CHAPTER3
Luke
I stand there, feet planted, as the dean makes yet another announcement. His voice booms and echoes in the room, making him sound much louder and more authoritative than he is.
“We are bringing another Dominant into our fold. He has consented to let us use his body, to do to him what we do to our submissives. In this way, he will truly learn what it is like to lead by submission.”
Yadda yadda yadda. As he drones on, waxing poetic about the virtues of submission, I stifle the urge to yawn. The fact that he cares so much about consent is a little disturbing. I was forced to submit for nearly a decade, and it didn’t kill me. Granted, the idea of willing submission is a bit foreign to me. I much prefer being an aggressor, someone that has to exert his power.
What good is it if someone just falls to your feet willingly? You can’t trust it. You can’t believe it’s what they truly want. The only way to actually get real submission is to coax it with violence.
Is it that he doesn’t have enough control himself, so he cloaks himself with the vestiges of consent to keep him honest? Either way, it’s all too boring, too tame for my tastes. It’s not a matter of consent or not consent; it’s a matter of raw, animalistic passion. It’s what drew me to Lana and Parker back in Florida. They somehow welcomed me with open arms, looking past the demons to the man inside.
Granted, they also didn’t know the horrible things I did when we were all a tangle of limbs. But for a few blessed hours, I could just be there, loving and being loved. More than likely, it was because Lana and Parker were far too innocent for the type of sex I had in mind.
It was only because I liked them that I decided to explore a softer side of sex with them. At the time, it filled a need in me, a need to be cherished for just a moment, a need to have sex with no pain. But now that I’ve gotten it out of my system, that type of fuck isn’t what I want. It isn’t what I crave.
I crave violence.
I crave blood.
I crave cries of agony as I unleash myself onto my next victim.
At this point, I don’t care if they’re a guy or a girl. I just want someone who’s not beholden to the dean’s lofty ideals of what a coupling should be like. If I based my sex on the safe, sane, consensual model that he touts, then every fuck would be boring, mundane, bland, just like the little vanilla girls staring up at me.
“We bring before The Society, one Luke Arlo Lannister. He comes to us with the desire to be as we are - elite, in control, in command. He understands the rules by, which he is bound, the same as any of us. Before we begin, is there any reason why we shouldn’t allow him in and instead turn him away?”
Woah. Hold the fuck up. No one told me this was a goddamn wedding ceremony where just anyone could deny me. Glancing out over the crowd, I glare at them, daring them to speak up, to deny me. It’s not like I actually want to be a part of this, but it seems necessary, and as such, no one will thwart me.
Forcing my breathing to even, I will my hands to stay unclenched. Right now, the main thing they’re watching for is for me to crack up, to lash out. Just one glance over at Shrinky Dink confirms it. His body is tense, primed, as if he’s one step away from pouncing.
I find it laughable that he’s so intent on seeing me fail. As if finding the cracks in my foundation will prove to him that I’m just a monster. And perhaps I am. What of it? Prey needs a predator, and I just so happen to be the most skilled and lethal one they’ve seen.
The dean gives another pregnant pause before turning back to me. “Luke, are you prepared to give yourself over to the ones that will initiate you?”
“Sure. If that’s what has to happen, bring it.”
A soft smattering of laughter flits about the room, drawing a scowl from the dean. I guess he’ll just have to get used to my rough edges. I’m not like these other bozos and their formality. I’m not going to play this game. If they wanted someone cultured, someone mercurial, that could float about in their social constructs, then they should have found someone other than me. Louis should have taken me somewhere else.
“During this initiation, safewords will not be respected. The only time we will stop is if you’re physically unable to continue. Do you understand?”
Again, I stifle the urge to roll my eyes. How many times does this make it? I swear they would roll all the way around if I let them. There are no safewords in initiations. If there were, then all the Ravens would be soft, unable to face the harsh realities of their world.
They’d be like these guys in their pressed suits, without a care in the world. What do these people even know about struggle? Everything, including the people they fuck, has been given to them. What do they even know of pain? I’m sure when they themselves were initiated, it was nothing but tea and crumpets. Perhaps they’re doing it this way for me since they know I can take it.
“You will not hear a peep out of me.”
As if they could even cause a whimper to spill from my lips. It’s laughable how serious they’re taking things when they’re just puffed-up stuff shirts that like to play with kinky toys. So sure, let them try to break me. There’s no way in hell they can.
With a nod, the dean steps to the side. The lights start to dim, throwing the dais in stark relief. Pageantry and theatrics. With the bright light shining down on me, I’m unable to see the faces in the crowd. The white masks all become a blur, with only the ones in the very front even remotely visible.
Louis stands out, his tall, broad frame tight. Is he actually worried for me? Maybe it’s time he actually stops trying to give a damn about me and worry about the new initiates with the Ravens. His hands aren’t clean. There’s no way he can stand here in either worry or judgment. Not after what he did to Finn and Junior.
At least here, I’m a grown-ass man, making the choice to let these strangers hurt me. They were two eleven-year-olds sent out into the woods to be hunted down by grown men. I’m sure daddy-o wasn’t too worried about them. Why should he be worried now?
Or is it regret that holds his frame in this rigid stance? For the first time since being brought into this space, a niggle of unease drips down my spine. Is there something that Louis knows that I don’t? Perhaps he’s behind all of this, yet another way to make me a pawn on his chessboard.
I swear, if this somehow is all a ruse to make me a secret Raven…. But that can't be possible. Despite being the King of King’s son, I’m their sworn enemy. The things I’ve done to them would never be forgiven. Knowing Louis, he’s just fucking with me, using reverse psychology to get into my head. That’s far more believable than some secret initiation.
A hint of movement catches me out of the corner of my eyes, and a groan reverberates through my body. Shrinky Dink. Of course, he’d be the first one. He approaches me, his eyes gleaming from behind the mask, as if what he’s about to do makes him absolutely gleeful.
No doubt he’ll try to bore me to death with his theories and questions, his voice droning on and on as he attempts to pull things out of me. Let him try. I’d love to see him floundering a bit as I take him down a peg.
Swinging from his hand is a hank of rope. It’s white, thin, and tightly woven. Without saying a word, he steps in front of me and grabs my hand, holding tight as I struggle to pull back, to escape his grip. I know I’m supposed to “submit” to these wankers, but it doesn’t mean I have to go willingly.
I’m not going to just stand there and let them do things to me without at least putting up a token amount of resistance. They’ll appreciate this scene much better if I actually make them work for it. Besides, I can see the shimmer of violence in the quack’s eyes. He wants this fight as much as I do.
“This is what you wanted, Luke. You stood there in front of everyone and said you wanted to be a member of The Society.” His voice is a low murmur, a sound that should be soothing but is anything but. “Something tells me you expect this to be a breeze, as if you can just waltz on through and take a seat at the table with us.”
He pauses for a moment, fingering the rope before continuing. “Though I’m sure you already know this, I want to make myself abundantly clear. I don’t want you here. In fact, I’ve done my damnedest to keep you from even being allowed to participate in this initiation. Luckily for you, we’re a democracy. Decisions like these are put to a vote, and those morons chose to give you a chance. You’re only here because I was outvoted.”
Standing to my full height, I look him square in the eyes. “Yes, but I’m still here. It doesn’t matter how I got here. Are you upset that no one else wanted to play along with you? Does it hurt your widdle feewings that you didn’t get your way?”
It’s there, that slight bristle under his robe. He keeps his face placid under the mask, but I got to him. I can see it in the narrowing of his eyes, in the way his fingers tighten around the rope. He puts on airs about being this cool, deep pool when in reality, he’s just as shallow and feckless as the rest of us.