Page 37 of Prey for Me

I dry off, peeling off the bikini I acquired from Nadège’s clothing. I can’t bring myself to stop wearing the same threadborn outfit I crashed with. Feels like a lucky charm. Reminds me of home.

“So how do I explain this?” I wonder.

I’ve been stealing their clothes, rearranging pillows.

I’mnesting.I know it’s because I feel vulnerable.

I tried to brooch the subject of pregnancy after finding Nadège, and if this place even had condoms to begin with. But alas, I think as I look as I look down as the bush that is my vagaina, that fear was quelled last week and is now thankfully over. At least if my periods stopped I could manage weekly heat cycles. But no, now my womb wants to join in on fucking me over.

Rpahael did say not to worry about that. I can’t help but remember how sad his eyes were back then.

Focus.I think, even as I rearrange, fluff, and sniff instead of plot against them.

It was awkward enough to ask for a pad, only to be delivered gauze in some contraption resembling underwear. If one of them found my nest in the back of the waterfall, I might just die from the embarrassment.

As I debate reading a book, practicing my aim on some tin cars, or trying not to zap my brain again by messing with the collar, something square and squawking in the corner catches my attention.

“No way,” I think, certain it’s a trap and they have hidden cameras somehow.

But sure enough, it’s a radio. I listen in. Morse code, maybe? I do know the sound for S.O.S. from some video I wasted my time on a lazy weekend afternoon.

“Grace Wilder. Omega.”

“Are they talking about me?”

“She’s displaying signs of a medically induced super he…” I don’t hear the next word as someone snatches my radio out of my shaking palm.

He doesn’t glare, he stares. And it’s then I clock the fact that I’m still naked

Shit. Shit. Shit!

“Fox caught your tail, little white rabbit?” he teases, clawing at his black fox mask. Haven’t you learned by now to sneak around where you don’t belong by now?

His intimidation routine is working, but bullies only win by getting what they want. So I raise my chin and ignore him. I won’t give him the satisfaction. But damn it, if my body does betray me.

I stand, tossing my white rabbit mask to the ground in fury. “My name is Grace Wilder, not bitch, you bastard!”

“I’m the only one allowed to hurt you.”

“It’s scarring nicely,” he muses, and I sneer.

A nostalgic scent

No scent? His laugh is hollow.

My attempt to win him over doesn’t seem to be working, but I press on. He should force me to kneel. It’ll be better that way. To be comforted with the terrible knowledge of how turned on I was through my fear. I don’t want my body to remind me of how my upbringing has ruined me. Not without a valid reason, an excuse I can cling to and deny, deny, deny the truth.

Inferiority complex

Why are they holding back now? His erection. Digs into my stomach, trembling

“Grace?” Nakoa says. My name. That can’t be a good sign.

“Yes?” I ask, and frown as he silences his radio, heavy black brows knitting together.

“I think you should take a walk.”

“A walk?” I asked incredulously. “Where? Around the cage? I’m all healed doc. No need to test my weight on my ankle.”

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