The Predator (Dark Verse Book 1)

by RuNyx .

  Morana remembered the way Tristan Caine had smoothly looked at the man and just raised an eyebrow, leaning back into his chair. She remembered the way the quiet in the room had become tensed, how she’d held her breath, not knowing whether these people would let her go.

  And then Tristan Caine had spoken, without removing his eyes from the man behind her.

  “Leave.”

  It’d taken her a moment to realize he’d been speaking to her. But for once, she hadn’t wanted to sit around and argue with him. Picking up her keys, Morana had moved her chair back, watching the entire time, not the people in the room but The Predator, as he’d watched the others, his quiet gaze daring anyone to make a move to stop her.

  Not one man had moved.

  Heart in her throat, she’d walked out quickly and sprinted to her car, not allowing herself a single moment to even think about what had happened. The drive to the apartment had been short and now, standing inside the safety of these walls, Morana didn’t have a clue as to what was going to happen.

  What had happened in the casino after she left, she couldn’t imagine. A part of her wondered if the six men had confronted Tristan Caine. Another part of her was in awe of the power he actually held in the mob.

  Hearing something and seeing something were two completely different things. And having seen the genuine fear in the eyes of men much older and more experienced than her father, for the first time, it dawned on Morana, truly dawned, who she was dealing with.

  A shiver ran down her spine.

  Those men back at the casino had dealt with blood and grit all their lives and they feared Tristan Caine. Morana couldn’t even fathom the kinds of things he must’ve done to perpetuate that fear at such a young age.

  In hindsight, she could see how incredibly foolish she’d been, sneaking up on him to kill him. After her stunt today, she didn’t know if he was going to come back and finally kill her, or get rid of her, or send her back to her father with a neat little bow.

  God, she was so completely out of her element.

  And it scared the shit out of her.

  The sudden sound of the elevator's opening made her start.

  Her heart picked up the pace.

  He was here.

  It took an effort not to bolt to the guest bedroom and lock the door. For the first time, she was so utterly confused she wanted to run. Instead, spinning on the spot, she turned to face the elevator doors head-on.

  And felt her breath caught in her throat mid inhale.

  Tristan Caine stood there in the semi-darkness, his jacket missing and sleeves rolled up, his legs braced apart as the shadows playing over his hard face in the light from outside.

  But it wasn’t that which made her breath catch. No.

  It was his eyes.

  Blue, magnificent eyes.

  Blazing eyes.

  A frisson of something slithered down her spine, making goosebumps erupt all over her arms, her heart exploding in her chest as the hand holding the towel to her arm dropped down. The towel fell from her slack grip to the floor, and Morana couldn’t remove her eyes to even look down to see if her wound was still bleeding.

  She stayed still, eyes on him.

  He stayed still, watching her.

  Silence.

  And then he took a step forward.

  Her feet moved back.

  His eyes flared at her involuntary action, his next step slower, more deliberate.

  Heart pounding, for the first time since meeting him, Morana couldn’t stand her ground.

  Her legs moved back on their own, something deep, deep inside her bringing forth all her survival instincts as he approached, some deep-rooted sense of self-preservation made her feet move before she could even process the action.

  Eyes pinning her own, his next steps somehow seemed more aggressive, his lithe body fluid in his movement, the clothes of civility doing nothing to mask the animal in him, emphasizing it even more.

  Everything inside her rebelled at the thought of being preyed upon, yet she couldn’t stop her feet from going back, her chest heaving slightly, her hands shaking, whether in fear or thrill or something else she didn’t know. Her emotions were an indistinguishable mass of something and everything in the moment.

  Morana took a last step back, feeling the counter separating the kitchen and the dining area at her back, the cool granite top pressing against the base of her spine, sending small shivers coursing through her body. She clenched her jaw, her pulse beating with vengeance in her body, throbbing everywhere as she kept her eyes on him.

  He would stop a few steps away.

  But he didn’t, just kept stalking, his body loose but controlled.

  Morana pressed deeper into the counter.

  He needed to stop.

  He didn’t.

  And for the life of her, she couldn’t voice the single word, not as his eyes bore into her, glimpsing at things she never even knew existed inside her.

  He stepped right into her personal space, so close she had to tilt her head back to keep their eyes locked, so close that the tips of her breasts brushed against his hard torso as she inhaled, a current zapping through her core even as she leaned away, half bent over the counter.

  His eyes glittered as the shadows danced over his face, making him look even more dangerous than he was, his magnificent blue eyes with their pupils blown wide, telling her he was not in control right now, not like he’d been the entire day that she’d tailed him.

  God, she needed control. She needed to breathe.

  Making herself focus on the dull throb in her arm, Morana broke their gaze, averting her eyes, and turning her face to the side.

  Her face hadn’t even turned halfway when his hands shot out, planting themselves on either side of her on the counter, caging her in completely. His chest pressed into her breasts, not completely but enough to make the friction of their breathing drive her mad, the warm heat of his solid muscles a contrast to the cold granite at her back, his breaths brushing lightly over the top of her head.

  Her heart thudded, pulse fluttering like a bird caged suddenly, her fingers curling into the counter beside her, gripping the cold slab, the urge to press her palm flat against the moving, hard chest acute. The desire to taste the tempting scent of that musk he always smelled like was on her tongue, even more profound.

  What the hell was she even thinking of having those thoughts, especially after tonight?

  Her jugular had been exposed to him for a long time, but more because of circumstances rather than choice. Not tonight.

  Her heart rebelled.

  Suddenly, she felt his hand on her neck, the entire hand cupping her jaw from under as he turned her face towards his.

  Inches.

  Mere inches.

  His breaths brushed over her face as her eyes latched on to his again by some inner compulsion she couldn’t understand, his eyes searching hers feverishly, blazing while his face remained hard and cold, the dichotomy in the man both annoying and fascinating her in equal measure.

  Tilting her head back completely, he took the final step to close the distance between their bodies, his semi-hard erection nestling against her stomach as her breasts completely flattened against his torso. Her nipples pebbled in response, her spine curving over the counter. She kept her hands beside her, gripping that slab, keeping her lips shut with deliberate effort, determined not to break the silence between them, not to give in in at least one way.

  But it wasn’t really a competition, because in the next breath, he spoke, his whiskeyed voice washing over her lips.

  “I don’t know whether to snap your neck or fuck the life out of you,” that voice washed over her senses, so low it made her want to roll her eyes back into her head and wantonly lay back on the counter.

  His words sank in.

  Morana straightened her spine, the move bringing her face infinitely closer to his, their bodies pressed to close she could feel every indentation of every ab across her own body, fee
l the cut of muscles he was using to intimidate her.

  Morana glared at him, her eyes narrowing, her blood heating from both anger and arousal.

  “You want to touch me, Mr. Caine?” she spoke in an equally low voice. “You tell me the truth.”

  His face shut down so fast Morana would have missed it in a blink. All the anger, all the everything that had been on his face? Gone. Just like that.

  His eyes remained on hers, the blaze contained but not gone as his fingers tightened on her jaw, pulling her up until she had to stand on her toes to accommodate.

  He leaned down, his lips almost in line with hers as his eyes pricked her like cold chips of ice, his jaw clenched so tight the scruff seemed even more pronounced.

  “Don’t. Ever. Try. To. Fucking. Control. Me.”

  Morana felt her body tremble at the fatality in his voice, the tone making it evident it had been the wrong thing to say. She had no leverage over him. Absolutely none. And to think that his lust would work as one had been a long shot anyway.

  No one could hold anything over this man to make him do something he didn’t want to.

  Had someone ever tried that, though? The way he’d reacted, with such icy vehemence, certainly implied that.

  But playing with fire as she did on a regular basis these days, Morana smirked slightly, and deliberately ground her hips into his, rolling it in one smooth motion. She felt his respond automatically, thrusting into her stomach, hard, her core clenching in need as his breath ghosted over her mouth. Her lips tingled as wetness flooded between her legs, her nipples squashed against his rock hard and incredibly warm abs, her body alive, so fucking alive with sensations.

  Trying to keep it cool, smiling intently, she brushed her nose over his, in a mockery of the intimate kiss, and spoke over his lips.

  “Then I suggest you control yourself, sweetheart.”

  The corner of his lip twitched ever so slightly, right above that delectable scar, his hips rocking into her one last time before suddenly, he was moving away. Already halfway across the room, his trousers tented evidently, his stance shameless as he scrutinized her.

  Feeling like she’d just lost a game she’d had no idea they’d been playing, unable to understand what in him made her behave like this, like a wanton thrill-seeking animal. Morana swallowed and turned towards the guest room, walking away as quickly as she could without making it seem like she was running, which she totally was.

  She felt his eyes on her retreating back all the way till the room and kept her head averted, shutting the door behind her, shutting his eyes out.

  Taking her first deep breath in what seemed like minutes, Morana shook herself and walked to the bathroom, closing the door behind her even though it didn’t have a lock. He’d never entered this room before though, so she wasn’t really worried about him doing so. For all his high-handed ways, he seemed to have a thing for her privacy, something she couldn’t help but wholeheartedly approve of.

  Stripping her bloodied dress off, Morana let it fall to the floor with a ‘plop’ and looked up at the mirror to check her arm.

  The bleeding had stopped, as had the pain. It was just a gash that throbbed, nothing a few butterfly bandages and some sleep wouldn’t cure. Deciding to take a shower first and then go to the kitchen to wrap it up, Morana walked to the glass stall at the end of the cozy bathroom and turned the knob for warmth.

  She stepped under the spray, letting the warm water slide over her, feeling the sweat and grime of the day go down the drain along with the exhaustion, careful to keep her wounded arm away from the spray. Eyes closed, head tipped back, she let the water wet her dark hair, caress her muscles as she let go of the breath she’d been holding the entire day. Her mind replayed what had happened outside, what she’d almost wanted to happen.

  She’d seen him. Eyes ablaze, body trembling with that thin control, his aggression, his physicality, his focus – all on her. She’d seen him and like every other time, something in her had responded to that wild animal call. Only this time, it had been louder than ever before, more ardent.

  A shiver ran down her spine even as the hot water slid down her skin –

  That was when she felt it.

  His eyes.

  She stilled, her barely calm heart picking up pace again as the water sluiced over her body. She was suddenly aware of the gush, of her entire being aware of the man standing at the glass door.

  The man who’d never once entered the guest bedroom. The man who now leaned against the shower stall casually, watching her with the steady, ready eyes of a panther. The man who barefoot but still dressed in those clothes.

  That was the precise moment she realized, looking down at his feet that – for some reason that made her nipples pebble – that she was naked. Completely naked. For the first time, she was nude to his eyes.

  She didn’t like it, didn’t like the way he was watching her without her layers, no glasses, no clothes, nothing.

  Stripped.

  She felt raw.

  Exposed.

  Bleeding.

  And he stood there, scenting her blood, watching her.

  She’d asked him to control himself, and yet, there he stood, sporting the exact same bulge in his pants.

  Morana breathed in, biting the inside of her cheek and moved her head up to face him, keeping her face clear of all thoughts and raised an imperious eyebrow.

  Uh-oh.

  Her eyebrow hit her hairline; his hand hit the glass stall.

  And then he moved.

  Straightening from his position, he stepped inside the stall, shrinking the previously big shower to something much smaller. His tall, broad frame dwarfed the walls and the ceiling. Steam swirled around him, clinging to his body, and dampening the fabric of his shirt. Morana watched, enthralled, as a drop of water condensed on his tight neck, right beside that infuriating vein, and rolled down his skin, into his now completely transparent shirt.

  For the first time, in this close proximity, Morana saw with clarity the shadows of his tattoos littered amongst his numerous scars.

  There was no way she was going to stand naked in front of him while he was still covered. No way.

  Before he could make a move, Morana put her hands on the damp collar and tugged at his shirt forcefully, ripping the buttons off, sending them scattering on the floor, a strip of flesh bared to her eyes just as his hands came up to grip her wrists, his eyes inflamed.

  All that cool control she’d witnessed five minutes ago… evaporated.

  With bare feet, he stepped under the spray with her, pushing her back into the wall and turned her around. Her front was pressed into it, much like it had been at her father’s house.

  Her heart thudded in her chest so rapidly she could feel her pulse in her ears, his body not pressing into hers but there, right there, hovering behind her. He was so close she only needed to lean back a little to touch his skin, the urge to do that so intense she brought her hands up to the wall and stayed still.

  And for the first time, she felt his hands, on her bare skin.

  His rough, big hands on her skin.

  Sucking in a sharp breath, Morana felt his hand grip the back of her neck as the other one moved down the line of her spine, in a gentle touch meant to lull her into a false sense of security. It only managed to wind her up tighter instead, the water falling sideways on them, on the side of her good arm while the wounded one remained dry.

  Morana knew she could stop him if she wanted. Except she didn’t want.

  Somewhere along the way, she’d become so okay with wanting him, so okay with this lust she could feel coursing through her blood, that she was fine admitting it to herself. It didn’t make her hate herself any less, but the heady rush of sensation as his rough, calloused hands moved over her made her desire it.

  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 su
rety.

  “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.”

  “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?”

  Morana could feel the anger simmering in his body behind her, the rage he’d been controlling, hear the shake in his smooth voice.

  The hand on her ass dipped lower, his fingers brushing over her nether lips, before entering her with a certainty that made her close her eyes, the rough abrasions on his fingers rubbing her deep in the most delicious ways, wetting her even more than she’d been.

  She heard the sound of his zipper going down and the tear of that condom before his leg spread hers wide apart. His hand moved to the base of her spine and pressed down, making her push her hips out and lean her weight on her arms against the wall.

  Morana looked at the wall in front of her, her breasts heaving and heart pounding in anticipation.

  She felt his arms cage her in like earlier and watched in fascination as his hands came to rest on the wall a little above hers to the side. Morana looked at their hands, so close and so apart, comparing the differences, the similarities. Both pairs of hands excellently talented in their respective fields, yet his was dark, rough, with veins and long, wide fingers, with blunt nails and a smattering of hair at the back. Hers looked so much paler, smoother, so much smaller, the tips painted a bright green.

  Seeing their hands together like that, watching the thick forearms alongside her delicate wrists, something fluttered in the pit of her stomach.

  No. She didn’t like that. Didn’t want that at all.

  Morana closed her eyes, shutting the view, but the image was imprinted on her brain.