Page 7 of Posing for the Artist Wolf

“Since you arrived,” I admitted. No point in lying now. “I couldn’t... I couldn’t look away.”

She flipped through faster now, her cheeks flushing. Page after page of her. Some from memory, others pure fantasy. Claire laughing. Claire deep in thought. Claire with autumn leaves in her hair.

Claire, bare-shouldered and looking behind her, eyes half-lidded with desire.

Fuck.

I should stop her. Explain. Apologize. But the words stuck in my throat, choking me.

Claire’s gaze finally lifted from the sketchbook, meeting mine. Her pulse thrummed visibly at her throat. Her pupils were blown wide, lips slightly parted.

I wanted to taste them. To claim them.

To claim her.

But I couldn’t. I was broken. Dangerous. The claw marks on the walls, the shredded furniture—all evidence of the monster lurking beneath my skin. I flexed my hand again, the twinge of pain a stark reminder.

I would hurt her. Just like I’d hurt everyone else.

“Why?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Reckless.

Words failed me. How could I explain the pull that I felt? That I was drawn to her from the moment I first caught her scent? That I’d been watching her, sketching her, dreaming of her because it was the closest I could allow myself?

I was a fucking disaster waiting to happen. A ticking time bomb of fur and fangs and barely contained desire.

A low growl rumbled in my chest. My skin felt too tight, my wolf pacing restlessly beneath the surface.

Claire’s breath hitched, and our eyes met. Held. The world narrowed to just us. Just this moment.

Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. My gaze followed the movement, transfixed. When I dragged my eyes back to hers, they blazed with challenge.

She took a shaky breath, then spoke. Her voice was steady. Daring. “Would you sketch me, Kai?”

My wolf surged forward, nearly breaking free.

I swallowed hard. “Claire...”

It was a warning. A plea. I didn’t trust myself. Didn’t trust my control.

“You’re missing full-body drawings.”

She stepped closer. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off her body. Close enough that if I leaned forward just a bit, I could capture her lips with mine.

“You have my eyes. My hands. You’re missing the whole picture.”

She pressed the sketchbook to my chest and raised her eyes to mine. For a heartbeat, we held still, neither daring to breathe.

“Please?”

That word. Fuck me, that word. It broke me.

My fingers drifted down, trailing along the curve of her shoulder. Light, just brushing her frame. Her breath hitched.

“Take your hair down.”

CHAPTER THREE

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