The Silver Swan (The Elite King's Club 1)

Carter picks up, but I can hear a girl’s voices in the background. I roll my eyes. “Carter?”

“Hello? Madi? Can you hear me?”

No, I cannot hear you over all the mouthful of cock.

“Yeah, Carter—” the line goes dead, and I look down to my phone to see the service gone. “Fuck!” Picking up my bag from the passenger seat, I push my phone into the front pocket and pick up my gun.

This doesn’t seem like a great idea anymore. Back at school, when I said I’d do this, it was because I was in the light of the day. Now, I’m in the dark and can’t see shit. Shivering slightly, I think about throwing on a sweater, but my dad always said that the cold is what helps you stay alert. With that in my brain, I slip out of the car, ignoring the stabs of panic that erupt all over my flesh from being out in the cold, quiet open, and then slam the door shut, hiding the pistol behind my duffel bag as it slouches on my shoulder, but not far enough I can’t pull it out whenever I need it. Walking forward to the breaking of the forest—what Carter said to follow—I tighten my grip on the gun. It’s too silent. Why’s it so silent? It’s throwing me off. No birds or crickets chirping.

I kick myself. I should have bought my headphones. It would have made this trip a little less daunting, and then maybe I could have ran through the forest until I got to the site. Crunching of the dead leaves vibrates under the soles of my feet as the cold, thick air whips my hair across my face.

“I wanna play a game,” a voice whispers from behind me, and I jump two feet into the air, whipping around to face whoever it is that’s there, my gun drawn.

But no one is there.

“Who the fuck are you?”

A round of echoing laughter breaks through the night, swimming with the heavy gusts of wind. “Riddle me this….”

“No! Fuck you!”

They all laugh again, like a torturous cackle created from my very own nightmares. “Oh, you will,” another voice growls over the back of my neck, so close I could feel his warm breath fall over the fine hairs on my back.

I swing around, but once again, I’m met with empty air.

“Weak,” another voice taunts.

“Too slow!” another one laughs.

Sucking in my breath, I whip around, only to be met with the dark, inky forest, filled with the tang of pine, crisp dry leaves, and the moonlight reflecting between the broken branches of the trees. Moss blankets the thick sheet of dirt that is around my feet, and I bring my hand up, aiming my gun at nothing. “Who the fuck are you, and why the fuck are you following me?”

I feel his presence before he speaks, but when he opens his mouth, I know who it is instantly. “Riddle me this, kitty,” he whispers softly through his rough, lazy voice. “How many secrets do you hold within your bones? Or do I need to cut you open until your mysteries bleed out all over your home?” He steps forward, his hard chest brushing against my back muscles. I close my eyes, my grip around the gun tightening. Running his lips over the back of my earlobe, he groans, “You’re not the only one who can leave scratch marks.” Then he shoves me forward until I smash into a large tree trunk. The gasp of air I was holding in rushes out from my lungs as he steps between my legs, stretching me wide.

“Leave me alone, Bishop.”

He laughs and grips my wrists tightly. He snatches my gun from me and then pulls cable ties around my wrist. Fuck! Panic starts to rise again. Why the hell are they doing this to me? Nothing makes sense, and nothing has made sense since I got here. “You and I both know that’s not what you really want.”

Loud footsteps sound out behind me, and when Bishop finally shoves me around to face him, his face catches my attention first. It’s completely masked in skeleton special effects makeup, and he’s wearing dark loose jeans, with a dark hoodie covering his head. His eyes peer into mine, but they’re covered by white wolf contacts. “You”—he steps forward—“know what I’m talking about, kitty. Why are you acting dumb?”

I swallow. “Dumb? What the hell are you talking about?” I look over his shoulder and see more figures, with skeleton faces and dark hoodies and jeans on, scattered around the place, leaning against trees. I search for Nate, and Bishop must know what I’m doing, because he laughs again, his hand flying up to my throat. He squeezes gently. “He can’t and won’t save you, kitty.”

His grip tightens, and my swallowing gets heavy. I look up into his eyes as he pushes me against the tree trunk again, the burning graze cutting into my back.