Page 30 of Bound to the Dorm Elf
Normal, apparently, means strangers pressing against you without consent, sloshing drinks on the floor, and laughing too loudly at nothing.
The walls are plastered with banners bearing the letters of one of their strange human clans — fraternity, Skylar called it. The floor is sticky underfoot, beer-slick in places. I shift my weight to avoid the worst patches, cataloging every exit, every piece of furniture that could serve as a weapon if it came to it.
We’re moving through the press of bodies when a hand snakes toward my head.
I feel it before I see it — the shift in air, the faint brush against my hair. My hair is mine. Not a trinket. Not a novelty.
I pivot sharply, catching the offender mid-reach. A young male, cheeks flushed from drink, grinning with the confidence of someone who’s never been punished for anything in his life.
“Whoa,” he slurs, “is this, like… dyed, or?—”
The glamour shudders. It’s not a conscious choice — my control slips for the barest heartbeat, and the world sees me. Seesit.
The human’s eyes widen as obsidian skin replaces the illusion, runes glinting faintly in the low light. His smile dies. The drink in his hand tilts dangerously, spilling a ribbon of pale liquid down his shirt.
“What the—” He stumbles back into another body, knocking both of them into the couch behind him.
I clamp down on the glamour so fast my teeth ache, the human facade slamming back into place.
Skylar’s there in an instant, slipping between us with the ease of someone who’s defused trouble before. Her hand brushes my arm — not quite holding me back, but grounding me enough to keep my focus from shattering again.
“He’s fine,” she tells the drunk, her voice sharp enough to cut. “You’re drunk, and you’re lucky he didn’t deck you.”
The man blinks, unsure if he should argue. I lean just enough into his space that he can smell the warning in my breath. He opts for retreat, disappearing into the crowd.
Skylar exhales, glancing up at me. “You okay?”
I nod once, though my pulse still hums with the urge to end anyone who touches me uninvited. “I will endure.”
She tilts her head, studying me like she’s trying to read the part I’m not saying. Then she just sighs and tugs me toward the far corner, away from the thickest of the crowd.
The noise follows, of course — the bass still punches through my chest like the beat of a war drum — but at least here I can plant my back against a wall and see the entire room.
Syndee appears, two cups in hand, grinning like this chaos is her natural habitat. “You guys are no fun. Loosen up!”
Skylar mutters something about “not wanting to get thrown out” while I keep my gaze sweeping over the shifting bodies. The humans here are loud, careless, and blissfully unaware of the dangers that slip through their world wearing human faces.
I know better.
And judging by the flicker of satisfaction in my chest when Skylar keeps close enough that our shoulders brush, maybe I’m starting to knowwhyI endure this noise and heat at all.
The kitchen is mercifully quieter — though quieter here still means the bass is a dull, constant thump bleeding through the walls, rattling the cabinets. The air is cooler, touched with the faint metallic tang of the fridge motor and the yeasty bite of spilled beer that’s seeped into the tile grout.
Skylar shoves a cold plastic cup into my hand. It sloshes amber liquid over my knuckles, sticky and sharp-smelling.
“Drink,” she says, brushing a loose curl from her face like she’s done this a hundred times before.
I lift the cup, tilt it just enough to let the scent reach me. Fermented grain, stale air bubbles, and a bitterness that sits wrong on my tongue before I even taste it. “This is… beer?”
“Yes, beer,” she says, one brow raised like I’ve just asked her to explain the sun.
“It smells,” I say, setting it on the counter, “like something a horse left in a trough.”
She laughs — quick, surprised — and folds her arms. “Oh, so you’re too good for cheap beer?”
“I am,” I say without hesitation. “Lesser brews are for lesser warriors.”
That earns me a full-on grin, the kind that lights her eyes and deepens the freckles across her cheeks. She leans back against the counter, shoulders loose, though I notice she’s still angled so she can keep an eye on me.
