The Reaper (Dark Verse, #2)

by RuNyx

she mumbled through a h...

“I’d rather e...

he murmured back, kissing her feverishly once again. Morana lost herself in the kiss, let herself drown anchored by him. They kissed for seconds, or minutes, or hours, she didn’t know. All she knew by the time he pulled back was her lips were swollen and she wanted mo...

“That’s how you kiss me n...

he told her, putting a little space between them. Moran...

“Thanks for the t...

She caught the flash of a dimple as he turned away towards the door. She tugged him back by his shoulder and planted another one on him. That dimple was to blame. He returned it. Passion burst between them. Panting, he took a solid step back this time. Morana straightened her clothes and brushed her hair with her fingers. Following him ...

“Not a ...

Tristan warned, slipping back into his usual mask. Dante just grinned, pushing one hand in his trouser pocket and another around Morana’s shoulder as they started walking towards the mansion. Morana saw Tristan glance pointedly at Dante’s hand, which the man did not remove. ...

Tristan pulled her into his body and looked down into her eyes. His hand came up, his thumb circling her heavy lips where his mouth had left his mark.

"Tonight."

Morana inhaled sharply as she felt the touch throb in her body. She gulped, noddi...

“Give them...

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 t...

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.

He had the power, that she had given him, to ruin her for anybody else.

This wasn’t the man who had left her at her door last night and high-tailed it out of there as quickly as possible. This wasn’t even the man who had slammed her against the wall and left her with swollen lips. No, this was the man who had followed her into the bathroom of his enemy's restaurant and fucked her with his hand over her mouth. This was the man who had touched her against the wall of her father’s house. This was the man whose eyes spoke death and trailed life across her skin. And he got her wet. Both sides of him—the lone boy she had glimpsed yesterday, the intimidating man she observed currently.

She felt familiar hands go over her hips, pulling her flush against a hard, male body. Morana turned her attention back to the man holding her hips, her mind still reeling from her previous encounter.

he tugged her hard into his body. The song changed to a familiar tune, a version of Wicked Games that she liked. Appropriate. The hands on her hips held her steady. Morana slowly returned to the present, her own arms going around his neck as they started to move, completely flush against each other.

Suddenly remembering she was pissed at him, Morana took a step away. Or at least tried to, only to be brought right back into his body, his hands going low on her hips in a gesture nobody would miss. He started to move again, their bodies fitting like pieces of a puzzle together. Morana could feel the multiple eyes on her this time as he moved her around, not expertly but in a raw rhythm that her body somehow followed. Nobody would have called him a beautiful dancer but fuck, he was sexy. With his hips rolling into hers, mimicking a more intimate action, his thigh spreading her legs for a second, grazing against her core before coming back into place, he was sensuality.

He bent her over his arm, his nose breathing the entire line of her neck. Bringing her back against him, his hands on the edge of her ass, her breasts pressed into his torso, her nipples hardened as his mouth stayed close to her ear. She could hear a ragged breath he took, semi-hard. Uncaring of the unusual display, Morana inhaled his scent in, the mix of musk and man familiar to her now, comforting even.

His nose brushed against the lobe of her ear, sending blood rushing to the spot.

She wanted, one day, to stare up at his ceiling in his bed with his body sleeping beside hers.

The door to the room suddenly flew open and Morana flinched, her eyes going to it in fear. And then the fear left her completely. Tristan stood there, hair messy, in jeans and a t-shirt he’d put on inside out, his eyes frantically coming to her. She saw him scan her entirely in two seconds, taking in every single detail, from her feet to her hair. And for the first time, Morana saw his magnificent blue eyes go wild. He snapped. Like a laser, he strode to where she lay, ignoring everyone else in the room. She couldn’t look away. Her heart, which had been exercised too much that night, finally slowed down a bit. She watched him, tears on her face, her entire being collapsing because he was there. He was there. And god, she hurt so much. Just as she tried to move towards him, he reached her. Hands going around her, he plucked her up from the couch and sat down, keeping her sideways on his lap, one of his hands on the outside of her thigh, the other in her hair, holding her tight to him. Her ear pressed against his heart and she could hear how rapidly it was pounding. Listening to it, to the tension in his body personified by the rate of his beating heart, Morana felt her own clench in response to its call. Relaxing for the first time that night, Morana found the spot between his shoulder and neck again, the one she’d discovered on that very couch hours ago, and pressed her nose, her mouth, her entire face into his warm skin. Her tears wet the spot, her breaths heated it. She ...

The man holding her was darkness. He was comfortable in the dark, one with the dark, owned the dark. And as long as he held her the way he did, safe in his arms, that dark was hers. It belonged to her. She was comfortable in it, safe in it, one with it.

The wind was cold on her bare arms and legs and a shiver went through her body. His arms pulled her closer to his body, heat radiating from his skin, and he continued to walk.

He brought his hand up, stroking his thumb over her cheek once, before straightening.

His fingers, his sure fingers, firmly massaged the shampoo over her scalp, lathering up her strands. Morana tilted her head back, groaning at the amazing sensation. His hands paused for a split second before he continued again. He could totally switch careers someday if he wanted. There was something so peaceful in that shared silence, something so reminiscent of the first night she'd spent in his territory.

His eyes were fixed on his t-shirt on her very naked body as he nodded.

She had glimpsed his scars, seen the mottled skin, the burns, the raised flesh that bespoke some of the most brutal torture, some that she could possibly never imagine. And yet, in that moment, when he took care of her little cut like it was a long gash, something deep inside her, the part of her that she was still holding on to, was given, released, handed over, to him. If there was one thing she had realized over the past few weeks, one thing that had become an epiphany in the past few hours, it was that this man would never have killed her. As silent as he remained, Morana knew it wasn’t because he didn’t feel anything. It was because he felt too much and no matter what, she vowed, watching him at her feet, that she would ride it out with him. She had found something immensely precious in their world, a diamond in the coals, a lotus in the mud. And she vowed to cherish it, cherish him, as he deserved. He needed time to open up, to trust her not to abandon him someday, and she would give that to him. He had earned that.

She got under the covers and watched him strip his t-shirt and jeans down to his black boxers, throwing them off to the side. It was the first time she saw his body as it was. Muscles rippled in places she didn’t know muscles could ripple. Tattoos and scars littered his torso, front and back, some even down on one thigh. One lone tattoo stretched across his bicep, circling, but it was too dim for her to make it out. But the most noticeable was the confidence he was moving with. In clothes or out of it, this man knew who he was and wasn’t afraid of letting people know it. Morana sank back on the pillows, her heart hammering as she watched him get in on the other side, check his gun on the bedside table, and turn off the light. And it was such a domestic, normal thing, Morana marveled at witnessing it. The room plunged into darkness and Morana blinked at the ceiling, biting her lip. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light, some light seeping in from outside the door, allowing her enough to make out shapes. She turned her neck to trace the shape of the man beside her when she felt one of his hands slide around her neck. It should have felt threatening after the attack. It should have sent panic coursing through her bloodstream after the night she'd had. It felt anything but. The palm pressed against her pulse, the fingers spanning her neck, the skin rough against hers—it all anchored her to the moment, to that bed, to him. She felt sheltered, cherished, and so very prot...

“Never again,”

he whispered, his voice rough with an edge of the wildness she’d seen in his eyes. It sent a deli...

“They will die a thousan...

he murmured, almost gently as his thumb traced the...

“before they ever touch a single hair on yo...

And then, with that deathly vow still echoing in her heart, he pressed his lips ...

“I pro...

his lips wrote against her skin. Morana swallowed, feeling the echo of that promise rushing through her blood. She arched her neck back, exposing it even more to him, sliding her body closer to his. His mouth moved, his lips parting over her pulse, sucking in every heartbeat on his tongue. Heart throbbing along with the rest of her body, Morana slid a hand into his hair, tugging him closer. The motion made pain shoot thr...

"Get your stuff t...

Her heart stopped fo...

"You want me to m...

she asked, wanting to be sure, absolutely sure, she hadn't misunderstood. He tucked her f...

“I’ve never slept with anyo...

she confessed into his neck, her nose in that h...

“Me nei...

he murmured into her hair. Fuzzy with that news, thrilled at the knowledge she was going to be with him, Morana smiled. He pressed a soft kiss to her ear. She rubbed her nose against that spot on his neck. They didn’t say anything else. They weren’t wrapped around each other but their bodies were close. Morana heard as h...

She had bled and he had licked her wounds clean. She had almost tasted death and he had breathed life back into her. And she realized she’d never, not once in her life, felt safer. For the first time in her life, she felt home.

Though she couldn’t see him in the dark, she could feel the warmth of his body pressed to her side as she lay on her back. Breathing softly, she allowed awareness to slither through her. One of his rougher legs was lying between her bare ones, his arm lying under her breasts, keeping her anchored to his side. His warm breath hit her hairline, his lips almost pressed against the crown of her head.

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.