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Morana kept her body relaxed in his arms, nodding against his shoulder, pressing her nose into the V created by his shirt.
His hand brushed against her ass. “Let me have it,” he spoke, half-stating half-asking.
“Why?” Morana wondered, her mind spinning.
He stayed quiet for a second and then whispered softly, “Trust me.”
Oh, she wanted to. How she wanted to. But old habits had her hesitating, debating. If she let him have it, she would be unarmed and he knew it. And he asked for it, despite that knowledge. There had to be a good reason, a reason he probably couldn’t share in this setting.
Closing her eyes, her stomach churning, Morana jumped off another cliff. She raised her left leg and wrapped it around his hip wordlessly, his hand automatically coming down to support her thigh. He turned them to the side, hiding her exposed leg from prying eyes, his fingers brushing over the strap holding her knife. Containing the shiver that wracked her body at his fingers stroking her skin gently, Morana held on to his shoulders. She felt his chest rise as he took in a breath, pressing right against her, the air around the side of her head buzzing with his life. With a small jerk, he pulled the knife out from the sheath, his hand disappearing from her thigh.
Morana put her leg back down again just as the song ended.
And felt him press a soft kiss on the top of her lobe.
Before she could even process that tiny action, he stepped back and walked away, leaving her gaping on the dance floor. Quickly controlling her expression, Morana stared at his retreating back, unable to understand what had just happened.
Suddenly aware of everyone stealing glances at her, Morana quickly ducked her head and headed for the door, thankfully not stopped by anybody on her path. Exiting out into the lawns, Morana took off her heels, lifted the hem of her dress and walked out away from the mansion, feeling her toes sink into the damp, dewy grass. The crisp air was refreshing. The sounds of the party faded away into the background as she strolled deeper and deeper into the lawn, heading towards the treeline, mulling upon everything.
A mysterious man had come to the party solely to warn her about a possible assassination attempt. Moreover, he had come because, according to him, they had the same goal - discovering what had happened twenty years ago with the Alliance. And his reasons were personal. Morana genuinely didn’t know how to feel about that. He was dangerous, yes, but she hadn’t sensed any creepy vibes from him. More importantly, she hadn’t sensed any kind of masculine interest from him in her. While they had been dancing close, none of her antennas had been sending any off signals.
And then there was the way Tristan had cut into the conversation. After the way he had avoided her since last night and his snub earlier with the eyes, Morana had doubted he would even speak to her, much less walk over to dance with her. And though he hadn’t been Mr. Warmth, he had still oddly warmed her. He had held her not in possession but with the confidence of a man who knew she had given herself to him. The very public nature of that had been interesting though. She couldn't figure out what he was trying to do. She'd thought he would fly her under the radar. Instead, he was beaming the spotlight on her. And somehow, despite the many, many eyes on them, he had maneuvered her into giving up her one weapon, consequently, giving him another small part of herself.
And then he had fucking kissed her ear. Her ear. Like seriously?
Morana touched her lobe where his lips had grazed her softly, rubbing the sensation off. God, the man confused her.
She emerged out of the treeline finally, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. The lake rippled calmly a few feet from her, the wind dancing over the water in a soft breeze. Morana walked over a few steps, her toes curling into the grass, eyes going to the small house beside the lake.
His house. His home? She didn't know.
Up close, she observed the building. It was almost the same size as Dante’s. There was a porch at the front, a comfortable-looking wooden recliner sitting on it, looking out at the lake. Morana imagined him sitting there in the evenings, gazing out on the lake, completely alone, nothing in his life except what he had made for himself. She imagined him sitting there, night after night, watching the same moon she had watched without even knowing about him. He had known about her and she imagined him clinging to her, to the only goal he had in life sitting alone in the dark. She imagined him thinking about her.
Drawn to the house like a moth to a flame, she took a step towards it. Then hesitated for a second, her step faltering. She shouldn’t. No. Not without his invitation.
Taking a deep breath, she veered off the path and went towards the lake instead, standing exactly where she’d seen him and Dante standing yesterday. There was something almost peaceful about the place, away from the main house. She turned her neck to see her window from this vantage. The mansion was lit up and her window was very, very visible from where she stood. She could picture her silhouette in the room when he watched from here.
It was as she was contemplating everything that someone came out from the treeline towards her. Someone she didn't know, had never seen before.
Her heart started to pound.
The man she didn't recognize was dressed in black, his blonde hair light in the dark, his cold, dead eyes trained on her along with the end of a gun. Morana swallowed, taking a breath to try and quieten her heart.
“Who sent you?” she asked calmly as if she wasn’t looking death right in the eyes. He didn’t reply. She hadn’t expected him to.
Mind whirring, Morana felt her fingers tighten around the strap of her stilettos. She could use them. Throw one at the gun right as she ducked down. She could then jump in the lake because running won’t work. If she ran he would chase, maybe even hit her with a bullet. She would make an easier target running away. The lake would be harder for him to maneuver, the darkness would be her ally. She could easily hide in the murky depths for a while.
As all the plans came and went through her head, Morana kept her eyes steady on the assassin.
Out of nowhere, she saw the tip of a knife press into his neck.
“The lady asked you a question.”
Morana watched, stunned, as the assassin reacted to the blade and that voice. Whiskey and sin and death. So much death.
Where the hell did he even come from? She’d been facing the tree line the entire time and hadn’t even glimpsed a shadow slinking around. How?
The assassin unlocked the gun. The knife pressed into a point on his throat in silent rebuke, the point the Predator had told her would make her bleed out slowly and wish for death by demonstrating on their first encounter. She saw a drop of blood slid
