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She didn’t want to be protected but she was realistic enough to know that in the world she lived in, having Tristan’s protection was the only thing keeping her alive, especially after the enemies she had made unknowingly. She was grateful for that.
As she stared up at the ceiling, a part of her wished he would have told her to go into his house. She was curious about his space, yes, but more than that, she wanted to be invited where nobody had gone with him. She wanted, one day, to stare up at his ceiling in his bed with his body sleeping beside hers.
But he didn’t trust her enough for that, not yet. And honestly, she really couldn’t blame him. While she was more open to them, she was holding a part of herself back too. They were progressing but god, they were slow. She just hoped they kept moving forward and not back. She was willing to give him whatever time he needed to come to terms with things, but she had to nudge him to communicate, if not with words then some other way.
Sighing, blanking her mind of everything that had happened tonight and leaving it for tomorrow, Morana closed her eyes and let sleep take over.
Something woke her up.
Morana stayed relaxed, keeping her eyes closed as she let her senses expand around the room. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. There was light in the room - light she could feel at the back of her eyelids.
Nerves taut, a knot low in her belly, Morana opened her eyes just a slit.
The door to her room was open.
Her heart started to hammer.
She automatically reached for the knife beside her pillow and came up empty. Tristan still had it. Fuck.
Without another thought, she extended her hand to the bedside lamp, anything to defend herself, just as a large silhouette moved to her.
She opened her mouth to scream.
And the noise got drowned behind the pillow shoved into her face.
The thing they said about life flashing before the eyes during that moment of reckoning? They lied.
Morana didn’t have any flashes, any moments from the past invading her mind in that second, nothing except the most primal need for survival clawing its way to the front as the pillow smothered her. Lungs burning, trying to replenish themselves with oxygen that was deprived to them, Morana struggled against the form holding her down, her legs jerking from side to side. Her noises muffled against the stuffing of the pillow. Her hands tried to scratch and hurt her assailant. Her fingers made contact with leather on muscled arms, slipping, her nails cracki
ng open in the struggle. The pain was diminished by the intense burn in her chest and the methodical numbing of her face.
Panic tried to squeeze itself into her heart and in one split second of clarity, Morana knew she couldn’t let panic win. Not in that moment. If she did, the bastard above her would succeed. She would die in her bed in new pajamas while a party went on downstairs. She would die and Tristan would detonate. He would destroy on his path to decimation, people including Dante and Amara and hundreds of innocents who did not deserve it.
She couldn’t die. She couldn’t trigger it. Not at this stage of her life. She had finally found something worth living for. Nobody could snatch it away from her. Not now. She had to make it. She had to live.
Trembling from head to toe, she extended her right arm to the side where it had been before, letting go of her resistance against the pillow for one second. Immediately, the pressure over her face increased exponentially, the panic for survival burning through her again. She refused to let it win, overextending the muscles of her arm, feeling the strain in her shoulder. She didn’t care.
Her fingers made contact with the cool metal of the bedside lamp. Pulling a muscle with the strain, she grabbed onto the handle. Without hesitation, she gripped it tight and blindly swung it wildly in the direction of her assailant.
And missed.
She swung it again, and again, and again, finally making contact with solid flesh.
The assailant took his hands off the pillow to block her weak attack but it was enough. Throwing herself off the bed to the side, gasping loudly for the suddenly available air, Morana fell hard on the floor. Her back arched against the impact, her tailbone bruised. Uncaring about any of it, she looked up at the shadowed male figure wearing a balaclava, coming at her again. Instinctively throwing her right foot up in the air, she kicked him right between the legs and kicked him hard.
Her foot made contact with his groin and the man screamed in pain, cupping his balls as Morana tried to scramble for a weapon. His hand enclosed her ankle and dragged her back down. The frantic fear tried to grab her again and Morana deliberately kept her head cool, letting her brain kick in. Sliding down the floor as he tugged her, Morana spread her legs and trapped his head between her thighs, squeezing for her life. Whimpers left her mouth, her chest heaving as she grabbed the wire connected to the lamp and brought it to her. Her assailant struggled between her legs, the pressure on his skull immense, his intense movement straining her thighs, and everything in between.
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.
