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My face flamed as Maisie cleared her throat and he moved to stand beside me instead. He dipped a cotton swab into alcohol and wiped away the blood. It stung, and his fingers were shaking.

The injector Wally used to numb the area also stung, particularly as he seemed reluctant to touch me in order to brace it. I kept my eyes closed as he worked. A few minutes, no more, passed before he lifted the ancient cell regenerator he’d set on the desk beside me, and pressed it to my skin.

“All done.” One trembling hand smoothed the skin over the wound.

“I suggest you stop fondling her ass,” Maisie said through gritted teeth.

The hand rapidly withdrew. When I slid off the desk and yanked up my leggings, I deduced that his face was as red as my own. Maybe a little sweatier, though.

His voice was hoarse as he stated, “The disruptor will last about three months and then need to be replaced.” I noticed he was studiously avoiding looking at his wife.

“Thanks, Wally,” I said.

As Maisie led me out of his office, she muttered something about old men and young skin. But her expression as she glanced to me was as much amused as pissed off.

I raised my hood again as Maisie opened the door to the parlor itself, where an intricately inked man of indeterminate age wielded his tattoo machine over a somewhat greasy looking human.

“Hey,” the artist raised the machine off his client’s skin, his rather plain but well-enhanced face lighting up. “Do you have something for me?”

He set the machine aside and came to us. Once the door was closed, I lowered my hood again, and pulled the cardboard roll out from the inner pocket of my cloak.

When he extracted the paper from it, his breath caught. “These are epic , Mini.”

He had one of my depictions running along one forearm. The drawings he unrolled were also of my favorite muse—dragons. In full, rampaging flight. I earned a little money on the side by creating the art for tatts, and his appreciation always boosted my spirits.

“This one done in indigo and red would really pop.” He glanced at Maisie. “Can we take both?”

Maisie nodded and, as the artist went back to his work, I asked, “Do you have pictures of all the clan tattoos?”

Her brow twitched. “Of course.”

I knew she’d have them, as human ganglords often tried to ingratiate themselves with their overlords by having clan tatts placed on their own skin.

Maisie took me back through to the foyer, and into the small room just off it.

The tables lining one wall were covered with opened books filled with tatt art.

She selected a glossy one and slid it across the smooth surface to me.

I flipped through it. The Drake clan tatts featured creatures and designs from across the cosmos, most of which were unfamiliar to me. But the one I’d seen was pretty distinctive. And deep into the book, I found it.

I tapped at the image, and Maisie’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

I nodded. The text beneath it said “Raptor Clan”.

“Maybe they were just visiting?” Even though we were alone, Maisie was whispering.

“Could be,” I agreed. The clans regularly visited each other’s territories to take advantage of shopping or recreation.

As I followed her back to the front office, she added, “I didn’t even think there were any Raptors left.”

I frowned. “Were they the ones wiped out by the Nirzks?”

Maisie nodded. “Yes. They used to be one of the most powerful clans, until that big battle a few months ago. I guess some survived.” She ran her fingers over the tatt art. “But coming here and tagging females would land them in very hot water.”

The knot inside me relaxed, ever so slightly.

If the Raptor Drakes were infringing on Tazier territory, they might have slipped up by tagging me.

It would be stupid—Drakes had taboos about killing each other, but that didn’t mean that the local clan wouldn’t toss the Raptors in their equivalent of jail.

Despite the taboo, rumors were that the jails didn’t stay full for long. No one seemed to know what happened to those incarcerated.

My thoughts returned to those Drakes in the alley. They’d possessed a slightly furtive air to them. Why were they here?

“They wouldn’t have been scouting, would they?” I asked.

“Scouting?” She cast me a long look. “Like, for a challenge?”

“It’s possible.” I’d been to the last local one, where the Taziers had taken over Winnipeg from the previous overlords.

The challenges were the Drakes’ supposed solution to interspecies violence.

If one clan wanted to take over the territory of another, they staged a series of arranged competitions.

Maisie’s mouth twisted. “I don’t think there are enough Raptors around to stage a challenge.

” She looked uneasy, as well she might. When the Taziers had taken over from the previous clan, the streets became far more than just dangerous—they’d been deadly for months afterward, as the gangs scrambled to position themselves under the new leadership.

When the challenge had started, I’d been fourteen, and my father still alive.

Two weeks after the Taziers took over, my father was dead. Which left me broken and my half-brother in charge of our business.

My life since had its perks as well as general disasters, although it was hard to top nearly being nabbed for a gang harem and getting tagged in my ass by a Drake all in one evening.

“It’s getting dark out there,” Maisie led me to the safe behind the front counter, and paid me for the drawings. “You’d better get yourself home.”

I put the money in the belt around my waist. It wasn’t nearly as much as I’d just laid out for the disruptor, but that seemed to sum up my life events, lately.

“Thanks, Maisie,” I replied, and nodded to the scar-faced hulk as I passed by. I pulled my hood tight, readjusted my disguise, and headed out the door. But as I moved along the street, a seven-foot, emerald-eyed form danced through my mind…