9. Through a Painting
THROUGH A PAINTING
ASHER
F irelight scattered shadows on the faces of the other artists and cast an amber glow over Theo as he battled the glass, melting and pulling it like saltwater taffy, turning raw matter into technicolor cotton candy.
Watching Theo was no hardship. Sweat shimmered on his bare skin. His forearms flexed deliciously while he worked.
Asher’s fucked up brain was the problem, intruding with images of Lev’s bulkier frame in Theo’s place, his freckled cheeks turning ruddy the longer he worked by the flames.
It had taken Lev two weeks to find all the equipment required—a task made more difficult because Lev kept forgetting where he’d left things, or to look at all.
In a shadowy corner, the man himself leaned against a pillar, arms crossed over his chest, glacier eyes turned black save for the flames flickering in their depths.
Centuries of survival instincts whispered predator , whispered run , but Asher was a moth pinned to a board by a hypnotic gaze so intense it was like Lev wanted to see inside his brain, like he wanted to cut him open so he could taste the blood inside his veins.
The wind shifted, funneling rain through the columns of the covered courtyard. Asher shivered and took a sip of the scotch he’d been nursing all night.
He should have sat closer to the forge,but he hoped to leave early without notice.
Lightning forked outside the arches to his right, followed by a crack of thunder that made him flinch. Lev had warned that tonight’s storm could make the tide surge over the seawall.
Asher felt more claustrophobic during high tide inside Lichenmoor’s cavernous rooms on a good day than when Ben had restrained him. Sleep wouldn’t come easy tonight.
Whoever had built a castle this close to the ocean, and then dug a half-moon moat to guard the land-facing side, must have had a nasty case of untreated neurosyphilis. Sure, it may have protected them from land attacks, but if enemy boats waited for high tide, Lichenmoor would be surrounded.
The next bolt of lightning drew Asher’s gaze back to Lev. The corner was empty, and he was on his way toward him. Great.
“What do you think?” Lev claimed the space beside him.
Asher smoothed his features into what he hoped was his best bored face. “Of?”
“Theo is very pretty, isn’t he?”
“And?”
Lev straddled the bench, planting his hands between his spread legs, gray tartan slacks tightening over muscular thighs and… Asher looked away.
“Oh, please don’t go all monosyllabic, Blakely. I was joking. I’m sure if you ask Theo nicely, he’ll blow you with even more gusto than he does his glass art.” He stroked his beard. “Perhaps I should sample his technique first.”
“Okay.”
“Again with the monosyllables.”
“That was two syllables,” Asher said flatly.
“Yes. Two monosyllables .” Lev laughed. “Oh, Blakely, how I’ve missed your humor.”
Thunder cracked. Theo paused and looked at them.
Lev waved with his fingertips. “I’ve noticed you don’t like it when I talk about Theo. Do you have trouble sharing?”
“You can have him. I’m not here to get my dick sucked.”
Lev pouted. “How tragic.”
Asher rolled his eyes.
Lev’s pout turned thoughtful. “Earlier you looked at me like that was exactly what you were here for.” Flames flared in Lev’s eyes as his pupils dilated.
“You should get your eyes checked. I think your vision is failing in your old age.”
Lev clutched the left side of his chest. “Ouch, that hurt.”
Fuck Lev for running so hot and cold and fucking with his emotions.
“Do you want to know what I think, Blakely?”
“Not really.”
Another laugh, lower, just for him. The warmth of Lev’s breath kissed the shell of his ear as he leaned nearer. “I suspect you have a thing for older men.”
Asher’s heart dropped. How did he… Did he know Ben? Wait. Was that why Lev had invited him?
The room swayed. Or the ocean had made good on its threat of dragging Lichenmoor’s occupants to their deaths.
Lev must have caught wind of the story tossed around campus, the one that said he’d earned his place on his knees, and on his back, and every other sexual position Ben had demanded.
Or had Lev heard the story that Ben told to the dean? The story that painted Asher as manipulative and unstable, that claimed he’d had an unhealthy crush Ben had tried to snuff?
Whatever Lev had heard wasn’t the truth. Even Asher hadn’t understood until later. Ben had seduced him, groomed him over months. He was a predator who’d abused a position of power and played into Asher’s insecurities, weaponizing the way his self-worth was tied to praise.
This mentorship was supposed to be his second chance, but it was the same bullshit all over again.
“Are you alright?” Lev touched his wrist, but it felt like a shackle.
Asher was stuck on an island with the one man in the world who could break him more than Ben already had. He jumped to his feet and jerked his arm free, then smacked his shin into the bench, knocking his glass onto the stone floor where it shattered.
“Fuck!” Tears stung his eyes, an automatic response from the pain.
Lev’s brows darted up in alarm. He swung one leg over the bench and stood. None of the other artists noticed the commotion over the rising squall. Asher felt like a ghost only Lev saw.
“I have to go,” Asher said, words snatched by the wind. He refused to have a panic attack in front of Leviathan Fucking Marks.
Lightning lit the way as he fled the courtyard, and thunder covered the crash as he burst through the doors into the castle.
Sideways rain hammered the windows louder than the drumroll of his heart. Footsteps pounded on the stone slabs behind him.
He was lost in the fog all over again. Were the footsteps real? Were they imagined? Either outcome was too terrifying to comprehend.
The hallway ended at the steps of a stone spiral staircase he’d never seen. He must have taken a wrong turn.
He couldn’t look back, let alone turn around and retrace his steps. He couldn’t face Lev.
The storm caterwauled through open arch windows as he jogged up the wet steps, fingers sliding on the smooth stone railing. He was exhausted by the time he reached the dimly lit round room at the top.
A dead end. Perfect.
He was trapped at the top of a tower with no way out in a storm that suppressed all other sound. He wouldn’t hear Lev’s steps on the stairs if he’d followed.
He took one deep breath, and another, pushing back the fresh wave of panic.
But as his anxiety receded, shame crept in. He’d overreacted. He wasn’t in danger. Lev wouldn’t hurt him. At least not physically. Probably.
Lightning shot light through the arrow slit windows. An ear-shattering thunderclap boomed as a shadow emerged from the steps.
“Mr. Blakely,” Lev yelled over the storm. “I’m far too old for a game of chase up one of Lichenmoor’s towers. I could have broken a hip.” He braced his hands on his knees and caught his breath. “I called after you. Why didn’t you stop?” He stepped closer.
Asher edged backward. “I didn’t hear you.”
Lev frowned. “You’re shaking.” He pulled his woolen sweater over his head. The bottom of his shirt lifted, baring abs flexing in cadence with his breaths and a treasure trail of ginger hair.
Lev extended the sweater. “Here.”
Asher shook his head. The sweater was an apple in Eden, cursed with his delectable scent and lingering body heat. “I’m fine.”
“Come now, Blakely. It’s a jumper, not a straightjacket.”
“How do you know about Ben?”
Lev’s face blanked. “Ben who? I must know dozens of men named Ben. Does he have a last name or any defining characteristic to jog my memory? Perhaps he has a thin mustache that curls up at the ends or a dashing streak of gray hair near his temple… ”
Asher crossed his arms. “It’s not funny.”
“I quite agree. This is no laughing matter.” Lev took a single step forward.
“Trust me, if I’d known Ben, I’d have demanded he introduce us at once.
Am I correct to assume he’s another artist?
Or British?” A threat edged into his voice.
“I’d quite like to know who he is and what he’s done to scare you. ”
Fuck. Asher believed him. His anxiety had betrayed him again. “Forget it. I overreacted.”
“You reacted precisely the way you thought you needed to. Like we all do.” Lev smiled sadly. “I apologize if I poked at an old wound with the older man nonsense. I was flirting. Nothing more.”
“Flirting? You acted like I was contagious all week!” Asher groaned. “You’re exhausting.”
Asher was screwing his chances at the mentorship, but fuck Lev for taking him on a roller coaster ride of rejection and love bombing. He wanted off.
“I know. I’m sorry. I…” Lev scrubbed his face with his hands and tipped his head back. “I don’t know how to behave around you, especially when we’re alone. You’ve been doing so well this week that I thought it best to stay away.
“But then you seemed miserable tonight and almost broke your neck running away from something I said, and now I’ve learned there’s some surname-less Ben out there, and I want to rip his heart out through his arse, and…”
Thunder drowned out whatever he said next, but Asher didn’t need words when Lev radiated bloodthirsty vengeance.
“Relax, Lancelot. I don’t need you to defend my honor.” Asher had been a willing participant.
“That first morning in my studio, I made you uncomfortable,” Lev continued with the same seriousness as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “I’m twenty years your senior.”
“Fifteen.”
Lev scoffed and waved a flippant hand. “Fifteen, twenty. It’s all the same.”
“Your age didn’t make me uncomfortable. Stealing my sketchbook did. The reason I did well all week was because of the advice you gave me.”
At least Lev had the decency to pretend to look ashamed. “Be that as it may?—”
“No. Fuck whatever sort of Winston Churchill shit you’re about to say.”
“Winston Churchill shit?”
“Old-timey British phrases like be that as it may . Stop trying to change the subject.”