Page 11 of Collared

I guess I have never given the forest the attention it deserves. The land surrounding Monterrey Castle is so vast, its solid row of massive oaks clearly only the tip of the iceberg once you pass them and discover what's behind. Evergreens, large and proud, decorate the charcoal horizon. Shrubs, of various kinds, wave in between, as if gesturing to me, beckoning me to leave my safe haven against the tree, and follow them.

I don't. Encouraged by the silence, my eyes flutter closed. Fatigue lands over me like some warm blanket. The thought of home is soothing me, protecting me from my predicament. I can just stay here and wait for the remaining time to cradle me gently as it passes. My lips curl up at the thought. Yes, that would be nice.

When my eyes fly open with an intensity that makes them snap, I realize I must have dozed off at some stage. Darting around, I scan my surroundings, only to release a shuddering breath. It's still just me, together with the darkness and silence of the forest. My back feels strained against the hard surface from the tree trunk that still holds my slumped frame, and after I inwardly count to ten to gain some courage, I finally turn over my shoulder and gaze up at the dimly lit trail.

Who are you? I think of the other participant with his blond hair. Who were you that you felt so desperate to win tonight? If it was only to be part of the popular crowd, does that mean you didn't have any friends?

What does that make me? The trail is barely visible from my hiding spot, but I don't need sight anyway. My gaze has turned inward, scrutinizing my own behavior. Maybe I'm not here to win, but I didn't do a damn thing either to help both participants. Because of the rules of the game. I click my tongue. "Pathetic," I mutter.

But then, just as I drag my gaze back past the darkness, the hair on the back of my neck rises, and goosebumps dot my arms, accompanied by a nervous flutter in my stomach. What the—my breath catches in my throat when my widened eyes find the source of my building anxiety. There, barely ten meters away from me, he stands. Silver Mask. Watching me. The moment our eyes lock, he straightens his shoulders, pushing himself away from a tree.

When he takes a languid step forward, my insides tighten, back pressing further into the wood. I swallow, hands fisting as I prepare myself to make a run for it. He cocks his head, eyes flashing, and he tilts his head as if I'm some animal who's reaction he's trying to gauge.

The rope slides slowly between his fingers, revealing the collar once more. It shines in the darkness and I can't help but stare at it. Diamonds and leather. I can't see it clearly from this far, but my body's reaction is instant, betraying me, as a flutter tickles my insides and crawls from my chest to settle between my legs. Licking my lips, I realize I need to make a move unless I want to be eliminated.

Do I want to be eliminated?

Do I want to get fucked? My pants tighten, making me inwardly scowl at myself. The answer is no, thank you very much. I've never been fucked before. Yet I'm still here, my ass flat on the cold ground, my back plastered against the tree, my eyes transfixed on Silver Masks's long fingers. He takes another step, and I blink, my stare watching as those digits trace the fine jewels carved inside the darkened skin of the collar like a lovers’ touch.

He takes another step forward and my breath hitches. He's too close.

Get up.

I finally move, digging my nails in the tree as I claw my way up and back on my feet, cursing at myself for taking too long. Our eyes meet, his nothing more than a shadowy haze from behind his camouflage.

And then he finally speaks.

“Montre-moi, mon ange,” he murmurs. His voice is surprisingly smooth, low with a hint of a rasp. This time it’s my turn to tilt my head, heart beating fast in my chest as I flick through my memory. No, I don't think I've ever heard that voice.

“Show you what?” I ask.

His pillowy lips tick up, revealing a row of sharp, white teeth. He grabs the rope from the ground, using the material to make a loop the size of a neck. Of my neck. Horror grabs my insides, squeezing and clambering in its attempt to break free. It makes me feel light-headed and annoyed.

“Show me how fast you can run," he hums.

How fast I… I blink, annoyance slowly dissolving into anger. It seems that my brain is finally kicking in. Anger is easier. Anger takes care of all other emotions I can't place right now. Such as how my cock is half hard in my pants despite the promise of getting fucked for the very first time when he catches me. Anger is black. It doesn't allow any room for negotiation.

“And what if I tell you to go and fuck yourself?” I snarl. He licks his lips, then chuckles, the sound light and husky as it wavers my way.

“I was hoping you’d say that." He takes another step, and another one. The tree feels rough in my back, its texture no longer grounding but prickly and offensive as if it means to attack me from behind.

“So what’s it going to be, ange?” He places the collar in front of his own neck to imitate what will happen when he catches me.

"You—" I start, but suddenly his phone vibrates. Fishing it out of the pocket of his cloak, he holds up a finger against his lips, then presses the phone against his ear.

Run, god damn it. My feet won’t move.

One of those flutter-inducing smirks curl his lips when he listens to whatever is said on the other side of the line.

“Alex just unwrapped his gift,” he rumbles faintly. I'm not sure if these words are meant for my ears, but their meaning strike a chord. I think of the first participant I bumped into and how that stone hit him straight in his back and brought him to his knees. A bola, is what the blond participant had called it?

Run, god damn it. I run.

But this time there’s no control in my rhythm, no steady heartbeat. This time it’s uncontrolled and messy, and I am panting and wheezing even before my feet decide to abandon the trails all together and go completely freestyle through the shrubs. Sounds flood my way. Grunts and hisses, the slapping of skin against skin, and I squeak when I catch sight of a guy who’s hanging in what I can only describe as a large spiderweb made of thread, as he gets pummeled from behind by Bronze Mask. How the fuck is that thread holding the guy up?

No fucking way.

Someone whistles behind me, but I don’t turn around, don’t want to get distracted. Don't want to be found. But I'm already too late.

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