Page 13 of Come Out & Prey (Apex Academy Capers #1)
As Bruiser pulls the car around to the front of the house, I look over at Matilda. Her shoulders are tight again, and she keeps pushing her glasses up her nose. I know she’s worried because we don’t have a dress to show Lucille, but Luc insisted that he would finish a few tweaks tonight and have it messenger’d over with the shoes in the morning. I’m not sure if that was a feint to keep Lucille from shredding it ahead of time or if he truly wanted to do a few alterations based on his notes.
It’s not an unfounded concern; Lucille will definitely blow a gasket when we get inside. Since I see Bruno’s MG outside, I know that means he’ll join in the fun as well. This is going to be terrible, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I give Matilda an encouraging smile, hoping to convey without words that we’re not about to face an actual firing squad.
At least, I don’t think Lucille will have one waiting, but who the hell knows with her?
Climbing out of the Hummer, I walk up the stairs, straightening my shoulders and securing the mask I have to wear when I deal with my parents. Matilda follows me quietly, staying a few steps behind like Lucille prefers staff to do. I hate it, but I know she’s doing it to give the illusion that I’m following the same protocols the other heirs do.
“ Delores !”
The wail of my fully loaded maternal unit permeates the heavy front door, and I suck in a deep breath. That’s not good at all . I open the door, stepping into the gaudy marble foyer and heading for the drawing room. “Coming, Lucille!”
When I enter the drawing room, my mother is draped over her favorite chaise and my father is prowling the room like he’s looking for fresh meat. Lucille has her traditional vodka martini and Bruno is carrying a hefty pour of scotch in a highball. The look in their eyes says they’ve grown bored with throwing insults at one another and I’ve now presented the perfect target with my arrival.
“How disappointing! You didn’t find a suitable gown. Whatever will you wear to your prom?” Lucille sneers, her eyes lighting with satisfaction.
“Typical,” my father growls. “She can’t even spend money properly. I don’t know how we produced such a useless heir. It must be your genes, Lucille; none of the women in my family are so inept.”
Lucille rolls to her feet with the grace of a feline shifter, her eyes narrowing to slits. Ignoring Bruno, she advances on me, the predator inside of her shimmering beneath her skin as she moves. “That ’s what happened, isn’t it? Speak up, Delores!”
Matilda scurries towards the bar cabinet as the vodka sloshes out of Lucille’s glass, anticipating her next order. I mutely shake my head at my mother, swallowing as I decide how I’m going to explain my lack of a garment without setting her off. I’m never sure how to handle her when she’s this sloshed, but with Bruno in the mix, I have even less confidence that I’ll come out of this situation unscathed.
“Oh, I know what happened. You don’t have to admit your shame out loud. Not one designer had anything left that fit your... ample frame.” Lucille’s eyes sparkle with delight as she continues to stalk towards me. “You should have allowed me to make that appointment with Dr. Randall. We could have nipped your baby fat in the bud long before this disaster.”
My eyes widen and my hand flies to my mouth of its own volition. I strive to not give Lucille the reaction she craves, but after the sizing fiasco she engineered and now this, she’s hit all the right notes to destroy what little confidence I have. “I... I… No. Um, Monsieur Growlvinchy… there are alterations.”
“Madame,” Matilda intervenes, handing Lucille a fresh drink while staying as far away from Bruno as possible. “The boutique will send Delores’ dress tomorrow morning by messenger. A few small things needed to be tailored, but I did not wish Delores to be home late, so they will get completed overnight.”
Bruno whirls, glaring at the hawk shifter. “Did she ask you? Know your place, featherhead.”
I wince. I know Mattie was only trying to help, and my parents are just about as awful as they can be to her without being physically violent. Although that could change at any moment, I suppose. “I apologize, Father. I got a little tongue tied and I’m sure Matilda only wished to inform you of the special consideration Monsieur Growlvinchy afforded us. He was quite complimentary of Lucille, and he provided us with only the finest designs.”
That’s not a lie, but not exactly the truth, either. It seems to mollify Bruno for the moment. Lucille continues to glare at me, her suspicious nature keeping her from trusting anyone’s word. I stand perfectly still—like prey—waiting for her to decide what to do next. She finally heads back to the lounge, dropping onto it with a sigh of irritation.
“He probably has to re-stitch every seam to fit you. Couture isn't suitable for your body.”
Her words hit me like a brick between the eyes, and I turn on my heel, running for the stairs without waiting to be excused. I refuse to give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry, and if I didn’t escape right now, that was going to happen.
My parents' drunken laughter echoes through the hallway as I choke back a sob.
Just another day at the Drew House of Horrors.
The door closes behind me with a slam that rattles the frame, and I dive for my bed, burying my face in my soft pillows. My mother has always known how to dig under my skin until I’m raw, and she never shies away from making me feel like the worst daughter she could have ever birthed. I don’t know why I let her, but I can’t help feeling abandoned when the two people who are supposed to love me unconditionally seem to loathe my existence.
I often wonder why they had me, but I know the answer to that question. The elite families have to produce an heir to keep in power, and if there’s one thing my parents love more than booze, it’s power. I’m not sure why they didn’t have another child to replace me, since I’m such a disappointment, but I’ve pondered it many times over the years.
In similar situations, the next in line either kills the first born—depending on species—or the parents disown the eldest child. If mine disowned me, I’d be penniless, but I’d be free, and I’m sure I could figure out how to survive. But Lucille and Bruno chose violence instead of replacing me—they’ve simply spent my entire life beating me down so they can marry me off, increase our family’s power and social standing and use my husband as their proxy.
There’s no way Todd will let them treat me this way once we’re married. He may have his moments, but he’s good and kind, and he loves me. I’m sure we’re mates, even if I haven’t felt all of that stuff the internet says I should. I assume it's because we haven’t taken the last step yet, but that will change on prom night. Once our animals emerge, we’ll recognize one another as soulmates.
Right?
When the tears finally stop flowing, I tear off my clothes, tossing them in the hamper and putting on my comfy pajamas. I refuse to go down for dinner, but if I’m lucky, Matilda will sneak something upstairs. My phone buzzes from my handbag, and I sigh.
It has to be the Heathers. The last time I texted was before I found the dress at Growlvinchy’s and I didn’t send them a photo of that one. But these girls are like sharks swimming around an injured fish with gossip, and I’m surprised I got away with it for this long.
SmackbookPrincess: DD! Where the hell are you???!!!
BeanQueen: Not cool, DD. We showed you our dress.
FaithfulHeir: Did you strike out? What are you gonna do?
DuchessofDirt: I’ll bet she struck out. That’s why she’s not answering. She’ll have to buy off the rack. Scandalous, DD.
SmackbookPrincess: DD, you can’t buy off the rack! We’re all riding in the limo Todd rented, and we cannot show up with someone dressed like a peasant.
DuchessofDirt: Daddy would be fit to be tied. It would be all over Fangbook and Instagrowl in a matter of minutes.
I sigh. The only reason it would end up on social media would be because she would post it, but that’s an argument I’m not emotionally prepared to have this evening. Even if they are kind of the worst, I could really use my friends tonight. They won’t sugarcoat anything, but they will distract me from Lucille’s hurtful words echoing in my head.
DD: Guys? I found a dress, but it’s not here. It needed some tiny tweaks, and Lucille lost the plot. Can you guys sneak in for girls’ time? It would make me feel a lot better.
SmackbookPrincess: Oh, hell yeah! I mean, it sucks you can’t fit into things, DD, but we’ll come and bring some refreshments to drown your sorrows in.
FaithfulHeir: We’re on our way once we get a ride. Have the window open.
BeanQueen: I’ve got snacks.
DuchessofDirt: We’ll get the full scoop when we get there, DD. See you soon!
Tossing my phone on the bed, I walk over to my keyboard and sit down. We could absolutely afford a gorgeous baby grand for me to compose on, but Lucille hates my ‘time wasting drivel’. She’s never supported my songwriting or my love of music, and this was the closest thing I could weasel out of my parents. It cost me quite a few awful dinner functions and a couple of society ball appearances, but it’s my only outlet, and I love it.
My fingers brush over the keys, stretching as I warm up. The girls won’t leave their houses for at least an hour—since they’ll be primping, even for a sleepover—and it will take another thirty minutes to get here. I’ve got time to work out some of this heartache.
‘... and I look in the mirror again, but I don’t see what you see…’
The chords flow as I work on the lyrics to a tune that no one will ever hear as I sing along, my voice low and husky. I’m not an alto, not really, but I have to sing quietly so they won’t hear me and show up to ruin my escape.
My real range falls into mezzo soprano—or I think it does based on the tutorials I’ve done on YouTube. Without real lessons, I can only follow along with voice teachers and Broadway stars in their videos and hope I’m not terrible. Lucille never let me take voice because it wasn’t as socially useful as dance; I have to do what I can on my own.
I don’t dare ask my friends or even Todd if I’m any good. It’d be too demoralizing to find out my one genuine passion is something I suck at. I chose English as my major at Apex so I can better craft my lyrics—despite the line of bull I fed Lucille about using my degree to further our family’s standing through public appearances and speeches at charity functions.
‘… if only your love could set me free…’
Sighing again, I look at the picture of Todd and me at Winter Formal, cheesing for the camera. Truer words have never been spoken, and it won’t be long before the love between Todd and I sets my animal—and my future—free.
Only one more day…