He watched her eyes move over the tile between them, as if she might find an answer to his question there. “No. I played piano when I was little, but I forgot a long time ago.”
“Your parents didn’t keep up with your lessons?”
Her wooden spoon dragged slowly across the inner surface of her bowl. “They didn’t think it was worth the money after they discovered I was arrant. There was no point in improving me.”
He’d already decided on hating the man he’d heard her callpapa,Doctor Wyeth,but he was still surprised by the surge of protective fury that swelled in him when Josephine spoke.
Being arrant, a person without the ability to use magic, was no more shameful than being left handed. It was simply another difference, neither good nor bad. The way Josephine said it made it sound as if the wordarrantwas blasphemy. A defect to be reviled. Aflaw.
Not only was it inherently wrong, but it was also incorrect. His kind had incredibly keen noses and the scent of magic was unmistakable. Hiskonewas no arrant.
“What is it you like to do, then?” he asked, swallowing down the rage with some difficulty. “I see passion in your eyes, sweetkone.You must have a pastime of some sort or another.”
She spooned another mouthful of porridge past her lips, eyes down. Carefully following her actions, Otto did the same. When she ate, he did. When she shifted her legs, he followed suit.
Not only did it make the animal rumble with approval, as sharing food was an essential part of courtship, he knew that mimicking behavior helped submissives feel more comfortable.
After a long silence, she admitted, “I draw and paint.”
Of course you do.Otto could see it clearly. His sensitive mate, with her soft eyes and pretty hands, would make a wonderful artist. He could easily imagine her with a long, spindly paintbrush in hand, dabbing paint on a canvas as she squinted at a vista.
We will have a beautiful den,he silently promised her as he chewed and swallowed the tasteless, gritty porridge.I’ll hang your paintings in every room, and when there’s no more space, I will build another room for you to decorate.
“I can’t wait to see your paintings,” he said, trying desperately to show her how pleased he was with her small show of trust. “You will show me all your drawings, too. I want to look at everything.”
He could tell she wanted to point out that he would never get the chance, but Josephine held her tongue. Instead, she shook her head and pointed out, “You don’t even know if I’m good.”
“It wouldn’t matter to me if you weren’t.”
For a split second, he could have sworn she almost looked up at him, perhaps to roll her eyes, or give him an otherwise exasperated look. He felt quite suddenly that he would do anything, anything in the world, to be on the receiving end of her sass.
The surest sign that a submissive trusted you was when they developed an attitude. That brattiness was downright tempting to a dominant shifter on the hunt for a mate.
Josephine’s tone was just shy of tart when she said, “A painting must begoodto be worth looking at, sir.”
“I think you’re wrong. I will like it because it was made with those pretty hands and those lovely eyes and that quick mind. Is that not enough reason to like a thing,kone?”
“I… I don’t know.” Josephine’s voice died away. Even in the shadows, he could make out the flush in her pale cheeks.
Heartbeat quickening, Otto deepened his voice into a soothing purr and continued, “And this thing you keep saying, calling mesir.I don’t like it so much. Won’t you choose something else for me, if you still refuse to learn my name?”
“Siris respectful,” she argued, a touch breathless. “My only other option isshifter,which seems worse.”
“I would like it more if you were not so respectful. Maybe then you would believe me when I say you’re safe with me.”
“And how wouldthathelp?”
“Because,” he explained, firm but soft so as not to startle her, “you can claw at me all you want,kone.I will never lift a hand to you. I will never scold you. If it will help move things along, I invite you to try.”
Even with her face tilted slightly toward the floor, he could see her eyes widen with alarm. “You want me toscratchyou?”
“I already told you to bite me, didn’t I?” he asked, amused. He’d meant it, too. The animal wanted her bite more than anything. The man wanted it too, if only to save her from whatever torture her father inflicted on her when she refused to give it.
That’s a lie. I also want it because I want to know what her bite feels like when I make her mine.
Aghast, she replied, “I could never hurt another person, especially someone chained to a wall.”
Sweet, gentle mate.Otto ached to be near her. It was like ants under his skin, this feeling of urgency. He felt every inch that separated them, and with each second that ticked by, he was more compelled to shield her, to cup her in his hands so no more harm could come to that soft heart.
