The Predator (Dark Verse #1)

by RuNyx

"Touch me again, and I will break yours."

"Once was more than enough, Ms. Vitalio."

"I'll tell that to the notch on my bedpos...

Tristan Caine: How many notches does that bedpost have?

Me: All you need to know about my bedpost is simple. Tristan Caine: And that is? Me: You'll be on it just once. Been there. Done that.

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

"He couldn't keep his eyes off you."

"What were you doing with Tristan Caine?"

"I was having sex with him,"

"No, you weren't. You're not that kind of a girl. I raised you better."

"You didn't raise me at all."

In that split second, Morana knew the stark difference between her father and Tristan Caine. His grip loosened. Deliberately.

She fell back, her eyes widening. Down the stairs.

But she knew, in that moment of utter betrayal of the worst kind, in that moment of finally letting go of the little girl she'd held on to, she knew this was a good thing. Because she knew there was no hope now. Not anymore.

She cried for the girl she had been, the girl who had died after the fall today. She cried for the lost hopes she'd been clinging to, for the lost dreams of maybes. She cried because she had no one to

give her a shoulder and hold her as she cried because she had to wrap her arms around herself and hold herself together, in the basement of her enemy. She cried.

The elevator stopped, the doors sliding open. He stood right at the entrance, waiting.

This perusal was heated but not with hatred. It was heated with fury.

"Your father came looking for you. He tracked your car here."

Me: I'm leaving the city. I have a friend I've spoken to. Tristan Caine: Unspeak to your friend. If I'm not leaving this city, you sure as hell aren't.

Me: You don’t get to decide that, Mr. Caine.

Tristan Caine: We have unfinished business, Ms. Vitalio.

Me: We are done. Is my father gone? Tristan Caine: With more bruises on his face than yours.

And yet, there she was, in the den of the deadliest predator, one who had told her in no clear terms that she was his prey and his prey alone. There she was injured, bleeding, and vulnerable in so many ways. Yet, she'd never felt safer.

"Look, I just need my car and I'll be out of your hair—" "She's not leaving,"

"Tristan, this is insane. You can't keep her here like this. You need to tell her —” "And you need to leave."

Me: Mr. Caine. Thank you. I wish you well.

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

"Unless you want me to lay you out right on that bloody car of yours and fuck you, stop moving."

"We've never lied to each other, Ms. Vitalio. Let's not start now,"

"Mind that mouth of yours, wildcat,"

"It makes me want to reciprocate. And you don't want my mouth anywhere near you, remember?"

"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.

Tristan Caine: If you’re scared… He was baiting her. Why? Me: Of what? Tristan Caine: Come and see for yourself.

Me: You use ‘come’ a lot, you know that?

Tristan Caine: Women are usually grateful in all sorts of ways.

Me: You actually let them speak during sex? Outside of a restroom? How classy.

All she felt was free. Wild. Exhilarated in a way she’d never been before.

“You enjoy riding,” he said softly into the space between their faces.

“You enjoy making me ride,” Morana shot back just as quietly.

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

“So fucking wet for me,”

“Fuck if I’m not hard for you,”

“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.”

“You give yourself a little too much credit.” “Say that when I can’t still smell you on my fingers.”

She was in awe because watching him, right at that moment, she understood exactly who he was. The Predator. Always the hunter, never the hunted. He could not be hunted. He could not be tamed. He could not be destroyed. That kind of unbreakable aura was so, so tempting to her.

The fact that Tristan Caine had extracted information from a man, made him bleed but hadn’t let that blood even touch him was odd.

“How do you like to be fucked, Ms. Summers?”