Chapter 5

"Come back!" I call out once more, in vain. My voice has turned into a pathetic whisper while I watch him leave in a flutter of black and copper. And I'm still here, caught in a huge spider web. Caught in a horror movie.

My gaze flickers and I blink ferociously to keep my vision from swimming. It's like the trees are waving at me, with big green claws. Faces are carved into their trunks. Smiling faces, sad faces, angry faces. A rough chortle explodes in my head and the web trembles under my skin and limbs. Turning my gaze, I peer up to the side. What if—

Squinting my eyes, I let out a pained whimper. My skin itches with fear, and if I try hard enough, I can just imagine a monster-sized spider crawling through its web, approaching me. I rattle my body once more, clambering my jaw shut. I won't give anyone the pleasure of seeing me freak out here. But that spider, I can practically see it coming closer, with agile, gaunt legs and a big, black body. Pitched-black eyes and chelicerae hanging under those holes. Palps, with which they can inject venom, hold me, keeping me trapped in here.

Piégé…

"S'il te plait," I beg. "Get me out of here." My mind is playing tricks on me. I know that, but it doesn't stop me from shaking from fear, unable to clear the fog from my already troubled thoughts.

Do you know what spiders do when prey gets caught into their web?

"I should never have come out tonight, should never have accepted that stupid invitation," I hear myself mumbling. My heart pangs at the feeling of regret.

Then why did you?

"I don't know anymore," I whisper. "Sometimes I ask myself why I let him enrol me in Saint-Laurent in the first place."

"But that would be a lie." Those words definitely don't come from my own mind. I tilt my head back and peer out into the darkness. At the trees. There are no longer faces carved into wood. Instead, the woods look their usual endlessness. Foreign and spooky.

Not a spider, I realize, but it's the trees' green tentacles which are approaching me slowly, thoroughly. I cry out in panic, body convulsing against the brilliant threads. We flutter as one in the midnight air, but they don't release me. No, I'm left to accept the invasion of green feelers, reaching for me in their search for my mind. Probing my memories.

"I don't want to hear it," I choke out. But my mind is playing tricks on me, making me remember.

Spiders watch their prey getting trapped, reveling in the sensation of them getting stuck. They can let them hang there for hours.

Has it been hours yet?

"Because I hate them all," I spit out, my animosity lacking any bite. I'm floating, my body caught in the air, my thoughts spun around my consciousness.

"Who?"

"My…" My throat constricts and I choke out a dry cough, fingers curling against the web for another useless attempt to break free.

"Enzo!" An order is barked, followed by a gentle tilt of my head. Then, a cool liquid is pressed against my lips.

"Drink."

I sputter, jerking my face trying to escape the liquid. "F—fuck off," I choke, then grimace in pain when the bodyguard grabs me by my hair and jerks me back to the drink, this time less friendly.

"It's just water," he grunts into my ear. "You need to come down, Robin, and water will do the trick."

"Va-te-faire…" I don't manage to finish the swear words, because the next second, he angles my head all the way back and liquid is falling down in a storm of droplets that hit my nose, mouth, and ultimately, my throat. I sputter and wheeze, before my mind droops in relief. It's water.

After a few gulps, he removes the bottle from my lips, then releases my hair, carefully not to push my nose against the thread. So far, my face is the only part that hasn't been taken by the brilliant strands, aside from two useless fingers. As if to make a statement, the bodyguard takes out a pair of scissors and cuts the silk wire right in front of me, making sure that my face is left free.

"There." With that word, he disappears back into the darkness. I stay like this for an undefined moment, while my thoughts swallow me up once more.

"My family," I admit, although the question has long been absorbed. "I hate my family."

It's actually not as hard as I thought it would be, sharing these words with someone else, provided he's still here. Even if that someone else is wearing a cloak and a mask and has me trapped into some fucked up spiderweb in the middle of the night in Monterrey Forest.

"Hmm," is all he says, voice smooth and soft. I still can't see him, although I've got the feeling that my vision is becoming a little clearer. Or perhaps that's yet another mindfuck. Regardless, it gives me more strength to share my next words.

"I was never like them. My dad, my brothers, they are…typical rich people, if that makes sense?" I wince at the judgemental choice of words. "I was more like my mom." The thought of Mom makes my words falter. When I don't speak for the next few seconds, Copper Mask asks,

"Was?"

"Yeah, she, uhm…she left me. Us. She left us. It's been a while." My voice breaks at the end, and I hate myself for it.

"I didn't know," he says. I huff out a snort.

"Yeah, well, you don't know me."

"Oh, I know much more than you think," he throws back, causing a shiver to run down my spine.

"What does that mean?" I ask.

He lets out a raspy chuckle. "You know what that means, papillon."

"Stop calling me that."

He doesn't reply for a moment, and I'm left fighting with the dark-brown silk. What the fuck did he use to make it stick like that?

"I think my patience hit its limit."

Those words, and the hungry growl that follows, are the only warning I get, before a rustle passes through the shrubs right across from me. I expect the trees to bend forward, their branches and leaves bowing right in front of me. I blink, throwing the hallucinations away.

His black cloak flutters around his shoulders as Copper Mask slowly makes his way forward, and my legs kick and thrust against the web. Not the trees, but it's him, sliding down onto his knees in an agile crouch as he lowers himself until our eyes meet.

"You like that, huh? Going down on your knees for me?" I snarl, voice thin with strain.

Copper Mask curls his lips into a slow, lazy smile that makes me feel helpless and annoyed as it brings a loathsome flutter to my stomach.

"I do," he admits. There's something about his mouth that makes it beautiful. Perhaps it's the way his lower bottom lip sticks out that tiny bit, looking wet and full and perfectly edible.

Clearing my throat, I look away. What the fuck? I have never thought of lips like that, regardless whether they belong to a man or a woman.

"Why did you leave the art academy?" He asks, head cocked to the sight.

"Why do you care?" I snarl, glaring back at him. I lift my glued arms and tip my chin up, body warming in a sudden wave of annoyance. "Why did you trap me in this fucked up spiderweb?"

"Because it's part of the Wicked Chase," Copper Mask shrugs. He moves up from his knees to lift his hand, skimming my skin, and I can't help but flinch, ignoring the way he hums satisfyingly at that. His fingers are soft when they touch the delicate skin behind my ear. He moves them surprisingly slow, and that weird feeling is back in my stomach, flopping and coiling and making me feel even more defenseless. My hands reach up again, this time accompanied by my legs, but still the result is the same. Whatever glue he has used for his mindfuckery sure as hell holds me up.

"And I take my cobwebs very seriously. I love spiders."

"You love—" I grunt in disgust. "Whatever, man." Another flicker of confusion fills my mind and I squeeze my eyes shut, afraid of the shifting images of the forest. Afraid to catch sight of Copper Mask's mockery. "You have me. What will you do with me?"

"You tell me," his reply comes instantly as his splayed fingers keep on tracing slow, gentle circles on my heated skin, making my toes curl.

"Tell you what?"

"Why did you leave the art academy? Why did you come here? Or should I just believe it was destiny?"

"That's none—"

"Shhh." His fingers slide down to my mouth, then press into my flesh. I need to fight the sudden urge to part my lips and take them in, tasting their softness. It's a wild thought, completely out of order, yet I can't shake it off. It brings another flutter racing through my veins, and to my utter bewilderment I notice that blood is heading south. Am I getting aroused by this guy?

"Don't fight me, mon papillon. Tell me instead." His fingers linger, and I squeeze my hands, feeling the thread carve into my skin, needing the sting to keep me from unravelling in front of him.

What the fuck did you give me? I want to ask, but I'd have to open my mouth to do so. I won't. Won't give in to this absolutely ridiculous impulse that's raging inside of me.

Our eyes meet. His are dark, the perfect match to his copper mask, rich and sensual. Cruel in its intentions, just like his fingers as they slide over my lips, making my insides sputter as I keep my jaw clamped shut. He tilts his head, taking his time to roam those glorious eyes over my face where they halt on where his digits connect to my mouth, only to flick back up to meet mine.

"We share some classes together," he confesses. The words make me flinch.

What the actual fuck? I know this guy? Then why doesn't his voice sound familiar at all?

As if he can hear my thoughts, he smiles softly. "You are that prickly guy who always sits in the back of the room, a permanent scowl on your delectable face. So grumpy," he drawls, then puts the tiniest bit of pressure on his fingers and lets them slip through the seam of my lips. My breath hitches when I feel them gliding inside with precise cautiousness and I can't help but widen my eyes. I can't believe he did that. I let out an annoyed hum which makes him smile, then clacks his tongue as he shakes his head.

"No, pretty boy, not going to happen. You're not going to talk to me anyway, so you might as well have your mouth occupied with something else. Now, where was I? Oh yeah, classes. As I said, our paths have crossed before. Mister Montague's class The Evolution of Financial Institutions Through Time?'" Mind stuttering over his weird reference, my gaze dips and stares at his two digits before they fully disappear between my lips. The movement is making me feel really uncomfortable and a little hot. But when I flick my eyes back up, it's not Copper Mask I look at. No, I'm staring right back into the past, flipping through the past weeks and right back to Mister Montague's class.

"I always sit by the window," he says, taking in my expression with full intent. "Right in the center." He catches the moment my brain clicks. Oh, fuck. The center of class, those rows by the window… They are reserved for the elite. It still doesn't tell me exactly who he is, but I've got a creepy, sneaky suspicion. What did that guy B say?

Sputtering my thoughts against his digits, I grunt when he lets out an appreciative hum. "My fingers could live inside this warm, wet heat of your mouth, butterfly." Still he slowly pulls them free, using the tips to crawl over my face like those damned spiders he apparently loves so much. They creep over the corner of my lips, past my chin, over the racing pulse in my neck, to the dip where my collarbone joints. I shiver, then startle when I feel my cock harden further inside my pants.

"You're friends with Arthur Deveraux," I clip, wiggling once more on the web. It sounds like an accusation, and a funny one, judging by the way Copper Mask smiles.

"I am. Who else?" The twins and their cousin are not in our year, but I always see them in the canteen. I sometimes catch myself staring, wondering what it would be like to be part of the elite of the elite, then look away real quick, shutting them and my thoughts off.

Zooming back into Mister Montague's class, I try to remember the faces of the elite. "There's Paul," I slowly begin. The guy's as obnoxious as he's rich, and a real bully. Copper Mask doesn't flinch at the name. Not Paul. "Jean-Fran?ois," I continue, remembering the blond with the annoyingly high-pitched voice. Copper Mask doesn't react to the name, so he's not Jean-Fran?ois. There are another three or four guys whose names I don't know, but who definitely don't sound like this guy, and a group of goons. Kids who will do anything just to stay in their good graces. The thought makes me grimace, the frown freezing on my face when I remember the final guy. Quiet, like me. Always surrounded by a bodyguard, who—

"Putain de merde." I try to turn over my shoulder, but can't lean in far enough to catch a glimpse of the bodyguard named Enzo. Now I know why his face seemed familiar. He always hangs around in the back of the classroom.

I can only stare at his face. Behind the fine embroidery, he has the perfect cheekbone structure. A sharp nose, wide, dark eyes. Thick eyelashes and a bushy, dark set of eyebrows that match the colour of his eyes and hair. Copper.

"Arsène?" I squeak.

When his lips tick up, my hands start trembling. I suck in a breath. Arsène de Noailles is one of those enigmas we have in college. He's from a very rich family, part of the elite, keeps to himself, and is practically always shielded by his bodyguard. He's right. We share a few classes together, although we have never exchanged words. The few times we have study projects, I work with a few geeks, and the elite work amongst themselves.

Arsène is very handsome. Even I, someone who isn't into guys, can appreciate his dark and mysterious demeanour.

His fingers touch my collar and open the first two buttons of my college uniform. The touch is so soft, so cautious, so unlike the way he's got me hanging here. My body shivers, cock trembling beneath my clothes. Leaning in, Arsène is careful enough to stay clear of his own sticky threads as he lowers his head and lets his mouth brush past my ear. "Enchanté," he muses, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "At last we get to properly meet. I hope you've been enjoying your candy treats?"

The chocolate boxes.

"W-were you…" I stammer, unable to find my words. He pulls back to his full height, facing me once more. My gaze roams around as I try to follow his movements, even when he rounds the web where it's tied to a tree and comes my way, from behind. "You left me gifts?"

"I did." He sounds proud as he leans in, ghosting right above me, his puffy air warm as it nearly touches my hair. Then his lips descend, and he brushes his mouth all over the top of my head, mouthing my light strands. My breathing speeds up and my nails dig into the skin of my palms as I shudder and try to control myself at the same time. I have never reacted to a single person's closeness, boy or girl, this intensely. "You have no idea how sexy you are," he grumbles. Those words, its vibration, it goes straight to my cock and I can't help the ragged moan that escapes my mouth. What the hell's going on with me?

"So snarky, so bitchy, so angry." His mouth has reached down to my nape, where it has found some exposed skin. He gives me a raspy chuckle and I shiver. "Why are you so angry, papillon?" His teeth dig into my flesh and my knees buckle on instinct, probably in an attempt to get away from him, although the result is quite the opposite. The web makes me bounce forward, then rocking back, right against his body. Biting my lip, I let out a strained mewl. His chest feels firm, despite the cloak he's wearing, and his…is he as excited for me as I am for him?

I panic when I feel his hands on my waist, guiding me back and forth. "What the fuck are you doing? That's none—"

He grabs my ass cheeks tight and squeezes. "If you say that again, I'm going to strip you out of these clothes and leave you naked in the woods," he hisses.

"You're such an asshole," I grit out, wiggling to free myself from his hold. It's useless, and he knows it, which is why his snicker makes me fucking furious. My hard dick makes me fucking furious.

"You'll soon find out how much you love me being an asshole, pretty boy," he hums, then lands another kiss in my nape. "Alors, dis-moi."

I sigh heavily. No one's ever asked me to speak up my mind, and now that I'm about to, I'm feeling exposed and a little ridiculous. What if he thinks I'm overreacting?

"Come on. Let me inside your head. Why are you so angry?" He lands another nip on my ear that makes my toes curl in the air.

"Okay." I take in a deep breath. "I mean, I don't know why—I guess I'm just not the nicest of people," I start. I expect him to chuckle, but he's silent, apart from his mouth, that's still circling and heating the skin in my nape, and the hand that has snaked around my waist and makes a rustling sound as it busies itself with my belt, somehow deftly avoiding the threads. "I guess I was alright when I was at the academy, because it was my own choice. But then I got into fights and my dad decided to take me out and bring me here. By then, both my brothers had both graduated, thank fuck. We never got along. It has always been the three of them, my dad included, and then there was me. The youngest one, the different one. I never wanted to come here. I don't care much for studying." I let out a sarcastic chuckle. "And I don't even know why I'm telling you all this. You really fucked up my mind."

But it feels really good to talk to him.

Arsène turns his face and barks, "Enzo!" Then his mouth is back at my ear and I let out a shuddering breath at his proximity. "Continue, mon papillon," he murmurs into my ear.

My mind pulses with thoughts, despite its improving state. "I always wanted to follow in the footsteps of my mother, who was an artist. She left us about ten years ago, and though I haven't seen her since, I have been following her path. I guess that's all there really is. I can't follow her footsteps now, because I'm stuck here." I grimace at my choice of words. Quite literally, I guess.

There's a dull thud when the belt hits the forest ground, and then Arsène pops the buttons of my pants. Shock, followed rapidly by shame when he finds out that I'm hard for him, makes me buck my hips, trying to shake him off.

"That's it," he hisses, catching my rolling hips with his hand on my stomach, pulling me flush against him. "Show me your delicious, useless anger."

My hands tremble against the thread, and I moan when my ass connects to his erection. We're both still clothed, despite my opened pants, but fuck…why is this so hot? I try to think of anything to distract my thoughts, but desire floods my brains, fusing dangerously with the remaining drugs, turning me into a willing captive.

Papillon. Prey.

Soon now, mon papillon.

"Money has always been a nuisance to me," I choke out, desperately trying to focus. "It has always made people dislike me and exclude me from their groups. Even here, in a college for the rich, I am left out. They don't fucking want me." Hearing my own voice, heavy with accusation and disapproval, makes my rage sizzle even hotter.

"Yesss," Arsène purrs into my ear, encouraging me while his fingers dip lower, teasing the waistband of my underwear. My pants were glued to that web before, and I don't want to know what the strong bodyguard has done to free me out of my clothes during my outburst, but here we are. Right now, I don't care. Because I'm not finished. "Come on, sweet butterfly. Try to raise your wings. Give me your all." His digits crawl under the the material of my briefs and he croons a, "Fuck, yeah," at the same time I let out a choked moan. It heats my insides and clears my mind. It's like I'm in a trance, and no one apart from Arsène's breath, voice and body can get to me. And my own fury, fierce and flickering, ready to erupt.