Page 36 of Savage Saint (Empire of Secrets #2)

KASIA

T he memory cuts through everything else, leaving me frozen.

A woman's voice, clear and sweet, singing a Polish lullaby:

"Oj lu li lu li, maleńka. Oj lu li lu li..."

The sound fills a warm room with soft yellow light. I'm small, so small, curled in soft blankets. Safe. Loved.

Then a voice cuts through the melody, familiar but somehow wrong at the same time. "You look beautiful when you sing to her."

The woman, my mother, stiffens, her arms instinctively pulling me closer. "What do you want?"

"Can't a man visit his family?" The voice is gentle, almost tender, but there's something underneath it. Something that makes my mother's breathing quicken.

"We've talked about this." Her voice is careful, measured. "Tomasz will be home soon."

"Tomasz." The name is spoken like a curse. "My brother doesn't deserve you, Ewa. Doesn't deserve her."

I feel my mother's pulse hammering against my cheek. "Please. Just go."

"Look at me." Footsteps cross the room. He's close, too close. "You know this can't last forever. This... pretending."

"I'm not pretending anything." But her voice wavers.

"Aren't you?" A pause. "I'm patient, Ewa. But not infinitely so. And accidents... they happen to careless people."

The room goes silent except for my mother's shaky breathing.

"Think about what's best for your daughter," he says softly. "For all of us."

The door closes, and my mother rocks me harder, her tears falling like rain as she whispers words I can't understand, her voice breaking on a melody that will haunt my dreams.

The memory fractures, splintering into confusing pieces. The lullaby fades, replaced by Jerzy's cold stare as he stands over me in the training room. "You are a weapon. Nothing more."

I snap back to the present, my hands shaking, rage building in my belly like a fire. The heat of it crawls up my spine, floods my chest. I want to scream, to break something, to tear this life apart until I find the truth beneath all the lies.

Angelo watches me. His eyes track the storm brewing in mine, the way my fingers flex and curl into fists.

"You're going somewhere again," he says quietly, same as before. But this time it's not a question.

"I need to go," I whisper, my voice raw. Not just from this room, but from this limbo. This waiting. This useless hiding while girls die, girls marked just like me. Except they don't know how to defend themselves.

I see the second he realises what I mean, what I'm planning.

I don't wait for him to stop me. I lunge toward the door.

Angelo moves like lightning, blocking my path with his body. So solid. So infuriating.

"You need to let me go," I spit, striking out with an open palm toward his face.

He catches my wrist mid-air. "No."

Just that. One word. Firm and final and maddening.

I twist, feinting left before dropping low to sweep his legs. He jumps over my kick and counters with a grab that I barely slip.

The living room becomes a battlefield. The coffee table skids across hardwood as I vault over it. A lamp crashes to the floor. I use every inch of space, every piece of furniture as a weapon or shield.

"I'm an asset," I shout as I duck beneath his arm, spinning to face him again. "You can't lock me here just because you're scared."

His eyes flash dark, dangerous. "The only thing that terrifies me is something happening to you. You're staying here."

I laugh, bitter and sharp. "I'm not fragile. He made sure of it."

I throw a punch that clips his jaw, but he doesn't even flinch. Just watches me with those bottomless eyes, letting me expend my fury against the unmovable wall of him.

"Fight back," I demand, launching another strike, this time to his ribs.

He blocks, swift and efficient, but doesn't counter. "Is that what you want, Butterfly? For me to hurt you?"

The question stops me cold, my next attack faltering. Because no, that's not what I want. I don't want to hurt him either. What I want is for him to understand.

"I want you to see me," I say, dropping my guard just enough to show my truth. "Not as something that needs protecting. As someone who can help. As someone who's been trained her whole life for exactly this."

"I do see you." His voice drops lower, rougher. "That's the problem."

We circle each other, the air between us charged with something more than just the threat of violence. Every step feels like part of a dance we've been rehearsing all our lives.

"Then let me do what I was made for," I plead, not backing down. "Let me be the weapon aimed at the right target for once."

His jaw tightens, the muscles in his neck straining. "You are more than your training."

"So are you," I counter. "But it doesn't change what we're good at."

I strike again, faster this time, landing a blow to his side. He grunts, finally engaging, grabbing my arm and twisting it behind my back, his chest pressed to mine.

"I won't lose you," he growls, his breath hot against my ear.

I twist in his hold, using his own momentum to break free. "You don't have me to lose."

The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I need him angry. Need him to stop treating me like I'll break.

"Don't I?" he asks, and there's something raw in his voice that makes me falter again.

I take a step back, trying to gather my thoughts. "I'm going to help those girls whether you want me to or not. If I have to fight my way past you to do it, I will."

His eyes narrow, assessing. He sees the truth in my words.

"And if I chained you to the bed?" he asks, only half joking.

I meet his gaze straight on. "I'd break my wrist to slip the cuff and still go."

A muscle in his jaw jumps. Neither of us moves. We're locked in this moment, this battle of wills that feels bigger than just tonight. His eyes never leave mine, dark and fierce with something I'm afraid to name.

In three quick strides, Angelo closes the distance between us. I try to dart left, but he's too fast. His hands slam against the wall on either side of my head, caging me in with his body.

"You're not going anywhere," he growls, his face inches from mine.

The heat from his body surrounds me. I push against his chest, but it's like trying to move a mountain.

"I hate you," I hiss, my hands balling into fists against the solid wall of him. I hate how he makes me feel—trapped, safe, furious, wanting—all at once.

His eyes drop to my lips, then back up. "No, you don't."

The way he says it, so certain, so fucking smug, makes me want to slap him. Or kiss him. The line between the two feels dangerously thin right now.

I don't get to decide which. His mouth crashes down on mine, hard and demanding. There's nothing gentle about it. Nothing sweet. It's violence and need and everything we've been holding back since that first day.

I bite his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. He groans, the sound vibrating through my body, and grips my hips roughly enough to bruise. Good. I want marks. Want proof this happened.

My hands find his hair, twisting, pulling, as his tongue pushes into my mouth. He tastes of mint mixed with danger, and I drink him in like I'm dying of thirst.

"Jesus," he mutters against my mouth, lifting me up. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, heels digging into his back.

He slams me harder against the wall, grinding between my legs. The thin fabric of my shorts does nothing to hide how much I want this. Want him.

His hands tear at my shirt. I hear the fabric rip, feel cool air on my skin, and I don't care. I'm clawing at his buttons, popping them in my hurry, needing to feel skin on skin.

My nails rake down his chest, leaving angry red lines. He hisses, retaliating by biting the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder.

"Fuck," I gasp as his teeth sink in, just hard enough to send sparks shooting through my body.

His hands are everywhere, rough on my breasts, sliding under the waistband of my shorts, gripping my ass. Every touch brands me, claims me in a way no one else ever could.

I'm just as frantic, raking my nails across his shoulders, his back, anywhere I can reach. I want to mark him, possess him the way he's possessing me.

His mouth drags along my collarbone, down between my breasts. When his teeth graze over my nipple through the thin lace of my bra, I arch against him with a cry.

"Mine," he growls, and I should argue, should maintain that last shred of independence, but the word echoes inside me, feeling right in a way nothing has before.

His hot mouth leaves my breast, trailing kisses down my stomach. Each press of his lips feels like fire against my skin. Angelo slides me down the wall but keeps me pinned there with his body, his hands gripping my hips.

"I need to taste all of you," he murmurs against my navel, his breath making me shiver.

My legs tremble as he sinks to his knees in front of me. His hands slip under the waistband of my shorts, tugging them down along with my underwear. The air hits my exposed skin, but I don't feel cold, not with the way he's looking at me.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he says, his eyes drinking me in. His fingers trace up my thighs with a reverence that makes my breath catch.

I should feel vulnerable, exposed like this, but the hunger in his gaze makes me feel powerful instead. Wanted. Worshipped.

He presses a kiss to my inner thigh, then another, working his way higher with maddening slowness. His stubble scrapes against my sensitive skin, the slight burn only heightening everything else.

"Angelo," I whisper, threading my fingers through his hair, not sure if I'm trying to hurry him or simply hold on.

He looks up at me, his eyes nearly black with desire. "Patience, Butterfly." Then he smiles. A rare, genuine smile that makes my chest ache. "I've been dreaming about this. About you. Let me savour it."

Before I can respond, he parts me with his thumbs and licks a slow, deliberate stripe up my centre. My head falls back against the wall with a thud, a strangled sound escaping my throat.

"That's it," he murmurs against me. "Let me hear you."