Page 6 of Savage Obsession
She half-wakes, mumbling about her phone.
“You don’t need your phone. You need some common sense. Fuck social media if that is what you’re thinking. You don’t need to do some fucking status update.”
“Phone,” she urges again.
“Shh,” I say, not unkind, but sharp. “You can worry about your damn phone when you’re not half-dead.”
I slide her onto my lap, crank the heat, and punch it toward the cabin. The drive is slow, careful since the roads are slick, and theworld’s gone dangerous. She shivers, tucked under my chin, the scent of her shampoo—warm vanilla, cinnamon and something else that makes me think of cozy times—clings to her damp hair.
“You’re gonna be okay, baby,” I mutter, more to myself than her. “Just hang on.”
She shifts her face upward and I swear the smile i see slips across her quivering lips breaks my fucking heart in two.
Right this very second I make a silent promise to do everything in my power to make sure she gets to smile again.
I swing into the back road, tires crunching over the frozen ruts. The black gate looms up, heavy with snow. I park, set her gently in the passenger seat, and run to open it, hands going numb as I work the latch. By the time I’m back, she’s curled into the seat, eyes half-open.
“You’re lucky I came by, sunshine,” I say, half-grumbling, half-prayer. “If it’d been anyone else, you’d be an icicle by now.” I pull her back into my lap and she comes willingly, putting as much of her body against mine as possible.
The cabin’s just up ahead, its outline barely visible through the storm. I park close, scoop her up again, and carry her inside, boots leaving a wet trail on the floor.
The fire’s down to embers by now and nothing but a dull orange glow in the hearth. I lay her on the old leather couch and kneel beside her. She’s babbling again, weak and unfocused. “Phone…I need it…stop him…”
I brush her hair back, thumb gentle against her jaw. “You can tell me everything later, sunshine. Right now, you gotta survive.”
I stoke the fire, piling on wood until flames leap and crackle. Heat finally starts chasing the chill from the room and I strip out of my snow-soaked clothes, shucking boots, jeans, shirt…everything
My skin prickles with cold, but I move fast.
Then I turn back to her. Her lips are still blue, her hands trembling. I work quickly, careful to not cause her any more pain as I undo the drawstring on her pajama pants, sliding them down her legs. I peel off her flimsy long-sleeved top. I try not to stare, but I can’t help the way my eyes linger on the curve of her waist, the soft roundness of her breasts, the half-moon birthmark above her left one. I make a note to ask her about it later, when she’s warm and alive and able to give me hell for looking.
She’s fragile, but not weak. There’s steel under all that softness. My princess owns a fighter’s will. I drape blankets on the floor to create a makeshift bed in front of the fire. I lift her, tucking her against my body and sharing my heat as I wrap us both in the layers of warmth. The only thing between her and the grave is me ducking out of that damn party. Whoever made this girl run into the night will pay for their crime.
Willow sighs, nestling closer, and I pull another blanket over us both, holding her tight. Her hair smells heavenly, and her body, even frozen, fits perfectly against mine. I rub her arms, her legs, anywhere I can reach, desperate to get blood flowing.
“Stay with me, Willow,” I murmur, my lips brushing her temple. “You’re not dying on me, not tonight.”
The wind howls outside, snow rattling the windowpanes. The fire snaps and pops, its light flickering across the cabin walls.Inside, it’s just us—my body wrapped around hers, my heart thundering against her back.
I shouldn’t feel this. Not for her. Not for the enemy’s daughter, the sunshine girl who smiles even when her world’s ending. But I do. God help me, I do.
She stirs, whispering my name like a prayer. Her fingers curl into my chest, searching for reassurance.
“Am i dead? I must be.”
Her words barely brush over the sound of the fire, but I hear them.
She smiles again and my frozen heart melts. “Why?”
“Because I’m in your arms.”
Her words strike me across the chest and leave my emotions wide open for all the possibilities her words mean. I don’t want to read into them. She could be hallucinating. I mean fuck, she was half dead ten minutes ago.
I open my mouth to ask what she means, but her eyes drift close. I tuck away my question for later and press a kiss to the top of her head. “Shh,” I urge and tuck her closer. I hold her tighter, jaw clenched against the urge to do something reckless. Loving a woman means risking her. I learned that the hard way. But looking at Willow now, shivering but alive in my arms, I know one thing with bone-deep certainty. If she lives through the night, she’s mine.
Touching her will start a war Reaper’s been breaking his back to prevent. Her father will want blood. The Vultures will want revenge. I’ll give them both if it means keeping her.
And when I get my hands on her old man, I’m gonna end him for making his own daughter feel so unsafe she’d rather brave a goddamn blizzard than stay under his roof. That kind of monster doesn’t deserve the title of father.
