The Reaper (Dark Verse 2)

Fuck.

Tristan watched the strand of dark hair flutter as the woman beside him exhaled, making it float before coming to rest against her soft skin. Sleeping like this, she was subdued. Fragile. Reminding him of the little girl who had once smiled at him.

Any moment now, she would awaken and he would see the fire that lived inside her in those burnished eyes. Those eyes had always done so much to his insides. As a boy, he hadn’t understood what the heaviness in his chest had been. As a man, he was learning. She had looked up at him with her claws bared to the world, her hate, her heat, and now her heart, all his for the taking.

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.

She’d kissed his hands bathed in blood, touched his scars earned in pain, and looked at him to see only the man. She’d always been that way, his Morana. And though he’d never been able to give her anything, he tried every day. If she ever regretted her choice, he didn’t want to examine what he would do closely.

His phone beeped on the side.

She stirred, making a cute little noise of irritation before settling comfortably in the crook of his neck, her breaths warming his skin. He smiled, checking the message.

It’s here.

Contentment like he’d never thought he would find settled over him like a comfortable blanket, warming him from the inside. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he untangled himself from her and got up to go.

“Whereyougoing?” the words smushed into his pillow.

Fuck, she was cute in the morning.

“I have something for you.”

He saw as curiosity got 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.

His chest lighter than it had ever been, he ran her a bath, knowing he had been too intense last night. But then, he’d had a good reason.

Pouring in some of the bath salts that were now stacked on the shelves, he gave her another soft kiss, looking into her supremely satisfied, languid eyes.

“Come find me after you’re done,” he murmured against her lips and left her in peace to soothe her body. Stripping down the dirty sheets, he made the bed, humming a little tune and stopped as he realized he was humming.

Was this what happiness felt like?

Shaking his head, he went to the guest bathroom and showered and shaved, getting ready for the day. As had become routine with them, he went to prepare breakfast while she got ready. Not many people knew about how much he enjoyed cooking. There was something so satisfying about creating something delicious from simple raw ingredients.

Feeding Morana though? It was almost a high he craved. He loved reading her face. From the very beginning, he had fed her and known exactly how she’d enjoyed his food. Seeing her eyes close and her breath catch, as she took that first bite, always got him a little hard. But more than that, it was the joy of connecting with her, knowing something he was doing was giving her happiness. He craved it.

Whipping up some eggs together, Tristan wondered how things were going to change now. Last night had been a party to officially announce Morana and him taking over the Shadow Port mafia business. With the death of both the leaders last week, things had been a little turbulent, to say the least.

After talking things through, Dante was taking things over in Tenebrae while Tristan needed to handle Shadow Port. This would be a new Alliance, a new era, between brothers. It was perfect, really. Tristan had never loved Tenebrae, the city roiled with too many memories for him that he would rather put away. And Morana loved this penthouse in Shadow Port, loved the city if he was honest. She especially loved that his bike was here, as she’d told him after he’d taken her out on it a few nights ago.

This building was already his but now it would become the mafia headquarter of the city. He needed to get staff, get security, and amp the place up. If they were going to make their life here, he needed to rest knowing it was as safe as he could make it.

Beating the eggs, he let his thoughts drift to Dante, slightly worried about him. He was fond of the asshole and lately, he’d sensed something darker in him than ever before. He’d tried to talk to him about him, tried to get him to open up about what had happened when he’d gone underground, but Dante was tight-lipped about it. And with Amara in the wind, Tristan was worried – not just for her, because he was fond of her too, but also for Dante.

The sound of footsteps made him look up at the woman who had been his reason for existence for so long he didn’t know where he began and she ended anymore. He put himself in Dante’s shoes, wondering what he would do if she disappeared without a word now.

The glass in his hand shattered.

“What the fuck!” she exclaimed, running down the steps to him as he breathed through his nostrils, numbing his pain by sheer will and looked at her. Her hair in a messy bun on her head that was slightly lopsided, her rectangular glasses perched on her nose, her body in a simple flowy dress with flowers on it, she took his breath away.

“Does it hurt? Shit!”

Taking a hold of his cut right hand, she turned on the tap and cold water ran through his palm, cuts stinging momentarily. Tristan looked down at the only woman who had ever cared if he hurt and pressed his lips to her head, trying to contain everything he was feeling. Some days, he felt like he would explode with the emotions she pulled from his once-dead heart.

Clueless about the turmoil inside him, she took his other hand and was about to put it under water as well when she saw the tape on his finger.

He hadn’t planned on showing her until later but as she looked up at him with curious, beautiful eyes, his wildcat who just purred for him, he felt something in his chest melting.

“I’m cynical, Morana,” he told her, holding her hand and her attention. “I don’t believe in marriages. I don’t believe in men who wear their rings with their wives only to take it off later. But I believe in loyalty. I believe in commitment.”

He saw her eyes shimmering, knew she’d already figured it out. He wasn’t surprised – sometimes she knew him better than he knew himself. She was his gift for a fucked up life, this woman of fire that warmed his chilled, lonely bones.

“I can’t marry you,” he told her, “not until I fulfill the promise I made to my sister.”

She nodded in understanding.

“But I never, ever want you to not walk into a room and know that every part of me, fucked up man and the lost boy, belong to you.”

He could see the effect his words were having on her. Her lips trembled as she broke their gazes and looked down at his hand. Taking a deep breath in, one that pushed the bite he’d given her on her cleavage into stark relief, she traced the tape on his left ring finger with shaky hands.

And then she peeled it off carefully, seeing the small tattoo he’d gotten two nights ago.

He looked down at it himself, pleased with the curvature, the one word loud and clear.

Morana.

“Oh shit,” he heard her gasp before she looked up at him, openly crying now, her tears making her eyes squint in an adorable way. Though he was certain she’d kick him if he said so.

“I’m so fucking in love with you, Tristan Caine,” she blubbered, attacking his chest with her face and pressing kisses against his pounding heart. He tamped down the immediate disbelief he felt at her words and breathed deeply, accepting that she – beautiful, smart Morana Vitalio who could do a million times better than him – loved his damaged ass. Too bad he was never going to let her realize that. She was fucking stuck with him now.

He pressed a little kiss to the top of her head, enjoying how small she felt against him. He forgot sometimes, with how fierce she was, that she was tiny.

He wanted to tell her he loved her too.

And he didn’t know how to tell her that, how to verbalize that. Maybe one day he would. He hoped someday he could. Until then, he could just show her.

He took her out on a date to Crimson.

It felt fitting, given everything had begun there. He ate the food, then took her to the bathroom and ate her out because she was too sore to take him and he couldn’t help himself. But he liked that look in her eyes, the one right after she came down from an orgasm. She looked at him with this dopey smile that made something rumble in the hollow of his chest. He was going to keep her high on that shit just to keep getting that particular smile every day of his life.

Now, standing in the parking lot of their penthouse, he watched as she looked at his gift.

“You’ve got to be shitting me!” the woman beside him jumped in excitement, giving him a smile so bright it fucking knocked his breath out.

The three guys behind him chuckled. He wasn’t entirely fond of them yet but they had followed him to Shadow Port from Tenebrae for their own reasons and one of them, Vin, was actually pretty cool with knives. Dante trusted him implicitly and that was good enough for Tristan. While he set up the system in the city, he had wanted to have a few familiar faces he could trust with him.

Right now, the only thing that kept him from punching them was the fact that they could all see the little hickeys Tristan had left on the back of her neck last night. They knew she was his. That pleased him immensely.

Fuck, he really was the caveman she called him where she was concerned.

It had been exactly this primal need to claim her, to show her she was his, after the party last night that had led to the entire night of sexual marathon that had drained him of every last drop of cum and sweat. He had attacked her the moment they had entered the penthouse, fucking her against those damn windows she loved so much, on the kitchen counter, on the stairs, before finally moving into the bedroom. To say he had been exhausted by the end would be an understatement.

He watched as she stared at the red ’69 Mustang, an exact replica of her old car, her hand touching the metal of the car. He knew she missed her old car, knew she’d been attached to it.

He indicated for the guys to leave them alone, and stepped forward to where she stood.

“You like it?” he asked, needing to know his choice wasn’t in vain.

She nodded.

Before he could say something, she took his hand in her small ones and pulled him to the elevator, hitting the button for home.

“Thank you for the lovely first date, Mr. Caine,” she looked up at him from behind her glasses. He traced her swollen lips with his eyes and turned to see their reflections in the mirror. It never got old. The first time he’d leaned back against the wall and watched them together, that first night she had stayed in his territory, something had fluttered inside his chest, seeing her tiny form beside his.

She looked just the same but she smiled more now. He didn’t think she even realized it but he caught her biting her lip more, talking more, moving her hands more as she talked. She was more alive and seeing her that way made him feel so fucking good. He knew he was damaged. He knew he would never completely be able to give her everything she deserved. But he liked to fucking try and every time she smiled, it was his reward.

It was exactly what her father had made him promise with that dying breath.

‘Take care of her,’ the man had said and Tristan, in that one moment, had connected with him. They both knew the plain of losing everything they held dear, both knew the hope that kept them clinging to the brink of sanity. He had seen the man over the years a few times, every time he had been stalking his daughter. Not that he would ever tell her the depth of his obsession. No, that wouldn’t do.

The doors slid open, bringing him back to the moment, and like a beacon, she went straight to the windows, looking at the spectacular night view as thunder crackled in the sky.

She took off her heels and threw them to the side, sitting down in front of the window, the room dark just as it had been the night his life changed.

She pat the space beside her, looking up at him with bright eyes.

And he followed like the besotted moth he was, ready and willing to burn in the pits of hell as long as she looked at him like that.

“I have something for you too,” she told him softly, opening her black clutch and handing a plain envelope to him.

Tristan looked down at it, confused.

“I met the airport guy today,” she explained and Tristan felt the tightening in his gut like he always did whenever another man was mentioned. Although he tried to keep it contained, fact was he knew the kind of men who lived in this world – men with no morals and no scruples and no decency. They would see her and steal her without a thought to her wishes. The one thing that kept her safe, as much as it irked her, was his reputation. They would steal her but they wouldn’t cross him.

He still didn’t like it. Fuck.

“I’d made a deal with him so I told him a little of what he wanted to know and he gave me that,” she continued, completely oblivious to the possessive fire running through his blood.

Tristan stared into her eyes for a long minute, reading each fleck of olive over the light brown, her heart bared for him to see. Fuck anyone trying to take that light from him. He would rip them apart with his bare hands. Taking a small breath, calming down his territorial ass, he looked down at the envelope in his hands and ripped it open, taking out the single scrap of paper.

It was an address.

His heart thumped louder than it had in a long time as he stared at the simple hand-written address, a location five hours out of the city, and looked at her.

“I’ve already had the address checked,” she told him, her voice shaking as she knew what this could mean. “It’s a house. We’re going tomorrow.”

He wanted to thank her, to tell her what she had done for him, was still doing for him made him feel like the luckiest bastard on the planet. The words, as always, never made it out his lips. But she understood. She always fucking understood.

He wanted to tell her that love was too tame a word for everything that happened inside him where she was concerned. She had shifted him, realigned him from the inside out. Like a planet that suddenly pulls a moon into its orbit, she had bound him to her, given him direction for longer than she knew, gave him purpose to exist.

She was his gravity, his fucking planet, and he was lost without her.

With pasts bathed in death, with foundations bathed in blood, he had found something so precious he wondered sometimes if he wouldn’t go through all of it again just to find her.

The rain came down on the windows outside, thunder rumbling, and he leaned forward, telling her everything with his lips the only way he could. She held on to him.

She always held onto him.

And with one woman he loved beside him, searching for the other he had lost, Tristan felt loved, accepted.

Whole.

And he would go through it all, over again, just for her.