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“I might have nipped at a hunter once when he tried to shoot me.” Preston shuddered. “Tasted like old beer and stale pork rinds.”
“That’s disgusting.”
He poked my cheek. “You’re adorable when you smile. I bet your wolf form is going to be so cute.”
I pulled my hair from behind my ear while holding the bags in my other hand. “I don’t know about that.”
“You and I can always go off and shift together.” Preston’s moss-green gaze roamed over me as a devilish smile melted across his lips. “You don’t have to go with Fane if you don’t want to. It doesn’t matter that he’s the one that bit you.”
Why did I get the feeling Preston was talking about doing more than shifting?
I cleared my throat and tossed the bean bags on the ground. “It’s a little hot out here. I’m going to get some water.”
“Just think about it, Tate,” he called out as I slipped into the house.
After getting a glass of water and chugging the entire thing, I wandered through the living room. I had no idea where Fane or the rest of his family disappeared to. The douchebag probably left me here to shift alone.
A painting on the wall caught my eye, and I stopped in front of it to survey the angry brushstrokes that created a churning ocean crashing into a cliff. The sky raged down at the sea while the waves screamed back, the two forces fighting for dominance, but beneath all their bluster, something sad and painful clutched them.
It was heartbreaking.
“I never got this one.” Preston stood beside me, his brow furrowing as he scrutinized the painting. “It’s cool and all. I mean, who doesn’t like a storm? But I’m pretty sure there’s some hidden message in it.”
Preston didn’t get it because he’d never experienced pain and torment like this artist had. Like I had. He’d grown up in this happy family where his parents loved him and his brother.
“Not everyone is supposed to get it,” I said. Who was I to pop the guy’s shiny, happy bubble? Maybe it was better he didn’t understand the painting.
I turned back to it, following the swirls of grays and blues as they met, sometimes gently and others like a collision of power.
“You like it?” Preston flicked his gold and tawny hair out of his eyes as he studied me.
“Sure. It’s cool.” It was more than cool. I wanted it—if only I had a home to put it in.
“Fane painted it.”
I nearly choked on my own spit. “Fane? The same guy who looks like he could crush a car with his bare hands?Hepainted this?”
Preston chuckled and leaned against the wall, his t-shirt tightening over his frame as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s kind of his hobby. More of his paintings are hanging in the house. He didn’t want them displayed, but he couldn’t deny my mom.”
Besides knowing several demon languages, Fane also had artistic abilities. I twisted my hair away from my neck, feeling hot as I imagined him painting in nothing but a pair of jeans hanging low on his hips, his chest bare and…
Fucking hell.Why did I just think that?
“Woah, what is that?” Preston pushed off the wall and peered at my neck. “Those look like Fane’s.”
“Oh. That.” I resisted the urge to slap my hand over the tattoo. “That’s where Fane bit me.”
Preston released a string of curses that would make a sailor proud. “I knew he bit you—his scent is all over you—but I didn’t know it left a tattoo.”
His scent was all over me? I smelled like the bastard?
“Can I see it?” He pointed to the mark, so I angled toward him. “That is so cool.” His finger traced the swirling shapes, causing a cold prickling sensation instead of the hot electricity Fane’s touch produced.
I resisted the impulse to flinch away. “Has anyone else gotten a tattoo after being bitten?”
Preston hummed as he thought. “Not that I know of, but Fane’s… a little different.”
My blood warmed, and a fiery tingle slinked down my spine. Someone cleared his throat, and I didn’t need to look to know who had descended the stairs.
