Nolan's eye twitched. "What's the problem, Lirazel?"
The succubus landed with a gust of warm air, wings flaring, panic stamped all over her face. She didn't answer him.
Instead, her tail flicked, her eyes glowing with urgency—and something else.
"Can we breed?" she blurted out.
Nolan's expression cracked into a grimace. "…No."
"But we have to," Lirazel insisted, stepping closer. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks slightly flushed, and her voice had that seductive, lilting tone that always made Nolan want to throw a chair through a wall.
"We really don't," Nolan said sharply.
She flared her wings again, circling him like a predator—and an overly affectionate one at that. "You're my Master. My anchor to this realm. You're a Mana Specialist, you're powerful—so, so powerful—and your genetic pool is simply screaming 'elite template!' Don't you want to preserve that? Cultivate the future? Our offspring could revolutionize dimensional affinity metrics!"
