The Reaper (Dark Verse, #2)

by RuNyx

“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.”

“What were you doing at that bastard’s house tonight, alone of all things?” That had so not been the elephant in the room she’d imagined. But who were they talking about? “Paying him a visit,” Tristan Caine answered. Her eyebrows went up at that tone inviting challenge. Dante didn’t disappoint. “Things are already fucked up for you at the moment, Tristan. In case you’ve forgotten, someone is out for your blood—” “Someone always is.” “—and you just keep feeding it fuel. We do not need Gabriel Vitalio going cocky-assed on us right now, not when we’re here.” One. Two. Stunned. Morana looked up at the ceiling, stunned out of her freaking mind. He’d visited her father? At his mansion? Alone? Was he insane?!

“His demons dance with mine,” she murmured softly, the truth of that statement seeping into her pores. “That’s all I can give you.” She found the other man regarding her with a heavy gaze. “And if your demons take you like they did this morning?” he asked quietly. Morana swallowed. “Let’s hope his find mine, then.”

“And the fourth wing?” “Is Tristan’s.” Of course, it was.

“But why does your father even keep him there? Why not let him live outside like the others?” Dante chuckled darkly, the sound icy. “My father,” he sneered the word, leaving no doubt in her mind as to his own feelings for the man, “prizes one thing above all else—control. Control over his empire, control over his puppets, control over his family. And you know the one person he’s never been able to control?” ‘You try to leash me, I’ll fucking strangle you with it.’ Amara’s words of a fourteen-year-old boy came back to her. “Tristan Caine,” she whispered, stumped all over again by the sheer brazenness of him. Dante’s lips twisted. “Tristan Caine.”

The other man that stood out to her was the one who was ignoring her the hardest. He appeared to be the youngest in the lot. He looked straight ahead, his hands folded together at the front. What set the hair on the back of her neck buzzing though was the nasty scar going down the side of his face, from the corner of his left eye right down to his neck, disappearing inside his shirt. It looked like his flesh had been gouged out in slashes. His eyes were vacant.

And that was when he locked eyes with hers. Whatever he saw there had him go still. She witnessed every muscle in his body locked as his gaze penetrated hers with a singular focus, trying to read whatever he was seeing there. Morana deliberately looked away towards Chiara as the woman strolled up to him with a saccharine smile. “Tristan.” He didn’t reply. She tried to put her hands on him; he took a hold of her wrists and set her back, his eyes entirely on Morana the entire time. And then he shook his head at Morana, just once, dispelling whatever doubts had started to creep in. She needed to trust him. They had come this far on a certain honesty. She had to trust that. Especially here more than ever.

She was about to enter when he pushed his hand in front of her, stopping her. She looked up at him, suddenly aware that she was unarmed with a strange man on a floor where no one would hear her scream. Muscles tensing, she took a step back as he bent down and quickly removed a small knife from his sock. Without a word, he stood up and held the knife out to her. Morana looked his scarred left hand and the knife that sat on it, stunned. Hesitant, not understanding what and why he was doing, she took the knife. “Why?” The man whispered. “You’re with vultures now. They feed off the dead.” A shiver went down her spine, her grip tightening on the knife. Vin pulled his hand away and gestured for her to enter. “They will be activating the ears in this room soon. Stay sharp.”

The vibration of her phone broke through her thoughts. She took the phone out of her bag and opened the new message. Tristan: Were you wet? Morana looked at the grounds, a small smile forming on her lips. Morana: You'll never find out. Tristan: Yes, I will. She snorted. Morana: I can see the lake from my window. Tristan: I can see your window from mine. Heart suddenly beating harder, Morana looked out the window, trying to see where his place was. She saw several buildings spread out behind the treeline and then she remembered what Dante had told her. “His wing is the smallest, area wise. It is also the farthest from the main house and the other wings. He lives there alone.”

Fuck yes, he was hers. For however long, damaged and asshole-d, and however he was, he was hers. And good luck to anyone who tried to come between that.

Chiara visibly shook off whatever thought had plagued her and focused on Morana again. “I don’t want your sympathy. What I want is for you to keep your distance from Dante and Tristan.” Morana tilted her head to the side, hardening herself again, even as the compassion lingered. “And why would I do anything you want?” Chiara took a step forward, her hand slamming once on the door, her eyes angry at her. “Because they’re the good ones and they don’t deserve the shit storm you have created, princess. Neither of them. Especially Tristan.” Morana felt her stomach tighten. “What do you know about what he deserves?” Chiara smiled. “I know he’s fucked me on the regular for almost two years and Tristan doesn’t do regular.” Fire.

“Fucked. Past tense, Mrs. Mancini. But I’m the present and the foreseeable future.” Chiara’s smile faltered. “He will come back to me.” “Maybe,” Morana shrugged. And then she leaned in closer. “Or maybe, I will destroy him for anyone else.”

Morana: My vagina just became off-limits to you. His reply came almost immediately. Tristan: ? Question mark. He’d sent her a damn question mark. She was seething. Morana: Not that it matters. Your regular would be more than happy to welcome you in her bed, I’m sure. No immediate reply. Of course. Morana walked down the stairs, barely looking at the paintings on the walls, watching her step as that knot of fire coiled tighter in her belly. Her phone vibrated with the incoming message. Tristan Caine: Jealous? God, he had to be the stupidest man on the face of the earth. One did not ask a woman who was jealous as hell if she was jealous. Just no. Morana: I’ll ask you the same after I find myself a hot stud from the buffet in this mansion.

“Are you family?” the teenager asked her curiously. She shook her head. The boy opened his mouth to ask something when a shadow fell over them. Morana looked up to see Tristan Caine standing behind the boy, his face wiped of all emotions, his eyes on her. He addressed the boy. “Wanna sit with your cousin?” The boy’s eyes widened. “But I’m not allowed up the table.” “You are now. Scoot.”

“Did you enjoy the buffet?” Morana inhaled deeply, keeping her eyes on him. “I’ve only seen the dishes so far. But from what I’ve seen, I’m certain they taste really good.” Before she could blink, she was pressed against the mirror, her head pulled back with his hand in her hair. Their eyes collided in the mirror, his breath on her neck, warm, soft. His chest pressed against her back, expanding with every breath he took, syncing her own breathing to match. Her heart started to hammer, blood rushing under her skin, her entire being thrilled at making him snap, at making him react. “Look at all the dishes you want, wildcat,” whiskey and sin poured down her ear and dripped into her body, “but the only dish filling you up is right here.”

“And what if I want them to touch me?” she asked the same question she’d asked Maroni. His lips twitched, his hand pressing her closer to his body. “You won’t.” “How do you know?” “Because,” he leaned into her neck, his lips ghosting over her skin as he spoke, “you come alive only for me.” Morana shivered, her toes curling into the carpet as her jaw trembled. He was right. Not wanting to be left a step behind, Morana boldly rubbed her hips against his, feeling him harden against her back, and declared. “Mine.” And for the first time since she had known him, she saw a smile crack his face. It was small, just a little curve of lips, but it was genuine and it was there. And it tilted her world on its axis because he had a dimple. He. Had. A. Fucking. Dimple.

“Name,” he growled. Her eyes opened slightly, finding his, confused. “Say my name.” Her heart stopped. She gulped, aware of him pulsing inside her. His fingers flexed on her throat, so big he encompassed it, the sense of danger and safety mingling together in a heady concoction. “Mr. Caine,” she whispered, her eyes glued to his. He took the skin of her neck between his teeth, tugging. “Name.” “Tristan Caine,” she muttered. He pinched her clit, making her hips rock involuntarily. “Tristan,” she sighed, her hands holding the dresser tightly. He rolled his hips, almost blacking her out with the sudden movement, touching her magic spot. “That’s the name you’re going to be screaming for a long time, Ms. Vitalio. Remember it.” “Stop talking and fuck me then, Mr. Caine,” she challenged. He complied. He started to fuck her in the true sense of the word.

She understood what Dante had meant—Tristan had been on the inside for outsiders but on the outside for those on the inside, essentially belonging nowhere but with himself. She understood why he had that penthouse on top of a building now, where he could see everyone with those beautiful, giant windows but no one could see him, no one that he didn’t explicitly invite into his territory. Layered with that knowledge, their first night against the window became even more beautiful to her, the shift in their relationship even more pivotal.

Tristan: Whichever suits you. Yours or mine, doesn’t matter. As long as no more clothes need to be destroyed. Well, when he put it that way. Morana felt her lips tilting at the implication. Morana: I might just have to accept more clothes from Maroni just to have you rip them off, in that case. I enjoyed that. She looked up slowly to see his gaze back on the window, on her. Her heart started to pound, just seeing his reaction after that message, seeing the way his eyes didn’t move away for a long time. And then he turned to his phone again. Morana let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she’d been holding, feeling her phone vibrate in her hand again. Tristan: Buy. Morana sighed, slightly deflated by the anti-climactic response. She’d been expecting a text more along the lines of “Me, Tarzan; You, Jane”. Her phone vibrated again and she looked down quickly. Surprisingly, the text came from another man. Dante: Dear Morana, whatever you just told Tristan, kindly don’t again. He is just itching to go punch my father in the face and that would be very inconvenient for our plans. I don’t want to get in between whatever you two have going on but please don’t egg him on right now. I need him focused. Thank you. Dante.

Tristan: Dante and I are heading out for the day. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t head to the main house until we’re back. Morana raised her eyebrow at the tone of the text, shaking her head. Morana: Yes, Mr. Caine. Of course, Mr. Caine. Anything else, Mr. Caine? There were a few seconds before his reply came on. Tristan: I’ll see how cheeky you are tonight. Morana felt her breath catch. Morana: What’s tonight? Tristan: Something that’s long overdue. Morana: Which is? Tristan: Your mouth, wildcat. Oh my.

"Where is she?" “And the way you stared at her in the restaurant,” her father continued, pretending to be unperturbed by the gaze of a lethal, lethal man on himself. But Morana could tell he was worried. He had a tick at the side of his cheek. “Surprising, no? The women who can attract you? I wanted to get her married to the son of one of my partners. I even had everything planned. But that little whore spread herself good for you, didn’t she?” Before she could blink, Tristan Caine was out of his chair and around the table, his one hand twisting her father’s arm behind his back and the other hand holding his face down to the table by the neck. “Her name,” Tristan leaned down to whisper, “is Morana.”

“She’s under my protection. Mine. Nobody hurts her. Nobody talks shit about her. Not me, not you, not anyone. Next time I hear you call her anything less than the woman she is, I will cut your tongue out and feed it to your dogs. Next time I see you anywhere close to her, I will kill you. Stay. The. Fuck. Away. From. Her. Do you understand?” Her father nodded. Tristan nodded. “Good. And anytime you forget that, just remember how I killed my father when I was a boy for her. And think on and think of the people I can kill now that I am a man to keep her safe.” Her father nodded mutely again. This time Tristan Caine left the room.

His hands tightened slightly on the side of her hips but he sat frozen under her. Morana didn’t care. She held him with all the affection she felt for him in her heart, and tilted her head, pouring it into that one kiss. She nipped at his lips, sipped from them, kissed them gently, reverently, giving him tenderness she knew he had never received in two decades. He let her. He let her shower him and received it. Accepted it. Didn't kiss her back but didn't push her away. Morana tasted his lips the way she had wished to for such a long time. Tilting her head to the other side, she fit their lips together again, locking them for a moment before sucking at his lower lip, feeling the scruff on his chin rubbing against her skin, the bristles around his mouth burning hers.

“You,” she whispered to the space between them, “Tristan Caine, are a beautiful, beautiful man. And my heart beats for you.”

It wasn't just a kiss. It was more, much more. They broke apart for much-needed air. “Dinner,” she mumbled through a hazed mind. “I’d rather eat you,” he murmured back, kissing her feverishly once again.

“Give them hell,” he whispered to her. She smiled. He stared at her smile for a long, long minute, his magnificent eyes glued to her mouth. And the most beautiful, precious thing happened. His cold, aloof eyes warmed.

The emotion he incited in her came from the most broken parts of her, and yet it was the purest emotion she had felt in her life.

“I see you’re already spending Tristan’s money,” Chiara spoke from the doorway, eyeing the packages. Morana rolled her eyes, all pretense of civility gone between the two women. “Green is not your color, Chiara.” Chiara actually looked down at her blue dress before grasping her meaning. She scoffed. “Oh, please. I could have men lining to buy me anything I want. I can do anything I want.” Morana nodded seriously. “Yeah, except leave me alone apparently.” The other woman grit her teeth. “Tristan won’t protect you forever, you little slut.” Morana deliberately picked up a package, perusing it, not giving the woman attention. “I don’t need his protection, Chiara. That’s for women like you. Now shoo. Go lurk like a lizard somewhere else. I have work to do.”

Amongst the light crowd, her eyes caught sight of one man who strode up the driveway all alone, without any partner. There was something dangerous about the way he stalked up the gravel. Morana observed him closely, sensing something about him that reminded her a lot of Tristan. She couldn’t make out his height or strength from where she was but he seemed older somehow, at least mid-thirties, his stride confident and comfortable in a way she’d very rarely seen in their world. One of his hands pushed in his dark trouser pocket, everything about the man was dark.

Morana felt her body locking down as her eyes drilled holes into him, fury replacing the electricity, infusing into her blood. She was there, at a party in a place where she didn’t know anyone, and he wasn’t even giving her his eyes. Morana hadn’t realized how much she had come to rely on them, not until he deliberately withheld them from her. His eyes were the one thing he'd never held back from her. Even in their most vulnerable, brutal moments, she'd always had his eyes.

“They will die a thousand deaths,” he murmured, almost gently as his thumb traced the line of her jaw, “before they ever touch a single hair on your head again.”

“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.”

Suddenly, a dialogue box popped up on the side of her screen with a message. imreaper00: you’re missing a keyword. Morana froze, surprise at the message making her shake her head. This shouldn’t have been possible. Forget just finding her under the cloaks of her online identity, forget tracking her down at the speed at which her signal was flying all around the world, it should have been impossible for anyone to even discern what she was doing there. Absolutely impossible. Yet, the message blinked at her, seemingly innocent.

“You went to meet a man you didn’t know?” he asked, disbelieving. “He’d contacted me once before,” Morana clarified. His eyes darkened. She continued, unfazed. “He said he had some information and that’s why I met him. He did.” Tristan leaned down, his lips hovering beside her ear, his scruff rubbing against the side of her cheek. “You’re not helping yourself.” Morana rolled her eyes, her breaths escalating. “Calm down, caveman. You’re being an asshole.” His lips made contact with her skin just below her ear, his tongue tasting her skin. “What I feel isn’t jealousy, wildcat.” His lips slid down the side of her neck, kissing the skin like he never had before. “It’s knowing you’re mine and knowing I still have to share you with people. It’s a burn in my chest. It makes me want to put you over my shoulder, take you to a cave, and fuck you until you forget everything but how I feel inside you.”

Breathing hard, he broke their kiss, leaning his forehead against her. She could feel her heart stuttering, trying to calm down. It was over within minutes. “I’ve never come in my pants before,” he murmured in the space between them. Morana felt a chuckle leave her, as it turned into a full-blown laugh. “Me neither.” “I’m not sure my lack of control around you is a good thing,” he stated, untangling her legs from around him. “I need a shower.” Morana straightened her glasses and pulled her clothes back into a semblance of decorum, as he turned towards the stairs and climbed up quickly. Her eyebrows hit her hairline as she saw the speed at which he was running away, sighing because he needed to learn to process shit. She already had her hands full. But well, he’d given her two pretty good orgasms in one day so she could be nice.

She should probably just masturbate at this point and make him watch. Now, that was a good plan.

“Sheath your claws, wildcat,” he murmured softly. Morana growled, pushing him into the wall, glaring at him. “Don’t play these juvenile games with me, Tristan. I will cut you open and eat you alive.” He looked down at her, his eyes searching hers, a softness in his gaze. “There she is.” Morana frowned, not understanding. But she breathed deeply. “What was that?” “I just wanted to see something,” he explained. “What?” “If you burned as I burn with the need to claim you. That I wasn’t alone in the fire.”

Wrapping her fingers around his thick base and jerking him off, marveling at the fact that this huge thing had been inside her, Morana pulled back completely, her eyes watering and not just because of the pressure. “I don’t just burn with you, Tristan,” she said, her voice shaking. “I burn for you. And I don’t know what I have to do to prove it.” He groaned, his eyes closing. “Fuck, Morana.”

“I don’t like that feeling, Tristan,” she addressed him, not looking away from his chest. “I want to be able to walk into a room and know, without an iota of doubt, that the man I have claimed is only mine. I know that’s not how things work in this world. I know that men and women play around with others, that loyalty is a luxury not everyone can afford. I know. I just don’t like it.” Swallowing, she put her hands on his chest and slid her eyes up to his, to find them singularly focused on her, and felt a shiver go down her spine. Would she ever get used to his intensity, to the sheer magnetism of that attention? Inhaling deeply, she continued. “I just, I really like you Tristan Caine, as messed up as you are.” One of his hands settled on her hips, the other coming up to her neck. “My loyalty is not a luxury for you, Morana. It’s a gift and it’s yours. You never have to walk into a room and question that.”

His eyes closed as her fingers dug into his scalp, his breath leaving him. “Dante isn’t dead.” “I know.” Blue focused on her. Morana smiled. “Once I calmed down, it was pretty easy to figure out. You guys had been off for a few days. And I get why you didn’t tell me, as much as it sucked. You needed my response to be authentic.” He stared at her for a long moment, the admiration in his eyes unmistakable. “Fuck.” Morana stroked his head, running her nails over his scalp. “I know my smartness turns you on.” “It does.” “Tell me next time though,” she told him seriously. “I’ll give an academy-award worthy performance but don’t pull this shit next time.”

“I think about a lot of different things now but don’t mistake me for someone soft, Morana. Whispered words in the shadows aren’t who I am. I’m still a monster.” Morana searched his eyes, feeling his palm resting against her steady pulse, suddenly realizing that was why he always held her neck – to feel her heartbeat under his hands. A slow smile curled her lips, her palms cupping his jaw, stroking it, his scruff scraping over her skin. “When I was young and alone in my room at night, with a father who didn’t like my existence and no mother and no friends, just my overactive imagination and my brain, you know what I used to think about?” she murmured, never breaking their locked gaze. “When one of my father’s guards sneaked into my room and I had to fight him off—” his hand tightened on her neck in reaction but she continued, “—wallowing in my loneliness and self-pity, you know what I would dream about?” He waited for her answer, never moving those intense blue eyes from hers. “A monster,” she whispered between their lips. “My monster. One who could keep me safe and kill the other monsters who wanted to hurt me.” By the last word, his mouth slammed into hers as he turned her under him. “You always fucking had him, wildcat.” And then he ravaged her like the monster he claimed to be.

He had given her a home, somewhere she belonged, just as she was. Be it his penthouse or the cottage or this hotel room, he was her anchor. She was never going to be alone again.

“As long as they thought I was dead, it was safer for you. I kept my eyes on you though, giving you what little protection I could from afar.” Her heart clenched. “I know I don’t have any right to be, but I was very proud when you went on to study technology,” he told her, the smile on his face a ghost of who he must have been. “You get it from me. You’re so much better than I was at your age.” The pride in his voice, the pride she had never been on the receiving end of in her entire life, twisted something inside her chest. Morana searched his face and found the resemblance to her, in the hazel of his eyes, in the way his nose tilted slightly upwards. She felt her eyes fill up again and shook it off, asking the question that had been burning inside her for days. “Why steal the codes? You were never going to use them. Why frame Tristan?” He straightened his leg, a slight wince crossing his face. “I needed to make you and Tristan cross paths.” Morana blinked, surprised. “Excuse me?” Tristan’s hand tightened on her shoulder. Her father chuckled, the sound genuine. “Oh, you think I was the only one keeping an eye on you? The boy was always there. He caught me a few times, didn’t you, Tristan?” her father directed it at the man behind her, looking at him over his glasses in a gesture Morana recognized in herself.

He remarked to Morana, “The men in this world don’t love like normal men, little doe. Their love is more intense than any other. He fell in love with you as a boy and as a man. And watching it happen has been the only peace I have found in years, knowing you will be loved and cherished and protected after I’m gone. I needed to give you that.”

Her mouth trembled. “It should’ve been me.” “What do you mean?” he asked softly, getting entirely wet with her. “Your sister was with me. She should have been here. The real Morana was supposed to be here. I wasn’t. I don’t even know who I am.” A hand fisted in her wet hair and pulled her head back firmly, another wrapping around her throat, demanding her attention. Morana closed her eyes. “Look at me,” he ordered, squeezing her neck once. She didn’t want to. She was scared of looking at him, didn’t he know that. The grip on her neck tightened, and she opened her eyes, staring at his throat. “Eyes,” the demand found its way through the fog. Slowly, heart thundering in her chest, Morana looked at him. And found those beautiful, magnificent blue eyes looking at her with anything but hate. “You are exactly where you were supposed to be,” he told her, his voice leaving no room for doubts. “I know exactly who you are.” “Who am I?” “Mine.”

“You might have been born with another name but you are Morana. My Morana. You’re the girl I killed for and you’re the woman I’d die for. You are mine and you are exactly where you’re supposed to be. Don’t ever question that again, do you understand?”

“Do you know why I enjoy holding you like this?” She shook her head. “I can feel your life under my hand,” he stated, his eyes burning on hers, his fingers locking her life to him. “Your body, your life, your heart – they’re all mine now. Trust me to keep all of them safe.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Morana asked with extra enthusiasm, trying to lift the energy in the room a bit. “Do you want to run a mafia family?” Morana blinked at the question. “Um, no. Not particularly.” Dante finally smirked, turning to look at her, leaning against the window. “Are you two getting married?” Wait what? Morana looked at Tristan with wide-eyes, not knowing how to answer that question. Tristan shook his head. “Not until we find Luna.” Dante nodded, his gaze pensive. “You know, there’s a reason why the Alliance flourished so long under those three. My father and Gabriel handled the business, and your father handled the information.” “I can handle the business in Shadow Port,” Tristan’s voice came from where he was seated. Dante chimed in. “And I can handle the business in Tenebrae.” Morana nodded, catching on. “And I can handle the information.” Dante walked to his father’s, now his, desk and brought out a crystal-cut bottle of vintage scotch, pouring it into three glasses, handing them both one. “To the Alliance,” he raised the toast. “To finding the missing girls,” Tristan matched. “To the future,” Morana clinked glasses, looking both men in the eyes. They were her family now. And they had a long road ahead of them.

She unmanned him, this little woman with the soul of a warrior. He was a smart guy but her brain was unlike any he had ever known, and it occasionally made him feel like an idiot. He didn’t mind that one bit. He traced a finger gently over her shoulder, marveling at the softness of her unmarred skin, down to her stomach, his lips curving. He knew she sucked her stomach in sometimes, trying to flatten out the little belly she had. She didn’t know, didn’t understand that she could gain inches and she’d still be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. And for such a smart woman, it still left him floundering that she’d chosen him over and over again. Him.

“Whereyougoing?” the words smushed into his pillow. Fuck, she was cute in the morning. “I have something for you.” He saw as curiosity got the better of her and she opened one eye before groaning. “It better not be sex because I will kill you, Tristan. You come anywhere near my pussy for a week and I will murder you.” His lips twitched before he could help himself. “I didn’t hear you complaining last night.” “I did,” she argued, moving up, light hitting her neck and he saw the marks littering her skin. Satisfaction slammed through him. He liked that. He liked that a lot. Shaking his head, he pulled up the blinds, bathing the penthouse bedroom in sunlight. Morana narrowed her eyes before falling back on the pillow, groaning. “I can’t move. I’m sore.” Tristan bent down, picking her up in his arms, sheets and all, and carried her to the spacious bathroom. Setting her down on her feet, he pressed a soft kiss to her swollen lips, half sure she would bite his tongue off if he deepened it. He didn’t think she had any idea how much she amused him, the emotion something he’d never been very familiar with until her.