Page 31 of Stalker

I bite my lower lip, warmth pooling low in my belly. Two can play at this game.

The Velvet Vixen boutique beckons from across the street. Perfect. A wicked grin spreads across my face as I duck inside, the bell chiming above my head.

"Welcome!" The salesgirl's antennae perk up. "Looking for something special?"

"Very special." I browse through racks of silk and lace, selecting choice pieces. A sheer red babydoll. Black leather straps that leave little to imagination. And there, tucked in the corner - a studded collar with "Daddy's Little Monster" stitched in silver thread.

The dressing room mirror reflects my flushed excitement. The babydoll floats around my curves like crimson smoke. Click. First photo captured.

The leather ensemble takes more wiggling, but the effect is worth it. Click. Another photo for my increasingly hot collection.

Last, the collar. My fingers trace the stitched letters as I fasten it around my neck. With a surge of daring, I shed my top completely. The leather sits stark against my bare skin, a delicious contrast that makes my pulse race. Click.

My hands shake slightly as I compose the message to Bruticus. The photos upload one by one, each more provocative than the last. My thumb hovers over the send button.

"Which one?"

Send.

His response is immediate: "All of them. Now get home."

Heat floods my cheeks as I hurriedly redress. The salesgirl smirks knowingly as I purchase the collar, tucking it into my bag like contraband.

"Have fun!" She calls after me.

My steps quicken toward home, anticipation building with each block. The weight of the collar in my bag promises delicious possibilities ahead.

My heart races as I unlock the door, already imagining Bruticus naked and waiting. The sight that greets me stops me cold. He stands fully clothed in black pants, his expression serious rather than seductive.

"We must talk about the collar."

My stomach drops. The bag from Velvet Vixen suddenly feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. "I'm sorry if I?—"

"That is not a proper Reaper Collar. It is unworthy to be around your beautiful throat."

Relief floods through me, followed by curiosity as he extends his hand. Nestled in his palm lies another collar, its leather as dark and rich as his skin. My breath catches at the sight of bone-white spikes adorning it.

The spikes. They match his bone spurs exactly. My fingers trace one of the pristine white protrusions, and understanding hits me like a physical blow. These aren't decorative pieces - they're actually his bone spurs, harvested and crafted into this exquisite piece.

"You made this... from yourself?" The words come out in a whisper.

"Yes." Bruticus's voice rumbles deep in his chest. "Many years ago."

The collar gleams in his palm, each bone spur catching the light. My fingers trace the intricate leather work, marveling at the craftsmanship.

"Most think we Reapers collar our mates out of possessiveness alone." His free hand cups my cheek. "It marks you as protected, yes. No Reaper would dare harm what belongs to another."

The weight of his words sinks in. This isn't just jewelry or a kinky accessory. This is tradition. Culture. Something sacred.

"But more than that—" His thumb brushes my lower lip. "It reminds us of our duty. To cherish. To protect. To care for our mate in every way possible."

My heart thunders against my ribs. "You made this... hoping to find someone worthy?"

"All Reapers do. We craft them from our own bone and flesh, waiting for the day we might present it to our chosen one."

The collar in my hands suddenly feels heavier. More precious. Each spike represents a piece of him, freely given in hopes of finding love.

Heat floods my cheeks as I remember my earlier purchase. "And here I thought it would just be fun for you to pull on it."

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