Page 72 of Savage Saint
The corner of his mouth lifts, not quite a smile but close. "Not mine. Mine is a Monarch." His thumb traces my bottom lip, sending a shiver through me that cascades down my spine, awakening every nerve ending in its path. "Strong. Enduring. Crosses continents just to get where it's meant to be." His voice lowers to a whisper, rough like gravel yet somehow tender. "And it never gives up, not even when the whole world is against it."
He leans in, forehead brushing mine, our breath mingling in the space between us.
"You ever heard of the Butterfly Effect?" His voice is a murmur, meant only for me, his words vibrating through the minimal space between us. "Tiny changes, massive consequences. A butterfly flaps its wings in Brazil, causing a tornado in Texas. One small movement alters everything."
I shake my head slightly, careful not to dislodge his hand, afraid that if he stops touching me, this moment will shatter.
"One small shift—" He trails off, his molten brown eyes moving over my face like he's committing every freckle, every scar to memory. "You showed up in my life, proving it every day. I knew it the moment I looked into those pale blue eyes of yours."
"Proving what?" My voice cracks on the question, fragile and uncertain.
"That chaos isn't always destructive." His forehead presses more firmly against mine, our shared breath creating a private atmosphere that feels separate from the violence that surrounds our lives. "Sometimes it creates something worth fighting for. Sometimes it creates strength where there was none before."
Another tear slides down my cheek, but this time I don't try to hide it. This man, who calls himself a monster, sees through all my defences, all my carefully constructed walls, the fortress I built around myself to survive Jerzy's cruelty.
"You're that ripple, Butterfly," he murmurs, his calloused fingers impossibly gentle against my skin. "That tornado. That Monarch that refuses to break, no matter how fierce the storm. I see your strength even when you can't. You're not weak. You've survived everything they've thrown at you. And you're still here, still fighting."
24
ANGELO
Istand at the living room window, staring out at the angry ocean waves crashing against the cliffs below. The glass walls of the house offer a panoramic view of nature's fury tonight. The wild forest, the stormy sea, and in the distance, the faint glow of Blackwood's lights flickering like dying stars.
The device sits heavy in my palm, its red light no longer blinking. I turn it over and over, my thumb running across the wolf symbol engraved on its surface. The same symbol that made Kasia's blood run cold.
Her face when she saw it… That wasn't just fear. That was terror in its purest form. Raw. Instinctive. The kind that's burned into your nervous system by past trauma.
The kind I know too fucking well.
She's finally sleeping upstairs after hours of nightmares and cold sweats. I'd stayed with her until her breathing evened out, my hand on her back, feeling each inhale and exhale like it was keeping me alive too.
I grab my phone from the coffee table and scroll to a familiar name. Three rings later, a distracted voice filters through the speaker.
"What's up? I'm about to drop a drone on a meth lab in Hayward."
I exhale sharply through my nose. "Tell me you're talking about gaming."
"Mostly." Arrow pauses. A distant explosion echoes through the speaker. "So. What's shaking in Santoroland?"
"Need info on a symbol. A wolf." I pause, letting the weight of the request sink in. "Connected to the name 'Jerzy', maybe 'Little Wolf.' Could be something like that in Polish."
The line goes quiet. So quiet, I check to make sure the call hasn't dropped.
"Give me a sec," Arrow finally says, their voice uncharacteristically serious.
I hear the rapid clicking of fingers against a keyboard, punctuated by short, frustrated huffs. Whatever Arrow's looking for, it's not coming up easily. That's unusual. And concerning.
I move away from the window, unable to stay still. The house feels too big tonight, too empty except for the sleeping woman upstairs, who's somehow become my responsibility.
No. Not responsibility.
She's become something I can't name yet. Something I'm not ready to name.
"I'll call you back," Arrow says abruptly, and the line goes dead before I can respond.
I toss my phone onto the couch and run a hand over my face. The wait is going to fuck with my head. I need to keep busy to keep my thoughts from spiralling into dark places I can't afford to visit right now.
I move to my desk in the corner of the living room and wake up my laptop. The security system activates with a few quick keystrokes, and I pull up the feed from my bedroom. Where Kasia sleeps.
