Page 5 of Collared

Chase?

My chest constricts and my mind searches for any relevant memories of the conversation I had with those elderly men. We never spoke of any form of chase, I’m sure of it. But then again, it’s quite possible that this is the way these frat initiations are handled. I try to calm my galloping heart.

My eyes flick back to Silver Mask. He’s still locked on me, as if he never averted his gaze to begin with. Something flutters inside my chest. Something unfamiliar and undesirable.

“Participants.” The old man booms his cane, and I shift my eyes back at him. “You’ve all signed an agreement. Confidential! That’s what tonight is. All of it. Am I making myself clear?”

No one replies.

I feel Silver’s eyes burn a hole in my flushed face.

"Now, as you’ve read, only one of you four participants can win tonight. If you get eliminated, you might feel disappointed, or even angry. Deal with it. Don’t ever talk about tonight. Not. Ever. Nod if you understand what I’m saying.”

Holy Jesus fuck. That stupid agreement. Why did I choose exactly that moment in my life to stop thinking all together?

The old man strolls forward between our formed lines, his pace slow and measured.

It’s a frat house, Thurel, I repeat in my mind. It’s meant to be fun.

My heart doesn’t stop racing.

He halts in front of the guy next to me, and from the corner of my eye I catch sight of the way he uses the head of the bird topping his cane to lift the chin of the participant. “Nod if you understand what I’m saying,” he demands, his voice low and threatening despite its lack of volume. I shift uncomfortably, blood rising to my head. “Good,” he murmurs, the approval barely a hum. When he finally saunters back to his spot at the head of our group, a whoosh of air involuntarily escapes my mouth.

I swear I can hear the faint hint of a chuckle in reply. A low, husky sound that makes the hair on the back of my neck rise.

“Gentlemen,” the man with the cane spins around on his heels until he’s facing us once more. “The rules are easy, and our brothers very hungry.” He gestures to the four Venetian masked brothers. “Gold, silver, bronze and copper. Participants, the color of the mask across from you is the brother who will hunt you down. He's out there to eliminate you from the Wicked Chase. Hungry to track his prey down and play with it. That is the game. The losers go home, the winner becomes our new brother.”

What if they find us? I stammer inwardly. I don't want to think of the answer.

The man with the cane takes out a wrinkled paper from his cloak, licks his lips, then starts reading. “During the Chase, you may be subjected to physical violence-with no lasting injuries-as well as being drugged, tied up or even used for the brother's sexual pleasure.” He looks up from over the edge of the paper, his dark, hollow gaze whisking over us. "You agreed to this.” My heart thumps violently in my chest. “So, now you know how you can be eliminated. I am sure you want to know how you can win?” His lips curl up in a dirty grin and he shrugs. “Easy. Last out here in the woods for two hours without being taken. It’s that simple. Hide well and win. ”

My gaze shoots back to Silver Mask. He watches me glaring at him, then lowers a hand to the pocket of his cloak. My gaze dips involuntarily. When I see him pulling out a bundle of rope, I narrow my eyes, trying to decipher what the hell that is.

“Out there, you’re on your own," The man with the cane continues. "The other participants are not your friends and our brothers are loyal only to each other. They are coming for you, so you’d better be ready. Last for two hours, and change your life radically. Don’t linger, don’t hesitate. You will know it when you’re eliminated. You will know it when time’s up. Whatever happens, don’t take off your mask. Ever.” He quiets for a moment, then continues, “Everything has been set up for our entertainment. And entertained we shall be.”

My gaze locks on the rope that Silver mask is still casually unraveling from his pocket, aware that he’s gotten my undivided and trembling attention. My hands are clammy, fingers stiff, and I seriously wonder if I should just call this whole thing off. But frankly, that would make me the only pussy out here, and surrendering to that teasing, dark glare from right across from me, is something my pride can’t take. So I blow out a shuddering breath and try to relax, my gaze still pinned on the coiled rope across from me.

Silver Mask finally reaches the end of the rope. Long, agile fingers caress something dark, something that looks like some…like some collar you'd use for your pet. I blink, jaw tightening at the sight. My heart thumps wildly. A fucking collar?

“Time starts now!" The man booms, lifting his cane. When he catches us lingering, he jabs it onto the ground, and jerks his chin, his burning gaze on us. "You'd better run, participants."

My eyes fly up to where Silver Mask watches me intently. For a split second, no one moves. And then he takes a step toward me.

This time I don’t hesitate.

“We thank you for your participation." The words are followed by a terrifying chortle that rattles the air and increases the pace of my galloping heart.

I turn on my heel and run.

2

THUREL

The sounds of snapping twigs and churning dirt fill the sudden quietness with an echoing harshness that does absolutely nothing to beat back the fierce nerves in my stomach. Taking off at full speed, causes my breathing to escalate from its usual steadiness to a throaty wheeze.

This is typically what happens when I start running without any form of breath control. It's stupid, a rookie mistake, and my years of football training have taught me better. But right now, all common sense seems to have left my mind.

Around me, other participants flutter away like injured birds, looking for cover in the countless shades of trees and shrubs.

---