Chapter 3: Elias Franke, Artist

CLARA

Elias Franke had to be at least six foot nine, and his frame barely fit through the door.

His chest was bare, muscular, and scarred, and I swear I only stared at it because it was eye-level.

He froze, looked down at me with widened golden eyes, and frowned.

“I thought you’d be taller,” he said, his voice low and measured, and moved aside so I could enter.

Which was definitely a weird greeting, but I ignored it.

He absolutely towered over me both in stature and in presence.

I offered my hand for a handshake and found my sausage fingers dwarfed by his rough palm. His grip was surprisingly gentle.

I looked up into those golden eyes, and all I could think was ~oh no.~

Tall, built like a truck, and with a bad attitude? I was in major trouble.

My stomach trembled, but I did my best to sound confident and definitely not smitten.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Franke. Clara Parks, as I said on the phone.”

“Elias,” he growled, gesturing for me to take a seat on the couch.

I did so and took a moment to examine my surroundings.

The cabin was open concept, flowing naturally from living space to kitchen to dining space. Even the second floor could be seen behind a rough-carved railing, circling the edges of the cabin and leaving the center open.

It was decorated in the stereotypical wood-and-antlers style, though half-finished paintings of eye-filled forests peeked out from every corner.

“Would you like some tea?”

I nodded, and Elias stalked off to the kitchen, giving me a great view of the backside of Mr. Tall, Built, and Attractive.

Ten out of ten would look again.

Then, he turned and caught me staring like a total creep.

My cheeks burned, and I whipped out my notebook, pretending I hadn’t been looking at all.

~What the hell, Clara. Just because you’re single now doesn’t mean you need to fall for the first man with sculpted pecs and glutes!~

Elias soon returned with two cups of steaming tea, fragrant with cinnamon and ginger.

I added a bit of honey and cream, stirring slowly as I gathered myself.

Poised. Professional. Here to get this fluff piece done and never see Elias again.

He settled into a chair across from me and spun his own tea, his eyes focused intently on me.

I probably should have felt unsettled, but I really didn’t.

“So, how long have you lived here, Elias?” I asked, hoping to break the ice with a little bit of small talk.

“Twelve years.”

I nodded, sipping at my tea—which was delicious, by the way.

“I see. It seems like most people I’ve spoken to in Melville have been here for a long time. A bit ‘Hotel California’—esque, you know?”

Elias stared at me, his face blank, and I felt my heart skip a beat.

“Like…‘you can check out any time, but you can never leave’ vibes?”

Either he wasn’t a fan of the Eagles, or he didn’t find my joke funny.

I swallowed my smile and cleared my throat, deciding to take a different approach. If Elias wasn’t one for banter, that was perfectly fine. I had other methods.

“Why don’t you show me some of your work? I saw a few pictures online, but that never compares to seeing the real thing as far as art is concerned.”

To my delight, Elias seemed to brighten just a little at the suggestion.

“Come see my new piece,” he said.

While it was obviously an invitation, it came across as an order to be followed.

My legs jumped to obedience and followed him up the stairs, which led to the second floor.

This space was littered with canvases, paintbrushes, paint tubes, palettes, easels, and cups half full of murky water. The mess was a stark contrast to the perfectly manicured rest of the property.

Elias led me down a winding trail through the mess to an easel in the corner, which held a half-finished painting.

A wolf stood alone beneath a blood-red moon, howling mournfully at the sky. I could practically hear its cry echoing from the canvas into the real world.

I found myself captivated by the raw intensity of the piece.

A chill ran down my spine, and my hand raised of its own accord to stroke the surface.

However, I caught myself before my fingers brushed the fabric.

Elias watched me intently, and I couldn’t really tell if he was pleased by or wary of my reaction.

“It is absolutely gorgeous,” I said, taking a step back to keep myself from giving in to temptation. “Tell me about your creative process. How do you come up with such powerful scenes?”

Elias shrugged. “I’ve never really thought of them as particularly powerful.”

“Sounds like an artist,” I teased, and this time I thought I caught a flash of amusement in his eyes. “Have you always liked wolves? I can’t help noticing they show up in all of your pieces. At least, all of the ones I’ve seen. Why are your paintings so heavily focused on them?”

Again he shrugged, an evasive look on his face. “I have been affected by them for as long as I can remember, yes. And I guess the forest inspires me.”

The way he said it sent more shivers down my spine. Those words seemed to carry far more weight than the elusive artist was willing to admit.

“I’ve always felt drawn to wolves myself,” I said, a little surprised at the words as they came from my mouth. “I was terrified to come face-to-face with one on the way here, but there has always been something powerful and majestic about them.”

I looked at the howling wolf on the painting again and frowned. “I don’t really know why they affect me the way they do, but half the internet seems obsessed with them. So maybe it’s completely normal.”

Elias nodded in agreement, his eyes shifting between my face and the painting. “You saw wolves on your way here? Damn it, I’m going to have to deal with that later… Also, I am unsurprised that you’re drawn to wolves.”

I tilted my head curiously, waiting for him to explain why—but apparently, this man had very few words to give.

The odd statement lingered between us as he led me around the rest of the space, showing me various works that hadn’t yet been seen by anyone other than Elias himself.

I turned my head and spotted a trio of smaller paintings piled on a shelf.

My stomach dropped.

The scenes looked just like the crime scene photos I’d seen on Jason’s computer.

I glanced over at Elias, who was watching me with dark eyes, and my nerves jumped.

Even if he wasn’t the murderer, wasn’t he in danger living alone in the woods?

I shook my head at the thought. He was so big and strong. He could take care of himself.

I swallowed hard and stepped away from the suspicious paintings.

In an attempt to keep things casual, I asked, “So, Elias, do you have any family? A significant other?”

“I have a large family, you could call them. Though I don’t have time or need for a mate—er, wife.”

He shook his head and gritted his teeth, as if angry with himself for the Freudian slip.

But we’d just spent the last hour looking at pictures of wolves, so it was an easy mistake, right?

Not that it mattered. I was just interviewing the guy. I’d never see him again after today.

Finally, we’d made our way around the entire second floor and arrived back at the stairs. Elias led me back down to the couch, where our cold tea welcomed us back.

Elias tossed a couple of logs on the fire and prodded them until the coals lit the dry bark.

I watched the hungry flames devour the flaky skin of the tree and overtake the wood, and my heart felt a bit heavy.

Elias frowned at me and rumbled, “You seem to have lost your vigor.”

I shook myself out of my stupor and shrugged. “I guess I was just thinking about how the fire overtakes the wood and consumes it until all that’s left is ash.

“Sometimes I feel like my life has become that way. Everything I was has been destroyed, and now I’m just a pile of ash with no structure or direction.”

Why I opened up to him like that, I had no idea.

Elias watched me quietly, no sign of judgment on his face or in his posture. He simply exuded a powerful calm that settled into my bones. It allowed me to take a deep breath and find my footing again.

“Enough about me, though. I’m here to interview ~you,~ after all! Why don’t you tell me about the deeper emotions behind your art?”

Honestly, I didn’t expect him to actually give me an answer at this point. But he looked me deep in the eyes for a long moment, breathed deeply, and replied, “Sometimes the things we are drawn to are the things that frighten us the most.”

Wow, okay. That was going in the article for sure. His truthfulness caught me off guard, and I had to manually close my jaw.

It hadn’t occurred to me that he never actually said that he ~liked~ wolves, just that he was ~drawn to them~.

“So you paint wolves as some kind of exposure therapy, then?”

“I suppose you could say that,” he replied, and the first hint of a smile I’d seen all afternoon played with the corners of his lips.

The sight made my knees go weak, and I was grateful to already be sitting. But I pulled myself together and managed a chuckle.

“Well, hopefully it works for you.”

“Why did you move here?”

Yet another surprise! I blinked a couple of times, trying to decide how much of my story I was willing to tell to a stranger.

“I got divorced,” I finally replied. “He got everything, and I decided to move far, far away. My mom used to talk about Melville a lot because she used to live here, and I thought, ‘Why not return to my roots?’

“She’s gone now, but…maybe I could find out more about my family. So I’m not entirely alone in the world. So far, though, it’s felt less like a fresh start and more of a lonely week.”

As I lifted my teacup to my lips, the baggy sleeve of my sweater fell, exposing the bruises on my wrist.

They were turning green now, nearly healed, but still stood as an ugly reminder of the life I had left behind.

And Elias definitely spotted them. His eyes narrowed, and he bared his teeth—his reaction seemed way over the top.

I hurriedly pulled my sleeve back down and glanced out the window.

The sun had set over the tops of the trees, leaving the clearing cast in the murky gray of twilight.

To my horror, we’d spent much more time together than the hour Elias had gruffly granted me over the phone.

I would ~definitely~ be driving through the woods in the pitch-black.

“I’m sorry. I seem to have taken up far more of your time than I intended,” I said, anxiety making my hands shake. “I should probably go.”

Elias nodded and helped me up from the couch, giving me a glimpse of his sheer strength. He lifted me as if I weighed little more than a feather, and I couldn’t help blushing as I thought about his bulging biceps.

We walked to the door side by side, and just as he reached for the doorknob, a low, haunting howl pierced the night air.