Page 5 of Silent Stalker

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SILAS

Icradle the cup between my palms, savoring the bitter taste of black coffee while watching the officers mill around the crime scene. My masterpiece. The bustle of shoppers adds a delightful backdrop to my stage.

A flash of golden hair catches my eye. Clara. My pulse quickens as she approaches the cafe, her curves accentuated by her fitted blazer. Such beauty should be preserved, molded, and shaped into something greater.

She heads to the counter and orders her drink. I time my movements perfectly, rising as she turns from the counter with her drink. Our bodies collide. Hot liquid splashes across her chest, and she gasps. The sound sends electricity through my veins.

“I’m so sorry.” My voice drips with concern as I grab napkins. “Please, let me help.” My fingers brush against her collarbone as I dab at the stain, feeling her warmth beneath the fabric.

“It’s okay.” Her green eyes meet mine, and I see it—that flicker of attraction, the way her pupils dilate. She’s already mine; she doesn’t know it yet.

“I insist on buying you another drink. It’s the least I can do.” I flash my most disarming smile, which I’ve perfected over years of blending in. “I’m Silas.”

“Clara.” She absently fixes her hair, unaware of how that simple movement feeds the predator inside me, desperate to seize control.

“What were you drinking? I’ll replace it right away.” I guide her back to the counter, my hand hovering near the small of her back. The proximity intoxicates me. Her scent—vanilla and something uniquely her—fills my senses.

She shifts closer, unconsciously seeking my touch. How perfect she is, how ready for corruption. Each breath she takes, each flutter of her lashes, confirms what I already know—she’s meant to be my masterpiece, my greatest work.

“A vanilla latte,” she says, and I can hear the slight tremor in her voice.

If only she knew the thoughts racing through my mind while I order her drink. The things I want to do to her. The ways I’ll make her bloom into her true self.

I hand Clara her fresh drink, watching her delicate fingers wrap around the cup.

“Would you care to join me? I’ve been sitting alone, and company would be welcome.”

She hesitates, but I notice how her body leans toward mine. Prey always gives these subtle signals before they submit.

“Sure, why not?” She follows me to a corner table, away from prying eyes.

“Terrible business, these murders.” I gesture toward the crime scene, tape visible through the window. My masterpiece lies just beyond, growing cold. “Especially during Christmas.”

“You heard about that?” Her shoulders tense.

“It’s all over the news.” I take a slow sip of my coffee, remembering the exquisite moment when life drained from myvictims’ eyes. The way their blood painted crimson rivers in the snow. “The Christmas Reaper, they’re calling him.”

“They shouldn’t give killers names like that. The Christmas Reaper is ridiculous.”

I suppress a smile. If she only knew how much pleasure it brings me to hear my title on her lips. “You seem knowledgeable about this sort of thing.”

“I’m a forensic psychologist.” She tucks that loose strand of hair again. I imagine wrapping her locks around my fist to guide her movements.

“Fascinating. You must have unique insights into the killer’s mind.” My heart races at the game we’re playing—hunter and hunted, sharing coffee while she remains oblivious to the blood on my hands. Not literally, of course; I always wear gloves.

“It’s complicated.” She shifts in her seat.

“I imagine he must feel powerful.” The memory of their final breaths sends a delicious shiver down my spine. “To play God like that.”

I lean forward, watching her chest rise and fall with each breath. My cock stiffens as I imagine marking that delicate skin, claiming every inch of her body as mine.

“Have dinner with me tonight, Clara.”

She bites her lower lip, and I picture those teeth drawing blood. “I don’t usually date strangers.”

A laugh escapes me. If only she knew how long I’d watched, studied, and memorized every detail of her existence. “Strange men are often the most fun. Besides, aren’t you curious?”

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