Page 6 of Posing for the Artist Wolf

Our fingers brushed as she took it, sending a jolt through my system. I jerked back, flexing my hand. The residual ache grounded me, reminding me of the damage I could do. Of the damage I’d already done.

Clearing my throat, I gestured vaguely at the page. “It’s nothing. Just some sketches.”

“Just some sketches,” she repeated, shooting me a look of disbelief and a half-smile. She turned the page, and her smile broadened. “These are amazing. Wish I’d had you around while trying to make it in the city art circles.”

Heat crept up the back of my neck. Artistic pursuits hadn’t exactly been encouraged in my old pack. Pussy shit, my father had called it when I was fourteen, fifteen maybe. Maddy kept bugging me to draw her unicorns and preteen girl things after that. Probably the only reason I hadn’t quit.

Wonderful Mads. Looking out for me even then.

Claire flipped through more drawings. Landscapes, mostly. A few portraits of pack members. Nothing incriminating yet, thank fuck.

But something eased in my chest, letting my shoulders relax. I drank in the sight of her. The way her lips curved around the mug’s rim. How her fingers tapped against the ceramic, like she was itching to create.

“What about you?” she asked, eyes flicking to mine. “You’re not from around here originally, right?”

Shit. I flexed my hand again, focusing on the ache. “Nah. Moved here with my sister over the summer.”

To escape a psychotic alpha who wanted to kill me for fucking his betrothed. To save my sister from taking my place as his punching bag.

I swallowed hard. “Needed a change of scenery.”

Claire nodded, not pushing. “I get that. Sometimes you just need a fresh start away from the memories.”

If only she knew.

Maddy’s face flashed in my mind, her eyes filled with disappointment and fear as she explained her plan to save us both. She’d need me to escort her to her mail-order mate, then I was to disappear. I just... didn’t leave, and we all nearly paid with our lives when Bowen came to end us both.

Reckless.

I shouldn’t have gone near Briar House. Not the first time. Not ever. I’d only hurt her, like I hurt everyone else.

She turned another page and stopped on a particularly brutal sketch—a hand, fingers splayed and twisted, blood seeping from deep gashes across the palm.

“What’s this one about?” she asked softly, tracing the outline with a delicate finger.

Bowen shattered a few bones and snapped a few others. Delicate bones and swift shifter healing weren’t a perfect match. A curse, more like it. Tara had needed to reset my bones three times.

My wolf growled, pushing against my control. I gripped my mug tighter, willing myself to stay human. To stay sane.

“It’s, uh... it’s an old injury.” I flexed my hand. The cold made the residual pain worse. Thinking about it made it worse. “Healing was a pain in the ass.”

“This is incredible, Kai. The detail, the emotion...”

I watched, paralyzed, as Claire flipped deeper into the sketchbook. My muscles coiled tight, ready to snatch it away. But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

She turned the page.

Claire paused, her fingers tracing the outline of a face. Her face. The first sketch I’d done of her, rough and unfinished. Just the curve of her cheek, the slope of her nose, the arch of an eyebrow.

Her eyebrows lifted, a small “oh” escaping her lips. Her eyes widened, darting to mine for a split second before returning to the page. I flexed my hand, focusing on the dull ache. Anything to ground myself as she delved deeper into my secret world.

Another page turn. This time, a more detailed sketch. Claire bent over a notebook at the diner counter, brow furrowed in concentration. I’d spent hours getting the way her hair fell across her cheek just right.

My wolf prowled restlessly, clawing at my insides. He wanted out. Wanted her. The urge to touch her, to claim her, overwhelmed me. I gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white.

Claire’s fingers hesitated on the next page, her breath catching. I knew what she’d find. A series of quick sketches, filling the entire spread. Her hands. Her eyes. The line of her collarbone.

“How long have you been watching me?” Her voice was soft, but there was steel beneath it.

---