Page 28 of Savage Desire (The Savage Six #2)

28

POLARIS

M y feet can’t carry me fast enough as I hightail it the hell out of there and as far away from Asher as possible.

Am I acting irrational? Likely.

Am I running on adrenaline? Definitely.

Am I a mess? One-thousand percent.

But all that matters is getting away from the drama that seems to chase me no matter how much I try to avoid it. Especially when it involves Bianca. She’s enough to send me to an early grave, and I’m sure if she had it her way, that’s precisely where I would be. The only thing holding her back is the fact that I could be her blood kin. This curse is somehow also my savior at the same time, but I wouldn’t be here without it so my thoughts definitely settle back on it being exactly what it is: a curse.

I don’t get a chance to relish in the slight breeze as I step outside. I keep my pace up, heading straight for the familiar treeline off to the left. My body moves of its own accord, but I know where I’m going—my sanctuary.

Hidden among the chaos, it gives me a second to breathe without having to scurry all the way back to the witches’ dorms.

The familiar shadows from the trees below cast the maze in an eerie darkness, but for once, the uncertainty of it wraps around me like a warm blanket, keeping me warm and safe despite everything I face. Stepping under the archway, I make my way to the center and flop down in the corner with a sigh.

There’s a part of me, a teeny tiny part, that is slightly disappointed that I’m alone. Whenever I come out here, I somehow always end up finding myself at Tatum’s side, and his presence in this moment, or lack thereof, is noted. But it’s fine. It has to be fine. It needs to be fine. Alone. Completely on my own.

I’m done being na?ve, gullible, and stupid.

Thankfully, since it’s the weekend, I can sulk here for as long as I want. Once I leave the safety of my sanctuary, I can hold myself true to my promise.

Another heavy exhale parts my lips and I dig into my bag, retrieving my grimoire. I might be hiding away when I’m supposed to be heading to the library, but there’s still a book right here in front of me that requires my attention. It’s probably the one that will make me the strongest too since it’s filled with spells I can learn from.

Channeling the sliver of hope and determination that remains, I flick through the pages. At first, the words merge together, completely overwhelming me, but I swallow it down, forcing myself to focus. When the alternative is worrying what The Crow wants with me, I find it much easier to sink into the grimoire.

There are spells for everything in here. A bubble of excitement rises inside me as I scan my eyes over the text that explains the simplicity of mundane spells that don’t require me to make circles with my sand. With some, all I have to do is have a pinch in my grasp and the magic should flow from me.

If I can figure this out, my morning routine will become much quicker. The more straightforward spells only require single-word chants. Others call for a bit more, but starting small helps me feel like I can accomplish something. Once I can naturally handle the simpler tasks, the more complex ones won’t seem like such a leap.

Intrigued, I feel locked in, scanning deeper into the book, bypassing the spell I used in Professor Whitmore’s office to what looks like more elaborate possibilities. I quickly slam the grimoire closed when I note two spells side by side requiring blood to achieve the enchantment, quickly and effortlessly confirming that I’m well out of my depth there.

Maybe I should focus on drying my hair and doing my makeup first. Using spells to cause harm to someone with a drop of my blood doesn’t feel like something I should be attempting today.

“Are you finding a way to cut Asher’s balls off?”

My gaze snaps up at the sound of Tatum’s voice, finding him standing a few feet away at the opening in the shrubs that leads to the center of the maze, and I gulp. The shadows cast over his face in a way that makes him look almost sinister, but I know the man beneath the dark contours the trees are hiding. I’m safe.

I clear my throat, stuffing my grimoire in my bag. “I’m considering it.”

A grin spreads across his lips, but as he tilts his head back, I can see the inky pain tainting his eyes and it makes my spine stiffen. Taking a second, I drink him in from head to toe, trying to figure out what I’m missing.

His long brown hair is slicked back into a messy pile at the back of his head, nothing really out of the ordinary there. His eyes are definitely different, and the tight set of his jaw doesn’t look familiar. His shoulders are almost hunched and his backpack is loose at his side, but he’s holding it so tight that his knuckles are white. Whiter than white, even.

“What’s wrong?” I blurt, worry clawing at me, and he shakes his head.

“Nothing,” he breathes as he moves closer, taking the spot of grass beside me a moment later, but he doesn’t make eye contact the entire time.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about the enigma that is Tatum, it’s that he always maintains eye contact, even when it’s on the brink of awkwardness. He’s always trying to see deep into my soul, so why not now? Maybe because he’s hiding something himself.

Clearing my throat again, I tilt my head to face him. “Try again,” I state, my tone as light as I can muster while trying to keep my body relaxed. The last thing I want to do is set him off or make him leave because I push too hard, but damn. He’s always there for me when I need it, now it’s his turn.

“I’m good,” he insists, nestling back against the shrubs behind us, tilting his face up to the sky as his eyes fall closed.

Clearly, going easy on him isn’t going to work for me. Helping him is worth risking his anger if it’s for a good cause. With my mind made up, I sit taller, turning to face him fully as I grab my bag. “There might be something in here that makes me make you tell the truth,” I grunt, giving him a pointed look even though he’s not even looking at me, but the sigh that falls from his lips offers a hint of hope.

“It’s my mom’s birthday today, or was.” His eyes remain shut, but the crinkle at the corners reveals a glimpse into the emotions he’s trying to hide and my heart wrenches for him.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe, unsure whether I should have pried now, but to my surprise, he finally glances at me.

“I’m good.”

He’s not. I can see it all in his eyes. They swirl with despair, and if I had any money I would bet it all on the fact that he’s remembering all of the pain and anguish of her death. That’s not going to help him. Ever.

Pressing my lips together, I nervously try to smile at him, but I know it falls short when he all but looks right through me.

What would I need in this moment? Think, Polaris. Think.

“What are your most cherished things you remember about her?” The question spills from my mouth before I can stop it and his eyes slam closed.

Fuck.

My heart races, my pulse quickening as fear and embarrassment lay claim to me. He needs space, not my stupid mouth.

Ready to leave, I swipe a hand down my face. “I’m so so?—”

“Her scent,” he breathes, his words making me freeze, hands pressed into the grass beneath me, ready to stand and make a run for it. “She always smelled like roses. I remember playing Hide and Seek with her out in the garden once, and her scent led me right to her. It lingered on my pillow for so long after she would lie with me until I fell asleep, and then one day it was gone.”

His words gut me like a knife, but there’s a soft smile on his lips as he remembers more pleasant times.

“She sounds amazing,” I breathe, my heart nothing more than a gaping hole as I fail to recall a single thing about my mother.

“She was. Her smile had the power to mend anything. Any hint of sadness, or even a grazed knee would heal at the way she would smile. It came right from her heart,” he explains. “And the way she would listen to me with that look in her eyes,” he adds, tilting back to face me again with a slightly wider smile.

“What look?” I ask, completely enraptured with the love he had for his mother.

He leans closer, running a hand down the side of my face as my heart skips a beat in my chest. “That one.” He lingers at the corner of my eye, driving his point home, and my cheeks burn under his attentive words. I dip my head and his hand drops from my face. He clears his throat and I glance up at him through my lashes with my chin still nestled against my chest.

“Asher means well,” he mutters, and I scoff.

“When?” I grumble in response, and his smile grows tight.

“Always,” he insists, and I shake my head back and forth twice before he captures my chin between his finger and thumb, forcing me to look at him. “I don’t know what happened before, but I know he’s shredding the hell out of the dorms right now,” he states, cocking a brow at me, and I shrug.

“Make sure he shreds the feather and card from my existence while he’s at it,” I snark in response, and he chuckles, but the sound is hollow as he runs his thumb across my skin.

“If it was that simple, then I’m sure he would.”

All of the things he’s not saying hang between us, bringing my disaster of a life into the secret sanctuary I thought I had. If it declares anything, it’s that there is no hiding away from it.

“I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” He blinks at me, his jaw falling slack, but no words come out. I sigh. “Your silence is answer enough,” I mutter, and he scrubs a hand over the back of his neck.

“You might not be, but it never bodes well to catch The Crow’s attention.”

“And it’s his uncle?” I ask, seeking clarity even though I already know the truth, but it just doesn’t seem real.

“Unfortunately.”

Grabbing my backpack, I pin it to my chest before tapping the grimoire through the fabric. “Do you think there’s anything in here that might get rid of him ?”

“I wish that more than anything, but The Crow does come with a few positives,” he states, and my eyebrows gather in confusion.

“What does that mean?”

He shakes his head as he stands before offering his hand out to me. “Let’s get out of here.”

It’s my turn to shake my head as I stare at his hand, refraining from grabbing it. “I’m not going to see him.”

“I didn’t imagine you would,” he states, a loose smile back on his lips, and I nod.

“Good.”

“But I’m hoping you’ll come with me,” he encourages, waving his fingers in front of my face.

“Where?”

“If I tell you, you’ll say no.”

I cock a brow at him, still making no effort to grab his hand. “That’s ominous.”

“Trust me,” he breathes, rubbing his jaw as I scoff.

“We’ve had this conversation already,” I grumble, and he shrugs.

“Not this one. It’s just fun. You can trust me to have fun, right?”

Silence stretches between us, uncertainty clawing at me, but despite my concerns, my hand finds its way into his and I’m on my feet a moment later.

I grab my bag and we’re gone, my fingers still laced with his as he tugs me along after him. The second we step out of the forest, people are going to see us holding hands, just like some have seen me hold Asher’s hand or walk with Wylder’s arm around my shoulders. If he seems to care, he doesn’t show it as he tugs me closer, his fingers flexing against mine as we head past the academy building.

Instead of letting the panic and worry of someone calling me out for being a whore ruin the moment, I tilt my head back, straighten my spine, and walk with a strength I never knew I had. If I want to hold Tatum’s hand, let Asher fuck me for anyone to see, have Wylder parade me around the wolves’ table, or give in to my attraction to Lincoln in the middle of the forest, then I damn well will.

Opinions and judgement be damned.

With a spring in my step and a spark of hope and excitement for what Tatum has planned, I don’t notice the figure coming around the corner of the building until he’s shoving past me. I stumble into Tatum, who manages to keep me upright, but when I blink up at him in shock, it’s not me he’s looking at.

“Watch where you’re going, Blaze,” he grinds out, and my eyes snap to the vampire in question.

His nostrils are flared, his lips curled in a sneer, and his hands fisted at his sides as his eyes remain zoned in on where Tatum holds my hand. His jaw ticks, once, twice, three times before he finally lifts his gaze. I rear back when his hand comes my way, but he stops himself an inch away from my arm before retreating.

“Fuck you, Tatum. Why don’t you and your whore get a fucking room,” he snarls in response, the torment in his eyes not matching his words before he spins on the heels of his boots and storms inside the academy building.

I’m breathless as I stare at the space he occupied, wondering what the hell that was. I almost ask it, but quickly remember it’s Blaze we’re dealing with. It’s impossible to explain any of the shit that comes out of that man’s mouth.

“Sorry,” I mutter, straightening myself, and we carry on toward the dorm buildings.

“Don’t apologize because someone else is an asshole, Polaris. It’s not your fault he’s got a stick wedged so far up his ass, it makes it impossible for him to smile,” he grunts, and I smile, brushing my hair back off my face as we bypass the walkway that leads to the witches’ dorm and head to the silver building instead.

As I recall this morning, the woodchips beneath my feet send a jolt of panic up my spine. However, when we enter the building, Tatum wastes no time ushering me up the stairs instead of toward the back, where the Alpha’s office is.

It’s only when he opens the third door on the second floor that I realize where he’s taking me: his room. He ushers me inside, kicking the door shut behind him, and I take a moment to inhale every inch of him. A woodsy yet spicy scent lingers in the air. His bed is pressed against the right wall, while his desk sits on the left, piles of papers strewn over the top, each featuring what looks like a different sketch. His armoire lines the wall to my left, and the center of the room holds a large easel.

“Get comfortable,” he murmurs, bringing my hand to his lips for a feather light kiss before he releases his hold on me.

I nibble at my bottom lip nervously.

“Why?” I ask, placing my bag by the door as he cuts across the room to retrieve a set of pencils, bringing them to the easel already set up and waiting.

“You’re my muse for the afternoon,” he states, excitement sparkling in his eyes, and I gulp.

“Your muse?” I repeat, blushing, and he grins, running his thumb over the heated skin.

“All you have to do is get yourself comfortable on my bed, however you like, and I’ll take care of the rest. Do you have a problem with that?” he teases, and I shake my head, releasing a wobbly breath.

“No,” I finally answer, running my hands over my thighs before I head toward his bed.

“Good. But first, I want you to take this,” he states, opening the top drawer on his nightstand to retrieve a thin piece of black leather with a small charm attached to it.

“What is it?” I ask, intrigued by the gentle swirls of blues and greens that are intertwined with the charm, but the smile he offers me is more cautious than anything.

“It’s wolf’s bane.”

It’s what now?

I raise my eyebrows as he slowly fastens it around my wrist. “I’m not even going to pretend I know what that is,” I admit, and he snickers, twisting my wrist from side to side once it’s secured in place.

“It’s an herb, an important one,” he explains, and I scoff. This man is turning out to be the worst storyteller around. I think even Lincoln can offer me more than this on his worst day.

“You’re getting good at sounding ominous,” I muse, and he rolls his eyes, but when they actually settle on me, I see the importance flash in his irises before he speaks. The meaning is clear behind the words he chooses.

“It prevents compulsion from a vampire.”