Page 104 of Shielded Heart

Twenty

Days passed; Arcanthus spent as much of that time with Samantha as he could without neglecting his work. With her tablet in hand, she was often a silent presence in his workshop, her stylus never seeming to still as he alternated between the few identification chips he was under agreement to complete and the far more daunting task of locating Vaund.

He’d been mistaken to think she’d be too much of a distraction. Granted, his eyes strayed to her frequently, and he found himself stopping at least twice a day to have his way with her on one of the couches—or on the desk, the floor, and even once in the enveloping white glow of the body scanner platform—but he found her presence more grounding than anything.

She was often the only thing keeping him from sinking into despair as his repeated searches turned up nothing.

Samantha continued to spend time with the members of the security team, as well—watching shows, playing games, and training. Arcanthus accepted it; she always came back to him. Besides, he couldn’t expect her to remain in the workshop for as long as he did. Its walls could eventually drive anyone mad.

Once he completed the ID chips, he turned all his focus to the search. Samantha didn’t question his long hours of work. She talked to him about anything, abouteverything, when he needed a distraction from his mounting frustration, and was always drawing. She never complained when he crawled into bed hours after she’d retired—especially not when he woke her with his fingers or tongue.

Though she didn’t share all her drawings with him, she shared many, and her confidence and skill grew by the hour. Her loose sketches—many of them depicting Arcanthus—gradually increased in detail and improved in form, and he adored the look of concentration that often fell across her face while she drew, especially when her tongue slipped out to press against her upper lip. It was clear to him that she loved art, and equally clear that she’d not created much of it over the last few years.

When she showed him a colored drawing of a creature she called Mister Wiggles—which had apparently been a tinycather grandmother had kept as a pet—Arcanthus grinned. He’d never seen such an animal before, but its resemblance to Drakkal was immediately apparent; its fur had the same coloration and nearly identical patterns, and its facial features were even reminiscent of an azhera’s.

She was trepidatious at first, but Arcanthus convinced her to share the image with Drakkal.

Samantha held her tablet up to the azhera and said, “This was my grandmother’s cat, Mister Wiggles. You reminded me of him the first time we met.”

Drakkal’s brows fell low, and he looked slowly from the image to Samantha.

“Um…cats are little animals from Earth that are often kept as pets,” Sam said, “and…well…”

Arcanthus pressed his lips together and covered his mouth with a hand, holding back his laughter.

“I remind you of a tiny, domesticated animal?” Drakkal asked in a low voice.

“Yes.” Her eyes rounded, and she hurried to add, “I mean…your fur and your coloration do. Obviously, you’re not tiny, and you’re not an animal.” Samantha licked her lips. “He was really fond of cuddling, and he was really affectionate…and I think you probably are too, even if you don’t show it.”

Now Drakkal’s brows rose.

Sam dropped her gaze to the floor. “Anyway, Arc wanted me to show you. You remind me of Mister Wiggles, and, well, that makes me think of my grandmother, and home…and its always kind of comforting to see you. It helps me…helps me feel at home.”

A slight frown tugging down the corners of his mouth, Drakkal looked down at the image again. He was silent for several seconds before he said gruffly, “This is good, terran. You’re good. Would you…send this to me? I would like a copy.”

When she lifted her head, Samantha’s eyes were huge and bright. She nodded enthusiastically; she wore a huge grin all the way back to the bedroom and couldn’t stop talking about how happy she was that Drakkal had liked it.

Arcanthus encouraged her to keep pushing, to keep practicing, to bring her imagination to life; she had such potential, and Arcanthus couldn’t stand knowing that it might’ve been snuffed out completely.

It was on the seventh morning after he’d gifted her the tablet that Arc learned the true depth of her talent and passion.

Arcanthus woke to find Samantha already up, sitting with her knees raised and her tablet settled over them. She glanced up from her work briefly to smile at him. It took him a few minutes of gentle coaxing to get her to share what she was working on.

“It’s not completely done yet,” she said, cheeks flushing, “but you can have a peek.”

Drawing her legs closer to her chest—she hadn’t yet dressed—she turned the tablet toward him.

He wasn’t sure what to say as he looked over the image; her statement about it being incomplete didn’t at all match what he saw. There was no question of the subject—he was looking at himself, sprawled out on the bed with his hair splayed across the sheet, naked save for the crimson swathe of blanket draped over his groin.

He might’ve mistaken it for a photo were it not for the slightly more saturated colors. The work represented a masterful understanding of color and lighting and contained surprising subtleties—the soft blue glow from walls outside the frame reflecting on his arms, legs, and horns; the realistic folds in the fabric of the blanket; the barely perceptible texture on his skin.

What she’d created didn’t merely capture reality—it seemed capable ofsurpassingreality.

There was no telling how long he stared at it—ten seconds, a hundred, a whole lifetime—before she pulled the tablet back into her lap.

She said in a small, soft voice, “I know it’s not very good, and it needs a lot of—”

Arcanthus hushed her by pressing a finger to her lips. “Your drawings have been good, Samantha, butthis…this is something else entirely. It’s amazing. Ifthisis your starting point, I can’t even imagine how stunning your art will be in a year’s time.”

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