Page 7 of Savage Desire (The Savage Six #2)

7

POLARIS

W ith my mind swirling from the new information Professor Juniper laid before me, I practically float from her office, gliding through the classroom and out into the hallway as the lesson draws to an end. Yet her parting words play on repeat in my mind.

“A Renegade is a Renegade, first. Always. No matter what they say otherwise.”

Does she mean Bryony? She clearly does, but in what sense?

I had said the same words myself after my whole incident with the Renegades, but Bryony had insisted that wasn't the case. As if sensing her name in my thoughts, my friend appears at my side, linking her arm through mine.

She smiles excitedly. “So, how did it go?” she asks, and I stare at her, dumb struck for a moment.

I’m overcome with the panic of what I should and shouldn’t say while trying to maneuver through the flood of students walking toward us, everyone heading to their next class. Thankfully, they play as the perfect distraction, giving me a few moments before we reach outside and I have to give an answer.

Her eyes fix on mine as the sea of bodies dwindles and I dig my hand into my pocket to reveal my little purple pouch of sand. “I have an endless supply of sand now,” I offer, and she grins.

“Nice, at least we know your magic is there now. Did you learn anything else? Have you learned your sector?” she continues giddily, and it takes everything in me not to freeze in place.

Her question jolts Juniper’s parting words back to the forefront of my mind, and my gut instinct takes over as I shake my head. “No,” I breathe, the lie rasping in my throat as I mentally tell myself that it's okay not to tell her this yet. Why, I don't know, but the mere thought of her coven has me putting an invisible wall between us.

“That's okay,” she insists, squeezing my arm with a sense of comfort as she tugs me along. “Maybe she will help you with that next time,” she states as the entrance to our next class comes into view.

“Maybe,” I repeat as we come to a stop at the back of the students already gathered for combat class.

Silence washes over us, but from the corner of my eye I can see her eyebrows gather and relax over and over again. It’s like watching her mind swirl with thoughts. She’s got a question, but not the strength to ask it. Her position is familiar; it sounds like me—like discomfort.

Whatever she wants to ask is bound to leave me twisted in knots, or that’s the sense I get for why she’s holding back. Either she’s torn because she cares, or perhaps she’s worried it may ruin the connection we have and that wouldn’t benefit the Renegades?

Fuck.

It seems my self-doubt and second-guessing has the ability to reach a whole new level.

She unlinks our arms as she takes a deep breath, turning to face me head on with a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. “Polaris,” she starts, and my gut clenches when a whirlwind separates us.

“The way you ran off the other night, I would have sworn you were a wolf, not a witch,” Minnie says with a cackle, half hugging me as she unknowingly curtails the moment between Bryony and I.

I’m silently thankful for it, but more than that, any concerns I had of how Minnie felt about me quickly slip away. It’s a relief, one that eases the tension in my shoulders that I didn’t know I was riddled with, but I still find myself blinking at her, muttering a poor attempt at an apology.

“I’m sorry about that. It was so nice for you to take me there, and I loved it. I did it and just didn’t expect?—”

“Ew, don't do that,” Minnie blurts, twisting her face in distaste as she squeezes my shoulder. “It should be me apologizing on behalf of my brother, but he's old enough to handle that shit all on his own. So, I’m being a big girl and waiting for him to acknowledge his own actions so he can apologize accordingly on his own behalf.”

I gape at her, my mouth opening and closing like a floundering fish a few times as I shake my head. “It was all me,” I insist, and her eyebrows crinkle again.

“Ew. No, just, no. We need to straighten your crown,” she states, standing toe to toe with me as she grabs both of my shoulders, forcing me to stand taller, before flicking at my chin, forcing me to hold my head high.

“My crown?” I asked, confused, and she nods.

“Yes, you're letting it slip because of some asshole.”

“That asshole is your brother,” Bryony interjects, and I hide my face behind my hands for a beat before I continue to insist.

“It wasn’t,” I mutter, desperate for this topic of conversation to change. Communication is not the best in this moment, across the board. Me, them, all of us. That's the one thing I've learned.

Minnie waves me off before pointing her finger in my face, a stern look flashing in her eyes. “You are a badass queen in a new place, finding your feet with a brand new level of freedom that you've never had before. We are not, I repeat, we are not going to spend that time worrying over others’ opinions and how they choose to handle themselves; my brother included or not. You deserve all of your positive energy. You also deserve the same energy from others, because you deserve a chance. Do you understand me?”

Wow.

If that wasn’t the most powerful pep talk I’ve ever heard, I don’t know what is.

I’m left gaping at my newly re-acquired friend as Bryony lifts her hand and the two of them high-five.

“Well said,” she sings, the two of them giving me a pointed look, and I roll my eyes at the same time someone scoffs in passing.

A familiar scowling face comes into view and my back stiffens as I hold back a groan. “You guys are embarrassing.”

Minnie stiffens, her jaw tight as she sneers, swinging her gaze to the right. “Bianca,” she growls, her lip curling in distaste.

“Minnie,” Bianca retorts, glaring at the three of us before she turns in the opposite direction, mingling among the other students.

“Does she even know how to smile?” Bryony asks, and it’s Minnie’s turn to scoff.

“No. If anything, she's allergic,” she declares, the scowl transforming into a complete look of delight across her face, and I can’t help but giggle at her animated expression.

The second the soft noise parts my lips, the professor calls for attention.

“Let’s not waste any more time, shall we?” Professor Drummond hollers, and the space falls into silence, awaiting her next order as I nervously shuffle from foot to foot, acutely aware of who my partner is supposed to be in this class.

The moment I think of it, I instantly search for him in the crowd. My lips slam together the moment I find him, a feat that isn’t too hard when he stands taller than almost everyone else here. His back is to me, giving me a second to drink him in like the other night didn’t happen. His muscles ripple beneath the t-shirt that clings to him and I watch as he stretches his neck from side to side. His fair, cropped hair shines under the morning sun and I desperately pray for him to turn around so I can catch a glimpse of his hazel eyes.

The only issue that comes with that is the moment he sees me, it’s going to burst the little bubble I’ve created for myself and I’m going to have to face the consequences of the other night. In a fantasy world, it would be like nothing happened, but from his stiff stance, I get the feeling that won’t be the case.

Technically, I haven’t done anything wrong, I’m just in possession of something they didn’t expect me to have. In all fairness, I didn’t expect Tatum to have one as well, but here we are. I’m not mad about it, but in reality, I don’t know as much about it as they do.

Do I want to rectify that fact? I don’t know.

I need to face one hurdle at a time, and the coin is not as high up my priority list as other things. Like learning to be a damn witch.

“Pair off in the same groups as usual. In today's session, I want us working on bringing people down to the floor. Again and again and again,” Drummond explains, her voice booming over us. “I don't care how many times it takes. I want every person to do it. If you can’t, keep trying. If you can, keep doing it. Defending yourself in this life is paramount. Any questions?” she asks, pausing for half a second before she claps her hands, not really waiting for an interruption. “Let’s go.”

Everyone snaps into order, finding a mat as a pair, but I’m rooted to the spot, nerves getting the better of me, until Minnie nudges me forward, clearly sensing my panic as she ushers me along.

As I turn my attention in the direction she’s encouraging me, I find Wylder already staring at me. His eyes meet mine and my chest tightens when his facial expression doesn't immediately relax like it usually does when he sees me. Instead, he remains closed off, leaving me to drown in the sound of my pulse thundering in my ears.

“Hi,” I breathe, feeling my cheeks heat as if on cue.

“Hi,” he mutters, taking a step back so he’s centered on the mat he’s already claimed for us.

I glance back over my shoulder, desperate to draw some strength from Minnie, but she’s gone.

Damn her.

Turning back to Wylder, I gulp when I find him already in combat position. His knees relax and his arms lift, and I recall the stance he taught me in our first combat class. “Do you remember anything I’ve taught you?” he asks, and I nod.

“All of it,” I mutter, my cheeks somehow finding a way to burn even brighter as I recall everything he showed me last week. Not just in combat class, but in the locker room after his fight, and on the log flume at the amusement park too.

Fuck.

“Let's repeat what we did last time, but I want you to put me flat on my back on the floor like Drummond said,” he states, clearly not caught up in the same thoughts and processes as I am, but I do as he says, lifting my hands and bending my knees.

Without a single word spoken, we begin to circle one another, falling into step. He fake swings his arms at me, giving me plenty of time to block them, and we dance around each other for what feels like an eternity, forearms making contact time and time again, until he suddenly reaches for my waist.

Time moves in slow motion as he sweeps me off my feet, flipping me in the air before I descend, hitting the ground with a thud. It’s more gentle than I expect, and a whoosh of air blows from my lips as I gape up at him, frozen in place.

“You're making it too easy,” he grunts, taking a step back as he offers me his hand. I glare up at him, acutely aware that he's not wrong and it's not his responsibility to go easy on me. But the irritation that grows inside of me spurs me on and I slap my hand against his, letting him pull me to my feet before I return to the same stance.

Wordlessly, we go again. Around and around and around. This time, when he lurches toward me, I manage to take a step back, but his arms are longer than I expect, and a hot moment later, I’m soaring through the air before my back connects with the mat again.

He hovers over me, shaking his head. He doesn’t say a word as he offers me his hand, but this time, I slap it away, climbing to my feet on my own as I turn to face him again.

My steps are more confident this time. They have to be. Or that’s what I tell myself at least. I won’t sink under the intensity of this man, even if I don’t really understand where this tense air is coming from between us.

We fall into a familiar two-step with one another, and our contact becomes a little stronger. I sense it this time, the moment he’s going to lurch forward, so instead of stumbling backward out of his reach, I sidestep him.

The corner of his mouth turns up, the only indication I'm offered that I've made the right move. Eager to prove myself even more, I’m pushing on before I can think better of it. Leaping toward him, I wrap my arms around his neck as I let my weight sink to the floor. It's almost like the move he showed me last time, but way more adventurous than I expect.

To my utter surprise, he tumbles forward, toppling over as he rolls over onto his back, and it's me hovering over him this time. My palm is flat against his chest, fingers splayed, and I feel the fast flicker of his heartbeat beneath my touch.

Damn.

I wait a moment, desperate to see the impressed look on his face, but nothing comes. Instead, he offers me a single word response.

“Again.”

He removes every breath from my lungs as frustration gets the better of me. I step back, irritated and disappointed.

“I need a minute.”

“You don't get a minute when someone's coming at you,” he states, jumping to his feet.

“This is combat class, Wylder. It’s not real life, I can ask for a minute,” I insist, my breaths coming in short, sharp bursts as he shakes his head at me.

“Just think, with all these combat moves you're going to gain, combined with the little magic you can make, you'll be able to get yourself out of these situations as long as you've got your little bag of sand, right?” he says with a smirk.

He’s… teasing. I don’t like it. It’s infuriating. If the other night is the reason for his standoffish tone then whatever, fuck him, maybe I deserve it, but I won’t stand here and simply continue to tolerate it.

“Screw you, Wylder.”

I step back, pushing my hair back off my face, watching as a dark smile spreads across his face.

“What's the matter, Little Witch? Did I touch a nerve?” he pushes, and my lips purse as I try to take a deep breath. “That's it. Channel that little bit of anger. It's what's going to help you get out of situations like this.”

My eyebrows narrow. Is he doing this on… purpose? The flash of determination in his eyes, the press of his lips, and the roll of his neck tells me he is.

I almost appreciate it, but he's being a total ass.

Before I can give him a piece of my mind, we’re moving again, against my wishes, but I refuse to back down. I want to stand my ground, I want to prove him wrong. We dance around in a circle of frustration, and I feel every weighted step I take, determined to thrive, but the noise in my head, the overwhelming stress, leaves me off kilter.

When he reaches for me, he grabs hold without any obstruction and I find myself flat on my back once more. He shakes his head disapprovingly and reaches for something at my side as I pause, desperate to catch my breath.

“Maybe this is weighing you down,” he says with a grin, holding the golden thread of my pouch of sand in his grasp.

I rush to my feet, trying in vain to snatch it out of his hands, and he grins.

“Give it back,” I snap as he holds it just out of reach, and my eyes narrow to slits.

“We’re fighting, Little Witch. You’re not going to need this anyway,” he insists, moving to stuff the pouch in his pocket, but I swipe for the velvety possession that belongs to me.

“Let. Go,” I growl, the pouch clutched between us as my breath heaves with every inhale, all while he remains as unfazed as ever.

“You don’t need it right now, Little Witch. If you can knock me to the ground again, maybe I’ll give it back to you.”

“What’s your fucking problem, Wylder?” I snap. The pet name that I was melting at just the other day now infuriates me like nothing else. I’m done with his bullshit.

To my surprise, his grasp loosens and I stumble back a step, the sand now back in my possession, and I sigh.

When I take a step back, he takes a step toward me. “Witch or not, you need to learn how to fight, Polaris. You’re getting yourself all tangled up over a little bag of sand when you need to defend yourself.”

“It has nothing to do with the sand and everything to do with you being an ass,” I grind out, and he snickers.

“I can be what I want, and there’s nothing you can do about it. If I have to be tough with you to make you see how important it is that you get stronger, then so be it. If the consequences are you being mad, then so be it. What are you gonna do? Use your magic. Use your sand on me. Let's get to fighting,” he states, but I'm done.

A film of a red stains my vision and I dig my hand into the pouch, feeling the grains at my fingertips, but they don’t sooth me as I scoop some into my hand and launch it at him.

It connects with his face, and he shields his eyes, the hiss of a bite coming from behind clenched teeth tells me I fucked up, but I don’t wait around to find out.

Instead, I run.