Page 17 of Savage Desire (The Savage Six #2)

17

POLARIS

Dear Diary,

What in the backward Florentine’s shit is this place?

I thought Florentine’s was the worst. We all did. But I was safe there. Sad and lost, but safe for the most part.

I’ve been here for what? Barely a handful of weeks and I’ve already witnessed so much death and destruction. Well, technically, four deaths, two lost in the crossfire of the damn blood kin curse, but it’s still four too many.

I used to lay awake at night, scared for when the time came for Florentines to put us out of our misery and kill us, but now, in comparison to this mess, I can’t decide which is worse; dying or watching people die. And what happens when the curse drops and we have to actually survive? Does that then make me the one being the reason someone else dies? My blood kin?

Regardless, that’s not my life now, this is, and it was going well. I lit a candle today, actually more than one, and even accidentally set the cabinet in Professor Juniper’s room on fire, but she didn’t seem bothered by it. Apparently it earned me a grimoire. I haven’t opened it yet, it’s sitting all cute on my nightstand, but opening it feels too overwhelming. Especially after the mess out on the lawn. My head still hurts, it’s nowhere near as piercing as it was, but it’s still enough to leave me grouchy.

Speaking of grouchy, I’m mad. Mad isn’t the right word, but I’m irritated at the very least.

Asher walked me back, and I was too delirious to put up a fight when he scurried me into my room, disappearing in the next breath with my door closed between us. I’m more annoyed that I followed his order and stayed put. What’s that about?

I need to figure my shit out and stop being a pushover. I spent all morning amping myself up to be strong so I can survive, but at the first hurdle, I crumbled.

It’s embarrassing.

Maybe I need to think of some strong affirmations that will help me be a badass bitch, or maybe I need to work on creating a lucky charm for myself. I feel like I deserve one at this point, but it also feels like cheating, and I want to feel… whatever it is I’m searching for, for real. I want to know it in my heart.

I want to be my own reason for greatness.

I want to earn it, deserve it.

Maybe tomorrow is the day. But what if it’s not? What then?

Do I give up? The way my stomach clenches tells me I don’t. But how? Being strong, brave, and focused is hard. Harder than giving up, that’s for sure.

Maybe today isn’t about feeling the greatness. Maybe today is about not losing sight of it.

Yeah, maybe it’s that.

Polaris x

I close my diary with a sigh, spinning my pen in my hand as I let those final words settle in my stomach. It’s weird how journaling can work sometimes. Mostly it’s infuriating, recounting every mishap from the day, but other times, like now, it spirals, and I find a sense of understanding amongst the darkness.

I can’t lose sight of where I am, what I’m doing, and what’s waiting for me. It was easy to lose myself to it today, but now that the madness has settled, I can see my path more clearly again.

Tomorrow could bring another hurdle, I just have to be ready for it.

Running my fingers over the leather, I tuck the pen into the little nook of my diary and lay it down beside me. Today has been rough. I might find more I want to say later, but I’m now acutely aware of the fact that the sun has set and I’m curled up in my bed. The panic has worn off and I’m hungry, starving even. I should go for food, but Asher’s words leave me trapped inside these four walls. A fact that irritates the hell out of me.

We haven’t had much interaction really, not like how I’ve connected with his friends, but when he called me Silver, it felt oddly familiar, intimate. I shake my head, trying to rid the warmth that spreads through my bones at the memory of it, but it’s easier said than done.

Pursing my lips, I shuffle to the end of my bed and stand, stretching my arms above my head as I try to ease the tension that still lingers. My stomach chooses that exact moment to grumble, solidifying the fact that I should really go for dinner.

Today isn’t about feeling the greatness, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be about tasting greatness.

With my mind made up, I move to put my sneakers back on, but pause when I note the grass stains on my gray sweatpants. Tingles wash over my cheeks as I recall the reason why they’re there and I hurry toward the armoire, desperate to change out of them.

Leaving them in a pool at my feet, I automatically remove my jacket and tee along with them, silently deciding on a new outfit altogether. I spy a pair of black leggings and an oversized sweater with a flower design in the center and settle into those, sinking into the soft, lush material as I pull it over my head.

I sigh, some of the tension leaving my body as I change out my sneakers for a pair of simple black boots at the back of the armoire. When I catch sight of myself in the mirror, I attempt to tame my wild silver hair into a ponytail, but quickly wrap it into a messy bun when it’s clear the disheveled look is going nowhere.

Certain I’m fit to be seen in public now, I run my hands over my thighs, taking another deep breath before marching to the door with purpose. Only, when I open it, I find Asher on the other side, hand poised as if he’s ready to knock.

His eyes gloss over me for a second before settling on mine. “You stayed.”

I can’t decide whether he sounds surprised or impressed. Either way, it fuels my irritation.

“Stayed, past tense. I’m leaving now,” I state, a tight, smug smile curling my lips as I move to side step him, but I don’t get far before his hand darts out, latching onto my arm as he tugs me into my room, kicking the door shut behind me. “Excuse you,” I blurt, gaping at him in disbelief.

“You’re excused,” he mutters, a hint of amusement in his tone, and I don’t like it.

My finger is wagging in his face before I realize what I’m doing. “It seems you haven’t gotten the memo. Number one, don’t lay hands on me. I have been trained by a fighting master and I am not afraid to knee you in the nuts for added measure. Number two, you don’t get to step into my room without my permission. Number three, you definitely don’t get to boss me around.”

He grabs my finger between his thumb and forefinger, amusement dancing in his eyes as he stares me down. “Are you done?” He cocks a brow and my eyes narrow.

“Get out,” I snap, yanking my finger from his grasp before folding my arms over my chest. “I need to eat and you need to leave,” I add when he simply stands there, staring at me without a care in the world.

It’s weird seeing him like this, without his face lost in his cell phone, and I can’t help but really take him in while I have the chance.

His hair is fair, practically white, and his eyes are a marbled vortex of blue and green, mixed together in a way that steals your breath. His smile is filled with mischief, while the cords in his neck run under the neckline of his t-shirt, which sits tightly over his muscular frame. He’s not stacked like Wylder, but he’s taut with ripples of muscle.

It’s disgustingly beautiful.

“Get your fill?” he asks, snapping me from my thoughts, and I lurch back in surprise.

“Excuse me?” I press my hand to my chest, acutely aware of the heat at my cheeks.

Busted.

“You were checking me out. Let me know when you’re done.” His smile is too pretty for a man. It draws me in under false pretenses, but I’m chasing after it regardless.

Remembering myself, I glare at him. “Care to explain why you insisted I stay here?”

“We can discuss that when we’re all together. There is nothing worse than having to repeat myself,” he mutters, raking his hand through his hair.

Ass.

“You seem quite happy to make me repeat myself . I’ve asked you multiple times, and I’ve also insisted that you get out, but you seem quite happy to pay me no mind,” I snap, my emotions rattling to the surface.

“It’s quite impossible to pay you no mind, Silver. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here,” he mutters, giving me a pointed look.

I bite back a frustrated scream as my hands clench at my sides. I’m quite sure this man is going to be the death of me, and not in a good way either. Our interactions have been few and far between, and now he’s saying things like that.

“Don’t deflect from the topic at hand,” I grumble, my body tingling under his intense presence.

He rolls his eyes at my dramatics before turning to look around my room. Embarrassment of another kind threatens to take root in my gut, shame intertwined at my sparse space, but it’s quickly forgotten when he starts moving.

“Hey,” I whine, eager to get him the hell out of my room, but instead of hearing my protest, he comes to a stop at my nightstand, staring down at my journal.

“Please tell me you don’t write in this,” he mutters, casting a wary glance my way.

I march toward him, reaching for my faithful leather when he snatches it up before I get a chance, holding it out of reach. “Let go. Right now,” I bite, itching to stomp my foot in rage, but I manage to refrain.

“Silver, I’m being serious. Please tell me you don’t write in this.”

“It’s none of your business, and stop calling me that,” I grumble, jumping up in the air three times, each one a failed attempt at getting my precious journal from his grasp. When I stop trying, planting my hands on my hips as I decide to make him hand it over with my withering glare, he startles me by grabbing my chin.

His thumb presses into my flesh, tilting my head back as I gasp. The amusement from his eyes is gone, and the seriousness that swells in the vortex of green and blue makes me nervous. “You write in it, don’t you?” I blink at him, my heart lodging in my throat. “A nod will do,” he adds as his nostrils flare, and despite my better judgment, I do just that. “How long?”

I gape at him, my mind short circuiting as he releases his hold on me. Why do I want his brutal touch back on my body? Why do I care about the way he’s looking at me?

Dammit.

“For as long as I can remember, why?” I finally muster, banding my arms tight around my waist, feeling instantly on display before him.

A growl parts his lips as he sweeps a hand through his hair, taking a step back. He stares down at the journal as if it offends him, and he sighs. His shoulders rise high with the inhale, but do little to drop and relax as he slowly exhales.

“Asher?” I ask, instead of demanding he get the hell out, and when he meets my stare, I know with all that I am that I’m not going to like the next words that come out of his mouth.

“Silver, these things are laced with magic. They capture everything you write so they can keep tabs on you.”