Page 135 of Let Us Prey
“Of course I am aware, Delores. I’m not living in a cave, nor am I profoundly stupid. Don’t insult me,” Lucille growls, noticeablynotclaiming to care. The shift in her tone means she’s done with the pretense; now I’ve questioned her authority and she’s angry.
That makes two of us.
“I wanted to make sure that I was keeping you informed,” I purr, matching her fake sweetness, knowing it will rile her more, and not giving a fuck. “The campus is a very dangerous place, and the Council doesn’t seem interested in helping us. Staff members have been doing most of the policing until last night, and the professors seem to have gone into homework overdrive to keep us locked in our dorms, where it’s safer.”
“This conversation has taken a turn, Delores, and I’m not interested in hearing you whine. It’s time you learned to defend yourself, like a true predator, and remember that even the people closest to you may be a threat. You’ve been a pampered heir for far too long, and this little ‘serial killer’ issue is the perfect thing to force you to sharpen your instincts and take action. We can’t have you ending up dead outside the Society tunnels like a lesser predator.”
She wants me to go up against a serial killer? No wonder I’m so fucked in the head.
Sucking in a deep breath, I rein in my temper. It’s not like it’s a surprise that Lucille truly doesn’t give a fuck if any of us die, as long as the school—and the families who fund it—look good. If I want to get her off the phone, I need to play nice. “I apologize, Lucille. I didn’t intend to be disrespectful.”
A delicate sniff, followed by a sigh, tells me I appeased her. “I only called you for a status report on your marriageproblem,Delores, but it seems like you’ve developed an attitude problem. I’ve never heard you talk to me in this manner, and I don’t appreciate it.”
Fuck, now what am I going to say?
For unknown reasons, I decide to be honest. “I’m growing up, Lucille, and a lot has changed about me this year. I’m not the person I was when I came to Apex… under a death sentence.”
She pauses for a minute, as if considering, and for a moment, I think I’ve gotten through to her. “Yes, I believe you have changed. I’m uncertain if it’s for the better, but you have developed at least thebeginningof a spine. You may have some Rostoff in you yet.”
I know she considers that high praise, but given the rumors I’ve heard about her family, I’m not sure that’s the direction I want to head. I thank her anyway, if only to get this painful conversation over with. “I appreciate the sentiment, mother. I will strive to be worthy of your family name because I know it’s what you always wanted for me.”
Hopefully, that’s what she needs to hear.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve never thought you would be worthy of my father’s name, and your emergence proved me right. However, at the very least, you can be less of a daily embarrassment.”
So much for that.
Seeing as I’m not free from this conversation yet, I grab my makeup bag and carry it out to the vanity, so I can get ready while she babbles about the legacy of the Rostoffs. She’s never spoken about her family this openly before, so I may as well soak in the intel. I haven’t decided yet if I want to see if Rufus and Cori or my guys want to hang out, but I don’t want to look like a hot mess express, either way. I toss my hair into a ponytail and apply light concealer as Lucille continues to extol the virtues of her father’s business prowess.
“...my father’s family has been dominant in the export business for over three hundred years, Delores. We are a formidable power in Eastern Asia, and unlike your father, we don’t allow anyone to disrespect us. You are too weak to understand the strength a Rostoff woman has to embody to survive... "
“Yes, mother,” I mutter, as I add blush and smoky eye shadow and pull out my black eyeliner pencil. Ringing the insides of my lash line with the kohl, I look in the mirror, expecting to see the damaged girl Lucille’s moaning about.
Except…
Instead, I see a woman who had the confidence to completely remake herself into the person she wanted to be. From makeup to colorful hair to piercings and the bad bunny tattoo on my butt,Imade every choice, in this reflection and otherwise, and I’m startled to realize that I truly like what I see. It doesn’t matter if the Heathers or Todd or even my own mother think I’m worthless anymore—I know I’m not. I have friends and boyfriends who like me for who I really am, not the plastic doll others tried to mold for their purposes.
I’ve wasted so much of my time on those who don’t deserve it.
The long-forgotten ‘Fuck ‘Em Up, Sis’ list shoved in my vanity drawer included my parents, but it was also full of those who wronged me at Shifter Secondary and Vom Prom. With a satisfied smirk, I realize I’ve defeated them all over the past year. I humiliated Heather E. and Todd in Shifter Studies. Heather B. failed with her little newspaper smear campaign, and the rest of them aren’t even worth the energy it would take to exact revenge.
No, the only worthy opponent here is Lucille.
She’s the one who didn’t properly teach me about life as a shifter, or prepare me for the position she swore I would take as her heir. My mother didn’t allow Mattie or anyone else to give me the tools to survive in our world—despite any claims otherwise. I came to college without knowing my family history or even how other shifters behave. Everything that made me feel like an outsider at Apex wasn’t simply because I was a bunny; I was so sheltered that I wouldn’t have fit in even if I’d emerged as a predator. Lucille’s goal was always to make me feel as useless and stupid as possible.
So I’d be easier to manipulate.
I pull my ‘Fuck ‘Em Up, Sis’ list out of the drawer so I can look it over. This is the list of a young, brokenhearted girl who was lost, scared, and alone—someone with no support system and a trampled self-esteem. Someone who could only think about enacting sweeping vengeance for the way she was treated, instead of calculated moves.
That’s not who I am anymore.
Grinning to myself, I take the black eyeliner and cross everyone off the list…except Lucille.My mother wants to drone on about how a Rostoff woman has to be strong?
Well, she isn’t ready for the one she created.
With that, I add winged liner to my look and a bright pink lipstick that matches my outfit. On a whim, I press my lips to the bottom of the paper, sealing it with a spiteful kiss. Deciding this saucy aesthetic will be my ongoing inspiration, and I rummage around for tape so I can hang it on my mirror, as a visual reminder of my sharpened focus. I don’t see any, but there is a pack of gum, so I pop in a stick and chew for a few moments as I listen to see if Lucille has taken a breath yet.
Nope, still droning on about her father. It’s almost Oedipal, I fucking swear.
