Page 115 of Eat. Prey. Love.
I catch the occasional glint of metal from Holliday stationed with his rifle at the top of stands facing us. The broad backs of hulkingbadgers stand out amongst the throng of revelers—a reassuring reminder that our allies have us covered. Yet, nestled beneath the surface of that security, concern gnaws at me. I can’t shake the unease about those we can’t control: Dolly’s family, the elusive Fae, vampires lurking in shadowed corners, and those who’d relish in seeing her fall.
“Look at this fucking place...” Aubrey’s voice is almost lost as another wave of fans pours into the stands. “Every predator for miles must be here. What in the crispy fuck did Zhenga do to draw this kind of mass attendence? I highly doubt it was a fucking Fangbook ad.”
“These people are drawn by the lure of watching the Princess beat the snot out of something,” I say, my pride for her battling the worry that coils tighter with every new face that could hide a foe. “Zhenga’s flair for the dramatic probably featured the bunny who eats predators for breakfast, which brought every damn pred in the area out of the woodwork. I don’t like it; we weren’t prepared forthis.”
“We’re here to enjoy the matches, big bro, not worry constantly,” Fitz says, clapping a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm, grounding. “We’ve got the best seats in the house, so if anything pops off, we’re in the perfect position to help.”
“These are the best seats to watch her back,” I admit, my resolve hardening as my eyes scan the crowd again. “But we’ll also have a perfect view of her kicking the shit out of some geeky U&M nerd, which is also pretty fucking awesome.”
Chess sighs. “Stop being jackasses about smart preds. You both know that our smartest member could smash most people like a damn grape without breaking a sweat.”
The dragon grins at me, the tips of fangs showing as he smirks. “Chester is right. My form is big enough to flatten a battalion without even blowing one flame. And my IQ is easily as high as the students at U&M, if not higher. Stereotypes are hurtful, Raj.”
“We’re here for Dolly and nothing else matters,” Renard cuts in, interrupting our verbal sparring. “Jocks versus geeks can wait,mon amis. Focus on ourpetit lapin.”
He’s right so I give Aubrey a sheepish grin and he holds his fist out to bump. Just as we’re calling a truce,Thunderstruckrips through the stadium, a jolt of electricity that ignites the crowd into a frenzy. Thel’Academieteam emerges, their silhouettes stark against the glare of the floodlights. Each player pauses in the spotlight, striking a pose for the hungry cameras—Zhenga’s orders after the victory at the last scrimmage.
Dolly wasn’t happy about it, but she agreed as far as she told us.
“They look better than last time,” I chuckle, leaning forward as the paparazzi feast on the spectacle. “More like they’re ready to rock than retreat.”
“Attitude was a big part of Z’s focus. She wanted her girls to project what they wanted to achieve, so I gave them lessons,” Fitz shouts over the din, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Bet that limp dick brother of hers has his tail so far between his legs it’s tickling his throat.”
Laughter erupts from our row; Aubrey slaps his knee while Chess grins widely. Ren tilts his head back, howling above the AC/DC anthem blasting through the speakers. None of us have love for any of the Council families, and knowing the Leonidas pride is probably regretting their foolish decision to promote a raging moron is delicious.
“She’s really shoved it in their faces,” Aubrey yells, and we nod, the roar of approval from the stands echoing our sentiments. “This will be hard to top during the regular season without upgrades to the facilities. There’s not an empty seat in this damn arena.”
“Nothing like sticking it to the people who rejected you to heat up the blood.” Fitz smirks, a glint of wildness in his gaze. “Can’t wait until we do the same to dear old Dad.”
Cori’s lively voice cuts through the chaos, bright and eager. She leans in, her hands animated as she recounts the weeks of preparation for this match. “Dolly’s next, guys. Just wait for it.”
“Seeing you this keyed up again is baller, Cococabana,” my twin says with a grin, his eyes softening at her enthusiasm. “I was worried about you hiding out lately, especially after…”
“Please,” Cori scoffs, waving him off but clearly pleased. “Giselle was yesterday’s news. I’m all about new horizons now.”
I wonder what the hell that means?
Fitz reaches out, playfully tousling her hair, which earns him a mock growl and an eye roll. Rufus chimes in with a snarky comment that has us all chuckling, though the exact words are lost to the cacophony.
“The follies of youth,” one of the Kavarit triplets muses, earning a chorus of snickers from the group.
“Speak for yourself, old man,” Rufus retorts, his eyes then turning to his partners, murmuring something that makes them blush—obviously, a private joke filthy enough to make ancient Sphinxes turn red.
Good for him.
I can’t help but smile at our motley crew. We’re an odd bunch, but here, amidst the noise and fervor, we’re united by more than just our Drew Fluffle jerseys. Before I can comment on how much I appreciate them all supporting the Princess, the music changes to the thrumming bass of our girl’s favorite T. Swift song and my lips curl up.
Oh, I’m definitely ready for it…
The stadium trembles with anticipation, the song pulsating through the air as Dolly makes her entrance. As she strides onto the green, her smirky grin slices through the electrifiedatmosphere, commanding attention without uttering a word. She’s a vision in the uniform Cori crafted, each step a testament to the design that clings and accentuates every curve and muscle honed by relentless training.
“Hotdamn, Baby Girl!” Fitz shouts as he whistles, echoing the sentiment of every pair of eyes that feast upon Dolly’s confident poses. He turns to the polar bear, his eyes dark with lust as reamrks, “Cococabana, you’ve outdone yourself with those alterations.”
“Girls like usdeserveto look hot, sporty, and like supermodels,” Cori replies, basking in the adoration for her workmanship. “I’m going to show the whole world that curvy preds don’t need to hide under a fucking tent.”
“Dollypop looks stronger and fitter than ever,” Rufus observes, his tone laced with pride. “Not skinny, mind you, just toned and ready to rumble. She’s really filling out.”
“Credit goes to my bro and Zhenga’s brutal sessions and Chessie’s culinary magic,” Fitz adds, clapping me on the back. “I only take credit for keeping her moaning and doing yoga.”