Page 16 of Come Out & Prey

DD: Mattie and I are going in the morning. Should I send pics while I try things on?

DuchessofDirt: Of course!

FaithfulHeir: We have to critique the dresses.

BeanQueen: Every. Single. One. DD.

SmackbookPrincess: We can’t have you showing up looking like you don’t belong. It’s your big night.

I frown. Why are they so obsessed with talking about Todd and me having sex on prom night? Letting my animal emerge is a big deal in our society, but my friends are acting creepy as hell. I don’t get it.

DD: Well, I need to get downstairs for dinner before Lucille screams. Talk later?

BeanQueen: Yep!

SmackbookPrincess: Call me!

DuchessofDirt: Don’t let them make you grovel!

FaithfulHeir: Don’t be dramatic, DD. Text us later.

Sitting my phone on my bed, I rub my hands over my face. I don’t know what I’d do without my friends, but sometimes, they are a bit much.

Lately...it’s felt that way all the time.

The Bitch Is Back

“You heard what I said,Henrietta. Call your counterpart at that useless school and explain the situation. I expect you to follow my instructions to the letter or there will be consequences.”

The headmistress at Apex is a bald eagle shifter, and I’ve considered simply eating the stupid featherhead at least a dozen times over the years. The Council controls all schools—worldwide—and we strive to place teachers who will encourage our philosophy of ruthless domination over the prey animals.

However, we typically have to choose smaller predators as our administration puppets to prevent any uprising in the academic community. We specifically choose outcasts, ancient retirees, and those we can keep under our thumb via various blackmail schemes as the staff and professors at the various schools. The administration answers to the Council, but the Council answers to the Society.

As the Rostoff family representative in the Society, I know the last thing we need is some bleeding heart young pred convincingour heirs to sympathize with the plight of the downtrodden cousins.

Pathetic. I can’t fathom anyone empathizing with the weaker species, but revolutions have started with less.

My family taught me loose ends always unravel, so I don’t give them the chance to form. Bruno is less concerned with the bigger picture; he leaves that to me. His strength is in brute force and dealing with the bloodier side of my reign as the head of the Society. I maintain the more delicate relationships with the member families, negotiate the deals that fund our efforts, and help keep the darker side of our roster in the shadows.

The Khan empire and my father’s operation in Europe and Asia remain feared, but their illegal activities stay concealed under my watch. They launder all the money that comes from their death matches, blackmail, trafficking, gambling, and theft through dozens of layers of shell corporations before it reaches the Society’s coffers.

It’s not the life I dreamed of as a girl, but it’s better than ending up on the auction block as a child like my less cooperative sisters. Dmitri Rostoff is not a forgiving man, and I molded myself in his image to escape that fate.

Delores would do well to learn by my example and follow her parents’ command, but she prefers to defy me at every turn. Bruno’s threat about Bloodstone is far more generous than what my father offered my sisters. She should be grateful that death is an option.

When that birdbrain finally takes a breath, I growl into the phone. “Make it happen, Henrietta. I don’t know what my rebellious spawn is planning for that night, but she will learnthat she doesn’t get to cross Lucille Natalia Rostoff. This is Delores’ come to Zeus moment, and I’m eager to see her face when she finds out that I’ve ruined her perfect little night.”

I look at my glass, scowling as I realize that it’s empty. “Matilda! Where are you, you useless tweety bird?”

The twitchy shifter comes barreling in, her thick glasses askew and wisps of hair flying out of the tight bun she’s required to wear. I swear, if Delores hadn’t pointed out that hiring a more suitably attractive assistant might draw attention from my own sumptuous appearance, I would have sent the hawk packing once my spawn reached an age where she could reliably feed herself.

“My glass is empty.”

Her eyes widen—appropriate since that’s one of my finite rules—and she nearly trips on the endangered snow fox carpet as she hurries to rectify her idiocy.

Once I can sip the ice cold vodka again, I watch as my useless servant positions herself at the ready near the fireplace. I suspect Delores’ bumbling behavior and incapability of merely following orders has to come from their long-term relationship, but I can’t prove it. Matilda’s as spineless as preds come, and no matter how hard I step on my progeny’s neck to teach her obedience, her ex-nanny never opens her beak to complain.

Perhaps my daughter needs a firmer hand to make her realize she willnevereclipse me—not in beauty, not in power, nor in the Society.

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