SAVAGE SAINT SCENE DROP

SAVAGE UNLEASHED

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Some men protect you with words.
Angelo protects you with blood.

He warned the man.
Once.
And when that warning was ignored?

He snapped.

What you're about to read is brutal.
It's violent.
And somehow, it's the most intimate thing he’s ever done.

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⚠️ Content warning: Graphic violence, obsessive protector energy, and intense emotional tension.

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👇 Scroll to read the full scene that left Kasia speechless, Angelo blood-spattered, and you… probably a little feral too.

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Kasia

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His face contorts with rage, all pretense of control abandoned as he launches himself at me. He's bigger, stronger, and right now he's running on pure fury. I plant my feet, ready for his attack. If I'm going down, I'm taking chunks of him with me.

Just as I prepare to dodge his incoming assault, a voice cuts through the air, momentarily startling me. "You don't fucking touch her."

Relief floods through me, followed by something else—something warm and electric that makes my heart stutter. I turn to see Angelo standing there, his face carved from stone, eyes burning with a fury that makes my attacker's rage look like a child's tantrum.

Everything goes still. Silent. The air. The forest. The birds. Even the brutes heavy breathing quiets. The only thing making the sound is the blood roaring through my veins. Then just as quick the world around us resumes.

What happens next is so fast, so brutal, that I can barely process it. Angelo moves like liquid violence, closing the distance in a heartbeat. One moment he's standing there, radiating cold fury, the next he's on the brute, fists flying with deadly precision.

His first punch connects with a sickening crunch. The attacker staggers, but Angelo doesn't let up. Each strike is precise, calculated, designed to inflict maximum damage. Every movement flows into the next like a choreographed dance of destruction.

I watch, transfixed, as Angelo systematically takes the man apart. This isn't just fighting—it's art. Terrible, beautiful art. The way he moves, the efficiency of each strike, it's like watching a predator at work.

Blood sprays as Angelo's fist connects with the man's nose. The attacker tries to fight back, but he might as well be swinging at smoke. Angelo weaves and dodges with an almost supernatural grace, his body moving like water around the brute's clumsy attempts at defence.

A particularly vicious blow sends the man crashing to the ground. Angelo follows, raining down punches with mechanical efficiency. His knuckles are split, blood—his or the attacker's, I can't tell—staining his hands. "You. Don't. Fucking. Touch. Her," he chants with every punch, each word punctuated by the sound of flesh meeting flesh.

I should feel horrified. I should look away. But I can't. There's something mesmerising about Angelo like this—raw, unleashed, savage. The controlled man who's been watching over me these past days is gone, replaced by something primal and dangerous.

The man on the ground has stopped moving, but Angelo doesn't stop. His shoulders heave with each breath, his face spattered with blood. He's lost in the violence, consumed by it. "Never. Ever. Touch. Her. Again," he growls, each word accompanied by another devastating blow.

A chill runs down my spine as I realise: this is Savage. This is the man they all fear. And for the first time, I truly understand why. The way he moves, the calculated brutality, the sheer power radiating from him—it's terrifying and awe-inspiring all at once.

Part of me wants to run. But a darker, more primal part feels...safe. Protected. Watching him unleash this violence in my defence awakens something in me I didn't know existed. Part of me wants to curl up on his lap and press my lips against his neck. Soak in his warmth. Let his violence wrap around me like a shield.

Angelo's fists are a blur of motion, each impact punctuated by a sickening crack. The man beneath him is barely recognisable now, his face a mess of blood and bruises. Each strike lands with mechanical precision, like he's following some dark choreography only he knows.

"Angelo," I call out, my tone soft, trying to break through his haze of violence. He doesn't respond, lost in his rage, continuing his brutal assault.

I take a step forward, then another. The air around Angelo feels charged, dangerous. It's like approaching a wild animal - every instinct screaming at me to run, but something deeper pulling me forward.

Another punch lands. The wet, shattering sound makes me flinch. This isn't justice anymore. It's pure vengeance, raw and primal.

"Angelo, stop!" I shout, my voice cutting through the sounds of violence.

His head snaps up, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. His eyes are wild, unfocused, burning with an intensity that both terrifies and captivates me. Blood spatters his face, his knuckles raw and split.

For a heartbeat, I think he might not stop. That he might turn that savage energy on me. My body tenses, ready to run, muscles coiled tight with anticipation.

But then I see it—a flicker of recognition in his eyes. His fingers twitch, hovering over the broken man. He's fighting for control, I realize. Fighting against the monster inside him, trying to cage it back behind walls of restraint.

Without thinking, I close the distance between us. I reach out, my hand trembling, and touch his arm. His skin is hot, slick with sweat and blood, muscles rigid under my fingers.

"It's over," I say softly, holding his gaze. "You can stop now. I'm safe."

For a moment, neither of us moves. We're frozen in this moment of violence and tenderness. I can feel his rapid pulse under my fingertips, matching the frantic beat of my own heart.

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💬 Reply to my last email and tell me: Were you scared? Turned on? Both? I won't judge.

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