Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
I want to react with the habitual defensiveness I reserved for every conversation I had with my parents while I was in school, but Asher’s thumbs lightly stroke the tops of my thighs, and I can’t concentrate.
“What made you do it?”
I sweep my arm to indicate the paintings. “Art, Asher.”
His brows furrow. “You suppressed your wolf, so you could paint her?”
My laugh is bitter. “No. But I couldn’t have both. I chose art.”
Asher stares at me so long with a look of confusion that I start to question my own premise.
“My parents say shifters don’t care about art. They wanted me to stay and work at the brewery, like everyone else.”
A look of scorn flits over Asher’s face, and I want to hug him. “That’s…really dumb.”
“All the best art schools and art scenes are in major cities. Places where a wolf can’t shift and run. I applied to the Art Institute of Chicago, anyway, and I was lucky enough to be accepted.”
“Oka-ay.” Asher draws the word out, implying he still doesn’t get it.
“My parents forbade me from going. They said it would kill my wolf, but I was an adult. I pretty much gave them the middle finger and went anyway.”
Understanding dawns on Asher’s face. “They wouldn’t pay. That’s why you can’t afford to keep meat in the house.”
Tears spring to my eyes, and I blink them back. After hiding so much of who I was at college and feeling so caged, it feels incredible to be seen. Understood.
“I have student loans to pay off, and I couldn’t find a job that paid enough to cover rent in Chicago. Basically, my parents starved me out as punishment for disobeying them. My mom lured me back with this temporary art job, but when she figured out I was planning on using it to get back on my feet and return to the city, she informed me that I have to pay rent to stay in their casita.”
“What? That’s fucked up.”
“So I have no hope of paying down the loans. I’m just saving everything I earn to try to get started somewhere else.”
Asher glances toward the windows, as if realizing for the first time that we might be seen together, and lifts me down from the stepladder. “Well, I’m glad you have your art.”
He picks up a small six inch by six inch painting of our two wolves and studies it then walks away with it in his hand.
“What are you doing? You can’t take that!”
Asher turns and gives me a slow smirk. I hate what his dimples do to my insides.
“Oh, I’m taking, sweetheart. Or are you gonna make me give it back?” He waggles it in the air as if to tempt me.
I have no idea why his taunt makes me wet. Maybe just his call-out to our size and power difference. To the fact that he can do whatever he wants with me, whenever he chooses, and I won’t stop him because I crave it.
I should be mad at his disrespect, but instead, a ribbon of warmth that streaks through me.
Asher wants my art. It does have some value to a shifter.
More than that, it means something to him.
“Unlock your phone, Ms. James.” He’s been in my purse, apparently, because he has my phone. He flashes it up to my face, and the phone unlocks.
“I’m putting my number in here.” His thumbs move over the screen. “If you want me to take care of your needs, you’d better tell me where you’re gonna be.”
“I’m sorry. I will.” I screw up my courage as I walk over to him on the other side of the canvases. “Asher.” I owe him a bigger apology. The explanation I’ll hold back, but an apology is a start. “I just want to say that I’m sorry about what happened with your da–”
“Don’t.” The blast of cold from Asher is palpable. His upper lip curls into a snarl.
Even knowing he’s my mate and should be incapable of harming me, I take a step back. His power is intimidating.
“I’m putting that shit aside to take care of your wolf’s needs. If you open that box”–he shakes his head– “You don’t want to see me when I get mean.”
Chapter Fifteen
Asher
I lie in my bed holding Lotta’s painting of our wolves standing in a meadow in one hand. In my other, I finger the little gold moon pendant I stole from her when I was thirteen.
I just returned from her place where we had a frenzied, wordless fuck over her kitchen table followed by a second, silent round that featured her face down on the bed, where I held her down by her nape as I took her slowly for as long as I needed.
I’ve been a dick to Lotta since she tried to apologize last week about my dad. I’ve kept up my end of the bargain–slipping over there after dark and satisfying her. I’ve given it to her rough. Avoided conversation.