Amanda’s pov.
“Would painting help you breathe better?”
I replayed that question over and over again in my head. An image of his face when he’d asked that fluttered through my mind along with it, curious, sincere, amused… those were the emotions that I’d seen in his eyes and felt through the bond.
When I’d told him about my love for painting, I’d done it almost absentmindedly, it was an old hobby I’d abandoned in my quest to become the person that would be strong enough to lead my pack, my father had called it a distraction, my mother had called it a useless hobby, Kira hadn’t cared and Kelvin told me to stop whining about it.
Over the years, I’d learnt to stop thinking about the passion that was taken away from me. I broke apart that version of Amanda, soft, emotional and naive and I
