Ren woke up because something was poking her.
Hard.
In her half-asleep state, she assumed it was her frying pan handle digging into her hip. She groaned, trying to shift her leg to kick it away.
It moved with her.
"Mmm," a deep voice rumbled directly into her ear. "You wiggle. It is... stimulating."
Ren froze.
Her eyes snapped open to the darkness of the King's Nest. The memories flooded back. The kidnapping. The pancakes. The honey. The... Knot.
She looked down.
She was still encased in the massive black coils of the Python King. Syris was wrapped around her like a living sleeping bag. His human torso was pressed against her back, his chin resting on her shoulder.
And the "frying pan handle" poking her hip?
It definitely wasn't cast iron.
"Syris," Ren whispered, her voice tight. "Tell me that is a weapon in your pocket."
"I have no pockets," Syris murmured sleepily, nuzzling her neck. "And I have no weapons. Only... enthusiasm."
He shifted his hips.
