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“I thought you had a studio in the Elites’ mansion that’s protected by lock and key.”
“Take it easy on your obsession with me.”
My face heats, but I sign, “I only found that out in my attempts to sabotage you.”
“An obsession is still an obsession, no matter the reason. The fact that you’re stumbling to find an excuse is enough indication of the depth of your cute obsession. To answer your question, this is my second art studio, the third if we count the one at uni, but that one’s only for show since it’s shared with other students.”
“And this one?” I sign, then turn to the miserable statues. I don’t know why I feel sorry that they’ve been abandoned.
“This one is for the boring subjects that didn’t make the cut. I have a theory I want to prove.”
I turn to him with a questioning gaze, but my insides instantly knot into thick dread when my eyes lock with his.
Dark energy swirls in their depths, promising a taste of both danger and regret.
“Stand here for me and remain still. Like last night.”
“Why would I do that?”
“For the same reason you came here with me. To protect your precious family.”
I snarl and he merely smiles, then pats the top of my head as if I’m a pet. “Be good and no drastic measures will be taken.”
He walks to a half-faced statue and strokes the unfinished part with careful fingers, as if he doesn’t want to hurt a literal statue’s feelings. But why do I feel like, if given the chance, Landon wouldn’t hesitate to erase that statue as if it never existed?
After careful inspection, he lifts it effortlessly. Or more like, he makes it look easy. I can see his biceps flexing as a translation of his smashing power.
Landon might appear lean and definitely has fewer muscles than, say, Nikolai or Jeremy, but he’s still strong.
He deposits the statue on what looks like a sack of sand and sits on the chair opposite it.
He casts me a glance, throws a flirtatious wink, and then pulls out a cigarette and slides it to the corner of his lips. As he lights it, he fetches one of the countless tools and tosses it from one hand to the other as if testing its weight.
He puts it right back and retrieves another one that looks exactly the same to me, tosses it between his hands again, then inhales the smoke and releases a heavy cloud in the air.
I’ve never cared for the smell of cigarettes or smokers in general, but Landon makes it look hotter than it should be. It’s the blasé attitude and the confidence of a god that drips from his every movement.
With the cigarette hanging from his lips, he again strokes the statue, which I notice has generous breasts. He runs his fingers along the slope and then taps the nipple once.
Twice.
My body burns with unfamiliar scorching fire. His hand slides to her throat and I can feel the choker tightening around my own neck as if it’s his fingers.
What the hell?
His eyes flash to me and I stand still, scared to even breathe properly. The last thing I need is for Landon to think I find him attractive in any sense. He’s already conceited beyond belief.
“There. You’re such a good little muse.” His hand is still stroking and groping the statue as if it’s his lover.
“I’m just doing this out of necessity.”
“Are those words directed at me or yourself?”
He grins, and without waiting for my response, he gets to work. His fingers slowly but surely shape part of the statue’s head.
I’m struck by his expression when he creates. A stark difference from his usually mocking face. While sadism is still present, there’s also something different. I’ve never seen his eyes so light and engaged. They’re often half bored, as if the world holds no meaning to his immoral soul.
Now, however, he’s so far into his task that I don’t think he takes notice of how he seamlessly picks up tools or lights one cigarette after the other.
