Wicked Games

by Wood, Vivian

  But this… this is pressing my face up against the glass wall the separates them from me. The haves and the have-nots.

  It was pretty damn obvious on my date with Wolf. And right now, it’s friggin crystal clear.

  Even though it’s shameful, I can’t help the tears that start to overwhelm me. Rushing out of the main room of the library, I hurl myself into a weird little side room and shut the door. Every inch of the side room seems to be filled with reference books, the leather bound volumes eating up all the space except for the tiny window.

  Going over to that window, I lean against the shelves and have a good, long cry. My tears flow down my cheeks unchecked. My breath comes in short sobs. Trying to stop them would be pointless. I watch the students walking around the quad in the fading afternoon light and wallow just for a few minutes.

  No one has hurt me, unless you count my own expectations. But I still feel the blade keenly in between my shoulder blades.

  Eventually I calm myself to a mere sniffle, blotting my eyes with the hem of my cotton tee shirt dress. I manage to breathe normally again. The catharsis I usually get from a good cry is absent, though.

  I am sure you can still tell that I’ve been crying, but I can’t just hide in here all day. Straightening my hair and my dress, I unlock the door.

  And look right into Wolf’s eyes. I’m stunned for a second, wiping at my face.

  He seems just as surprised. His first move is to touch my arm, frowning down at me with concern as he pulls me closer. He’s been distant since our date. He didn’t kiss me then, and he hasn’t mentioned going on another one. He’s been so casual about the whole thing. I’ve been questioning his motives. If it was pity…

  It doesn’t look like pity now. His navy eyes darken as he drinks me in.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice gone to gravel.

  My breath hitches, belying whatever excuse I was about to make. I let him slide his arm around my waist. No, it’s more than that. I lean into his grasp, biting my lower lip.

  He is exactly the person that I don’t want to know how I’m struggling financially. The wealthy playboy who has more money than god himself? Yeah, I am not telling Wolf what is wrong. Not in so many words, anyway. I won’t go that far.

  My fear is almost debilitating, it’s so pervasive.

  “Emily, you can tell me.” He cocks his head, considering. “Whatever it is, if I can’t solve the problem, at least I can keep a secret.”

  I stare up into his eyes, as certain of those words as I have been about anything in my life. I’ve never worried that Wolf couldn’t be discreet. No, my worry about him runs the opposite direction.

  What isn’t he telling me? That’s an all-too common worry that I have about Wolf.

  “It’s nothing. I just… I got into an argument,” I say at last, breaking our eye contact. A lie, yes. But I’m not above lying to preserve…

  Well, I wouldn’t call what Wolf and I have a relationship, not yet anyway. But whatever is between us, I don’t want to dampen it with the reality of my situation.

  God, we are so different though, Wolf and I.

  He makes a sound, a sort of growl. I can tell that he doesn’t quite believe me. But he doesn’t push me on it. Instead he uses two of his fingers to tip my face upward. He leans down and kisses me, his lips warm and firm.

  My toes curl up just a little inside my shoes as I press upward on my tiptoes, searching for more. His chest is so broad and warm underneath my palms as he opens his mouth, inviting me further inside.

  Oh god, if he took my virginity, right here and now, I would welcome it. I would spread my legs for him in an instant, pressing the growing ache between my legs against him. If he speared his hand in my hair and just took me, for all of the library to see, I would pant and moan as he did it.

  Too soon, he breaks off the kiss. I can see the desire written all over his handsome face, but he just smoothes a hand down my back.

  “Emily…” he husks.

  I shudder delicately. “What?”

  He smiles, shaking his head. The moment passes, lapsed. He steps back. “Cassandra is looking for you. She said you weren’t answering your texts.”

  I bite my lip and pull my phone out of my back pocket. Knowing that I was going to be in the library all afternoon, I silenced the phone. Sure enough, the notification light is blinking, telling me I’ve missed some calls or texts.

  Waving it at him, I sigh. “I see that.”

  “I’ve got a class to get to right now. Will I see you later at Rose House?”

  My cheeks color, thinking about the last time we ended up spending any time together at Rose House. “Maybe.”

  He smirks and heads out of the room. I trail after him to the doorway, watching his muscular back ripple as he goes. My phone buzzes in my hand, startling me from my thoughts.

  Scowling, I unlock it and scroll through the missed text messages. I scroll to Cassandra’s name and see that she has indeed been a busy little beaver.

  Hey, I was serious about getting you into Thistle House. Since there is a free room and all, I’m going to talk to the house mother about how to get you in.

  Not sure where you are but Ms. Thomas (our house mother) says that you would be a great diversity candidate… so you wouldn’t need to worry about paying for stuff. She also said that the house hasn’t had a diversity candidate for a few years so it’s 10000% likely that if you apply, you will get it.

  Can you fill this form out? Thistle House Application.doc

  Eee! I just talked to Alice and she is going to have her mom get things going for you. That is, if you want it!

  Hello?

  For a long moment, I look at the screen, my mouth hanging open. My eyes mist over.

  Cassandra didn’t need to do any of this stuff for me, but she did. Not only that, but she did it without being asked to do it. If that isn’t kind and generous, I don’t know what is.

  It takes me a full minute to think up a response to her texts. Sometimes thank you just doesn’t seem like enough.

  I’m overwhelmed with gratitude. Thank you so much for all you’ve done.

  I send it. The response is almost immediate.

  Of course. What else are friends for? I checked out the room that is empty in Thistle House and it’s basically awesome.

  Wiping at my eyes, I have to smile.

  Dining hall in ten?

  Yes! I’ll bring the tarot cards. I can feel a change coming. Also, I want a taco.

  With my heart swelling, I head back to my table to collect my things.

  21

  Emily

  Everything seems to pick up speed all at once. Suddenly I am moving into Thistle House without much work on my part, which apparently makes Lily super angry. There are social events once a week, where I am expected to show up and smile. However I’m glad to be out of the hostility of living with Lily, so I’m willing to put up with almost anything.

  Mostly I am adjusting to being better friends with Cass, Alice, and even the snobby Mathilde. We do a lot of mixers, events where we usually socialize with Rose House or a fraternity. I guess if being present and dressing prettily is the toll, I can handle it.

  It’s more everything else that I’m juggling that is the problem. At the same time that I am supposed to show up and smile at sorority mixers, I’m slammed with classwork in every single subject.

  Not that I don’t cherish all of my classes, I really do. In biochemistry I have awkward yet unmissable interactions with Wolf. He will spend an entire class brushing up against me and talking in my ear, driving me a little crazy. Then he just gives me that smirk of his and struts off after class, leaving me wanting more.

  But I don’t know that more of Wolf is a healthy thing.

  Then there is Max… Max has taken to walking me all the way back to Thistle House after our non-fiction writing class, talking nonstop about books and music and movies with me. So far it has all been casual, just two friends making each other laugh.
But there is still this electric energy running between us, crackling every time we brush hands.

  With all that though, somehow my classics course is slowly becoming my favorite. The teacher, Dr. Napier, often leads us outside while it’s still nice. She dresses super cute, like I want to believe that I will dress in my thirties. Demure dresses, leggings, thigh high boots. Add the fact that her blonde hair is pinned up elegantly and her nose ring glints as she talks, and I’m jealous of her style.

  She teaches enthusiastically about the Greeks and the Romans, everything from their day to day lives to their mythology. She doesn’t seem worried that everyone will find her geeky. In fact, that is the subject of her jokes sometimes.

  “I never Apollo-gize for knowing so many bad puns about the Greeks,” she says, cracking up a little in front of the class. “Get it? Apollo-gize?”

  She printed out a little Roman calendar with all the Roman holy days on it, which she spends a few minutes at the top of every class discussing.

  Basically I have my first teacher crush. A crush on the knowledge she has, yes, but also how she moves through the world. It just seems really cool. Especially at the end of class when she meets up with her much older husband.

  When they kiss in front of the class, it seems so rebellious and carefree. I definitely want to be like her when I grow up.

  I don’t spend much time at Rose House. I don’t even have a lot of time to poke my nose into the organization. Honestly I spend almost a month trying to get my bearings, too busy to snoop around.

  That all ends on Rose House’s initiation week, though. It’s almost two months into the school year when they finally have their initiation, bringing all the pledges who successfully passed whatever mysterious hazing rituals they have into the fold. I wouldn’t pay it much attention except for two things.

  One, it is obviously a huge deal in Thistle House. Cass says that there is a tradition where the older girls want to get some kind of pin from the guys that they date. It’s basically like the preamble to an engagement ring, which makes me roll my eyes.

  Girls that attend an Ivy league college just to meet the guys they will marry make me yawn. While I am obviously exempt from pinning, it’s the other reason that I know about initiation.

  The second tradition is that the pledges are supposed to bring so called sacrifices to the initiation. The rules say that the sacrifices must be pretty freshmen girls. While I’m not quite sure that I would classify myself as pretty, it seems like the freshmen pledges beg to differ. They are practically tripping over themselves to invite Cass, Alice, Mathilde… and me.

  Matthew Gold was the first Skull and Thorn to blushingly ask me to attend. But he was far from the only one. Two other pledges asked me to go with them as their sacrifice. Of course, I said yes the first time, so I had to turn down the other offers.

  It’s still flattering though. For the first time in my life, I am coveted. It feels super strange.

  Now I’m here in my new room at Thistle House, sitting in front of my desk. I’ve shoved the rest of my things aside in favor of a lighted mirror and a bunch of makeup. In the background, I see the oversized black and white portraits I found while thrift shopping with Cass. Though I don’t know the woman or the couple pictured, I feel like buying them and hanging them in here was a good choice. It makes my room a bit more personalized.

  Blowing out a breath, I look in the mirror and take stock.

  It’s initiation night. I feel a nervous type of excitement filling the air, crackling in between everyone I’ve seen. I carefully apply makeup, choosing mostly nude shades. They seem the most right for a virgin sacrifice. Dusting my cheeks with a light pink blush, I wonder what I should expect tonight.

  As I’m getting ready for the initiation ritual, there is a knock on my door at Thistle House. I jump up and hurry to the door, opening it to reveal Cass. She’s wearing nothing but a simple black negligee and looking stunning per usual. She grins and holds out a large, flat red box.

  I arch a brow and open the box to find my own silky black negligee inside.

  “Put it on and meet us out in the living room. You’ve got ten minutes,” she says, winking at me.

  A lump forms in the base of my throat. I swallow as she heads back to her own room, closing the door. Raising the teddy and leaning the box against the wall, I exhale.

  I just hope that I can do this.

  22

  Wolf

  The sacrifices come into the meeting room with the pledges, each one of them in a piece of black lingerie with no embellishments. Those are the rules, and the girls in Thistle House have followed them to our exact specifications, like they always do.

  Only this year is different. Because the last sacrifice is Emily Danes.

  I can still feel her lips on mine from the day I found her crying in the library. I had been so fucking meticulous. I kept her close, but not too close. I didn’t interfere when she came to Rose House to work on yet another project with Max. I walked away when he leaned in to flirt with her.

  I felt her watch me go, and I went anyway.

  But then I saw her, red-eyed and heartbroken.

  I clench a fist at my side and release it, each movement deliberate.

  I kissed her. That doesn’t mean anything.

  Yet.

  She walks in with Matthew Gold, whose jaw is clenched tight behind his mask. I remember my own initiation day in slightly less-than-vivid detail, because like the rest of my pledge class I’d done a few shots beforehand to relax. Matthew holds her by the wrist, as per the instructions, and Emily comes along demurely, her eyes on the floor.

  It’s a good fucking thing, too, because if I saw those eyes now, I might wrench his hand right off her wrist. It’s powerful and absurd, the need I have to wrap my own hand around those delicate bones and lead her to be “sacrificed.” It would have been so fucking different, if I’d been able to bring her. But that was impossible, and it will always be impossible, so I stand in front of the wide table with its four ceremonial wine glasses and will myself into the present.

  I take a deep breath and let it out as silently as possible. I’m leading the ceremony. I can’t get hung up on Emily In this moment and let the whole thing crash down around us.

  The pledges form a loose semicircle in front of the brothers.

  “Et Charonis unum,” I say, letting my voice ring out over the meeting room. We’ve cleared out all the furniture and hung heavy black drapes over the windows, blocking out even a trace of starlight from outside. Candles gutter on low tables at the edge of the room.

  “Et Charonis unum,” the brothers echo back. The pledges join in too, their voices too loud and overconfident. The air vibrates with their anticipation. I remember the adrenaline rush of being just on the verge of acceptance. It could still go wrong for them, and they all know it. Each one of them is imagining the ways it could go wrong. I know it from experience. And if it does—if they don’t pass initiation—then they’ll be back on the outside, never invited in again.

  “You are here tonight to join the brotherhood of the Skulls and Thorns through a commitment to loyalty. Do you pledge your loyalty to our brotherhood?”

  “We so pledge,” the small group at the center of the room answers. They’ve practiced for this. It was one of the requirements of their pledging period.

  “Are you prepared to enter into a bond of fealty that will be broken only in death?” I say the words slowly and deliberately, but when I get to death, something in the room shifts. Asher took the same oath standing next to me, and his bond of fealty was broken last spring. Too early. Way too fucking early. Somehow, I’ve managed to avoid thinking about it until this moment.

  The pledges don’t hesitate. “We are prepared,” they say.

  “Swear it,” I say.

  “We swear.”

  “You will now repeat the oath of the Skulls and Thorns, knowing as you do that breaking this oath comes with the penalty of disavowal and removal from our brotherhoo
d. Do you vow to keep the oath?”

  “We vow.”

  Matthew Gold licks his lips. The rest of the pledges stand up taller.

  “We are Skulls and Thorns.” The candles flicker and dance.

  We are Skulls and Thorns.

  “Our brotherhood is born of tradition and kept alive by resolute men.”

  Their voices echo the words back to me.

  “We have taken our place among these hallowed halls as keepers of knowledge, defenders of manhood, and builders of character.”

  They’re waiting for me to finish, but the waves of sound all come at once.

  “Our friendship is a true friendship. Our brotherhood is a true brotherhood. Our bond can only be broken by death.”

  Our bond can only be broken by death.

  “Until death, Et Charonis unum.”

  “Until death, Et Charonis unum.”

  If the anticipation in the air was palpable before, now I can taste it on my tongue.

  “It is time to seal our bond with a gift of sacrifice,” I say, and all of them seem to become aware again of the women standing at their sides. They’ve been touching them all along, hands to wrists, yet even Matthew Gold turns his head and seems surprised to find Emily still standing there.

  Four pledges.

  Four women.

  I call the first name.

  The sacrifice is Cassandra, whose eyes are bright as the pledge, Aaron West, leads her to stand in front of the brothers. She’s gorgeous, but I’m hyper-aware of Emily standing next to Matthew.