12. Maryse

CHAPTER 12

MARYSE

T he compad's screen glows in my trembling hands. My father's name jumps out from the official report - Captain Marcus Daniels, Homespace Security Division. The words blur together as I read about hostages, pirates, and a "necessary tactical response."

"Miss, you can't loiter here." A security guard taps his baton against the bench.

"I'm Commander Daniels's daughter."

"Oh. My apologies, Miss Daniels."

The guard moves along, leaving me alone with the sterile government prose that doesn't match that old woman's raw pain. Twenty-three civilian casualties. Clinical. Clean. Like it never happened.

My compad chimes with a message from Bruticus. I ignore it, scrolling through more articles. The same sanitized story repeats across different news sources. Pirates took hostages. Security forces responded. Tragedy ensued.

The admin building's glass doors reflect my pale face. Dad's office waits fifteen floors up. The same office he worked from when he gave the order at Rakura IV.

"You're a murderer!" The old woman's words echo in my head. Her scarred face haunts me.

My legs shake as I stand. The truth waits up there, behind those doors. The real story, not this sterilized version that reads like a grocery list.

I clutch my compad to my chest and march toward the entrance. The security scanner reads my credentials, grants me access. Dad always said face your fears head-on. Time to take his advice.

The elevator feels like a tomb as it rises. Each floor brings me closer to answers I'm not sure I want. But I need to know. That woman deserves better than footnotes in a classified report.

The doors open on the fifteenth floor. Dad's office lies at the end of the hall, his name gleaming on the door plaque. My heart pounds against my ribs as I approach.

Dad looks up as I enter, his weathered face brightening. "Sweetheart, what a nice surprise!"

The words stick in my throat. His office smells of coffee and datapad screens cast a blue glow across his desk. "Dad... tell me about Rakura IV."

The change is instant. His smile vanishes. He sinks into his chair, suddenly looking every one of his sixty years. My stomach twists - I've never seen him like this.

"Where did you hear about that?" He asks. "From that old woman's raving?"

"She seemed to blame you for what happened. I need to know the truth."

He rubs his temples. The silence stretches between us like a chasm. "It was seven years ago. Pirates had taken the station. Three hundred civilians held hostage."

My legs wobble. I grab the chair across from his desk.

"We tried negotiating. But they started executing hostages, one by one. Broadcasting it across all channels." His voice cracks. "I had to make a call."

"What kind of call?"

"The kind that haunts you. We went in hard and fast. Tried to save who we could." He meets my eyes. "Twenty-three civilians died in the crossfire. Including a dock worker - she'd tried to shield others when the shooting started."

The coffee turns sour in my stomach. "Why isn't this in the official reports?"

"It IS in the official report. But the Helios Combine, well, they like to control the narrative, as they put it. They kept the exact details out of the press. Still doesn't excuse what I did." His shoulders slump. "It's my greatest failure. I see their faces every night."

The raw pain in his voice matches the old woman's. But something doesn't add up. "If you tried to save them, why did that woman call you a murderer?"

Dad leans back in his chair, his eyes distant. "Grief can do terrible things to your mind, honey. And from a certain point of view, it could be argued that I AM responsible for those deaths, because I was in charge of the response."

The weight lifts from my chest. This is my father - the man who taught me to always own my mistakes, to face consequences head-on. Not some heartless murderer.

"You did what you had to do." I circle his desk and wrap my arms around his shoulders. "Those pirates left you no choice."

His hand covers mine, warm and familiar. "I believe in you, Dad."

He squeezes my fingers. "That means more than you know, sweetheart."

The tension drains from my shoulders as I pull away. The morning sun streams through his office windows, warming my face. Everything looks clearer now, brighter.

"I should get back to class." I plant a kiss on his cheek. "Love you."

"Love you too, honey."

I leave his office with a spring in my step. The elevator doesn't feel like a tomb anymore.

My steps quicken as I exit the admin building. The weight of Rakura IV lifts from my shoulders with each block I put between myself and Dad's office. My thoughts drift to ebony skin and red eyes waiting at home.

The compad buzzes in my hand. A message from Bruticus: "Missing you."

Heat blooms in my chest. My fingers fly across the screen. "Miss you too. Can't wait to get home."

The response comes instantly - a holographic projection springs to life above my compad. I yelp and nearly drop it.

Bruticus stands in full naked glory, bone spurs gleaming, every magnificent inch of him on display. His "weapon" definitely stands ready for battle.

My cheeks burn. I duck into an alcove, but not before catching the shocked expression of a passing elderly couple.

"Like what you see?" His message scrolls beneath the rotating image.

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."

"That too." His lips curl into a predatory smile as he steps closer, crowding me against the wall.

His lips capture mine in a kiss that steals my breath away. Not the fierce, demanding kisses we've shared before - this one speaks of promises, of forever. My knees weaken as his tongue traces mine with exquisite tenderness.

When he pulls back, his red eyes bore into mine with an intensity that makes my heart skip. Everything we haven't said aloud passes between us in that gaze. My throat tightens with emotion.

I turn around slowly, gathering my hair and lifting it away from my neck. The gesture feels more intimate than being naked before him. This is surrender, trust, commitment all wrapped into one.

Cool leather slides against my throat as Bruticus positions the collar. The bone spurs press gently against my skin - pieces of him that will mark me as his. The thought sends a delicious shiver down my spine.

The padding cradles my neck perfectly, like it was made for me. Perhaps it was. The weight of it feels right, natural, as if his hands have always belonged there.

A soft click echoes in the quiet room as the lock engages. My breath catches. The finality of that sound, the permanence of being bound to him, makes my heart race.

This is more than a fashion statement or bedroom accessory. His flesh and blood encircle my throat, a constant reminder of our connection. Of his protection. Of my choice to be his.

We've crossed a line. There's no going back from this moment, this commitment we've made without words. And I don't want to go back.

Bruticus's fingers trail a path of fire along my skin, his touch gentle yet firm as he slowly undresses me. Each piece of clothing falls away, replaced by the warmth of his hands, the softness of his lips. There's no rush, no urgency, just a deep, burning need that simmers between us.

"You're trembling," he murmurs, his breath hot against my neck.

"I can't help it," I whisper back, my voice barely audible. "You do this to me."

His eyes meet mine, crimson pools of desire and something more, something deeper. "And you unravel me, Maryse."

His hands explore my body, each caress a silent promise. I reach for him, my fingers tracing the bone spurs along his arms, the hard planes of his chest. His skin is hot, almost feverish, and I can feel his heart pounding beneath my touch.

He guides me to the bed, his body covering mine. The weight of him is a comfort, a shield against the world. His lips capture mine in a slow, sensual kiss that steals my breath away. When he pulls back, his eyes never leave mine.

"I see you, Maryse," he says, his voice a low rumble. "All of you."

I wrap my legs around him, drawing him closer. His length presses against me, hot and hard, but he doesn't rush. He takes his time, his eyes locked onto mine as he slowly enters me.

A gasp escapes my lips as he fills me completely. The intensity in his gaze is overwhelming, a tide of passion that threatens to sweep me away. He moves with deliberate slowness, each thrust a claim, a declaration.

"Bruticus," I whisper, my voice a plea, a prayer.

His name on my lips seems to ignite something within him. His pace quickens, his breath coming in ragged gasps. But his eyes never leave mine, never waver. The connection between us is palpable, a living thing that binds us together.

The pleasure builds, a slow burn that turns into an inferno. I cling to him, my arms and legs wrapped tightly around his body. His gaze holds me captive, the crimson depths reflecting my own desire, my own need.

When the wave crests, it's like nothing I've ever felt before. It's not just physical; it's emotional, spiritual. It's everything. We climax together, our bodies locked in a dance as old as time, our souls intertwined in a way that defies words.

I hold him tightly, never wanting to let go. His heart beats against mine, a steady rhythm that echoes the depth of our connection. In this moment, there's no past, no future. There's only us, only this. And it's enough. It's more than enough.