The Savage and the Saint

by L. C. Morgan

  The Savage and the Saint

  His eyes begged me to. If only I would let him.

  By L. C. Morgan

  copyright © 2014 by L. C. Morgan

  Edited by Kitty Bad & Rachel Lawrence

  Summary: When a native tribe attacks and her husband is killed, Elizabeth is taken by a savage warrior who terrifies her. Not because of his exotic appearance, clothing or customs, but the new and powerful feelings he attempts to ignite in her.

  If only she would let him.

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Warning: This novella contains several explicit scenes of an erotic, sexual nature. This story is intended for adults over the age of eighteen. All characters portrayed are eighteen or older.

  Acknowledgements

  Special thanks to my inspiration Jessa Kaye. If she hadn't been born then neither would this novella. I dedicate this to her and to all my readers, my friends. Thanks to Miz and Mon for being such loyal and enthusiastic supporters. Special thanks to Nicole, Shika, Andrea and her husband, T.E., Erica, and everyone who pre-read, offering much needed guidance and suggestions. Special thanks to Kitty Bad, who beta’d this work of fiction right out of the Fanfiction world and Rachel Lawrence who polished up and prettied the finishing touches.

  To my husband who encourages me in his own way, I thank you for letting me be me.

  But most of all, I want to thank my readers and the Twilight fandom for the love and encouragement they always gave and continue to give to me. I love you guys with all my heart, always.

  Thank you.

  Cover art by Stephanie Tkach at www.thebookcoverdesigner.com

  Chapter One

  They came in the dead of night, the screams stirring us all from the depths of sound slumber. Rising to my feet, I blinked out the remnants of a long forgotten dream as I patted the far side of the bed, finding it empty once again.

  “John?” I called, more out of panic than dependency. I didn’t expect an answer, didn’t reckon he was even home, seeing as he was never around when I needed him.

  Coughing, I freed myself from the twisted covers as swirls of blinding smoke filled the small room, the fumes so strong they forced me out of the house and into the street. I wrapped my arms around my waist in an attempt to block the crisp morning air, focusing on my feet and the calming coolness of packed dirt beneath the bare soles. A constant in the hoards of hysteria, I stood stock still as confusion ran rampant.

  A chorus of cries rang out loud enough to waken the deadest of night. Children clung to their mothers, both crying as they watched their belongings go up in flames. Grown men scattered like cowards, most leaving their kin behind in order to better fend for themselves.

  “They’ll kill us all!” one shouted, his claim followed swiftly by a burst of pane glass. He only added to the crowd's worry as he tore down the street, continuing his rant. “They’ll take them! Kill us and take them all!”

  Untucked shirt tail blowing in the wind, the full moon led his way, beaming blue out of the inky black sky. The surrounding turmoil faded away with his words when the light was eclipsed by an oversized shadow, tall and lean, its legs spread wide and head held high.

  Fear paralyzed me in place when I dared a glance over my shoulder, spying the one who’d sprung straight from the tellings of a storybook.

  Savages they called them, said they killed for sport.

  Precision mastered this savage’s movements as he mounted a wild horse—its brown hide covered in large spots of white paint, his darkened skin speckled with drops of dried blood.

  "John?" I croaked, my voice but a pin drop in the wake of a rifle shot. Another round of ear curdling screams drowned my next attempt at a feeble cry.

  The scattering townsfolk turned into blurs as the savage flew by, his speed besting the occasional whip of cool wind that nipped at my skin. The strong breeze caught the tip of my braid, and I reflexively reached for the ribbon that bound my hair, finding it still intact. My feet wavered, but my eyes stayed fixed on him, how he glided right on past the fleeing distraught man.

  Releasing a held breath, I turned my attention to another ruckus, spotting John just stumbling out of the local tavern.

  Heat flourished through my chest, hot as the flames of the burning buildings while I watched him shuffle, struggling to stay upright and steady on his feet.

  He was drunk again, just like I knew he would be, happily oblivious to his duty and the devastation surrounding him. Absolutely no regard for his own beloved wife.

  “John!” I called to him anyhow, starting in his direction before I was sideswiped by the charge of a horse. Pain shot through my shins as I fell to my knees, my lungs fighting to work as I crouched, coughing out the circling cloud of kicked-up dust.

  Ax drawn, the rider headed straight for John as another sharp scream sliced through the starry night sky. It only took a moment, one stab through John’s round belly for me to realize that scream had been ripped from me.

  Left all alone in the thinning crowd, my cries mixed with those of so many others, none of which caught the attention of the assailant such as mine. No. His devil black eyes turned on me, a small hint of a smile shaping his lips as he climbed down from his horse and slowly slid the blade from between John’s ribs.

  I scurried back as he slinked forward like a serpent, trailing thick drops of my husband’s spilled blood.

  A desperate noise escaped me when my back met resistance, the hard hit knocking the breath right out of my lungs.

  In a failed attempt to climb to my feet, I strained to see what had appeared behind me, regret filling my bones the very second that I did.

  Mouth running dry, my heart stopped beating. More than anything, I wanted to run but couldn't, frozen solid in the center of these two savages.

  The briefest of relief came as the one behind me stepped to the front like a shield, his long legs forming an illusion of barred safety. Lost in desperation and fear, I clung to them, silently praying that this man would spare my life as he had another, that he wouldn’t take me or the pleasures of my body—that he wasn’t as savage as the spared man had said. He didn’t seem to be, especially in looks. The inky black silk of his long hair lay smooth, not signaling as much of a threat as the short spiked ends and shaved sides of his rival.

  All that changed, however, when he attempted to step away, and I panicked, tightening my grip around the bulk of his calves. I would have never if I knew what was coming next, shock resonating deep when he lifted his leg and I lost my balance, a loud crack echoing through my head when it hit the side of a large rock.

  The last thing I remembered was hearing the shuffling of a close tussle and the sickening sound of one’s throat being cut.

  My eyes fluttered shut before I could see who’d won.

  Chapter Two

  I woke to the heat of the searing sun, my head pounding in time to the gallop of heavy hooves. The swollen lids of my eyes lifted only slightly to the sight of brown hide. Smooth against my cheek, the softness was the only reprieve for being slung face down over the horse's back. Its withers dug into my ribs, the sharp pain making it damn near impossible to breathe.

  Reaching back, I tended to the small bump protruding from the side of my loosened braid. A groan escaped from between my dry lips as a sharp pain shot through my head, the memories of how I’d gotten the injury in the first place rising to the surface, and I instantly regretted the alerting sound.

  Licki
ng the dust from my lips, I held back a cough, swallowing down the irritating tickle at the back of my throat. Stiffness settled into my bones when the rider spoke. My hardened marrow shook with his deep tenor, enough to send a shiver through the animal’s spine. At least it seemed to understand the incomprehensible slew of sounds being spat in native tongue. The jerking motion of the animal's halt pushed a sudden gust of air from my lungs. Its muted two step even more unbearable than the steady rhythm of its trot.

  Hopelessness coursed through my veins when I realized I was in the middle of nowhere with no way to communicate with this man, no way to reason. From what I'd heard and all I'd seen, they were merciless, barbaric. Unclean savages who stole and killed, taking defenseless women against their will after killing their men for sport.

  Poor John.

  His fate made me fear for my own life. This brute’s actions proved to be no different.

  Miserable and sweaty, I was undoubtedly disheveled. The urge to push myself up, slide off and run was as strong as my urge to just lie there and cry. However, the jostle of a swift dismount kept me silent and still, a healthy fear stalling the flow of my unshed tears. I all but screamed as a set of large hands grasped me roughly by the hips, giving them a good tug and setting me down on the ground.

  I stumbled on weakened knees, bracing myself with the unstable wall of shortened brown fur. The stored heat steaming from the earth bit at my bare feet. I hissed, swatting away the untrustworthy fingers that steadied me before soothing the spooked horse’s backside. It wasn't the poor animal's fault I was in this mess. It was his.

  Another forced breath escaped my lips as I was roughly turned to face my captor. I almost breathed a sigh of relief before remembering how he had kicked and knocked me unconscious. I felt shame for ever believing he would have protected me. He was no hero. Much too savage to be considered a savior.

  A sunburnt pinch pierced my brow when another slew of indecipherable words fell from his lips. Squinting out the setting sun, I focused on them, grasping for any little hint of what it was he could be saying. But all I could do was watch, vainfully thinking how those lips were so much plumper than mine, plumper than any I'd ever remembered seeing—especially for a man.

  The more he spoke, the angrier he became. I shook the sun’s disorienting effects from my head, placing a finger against his mouth to hush the jumbled noise. This just wouldn’t do.

  I can’t understand you! I wanted to scream at him, the words dying on my tongue as his hand flew up to wrap around my wrist, holding it in place.

  I flinched as he lifted his free hand to my face and planted his fingers firmly against my chin. I attempted to shake from his grip, only to be halted by a grunt and the brush of a stray hair as he tucked it behind my ear.

  Eyes clear as mud, he lowered my hand to his chest, looking me over, jerking my heart as he did my head, turning it to and fro. I stood perfectly still as he studied me, taking the opportunity to study him right back.

  His black hair matched mine in color and length, hanging loosely over both of his broad shoulders. The war paint covering his face was cracked and flaking, flowing down to where it ceased on his neck, chipping away to pepper tiny white specks across his chest. My eyes met with the darkened skin beneath, its smooth texture stretched tight over bulging tendons and muscle. It shined under a thin sheet of sweat, the same tint of boiled sugar. Sucking in another sobering breath, I closed my eyes to it.

  So much skin … and blood.

  Wiggling my head back and forth, I attempted to break free of his grip. I didn’t want him touching me, didn’t like the confusing feelings it started to stir in my chest and stomach. It was so much more than fear. I was curious, fascinated, not once in my life encountering such fierce beauty in a man, such brute force.

  It was silly, really.

  Dangerous, the way my struggle only seemed to goad his actions, those calloused fingers of his digging deeper into my aching jaw. All the softness had dissipated from his form as he pushed me up against the hide of his horse, the impact forcing the poor animal to huff in response. I sympathized with it, would have run off into the sunset on all fours if I was able to. Why wasn't it? Did it know something I didn't?

  More grunted syllables fell from the man's mouth as I contemplated my own escape, his breath blowing a burning anger across my already heated cheek, almost as if the more forceful he fed the words the easier I would understand them. But I didn’t. I didn't understand, and it only aided in frightening me further.

  “Don’t.” Holding my hands out in front of me, I remained perfectly calm until the warmth of his skin pressed into the palms of my hands. “I beg you, please.” The newfound firmness in my voice paid little heed and he stepped forward. In turn, I pushed harder. “I said, take your hands off me!”

  Strong and more vigorous in his adaptation to the intense Western heat, he ignored my protests with ease, stepping even closer as if I were simply asking for more. Tears welled up in my eyes, the events of the previous night leaving me feeling drained and weak. I couldn’t fight it anymore, was terrified of my strong urge to give in and rest my tired body against him. But with a few more sweeps over my face he was seemingly satisfied enough to loosen his grip. I stretched my jaw when he finally released me and turned to flip open the flap of a rawhide satchel hanging from the horse’s side.

  This was my chance.

  Sucking in a second wind, I took the opportunity to run. Where to, I didn't know. I couldn't have known, never having been any further West than the state line of Missouri. Besides, everything looked the same—red and rocky, swirled shades of light and dark making up the majority of my mountainous surroundings.

  My bare feet beat against the hardened red clay, shooting sharp pains up my legs. The ache in my lungs was damn near unimaginable, ripping from my chest in forced heaves. Licking my lips, I forged ahead, my best bet to head East, I deciphered as I turned in the opposite direction of the sun.

  The approaching trot of heavy hooves beat against barren ground. It trembled beneath me, the vibrations pulsating at the speed of my own heart. A scream ripped from me as two arms wrapped around my waist from behind, hoisting me up and into the air and forcing me to straddle the horse’s middle. I scoffed in disbelief as those arms pulled me tight into his chest, one anchored up high, resting just underneath my breasts.

  Completely horrified and utterly defeated, I was too tired to even try and situate the skirt of my night dress over my thighs, concedingly dropping my head back to rest it on his shoulder.

  Chapter Three

  We rode for what seemed like hours, making short stops here and there to feed and water the horse.

  He kept a firm grip around my middle, giving me hide nor hair of an inch to wiggle free and run as he fisted handfuls of grain out of a side satchel and held it up to the horse’s muzzle.

  I watched in distaste as he brought that same hand to his own lips and helped himself to a mouthful of slobbery feed—an act no more civilized than his animal.

  I shook my head in disgust when he offered me a taste as well. Famished yet prideful, I turned up my nose. Most likely not caring whether I lived or died, it wasn't long before he gave up the fight, dropping the remainder to the ground at our feet with a grunt.

  He grew rougher as the day grew long, pulling me impossibly close and nearly crushing my ribs. Carelessly, he lifted me up onto the horse as if I weighed nothing at all, as if he were the only one to consider. The horse, it seemed, wasn’t that endurant, letting out an annoyed huff at the same time I was dropped onto its back. I petted its mane in an attempt to make amends, and in surprising refusal of the gesture it made a move to bite my shin.

  “Hey!” I hollered, earning another huff. A shiver ran down its regal spine as its owner climbed on behind me, giving both of our middles a good squeeze. Two clicks of his tongue and we were off once again, heading into a great kaleidoscope of color.

  Rest came easy once I set my sights on the subtle hues of the horizon
, how the waves of pink faded flawlessly into a sea of singed orange. It was a feast for the eyes, and mine were gobbling it up while trying to ignore the whines of my envious stomach.

  The heat quickly fled with the round belly of the sun, but my captor's chest kept me warm enough, radiating stored heat straight through the fabric of my dress. I had just started getting comfortable in his arms when I straightened, spotting a cloud of smoke.

  The closer we rode, the clearer our destination became. And soon what was once a hazy blur turned into a circular row of tents.

  The further we mosied into camp, the more dwellers emerged, approaching the horse in welcome. They were different from him, warm and inviting with their wide smiles and friendly touches.

  My heart pounded in my chest, a whole different sort of fear pumping through my veins. Not coming from a family that showed such affection, I didn’t know what to make of it. It was overwhelming to say the least.

  I sat perfectly still while he dismounted, keeping the peace and letting him help me down as well. His forearms flexed under my palms, the strain of his muscle rippling up his arms and across his chest. I pressed my thighs together once my feet touched the ground, trying desperately to alleviate the pressure building between them. Naturally, I chalked it up to a result of straddling the horse in a rather unladylike fashion for the better half of the afternoon. Yes, that was it. Improper horse etiquette.

  It surprised me when he left me alone and disappeared inside his tent, most likely convinced that I wouldn’t want to chance running off and being eaten by wolves.

  Well, he was right.

  Ever so hesitantly, I stepped closer to the entrance, teetering from foot to foot when an alarming howl sounded from the distance. Eyes widened, my heart raced, sending my feet forward and into the flimsy safety of easily rippable fabric.