Consumed (Gem Creek Bears Book 7) Read online

  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 his Mystic, but nothing came. All I could picture was Damon and his horrible, smug smirk.

  “Drink the wine I poured you,” he insisted from where he still stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and watching me. Maybe that was the problem—his reptilian eyes were on me. I’d never painted with an audience before. Apparently, it wasn’t something I was a fan of. “Wasn’t it Hemingway who worked best when he was drunk?” Damon asked, pulling my thoughts back to the moment.

  “That was with words, not paint,” I insisted, sounding snippier than I probably should, given the circumstances.

  “Art is art, don’t you think?” He asked before taking another sip from his wine. Clearly, my words and tone hadn’t offended him. “I haven’t found a type of art I don’t enjoy.” He waved a hand, signaling to his apartment.

  I set my paintbrush down and glanced around. Different types of art were everywhere. There were books, sculptures, and even a few shelves with old records in a corner. My paintings from the Origins series, and a few others, adorned his walls too.

  “Drink,” Damon insisted again, drawing my attention back to him. “Loosen up. Good art doesn’t happen when it’s forced, which is most likely the issue you’re dealing with currently.”

  I scoffed. “Then why try to have me force it?”

  “Because it’s my only option.” His voice dipped low when he spoke, and a shadow fell over his face as though his mind had drifted.

  “Why?” I asked, making my way to where he stood. I was ready for that glass of wine. “Why am I your only option at finding your Mystic?”

  I knew I wasn’t the only person with the ability to help him in that department. There were plenty of witches who could locate his Mystic. There had to be.

  So, why me? Why abduct me and force me to paint her?

  Damon stepped from behind the counter, and I took a sip from my glass. He untucked his shirt from his slacks and lifted it up. The telltale blisters of the shifter sickness were spread across his washboard abs.

  I took a step back instinctively, even though I knew it wasn’t contagious. Shifter sickness didn’t spread from one shifter to another upon contact. It didn’t spread by a cough or sneeze either. It just chose you when it felt like it. There was no way to protect yourself from it. It just happened. Which was one of the reasons why it was so damn scary.

  Nothing was scarier than something deadly and unpredictable.

  Gran told me that Tris, being the Mystic, had called all of the potential Mystics forward when she completed a spell with a witch from some swamp, but she’d also said that just because an alpha’s Mystic was called didn’t mean it found its alpha.

  That was Fate’s job, and Damon was asking me to speed up that process for him.

  When I locked eyes with him again, I was able to see the fear in his eyes. It shook me to my core because fear made people do crazy things. I was Damon’s only option—he’d said so himself—and if I couldn’t produce a painting that showcased a glimpse of his Mystic or where she might be located, then he was as good as dead. Which meant so was I.

  The weight of that realization pressed down on me, and even my bear squirmed.

  I downed the wine he’d poured and then set the glass on the counter.

  “Okay,” I said, walking back to the art easel.

  Damon didn’t say a word. Instead, he poured himself another glass of wine and remained in the kitchen. I knew he was silent because showing me he had the shifter sickness made him feel vulnerable. My bear and I could sense it.

  Once I stepped to the blank canvas, I shook my hands out and rolled my neck before picking up the paintbrush again. Its bristles were still covered in paint, and as the aroma of it hit my nose, the desire to scratch out a word across the canvas pulsed through me again. I ignored it. Even though there was a piece of me that felt for Damon Kincaid now that I knew he was sick, that didn’t mean I was willing to show him my process.

  Knowing about my gift was enough.

  My gaze remained fixed on the canvas as I held the brush, poised and ready. I thought of Damon and his Mystic being happy and in love like Liam and Tris. Nothing came to me. I pushed harder and focused on what I wanted to see even more.

  Still, nothing.

  The hum of a cell vibrating drifted to my ears and my stomach dipped. It had to either be Nash or Gran. I prayed something hadn’t happened. My insides twisted as the phone continued to hum.

  I shifted my gaze to Damon, locking eyes with him across the apartment. “Just let me answer it. Let me make sure my grandma is all right,” I said, trying not to sound like I was begging. He didn’t need to know how desperate I felt to answer my phone.

  Damon shook his head. “There’s too much of a risk she will be fine and you’ll lose the motivation to do this quickly. I’m not feeling up to taking that risk.”

  My bear snapped at him. He couldn’t hear her, but there was a spark of amusement that shifted through his eyes and had me wondering if it was possible for him to feel her anger. When he licked his lips, I was reminded yet again he was a snake shifter and the likelihood of him being able to taste my emotions on his tongue was high.

  I directed my attention back to the canvas in front of me. This time I didn’t push. This time I didn’t force anything. All I did was close my eyes and relax. I pictured Damon in my mind. I could see his sickness and the blisters spreading across his core. Then, I pictured a woman healing him with her touch.

  To my surprise, a familiar tingling sensation pulsed through my hand. An image formed. One of flowers, lots of flowers, and a woman.

  My hand gripping the paintbrush lifted to th
e canvas, and my eyes snapped open as the familiar tingling sensation built in my fingertips. Damon must have felt the energy shift or noticed when I began to paint because he made his way to my side. Having him watch from over my shoulder didn’t bother me like I thought it might. I was too consumed by the image filling my mind and trying to get it out of me as fast as I could.

  “What is that?” Damon asked, his tone sparking with hope and excitement. “Are those flowers? Is that a street? Do you know which one?”

  I didn’t answer him. Fear I’d lose the image had me keeping my lips pressed firmly together.

  When the painting was complete, I took a step back and stared at my work.

  There were plenty of flowers. An entire stand of them. And there was a woman who’d stopped to smell them. She had fiery red hair that fell past her shoulders in silky waves and wore a pale purple top.

  She was Damon’s Mystic, and I knew instinctively that she was here—she was in Denton.

  Chapter Nine

  I didn’t know why I expected Damon to release me the second I did as he asked, but I did. And when he didn’t, I found myself ticked.

  “I did what you wanted. When can I go?” I demanded.

  “Not until I know what you painted is real,” Damon insisted, unable to take his eyes off the woman in the painting. “For all I know, you could have painted anyone just to be released.”

  I kicked myself mentally for not having thought of that sooner. If I’d been the one to think of it first, then maybe I’d be free. Instead, I was still being held hostage. Gran was growing sicker by the second. And I knew Nash and the others were probably flipping out while trying to figure out how the heck to find me.

  “We need to find her first, then I’ll let you go,” Damon insisted.

  I folded my arms over my chest and glared at him. “The deal was I was supposed to paint an image to help you find her. I did that. Now let me go.”

  Damon glared at me. His pupils elongated, flashing with his snake and his irritation. “And now you need to help me find her. You won’t be set free until you do.”

  My bear paced. She was sick of his demands and threats. Frankly, so was I.

  “How am I supposed to do that?” I asked.

  “You tell me. Is there anything more you saw in your vision? Anything that might be able to help us pinpoint my Mystic’s location better?” Damon rubbed his jaw as his gaze drifted back to the painting. “How does this work exactly anyway? Is this happening right now, or is it in the future?”

  “Typically, it’s in the future,” I said.

  “How far?”

  I shrugged.“I don’t know. Sometimes it’s a few minutes. Sometimes it’s an hour. And sometimes it’s an entire day. I don’t get a time frame with these things.” My tone was snippy, but I didn’t care. He should be thanking me for painting an image of his Mystic. Now he knew that she was in the city, she had red hair, and a few of her facial characteristics.

  Instead, he only cared that I didn’t screw him over and that I helped him find her.

  “The latter doesn’t bode well for you,” Damon said, his tone sharp. Clearly, he was getting sick of my attitude. “You’re not being released until we figure this out.”

  My stomach dipped. How the heck was I going to find this woman? Denton was a big city. She could be anywhere. I didn’t know where or how to start looking for her.

  My gaze drifted to the painting, checking it for any possible clues I might have missed. There were two things that stood out. One was the flowers she was admiring. The only place I’d ever seen displays like that in the city were in front of florist shops. The second thing was the tall, grayscale building at the end of the street she was on. I recognized it, knowing it was somewhere I’d been before, but I couldn’t place it.

  “Give me my phone,” I insisted, holding my hand out.

  Damon flashed me a crooked grin. “Miss Mathers, look at you making demands.” He released a chuckle. “However, that’s a demand I won’t be giving in to.”

  “You said you wanted to find her. How else am I supposed to search for florist shops in the city? Clearly, that’s where she is. Don’t you think?” I asked, pointing to the picture.

  “Good point. One second.” He left the room, making his way to one of the back rooms in the apartment. He was gone from my sight for only a minute before he came back carrying a laptop. “Search away. Time is ticking.”

  He meant for us both, I could see it in his eyes.

  I took the laptop from him and made my way to the leather couch along the far wall. Damon followed. After I sat, I booted the computer up and began searching Denton for florist shops. Five popped up on the screen. I could tell that the first three were duds because they were in areas of the city that in no way resembled the street behind the woman in the painting.

  The fourth one though, that one was our winner.

  “It’s this one. May flowers.” I pointed to the screen.

  “How can you be sure?” Damon asked.

  “I recognized the tall building at the end of the street in the painting. It’s a corporate building. I can’t remember what the name of the company is, but I know there are a few of my paintings hung in the lobby. One of the big executives bought them a few months after I got to the city. I went by once or twice to see them on display.”

  It had been an amazing feeling walking in and seeing them on the walls. I’d been giddy with excitement. When the secretary spotted me on the second visit and asked if I wanted the artist’s information, I stopped going, realizing how strange it probably seemed to stalk my own artwork.

  “I know this florist shop. I’ve walked past it myself a few times. There’s a café beside it. Emanuel’s Bistro. They serve sandwiches, soups, salads, coffee, and tea. The place has a great ambiance to it,” Damon insisted. He stood to his full height and unrolled the sleeves of his white button-down. He redid his cuffs and then tucked his shirt back in, making himself look perfectly poised again. “Looks like we’re heading out for an evening cup of coffee, Miss Mathers, while we wait for my mystery woman to arrive.”

  I didn’t argue with him. Instead, I closed his laptop and set it on the coffee table before standing and making my way to the door. The faster we found this woman, the quicker I could go home.

  Home?

  When had Gem Creek become home again? This city has been my home for over a year, and yet somehow, it suddenly felt foreign.

  Nash.

  I knew Gem Creek feeling like home again had everything to do with him and the past hurt we’d worked through. Nash was my home. He always had been.

  Emanuel’s Bistro was busy when we arrived with two of Damon’s guards watching my every move. I listened to the young guy dressed in jeans and a beanie play his guitar and sing on the small corner stage, ignoring being their center of attention. The song was one I’d never heard before. I kept my eyes glued to the windows at the front of the café in the hopes that the red-haired woman I’d painted would walk by.

  “What would you like, Miss Mathers?” Damon asked, sounding like a true gentleman.

  “Green tea.” I purposely left off the please Gran had always taught me to say because I didn’t owe him any manners.

  “Are you sure? No coffee or cappuccino?” Damon asked.

  I shook my head. “Just green tea.”

  My nerves were too frazzled for a large caffeine hit. It would amp up my anxiety too much.

  “As you wish,” Damon said, flashing me a grin and a wink. Two girls at the table near us melted at his charming smile, but I rolled my eyes. Clearly, they couldn’t see the snake that he truly was.

  No pun intended.

  I shifted my gaze back to the window, searching for the red-haired woman. She didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight.

  When it was our turn to place an order with the barista, Damon ordered my green tea and then a black coffee for himself. It didn’t take us long to get our order, and then I steered him to a table up against the fro
nt windows with a great view of the street, but also the florist next door. His goonies found a table nearby.

  “I take it there hasn’t been any sign of her yet,” Damon said. He placed my cell on the table next to his coffee, and then popped the lid off of his cup so he could blow on its contents.

  “Not yet.” I made sure my voice held confidence.

  The last thing I wanted was for him to know I was fearful we wouldn’t be able to find this woman tonight. In the image I’d painted, there was sunlight on her, which I knew meant she would either show up in the next few minutes or not until another day.

  I swallowed hard, not wanting to think about it. My bear growled and snapped at me. She was just as irritated as I was with my gift and its inability to be predictable with its timing.

  “When you do, I will gladly give your cell phone back so you can make a call home,” Damon insisted.

  “How kind of you,” I snapped without meaning to.

  I took a sip from my tea and glanced around. The sun had set further behind the buildings of the street. It was growing darker out because of it, which meant that time was running out. If this woman didn’t show up in the next few minutes, there was no way we would find her today.

  Damn it.

  I needed an alternate plan because when this woman didn’t show tonight, Damon wasn’t going to be happy and I wasn’t planning on staying here overnight. Gran needed me. Her health was deteriorating fast, and I needed to be at her side. Not stuck in Denton, helping Damon hunt his Mystic in the city.

  “Don’t,” Damon insisted in a firm, low tone, drawing my attention to him. When our eyes locked, his pupils elongated like the reptilian creature residing inside him. “Snakes are fast. We can strike quickly. Don’t forget that, Miss Mathers,” he said before taking a sip from his coffee, his eyes already returning to normal. Nothing about his expression would suggest to an onlooker that he’d just threatened me. He was scary good. I imagined it came with his line of work.