Asena woke up to a racket. Someone was trying to break down the door, and they succeeded. Startled, she forgot she'd curled under the bed frame and sat up, only to bang her head on the slats under her bed.

The matron's round face peered at her before she grabbed Asena's ankle and pulled her out. In a mix of Romanian and English, the female fussed over the bump on her forehead.

After the lady ran off, Asena locked herself in the bathroom. She avoided everyone for an hour or so after she got up. She set her alarm earlier to avoid Papa. The silence of the twilight hour when everything except the early birds slept was bliss. She wandered about their kitchen and the woods, savoring those moments of solitude.

She brushed her teeth and had a shower before she left the sanctuary of the washroom. The distraught matron hurried to press an ice pack on the swelling and wailed about her 'ruining' her face.

Zane arrived with a doctor who applied an anti-inflammatory spray. The liquid chilled her skin. Yet again she came across the boar logo and the brand—Ursa-Lycos.

The matron instructed her to stay in her quarters until the afternoon. Then Zane bundled her in the Rolls Royce. Within, a black glass partition hid the driver.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To the airport to catch a flight to Paris."

"What?" she yelped. But then it occurred to her: why would an aristocrat come to her? The size of their egos rivaled the Everest.

Zane told her they were going to the Napoleon Gardens. He explained the humans had a location and a general with the same names. But they were unaware of the gory Shifter. Mentioning he was taboo in the Americas.

"That's a terrible venue," she grumbled. Again, she'd underestimated what today would bring. "Tea at a site of genocide? That's romantic."

In the medieval ages, the perdatorials—dragons, lycans, bearoids, and big felines—had terrorized herbvoid shifters. They proclaimed the latter lesser beings. The antelodians—moose, elk, and reindeer—had mounted a resistance. The clash, termed 'the Steppes Massacre', ended in a bloodbath. The Predators, led by Napoleon Rivs, won. The General showed the defeated weaker shifters no mercy. He also collected exotic flora with the same obsessive passion, until his assassination. After retiring, he'd created the largest glasshouse at the time.

Yet the mass defection and migration of herbvoid to the Americas enraged the Emperor. Why wouldn't they? In the New World, every shifter was equal and had the same rights. It also offered a greater degree of liberty within a societal structure. And they honored the non-occides directive.

Worried, Zane asked, "How do you—"

"Word of mouth. We," she pointed at him and then herself, "grew up with the grass eaters, no? They have their lore. You never befriended one?"

'Good save! Now shut up, nerd,' Moggie huffed.

Asena stared out of the window.

Europa was the wild, wild west. At home, the laws were ruthless. If one committed premeditated shiftercide, they forfeited their life. Duels were illegal, and challenges sanctioned and supervised. Legal help was available free of cost. The maxim of 'an eye for an eye' was literal. Maim another, suffer the same fate. There was no tolerance for violence. The breakdown of law and order resulted in individuals and the pack paying hefty remuneration.

"We can't change the past. Amends were made—" Zane said, patting her arm.

She shouldn't have said anything. Lying didn't come naturally to her, and she struggled to keep track of the web of fiction she'd woven. She hailed from an isolated tribe of the Savannas and shouldn't know so much about Europa's history.

'Pray Zane hasn't noticed your slip-up. Zip it.'

Asena gripped the arms of the cream leather upholstered seats.

"The Prince sent a plane. He is considerate."

"He is rich and—" Asena snapped, but Moggie interrupted her.

'Stop getting offended. You got this. It'll be a breeze... a silent breeze. As is, those are your factory settings.' Her beast mistook herself as a stand up comedian.

They landed in an airfield and two regal cars waited on the tarmac. They got into one. It had tinted windows too. An hour later, they'd reached their destination.

Asena stepped into a courtyard surrounded by pruned hedges. She hated the trees and bushes, trimmed into balls and spirals, at first sight. The smoothness, with not a leaf or stem out of line, was unnatural.

Past the stone-cobbled quadrangle, the Prince's sentinel directed them to a cottage. The colossal Victorian greenhouse of metal beams and Venetian glass dwarfed it. In the bedroom, she changed out of her jeans and sweatshirt. Kas curled her hair and did her makeup, which he termed 'naked, but dewy'. He refrained from applying liner and mascara, which caused her eyes to water and itch.

An intimidating guard barred Zane's way. "You will wait outside." He inserted himself between them to direct her. "Kindly follow me, my lady."

"I am the chaperon—"

Leather masks covered the staff's lower faces, from the bridges of their noses to their throats. Three had followed in the other vehicle with Kas. All of them were over seven feet tall. Asena suspected they were dragons, too. Most had gray irises, with webbing silver, and no whites.

The male ignored Zane and spoke to her. "There is no safer place in Europa other than the Imperial Palace. A peace accord was signed here. This conservatory is symbolic of mutual trust and good faith. You have no reason to fear for your safety here, my lady."

"I am here," Zane said with a helpless shrug.

"Thanks, Zane. You're my hero!" Asena taunted the useless agent and patted her ears peeking out of her hair. They always did so.

She suspected this outing might not present an opportunity to hack into the internet. Twirling her bangle, she walked through the grand entrance into the atrium.

In the center, on a raised platform, sat a gigantic telescope.

Her apprehensions evaporated. She climbed the marble stairs to the mammoth apparatus which was larger than the Hubble.

Immediately she spotted, this wasn't designed for Astro-Physics observational purposes. The circular base, encased in metal, had three touch screens.

'Is this, in geek speak, is state-of-the-art?' Moggie asked.

Her beast might not understand her work, but she took pride in Asena's career and success.

"Yup." She traced the surface of the biometric fingerprint reader. Within lay the solution to all her problems. She was so close yet far from accessing the Europa Shifter Union network. Through it, she could search for Vic in their database.

Within the smooth seams, the humming servers connected to an optic fiber line called to her. The auto-play program tracked predetermined trajectories. And it collected data from... she counted five orbiting objects. But which ones? she wondered. They were not weather, communication, television satellites, or space junk.

'So, Europa had eyes in the sky too—'

"Shush." Asena bent to study a series of images flashing on a screen. They reminded her of her first project, out of uni. The Americas had already initiated the rudimentary iteration of 'The Oracle'. It prevented any imaging of their settlements. She'd created the patch to link it to Odin's staff, a seamless transition that never glitched. Then she'd worked on Wall-E, the hoover that cleared the debris around Medusa. The latter jammed their internal transmissions, preventing humans from discovering the shifters' presence.

The static cursor on the third display blinked before lines of code appeared. She bit her lip. Something was transmitting, but from where? And what?

She tried to analyze the rapidly scrolling data dump.

Asena frowned. The symbols were familiar but they weren't related to her speciality. She was a tiny cog in a vast machine that hid Shifters from humans. But Jasper had developed a similar intuitive—

"My lady?"

Asena squeaked as the heavy voice broke her concentration. Her spine arched and hackles rose as she spun around.

Hidden by the massive foliage, stood a male, leaning against the wall. She had no clue for how long he'd been observing her.

The Prince straightened and sauntered towards her. He was huge, and rather wide, especially his shoulders and chest. He paused by the steps and held out a hand.

From her vantage point, she ended up looking down at him. Indifferent to most males, he left her stupefied. Even Moggie peeked out to observe him.

'Ohhhh,' she meowed. 'Lookie at that damn jaw. The photograph did him a grave injustice. Huba huba huba. Change of plans. We will have fun during this date, capish?'

The flesh over Asena's back side and thigh that formed the tail in beast form swished. She concentrated on shutting Moggie out. Who knew her beast had the morals of an alley cat? She didn't, until this moment.

'Go ahead, judge me for admiring him. He is—'

"My lady?" the Prince prodded. 

Despite the exaggerated politeness of the soft query, Asena sensed it was a veneer. In response, she almost spat out she was no lady. Instead, she avoided his outstretched hand by clasping the wrought iron banister. Once she stepped off the raised dais, she studied his shiny shoes.

Undeterred, he lifted her wrist to kiss her knuckles. The warmth of breath and his soft yet hot lips gave her goosebumps. She stretched her neck to examine him. He was really tall. His easy smile did little to soothe her wariness as he loomed over her, standing too close for comfort.

"I take it you've been appraised of who I am. You may call me Drach. After all, that is my name." 

He had a clipped British accent. But it could be Scottish or Irish. It was foreign to her ears. 

"I have been rather eager to meet you, and discover who you are."

"Asena." Her reply came out as a chirp. Embarrassed, she cleared her throat.

"I see you found the Gotta. Though impressive, the scope is a relic. Napoleon used it to track the stars. Now, we use it to survey the earth, not the skies."

She detected a hint of condescending superiority in his simplistic explanation.

'He thinks we're ignorant,' Moggie snarled.

Unable to explain her interest in the equipment, Asena preferred that. Best he didn't suspect she understood any of this. After all, she claimed to hail from a backward, nomadic tribe.

The Prince,  in a waistcoat, dress pants, and matching jacket, looked dapper. He skipped a tie and the top two buttons of his collared white shirt were undone. In comparison, she was underdressed for the occasion.

He took her elbow to lead her to another section where the cloying humidity enveloped her in a warm embrace.

Tropical bushes and ferns, even blooms of all shapes, sizes, and hues filled the observatory. She only recognized orchids, monsteras, and birds of paradise. Vines climbed the glass panes and wooden beams to the high domed roof, towards the sun. By the fountain, a table, two chairs, and side tables set the stage. Ornate candelabra with lit candles illuminated the spot.

'This is out of a movie. Color me impressed,' Moggie snickered.

The Prince slipped off his jacket. He folded it neatly and draped it on the backrest of a chair. Asena did too even as hidden vents hissed, spaying a fine cooling mist on the plants.

Grateful for the sleeveless v-neck vest, in the same cotton fabric, she sat down when he pulled a chair out for her.

"Would you care for a drink?" He waved at the bottles on the trolly, fancier than the metal one that delivered meals on wheels in her pack.

The movement of his muscles under the fitted shirt fascinated her. Then he undid the cuffs and rolled his sleeves up, revealing swiney forearms. She never imagined that part of a male could be this distracting. Veins formed raised rivulets and trailed over the sculpted brawn. Even the dusting of black fuzz...

The Prince covered his mouth with a fist to emit a polite but fake cough. She wrenched her gaze away from his torso to focus on his face. The smirk stretching his thin lips made her scowl.

"I don't drink..." she stuttered, and specified, "alcohol." The most adventurous brew she imbibed, watered-down catnip, put her to sleep.

"A poor jest, but how about a glass of milk instead?"

"Ha! Ha!" she scoffed, resigned to a lifetime of cat jokes, and this was the least original.

'I'll forgive him. He is yummy!' Moggie purred. If she could, she would've licked her chops. 'Try to enjoy yourself and his highness' presence. It's only tea.'

His gentile sophistication also reinforced his entitlement. He had the right combination of genetics, status, and wealth that set him apart. In contrast, she was unremarkable and went about unnoticed.

He squeezed fresh pomegranate and berries into a cocktail shaker but held off the citrus. She watched him throw in a twig of catnip and push a chunk of watermelon on the rim of a crystal tumbler. Once he poured the concoction, he set it in front of her.

Like the rest of him, his hands were rather large.

He sat opposite her and sipped the amber liquid with smoking ice. "Why do I get the impression you're uncomfortable, my lady?" His red pupils, mere slits, spilled into his black irises like molten lava.

"All this is unexpected, to say the least." Asena wished she had Vic's innate confidence. Papa had warned her she lacked social skills, which didn't bode well. But she rarely needed to interact with unfamiliar individuals or make small talk.

"Don't look away. Your eyes—"

Surprised, she met his hypnotic gaze. Once she did, she lost her wits.

With a diffident smile, he said, "I'm driven to unravel the secrets they contain. I am not flattering you, only stating facts."

Her cheeks heated up. She would've found him attractive if she wasn't petrified.

He seemed comfortable waiting and watching her. She wanted to respond with a smart clap-back, like he was chaos, wrapped in talons, fangs, and scales. Despite his GQ-worthy gentleman's attire, he reeked of raw power. The feral creature hiding within seeped out through his pores.

When his scrutiny became unbearable, she said, "So it's only my eyes?" She sounded disappointed, not sassy.

"We're strangers." His tone softened. "I am seeking a companion too and would like to know you better. I won't unless we both say what we're thinking. There are no right or wrong answers. The truth is, they caught my attention. I am aware there is more to you than your obvious beauty."

"Like?"

He smirked. "You have an understated style, simple yet elegant. Nothing about you is gauche. Trust me, taste is rarer than hen's teeth amongst our kind."

If he said she was different, she'd throw up. Males thought that was a compliment. Everyone had their own identity and personality but it was also natural to conform or want to belong. Yet outliers existed. Worse, the stereotypes became a one-size-fits-all description of most species.

"I'll pass the feedback to Eros' stylist." For some unfathomable reason, she snubbed him. "I am a sloppy dresser."

He chuckled. "We're well matched then. I am not much of a dresser at all."

That blase statement evoked an image she wasn't prepared to handle. "I am not much of a conversationalist, either."

"Nor am I, under normal circumstances. But this is an exceptional situation. Tell me, how did you hurt yourself?"

His gaze settled on the faded bruise.

"An accident."

"Eros has an unsavory reputation. If you feel coerced— "

"I fell."

"Are you being treated fairly?"

"So far," she murmured.

He huffed but did not press the issue. "So am I to assume you're terrified of me and expect the worst based on the tales about us dragons."

She forced herself to reply. "Kinda."

"I assure you I am harmless."

Asena snorted. When she realized she'd vocalized her disbelief, she turned pink.

She blamed Moggie for embarrassing her.

The Prince's rumbling laughter resembled a landslide or thunder in the distance. "You are also astute." His guttural voice ought to be harsh, but it managed to convey tenderness. "But then you refused to visit our lair. Sensible, but you've wounded us." He laid a palm on his heart and his playful grin revealed his sharp canines. "Of all the myths about us, one is true. We don't relinquish what we deem precious. Attor wishes I inform you he's adjudged your person invaluable."

With that, it got awkward real fast.

***

Non-occides: do not kill your kind.

***

So, as far as first dates go, did Drach make an impression?

Or will Asena stick to her guns?

Also, now do you feel you know the real Asena a bit better?