Page 13 of Collared

“What will you do when you find me?” I ask, but I don’t wait for his answer, instead turn on my heel and make a run for it, the cold leaves scraping against the delicate flesh of my cheek and neck as I make my way through the high weeds.

“Five, you better hide!” He sings behind me. My breath stutters when I reach an opening in the forest, the earthy, woody aromas revealing that there’s some sort of a herbal garden close by.

“Six, keep on going.”

“Fucking asshole,” I mutter to myself, practically tripping over my own feet at the sudden change of scenery. The open green space leads to a sturdy mishmash of shrubs and trees, the weeds even higher than before.

“See-eeven!”

There are no more torches for guiding beacons here, my surroundings leaving me somehow trapped in an increasing feeling of trepidation. Fuck, I really don’t want to be here anymore. I should just tell him that I surrender, that I have changed my mind. But admitting my defeat feels bitter after all the trouble I’ve already been through, and the mere hope that out there, high in the sky, Dad watches over me and can see me become a member of the elite group of Saint-Laurent… so sweet.

Oh so fucking sweet.

“Eight!” Silver mask hoots, his lower timbre sounding surprisingly light when he raises his voice, that smoothness sounding almost like a mockery. And perhaps it is exactly that, yet another twisted joke. Because through the bushes I catch sight of the faintest light, like a signal bewitching me. Finally giving in, I grab my phone from the pocket of my school jacket.

“Allez,” I encourage myself, before finally switching on the flashlight. I narrow my gaze when I catch sight of the dimmed perimeter of some building that comes into view with each approaching step. It’s well hidden in the darkness, but thanks to my phone I can see clearly. My heart starts galloping faster, this time with hope.

Fuck, yes.

“Nine… nine-and-a-half…ten!” Silver mask zones in behind me. I’ve got no time to consider.

I’m out of time.

“J’arrive!”

“Fuck,” I mutter, then start running again, body jerking uncontrollably at every suspicious sound coming from behind me. He's coming. A cracking twig, a bristle of leaves. My ears buzz so loudly, I’m surprised I can hear anything in the first place. It’s making my head spin and my movements unchecked.

The shallow puffs of air clench high in my chest as a result of running too fast, too panicked, and not caring enough about my breathing.

Not giving a damn.

Because I need to get the fuck out of here and take cover.

It’s a wooden cabin, I think when I approach it carefully. It’s dark out here, apart from that single, dim light that comes from a lamp that hangs on the porch. The lantern. And no, it’s not a cabin. They’re stables.

I think of the guy on his horse from before. It’s not safe here, but then… it might be my best option. On my tiptoes I step up and onto the porch, careful not to make a sound. The stalls smell like leather and manure, the scent somehow soothing. Yes, this will do.

5

THUREL

Inside the barn is surprisingly clean. Garden tools are neatly tucked into a corner and a broom leans against a wall, dust and all kinds of debris swept under its bristles. There’s the vague smell of urine, for now the only proof the horse was ever in here.

And he will come back.

The thought has me shivering. With a little over one hour to go, I’ve already been told that the first participant got eliminated, and witnessed the demise of the second one. Does that mean he was automatically eliminated? And what about the other one, the one hanging in that spiderweb I caught a glimpse of just now?

According to the rules, that’s exactly what it means. And if that’s indeed the case, that makes me the last one standing in this contorted game of theirs, this hunger for power they call the Wicked Chase.

That would make me a member of their brotherhood.

Is such a membership enough to lift me from my usual, average self?

Do I want it to be?

My heart thrums at the thought, its rate picking up as those thoughts echo through my mind. They distort into something else, something darker. Filthier. A curled smile. A smooth voice. A hint of a touch. Him. The silver stranger, with his intent gaze.

He knows my name…

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