Page 80 of Wild Angel

My thoughts dissolve when Savage bends over and presses a kiss on his father’s forehead. When he steps back, Bryan’s eyes are closed.

Is he dead?

Bryan makes an awful gurgling sound and his hand twitches.

Guess not.

Savage turns to me, and for a second I don’t even recognize him.

I don’t know what I see in his eyes, but I don’t like it one fucking bit. I take a step back before I can straighten my spine. “Can we talk?” I point at the door.

He nods, comes past me, heads for the door.

I’m a little disappointed he doesn’t take my hand, but this isn’t fucking kindergarten, is it? We’re not suddenly going to be swooning over each other every second of every day. This was a business arrangement. At least…that’s what it’s starting to feel like.

I push back my shoulders and follow him out. He promised me his secrets, and I promised him mine.

I’ll be damned if either of us is going back on our word.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Savage

Nyx and I walk down the hallway. We’re alone for all of a minute before Sam and Matias follow us.

I almost tell them to leave us, but decide against it. It’s weird…I’ve never felt the need for moral support when I was around Nyx, but suddenly that’s changed.

“Lovely ceremony,” Nyx says dryly. “But it was missing something.”

“A flower girl?”

Her eyes snap to mine, and there’s a glint of humor in them. “A cake, Papi.”

“What flavor?”

She shrugs. “As long as it doesn’t have fucking marzipan on it.”

I don’t even know what the fuck that is. “No marzipan. Noted.”

“Sa—” Nyx cuts off, clears her throat. “Caesar…I meant what I said.”

I know what she’s after. She’s made a deal with me. Doesn’t matter that our signatures aren’t even dry on the marriage certificate…Nyx wants to collect.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say.

She turns to me, frowns. “This hallway? Yeah, why not.”

“Out of the villa.”

Her eyebrow quirks up. “Really? A few I dos, a ring, and the protection spell is complete?”

I lift the corner of my mouth. “Only one way to find out.”

She smiles, slaps my shoulder. “Well, look at you, being all impulsive and shit.” Then she grabs her white skirts, holds them up like she’s about to curtsy. “This fine, or do I need to dress up?”

Her lips are begging for a kiss, and I can’t hold back anymore. I grab her around the waist, tip her, and kiss her like we’re in one of those damn Hallmark movies my mother always used to love so much.

I suppose, in a way, we are.

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