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Movement from behind—a strong arm wrapped around me, crushing my knife hand in its powerful grip until it dropped away.

That the asshole was there at all was more than alarming. That there was enough of them to cover contingencies meant gang . That they hadn’t already knifed me indicated their intent?—

My bulky clothes now worked against me as I struggled. I had another knife, but the arm holding me was like iron, clamping my own to my side. The one who’d tracked me reached to pull my hood down, and yanked the scarf and goggles off my head.

Strands of the hair I’d pinned back fell free. From the darkness of his own hood, I saw him grin.

“You make a prettier bitch than Drolgok,” he said.

My gut clenched. If I didn’t come up with something good, I’d end up in their damned harem. I went for the ultimate discouraging tactic. “I have GADs.”

“So do I,” growled the one holding me.

That was likely untrue, because I’d sensed the tremor in his arm. Genital Atrophy Disease, the latest sexually transmitted plague brought to us from the cosmos, was very contagious. All bodily fluids carried it…

Nothing male wanted the word atrophy associated with genitals .

I snapped my teeth, and he flinched, confirming my suspicions. He pulled back enough that I was able to belt him in the knee with the heel of my foot, which further loosened his hold.

I clenched my other hand, and the second spring-loaded knife shot into it. A millisecond later, I’d buried that blade into the bicep of strong-arm guy.

He yelped and released me, yanking my second knife away with his arm. The first guy made a grab for me, and I spun, my foot slamming into the side of his head. The heavy boot threw off my aim, but it was still enough to make him stagger.

I turned to bolt out of the alley before the rest of the gang could arrive.

Instead, I skidded to a halt. The rest of the gang wouldn’t be arriving.

Because others had.

They strode side by side into the alley as if they owned the world, and they moved like no human ever could—a smooth kinda swagger. The tops of their hooded heads hovered at least two feet above my own. Which was two feet too many…

Crap. The resident overlords. Tall, dark, and loathsome.

The cloak lifted off the biggest one’s back, pushing the fabric up and out as the massive wings beneath it spread. I caught a glimpse of the long, whippy tail below the hem. It thrashed like an angry cat’s. Then my gaze dropped to his feet?—

They were typical feet, ample with long toes tipped in short talons. But—were they really clad in Birkenstocks ?

Orange Birkenstocks?

My mind grasped it and dismissed it almost as swiftly. As I backed away, I was dimly aware of the two gang guys departing in a hurry. My own flight was hampered by an enormous, rusty garbage bin. It forced me to face the oncoming Drakes rather than turn tail and bolt.

A totally inappropriate curse echoed through my head. I was so screwed.

With my hood down, scarf gone, and hair loose around my head, there was no mistaking me for a Drolgok, or now that was out the window, a male human. And of the many possible reasons that few females still walked the streets, Drakes were at the top of the list.

The cloaks did not disguise that the one on the left was a true behemoth. It wasn’t only his wings that made him appear large, his broad shoulders pushed against the confines of the cloak. The other moved less like a grizzly bear, and more like a stalking lion.

“Nothing to see here, folks,” I said, hoping a little humor would distract them enough to stop them from doing—what?

The lion-ish one cocked his head beneath his concealing hood. “It did not look like a nothing. And what is a ‘folks’?”

He rumbled the consonants and rolled the vowels in typical Drake-heavily-accented-English, but it wasn’t as garbled as I was used to deciphering.

This guy had put some effort into learning the language.

The bass tone reverberated through my body and caused an odd warmth to spread…

I’d like to say I was pissing myself, but the reality was somewhat different.

No way I could be turned on by this. These guys were the effing enemy . My confusion further hampered my feet, which needed to be moving, like, twenty seconds ago.

“Folks,” I repeated. “Slang for people .”

Grizzly-like guy said something in their native language, a series of rumbly musical up and down words, among which I thought I caught “Drolgok”. I understood enough Drakonian to get by, but my brain seemed as frozen as the rest of me.

My guess was verified a moment later when lion-ish guy stated, “You—you dress like a Drolgok.”

I swallowed and went for it. “Didn’t think there were rules against bad taste.”

“Why are you wearing a tail?” Grizzly asked. If anything, his voice was even deeper.

“I liked yours so much I wanted one of my own.” Okay, flippant wasn’t a good idea, but it was all I had.

Lion bent to retrieve my scarf from the ground. Then he raised it to his nose, and inhaled . Long, and hard, as if I’d drenched it in the finest of perfumes.

My knees went weak. What the … I stopped myself just in time. Why did I find that hotter than hell? Dammit, I needed to get the hell out of here. But before I’d taken one step, Lion raised a free hand to lower his hood.

He wasn’t Tazier clan.

It was my first thought, based not on the unfamiliar facial tattoo, but on the red-gold hair and features that were handsome rather than carved from glass.

His eyes weren’t obsidian, either.

Many humans spoke of the power of the Drake stare, enough to tell me that I should never match gazes with them. But it all went out the window when eyes far more emerald than I’d ever seen before ensnared me in their glittering power.

It was like getting hit by lightning. That look zinged clear through to my soul, and I trembled with the power of it. I was unable to move, or even breathe.

My body might be frozen, but my mind recorded details as only my highly visual artist’s brain could.

There was nothing dark about this guy. Golden brows framed that incredible gaze, and they contrasted with the red-gold hair that flowed around it—it had to be longer than my own, but most of it was tied back in an elaborate knot.

His features were so perfect that I itched to draw him—arched brows, high cheekbones, a square jaw, an aristocratic nose, and sculpted lips.

His ears came to points and were encased in metal with dragons etched over the gleaming surface.

Freezing me with a look was one thing, but I hadn’t expected the heat pulsing through me. Along with the insane compulsion to kneel before him.

No effing way was I doing that. Something deep within me rebelled, and I raised my chin. It was reassuring to know that I had some small ability to resist him.

His brows dropped, just a little, shadowing his most remarkable feature—those eyes. They mesmerized me—such a pure, intense color. As I met his scrutiny, he inhaled again, harder and longer, and the pupils shrank to vertical slits, before they expanded, almost swallowing the green.

Gorgeous Drake eyes.

Where did that thought come from? My self-preservation instincts insisted that they possessed the piercing regard of a predator. The enemy, Jaz. They are the enemy. The very ones you want to run from…

At some point, my dazed and dim-witted self backed rather uselessly against the rusty bin, where I stood trapped with my heart thundering in my ears.

I didn’t recognize the rampant tattoo that ran from one corner of his eye and along the top of his cheekbone.

An alien bird of prey, and it wasn’t the tribal tatt of the Taziers, resident overlords of this human city.

The Drake to his right also lowered his hood. Still compelled, I couldn’t look away from Lion guy, but I was struck by the impression of russet hair and a face with distinct similarities to the first. Somewhat more rugged, and less sculpted.

His voice rumbled when he pointed to my eartag. “That not official.”

The words sent a pulse of terror straight through me.

No. No, it wasn’t. All females were supposed to be eartagged when they reached their 21st birthday.

I was two months beyond it and had so far escaped the procedure.

Even my brother hadn’t realized that the metal encasing my ear was put there by me, not by the Drolgok regulators.

But these guys knew . How? The fake metal eartag had cost me an arm and a leg.

I needed to get out of here.

Still locked in the emerald stare, I was desperate for a distraction. Arms. I could move them—I pulled the fruit from my cloak pocket and tossed it roughly in Grizzly’s direction

“Carrot?” I asked .

I’d hoped for him to have to bend for it, and even better, for green eyes to look away from me, giving me a possible moment to escape. But his long arm shot out to snatch the fruit from the air. His eyes lit right up—and out of the corner of mine, I caught a glimpse of sapphire blue.

He then proved that he had at least a rudimentary knowledge of Earthling produce by commenting in English, “Banana, admirable.”

He peeled it and popped the whole thing in his mouth. Great. I’d fed him. Did that mean he and his friend would let me go?

Smacking noisily, Grizzly leaned closer to Lion, and muttered, “Rhodes—he will be displeased.” Spoken in their native tongue, but this time I understood him. It was almost as though he were worried about something—but what could a Drake possibly be concerned about?

The incredible green eyes on his companion narrowed. Then he glanced toward the speaker?—

His hold on me broke, so I rolled around the corner of the garbage bin and bolted. Straight up the alley, into the darkness, and toward gang territory.

But my traitorous boot caught on an errant bit of debris, and pitched me into more of it. My cloak flared upward, carrying my fake tail with it, and exposing my legging-wrapped ass cheek for just an instant…

Something slammed into it, the merest kiss of piercing pain. I scrambled to my feet, skidded around the corner, and ran for all I was worth.

A mile of twisted alleys later, I stopped. Slid my fingers down my butt and felt a hole in my leggings.

My fingers came away dotted with blood…