He was breaking into her father’s house.
She was breaking into her father’s house.
Her father - the most dangerous man on this side of the country.
Not right now, a voice whispered inside her head as she watched the man beside her. He moved with that stealthy grace of his as the guard disappeared somewhere in the shrubbery, the moonlight their only guide across the trees that lined the property.
Morana’s heart thudded erratically in her chest. This was beyond anything she’d ever imagined she would do. Yet, there she was, following the enemy’s footsteps as he wove his way in and out of the green, intruding on her father’s property to retrieve something of hers.
Watching him weave his way over that made Morana realize just how well he knew this property. Better than an
y enemy should know. She wondered if her father had any idea at all.
Morana saw the window of her bedroom come into view minutes later. Were they going to do the crazy climbing thing he’d done the last time? Because she couldn’t fly, and she sure as hell did not have those biceps to hold her while she dangled fifteen feet off the ground. She wasn’t the biggest fan of heights either, something she could not let him discover or he’d probably kill her by throwing her off a high cliff. She’d rather die by a plain gunshot to the head. Vertigo sucked.
Shaking off her gloomy thoughts, Morana swallowed, her palms sweating, heart racing. Without thinking, she placed her hand on his back.
He stilled completely, turning around to pin her to the spot with those magnificent eyes shining in the moonlight.
She blanked.
Tristan Caine, in motion, was beautiful. But Tristan Caine, in utter stillness, could not be described.
She didn’t even try.
“How are we getting inside?” she whispered, keeping her voice as low as she could, the fear of discovery, of execution, not just hers but his making her antsy.
“Through the door.”
Before Morana could utter a word, he wrapped his long, rough fingers around her wrist. Pulling her behind him, they across the empty patch of grass on quiet feet, his longer strides making her work double to catch up. They ran across the clearing, in clear view of anyone who happened to look their way.
Her heart in her throat the entire time, fear and thrill fighting for dominance in her body, Morana ran faster than she’d ever run, still so much slower than him, his hand pulling her along the only thing to keep her from stumbling at the speed.
They reached the side door to her wing, the one beside the stairs, and he clicked it open. Slipping inside, he pulled her along in one smooth move. In silence, awed by the fact that they’d made it without discovery, they walked in the dark hallway that opened up to the staircase.
The same dreaded staircase her father had all but pushed her down from.
Morana came to an abrupt halt at the foot of the stairs, the memory of her disillusionment crashing through her body, the same bruised body that had only just healed at the hands of the enemy. Her father had not known whether she would live or break her neck in the fall. He’d just let her go, and lay a trap that she had fallen for hook, line, and sinker in her emotional state.
She wasn’t emotional now. No. She was logical, calm, and rational where he was concerned.
For some reason, the emotions inspired by the man beside her were much greater in intensity than the one inspired by these stairs, affording her that calm. And for the first time, she was grateful for it. She didn’t want him to witness that, to witness her being any more vulnerable than she had already been when it came to her father.
Without another word, constantly aware of his scrutiny of her, she quickly climbed up the stairs, knowing he was right behind her even though she could not hear him. She’d never thought she’d walk these steps again, and it seemed surreal to be doing so not only stealthily in the dead of the night but also with the man who’d vowed to kill her. She needed to keep reminding herself of that, even as she felt things change inside her. There was a reason he hated her enough to take that vow, and until she discovered it, she could not, would not let all her guards down.
She made her way hastily to her suite, unlocking the door and heading towards the study where she kept her equipment, ignoring any nostalgia inspired by her small haven. Opening the door, she stood for a moment on the threshold, looking around the little heaven she had created for herself in this strange place. She remembered every countless night she’d spent working here, remembered the dreams she’d had of getting away from it all in here.
That girl seemed so different from who she had become. That girl with hope and dreams and the fire to make it.
She didn’t even know who she was any more in so many ways. Had she lost the fire somewhere along the way?
“Get what you need.”
Whiskey and sin. Molten lava and dancing flames.
No, she hadn’t lost the fire. It just lay dormant inside her most days. And what she couldn’t figure out was why him. Why not Jackson, or any of her father’s men, or even Dante for that matter? Why this man with the voice of sin and the body of a sinner? He called her fire forth like a mage and she did not understand it.
Morana nodded to acknowledge his words and quickly hurried about, picking up her laptop from where it still lay on the desk. Opening the bottom drawer, she pulled out her hard drives, dumping them all in a small backpack from the desk. Taking a quick inventory, realizing she had everything she needed, Morana looked about the room one last time, memorizing it, and swallowed down the lump in her throat.