Triple dots float on my screen, a sign that Mask has read my message and is writing a reply. They float some more. And still more.
When they fade from my screen, I shriek in frustration.
Yo, asshole. Why aren’t you in the game?
This time, I only have to wait a minute.
MaskedMarauder
I’m there
Where?
Ice Knight Castle
WTF is IKC?
Back to the floating dots. They bubble up for so long I’m convinced Mask won’t reply. But then he types:
Private corner of the game
Private where?
Check ur profile
U should have an invite
I log back into the game and navigate to the administrative panel, the place we receive messages about changes to the system, about fees and avatars and everything else that makes Winter Reckoning run smoothly. There’s nothing new. No invitation. Nothing about Ice Knights anywhere.
I go back to my conversation with Mask.
Nothing there
Must be a mistake
The team’s there
The whole leaderboard
Well, fuck the team. And fuck the leaderboard. And fuck Winter Reckoning, too.
I fire off a request to the game’s admin, saying there’s some mistake in their coding. I ask to be admitted into Ice Knight Castle—whatever the fuck it actually is—and I attach a screenshot of the leaderboard, with my points outpacing every other player in the game.
I think about writing back to Mask, asking him for more details, but I’m afraid he’ll ask about my progress on NightSaber and StarCoin and that feckin’ bookie. I can’t bear to admit I’m stumped.
When I glance at the clock in the corner of my screen, I see it’s 6:17. I’m late to dinner. I’m sure Wolf is already working out how he’ll punish me in the basement.
I’m ashamed that I need the release Wolf offers downstairs. I’m frustrated he hasn’t let me reciprocate, not even once—not with my hands or my mouth or the aching hollow between mythighs. He just laughs when I try, pinning me down or moving out of reach.
Every night, before I fall asleep in our huge blue bed, I tell myself tomorrow will be different. Every night, as the nightstand light glows red through my eyelids, I remind myself I don’t need Wolf’s clothes, I don’t need his food, I don’t need his touch.
But in the morning, I’m ready to do battle, all over again.
35
COLE
One week of blissful marriage to the tempest I call my wife.