Sur Scène

Spiders.

So much more than air-breathing insects with eight limbs, fangs that inject venom, and spinnerets that extrude silk. Did you know that they are either aggressive or docile? Black. White. Bad. Good. There is no in-between. No grey area.

They carry the creepy kind of beauty that freaks most of us out.

Not me though.

Ever since I was a child, I have been fascinated by them. Such stealth for a creature so small and delicate. Such precision in the way they walk, run, or crawl. And it's not just the outward prowess that is to be admired. A spider is also cunning. The way they seek out their prey through smell, and actively pursue or cautiously stalk, waiting in ambush— it's a game of the mind too. Sometimes they catch their prey's attention by aggressive mimicry, before grabbing and holding them between their pedipalps and front legs. And then they bite.

That bite.

I love using my teeth. Blood seeping into my mouth. My tongue dragging softly over the broken flesh, sealing the wound with a kiss. Fuck yeah…

The thought makes my insides tingle, and for a fraction of a second I'm oblivious to my surroundings, forgetting that we've just come out of the bushes like a troop of cloaked fiends, scaring the shit out of the participants whom we've invited for tonight's quest.

For the Wicked Chase.

Classmates from Saint-Laurent Boarding College for boys, lured into the woods with the promise of an altered life.

Wealth. Status. Heritage.

Membership in the prestigious, secret brotherhood of the Alpha Fraternarii. Forged by the blood and sacrifices of those that came before us, we now carry the mantle of control in this modern age. We continue to use politics to control the masses, as our ancestors did. Our methods are unorthodox to the unlearned, but they are effective, as our participants will soon learn. Fear, when infused with sex of all kinds, can prove to be a potent control mechanism. After all, who doesn't want to play a role in today's political climate? Even if it starts here, at Monterrey Castle.

Or to be precise, at Monterrey forest. In the middle of the night.

"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. You agreed to this," Elder Jacques booms. The Elder"s black cloak flitters around his shrivelled shoulders. The head of his long, wooden cane rests within his enclosed fist. To our participants, he might look like a scary "cult man". They might be right. To the outside world, we may very well be considered exactly that. Not here. Here, we are those who possess so much wealth, who command so much respect from the mindless public, that we do as we please and everything is acceptable—the depraved, and the dark. The vile and the primal urge to dominate and control.

Yes. Elder Jacques paints an eerily perfect picture for our esteemed guests.

Sometimes I wonder if the Elder has ever been through the Initiations himself; his younger, insecure self afraid to join the secret society. He's always so collected. Like he never ages. Like he was never young to begin with.

The formalities are meant as an appetizer, an introduction to what's to come. Standing across from our four contestants in a line, my brothers and I stand proud. We're impatient, and the air is thick with anticipation as we wait for the game to begin. Someone from the line across from us stutters a reply, a string of unintelligible words, as he fidgets with the mask on his face. All four participants wear a similar camouflage of a silk—a dark mask, knotted with a soft ribbon at their napes. The shape and softness radiate sensuality, but lack the power and aristocracy of the Venetian masks that we, the brothers of the Alpha Fraternarii, sport in bright colour and lascivious shapes. Gold, silver, copper and bronze.

"You signed up for this," Elder Jacques says. Raising an arm, he points with his cane back to the castle, where students left earlier today for Family Break, an initiative from Saint-Laurent to encourage families to spend time together over the weekend. "But if you insist on backing out, be my guest. Leave." No one answers, but apparently that's not enough for the Elder, who's only just starting to let his rage show. "Anyone else? Hmm? Anyone else wants to turn their backs on the invitation and refuse the opportunity of a lifetime? Because if you do, please, do it now."

Silence.

He takes another step, his dark mantle sliding through the neatly formed lines. The participant who complained flinches, clears his throat, then straightens up. Poor boy. He's facing Alex, whose face is covered with his glorious bronze mask. His hunting weapon hangs from his hand—a leather swing and stone balls. A bola.

Just like the previous time, the guy won't last one hour. I'm not sure what game Alex is playing with his prey, but he seems to enjoy chasing him down, eliminating him, only to bring him back in the game. Knowing how tonight will end, the poor guy will have to come back once more. Because tonight's showtime for me, my check is the highest. Which means this will be my final time partaking in the Wicked Games, because unlike the first time when I was merely out there to have some fun, tonight's prey is my chosen one.

Standing across from me, in his school uniform, the upper part of his face obscured by charcoal lace, curled into the same shape as my own copper mask, is my target.

Robin Pinault.

"D'accord," Elder Jacques seems pleased as he trots back to his place at the head of our line-up. No one has left. "Now that we have that cleared up, let's move on to the interesting part. Participants, did you know that the monks who lived in Monterrey Castle in the eighteenth century offered shelter to some of the elite when the streets of Paris burned?" Some hesitant nods.

Robin just stares at the Elder, his jaw pinched tightly.

"It was those families who rewrote our past," the Elder continues. The wind picks up through the evergreens that frame the horizon, swinging their endless branches slowly like uncontrolled tentacles. I shiver involuntarily, anticipation slowly unfurling in the pit of my stomach. I'm hungry for tonight. Although this part of France has already dealt with its first heat wave over the past weeks, with temperatures hitting 38 degrees, we were surprised by heavy rainfall at the beginning of the week. For a second, we believed that tonight's Initiation would be called off.

We were lucky though.

What started as a glorious and hot day has transitioned into a pleasant night. Crisp, with a hint of a lukewarm breeze. The perfect night to hunt.

Silence slices through the air. Hardly a breath taken as our participants wait for Elder Jacques to continue. The quiet is shattered by a cloud of bats taking flight just above us. Their screeching pierces through the dark, causing our participants to jump. A smile touches my lips. So jittery. Ah, they will be fun to hunt. Fear can be so attractive in these situations.

"After the last monks left in the early 19th century, the castle was turned into Saint-Laurent Boarding College for boys, an institute that we've all come to know as one of the finest throughout the entire world. Our country's elite regroups here." Elder Jacques pauses, letting his words land. "Our country's elite redefines their values here." His voice has smoothed into a gravelly whisper, and across from me, I can feel Robin fret as he moves to put his hands into the pockets of his pants and lowers his gaze.

"Tonight, you've been invited to join the club of the privileged." Grabbing a document from his cloak, Elder Jacques holds it up in the air. "And having signed this NDA, you understand the need for secrecy. the outside world does not understand us, and so you are required to uphold the trust and confidence we have placed in you. Make no mistake—" Dropping the paper in front of his lap, he tilts his chin and gives the line of participants a challenge glare. "Each of you has undergone an extensive background check. Everything there is to know about you, is known to us. Failure to uphold the trust we have placed in you will result in reprimand of the highest order. The NDA is a formality. A courtesy offered to you out of respect for your place at Monterrey Castle. We have maintained secrecy for centuries. Make no mistake, we will ensure your silence by all means." The elder moves forward once more and has his claws dug into the chin of the first participant. The one who fidgeted before. "You don"t want to see your little sister hurt, hmm?" The guy shakes his head furiously, and even from this distance, I don't miss how his lips are trembling. He's already on the verge of a breakdown.

Scanning each and every one of the participants across from me, my eyes once more linger on my remarkable part-time classmate. My prey. I'm elated he showed up, though part of me still can't believe it. Still can't believe that he dropped his guard and signed his life away.

What made you come here tonight?

"Exactly," the Elder soothes, rubbing his finger over the guy's cheek, before abruptly dropping his hand and turning his body halfway toward our side of the line.

"My hungry brothers," he murmurs, as if speaking to a lover. "When the church bells chime, you'll be given two hours to hunt. Participants—" He swivels his gaze back to the other side. "Take a good look at the masked man in front of you. For the duration of this initiation you will identify your pursuer by the color of their mask - gold, silver, copper or bronze. They are the only ones who can eliminate you from this game. Now, the rules are simple." He leans in ever so slightly toward the guy next to Robin. "Survive. Don't trust each other, don't make any friends. You're on your own here. Keep your mask on at all times, and don't leave the forest, even if you're wondering what time it is." His hand moves toward the guy's pocket and he fishes out his phone, tossing it away and into the darkness with an audible chuckle. Passing two participants, he steps behind them, his frame almost entirely swallowed up by darkness.

"How do you know you've won? How do you know if the other participants have been eliminated? It's simple." He pushes his cane into the ground. "You don't. But we will know. And when you are the last man standing?" He huffs out a husky chortle. "You'll know."

My eyes search the line of participants, seeking out Robin. My gaze meets his. His eyes are on me but I don"t think he sees me. His face is blank, his eyes glazed over. Has he retreated into some dark part of his mind? His chest puffs up, as if preparing for battle. A second time tonight, a smile touches my lips. He"s perfect.

Then, something flashes in those eyes. Is it surprise? Realization? The NDA didn't state that he can only be eliminated by me. Nor does it say that I'll claim him after I capture him. Or perhaps he is not as brave as he"s trying to look? My chest tightens. Ne te prends pas la tête. Don't worry, beautiful. I"ll hunt you and then I"ll take care of you.

"I know what the rumours tell you about a possible frat house with its silly pledges inside the walls of Monterrey Castle," Elder Jacques drifts closer to Robin. "They are lies. Remember when someone blabbed about a secret evening in the basement? What was his name again…" He pretends to think carefully, his chin pinched between his fingers.

No one speaks. Every single student knows about Camille Dubois and his dubious departure from Saint-Laurent.

Robin clears his throat. One of his hands has left his pocket and he rolls his fingers into a fist, unclenches them, before clenching them once more. Ah...he remembers.

While the Elder continues his formalities, I let my eyes roam over my chosen one once more, skin itching with contemplation. Robin wears his light caramel hair in an unpractical, unusual length. It's too short to be wrapped out of his face in a bun of some sort—though I believe that would be against college rules—but long enough to frame his narrow face. Some days it even looks like that thick mop of straight strands completely absorbs his fair skin as it hangs like a curtain over his cheeks. His eyes are light and large, with thick, curly lashes under bushy, taupe-coloured brows.

He's in second year like me, though he majors in Business Administration, where I am in International Business. We share a few classes together, and the same library hours, which is how I know of his existence. It's a shame really that he only always uses those gray-colored eyes to glare at the entire world around him. Those lips, those pouty, pink lips, permanently curled into a disapproving sneer.

Not tonight. Tonight, Robin looks wary. I might not see much of those facial features I dream of with the mask he's wearing, but the expression in his eyes is clear. He's anxious.

Finally his gaze clears up and his eyes focus on me with clarity. It's just a flicker of a moment, but it's enough to cause an explosion in my belly.

Fuck, my snappy, snarling part-time classmate is afraid of me.

At the thought, arousal unfurls inside the pit of my belly. It tickles like a gentle brush of a feather, causing internal goosebumps, the way it crawls persistently slowly toward my groin, rousing every nerve in its wake.

My fingers flit over my own mask. My contact lenses are drying out my eyes, making them feel scratchy. I could have worn my glasses like last time, knowing that they'd be solidly perched against my nose, securely held by the mask. But I was vain, I guess. Wanted to look my best when I finally get to fuck Robin.

Like a spider, I don't have good eyesight. And tonight, like a spider, I, too, will rely on touch, vibration, and taste to navigate and find my prey. Spiders create traps of silk thread with glue droplets on their web. They paralyze their prey with venom so they cannot escape. Like this, their prey can stay alive for hours, and the spider can have a juicy meal whenever he gets to it.

This is exactly what I have in mind. With Robin as my prey.

I don't have silk thread to offer my chosen one, but I do have quite the surprise for him, hidden in the forest. Just like the venom only the spider can inject into its prey, Robin is about to receive a kind of venom only I can provide.

Speaking of…did you know that male spiders like to leave presents?

I'm not just a predator. I can be sweet too. After finding out I had been chosen to partake in the Wicked Chase, and I"d decided that our time had finally come, it didn't take me long to find a cute chocolatier in the town of Saint-Laurent. They made me the finest of boxes with tons of sweets, wrapped up in golden ribbons and accompanied by glossy cards. And so over the recent weeks, I have been leaving them in his bedroom by the window with a little note:

Soon now, mon papillon.

My butterfly.

Though, despite the effort on my side, none of the chocolate has managed to erase that permanent scowl off Robin's face. In class his eyes flit and glower, his lips permanently curled into an disinterested sneer. I wonder how they'd taste against my lips. Against my teeth, my tongue. Against my cock.

We're here now, papillon. But don't you worry, I'll erase that glower off your face in no time. And once it's gone, and your face is void of that usual sulky look, it'll be mine to paint with emotion. I might choose a hint of wonder, a splash of venom and a whole sweep of desire. Of hunger, mixed with desperation, because you'll be entirely at my mercy.

Caught in my silken web.

Elder Jacques takes a final step forward, leaning just that bit too much on his cane. I wonder if he truly needs the walking stick or if it's purely for theatrical purposes. It would suit him, the slithering creep he is. The golden crown engraved in the wooden rod stares at me when the Elder stops right in front of me, throws me a filthy wink before offering me his back.

He's now looking at Robin, and though I can't see their eyes as they make contact, I can feel the air turning thick with tension.

Everyone's aware of what's going to happen now, since the Alpha Fraternarii don't have secrets.

The church chooses this exact moment to announce midnight, with slow, heavy chimes. My chest tightens. Fuck yeah, tonight's my turn to win, my amusement prepared down to the last detail.

"You stay," the Elder tells Robin, then gestures to the other participants, "Go now! May the best man win. You have two hours. And remember—everything has been set up for our entertainment. And entertained we shall be."

No one hesitates, clothes flapping in the wind as they run through the forest, fleeing for cover.

"Boys, wait…" the Elder hums, his eyes still on Robin. "If you give them a chance to find their cover, the sweeter their surrender will be. Now, you…"

"What's that?" Robin asks, the usual mistrust creating a harsh sharpness to his slightly higher pitched voice. My heart rate picks up, ruffling steadily as it increases to a delicious, rapid thump. Fuck yeah, we're really doing this.

"This is your choice." I can hear the smile in the Elder's taunt. Always fucking taunting, that old man. "What's it going to be? White, blue or red?"

"Vive la France," Golden Mask whisper-murmurs, followed by a muffled chuckle. The dick.

"Silence!" Elder Jacques barks, then swivels around. "Better yet, go now!"

My brothers don't waste a single beat. In a fog of rustled cloaks and howls of excitement, they leave their spots and follow the footsteps of the participants into the woods.

Then, after what feels like forever, silence returns once more upon us. I'm still standing behind the Elder, waiting.

"Are those drugs?" Robin croaks. Yeah, my dick likes that tone.

"Final warning. If you wish to keep things as they are, you can leave now," Elder Jacques replies. "Our guards will escort you back to your dorm, and you can be gone home for Family Break in less than half an hour." Leaning in, he dips his disguised head in the curve of Robin's neck, exposing my prey's face to my greedy eyes. His wide, unblinking stare radiates horror and is focused on me, as if keeping his eyes on me would help him protect himself from this physical invasion of his personal space. It seems like not wanting anyone close to him runs in Robin"s DNA. Ah, pretty boy, don"t worry. Soon we"ll be so close I"ll be part of your DNA.

"You have exactly three seconds. One—"

"What do these pills do?"

"Nothing you didn't sign for. Two—"

Robin lets out a grunt and then I see him snatch the white pill out of the Elder's palm and stick it into his mouth. He swallows, making his delicate throat bob.

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Elder Jacques pats him on the shoulder, sounding satisfied, much like my dick. The chase is on. "Now, run."

Robin's eyes remain on mine for the next few seconds. Then they flit back to the Elder and he blinks. I can't help but wonder if the drugs are taking effect that rapidly?

"You're exactly the crazy bunch of fuckers they told me about," he spits out. Then he turns around and runs.