1 AM. DIMera compound. Living room. Gemini Island.

 

The trace of lavender curled around his senses. The rousing sound of tiny inhalations mingled with the electric fizzing in his blood to drew him out of oblivion. He didn’t recall how he got there, standing in the doorway of the living room. The scene at the wine cellar played before his eyes, its talons dug deep into his skin. His bloody knife was sheathed inside his pocket. John’s hands rested at his sides, his muscles twisted tight with fire. Through the red haze, he found his prey. 

She was standing in the darkened living room, her image singeing around the edges as his gaze burned through her. She didn’t move; she held so still she must sensed the danger pressing in the air. He could feel the heavy rise and fall of her chest, every breath in coated his lungs with her scent of purple, and he was desperate to either extinguish it or devour it. “John?” Her voice bled through the rush of blood. 

That was all it took. 

Her voice, her scent. The monster he’d been trying to hold at bay unleashed.

​

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*****

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The doorway framed John’s looming form in shadows. 

He belonged to the darkness, dispelling all light from the room. His head was bowed as he stared at the floor for so long it unnerved her. Alarm fired through her veins. She should listen to the frantic beat of her heart, to the warning drumming harder with each step she took closer to him. 

She stopped, a tentacle of ice wrapping around her at the sight. Even in the faint lighting, she could make out the blood covering his clothes. His blue shirt was soaked in dark-red, his skin spattered with the violent evidence of his brutality. 

His chest raised with his rapid breaths, his hands fisted at his sides. 

There was a tear in his sleeve. 

 

Where was Tony? 

 

Then a startling, terrifying realization hit.

She stood before him like prey before predator, a hollow scream flaring inside her chest. “John?” 

A low growl resonated through the big room and raised above the hum of the night. It vibrated against her skin. She took a step backward, and that small movement triggered his notice. The blue flames of his eyes locked on her. 

 

A prickling sensation webbed over her skin, the hairs on her nape lifted away. Breath bated, Marlena took another tiny backward step, and it happened fast. He pounced from the doorway and had her throat clutched in his large hand. 

Panic fisted her lungs. 

She gasped at air and clawed at his hand, her nails tearing into his hot skin as he backed her toward the wall. Her back flattened against the hard surface, her eyes trained on the beautiful face of the mercenary, all fury, and damnation. As his fingers sealed tighter around her windpipe, she kicked at the wall, at his shins, then reached out and scratched at his arms and face. He was solid vengeance and wrath, her strikes uselessly hitting steel. The room started to darken around the edges. 

 

Before she was pulled all the way under, some semblance of humanity bled into his eyes. His grasp around her throat loosened a fraction, but only enough to allow a clipped breath to tease her lungs before he dragged her away from the wall. 

“John…stop—” 

He pulled her toward a table and, after he swiped the contents off with a furious brush of his arm, thrust her back against the oak surface. Something feral and raw ignited in his eyes as he forced her down on the table, his hand still collared around her throat. She swallowed hard against the fiery ache, the pressure unbearable. His heated gaze dragged down her body, scorching her skin beneath her clothes. 

 

A dark haze layered his features. 

He was not even here—his mind lost, trapped in some other realm of torture and pain. Marlena collected enough air to gulp in a full breath. Relief rushed her veins. John’s hand remained fixed to her throat, but his rigid gaze was hard on her body. She kept deathly still. Dried blood saturated his shirt, his skin. He was a devil ripped right from the bowels of hell, a fallen angel so devotedly fixated on the body before him, as if it could save him from the flames reaching up to drag him back under. 

He raised his free hand and reverently pressed the coarse pads of his fingers to her collarbone. His touch was fire and brimstone, and she trembled beneath the dominance of it. 

 

His fingertips traveled down the length of her chest, probing the curves of her breasts, her rib cage, her stomach. He explored her body like she was a rare creature, some mythical goddess who had entranced him. And he was furious about it. The disturbing look in his darkened gaze could flay her skin from her bones. He was under a spell, and she was terrified to move or speak or even breathe for fear of breaking the trance and unleashing the murderous demon. He fisted the rims of her robe and, with a fierce and desperate act, ripped the robe down her body. Cold air caressed her flesh as his fiery gaze dropped to her bare skin in a clash of fire and ice, lashing a violent tremor through her.

 

“Tentatrice,” (*Temptress) he muttered in Italian, a leftover from his time with Stefano. His voice gravel, strained. The word left his mouth crossly, an accusation. His palm landed on her thigh, and another tremble rocked her core. She closed her eyes against the unwanted swell of heat and the empty ache unfurling inside as he glided his hand up, feeling his way along her thigh. His fingers touched the elastic of her panties, and before she could brace for the invasive touch, he released a harsh curse and grasped her nightgown. 

 

The tear ricocheted around the room, heightening the crescendo of her heart. The torn material fell aside to reveal her chest, covered only in a skimpy nightgown. Then his hand continued its course, mapping her body with a slow and torturous exploration over every flared curve and beveled dip. As his perusal drifted toward her neck, his distant gaze captured her mouth. Every nerve ending fired with awareness as he dragged his teeth over his lip, a ravenous hunger surfacing in that blaze of blue. 

Beneath her desire for preservation, something needy and yearning wared within her. Alarm raged in her mind, urging her to push him away. 

Run. 

Escape. 

Fight for him. 

But the more he touched her, his hands going from ruthless to yielding, pulling at the frayed threads of her sanity to unravel her, some other frantic and illicit emotion took hold. She could feel his desire hard and pressed to her thigh, and liquid heat poured into her veins. 

Her breathing ramped, unable to control the rise of her chest, and his hand dipped to the seam of her nightgown, his finger dragged under the strap, taking her with him to that dark place. “John…” She tried to reach him, and this time, he blinked. 

 

A form of awareness broke through the haze clouding his thoughts. She took advantage of the frail moment as she lifted up and, cautiously, laid her palm to his chest. 

His heart knocked heavily, his pulse drumming so hard the vibration ricocheted through her. Marlena took in the blood covering him and realize just how lost he was, how violent the feel of his hands on her could become, and a hollow space in her chest craved to pull him back from the brink. 

 

As his gaze wavered, she pushed her hand along his taut bicep and down to his forearm, trying to ignore the coarse texture of dry blood, then she slipped her hand beneath his palm on her breast, lacing their fingers together. With cautious and deliberate movements, she held on to him while reaching down with her other hand and released her slippers. She slipped them off, letting her slippers fall to the floor, then eased forward. 

 

“Let’s go,” she said, somehow controlling the tremble in her voice. He stepped back, allowing her to slide off the table. She kept his fingers threaded between hers as she led him through the big room and into the hallway. There were at least five bathrooms on the top floor, and she guided them toward the closest one at the end of the hall. She didn’t turn on the light. She left them encased in near darkness, wary the brightness will trigger him. And honestly, she was not even sure what she was doing or why…but the ache cresting between her breastbone won’t let her simply walk away from him in this state. 

 

Releasing his hand for a moment, she opened the glass shower door and turned on the spray. Three showerheads sputtered on, and she slipped her hand into the downpour of the rain to test the temperature as she stared at the veins in the Carrara marble. When she turned around to face John, the glazed, faraway look in his eyes stuttered her breath. 

She approached him slowly, like a fawn nearing a wolf. There was not one section of his clothes that blood hadn't touched. She started at the top button, working her way down the placket to open his shirt. 

Her hands shook. 

Her stomach pitched with a free-fall sensation. She was terrified of standing here before him after tonight, so vulnerable, but she was not sure he was even aware of her presence. That was the only reason she was brave enough to work his pants clasp open and lower his zipper. 

 

This wasn’t sexual, however, and she was bolstered with the reminder as she met the distant look in his eyes. Resolved firmly in place, she lifted onto her toes and pushed his shirt over his shoulders. The stained garment fell down his arms and landed on the tile floor, exposing John’s scars and tattoo, the leanly cut muscles of his arms and torso. 

 

Heat snared a sticky web inside her chest as she pushed his pants down his legs. Absentmindedly, he helped her take off his shoes, and then he stood before her in only his black boxer briefs. Taking a fortifying breath, she stepped into the stall and, with only the light touch of her hand on his, he followed her inside the marble and glass encasement. 

 

Steam has already coated the glass and thickened the air around them as they stood under the warm rain of water. Her gaze dropped to the white marble basin, to where rusty red bloomed and puddled to swirl down the drain. 

Throat bruised, she swallowed past the ache as she reached for a bar of soap. There were so many nevers attacking her nerves. She had never stood before him like this, drenched, and terrified. 

Although they were still hidden behind undergarments, the act was so intimate, so sensual, as she lathered the soap along his forearm, a live current hummed in her blood. John watched her hands move up his arm. She washed his shoulders, too aware of how his skin felt under her nails, the scrapes she placed there. Hesitation gave her a momentary pause before she dragged the soap down his chest. The feel of the beveled scar that crossed his chest, twisted down deep in her belly. Her fingers hovered over his pec, delicately tracing the lines, then her gaze drifted up, to the thin scar that clefted his chin. 

Without thought, her hand glided to his face, to trace that curious scar… And something awakened inside him. 

 

The haze began to clear, his muscles tensed under her touch. He snatched her wrist as his blue gaze latched on to her. Her heart careened against her rib cage, blood roaring in her ears. The warning rang loudly in the small span of air between them—

 

Run, Marlena—before he strikes.

 

Thunder rumbled in his chest, his eyes clouding over like a storm, as he grabbed hold of her arms and pressed her against the wall of marble. Cold stung her skin, but she barely register it over the fire searing her everywhere his heated gaze settled. Marlena held her breath, waiting for him to say something, anything, to release her from this unknown limbo and what was going to happen. 

 

He remained intensely silent as his grip on her biceps loosened. Then, with the rough touch only a mad man could deliver, he skimmed the backs of his fingers along the sensitive plane of her stomach. A shiver racked her bones, chill bumped erupted over her flesh. His knuckles dragged upward until his thumb edged the seam of her bra. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip at the feel of his tender yet harsh caress over her breast, and then his finger slipped beneath the strap and hooked it, dragging it off her shoulder. He bared one breast, and her whole body ignited in flames. 

She stood amid a rainstorm, the torrential downpour plunging her body and soul to a base level of immorality and sinful temptation, and it was all because of how those blue flames seared her skin. Towering over her, John infused every molecule of air, making it impossible to take a breath not spiked with his heady scent of man and intoxicating cologne. Every scar and inch of skin stood before her as a wall of dominant force. 

 

He pushed in closer, his mouth hovering over the pulse in her neck, like a vampire ready to bear his fangs. His leg slid between her thighs and rested at the sensitive juncture where her thighs connected, sending a throb straight to her clit. Soapy water slid over his shoulders and dripped down on her. His hand cupped her breast, working in the lather over her taut nipple. Heat flared and crackled over her nerve endings, a deep ache blooming in her core, and she closed her eyes against the overwhelming torrent. His other hand coasted from her waist to her lower back, where he slipped his fingers beneath the flimsy material of her panties. 

A breath caught in the base of her throat as he towed the fabric aside. The low rumble from his throat vibrated against her, and she was falling too fast, a frenzy of carnal need sweeping through her body and decimating all logic. She had barely placed her hand to his abs before he released her breast and drove cruel fingers into her hair. Gripping the wet strands around his fist, he turned her around and shoved her chest against the unforgiving marble. He released her only to grasp her hands and plant her palms firmly to the wall, where he held her captive, her body falling in sync with his uneven breaths. 

 

Then his hand was in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her neck as he sunk his teeth into her shoulder, eliciting a throaty moan from her mouth. 

“I will do everything, to keep you safe.” The angry tenor of his voice stilled her breath. She was unsure how to answer—scared by his actions; wounded from his touch. Furious she has allowed herself to fall so carelessly into the hands of the man who—just tonight —killed a person who she has considered a friend for many years. 

“You attacked him,” she finally said, breathing hot against the wall. “You killed him. He was our friend years ago.” 

He lowered his mouth to the lobe of her ear. “He was sent back to hell to meet his old man, where he belongs.”

“John—” She stopped short, irate with her defensiveness. “You almost strangled me.” 

He released a humorless sound. “Maybe it turns you on,” he accused. “Maybe you like it rough. Or should I be rough with you only down at the wine cellar?”

She wasn’t sure who this man was, but it was not her John.

At his crude words, he gripped the back of her panties and pulled it high between her ass cheeks, forcing the wet material in front to rub abrasively against her clit. Against her will, she released a whimper at the erotic feel. 

“John, stop…is Tony-”

His growl prowled over her skin before he pulled the fabric away from her ass and pushed his finger against her entrance. “I think you should stop talking, lady,” he said, his fingers halted, teasing her folds. Marlena bit her lip to restrain a moan, refusing to allow her body to respond to him again. 

 

“Fuck, I'm sorry” he gritted out. 

She could feel the tremble of his body, the restraint to hold back as his fingers slid between her lips. Inadvertently, her hips rolled back against him, and she met with the rock-hard evidence of his arousal. 

“I need for you to talk to me! We cannot just, ignore it!” 

“Shut up, Doc” His command punctuated the sliver of air between them. His mouth beard down on the juncture between her neck and shoulder, teeth scraping furiously at her skin before he removed his hand from her. 

The sensation was cold and empty, leaving her breathless. 

With a heavy groan, he pressed his chest to her back and dragged his hard cock up the seam of her ass, driving the needy ache deeper. “If you let me inside you, I’ll destroy you too, and I’ll revel in it. Just…go back home, save yourself.” 

 

Oh, god. 

 

His hands left her hair and body to land on the marble wall on either side of her head, caging her in. He was no longer touching any part of her body, but the temptation for him to either move forward or for her to push back vibrated around the edges. 

The dare right there… Destroyed her. 

She sealed her eyes closed and flattened into the wall, holding her resolve, as she let the hot stream of water further the burn. Without another word, he pushed away from the wall and escaped the shower. 

“John,” she whispered, not watching him leave.

Marlena could hear his movements to gather clothes from their suitcase.

 

******

 

 

She dried quickly, and despite the clear threat in his voice, she followed him back into the bedroom. Reaching a trembling hand down to pick a fresh nightgown from the dresser, placing the strap of her nightgown on her shoulders. 

“Talk to me,” she said.

“Doc,” he seethed the word. John took a forceful step back. “Get dressed, and let’s go to bed.” Rejection simmered in her shadowed eyes as she tugged the satin belt around her waist. “Tell me what Tony said to you,” she demanded. 

He whirled around, hands fisted. “That doesn’t concern you.” 

A mocking laugh sprung from her mouth. “Obviously it does, seeing as I’m here, being punished for it.” Her ire died as quickly as it rose. “John, I know there’s more to this. Those scars tell a horrifying story, and my past here is at the root. I deserve to know everything.” He wanted to laugh, but the truth was too sinister.

“What happened to you down there…I was terrified.” she tried

“So you see me as horrifying? That’s flattering.” His sarcasm didn’t derail her. He sauntered toward her and, when she was so close he could taste her lavender scent, she clasped the collar of his shirt. 

 

Wind howled beneath each rumble of thunder, the storm harboring them beneath its fury. Keeping her eyes cast up at him, mouth slightly parted, she worked open the buttons along the placket. He let her slip her hands beneath the new clean shirt, and hesitantly but with purpose, she tenderly caressed her palms over his skin, pushing the shirt open and feeling the fresh scar that crossed his chest. 

“Tony did this to you?” she asked. He was acutely aware of her warm hands and his labored breathing. Her touch lowered his defenses. 

“The man’s dead now, Doc.” 

“What did he tell you before he…died?” she pressed, her finger tracing the intricate details of his stables.