Page 6 of Savage Desire (The Savage Six #2)

6

POLARIS

B ryony all but shoves me through the door in a burst of excitement and I chuckle, stumbling over my feet as I spill into the room. I manage to catch myself before I fall, bracing myself on the closest table. My joy is quickly cut short as I feel all eyes on me, and the person behind the desk comes into view.

My heart stutters at the instant recognition.

The person who is the center of the Renegade coven.

The person who tried to force me to be tested against my wishes, trying to use power and her henchmen to get me to do things I did not want to do.

Lucille’s scowl is heavy, matching the one etched into the person behind her too. Parker, I think, one of her little minions in the Renegade coven, and my instant irritation at her proximity reminds me that one of my closest friends is a member of their coven.

Fuck.

I do my best to bite back the nerves and embarrassment as I stand tall, dusting my hands over my pants. My smile is weak, I’m certain of it, but I feel a small sense of pride as I find my seat at the front of the class with Danica and Helena.

I hear Bryony whispering an apology under her breath, but I don't turn around, refusing to draw any more attention to myself as Professor Juniper steps through the side door that must lead to her office. She situates herself behind the desk, glasses firmly in place with her hair swept back into a soft bun at the nape of her neck. Her blouse has a ditzy floral pattern all over it, and her skirt is a weird shade of orangey-brown. It’s weirding me out that she’s not sitting down and just… standing there.

She seems so soft, calm, and content, but I know all too well how quickly she can change. She gave me quite the showing of her mood swings when she learned of me refusing the Renegade coven.

Her eyes narrow on me as if sensing my thoughts as she rolls back on her heels. A beat passes before she looks over the class, and it feels like an eternity stretches between us before her eyes settle on the three newest additions from Florentine’s.

“By any chance, has anyone released their sigil?” she asks with a bored tone, making it clear she's expecting a chorus of dejection. As she predicts, Danica and Helena shake their heads while I run my tongue over my bottom lip, nervously and slowly raising my hand. It takes a moment for her to see it, her eyes latching onto mine as her jaw falls slack.

In lifting my hand, the sleeve of my jacket rolls down just enough to reveal the lack of bangles that no longer adorn my wrists.

Juniper gasps. “Oh, my…”

She suddenly whips into action, her movements almost frantic as she rushes around the desk, planting her hands on the table in front of me. Her mouth moves a few times before any words come out, and just when I'm certain something's completely wrong, her gaze leaves mine to latch on to someone behind me.

“Take over the class.” It’s an order, not a statement, but I don’t get long to process it as she rushes to grab my wrist, tugging me from my seat.

I try to cling to my desk in panic, but I’m too surprised to do anything as she tries to pull me toward the room she entered from. Horror floods my veins as I try to dig my heels in, encouraging her to stop, but it’s pointless. She’s a deranged woman on a mission.

“Let go of me,” I rasp, each word etched in panic.

She sighs, ignoring me as she shakes her head, not even bothering to look back as she continues to pull me along. “I’m helping you,” she finally states, still focused dead ahead, and I scoff.

“That's what everyone says,” I grumble, no stranger to circumstances like this.

I try to yank my arm out of her grasp, but she's stronger than she looks. Trying to use all of my strength, all I wind up doing is stumbling over my own feet. Again. Only this time, there’s no table to help catch my fall. Instead, I inadvertently give her what she wants and fall into the room, a jumble of limbs as she releases her hold on me.

Any hope I had of avoiding whatever fresh hell is about to befall me vanishes as the door slams shut behind me, drenching the room in darkness.

Disoriented in the pitch-black, an eeriness washes over me, leaving my heart rapidly pounding in my chest as concern and panic claws at my throat.

Righting myself, I scramble to my feet and press my back against the door, blindly searching for the handle, but I can't find one.

I’m trapped. Locked away against my wishes, but if I want to get out of here I need to calm the hell down.

“What now?” I ask in the calmest voice I can muster, gulping around the worry that threatens to overcome me.

“Now, we learn,” she states boldly. The resonating sound of her snapping her fingers echoes around the room, and a moment later, the entire space is glowing.

Literally glowing.

Candles line the walls, high, low, and everywhere in between. Some hang from the ceiling, others are piled up high on top of bookshelves, while others are scattered across the floor.

Flames flicker in every direction, dancing to a tune I can’t hear even though the room is still.

I frown, head tilting as I look at the closest candle. The movement is hypnotic, putting me under a spell that feels… familiar. It’s almost a reminder of something, but the harder I strain, the more my eyes narrow so tight they hurt, the more distant the memory flows.

Blinking, I break the spell I’m under, the wisps of my past fluttering into nothing. It takes a second for me to remember the actual circumstances I’m under, but when I do, I focus on everything beyond the flickering light.

I clear my throat, taking in the rest of the room as I try to think about how the hell I’m going to get out of here. The walls are black, with a giant golden bird painted on the one to my left. To my right, bookcases line the entire wall, and at the far end of the room are shelves holding trinkets that practically hang from every inch of surface by just a thread. But what draws my attention the most are the markings on the floor.

The floor is just as black as the walls, but the pretty golden bird adorning the latter is replaced by a grey engraving that looks like layers and layers of sand pressed into the floor, as if it has been repeatedly walked on until it became part of the stone.

It's a circle, covering most of the center of the room, with a star drawn inside. The symbol leaves me both curious and concerned. Gulping, I force myself to look at Juniper.

She fumbles with the trinkets at the far end of the room, giving me a moment to catch my breath—or drawing out my impending doom—either way, it offers me a moment of clarity.

“Have you tried anything yet?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder at me, but she doesn't stare long enough for our eyes to meet.

I clear my throat again, shrugging even though she can’t see. “I did, with Bryony, but…” My words trail off as she freezes, returning her gaze to me.

“It didn't work,” she states, completing my sentence, and I shake my head. She presses her lips together, nodding as her eyebrows furrow. “Did you figure out why?” she asks, and I shrug again.

“She mentioned maybe a lack of sleep,” I mumble, completely out of my element and slightly unsure why I’m telling her anything at all.

Her eyes turn inquisitive as she purses her lips, a flicker of a recollection passing through her gaze, but it's gone too quickly for me to pinpoint it.

As she turns away, there's something about it that leaves me confused. I take a step toward her, mouth open and ready to ask, but she quickly turns again, giving me a pointed look as she interrupts my train of thought.

“Where's your sand?” she asks, and I quickly pull the small pouch from my pocket. She nods approvingly. “The first thing we need to do is ensure you have an endless supply,” she explains, waving me closer.

I move toward her, but only make it two steps before I come to a stop at the outline of the markings on the floor. I should be heading in the opposite direction, but I find myself drawn closer to her. I want to say it’s not my fault, but it’s my curiosity that leads the way, right up to the marking, but I can’t seem to step over the threshold. Thick panic locks me in place.

As if sensing my emotional turmoil, Professor Juniper offers me a soft smile. “You're okay to stand in the circle of magic, Polaris. You are a witch, after all.”

“The circle of magic?” I ask, hating how dumb I sound as she only smiles wider.

“The circle of magic, Polaris, is where a witch finds her greatest creations. But right now, it’s not active. It’s simply prepared and ready, a part of who I am, a part of this room. I promise you, stepping into it with no candles lighting the perimeter, or a fresh layer of sand scattered at the edges, makes it perfectly safe.”

I file that knowledge away for later, certain I’ll need it at one point or another. For now, I swallow back my nerves and when I step over the marking, nothing dramatic happens and I continue cutting the distance between us.

“Sand is paramount to a witch’s ability, so an endless source is necessary,” she states, nodding at the pouch in my hand. She places a similar pouch in her hand too, only, instead of purple velvet, her’s is a rich, emerald green.

Her eyes widen as she silently encourages me to replicate her actions. She loosens the fastening on her pouch and I do the same. When Juniper dips her finger inside, swirling the grains of sand, I follow suit, just as I had done the other night.

“Repeat after me, Polaris,” she murmurs, gaze locked on her pouch, and my body ripples with apprehension. “ Jugis. Perpes. Proprius. Constans. Perennis. ”

My eyes widen, her choice of words weighing heavily at the back of my tongue as I think them, entirely unready to speak them, but instead of allowing the panic to get the better of me, I take a deep breath and do it anyway.

“ Jugis. Perpes. Proprius. Constans. Perennis. ”

“Again,” she breathes, the order little more than a whisper, and I do as she says.

“ Jugis. Perpes. Proprius. Constans. Perennis. ”

“Now, close your eyes and do it one more time, focusing on the sand in your hand,” she says, and despite the uncertainty weighing on my chest, I let my eyelids fall closed and repeat the words one final time.

“ Jugis. Perpes. Proprius. Constans. Perennis. ”

“Polaris, that was perfect. You can open your eyes now, and what I want you to do is tip your bag of sand upside down.”

I open my eyes to frown at her, but the way she nods eagerly has me slowly turning my wrist and the contents of my bag falling out. The sand scatters across the floor and my eyes widen in surprise when the rapid flow continues uninterrupted.

When it's clear she was trying to show me how much was in there, I quickly return my wrist upright and stop the mess from growing.

“Excellent. You’re a natural, Polaris. No sleep problems in sight,” she adds, her eyes saying more than her words before she nods at my pouch. “Keep it with you at all times. You’re going to be entering a new world as a witch, and with that comes a language of its own. It's important you remember these things.”

I almost asked her if she has a little notepad for me to jot everything down, but she's quickly waving her hand and moving on to a new subject as she returns to her little station at the back of the room.

“Another priority is to learn what your main ability is,” she states as I slip my pouch of sand back into my pocket. “You could specialize in elements, potions, charms, or, as rare as they may be, you could be a center; a mind witch,” she reels off, and I rub my lips together nervously.

“How do I figure it out?” I ask, painstakingly recalling the last time someone tried to find out what kind of witch I am.

She turns to me with a small golden object in her hand. It's almost like a bowl with a sharp edge on top. “All you have to do is prick your finger and let your blood mix inside the basin with the tea leaves. They will reveal what you are,” she states, and I rear back, attempting to hide from the device.

The fact that I’m spooked must be clear because she lowers the bowl in her hand, remaining where she is instead of being the one to take control of the distance between us. She leans back against the bench, her eyes soft as she speaks.

“If you're what the Renegade coven are looking for, will you reconsider their offer?”

“No,” I answer honestly, and she sighs, disappointed with my answer.

“A coven is?—”

“I'm not all that worried about what a coven is, Professor. I've survived this long without one.”

She nods, but the disappointment and sadness in her eyes doesn't change. “It changed me as a person,” she admits, and I recall the fact that she too was a Florentine.

“For the better?” I ask, my strong stance wavering for a brief moment when I take note of the fact that she's part of a coven and still living past her twenty-second birthday.

Juniper pauses, eyes overcast as she drifts off into her thoughts. “Mostly, but not all,” she admits. “I’m more confident in who I am and what I'm able to do, which grows with time and knowledge. Plus, having a place, a home, a family like no other is an irrefutable improvement.” Her gaze dips. “But the price I pay for that is, I sometimes have to do things I don't want to do. Sometimes I have to compromise, but that too is life. You'll learn that, Polaris. Compromise is going to come, whether you want it to or not.”

“That may be true, but I don't plan on compromising my morals for anybody.”

She nods in understanding as she rises from her perched position. “Finding out what you are doesn't force you into a coven, Polaris. It would just make you more appealing to those that are looking to complete their family,” she explains, lifting the device once more.

I rub my lips together nervously, trusting her words as I cut the distance between us.

She takes a deep breath as I come to a stop in front of her. “Sing after me,” she orders, making my pulse quicken as I stare down at the device.

“Witches dream, witches mean, witches grow, so it seems. Witches I, witches you, witches us, witches true.”

I repeat the words, the slight melody to her tone almost soothing as she waves for me to prick my finger on the tip of the device. I hiss at the sharp contact, watching as three droplets of my blood fall into the leaves, swirling without assistance, and I wait, unsure what it is I'm actually looking for.

When a symbol settles in the center of the golden bowl, I tilt my head, unable to decipher what it means. Juniper gasps, her eyes darting to mine as she gapes at me.

“You're a center.”

I frown, unsure if that's a good thing or not. “So… not what the Renegades want?” I ask for clarification, and she shakes her head vigorously.

“No…” she admits. “Worse.”

I freeze in place, panic clawing at me as I repeat the word back to her.

“Worse?”

She nods, lowering the bowl to the table before reluctantly meeting my stare.

“As a center, no coven will look to you to become a member,” she explains, making me gulp, even though that’s supposed to fill me with relief. It’s the way she’s shaking her head, but her words finalize it. “As a center, without a known lineage to an existing coven, you, Polaris Beauchamp, are a new beginning. A fresh start for a new coven.”