Dredyn cocks his head. “Anything concerning you is my business. Unless you’re crying over nothing. Then that would just be pathetic.”
“I’m not crying over nothing.”
“No?” His tone is mocking. “Then tell me, Polly Pocket.”
Polly Pocket. The audacity.
Zane lets out a disgruntled noise. “She had to take a kitten to the shelter. Black, tiny, purring like it trusted her with the whole damn world. You should’ve seen the eyes on this thing. Looked like a Pixar character right before it dies.” Then he softens, palm pressing against my arm as he leans in to whisper, “They’re not going to kill him. I promise, hun.”
I nod, but it doesn’t help. That flicker in Dredyn’s jaw doesn’t go unnoticed. It tightens the second Zane touches me.
But it’s gone just as fast.
“You’re upset over a stray?”
I square my shoulders. “Not that you’d understand human empathy, but, yes.”
“Didn’t peg you for the humanitarian type.”
Zane barks out a laugh. “Wow. You’re a one-man emotional support group. Do you read Hallmark cards in your spare time, or just kick puppies for stress relief?”
Dredyn ignores him completely. Like Zane’s just ambient noise, or a more annoying fly.
His gaze slices into me. “You should be careful with that kind of softness. It makes you a target. But being a Black, you already know that, don’t you?”
My stomach flips. That voice. The same one that dragged across my skin two weeks ago in that empty lecture room. I hated what it did to me. And I really, really hate the part of me wants him to do it again.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
He shrugs one shoulder like he’s already bored. “All you preppy little daughters are the same.”
“Fuck off, Dredyn.”
His mouth twitches. “I have better things to do anyway.” Then he turns and walks away.
Zane touches my elbow gently. “Mara?—”
But I’m already moving, fast, head down, toward the dorms. Away from the sting behind my eyes and the heat that flared low in my stomach at the sound of his voice.
Away from the boy who doesn’t see right through me.
Who seesme?
And makes me wish I didn’t want him to.
TEN
MARA
Ithink I’ve shaken about five dozen hands tonight, and no amount of bleach could possibly get rid of the amount of germs. My cheeks hurt from fake laughing and smiling—nodding along with donors as they come up to say hello to my father.
Why are we like this? Gathered here in glittering gowns and tailored suits, all pretending this is noble. That we care. No one in this ballroom is here out of goodwill. They’re here for power, access, favors. It’s impossible to fool those who wrote the rules to this godforsaken game.
My mother has kept a watchful eye on me for most of the night, considering the last event I showed my ass and got slapped by my mother as a result. I inhale sharply, and the string of pearls around my neck digs into my throat like a collar.
Wear the red dress—Psi Theta Omega red. The color of legacy and blood.
Wear the pearls. Be the daughter they paid for.
