Of course.Why give me an empty space when they can make me lug everything from one room to another?
My shoulders slump. Should’ve eaten breakfast.
I step inside the room, and Logan clears his throat. “This wasn’t what we wanted, you know.”
“I know,” I say, throwing up my hands. “You’ve all made that very clear to me. I’m just pushing into a pack that doesn’t want me. Knocking on a door that isn’t open. I get it, Logan. You don’t have to try and hurt me anymore than you already have.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
His low, husky voice hits me hard. Staring sightlessly into the room, I blink.
“Then what did you mean?”
Heat warms my back as he moves behind me. His warm breath ghosts across my neck, making me shudder.
“We wanted an omega,” he whispers. His hand trails up my arm, goose pimples springing up on my skin as he traces a line with his fingers.
The ache dims just a little, and I list to the side as my neck tilts.
“What changed?” I whisper back.
I feel the loss of heat a half second before he speaks, his voice cold.
“Alicia.”
Reality hits me in the face like a wet fish.Nearly fell for that one, Sienna.
“I see,” I push out, my voice trembling. “I need to make a start here.”
But when I turn around, Logan is gone.
24
LOGAN
First, it’s the canvases. Then it’s the paint. The brushes. The white spirit.
I can’t grab them fast enough, can’t pull them together quickly enough, my fingers itching to get started. I’m holding my breath, unable to release until I finally have the brush in my hand.
And then I can finally breathe.
The knocking at the door rouses me, and I blink, taking a step back. My hands, my shirt, are covered in black. I run a hand through my hair, feeling the stiffness that tells me I’m covered just as much as the canvas in front of me.
But I’m grinning.
Turning, I stride to the door and pull it open. Gray’s eyes widen as he takes me in.
“You’re painting,” he breathes.
I turn away, my head already pulled back to the picture in my mind, my fingers begging to add it to the canvas before it’s forgotten, nothing more than a vague remembering.
Gray’s footsteps follow as I pick up the palette, slowing until all I can hear is his breathing.
“Logan,” he half whispers, half-groans.
Shaking my head, I carry on. “I don’t need your judgment, Gray. Not today.”
“I’m not judging.” He sounds hurt. “Lo, this is… it’s incredible.”
