The Reaper

by RuNyx

  Feeling disgusted, Morana brought the lamp down on his skull, hitting him with the end of the metal handle. The assailant bought his hand up to prevent the attack and the glass of the bulb, which had already crashed in her first attack, cut through his palm. Heart exploding out of her chest, Morana panted, trying to dodge his hands as they came to her face, trying to get a grip on her neck, her nose, her ears, all vulnerable spots.

  Evading him while keeping his upper half immobile, she hit him again, knowing it was only a matter of time before he picked her up or slammed her into the ground. Her only option was to knock him out before he could get his bearing. With that through driving her survival, the lamp shaking in her arms, she brought it down again.

  Thankfully, this time, he went limp. Breathing hard, Morana slowly crawled back on her hands, releasing him from her thighs, the muscles quivering with the exertion. His body fell sideways and she stared at him, the lamp still gripped tightly in her hands, shuddering wildly as she tried to catch her breath. The adrenaline was hitting the roof of her blood vessels. The roaring in her ears pounded into her skull as she stared at the man’s form, expecting him to come to life any second and attack again.

  After a few seconds, when that didn’t happen, Morana cautiously went closer and gripped the edge of his mask. He was still breathing.

  One hand still holding her weapon, she tried to pull up the mask, the muscle she’d pulled in her shoulder screaming at her to stop the activity. Still riding high on the adrenaline in her blood, Morana managed to get his mask up almost to his forehead single-handedly. There was no recognition in her mind as she saw his face. She didn’t know him but damn her if she didn’t do so by tomorrow.

  Standing up on shaky legs, she quickly grabbed her phone from where it had fallen from the nightstand in her struggle. Bringing up the camera, she hastily clicked a series of pictures, the flash blinding her momentarily in the dark. Not once did she hover to analyze his features as she would normally have done. Nothing about this was normal.

  The man roused slightly from the multiple flashes, his eyes opening, blinking for a few seconds as he came to grips, his hand going to a head that must have been hurting something fierce.

  He saw Morana and immediately reached for a knife in his boot, something the idiot should have done ages ago. Had she been an assassin, she would have simply slit her throat in sleep. But what the hell did she know about assassins? Maybe he had a thing for blood, or maybe he had some kind of modus operandi he operated with. Whatever it was, she sure wasn’t going to hang around to test it.

  Phone tight in her grip, Morana threw the lamp - that life-saving lamp - at him to divert his attention and ran for the door.

  She heard him struggle behind her but she didn’t wait to listen. Racing down the flights of stairs, unaware if the assailant was following her, only able to hear the blood rushing through her ears and her own labored breathing, Morana just focused on getting out of the mansion.

  Getting to the ground floor, she came to a stop. The sounds of music playing at the back of the house drifted through the blood in her ears and Morana hesitated at the bottom of the staircase, unsure of which direction to go in. If she went to the party, her pajamas ruined, hair disheveled, feet bare, she was sure it would get a lot of attention but she couldn’t risk anything. She didn’t know if Tristan or Dante would be there or still at the lake or somewhere else. But outside, the guards could be patrolling and they knew she was “Caine’s girl”. And even though she would be an open target, she had to take that risk.

  Decision made, Morana sprinted through the empty foyer and out the doors. The lights around the lawns had been dimmed. She had no idea what time it was but the no moon and low lights were eerie. But good to hide her in the shadows. Quickly slipping into the shadow of the house, Morana hurried towards the west, towards Dante’s house. She wanted to, really wanted to, head to the lake but there was a huge possibility that Tristan wouldn’t be at home and she’d be a sitting duck outside. At least, at Dante’s house, she knew there would definitely be someone to let her in. She hoped. He had told her he had round-the-clock staff when he had invited her to stay and she might very well take him up on that offer now. There was no fucking way she was ever going back to stay in the mansion ever again. She'd move into a hotel or rent out her own place if it came to that. But if she survived the night alive, she was not returning to that room to sleep ever again, Maroni and his brand of douchery be damned.

  She heard the chatter from a group of guards near the entrance to the party but she stayed quiet.

  And then she heard the main door to the house open again. She looked back to see her assailant, almost one with the dark while she was lit like a beacon with her light pajamas. Abandoning all sense of stealth, her heart thundering with a vengeance, Morana bolted towards the house she could see in the distance down the hill, the small lights guiding her.

  The grass cushioned her bare feet, the dewdrops clinging to them making it slippery at her speed. But fuck it, she’d rather die breaking her neck than let that asshole catch her. Thighs burning, both from the sprint and the struggle earlier, her sides catching in stitches, begging her to slow down, Morana just made her way towards the house. Not slowing down, huffing with the exertion, she could see the house coming closer and closer.

  Just a bit more.

  Her body trembled. A small pebble cut her foot. She cried out, stumbled, but didn’t stop. She could feel the cut getting dirty and the blood mixing with the grass underneath her. Her hair stuck to her scalp, the sweat from all the activity coating her skin.

  Twenty feet.

  The lights got dimmer the farther she went from the mansion. Darkness enclosed around her, fear assaulting her all over again as she realized she could be attacked from anywhere and not see it coming. Her eyes burned and she could feel her body ready to let go. It wasn’t used to this, this kind of sudden abuse she was putting it through. She exercised, sure, but never this extensively. Her body wasn't equipped to handle this. She would start training. If she survived the night alive, as was becoming her mantra, she swore she would start training more, just in case something like this ever happened again. She had barely escaped her room tonight by the edge of her teeth. That wouldn't work every time so she needed to equip herself in ways she was strong enough with or without weapons. Like Tristan was. God, she hoped she made it. They had just begun. She couldn't die, not now.

  Ten feet.

  The sweat on her palms was making keeping a hold of the phone harder. She powered through, her hair a mess, her feet muddy, her t-shirt almost off her shoulder. She had to get there, just get there. Then she would collapse. Then she would sleep and never wake up. But god, she had to make it. She didn't dare stop for a second to look back over her shoulder. The man could be catching up, almost breathing down her neck. Or he could have cloaked himself in the darkness. She didn't know which was worse.

  Five feet.

  Climbing up the low steps two at a time, she ran to the big wooden door and pounded on it, her fists protesting against the hard, repeated impact.

  “Dante,” she tried to speak but it barely came out, her whole body shaking. She looked back behind her. This far from the mansion, there were no lights strung in the lawn. Darkness surrounded her and her assailant was in the dark. She had no idea where he was.

  Tears forming in her eyes, the pit of her stomach knotted tight, Morana kept pounding on the wood, over and over and over, until she heard movement on the other side.

  Suddenly, the door opened and Dante, clad only in a pair of jeans stood there, a gun pointed at her in his hand.

  Morana had never been so relieved to see someone in her entire life.

  She barely saw the shock on his face before she launched herself at him, her body going completely limp as he pulled her inside, closing the door behind him.

  “Morana,” she heard him say as she just stood there, her face in his chest, hanging onto his shoulders, her entire body juddering so
much she could barely stand straight.

  “Morana,” he mumbled again and she realized she was sobbing uncontrollably, adrenaline still high in her body.

  “Hey, hey, tell me what happened. Morana, are you hurt?”

  She tried to speak but the words didn’t come out. The sensation of her mouth being smothered by the pillow returned, sobs leaving her throat but no words.

  “Dante,” she heard someone’s voice come from behind him.

  “Zia, can you bring me my phone?” Dante said, simply cupping the back of Morana’s head in one huge paw, rubbing it in a soothing motion while trying to guide her to walk with the other hand. Her legs were numb, feet stuck to the ground. She couldn’t move from the spot.

  “I’m going to pick you up, Morana, okay?” Dante told her slowly like he was speaking to a child. “Don’t worry, you’re safe now.”

  She felt him bend and pick her up. Morana, for some reason, didn’t cling to his giant form, even as she was afraid of letting go, the sounds from her chest finally permeating through all the noise of her blood. Dante carried her somewhere, she didn’t see. Her eyes were closed, trying to eradicate the sensations from the attack suddenly assaulting her all over again.

  She felt Dante set her down somewhere gently, cushions sinking under her and he pulled back. Morana kept her eyes closed for a long minute, trying to get her breathing under control, aware of all the pain in her body.

  “Tristan,” she heard Dante speak, her heartbeat spiking again at his name. “You need to get here. Now.”

  There was silence for a second before Dante stated. “It’s Morana.”

  More silence.

  “Something happened… I don’t know… Okay.”

  Morana lifted her eyelids, just in time to see Dante cut the call. He looked even bigger from her seated position and Morana noticed the multitude of tribal tattoos littering across his torso in random, odd patterns. She looked around, to see she was in the living room where she’d worked, her laptop still on the table.

  Zia entered the room, coming to her with a glass of water. Morana, her throat tight, accepted the glass and gulped the chilling liquid down only to find both of them observing her. Zia, taking the glass away, stroked a wrinkled hand over her head in a gesture so maternal, Morana broke down again.

  “Oh, child,” Zia muttered, stroking her hair again while Dante squatted down before her, taking both her trembling hands in his, his chocolate eyes staring into hers.

  “What happened?” he asked again, almost gently, and Morana, at that moment, loved him for it. Just his big hands holding hers, his presence, his house - she wished she’d had him growing up. Tears escaped her even more, for everything, old and new, no words coming from her lips. Every time she opened her mouth, she felt the pillow trying to muffle her, her lips and nose crushing from the force.

  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 felt his hands clench for a second before unclenching again. The hand on the outside of her thigh started to slowly rub the skin in a soothing motion, the hand in her hair pressing her face softly into that spot.

  In her mind, Morana replaced the sensation of that cold pillow with the heat of his neck, replaced the smothering of her nose roughly with the smushing of her nose gently. She inhaled him in, letting that smell of him - just musk and him at this late hour - to seep into her bloodstream and replace the adrenaline. She wrapped her arms around his hard, solid body, her fingers holding on to the cotton for dear life as the shaking in her body intensified, the adrenaline finally dissipating.

  He held her through it all.

  And slowly, after minutes, as her tremors calmed down enough and her blood started to flow more naturally, she felt him press a soft, simple kiss to her ear.

  Her lips trembled against the skin of his neck.

  His arms tightened around her.

  And there, she felt safe. Protected. Like all the assailants in the world couldn’t get to her. She knew he wouldn’t let them get to her.

  “Morana,” she heard Dante speak again, softly. She turned her head slightly, looking at him through puffy eyes, her vision slightly blurred.

  “What happened?” he asked, his voice urging her to talk.

  She swallowed, her throat tight. Focusing on the pulse beating right next to her nose, on his chest expanding as he inhaled and deflating as he exhaled, Morana tried to match her own breaths in sync with his, just like she'd done at the penthouse when she'd had the panic attack. She focused on the life in him, and worked her mouth open, ungluing her tongue. It felt heavy. She felt heavy.

  “There was…” she started, her voice a croak, “someone in my room.”

  As she had at the party, she felt him go still, every muscle locking against hers. Chest, back, biceps, forearms, thighs. Even his neck. The muscles tensed in one moment of sudden stillness.

  “What do you mean someone was in the room?” Dante asked, the anger in his voice breaking through her analysis of the man she was sitting on. Looking sideways at Dante, she spoke, her voice still not Jacksonating for some insane reason.

  “Someone was in the room when I woke up,” she told them, her voice barely a whisper but loud enough for both men to hear in the silent room. “He attacked. I escaped and got here.”

  She saw Dante look all over her, his eyes flaring with rage and flickering up to Tristan, whose eyes she couldn’t see. It was either staring into his eyes or nuzzling into the warm, comfy spot in his neck. Right now, she chose the neck. Plus the way he was holding her felt really nice. Cozy, warm, snug, and safe, Morana suddenly felt her eyelids weighing down on her, her entire body feeling heavy.

  She heard Dante say something in a low tone and Tristan's chest rumble but it all sounded muffled as Morana adjusted herself on him and settled in, closing her eyes, drifting to sleep, knowing nothing would be attacking her the next time she woke up.

  It was a movement that woke her up.

  Panicking, remembering the attack, thoughts of being trapped, held down against her will flooded her mind.

  “Shh shh,” the soft whisper in the flavor of whiskey and sin poured over her, going into her ears, infusing in her blood, drifting to every part of her body, warming her from the inside out.

  Her entire being relaxed. The other memories post-attack came to her then - the escape, Dante's house, Dante, Zia, and finally Tristan. She'd fallen asleep on him like the little koala she was becoming with him. She couldn't believe she actually fell asleep, not around him, but on him.

  The movement continued.

  Opening her eyes to see darkness all aroun
d her, Morana realized she was being carried by him, one of his hands under her knees, the other around her shoulders. Putting her arms around his neck, Morana tried to peer into the dark but couldn’t.

  And even though she’d been attacked, despite all the night cloaking them, despite realizing that her assailant could be very near, Morana didn’t feel an ounce of her previous fear looking at the dark.

  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. She didn’t know where he was taking her. She didn’t care. He could carry her to a cave for all she cared. After a life spent fighting for herself, after that night of struggling for survival, this was what she’d fought for, struggled for, lived for. This precious, silent, soft moment where, even on the darkest of nights, she wasn’t alone. She had made it to the shore on her own and he was carrying her from there.

  She heard his heartbeat again - thump thump thump - inside his chest where her ear was pressed. It beat normally now, not the brutal pace it had been earlier.

  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. Morana wanted to ask him questions but that would have meant breaking the silence, disturbing the sounds of his steady heartbeats and night creatures, and she didn’t want to do that. Even as muscles she didn’t know in her body ached and the shoulder pressed into his chest hurt and her thighs felt like they’d been split open, she was restful.