Chapter 7: His World

CLARA

In a town where women kept turning up dead, “I’m not a good person” was not something I wanted to hear from a man who lived alone in the woods.

I waited for more to come, but Mr. Man of Few Words struck again.

“That sounds like there’s an interesting story behind it?” I tried, but Elias just sipped his tea and didn’t take the bait.

Okay, so we’d have to try another tactic.

“How about we talk about your art some more, then? Have you started anything new since I was here the other day?”

Elias nodded, sitting up a little straighter, and gestured to an easel in the corner.

I set down my teacup and walked over to look but froze a few feet away.

From the unfinished canvas, the silver wolf with golden eyes stared at me.

The scene was exactly as it had appeared in my dream, minus the parts that hadn’t been finished yet.

“Do you like it?”

I whirled around, startled by Elias’s voice being directly behind me.

He stood so close that my nose nearly touched the skin of his bare chest. I could smell the salt on his skin and the scent of pine, as if he’d spent time in the woods before I arrived.

I took a half step back, ~way~ too conscious of how close we were.

“Yes, I love it. What was your inspiration for this one?”

“A dream,” he admitted.

I’m pretty sure my eyebrows completely disappeared into my hairline with how high and fast they shot up.

~No way. No way in hell we had the same dream.~

“You seem surprised by that.”

I shook my head and turned back to face the painting, mostly in an attempt to hide my expression.

Yes, I was ~incredibly~ surprised by that, thank you very much.

But he didn’t need to know that.

“Oh, that’s neat. You know, instead of asking about your methods, maybe I could watch you paint for a little while?”

It seemed like a brilliant plan to me, since getting this guy to talk was like pulling teeth. If he wouldn’t describe his process, I could at least ~see~ it.

Yet I was surprised when he actually agreed. Elias nodded and began prepping his paints and brushes while I pulled my chair over to watch.

From the moment his brush first stroked the canvas, he became an entirely different man.

The lines of his face relaxed and his bear-like shoulders loosened. I even thought I caught the shadow of a smile on his lips as the lines began to take shape under his hands.

He began blocking in the moon, and for some reason I caught myself saying, “Wasn’t the moon a little bit higher on the horizon?”

Elias turned away from the painting and stared at me with one eyebrow raised. “I suppose it was…” he said slowly, moving the moon just a little up on the canvas.

It struck me just how peaceful he looked as the brush delicately danced across the prepared fabric. It ~also struck me~ how his muscles rippled in his arms and chest every time he moved the brush.

I’m a straight female, and he’s an attractive man. So sue me for staring.

But I was also a reporter here for a job, so I forced myself to take notes as I watched rather than sketch his perfect form.

He finished painting in the moon and stars, dropped his brush in a tin of thinner, and wiped his hands.

“Seen enough?” he asked, and I nodded. “Good. I had a thought while I was painting.”

“Oh?”

He turned to face me and gave a single bob of his head. “Let me show you the inspiration for some of my other pieces. Put on your shoes.”

I didn’t know for sure what he had planned, but ~my plan~ seemed to be working perfectly.

I didn’t have to dig for answers like some archeologist with questions as a shovel, and I was getting plenty of material for my article. And for my memory roll.

I slipped my feet into my shoes and turned to watch Elias lace up his. He was putting on heavy hiking boots, and suddenly, I started to worry about what was in store for me. Hiking boots were a bit overkill for wandering around the yard.

He wouldn’t drag me into the woods, would he? With the danged wolves?

I froze, probably looking like the cliché deer in the headlights.

What if the “other pieces” he meant were the ones that I was now one hundred percent sure looked like the crime scenes?

Screw the wolves—what if Elias was dragging me out to murder me?

~It’s too far to hike to the edge of the woods from here, though. Stop being paranoid.~

~Besides, if he is planning to murder you, well… It’s too late. There’s no way you could outrun him or fight him off.~

With one hand on the door handle, Elias turned those golden eyes on me. “Are you coming or not?”

Despite my stomach roiling with nerves, I nodded.

Together we stepped into the bright sunshine, which gave some small reprieve from the winter chill.

I pulled my sweater a little tighter around me and stared incredulously at Elias, whose chest was still bare.

“Aren’t you going to at least put a shirt on or something? It’s freezing out here.” As if for emphasis, my muscles began to tremble and my jaw quaked.

“No, I’m fine. You’ll warm up as we walk.”

He started off across the yard, and I hurried to keep up with his long, muscular legs.

The jeans he wore nicely outlined his butt and thighs, which appeared to be just as strong as his chest. I seriously needed to know this guy’s workout routine!

To my horror, we didn’t stop at the neatly mulched rows, or the orchard, or even the large lawn that made up most of the clearing.

No, Elias strolled right up to the edge of the trees and paused when he realized I’d stopped following.

Okay, I admit that I should have known we’d be going into the woods when the man who ~exclusively paints woods~ wanted to show me his inspiration. But my muscles still locked up and refused to move any closer.

Elias let out a soft sigh and closed the distance between us. Again, he stood close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

“Are you afraid?” he asked, and for a moment I wondered if he meant of the woods…or of him.

I’m not sure exactly what gave me that impression, but I just seemed to be picking up all these little hints that he believed people should be afraid of him.

“Of going in there?” I pointed at the trees. “Where the wolves are? Yes.”

He actually began to chuckle and leaned down so that when I looked up, our noses nearly touched. “Don’t worry. You have nothing to fear in these woods when you’re with me.”

And I believed him.

His warm breath washed over my face and seemed to melt my frozen muscles.

“I’m holding you to that,” I replied, sidestepping so that I stood beside him.

While I definitely didn’t need to go hiking in the woods with Elias to get information for my article—honestly, I had plenty at that point—the idea of spending more time with him gave me butterflies.

Yes, butterflies, as if I were a stupid fifteen-year-old watching the boys play football again.

The moment we stepped into the forest, I felt like I’d been thrust right back into my dream.

I could hear birds calling to each other in the tops of the trees and small rodents scurrying around in the fallen pine needles. The air here felt fresher than anywhere else I’d ever been, and I pulled in a deep lungful.

Elias began following a trail that was invisible to my untrained eyes but obviously existed based on the confidence with which his massive frame navigated the area. We didn’t move particularly fast; he stopped every few yards to examine the scenery and make sure I was keeping up.

He lifted a low-hanging pine branch and gestured me forward. I ducked under, my shoulder brushing his side as I passed.

We emerged in another clearing. This one was much smaller than Elias’s, and a little brook ran through the middle.

Elias stalked past me, and I couldn’t believe how quietly he moved.

It was like he instinctively knew exactly where to put his feet to avoid announcing his presence.

I, on the other hand, seemed to find every stick and crunchy leaf between the trees and the large, flat rock Elias led me toward. It was only as tall as my knees, and I could have easily gotten on top myself, but Elias insisted on climbing up first and offering me his hand.

Not that I was going to complain.

The hot man dropping to his knee and reaching down for me? Five hundred percent yes, thank you.

Imagine those scenes in movies where the lady daydreams about an attractive man reaching out of a glowing billowy cloud—that’s pretty close to how I felt.

And when I touched his hand, I felt raw power couched in warmth.

It wasn’t some flash of light like in my dream, and we didn’t turn into wolves—because this was real life, not a dumb dream—but I couldn’t deny how it affected me.