Page 78 of Prey It By Ear

“Do you think he’s here for me?” My mate sounds tired, but not scared as she sighs.

“I don’t know, to be honest. But whatever his game is, we’ll figure it out and shut it down, Princess. You don’t have to fret about it unless he gets directly aggressive like Rockland or some others in the past were.”

She’s quiet for a while before she says, “You’re not telling me something.”

I laugh, because of course she noticed. “I had a rough morning full of bullshit, darling bunny rabbit. It’s affected my mood a bit. However, the things that bothered me are on a small scale, and I don’t think it matters to you. No need to overextend.”

Dolly narrows her eyes at me, but lets it go. “You know, it would be such a refreshing change if the world stopped fucking with us. I might even pass out from the shock.”

As we approach the stadium, I already see the first round of players filing in. I watch them for a second, but my mind’s already on the next step. Sterling’s a problem, the committee games are another, and somewhere in the overlap is a reason Z is being kept on the outside. If I figure out what it is before the next set of meetings, I might be able to get it taken care of before it gets worse.

I steer my princess toward the entrance, watching her face in the shifting light. Her eyes are a little glassy, but the smile is real. She loves the Games, even though we had to convince her to do it at Cappie, and this practice will make her feel much better.

Luckily, I can pick Zhenga’s brain while she does it, and afterward, I might even sit in on her law class so I don’t have to leave her alone.

Smooth Criminal

Delores

The Pred Games warm-up uniform is supposed to fit all, but all is defined by whoever ordered them for the year, and this season whoever ordered it sized everything like the entire team was made of husky linebackers. I look like someone’s snack-sized body double in a suit meant for three times my mass. I know Coco will have the actual competition uniforms looking and fitting swag, but this school-provided shit is insane. It definitely wasn’t Zhenga or my tigers who did this, and I’m sure it was on purpose, although the girls’ team outshines the boys by every measure since we arrived.

That’s not the fault of Felix or Fitz; it’s the materials they have to work with, so I don’t blame them.

I don’t have to look amazing during practice, but we could look more professional, and it irks the shit out of me. However, being the terrifying bunny on the team is still an upgrade to the past, even if it means running drills in a uniform that makes me look like a younger sibling playing dress-up. I yank my disastrous end-of-day hair into a much tighter bun and bolt for the arena before the last call for warm-ups.

Zhenga starts calling out the sequence of matches just as I arrive. She’s already prowling the sideline, a clipboard in one hand and an energy drink in the other, her eyes flicking across the team with knowing intensity. If there’s anyone on campus more calculating than Zhenga Leonidas, I haven’t met them yet, and I’m not eager to. She doesn’t bother with a whistle—her voice is enough to bounce off concrete and get the entire squad bending into hamstring stretches without complaint.

I drop into position, legs straight and fingers reaching for toes that are laughing at the very concept after my day. It’s only then, bent in half and pretending I’m not still vibrating from the earlier dance classes, that I spot Felix still on the sideline. He’s standing with his arms folded, talking to Zhenga in low tones. It’s one of those conversations where neither party breaks eye contact because the subject just might be a list of people they’d like to disappear.

Wonder what they’re on about in such an intense fashion?

Felix doesn’t look up, not even once, during the entire first set of stretches. That doesn’t fool me; I know he’s keeping tabs in his periphery, like a big cat pretending not to care that the mouse is loose in the living room. The realization that he stayed to watch me hits me in the sternum with a sharp, traitorous little warmth. I hate that I’m grateful for it, but I hate it even more that he knows, and would tease me for a week if he caught the look on my face. Balancing the happiness from my guys caring so much for me and wanting to stand on my own two feet is hard as hell and I struggle with it constantly.

Zhenga’s warm-up is a meat grinder—hip flexors, groin stretch, and then into a standing quad pull that torches both my thighs at once. My legs are fried from tap and hip-hop, so the first time I try to balance, my whole body wobbles so hard I have to grab the shoulder of the girl next to me. That would be Priya, a wolverine shifter who probably weighs twice what I do. She gives me a dirty look, and I sigh internally at the ingrained competitive shit the elite practically engineer into their kids.

We’re on the same fucking team, after all.

“Don’t pass out. You get blood on the ground, and Coach will make us clean up the field before we go,” she mutters as we shift to the next stretch. “Some of us have lives that aren’t being railed by professors who get us special treatment, Drew.”

Ignoring the dig—because obviously that’s jealousy talking—I focus on the quad stretch again. It’s murder, but I grit my teeth and yank my ankle up behind me anyway. My lungs are settling into a rhythm—inhale, count to three, exhale, then pretend nothing hurts. Zhenga is circling the team now, her eyes moving down the line to correct posture and bark out minor adjustments. She hits our row, clocks me, and says, “Delores, if you don’t want to blow your knee up, you better keep your back straight.”

I snap into place, feeling every vertebra lock down like a safe. “Yes, Coach.”

“Again.” She’s in the next cluster, but I can hear her words like a sniper round. “Nobody’s getting benched this close to the first match, so if you have to tape your damn joints, do it now.”

My dance teachers would lose their goddamn minds right now if they could see some of their students, but I definitely do not say that out loud.

The ritual humiliation of warm-ups continues with our upper bodies next. Z has us do arm circles, shoulder rolls, and then a squatting wall sit that turns everyone’s faces the same pained shade of red. I see Felix in my periphery, still arms-folded as he pretends not to watch me, but every once in a while his eyes flick over quick as a pulse. I pretend not to notice and focus on not dying on the grass like a wounded bison.

Wall sits finally end, and I stand, my blood thumping in my ears. If you look closely, there’s a second, quieter stretch sequence that’s more about social pecking order than actual flexibility. The older students at the front make little grunts of effort, but they’re barely trying. Newer recruits in the back go too hard, and I’m dead center, which is where people are trying but don’t want to be noticed. It’s perfect for me because I only need attention when I’m fighting, not constantly, and there’s enough bullshit flying around attached to my name as it is.

By the time we finish the last stretch, I’m buzzing with pain, but it’s a good kind. My muscles are reactivated from sitting in lectures, and I won’t be as likely to pull something when I go hard in my practice matches. As the team shuffles into the next drill, I catch Felix’s gaze again, and this time he gives a half-smirk—tiny, but it’s there. It’s not approval, not exactly, but a challenge. I don’t know what he’s challenging me to, but I square my shoulders and step to the starting mark, anyway.

Every fiber of my being loves bucking his commands, and if my smug Raj wants to play, I’m always game.

Zhenga never announces the sparring order ahead of time. She just starts calling names, as if she’s reading off a grocery list and can’t be bothered to check if the items are in stock. I barely have time to shake out my arms before I’m up first, paired with Priya, which is not great. The wolverine is built like a pro wrestler, and her hands are the size of small loaves of bread. She steps into the ring, tossing me a look that says she isn’t impressed, and then falls into a ready stance that’s full of intimidation.

It won’t work on me because I’ve beaten preds much bigger and meaner, but she’s new and doesn’t know that.