Page 116 of Eat. Prey. Love.
“Protein-packed meals that she’ll actually devour aren’t easy to find,” Chess admits with a crooked grin.
We all nod, watching as Dolly takes her seat beside Zhenga, her aura of readiness infectious.
Tonight is going to be her night; I can feel it.
As the undercard matches commence, my sense of ease begins to fray at the edges. The competitors from U&M shouldn’t be able to hold their own like this—each bout too close for comfort. They don’t look like the preds I’d expect, either, but they don’t look totally out of place. I have no idea why this seems off, except that I know how hard Zhenga has been working with her girls. They’re much more ready for the season than at the first match, and U&Mdoesn’t have a rep for successful competition in the Pred Games. Usually Apex and Cappie dominated, and with Apex students disbursed, the balance is off—but not that much.
“This is what I was worried about,” Chess leans in, his voice tinged with suspicion. “Something’s not adding up here.”
Fitz’s brow furrows. “They’re more like athletes than academics. I agree; something’s fishy.”
We exchange wary glances, the joy of Dolly’s imminent match now twined with a thread of uncertainty. With each clap of the crowd for the alternating victories and defeats, speculation simmers among us.
“Keep your eyes peeled,” I murmur to the group, “especially when it’s Dolly’s turn to shine.”
The roarof the crowd crescendos, nearly tangible in its intensity as the U&M team’s exuberant high-fives signal their victory. The last undercard match is over, and anticipation crackles through the electric air of the stadium like a pre-storm charge. I grip the metal railing in front of us, my knuckles white against the cool surface.
The further into the night we got, the more my gut screamed at me and now it’s yowling a dark warning.
“Next up,” the announcer’s voice booms, filling every crevice of the arena with its guttural resonance, “we have the moment you’ve all been waiting for!” Fans leap to their feet, a sea of heads turning as one towards the central field where Dolly, our fierce bunny shifter, emerges.
I can’t help but swell with pride as cameras flash, capturing her every smirky twist and confident turn. The cheers are deafening, reverberating off the stands and into the evening sky. Zhenga is beaming fromthe sidelines, watching her star with a proud gaze. We all wave frantically, trying to catch Dolly’s eye—she’s a star in this gladiatorial arena, and it’s impossible not to get swept up in the pageantry of it all.
But then, an abrupt silence blankets the stadium—a heavy, expectant quiet that seems to suck the very air from my lungs. My heart hammers against my ribcage as the tunnel at the far end of the field births a monstrous figure. The feral looking girl stomps out, her gait brimming with primal confidence, and the energy shifts palpably.
“Son of a...” I hear Fitz mutter under his breath, the words lost in the sudden resurgence of noise as the crowd takes in this new, formidable contestant.
Monster Girl grins, a horrifying display of sharp fangs, and my hand tightens further around the railing, the metal creaking a protest. Dolly holds her ground, but I see the flicker of something across her features—the slightest hint of apprehension maybe, or determination. It’s gone in a heartbeat, replaced by her usual fearless facade.
Good girl, Princess. Don’t let them see you squirm.
“This is trouble,” I whisper, unable to take my eyes off the beast of an opponent who now prowls toward Dolly. The predatory Giselle of the canine shifter sends a chill down my spine. This was never going to be just another match; it’s clear now that it’s a statement, a challenge on a level we hadn’t anticipated.
“Watch closely,” I say to the others, my voice low and urgent. They nod, each face etched with concern and a readiness to leap into action should things go south.
Chess leans closer, his expression grim. “She’s going to need every move you guys taught her and maybe a few we hoped she could keep under wraps. Hopefully, those meditation exercises helped after the last scrimmage.”
“More than that,” I reply, my gaze fixed on Dolly as she squares her shoulders, meeting the gaze of the creature before her. She might be a bunny amidst wolves, but she’s no prey.
The question is whether she can convince her opponent of the same before the match even begins.
Bring Me To Life
I square off,my feet grounded on the dirt, my musclestaut as I eye the huge girl. My opponent looms across the ring—not just any opponent, but a colossal canine shifter who seems more myth than reality.
The ref bellows her name—Zoya R. Volkova from Siberia—like she’s some kind of celebrity I should know. I can almost taste the chill in the air that follows her name, and I frown as I try to remember if I’ve heard of her ever before. She’s definitely not your typical U&M student; she’s like something cooked up in a lab, with that too-perfect snarl and those muscles rippling under her pelt.
Theway everyone in the damn arena is cheering, I should know who this chick is, but even my guys look puzzled in their seats.
An ocean of noise surrounds us, the faceless preds forming a swarming mass of excitement and anticipation. Cameras flash, catching every detail of the Pred Games ring, and every drop of sweat on my brow. Press members huddle together, phones raised as they wait for blood to spill for their by-lines.
“Looks like I’m pretending to be the chick from Underworld tonight,” I mutter under my breath, a sneer curling my lip. I’d laugh if it wasn’t so damn irritating—the thought of this...wolf thing coming out of nowhere, trying to make a chew toy out of me.
As Zoya throws back her head, unleashing a howl that seems to reach the moon itself, I scan her form. She’s posturing for the crowd, absorbing their cheers like they’re fuel for her ego. But I’m not here to admire the show. I’m looking for the chink in her armor, that one spot where muscle meets vulnerability. My eyes narrow as I sidestep along the perimeter of the ring, taking her in from every angle, searching.
“Better hope you’re not all bark and no bite,” I taunt, the edge of my voice sharp as a claw. It’s not just about fighting—it’s about wit, about psyching her out before our fangs even cross. As I watch her, something primal within me stirs, a fierce determination to stand my ground against this beast from the frozen tundra.
“Ready to dance, Fleabag?” I ask, voice low, embodying every ounce of the fierce bunny shifter I am.