Page 55 of In Prey We Trust

I did my best to shut down like Fitz does and give her nothing but a blank wall, even when she probed into my emergence and near-death experience at the Vom Prom. Truthfully, I’m neither hurt nor angry at my old life anymore. The way it happened damaged me, but finding out where I stood was more valuable than any other lesson before it. If I’d come out a weak pred, I might have stayed with my sexually incompetent ex and treacherous friends for a long, miserable life.

But Rockland doesn’t need to know any of that. I’m not on board with my likeness being used for her personal profit, no matter how she justifies it.

My reticence aggravated her eventually, though, and she made tea, sitting a mug of what she called ‘healing herbs’ next to me with a fake smile. Unfortunately for the conniving vulture, the Heathers taught me not to accept drinks from people I don’t know unless they’re sealed or prepared where I can see every step. Using my phone, I texted the guys to get her out of the office. It says a lot that no one even asked why.

Once she excused herself to check on the fire alarm that suddenly started buzzing, I poured the tea into my empty water bottle and gathered my things. I figured Aubrey would know who to send this to in D.C. He took a position working at the National Library one day a week while we’re at Cappie to get us access to its archives and files. I knew he’d probably met someone who could analyze this to see what the hell this woman tried to drug me with.

It’d be fucking great if people would quit trying to poison, maim, assault, or kill me for a day.

Her absence made it easy to scurry out without her knowing and I headed home with Bowser on heels. He left me groaning about my homework load, off to see Raina and their gaze. I, however, went inside and barely had time to eat and finish my work before I fell asleep at the table. When I woke up again, it was to my alarm this morning and a flurry of texts in the group chat letting me know where everyone would be today.

Which brings me to the class I’m currently tuning out while I think about all the damn shit I have to deal with between now and Sunday night. Professor Kamara Rakoto is lithe and vicious looking in her pinstriped suit and Edna Mode glasses. I’ve only had one another class with her, but I can tell she’s a big cat and that she takes her subject matter very seriously. She expects the students to as well, but her teaching methods don’t make it easy. International Diplomacy should be pretty interesting, but so far she’s had us outlining chapters and memorizing by-laws. It’s as dry as can be and as tired as I am, I’m struggling to focus.

I almost cry with joy when a message pops up on my tablet.

Ru-Ru: How’s your day so far, Dollybear? Coco and I are ready to rock your first Game!

Coco: Rufus had the best idea. You’re gonna love it.

Dolly: Ugh, if I make it to Saturday. This class is gonna kill me.

Ru-Ru: Diplomacy? But it’s a blast. You debate and argue; I love that shit.

Dolly: Not in my class. We’ve done nothing but take notes and outline for two days.

Coco: What the hell? Professor Rakoto is pretty popular as far as we’ve heard. No one would like her if that’s how it always goes.

Dolly: Great. Lucky me. Somehow, I got the pod person version of the cool teacher.

Ru-Ru: We’ll look into it, Queen D. If there’s a story, I’ll sniff it out.

Coco: Are you free to do your hair tonight? We can come over for bitch, bleach, and bad movies.

Dolly: Definitely. I have to get it done before the match. Felix is supposed to go out with me afterwards.

Ru-Ru: Uh… are you sure that’s a good plan? I mean, the Games are… feral. It gets preds all sexy and sweaty and ready to fuck.

Coco: That’s why it’s a good idea, Ru-Ru!

Dolly: I probably should have remembered what Fitz did, huh? Way to be naive, Dolly.

Ru-Ru: At least now you’ll be motivated to win by something other than your bitch mother.

I’m about to snark back when a loud roar echoes in the room. My head flies up and I see the boring professor with angry golden eyes I recognize even from this distance. Holy shit, Rakoto is a tiger. Does that mean…? Swallowing hard, I watch her prowl from the front of the room to my desk where she glares a hole in my head. I click the screen of my tablet off, then turn to look up at her with a sheepish expression. Even if I’m not a fan of her method of getting my attention, I have to try not to piss off every teacher I have.

“Miss Drew. I know you have a different expectation of classroom behavior since you attended that other school last year, so I’ll give you this one chance to redeem yourself.” Her red lips curve over pointed incisors as she looks at me. “You’ll write five pages on the original treaty of Bloodstone Isle and have it in my email by Sunday at 11:59 p.m. Otherwise, I’ll write you up.”

Is this woman kidding me? How the hell am I supposed to get that done along with all my other homework and the first pred Games match?

Gritting my teeth, I nod and mutter a ‘thank you’ loud enough for her to hear before ducking my head again. We didn’t find anything suspicious on this woman in our background checks, but no one mentioned her being a goddamn tiger, either. I mean, I’m pretty sure there are some tiger ambushes across the world who don’t belong to the Raj, but it’s not many and I doubt someone from one would be working at this university.

No, Kamara Rakoto was placed here for a reason long ago and now she’ll be the perfect asset for the twins’ father.

Frustration floods me and I almost bang my head on the desk. This whole ‘chaos in a bottle’ attack shit is fucking up my entire life and I’m getting sick of it. I stare at my tablet for a minute, then I open the outline for the boring ass shit she’s teaching. My lack of focus is gone—it’s been replaced by anger and determination. The minute this stupid class is over, I’m heading to Rennie’s Shakespeare class where I know he’ll let me work on whatever the hell I please. I’ll get her stupid punishment done today and then rip someone’s freaking head off at PG practice.

That idea makes me grin and I pick up my e-Pencil, scribbling notes about the Canine-Feline Declaration of 1909.

This bunny always feels better when she has a plan.

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