SAVAGE SAINT

CHAPTER 4 EXCERPT

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Kasia

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The hair at the back of my neck stands as I realise the voices draw closer. Heart hammering in my chest, I try not to let the panic overwhelm me, but it’s a losing battle. 

On instinct, I take a step back, the back of my legs hitting the bed, startling me even further. My breath hitches, the sharp inhale burning my raw throat. Every nerve in my body is on high alert, my senses heightened as I look for an escape route, my eyes settling on the window. 

If I could only remember who I am, or what I’m doing here. I clench my eyes shut, willing my brain to cooperate, bring back more memories, but all I see is black. No more memories, nothing that can give me an indication on how to proceed. Just a feeling of dark sorrow and pain. And that’s enough to spear me into action. I rush to the window, but in my haste, I forget that I’m connected to the machines. The sharp pull of wires tears at my skin, followed by a metallic clang, as the drip stand topples over. The sound echoes in the quiet room, louder than anything I’ve heard before, making my heart jump into my throat.

Without thinking, I rip the cannula out of my hand and run for the window. The heart monitor screams with its long high-pitched warning. Any second they’ll rush into the room now. Get me. Hurt me. I know it. 

Flashes of a new memory hit me—feet pounding on the pavement, my heart beating out of my chest as I run for my life, the sound of shouts and footsteps closing in behind me. My heart races as though I’m relieving it, the fear almost paralysing. But I don’t stop. Can’t stop.

I tear open the window and climb over the sill. The fear in the memory is blinding, but there’s determination there too. This gives me the strength to step on the ledge and look down. 

“Shit,” I mutter, looking the three stories down and the blood gushing from my hand where the cannula was, the droplets hitting the ledge and smearing as I steady myself. A wave of dizziness crashes into me my vision tilting as the world spins. I’m not worried though, if I fall at least they won’t get me. 

Strong arms wrap around my middle, yanking me back into the room. I fight, twisting and kicking, but it’s no use. The grip is like iron, unyielding and my struggle only makes my body scream in protest.

A scent of woods and citrus surrounds me, calming me despite my panic. It’s annoying how it soothes me, lulling me into a false sense of security. My brain vaguely registers the familiarity of the smell, but it’s just out of reach.

I’m swept into muscular arms, my hand landing on a firm chest. It’s warm, steady, the rise and fall of his breath anchoring me in a way I don’t understand. My instincts scream at me to resist, but my body betrays me, going limp as exhaustion overtakes me.

I go from standing on the ledge of the window in one second to being cradled in strong arms the next. My breathing still shallow from trying to escape I take my time to look up and see the face of the person who’s carrying me. 

His arms tighten around me, his grip protective yet possessive. My eyes trace his features—sharp jawline, dark stubble, and eyes the colour of molten chocolate that seem to pierce right through me. There’s something terrifying and safe about him all at once, a contradiction I can’t wrap my head around.

The sun peeks from the clouds behind him, illuminating his frame and just like that my lips tilt into a smile, remembering his face.

“Anioł,” I croak out. “I bled all over your suit.” Smooth. Very smooth.

His lip twitches as he looks to where my bleeding palm is fisting his shirt. He’s so beautiful I can barely take it. “Not the first time it happened,” he mutters. His voice is deep, smooth, with a lilt to it that makes my skin prickle. 

He shifts me slightly in his arms, his grip strong but careful, as if one wrong move could snap me in half. He probably could, snap me in half. I can feel the hard planes of his chest beneath my hand. I try to look away, but I’m captivated by every detail I discover. Every clean line and shadow, the stubble along his jaw. But it’s his eyes that hold me—deep, molten brown, flickering with something I’m struggling to name.

I know him. I don’t know him, but I know him.

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