Drakkar turned his head to Franka. “And you?” She lifted a fluttering hand to her wide, garish expanse of cleavage. “Me?” she drawled. Drakkar turned his whole body to face his cousin. Facing her, he said softly, “I know you fancy yourself a cat who isn’t content unless she’s got herself a mouse to play with, but do not mistake me for a mouse, Franka. A mouse cannot yank a cat’s throat out with his fist.”
