Page 42 of Essence of Fear

Viktoria spun around quickly, a sharp reply at the ready on the tip of her tongue. She ended up swallowing the reply when she found Pav was at the other side of the kitchen, looking over the items on her table.

Or rather, the sketch she had been working on since she’d come home. She thought it might settle her mind to sit down and draw with charcoal—it always used to, anyway. It had been far longer than she wanted to admit since she’d felt the desire to draw literally anything. But tonight, after being with him on that back porch, she’d wanted to do just that.

“Well?” Pav asked, his head tipping up when she stayed silent. His gaze landed on her and he arched a brow high. “Do you often drink alone?”

“Sometimes.”

He nodded. “You shouldn’t.”

Had that been someone else standing there telling her what she should and shouldn’t do with her body and time, she would have told them to shut their fucking mouth. Her business was her business, and it wasn’t up for discussion. Her sharp nature was the best and first defense she had to keep people in line and at a distance.

For some reason, she bit her tongue.

She said nothing to Pav.

Nothing except, “Yeah, I know.”

Pav went back to the sketch on the table and Viktoria was hyperaware of how hard her heart had started to beat in her chest. The sketch was unmistakable—there was no way he could look at it and not recognize his own image staring back at him.

She wasn’t wrong.

“It’s me,” he said, half amused and half curious.

Viktoria wet her lips, trying to settle her nerves. “It is.”

“It’s very good. You even got the detail of the scar on my eyebrow right.”

“Details are important.”

Something akin to a smile curved the edge of his mouth, but he didn’t look away from the sketch. “They are very important.”

A part of her wanted to hide the sketch away from view and keep it safe from scrutiny. It wasn’t that she thought he would criticize her art, but rather, she didn’t want anyone seeing what she was drawing at the moment. Her art had always been a peek inside her mind, and maybe that’s why she’d stopped drawing for so long. Because no one wanted to see the constant hell that was her mind.

The urge to take the sketch away from Pav’s view was too strong to ignore, so she crossed the kitchen floor, and snatched it up from the table without a word. Quickly, she tucked it under the pad of paper where it couldn’t be seen. All the while, Pav said nothing, simply watched her clean up the table and other items she had left sitting out.

“Do you draw every day?” he asked.

“I used to,” she mumbled.

“Yet, you tattoo.”

“Not as often as I used to. It’s not that I did it for money; my father made sure I had more than enough of that to last me several lifetimes.”

She didn’t miss his nod from the corner of her eye, but he didn’t touch on her words with his next question. “Do you not want to draw anymore?”

She swallowed hard. “I haven’t wanted to in a long time.”

“That’s a shame. Look how beautiful your work is.”

Her fingers trembled as she picked up the last couple of pieces of charcoal and put them back inside their box. Who knew when she would take them out again and draw? The thought both pissed her off and made her sad. Neither of which she wanted to deal with right then.

“I haven’t wanted anything in a long time,” she added after a moment.

It was easier to say that and keep staring at the pile of things she’d cleaned up on the table. If she looked at him when she said it, then she was going to see pity in his eyes. Or something worse … and she didn’t want to deal with those things, either.

“But you want me,” he murmured.

There he went again.