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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.”
