color and pleasure, their moans joining together in mutual exploration. Dawn was brash and pretended experience and masked her worry with forwardness. Melody had never been so touched by another girl, but things were just too hot and heavy to deny.

Feeling the comforting warmth of affection coming from the smaller blue Dragon, Melody's whole body felt ablaze. Although enraptured, the pair was distracted by the sound of Heather having another orgasm. They looked over at the exhibition and couldn't help but pause in their own activities.

First she howled, her muscles clenching, her pussy gripping tightly at the member penetrating her. Then she cried, whimpering in helplessness as Roland simply kept fucking her through the climax. He was starting to lose himself in the pleasure of her tight cunt.

Dawn gave Melody a mischievous smile and got up. Although momentarily disappointed, the green teen was excited by the idea of joining in on the fun. The spritely blue set her bottom on the ground right in front of where Heather was bent over being pounded. Wet slapping sounds echoed into the night as moist scales were pressed together. Scooting her rump forward, Dawn spread her legs and grabbed one of Heather's horns.

She cried out a little in the midst of her orgasmic aftershocks as her muzzle was suddenly smothered by hot Dragon pussy. Surprised, she tried to draw back only to have Roland give a firm thrust, burying himself particularly hard. The force pushed her back into Dawn's sex. Her mouth was open because of her panting and her tongue flicked out to taste the nectar coating her nose. Heather came again, her reason obliterated by the rising tidal wave of delightfully fleshy release.

Moaning, Dawn forced the trapped dragoness to please her aching cunt. With each shove of Roland's member, Heather was bucked into Dawn. Licking furiously on instinct, she lapped up the love juices flowing freely. The blue dragoness was enraptured by making the girl getting rutted to please her. While the Were-Dragon trapped in the middle was overcome by stimuli. She was being filled from behind while eating out the pussy in front of her. Dawn shrieked in delight as hot tongue lapped across her clit, holding one of Heather's horns and gripping a fistful of mane.

The wild blue let go of Heather's hair so that she could reach down and slip a digit into her ass. Thoroughly lubed up from her own wetness trickling down, the claw slid in easily. Dawn almost came herself shortly after, soaking Heather's tongue with girl juices.

Not one to let others have all the fun, Melody straddled the prone girl's back to watch her get rutted. The green dragoness giggled at the back and forth motion. She looked up to the black Dragon's chest and stomach and took in the movement of his muscles, watching his hide ripple with the drive of his thrusts.

Roland caught sight of Melody gazing at him with her succulent sex on display even as he plowed the purple one beneath him. In a burst of animalistic desire he grabbed her legs and lifted her up. She yelped as his vice-like claws took hold of her. Quickly her cries of indignation became coos of pleasure when he took in her scent and gave her a languid lick.

He held her steady while his tongue worked feral magic on her inflamed pussy. With an unbelievable strength, he held Melody up while he performed his oral acrobatics and continued to maintain the pace of his fucking. Heather moaned into Dawn's snatch, sandwiched between a cock and a soft place. She was nothing more than a cock-sleeve for the dominating male. Her honey drenched him as he slipped along her inner walls.

So connected, the four Were-Dragons felt their respective ecstasy increase significantly. They became one writhing being of decadence, pursuant of only their ultimate carnal satisfaction. The girls felt something deep within them build, something that scared and excited them all at once.

Having staved himself off for as long as possible, Roland felt his climax rise up from somewhere deep within himself. A lifetime of pent-up sexual desires culminated into a near endless vitality. A youthful virility filled his altered body with lust that transcended physical limitations. Mind ablaze, he, and the three dragonesses came.

An incredible volume of cum was poured into Heather's abused pussy, igniting a fire like none she had ever felt before. The amount filled her and soon overflowed around the cock still pumping the thick seed into her. Heather's own orgasm caused her weakened inner muscles to milk him one last time, drawing as much out of him as she could take. She could actually feel each throb that brought more hot Dragon milk into her womb.

Unable to resist the deluge of pleasure, the green and blue girls each had their own climaxes. A small area of ground became soaked with the mingled love juices of the changed teens. A small charge could be felt in the air, as if something had been fulfilled by their unification. Roland thrust a few more times as afterglow consumed him.

His member gradually softened and slipped out of Heather's full cunt. Unsupported, the she-Dragon's pelvis dropped to the ground as she panted and heaved, thick white jizz leaking out of her hole. Melody was set down gently into the grass, breathing heavily as well, holding an arm around her middle. Both of their minds were completely blank in the aftermath of their erotic peaks.

Dawn was the first to recover, or rather, the first to have her lascivious desires resurface. The small blue padded over and turned to present her needy pussy in much the same way Heather had done. Too horny to care about the consequences, she taunted the large black Were.

"C'mon big boy, that all ya got?" Again, having been pent up for a lifetime, coupled with his recent transformation, goading a Dragon with sex was not the wisest of decisions. He practically pounced onto her, lining himself up and spearing into her sex with his already ramrod stiff tool.

"Ah!" She shouted as every expectation she had was obliterated. Her eyes opened wide at how thick he was. She thought that she could handle it after watching Melody suck him off, and Heather take him all the way to the root. The little dragoness had miscalculated the depth of her own love tunnel and could not even begin to take the huge Dragon member into her sex.

That of course, didn't stop him from trying. Roland hoisted Dawn up, holding beneath her thighs to spread her better as he thrust up into her. She let out one long, continuous cry as her insides were stretched to their very limit, her full weight coming down with each thrust. Even so, only half of the prodigious Dragon cock could enter her. She pinched and squeezed at her breasts, crying at the beautiful amalgamation of pain and pleasure.

For a while, they maintained this standing position, Dawn's tender pussy quickly becoming sore from the exploitation. In slight aggravation, Roland lifted the little dragoness off and set her to the side, looking to sink his member a little deeper into something. She lay in the grass, trying to comprehend the sensory assault between her legs.

Enough time had passed for Heather and Melody to regain some of their awareness and saw the aftermath of Dawn's enthusiasm. Heather thought to get a little payback on the green scaled troublemaker. She whispered her plan to Melody who grinned in equal mischief. They snuck up on the emerald dragoness lying face down in the grass.

Heather held her down, pinning her arms while Melody held up her tail and rubbed the arousal cream against her asshole. Intrigued, the large oily black dragon watched the two ready the tiny blue.

"Wait! What're you doing?" Dawn shouted, struggling weakly.

"He can't fit in your pussy, but he might be able to get into your ass. I know how much you like anal," Said Melody. Though Dawn didn't want to admit it, it was true that anal was her weakness. She came hard and fast when the sensitive ring of muscle was stimulated. However, the dimensions of Roland's cock made her think twice about offering the hole to the horny Dragon. Now it seemed the decision was going to be made for her by the girls.

To keep her pliant and down, Heather lowered her hips and pressed her snatch against the top of Dawn's snout. The purple dragoness used the small Dragon's horns as leverage and to keep her from moving. The blue's eyes popped open in surprise as she was forced to lick Heather's pussy, still leaking Roland's cum. In moments, she was eagerly cleaning the older purple teen, stretching her tongue as far as it would reach.

The unguent did its job, lubricating her back passage and also making it hypersensitive. Melody simply rubbing her there to loosen the little dragon had Dawn's pussy practically flooding. She was so horny she couldn't think straight. All her world shrunk down to her body and what it was feeling.

Allowing himself to be guided, Melody rubbed the tip of his member along the little blue's used pussy and up to her tailhole. His tip started to spread the slightly prepared hole. Fortunately for the girl, she had been playing with her own ass a little already. Roland went slow, first just getting his glans inside the tight ring of muscle. Ever so gradually, Dawn loosened and relaxed. She would be a liar if she were to say it didn't feel good.

The stretch was just edging into the uncomfortable, but the little blue wanted it. She wanted it more than she had ever thought she would. She wanted to feel him sink deep into her ass. She continued to lick his cum out of Heather, providing a good distraction while Melody rubbed her rump, further relaxing the dragoness. Sliding deeper, the black Dragon took a more cautious approach to his fucking, thrusting only the inches that the little blue could handle.

Feeling a little left out, Melody dismounted Dawn and went over to Heather. The green dragon needed attention for her private places and also wanted another taste of Roland's cum, especially mixed in with Heather's love juices. She bent down and joined Dawn, their tongues soon fighting over who got to go the deepest into the purple cunny. Overwhelmed by the twisting appendages inside her, Heather fell back into the grass. The normally shy green swung a leg over her to better slip her tongue inside.

Presented with a luscious emerald colored backside and ripe teen pussy, Heather did the only reasonable thing and sixty-nined with the other dragoness.

By this time, Roland had sunk about half-way into Dawn's ass. The dragoness felt spread and so very vulnerable. She loved it. The midnight black dragon felt like his cock was going to be squeezed right off by the tightness of the ass he was plowing. He groaned in pleasure and increased the pace. The friction was delicious, and it was hard to hold back from ravaging the delicate hole.

Eventually her tailhole had been worked loose enough for him to bottom out. Dawn could hardly stand how stuffed she felt. Every inch of her felt used and violated. His hips rested snugly against her rump for a moment before he truly started to fuck her in the ass. The longer his thrusts became, the more she ached for him to rut her harder, to fill the emptiness that his member left behind.

His thick dragonhood slammed into her harder and deeper, his muscular frame flexing with barely restrained exertions. Dawn's labia were puffy with arousal and begged for attention. She reached down to stroke herself and also feel where she was being penetrated. He drilled her harder and gave her ass a hard slap for good measure. Heather and Melody were too lost in their own coupling to realize that their orgasms were once again approaching unification.

Roland felt it first. Grunting he leaned down to clamp his jaws around one of Dawn's shoulders in a mating bite. He gave a few more herculean thrusts and pressed himself hard against her ass as he came for the third time that night.

Ropes of Dragon cum splashed deep into Dawn's bottom, making her insides bloom with warmth. A veritable flood of fluid splashed from her womanhood in Dragon-cock induced anal orgasm. All the while her tongue was coated in Heather's honey, entwining with Melody's own serpentine appendage. They all moaned their pleasure into each other's pussies. To Heather, who had thus far came the most; the force of her climax astounded her. For Melody, the release was long in coming and was all the more satisfying for it.

Panting together in one depraved pile, the Were-Dragons all took a moment to recover. Roland pulled out of Dawn's ass with a wet pop and a small deluge of cum. Twitching, the little blue let her rump fall to the grass.

Satisfied, but quite far from exhausted as he was meant to be, Roland stood and began to walk away into the night. Almost having dozed off, Heather saw this and was suddenly wide awake. She struggled to free herself from the pair of over-exerted dragonesses and cried out.

"Wait, stop! C'mon big boy, don't you wanna go another round?" She grunted as she tried to stand and found that she couldn't. He turned his head and the look in his eye sent chills down her spine.

"Don't worry; I was just checking on my coat." The obsidian colored male neatly folded the leather duster and walked back over to the vulnerable dragoness.

"How... How are you talking? It's your first night? You should be a mindless beast." He crouched down next to her and took her chin in one claw while he made a specific upward gesture with his claw. A thick tome appeared out of the shadows to land neatly in his upturned palm. He opened his grandfather's book to the page he had marked earlier.

Ever so rarely, Were infection can ignite a person's magical potential. It was never enough to simply be born with the gift of it. Magic had to be unlocked by passing a special threshold. To those born without it though... even to magical parents, there was no threshold to find. And the greater the threshold, the greater the potential.

Roland exercised more power with a simple gesture than many lesser witches or wizards could with an hours-long ritual.

"Yes, curious, isn't it? Now, you're going to answer my questions. All of my questions." The grey slate of his eyes sharpened with focused intent and Heather found herself unable to look away.

***

In exchange for his ripped shirt Agatha had provided information on a very special root from distant lands. She had said that it was a common ingredient in potions that many Werewolves consumed before their transformations to have heightened mental acuity. In its raw form, enough of the root could even allow a Were of any stripe to retain full conscious awareness of their actions even during their virginal emergence.

It had the oddly distinct flavor of burnt water chestnut.

Of course, the raw form of the root and the amount necessary were priced well above the entire yearly income of Roland's street. Upon hearing who his grandfather had been and seeing the book as proof, Agatha had been willing to extend the boy a special line of credit and supplied him with the root. Along with the promise of future transactions.

And so gifted, and with special knowledge gleaned from the book, a plan had begun to form in Roland's mind. After interrogating Heather, he had learned that the three girls weren't the only Dragons stalking the night, nor the only Johnson offspring targeted.

The Graves child found his sister under a stuttering street light.

Sophie was dead without question. From the ribcage down, her insides had been torn out. Her throat too had been savaged. The pool of blood was still cooling, congealing on the pavement. Still holding the final look of horror, the girl's eyes were open. She had been killed a fair distance from where she had been snatched on an abandoned back road, much as he had been lured to where he wouldn't be heard.

Speechless, Roland fell to his knees. He reached out with black claws and recoiled at his own reflection. Within the sanguine mirror around the body of his sister, the boy saw himself. All his plans crumbled into nothingness at the sight of the Were-Dragon, terrible in its power. Thoughts colliding into a cascade of broken dreams, he put his palms to his temples, trying to hold back the tide of madness.

The Dragon roared with a fury to shake heaven and earth. Swaying, he screamed his sorrow and raved against the cruelty of the world. A few minutes dragged by like this.

However, his grief sharpened, bringing clarity of thought Roland had never before in his life experienced. Fury coalesced into cold resolve. Mourning became craving. Rage turned into hate. Plans turned towards vengeance.

Thus focused, the Were-Dragon threw his senses wide, combing the surroundings for his prey. Zeroing in on his target within seconds, he leapt into the sky and beat his wings once. The leathery snap faded into silence.

***

Damien was a bastard, knew so, and cared not.

In his Dragon form, he padded up the grassy hill where Heather, Dawn, and Melody were still trying to recover from both the mental and physical shocks preceding and following Grave's departure. Damien's scales were a muddy red, like dirtied blood or thick rust. Standing at just barely seven feet, he was not the tallest but he was the only male and often tormented the girls to sate his feelings of inferiority.

He was cruel, petty, and had a proclivity for violence towards others. Being a valuable male, capable of infecting much more likely to be virgin, females, their master favored him over much and allowed him wider reins than the girls.

Damien in fact was the primogenitor of the girls, molesting, or even raping each one in turn. The Dragon loomed over Heather, peering down at her naked form.

"Hey, where'd the guy go? I thought you were supposed to keep him busy. Looks like he had fun," Damien sneered.

"I don't know. I think he went looking for his sister though." Not quite catching the implications of a new Were-Dragon actively doing something with a purpose, the red male shrugged off Roland's absence. He smiled sleazily and Heather had the compulsion to cover herself from his probing eyes, curling up in a fetal way.

She knew what was coming. Their master had forbidden Damien from having sex with the girls, but there were other favors he could take liberty with. Heather glanced up and for shorter time than it takes a synapse to fire, froze.

Heather saw a shadow detach itself from the darkness like liquid smoke. Eyes silted in murderous intent, Roland Graves stalked behind his sibling's killer. He slithered to within arm's reach of Damien with the speed and silence of death itself.

Knowing his intent, knowing what was about to happen, a few things came to Heather's mind. The first, was her master's compulsion to protect him with her own life if necessary. She was replaceable. He was not. The second was a quick flash of memory. A rolodex of remembrances of her hatred for the Dragon came to the forefront.

Third, but most important, was the recollection of her master implanting the compulsion to protect Damien... and feeling no proclivity to do so. So there she lay, frozen in flashbulb memoirs. An instant later, Heather was free from the grip of lightning thought and mentally sat back to watch.

Roland's first strike was one of brutal pragmatism. The vengeful brother was in no mood for a fair fight, and felt no inclination to give his opponent either chance for escape or opportunity to retaliate. So it was, with demonic strength that the oily black Dragon sunk his claw into the small of Damien's back. With a quick twist and a wrenching motion, he tore out the lower section of the child killer's spine.

The swiftness and brutality of the attack at first shocked the red's system and barely a murmur escaped his muzzle as he fell to the earth. Feeling and control to his lower extremities had been lost. The pain seeped in slowly, and as he regained breath, Damien started to scream.

Gore dripped from Roland's claw, clenching a fistful of vertebrae, meat, and delicate nerve fibers. He dropped the bundle contemptuously and planted a talon tipped foot between Damien's shoulders. Taking one wing in each claw, he pulled, the red Dragon's screams rising into a crescendo, ending with a gasp as two sickening pops resounded. Dislocated, the appendages drooped as loosely as the male's legs.

Desperately, the red tried to crawl away, dragging his useless limbs behind. Failing that, he turned to face his attacker and saw Roland's true form.

"You fucker! You think you can do this to me and get away with it? I'll fucking kill-" His voice was silenced as Roland kicked him hard enough to drive the wind from him and send the other Dragon skidding through the grass.

The girls all watched in terror and silent bloodlust at the display. Coughing, Damien regained enough breath to rasp one final remark.

"Hey, asshole." He raised his claw, middle finger extended in the crudest gesture he could manage. "I fucked your sister."

If the red sought to gain some satisfaction from his taunting epitaph, it was short lived.

Damien was a bastard, and died like one too.

***

The bell above the door to Agatha's shop tinkled innocently. The proprietor of the shop looked up from behind the counter with a smile. She had a feeling she would be getting a visitor that night. The old witch was surprised though to see not just Roland, but three girls with wildly bright colored hair. The boy walked with an unnerving purpose while the girls were busy holding one another up and giggling at the various curios on the shelves.

Roland wore only shorts that were held together by silver duct tape and a belt, his leather coat, and shoes that were similarly mangled. He carried something wrapped in a black trash bag which he set neatly onto the counter.

"Greetings, Roland. I trust the root was to your satisfaction?" The teen nodded.

"It was thank you. Are you always up this late at night?" He inquired judiciously.

"Only on full moons, darling. Do you have something for me here?" She said with a laugh.

"I have come to repay my debt. With interest." Agatha looked to the wrapped object and set a hand gently atop it.

"May I?" The witch spoke with bated breath, having a guess at what might be contained within.

"Of course," Roland gestured for her to proceed. Carefully, she peeled back the innocuous black plastic and almost recoiled in horror despite her mental preparations.

Within the trash bag was a severed Were-Dragon arm from the elbow down, detached with an almost surgical precision. A solid rubber tourniquet had been used and held the blood neatly within the body part. Rigor Mortis did not set into Dragon bodies easily because of their regenerative properties and the limb was still very pliable. Breathlessly, Agatha touched the muddy red scales and the sharp talon-tipped digits.

"Where's the rest of him?" Was the first thing she asked.

"On ice." Roland stated simply. This time the witch grinned wrly.

"Clever boy. I must say Mister Graves, I am very impressed. Consider your debt fully abolished. With just this you could buy me out completely and you would nary hear a complaint from me. What's mine is now yours. Though, I think settling into the life of a shopkeeper is not what you have in mind. You wouldn't have come this far if that was all aspired to." The witch placed her elbows on the counter and set her chin in her hands, gazing in wonder and curiosity at the darkened boy.

"Tell me, Roland. What do you want now?"

"For starters, a little pocket money would be nice." Agatha pressed a key on her antique cash register. The drawer opened with a delightful chime. She handed him a folded clip of ten-thousand dollars with another smile. Roland slid it neatly into the inner pocket of his coat with a nod.

"What else can I do for you, good sir?" Her mind was already calculating the net income from the arm based on the gram and was rapidly passing seven digits. When Roland spoke next, giving a nod towards the girls, Agatha's smile grew even wider.

She'd had a feeling about Roland the moment he had first walked through the door of her business that had nothing to do with her magical senses. The witch needed no spell or charm to read the look in his stony grey eyes.

***

How does one reconcile the abrupt upheaval of the world?

Roland's world had not simply been upheaved; it had been warped beyond all recognition. Reality itself had been rewritten. In a few short hours, he had transformed into a creature beyond natural comprehension, had sex with not one, but three equally amazing beings, seen the mutilated body of his precious sister, and murdered someone most deserving of death.

Trailing three dragonesses, and with more money in his pocket than any of his peers had ever held in their lives, what did Roland do? Why, he went to a twenty-four hour pancake house of course.

The dark youth sat in a booth while the girls, blue, green, and purple respectively, held the opposite seat, jostling good-naturedly amongst themselves. The waiter on duty at the time was in a rather perturbed mood, understandable given the shift he worked, and was ready to tell the colorful coterie the 'no shirt, no shoes' policy.

"Excuse me sir-" he started, contempt clear in his voice. Roland flashed a bill and made it clear what was at stake. "What can I start you off with?" The waiter's tone abruptly changed.

"Oh, oh! I'll have a chocolate milkshake! And the triple stack with a side of bacon, five eggs sunny-side up, and extra maple syrup," Volunteered Dawn.

"I'd like a coke, and two orders of the Super Hunger Buster, please. Extra ham, too." Heather said with a perfectly straight face.

"And, um, the all meat omelet and a Triple Waffle Supreme for me, please. Oh, and a strawberry milkshake and a glass of water too, please." Melody added.

"Eight pancakes, a dozen eggs, scrambled, and enough toast and bacon to go along with all that. And I'd like a glass of orange juice. Did you get all that?" Graves questioned the waiter who stood agog at the order on his little notepad that he had furiously taken down. With a disbelieving nod, the lowly wage-slave scurried off.

The boy, now in many ways a man, sat in equal parts grief and contemplation. In spite of the solemnity of his mood, his physical body cared not for the mourning he should be going through, and cared only for food. An appetite of titanic proportions overshadowed the needs of the soul.

Bright and bubbly, the girls could hardly suppress their good mood. For them, life had not been so good in years.

"I'm sorry, about your sister. She must not have been a virgin. Damien could only turn others on a full moon because he was so... rough. His victims would only survive because they transformed almost immediately afterwards." Heather shuddered with barely repressed memories of her first night, of her first turning, of the night she had lost her innocence.

"We were supposed to keep you busy until Damien was done with your sister. Then he would have subdued you we would have taken you to our master. Those were our orders. With him dead though, we have a little leeway." She spoke as if relieving herself of her sins.

"You should also know that your older brother is dead too." Melody quietly spoke. "He... almost definitely wasn't a virgin, but I was ordered to anyway." This came as no real shock to Roland. He had inwardly suspected as much after mulling over the implications of him and Sophie being targeted simultaneously. It only served to deepen the darkness within.

"Hey, hey, aren't we forgetting something? He killed Damien. How fuckin' righteous was that? Boom! Pow! It's about time someone fragged his worthless ass." The waiter returned with their drinks in time to hear the proclamation. Dawn noticed his stare and locked eyes with the generic brown haired young adult.

"What?" She challenged. "You never heard of Halo before?" Momentarily caught off guard by the blue hellion, he excused himself quickly. The look on his face had been priceless, and Roland felt a corner of his mouth twitch ever so slightly upward. The gleeful way Dawn and Melody dived into their frozen treats helped turn the other corner too.

Conversation turned to other things, simpler, more normal things. Graves found he had more in common with the girls than he thought. His affection for them grew by the minute. Soon, his feelings bordered on the covetous. It was a necessary side effect of the spell that allowed him to override some of their master's control. Roland didn't mind in the least.

Soon their food arrived and they unanimously dived into the simple cuisine with a passion. With an appetite that bellied their small frames, Melody, Heather and Dawn all consumed several pounds of pancakes, eggs, and meat.

"You want to find our master, don't you." It was a statement, not a question. Graves looked up from his nearly empty plate at Heather, bright purple hair still a little sex ruffled.

He nodded.

"We can't tell you directly, but there's nothing stopping you from just following us back." She said with a wry smile.

***

There was one stop Roland had to make before going on to see the girl's master. The night was growing short. Light did not yet taint the starry sky, but it would soon. The Graves child snuck into his house through his usual route and went upstairs to Sophie's room. He needed to say goodbye in his own way.

Grief wracked his heart, yet he shed no tears. His mind was too focused on retribution. All his sadness was converted into a quiet rage. He had too much yet to do to dwell on it. Even so, he paused in the innocent room. Roland had left his sister's body behind, not having the will to move her in such a... state.

Around one of the bedposts was a white bandana that Sophie had often used to tie back her hair. Roland took it, sparing a glance to the neatly folded floral print sheets, and tied it around his wrist. He needed it to remember his sister. Although his older brother was dead too, Sophie's murder was so much nearer. It would suffice for the absence of both siblings.

He closed the door to her room with reverence and headed downstairs. The boy had snuck in through his room but chose to go out through the front door. Just as he turned the knob, the light snapped on. Roland whirled in surprise, his body still primed and ready for the kill.

It was his father, wearing a shocked expression.

Johnson Graves looked his boy up and down. The balding, middle-aged man stood with restrained consternation.

"Going somewhere, Roland? At this time? What are you doing, uh, up?"

"Yeah, one of my friends is kind of having a mental breakdown. They kind of need me." Roland thought up the lie on the spot, adding a concerned glance towards the door for good measure.

"Is that so." Johnson's face took on an angry cast. He was examining Roland's neck. "You feeling okay, son? You seem a little green around the gills. Maybe you better let this friend of yours wait until tomorrow. Did Heather give..." The father snapped his mouth shut suddenly, realizing that he may have said something he should not have.

"How did you know about-" Roland saw the look of frustration and hate in his father's eyes and understood. In a terrible cascade of clicking gears, his thoughts fit together all at once, connecting the points he had foolishly overlooked. "It was you. You were going to sell us. Not the book. Sophie and I."

Johnson had been edging closer the whole conversation. Distracted, the boy didn't notice the metallic gleam in his father's hand until it was too late. The older man lunged with the circlet of metal open. Roland raised a hand to ward away the charge...

The collar snapped around his neck.

The Graves child stumbled back, tried to shout, tried to call out to Heather and the girls who were waiting outside and found his voice was no longer his own.

A life of slavery unfolded in front of Roland. His will was stripped, and his body subjected to the whim of another. He would be sold for a hefty price. His father, who had so betrayed his child, would grow fat off the spoils of the trafficking.

The youth would be sold and used to create more Dragons. Roland's story from this point on was one hardly worth noting. It was a spiral, warping inward, a serpent devouring its own tail. Let us take a moment to pity this soul, lost to the machinations, not of fate, but of people. The boy would rile and rage internally, forced to silence by the circle of ensorcelled steel around his neck.

But ultimately, he was lost.

Let us also look upon the face of a father who would do such a thing. To Johnson, the innocent wellbeing of his child was of no real consequence compared to that of his own comfort. Ego ran rampantly through his mind, justifying whatever means to correct the slight dealt to him by his own father.

Control had slipped from Johnson's grasp. Anything he could not control, he hated. He viewed the world as against him, wrongfully cheated. He not only deserved everything he believed was owed to him, but disregarded anyone who did not agree with his worldview. Johnson's self-love bordered on the pathological. The death of his younger daughter, the death of his oldest son. Nothing mattered except for the sale of his middle offspring.

All so that the father could indulge in decadence and the luxury of the life he felt cheated of. He would glut himself off the spoils like a boar in the mud, wallowing in his own filthy riches. Blood money would fuel a few years of high living.

Who can truly say what lay at the end of the road Roland Graves was forced to walk. Madness? Death? What would be left of note of such a life? Less than a whisper in the breath of time.

What value really, does hold the life of a slave? Even one touched by the gift, the curse, of being a Were-Dragon.

Not all stories have a happy ending.

"No."

That one word reverberated with power.

Spoken with conviction by someone with power.

It was denial, it was refusal, it was the rejection of fate. The single utterance carried chilling force. With that word, Roland shattered the many futures that carried his slavery. He did not simply wish against such possibilities, he was willing to take the actions necessary to ensure they never came to pass.

With that one word, Roland Graves both earned and forged his freedom.

There is a lesson perhaps, in tempting a dark soul with vengeance and spite. They can be powerful things. The desire to repay wrongdoing, the urge to make the ones who caused the pain bleed a hundred times over can tip the balance in an impressionable mind. No matter the cost. Be it material, corporeal, or philosophical.

Hate can drive a man to do terrible things, unspeakable things.

Though perhaps it is wrong to apply such a filter on the actions of Roland Graves. He was responding, adapting to the changing universe around him. He had not chosen to become a Were-Dragon, though he did choose to seek revenge. What is the greater crime?

When Roland raised his arm, the edge of the metal collar had caught in Sophie's bandana tied around his wrist. The tainted child ripped the magic object away with enough force to dislocate his father's arm. Stunned by disbelief Johnson fell to his knees, arm hanging nerveless.

"Why?" Roland spat the simple question contemptuously.

"Your grandfather is why!" Johnson shouted as he tried to right himself with one working arm. "He was a wizard, but because I was born without magic his disowned me. He wrote me out of his will. I got nothing! But I had the last laugh when he died without naming an heir. But if one of my kids showed promise, then the old bastard's assets would go to me until one of you was eighteen." He glared at Roland, standing imperiously over him.

"But none of you did! So, I had to take desperate measures. A Were-Dragon is a magical creature and qualifies. Your brother was too old so he had to be gotten rid of. I tell you what though; I'll give you Sophie if you give me the fortune. You care about your little sister right?" Johnson gave his sleaziest smile.

"Sophie is dead." Johnson gaped at his son, at a loss for words and started to blubber all kinds of offers. The father started to beg for his very life as Roland's cold grey eyes sharpened with deadly intent.

Roland didn't want to hear his father's excuses. To him, the man's corruptions were unforgivable, his sins too heavy to be purged. The last Graves child would not bear his father's burden. The dark teen punched the man square in the mouth to shut him up. Broken teeth flew from Johnson's mouth and he mumbled around a lacerated tongue.

He raised his hand, gesturing to summon the grimoire that answered to the sole remaining direct descendant of the Graves family line. It took the boy a moment to find the appropriate spell and began to chant, reciting words that sizzled in the air. A normal human would have been bleeding from the eyes looking upon the twisted glyphs contained to the parchment, but Roland was no longer really human.

Blue flames sprang to life and consumed the father. He tried to breathe in to scream but found his lungs scorched from the inhaled fire. As it was, the man died with hardly a choked cough. Roland watched the necrotic pyre until it ran its course. Within a few short minutes, Johnson Graves was less than ash. A thin layer of dust and lightly scorched tiles were all that remained.

An investigation would be launched, but no evidence would ever be found of the man.

***

And now, it was time for the final act. A single loose end remained. One last player, whose influence had been felt from the beginning, had yet to be seen.

Her name was Persephone Rogers. Although, Rogers was her maiden name that she had gone back to after divorcing Johnson. She was Persephone Graves, biological mother of Roland and his siblings.

The prudent woman had married Johnson knowing full well who his father had been. She had every intention of bearing a magical offspring and sharing in the benefits of being a married in matron of a long, wealthy wizard line. She was a minor witch, though what she lacked in power she made up for in patience.

When it became apparent none of her three children would come by their powers naturally, she left Johnson to pursue other means. Through years of planning, and a frightful cunning, she came into possession of Damien, infected at a young age. Cultivating her plan carefully, she used him to infect Heather, Dawn, and Melody, hunting through family genealogies to find the perfect candidates.

She only had three chances, and wanted to insure maximum potential chances for success. Even though she had married and divorced, the magical contract stipulated that as donor for the magical potential within the children she was still entitled to half of the assets left in the extended family. Only once had she seen a brief summation of the inheritance waiting in time-locked trusts for the children when they came of age and magical threshold.

The thought still excited her, and with the goal so close, she could hardly sit still.

Persephone got up from her chair, situated in her home's study and headed down to the kitchen to fix another pot of coffee. Her home wasn't far from Johnson's. The older woman always made sure she kept tabs on her children. Dressed in a simple white nightgown, her bare feet padded softly through the quiet house. The inside of which was decorated in a modest modern fashion with only a few esoteric trinkets to suggest it was the abode of a witch.

She got to the kitchen, a simple affair, and reached to adjust the settings of her simple appliance and stopped. Something tingled in the back of her mind, some eminent sense of danger warned her to stop and turn. Lurking in the shadows was Roland, once more in his Dragon form. He had gotten the chroma of his eyes from his mother, and their slate gazes met.

The girls joined him, and his mother didn't waste time, gesturing with the beautiful bracelet around her arm. It had a wide band, with four large, precious stones set within.

"Dawn, Heather, Melody, change and hold him down." The girls made no move to comply. Persephone slowly lowered her arm, realizing the futility of trying to command her thralls further. "That's you, isn't it, Roland? What did you do?" Her son's voice rumbled forth from his serpentine throat.

"You gave me the weapons, mother. Practically laid them out on a silver platter. You shouldn't have sent these three to keep me busy. It gave me the perfect opportunity to use one of grandfather Graves' spells. Sex magic is some of the most potent after all. It let me gain temporary control of them. Even through the potency of your collars."

Persephone lifted her arm to cast a failsafe spell and found her arm gone from the elbow down. The woman had felt only a slight tug. Blood barely trickled from the wound, so clean and swift the cut had been. She looked from the stump to where Roland held the detached anatomy. Only a slight shift in his stance spoke that he had moved at all.

"You can't do this!" She shrieked. "I am your mother. Why would you hurt your mother?" Roland Graves pried the thick band loose from the severed limb and clasped it around his own arm, just above the bandana still tied there.

"And Sophie was your daughter. I don't think you have any place to complain. Now everything of yours belongs to me." The inset gems glowed a little bit brighter and the girls all looked upon the dark youth with reverence and fealty. Persephone clutched her injury tightly.

Again moving faster than the human eye could follow, he did something even more terrible than murder. A small part of Roland supped on the delightful irony like the finest filet mignon as the collar meant for his neck, snapped around his mother's. Whatever words Persephone had left, were forever silenced. Roland considered giving her as a plaything to Heather, Dawn, and Melody, but thought of an even better punishment, one that gave even Dawn chills as to its calculating ruthlessness.

"I wonder how much a witch is worth?"

With those fateful words, the final act drew to a close.

From that point on, Roland's choices and life were his own. He would inherit the vast fortune left by his grandfather and grow into a terrible force.

Maybe, if circumstances had been different he would have freed the girls. Perhaps it was the need for power, maybe continued revenge against his parents, taking spiteful joy in knowing that what was theirs now was his. Or maybe he feared that if he let them go, they would leave him. Perhaps what he feared was being alone that was suddenly bereft of anyone who loved him.

In any case, his choices from that point on were intelligent, and insidious. He subverted them, not with cruelty, but with kindness. He was not enslaving them, he was protecting them, he was guarding them from a world at large that wanted only to devour them. He became their shield, their lover. And love him they did.

Such was their love for him that really, he needed no collars to control them. Roland's mastery of their will was absolute through this twisted affection.

And although it is beyond my gaze to see, he might have loved them too. As much as his twisted soul was capable from then on of feeling something like love. Roland Graves had a long life ahead of him, and given time, perhaps even the coldest, most steeled hearts could thaw. However, such is not my place to say for certain.

What had Roland Graves truly become? Was he a man? A monster? Or was the difference, his metamorphosis, only Skin Deep?

One thing can be said for certain though, that in several years' time a black Dragon would rise to sit on a blacker throne. His harem of Purple, Blue, and Green would sit loyally at the foot of that throne. Through wealth, through death, his power would grow and grow. A steel crown would come to rest upon his brow in that world without kings.

That story though if it is meant to be told, of the king and his rise, is not yet ready for telling.

Author's Notes:

Normally I wouldn't choose the clichéd black dragon, but I felt it was fitting for Roland and his story.

Perhaps I need to give a little background for those curious as to the origins of this story. Well, a looooong time ago, I read a story about a family of sorts where the girl went and had sex with the family dragon. Well, afterwards the girl slowly started changing herself and the mother revealed that it had been planned all along so that the girl would have dragon babies and continue the family tradition of raising dragons. The girl was collared and a short epilogue told how she simply lived from then on as a dragoness baby maker.

I don't know if that's what the author wanted or if it was simply meant to just neatly tie up a yiffy one-shot. Regardless, for some reason, stories as such perturb me greatly. Anything where the character simply gives up their life and their will just because someone tells them to. I don't want to use strong language because other than that minor footnote, it was an excellent story and would be deeply grateful if someone knew what I was talking about and shot me a link.

Anyhow, that, and other tales like it were the inspiration for this particular journey which I hope you all enjoyed.