Having a fine time. Not.

Of Samael, she’d yet to see anything since he’d left. Found him and lost him.

In the meantime, Deka was so bored. Those simple words were enough back home to get her tossed out of the mansion and told to run off some energy.

I need to do something, or I am gonna snap.

Thankfully, Jabba’s ugly twin brother, who bore a wisp of hair on top of his head but no teeth, came to fetch her.

Jabba Two jangled the cuffs in front of the bars and lisped, “Give me your hands.”

“And if I don’t?” she asked, tucking them behind her back.

“Then I use this.” He held up a bag. Not a very interesting bag.

“Is this like a bean bag toss game? Are you going to lob it at me and knock me out?”

“The powder inside will put you to sleep. I’d like that.” He leered and licked his blubbery lips.

While not her type, Jabba Two at least recognized her hotness; he just didn’t have permission to touch it.

Her nose tilted. “There are laws against that kind of thing.”

“Human laws don’t apply here.”

“My boyfriend is the jealous type. He’ll totally kick your ass if you touch me.” And she knew this because she would totally rip the eyes out of any woman’s head that dared the same. Then she’d tear off their arms and whack them. Or should she leave the eyes intact so they could see their own fists coming in for a slap?

The choices.

“Ahem. Your hands.”

How rude, interrupting her mental replay of the best way to avenge herself if jealous. “What if I don’t want to go visit your boss? Did it occur to you that I might be busy? Tell her to make an appointment.”

The big Jabba brother stared at her, slack-jawed. Put in his place for his impertinent behavior.

“You have to obey,” he exclaimed.

“Or what? I’m already enjoying the hospitality of your dungeon cell. You’ve ruined my hair. And since you took my purse, I can’t even fix my makeup.”

“The suzerain will flail you for your disobedience.”

“The suzerain needs to learn that the world doesn’t revolve around her. And on the topic of your boss, who is she?”

“Not someone to be trifled with.”

“Neither am I.”

“Says the woman in a cage.”

Hold on a second, did this doofus seriously just disparage her? “I am here by choice.”

“Sure, you are. You can’t get out.”

“I could so, if I wanted to.”

The smirk on his face claimed otherwise.

She sighed and stuck her hands through the bars.

“That’s a good girl. Maybe she won’t punish you too hard.” Jabba clipped the manacles around her wrists, and she yanked them back through then held an impatient foot still as he turned the key in the three sets of locks.

The door opened, and she stepped out before declaring, “I told you I could get out of this cage.”

He blinked. Probably in awe of her escape skills.

“But you’re my prisoner.” He pointed to the handcuffs.

She shook them and smiled. “Am I, Jabba Two? Or am I just letting you think I am?”

Poor man couldn’t follow her elegant logic. The line of drool probably a sign his brain was melting from her sheer greatness.

“Take me to your leader,” she declared with a toss of her head.

“Smirk while you can,” grumbled her second jailor. “You’ll be sobbing by the time she’s done with you.”

“You don’t know me very well if you think I’d cry.” Her lips curled into a smile that Babette had declared positively demonic. “Making people cry, though…” She bared some teeth. “I’m very good at that.”

The corpulent male, his size massive, was covered in a loose robe, the brown fabric coarse, and she wasn’t quite sure he walked on the floor so much as he slithered.

There was something oddly fascinating and, at the same time, horrifying about his appearance. Because there is something familiar about him.

Yet also perverted and grotesque. He made her skin crawl and her psychotic side—the one her mother told her to never bring out to play—twitch in agitation.

Not good. Whenever she let that twitch take over, listened to that sibilant whisper—Let me out!—it always led to mayhem.

Good times.

Forbidden times, she reminded herself.

Expensive, call-the-lawyers kinds of times.

Still…

If it were an emergency, surely mother would understand.

Mother maybe, Aunt Zahra? Tight-fisted boss lady had this thing about paying damages and the family reputation. She might actually cut Deka off one day, which was the only reason Deka didn’t unleash and kill Jabba Two.

More surprising than her restraint, though, was the fact that his stench didn’t make all her systems croak.

Apparently, he didn’t indulge in bathing like she and Samael were forced to.

Talk about being at a disadvantage. She peeked down at her dress and grimaced. How to improve upon the damp fabric and her scraggly hair?

She quickly improvised, asking questions as she ripped at her dress and tore off strips.

“How long have you been working for Suzie?” Deka asked.

“Who? I work for the suzerain and no one else.”

“Duh. I got that. For how long, though?” Really, did nobody understand things nowadays?

They’re doing it on purpose to be stupid, Mother. They really could use a slap. Can I give them one? Please.

A lack of an actual reply probably meant no.

Or is that yes… The walls could use some color.

“I’ve been with the suzerain since before the Roman Empire fell.”

“You’re like ancient,” she replied with a wrinkle of her nose. Her hands deftly adjusted her new midriff-baring top, tethered between her cleavage with a strip of cloth to give it a halter-top appearance. “Did you always look like one of those things cook picks out of our garden and then cooks in garlic butter?” Those plump snails also looked rather ugly when popped from their shells but tasted delicious once roasted.

Hmm. She eyeballed him.

Jabba Two didn’t notice. It was almost offensive.

“I didn’t always look like this.” The tone had a definite sadness to it. “But appearances don’t matter. I lived while others didn’t.”

“Others? You mean there were more like you?” And what exactly did that mean? Jabba Two and his brother certainly weren’t like anything she’d ever seen before.

Never even heard of, and her mother had taught her quite a bit about the world that existed beneath the human one.

“The exiled were few and yet many when forced to live apart. Over time, not all survived, and without outsiders to swell our ranks, our numbers dwindled.”

She finished tugging at her skirt and eyed him with curiosity. “Didn’t you have babies?” The first thing any species should do if faced with extinction was procreate. The dragons survived the human culling only because of strict breeding protocols.

They had to be careful because, without a Golden king to give them a helping nudge, dragons could only make dragons with each other. Humans, the most common other mate, produced sterile wyverns.

Not anymore. If Remiel began to bless those unions, then soon, the world would swim in dragons.

And then true hoarding and mayhem would begin.

Samael would be a part of that chaos. Anyone could see a wicked—ly sexy—ruler hid in that body. She planned to draw it out.

Jabba Two spoke lowly. “Infertility was a problem. Even longevity.” He stopped in front of a wooden door carved with flowers. “Until we discovered a dark path.”

“A dark path to where?” she asked. Discovering new places was her lady-boner moment. Some guys used cars. Some gals had shoes. Deka poked her nose in places she shouldn’t.

“It led us all into damnation.” The door swung open at his touch.

Given Jabba Two didn’t enter, she handed him the scraps left over from her dress as a tip. Kind of like the royal court used to give tokens to their champions.

Ye are my champion of smell.

Also information. A picture formed, one piece at least. As she discovered more parts, maybe she’d understand.

“This is nice,” she said with admiration as she entered the room. The halls she’d come through might have been plain; however, the lavish bedroom showed some comforts.

Plush white carpeting that her toes sank into. A marble fireplace, gleaming brightly with silver flames dancing in it. A divan, the single armrest displaying a furry gray pillow.

The pièce de résistance was the bed, a monstrous four-poster thing piled high with a mattress and pillows, the silver-stitched comforter plush and inviting.

“About time you upgraded my accommodations.” Deka fluffed her hair, which she’d bound into a messy bun atop her head.

“These are the suzerain’s quarters.”

“You mean Suzie is letting me have her room?” She clasped her hands. “Best evil kidnapper evah!”

“What? No. You misunderstand.”

She waved off Jabba Two as she entered the room. The table by the divan held a tray.

“Oooh. Snacks. But I don’t see any wine. Fetch a bottle from the cellar.”

“This isn’t for you. You are to stand here and wait for—”

Holding a half-eaten piece of cheese in front of her mouth, she interrupted him. “Yeah, you can stop talking now. I wait for no one, except our matriarch. Oh, and my mother.” Her brow furrowed. “And I guess my king, too. But that’s it, unless they’re super important.”

“I am more important than you.”

Despite his blobby face, he managed an indignant expression, and his complexion turned a rather interesting shade of orange. Once he reached red, would he be like a lobster, all done?

The piece of cheese didn’t survive. Nom nom. Another piece followed it while Jabba Two had a mini fit.

Since Aunt Yolanda taught them to ignore those beneath them, she kept nibbling. But, eventually, she couldn’t help herself. “Where’s the wine? I tried to let you have your moment there, but it’s interrupting my drinking time. Fetch it before I complain to Suzie about her lazy staff. Mother always says you gotta watch them like hawks. Except we can’t eat them if they’re slow.”

“I am not your servant,” he spat before walking—slithering?—away.

Deka sat in a chair and nibbled some more, the grapes providing some sustenance.

Could have really used some wine, though. Hopefully, Jabba would hurry back with it.

“Who told you to sit?” The voice came from behind her.

Interesting as she’d not heard anyone approach. “You may join me,” Deka offered quite graciously. Aunt Yolanda would be so proud.

“Your temerity is rather fascinating.”

“Your attempt at sounding tough isn’t.” Deka hid a yawn behind a hand, remembering her manners.

“You think this is a joke?”

She leaned back in her seat, but still didn’t crane to look.

Never give them an advantage. She could practically hear Aunt Waida in her ear. When you can, always assume a position of power.

Which, in many cases, meant making them come to you.

A swirl of smoky fabric drifted into her line of sight. It billowed in alternating directions without a breeze.

The strange, wispy cloak covered a slender frame that stood taller than she, but one not likely heavier.

The deep hood hid the face. Poor thing must be hideous. It brought out the compassion in Deka. “I know a good plastic surgeon if you need help.”

“Help? I don’t need help,” the feminine voice hissed.

“If you say so. I’ve got a guy who can get you paper bags if you’d like a break from the hood.”

“I don’t hide because of my face.”

“Says you. I’m going to assume you’re butt ugly.”

The slender fingers tugged back the hood, revealing fine features, a long, straight nose, full lips, and eyes that shone red.

Deka canted her head. “I don’t suppose you’re related to Rudolph.”

“Insolence,” Suzie yelled, those bright irises flaring.

Deka made a note: might be working for Santa. Good to know. She could use an in for some cool high-tech stuff.

“So, now that I’ve got you here, I need to file a complaint. A few actually. One, where is my luggage? I assume when your staff came to find me as a guest that they thought to bring along my things.”

Suzie blinked. She could have really used some mascara for those short lashes. It would totally make those red suckers pop.

“And where’s the wine? I am thirsty, dude. If you’re going to offer cheese and grapes, the wine”—she pointed to the almost empty tray—“needs to be imbibed with it.”

“That wasn’t for you.”

“Well, that’s rude. Here I am, letting you bask in my presence, and you can’t even provide an adequate snack. You suck at being a hostess. If you’d like, I can have Aunt Yolanda refer you to an etiquette instructor. You know, so you don’t faux pas.” Look at that. More French. Perhaps this second language thing wasn’t so hard after all.

“Enough.”

The word rang out with vibration, the two syllables striking her skin and freezing her. Holding her immobile.

The woman in the robe moved closer and crouched down. Staring into the red holes of the woman’s eyes, Deka noticed a swirling in them. An eternal loop, around and around.

Pretty.

“Answer me.”

“Sorry, were you talking?” Deka asked.

Suzie’s lips pursed. “How is it your impertinence keeps growing?”

“Mother says it’s a gift.” She smiled. “I’m also able to burp the alphabet, but I’m not supposed to brag about that one in public.”

“Who sent you?”

“Do you really think I take orders from anyone?” She sometimes took suggestions that paid off, but mostly Deka just wandered at will.

“I captured you, which means you’ve failed as a spy.”

“Failure is such a harsh word. And did it ever occur to you I just arrived?” She smiled. “You’ve yet to see what I can do.”

“Your optimism is going to be lovely to crush.”

“I am going to miss you when you’re gone.” As Deka carried on a conversation, she pushed at the compulsion holding her. It wasn’t the first time someone had tied her up—and failed to hold her. She wondered if the father she never knew had a touch of Houdini in him.

“Tell me why you were searching for Samael.” Suzie stood and paced, the robe snapping in a stiff breeze with her agitation.

“I thought Sammy skipped out on me. Which is totally uncool, especially considering the universe has made him my mate.”

That got Suzie to whip around. “Samael is unclaimed.”

“Because you stole him before I could take him.” There was no doubt the man would want her.

It’s fate.

“Samael isn’t for you.”

“Holy shit.” Understanding widened her eyes. “I get why you don’t want me to get with him. You have a crush on me.” She leaned forward, total compassion in her tone. “It’s okay. It happens a lot on account I’m so incredibly awesome and sexy. It’s a wonder anyone can move on after they’ve met me. Everyone else pales in comparison. But you’ll have to get over me because I belong to Samael.”

“I have no interest in you like that.”

“You keep telling yourself that. I’m sure in time you’ll believe it.”

Teeth gritted, and those eyes took on a strobing pulse. “Your insistence on Samael belonging to you is laughable. He barely knows you exist.”

Deka waved a hand. “Details. And again, your fault. You interrupted the natural progression of our courtship.”

“There will be no courtship. No mating with him either. Because you’ll be joining with me.”

“With you?” Deka tilted her head and pursed her lips. “Hate to break it to you, darling, but I don’t swing that way. I prefer some sausage for my bun, if you get what I mean.”

“Indeed, I do,” Suzie said, whirling enough to present her back. “I have to say,” she continued in a now low-timbered voice, “that I prefer to fuck rather than be fucked. The term driving you like a hammer comes to mind.”

The transformation proved so fluid that Deka had to blink to realize it had happened. But when she did… “Holy shit, you’re a hermie.”

“A what?” Said in a deep, masculine rumble.

“Hermaphrodite. You know, a person with guy and gal equipment. Totally, awesomely cool, which leads me to wonder, why do you need a boyfriend or girlfriend at all? I mean, aren’t you your own best friend? I’d rather date my BFF, which, in your case, means you could fuck yourself.” Her toned turned to hero-worshipping adoration. “It would be like the ultimate masturbation. Hot damn, you should get your own live feed channel. You could make a fortune doing it to yourself for a crowd.”

The man, tall and tanned, much broader of shoulder now and possessed of ruggedly handsome features stared at her.

Being stared at in awe by people was kind of powerfully cool. She smiled, accepted it graciously, but at the same time that fact that she stole people’s breath away made for one-sided conversations.

“You know you can speak to me,” Deka advised. “Don’t be shy. I know it can be intimidating meeting someone like me for the first time.”

“You seem to think you’re in control of the situation, and yet I”—an invisible hand clasped her by the hair and lifted her—“am the one actually holding the power.”

Having had her hair forcibly yanked and pulled growing up—and every time she got in a fight with any of her cousins since—Deka didn’t really react much. She dangled a few inches off the floor with her arms crossed.

“This is why you need etiquette lessons. This is not acceptable host behavior.”

The face leaned close to hers to hiss, “You will listen to me.”

Her nose wrinkled. “How about instead you find some mouthwash because Evil Kidnapper breath is preventable. And so is gingivitis.”

He flung her, and because she’d had plenty of practice, she landed on her feet.

Slowly, she turned, tucking stray hairs behind her ears. Smiled at him, making note of his sneer, then rushed him, headfirst. She made it two steps before he muttered, “Freeze.”

She stopped moving, one leg up and bent, arms outstretched. Freeze dance taken to the extreme.

He walked over to her. “Now who’s in charge, bitch?”

Through stiff lips, she managed to say, “Who’s suffering from little dick syndrome?”

She expected the slap, and thus braced for it. Before a second blow could land, a knock sounded. While her Wattpad story would describe it as ominous and full of portent, in reality, it was a quick flurry of taps.

Suzie—or should she now call him Hermie?—yelled, “What is it?”

“There is a problem in the dungeon.” The door opened, and the jailor entered. Slithered, rather.

“Short of it being swallowed by a rock worm, I highly doubt it’s urgent,” snapped Suzie.

“You need to come and deal with it.”

“I’m not done with the girl.”

“Play with her later. You need to handle the situation in the dungeon now.” Jabba One—recognizable by his less nasally voice—insisted.

Suzie scowled. “I do not understand your urgency. The prisoner is in his cell, is he not?”

“Yes.”

“And you put on his collar?”

“I did.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Jabba rumbled, “The dragon is rampaging.”

“And? He can’t escape.”

“That’s just it.” Jabba took a look at her and moved closer, lowering his voice.

Hello, she could still hear him just fine.

“He’s snapped the chain and cracked the walls.”

“What has him so agitated? I thought we’d finally broken him,” said Suzie/Herm.

“It appears as if the woman is the trigger.”

Ah, how cute. Samael was having a fit and, according to Jabba, a jealous one. She couldn’t help but smile.

Two pairs of eyes swiveled to look at her. She managed a tiny wave from her awkward pose.

“Grab the girl. I want to test your theory.”

How predictable. They were going to use her as bait.

She couldn’t wait for Samael to take it—ahem, her.