The Reaper

by RuNyx

  Morana basked in the glow of this moment in the dark. After the night she had had, after the life that she had had, this was the last place she would have thought herself to wind up at. In the home of

  Tristan Caine. In the bed of Tristan Caine. In the arms of Tristan Caine. And yet, she couldn’t think of anywhere else to be. He had given her a taste of two things she’d never had - safety and home. Both had been concepts, ideas that existed in the lives of people who didn’t belong in her world, mirages that illusioned her kind. But he’d been feeding her little doses of both ever since that rainy night in the penthouse, and she was addicted. In the arms of the most dangerous man she knew, she felt the safest she had ever been.

  A light sound against her ear broke through her musings.

  Morana heard it, and her lips trembled with the sudden urge to chuckle. She pressed them together as the sound came again, softly.

  Tristan 'The Predator' Caine snored like a baby.

  No wonder he didn’t like anyone in the room when he slept; his entire reputation would be crushed. Lips twitching, she turned her face towards him, feeling his exhale on her forehead as her nose pressed into the happy spot she'd discovered between his neck and shoulder.

  That was the moment she found out something new about herself - she was a cover hogger. Sometime during the night, she had completely pulled the blanket over to her side, leaving him half in the cold and half in the snuggly warmth. He had simply come over to her side of the bed in the unconscious retaliation. Between his body heat and her conquered covers, she was toasty. Sighing happily, no idea of the time behind the dark drapes that shut out the light, Morana snuggled deeper into him, that musky masculine scent of his flesh wrapping itself around her like another layer of comfort.

  His arm jerked suddenly, jerking her body, making her realize it had been the cause of her wakefulness. His breathing changed, getting heavier, his hand tightening slightly on the side of her ribs. Morana tilted her neck back, trying to see his face but only able to make out the silhouette in the darkness. His fingers spasmed on her flesh, his breaths getting shorter. Morana recognized the signs, having experienced them herself on numerous nights, but she’d never witnessed anyone going through a nightmare. She wondered what his subconscious was showing him. With the brutal life he’d led, most of which she couldn’t even fathom, she knew she shouldn’t have been surprised by this.

  Swallowing, her heart clenching, the desire to soothe him acute, Morana slowly placed her hand on his forearm, feeling the muscles flex involuntarily under her touch. No idea what to do, she went with her gut. Tucking her head in, she pressed her lips against his heart, feeling scarred tissue under her mouth, and softly kissed it while stroking his arm.

  A low noise rumbled in his chest. His body twitched.

  “Shh,” Morana whispered, pressing soft kisses on his chest, stroking his arm over and over again. “It’s okay. You’re safe. It’s okay.”

  His body tensed, the bicep right beside her breasts bunching tightly as his neck moved. Morana patted his arm, nuzzling into his neck and murmuring the same words repeatedly into his skin.

  A clock ticked somewhere in the house. Her heart beat steadily - thump thump thump - in tandem with it. Minutes passed. And slowly, eventually, she felt his strained muscles loosening up, the grip he had on the side of her ribs easing.

  Morana spoke against his heart again, “You’re safe. It’s okay.”

  “Leave the bed next time,” his raspy voice whispered against her hair. Having not expected him to wake up, Morana tried to pull her face back but his hand, which had been around her torso, came up to the back of her head and held her exactly where she’d been.

  She settled in. “Not happening.”

  “I can get dangerous,” he informed her, as though the thought had never crossed her mind. She wasn’t an idiot. Morana rolled her eyes but stayed silent.

  “I’m serious,” his somber tone brooked no argument. “I can seriously hurt you and not know it.”

  She shrugged. “I’ll take my chances.”

  A frustrated noise left his throat and Morana tilted her head back, bringing her hand to the side of his head, the sensation of his hair between her fingers amplified in the dark.

  “You made me a promise last night in the dark,” she murmured softly, knowing she had his full attention. “I’m making you one now.”

  Brushing her thumb over the line of his jaw, feeling the scruff rasping against it, she vowed, repeating his own words. “Never again. You’ll never be alone again. No matter how bad the nightmare gets, I’m going to be right here.”

  The weight of the words echoed in the silence between them for long minutes. His breathing didn’t change but his fingers flexed a bit on the back of her head. She knew what this meant to him. She could imagine all the emotions swirling through him, including the most dangerous one of all - hope. Dare he hope that she meant it? Dare he hope after everything he’d been through that he was still capable of hoping? She could imagine because that was exactly the thoughts she would’ve thought. And they were similar - she and him. Two sides of the same coin, two ends of the same string. She knew what giving this vow meant to her. There was no looking back; they were in this for the long haul.

  “Break that promise,” he spoke, his voice soft as the underside of a blade, “and I will break mine.”

  “Which one?” Morana asked, her heart beating faster as the awareness of him shifting closer seeped through.

  He tugged her head up, arching her neck back, his nose brushing against her. “To not destroy you.”

  His lips were right there against hers, almost there but not quite. Her face straining closer to bridge the gap but held back by his hand in her hair. She smiled, knowing he could feel it between them.

  “Destroy me.”

  The dam burst.

  His lips crashed against hers in the most beautiful collision, knocking the breath out of her lungs. Everything from the previous night came flooding back - her fear, her close call, her relief at being alive. She could feel it all in the way he kissed her. It was the sensation of reassurance and promise of retaliation combined between his lips and hers. Her arms wound up around his neck, pulling him deeper as he shifted her completely on her back, his much larger form covering hers as he moved his weight on his arms. Their tongues twining, his taste infiltrated all her senses. Morana reveled in the complete, absolute sensation of holding him and having him hold her like that for the first time. Tugging his lower lip between hers, she ran her fingers down his muscular back, feeling all the delineations and scars under her touch, stopping at his very well-formed ass. She had admired that ass in secret multiple times and being able to hold it sent a thrill through her. She spread her legs wider to accommodate him, pulling on that sculpted ass, pulling him in the valley between her legs.

  A low rumble vibrated in his chest, right against her breasts, her nipples pebbling harder against his flesh as he devoured her mouth, his boxer-clad hips flexing against her bare form. The t-shirt - his t-shirt - the only garment she’d gone to bed in was suddenly pushed up under her neck. Her breasts, naked breasts, pressed up against his bare chest for the first time. Morana moaned at the sensation, her nipples becoming even more sensitive, shooting heat right to her core.

  He pulled back, his chest heaving hard against hers, their breaths labored.

  “Fuck,” he spoke, slight wonder, slight disbelief in his tone.

  Yeah. She felt that ‘fuck’ too. This whole situation could be encapsulated in that one ‘fuck’.

  A loud vibration from the bedside table spiked her already rapid heart rate. Morana looked to the source of the noise to see his phone vibrating madly on the wooden surface. She turned back to look at him in the glow from the phone, to see his wild, disheveled hair, and those magnificent eyes focused on her with an intensity that made heat flood her body all over again. She became acutely aware of his hard erection pressed right against her wetness, only a layer of cotton sep
arating them. Her hips rose of their own accord, creating slight friction that made pleasure shoot to the tips of her toes.

  The phone kept vibrating as he moved his hips with deliberate intent, applying the perfect pressure. Her head sank into the pillow as her back arched, her fingers digging into his back.

  The vibration stopped, plunging the room into darkness again.

  His mouth came over hers again. She parted her lips willingly, letting him in, her heart pounding as he slowed them down, a wet spot on his cotton from her, his hand stroking the side of her breast.

  The phone vibrated again. He pulled his lips away, his hand extending to the side to pick it up and bring it to his ear.

  “Speak,” he growled into the phone, sitting back on his knees, the hand at the side of her breast going to her back, bringing her flush with him. Morana wrapped her legs around him, straddling his hips in the most wanton of ways, her entire body vibrating with her arousal.

  “When?” he spoke against her neck, his teeth raking down the line, leaving her breathing harshly.

  Then the person on the other end of the line said something that made him still in that way of his. Morana pulled back, trying to see him and he let her, laying her back down on the bed gently, his hand resting on her hip. Unable to stand not seeing him, Morana extended her arm and turned on the lamp beside her, flooding the room with a soft glow.

  She saw his eyes roving over her entirely exposed body, taking in every inch of her skin and she did the same. He was muscles. His neck corded with them, his shoulders packed, his pecs, his abs, his arms. All wrapped in strength. Morana saw his scars up close and personal like this for the first time but she focused on his tattoos since she’d never had the chance before. She knew there was a small one under his bicep that she could only see the end tails of, a tribal design from the looks of it. How she'd love to spend time just exploring all his marks to her heart's content someday.

  Before she could obverse the others, he grunted in response to something and his hand moved to right between her legs, where she was spread wide for him. Her eyes flew to his in surprise, locking with those blue ones piercing her to the core as he stayed on the phone, his fingers probing.

  A harsh breath left her, the fire which had subsided roaring back to life under her skin, her fingers fisting the sheets under her.

  “No, it won’t,” he said on the phone, slowly dipping a finger inside her wet heat, making her toes curl.

  His eyes flickered to her breasts, went to her hands, and returned to hers. She got the message. Uncurling her fingers, she placed her hands over her breasts, holding his gaze, and squeezed. Her walls clenched around his finger. He was touching her both literally and not.

  “Get it done.” Another finger joined. She tugged on her nipples, the pleasure shooting straight down making her spine curve, a soft moan leaving her lips.

  His eyes flared.

  “Nothing,” he stated, shaking his head at her just once even as his fingers sped up inside her, his thumb joining in to rub her clit. Sucking in a loud breath, knowing she had to keep it quiet without moving her hands from pleasuring her breasts or breaking eye contact with him, Morana bit her swollen lips, her jaw starting to tremble. He saw it, noted it, and attacked with an ardor she hadn’t thought possible when he was occupied elsewhere. But she shouldn’t have been surprised.

  His fingers penetrated, scissored, massaged her walls, withdrew, and repeat. Heat started to unfurl in her belly, knotting into a ball that kept getting tighter and tighter and tighter. His eyes, his fingers, his presence wrecked on her. His thumb rubbed her deftly, pressing with the perfect pressure that was going to make her soar. She knew, just knew he would splinter her apart.

  His fingers moved in and out of her, spearing in the same rhythm as his cock would have, her walls clinging on to the digits, weeping for relief. The pressure kept mounting with every second, the knot of fire in her stomach coiling tighter with every shuddering breath, the tremor in her body increasing with every beat of her heart.

  “Do it,” he ordered, and the whiskey and sin of his voice exploded the flames.

  Her eyes closed. Stars burst behind her lids. Head tilting back as her spine curved, her hands gripping her breasts for purchase as her toes curled, her legs shook, and she came on a silent breath. His thumb and fingers didn’t stop, extracting everything her body was capable of giving, setting off a series of after-shocks that jerked her body until a whimper escaped her lips, her flesh oversensitive.

  Morana came down to earth, panting, recovering, opening her eyes slowly to see him watching her. He brought his glistening fingers to his mouth and licked them. Her tired walls clenched again.

  “I’ll be there,” he stated and abruptly threw the phone down on the bed beside her, his eyes blazing on her, a prominent bulge under his cotton-covered hips.

  Leaning forward with lithe grace his body shouldn’t have been capable of but was, he trapped her between his arms and hovered over her, the air charged in the space between their bodies.

  “I’ve tasted you now, Ms. Vitalio,” he whispered, his gaze locked on hers. “You can’t escape me now.”

  “You don’t scare me anymore, Mr. Caine,” she replied, her voice breathy.

  She saw his dimple make a brief appearance before he jumped down from the bed, heading to the shower. Grinning slightly, Morana moved her limbs again, the aches from last night’s attack returning now that the haze of the endorphins was gone. Groaning, she swung her legs over the bed and adjusted his t-shirt, cracking her neck.

  The sound of water came through the door and Morana shook her head at the bizarre sense of domesticity invading her. Picking her phone up from the side table, she mentally made a list of all the stuff she needed to get done, first of which was to check up on the software she had left running at Dante’s place. She also needed to thank him in person for the absolute rock he had been for her last night. Then, she needed to get info on both her assailants - alive and dead - and discover who had sicced them after her and why. Plus, she needed to find out more about that airport guy and how exactly he had known about the attack.

  That decided, she quickly made the bed and went to the window, pulling back the dark, heavy curtains that had encased the room for the night. The lake - clear, placid, beautiful blue - extended for miles and miles on one side, only cut off by the lush green trees at the edge that demarcated the different territories on the property. While it was a stunning view, she also knew exactly why this was the bedroom of Tristan Caine - there was no possibility of infiltration from this side of the property. Anyone on the lake would be a sitting duck and there was no other way to get in from this side without being seen. This was safe.

  The more layers she peeled back, the more her heart felt for him. Shaking her head, she turned around towards the room, and a gasp left her. Last night, in the aftermath of everything, she had not paid attention to much. Now, she did.

  Early morning rays flooded in through the window, bringing everything inside the room to light. The walls were painted a warm, creamy beige, the furniture deep, dark mahogany, and green was splattered all over, on the bedding, the giant painting above his chest of drawers, and smaller, little splashes. It looked like a forest, nothing like the expected bedroom of a man who had icy, cold penthouses, and a chuckle escaped her.

  Walking over to what looked like a collection of small mementos on the chest, Morana leaned in for a closer look. Small, random items littered the few inches but her eyes went straight to the top, to a tiny framed picture of a cherub-cheeked toddler with bright, inquisitive green eyes. Heart clenching, Morana picked up the frame and gazed upon his sister for the first time in her memory. She had a red cap of hair on her head, a wide toothless grin and a red little jumper. Whenever this picture had been taken, she had been happy and grinning at the photographer. Had she shared a room with this little girl? Had she looked at those big eyes? Did she have the memories suppressed in her mind?

  Another photo, u
nframed, at the bottom of the chest, made her blink. She slowly took it out, staring. It was her at her graduation, getting a degree, and smiling. How did he have this photo? Why did he have this photo?

  “I need to get dressed.”

  Spinning around, she hastily put down the photo and watched him standing outside the bathroom, hips wrapped in a towel, studying her. She never understood how a man of his size could move as quietly as he did. He had seen her observing the picture, and obviously, he had known she would the moment he gave her entry to his bedroom. So, she waited for him to react or to say something. Maybe mention something about his sister or the fact that he had kept a photo of her hidden in his house.

  He didn’t.

  Seemingly unmoved, he strolled through the bedroom and opened his closet, taking out a neatly pressed slate grey suit, and put it on the bed. He noticed that she’d made it, paused, then went back to taking out a white cotton t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Shutting the door, he lay them on the bed and glanced at her.

  “Wear these after freshening up,” he indicated the clothes. “And get the rest of your stuff today.”

  Add to the list - move in.

  Walking hesitantly towards the bathroom as he towel-dried his hair, Morana paused, not knowing whether she should mention something. Biting her lip, she kept moving and closed the door behind her. The bathroom, which also she hadn’t appreciated in the dark of the night, was stunning in the light of the day. Giant windows took the quarter of the front wall from the ceiling, flooding the space with natural light. The clawfoot tub she had used the night before rested against the wall, in front of which was a spacious shower cubicle walled with frosted glass. The theme of the brown and green forest was evident in this space as well.

  Whipping the t-shirt off her body, Morana turned to the large granite sink a few steps from the bath and looked at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair a silky nest that smelled like his shampoo, her lips swollen pretty. She looked like a woman who had had some loving early in the morning, the only traces of the attack from the night before around her neck. A handprint coiled around her neck like a poisonous snake. Morana traced the bruise with light fingers, the rage for what had happened finally filling her body.