Collared Mga Nobela at Kwento

I hesitated for a moment, my hand hovering over the lid, before finally lifting it open. Inside there was a glimmer of gold that caught my eye first. A collar lay nestled in the velvet lining, its surface polished to perfection and expensive looking. There are ring little diamond studs spelled out with a single word ‘kitten’. My breath caught in my throat, my pulse pounding as I reached for it. The weight of the collar was solid in my hands, the craftsmanship exquisite. It wasn’t just an accessory but a statement. He is trying to stake his claim with a collar. I had no idea he was into such things.

“No. You can’t.” “I have until the next refill” “You have until tonight.” My breath stopped. He wasn’t being dramatic. He wasn’t trying to scare me. He was stating a fact. “The collar is overheating because your glands are overcompensating,” he continued, his tone precise but softer when he saw the panic flicker across my face. “It’s trying to suppress more than it can handle.” I swallowed hard. “If it fails…” “You’ll scent,” Ronan finished. “Hard.”

Sasha says with her eyes narrowed at Abed. Do they mean what I think they mean? My eyes widen when I look at their necks and the collars I thought were necklaces, they were never matching necklaces, but sub collars? Abed curses under his breath, “No, she hasn’t been collared, and didn’t your Doms tell you to mind your business?”

“Watch closely, Alzna. This is what happens to those who cross me.” One of his guards handed him two remotes. “This collar,” he began, holding one of the remotes above, “is designed for rats like you. It electrocutes, burns, and beheads its victim and one of its amazing features is it will kill you instantly if it is tampered with. Let's start with electrocution,” he said, his gaze never leaving mine. I gulped down hard as my heart thudded in my ribs, but I wasn't going to let him see I was scared.

He shook his head, tsking, then went to a drawer and brought back a tiny key and showed it to me. He opened the lock of the collar, then walked around and closed softly around my neck. “This is the first time I collared someone, I have not even considered doing it before. But you need to be safe where we are going. A little gattina like you needs to be marked and collared, you must be owned and this is to do so. It is my warning for anyone who might think to touch and if they did it, it will be my right to kill them.”

But he's no gonzo inventor–he's Maurice Hart, head of Research and Development for Neuroworks, a trillion-dollar tech titan. Now this human is sitting in front of me, claiming he’s invented a collar–a fucking collar–that will stop a wolf from shifting. It allegedly works by disrupting electrical impulses in the brain. He’s explaining all this to me very excitedly, so pleased with himself. Maurice hands me the silver collar. It doesn’t look like a totally janky piece of shit, unfortunately. It’s smooth and cold and looks legit. “Let’s take it for a test drive,” I say.

The inner lining of the collar was etched with the same jagged, light-swallowing runes that covered the halberds of the Pale Guard. "The High King does not trust the word of wolves," Kaelen said, stepping onto the platform and stopping just inches from my chest. He held the cold iron band up, the metal radiating a freezing, heavy draft that made the hair on my arms stand up. "This is the Pale Collar. It will drink the remaining heat of your blood the moment you try to shift. It will make you a dog." He reached for my neck. Killian let out a terrifying, guttural roar, his massive frame launching forward with the last of his physical strength. But before his good hand could reach Kaelen’s thro

"We are walking into a den of wolves. You are not my niece or my accountant tonight. You are my prize, and you will wear my mark." He lifted the structured collar just enough to expose the bruised skin beneath, then lowered the zipper slightly, leaving the high line of the collar just dipping below the bite mark. He was creating a visible tension—the collar meant to hide the secret would now only draw the eye to the forbidden skin just beneath it.

And he knew it. During the day, I always wore my collar. It was a pretty pink one, much like a sleek, well-pampered feline's with a heart-shaped name tag that had my chosen name on it in cursive letters: Anny. I loved that collar. It was the one that I always wore around the house and in his presence. He had given it to me after I had earned my way out of the simple black one purchased at the local Petsmart. And then I had one that I wore outside of the house that looked more like jewelry. Most people aren't too fond of slavery or girls wearing collars out.

She was pretty, a face you wouldn't suspect that had already killed hundreds. On her neck was an eye-catching bloody collar. Upon closer inspection, it wasn't something that could be removed. The collar was engraved on her neck, like a tattoo. The collar pattern was complicated, like a bunch of runes circling her delicate neck. The collar tattoo was throbbing and slightly moving—it was alive. The woman, Madam Mabel, gazed at where her subordinate came from with knowing eyes. "No, we shall proceed."