Page 34 of Savage Saint
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 thatfollows 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.
12
KASIA
Irun 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.
