Page 17 of Hunted

It’s time to claim who’s mine.

The trot to our Initiation grounds is one of pride. Accompanied by my blood brothers and Edouard, I have come to present my trophy. My chosen one. For now and ever. Even Nova seems to realize the importance of this moment, and puts her feet gracefully up as we make our way to where the others are already gathered. Black cloaks are dotted all around us like flecks of shadows in the twilight, their chatting and laughing vanishing as they watch us appear. And here I am, sitting high in my saddle, with Olivier flung over Nova’s back, ungracefully so, though I can’t help it with his feet being tied together. I wanted tonight’s Initiations to be held outside, rather than in the dungeons or in the Atrium. Nothing can beat the outside air, fresh and intimitate, the way it blows through Olivier’ pretty light golden strands. I put a hand on his ass and a sizzle of excitement rushes through me.

Soon now.

The brotherhood did an amazing job, decorating tonight’s events down to the last detail. Lights have been put in the surrounding trees, and couches rest at their base, with at least a dozen pillows being casually placed around for when the entertainment starts. After all, nothing beats a live show. Oh, and I’ll give them one.

Gazing up at the sky, I catch sight of the full moon, brighter than any surrounding star. It’s peaceful out here, quiet, despite the presence of over thirty brothers.

Anticipation is heavy in the air when the three Elders appear from obscurity, their black cloaks slowly swaying as they move through the crowd and come to stand in front of the altar. They’re watching us from their superior position, both during the unveiling of tonight’s Wicked Chase, as well as during their daily role.

“Is that a piano?” Olivier suddenly asks out loud, but definitely to himself. I look down to his limp body curled over Nova’s back, to where his head is tipped up. I can’t see his face from this position, but the simple thought of how his eyes will be wide, mouth opened in surprise, makes my lips tick up.

“It is,” I confess. “Though not the same one as the one I used to play my little concert for you earlier tonight.”

He snorts, unaware of how my smile widens at that. Always so damn proud. “No, this player actually knows how to play.”

“Hey.” I tap on his ass and he lets out an undignified yelp, making my fingers itch immediately to hurt and soothe, to fight and make up. To make his eyes shine with unbridled arousal and unleash that tightness to explode into a cry of pleasure. When I allow him to.

It’s Dominique, Gaël Deveraux’s lover, and our usual pianist. He’s not an official member, but since his boyfriend is from one of our founding families, he always gets invited, if he wears a blindfold. Which he does. Though, judging by the way his trusting fingers find the keys, he doesn’t need his eyes anyway, just like his mouth frantically finds the cock of his blond lover, sucking and licking it while he plays a slow, classical piece. It sounds familiar.

Not wanting for Nova to kneel once more, I turn to Lancelot and Raphaël, who instantly come forward and grab Olivier from the horse and put him onto the ground. They don’t release him from his binds. Brothers come closer now, all carrying masks that vary in colors. Most of them are either white or dark, but some dark green, gold and silver ones are visible as well. My own bronze colour is unique, much like the embroidered versions of the other brothers who participated in the Wicked Chase tonight. Four unique masks for four unique love stories. They follow us as I guide my Olivier further onto the scene and closer to the lights, to the scented candles and incense, and to where the altar awaits.

My little wolf snarls and hisses, his bound limbs rendering him helpless as I carry him further. His eyes flash behind the dark silk of his blindfold, like molten jade jewels.

When we finally stop in front of the heart of our substitute chantry, someone clears his throat, the dry, raspy sound followed by a familiar, loud thud.

“Brothers.” Elder Jacques stands in the middle, flanked by two other Elders, still wearing the mask shaped into a crow. He chuckles, the sound filled with leery delight. “You’ve made quite the appearance.”

I don’t need to hear Lancelot to remember the countless warnings he gave me when I joined the brotherhood.

Stay clear of the old pervert.

I tilt my chin a little higher in the air and press Olivier, still tied up, closer to my chest. His earlier bluff has evaporated like water in the burning sun. He, too, must feel it. “But I’ve come home with my prize,” I sneer, a little shriller than I would have liked. In my arms, my little wolf shifts, although I’m unsure of his emotion.

“That you have.” The Elder eyes Olivier with a salacious smirk. This time, when Olivier arches back against me, I curl my hand around his waist and squeeze, in an attempt to reassure him. Unaware of, or perhaps just ignoring our unease, the Elder thumps his cane again in the ground. “Now that we’re all here, let’s continue with the rest of the entertainment we have lined up for you tonight.” With a flick of his wrist, they come forward. A line of red cloaks, swaying languidly as they make their way into the flickering light from the hidden shadows. Their faces, like the surrounding brothers, are obscured behind masks, their heads covered in hoods, their chins dipped to their chest as they approach the center of the scene in a cradling shuffle.

Their hips move in a swaying motion. Left. Right. Left. Right. In my arms, my little wolf tenses up.

Straight. Straight. Straight at the altar.

Straight at Olivier.

8

OLIVIER

As disoriented as I am, my thoughts flutter around freely, unable to be stopped and collected quietly. My wrists and ankles burn from the tight leather straps, an outlandish contrast to the way my back is pressed against Alexandre’s hardened chest. The touch brings a misplaced sentiment of safety, yet it makes my limbs sluggish and even docile when we’re being surrounded by strangers huddled in red silk. They’re waiting, not watching, adding an eerily perfect detail to the ominous picture that tonight paints, here in the forest that surrounds Monterrey Castle.

My mood swings from embarrassment to something else. Something darker that has my skin flushing and my stomach coiling with a hunger I can’t place.

There’s disbelief, that’s for sure. Because I simply can’t believe that Alexandre planned this entire night. That he actually went as far as asking his real brothers, his blood, to be present. To hunt me down like prey. It’s… hot. Nasty. Arrogant. It makes me feel wanted, like I was carefully and deliberately selected.

You’ve been chosen.

I should have tried harder to find my pot of gold. Or is this…is this my destiny?

“I’m going to lay you down here,” Alexandre purrs in my ear. Instead of grabbing me by my tied wrists that hang forlorn in front of my stomach, he digs his fingers in the tender skin of my nape, squeezing a little as he leads me forward and toward the rectangular table, dressed with silk cloth and neckroll pillows. Its wooden legs have carvings of all kinds of shapes and a baluster leg table that I recognize from history books. That’s not all. Approaching, I realize that the fire does not come from the same torches as were placed on the trails. No, these are candles, placed in fine golden chandeliers. Furniture I have seen before.

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