The Syndicater (Dark Verse #6)

8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Lyla, Gladestone

Lyla lay in bed, sated, sore, and still famished for him.

She was panting, her heart running a million miles a minute, the momentum making her languid and lethargic, but her heart still hungered, even though they had spent the last hour so vigorously it was a miracle the bed hadn't broken, and neither had her pussy.

Turning her head on the pillow, she looked at Dainn, seeing his muscular chest rise and fall rapidly as he caught his own breath, his eyes closed, and his head turned to the ceiling. They had spent the entire day in the suite, ordering room service, eating, showering, and just making love against every flat surface they could find. They had always come together explosively, but now there was desperation there, of watching each other and etching it all to memory, of spending every second they had together pressed into each other so their flesh could remember, their bones could recall, their blood could carry the moments through their bodies in the absence. They started on the balcony, came inside to the couch, then the shower, the tub, the countertop, and finally the bed. If she hadn't been with him for as long as she had, she would've been amazed at his stamina. To be honest, she was amazed at her own. It was impressive that she'd somehow survived their fucking marathon, though her ability to move a muscle in the foreseeable future was debatable.

But knowing that she would be leaving tomorrow, that she had a new world and new people she knew nothing about and who knew nothing about who she was, and yet were a part of her past, made her want to drown herself in the pleasure of the moment and delay the inevitable as long as possible. And she knew he understood that, knowing her as well as he did. She just asked, and he delivered.

She extended her hand, running her fingers through his dark strands that were messed up after hours of his workout, her pale skin contrasting against his dark, a fitting visual for their insides too. But she wondered as she drifted her digits lazily through his hair about what was to come. She would meet her family, one she hadn't known about, and she would see her son, see how he had grown up into the boy he was. It was terrifying, but she couldn't deny it; she was thrilled not to make the choice. Had it been up to her, she didn't know if she would've been ready for years to meet them. Maybe see them from a distance to assuage her own curiosity, but her self-worth still didn't let her believe she would make any positive additions to their lives. In fact, her biggest fear was disrupting it. She didn't want that, not for a brother who had been looking for her for so long and a son she had sacrificed with such love.

"Stop overthinking." The words, low but precise, filled the room.

Her hand paused for a second before she continued petting him, marveling at the fact that he knew her thought patterns so well. But then, that was what he did. He studied, learned, and used patterns against people. Not her, she knew that. For some insane reason, she still didn't understand, she was the only exception to his entire personality, immune to his lies and manipulations, to his pretenses and deceit, to his power moves and his corruption. The only one under his protection and his care, the one he showed his true self to without any holds barred. She loved that about him, that he was real with her.

And who would've thought the man the whole underworld feared, the man with more blood on his burned hands than she would ever even know, the man who existed in the shadows, would like being petted post-coitus by a small woman with not a lot to offer? It was such a conundrum.

"Why me?" she uttered the question that had been inside her for six years. Why her? Why did he pick her of all the other girls in her exact position? She knew now that it wasn't because of her brother or his power, because Dainn had made his choice much before he traced her past and her birth identity. He had been coming to her, protecting her, long before he knew she was related to a powerful circle.

He turned his neck, his mismatched, hypnotic eyes coming to her, alert despite the exhaustion he had to be feeling, giving her the full extent of that focus that knocked her breath out of her lungs every time.

"You already know, flamma ," he spoke in a low tone, his words direct. He didn't think of himself as a poetic man, but the words he gave her bloomed in her heart like poetry in a land of misery.

"Because I trusted you?" she implored, knowing he was addicted to her trust, something he had told her often.

He sighed, turning fully to face her and dragging her body closer, pressing his knee between her legs where she was already sore enough she knew she had to walk consciously tomorrow. But she liked that. She wanted to feel him inside her, leave with her flesh remembering the touch of his flesh, the kiss of his metal adornments deep within her. She wanted to savor it, her heart afraid, not knowing when she would be with him again like this.

He played with a strand of her hair, his gaze steady on her face. "Where is this coming from?"

She shrugged. She didn't know. She just wanted to stay there, in that moment, locked with him and away from the world, hiding in the suite high above the ground where nothing and no one could touch them. Because tomorrow would change things, and she didn't know what the fallout of that would be. She didn't want to believe that it would impact their relationship; she didn't think it would, but the part of her that had found a home with him, in him, was scared of losing it. She didn't want to be lost again, adrift out in a world full of people but alone. She felt seen with him, felt understood with him, and she didn't want to lose that.

And she knew she would, even if temporarily. He couldn't come with her.

She swallowed. "I'm scared." The words came out as a whisper, a soft confession between their faces, a safe secret she entrusted in the dark with him. As long as she was with him, her vulnerability was alright. The dark couldn't hurt her, and neither could the light. He owned both with different faces and different names, but the same man and the man was hers. For some reason, he was hers.

But he wasn't normal either. When another would have maybe gentled at her confession, he got a glint in his eyes, as if hunting the things that scared her were his favorite hobby. Maybe a part of him liked her scared, as long as she was with him.

"Scared of what?" he asked, his fingers stroking her cheek.

Lyla settled deeper into her pillow, turning her gaze lower and staring at his neck. He had a very attractive neck, muscular but not bulky, with veins vining up a side and an Adam's apple that stayed steady in the face of everything. She couldn't remember him swallowing nervously as she tended to.

"Everything," she admitted.

"Eyes, flamma ," he demanded. She turned her gaze up and locked eyes with him.

"Tell me what scares you."

A breath left her. "I don't know. The unknown. The change. I don't know what's going to happen. I want to go back, back where I can see the mountains and the sea, where I can cook. Back where Dr. Manson sees me, Bessie helps me pick books to read, and Roy teaches me about gardening. Back with you. You and your extravagant helicopters and beautiful greenhouse and tight security where I feel safe. I want to go home but a part of me knows I have to see this through. And it all scares me."

" Flamma, " Dainn spoke softly, his mismatched eyes staring deep into hers, his term of endearment for her always softening her inside. "It will always be yours. I will always be yours. No matter what happens, you can come home whenever you want. All of it is yours. You know this."

He must have seen the doubt in her look because he pressed a kiss to her nose. "I'm not going with you for a reason."

She knew. She understood. But her brain still didn't accept. "Tell me again," she urged him. She needed to understand why he would choose to leave her alone now after all his actions and promises.

He exhaled. "Because if I did, it would make it about me. About the Shadow Man. They would get distracted by that, and you deserve better. It's about you. As much as I don't like it for selfish reasons, it's your past and possibly your future if you choose it that way."

"And if I choose it?"

"Then you will have it."

Just like that. She asked and he delivered.

Her eyes began to burn as his words penetrated. He was doing it for her, letting her have her moment with her past. And knowing him, it couldn't be easy. He was as territorial of her, if not more, as she was of him. He could've easily stood by her side, and she would've wanted him to, but his words made sense. Shadow Man was a much bigger entity and even without wanting it, it would've attracted their attention. He was giving up a lot for her.

"There's also an added element to it," he continued, his thigh comfortable just between her legs, muscular and strong and more than double the size of hers. While sex was nothing new to her, intimacy was. Holding another body close, looking into someone's eyes after letting them into her body with desire and consent, was a heady feeling, a different feeling, one that almost made her feel a little shy sometimes. He had seen the ugliest parts of her, and yet, it was in these moments that she felt the most vulnerable. And he fed off of it. She knew her emotions, her ability to feel so much, the entire range of it, was something he was hooked to, and she didn't mind one bit. Because she was hooked to his cool, calculated outlook on things, his lack of consciousness yet his ability to do the right thing, his ability to remain calm in crisis and control every conundrum. They were so different, she and him, and yet so complimentary.

"What?" she asked a little breathlessly, her nipples tightening with the stimulation. It was crazy how her body had trained itself to respond to the littlest stimuli for him, flooding itself with arousal and pooling with wetness to prepare to accommodate him, even if they weren't being sexual and just snuggling like they were right then.

"Some of them know the Blackthorne name or recognize me as the reclusive CEO of the Blackthorne Group."

His ability to remove himself from a part of his identity was impressive. The words hung between them, and Lyla blinked as she processed them.

"Who could?" She knew all about the group from the photos he had shown and explained to her. Tristan, her brother, and Morana, his girlfriend. Dante, their friend, and Amara, his wife. Alpha, Dante's half-brother, and Zephyr, his wife who was also the sister of Zenith, the real Morana, who had been Lyla's friend and was now dead. And Xander, who was almost adopted by Tristan and Morana.

It was complicated, understanding so many interpersonal dynamics and how they all operated. To someone who'd always been alone and hadn't had any friends, she didn't know how they all managed so many relationships with ease, but it wasn't something she was opposed to learning if need be.

"Who knows? Dante possibly," he told her. "I've seen him socially a few times during his father's reign. Maybe Amara. I attended a conference she'd been speaking at once a few years ago."

This was fascinating, this facade of his life she wanted to see more of too. It made her feel powerful seeing him fool everyone while being in on the truth with him.

"Did you know who she was or was it a coincidence?" Lyla asked, curious and invested in this side of his past that she didn't know about.

He played with her breast, almost mindlessly, as though it was a stress ball. "I knew who she was."

Lyla waited in silence, letting him decide if he wanted to share more. Thankfully, he did. His eyes sharpened on hers, and he began speaking again. "The conference had been about topics related to children. Special children, child behavior. Her presentation had been about child loss and coping mechanisms, especially for mothers. We spoke for a few minutes afterward. I was interested in the topic."

He didn't have to specify why. Lyla knew. Still, she asked. "When was this?"

"Six years ago."

Of course, it was. She wasn't even surprised. They had met six years ago and he had taken Xander under his care, and next thing, he had gone to attend a conference about children and child loss coping. Her stomach felt heavy as she realized the extent of things he'd silently done for her over the years, never once letting on what he'd been doing. Back then, she remembered so vividly, she'd just been wanting to see him again and have him bid on her so he could take her out of that hellhole. But in retrospect, she realized how shortsighted she had been, though she didn't blame herself. He had been playing the long game, keeping her safe, building her a home, raising her child and getting him to family, all the while working to take down the biggest, most dangerous organization in the world that had been in existence for longer than she knew. Just the extent of everything hit her all at once, making her heart race.

Before he could move, she tackled him, pressing a hard kiss to his lips, pouring the intensity of everything she was feeling, everything happening inside her into his lips, speaking to him in the oldest language that communicated everything words could say, and he reciprocated. His hand tightened possessively over her breast, the other on her jaw, guiding her mouth and giving her more intensity in return.

After a few minutes of just making out naked, he pulled away a few inches, his gaze searching hers, possibly for why she'd suddenly attacked him. He likely found whatever answer he was looking for, and an air of satisfaction enveloped them, buzzing around him, frolicking around her.

She returned back to their conversation, her curiosity still alight. "So, they've all met you?"

"Not all of them. Some as Blackthorne, some as Shadow Man," he replied, answering her question but not elaborating more on that.

The more Lyla learned about him, the more enamored she became with both sides of him. She'd seen him be the businessman, a sharp, dominant force of a man who cut deals and charmed people in a blink, a mask he wore with such ease she would never have suspected anything otherwise if she didn't know the man underneath. And she'd seen him be the Shadow Man, a lethal, dangerous, quiet personality that liked hiding more than being seen, that only saw people before killing them. And then she had seen him real, as he was right then.

"But only I have met Dainn." She loved that.

"And only you will, flamma ," he promised. "I will become whatever I have to for everyone else. Not for you. For you, I am as I am, every damaged, deranged part of me."

She leaned forward and kissed him softly this time, both their lips sensitive from all the kisses they had shared but not caring. He plunged his hand into her hair, holding her still as he ravaged her mouth, a sound leaving him as their tongues danced that filled her with awe. They had learned this art together, kissing with this mix of sensuality and softness, of passion and possession, of deviance and devotion. Lyla had never known kisses could mean so many things, that mouths could move so beautifully in a dance against each other.

They broke free, and she brushed his hair back from his forehead, bringing her hand lower to his jaw where the shadow had darkened. The marks of them were tingling around her mouth, her breasts, her inner thighs, everywhere he had feasted on her.

"Will you miss me?"

He plucked at one of her nipples almost lazily, the action full of propriety, one she knew was mirrored in herself.

"No."

Her heart sank at the one word before she could stop it. He chuckled, pinching the nipple hard as though punishing her for the thought, making her gasp.

"I might not be going with you, but I spent six years being your shadow. I will not miss you because I will be watching you."

The thought put her mind at ease. She knew from the books she had been reading that it was probably not the normal response to what he said, but Dr. Manson always reminded her, other people's normal could never be hers, that she was completely valid in feeling however she felt. And all she felt hearing him say that he'd not be letting her out of his sight was a relief. Because if he was watching her, nothing could get to her again. And all she felt was cherished, protected, adored by his entire attention, his own affection, for her.

He would be there, even if no one could see. Even if she couldn't see, he would be there, and everything would be okay. "Promise?"

He just kissed her in reply. He was as addicted to their kisses as she was. There was something about them that just felt… right. So right.

She pulled back and stared at him, giving him another one of her fears. "I… I have always been Lyla. I don't know Luna. I don't feel like her. But what if I can't be either of them? What if they want me to be Luna and I can't be? Or what if I want to be her and lose Lyla? Who will I even be if that happens?"

His thumb brushed over her cheek. "You will always be mine, flamma. My flamma. Names don't matter. They're clothes you can choose to wear one day and discard the next. You could be Lilith or Lily or Lina, Luna or Lyla, or completely nameless. It doesn't matter. What matters is who you are in your skin and bones. And all I see—" he held her hand, bringing it up to his lips "—is a woman who owns the world in her small, soft, sexy little hands and doesn't even know it." Another kiss to her fingers.

"You asked me why you?" The intense look in his eyes, combined with his words, was undoing her. "Because you're my flame, a little source of light and warmth in a void full of darkness and death, small but capable of becoming an inferno with the right fuel. And though I was always full of dark and death, for you, I have embraced it, become it, so you can keep flickering without fear. I am the void all monsters fear so you never have to be scared of anything. Not with me."

Words locked in her throat in a ball of fire that made her eyes burn. He called her his flame but the truth was that he was hers, warming her in places she had always been cold, sustaining her in places she had been shivering, illuminating her life in places that had never seen the light.

"I love you," she told him for the millionth time, meaning it more and more each time.

"I know," he replied for the millionth time, everything in his gaze saying what his lips never did as always.

"I think you might love me too, Dainn," she whispered in the space between their mouths.

His eyes darkened. "If there was ever any love in this world of mine," he began, then stopped, his words tattooed in her bones.

"It would be me," she completed, still marveling, wondering, at how this was her life. The things he said to her, the most beautiful words in that cool, direct way of his, made everything inside her melt like the wax on a candle. When she had been a little girl, alone in the dark, she had dreamed of someone saving her from the demons that fed off of her. As she'd grown up, the dreams had died. And then, she'd bumped into a man on a stormy night, and everything had changed.

Some days, she still couldn't believe it was all real and not a dream, that she was lucky enough to have found herself, to have had the chance to heal, to be so deeply loved by a man who had and would continue to burn the world for her.

But she wasn't going to complain.

No, she was going to spend the last night with her man and love him with all her heart, etching it into their memories until they could be together again.