Chapter 10

10

OLIVIER

A lexandre covers my entire body with his—a heavy, athletic mass of muscles and skin that ripple as he moves languidly, stretching himself like a satisfied feline, licking his lips when his obsidian gaze lands on me.

He smiles. Not his usual, wicked grin, but a soft, genuine tick of his lips that make his brows arch down, pointing toward his thick, long lashes. I can't help but stare up at him in reply. This guy has just rocked my world… is rocking my world. From the moment he brought that unfamiliar committee to my doorstep, who invited me to the South Wing, to the moment they left me their invitation, to the moment he chased me down three times before claiming me as his.

"You're about to alter your future," Elder Jacques had said during that first night of the Wicked Chase. "After tonight, nothing will ever be as it was."

I wanted to believe him, wanted for that to be the truth. But when I got hunted down later that night and brought back to where we had started, I knew he'd been wrong. At least, I'd thought . But something had changed. I'd become more aware of my surroundings, despite students ignoring me like I was an outsider who didn't belong. Because there was someone out there who had chosen me.

"How are you feeling?" Alexandre asks. He presses forward, rubbing our noses together in a gesture that makes my eyes burn. It's…intimate, and it makes me feel far more naked than my current physical state.

Around us, things are quieting down. I think, at least. The earlier slapping of skin and ravenous moans have been replaced by a more delicate kind of melody. One that combines with the lingering sound of the piano, that is now playing long and nostalgic tones, a song once again strangely familiar. It clenches something in my chest, and suddenly I'm having a hard time breathing. Alexandre squints his eyes, his fleeting hands petting my uncovered skin. The ephemeral touch leaves goosebumps in its wake.

"Is it your back?" He asks. "Does it still hurt?"

I shake my head. "No, I don't think so."

He tssks, then laces his arms under my nape, careful not to touch the welts where his stone hit their target, as he pulls me up and lifts us upward and off the altar. Sitting me up, we're once more on eye level. I wince when I arch my spine and stretch my muscles. He's right, my back is burning. He really did hit me hard with his stones. The earlier adrenaline that locked out the flames of pain and kept me on my feet is slowly dissolving leaving a shell that feels bruised and weak.

And with the physical ache comes the fatigue. The mental ache. I'm feeling stripped bare and I can't explain why. It's something that goes deeper than tonight's events, deeper than the fear and the thrill, deeper than the physical attraction. I was promised an altered future, but it feels like they've equally gotten their hands into my past, rooting through the absence of my dad and my sister. Finding my loneliness.

The thought has me swaying, tired muscles trembling. "Those balls you threw at me from your armour—what are they made of?" I ask.

Alexandre instantly moves his hands from my back to my shoulders, pressing his palms in the crook of my nape to keep me upright. "They're stones, little wolf," he says. "But I added a layer of silk to make them look good." He shrugs when I let out a snort, but the corners of his lips curl up. Like mine. Because there's something endearing about the way this big, bad guy requests access to my heart. With threats and pain. With a smooth touch and a dirty mouth. God, the words he utters. My stomach flutters, but the rest of my body is too tired to be awoken by arousal. Not being fueled by a sexual desire makes these feelings somehow more delicate, makes the thoughts more truthful.

Alexandre brushes a lock of hair from my cheek, cupping my exposed flesh. I flush, reveling in his attention, bafflement and apprehension battling inside me. When will he grow tired of me?

"My parents would like to meet you," he says, surprising the hell out of me. My mouth falls open, but he simply ignores my gaping with a boyish grin as he continues, "We'll leave for my family home tomorrow with my brothers Lancelot and Rapha?l. Ma?l will come too with his boyfriend Thurel. I think you'll get along well. Allez, viens. " He hauls me onto my wobbly feet and my hands reach for his shoulders on instinct as I try to steady myself. He's taller than I am, lithe with muscle development in the right places. His chest is wide and strong, and he feels so warm.

"Your parents?" I hear myself ask, gaze darting around to our surroundings. I was right, less people linger around. The Elders are gone, all three of them. Dominique's still playing the piano, his legs spread wide apart. I turn away when my gaze zooms in on the platinum blond haired guy between his thighs. Others are talking, small groups of cloaks huddled together, sipping champagne.

I turn back to Alexandre. "Isn't that illegal?"

He smirks. "Only when you're on the wrong side of the law."

Yes, they consume alcohol, which is against school rules. No, I can't bring myself to care at this moment. Or to be surprised. I come to realize that despite my privileged upbringing, there's an entire world ahead of me above the hidden attic door.

Dragging my gaze back, I let him pull me close. It's comforting. "Are those cars?" I point out a number of large, dark shapes that slickly approach us in the shadows.

"Hmm," Alexandre nods, brushing away a lock of hair from my face before pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Most students came here especially for the Initiations. They now go home to enjoy the rest of their Summer Break."

"I'm leaving tomorrow," I say, thinking of George, who is picking me up tomorrow.

"That's right."

"Our valet?—"

"No." He squeezes me tighter against his chest, my back blanketed by his strong shape, his arms crossed over my chest. "You're coming home with me. Come on, I've got another surprise for you." He squeezes my shoulders, then grabs me by the hand and starts pulling me away.

But there's something there. A flash, two, before it disappears between the shadows. My head spins around, and I blink my eyes when I don't find what I'm looking for. Something that's even more out of the ordinary than the leftover scene of tonight's debauchery.

Still, I can feel its presence—shock, disbelief, fear.

"Wait." I squeeze Alexandre's wrist, and for the shortest of seconds I feel like a purring cat at the way he obeys, the way he gives me space to become an equal partner despite his strong desire to rule and control in the bedroom, and most likely in most scenarios in life.

"What is it, petit loup ?" His voice is a hush, his other hand already in the small of my naked back. Protective, caring.

We have known each other for the course of one night and, like the perfect glove, we seem to fit perfectly.

"There's someone out there—" My eyes involuntarily land at the guys seated in the far corner, Edouard being one of them. He's still wearing his obscene camouflage, eerily beautiful as it glimmers in the faint light, casually chatting and laughing with the others. Some of them have taken off their masks and put off their hoods, revealing normal students of Saint-Laurent. I don't recognize anyone.

"You mean Edouard? Yeah, he's crazy," Alexandre huffs. When I don't reply, simply gaze into the mystical twilight, at the mixture of flickering shadows caused by the remainders of those candles still lit, he adds, "and dangerous. It's best to stay away from him, little wolf. That's why next round will be sweet, ‘cause it will be his turn to settle with his chosen one." Alexandre chuckles, and that's when I see those flashes once more. Once, twice, before they disappear. It makes the hair on the back of my head stand up instantly, and I point a trembling finger toward the chatting guys. Toward the darkness.

"You don't know these guys?" Alexandre asks, oblivious. "So, the one he's talking to is Arthur Deveraux. His twin, Louis, is the one talking to their stepbrother, Régis. Surely you have heard of their name?"

"Not them," I whisper. My voice sounds ragged. "There's something there. Right behind them. Please—" I blink, but nothing seems out of the ordinary once more. Turning back to face Alexandre, I whisper, "I'm tired. I want to go back home."

Menteur .

Alexandre takes my chin between his thumbs and squeezes lightly. "Don't lie to me, petit loup ," he chides, but his voice lacks venom. Instead, he plants another kiss on my head, releases my chin, then barks something to Edouard, who lets out a roaring laugh in return before he gets up and stalks our way.

"Come on. Let's get dressed and go back to the castle." Alexandre pulls decisively on my hand.

It takes me an awkwardly long time to gather my casually abandoned garments, thanks to Edouard who'd carelessly tossed them on the floor earlier, but I manage. My uniform sits stiff around my tired and sore limbs, pressing on the welts and bruises with every jerky movement, and I guess I wasn't lying after all. I really am tired. And curious, as to what Alexandre still has in store for me.

We take a few steps toward the bushes, where a small, bold suited bodyguard meets us in the bushes. "Follow me, sir," he quips, voice surprisingly high.

As we slowly leave the scene of music, incense and eccentric rituals, realization slowly settles in the pit of my stomach. I could have won the bag with money. Instead I won the Wicked Chase.

"Am I now a brother?" I ask Alexandre once we sit down in the back of the Audi. He turns to face me, his eyes searching mine, lingering before he answers.

"You are." His answer is void of amusement, though I can't be sure. For most of the night, I felt cherished. Wanted. Chosen . But with every meter the car separates us from the enchanted night and brings us a step closer to reality. I can't help the nagging feeling that tells me that this was all part of some parody that's now finished.

What was it that Elder Jacques said?

You are here for our entertainment, and entertained we shall be.

He also said that I was now a brother to the Alpha Fraternarii, I remind myself mockingly. Still…I was— am —the timid librarian, and he is Alexandre Arnault, part of the elite of the elite. Miracles don't exist, that's what Mom used to say.

Licking my lips, I glance over next to me, to where he is already looking at me with those endless, obsidian pools. "Or is this…these games , as you refer to it, a one-time thing?"

Alexandre clears his throat, as if he doesn't understand. Then—"Elaborate."

"Well," this time it's my throat that feels thick with hesitation. "You don't need to keep me. I mean, that's what you usually do, right? Have a fling with someone, only to move on after that?" I manage to swallow, but the lump is still there, together with an increasing sensation of wariness. My cheeks flame and I don't really know why. A memory of Theo passes my mind, and I think about our boring, comfortable partnership. Why is this so different?

Alexandre just chuckles, his usual raspy, sensual vibration back in place. He has replaced his dark cloak for a simple pair of pants that looks similar to mine, and an equally blue shirt, the top buttons open. They offer me the perfect view of his hardened chest. Of all that smooth skin.

I look away, but he won't let me. A possessive hand brushes over my chin, grabbing me tight, pulling me in and closer to his dipping head. Our mouths touch ever so softly and my nerve-system lights up, despite my fatigue.

"You're mine, Olivier. I told you this." He squeezes tighter, lips curling up when I let out a pained yelp against his mouth, pupils dilating at the sound. "Say it. Say you're mine."

I nod, pain erupting in my system once more as he strains his digits even more. "I'm yours."

"Good." His touch transforms back into a gentle swipe and he dips his gaze as his fingertip trails the reddened spot on my skin. " Vas-y , Jean," he barks to the driver, his eyes still on mine. "We'll head back to our dorms."

The ride is slow and bumpy as we follow the trail of SUVs and limos.

"Do you often do this?" I ask, staring outside as we pass the hidden glass house. "These secret meetups? And how come no one knows of them in college?"

"Oh, people know, petit loup . Those who need to know about them. The others…not so much. But then they're not invited, are they? The Atrium—" he continues, pointing toward a glass house that looks more like a 1900's built giant Aviary, that I've never seen before. It seems to be hidden in the forest, despite its substantial size as we pass it. Large floor to ceiling windows reflect in the darkness, with only a hint of large plants visible from inside the building. It looks beautiful, a little mystifying. But then, everything about the Alpha Fraternarii seems to be of that sort. "Our Initiations either take place in the dungeons of the South Wing, or here in the Atrium," Alexandre continues. His fingers have found the back of my hand, where they trace slow circles that awaken a gentle vibration in my stomach and muscles that crave to relax. "And to answer your other question, we don't often hold these secret meetups. But enough to keep them interesting."

"Interesting, hmm?" I nod at the woods, as I digest his answer. "And what is it that you do during these Initiations to make them interesting?" Turning his way, I catch his widening smirk.

Alexandre lets out a breathy laugh. "We have sex. Lots of it, petit loup ."

My stomach fills with sizzles, and while I lick my dry lips, I look at him, trying to find the lie. "Really?" I finally choke out.

"Really." Alexandre's smile turns predatory, unlike his soothing touch on my hand. "Some of the brothers like to share. Some like to watch. Others like to fuck strangers. Just like we did tonight." He pauses and what follows is an uncomfortable silence as we still bump over the forest ground until we reach for the flat sand trail that directs us back to the gates of Monterrey Castle. In front of us, most cars carry on the trail, heading toward the main road, but we take a right, cross the gate and head back to our dorms.

I try to think of his answer, but my head swims once more, thoughts scrambling. He watches me, the side of his mouth curved up, straight teeth somehow blinking in the night.

"How is that golden tooth allowed in college?" I wonder out loud. Alexandre's grin widens and his inky dark eyes flash with mischief.

"Speaking of a change of subject." He lets out a laugh, that turns darker, more wicked and he squeezes my hand and starts pulling me in. Our hips touch. "Perhaps I wasn't clear." Alexandre leans in and brushes a few strands from my ear, dipping his lips so they can trace the curve of my earshell. I shiver. Outside, the castle's contours come into view, lit up by the moon and the stars, and by a projected shape against the ancient stone walls. The shape of a bird. I swallow and stare. It's a crow. "From what I just explained, you conclude that we aren't much different from any other fraternity," he mumbles into my ear, his breath warm and wet against my shuddering flesh. "And we aren't. We love to enjoy our college years and try to do as much as God forbids us. But there's more than meets the eye." He pulls back only to catch me staring at the projected, golden bird that lights the ancient stones of Monterrey Castle, then lets out a husky chuckle that makes my stomach flutter.

"We are special, petit loup . Ancient and privileged. An anchor in our society. We're everywhere."

I instantly push him away, snarling, "It seems to me, that you're nothing more than a spineless group of spoiled, rich kids who like to fuck." Unsure why his words make me feel so upset, I turn away, heaving, only to realize that we are no longer moving.

We're here in the parking lot that faces the inner courtyard that I often gaze down upon adoringly, from the small Astragal barred windows that decorate the large library. Garden personnel do a great job of keeping the massive greenery with its winding ivy and countless different types of roses, begonias and buttercups in shape. It's a little piece of heaven, this garden, and carries a magnificent view.

During the day time.

Right now, blanketed by the night, with whispers of the evening lingering through the bushes, it gives me the chills.

"It seems to me," Alexandre's voice is laced with amusement, "that you are still in a phase of denial." He looks my way, but I ignore him and the triumph in those ablaze eyes. "It seems to me that you have been hiding for too long in tales of the past. We are part of the rich, and that's very much a reality. One that we can only be grateful for." Patting his knees, he hops out of the car, only to reach for my door barely a few seconds later with an unnecessarily violent swing and a cocky grin on his handsome face. Returning my scowl with amusement in those charcoal eyes, unbothered as he continues to grab me by my elbow and escort me out of the car.

"I can walk myself, you know." I can't help but grumble, painfully aware of my pettiness.

"I know." He doesn't let go, instead continues to guide me over the pebbles as we make our way toward the reception hall that's void of the usual porter with his stony face. "But I enjoy walking you to our dorm."

" Our dorm?" I jerk on his hold in an attempt to get free, but he doesn't let go, squeezing a little tighter in reply.

Alexandre lets out an exasperated gasp, then brushes a hand through his thick, blonde mane. "Have you even been listening to me?" He leans in, bumping our noses together. Fisting my hands, I try to keep a steady breath, but something inside my chest tightens, something inside my mind wishes it could travel back in time, to another place, alone and safe. Like the library, the door locked. This…this right here, right now, is terrifying. I want to speak, but words don't come. The only sound that leaves my dry throat is a pathetic squeak, that Alexandre cuts off before it can be shaped into something less unintelligible.

" Oui , beautiful," he says, and his gaze softens as he strokes a hand over my cheek, cupping my face between his large hands. "I struck you down from my horse, hunted you through the forest, hurt you—" He strokes my back and I wince when his fingers brush over the welts. "Then fucked you in front of all our brothers. And you want to know why?"

I nod, because yeah…I do. I'm a little desperate to hear the words, fully aware of how deplorable that must sound.

"Because you are the perfect mix of kind and dreamy, artistic and intelligent." He drops a kiss onto my quivering mouth. "Because you're unmistakably male, but have soft and pretty features just the way I like." A fingertip traces the line over my nose up to where it curves back behind my eyes. "Large, green eyes. Very handsome." He leaves another kiss on my mouth, fingertip tracing up and following the lines of my forehead before it curls a stranded lock around its digit. "Beautiful, messy hair." Only when he pulls back, do I notice that I was leaning into his touch, desperate for affection. It has been a while, if I'm being honest. After Theo…there was no one. And Mom is too absent for childish hugs, as she'd call them.

"You're a grown man now."

"Come on, let's go. You need a bed." Alexandre takes my hand and starts walking. This time I let him lead, and follow without hesitation.

We make our way through the narrow corridors, with their heavily decorated walls. Photos and paintings adorn our surroundings, a melancholic fusion of the past and the present, matching my inner turmoil. But there it is, this new craving. This desire to cross the line and see what's on the other side.

Danger.

Excitement.

Attention. For me, and only for me. What would it feel like to be noticed?

We halt in front of door number fourteen, and I realize we've already climbed the double-spiral staircase with its large and colourful tracery windows. And all the while, I was lost in my own thoughts.

Now it's too late to back out.

The door creaks open, revealing a space entirely illuminated in black and white. In the heart of the living area stands a huge, black leather couch, framed by glass side tables and a white, glossy coffee table that stands on an equally white, fluffy rug. The ivory-coloured walls are garnished with black framed posters of some of the most famous artists France has had over the past decades—Serge Gainsbourg and Brigitte Bardot.

"You know Ma?l Duteil?" Alexandre eyes my way, eyes flickering with delight.

I shrug. "You mentioned him briefly, yeah. But he's—" I flush and press my lips closed.

"One of the elite?" Alexandre finishes for me. I give him another half-hearted jerk of my shoulder, trying to play it cool. "Like you now?" His question is laced with devilish delight and I spin around, giving him my back. He laughs at that, a throaty mockery, before grabbing me by both shoulders and twisting me back to face him. "He's my best friend and cousin. We share this apartment together." He slides one hand around my shoulder and uses his weight to push me further inside the dorm.

It's a classy one, I have to admit. Though not very colourful, all objects seem to have been well-balanced, putting emphasis on the chosen black and white. It's elegant.

Behind the small kitchenette there are a few doors. We pass by them without slowing our pace, and Alexandre ticks on every single one of them as he explains, "Ma?l's bedroom and bathroom. The study room. My bathroom, and my— our —bedroom." He gives me a toothy grin, then pushes me inside. While I'm still admiring the spacious, comfy space, Alexandre lets go of me and starts rummaging around. I pay him no attention, too busy taking in the space.

There's a large king-size bed with black sheets and countless pillows. Here too, the walls are white, but Alexandre keeps photos. Many of them. On the wall, on his desk. Of smiling people and beautiful lands.

"Where is this?" I point toward a younger version of him, grinning into the camera, an old man by his side. Behind them lies a land of hills and green, a common scenery that somehow still feels different. Perhaps because of the colours, or the vegetation.

Alexandre turns around, two towels in his hand. He has already kicked off his shoes and socks, and stands barefeet in front of me wearing only his tank top and boxer briefs. I swallow thickly at the thought of how little he wears. He looks at the photo I'm still pointing at, then gazes back at me. "Argentina." He juts his chin toward the image. "That's my abuelo . My granddad."

I frown. "Are you from South America?"

"My mother is. My abuelo is the one who taught me how to hunt." He gives me a crooked smile and my stomach swoops dangerously. Desire that manages, despite my immense fatigue, to burrow deep beneath my skin.

"Come, petit loup ," Alexandre gestures for me to follow. I do, taking off most of my clothes as we make our way to his en-suite bathroom, swallowing away the awkwardness. It's a nice one, though that hardly surprises me at this stage. He has a private bath tub, a separate shower, toilet and double sink, all shiny white above black tiles and thick, silver-framed mirrors. "Let's freshen up. You must be sore and tired. Once we're clean, I'll tend to your battle wounds." He wiggles his brows suggestively. "And then I'll fuck you nice and slow in our bed, baptizing you into your new life with me."