Chapter 11: A Normal Girl with a Cup

Blair pushed the door to Room 204 open, dragging her feet across the threshold like they were made of lead.

She smelled distinctly of lemon-scented metal polish, industrial dish soap, and sheer misery. Her arms were trembling so badly she could barely hold her bag, a direct result of lifting broadswords for Professor Jack right after scrubbing pots for the Bear chef.

"Oh, thank god, you’re alive!"

Blair barely had time to blink before Heather was bounding across the room. Heather was already half-dressed in a shimmering, tight pink skirt. She shoved a glossy, neon-pink flyer into Blair’s face.

"Look!" Heather squealed.

Blair squinted, her exhausted brain struggling to read the bold, silver lettering. THE APEX BASH. Hosted by the Senior Factions. Freshmen Welcome. No Bloodshed Before Midnight.

Blair groaned, letting her bag drop to the floor with a thud. "Heather, no. Absolutely not. I am going to take a shower, crawl into my bed, and pray I slip into a coma."

"Blair, you have to go!" Heather insisted, waving the flyer frantically. "This is the party of the semester. Everyone who is anyone is going to be there. We need to be seen!"

"I am currently the most seen human on this campus, and it is ruining my life," Blair pointed out, kicking off her shoes.

"That is exactly why you have to go!" Heather argued, following Blair toward the bathroom.

Blair stopped, turning around with a flat, deadpan stare. "Your logic is actually terrifying."

"Listen to me," Heather said, placing her hands on Blair’s shoulders. "Right now, you are the weird, reclusive human. It makes you a target. You need to show them that you’re just a normal, boring girl."

"I am a normal, boring girl."

"Then prove it!" Heather said brightly. "We walk in. We go straight to the drinks table. You grab a red cup. You stand there and sip it. If the beastmen see you holding a red \cup, they’ll know you’re chill. You’re just a girl at a party. You blend in. They’ll stop trying to kill you!"

Blair stared at her roommate. "You think a plastic cup is going to stop a lion from biting my head off?"

"It’s the universal symbol of casual partying, Blair! It’s basic psychology!"

Blair rubbed her temples. The dull ache behind her eyes was throbbing in time with her heartbeat. She was too tired to argue, and honestly, a tiny, irrational part of her brain thought that maybe just standing in a crowded room with a drink would make her look less like prey and more like a piece of the background furniture.

"Five minutes," Blair mumbled, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

Heather shrieked in victory. "Yes!"

"I mean it, Heather. Five minutes. I get a cup, I stand in the corner, and the second I feel like I am going to die, I am sprinting back to this room."

"Deal!" Heather clapped her hands together. "Now, take off that hideous sweater. We have a makeover to do."

Ten minutes later, freshly showered and smelling much better, Blair stood in the center of the room wrapped in a towel.

Heather was currently digging through Blair’s embarrassingly small pile of clothes, tossing plain t-shirts and oversized hoodies over her shoulder with growing disgust.

"Do you own anything that doesn’t make you look like a Victorian orphan?" Heather complained, holding up a baggy gray sweatshirt.

"I like being comfortable," Blair defended.

Heather sighed, tossing the sweatshirt aside. She reached into her own closet and pulled out a tiny, sequined black dress that looked like it required a physics degree just to put on. "Here. Wear this. It’ll look amazing on you."

Blair took one look at the sheer amount of skin the dress would expose and vigorously shook her head. "No. No way. I am not wearing that."

"Blair, come on," Heather whined, stepping closer and giving Blair an assessing look. "You’re hiding a literal goldmine under those potato sacks you wear. I saw you changing earlier. You’re built like a beastwoman. You’ve got the curves, the waist... if you just showed it off, you could have any guy in the academy eating out of the palm of your hand."

A cold spike of panic shot through Blair’s chest.

Built like a beastwoman.

The words echoed terrifyingly in her mind. She tightened her grip on her towel, forcing a light, breathy laugh to cover the sudden spike in her heart rate.

"I think you need your eyes checked, Heather," Blair deflected, walking over to her drawer and pulling out a pair of simple, fitted black jeans and a long-sleeved, dark burgundy top. "And I’d rather not flaunt anything to a room full of guys who view me as a chew toy. I’m wearing this."

Heather looked at the jeans and the burgundy shirt. It was definitely a step up from the usual potato sacks, hugging Blair’s hips just enough to be flattering, but it covered her completely from the collarbone down.

Heather let out a dramatic, long-suffering sigh. "Fine. I concede the wardrobe battle. But on one condition."

Blair paused, pulling the shirt over her head. "What?"

"I get to do your makeup," Heather demanded, already brandishing a makeup brush like a weapon. "If you are going to dress like a librarian on her day off, your face is going to look flawless. Sit."

Blair knew she had lost this round. She sat down on the edge of her mattress, closing her eyes as Heather went to work.

To her credit, Heather was fast. She didn’t go overboard, skipping the heavy eyeshadows and bright colors. Instead, she applied a sharp, winged eyeliner that made Blair’s eyes look striking. A coat of mascara and a swipe of dark berry lip gloss later, Heather pulled away.

"Okay. Look," Heather said proudly, handing Blair the handheld mirror.

Blair blinked, staring at her reflection. She still looked like herself, but...prettier. More defined. The dark hair and dark clothes contrasted beautifully with the subtle makeup. It wasn’t flashy, but it was undeniably pretty.

"Thank you," Blair said softly.

"Don’t thank me, just promise you won’t hide in a closet tonight," Heather said, grabbing a leather jacket and tossing it over her pink skirt. "Let’s go secure our futures!"

The walk to the Senior Faction houses took twenty minutes, but Blair could hear the party from half a mile away.

The heavy, thumping bass vibrated through the soles of her shoes, rattling her ribs. When they finally crested the hill and saw the venue, Blair’s jaw dropped.

It was a sprawling, multi-story mansion, sitting on the edge of a cliff overlooking the campus. Blinding strobe lights flashed from the open balconies, painting the night sky in bursts of neon blue and violet.

The front lawns were packed. Hundreds of beastmen and beastwomen were laughing, drinking from crystal glasses, and showing off. The air was thick with the smell of expensive cologne, spilled liquor, and the musky scent of predator pheromones.

It was overwhelming.

"Stick together," Blair yelled over the pounding music as they navigated the crowded front steps. "Heather, promise me we stick together!"

"Of course!" Heather yelled back, linking their arms.

They pushed through the massive front doors. The inside of the mansion was a sensory overload. A massive chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting fractured light over the writhing mass of dancing bodies. High-tech LED coasters illuminated the drinks at a massive, sprawling bar to their left.

Blair kept her head down, her heart pounding frantically against her ribs as she felt the eyes of several beastmen drag over her as they passed.

"Okay, where are the cups—" Blair started to ask, turning her head.

"Oh my god, is that Lord Sterling?!" Heather suddenly shrieked.

Blair blinked. "Who?"

"He’s a third-year Panther noble! His family owns the largest diamond mines in the sector!" Heather gasped, her fingers digging painfully into Blair’s arm. She was staring across the room at a tall, broad-shouldered beastman lounging on a leather sofa. "He’s making eye contact! He’s totally looking at me!"

"Heather, wait—"

"I have to go!" Heather yelled, her eyes wild with ambition. Without a second thought, she unlinked her arm from Blair’s. "Get your cup! I’ll find you later!"

Before Blair could even reach out to grab her, Heather dove into the crushing crowd, swallowed up by the sea of dancing predators.

Blair was left standing alone in the center of the foyer.

The heavy bass thumped against her chest. A tall, scarred Tiger beastman bumped roughly into her shoulder as he walked past, spilling a few drops of amber liquor onto the floor near her shoes. He stopped, slowly turning his head to look down at her, a low, rumbling growl starting in his chest as he realized she was human.

Blair froze, her breath hitching in her throat.

Five minutes, she thought frantically, her eyes darting around the terrifying room like a deer caught in the headlights. I am not going to survive five minutes.