Reed woke up in a predicament that defied physics, biology, and the structural integrity of the human spine. He couldn't see the ceiling. He saw darkness. Specifically, he saw the inside of a Harpy's wing, which was draped over his face like a feathered sleep mask.
He tried to inhale and tasted feathers. He tried to move his legs but found them encased in concrete. No, not concrete. Stone. Terra was acting as the base of the pile, her massive granite legs locking him in place against her warm, magma-heated torso.
He tried to shift his left arm. It was pinned under a heavy, muscular coil of emerald scales. Seraphine had claimed his left side, her tail wound tight around his waist in a possessive constrictor knot. He tried to shift his right arm and felt a wet, rhythmic pulsing. Luma was puddle-sleeping on his bicep, her gelatinous form rising and falling with his pulse.
