Page 72 of Scarred Savages
My plan seemed so straightforward a month ago. Now it’s a fucking shit-show.
What I didn’t account for was how quickly she’d burrow under everyone’s skin—including mine.
A notification pops up on my laptop. Another report from our border guards. I click it open and scan the contents.
Nothing.
What the fuck is taking so long?
I look back at Luna, who’s helping one of the younger tenants, a girl of maybe sixteen. Luna points at something and explains, and the girl’s face lights up with understanding. I wonder if Luna knows how rare it is for Stella to accept help from anyone.
My phone buzzes. A text from Damien: “She’s winning them over. All of them.”
I don’t bother responding; that was never in doubt. But now my doubt is whether I can do what needs to be done when the time comes, whether I can sacrifice one to save the many.
Luna moves to feed five now, walking toward the makeshift outdoor kitchen we set up last summer. Oli trails behind her eagerly while Axel has disappeared from view entirely, but I know he’s there somewhere, watching.
“They’re already treating her like she’s theirs,” I mutter to the empty room.
And why wouldn’t they? She’s strong enough to challenge them, soft enough to care for them, damaged enough to understand them. In another life, in another world where Conrad and his father didn’t exist, she could have been perfect for them.
For us.
But we don’t live in that world.
I slam my laptop shut harder than necessary. Pulling open my bottom drawer, I take out the folder marked only with an X. Inside are the reports, the evidence, and the grim reality of what we’re facing. This isn’t just some territorial dispute or petty power play. This is an extinction-level threat that must be stopped at any cost.
And Luna is the key.
My wolf doesn’t like it. He perks up every time she smiles and snarls whenever I think of her as leverage. But I can’t afford to listen to him now.
I spread the photos across my desk. Files of children ripped from their families, mates torn apart… Bodies mutilated and scarred. I gather them back up quickly, shoveling them into the folder. This is why I have to stick to the plan. This is why I have to be the bad guy.
A sacrifice for the greater good, I remind myself.
The door to my office swings open without warning. I don’t need to look up to know it’s Damien. He’s the only one with the balls to enter without knocking. When I finally raise my head, I’m met with that face that gives nothing away except the slight curl at the corner of his mouth.
Damien Stone might hate everyone equally, but he reserves a special kind of amusement for my mistakes.
“Most people announce themselves,” I say, closing the file on my desk.
Damien drops into the chair opposite me, stretching his long legs to the side. “Most people aren’t me.” His eyes flick to my laptop, now shut, then back to my face. “Enjoying the show?”
I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “Report.”
“You’ve got eyes. You saw.” He gestures vaguely toward the laptop. “She’s playing house with the tenants. They’re eating it up.”
“Details, Damien.”
He sighs dramatically as if providing actual information is beneath him. “Fine. The old ladies think she’s a gift from God. The kids follow her around like she’s the ice cream truck. The younger tenants keep finding excuses to talk to her.” He leans forward slightly. “And your two stooges can’t decide whether to fuck her or write her poetry. It’s entertaining, I’ll give you that. But Oli is invested now. And if you hurt him? I’ll fucking kill you.”
I ignore the threat. It’s not the first time he’s made it. I keep my face neutral. “And the perimeter?”
Damien’s eyes narrow. “Secure for now.”
I nod. “Same as our patrols reported. Anything else?”
“She helped Mrs. Hendricks with her medication and started organizing some kind of weekly communal dinner.” He shrugs, but there’s something almost like respect in his voice. “She fits in. Just like we knew she would.”
