Chapter Twenty Five
Idabbed my brush into the dark green, dabbing it onto the canvas. Leaves and branches took shape under my hand, bold against the stark white. The art room was still my sanctuary. A place where I could almost forget that one of my friends was missing. It had been three weeks since Amy had officially been designated a missing person. Her parents had thought she’d gone to Vanessa’s for the holidays, and had received several texts from Amy’s phone, which had since been traced to the university campus. Vanessa was convinced Amy was going home, and no one had seen her since the last night of the term. Posters had gone up around the university, and her photo dominated student’s social media. It was blazed into my mind now, her soft brown bob perfect as always, her blue eyes staring out at you from the picture, only emphasised by the blue velvet jacket which was what she”d been wearing the last time she”d been seen. Her disappearance had thrown a sombre mood over campus, and Bast’s protective nature had gone into overdrive. I knew for a fact at least one of the guys would be sitting outside the art room while I was here, and going out for a drink or shopping with Kate always involved one of my guys tagging along behind, which restricted our chat a little.
I paused, smiling at the thought that they were my guys. Four months ago, I would never have dreamed I would find someone who cared about me as much as they did, and now I have three of them. Bast hadn’t said the words, but I knew from the way he looked at me, the way he touched me, that he cared way past his responsibility as Hades. He’d even given me the option of cancelling the hunt if I didn’t feel safe enough, but I’d insisted it go ahead. We had no idea if Amy’s disappearance was connected to my stalker at all, and he seemed to have gone very quiet.
I was also secretly enthralled by the idea of the hunt. Bast had explained that I would be taken somewhere in the thick forest surrounding Blackvellyn. My challenge was to avoid my pursuers until sunrise. The Reapers challenge was to hunt me down and take me captive. It was supposed to represent Persephone’s failed attempt to escape the Underworld in the myth, and Bast had strongly implied I wouldn’t succeed and that I would be “punished” appropriately. Even standing here in the well lit art room, I shivered with anticipation at the thought, dark desire curling around my belly.
“Good afternoon class.”
My professor’s voice cut through my thoughts, bringing me back to the present, and I turned to see her entering the room with a smile.
“Don’t mind me, I thought I”d come and check up on what you’re all up to, and to answer any queries you might have. Carry on, and I’ll come to each of you in turn.”
I turned back to my painting, trying to eye it critically as she would. I’d moved away from my normal flowers and my current work in progress was a Georgian manor house in the snow, with pine trees and a white sky. Tristan’s house. I had the idea that I might give it to his parents as a gift to thank them for having me over the holidays. If they liked it, of course. They might think it was rubbish. Even Tristan wouldn’t understand how grateful I had been that night not to have to go home.
Nate had been upset after our time together, realising that in his fathers house, he couldn’t look after me the way he really wanted to. I’d taken a quick shower in his bedroom, but I”d been emotionally and physically drained, and my head throbbed. Nate had sat and combed through my hair with his fingers to make it more presentable, and had discovered the still healing wound on my head from my mother’s actions a couple of days previously. He’d demanded to know how I’d got it, and exhausted, and emotionally spent, I hadn’t had the energy to lie, so I’d told him.
To my surprise, he hadn’t shouted or punched anything. Instead, he’d looked at me, his jaw clenched for a moment, then took his phone out and ordered Tristan to take me home with him. I’d hadn’t fought him, despite being worried I’d be a burden, and I was so glad I hadn’t. I’d sent a text to Mum, saying I wasn’t coming home, and then to my own surprise, I hadn’t spoken to her since. No more checking in phone calls at night, no more texts. I’d heard nothing from her either, and the first week, I’d been terrified of her just showing up. She hadn’t, and gradually I’d relaxed back into my life at Blackvellyn without the feel of her shadow hanging over me. It felt like something very close to freedom.
“Paige?”
I turned to see Professor Drake approaching.
“Good afternoon, Professor,” I said, wiping my hands on my apron.
“Afternoon Paige, did you have a nice holiday?”
I thought back to the ten days of amazing food, warm company, walks in the snow with Max, snowball fights and being woken up every morning with Tristan’s mouth or cock between my legs, and I nodded, blushing a tiny bit.
“It was lovely, thank you.”
“I”m glad. I hope you’re well rested and gearing up for the showcase next term.”
“I think so.” She smiled at me and turned to look at my painting, taking her time to scan every detail.
“Interesting,” she murmured finally.
My stomach knotted. Not good enough. The story of my life played out on canvas.
She looked up at me, and smiled. “Don’t look so down, Paige. It’s beautiful, and technically, it’s almost perfect. Your detail is exquisite, it’s just…” she turned back, her eyes moving over the canvas, then looked back at me. “It lacks something.”
“Lacks what, Professor?” I asked, my heart sinking.
“It’s a beautiful scene, but I just don”t feel anything when I look at it.”
“I don”t understand,” I said, looking at the painting.
“Art is not about creating pretty pictures. It”s about expressing yourself, your emotions, your thoughts...your story. When I look at this painting, I see a beautiful house. But what I don”t see is any emotion. Any story. Sometimes when painting we must forget what our mind thinks and let our heart speak.”
“But...my paintings are always like this...”
“And that”s the problem Paige! You”re a talented painter but your paintings seem...detached. As if someone else was painting them.” She paused for a moment, then added softly, “You need to put yourself into your work. This doesn’t say anything to me about who you are.” Her eyes met mine—kind but firm. “I want you to dig deeper. It needs more of you.”
“More of me?”
“Your experiences, your emotions,” she pressed. “Put them on the canvas. Let them scream, let them whisper. Just make them feel.”
I nodded, unsure of what to say.
“Show me,” she said, stepping back. “You”re holding back. Let go, and really paint. Next time, I want to see Paige Matthews on this canvas. Your experiences. Every scar, every joy. Paint them in every stroke. Metaphorical or literal, they are part of your story.”
I stared at my canvas, my chest tightening. Could I truly spill out the darkness, the tangled emotions, onto a canvas for all to see?
“Next time I come around, show me what haunts Paige Matthews. Show me her dreams. Her nightmares.”
“Alright,” I breathed out, the word a commitment to myself as much as to her.
“Good.” She gave a short nod and moved away, leaving me to my thoughts. I reached out and lifted the painting off the easel, setting it on the shelf against the wall to dry out. I scanned the stock of fresh clean canvases, a spark of an idea in my mind. I lifted one out, a large portrait size, and set it on the easel. I wrapped my palette up in plastic film, setting it aside, and picking up a clean one. Whispers of ideas drifted through my mind, ethereal and hard to pin down, as I set up a much darker palette of colours, and picked up a brush. Professor Drake had said true art came from the heart, not the head. I took a deep breath.
It was time to bleed onto the canvas.
***
I had always found a release in painting, and had always lost hours when I surrendered to it, but this was different. This time it was like a force moved through my body, guiding me, showing me where to sketch and layer and darken, and the world ceased to exist for me. It was just me, my pain and my canvas.
A pair of arms slid around me, and I looked down blinking in surprise. I instantly recognised the skull shaped silver cufflinks and smiled as I turned my head. Bast kissed me softly. I pulled back after a few moments.
“You”ll get paint on your suit,” I said, pulling away from him.
“I don”t care,” he said.
“Yes you do,” I said, grinning at him and he laughed.
“Yes, I do.” His eyes focused on the painting behind me and he frowned. “This is new.”
I turned and reached for a drop cloth, pulling it over the canvas, feeling oddly vulnerable.
“It”s not finished yet.”
“Can I see it when it is?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No, I think… I think there needs to be more… to tell the whole story,” I said slowly.
Bast nodded. “Whenever you’re ready, but from what I’ve seen it will be stunning. It’s much darker than your normal work.”
I looked down at the palette, seeing the blur of black and green and grey. “I’m trying something new.”
“Well, I’d never argue against that,” Bast said, tipping my face up so my eyes met his. “Especially as I’ve heard you’ve tried new things in other areas too.”
He smiled wickedly, and I blushed, realising Tristan must have told him about him and Nate with me.
I swallowed and glanced away but Bast curled his finger under my chin and pulled my gaze back to him.
“You can’t blush now, after the fact,” he teased, his eyes dancing with mischief. He kissed me again, his free hand sliding down to rest at the small of my back. “Now come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
I allowed him to pull me away from my workstation, casting a glance back at the covered painting. It felt raw and exposed somehow, despite being tucked safely under the cloth.
I cleaned up quickly, washed my hands, and left my apron hanging. We’d planned to hang out and watch a film tonight, all four of us, and I was actually looking forward to just chilling out. I followed Bast out of the art department, turning to check the door was properly locked while he got in the car and started the engine. I turned around as I did so, I caught a flash of something in the trees across from the car park. A shadowed face under a dark hood watching me. My breath caught in my throat, but the wind whipped my hair across my face, and by the time I’d pulled it away, the figure was gone.
I hurried over to Bast’s Range Rover, and climbed inside, my heart hammering. He”d switched on the heated seats and I sank into mine gratefully, the February chill nothing compared to the ice in my veins.
Bast must have noticed my tremble because he frowned, his hand reaching out to lightly brush my cold cheek. “You okay? You”re freezing.”
“I-I think I saw someone watching me,” I muttered, not meeting his eyes. My hands were restless in my lap, wringing the hem of my shirt.
He tensed, his gaze shifting from me to scan the car park through the windshield. “Where?”
I pointed towards the trees where I”d spotted the hooded figure. Bast studied the empty space for a moment before turning back to me, letting out a quiet sigh. “There”s nobody there now, Paige,” he murmured, resting a comforting hand on my knee. “Maybe it was just a student passing by.”
“Maybe,” I echoed, not entirely convinced. The figure”s unnerving presence remained etched in my mind, making me feel vulnerable and exposed.
But I didn”t argue further. Instead, I settled back into the heated seat, letting its warmth seep into my chilled body as Bast pulled away from the university grounds. He didn’t say much as we drove, and I laid my hand gently on his leg.
“Are you ok? You look tired.”
“I”m fine,” Bast replied, his eyes never leaving the road, but there was a tightness to his voice that suggested otherwise. “Just been busy, but I”m managing. Just a bit of coursework to do, business issues with my dad, plus a couple of things we had to handle for Nate”s dad recently.”
“Nate”s dad?” I echoed, my heart skipping a beat.
Bast sighed deeply. “He likes to call in favours. Sometimes we have to step in and help him out.”
“Why?” I asked, furrowing my brow, “If you guys clearly don’t like him?”
“We”re all connected, Paige,” Bast replied, “Our fathers are some of the biggest players in the Shadow Syndicate and that means we have obligations that we can’t ignore.”
“Obligations that mean you have to get blood on your hands?” I asked quietly, and he nodded.
“Sometimes it”s because he hasn’t got any of his men available, other times it”s to keep us fresh and ready for anything.” His eyes slid sideways to me. “We’ve all got blood on our hands, Paige. Nate much more so than Tristan and I, but we’ve all killed under orders. And we will again. It’s the way the Syndicate works. If you accept us, you need to accept that.”
“So, you really want to take over from your father?”
“It’s not a question of whether I want to, I can”t let him down,” Bast said simply, his tone hinting at an ironclad obligation that went beyond mere familial duty.
“And if your happiness lies elsewhere? Maybe your dad just wants you to be happy more than he wants a successor.” I suggested.
“I don”t know what I”d do otherwise,” Bast confessed after a moment”s silence.
“But you could find out,” I offered quietly, hoping he might consider the possibility.
Bast smiled bitterly, shaking his head slightly. “The idea of not having a concrete plan...it scares me.”
“Maybe you should practise giving up control every now and then? Try it on for size,” I said, smiling at him to try and lighten the mood.
Bast laughed. “And who would take control? You?”
“Maybe,” I said with a sly smile. Heat flickered in his eyes.
“I may hold you to that,” he said darkly. “But not this week. After all, it’s the Hunt on Saturday, and I want you to be ready for what’s coming.”