Page 29 of Come Out & Prey

Todd stumbles over, holding out a bottle of Bacardi, and I shake my head. He pouts, but I don’t relent. I can’t get smashed—not with all of them barely able to walk. Someone has to be sober enough to get us from this monstrosity to the tables at the prom, and to be honest, I’d like to be the onenotbarfing on the way home—even if getting drunk would help me numb the pain of disappointment burning in my gut.

“DD, don’t be such a stick in the mud,” Purple calls, expertly swinging around the pole like she’s done it a million times.

That figures. Her innocent, big eyed little girl act for her family’s commercials has always been an act, but I don’t think I realized until now just how much acting she did. She’s definitely dancing like she’s looking for a quick bang, and that’s completely contrary to her public persona.

If only the faithful could see her now…

I shake my head to clear it. It won’t help to push my anger at the situation into her. I’m not a slut shamer, and I firmly believe that women should be able to do whatever they choose with their bodies. Our world takes enough control away from us—particularly the Council heirs—and I won’t allow my self-pity to make me a judgmental asshole.

Except we all promised to wait together.

Maybe the Heathers have been waiting until tonight to express their desires.. If that’s the case, then I feel both guilty, and a little sad. They never told me they were feeling tied down by our pact, and I would never have held them back if they wanted to choose their own path.

Shit. Now I feel like an asshole. Way to be a feminist, Delores.

You hogtied your friends to some stubborn vengeance plot against your parents. They couldn’t say no to it without upsetting you. Some ‘body positive’ feminist you are. You’re as bad as the stupid adults ruling our lives like petty dictators at a chessboard.

I open my mouth to apologize when the bus slams to a stop. One of the Heathers tumbles off the pole and to the ground and my head whips around to glare at the driver. The badger at the wheel grunts, pulling out a flask and taking a large pull from it before he wipes his mouth on his sleeve.

Gross. Drunk driving a stripper bus to a prom—there’s a life goal for you.

Closing my eyes, I call upon every ounce of patience and strength I possess as I stomp over to the pile of bodies and grab Todd’s arm. He leers at me drunkenly, and I brace myself so I can yank him out of the tangle of limbs, pulling with all of my might. When he finally stands, I hook his arm around my shoulders and trudge to the front of the bus. We take the stairs at a glacial pace, and I don’t wait for the others as I lead him to the small golf cart waiting to escort us from the main admissions building of Apex to the Arts and Humanities Center.

Once I situate the drunken oaf in the backseat of the golf cart, I climb in carefully, pulling up the bottom of my dress so it won’t touch the floor. I have no idea how many people have been in this before we arrived or what state they were in. Underage drinking is common in the elite tiers of shifter society, and there’s a decent chance there are students even more wasted than my companions already at the prom. They won’t provideliquor to attendees, but they won’t stop anyone who’s imbibed from entering, either, because of who our parents are.

The scenery flies by as the driver tears across the lush grass and hills between the two buildings. He’s short, with beady eyes and a slight frame that makes me think he’s probably a smaller reptile or bird. It’d be rude to ask, but if he licks his lips at me one more time, I might heave despite being sober. I’ve never understood why men seem to get a pass to be legit creepers—even to younger shifters like me—and if I complained, someone would suggest it’s my fault for wearing clothing that shows an inch of my skin.

I'm thankful that I found my future spouse early, so I didn't have to go through the meat market some elite girls have to go through to find their mates. Tonight, I’m going to solidify my dreams, even if the circumstances are not as perfect as I imagined. After all, real life is rarely perfect, and the lack of fairy tale romance I envisioned for this evening doesn’t mean I’m wrong about Todd. It simply means I will need to figure out how to steer him away from his idiot friends once we get to Apex, so that he makes better decisions.

With that determined thought, I feel the golf cart stop and the Shirdal Arts Center sprawls before me. I wait until the other couples exit before I climb out and start maneuvering my boyfriend off the bench seat. He loops his arm around my shoulder and I sigh, half-dragging him towards the steps. It takes another five minutes to get him up the stone staircase, and though part of me wants to punch them all, I'm also relieved when I catch the shrill tones of Pink shouting into her phone from the golf cart pulling in behind us. She’s probably recording an arrival video for her multi-platform empire because she’sincapable of blowing her nose without using it to beg her followers to buy her line of shitty sex toys.

Did I forget to mention her sleazy father not only made his underage pred daughter the face of their media empire, but also the spokes model for their lingerie and ‘personal care’ lines?

I probably didn’t, because it’s creeped me out since we were freshman in high school and she started making videos about things I would never discuss with Bruno and Lucille. Their relationship is the ultimate full body shudder embodied in a dysfunctional corporation masquerading as a family.

The shrieking stops, and I turn my head, finding Gold looking as if she’s ready to bite my face off for leaving them, and I’m in no mood for it. “Let’s go, baby,” I murmur, propelling my boyfriend to stumble inside with me.

Todd mutters something unintelligible and I sigh as we get checked in at the door. If we make it through dinner with no further incidents, I might even get this shitshow back on track. I just need to keep the rest of them from peer pressuring him, and we’re golden.

“DD! DD!”

I look away from the Heathers holding court on the other side of our table to see Todd—now semi-recovered from his stupor—grinning like a madman and shouting my name. His boyish good looks make my heart soften a little, and I give him a fond smile. “Hey. Why do you look like the pred that cornered the prey?”

His grin is blinding, and I immediately forgive all the bullshit he’s put me through tonight. I may have seen less of him this year with our classes diverging at SS, and the constant demands of our families’ social schedule, but Todd may well be the reason I didn’t lose it a long time ago.

It’d be really judgmental of me to not give him the same latitude he’s always shown me. Maybe he just got caught up with his buddies and things spiraled before he realized what was happening. It’s not like he’d everpurposefullyhurt me by ruining our special night, right?

“Babe. Babe.Guesswhat I did!” He puffs up, his eyes still hazy from the booze.

“What did you do?” I reply, putting my chin in my hands as I lean forward to look up at him. Chad, Chaz, and Brett come running up, and I roll my eyes. Athena, save me with these morons.

“I spiked the punch!” Todd crows, holding up a rather large flask he’s pulled out of gods knows where.

“Bullshit, dickhead!Ispiked the punch,” Brett growls, narrowing his eyes at my boyfriend combatively.

“No,wedid!” Chad and Chaz shout, stepping closer.

Sitting up slowly, I rub my temples. Are they so goddess blessed stupid that all four boys separately spiked the giant trough of punch that every pred in here is gulping down like water? They can’t all be that brainless—for the love of Dionysus, they just can’t.

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