Page 15 of Savage Saint (Empire of Secrets #2)

Anticipation coils in my gut as I imagine her padding across the grounds, bare feet silent on damp grass. She'll be running soon, those powerful legs carrying her through the darkness. But there's nowhere to go. Nothing but miles of private land stretching in every direction.

Just the way I like it.

I don't move from my spot against the counter. Don't call out or give chase. Not yet. Let her taste that first rush of freedom, that surge of triumph when she thinks she's outsmarted me.

Through the window, I catch a glimpse of her darting between the trees at the edge of the property. Swift. Silent. Beautiful.

My smirk deepens as I roll my shoulders, muscles already humming with anticipation of what's to come.

Run, little Butterfly. Show me what else you can do.

The day stretches before us, full of possibilities. And I'm in no hurry to end this game.

I slide into the shadows of the trees, following her trail with unhurried steps. The midday sun filters through the canopy, casting dappled light across the forest floor. Perfect hunting conditions.

My boots sink into soft earth as I track her footprints. She's fast, but these woods belong to me. I know every hollow, every root, every hiding spot. The land stretches for miles in every direction. My own private hunting ground.

She veers left, towards the creek. Smart girl, trying to mask her trail in the water. But I can see her hesitation in each footprint, the way she tests the ground before committing her weight. These woods are foreign to her, and it shows.

Or so I thought.

The trail goes cold at the creek's edge. Too cold. My eyes narrow as I scan the area. The footprints leading to the water are too obvious, too careless for someone who moved like a ghost through my house. I've been played.

A twig snaps behind me, deliberate, meant to draw my attention. When I spin, there's nothing there. But the hair on the back of my neck rises. She's close, watching me hunt the wrong prey.

Clever, my little Butterfly knows how to lay a false trail.

I circle wide, cutting through a patch of dense undergrowth. The branches part silently under my touch, years of practice making my movements fluid, natural. Like I'm part of the forest itself.

A flash of black catches my eye. Not ahead where she wants me to look, but to my right, moving silently as death through the shadows.

She's doubled back, using my own hunting grounds against me.

Something dark and hungry stirs in my chest. This isn't just blind panic or desperate flight.

This is calculated. Professional. The way she splits my attention, uses sound to mislead, creates false patterns. ..

Who the fuck is she?

Twenty feet behind her now. Close enough to catch her scent on the breeze. I deliberately step on a fallen branch, letting it crack beneath my shoe.

She spins, fast and graceful as a dancer. Her eyes scan the trees, but I'm already gone, melted back into the shadows. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, breath coming in short bursts. Not from exertion. From adrenaline. From knowing she's being hunted.

I move again, quietly, positioning myself at her three o'clock. "You really thought running away was a good idea, Butterfly?"

Her whole body goes rigid. Slowly, she turns to face my voice, and I catch that flash again, that dangerous glint in her eye that makes my blood sing. But there's something else there too. Pride. Satisfaction. Like she proved something to herself by getting this far.

"I—I was just going for a walk," she says, her eyes darting around, looking for escape routes no doubt. But the slight curl of her lips tells a different story. She's enjoying this just as much as I am.

I stalk closer, letting my shoes crunch against the forest floor. Her pulse jumps at her throat, a delicate flutter beneath pale skin. The lie sits heavy between us.

"Just going for a walk?" My voice drops low, dangerous. "In these woods? Miles from anywhere?"

She shifts her weight, subtle but telling. Ready to move, to fight. Those pale blue eyes track my every step as I circle her, predator to prey. But there's something else there too, a gleam of a challenge that makes my blood heat.

"Ten seconds to rethink those lies, Butterfly." I tap my watch, the metal catching sunlight. "Ten..."

Her chin lifts, defiant. No trembling, no pleading. Just steel wrapped in silk.

"Nine..."

A smile curves her lips, sharp as a blade. "I don't run from danger, Angelo." My name rolls off her tongue like honey laced with poison.

"Call me Savage, Butterfly." If my interruption throws her off, she doesn't show it, except for the slight widening of her eyes.

"Like I said, Savage . I don't run from danger. I run because I like seeing overconfident men chase after me."

I freeze mid-step, my smirk faltering. The words hit like a physical blow, unexpected and jarring. The script I'd been following shatters.

What the fuck?

Her eyes dance with something that looks suspiciously like triumph. The prey becomes a predator in one elegant move.

Was she playing me this whole time? Leading me out here on purpose? The thought sends a jolt of... something through my veins. Not anger. Not exactly.

Those blue eyes hold mine, steady and knowing. Like she sees right through my carefully constructed walls to the darkness lurking beneath.

And fuck if that doesn't make me want her even more.

Her muscles bunch, the only warning before she explodes into motion, darting between two massive oaks.

I let her gain ground, counting her steps. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Then I move.

She's fast, her feet barely touching the ground as she weaves through the trees. Each step precise, calculated. No wasted energy. But I've spent years mastering these woods, learning every root and hollow.

A flash of black ahead as she cuts left. Amateur move. I'm already shifting right, anticipating her path before she takes it. Her eyes widen as she realises her mistake, pivoting hard to double back.

But I'm there. Always there. Every escape route blocked, every path cut off.

Then she does something that makes my breath catch. She stops. Plants her feet in the soft earth and turns to face me, chest rising and falling steadily. No panic. No desperate scrambling.

Just... waiting.

My steps slow as I study her. This isn't surrender. The set of her shoulders, the angle of her chin—she's ready to strike. But she's not running anymore.

She's watching me watch her, those blue eyes tracking my every move as the rays of sun play with her red hair, making them look like she's on fire. Testing my reactions, analysing my patterns just as I've been analysing hers.

I circle closer, maintaining the distance between us. Her lips curve up slightly, and I catch that dangerous glint in her eyes again. The one that says she knows exactly what she's doing.

Is she baiting me? Drawing me in?

The forest goes quiet around us, holding its breath. Waiting to see who'll make the next move.

I close the distance between us in three measured steps. Her body tenses, muscles coiling tight beneath that oversized sweater, but she doesn't retreat. Doesn't yield an inch of ground.

Interesting.

I tower over her, using every inch of height advantage to cast her in shadow. Let her feel the full weight of my presence. The danger she's invited in by running. By playing this game.

Most people crack under this kind of pressure. They fidget, look away, try to fill the silence with nervous chatter. But not her. Her eyes lock onto mine, steady and unflinching. Like she's daring me to make the first move.

My breath catches, unexpected heat coursing through my veins.

Christ, she's magnificent like this. Wild and defiant, practically vibrating with contained energy.

I edge closer until barely a whisper of space separates us.

Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin and to catch a hint of my body wash mixed with something uniquely her.

The combination of my scent mixed with hers is intoxicating, making me feel like she belongs to me.

The air between us crackles with electricity, causing my skin to prickle. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, matching my own uneven breaths. But still she doesn't move. Doesn't back down.

"Told you it was a bad idea," I whisper, voice rough with something darker than anger.

She glares up at me, fire dancing in those blue depths. "You can't keep me here against my will."

I lean in, letting my lips brush against the shell of her ear. Her hands land on my chest—not pushing away, not pulling closer. Just... there. Burning through the fabric of my shirt.

"Tsk, tsk, Butterfly." The words ghost across her skin. "Another lie. We both know you want to stay."

Her breath hitches, fingers sliding against my chest and I force myself to step back, to let the cold forest air rush between us.

The curve of her lips has me stopping, leaving just a few steps between us. She's not afraid, not angry that I chased her through the forest. No, it's something else entirely.

Her hand moves from behind her back, a flash of steel glinting in the sunlight as she aims a gun at me. My gun. What. The. Fuck? She must have lifted it when her hands were on my chest. Clever girl.

The metal gleams in the filtered sunlight as she levels it at my heart. Her smirk grows wider, more dangerous. "And so the mouse aims a gun at the cat."

My jaw clenches, pulse thundering in my ears. Not from fear—never that. But from the electric thrill of seeing her like this. Dangerous. Deadly. Everything I suspected was lurking beneath that fragile exterior.

"Do it." The words scrape past my lips before I can stop them. And fuck, I mean them. Really mean them.

Because I'm tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushing tired of the endless cycle. The killing. The violence. The emptiness that follows me like a shadow. Nothing's sparked any real interest in years.

Nothing except her.

The safety clicks off, the sound echoing through the trees. Her finger curves around the trigger, steady and sure. Professional. My breath catches as I watch her. This beautiful, lethal creature who's managed to make me feel something real for the first time in forever.

"I'll even close my eyes for you. Make it easier." My eyelids snap shut as her finger tightens on the trigger. The forest holds its breath.

Pop.