Page 78 of Savage Hope

Fuck. That.

The stained red hue falls over my eyes, like an infrared beacon in the night, honing in on one thing and one thing only…Dominic’s face.

My muscles coil tight, the heat from his punch vibrating through my entire body as I swing with my right hand, making his defenses drop before I throw an uppercut with my left. I connect; the snap of his jaw slamming together is a euphoric sound in my ears, but nothing beats the way his eyes roll back, accompanying his fall.

He lands with athudand Collins is standing over him instantly, hand raised in my direction to keep me back, but I know I’m done here. My pulse thrums in my ears, making it hard for the cheers to echo in my mind, but I hear them enough to feel the buzz it offers.

The crimson tint to my vision isn’t gone, though.

No.

Now, it’s directed elsewhere. I move an inch to the left, spying my new target immediately.

Someone grabs my wrist, lifting my hand in the air in victory, and the roars around the room turn insane, but I have no interest in basking in it. I’m over the rope and stomping through the crowd before they’ve even finished announcing my name.

Her eyes latch onto mine, wide with surprise as her jaw hangs loose.

Hot.

Hands pat at my arms and shoulders, murmurs of congratulations ring in the air, but none of it matters. I’m locked in, taking the stairs deeper into the crowd two at a time until I’m at her row. Thankfully, it’s her friend in the end seat, and she’s right beside her.

I consider holding my hand out, relishing the delight of feeling her skin against mine, but I’m not in the mood to take no for an answer right now. Especially when I know Lincoln is likely watching me. Especially when he will recognize her and want to claim her for himself.

Not tonight.

She’s mine.

Wrapping my hand around her wrist, I tug her toward me, my free hand latching onto her waist as her chest lands against mine. She looks up at me through her lashes, her shoulders rising and falling with every breath, and it’s intoxicating.

I take a step back and she instinctively takes one toward me.

Perfect.

Slipping my hand from her wrist to her palm, I lace our fingers, tugging her behind me as I move with purpose back down the stairs. Her digits are stiff in my grasp, but when I squeeze tighter, she relaxes or relents; either way, she curls her little fingers between mine and I move faster.

Lincoln appears in my periphery, but it’s not me he’s looking at, it’s her, and there’s no way in hell he’s getting between me and my prize right now. I don’t even care that the magic binder is still around my wrist. I just need to move.

Exiting the open space, the noise quiets as I drag her a step behind me down the small corridor before thrusting the locker room door open. It ricochets off the wall, barreling back towardme quicker than I expect, but we manage to slip inside before it closes. The second it shuts, I turn the latch, desperate for the privacy as my attention finally circles back to the woman before me.

Her teeth worry at her bottom lip as she rakes her eyes over me, chest heaving in time with mine as she struggles to catch up with what’s happening.

Releasing her hand, I lift my fingers to the tips of her hair. “You went with the black,” I breathe, and she nods, her eyes finding mine.

“That was…some fight,” she states, a tremble running through her, and I grin.

“Yeah. Some might say it’s brutal, but I say it’s fucking glorious,” I rasp, taking a step toward her, but this time, she takes a step back.

She’s not scared. I would sense it if she were.

No.

It’s something else. I just don’t know what. I’m more than happy to put the work in to find out, though.

“What is it, Little Witch?” I whisper, and she shakes her head, continuing to retreat as I prowl toward her until her back presses against the cool stone wall.

She gasps, pupils blown as she blinks at me.

“Wylder.”

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