Chapter 9

The dungeons of Monterrey Castle. I've visited them before, for movie nights and other activities, but never in the South Wing. And never did they look like this.

A foggy room, thick with the heady scent of spices, resinous and woody notes that penetrate my nose, swirling around my dazed state of mind. Like lovers.

I grab Arsène's hand.

Dark, with only the flickering light of torches to make the shadows dance against the walls. There are so many of them, obscure shades that whirl around—cloaks, dark and long, with hoods to cover their heads, and elegant, colourful masks to hide their identity.

I'm in school with these guys, my troubled mind sputters. I'm in school with guys who lead a double life, who are part of this secret brotherhood that, if Arsène is speaking the truth, has more power than your worst nightmare.

And still I'm finding myself moving forward, led by flaring shapes and rich scent, by a possessive, warm hand that is wrapped around my nape while the other squeezes my palm. Around us, the crowd gives way, and we continue our march with tens and tens of pairs of eyes on us. Watching, following.

Do they know who I am?

Nerves flutter freely through my stomach, supporting the heavy weight in my head and making it more bearable. Making me more pliable when we finally arrive at the altar Arsène mentioned before, and halt. My heart is pounding so violently, I fear others might hear, but my gaze is pointed toward the three cloaked men who stand in the center of the room. They're clearly waiting for us. Their masks are shaped like a crow as black as their cloak, its obscene nose long and crooked, aside from the white fur that's been stitched on the seams of their hoods. It forms a sharp contrast to the rest of their garment.

The man in the middle booms his golden cane, and around us, the soft murmurs fade away, only to be replaced by utter, thick, silence.

"Arsène de Noailles." He lifts a hand and his lips curl into a cruel smirk. He's the one from before, the man who instructed us contestants, about the rules of the game. The one who handed me the drugs. "You've done well, brother, I am proud of you."

"Thank you, Elder Jacques," he replies, gripping me tighter. I swallow, the sound ticking between my ears, Arsène's fingers light and pressing on my shoulder, grounding me while simultaneously sweeping my anchor away. Making me drift. Making me restless.

"I brought my chosen one." Arsène's gaze searches as his face shifts. "Did you prepare the altar?"

"That you have," the Elder agrees. From behind the hideous mask, his dark eyes shift between us. "And yes, the altar is ready. Your brothers can't wait to welcome our newest member, can't wait to see how you will present him."

"He'll be trapped," Arsène hums, sliding his hand over my nape, fingers crawling under my collar in search of naked flesh. Piégé. When our skins connect, he lets out a private, raspy hum, his eyes still flitted toward the Elder. "He's already subdued. I am, too. And prepared." He turns my way and whispers, "For my cock."

"You're a generous lover." Out of nowhere, Golden Mask appears, a small smirk on his face.

"That I am," Arsène grins in reply, throwing him the tail-end of the copper thread. Golden Mask catches it smoothly, that smug grin still on his face. I wonder if I know him too?

Arsène squeezes my neck. "Eyes here, papillon." I ignore Golden Mask's chortle, instead let Arsène wrap his large hand around my nape, tracing the line of my beating pulse. Then he guides me forward, to the altar.

"Welcome to your initiation," he muses, pulling both my hands behind my back as he walks me forward until my pelvis hits the cool material of the altar. It's a wooden table, shiny and polished, void of any objects.

"This is your pledge, Robin Pinault." Elder Jacques speaks. "And in return, you will carry the name brother of the Alpha Fraternarii. A name that will open every single door in your life to come."

My pledge in return for the name of ‘brother'. My body in return for pleasure. My soul in return for ownership by this guy who claims that sometimes we know what we want in a single moment of time. And that he knows he wants me.

When my stomach hits the coolness of the shrine, Arsène kicks my feet apart and opens my pants with agile fingers, before shimmying my pants and boxer briefs down my legs and onto the ground. He helps me step out of them, then makes a show of spreading my hands high above my head, placing his thighs between my spread ones. Between my naked spread ones. His lips press against the back of my ear.

"Soon now, papillon." The faint of a whisper. I mewl in reply, my head once more spinning with incense and soft piano. And glitters, everywhere. With Arsène and his all-consuming presence, threatening and protective at the same time.

The cane booms once more and utter silence follows. Even the music dims.

"Brothers, I present to you tonight's winner of the Wicked Chase."

Silence. Arsène rubs his hands over my ass cheeks, spreading them a little, no doubt to admire the plug and that disgusting spider. Inside my head, I whimper and fight against the swirl of desire that brings. To be on display for him and the others, naked and vulnerable, yet protected and safe. It's the weirdest sensation ever.

"Power presents itself in the weirdest of shapes. It comes in money, in opportunity." He lets out a vicious laugh. "In health and prosperity, and jobs. In ownership." Elder Jacques's voice raises at the end, forming a mild crescendo.

Ownership.

"Congratulations to the both of you."

Somewhere someone strikes a gong, its sound precise, filling the dungeon with an ominous timbre and a full, round sound that's picked up by the piano as they fall in play together.

Golden Mask positions himself in front of me, grabbing my raised hands and pushing them down and against my back, until my nails practically reach my ass. I lift my head, ready to open my mouth and protest.

"Sshh," Arsène soothes from behind me. "Let it happen."

Golden Mask shoots me a devilish smile before he lets his gaze slide to the way Arsène is undoubtedly binding my wrists together, trapping me just like he said he would, capturing me for the world to see. His fingers work fast, their touch soft as a feather, yet merciless, the movements trained.

Like a spider.

The thought makes me shudder, realization hitting my absent mind. The butt plug. As if sensing my distress, Arsène rubs my back, making my body tremble even more. Uncontrolled. Because my limbs are being pulled so tautly together by his glittering thread that it can easily burn into my flesh when I resist the slightest. Thank fuck he hasn't added any superglue this time. I don't care for a repetition of that cobweb in the forest.

"Do you have any questions about our brotherhood?" Elder Jacques asks. Arsène brushes two digits in my hair, lifting my head to meet the Elder's glare. Yanking at my hands, I feel my body convulse in a sudden fit of panic, coiling like a tightening fist in my stomach. He leans in from behind, rubbing my hair with his lips, and I feel his own dark strands tumble freely over mine, blanketing my lighter ones with his golden glow. He must have pulled his hood down.

My prey. The words ghost through my ear.

"N—no," I hear myself say. My mind is once more swimming, but this time it's not just flickering shadows. It's my blood that's flooding south, making me feel a little light-headed while my cock fills with desire. Arsène's fingers cup my cheek, turning my head to meet his lips, and my face flushes. His mouth presses a soft kiss on the hot skin. He doesn't talk, just makes soft, reassuring humming sounds while he continues to touch my face, neck and nape.

It makes me feel deliciously helpless.

"The Alpha Fraternarii has big plans for the future of our country," Elder Jacques says, his dark eyes still on mine. "After tonight, your life will never be the same again. Our brotherhood respects their traditions, and as such, you are under protection of the family de Noailles."

"What about…" The words leave my mouth in a flood, only to dry up before I reach the end of my phrase. I flinch at my own boldness, then turn angry at this anxiety, that turns into blind panic once more when I realize that I'm completely wrapped up. Arsène has left his fingers under my chin, the imprints still warm and tickly, and has moved on to explore more of my revealed flesh. My eyes fly back to Golden Mask, who"s still standing by my side, his gaze toward the scene.

Elder Jacques tilts his head. "What about your family?"

Behind me, Arsène taps my naked ass and with my mind still on the Elder's words, I absentmindedly feel how he slides out the plug. He was right, the drugs are not as heavy as the other ones were, but they still make my mind numb. Make me obey without a single snarl. Make me fucking want this so badly.

No, I inwardly shake my head. That's not on the drugs. Me wanting Arsène has nothing to do with these tranquillizers and everything with his powerful, broody self. With his dominant, yet pure hunger for me.

Then a cool, wet finger probes between my crease and I hiss.

Putain de merde.

I am tense, legs shaking, lips trembling. Around us, brothers come closer, their cloaks and masks ominous in the dim light. The melody's so peaceful, the only thing my tumbling mind can hang on to, which I do, clambering and begging for it to continue, to never stop.

I moan when Arsène's fingers slide deeper inside and press against my g-spot, hips rocking back against his digits.

"F—fuck," I pant. Arsène chuckles softly, raspily, the sound humming inside my body. My eyes flutter, together with my mind, and I let out another unhinged cry when his fingers pick up the pace, scissoring mercilessly inside my tight heat and hitting that sweet spot again and again.

"Baise-le, Arsène," Golden Mask purrs. Turning to lean on my cheek, our eyes meet, and he smiles wickedly, revealing a golden tooth. Fuck him, he's asking Arsène to fuck me.

"Spiders are patient," Arsène croons against my ear, his voice hitched and unable to reveal his arousal. He positions the plug right in front of me, the large wolf spider at full exhibit. I wince at the sight. "But fuck, papillon, you are perfect. The way you're splayed out for me, wings spread, only to be restricted by me. Don't worry, pretty boy, I want you to fly. I want you to make your art, for you to be happy. You'll be under my protection. Your dad and brothers will stay away from you, if you want them to."

"H—how?" I breathe, then let out a needy gasp, because I can feel him line up the head of his cock against my hole, his fingers still crooked deep inside. My question echoes through the silenced room, much like it throbs inside my head, repeating itself on a reverb. If I don't even understand what I mean, how's he supposed to know?

"Because our brotherhood is based on respect," Arsène muses. After one final press against my prostate, he slowly pulls out his fingers, and I'm left empty, a shuddering breath escaping my lungs.

"I'll be right there." A whisper, a promise. And then his fingers coax the tip of his cock past the ring of muscles that clench on instinct at the invasion of something big, and slippery. Something persistent like his crown, followed by the rest of his shaft. Slowly, persistently, filling my tight channel, moulding it snug around his shape.

"Arsène is right," I hear the Elder call out. "The Alpha Fraternarii honour their values. Respect."

"Respect," the brothers repeat after him. Arsène bottoms out, his hands on my exposed ass cheeks, spreading them apart.

"Your ass is perfection. Tight and hot, papillon. So fucking delicious."

"Loyalty." The Elder booms, his command echoed by the rest. Arsène leans forward, his chest touching my back, his hands now in my hair, brushing the strands out of my face, while his other hand cups my chin, angling it so that his mouth can easily find mine. The rest of my face, covered by lace, feels hot and clammy. He growls against my lips, a guttural, animalistic sound.

"You are mine, Robin. Mon papillon." And then he starts moving, slowly dragging his cock nearly out of me, before he slams back in.

Hard.

I cry out, feeling split open and claimed in front of all these guys.

Outside of our bubble, I can hear the sound of their chanting, I can smell the herbal, woodsy essence and vibrations along with the melody of the piano. But everything is muffled, as if I'm not really here. Maybe I am not. Or maybe it's the exquisite love making that has plunged us into an everlasting tumble into the unknown. The past. The present. The future.

Golden Mask was right—Arsène is a generous lover. His lips nip at my flesh, warm my skin, lick and kiss everywhere they can reach. His hands tangle in my hair, pull me closer, caress my wrapped up skin under loud purrs, while his hips keep on rocking a steady rhythm, driving us into a frenzy. Heat coils up into my stomach, makes my toes curl and my eyes burn, and my heart thumps violently in my chest.

"You're so fucking perfect," he whispers. "And you're all mine. I'll give you what you want."

And he fucks me mercilessly, hips plundering my thighs, his cock feeding my desire. Again and again, he hits my prostate, making me jolt and cry out in ecstasy until sweat drips over my forehead and I'm desperate for release. We both are, because I can hear him whimper, hear him pant.

"You feel so good, mon papillon. Look at you. At my mercy. Caught in my web."

Piégé. Trapped. Willingly.

Arsène slaps me against my ass cheek, hard, and a jolt of pleasure zaps through my veins. "Hmm, you like that, pretty boy?"

"Oui," I moan.

Without a single hesitation, he smacks my other cheek, and again, and again, until scorching desire overtakes my drugged senses and I hear myself babble incoherently.

"Oh, fuck, feels so good," I whimper. "Again, again, please, Arsène." Someone lifts my face by the chin, revealing two long, ringed fingers and a pair of dark eyes. A golden tooth. Arsène slaps me on my cheek, the skin feeling raw and burning, and I pant against the ringed digits, my useless, wrapped up limbs unable to stop him from gazing down at me. His smile is cruel, his other hand wrapped in my hair. I swallow, blink, then dart my gaze to catch sight of the cloaked brother huddled between Golden Masks's spread legs, sucking his cock while he's watching me getting fucked. He traces the lines of my parted, trembling lips with a finger, lets it slip inside for a brief wander, before it dips out and smears my saliva onto my mouth. And I… My cheeks flush hotly as Arsène lands another smack, and then his hand wraps around my cock. I cry out, my entire body trembling with need.

My eyes shoot back at Golden Mask, whose lips are parted as he lets out a groan. With one hand on the head of the guy huddled in front of him, and his digits curled under my chin, he climaxes. The sight nearly topples me over the edge, my cock pulsing with arousal.

"Please, please—" I whine. Arsène strokes my dick in short, fast movements that match his thrusts, and then his thick, dark hair intertwines with mine again, and he places his fingers next to where Golden Mask has his still on my chin and onto my lips. I open for him and his digits cup my jaw as he plunges deeper, faster.

"Come for me, mon papillon," he growls, and his hand squeezes as he smacks his mouth onto mine. His tongue spears through the seam of my lips with an urgency that is climbing in my body. And then I tumble over the edge, crying out inside his mouth as I do, our moans swallowed, our need wrapped up in each other"s arms. We come together, my cock pulsing inside Arsène's palm, while he fills my clenching ass with his release.