Page 9 of Wolf's Chance

This woman could be anyone.

I didn’t like it.

Walking back to the room she used as a studio, I stayed close to the wall as I entered, hoping to remain undetected from any prying eyes.

There was nothing here except her art. I compared a landscape to the one I had seen in her bedroom. In comparison, this one was…flat. It was still very well done, but now that I had seen her personal drawings and paintings, I could see the difference. A commission?

A canvas facing inward had caught my eye before, and now that I was back in the room, it drew me to it. Curious, I lifted it and turned it around. I almost dropped it in surprise as my face stared back at me.

My eyes narrowed as I took in the drawing. My hair was away from my face, the waves that sometimes irritated me were pushed neatly away from my forehead. My hair was darkish blond, with lighter strands throughout that had many a woman ask me if I colored my hair. The nose was straight, too long in my opinion, but in the portrait, it was evened out with full lips. A thick scruff of stubble coated the face, hiding a strong jaw and giving some definition to the cheekbones. My hair curled slightly under my ears, drawing attention to the slight scar that ran from the bottom of the right ear to the collarbone.

Staring at myself, I felt slightly unnerved as my portrait watched me back. Leaning closer, I scoffed at the exaggerated length of the eyelashes. With everything else so precise, it amused me she had used artistic license on this.

Placing the portrait back where I’d found it, I went through every canvas to see if there were more.

Finding three, I arranged them in front of me. In one, I was half-hidden in shadow, a hoodie worn under a jacket. In another, my face was turned away, looking over my shoulder to the trees and mountain behind me. In the third, I was leaning against the wall, under the shade of a tree on Main Street, a familiar smirk on my face as I appeared to be waiting.

Flicking my eyes over each portrait, I didn’t know what tothink. I’d been here three days. She only spoke to me this morning.

I hadn’t worn that jacket since I’d been here.

I wasn’t besidethatmountain.

And she hadn’t been home since this morning’s encounter.

“She’s psychic?”

Psychics were a money-grabbing farce.Actualpremonition was rare, almost a myth.

“Myth? Says the wolf shifter,” I muttered. Pulling out my phone, I snapped pics of all the pictures of me. Putting the canvases back in place, I hesitated. On one, there was a date penciled in the bottom corner. It confused the hell out of me until I realized she’d written it British style, day before month.

Two things creeped me out about this. One, she wasn’t British, and two, this was drawn two months before I got here.

“What the fuck are you?” Quickly, I took a picture of the date, and then I cleaned up after myself, ensuring the room looked like it had before I went snooping.

Unease settled on my shoulders. In the kitchen, I grabbed one of her candy bars and bit into it as I thought about everything I didn’t know about Willow Harper. Like the important information, such as where she was from. Who were her parents? Why the fuck was she drawing me? Who thehellwas she?

Why the fuck was she drawing me?

My senses suddenly alerted me to the sound of someone approaching from outside. Checking my watch, I saw I’d overstayed my welcome. Stuffing the candy wrapper in my jeans pocket, I crossed the floor on light feet, easing the back door open just as a key slid into the front lock.

While she opened the front door, I closed the back one, masking any noise with the sound she made. I heard a long exhale just as the latch caught on the back door.

Crouching low, I used the wall to hide my presence when Willow walked into her living space and came to a sudden stop.

I could hear her heart racing from here, her adrenaline kicked in, and I pressed myself against the wall.

“Who’s there?” Her voice was quiet, almost like she didn’t want the answer. “Someone’s been here. Are you still here?”

The floorboard creaked and, tilting my head down, I listened closely. She was turning in a circle? I heard her walk away and knew she was checking the rooms in her house. She was brave. I’d known a lot of women in my time among humans, and I was certain at least half of them would either be outside by now or at least on their phones, calling for help. That reaction wasn’t what I expectedjustfrom women either; I knew a few men would react the same.

While she was gone, knowing just how few rooms she had to check, I eased along the wall to the corner of the house, ran to the fence separating the properties, and jumped over it quickly. Keeping low, I waited, and sure enough, only moments later, the back door opened.

Knowing it was risky but chancing it anyway, I turned my head to see between the narrow cracks in the fence.

She was on the back step, not looking around her space or her neighbors’. Her attention was fixed on the woods in front of her. Reaching up, her fingers pushed her hair behind her ear, and I caught the slight tremor of her hand. With an uneven step, Willow went back inside her house.

I waited until I heard the lock turn and then waited somemore. When I was sure she was no longer at her kitchen window, staring out at the trees, I ran to the teenage kid’s backyard, hopped the low fence, and within a few strides, I was enveloped by pine trees.

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