Page 8 of Savage Saint
I’m swept into muscular arms, my hand landing on a firm chest. It’s warm, steady, the rise and fall of his breath anchoring me in a way I don’t understand. My instincts scream at me to resist, but my body betrays me, going limp as exhaustion overtakes me.
I go from standing on the ledge of the window in one second to being cradled in strong arms the next. My breathing still shallow from trying to escape I take my time to look up and see the face of the person who’s carrying me.
His arms tighten around me, his grip protective yet possessive. My eyes trace his features—sharp jawline, dark stubble, and eyes the colour of molten chocolate that seem to pierce right through me. There’s something terrifying and safe about him all at once, a contradiction I can’t wrap my head around.
The sun peeks from the clouds behind him, illuminating his frame and just like that, my lips tilt into a smile remembering his face.
“Aniol,” I croak out.Angel. “I bled all over your suit.” Smooth. Very smooth.
His lip twitches as he looks to where my bleeding palm is fisting his shirt. He’s so beautiful I can barely take it. “Not the first time it's happened,” he mutters. His voice is deep, smooth, with a lilt to it that makes my skin prickle.
He shifts me slightly in his arms, his grip strong but careful, as if one wrong move could snap me in half. He probablycouldsnap me in half. I can feel the hard planes of his chest beneath my hand. I try to look away, but I’m captivated by every detail I discover, every clean line and shadow, the stubble along his jaw. But it’s his eyes that hold me—deep, dark brown, flickering with something I’m struggling to name.
“Were you trying to jump?” His lips move, hypnotising me, and it takes me a second for the words to penetrate.
“Huh?”
“The window.” He motions with his head. “Were you trying to jump out the window?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I–I don’t know.”
“Now, why would you go ahead and try to kill yourself when we’ve just rescued you?”
“We?”
His gaze shifts to something behind me. On an inhale, I slowly crane my neck away from his beautiful face until my gaze settles on three figures standing in the doorway. My body instantly stiffens, ready to spring into action at the first sign of danger.
“Hi, I’m Alessa.” A young woman takes a step forward, her presence instantly putting me at ease. She’s wearing black jeans and a crisp white top French-tucked into her waistband. Over it is a well-worn black bomber jacket, slightly too big on her, its frayed seams a stark contrast to the polished designer clothes beneath. Her chestnut-brown hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders, framing her face. She smiles at me, her light brown eyes crinkling at the edges as her whole face lights up. “This is Dante.” She gestures towards the man beside her, and I catch a glint of a huge diamond on her ring finger as it catches the light. Dante’s imposing presence is hard to miss. He’s wearing an impeccably tailored suit, the sharp lines ofhis jacket emphasising his broad shoulders and commanding posture. There’s a scowl on his face, the kind that warns most people to tread carefully, but as soon as his eyes land on Alessa, his expression softens. His gaze lingers on her, like she’s the only thing grounding him in the room, the only thing that matters.
“And Luca,” Alessa adds, gesturing to the man standing a few steps behind her, his posture more relaxed but not less imposing than Dante’s. There’s an aura of quiet confidence around him which making him twice as sexy, which is saying something, because the man is gorgeous. His dark hair is cropped short and casually messy, like he just rolled out of bed. There’s a playful glint in his brown eyes and a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as his eyes roam over me. He’s dressed more casually than Dante and the man who’s holding me, his dark jeans and black leather jacket fitting his lean, athletic physique like a glove.
“We should probably call the nurses in to bandage your hand.” Alessa takes another step toward me and I stiffen.
The arms around me tighten protectively. “I’ll do it.” There’s finality to the statement and I relax as I’m carried over to the bed and gently placed atop it.
“And this is Angelo,” Alessa mutters. “I’ll go get the nurses or supplies.”
“I’ll go with you,Fata,” Dante says in a soft voice, taking Alessa by the hand.
“Angelo?” I cock my head to the side, taking the man in front of me. “Like an Angel?” I try to stop myself from grinning at how close my nickname for him was to his actual name.
“More like the devil,” he says, his eyes piercing mine as if he wants to communicate something important. I take no notice though and shiver from the cold now that his arms are no longer around me. His jaw tightens, and he looks away, nodding to himself once, before his whole face shuts down into a mask of unreadable indifference. The shift is so sudden it leaves memomentarily stunned, as if I had all but imagined the warmth he’d shown me just moments ago. His piercing eyes are now guarded, the slight crease in his brow smoothed out into a facade of perfect calm.
“What’s your name?” he asks, his tone clipped just as Alessa and Dante come back in with a nurse holding supplies to clean my bleeding hand. Angelo steps aside to let her through and weirdly I’m hurt that despite saying he’ll take care of me, he’s letting someone else do it. I look away from him, focusing on the pad the nurse is pressing against the puncture mark from the cannula. She gently cleans the dried blood as I will my brain to work with me.
“I—I don’t know,” I whisper under my breath, squeezing my eyes shut. The nurse’s hands are gentle but cold as she tends to my wound, the sting of antiseptic jolting me back into the present. I watch as dark red streaks disappear under the gauze, replaced by pristine white.
“You don’t remember?” Alessa kneels beside me, her voice edged with frustration. I lift my gaze to meet hers just as her hand lands on my uninjured one, squeezing it in reassurance.
“I don’t... I can’t...” My words falter, my chest tightening. Before it was something I could ignore, something I could pretend was not real, but now, with an audience, the truth sinks deeper.
“It’s okay,” Alessa soothes as a distant pop echoes through the air. My head jerks to the side, my eyes searching for Angelo who’s by the window peering out.
“What was that?” I ask shakily, though I already know. I’ve heard that sound before, in another life I can’t quite remember. With my heart pounding against my ribs, I look around the room for answers.
No one answers. Dante’s eyes are trained on the door, sharp and calculating as if he can see beyond it. Alessa rushes to his side.
“Dante?” She looks up at him questioningly as another shot rings out, closer this time.
