“Magdala stole Anton from me,” Asherton grumbled.
“I didn’t steal him!” Magdala protested. “He chose me.”
“He doesn’t even like you!”
Afraid she might snap and wring Asherton’s neck, Magdala let out a growl of frustration, spun on her heel, and marched into the washroom, proclaiming over her shoulder, “This is a madhouse!”
“Where do you think you’re going, Miss Devney?” Zephyr barked.
Magdala froze in the doorway, her teeth on edge, and turned slowly toward him. “It’s a washroom, Zephyr. Do you think I’m going in here to read a book and have a spot of tea?”
Zephyr reddened and, feeling smug, Magdala slammed the door. She walked to the chamber pot and sat down. Her stomach was cramping, and when she drew down her pants, she noticed a flash of red on her undergarments. Magdala put her hand to her forehead and groaned.
That’s why the horrid beast had nestled up to her in the night. It could smell blood. Disgusting.
She’d already stashed her sanitary rags in the washroom vanity, so she prepared herself for a difficult day. When she opened the door, she jumped back with a scream.
Anton lay across the threshold, a sprawl of leg-like brown roots and arm-ish leaves.
“Get it away from me.” It came out more as a threat than an order.
Freshly dressed in a loose linen shirt and canvas pants, his night clothes discarded in a heap, Asherton crossed his arms. “He’s yours now. He likes you.”
“He only likes me because I smell like blood.”
Zephyr grimaced, but Asherton wrinkled his brow. “Why do you smell like blood?”
Magdala boiled over. “Because the red lady is visiting me.”
“What in Roz’s nest does that mean?”
“Oh, I have failed,” Zephyr said, casting his eyes heavenward. “It’s her time of the month, Asherton.”
The prince looked both wary and nervous at the same time. “What time of the month?”
Magdala ran her tongue over her teeth. “I don’t want to explain this to you. You’re a grown man.”
Asherton lifted his hands, palms up. “Who lives on a remote island with an eight-hundred-year-old bachelor!”
Zephyr stepped gingerly around Anton, who snapped at his ankles. He patted Magdala’s arm as he passed her. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I swear, I tried with him.”
“Help,” Magdala mouthed.
With an apologetic smile, Zephyr said, “Oh, you don’t need me.” He left the room, clicking the door shut behind him.
Magdala scooped up Anton, who nuzzled against her affectionately, stormed across the room, and crammed him into Asherton’s arms. “Every month, women bleed for aweek,” she explained sharply. “Or, if you’re me, a few days more than a week.”
Asherton’s eyes widened. “Oh.” He stared at her uncomfortably. “Does it hurt?”
“YES!” Magdala snapped. “It hurts a great deal.”
“And does it … affect your mood?”
“NO!” Magdala barked. “Not at all!”
“Ah.” He set Anton on the nightstand and scratched the back of his head. “Look at it this way—if Anton really has imprinted on you, then that means he won’t eat you.”
“Horrah,” Magdala said flatly. “Now, I need camfe. I have a raging headache. Come on.”
