I folded my arms over my chest. “I’ve already told you I can’t.”
“And I’ve already told you that you won’t be leaving here until you do.” His tone dipped, and I knew he was losing patience with me.
“Fine. What would you like me to paint?” I asked, humoring him. Who knew, maybe him telling me what he was after might trigger something and my gift would shine through?
A crazed smile sprang onto his face. “The whereabouts of my Mystic.”
I blinked. “Why?”
Was he lonely? Why couldn’t he just wait for fate to run its course?
Something shifted through his eyes, but it was gone before I could name it. “I have my reasons.”
“Okay, but that’s not something I can guarantee I’ll be able to paint. I told you, my gift isn’t something I control,” I said, reminding him.
Damon crossed the expansive apartment, stepping into the kitchen. I watched as he pulled a bottle of red wine from a rack and uncorked it like a pro. “Figure it out. Time is ticking.”
My bear roared so hard my body vibrated with the force of it. She hated him, and frankly, so did I. If Damon was able to pick up on the hatred, he didn’t let on. Instead, he retrieved two wine glasses from a cabinet near the sink and poured us both a drink. He took a sip from his. I watched as he rolled it around on his tongue, savoring the taste.
“You don’t seem to understand that I don’t get to pick what I paint. I don’t get a say in the images that come to me. They just come. It’s not something I can force,” I said, growing animated. Taming my bear and trying my best not to flip out was becoming more and more difficult.
“And you don’t seem to understand that I don’t care.” He motioned to the second glass of wine. “This one is yours. Maybe it will get things flowing for you. Your setup is over there in the corner.”
The sound of my cell vibrating with a new text or call made its way to my ears. I locked eyes with Damon, knowing it was most likely Gran calling me back or Nash trying to get a hold of me.
My blood boiled.
Damon did nothing besides smirk, and I knew it was because he absolutely could sense my anger. He nodded to the glass of wine once more. I didn’t take it. Instead, I headed to the setup he’d created for me in the corner, ready to paint what he wanted and get the hell out of here.
I twisted my hair together and tossed it over my shoulder to get it out of my face before taking in a deep breath. As I exhaled it slowly, I checked out the area Damon had set up. The easel was made of quality, sturdy wood, and the supplies he’d gathered were things that had been on my wishlist for years.
He’d spent a fortune.
I shifted my gaze to the blank canvas in front of me. It was pristine, moderately sized, and of excellent quality. It wasn’t a cheap canvas from a box store like the ones I typically bought. My fingertips brushed the handles of the various paintbrushes next. I chose one instinctively and held it up to feel its weight and brush its coarse bristles against my palm.
Words bombarded my mind.
The desire to purge my emotions, to trap them in the image, filled me. I ignored the sensation though, knowing I needed to figure out how to bring my gift forth instead. Besides, I didn’t want to share a single part of my process with Damon. I swallowed hard and tried to focus on creating a new process. One that would allow me to do what he asked in the quickest amount of time.
My mind stalled, and frustration built in my core. Even my bear was irritated.
I closed my eyes and pulled in another slow inhale. When I exhaled, it was with the intention of relaxing. It didn’t help. I had no clue how I was going to do this. My gift was something magical. It wasn’t anything I could call on whenever. At least I didn’t think it was.
I opened my eyes and stared at the paint rainbow Damon had bought. My teeth sank into my bottom lip as I struggled to decide which color might spark my gift to life.
Nothing spoke to me.
My stomach hardened because all I could think about was Gran. I grabbed a tube of black paint and popped the cap off. The color didn’t mystically call to me. Instead, it called to the dark words I itched to paint across the canvas.
Heartless monster.
Emotions tearing at my insides surfaced next, each eager to fill the canvas too. They flashed through my mind carrying so much weight it was nearly overwhelming.
Hatred. Anger. Repulsion. Fear.
As the last word floated through my head, it took my breath away because I felt it most. Worries clouded my mind.
What would happen if I couldn’t paint what Damon asked? Would he hurt me? Would he hurt those I cared about? And what about Gran? Would I be able to make it back to her before she passed?
My throat pinched tight. I pulled in another deep breath and attempted to force the tears building in my eyes away. I refused to cry in front of Damon. I refused to show him any amount of weakness. Begging to use my phone had been enough.
I squeezed a blob of black paint onto the tray and then dipped the tip of the brush I’d chosen in it. My fingers gripped the brush tightly while I waited for an image to come. The familiar scent of wet paint floated to my nose, but it didn’t trigger any images like I hoped it would.
Instead, my mind remained blank like the canvas in front of me.
I tried to think of Damon, to picture him with a woman who was
