Page 7 of Scarred Savages
My feet move on autopilot, guiding me down a path I could navigate blindfolded. It’s the same old show: girls strutting in front of males and their families, scents mixing, hearts racing, all under the guise of romantic fate.
“Remember, ladies, poise and grace!” the headmistress calls out, but her pep talk falls flat.
As I descend the staircase into chaos, I hear the crowd’s collective intake of breath, murmurs of judgment, and whispers critiquing every step and outfit before any words are exchanged.
So romantic, right?
The hall swallows me whole, filled with faces that don’t interest me. I don’t bother searching for friendly smiles—experience has taught me better. I take my assigned spot and wait for the charade to kick off. My thoughts drift to my room, where I can shed this pretense along with my dress.
“Here’s to another thrilling evening of unmet expectations,” I mutter.
We’re called to strut across the stage one by one under blinding lights while a giant screen flashes our stats. Yep, they even mention whether our hymens are intact.
Mine says “No” in bold red letters.
The Institute had been furious when they found out I’d taken care of that myself. There was no way I’d let my virginity become another selling point for these assholes.
That choice, at least, had been mine.
I force a smile that feels more like a grimace.
Once we’re all paraded out and compared, it’s time to mingle and get sniffed… literally.
Rows of males line up like some broody buffet, all eyes on the females sashaying down the aisle as we greet them one by one.
“Place your bets, ladies and gents,” I mutter, “how long ‘til Luna’s back at the buffet table loading up on cream puffs?”
“Next!” The wolf at the head of the line is a mountain of a man with a beard that looks like it could double as a bib.
“Hey there,” I greet him. “Nice night for sniffing strangers, huh?”
He gives me a once-over, his nose twitching as if he’s caught a whiff of something questionable.
He grunts.
That’s it.
A grunt.
Talk about conversation skills.
“Wow, a whole sound! You spoil me,” I shoot back, plastering a grin on my face as I move along before the rejection can even sink its claws in.
“Thank you, next,” I sing softly, skipping to the next male who is too busy checking out Miss Perky Ponytail two spots ahead of me.
“Excuse me, but you’re missing out on this limited-time offer,” I quip, waving a hand in front of his face.
“Sorry, what?” He blinks, finally noticing me with the enthusiasm of someone reading the nutritional content on a cereal box.
“Never mind.” I sigh, already turning away. “Enjoy the view.”
“Next!”
“Here we go again,” I whisper, stepping up to yet another male—this one looks nervous and has more hair in his nostrils than on his head.
“Evening,” I try, aiming for friendly.
“Evening,” he echoes, then sniffs the air and frowns. Ah, the sweet smell of ‘nope.’
