Summary:

Ilya dug deeper into the bag and pulled out a sturdy, leather dog collar, dark brown and buckled. Quick as a wink, he held it up, dangling it directly at Shane’s neck. "You make cute puppy. Shchenok Shane."

Shane glared, his face heating up instantly, and slapped Ilya's hand away. "Stop it!"

Ilya advanced closer, his stance casual, yet dominating. "I am serious. Consider this gift. It says, 'I belong to Ilya Rozanov.'... Come on. Put it on. Be my good boy."