Page 54 of Mated to the Wolves

“You have a gift. Use it to guide you.” She looks at me expectantly.

I narrow my gaze. “I don’t understand.”

“You have an art degree, don’t you?”

“I do.” I’ve always thought the art of painting was kin to meditation. When you get invested in a painting, you hit a nearly trance-like stage.

“You understand what you need to do now, young one?”

“Yes.” Joy fills my heart. This is a world I know well. My fingers itch to hold a paintbrush.

The Volva focuses her attention on Bo.

“Everything you’ve been forced to endure has been for a reason. Remember that.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll know when the time is right.” She flashes her Mona Lisa smile and Bo looks at me with an expression that screams constipation.

I shrug.

“There are supplies you must gather. You do not have much time. In order to prevail, you must let go of the past and see what is before you now.” Impatience darkens the Volva’s voice.

Anger twists in my gut, but I have no chance to respond before she walks away.

“Looks like she wasn’t interested in whatever you had to say,” Bo’s voice is tinged with snarkiness.

“There he is,” I gesture toward him with a wave.

“Who?” His brow furrows.

“The asshole I’ve known my entire life. Why even defend me back there?”

“Because you’re mine, and I protect what belongs to me.”

“I am a person, not a thing.”

“And yet you never disagreed.” He opens the passenger door. I climb in as rage fuels my resolve to bring change.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Itake my new paints to the back porch. Bo trails behind me with a brand-new easel in his hands. Seeing him so respectful gives me a sick sort of pleasure. I never could’ve imagined my bully would ever be my errand boy.

I don’t mind the access to money. Life had been tough in college, living on what was allocated from the school for my scholarship.

I’d picked up shifts at a local diner to help make the cash stretch, only touching my inheritance during emergencies.

“You’re going to paint with everything else going on?” Fell blinks at me.

I scowl.

“The Volva said her talent and desire to paint would bring clarity, and she be encouraged,” Bo parrots.

“What else did she say?” Kirk asks. The rest of my mates join us on the back porch.

I open my new supplies and arrange them in glass jars.

“Nothing that made sense, “I mumble.

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