The Reaper (Dark Verse 2)

“Relationships work with communication,” she went on. “I don’t mind that you’re not the most talkative guy in the room, but it means that when shit gets in your head, you tell me about it so we can have discussions like adults rather than retreat and deal with it on your own.”

He kept looking at her through the glass, his eyes intensely focused on her. She knew she had his attention. Taking out her face wash, scrub, and a divine mask she’d found thanks to a link Amara had sent her a few days ago, Morana put down her glasses and tied up her hair in a bun.

“I know you’re not used to explaining your thoughts to anyone,” she went on, slowly wetting her face. “And I’m not asking you to. What I ask is for you to share whatever you’re feeling with me. Be honest with me. I’ll be the same. That’s how relationships work.”

“From what I know, you don’t have a lot of experience in relationships,” he said over the water, his tone slightly defensive. “In fact, your one ex was a thief who sold you out.”

Morana locked eyes with him in the mirror. “And I let him die, didn’t I?”

Point made.

She saw his lips curve slightly and slathered her face with the berry-scented wash, cleaning her skin. “Point is, you know I’m in this for the long haul. I know you’re in it for the long haul. Let’s just make the long haul easier for both of us, what do you say, hmm?”

She saw him turn off the shower and wrap a towel around his hips. Washing her face quickly, she exfoliated, his eyes locked with hers on the mirror.

“And if I don’t?” he asked quietly. Morana felt her heart pound slightly but she kept calm, slowly opening the jar for her mask and applying it with her fingers to her face.

“You will,” she stated plainly, seeing his eyes flare in the reflection. “Because deep down, Mr. Predator, you’re a good man who has been waiting all his life to be able to share with someone. You just need to trust in this connection, trust in me enough.”

She saw him take in her muddy blue face, his lips tipping up on the sides. Leaning forward, he pressed a soft kiss on her head, their eyes locked in the reflection, and said the two words that made her heart melt like the goo on her face.

“I’ll try.”

Sharing her space with a man was an odd kind of experience. For all her bravado about ‘this-is-how-relationships-work’, Morana was pretty sure she sucked at it. Well, not that the man in question had ever indicated that but who knew. He kept a lot of shit to himself anyways.

Morana saw him move around the kitchen preparing breakfast like he did every morning for the last few days that she’d been there, sitting on the stool that she’d claimed on the island, sipping her fresh orange juice. His back under the blue t-shirt moved as he sliced through some fruit.

Her eyes narrowed.

Something was off. She didn’t know what it was, couldn’t put her finger on it, but she just knew. Since she had moved in five days ago, she had settled in and he was trying to settle with her. They slept beside each other. Occasionally, he had nightmares but not often. They woke up wrapped around each other. But for over five days, the man hadn’t made a move on her.

At first, she’d thought that was because he was giving her space but realized that was stupid. Tristan Caine had bulldozed into her space, there was no way he was being a gentleman now. He was taking his own space but he wasn’t distant. He cooked for her, talked to her slowly about his day, and asked about hers, sent her at least a text throughout the day. She now had her stuff in his, now theirs, closet and cupboards. The brand of chips she munched on when working occupied the kitchen drawers. He knew her entire limited skincare routine, for goodness’ sake. They were the epitome of domesticity.

But he hadn’t touched her or initiated any kind of intimacy since that day. And it bugged her. She missed the spectacular orgasms but more than that, she missed the fire he ignited in her senses.

And even though he hadn’t made a move on her, he’d been marking his territory. Like just two days ago, she’d been in front of the lake with Vin in her new training clothes, letting the other man teach her how to get out of an attack from the back, when Tristan had walked into the clearing and stood there, his eyes blazing, watching every way the other man had touched her clinically.

And though he hadn’t objected to her training, he had been there the entire session, letting the other man silently know that one wrong move would have him drowning painfully in the lake. Morana kind of wished he had taken over training her himself, but she knew why he hadn’t – because then they wouldn’t train.

Honestly though, it was too much to expect a man like him to adjust that quickly to not only sharing his space but sharing his space with her. She was his Achilles’ heel. She was his kryptonite. And just because he didn’t want to kill her anymore didn’t mean everything was hunky-dory between them. To a guy who had never lived with anyone, he was actually doing better than one could hope. He was just getting used to living with her and there was still a chasm between them Morana didn’t know how to breach.

They’d get there. One thing she could definitely say about living so far away from the mansion – no bumping into other people. Morana hadn’t seen Chiara or any of the Maroni family except Dante in days and she was happy for it. Zia came every three days to the cottage with all the groceries and chatting with her was one of the highlights of Morana’s day.

Hopping down from the stool, Morana went to butter up the toast beside her man, marveling for a moment at how small she felt barefoot next to him.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me, caveman?” Morana asked, calling him by the nickname she’d taken to using on him, one she knew he really liked in that lizard part of his brain.

He glanced at her. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Hmm,” Morana huffed, wondering how to come out and ask him straight up why he hadn’t wham-bammed her.

Before she could figure out how to voice that thought, a knock sounded on the door and Dante walked in, dressed perfectly as always in a sharp dark suit and tie, his dark hair slicked back away from his gorgeous face.

“I was half afraid I’d have to bleach out my eyes if I walked in,” he quipped, unbuttoning his suit jacket and taking a seat on the stool she’d just vacated.

“Shouldn’t have walked in then,” Tristan quipped from beside

her.