Dragon Dicks Galore!

She briefly considered sneaking back stage to say hey after the show, she didn't know Duchess as well as Prin - she certainly hadn't said she was gonna be at the show – but she was fond of the deer. Maybe later. For now more than anything the wolf needed a break and a breather.

She slipped out the venue's back door into a grungy little side alley, tossing a wink to a punk bunny girl she'd been moshing with as she left. She'd come here for music, not to hunt, either for sex or for a meal. Still, old habits die hard, and it's good to keep the options for the night open. The cold night air felt real good on her sweaty, matted fur. She let down her long pink hair and stripped off her flannel, wrapping it around her waist and showing off her torn up Skull Crushing Bite crop top as well as quite a bit of rusty red fur. The night was making her wistful for a cigarette. She felt alive and invincible. Untouchable. On top of the world. A good show always made her feel like that.

Unbeknownst to the wolf, she had left the pit at the exact wrong time. Like an animal separated from the herd, the dragon's eyes followed her as the wolf's tail slipped out the exit. Thorne always loved coming to Apex. SCB had a penchant for pulling in overambitious predators, and she was always happy to play her part in humbling those that Duchess didn't take first.

Yes, wolf sounded good, Thorne thought to itself, downing the last of its beer. The can now emptied, the dragon's prosthetic claw closed around the aluminum shell, reducing it to a crumpled and shredded mess in its palm. Raising to her full monstrous height, Thorne rolled its neck, and began working its way toward the exit.

She passed the bartender, and slid a pile of cash across the counter. "Close my tab, I'm going to get something to eat," she told the snake at the bar, flashing her a wicked smirk.

She had to duck her head as she slipped out the back exit. some doors just weren't meant for a 12 foot tall dragon. As she stepped into the alley, her tongue flicked, tasting the scent of cigarette smoke and sweat on the breeze. Glancing down, she saw just what she was looking for.

"Needed a break?" she asks, offhandedly "Me too. It was getting a little cramped."

Siren dropped her cigarette, her jaw agape at the sight of an actually fucking dragon looming over the 5'10 wolf, making her feel absolutely tiny. Gods, she was gorgeous!

She felt butterflies in her stomach. Her tail flicked in excitement, and a bit of anxiety. Maybe flirting was on the menu tonight after all? She leaned against the brick and brushed her pink hair behind her ear in an attempt to recover her dignity.

"Y-yeah! Ahem. Yeah. The pit's fun but usually I need a little air and space to stretch. Can't be cooped up too long ya know?" Her jewelry jangled as she stretched lazily, trying to show off her curves to the dragon. The crop top didn't do much to hid them. "Names Siren. What's yours?"

Siren stuck a paw out confidently to shake, looking to break the touch barrier with this tall stranger, already daydreaming about climbing her like a tree.

Thorne couldn't help but chuckle at the little wolf's flustered response, a deep rumble filtering out from her chest, a brief flash of her teeth as the noise escaped her jaws. The little morsel was flirting with her!

As Siren stretched, Thorne's gaze wandered, first drawn by the jewelry glinting in the sodium haze of the streetlamps, then unsubtly down Siren's body with undisguised hunger – though one kind of hunger might easily be mistaken for another.

While Siren was stretching, Thorne stepped fully out into the alley, her tail twitching behind her. As fun as flirting would be, she had a different hunger to attend to, and was already stalking her prey, though the little meal did not yet realize. As she twitched her tail to draw the wolf's attention, she circled around, putting herself between her prey and the street beyond.

The dragon eventually came to rest, leaning her left arm on the wall above the little wolf, looming over, as her prey extended a paw in introduction. Thorne took the paw gently in her metal claw, knowing full well the force she could exert would sever bone if she were careless – or cruel.

"Oh you're such a cutie," the dragon drawled, her voice a low mixture between seductive sweet and a dangerous growl. "You can call me Thorne, little snack."

A tingle of pleasure rolled up Siren's spine. She clocked Throne's hungry gaze and badly misunderstood it's intent. She should probably have run, or ducked back inside, or anything at all – but she didn't. She ran her tongue along her muzzle and played with her bullet necklace idly.

"If I'm a snack, Miss Thorne, then you must be a whole meal. A feast, even. 5 courses and a wine pairing too." She leaned in closer to the dragon as she flirted boldly.

In her mind, she was in the company of a fellow predator. Why not be confident? It was a beautiful night, she was with a beautiful woman, beer was buzzing in her veins, the music was pumping in her heart.

"What brings you out tonight, Thorne? The music? The venue? I can't say I've seen you around but I don't get to Apex much. Mostly came for SCB, myself."

The hollow pain in Thorne's stomach ached, an insistent voice pushing for her to snap up the smitten wolf without hesitation, but still she held back. She was enjoying leading the little snack on, building her arousal, to make the subsequent descent into terror all the more delicious.

"SCB is always a good time, Duchess always knows the best places," She mused, pausing a moment before adding "... And she always draws in a good crowd too. Plenty of tasty fans,"

As she spoke, Thorne crouched her legs, bringing her snout a short distance above Siren's head, which now had a good view of Thorne's exposed belly. Her metal claw subtly found its way to the rusty fur of Siren's waist. The razor claws were unexpectedly warm against the wolf's pelt, and a gentle but insistent pressure urged her in closer.

Siren put up token, playful resistance. "Why, Miss Throne! You're so very forward... Don't you know you oughta buy a girl dinner first," She batted her eyelashes at the dragon – utterly oblivious she was flirting with an incoming train. "Or at the very least, give her a kiss..?" With that she gave in and eagerly allowed herself to be drawn closer, already lost in those cold, electric blue eyes.

As the wolf leaned in, Thorne slid its claw down her waist, its steely grip cupping the curve of the wolf's ass, lifting her against the wall. Meanwhile, its other claw wove itself into her hair, and the dragon pulled Siren's head in for a kiss. It was brief, passionate, but behind those eyes, a cold, predatory intent lurked.

Pulling away all too soon, Thorne licked the first taste from her maw, a cruel grin spitting her lips.

"Yes, dinner sounds good,"

Her voice had taken a cold turn. Gone was the sweetness of a potential lover, replaced with the cruel rumble of a beast. Her tongue once again danced between her jaws, sliding up the side of Siren's face as Thorne went in for another taste.

Her stomach rumbled in agreement: It was time to eat.

Siren's excitement at being lifted and kissed soured quickly to an icy burst of fear when she heard Thorne's tone and demeanor change. The long tongue matting her fur, and the dragon's stomach rumbling hammered the point home.

There was no hiding it. Siren was really scared now.

Beneath the smell of sweat, beer, cigarettes, and the sandalwood of her fur she reeked of anxious fear – not quite terror. Not yet. Her ears tucked back and her tail slunk between her legs. She squirmed in Thorne’s grasp, holding her paws in front of her in a gesture of submission and surrender.

"Y-you know what, Miss Thorne I think my friends inside are looking for me I better go tell them I'm okay, p-please put me down now? Please?"

The sour taste of fear filled Thorne's mouth, a delightful accent to the taste of revelry. It drank the flavor in, watching its prey realize her predicament.

"I'm sure they'll be alright. I'll make sure they know where you went,"

There was no care in the statement. It was a threat, a promise of blood and death.

The claw around the back of Siren's head shifted, ivory blades digging into the scruff of her neck, drawing her closer to the dragon's sneering maw. As she squirmed, her outstretched paws made contact with Thorne's snout. Briefly trailing over the smooth, scaly hide, they were soon engulfed in humid air, the beast's jaws stretched wide, fangs glistening.

"No! No, no, no! Y-you can't eat me! I-I'm a predator too! And you'll get caught – someone, will hear me scream!" Excuses tumbled out of her mouth. This couldn't be happening, not now, not here, not to her. Maybe Thorne was messing with her? Or she would see reason? It couldn’t just mean to make a meal of her right in public?!

She whimpered. It seemed like that was exactly what the dragon meant to do. She was being handled like a weak, unruly pup and staring a long, slow, painful death right in the face. She wasn't some pup! And she wasn't going to die here, not as food for Thorne, or anyone else!

With a growl Siren twisted and snapped, doing her damnedest to sink her fangs into Thorne's claws securing her head. She thrashed violently and swiped her claws at the dragon's face, hoping to bloody her snout, maybe take out an eye if she was lucky. Anything to make Thorne drop her. Anything to get away.

Thorne felt its heart race as the wolf struggled in its claws. The lively squirming of fresh meat was drawing deep, feral instincts. She could hear it in her chest – not the lub-dub of flesh, but the steady, insistent whirring of an impeller, a subtle vibration like an engine revving.

Her meal wouldn't go down easy, she knew, and she relished the thrill of the fight.

"Little meal, I don't care if someone catches me. Scream all you-”

The wolf's claw struck the side of its snout with impressive force. Scales buckled under the blow, keratinous knives slipping between them into sensitive flesh, leaving a smear of Thorne's own blood across its face.

In reaction, Thorne lunged her jaws at the offending limb, fangs bared. She snapped, pulling and twisting, intent to tear and crush.

A victorious growl became a howl of agony as Thorne's fangs closed around Siren's left arm, sinking through fur and muscle with horrific ease.

Fuck! Those fangs were fucking huge.

The little werewolf was used to her regeneration taking the threat out of most attacks, but the dragon was too large, too powerful. There was a sickening series of cracks as the dragon twisted, and Siren felt bones in her forearm shatter.

She screamed again, clawing ineffectively at the dragons snout, desperate for release. One more good twist and her arm was coming off. She couldn't let that happen. If she could just get away, she would heal. She could heal from anything! But she didn't know if she could grow a new arm…

The wolf's howl ringing in her ears, Thorne continued to pull, straining as muscle and bone were wrenched apart, sinuous fibers of wolf meat falling limp as they were rent asunder.

Blood smeared her maw, glistening almost black in the dim light.

The last muscle fiber snapped, severing the arm completely. The dragon's head whipped back, carrying with it her bloody prize. She snapped once, twice, each time crushing the meat in her jaws, before her gullet engulfed the mangled limb, a small bulge now carried down her neck, disappearing behind her collarbone.

"Oh, yes, you are delicious," she crooned, "But all too easy to catch."

Wrenching her prey back by the scruff, she wound up, before throwing her body deeper into the alley. Silhouetted by the streetlights, the dragon spread her wings menacingly, slowly advancing. Her growl echoed in the alley, cruel and contemptuous. Siren crashed into the concrete with a whimper like a kicked dog, but there was no time to lick her wounds.

"Run, little wolf, give me something to hunt!"

Thorne was coming.

Thorne had torn her arm off, crushed it and eaten it in front of her. And now it wanted more. Icy cold adrenaline flooded her veins. The dragon advanced slowly. With reach like hers, those wings, that tail... There was no hope of getting past it. No hope of getting to the street, or back into Apex.

With limited options and her chances to escape wearing alarmingly thin, Siren scrambled to her feet – leaving a gory smear of blood from her stump of a left arm. She took off deeper the alley away from the dragon, taking turn after turn with reckless abandon, hoping to throw Thorne off the trail. Instinct told her to sink onto all fours and go as fast as she could. But she couldn't. Not with her missing limb. When she tried she just crashed into brick, leaving yet more bloody smears.

"Fuck! Fuck. Think Siren, think!" She growled to herself, stopping for a moment to desperately glance down different paths. This wasn't a plan of escape. Just a prey animal drive to avoid a predator – to put as much distance as possible between her and the dragon.

It wouldn't work. She had no chance of outrunning the larger predator, especially since Thorne could fly, and Siren was down a limb. She needed cover. She needed to stop the bleeding. She needed to hide. Somewhere too small for the dragon to enter comfortably? Somewhere crowded? Apex or another club might do.

Gods it was hard to think. Her missing arm ached. She couldn't stop thinking about it. Crushed and swallowed, boiling in the greedy dragons gut…

Thorne's eyes tracked the werewolf as she ran, watching her disappear around the corner of a building. The scent of iron and adrenaline still hung heavy in the air, sat heavy and rich on the dragon's tongue.

It licked its lips, smearing its maw in deep crimson. It savored the taste, letting its prey get a head start.

Casually, Thorne meandered after its quarry, step after deliberate step carried on heavy, wicked talons. Siren's trail was easy enough to follow, both in scent and by the glint of fresh blood.

Thorne let the minutes pass, giving its prey some short time to run and hide among the warehouses and factories of the industrial park in which Apex was situated, but not time to find help.

When it had been enough time, by Thorne's reckoning, it crouched low, and raised its wings, before pushing off as though to kick the world away. Debris and detritus kicked up in its wake as a ton of draconic flesh was carried skyward, its claws carving gouges in the concrete. Air beneath its wings, Thorne glided quietly through the night.

The tang of blood led the way, and it soon came to alight on a rooftop near where the scent was strongest. Cold blue eyes pierced the darkness, looking for any sign of the dragon's prey.

"Now, where did you go, my dinner?" It growled.

Siren ducked into the abandoned factory building, a dusty place full of ominously clinking chains, but she wasn't paying much attention. She had a fearful eye on the sky behind her her as she hid.

Many would've passed out or even bled to death after losing an arm so traumatically, but her werewolf regeneration was keeping her going. Thank gods for that – she'd not had any luck finding help, but she'd put some respectable distance between her and Thorne.

At least, where Thorne had been. Her blue scales and the night sky made it impossible to tell if she was hovering right above. It made Siren empathize uncomfortably with small animals being hunted by birds of prey. At least in here she was safe from being scooped up. There didn't seem to be any entrance large enough for Thorne to use easily.

Siren sunk down, back to the wall. Tears sprung to her eyes unbidden. She ran a paw through her hair, and felt the small scratches the dragons claws had left. This wasn't how this was supposed to go! She wasn't some easy preything to be torn up and gulped down! She was a wolf, dammit!

No. No time for that.

Now that she had a moment she had to tend to her stump of an arm. Siren cried and cursed as she tied her flannel around her arm, using her teeth and remaining paw. It was the best she should do in terms ofwound care for now. It seemed... Unlikely that that would grow back.

No time to grieve that now. Maybe she would end up with a prosthetic if she survived. But that just made her think of Thorne…

Meanwhile, high above…

An abandoned factory, some kind of metalworking plant. Of course. Plenty of tight spaces for its prey to hide in, Thorne thought, tracing the trail of blood.

Between the pipes and machinery, the trail wound into an abandoned building, passing through a door too small for Thorne’s large body to fit through.

It would have to make its own entrance, it decided. Pushing off once again, the dragon scanned the building. Spotting an old clerestory window on the factory roof, it made its move. Wings tucked, it sped toward the window.

At the last moment, it flared, pitching violently up to impact the window with its feet.

What remained of the decrepit glass shattered under the impact, heralding the dragon's arrival with a crystalline thunderclap. The crash echoed throughout the empty halls. Siren's ear shot up, fresh dread settling on her like a funeral shroud.

It landed on a catwalk, the rusted steel nearly buckling under the force, and tasted the air. The scent of blood was masked by the steel dust and the detritus of a manufacturing line decades abandoned.

While Thorne waited for its eyes to adjust to the darkness, it listened. As the clamor of its landing faded, it could hear a faint, howling cry. The whimpering of wounded prey - music to its ears. A pathetic elegy for a life not yet lost, contrasted against the distant bass of Skull Crushing Bite.

As the air hung still, Thorne began to prowl, stalking the catwalks ever closer to where she could hear the wolf's last cry. Again, her tongue danced along her bloodied canines, starving to get another taste of her prey.

Panic rose in Siren’s breast. It was Thorne! It had to be... She thought she had more time, thought it would be harder for the Dragon to track her, she thought…

It didn't matter now. She needed to get away. If Thorne was here, she wasn't in the dark skies outside. Siren could slip out of the factory building and take cover at Apex.

Did Duchess like her enough to save her? Either way she could at least get lost in the crowd... She just needed to get back there. She was a little lost, but surely her nose would lead her the right way once she got outside.

Siren stumbled to her feet, unsteady from pain and fear and blood loss. As quickly and quietly as she could manage, she picked her way through factory floor, through the dangling chains and rusted machinery. Just a bit further and she was out She could make it. She had to believe she could make it.

The jingling of chains alerted Thorne to its prey's movement.

Its head snapped to the source of the sound, gaze piercing the darkness, catching a glimpse of the wounded girl staggering to the door.

Again, its heart raced, pupils dilated, and muscles tensed. Catlike, the beast readied to pounce. A horrible screech of steel accompanied the leathery flap of wings, the catwalk giving out as the immense weight of the dragon pushed off.

The flight itself was deadly silent, with Thorne gliding down on still air. Its feet barreled into Siren's back, wicked talons carving through flesh as the werewolf was slammed to the ground, bones straining between the dragon's claw and the unforgiving cement of the floor. Siren’s scream was cut off as the dragon's weight forced her to the cold hard concrete floor and drove the air from her lungs.

"Such a shame, you were so close," the dragon growled. "That was clever, tricking me in here, only to double back. It almost worked. You're such a fun little plaything, I'm almost tempted to let you go again,"

Thorne ground its claw into Siren's shoulder, a cruel motion meant only to inflict pain.

"But I'd like to eat now."

All Siren could manage was a strangled cry as claws tore up the meat of her shoulder, tender flesh parted to expose the bone of her shoulder blade. Siren openly wept, unable to hide her trembling. This was it. She was really going to die, here, tonight. Thorne was going to kill her.

"N-no! P-please!"

She could only speak in choked gasps, unable to get a full breath, trapped between the dragon and the cement floor.

Thorne crouched over its prey, wings falling like azure curtains around the pair. It reached down, taking its weight off its foot for just long enough to pull the poor wolf free, flipping her on her back so she could look into its heartless eyes, cruelly staring back into her tear streaked face.

"T-Thorne, m-mercy, please! I-I'll do anything! A-anything you want!" She sobbed, scrambling against the floor "J-just... Please don't kill me…"

Thorne relished its prey's cries for mercy, the desperate whimpers foretelling the beginning of the end. The hunt was over, it was time for the kill. But something crossed its mind about this wolf – she was surprisingly tough. Maybe, Thorne could take advantage of that. Maybe, it could squeeze out a little more fun before its prey fully broke.

"Anything, you say? Then struggle. Fight. Scream. Show me the value of your life, and escape."

It promised nothing more than what was already offered. There was no bargain to be struck, just the law of predator and prey. Its jaws snapped in her face, splattering her fur with drool. It swung a claw, carving through cloth and flesh, catching on her necklace and tearing it free with a snap.

Siren couldn't help but obey, screaming as massive claws carved deep into her chest and spilled more of her vital fluid to the ground. She scrambled backwards on her three remaining limbs until she bumped into the living cage of the dragons wings, boxing her in.

The little wolf was dizzy, panting heavily, soaked in drool, sweat, a lot of her own blood, and a little bit of Thorne's as well. The dragon wanted to play with her?!? It didn't even have the decency to kill her quickly? Anger burned hot in Siren as she stood on shaky legs. She would make it regret that.

"I am not your toy!!" She growled.

Her own predatory experience was in overdrive, planning a way out. She wanted to tear through the dragon's wings and run, but she couldn't – not without turning her back on its claws and jaws. Even for a moment that would be fatal.

Her only hope was to injure Thorne enough to distract her. Siren just needed a moment so she could slip away. Eyes. Throat. Underbelly. Maybe that glowing heart. She could do this.

With a ferocious, desperate howl, Siren lunged. Nimble and quick, she dodged and feinted swipes at Thorne's underbelly, then leapt at her actual target. Her true goal was to sink her teeth as deep as she could into the dragon's neck. She wanted revenge, she wanted to live, She wanted to taste dragon flesh.

-

The scent of fresh was blood heady in the air, and Thorne reveled in the violence. Its body burned with heat, prey drive working her systems into overdrive, letting her full might come to the fore. Its stomach growled, the remains of Siren's arm sizzling and liquefying as the dragon's body ravenously seized any calories it could, leaving mangled, bloody bones.

Thorne growled as its prey lunged.

Yes! She still had fight left in her!

The dragon pulled its arm in, moving to defend its underbelly, before the wolf shot up, revealing her true target! Thorne twisted, caught off guard by the move. This was the prey it truly loved to hunt, prey so vibrant and full of the fury of life!

-

Sirens jaws spread wide, ready to snap, but, set off course by the last minute twist, missed, sinking into the dragon's shoulder.

-

Pricks of pain shot through its nerves as blood – crimson, burning hot ichor – oozed from the wound. It roared, a symphony of pain and exhilaration, its throat glowing baleful blue as its jaws unleashed a torrent of radiation to the sky.

Moments later, Thorne took the offensive, its metal claw whipping around to grab Siren from behind. It hoped to catch the wolf off guard, and this time, it would put her away for good.

-

Thorne's blood burned, blistering Siren's jaws and throat as she gulped it down. The pain was less important than how satisfying it was to hear the dragon roar in pain, to feel its scales give and to taste its sweet flesh and blood.

No time to revel in it. Siren knew she needed to stay mobile with a larger opponent. She was going to climb onto the dragons back, she'd be out of range of most of Thorne's reach and would be free to tear into neck, head, or wings. The thrill of the fight roared in her veins.

She was no one's toy. She was powerful, she was alive. She was a monster in her own right.

Her right claws dug into Throne as Siren prepared to hoist herself up, and her left claw…

Her left claw -

-

The wolf was attempting to climb it – attempting to get somewhere Thorne couldn't reach. Its mind raced, adjusting its body to cut off avenues of escape. Moving its jaw closer to threaten a bite. Twisting a wing to obstruct movement.

-

Her left claw was bones at the bottom of Thorne's belly.

Not used fighting down a limb, Siren moved on instinct, trying to use an arm that was no longer hers. She tried to correct herself, tried to pull herself up on her one good arm, but it was too late. Thorne's metal claw closed around her. Siren was caught, and at the dragon's mercy.

-

The feisty wolf faltered – an opportunity.

Thorne felt its claw sink into meat as it closed around Siren's back. It felt blood seeping over titanium blades, felt the clamorous pulse of her heart vibrating through her body. It felt prey.

It wrenched the wolf away from its body, tearing scales and flesh and teeth and blood in a spray of crimson and sky.

Its fleshy claw closed around her thigh. Its jaws opened wide.

It lifted the poor victim to its glistening maw – fitting her whole head and chest inside.

-

Siren screamed.

-

And bit down. Multiple tons of bite force drove dagger like fangs into flesh. Blood sprayed. Bones cracked. Organs ruptured. The taste of life, of terror, of adrenaline, all spilling over Thorne's tongue and down its throat. Exquisite.

-

Siren kept screaming until she felt fangs pierce a lung, then all she managed was a gurgled cough of blood onto Thorne's tongue. She tired to curse, to plead, to say anything at all. But the dragon's maw was too tight.

She felt her own bone and flesh give way. Her ribs went first, snapped like twigs so Thorne could chew at her soft innards. Something splintered in her shoulder, her remaining arm throbbing in pain. Her spine cracked, and her thrashing legs and tail went limb, sensation dulled but not totally gone.

Those where only the pains she could name. Everything hurt. Everything felt like it was broken or breaking. She was coming undone. It was overwhelming. It was hellish But she didn't pass out. Couldn't pass out. Her body wouldn't let her.

It would have been kinder if it did. But even now, on deaths door it was trying to repair itself. It was nowhere near enough to keep up with the destruction the dragon wrought. But it wouldn't just stop. It wouldn't just let her die. Siren wasn't very grateful for this. All she could do was stare down the throat in front of her in abject horror. The fleshy tunnel pulsed in anticipation of its meal. Of her.

Her broken arm couldn't slow her consumption. All she could do was whine and squirm and cry as she was swallowed alive.

Thorne relished the feeling of bones breaking in its jaws. Even more so, it delighted in its prey's continued consciousness – it had long since expected Siren to go into pain shock, to give up and slide meekly down its gullet.

Hearing the poor thing's scream choke out to a bloody gurgle, followed by incoherent words, a sadistic chuckle made its way up its throat, the deep rumble forcing oppressively hot, humid air over its victim. Its tongue danced over Siren's bloodied body, lapping up the little wolf's vital fluids, and snaking into tears in her flesh, drawing out tormented twitches as it tasted her guts.

The dragon's jaws opened again, and its tongue bucked, pushing Siren's head back into its gullet, face pressed intimately into that hungry passage.

Again, jaws slammed shut. Thorne's claws pulled, and its teeth fully cut through the werewolf's body. A gout of blood splattered across its snout, as a pair of legs was left hanging limply in its claws. Inside the dragon's maw, its tongue bucked again, forcing the Siren's mangled upper body fully into Thorne's gullet. The pressure was immense, the beast's muscular throat alone bound her body tight enough to prevent movement, only allowing her to slide deeper. Her ears filled with the sickening shlick-slop of the dragon's digestive tract, each sound an urgent demand to dissolve and digest.

Siren could only wail in despair as she felt Thorne bite clean through her thighs and sever her legs. Even that was more a moan than a wail, the fleshy tunnel constricted her so tight on all sides. It felt like it took hours for her to descend the throat – the hot, loud, wet darkness crushing down on her from all sides.

She could hear the excited whirring of Thorne's heart pulsing through the velvety muscles around her. There was no space for thought, no space for anything other than mewling and despair and hopeless wretched fear.

Finally, the tunnel ended. Siren's face was pressed against a flesh opening which gave way to deposit her in a more roomy organ, Thorne's stomach. She was deposited inside without ceremony, dropped on her face into a pool of chyme and beer. It was unbearably hot. The sounds of a busy, full stomach were louder than ever. The smell of acid and dissolving meat and alcohol assaulted Siren as she gasped a desperate breath. She hacked and coughed as she dragged herself upright on her broken arm to a curled up sitting position – or as close to one as she could manage with no legs.

"T-thorne... You...fucking...asshole!" She wheezed as she regained her breath, doing the best she could with a collapsed lung and broken ribs.

She wanted to punch and claw and chew her way out, as much to hurt Thorne as free herself, but she was exhausted. Everything hurt so badly. She just... Didn't have fight left.

While Siren slid gracelessly into its gut, Thorne dangled her severed legs over its jaws with bemused detachment. It dropped the bloody mass, chewing idly on the tender, still warm flesh of Siren's butt, wondering how she might have squirmed if she could still feel her legs. It flexed its jaws once, twice, each time feeling bones snap and break, while suckling on the sweet blood oozing from the fresh meat.

Meanwhile, its stomach clenched and churned, battering the poor wolf within. Its acids, already roiling from digesting her arm mere minutes before, readily ate into skin, blood, and tissue. Siren's cries seemed to soak into the stomach walls, absorbed like so much else before. To Thorne, her words were a muffled, incoherent mess, but the intent was clear.

Thorne paused its chewing, listening to its prey. No matter who, their cries always ended the same way, but they were amusing nonetheless. The little cut of meat was likely cursing it out, or demanding her life be respected. It opened its mouth partway to quip a witty reprisal, before remembering its mouth was still full of legs. It paused a moment, and a series of quick gulps sent the rest of the wolf's body tumbling down on top of her.

"I'd say I'm sorry," it growled, rubbing the faintly squirming bulge in its belly, "But I'm really not. That was the best hunt I've had in a long time."

Something rose in its throat, and for a moment, it hoped the little morsel might still have some fight left. Seconds later, its excitement faded, as a small “uurp” escaped its jaws.

It scanned the area one more time, eyes falling on a triplet of bullets glinting in the faint light – a necklace, it realized. It sat down, and reached to pick up the damaged accessory, working carefully to retie the cord it had snapped, before looping it through a belt loop. A nice little trophy, it thought.

Siren was on her last legs, and she knew it. She couldn't even argue that she wasn't food. She felt like food. She felt like meat. Her breathing was ragged and slow. Acids burned at every little wound on her body, peeling back fur and eating away flesh from bone. A pool of her own mostly digested flesh bubbled around her, the slop that became of her arm, the chewed up bits of her legs, and of course – her mangled core. For a regular person there would be a certain limit to the pain one can endure. Once the nerve endings are destroyed there is just no more pain the body can experience. Not so for the unfortunate little werewolf. As Thorne's body worked unconsciously to undo her, her body worked to fix the damage. It wouldn't save her life, but it would prolong her suffering. For how long? She didn't know. She didn't want to find out.

Siren pawed at the stomach walls with her only remaining limb, the strength to do any damage had long since left her.

"M-miss T-Thorne. P-p-please. Mercy... I... I give up. I can't... Take anymore..." She pressed her face into the dragon's flesh, desperate for even a crumb of warmth or acknowledgment. A pat. A response, even a cruel one. Anything. Anything. Anything to make her feel real. To feel like she's alive.

Was alive…

Thorne was, in a word, satisfied. Unbeknownst to it, the werewolf's regeneration was working to keep her from digestion, leaving the dragon's stomach far fuller than what it would normally feel from a single prey. It rubbed its belly contently as it relaxed in the post-adrenaline haze, feeling the lumpy form of its prey slowly round out into the softness of a well fed gut.

In time, it stood, forcing open a loading dock door to make its egress with ease. As it moved, it gave the barely conscious prey in its gut one final pat.

"Oh, you were delicious, little wolf. I'm gonna dream about our hunt for a while after you're gone. Maybe I'll see about some of those friends of yours…"

A final, bittersweet acknowledgment. As cruel as it was, Thorne felt a tiny pang of regret – not for what she had done, but for the fact it was over.

The dragon staggered out into the night, trying not to let the post-meal haze overtake it as the wolf’s still body sank into its gut. It fell into a wall, feeling the cold brick against its wing-shoulders. It reached down, caressing its belly with what could be mistaken for loving care. Under the small bulge the wolf made, she could feel Siren’s last movements. Though the wolf had since succumbed to her gut, its dying body still twitched involuntarily.

Thorne always found those motions delightful. Every single once-living thing, no matter what, always fought back in the end, and every time, the dragon’s gut triumphed. Muscles separated from bones, then fell apart into individual fibers, and finally broke down into a thick soup of proteins. Fat, once so soft and sensual on its victims bodies, sloughed off into rich, oily chyme. Nerves seared away, organs melted, and bones – bones were always the last to go. Most were shattered as her stomach muscles seized and clenched, twisting and snapping them into smaller, manageable chunks, acids softening and pitting them, attacking the savory marrow within.

As the minutes whiled into hours, her belly worked its grisly work, softening from a hard, taut, curve, into a soft pillow that jiggled as the dragon slapped it. She felt as her prey started draining into her intestines, little chunks of bone rubbing and prodding as they passed through her pyloric sphincter, as they dragged their way around peristaltic curves.

Her intestines were ravenous, seizing everything they could. Satisfaction welled up deep within Thorne’s body, and she felt her chest vibrate with a deep, almost purring rumble.

Patting her belly once more, the dragon stood. Maybe it could catch the end of Duchess’ concert.

---

Outside Apex, the tired party-goers slowly filed out of the venue. The night was late, and no one wanted to be caught alone after one of Duchess's concerts.

As Thorne reintegrated itself into the throng, it glanced down. A punk bunny girl was staring at the bullet necklace laced into its belt loop with horror in her eyes. She seemed familiar somehow. Her gaze traced up the dragon, meeting her still-bloodstained maw.

It took Thorne a moment before it remembered – The girl Siren had been flirting with! Thorne clenched her stomach, feeling something hard rise to the top. Her throat seized, pushing the artifact back into her maw.

Between her jaws, a wolf skull sat, its rictus grin framed for a brief moment between ivory knives.

Then, in one skull crushing bite, it was gone.