The Predator (Dark Verse #1)

by RuNyx

Tristan 'The Predator' Caine. They called him the predator. His reputation preceded him. He rarely went on the hunt but when he did, it was over. When he did, he went straight for the jugular. No distractions. No playing around. For all his unruffled attitude, the man was more lethal than the knife cutting into her thigh. He was also the reason she had come to the party. She was going to kill Tristan Caine.

If voices could be drinks, his was a centuries-old vintage whiskey, rolling off the tongue, down the throat, leaving a trail of fire inside, making every cell in the body aware that it had been consumed.

Tristan Caine was toast. But he was one smooth toast.

"One day, I'm going to carve your heart out and keep it as a souvenir. I promise."

"Fuck!"

"No one else gets to kill you, Ms. Vitalio," he spoke quietly. "The last face you see before you die will be mine. When it comes to death, you're mine."

"Your independence is an illusion I've let you sustain, Morana," her father spoke in chilling tones. "I will find out who he is. And I will have him killed."

"She stays here," he growled. Growled.

Oh my god

Morana kept her eyes on the raindrops, her heart pounding as he folded his legs and sat down a foot away from her, his eyes looking out.

"Tristan doesn't allow people into his space. Everyone who knows him knows that."

He looked at her. Her heart stuttered. He looked away. Her heart started.

Tristan Caine: Chicken.

"You're welcome to die," Morana spit back at him.

"We've been honest so far, Ms. Vitalio," he murmured. "I'll be honest now. I despise you but I want you. Fuck it, I do. And I want you out of my system."

She saw the text, and her stomach dropped, her heart pounding. Tristan Caine: Apparently, you're not out of my system, Ms. Vitalio.

The moment she entered the bedroom, she blinked. The bathroom door was open, steam billowing out from a full tub while a large black t-shirt and drawstring pants lay draped over a chair, the sheets on the bed turned down.

Tristan Caine: Do you need a doctor?

Tristan Caine: Unspeak to your friend. If I'm not leaving this city, you sure as hell aren't.

"Don't you know not to run away from predators, sweetheart? We like the hunt."

"Doesn't matter. I get my mouth on you, and you'll never be the same."

Tristan Caine terrified her, but it wasn't because of the death he was bringing her slowly, the death he would bring her one day, the death he raised in her. No. It was the life.

“Did you feel me inside you the next day?” he whispered

“Next time, I’m going to see how loud you can scream, Ms. Vitalio. I’m going to make you so sore you won’t know if it’s from the screaming or the fucking.”

Always the hunter, never the hunted. He could not be hunted. He could not be tamed. He could not be destroyed.

“This body belongs to me, Ms. Vitalio,” he murmured in a low voice, the whiskey and sin combining to make her head tip back over his broad shoulder as her stomach clenched. “This body is mine,” she retorted, unable to recognize her own voice dripping in sex.

He continued, like she hadn’t spoken, cupping her ass. “I’m a territorial man. And this has been mine since the moment you locked that bathroom door.”

nether lips,

What. Nooo

“You’re crazy.”

“No. I’m fucking crazy.”

Tristan Caine: I don’t think anyone can handle you. Not if you don’t want to be handled.