Page 93 of Scarred Savages
“Well, it fucking should be.” He pulls me closer. “And just so we’re clear about what just happened here—I’ve killed with that hatchet. Now it’s been inside you. That makes us soulmates.”
“That’s… deeply disturbing,” I manage.
“And yet you’re not running.” His thumb traces my jaw. “Face it, Wildcat. We’re perfect for each other.”
I should argue. I should be horrified. Instead, I hear myself saying, “God help me.”
His laugh is dark and delighted. “Soulmates. You’re stuck with me now. Every time I swing that axe, I’ll remember how you looked riding it. Every. Fucking. Time.”
“You’re insane.”
“And you love it,” he shoots back.
I think he’s right. Because lying here with him, this crazy, unhinged, axe-loving male, for the first time in years, I don’t feel broken.
I just feel his.
He kisses me again, and I know I’m falling. Falling hard and fast with no safety net, I can’t bring myself to care. The nightmares, the fear, none of it matters when I’m with him. I pull him closer, ready to lose myself in him all over again.
As Axel helps me gather my clothes and we head inside the shed for some sleep, I realize something important: For the first time in years, I’m not afraid of what might come next.
Not with him beside me.
27
Luna
Notebook: Jealousy isn't logical. It's feral. And sometimes, it grows claws.
Ilinger in the hallway, wondering if starving is better than facing the pack after last night.
The memory of Axel’s axe handle between my thighs makes my stomach tighten with a mix of discomfort and something far too… pleasurable.
Fuck my life.
There’s no way they don’t know—shifter noses are too good for secrets, especially those involving bodily fluids and questionable decisions.
My stomach growls, betraying my body’s priorities.
Food first, dignity later.
I take a deep breath and step into the kitchen, trying to act normal, whatever the hell that means in a house full of alphas, especially after just having a run-in with a hatchet.
The moment I walk in, five pairs of eyes snap to me like I’m the breakfast special, each gaze filled with varying degrees of hunger.
Oli drops a pan with a loud clatter.
Damien pauses mid-chew.
Hudson watches me. He’s been doing it more and more lately.
Ethan is staring as if he’s a starving man.
And Axel? The maniac sits with his boots on the table, a smirk on his face, twirling his mini axe as if it doesn’t have my scent all over it.
I wince.
“Morning,” I mutter, making a beeline for the coffee pot like it’s a lifeline to salvation.
