Page 49 of Silent Stalker

Movement catches my eye – her silhouette passes behind curtained windows. She’s pacing. Good. She should be nervous.

I force air through my nose, counting each breath. In. Out. The rage still burns, but I can’t let it control me. Not with Clara. She deserves better than my animal instincts.

My knuckles hover over her door. The porch light casts my shadow long across fresh snow. Inside, her footsteps pause. She knows I’m here.

“Get it together,” I whisper to myself. My hands tremble, but not from anger now, but from need. Pure, desperate need for her presence.

I knock. Three soft taps echo in the winter silence.

More footsteps. Hesitation. The lock clicks.

Clara opens the door, green eyes wide. The silver turtledoves gleam at her throat. They are my gift, my mark. The sight sends electricity down my spine.

“Silas...” Her voice catches.

Snow drifts in behind me as I step closer, not quite crossing her threshold. Her pulse jumps in her neck. I want to press my lips there. Feel her life beating against my tongue.

“You’ve been ignoring me.” The words come out softer than I intended. Not an accusation – a plea.

She swallows. “I needed time to think.”

My fingers itch to grab her, pull her against me. Show her she’s mine. But I hold back, gripping the doorframe instead. The wood creaks under my hand.

“Look at me,” I whisper.

When she meets my gaze, I see everything I need. Fear, yes – but desire too. Understanding. She knows what I am. What we could be together.

“I can’t...” She starts to speak, but I shake my head.

“You’re everything,” I tell her. Simple truth. “My goddess. My reason. Don’t shut me out.”

A tear slides down her cheek. I catch it with my thumb, as gently as I can manage, when every cell in my body screams to possess her.

“Let me in, Clara.” My voice stays gentle despite the storm raging inside me.

She hesitates, fingers curling around the edge of the door. Her body trembles – from cold or fear, I can’t tell. Finally, she steps back, creating space for me to enter.

I cross her threshold, inhaling her scent. The door clicks shut behind me with a finality that makes her jump.

“Why are you ignoring me?”

Clara wraps her arms around herself, putting distance between us. The turtledoves catch the light as she moves. “Because I know what you are.”

My pulse quickens. “And what am I?”

“The Christmas Reaper.” She says it without hesitation, though her voice shakes. “The milking barn should have confirmed it—no eighth victim because you had me instead. God, I've known, haven't I? But this attraction, this darkness you awaken in me... I let it blind me to the truth.”

I take a step closer. She doesn’t retreat. “And now that you see it?”

“I should have you arrested.” Her eyes meet mine, filled with conflict. “I should be horrified. But all I can think about is how much I want you to touch me again.”

“My perfect, twisted goddess.” I reach for her face, thumb brushing her bottom lip. “You understand the beauty of it now, don’t you? Each death, each careful arrangement—they’re all for you. My tribute. My courtship.”

I watch the conflict dance across Clara’s face, her fingers absently touching the turtledoves at her throat.

“I can’t... I can’t accept this.” She backs away from my touch. “What you’ve done is monstrous.”

“Each one deserved their fate.” I step closer, matching her retreat. “Michael Parker? He was a pedophile who worked in a fucking school.”

---