Page 29 of The Savage

Then with the precision of a laser beam, they lock on me with a clarity that steals the air from my lungs.

His chest rises high… higher. Holds. Then with his deep exhale, I hear the next sound. ‘Giada.’

The name hits me like a cushioned club to the head. It’s enough to shake and disorient me, but I blink away the confusion.

I shake my head, panic rising, then falling as relief takes its place. ‘No, you’re mistaken. I’m not who you think I am. My name is Benedetta.’

He watches me for several heartbeats, confusion and something deeper flickering behind those eyes. Shock. Wonder. Then… as my mouth dries with my own conflicting emotions, I see hatred, or the thin, bleeding edge between all his emotions.

Machines whir. The soldiers’ firm footsteps return, followed by softer ones.

Somewhere in the hall, alarms begin to chime, but I barely hear them.

‘Giada. Fuck, it’s really you. Angel,’ he repeats. Firmer.

I can’t move. Can’t breathe.

Because this stranger, this broken, beautiful man, just spoke the name I don’t know with feeling strong enough to move mountains, bend galaxies, or start wars in the hearts of men.

And as I stare into his eyes, a searing emptiness, echoes of whole lives wasted and loves squandered, flares in my mind, catches fire and burns agony through my soul.

5

RENZO

For a few fractured seconds, the world swims between dream and waking. Beeping. Voices. The taste of iron filling every corner of my mouth.

And her. The angel haloed in white, her pale green eyes wide as if she’s never seen sin before. Never had sin made flesh thrusting between her beautiful thighs before, making her scream to the fucking heavens.

I blink, trying to reconcile the breathtaking image before me with reality. The angelic robe of my dreams morphs into a shapeless, long-sleeved habit concealing every inch of her beautiful body. A… fucking wimple? Trembling hands clutching a goddamn rosary. And on her feet are what must be the ugliest shoes ever created.

But even that isn’t what punches breath from my lungs.

It’s the fact that even after having already seen her tonight – hours ago – standing barefoot in her tiny convent cell, a candle trembling between us as my men blew her door off its hinges, the flash of terror in her eyes, her gasp when my hand caught her arm, I still can’t believe she’s real.

And the way she whispered, ‘Why are you doing this?’ even with a hood being pulled over her head? I thought it was all a fever dream.

And now she looks at me again, here, under this blinding hospital light… as if I’m a stranger.

It shouldn’t gut me.

But it fucking does.

She swallows, nerves fluttering in her throat. ‘Why did you come for me?’ Her voice gains bite, the same fire I saw when she resisted while my soldiers restrained her. ‘Why? Nobody answers my questions and I… I deserve an answer. I’m asking you.’

God help me.

Even now, weak, stitched back together, ribs screaming every time I breathe, my cock twitches at the sound of her bite, her defiance.

Don’t think about her biting you, I warn myself.

Too late. I’m already thinking about it.

‘Why do you think?’ I rasp, harsher than intended.

‘I don’t know,’ she snaps back, chin lifting. ‘That’s why I’m asking you.’

Of course she is.