Page 25 of Stalker

Something in Bruticus's expression stops me cold. His crimson eyes bore into mine with an intensity that steals my breath - not the usual heat of desire, but something deeper. Raw pain mingles with tenderness in his gaze, as if he's memorizing my face while simultaneously fighting some internal battle.

My feet move of their own accord. In three quick steps, I'm back at the bed, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders. His skin burns against mine as I pull him close, pressing my cheek to his chest. His heartbeat thunders under my ear.

"What was that for?" His voice wavers, uncertain in a way I've never heard before.

"You needed comfort." I squeeze him tighter, breathing in his distinct scent of leather and spice. "I don't know why you're hurting, Bruticus. But I want you to know I care... and when you're ready, if you want to, you can talk to me about it."

The sting of tears threatens to overwhelm me. Before he can respond, I break away and bolt for the hallway. My vision blurs as I shut the door behind me, pressing my back against it. His pain echoes in my chest like a physical ache, as terrifying as it is oddly comforting to feel so connected to another person.

The hover taxi deposits me at the GT's main entrance. My heels click against the polished floor as I make my way to Vakutan Coffee, the scent of fresh-roasted beans growing stronger with each step.

Eve waves from their usual corner table while June sits ramrod straight, datapad in hand. The contrast between my friends couldn't be starker - Eve's bright smile versus June's perpetual frown.

"Sorry I'm late." I slide into the empty chair.

"We haven't ordered yet." Eve pushes a menu my way. "Though June's been practically vibrating to start the interrogation."

June's steel-gray eyes fix on me. "So I understand you've entered into a relationship with an inherently misogynistic and culturally primitive sapient species?"

My coffee cup freezes halfway to my lips. The clinical tone, like I'm some sort of lab specimen, makes my blood boil.

"Primitive? Misogynistic?" My voice rises sharp enough to turn heads at nearby tables. "Bruticus treats me with more respect than any human man I've ever dated. He listens when I talk about my studies. He's interested in my opinions. He's protective without being possessive."

"But Reapers are-"

"Are what, June? Different? That's what makes him special. When Bruticus looks at me, he sees me. Not my father's daughter, not a potential conquest, not a stereotype. Just me."

Eve kicks me under the table, but I'm too fired up to stop.

"He values my mind as much as my body. And unlike some people, he doesn't judge based on outdated xenophobic assumptions."

June's shoulders slump, her usual rigid posture softening.

"Touche, Maryse. I am indeed allowing my prejudices to cloud the issue." Her head drops, genuine shame crossing her features. "In truth, I'm probably allowing envy to taint my perception of your coital adventures. Forgive me."

The admission catches me off guard. My anger dissolves instantly. "June, don't be silly. There's nothing to forgive." I reach across the table to squeeze her hand. "But... jealous? Of me? That's hard to believe. I always thought you were into more intellectual guys."

"Yeah, nerds," Eve adds with a smirk.

June shoots Eve a withering look that could freeze plasma before her shoulders lift in a defeated shrug. "I do confess that most of the men who ask me out are a tad mincing. Perhaps I yearn to be taken captive by my own space pirate and treated roughly."

I slap my hands over my face, heat flooding my cheeks. "You know, sometimes you should avoid taking the galactic express lane to the Too Much Information Planet, June."

Eve's eyes light up with mischief as she pulls out her compad. "Speaking of rough treatment..." Her fingers dance across the screen.

"Eve, don't you dare-"

Too late. A holographic display springs to life above the table, casting a blue glow across our faces.

"Oh, this is interesting." Eve flicks through the images, each more explicit than the last. "It's called the Arch of Discipline. Apparently if you've been naughty, a Reaper will chain you to it and 'correct' your behavior with, ah, 'stiff' authority..."

My face burns hotter than a plasma core. "Please stop."

But June leans forward, adjusting her glasses. "Or what about the Belt of Denial?" She swipes to the next image, her clinical tone at odds with the subject matter. "It syncs up to a woman's biosignature and provides enough, ah, stimulation that she's constantly aroused but unable to climax."

The elderly Ataxian couple at the next table shoot us disapproving glares. Their brow ridges twitch in obvious distaste.

"I seriously doubt either of those are real." I reach over and shut down the compad display. "And you need to stop before they throw us out. The owners of this place are very conservative."

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