Page 110 of Prey It By Ear

I pop the top button on my shirt the second I’m clear of the voice studio. It’s that or risk a full collarbone rash from sweat after Alexandre pushed me to the limit. My vocal cords feel like I gargled steel wool, and my schedule’s already been back-to-back shit shows all morning. Rockland wasn’t kidding about pressuring the ‘bad’ professors, so I want to scream. Instead, I fume my way out of the building and onto the quad. The only thing out here louder than my frustration is Bowser’s rapid-fire stride catching up with mine as we head for the library.

It’s Wednesday, my only other day with a lunch break, but I don’t really get to take it, so I’m pissy.

“Wait, Queen Dolly,” he says as he finally falls into step beside me with the practiced stealth of a prey animal who does not want to get cornered by a predator. He’s toting his weapon on his back now, but still used his short legs to scurry enough to catch up, and now he’s probably wondering why I’m leaving him behind.

“Have to move it, Bowser,” I grunt, not breaking pace. If I open my mouth to say much more, I’m going to list things I want to burn to the ground. It’s only eleven and I’m grumpy as fuck, which isn’t his fault, so I don’t want to take it out on my friend.

The quokka must sense my mood because he doesn’t launch into his usual monologue about the latest scandal involving the prey staff. He just glances sideways, as if he’s monitoring for incoming threats, and waits for me to chat.

That’s the opening my fury needed, and damn him for figuring it out.

“I am so fucking sick of this stupid group project,” I say in a low, hoarse voice. “The bitches didn’t even answer my email. Not even a ‘fuck you’—they straight ghosted me. Since they didn’t show Monday, I did my outline by myself. The deadline’s Friday and I’m apparently supposed to guess what they’re going to say, so the assignment is basically a bear trap waiting to catch my damn foot in front of everyone.”

Bowser winces, but stays in line with me. “That’s rough. Group projects are the worst when people don’t hold up their end of the bargain. It means you have to take it all on to make sure you don’t fail.”

“That’s the worst part!” I gesticulate with my free hand, the other gripping my dance bag like I’m going to launch it at the next predator who blocks our path. “If I don’t show up with stuff ready to go, it’ll look like I was the one who slacked off. But if I just prep my part, they’ll complain to the professor and get me docked for non-collaboration. It’s total bullshit because I am collaborating with my goddamn self at the moment and I have no idea if they’ll even do their pieces. I do not enjoy being punished for their fucking laissez-faire lack of priorities, no matter what the reason is.”

Bowser nods like a therapist in training, but with more muscle and a bigger smile. “You could fake their parts. Just write their stuff however you want, and if they don’t like it, they can suck it. It’s hard for them to complain about the effort you put in, if they’re off focusing on their own bullshit—whatever that is.”

“It’s tempting, trust me,” I say, though I’m already a third of the way there on my own. “However, if I actually did that, they’d say I didn’t get it right or fucked up their stories. I have to walk this tightrope where I don’t get targeted for academic dishonesty, but also avoid getting thrown under the bus for not doing enough.” My voice drops to a hiss as two canids pass too close and eye me like a snack; I stare them down until they look away, then keep ranting. “You know what? I don’t even care about whether they like me or not anymore. I just want to get through this damn thing without it causing more problems or making people target me again.”

The foot traffic gets heavier as we approach the library, composed mostly of overgrown athlete types who walk in the middle of the path and get offended when you try to pass. Bowser makes a little growl deep in his throat but doesn’t otherwise react, which is exactly the right way to deal with them. When we’re clear, he adds, “I heard from some of the other prey staff that your Khan professor enemy is known for taking no accountability for his mistakes. He was a problem last year and is already making more this semester.”

I blink at him, surprised by the information. I wouldn’t have expected Asani to even pay attention to the prey animals, much less focus on getting them into trouble. “He’s doing this shit even among the prey? Really?”

He nods, for once dropping the constant smile. “Not everyone on the staff team is good at working as a team like our crew. Some of them coast, and if you point it out, they get super defensive. I guess it’s a thing everywhere, Queen Dolly, but it’s putting all of us in his sights.”

That grinds my gears so hard I almost trip over my own sneakers. “Knowing that helps a little,” I admit. “Knowing it’s not just me sucks, but it also makes me feel less alone. But also, what the hell, you know? I thought being at the bottom of the food chain would at least make your people want to stick together. Those idiots are gonna get someone eaten.”

My quokka friend shrugs with one shoulder. “Some people are better at surviving than thriving. You’re not just trying to not die anymore; Raina says you’re trying to rewrite the rules. That scares the shit out of people, which means you’ve got way more enemies than anyone should have.”

I snort, but I can’t argue with him. My mates say stuff like that all the time, but hearing it from someone who isn’t in love with me is weirdly validating.

The crowd thins out as we approach the private entrance to the annex—nobody wants to get caught anywhere near Aubrey and Ren’s domain. My rant has burned itself out to a faint ember of annoyance, but the tiredness hits with a drop in blood sugar. I slow down, and Bowser, ever the gent, skips ahead to do a quick perimeter check before he lets me badge in. He peers both ways down the hall and then gives a little two-finger salute that almost makes me laugh.

“Thanks for the escort, man,” I say with a small grin. “You guys are the best for helping me get around campus without a bunch of fistfights.”

Bowser grins, but this time, it’s all teeth. “It’s an honor, my Queen. We will send someone at the end of this library time to take you to your studio block.”

“See you soon, Bowser,” I reply as I head inside and close the door with a sigh of relief. For a second, I just stand there, the weight of the day shifting off my shoulders and pooling around my ankles like spilled paint. I breathe in, hold it, and let it go, the way they taught us in yoga class.

Next up is the library, where if I’m fortunate, no one will make me pissy for at least ten minutes.

I take a detour to the kitchen first, ignoring the way the fridge hums as I pour myself a glass of cold-brew before hunting up the tastiest sounding option from the lunch shelf. Chessie’s done a heroic job restocking the fridge, but there are only so many days in a row you can eat kale salad before you think about rustling up a fresh kill. I settle on the leftover banh mi from yesterday and rip the bag open with my teeth, not even trying to hide my desperation. The entire time I’m loading up, I can feel Aubrey’s judgment radiating down the hallway like a cold front, but the man can’t actually kick his mate out when she’s got such a tight schedule, right?

Poking my head into the library, I check to see where the big guy is. He’s at his desk, glasses perched halfway down his nose, and eyes laser-focused on his screen. The scene is pure nerdy guy porn—a dimly lit library, smelling like someone just dusted old books with lemon oil and a huge, muscled hottie working with thick glasses on. It’s my favorite place on campus for a lot of reasons, but this one is definitely pretty high up the list. I never say that out loud because Fitz would make a masturbation joke about books and reading that would make me blush every time I come in here.

But it’s a thing, and I’ll be damned if I don’t know it, just like I know Rennie perching like an old cartoon on the bell tower does it for me, too.

Aubrey’s gaze flicks up the instant I clear the doorway. His eyes go straight to the sandwich in my hand, and he gives me a look so withering it could desiccate a healthy plant on the spot. Then, like the flip of a switch, he smiles—one of the real ones, with warmth behind it. He crosses the space in three long strides and gathers me into a hug so tight my ribs complain. The dragon only holds it for a second before he lets go and pats my back with the same caution he uses to close a first edition.

“You should not bring food in here, snack size,” he chides, but the scolding is only for show. “The ants are already a problem because of freshman antics.”

“I’ll eat fast,” I say seriously. “I promise.”

He arches a brow, but before he can launch into an extended soliloquy about the fragility of archival materials, a soft murmur from the stacks catches his attention. He whips around, and the full-dragon voice comes out immediately. “You two in the blue aisle. Out, now! You know the rules in my library, and you’ve chosen to break them. If you ever want to set foot here again, you’ll exit in silence.”

He has a rule about people snarking about me in here? That’s adorable and I’m gonna melt on the spot.