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“Sorry, ma’am.” Sariel laughed, dropping his backpack on the path and squatting to coo out to the Doberman. “Hey, Bunny.”
My face must have given me away, because Credence’s lips pursed.
“Auren named the damn mutt,” she explained. Then her eyes narrowed. “Who might you be?”
“Aria Gribald, ma’am.” I wondered very briefly if I needed to curtsy to her.
“And what are you doing here, Miss Gribald? With my grandson, no less?” I watched as she lowered her shotgun to the porch and propped it on the banister.
“We’re looking for a place to lay low, Grandma,” Sariel answered for me. The Doberman, Bunny, sniffed me once, bared her teeth, and then returned to Sariel’s feet to lick his hands where they hung at his sides. My wolf did not like that; I couldn’t believe this was my life.
My wolf had grown possessive of a man who wanted nothing to do with us.
“A wolf,” Credence announced, making my head snap up. “You were growling at my dog, darlin’.”
Sariel chuckled, patting Bunny on the head gently.
Mortification at my actions had me slapping my palms over my cheeks. “Sorry. My wolf has been out of control lately.”
The dog eyed me smugly, and I had half a mind to let my wolf at her. It took great effort to turn away from the gloating canine as Sariel continued to pat her head.
“Hm,” Credence said, her eyes flickering between Sariel and me. “Well, come in. If my grandbaby brought you, then you must be alright enough. At least you’re not like the other one,” she said, grabbing her gun.
“The other one?” I whispered to Sariel while he picked up the pack.
“Johnny,” he said, smiling. “They have a love-hate relationship.”
“Huh.”
“She doesn’t bite,” he said, observing how I watched his grandmother as she disappeared into the cabin.
My brows were tilted doubtfully. “She came out with ashotgun.”
“But she didn’t shoot at us,” he said, then shrugged. Shrugged! As though that were a best-case scenario.
“Uh-huh,” I said. “Thank God for that.”
The inside was nothing like what I had expected. It was spacious and homey, and its walls were covered in art pieces. It looked like I’d walked into an art museum.
“Fuck,” Sariel cursed. “Grandma…”
He trailed off as I stepped up to one painting of a wilting flower that, upon closer inspection, was a ballerina bent at a backwards angle that had to be painful. Her outfit was blood red, and the edges dripped onto the Earth beneath her, staining it red. I couldn't make out her expression, but the painting was so hauntingly beautiful, I was transfixed.
“Talented as all hell,” Credence said, stepping up next to me. “I think he was twelve when he did this one.”
My eyes widened. “Sariel? He did this?”
Credence smiled. “Darlin’, every single painting on these walls was done by my grandbaby.”
My heart launched itself into my throat as I turned in a slow circle. I ignored Sariel, who was standing at the kitchen island, nervously fidgeting as I took it all in.
The more miniature paintings had obviously been done by a younger Sariel. They were lighter, with flowers, landscapes, animals, toys, a pair of earrings in flowers, and a kaleidoscope of colors.
The bigger ones were more mature. A white painted outline of a man and a woman intimately intertwined, literally joined from the waist down, their arms wrapped around each other against a black background; a man whose eyes and mouthappeared to be made of flowers, roots outlined beneath the skin of his face and throat; an angel curled into themself, their white wings bleeding onto the floor, and their face and body hidden by their arms.
Goosebumps littered my skin. I stepped up to every one of them, running my fingers over some of them. They were so incredibly lifelike, I had to feel that rough texture to ensure they weren’t actually painted pictures.
“They’re beautiful, Sariel,” I breathed.
