The Predator (Dark Verse #1)

by RuNyx

It was a new trade, not common in the world yet, but had a great future and more money than they had dreamed of. The leader of Shadow agreed. The men vowed to keep it quiet, keep it a hidden trade, to let everyone think of arms and booze as their main business. The Tenebrae leader opened up the trunk of his car. Two young girls, not more than eight years of age, lay there unconscious, unaware of what awaited them. The leaders exchanged a small smile and shook hands. “To the future,” one said. “To the future”, the other echoed. And thus, began the Alliance.

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.

"Would you mind removing the knife?" she asked quietly, her eyes pinning holes into him. That raised eyebrow notched even higher before he leaned back in, the knife never moving an inch from the place. "You should know not to come into the house of the enemy, all alone, unprotected. And you should know never to sneak up on a predator. Once we catch the scent of your blood, it's a matter of the hunt."

“For your life,” he stated. "Anyone but me and you would not have been breathing." Morana frowned in confusion and saw his lips twitch at that, even as his eyes stared at her with that look she couldn’t explain. "I'm no gentleman to give you a free pass," he spoke quietly. "You are in my debt."

He leaned in slowly, speaking softly, his eyes hard, never moving from hers, his words making her breath hitch a little in her chest. "There are places on your body that I know," he spoke, his free hand wrapping around the back of her neck, his grip strong, just on the periphery of threatening, as the gun stayed right above her racing heart. "Places that you don't know. Places where I can shoot and harm and you won't die." He leaned even closer, his whisper just a ghost across her skin as her neck craned to keep their gazes locked, his hand cradling her nape, his height looming above her, his eyes never moving from hers. "Death isn't the main course, sweetheart. It's the dessert."

Morana scoffed, looking at both the men. "You really expect me to believe you? After you killed Jackson?" "We haven't killed you," Tristan Caine spoke softly, his eyes hard, dangerous, the look in them sending a shiver down her spine. She tried to think of him as just Tristan but couldn’t. He wasn’t Tristan to her; he was Tristan Caine and her brain had started to obsess about the name now.

One day, someday, she vowed, with all the rage pulsating in her body, making her shake till she couldn't feel her fingers from gripping the wheel so hard, the rage making her body heated like never before, the rage making her whimper for an outlet. One day, she vowed, she would kill Tristan Caine.

"I didn't know your father pimped you out to his friends, Ms. Vitalio," Tristan Caine said quietly from behind her. Morana felt the fear slowly be replaced by fury just at the sound of his voice, the same voice that had tried to scare her last week, the same voice which had recited murder across her skin that first time. The fury magnified at his words but she leashed it. She turned to face him, keeping her voice cool. "Why the formality, especially with the kind of liberties you take?" she spoke in a conversational tone. His eyes narrowed slightly, his face remaining clear of any expression otherwise. "I haven't taken any liberties," he replied in the same conversational tone she was using. "Yet."

He leaned in closer, his mouth almost inches away, and he spoke softly, lethally. "I warned you not to think, for one second, that you know me." "And I warned you not to think, for one second, that you scare me," she reminded him in the same whisper. "Don't think," he started, his eyes hardening, "that if I have the chance, I won't kill you." "But that's the thing, Mr. Caine. You don't have the chance."

Morana leaned forward, keeping their eyes locked, and whispered, with all the anger and hatred coursing through her body. "One day, I'm going to carve your heart out and keep it as a souvenir. I promise."

"So, you basically want me to work with you to find the codes and destroy them, and keep it to myself?" she asked, keeping her voice even. "Yes," he answered simply. Morana nodded. "And how will we go about it?" "However we have to," he replied, in that simple tone that brooked no arguments. "Wherever the leads take us." Morana nodded again, taking a deep breath, her eyes watching him closely. "I have one condition." The clock ticked. The lights flickered. They breathed. He stayed silent, waiting her out. She hesitated, for some reason, before swallowing, speaking. "I work with Dante, not you."

The blood of her enemy. The blood of the one man she hated. His blood. The sight of it should have filled her with satisfaction. That he had agreed to her terms should have filled her with satisfaction. That he had left without a fuss and not turned this night into a disaster should have filled her with satisfaction.

She'd pushed the entire episode from two nights ago out of her mind, vowing not to think about it ever again. Because the mess who'd been standing in her room with his blood on her hand, the confused mass of limbs who hadn't dared breathe because everything had been so baffling—that wasn't her. Morana Vitalio did not behave like a pathetic little girl being thrown a bone. Morana Vitalio did not show vulnerabilities to anyone but herself. Morana Vitalio did not expose the jugular to a man who went straight for it. She'd been raised around sharks. And she'd learned not to bleed.

"They'd both been so angry, not just because I had been theirs but because violating a woman is something they both truly abhor. They've always been protective of women and children. Which is why what happened tonight was not ordinary." Morana took in all that information for a moment then huffed out a skeptic laugh. "You mean Tristan Caine is ordinarily not an asshole?" "Oh, he is," Amara replied without missing a beat. "But he's an honorable asshole. And what happened tonight wasn't anywhere near honorable."

"I'll find out after I get back," he replied quietly, the sound of air loud in the background as he sped behind her. Morana's eyes drifted to the rear-view again. "You don't have to escort me," she told him tartly. His voice came back equally tart. "I told you I don't do that gentleman thing." "Then what are you doing?" she demanded. "Making sure the information in your little bag doesn't fall into the wrong hands." Of course!

shes so guliable, he lying🤣

"There was another reason why I followed you tonight." The air stuck in her throat and her chest tightened, her heart pattering. "What?" There was silence for a few seconds, before the words came on, the dead tone in them, the rigid hatred in them turning her stomach. "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." And then, for the first time, he cut the call.

"Send your men after me at their own risk, father," she informed him coolly. "Any one of them lays a finger on me and I will shoot." Her father paused, before speaking. "They will shoot back." She remembered the eyes of the man who'd claimed his right to kill her. Nobody else would be killing her. She knew he'd been serious. She shrugged. "Then they will die."

badass

Dante turned to her, his dark eyes genuinely concerned. "My apartment is two floors down. I know you said you didn't want to work with him, so if you'd like you can stay there for tonight. I won't be home and it will be empty." She saw Tristan Caine stop on the stairs before she could speak, his entire body tensing as he turned to face Dante, his eyes cool. "She stays here," he growled. Growled.

She didn't look up. He didn't look down. The silence continued. 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.

he sat with her

She swallowed, her heart pounding. "I didn't know you had a sister," she spoke in the same soft tone, never looking away from the view. Silence. "I don't anymore."

She would remember it because, in that moment, something inside her shifted. Shifted utterly, because in that moment, the enemy, the man who hated her more than anything, had done what no one had ever done. In that moment, the man who'd claimed her death had given her a glimpse of life by doing something he probably didn't even realize he'd done.

In that moment, the enemy had done what no one had ever even tried to do for her. He had made her feel a little less lonely.

"Do you live here?" — wanted to disappear into thin air. Amara choked a little on her juice, her eyes widening before she burst out laughing, the sound soft but genuine. "With Tristan? Good lord, no!” It bothered Morana that she relaxed at that. Amara continued chuckling. “That man is territorial about his space. Very territorial. I once entered his room without knocking, he almost glared the life out of me!"

"I will stay away when I want to," he whispered. "Not because you or anyone else tell me to. But I've never forced a woman, and I won't now." Morana bit her lip, realizing he wasn't touching her anywhere except where her hand was behind her back. He wasn't touching her, and she felt on fire. "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."

And she wanted him out of her system. Just once. Her father was right outside. His men were right outside. The Outfit was right outside. Tristan Caine was inside. Behind her. She wanted him inside her.

Tristan Caine: Apparently, you're not out of my system, Ms. Vitalio. Her father stopped her before she'd processed it, his dark eyes cold, icy on hers. Her stomach dropped again, for an entirely different reason. "What were you doing with Tristan Caine?"

So, he wasn't the most hospitable man. Nothing she didn't already know. But at least he hadn't turned her away. She wasn't sure if she would have been able to take that humiliation tonight, on top of everything else. 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.

ok then🥹

Me: I need my car. Tristan Caine: For? Morana raised her eyebrows but replied quickly. Me: Leaving. Tristan Caine: Where exactly do you plan on going? She had no idea, but she sure as hell wasn't telling him that. 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.

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.

on the line with the codes, nor when her father had let her fall down the stairs with the possibility of her breaking her neck. No. Morana Vitalio was not scared of death. But she was scared of Tristan Caine, even though she didn't want to admit it.

She'd not taken more than two steps before the sound of a door bursting open shot through the silent lot like an errant bullet, piercing straight through her heart and making Morana grind to a halt as she jumped to look towards the door. The stairwell door. Framing a very large, very muscular, very infuriated Tristan Caine.

"You wish me well, do you?" he murmured softly, his lips almost touching her skin yet not, making her body ache for that touch. "Don't you know not to run away from predators, sweetheart? We like the hunt." His words made her insides clench with a forbidden thrill even as she struggled against him, trying to escape while a part of her felt electrified. "Unless you want me to lay you out right on that bloody car of yours and fuck you, stop moving."

"Mind that mouth of yours, wildcat," he spoke softly, lethally, erotically in the space between their lips, the movement almost making them touch. Almost. His voice dropped lower, his eyes glued to hers. "It makes me want to reciprocate. And you don't want my mouth anywhere near you, remember?" Morana felt her heart thud, her chest rise and fall rapidly. "It wasn't a damn kiss. I bit you." One side of his lips quirked up even as his eyes heated. "Doesn't matter. I get my mouth on you, and you'll never be the same."

She couldn't run. He wouldn't let her. Morana gulped and took the step, slowly walking towards the elevator, aware of his vigilant presence behind her, telling her silently that he wouldn't let her go. Not yet. And for some asinine reason, it thrilled her. She wondered if she'd sent him the message subconsciously because she'd been aware of this. Had she? She didn't know.

“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.” This man needed a leash for that dirty, explicit mouth.

She felt him lean down, his lips brushing over the shell of her ear as he whispered softly into her skin, his hand wandering down to the base of her spine, slowly drifting down to her ass with surety. “This body belongs to me, Ms. Vitalio,” he murmured in a low voice,

“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.” “That was one time,” she informed him, even as she knew there was no stopping them now. “Then let’s make it a second, shall we?”

The fact that she’d been one of the little girls too. She’d seen her own photograph staring back at her, her chubby cheeks wet with tears as she sat along with two other little girls. One of whom had been Luna Caine. Dark red cap of hair, just a little older than her, rosy mouth, bright green eyes sparkling with tears of her own. There had been another toddler in the picture between them.

And was that why Tristan Caine hated her so much? Because she’d come back while his sister hadn’t? She’d lived life while his sister probably hadn’t? Was that why?

Her lips curled as she shook her head, turning away to leave before he could say anything, pressing the button for the elevator. “Tell the guards to let me through. Otherwise either they’ll get hurt, or I will. Dealer’s choice.” The doors swished open and she stepped inside, pushing the button for the parking and finally looking at him again. “Oh, and keep telling yourself that’s why you didn’t kill me, Mr. Caine. You might get some decent sleep.”

The men had to be nearby, to make sure she was dead, and to get the proof for their boss. Standing up, she wiped under her eyes and pulled out her gun from her waistband. They wanted death? She’d deliver it on a fucking platter with blood on the side.

Me: Yes, you did. It’s a good thing I’m not into gentlemen. Gentlemen can’t handle me. Tristan Caine: I don’t think anyone can handle you. Not if you don’t want to be handled.

“I don’t have anyone to betray you to, Amara. The man who’s supposed to protect me wants me dead, and the man who’s supposed to kill me offers me protection. Convoluted as that is, I wouldn’t betray that act of kindness. I’ve not known a lot of it, and what little I have has come from you and Dante and him. I cannot betray that.”

“I see how he looks at you. Despite knowing about you all my life, I never thought he’d be as he is with you.”

“I like you, Morana,” Amara finally looked down at her, her eyes determined but pained. “I would love nothing more than to have you as my friend. Which is also why I believe I should warn you. Knowing Tristan, knowing why he holds that hatred so close to himself, he will inevitably hurt you. Not because he wants to, but because he doesn’t know any other way to be. He’s lived for twenty years without feeling an ounce of affection for anyone but Dante and I. And only an ounce. We know it, and we accept it. Are you sure you’ll be able to?”

His baby sister was gone and it was his fault. Her protection had been his duty; her safety his responsibility. It had been seventeen days and not a clue about her.

And then his father had mentioned the girl—the girl who’d been found. The only girl to have come home.

She was beautiful — rosy cheeks chubby on her pink face, little cute legs folded on the wood of the table, pink mouth opened in a small ‘O’ of wonder as she looked around the room at all the people. But it wasn’t that which Tristan found so beautiful. It was her eyes. Big, pretty eyes the color of wheat and grass mixed together. Those eyes were blinking at people, at things — clear, sweet, pure. Untouched by the evil around her.

“I’ve looked into you, Gabriel Vitalio,” his dad spoke, his voice edging towards the blackness in his eyes. “I’ve looked at the things you have done. So many girls gone missing, and not one is returned. Yet, when it’s your child, she’s sent back to you gift-wrapped. It only means two things — you either scare them, or you know them. Which is it, huh?”

Before Tristan could blink, his father pulled his hand and shifted the gun, pointing it right at a small, chubby face and bright hazel eyes studying the gun in fascination. Tristan couldn’t breathe. His father’s shaking hand steadied, his eyes becoming completely black. “You don’t tell me what I want to know,” his father said quietly, “she dies. Your daughter for my daughter.”