Page 92 of Savage Desire

“Unfortunately, I’m not the least bit familiar with this so-called dance because someone keeps taking my memories.”

He rolls his eyes at me as he cups my cheek, stroking his thumb back and forth, and I still. Panic and comfort war inside of me, leaving fear to get the better of me. “Soon, Amica Mea. You can have it all back. I promise you that.” He sounds heartfelt and sincere, but how am I to truly know?

My heart lurches in my throat as he dips his head, running the tip of his nose over my neck. “Blaze,” I whisper, panic setting in, and he ghosts his lips over my pulse for a split second before he stands tall again.

“Tell me why he was there, Polaris,” he repeats, his hand tightening around my jaw as he brings his other hand to my face too, holding me in place. Every second that I don’t comply, his grip somehow gets tighter, stealing the air from my lungs again until I finally relent.

“He didn’t say. He was worried why I hadn’t shown up, but none of it made sense. He got mad and he left.”

“Anything else?” he pries, stormy eyes glaring into mine as I try to shake my head, but the movement is impossible with his tight hold. “Do I need to check if you’re lying?” he murmurs, trailing his fingers up to my temple.

“No! No, I swear,” I plead, and a smile spreads across his face.

“I love it when you beg.”

Fear claws at my insides as I continue to stare at him blankly, unaware of what he’s referring to. He lowers his hand, slowly wrapping his fingers around my throat before he flexes them for good measure.

My mind swirls with the reminder of what Wylder taught me in combat class, but when he leans close, crushing his lips to mine for a split second, my mind goes blank. He leans back just as quickly as he crowded me, his eyes ablaze as he nods. “You’llknow soon enough, Amica Mea, but for now, as always, forget everything we said here. Forget all of it. Forget B being in your room, and mostly, forget how much you drive me insane,” he rasps, his gaze shifting between my eyes for a split second, like there’s more he wants to say, but then he’s gone.

I slump back against the wall, my heart and pulse racing to see who can go faster as confusion clouds my thoughts. Running my tongue over my parched lips, my eyes fall to my wrist, where my new bracelet rests.

Wolfsbane.

I was unsure when Tatum gave it to me, but now, I’m standing here, completely aware of everything that just happened. A huff of disbelief parts my lips as I stare at the door where Blaze took off a moment ago.

I have no idea what the hell is going on, but I feel a tad less in the dark right now. I need to be more vigilant. There’s way more at play than I’m aware of. But one thing is for certain, he could give Lincoln a run for his money with the way he snarls and storms off like a fucking brat.

33

POLARIS

Istumble right past the dining hall, the desire for food completely wiped. Heading outside, the change in air does little to improve my mood.

It’s him.

It’s Blaze.

He’s the reason and cause for so much, but why?

The blackouts? Blaze.

B? Blaze.

Information that I know but don’t actually freaking know? Blaze.

I can’t ask him, not yet anyway. He thinks he’s compelled me to forget all over again. What am I supposed to make of him?

He’s the enemy, another villain in my story, and yet… my body leaned into his. What’s that supposed to mean? I’m never going to understand without access to my full memories, and something tells me getting Blaze to return them is going to be impossible.

Blaze is the one in control, or he was. Now, with the wolfsbane on my wrist, I can start clawing it back if I continue to pretend as though I don’t remember. But I do. Especially B. What does Blaze have to do with him?

I swipe a hand down my face, desperation getting the better of me as I rack my brain but come up empty. All it seems to do is give me a headache right between my eyes. I clench my eyelids shut as I squeeze the bridge of my nose, trying to will the pain away, but it’s relentless.

Taking a deep breath, I pry my eyes open and continue toward my first class of the day: Combat. It isn’t until I see the professor in the distance, the familiar setup spread across the grass, that I realize the error of my outfit choice. I spend most of my days in sweatpants so it doesn’t usually matter so much, but today I’m in jeans. Fucking jeans. I can barely lean forward to touch my toes in them, never mind actually training for something.

The weight of my sand in my pocket has my hand pressing against it, but I’m unsure where to change.

“You’re early, Miss Beauchamp,” Professor Drummond states, eyes fixed on the device in her hand as she speaks to me.

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