William and the Wolf

The Painter

When soft snores started coming from the room, the wolf finally felt like it could relax.  It left its post by the door and pushed open the door to the room right next to it, which was a small office and library where Anthony kept his late-night reading material and paperwork.  Right now though, the wolf was only interested in the black clothes that were folded neatly on the chair behind the desk.  With a quick glance at the door, and listening to ensure the snores were still ongoing, the wolf stood still as the air around it started to shimmer.  A moment later, Anthony stood where the wolf had been and rose to his feet, quickly dressing with the clothes he’d left there earlier.

As quietly as he could, he returned to William’s room and opened the door.  As expected, all of the candles were still lit, and he shook his head.  Didn’t everyone know that leaving candles lit overnight was dangerous?  Quietly, Anthony came in and snuffed them out with his brass candle snuffer that he always left on the mantle.

When he was done, Anthony turned to leave.  But his eyes were caught by the golden hair and his feet stopped.  He told himself to go, to not do anything he might regret, but the golden hair was like a beacon and his feet propelled him forward to stand over the bed and look down at the man sleeping peacefully on his bed.

Asleep, the man looked so young, much younger than Anthony’s thirty-four years, with long eyelashes, tanned skin, and cheeks pinkened in his sleep.  His mouth was open slightly, letting out the light snores that tickled Anthony’s ears, and locks of that golden hair fell haphazardly over his forehead, causing Anthony’s fingers to itch with the need to straighten it.

He really shouldn’t have given him his bed.

He should have prepared one of the other beds, regardless of the time it would take to do so.  Then he wouldn’t have ever seen what William Lanceton looked like sleeping on his bed.

He frowned.  William still had all of his clothes on, except his shoes.  How could he be comfortable like that?  He should—

Anthony cut that line of thought off abruptly.  No, he should not.

Finally able to force himself away from the bed, unnerved by what his subconscious was trying to get him to do, Anthony left the room and closed the door behind him.  He let himself sink against the door for a moment and closed his eyes.

Between his fresh citrus scent and his golden hair, William Lanceton had been like sunshine blazing into Anthony’s dark corner of the world.  But like sunshine, he hurt his eyes and made him feel much too hot, forcing him to keep his distance, safe in the shadows.  When he had forced William into his house so he could face him head on as a man, it was so Anthony could tell this pesky reporter to spread the word that he wanted no more intruders into his home.  That enough was enough.

At least, that’s what he’d thought were his intentions.

But then he’d met William’s eyes as a man and realized that this man smelling of sunshine was much more than a nuisance on his property.  And out of nowhere he’d found himself invited the man to stay, under the guise of the interview that William had been so eager for.

Anthony groaned inwardly.  How strange this all was.  To have no control over his own decisions was not comfortable.  And yet…

His hand splayed over the door that kept him away from the sleeping man within.  And yet… there was something inside him that was growing by the second, a joy that he thought he had lost a long time ago, a sense of yearning stronger than he had ever felt before in his life.

Anthony’s eyes opened and he was shocked to realize that an image was forming in his brain.  He moved away from the door in a hurry and rushed to his work room in a daze.  Inside, he didn’t even bother to put on the apron he usually wore and just grabbed a pencil and immediately started to work on the blank canvas that had been sitting, waiting for him for years.

At long last, he had something in his mind he wanted to put to paper.  At long last, he had something that he needed to paint.

Breathing out heavily he closed his eyes again to renew the image and then opened them and continued.

It was truly unbelievable.

In the stretch of one night, everything had changed.

He was no longer alone.

And he was sketching his own painting.

Anthony shuddered and dropped his hand to his thigh, emotions rushing through him so fiercely he couldn’t handle it all.

The man who was destined to be the love of his life, his mate, had waltzed into his life, into his home, and was sleeping now in his bed, even as he inspired the first new painting Anthony had created in years.  No one could express the euphoria he felt right now.

But at the same time, pain, unbearable, aching pain twisted his heart, throbbing in his chest, and he clutched his shirt over his tight chest as he laughed humourlessly, tears springing to his eyes that he never let fall.

His mate had walked into his life, perhaps, but it was clear he had no interest in Anthony beyond the article he wished to make of him.

‘A drifter.’

That’s what his mate had called himself.  Someone who never stays in one spot, who never forms lasting relationships.  Anthony knew the life well.  He’d been one himself for years.  At first his constant moving around was in search of his mate, but as the years went by and still he hadn’t found them, Anthony had just gotten used to moving, giving up on silly childhood dreams.

Finally, he’d come back to his hometown, a changed man.  But he hadn’t been able to watch others living happily with their mates, so he soon left again, to a new town.  His father’s best friend, the Alpha of the werewolf pack of the territory, accepted his desire for solitude, thankfully, allowing him his peace.  He’d even left the position of Beta open, Anthony’s father’s position before he had died, should Anthony ever wish to return, but he seriously doubted he ever would.

The werewolf pack life was foreign to him now, he’d been away from it for so long.

He’d just wished to be left alone.

He’d taken up the painting he’d always loved to do and for a while made a decent amount reselling his prints, but inspiration dried up within a year and so he could only refurbish others’ paintings now, to make ends meet, spending any extra on building his home into the historical eras he’d always found so fascinating, because… why not?

Anthony sighed as he finally put down his pencil and examined his sketch.  Seeing it in life, he sighed in frustration at himself.  Apparently, his subconscious mind could still dream after all.

All the more reason to get this interview done and send his mate back on his merry way.

Anthony rose, stretched, and turned away from his drawing.  Even if he did decide to turn it into a painting, it would have to wait until the next day.  He couldn’t look at it anymore today.

He started walking towards one of the two guest bedrooms he’d built—perhaps the Egyptian one would do—but soon found that his feet had taken him back to stand in front of his own bedroom.  Snores still came from within it as he stared at the door and wondered how many more of his actions would betray him.  He sighed, went back into the office and undressed to shift back into his wolf form, before coming out and slumping down onto the soft rug he’d dragged out of his office earlier.

As he fell asleep to the sounds of his mate sleeping, he didn’t even realize there was a small smile on his face.