Page 80 of Savage Desire

Maybe I should focus on drying my hair and doing my makeup first. Using spells to cause harm to someone with a drop of my blood doesn’t feel like something I should be attempting today.

“Are you finding a way to cut Asher’s balls off?”

My gaze snaps up at the sound of Tatum’s voice, finding him standing a few feet away at the opening in the shrubs that leads to the center of the maze, and I gulp. The shadows cast over his face in a way that makes him look almost sinister, but I know the man beneath the dark contours the trees are hiding. I’m safe.

I clear my throat, stuffing my grimoire in my bag. “I’m considering it.”

A grin spreads across his lips, but as he tilts his head back, I can see the inky pain tainting his eyes and it makes my spine stiffen. Taking a second, I drink him in from head to toe, trying to figure out what I’m missing.

His long brown hair is slicked back into a messy pile at the back of his head, nothing really out of the ordinary there. His eyes are definitely different, and the tight set of his jaw doesn’t look familiar. His shoulders are almost hunched and his backpack is loose at his side, but he’s holding it so tight that his knuckles are white. Whiter than white, even.

“What’s wrong?” I blurt, worry clawing at me, and he shakes his head.

“Nothing,” he breathes as he moves closer, taking the spot of grass beside me a moment later, but he doesn’t make eye contact the entire time.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about the enigma that is Tatum, it’s that he always maintains eye contact, even when it’s on the brink of awkwardness. He’s always trying to see deep into my soul, so why not now? Maybe because he’s hiding something himself.

Clearing my throat again, I tilt my head to face him. “Try again,” I state, my tone as light as I can muster while trying to keep my body relaxed. The last thing I want to do is set him off or make him leave because I push too hard, but damn. He’s always there for me when I need it, now it’s his turn.

“I’m good,” he insists, nestling back against the shrubs behind us, tilting his face up to the sky as his eyes fall closed.

Clearly, going easy on him isn’t going to work for me. Helping him is worth risking his anger if it’s for a good cause. With my mind made up, I sit taller, turning to face him fully as I grab my bag. “There might be something in here that makesmemakeyoutell the truth,” I grunt, giving him a pointed look even though he’s not even looking at me, but the sigh that falls from his lips offers a hint of hope.

“It’s my mom’s birthday today, or was.” His eyes remain shut, but the crinkle at the corners reveals a glimpse into the emotions he’s trying to hide and my heart wrenches for him.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe, unsure whether I should have pried now, but to my surprise, he finally glances at me.

“I’m good.”

He’s not. I can see it all in his eyes. They swirl with despair, and if I had any money I would bet it all on the fact that he’s remembering all of the pain and anguish of her death. That’s not going to help him. Ever.

Pressing my lips together, I nervously try to smile at him, but I know it falls short when he all but looks right through me.

What would I need in this moment?Think, Polaris. Think.

“What are your most cherished things you remember about her?” The question spills from my mouth before I can stop it and his eyes slam closed.

Fuck.

My heart races, my pulse quickening as fear and embarrassment lay claim to me. He needs space, not my stupid mouth.

Ready to leave, I swipe a hand down my face. “I’m so so?—”

“Her scent,” he breathes, his words making me freeze, hands pressed into the grass beneath me, ready to stand and make a run for it. “She always smelled like roses. I remember playing Hide and Seek with her out in the garden once, and her scent led me right to her. It lingered on my pillow for so long after she would lie with me until I fell asleep, and then one day it was gone.”

His words gut me like a knife, but there’s a soft smile on his lips as he remembers more pleasant times.

“She sounds amazing,” I breathe, my heart nothing more than a gaping hole as I fail to recall a single thing about my mother.

“She was. Her smile had the power to mend anything. Any hint of sadness, or even a grazed knee would heal at the way she would smile. It came right from her heart,” he explains. “And the way she would listen to me with that look in her eyes,” he adds, tilting back to face me again with a slightly wider smile.

“What look?” I ask, completely enraptured with the love he had for his mother.

He leans closer, running a hand down the side of my face as my heart skips a beat in my chest. “That one.” He lingers at the corner of my eye, driving his point home, and my cheeksburn under his attentive words. I dip my head and his hand drops from my face. He clears his throat and I glance up at him through my lashes with my chin still nestled against my chest.

“Asher means well,” he mutters, and I scoff.

“When?” I grumble in response, and his smile grows tight.

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