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

2

POLARIS

I t's no surprise to acknowledge that, yet again, sleep isn't my friend.

It doesn't come, not even for a second. My mind is too wired. I thought scrawling my thoughts on my impending doom into my diary, revealing my new truths would unleash them from me, but they plague me worse than ever.

Now that the adrenaline has worn off, I’m also left with an ache between my thighs, and the reminder of why it's there plays just as rampant in my mind. I’m acutely aware of the lack of weight on my wrists too. With the bangles gone, I’m left with a cool tingling sensation dancing over the bare skin every time I move, serving as another reminder on my ever growing list.

I'm stuck in a vortex of my own making.

I had sex.

I learned the truth needed to set my sigil free.

Now, I’m lying in the aftermath. Alone and as isolated as ever. That’s probably my own doing too, but admitting the fact is something I can’t bring myself to do.

Prying my eyes open, the first thing I notice is the sun breaking through the gap in my curtains, attempting to lighten my room with a new day, but I don't move. I can’t. There is no part of me that wants to step out there and face the day today, possibly not ever. On top of the mess wreaking havoc inside me, I'm sure I look just as terrible on the outside.

I'll blame the lack of sleep, but I know it's more than that. As if the thought pulls me into action, I find myself slipping from beneath my sheets and planting my feet firmly on the floor before scurrying over to the armoire.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly open the door to reveal the mirror inside. Tilting my head, I stare at my reflection. My lips purse as I assess every inch of myself.

My silver hair is straggly around my shoulders, falling in messy waves while my face is smeared with makeup. It seems my shower did little to wash it off, instead, allowing the water to spread my mascara across my face. My crumpled t-shirt falls just mid-thigh, the creases only adding to my disheveled look.

It all amounts to another level of my distress, but it's the bags under my eyes that are the icing on the cake. If I had been clever, I'm sure I could have come up with some kind of spell or potion to make it all disappear, but it seems as much as I wanted my sigil to be released, I wasn't yet ready or equipped when that time came.

I’m a witch. Technically, I always have been, but now there’s nothing standing in my way, yet I know nothing about what I can do to at least help myself.

Settling my gaze on my eyes in the mirror, I look deep into my blue swirling orbs, hoping for answers.

Do I look like a witch? I don't feel any different. I don't even feel any significant change now that the sigil is gone.

Raking my hair back off my face, I sigh. Defeated, my gaze latches on to the purple pouch on my nightstand. I must have bypassed it last night when my hysteria had me heading straight for my diary, but now it stands tall, taunting.

I’m shuffling toward it before I even realize what I’m doing, the plush velvet material in the palm of my hand a moment later. Nervously running my tongue over my bottom lip, I pull at the golden string, opening the pouch just enough to peek inside.

Sand.

A witch’s best friend.

My best friend.

So I’m told.

My heart flutters as I gaze down at the unassuming bag that holds significantly more meaning now than it did last night. I sink my teeth into my lip as I drop my finger into the pouch. A whoosh of a breath hisses behind my teeth as my cheeks heat and my pulse thrums in my ears.

Wow.

It’s the same, yet… different.

Swirling my finger through the grains, a weird sensation ripples through me. Nothing magical or wild in the slightest, I don’t think, but a… hint of calm. Like I'm in the eye of a storm, surrounded by disaster and chaos, yet, just for a brief moment, everything's okay.

A knock comes from my bedroom door, startling me from my thoughts, and my name is called a moment later.

“Polaris?” I recognize Bryony’s voice immediately as she hammers on the door. The pounding doesn’t waver as she continues. “Polaris, open up. I know you're in there, and I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me.”

Her knocks persist, getting louder as her insistence becomes clear.

Pulling the drawstring tight on my little purple pouch, I place it back on my nightstand and trudge toward the door. I reach for the door knob but pause, my fingers midair as I consider what I should do. Before I let my walls down and open the door, I slam my palms flat against my thighs.

The knocking suddenly ceases, as if she can hear the internal torment I’m dealing with, and I shake my head, even though she can't see.

“I’m not in the mood for talking,” I rasp, and the sigh of relief is palpable through the door.

“But you're there?” she clarifies, awaiting confirmation.

My chin drops to my chest as my eyelids fall closed. “Yeah.”

“Good. As long as you're safe, that's all that matters.”

My brows crinkle. “I… Why?”

Silence lingers between us for a moment and I hear her sigh, heavier this time.

“You know why, Polaris. Last night was insane and you left in a hurry. We could talk about it more if you let me in.” I'm already shaking my head again before she's finished speaking.

Not that she can see me.

“I’m good.”

Silence greets me again and my fingers twitch against my thighs. A part of me wants to remove the barrier between us so I can lean on her as the friend she is, but mortification keeps my feet rooted to the floor.

Another sigh, a reluctant one this time, is followed by a defeated tone. “If you need me, you have my number, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

“Good,” I repeat, as my eyes latch on the door.

Bryony clears her throat and I know she’s not done. “I was hoping to hand this to you in person. That was what the request was, but I guess I'll just slide it under your door,” she states, and I frown.

I have no idea what she's talking about, but a moment later the sound of something brushing across the wooden planks echoes in my ears.

My eyes dart to the floor where a familiar flash of gold appears, stealing my breath with it. My heart ricochets as I gape in awe, dropping to my knees as I scramble to feel the knowing press of the metal face against my palm.

Tears prick my eyes as I stare at what has always been my symbol of survival, of hope and destruction, home and foreign lands. But now, the truth is before me. It’s so much more than just a symbol for me. It’s the same for others too. Apparently, all of those loved by the heartbroken witch.

Running my thumb over the face, I sit back. “Thank you,” I gasp, unsure if she’s still there to hear me, but even if she is, even if she responds, I don't hear her. I’m too consumed by the words Asher spoke when he saw it in Lincoln’s grasp.

It's connected to the first witch. That's what he said, that's what I'm supposed to believe.

Connected. To. The. First. Witch.

Five words more powerful than I can explain, but one thing is for sure: I don't want to be. I don't want anything that may come from this coin, but it's mine regardless.

I'm not parting ways with it, not when it holds secrets from my past that could unleash the pathway to my future.

With it in my grasp, I can and will face it all.