Page 16 of Savage Saint (Empire of Secrets #2)

KASIA

I run because it’s the only thing I can control. Not because I want to escape. Not because I think I can. But because I need something, anything, that belongs to me.

I just need some damned space. A moment where I’m in control of my movements, where my body responds exactly how I tell it to.

But even in this beautiful forest, I can’t outrun demons. The faces filled with shock linger at the back of my mind. The way Alessa looked at me… Does she still think I should stay with them? Or does she want me gone?

Even if I could get away, it’s not like I have anywhere to go.

Anger propels my movements, my feet slapping against damp earth as I push myself harder. The wind cuts across my skin, sharp and cold. My breaths pick up as I try to focus on the movement, my fingers squeezing into tight fists, the faint memory of Antonios’s throat beneath them still present.

I should feel guilty, ashamed maybe, because he was there to help. But I don’t. And the absence of emotions is what scares me.

Who the hell am I?

Behind me, Angelo closes in. His footsteps are slow, like he’s got all the time in the world. Not rushed. Not frantic.

He’s watching. Waiting.

I’m not going to explain myself to him. He doesn’t need to know the jumble in my head. Let him think I'm running away. If that’s what he wants to believe, fine.

I keep running, choosing my path carefully, every step calculated, every turn planned. But it’s like Angelo can read my mind, anticipating my every move. The forest around me thickens, and so does his presence. I don’t need to see him to know he’s there.

Why aren’t you running after me? And better yet, why do I want you to?

Angelo isn’t chasing me. He’s stalking. Sticking to the shadows like he’s the hunter and I’m his prey. Like he’s the cat and I’m the mouse.

A thrill rushes through me, lighting my senses up like a live wire.

You love being underestimated, a voice in my head says. And I can feel it in my core. The statement rings true. I could continue trying to evade Angelo, or I could stop whatever it is he thinks we’re doing and get on with my day.

I slow my steps, letting my feet come to a natural stop. My heart hammers against my ribs, but not from exhaustion—from exhilaration. The forest wraps around me, branches reaching toward a grey sky.

The air grows thick. Heavy. Like the moment before lightning strikes.

A twig snaps somewhere to my left. Then another to my right. He's playing with me, showing me exactly where he is. Or maybe where he wants me to think he is.

The breeze picks up, carrying the scent of pine and something darker. Richer. Something alluring. Him.

My muscles tense, ready. But I don't move. Don't give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch. Instead, I track the shadows between the trees, counting the seconds between each rustle of movement.

A branch creaks overhead. My lips curl up. Amateur move, Angelo.

He emerges from the treeline like smoke. Fluid, dangerous. His steps are measured, precise. Each one bringing him closer with predatory grace.

I keep my stance loose, shoulders relaxed. Let him think he's cornered me. Let him believe I've given up.

His eyes lock onto mine, burning with something that isn't quite victory. Something hungrier.

The space between us crackles with electricity, but I refuse to break first. This isn't his game anymore. It's mine.

He thinks he's the hunter. That I'm trapped here in his forest, at his mercy.

But I've played this game before. I can feel it in my bones, in the way my body naturally shifts into position. In the familiar thrill coursing through my veins.

So I wait. Let him stalk closer. Let him think he's won.

Angelo stops a foot away from me, close enough that his presence engulfs my senses. His cologne, rich and dark, mingles with the forest air, making my head swim. But I keep my breathing steady, measured.

He towers over me, all controlled power and lethal grace. His eyes rake over my body, lingering on my throat, my lips, my hands. That smirk plays at the corner of his mouth. The one that says he's already imagining how this ends.

If only you knew.

I let my shoulders drop slightly, a deliberate show of submission. His smirk widens, satisfaction gleaming in those molten eyes. He thinks he's reading me so well, anticipating my surrender.

"Told you it was a bad idea." His voice is low, rough, a predator's purr.

"You can't keep me here against my will." I sway slightly, shifting my weight to my back foot. It's a small movement, barely noticeable. But Angelo's body responds instantly, unconsciously mirroring my stance. His weight shifts ever so slightly to his right leg.

Perfect.

That's the thing about predators. They're so focused on their prey's throat, they forget to watch for the claws.

"Tsk, tsk, Butterfly." he leans closer. “Another lie. We both know you want to stay.”

His words ghost across my skin, but I'm already moving. The motion is fluid, natural, like my body remembers what my mind has forgotten. My fingers close around the cold metal at his hip, and the gun slides free of its holster with barely a whisper.

The weight settles into my palm, familiar and sure. Angelo's still smirking, still thinking he's got me exactly where he wants me. His body heat radiates against mine, and for a split second, I let myself feel it. Let him think he's won.

Amateur.

My breath hitches, making his body stiffen. Reluctantly, he takes a step back, then another one, putting distance between us. The gun's hidden behind my back as I smirk at him knowingly, wondering how quickly he'll notice I've got the upper hand.

His eyebrows scrunch in confusion as he studies the expression on my face. Slowly, I bring my hands in front of me, lifting the gun to aim at his chest.

Angelo's eyes darken, that molten brown turning to obsidian as his gaze drops to the gun now aimed at his heart. His jaw tightens, the only tell that I've caught him off guard.

"And so the mouse aims a gun at the cat." The words taste like victory on my tongue. Sweet. Dangerous.

His chest rises and falls, and I can't help but notice how steady his breathing remains. Even now, with the tables turned, he's the picture of control.

But I'm the one holding the gun.

My index finger presses against the trigger slightly, just enough to feel the resistance. The cold metal of the gun stings against my skin as I watch him, waiting for... something. Anything. The arrogant smirk, a quick movement to disarm me, harsh words meant to make me back down.

Instead, Angelo exhales, slow and steady, like he's releasing something heavy he's been carrying. His shoulders drop, tension bleeding out of his frame.

What the hell?

The gun suddenly feels heavier in my hands. Wrong. This isn't how it's supposed to go. He's supposed to fight back, to prove I'm just another threat he needs to eliminate. To show me exactly why they call him Savage.

"Do it," he says, voice rough like gravel. Like the words are being torn from somewhere deep inside him.

My stomach twists. There's something in his voice. Something raw and honest that makes my chest tight. This isn't an act. This isn't manipulation.

He closes his eyes.

Holy shit, does he actually want me to pull the trigger?

The realisation hits me like a physical blow. The gun wavers slightly in my grip, but I force my hands steady. Behind him, something moves in the shadows of the trees. A branch snaps, the sound sharp in the heavy silence.

I click off the safety, the metallic sound echoing between us. Angelo doesn't flinch. Doesn't open his eyes. Just stands there, waiting for the bullet that will end him.

My heart pounds against my ribs, but not from fear. Not from victory either. This feels... different. Dangerous in a way that has nothing to do with violence.

The air shifts.

A low rumble cuts through the silence, not thunder, something closer. More primal. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as a shadow moves behind Angelo, massive and dark against the filtered sunlight.

My breath catches. Time slows to a crawl as the bear emerges from between the trees, its bulk casting Angelo in shadow. The beast towers over him, muscles rippling beneath thick black fur. Its breath comes in heavy huffs, visible in the cold air.

Angelo keeps his eyes closed, completely unaware of the death looming behind him. The bear's claws flex against the earth, silent and deadly, leaving deep gouges in the soil. One swipe of those weapons would tear through flesh like paper.

My hands are steady on the gun, muscle memory taking over. There's no time to think, no time to second-guess. My body knows what to do even if my mind hasn't caught up.

The bear rises to its full height, and I squeeze the trigger.

The gunshot cracks through the forest, shattering the heavy silence. Birds take off in the distance, as the sound echoes off the trees.

The bear's massive form crashes to the ground with a sickening thud that shakes the forest floor. Leaves scatter in its wake, dancing through the air before settling around its still form. Blood pools beneath its head where my bullet found its mark. A perfect shot right between the eyes.

Smoke curls from the barrel, a thin wisp that disappears into the cold air. My hands don't shake. They should, shouldn't they? I just killed a bear. One shot. Clean. Perfect.

The gun feels lighter now, almost like an extension of my arm. Natural. Right.

Who the hell am I?

The bear's final twitch stills, and silence descends on the forest once more. No birds. No rustling leaves. Just the echo of the shot fading into nothing.

The bullet found its target with surgical precision, as if my body knew exactly where to aim, how to account for wind resistance. Muscle memory that speaks to years of training.

But I don't remember any of it.

The bear lies motionless, its massive form a dark mountain against the forest floor. One shot was all it took. One shot that saved both our lives.

An instinct engrained deep in my psyche.

I lower the gun, my finger automatically moving to click the safety back on. Another movement that feels too familiar, too ingrained.

Angelo's eyes snap open. For a moment, he remains perfectly still, processing. Then his head turns, taking in the massive form of the bear sprawled across the forest floor, the precise bullet hole marking its final moment.

He exhales. A long, steady breath that seems to carry the weight of his earlier surrender with it. His shoulders shift, as if shaking off the remnants of whatever darkness had gripped him moments before.

Then his gaze lands on me. Sharp. Measuring. Gone is the man who stood waiting for death. In his place stands someone else entirely, someone whose eyes strip away all the layers I've had myself wrapped up in without even trying.

The gun in my hands suddenly feels like evidence rather than a weapon.

"You've done this before." It's not a question. His voice carries the weight of certainty, of pieces clicking into place.

I can't help but agree with his statement. This couldn't have been beginner's luck. I stare at the bear's massive form, at the precise shot that ended its life. One bullet. That's all it took.

My finger traces the cool metal of the barrel absentmindedly. Every motion feels practiced, ingrained. Like I've done this a thousand times before.

"That was too easy," I whisper, the words escaping before I can stop them. They hang in the air, heavy with truth.

The forest seems to hold its breath, waiting. I can feel Angelo's eyes on me, watching, assessing. But I can't look at him. Not yet. Instead, I stare at my hands. Steady, sure. Hands that know exactly how to end a life.

First Antonio's throat beneath my fingers, and now this. The violence comes too naturally, flows through me like blood through veins.

"I don't think I'm a good person."

The words hang in the air between us, raw and honest. They should hurt more to say, shouldn't they? But they don't. They just feel true.

I loosen my grip on the gun, its weight a constant reminder of what I am. What I must have been. My knees give out, and I sink to the forest floor, the damp earth seeping through my clothes.

Angelo doesn't move to help me. His silence speaks volumes, a confirmation I wasn't ready to hear.

The gun falls beside me with a soft thud. I stare at my hands, searching for some sign, some mark that would explain the violence that lives in my bones. But they look ordinary. Deceptively delicate. Like they haven't just taken a life with terrifying precision.

"I know," Angelo finally says, his voice a low hum that barely disturbs the stillness.

Two simple words that crack something inside me. Not because they hurt, but because they don't. Because they feel like the truth. Cold and clean and absolute.

He moves then, crossing the space between us in two fluid strides. Before I can process what's happening, his arms slide beneath me, lifting me against his chest like I weigh nothing at all.

I should fight it. Should push away, maintain the distance that keeps me safe. But my body betrays me, melting into his warmth as if it's found something it's been searching for.