Wicked Games

by Wood, Vivian

  “Do you consent to be sacrificed in the name of the brotherhood?”

  “I do,” Cassandra says solemnly.

  I look at Aaron through my mask. “The bond of brotherhood is forged in sacrifice.”

  “I offer my sacrifice to the brotherhood, freely and without reservation,” he answers.

  “Present your sacrifice to the brothers.”

  Aaron turns to Cassandra and only hesitates for a second. “I will bind you in sacrifice,” he says, and she obediently turns her back to him and offers her wrists. Aaron takes a length of cloth from where he’s tucked it into his sleeve. All of this has been practiced, but I see hear the breath he takes before he ties it loosely around Cassandra’s wrists. It’s a largely symbolic binding—if she really tried, she could slip the bow open and escape—but I catch a glimpse of Emily’s face as Aaron turns Cassandra to face us again.

  “Kneel,” says Aaron.

  “I kneel in sacrifice,” Cassandra says, and lowers herself to the floor on her knees.

  “Who will you be sacrificed to?”

  Her eyes travel over the brothers. They’re all fair game for the sacrifices.

  Cassandra gives a little nod. She’s chosen Carter.

  He steps forward, struggling between a solemn expression and a grin. Carter likes to have fun with the sacrifices, if they’ll have him, and Cassandra doesn’t look hesitant. “I accept your gift of sacrifice,” he says to Aaron. “And I welcome you to the brotherhood of the Skulls and Thorns.” He and Aaron shake hands, and Aaron’s shoulders sag with relief.

  But there’s one last part of this ceremony.

  Carter twists away and lifts one of the wine glasses from the table behind us, then moves to stand directly in front of Cassandra. “Drink and be sacrificed.” He holds the cup to her lips, and she presses them over the rim of the cup and drinks.

  My heart beats faster.

  Carter helps her to her stand, then brings her into the line of brothers. She already knows to kneel at Carter’s feet until we’re finished with the ceremony.

  One more pledge.

  One more sacrifice.

  Alice and Mathilde, two other girls from Thistle. Alice chooses Rob, a brother from the year below. Mathilde chooses Ellis.

  Matthew Gold is the only one left.

  I call him forward, forcing my attention away from Emily’s breasts underneath the lingerie. She’s not wearing a bra. None of them are. I don’t know who came up with that particular standard, but tonight it’s driving me absolutely fucking crazy.

  I stare at Matthew for a beat too long, just trying to keep my eyes off Emily. Off to my left Max clears his throat.

  “It is time to seal our bond with a gift of sacrifice,” I say, my blood thrumming in my veins. And—fuck. That’s from the beginning of the ceremony. “Do you consent to be sacrificed in the name of brotherhood?”

  Emily’s eyes burn into mine. “I do.”

  “The bond of brotherhood is forged in sacrifice.” I’m saying it to her, not Matthew, and looking into her eyes, it takes on a new meaning. I want her to be my fucking sacrifice. I want her on her knees in front of me. At the last moment I tear my eyes away from hers.

  “I offer my sacrifice to the brotherhood, freely and without reservation,” says Matthew, the hint of a tremble in his voice. The tension between me and Emily is thick enough to tighten and snap, and poor Matthew Gold probably has no idea why. Emily in my shirt, Emily in the library...

  Focus.

  “Present your sacrifice to the brothers.”

  Matthew fumbles with the length of cloth, and the moment gives me time to notice that Emily’s nipples have turned to little peaks beneath the lingerie. She puts her wrists behind her back, standing tall. I’ve never been gladder for the cloak. It’s doing the Lord’s work, covering my raging erection.

  “Kneel,” says Matthew, and Emily kneels.

  I can’t breathe, but I have to keep breathing. “Who will you be sacrificed to?”

  I want to do more than put a cup of wine to Emily’s lips. A twisted need rushes through me, strong and powerful and consuming. I want to put two fingers in her mouth and make her suck. I want to keep her on her knees, in this room, and let her use her mouth on me. I don’t fucking care who watches. Let them all see. I want to reach between her legs and see how wet she is.

  I know she’s wet.

  Her eyes leave mine, and in that instant I become aware that Max is standing close by. Emily’s chest rises and falls. Him or me? I know she’s not going to choose one of the other brothers.

  I want to choose for her.

  That’s not part of the fucking ceremony.

  Neither is taking her jaw in my hand and tipping her face back so I can kiss her now. So I can claim her now.

  She juts her chin toward Max.

  It’s a tumbling feeling. Crashing. Falling. And even as it sweeps over me I know that it’s fucking ridiculous. I’ve been keeping it casual with her, and this moment is so loaded with electricity and secrecy and meaning and where would we have fucking gone if she chose me? Straight upstairs to my room? Would I have bent her over my bed? Would I have growled something about sacrifice into her ear while she spread her legs for me?

  Instead, I take a wooden step out of the way so that Max can shake Matthew’s hand. “I accept your gift of sacrifice and welcome you to the brotherhood of the Skulls and Thorns.” I take a second step to get out of his way when he reaches for the wine glass, my gaze falling to Emily’s. There’s confusion there, but I can hardly bear to look at her over the flash of heat that burns through me. She opens her mouth like she might say something—an apology?—and then Max steps between us. “Drink and be sacrificed.”

  I don’t have to see her to know how she looks with her head tilted back, throat exposed, drinking from the cup Max holds. I don’t have to push him aside to know how those perfect tits will rise and fall under the lingerie with every swallow.

  I keep my eyes straight ahead as Max helps her into place in the line of brothers.

  “Our bond is sealed with sacrifice,” I say to the pledges, who are about to be brothers. “Take your keys in your hands, raise them to your lips, and become brothers.

  They do, and the room erupts in cheers and applause.

  Emily kneels at Max’s feet.

  The party begins.

  23

  Wolf

  It’s too fucking bright.

  My blind is wrenched up, the window partially open, and sunlight streams in onto my face. Last night went on too long, and I’m up too early—even if it’s not that early. The fall sunlight gets weaker by the day.

  I sit on the edge of the bed and run my hands over my face, and over my hair.

  Last night was a fucking disaster.

  In one way, it was fine. Initiation went off without a hitch, and the new brothers have been shown their rooms. Next week we start charging fees. This weekend, we celebrate. The rest of the Thistles are coming for a mixer tonight.

  I need air. And movement.

  The memory of Emily kneeling for Max still presses in close around me, making my head throb. That could also be the hangover, though it’s not nasty enough to lay me out this morning. Getting wasted didn’t appeal to me after the ceremony, so I drank enough to be drunk. That’s it. I drank enough that I wouldn’t snarl at the Thistles who came to hang off my arm and lean in close, telling me how they wish they could be sacrifices, too. They’re not supposed to talk about that kind of thing, but in the aftermath of the ceremony everyone felt pretty loose and free.

  Except Emily.

  Her eyes followed me for the rest of the night, until at some point she wasn’t there anymore. My heart wrenched itself into my throat and back down, but it took all of fifteen seconds to find Max in a corner of the room, drink in his hand. So she didn’t go to his room.

  There’s no use sitting here with this hanging over me.

  I pull on a pair of shorts and a shirt with long sleeves. It’s been
getting cooler in the mornings. The sun is a deceiving bastard, but at least I’m not up in the middle of the night. This is an appropriate time to lace up a pair of running shoes and go out.

  I keep my footfalls soft on the way out of Rose House. Nobody’s up yet, and the only movement comes from the living room, where the cleaning lady, Sarah, is making the rounds. “Good morning.”

  She gives me a knowing smile. Sarah’s been taking care of Rose House for years—since before I started at Campbell. Would she still be here if she knew the kinds of things the walls were hiding. “How did it go last night, Mr. Astor?”

  Saturday isn’t her usual day to tidy, but when we have larger events on the calendar, she comes in the morning after. This isn’t a fucking frat house, and I won’t let it devolve into a mess of Solo cups and beer bottles like one. If that means paying extra for weekend cleaning, so be it. “It went well,” I tell her, half honestly. “We’ve got some good men coming in.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” she says, and I believe her. If anyone’s invested in the future of Rose House, it’s Sarah. I took my father’s advice when I became president and reviewed the budget personally. We pay her well. She gives me a little wave, and I head out the front door.

  The first few steps along the sidewalk are wretched, my body rebelling against the morning air, but I break into an easy jog and give myself no chance to wallow. My strides take me past Thistle’s front lawn. This sidewalk leads down a gentle slope and splits in two, and I follow the sidewalk mindlessly. No music. No headphones. Just the sunlight and the birds and the breeze. These are supposed to be the best years of my life, and right now, the soundscape is completely ordinary. Nothing out of place.

  Only it is out of place. Everything is out of joint, ever since last night.

  Since before last night. Since Asher.

  He was my best friend our first years at Campbell, which was a surprise, because we were never close at Waltham. We moved in different circles, crossing paths only because Waltham is one big circle jerk that rotates through everyone. Something was different at Campbell. He was louder, more of a prick, but a hilarious one. I’d thought of him as a quiet wallflower at Waltham, one of the guys who spent more time in the tech room than holed up with a drink in someone’s room, but that’s not who he was at Campbell.

  Nobody would have mistaken him for a nice guy. He was sharp. Acerbic. Fucking hilarious, if you ask me. He liked getting the better of people.

  Not so much that they’d kill him, though. I don’t know why anyone would go that far. Specifically, I don’t know why Carter or Ellis would have gone that far.

  Jesus, it would have been so easy, if it hadn’t happened. If we’d all just continued on that night the way we were supposed to. Asher might have been a dick who prized his athletic ability more than any veneer of kindness, but in a way, I admired him for that. So many people we know pretend. They’re fake all the way to the core. Plastic. Hollow. But Asher was always exactly who he was, and there was no pretense about it. He’s the kind of man my father would have loved to do business with, because there wouldn’t be any hidden bullshit in one of his deals. What you see is what you get.

  My throat tightens, but I swallow the hard lump there. I’m not going to break down crying over this on the sidewalk at Campbell. Tears rarely do anyone any good, unless you’re an attractive woman getting out of a speeding ticket or a failing grade, and I wouldn’t be Wolf Astor if I lost my shit every time I had a sad memory.

  The sidewalk forks, one side leading into a wooded path and the other side leading back toward campus. The idea of being in the trees doesn’t appeal to me, so I turn toward campus.

  I haven’t taken ten steps before Emily comes into sight, walking away from the campus fitness building with a bag slung over her shoulder. A yoga mat, rolled up tight with a long strap. She’s looking down, watching the sidewalk in front of her, her hair half pulled back from her face. The knee-length leggings she wears hug her ass in a way that strains the front of my shorts.

  She picked Max, I remind myself.

  Emily turns down the sidewalk, heading straight toward me, and lifts her head.

  When she sees me her mouth opens in a round O, and she hesitates. But it’s too late. There’s nowhere to hide, and fuck me if I’m going to slink around campus hugging the shadows because she didn’t play along with my secret fantasies at initiation. A huff of a laugh escapes me at the thought. If I’d wanted her that badly...

  I slow to a jog, then stop as I come alongside her on the sidewalk.

  “Look at you,” I tell her, keeping my voice light and easy and teasing. Like nothing fucking happened. “Always in class.”

  She lifts the mat by the strap and lets it drop back across her shoulder. “Cass told me the gym membership was included, so I went.” She drops her gaze to our feet. “It was a long night.”

  “Yeah. Did you have fun?”

  Her eyes fly back up to mine, filled with disbelief, and I keep a smile on my face. I’ll keep a fucking smile on my face if it’s the last thing I do. “At the party?”

  “Where else?”

  Emily chews at her lip. “Yeah. I had fun.”

  A silence hangs between us, suspended in the fall air.

  “Not everybody gets to be part of those ceremonies, you know. You were one of the lucky ones.”

  “You—you did a good job, too,” she says, her voice wavering. “You looked so confident up there.”

  “Part of the gig.”

  “Wolf...” She looks off to the side. “I’m sorry if I—”

  “Say no more. What happens at initiation stays at initiation. Part of the bond of brotherhood.” This is not strictly true. Brothers are not supposed to tell pledges the full details of the ceremonies. As a sacrifice, Emily is free to talk to the brothers about what happened. But I’m not going to go there with her. Not now.

  “Okay. But if I made a bad decision, I hope you’d tell me.”

  I laugh, the sound ringing false in my own ears. “You can’t make a bad decision as a sacrifice. Unless you count having too much to drink after the ceremony’s finished. That’s bad for anyone. I think you know that, Emily Danes.”

  Her dark eyes meet mine, searching. Whatever it is that she’s looking for, I can’t give it to her right now.

  “It just seemed better,” she says softly, pressing on. “Max seemed like the safer choice. Just for the ceremony.” She bites her lip and falls silent.

  “It’s nothing,” I tell her. “The initiation ceremony doesn’t hinge on who the sacrifices choose.” The only thing that could possibly be affected by that would be a relationship between, say, a brother and a sacrifice. I am not in a relationship with Emily. Not one that we’ve ever spoken out loud.

  “All right.” She readjusts her yoga mat one more time. “I’m headed back to change, and then study.” Emily gives me a tentative smile. “I don’t know how everybody fits it all in, with all the parties and the mixers.”

  “I’ll tell you a secret.” I lean in close, my lips almost brushing the shell of her ear. “Most of them don’t.”

  She takes in a sharp breath, and I fucking relish it. I shouldn’t, but I do. I shouldn’t tease her like this, bait her like this, but I do.

  “Well,” Emily says. “I guess that’s one way around it.” She watches me as I straighten up. “I’ll see you in class, Wolf.”

  “You’re not coming tonight?”

  “Oh, right.” Pink spreads over her cheeks. “I’ll be there tonight. Cass wouldn’t let me stay home, I don’t think, even if I wanted to.”

  “And do you want to stay home?” I cock my head to the side and keep my eyes on hers. “If it’s too much for you, all of this, I don’t think anyone would judge you.”

  Emily lifts her chin, eyes flashing. I’ve hit a nerve. “It’s not too much.”

  I shrug one shoulder. “It’s your first year on campus. You don’t have to tackle everything at once.”

  “Would you take
your own advice on that?” She purses her lips, jutting one hip out a few inches to the side. “Or did you take over campus the minute you got here?”

  “I’ve never been one to let an opportunity pass me by.” Emily has a point. I was running the show even during the first semester, when I still lived in the dorms and not Rose House.

  But I couldn’t keep it all in my iron grip forever. Clearly.

  “I’m not either,” she says, and a shiver runs down my spine. I know she’s talking about social events, but there’s a determination in her voice that’s too much for attending a mixer. I shake off the feeling.

  “I’ll see you tonight, Emily.”

  She steps around me, a graceful curve, and I get a lungful of her shampoo. My chest aches with another wish—to go back in time to last night, and put her on her knees in front of me. No Max. No other guys. Just me. I’d like to know what she would say then, looking up at me with those big, brown eyes, her chest heaving beneath a flimsy piece of satin.

  God, it would have been so much easier. This all could have been easier.

  I pick up the pace and keep running.

  24

  Emily

  The day before fall break, I’m studying in the dining hall when Cass comes over and plops down dramatically. I look up at her with some amount of amusement. She is supposedly heartbroken over a guy she’s been at another college. And yet she manages to still look dewy and fresh. Radiant even, in her lacy white sheath dress with a pale pink overskirt. Her hair is still immaculately braided and she wears pearls at her earlobes and throat.

  The most I can tell that she is suffering is that her makeup is a little untidy… and that’s only because I know her so well. I wish I wore anything so well as Cassandra wears heart ache.

  As she sits down, I adjust my black babydoll tee shirt dress. Around my neck, I hung the skeleton key that I found my first day at Campbell. Cleaned off, it looks fierce and a little scary.

  Cassandra is looking off to the right, staring at nothing. I put down my fork and look at her. “Was it that bad?”