Page 18 of Posing for the Artist Wolf

I wove my way between the booths and tables, dodging the server carrying platters laden with our food. I ignored the concerned looks from my pack, the curious glances from Shauna and Phillip. None of it mattered. Only Claire.

The bell chimed as she left. I burst through the door seconds later, nearly sliding on the icy sidewalk. “Claire!” I called. “Wait up.”

She didn’t break stride, nor did she look back. “I don’t want to talk to you, Kai. You can kindly fuck off.”

The sharp, succinct retort struck a chord in me, and I grinned. Yeah, she was exactly what I needed. “Let me explain.”

I caught up to her in four strides and fell in step at her side. Fates, she smelled amazing. Looked even better, too. It took every ounce of control not to bury my face in her neck, to taste her skin.

She refused to meet my gaze, but I could feel her ire radiating in my direction. But under it, I caught a hint of curiosity. Of longing. My wolf perked up, hopeful.

“I don’t need explanations,” she said, her voice like ice. “I’ve had enough secrets from my brother. I don’t need more. Let’s just quit while we’re ahead.”

“It’s not—” I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated. How could I make her understand? “It’s not like that. Just... give me a chance?”

She hesitated, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. I tracked the movement, unable to look away. So fucking beautiful.

The faintest flush colored her cheeks, but she narrowed her eyes. “It’s not street-appropriate, is it?”

A bolt of victory shot through me, and my wolf preened. She remembered, and she respected my secrets enough to keep them quiet. Not that the empty winter streets of near-abandoned Mill Creek ran a risk of anyone overhearing. “No.”

Claire nodded, already turning away. I drank in every detail I’d missed over the past two days. The slight curl at the ends of her hair. Her nose scrunching against the cold. The faint smudge of graphite on her palm.

My fingers itched to capture it all. To capture her.

We walked in tense silence, the crunch of snow under our boots the only sound. But with each step, I felt myself relax. This was right. Claire was right.

Now I just had to convince her of that.

As we stepped onto her porch, I caught sight of a wreath on the door. Evergreen boughs woven with pinecones and red berries. The scent of pine mixed with Claire’s cinnamon and blackberries, and my wolf purred with delight.

Mate.

“You’ve been decorating,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended.

Claire shrugged, unlocking the door. “Trying to, anyway. Grandpa would have wanted it.”

Inside, boxes of decorations were scattered around the great room. A tree stood in the corner, bare branches reaching toward the ceiling. Claire made a beeline for a tangled mess of lights on the coffee table, pointedly ignoring my presence.

I hovered awkwardly near the door, watching as she worked at a particularly stubborn knot. “Claire, I?—”

“You wanted to talk,” she interrupted, not looking up. “So, talk.”

Fuck. A thousand possible sentence starters cluttered the tip of my tongue, and not a single one seemed right. My fingers twitched, aching to touch her and soothe the hurt I caused. “Let me help with that.”

Claire glanced up, her steel-gray eyes guarded. Her mouth tightened on whatever she had locked and loaded, and she thrust a string of lights at me. “Fine.”

We worked in silence for a few moments, the only sound the soft tinkling of bulbs and the occasional frustrated sigh. Being this close to her was both heaven and hell. My wolf strained against his leash, desperate to reach out. Touch her. Taste her. Claim her.

I cleared my throat. “I would like to immediately state Shauna’s baby is not mine.”

Claire’s hands stilled. “Okay.”

“Full disclosure, I slept with her. Only once,” I continued, willing her to see the truth in my eyes, “and only to help her escape an arranged mating with a fucking monster of an alpha wolf. It very quickly backfired.”

My hand throbbed with pain. I flexed my fingers, remembering the sickening crunch of bone. My sister’s screams for mercy. The accusations in the eyes of Rafe and Orion and the others on their knees, brutal deaths waiting in the wings.

The guilt I lived with.

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