Page 49 of Scarred Savages
I slide into the space the pillow occupied, pulling her against my chest in one smooth motion. She stiffens for a heartbeat—probably her subconscious recognizing that I’m definitely not a pillow—but then she does something that stops my heart.
She burrows into me.
Like, actively burrows.
My wolf surges, claws scraping at my skin, demanding I hold her tighter. Her nose presses against my neck, her arm wraps around my waist, and she lets out this little sigh that sounds like… contentment.
“Fuck,” I breathe, frozen in place. “You’re going to be the death of me, Wildcat.”
She mumbles something unintelligible and throws her leg over mine.
I grin in the darkness. “Pillow can’t do this, can it?” I whisper, wrapping my arms around her properly. “Pillow doesn’t have a heartbeat. Doesn’t generate heat. Definitely doesn’t get hard when you wiggle like that—shit, stop wiggling.”
She doesn’t stop wiggling.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” I accuse her sleeping form. “You’re awake, aren’t you? Just pretending so you can torture me.”
She snores delicately in response.
“Fine. Play your games.” I press my lips to her hair, inhaling deeply. “But when you wake up and find me here? I’m going to tell you the pillow spontaneously combusted. Act of God. Very tragic.”
The pillow lies on the floor, and I give it my best psychotic grin.
“I win, you inanimate fuck.”
She shifts against me, mumbling my name.
My. Name.
She said my fucking name.
My wolf howls within me in triumph.
I’ve tasted violence. I’ve tasted blood. I’ve had my bones broken and my soul shattered. But nothing, NOTHING, has ever hit me like hearing my name mumbled in her sleep.
“Say it again,” I whisper urgently, “come on, Wildcat. One more time.”
But she’s deep in sleep now, peaceful against my chest, her breath warm on my skin.
No more nightmares tonight. Not on my watch.
I settle in for the long haul, memorizing everything: the weight of her, the rhythm of her breathing, the way her hair tickles my chin, how her fingers twitch against my ribs like she’s fighting even in her dreams.
These stolen moments are all I get for now.
But soon…
Soon she’ll be saying my name while awake. Soon she’ll be saying it while I’m inside her. Soon she’ll be screaming it while I make her forget every other name she’s ever known.
Soon she’ll reach for me instead of that fucking pillow.
Soon she’ll realize what I already know:
She’s mine.
My Wildcat.
My perfect scarred savage who punches first and asks questions later. My beautiful Wildcat, who doesn’t know she’s already saved me just by existing.
