The Predator: Chapter 12

Morana Vitalio was not a woman easily scared.

She’d been brought up in a house full of snakes. She’d seen and observed those slimy beings since before she had learned to walk. And she’d never feared them. Not when she’d seen their guns. Not when she’d seen the mayhem they were capable of with her own young eyes. Not when she’d seen the bright color of blood splattered on the pristine white walls, only to be covered up within the day.

She hadn’t been scared when her own life had been on the line with the codes, nor when her father had let her fall down the stairs with the possibility of her breaking her neck.

No. Morana Vitalio was not scared of death.

But she was scared of Tristan Caine, even though she didn’t want to admit it.

She watched him move about the kitchen with the natural grace of a predator – lithe, sure and completely certain of its victory- the jacket of his suit hanging on a chair while his white shirt stretched taut across his back, the sleeves rolled up over his muscular forearms as he moved the frying pan with one hand and added the seasonings with the other. She sat on the same stool she’d been sitting in the last time she’d spent the night in the penthouse mere days ago. Lord, it felt like a lifetime.

Back then, she’d seen his body in motion and harbored a minuscule root of feminine appreciation for such beauty. Now, she marveled. Because she knew, intimately, how that body moved inside her. She knew how he felt inside her, knew how he pulsed inside her.

And that’s all she knew. Because that was all she’d allowed herself to know. And for some reason, it had only fuelled her hunger.

She watched the muscles in his back flex and wondered what they’d feel like if he was above her. She watched his hands moving the pan skilfully and wondered what they’d feel like playing with her body, caressing her skin. She watched that taut, taut ass of his and wondered what it’d be like under her teeth.

Heat pooled in her belly at her erotic thoughts. Squirming uncomfortably on the stool, her blood heated and her body bruised, Morana moved her eyes away from him to the two other people sitting in the room, far away from each other. Amara scrolled through her phone a few stools beside Morana, and Dante watched the spectacular setting sun from the floor to ceiling windows, sitting on the other side of the room while Tristan Caine cooked silently.

The tension in the room, between each and every one, was choking her. It was fucking unnerving. And she was not used to it. This awkward silence – because she knew they had to talk but couldn’t in her presence because there was some weird stuff going on between Amara and Dante and the other two people in the room knew it. Also because there was some weird stuff going on between herself and his majesty, and the other two knew about it too. Everything was just weird. Yet, weirdly comfortable in a way it shouldn’t have been.

‘What should I tell father?’

Dante’s quiet voice broke through the silence like a whip, his dark eyes trained on Tristan Caine’s back.

Tristan Caine turned off the stove, the smell of something hot and spicy permeating the air, making her mouth drool while she closely observed him for even a minute reaction. She got none.

He continued transferring the food into a big serving bowl, his hands that had held a knife to her throat and a gun to her head once carrying on the domestic task with such ease she envied it. Amara stood up to pick up glasses from the cabinet and in silence, they set the table in a way they’d done a hundred times.

Her envy notched up. She tamped it down.

And all this time, while she knew he’d been aware of every single move of hers, he hadn’t looked at her once. Not once. Not since coming in after punching her father hours ago.

It shouldn’t bother her. It did. And she hated it.

Finally, he took a seat at the table and started serving some kind of chicken into four plates, not extending an invitation to her but clearly telling her she wouldn’t be starved. That was something, she supposed.

Sliding down from the stool, Morana felt her newly bruised muscles protest against the movement as she limped her way to the chair farthest from the man, which happened to be the one beside Dante and sat down. She saw Tristan Caine’s eyes flicker from her chair to Dante’s once before he dug into his food without any preliminaries, and Morana picked up her fork to load some delicious smelling chicken on it.

She almost had the fork to her mouth when her eyes fell to his throat, exposed by the open collar of his shirt, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, working that piece of food in a way that made the blood rush to her head. What the hell was wrong with her? It had been yesterday. Just yesterday they’d fucked on a bathroom counter in the restaurant. Her body wasn’t supposed to be reacting like this, at least not so soon.

Forcing herself to remove her eyes from his corded neck, she raised the fork to her mouth and took a bite.

And nearly moaned.

Spices burst forth on the tongue, curling around it, invading her senses, the taste rich and the food succulent. It didn’t taste like he’d cooked it in under an hour in his home. It tasted like something chefs tired over for an entire day before serving the customers. Had she not seen him prepare it from the scratch, she’d never have believed he had cooked it. So, he was also good at cooking too. Figured.

Keeping her reaction under the lid, she quietly proceeded to eat, ravenous, her body realizing how long it had been since she had fed it. She was nearly halfway through the meal when Tristan Caine looked at Dante and spoke, continuing the conversation from before.

‘About what?’

Dante chewed on his bite, his handsome jaw working the food before swallowing it, briefly glanced at her and Amara before looking at the other man. ‘About everything.’

Tristan Caine didn’t blink. ‘Tell him what you wish to.’

Dante dropped his fork down, steepled his fingers and took in a deep breath of control.

Morana watched the interaction with fascination.

‘She can’t stay here,’ Dante announced in a quiet tone, his voice unapologetic.

Tristan Caine just raised an eyebrow.

‘You know what I mean, Tristan. It’s dangerous for all of us to harbor her here,’ Dante looked at her again, his dark eyes flickering with a hint of regret before he turned away again.

‘I understand last night was dire and I wouldn’t have let her leave in her condition myself. But this is the light of the day. We can’t have this mess with the codes, the stuff happening at home and Vitalio running his mouth, accosting us of kidnapping and god-knows-what his daughter.’

Morana’s breath hitched. Dante was right. She hadn’t even thought about all the riot her father could create. All the war they’d wanted to avoid, all in her name.

‘He doesn’t know she’s here,’ Tristan Caine informed the table. ‘He tracked her car but he has no proof.’

Dante scoffed. ‘And that punch to his face? You know how well that’s going to go with father.’

Tristan Caine shrugged. ‘He invaded on our turf without warning or permission. He knows the rules.’

Dante sighed. ‘We can get her to a safe house. But she can’t be here.’

Oh, no way in hell. God, this was bad. She didn’t dare look at Tristan Caine, not sure what she would find in his face, not sure what she wanted to find.

Swallowing, she spoke. ‘Look, I just need my car and I’ll be out of your hair–’

‘She’s not leaving,’ Tristan Caine interrupted quietly. Too quietly.

Dante sighed again. ‘Tristan, this is insane. You can’t keep her here like this. You need to tell her –”

‘And you need to leave.’

Morana did a double-take at the sudden lethal harshness in his voice. Tristan Caine still didn’t look at her, just stared evenly at his blood brother, his face giving no indication whatsoever of what was going on in his head. Dante stared back just as evenly, a silent conversation happening between the two men that raised the hair on the back of her neck – a conversation about her. They were clashing over her and she had no idea why. What did Dante know that he wanted Tristan Caine to tell her? What the hell was going on?

She wanted to ask but the testosterone level climbed higher as both men sat immovably, the silence so thick she could hear her heart pounding in her ears, the food completely forgotten. Morana never removed her eyes from the two men, trying to weasel out any hint from any movement but nothing.

The tension just notched.

Until Amara spoke, in that soft voice of hers. ‘Dante.’

Morana looked at her and saw her shake her head in warning once. So, they both knew.

Dante abruptly got up from the table and headed towards the elevator, before Amara pushed her chair out as well, briefly touching Tristan Caine on the shoulder. ‘He’s not wrong, Tristan.’

Tristan Caine looked up at the woman, a brief moment of understanding passing between them. ‘Neither am I.’

Amara smiled sadly at him before turning to her, her eyes warming. ‘Tristan has my number. Call me if you need anything, Morana.’

Morana smiled tentatively at her, a little unsure and Amara moved away, walking out to a waiting Dante by the elevator.

And Morana watched, completely confounded.

What the hell was going on?

It was dark outside, the sun long-settled below the horizon. The city lights twinkled in the distance and Morana took a deep breath, and looked down at her half-empty plate. She slowly started eating again, without glancing up at the man she was alone with now.

The man who was looking at her. Finally.

She could feel his stare over every inch of her body in his line of vision. She could feel the caress of his eyes over her exposed skin and feel the heat rising in her body and pooling in her core, just from his eyes. She did not like it. Unable to pretend it wasn’t grating over every nerve in her body, Morana dropped the fork and looked up, only to find those fierce, magnificent blue eyes pinning her to her chair.

She didn’t like this. She didn’t like it at all. She needed to push her chair back and get to the guest room. She needed to lock the door and get away from this man.

Because he scared her. She didn’t know anything about him. Nothing. Not his past, not his present, not his future. She didn’t know any reason for anything he did and that made him the unknown. The unpredictable.

And it scared her.

Because she had no idea if he would kill her or protect her in his next breath.

There were too many things going around them, between them. He’d hit her father. He’d not gone to Tenebrae when he was summoned. He was harboring her in his home when, as Dante said, it was very, very dangerous. But he was also the man who’d repeatedly told her he would kill her.

She blinked, trying to clear her head but his eyes refused to move from hers, his jaw tight, the scruff littering the line of his jaw longer than it had been in the morning.

Heartbeats and breaths quickening, the look in his eyes so predatory she felt like a meal on the table that he was going to devour any moment.

Fuck. This was supposed to be done. That was what the restaurant had been about. He should’ve been just done, not looking at her with that hateful hunger. Naked hunger unleashed on her in a way she’d never seen before. In a way that made her hungry. In a way that made the hunger gnaw at her skin.

She needed to close him up. Shut the shutters over those eyes and contain that look.

She needed to do something fast.

Suddenly remembering what Amara had been telling her earlier, Morana broke the silence.

‘When did the Alliance end?’

And it worked. His eyes flared momentarily, with something that was such an intense mix of hatred and pain she couldn’t differentiate between them.

And then his eyes blanked. Completely. Just blue orbs looking at her with quiet consideration. No emotion.

She wasn’t sure she liked it any better.

‘Twenty years ago,’ he spoke quietly, watching her.

Silence.

‘Oh,’ she said dumbly, then zipped her lips shut, not knowing what more to say.

His eyes narrowed slightly as he leaned back in his chair, folding his muscular arms across his chest, the fabric of his shirt stretching over his biceps, the hint of a dark tattoo visible under the white material.

The silence stretched. Morana, already shaken over the events of the past twenty-four hours, finally gathered the strength to push away from the table and clear the dishes, carrying them to the kitchen, aware of his eyes on her back. She rinsed them hastily and stacked the plates in the chrome dishwasher, drying her hands on the towel and turning to find him still observing her.

She had so many things she needed to know, so many things to ask. But the past day had played havoc on her, and for some reason, she didn’t think she could take another confrontation right now. Not until she replenished her reserve.

‘Thank you for the meal, Mr. Caine,’ she spoke and turned to the guest bedroom, not giving him the chance to respond.

He didn’t utter a word. Just tilted his head to the right.

Unnerved, Morana ran off into the room, not even caring about being obvious, and leaned against it, her heart battering her chest, her blood running hot. Why was she running now, when she never had before? Why was she letting him get to her now when she hadn’t before, not to this extent at least?

Before she could think, she quietly locked the door and went to the bed, sitting down and staring at the wooden floor.

Dante was right. She couldn’t stay there anymore. Damn the codes. Damn her father. Damn everything.

She was done.

She had been done for a long time. And she needed to get out.

Because the more she stayed, the more she realized her plan had backfired. He wasn’t out of her system. She could feel him sinking his clutches deeper and deeper into her.

And that was scarier than an impending mob war.

Morana sat silently on the bed, her eyes on the locked door, her hands gripping her phone, waiting.

Waiting to be certain he was asleep before making her move. Staying here – in this apartment, in this city, in this country – was foolish. She didn’t know what her father thought anymore, whether he believed she was with the Outfit or not despite tracking her car there, but she certainly didn’t care anymore. Not for him or whatever he was hiding. Not for the hopeful girl she had been. Not for the codes that may or may not be discovered sometime. She knew it was incredibly selfish of her in a way, but she just couldn’t do it anymore.

She’d already used her hidden bank account to buy herself a one-way ticket to the other side of the globe, where she would be completely anonymous. She needed to go there, away from this world, away from her father, from this mob, from him. She had to go so she could give herself a chance for something better, for happiness. Maybe find someone who made her heart race and her blood heat. Someone who understood her in her silence and protected her because he wished to. Someone who challenged her on every level and treated her as an equal.

Morana groaned at her thoughts. She shook her head, trying not to think of the man sleeping upstairs. And she was certain he was sleeping. It was 2 in the morning and there hadn’t been a single noise in the house for over an hour.

It was time to move.

Slowly standing up, she moved towards the door as silently as she could and took a deep breath. Opening the latch quietly, she stepped out into the darkened space, her eyes going to the beautiful twinkling view of the city from those gorgeous windows.

Morana felt a pang shoot through her heart. It felt odd leaving this place with the knowledge she would truly never return. Especially odd considering she’d just been here only for two nights. She’d not felt this when leaving the house that had been her home for more than two decades. There was a memory here, a glimpse of a man she loathed and didn’t. A memory of not being alone.

Shaking off the feeling, her chest tight and heart constricting, she moved towards the elevators on quick, slow steps, the ache in her muscles just a lingering presence, keeping her ears open for any noise. It was only her own breaths and the ambient sound of air conditioning.

Typing in the code in the keypad, Morana waited for the doors to open, her throat taut with an emotion she had never felt in her life. She was going to leave everything known behind – this place, this world, even her car. God, how she’d miss that car. It had been a loyal friend to her for so, so long. And when she’d needed it the most, it had brought her here, to safety.

The doors swished open and Morana stared at the mirrored panel staring back at her, her stomach in knots as she realized that despite everything, Tristan Caine had made her safe for both nights that she’d been in his territory, both times when she’d been at her most vulnerable. He could have taken advantage. He could have turned her over to her father. He could have simply refused to take her in. But he hadn’t. He’d sat down with her in silence and watched the rain that first time. He’d run her a bath and given her clothes and fed her this second time. He’d gotten her car repaired and refused his own summons to Tenebrae. And he’d punched her father in the face.

She didn’t even know who he was anymore.

She didn’t know who she was with him.

But it didn’t matter because she was leaving. Yet, she couldn’t, not without clearing her conscience.

She knew she couldn’t see him face to face or he’d never let her leave, nor would she want to. Which was why she unlocked her phone and opened the messages, taking a moment to read over their last conversation.

‘We have unfinished business, Ms. Vitalio.’

Yes, they did. But there would be no finishing it.

She quickly typed out a message and hit send before she could stop herself.

Me: Mr. Caine. Thank you. I wish you well.

Before she could allow herself second thoughts, she stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the doors to close. The panels slid shut. Her reflection stared back at her. Messy hair pulled back in a ponytail, an over-sized white t-shirt and a pair of black leggings that Amara had brought to her along with soft ballet flats. She held nothing but her phone and her wallet in her possession. Although she didn’t have a plan on how she’d get to the airport if her car wasn’t in the parking lot, she wasn’t stressed. She’d planned on hot-wiring it. Maybe she could just walk far enough over the bridge to get a cab, but she didn’t think her legs would cooperate much there.

Ignoring the tempestuous jolts in her stomach and her sweaty palms, she waited with bated breath as the doors finally opened and she exited into the empty parking lot, rows of cars standing eerily as two overhead lights lit the huge area.

She looked around for a few seconds and spotted Tristan Caine’s muscular bike, her heart skipping for a second before she forced her eyes to move, seeing her car a few feet down to the left. She made her way towards it quietly.

She’d not taken more than two steps before the sound of a door bursting open shot through the silent lot like an errant bullet, piercing straight through her heart and making Morana grind to a halt as she jumped to look towards the door.

The stairwell door.

Framing a very large, very muscular, very infuriated Tristan Caine.

A half-naked Tristan Caine, much like he’d been when she’d come to him last night, pinning her to the spot with those blue eyes.

A thrill shot down her spine, dread and terror and excitement washing over her in waves.

Adrenaline crashed through her system. Fight or flight. She knew she couldn’t fight him right now, shouldn’t fight him unless she wished to lose. Flight it was.

Without waiting for another beat, she turned on her heels and started running towards her car, not daring to even glance back to see if he was closing in. The blood rushed too loudly in her ears and her heaving breaths made it hard for her to listen to the sound of his footsteps but she didn’t even stop to take a breath. She just kept running at full speed, giving it all she had. Her legs hurt from the sudden exertion, her heart beat madly to keep up but she ran like her life depended on it. It did.

Three cars down.

She was three cars down when two hard arms closed around her, pulling her flush against a warm, naked chest, stopping her in her tracks. She struggled wildly, her body wriggling against his to be set free, but the arms remained like bands around her, her head fitting under his jaw, her toes coming off the ground in her effort to jump away from him.

‘Let me go!’ she yelled at him, turning her head and biting down on his taut bicep, thrilling at inflicting that small injury on him.

She felt his chest rise sharply on an inhale against her back, his cock coming to life against her moving spine as he leaned down closer, putting his lips close to her ear, his whiskers brushing against the shell and sending heat straight to her core.

‘You wish me well, do you?’ he murmured softly, his lips almost touching her skin yet not, making her body ache for that touch. ‘Don’t you know not to run away from predators, sweetheart? We like the hunt.’

His words made her insides clench with a forbidden thrill even as she struggled against him, trying to escape while a part of her felt electrified.

‘Unless you want me to lay you out right on that bloody car of yours and fuck you, stop moving.’

Morana stilled, her breasts heaving against his arms as a small part of her told her to move her hips, daring him to carry out his threat.

No, this wasn’t supposed to happen. Not again. Never again.

Swallowing down her confused emotions, she spoke quietly. ‘Let me go.’

His nose nuzzled against her head, inhaling deeply. ‘I told you we have unfinished business.’

‘I don’t care,’ she grit out, her teeth clenched against all the sensations overwhelming her inside and out.

There was a second of silence before he spoke.

‘We’ve never lied to each other, Ms. Vitalio. Let’s not start now,’ he murmured in that deep voice of his, the whiskey and sin rolling over her skin like a lover’s caress, making her want to roll back her eyes and lean against him.

Her jaw clenched.

She turned her head again and bit him on that bicep. Again.

Before she could do more, he turned her around and pulled her flush against his body. Her heaving breasts pressed against his chest, his erection nudged against her belly, arms around her almost in the intimate hold of a lover rather than a foe. His magnificent blue eyes bore into hers with an intensity that both startled and somehow reassured her.

He didn’t say another word, not for a long time, just looked at her with that singular focus, his jaw tight, his skin warm against hers, his breath fanning over her face. His lips hovered just an inch from hers, that musky scent of his surrounding them in a deadly cocoon.

He slowly brought up his right hand and gripped her jaw in his palm, his fingers and thumb on her cheeks, not painfully but firmly. Tilting her head all the way back as her heart pounded in her chest, the two conflicted sides of her fighting inside herself about the small space between their mouths. Her hands trembled beside her as she clenched them into fists to control the shaking of her body.

‘Mind that mouth of yours, wildcat,’ he spoke softly, lethally, erotically in the space between their lips, the movement almost making them touch. Almost. His voice dropped lower, his eyes glued to hers. ‘It makes me want to reciprocate. And you don’t want my mouth anywhere near you, remember?’

Morana felt her heart thud, her chest rise and fall rapidly. ‘It wasn’t a damn kiss. I bit you.’

One side of his lips quirked up even as his eyes heated. ‘Doesn’t matter. I get my mouth on you, and you’ll never be the same.’

He leaned closer, impossibly closer, his lips right there, right there, but still far away, his hand on her face keeping her from moving both forward and back.

‘Choose wisely, Ms. Vitalio.’

Before Morana could blink, he smoothly took a step back and let go of her face, inclining his head towards the open elevator, waiting for her to move without saying another word.

In that moment, when he stepped back and gave her the space to choose, between so, so many things, Morana realized that no matter how much she wanted to escape, she could not. She was so entwined into the mess she had created, she wouldn’t have been able to go away for long without her conscience poking her. She was so curious, so lured by whatever this bizarre thing between them was, this thing that made her feel safe for the first time in her life even as he promised to kill her, that she could not leave.

She couldn’t run.

He wouldn’t let her.

Morana gulped and took the step, slowly walking towards the elevator, aware of his vigilant presence behind her, telling her silently that he wouldn’t let her go. Not yet. And for some asinine reason, it thrilled her. She wondered if she’d sent him the message subconsciously because she’d been aware of this. Had she?

She didn’t know.

That was exactly why Tristan Caine scared her so much. Not because he was killing her – the ‘her’ she had known her entire life.

She admitted the truth to herself as she stepped into the elevator that would take her up again beside him.

Tristan Caine terrified her, but it wasn’t because of the death he was bringing her slowly, the death he would bring her one day, the death he raised in her.

No.

It was the life.