Page 4 of Hunted

Of course, I won’t. It’s against the rules.

“Hello?” I ask the silence once more, but no one replies. I don’t hear any more screams. The forest is silent except for my ragged pants as my running turns to a sluggish walking pace. I shouldn’t be doing this. I should just go home and back to living my summer holidays.

There’s something about a dark forest that makes me feel very uncomfortable, especially at night time. It’s too dark, too silent, despite having grown up in a middle-sized town in the center of the country. The Maison de Maitre was originally designed and built by my ancestors, approximately twenty years after the French Revolution, and has a vast land and garden. But at least its ours, surrounded by our stone walls. Our gates. The house has always been in the family of my father, where the real money and status come from, so it feels like home. He even has his own private practice there, where he used to receive patients when he wasn’t working at the hospital. Being part of the Besnier family, he is a fifth generation neurosurgeon, following the footsteps of our ancestors, that line only being broken by me. It didn’t stop him from leaving, on a sunny day six years ago. It didn’t stop him from keeping the house in his family, despite letting me and Mom live there, despite letting his family accuse Mom of being a gold digger.

He just left one day. And he never returned.

He’s right though, Bronze Mask, and that pisses me the hell off. I came here tonight to see him. I’ve never believed in love at first sight. But this… I take a deep breath and then release on a jagged exhale. My shoulders slump at the humiliating truth. One glance at Bronze Mask wasn’t enough. The silhouette of his frame, his face, those lips, those dark eyes. I am starving.

I have questions, a confused mind and a body that doesn’t seem to understand that this guy is nothing like Theo. He’s not for me, yet he’s haunted my dreams ever since our first meeting in the library.

Foreign sounds catch me off guard and put me on edge as I listen to my surroundings—the light rustle through the plants caused by the wind, the hoot of an owl, the flapping of wings of a god-knows-what, the clippity-clop of the horse and the muffled sound of… I perk my ears. What’s that sound?

It brings me to where the dense forest leads to an opening. To where, in the middle and between the trees, an old piano stands. The wood is split in some places, and the keys are uneven and colored, most likely from the different weather conditions, but it still stands mostly intact. Proud. Mysterious.

“What the hell?” Is all my brain can come up with as I slowly, carefully approach the instrument. “What’s this?” My hand reaches out for the sheet of music that still stands in its holder, forcefully held by a metal music rack, the notes smudged into a blur of dark sweeps that colour the white-yellowish paper. Only the title is visible to read: “Moonlight Sonata” by Beethoven.

Tracing my fingers over every single note until I reach the end, careful not to press them and make a sound, I brush past the instrument to look behind the piano and toward the darkness of the thick woods. When I take a few steps forward, the muffled sounds become more distinct. Words are exchanged in a blur of whispers, and my next step swiftly becomes a falter because I catch sight of what lays in front of me. My heart jams in my throat. There, right in front of me, between two trees, lays a participant. He has lost the jacket of his school uniform, and his white shirt is stained with red splotches on his back and nape. He’s sprawled out onto his stomach, thighs spread, pants pulled down, giving me a full view of his naked ass. His arms are above his head, tightly pressed together and tied against the tree with what looks like white, though blood-stained cloth, that keeps his wrists firmly pulled together. In the middle of the trunk, keeping the material taut, a golden knife sticks out. He’s facing me, though his head touches the forest ground, and the only thing visible are parts of his covered face and his hair—a messy mop of auburn strands.

“Look who’s there,” sings that familiar voice. Golden Mask appears from the darkness and slowly swaggers to where the guy is spread out, kneeling between his widened legs. Facing me, he gives me a wide grin that shows off his flamboyant golden tooth, ignoring how his captive pants and murmurs unintelligible words. From the looks of it, the participant has put up quite the fight, but there’s no winning when your opponent comes with knives. “Want to watch?” Golden Mask strokes a big hand over the other man’s exposed ass cheek, a slow, loving gesture as he waits for my reply.

Of course not, you fucker. That’s what I should say. That’s what regular people would do, yet here I stand, mouth dry, throat locked, eyes undoubtedly wide. I don’t recognize myself. I’ve never been into kinky stuff. Me and Theo, we enjoyed vanilla sex where he would top and I would bottom. It was convenient and tender.

The participant makes a carnal sound, bucking his hips as if to offer his ass to Golden Mask, who continues to stroke both his cheeks now while still gazing right at me. Most of his face is hidden under his glorious mask, aside from his lips, ticked up in a cruel challenge, and his eyes, dark and taunting.

I open my mouth, but no words come out. He seems to think that’s hilarious, Golden Mask, because he tilts his head back and barks out a laugh. Suddenly he whacks the participant’s naked cheek, the loud slap on trembling skin causing me to flinch, possibly even more so than the actual participant.

“You like?” Golden Mask asks, and although he has dipped his chin to admire his rough treatment of the boy’s skin, the question is unmistakably directed to me. I don’t reply. My thoughts are all over the place, my dick hardening in my tight school pants, which causes a friction I don’t want to stimulate more than is necessary. Why on earth is this affecting me?

“You are hurting him,” I snarl in an attempt to distract my wandering thoughts. Golden Mask laughs again, then moves back on his haunches for me to see how he brings his fingers toward the guy’s crease. After a few caresses, he dips them inside his hole. The guy lets out a pleasured wail and I gasp, my hand suspiciously close to my own groin. I’m fully erect now, my stomach fluttering with desire.

“Does that look like I’m hurting him?” Golden Mask asks. I hear the sound of a zipper, a sharp contrast to the squiching melody of fingerfucking in a lubed ass. The participant writhes in his restraints, panting and moaning, as he pushes back against Golden Mask’s fingers in an attempt to try to get off. He’s rewarded with another slap on his cheeks that makes him howl in pain, or something else. “Tell me something, boy toy.” Golden Mask grumbles, lining up, then sliding his dick slowly into the stretched out hole. He pushes his hips forward until they are flush against the participant’s thighs. As he reaches out a finger and traces the bloody stains on the guy’s back, he murmurs, “Have you ever been fucked by a guy before?”

He starts pumping, hips thrusting back and forth in a private rhythm only they seem to be able to move to. At the sound of their moans I swear I can feel my own cock leaking inside my boxer briefs, and I clench my hands into fists as embarrassment sweeps through me.

“I—I—” I stammer, unsure of what to say. I’ve never seen two other people having sex, that’s for sure. I’ve never seen someone being hunted down, getting injured, and tied up at knife point with his own clothes, all while loving being fucked.

“Well?” Golden Mask taunts, turning once more over his shoulder as he fucks the participant hard. His mask shines, the shape of that lion unmistakable despite the pitch-dark.

“That’s enough.”

Bronze Mask approaches me from behind, the horse by his side, kept on his lead. It’s the first time that he’s not sitting on the animal’s back. From this close, I look up to catch sight of his inky-black eyes, despite the bronze decorations of his mask making it more difficult. I’d recognize that shape, that colour, the expression, anywhere by now.

Golden Mask howls playfully, then makes a show of throwing his cloak over the huddled form in front of him, who he is still ruthlessly fucking.

“It seems like someone’s out there to be next in line to be eliminated. I’d run if I were you, boy toy.”

Ignoring that asshole, I turn to face Bronze Mask. He’s nearly a head taller than I am, and despite the shapeless, dark cloak he’s wearing, I know he’s fit. Bulkier than my own lean build, the result of years of jumping on the volleyball field. The background is filled with moans and the sound of skin slapping skin, of murmurs of praise and unhinged mewls, but all we do is stare at each other.

“Three times lucky, they say,” Bronze Mask finally says cryptically.

“What do you need luck for?” I ask, nudging around us. “You already own the world.”

He tilts his head back and laughs at that, a low, rumbling sound. “Who says I was talking about myself?” He gives me a salacious wink that has my cock throbbing in my pants, and embarrassment hits me once more.

“Here,” he says, surprising me once more as he offers me the reins. “Hold her for a moment.” He walks away, toward the piano. “Her name is Nova.”

“Nova?” I stammer, and the horse snorts and looks right at me. “Yeah,” I mumble. “I know.”

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