Page 21 of Her Wolf's Demands

It was a little late to ask my brother permission considering Malone and his pulsing presence now filled the room.

Drake nodded back, his gaze darting to the werewolf. Dr Amel would’ve sensed that Malone was a wolf, and yet, there was no judgement. That’s what I’d loved about him.

“Look…” The doctor turned to Malone and pointed at the nearest painting. “…Drake is an extremely talented artist.”

Humming an affirmative, Malone stepped closer and actually admired Drake’s work. “You’re left-handed,” he said to my brother, tracing a finger down the thick grey stone in the picture. “Your brushstroke is similar to Da Vinci.”

I almost choked, covering my mouth as Drake raised his eyebrows before a smile spread on his lips. Wait. Was my brother impressed by Malone’s knowledge? Of course he was, he had studied the greats and been influenced by many.

“What do you know of Leonardo?” I asked my man, not quite believing that he knew anything.

Cocking his head to look over his shoulder, he eyed me, the brown and amber of his irises flashing when a grin spread on his face, revealing his sexy-as-fuck dimple. “I know that he was a bastard, abandoned by his father. He struggled to connect with people, his genius often a sticking point when it came to relating to others. A perfectionist, much like your brother, he aimed to see the truth in his subject, whether it was ugly or beautiful.”

My heart thumped as I sucked my tongue, trying to moisten my dry mouth. Jeez, if there was a way closer to my soul, it was through my brother, who currently beamed at Malone.

I had assumed I knew the alpha, but there was a lot more to know about the man who led the Brighton Pack. And shit, he turned me on with his intellect, just as much as his bod.

“That’s right,” Drake said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Leonardo was a troubled soul. A little like me.”

Air rushed out of my lungs as Malone stepped closer to Drake. My brother was usually wary of others when he wasn’t feeling good. Not with Malone, though. He moved closer to another painting and pointed at the tree.

“Da Vinci inspired me with his work ethic, that much is true. And yes, I’m a bit of a perfectionist. However, I don’t agonise over a painting.” Glancing at the doctor when he scoffed, Drake shrugged. “Most of the time.”

Bowing, the doctor reversed out of the room, leaving us to it.

Malone was quick to ask my brother about his other favourite artists. It was hard for me to remain angry at the alpha for following me uninvited when he made such an effort with Drake.

“I’m sorry,” Drake blurted, “for almost killing one of your men. Is he alright now?”

Placing a thick hand on Drake’s shoulder, Malone inclined his head. “He’s completely healed, thanks to your sister. Everything is forgiven and forgotten.”

I wasn’t quite sure Lionel would agree, but who was I to question Malone? Oh, that was right, his fated mate and second in command. Wait, that was becoming a running theme in my life. I probably should’ve been peeved about that but, meh, I’d save it for another day. I was too busy enjoying the friendly conversation that we shared. Who knew they would get on so well?

“I’m a carpenter,” Malone told Drake, his gaze unable to stay off the paintings.

Drake’s eyebrows rose, clearly impressed by my man’s profession. Bloody hell, it still felt strange claiming the alpha as mine.

“Malone’s tables are incredible,” I interrupted, my cheeks heating when they both smiled at me.

Dismissing them with a wave, I checked my phone, even though no one knew my number. They chatted again, both becoming animated when discussing their art.

I watched Malone, enjoying the softness of his jaw and the spark in his eyes. He kept glancing at me, his shoulders lifting when I acknowledged everything he said. It was as if he wanted me to know him, and by speaking to my brother, it was safe to allow me to see him.

“The witches,” my brother said, catching my attention. “They stand on the stone and poison the plants.”

My stomach dropped as Malone’s bright face froze, a cloud descending. Would he freak out about my brother’s illness?

“Drake.” Coming between the pair, I pointed at one of the paintings. “What did the witches ask you to do?”

Clamming up, my brother sat on his bed, shrinking in on himself. I held up my hands when he shook his head and narrowed his gaze on me. He knew something, but he was too afraid to tell me.

“It’s okay,” I said, sitting on the bed next to him. “Let’s forget it.”

“I’m sorry.” His anguished whisper made a lump come to my throat.

I was supposed to be looking out for him, and yet, he didn’t feel safe enough to tell me what he knew about the witches. Clearly their commission had been a lot bigger than just a painting. What did Drake know? And what were his cryptic riddles all about?

Chapter Seven