Page 33 of Savage Desire (The Savage Six #2)

33

POLARIS

I stumble right past the dining hall, the desire for food completely wiped. Heading outside, the change in air does little to improve my mood.

It’s him.

It’s Blaze.

He’s the reason and cause for so much, but why?

The blackouts? Blaze.

B? Blaze.

Information that I know but don’t actually freaking know? Blaze.

I can’t ask him, not yet anyway. He thinks he’s compelled me to forget all over again. What am I supposed to make of him?

He’s the enemy, another villain in my story, and yet… my body leaned into his. What’s that supposed to mean? I’m never going to understand without access to my full memories, and something tells me getting Blaze to return them is going to be impossible.

Blaze is the one in control, or he was. Now, with the wolfsbane on my wrist, I can start clawing it back if I continue to pretend as though I don’t remember. But I do. Especially B. What does Blaze have to do with him?

I swipe a hand down my face, desperation getting the better of me as I rack my brain but come up empty. All it seems to do is give me a headache right between my eyes. I clench my eyelids shut as I squeeze the bridge of my nose, trying to will the pain away, but it’s relentless.

Taking a deep breath, I pry my eyes open and continue toward my first class of the day: Combat. It isn’t until I see the professor in the distance, the familiar setup spread across the grass, that I realize the error of my outfit choice. I spend most of my days in sweatpants so it doesn’t usually matter so much, but today I’m in jeans. Fucking jeans. I can barely lean forward to touch my toes in them, never mind actually training for something.

The weight of my sand in my pocket has my hand pressing against it, but I’m unsure where to change.

“You’re early, Miss Beauchamp,” Professor Drummond states, eyes fixed on the device in her hand as she speaks to me.

I clear my throat. “I am, but I also think I need to change,” I admit, and she lifts her eyes to take me in.

“I think you might be right. You can either head back to your dorm or use the combat storage room,” she offers, pointing to a small building at the other end of the field.

“The combat storage room would be great. Thank you.”

She offers a nod in response and I take off in the direction she pointed, but when I make it halfway, she calls out my name again, making me pause to look back at her. “Don’t touch anything.”

My eyebrows gather in confusion. “I won’t,” I reply, hurrying the rest of the way so I can change before everyone else gets here.

As I approach the storage room, I realize it’s much smaller than I anticipated. It’s more like an outbuilding or a shed, but as long as there’s enough room for me to change, that’s all that matters.

Despite its rickety appearance, with boarded windows and loose tiles on the roof, the door is heavy steel with a few locking mechanisms along the side. Thankfully, the door sits slightly ajar so I can slip inside.

The air feels musty as I search for a light switch, but even as I turn it on, it does nothing to take away the eeriness of the space. Cobwebs hang from the ceiling and dust sheets cover most of the items in the room.

Professor Drummond doesn’t have to worry about me touching anything. If I can help it, I won’t be in here for more than thirty seconds.

A shiver runs down my spine as I close the door before quickly stuffing my hand into my pocket to retrieve a pinch of sand. Too afraid to close my eyes, I visualize the yoga pants, tank top, and black jacket in my wardrobe as I rub the sand between the pads of my finger and thumb.

“Vestis.”

I suck in a breath as I watch my cute jeans be replaced with the exact outfit I envisioned.

Pleased with myself, I place my pouch of sand in my bag since I’ve lost my convenient pocket and turn for the door. But just as I reach for the handle, something golden shimmers out of the corner of my eye, drawing my attention farther into the dingy room instead of outside where I want to be.

The gold disappears beneath the draped dust sheet, and despite my better judgment, I take a step toward it.

Get out. Get out. Get out. I chant wildly in my head, but my feet carry me in the opposite direction. Curiosity is about to kill this cat. My pulse thunders in my ears as I stop at the bulky items hidden beneath the dust sheets, the gold nestled right at the back, but that doesn’t seem to stop me.

Inching closer, I rise up on my tiptoes to lean over, desperate to touch it, but just as I’m a breath away, the door slams open, startling me.

I scream, hand flying to my chest as I whirl around to face whoever the hell is here. I spin on the spot, breath lodged in my throat, to find Wylder staring at me in confusion. “You need to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” he replies, eyes knitting with confusion, and I shake my head.

“Scaring me.” I take a deep breath, followed by another and another, until I feel a little calmer.

“I didn’t mean to. Professor Drummond mentioned you were over here, and since I didn’t see you at breakfast, I came looking.”

“Maybe announce your arrival next time,” I grumble, finally dropping my hand from my chest, and he rolls his eyes at me.

“My girl is easily shaken. Noted. I’ll try better once I’ve had my fill.”

“Your fill?” I stare at him in confusion as he steps toward me, eliminating any space between us.

“I’m starved,” he murmurs, eyes locked on my lips.

“Did you not have breakfast either?”

“Oh, I had breakfast.”

“Then what?—”

“You, Little Witch. I’m starved for you.”

His lips crash into mine in the next breath, prying my lips open effortlessly as he feasts on me. I cling to his arms for balance, quickly pushing back for control. I fail miserably, but in the best way possible. His hands squeeze my hips, burning his fingerprints into my skin as I melt further into him, only for him to tear away from me a second later.

I blink up at him, unsure when my eyes even closed, and he runs a hand down his face. “Drummond is coming,” he mutters, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the door.

“How—” I grab my bag as we exit, and just as he said, when he opens the heavy metal door, she stands poised on the other side, ready to open it.

“I found her. Thanks, Professor D,” he mumbles, waving her off without a backward glance as he tugs me toward the rest of the students that have begun to gather. “You’re going to get me in trouble,” he states, giving me a pointed look as our steps slow, and I gape at him.

“Me? What did I do?” I shriek, hands raised, ready to put him in his place because that was all him back there, but he presses the tip of his finger against my lip before I can carry on.

“Do I need to remind you how damn delicious you are? Your eyes are brighter than usual today, your cheeks that pretty pink I like, and the swell of your tits beneath that fucking tank top is enough to make me cream my pants,” he rattles off, and I shake my head at him as we finally come to a stop beside Minnie.

“You’re insufferable.”

He bops me on the nose. “And you’re mine.”

I gasp at his words, spoken so firmly out in the open. I prepare to shy away, but his grip on my hand makes it impossible.

“She’s ours,” Tatum reiterates, snapping my gaze away from Wylder and making my cheeks burn brighter.

“Oh, this is too much fun,” Minnie says with a giggle, clapping her hands in delight.

“What’s too much fun?” Bryony asks, approaching the group with a tired expression on her face, and my gut twists. She’s going through a lot. Maybe I need to put my hate for The Renegades aside to be there for her. I make a mental note to come up with something later.

“Watching these guys fall over themselves for Polaris. While battling their demons and coming to terms with the fact that she’s, indeed, not a wolf.”

Her words are like a knife to the gut, turning my veins to ice as I snatch my hand from Wylder’s hold.

“Way to darken the mood, Minnie,” Wylder murmurs, his tone light but the guilt in her eyes is instantaneous.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t?—”

“You’re good,” I interject. She shouldn’t feel bad for stating the truth. It’s the reality check we all need.

“What’s going on?” Asher asks, approaching with caution, Lincoln right beside him. He offers me a tight smile, one filled with worry and uncertainty, and I manage to give him the tiniest one in response. It seems to ease the tension in his shoulders a little and I like that I have that effect on him.

Before anyone can answer, Professor Drummond’s voice booms around the group. “Gather around. We’re not doing our usual pairs today. I want to be able to watch you all one-on-one with someone else of your stature and strength. When your name is called, join me on the center mat,” she orders, and my eyes widen, panic setting in.

Wylder must sense my instant shift because his hands land on my shoulders a moment later. “Don’t worry, Little Witch. You’ve got this. Just make sure you hold your right arm a little higher and keep the left close to your chest,” he murmurs, coaching me for battle, and I nod.

“Let’s start with Polaris Beauchamp and…” My heart stills at the call of my name first before kicking into overdrive with panic. It’s fine. I’m fine. Just anyone but… “Bianca Knowles.”

Her.

My gaze snaps to hers across the crowd, watching as the snarl curls her lips.

I’m screwed.

“Polaris, do us all a favor and knock that smug fucking look off her face,” Minnie bites, appearing at my side with a snarl just as deep on her face.

“I don’t think I can,” I whisper, gulping back the worry, and she whips her head around to face me.

“You can and you will. She’s been nothing but a bitch to you. Go out there and put her in her place,” she insists, determination bright in her eyes as Wylder squeezes my shoulders, offering a sliver of silent support before he nudges for me to join Bianca in the center.

My pulse vibrates through my body with every step I take. I drop my bag at the edge of the mat, hating the fact that my sand is no longer in my pocket.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” Bianca grunts, nostrils flaring as she rakes her eyes over me, and I force myself to stand tall, refusing to look weak.

Tension ripples from the crowd, but not so much the wolves behind me. I stare over Bianca’s shoulder to find Blaze standing a few feet away. His hands are coiled at his sides, his eyes dark as he watches intently.

Gulping, I block him out. I don’t need to be dealing with his mixed signals right now.

“No magical abilities allowed, just raw brutality. Understood?” Professor Drummond commands, and it takes everything in me not to shy away. Did she really have to word it like that? Now it feels ten times worse.

“Oh, I understand, Professor. Get the medics on standby, she’s going to need it,” Bianca muses, lifting her arms to her chest.

Drummond doesn’t say another word as she steps back off the mat and claps her hands, signaling for us to begin.

I nervously lift my hands to my chest too, focusing on my left arm being tight and my right hand higher, just like Wylder said, but neither of those actions can prepare me for the woman charging at me.

A battle cry parts her lips as she smashes her body into me, the wind leaving my lungs as my back smacks against the mat. A few audible gasps echo around the audience as I try to catch my breath, but it’s impossible. She comes in hot, swinging her fists toward my face as she pins me down, holding me in place. All I can do is shield my face with my arms.

She grunts and snaps above me, her onslaught relentless as I cower beneath her.

Blow after blow, I take it all, unable to move. My eyelids squeeze shut, trying to numb the pain of every hit she lands. When suddenly a burst of light flashes across the back of them.

The outside world disappears as a vision of a man comes into view. He has glasses perched on the edge of his nose and a soft smile on his lips.

“It’s okay, Polaris. You’re okay.”

I shake my head, tears streaming down my face as I sniffle.

“It’s not okay, Daddy. I’m a loser.”

His eyes darken with sadness as he shakes his head, running his thumb across my cheek. “You’re not a loser.”

“I am. I know I am. All I do is lose and fail,” I ramble, feeling an overwhelming rush of despair and helplessness.

“Sweet girl. It’s only ever failing if we’re not learning. You’re a force to be reckoned with when you choose to be, Polaris Beauchamp. Now tell me, are you a force right now or are you learning?”

His words hang in the air as I'm rushed back to the present with a swift punch to my skull. My hand must have slipped, but I quickly hide beneath my arm again.

My eyes open wide, the memory of those words, of his question, swirling around in my mind over and over again.

That wasn’t random, that was a memory. A memory of… my father.

“Are you a force right now or are you learning?”

Right now I’m learning, but I can be a force. I can be a fucking force.

My soul wants to shatter into a million tears at the first memory that floods my mind, but my pride, my strength, and my heart refuse to be anything less than the force he promised I can be.

I shift my hips, suddenly rocking her above me, and she falters, clearly surprised by the abrupt movement. I do it again, using more strength as I lean toward my right side this time. With a snarl, and every inch of power I can give, I topple us enough that she falls off me.

There’s no time to check if I’m okay as I lurch to my feet. The crowd is nothing more than a distant notion, my sole focus settling on Bianca, who is braced on her knees, fists white-knuckled and planted against the mat as she snarls at me. Her face is red with rage, her hair a mess from the brutal attack she’s been laying on me, but she’s ready to push on, I can see it in her eyes.

Fuck that.

“You’re a force to be reckoned with when you choose to be, Polaris Beauchamp.”

Channeling my father’s words, I charge toward her. She snickers at me, willing me to act. I can see the glimmer in her eyes, like she doesn’t think I’m capable. Neither did I, but that was then, and this is now.

I rear my fist back and she pushes up with her hands to rest on her haunches, goading me to try my best, but I keep my fists right where they are and lift my foot off the ground. With all the strength I have, I kick, making contact with her face. Her entire body shifts and I watch as her eyes roll to the back of her head before she splays out on the floor, unmoving.

My heart races in my chest, disbelief clinging to me as cheers erupt through the crowd and Drummond announces me the winner. I should bask in the glory, take strength from her defeat, but instead, I step back, reaching for my bag in blind panic and make a run for it.

I don’t stop. I can’t stop. Not until I barrel into the closest girls’ bathroom, slamming the cubicle door shut behind me before I vomit.

I guess winning isn’t always as pretty and glorious as you imagine. But victory is victory nonetheless.