Page 82 of Savage Desire

I’m breathless as I stare at the space he occupied, wondering what the hell that was. I almost ask it, but quickly remember it’s Blaze we’re dealing with. It’s impossible to explain any of the shit that comes out of that man’s mouth.

“Sorry,” I mutter, straightening myself, and we carry on toward the dorm buildings.

“Don’t apologize because someone else is an asshole, Polaris. It’s not your fault he’s got a stick wedged so far up his ass, it makes it impossible for him to smile,” he grunts, and I smile, brushing my hair back off my face as we bypass the walkway that leads to the witches’ dorm and head to the silver building instead.

As I recall this morning, the woodchips beneath my feet send a jolt of panic up my spine. However, when we enter the building, Tatum wastes no time ushering me up the stairs instead of toward the back, where the Alpha’s office is.

It’s only when he opens the third door on the second floor that I realize where he’s taking me: his room. He ushers me inside, kicking the door shut behind him, and I take a moment to inhale every inch of him. A woodsy yet spicy scent lingers in the air. His bed is pressed against the right wall, while his desk sits on the left, piles of papers strewn over the top, each featuring what looks like a different sketch. His armoire lines the wall to my left, and the center of the room holds a large easel.

“Get comfortable,” he murmurs, bringing my hand to his lips for a feather light kiss before he releases his hold on me.

I nibble at my bottom lip nervously.

“Why?” I ask, placing my bag by the door as he cuts across the room to retrieve a set of pencils, bringing them to the easel already set up and waiting.

“You’re my muse for the afternoon,” he states, excitement sparkling in his eyes, and I gulp.

“Your muse?” I repeat, blushing, and he grins, running his thumb over the heated skin.

“All you have to do is get yourself comfortable on my bed, however you like, and I’ll take care of the rest. Do you have a problem with that?” he teases, and I shake my head, releasing a wobbly breath.

“No,” I finally answer, running my hands over my thighs before I head toward his bed.

“Good. But first, I want you to take this,” he states, opening the top drawer on his nightstand to retrieve a thin piece of black leather with a small charm attached to it.

“What is it?” I ask, intrigued by the gentle swirls of blues and greens that are intertwined with the charm, but the smile he offers me is more cautious than anything.

“It’s wolf’s bane.”

It’s what now?

I raise my eyebrows as he slowly fastens it around my wrist. “I’m not even going to pretend I know what that is,” I admit, and he snickers, twisting my wrist from side to side once it’s secured in place.

“It’s an herb, an important one,” he explains, and I scoff. This man is turning out to be the worst storyteller around. I think even Lincoln can offer me more than this on his worst day.

“You’re getting good at sounding ominous,” I muse, and he rolls his eyes, but when they actually settle on me, I see the importance flash in his irises before he speaks. The meaning is clear behind the words he chooses.

“It prevents compulsion from a vampire.”

29

POLARIS

My heart pitter-patters as I stare in awe at his work. I can’t stop staring. I start at the top, slowly raking my gaze over every inch of his brilliance, then start all over again.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, acutely aware that it’s me, but… he sees me in a different light. One that makes me believe it’s not truly me I’m complimenting anyway.

His hand rests at the small of my back while he stands a step behind me at his easel. Soft rock music continues to fill the room, just as it has for the past few hours. Even though we haven’t exchanged many words, I’ve never felt more relaxed. There’s a magic in his presence that I can’t describe, one that leaves me breathless and profoundly aware of every callous on his fingertips, even with the fabric of my sweater between us.

“I had the perfect muse to focus on,” he says, his breath whispering over my cheek as I hum, unable to find a suitable response.

“I can’t believe how talented you are. It’s everything,” I insist, peering up at him from the corner of my eye before turning my attention back to the easel.

I’m sitting with my legs crossed, hands loose in my lap, just as I had been on his bed, but in the drawing, I’m not sittingon the bed, I’m on a clifftop, high above the world. The shades around my face illuminate the rays of sun he’s worked on, making me appear even brighter with a smile on my lips. My loose hair flutters in his imaginary wind and I look… peaceful.

It’s a funny word, one that hits harder thanhopeever has.

I’ve never known peace. Or if I have, I don’t have the grace of remembering, but in this image, it makes me feel like it’s possible.

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