Moggie's manic hacking, as if she was about to vomit, informed Asena her beast was kidding.

But Zane's claws and fangs emerged before he saw Duma, and snarled, "Of course, it had to be you. Ever heard of knocking? At the very least, your date went well, boy."

Duma, clutching a bag, hung his head, a mark of his subservience.

Zane stood up. "I expect marked improvements in your speech. You're making a fool of yourself and us." He locked her jewelry in the drawer and handed Asena the key. "You're participating in the viewing, yes?"

She nodded.

He glared at both of them. "Never had I dealt with a pair of dunces searching for love on their terms in the same batch."

Duma shrank as Zane exited Asena's room.

"Zane, thank you." She lifted the chain around her throat. "Please have this removed. Accepting it doesn't sit right with me."

He paused and faced her. "We'll do it tomorrow. Now let me procure a tolerable mate for you. Now, it's a matter of pride. I am a matchmaker, not a shifter trafficker."

"You're protecting an investment."

"It's already paid off dividends." Zane's deadpan quip matched hers and he winked. "Bet Bebi wouldn't employ that phrase, would she? You understood the word; the others wouldn't."

"Ugh, go away."

Zane wasn't done. "Oh, Asena, the raised eyebrows, maintaining prolonged eye contact, and pinning us with a patronizing stare are interpreted as unsaid challenges. Flutter your eyelashes; copy this dun-dum or peep under them like Bebi. Or not. Just stop glaring at everyone in your line of sight."

She did nothing of that sort.

'You do so all the time. It's coz Papa and Vic aren't here to defend you. And you can't hide behind work anymore.' Moggie, the traitor, sided with Zane.

Wide-eyed, Duma stared at them. After the agent departed, he pouted. "Zane sweet to you?" A wounded pup, he was unable to comprehend that someone didn't adore him, like Bebi and the twins. His artless enthusiasm and eagerness won hearts. She would've, in normal circumstances, found him irritating. Yet they'd met on another continent, after surviving a similar long, arduous journey, and he had comforted her when she broke down.

She massaged her sore wrist. "No. Zane's an ass."

Duma yelped, "You go on a date too? He do this? Bad. Reject male." He stared at her discolored throat.

Asena put up her sweatshirt's hood before tucking the pendant in.

"It was scary." Especially when lust led her astray. Resisting the lure of the animal instincts was, in Europa's pompous lingo, 'nigh impossible'.

Asena's mouth watered when she caught the tantalizing aromas of vanilla and nutmeg wafting from the tin box.

"Duma go to cafe, bring Asena tastiest cake on planet Gia."

Touched by his sweet gesture, she took one. "This is an eclair, not cake." After taking a bite, she said, "So, is he as yummy as these?"

He blushed.

Well, the nosh must've been exceptional. She finished the pastry in three bites. "This... amazing." She licked her sticky finger.

The new world shifters that morphed into animals couldn't eat chocolate. Or large amounts of sugar and salt. At worst, it killed them. At best, it poisoned them. Her kind, the chimeric version, could digest anything.

"What happ—"

"Don't ruin this moment." She picked up the glass bowl of tiramisu. The shop had packed a small metal spoon. She dug in with gusto. The private chefs and fancy bakeries sure knew their craft.

"Who upset you? Tell Duma. Duma remove his head from neck."

Asena pushed out her lower lip to blow her curls out of her eyes. "It was a beautiful venue, with delicious food. He showered me with amazing gifts but is very much a spider. It was a 'Will you walk into my parlor?' said the Spider to the Fly. 'Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy. The way into my parlor is up a winding stair. And I have many curious things to shew when you are there,' scenario. Moggie is too smart to fall for that trap."

She felt lighter after venting, though Duma looked at her like she'd lost her marbles.

"Duma meet a lord," he said and hesitated. "He nice."

"Good for Duma."

His habit of referring to himself in the third person was funny. He'd inserted himself in her affairs maybe because he was lonely. He'd decided she was his friend; she had no say whatsoever. Even if Moggie tolerated him and wasn't suspicious of him, they couldn't confide in him.

Asena perched on the windowsill when Duma collapsed on her bed and yawned.

"Duma, you have your reasons for doing this—"

She gazed at the deep scars encircling his wrists and the lesions from a lashing on his back. Only silver caused such disfiguration on shifters' skin. He had been tortured, which is why he'd migrated to Europa.

"But here is some unsolicited advice. If you have fine tastes, reach a position to afford them. You should learn a skill or a few; study so you find employment. Earn and save every month. Don't be blinded by the glamor of all a mate can provide. Remember, when his generosity dries out, you'll have to stand on your own two feet."

This was a watered-down 'talk' Papa gave her. Some elements were their Alpha's speech for younglings about to hit puberty.

"There is more to you and me. We're a sum total of the choices made when life doesn't oblige us. Sure, you might snag a decent partner who cares for you, and takes care of you. But the dynamics will remain skewed in their favor. So you tilt them in your favor if your existence doesn't revolve around him, and if you aren't dependent on his generosity. Both parties should have equal footing."

If not, it was all about power.

"What if they get bored of you? Or you of them? Or they discard you for another? Fuck, what if they're nasty to you? Can you split and manage on your own? Prepare for the worse-case scenarios." This was her papa's favorite adage. "For now, pick up a hobby and a high school diploma."

"Asena has hobby?" asked a perplexed Duma, but he had grasped some aspects of her rant.

"She does!" She cheered up. "Give me textured paper, charcoal sticks, or oil pastels. Spray fixative. Acid-free tissue sheets. These fingers are a virtuoso that create magic and music with soot and crayons, or reliable sources claim."

Once she aspired to become a painter. Papa encouraged her, but in her teens declared she had to fund the supplies herself. She had, by taking shifts tending to the pack's vegetable gardens. After spending hours on her pieces, she sold a few, but couldn't justify the expenses. Then she took her first computer class and discovered the internet. The rest was history.

'You aren't cut out to be a starving artist or gifted at other mediums.'

Asena had developed another pastime to punish her critics, namely Moggie.

"Or give me a war drum and some earplugs. I promise Bebi won't sleep a wink." She played them to spite Papa; her only act of rebellion as a tween. They'd compromised; she did her share of the chores while he permitted the racket. And when she drummed, Moggie shut down their mental connection and disappeared. It was nice to occasionally not have a snarky grimalkin inside her skull.

'Traitor! Imagine how it is for me. You think in Python and C++,' Moggie hissed.

Duma scowled. "Asena reject spider?"

"Asena reject spider," she parroted.

"Is why Zane angry?"

"Zane can suck an egg. The date is prince charming... almost everything a girl can dream of, but handsome is who handsome does. Money doesn't maketh a man. And he ordered me to grow my hair."

Duma pouted. "Asena's hair is nice. It is... her," he said slowly, choosing his words.

She gave him a 'thumbs up'. "You said it, Duma, and you said it flawlessly."

After he left, she polished off the tarts. The bistro 'Manna' did justice to its name.

After the resident physician documented her bruises, Zane claimed the photographs legitimized her reluctance to see Drach Nassau again. And he sent her to a counselor. They were all scheduled for a session, but she'd avoided it.

In the office a pale male, who hailed from Europa waited for her. She scented fox and an odd odor.

'Muddled blood,' Moggie spat out.

He displayed the indications of inbred stock—a weak chin and jawline, nonexistent upper lip, hook nose, and watery, faded blue irises. Worse, he reeked of malcontent.

He sneered at her, indicating it was beneath him to interact with her. "Zane handled your intake and was subsequently assigned to your case." He frowned. "I disagree with his assessment and strongly recommend you change your stance. You're wasting your time and ours."

"Why? So Eros earns a bigger commission? Or are you after credit for milking a fat-cat client for all they're worth? That file is missing the list of expenses. What is Eros' hospitality worth? As I owe Eros jack, what's the point you're trying and failing to make?"

Looking for a fight, she provoked him, which was unlike her.

"To me, it's obvious you are not an ideal candidate, which sheds doubts on Zane's assessment of your viability. It's also been reported you're unhappy here. A majority are until they discover what they're gaining. If you reject your current proposal, adjust your expectations, and select tier five."

Victoria elected that too.

'But why?' Moggie pondered.

"No." Though she loved Vic, Asena wouldn't stoop to such extremes.

He tossed a sheet at her; a document approving her for the viewing. "This is a mistake. It exposes you to our wealthiest clients. In the process, your ties to us become public knowledge. No males of good standing will consider you as a potential mate and you'll end up a breeder."

"So holding out for a patient and compatible spouse is asking for the moon, eh?"

"Respect the offer you've received. You won't receive a better deal."

His inherent superiority grated on her nerves. She scoffed. How could she entertain the idea of a sexual relationship with someone whose touch burned her? But that wasn't a concern, not according to the so-called counselor's cynical gaze.

"You'd trade wealth and status, for what? Scrubbing dirty dishes or lavatories instead of silks, furs, jewels, and—" He turned purple.

Asena didn't kick every, rather, any dog that barked at her. But this inbred mutt deserved a kick or a few in the ribs.

"You're a virgin, which is your greatest asset. It's in your med—"

"And how's that relevant?" She was seeing red.

"Has it occurred to you that your inexperience is causing you to overreact? A royal, especially a draca, is a golden opportunity—"

Offended, Asena growled, "I was almost barbecued alive. This is about self-preservation. Your counsel will lead me to my death. Or the burns unit. So, with all politeness, fuck off."

Asena didn't get mad. The few instances she had were when Papa or Vic teased her without mercy about silly things she'd said or done. But she was on fire today.

"You're playing a dangerous game; worse you don't know the rules—"

Asena had heard him out and said her piece. She left and wandered around the corridors until she calmed down. In the empty common room, and sank onto the rug by the lit fireplace in an exhausted stupor.

She'd spoken more in a day than she did in months and it took a toll until she stumbled upon the perfect distraction.

The flickering flames fascinated her, but she couldn't venture too close to them. She traced the scar on her palm, reminding herself of a lesson she had learned as a kitten. Certain forces of nature couldn't be controlled or tamed. She had no desire to have a face-off with an untamable, inflammable beast. Despite the self destructive decisions that defined the last twenty four months, she wasn't far gone enough to harbor suicidal tendencies.

Maybe she was paranoid...

'Given our situation, for good reason,' Moggie mumbled. 'Did you get the feeling the counselor seems desperate that we accept the dragon. Why?'

Asena did and it made no sense. Nowadays little did.

**

So, do you think Duma's found love? And should Asena give the Prince a chance?

**