“Mr. Kincaid,” I muttered, trying to sound as polite as possible. “I’m sorry, but we’re closed. You’ll have to come back another time.”
“Is that so? Karen said the painting of yours I’ve already purchased would be here after five.” He glanced at his watch, licked his lips, and then lifted his gaze to mine again. “It’s after five, is it not?”
I fought the desire to roll my eyes. Oh, Karen and I were going to have words. She’d set me up. Better yet, she knew me better than she let on. Karen had known I would be late. She’d known I wouldn’t make it here before five to speak with Damon in person so she’d told him to come after.
She was good.
“Then I guess you’re right on time, but unfortunately, I am running late for something important. You’ll have to get a hold of Karen tomorrow. I’m sorry, but I have to go,” I said as I squeezed my way past him, heading toward my vehicle.
“I certainly will, but I am glad I caught you. You’re the person I wanted to speak with anyway,” Damon said, gripping my wrist and bringing me to a standstill. My bear worked her way to the surface at the feel of his touch. I locked eyes with him, knowing she’d made my eyes flash bright. He released me, and a crooked grin sprang to his face. “Relax. I’d like to hire you, Miss Mathers.”
I arched a brow. So, Karen had been right—he did want to commission me for a painting.
“For?” I asked, wondering what he’d ask me to paint.
“A specific piece,” he said, his S sounding heavy as his eyes flashed while his snake surfaced. My bear paced. She’d grown uneasy. Frankly, so had I. “One that requires your special talent to shine through.”
“My special talent?”
Was this his way of telling me he enjoyed my work, but also asking me to step it up a notch for him? Or was he telling me in a roundabout way he knew about my gift?
“I’d like you to paint something for me using your skill of premonition.” His eyes never wavered from mine when he spoke. Instead, his tongue darted out to lick his full lips. It lingered there too long, almost as though he was tasting the air.
My pulse hammered in my ears.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t do those types of commissions,” I said, my throat feeling thick. I took a step toward my SUV, eager to put distance between us, but he blocked me.
Damon’s eyes darkened. “Name your price, Miss Mathers.” He reached into a suit pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. When he unclipped them and began counting, I noticed they were all hundreds.
While naming my price sounded tempting, especially with the sight of so much money in front of me, his whole approach seemed sleazy.
“There is no price, Mr. Kincaid. I don’t do commissions of that type,” I said before sidestepping him and walking to the opposite side of my car. I popped the driver door open and moved to slide behind the wheel.
“Think on it, Miss Mathers,” Damon insisted, his jaw hard set. “I need you to paint a specific picture for me, and I’ll pay you whatever you want.”
“I don’t think so,” I said before closing my door and cranking the engine of my SUV to life.
I pulled away, leaving him in the parking lot of the gallery, staring after me. Our eyes locked in my rearview mirror, and his snake surfaced again. My stomach somersaulted at the sight.
I hoped turning him down hadn’t been a huge mistake.
Chapter Two
The second I passed Earl’s Diner, my stomach twisted and knots the size of my fist formed. My bear nudged me, which I figured was her way of telling me to stop. She was excited to be back. Me, not so much.
All I could think about was how I’d felt when I left.
I cut down the gravel road that led to Gem Creek Campground. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the steering wheel tight. The only thing that kept my foot on the gas instead of slamming on the brake was Gran. I couldn’t wait to see her, to hug her, and to figure out what the hell was wrong. I hated she’d been so cryptic on the phone. It left too much room for my imagination to run wild.
I glanced at the clock on my dash as I passed by the first cabin. It was after nine. There were lights on inside, but I didn’t stop. Liam, the clan alpha, would understand. He’d know I was eager to get to Gran’s but also eager to avoid his brother Nash. I cut a right at the office and made my way to the three cabins lining the edge of the woods. Two were rentals anyone could book, but the first one—the largest one—was Gran’s.
Warmth centered in my chest at the sight.
I pulled into the driveway and parked behind Gran’s car. My hands remained on the steering wheel, gripping it tight. I drew in a deep breath and then released my grip slowly.
This was it. I was back in Gem Creek.
My gaze traveled to the tiny porch when a light flipped on. I smiled, knowing Gran was about to open the door and greet me. When she did, her smile wasn’t as lively as I’d expected. Instead, it seemed forced.
Was she in pain?
“Hey,” I called out as I slid from behind the wheel. “I made it.”
“I see that. I’m glad,” Gran said. She shifted to lean against the doorframe as though she couldn’t stand on her own but thought better of it when she noticed me watching closely. “How was your drive?”
I made my way to her, eager for a hug.
“Not too bad. I hit a little traffic, but not much.” I squeezed her to me, but not as tight as I normally would. She seemed too fragile—too frail. Neither were words I would have ever used to describe her before.
My throat constricted at the thought.
“I’ve missed you,” Gran whispered.
“I missed you too.” A sweet, familiar aroma floated to my nose and I smiled wide as I released her from a hug. “Is that what I think it is?”
“You know it,” Gran insisted. “It wouldn’t be right if I didn’t have fresh blueberry cobbler ready and waiting for you.”
“One of these days you’re going to give me that recipe,” I said in a teasing tone like I always did.
“I know. I will soon.” Her tone was light, but her words still hit me hard. They were a reminder that her time here was limited.
It always had been. I mean, Gran would be the first to say that she wasn’t getting any younger, but it was different now. The thickness of death hung in the air around her. I could sense it, and so could my bear. I was sure Gran could too, she’d always had a knack for knowing things.
Things she shouldn’t, and things she couldn’t explain.
She called it a gift. It was something that passed through the women in our family. My mother had it, and so did I. While Gran’s came as whispers of the future, my mom’s gift had been tied to her emotions. She’d felt things strongly—both good and bad. My gift was tied to my art.
A boom of thunder rolled through the distance. The wind kicked up, and in it I could smell rain coming. It was one of my favorite scents.
“Grab your stuff and come on inside. There’s a storm rolling in,” Gran insisted. She patted my hand once and then disappeared inside.
I folded my arms over my chest, staring after her. Gray clouds rolled in as more wind caressed against me, sending my dark hair into my eyes. Gran was sicker than she’d let on. I could feel it. Whatever this was, I didn’t think she planned to survive it, and that knowledge gutted me.
My palm tingled with the familiar twitch to paint but I forced it away, knowing whatever came to me wouldn’t be anything good.
Instead, I grabbed my suitcase and headed inside. Fat raindrops chased me up the porch steps. I opted to leave my plants in my SUV overnight and stepped inside. Everything still looked the same. The same three fluffy blankets hung on the blanket rack near the fireplace. The picture I painted when I was ten still lived on the mantle. The philodendron plant I’d taken a snipping off before I left still wound its way around the living room, making the inside of the cabin look like a jungle.
“I can’t believe how much that plant has grown since I left. It’s almost made its way down
the hall,” I said, staring at its vibrant green leaves tacked along the walls.
“Things tend to grow a lot in a year’s time,” she insisted. Tiny pinpricks of guilt stabbed through me at having been gone for so long. “Put your stuff in your room and meet me in the kitchen for some cobbler.”
I made my way down the tiny hallway and stopped at the first door on the right. My hand froze once I gripped the knob; my mind suddenly flooded with memories from the last time I was here. My teeth sank into my bottom lip as I swung the door open.
The room smelled stale. It also wasn’t quite as cool as the rest of the house. It never had been. There’d always been something wonky with the AC ductwork in here. I glanced around, soaking in the way everything seemed untouched. While the room wasn’t dusty or unkept, it was just as I’d left it—bare. A new comforter had been added to the bed. It was white with pale yellow flowers, and a green lamp now sat on the nightstand where mine used to, but the walls were bare, and so was the desk in the corner.
It felt like the room had been waiting for my return.
I hoisted my suitcase on the bed and headed to the kitchen to meet Gran. She was seated at the tiny table in the center of the kitchen, waiting on me with two plates of cobbler. I moved to sit in the chair beside her, noticing something flickering through her eyes.
An in-depth conversation was coming.
My throat squeezed shut because I knew what the topic would be. Regardless if I wanted to know what ailment had its clutches deep in Gran or not, the time had come.
“Okay, tell me what’s wrong. What is it? Why are you so sick?” I asked, thinking it was best to dive in instead of continuing to sit in awkward silence.
“I can’t tell you why I’m sick, because I don’t know. Why does anyone ever get sick, honey? That’s not a question that can be answered.” Gran leaned forward and grabbed hold of my hand. I looked at her, waiting for her to continue while also taking note of how dark the area beneath her eyes was now, how hollow. Her skin looked papery and covered with wrinkles.
Had she always looked this old?
There was something different about her; something had changed. It took me a second to pinpoint what, though. There was a stillness to her—one of peace—like she knew death was coming soon and there was nothing she could do to deter its path. Whatever she was sick with she’d already accepted it would send her to her final resting place.
All of this shone clearly in her eyes.
“It’s cancer, Sam.” Gran squeezed my hand tight, and I wasn’t sure if it was for her comfort or mine. “Lung cancer. Stage four.”
The world tipped on its axis. Everything fell away, and suddenly I no longer knew which way was up and which was down as my stomach fluttered and my heart pounded.
“It’s terminal. The doctors say I don’t have much time,” Gran continued in a shaky voice even though I hadn’t spoken yet and even though I didn’t want to hear any more details.
“They could be wrong,” I said, meaning it. “Doctors get things like this wrong all the time. You could have years to go still. Heck, you might not even have stage four. Have you gotten a second opinion?”
It couldn’t be so final. It just couldn’t. Her doctors had to be wrong. They had to.
“I’ve already done a lot of tests. All the results are the same. And, I know I don’t have much time left—I can feel it. So can my bear. We’ve known something was wrong for a while—”
“Then, why didn’t you go to the doctor when you first felt something? Why did you wait until it was too far gone to be able to do anything for it?” I exclaimed, feeling anger toward her and the situation bubbling inside me. “You could have had Tris heal you. She’s the Mystic of the clan, she could have done it no problem.” My face grew hot, and tears pricked the corners of my eyes.
Gran shook her head, her eyes soft. “It wouldn’t have mattered, honey. I know it wouldn’t have. This is how I go. This is how I’m taken from this Earth. It’s not something I would be able to fight, no matter how hard I tried.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to keep the tears that had formed from falling. I didn’t want to break down, but the only person I had left in this world was telling me she was dying and there was nothing I could do to save her.
“Can you at least ask Tris to heal you?” My voice wavered when I spoke.
“There’s nothing she can do—nothing I’d allow her to do, anyway,” Gran insisted. I opened my mouth to argue with her, but she cut me off before I could speak. “If Tris tried to heal this, she’d be knocked out for days—maybe even weeks—and it would make her incredibly sick. I can’t ask that of her, and I refuse to see her in pain because of me. Please understand that.” She squeezed my hand again.
I moved my thumb across the top of her hand in slow strokes. “What about finding another doctor, or going to a center that helps with this type of cancer specifically?” It was so hard to say the C word out loud. It nearly got stuck in my throat. “People have beat this before. They beat it, and they go on to live an even longer, healthier life. I see stories about it all the time.”
“It’s my time, Sam. Even if things hadn’t spread far enough to be considered terminal and chemo or something else was a viable option, I’d still refuse. This is how I’m supposed to go. These are the cards I’ve been dealt. I know you don’t understand, but please respect my decision with this.”
My teeth sank into my bottom lip to keep more argumentative words from spilling free. Instead, I squeezed her hand and nodded my agreement. There was nothing more I could say, Gran’s mind was made up.
“Okay,” I whispered. “I respect your decision, even though I don’t like it.”
“Good, now eat your cobbler. It’s getting cold.” She grinned as she picked up her fork.
Once we ate, I said good night to Gran and headed to my room. I changed into my pajamas and washed my face before climbing into bed thinking I’d fall right to sleep, but I didn’t. Sleep didn’t come as easy. Instead, the tingling sensation to paint I’d felt earlier intensified.
It built in my fingertips until I gave in.
I slipped out of bed and dug my sketchpad out of my suitcase, along with a few charcoal pencils, and then situated myself at the desk in the corner. As soon as I gripped a pencil, my hand began to move across the paper on its own accord. An image formed, but I didn’t understand what I was looking at until I was finished.
It was two hands—one old, one young—directed toward one another with their fingertips nearly touching. My gaze zeroed in on the sparks of energy dancing between the fingers and I knew immediately what it represented.
Me passing my life energy to Gran.
I stared at the picture, unable to look away. My stomach dipped as hot tears formed. Once the energy stopped flowing, I knew Gran would be gone. It was the only thing keeping her here now. I could feel it.
Chapter Three
A constant buzzing woke me. It took me all of two seconds to realize that it was my alarm. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten to turn it off. My heart hammered as I bolted upright in bed to turn it off before it woke Gran.
Five am. Crap, it was early.
I clutched my cell to my chest and listened for any signs Gran might have woken. A sound in the kitchen caught my attention. I held my breath and listened closer.
A chair scraping against the floor sounded. Gran was already up, and from the sounds of it, she seemed to be cooking.
I slid out of bed and made my way to the door, ready to tell her she didn’t have to cook for me while I was here. She was supposed to be resting. The words died on the tip of my tongue when I opened the door, though because the savory scent of something hit my nose, causing my mouth to water.
“You’re up early,” I said, stepping into the kitchen. I crept up behind Gran to see what she was cooking—vegetable omelets with fresh basil and cheese.
Gran straightened her back and adjusted herself so she wasn’t leaning against the back of the chair
she’d pulled closer to the stove. “I’m always up around this time. You know I’ve never been one to sleep the day away.”
I ignored the chair and flashed her a smile, even though the sight of her gutted me. Maybe it was the dull lighting in the kitchen, or perhaps it was that my mind was looking for signs that she was unwell now. Whatever the reason, Gran looked exhausted. The wrinkles around the edge of her eyes were more prominent this morning, and her skin looked like crepe paper.
“For what? I mean, you’re not working at the diner anymore, are you?” I asked, popping a cherry tomato in my mouth, trying to ignore the urge to make her go sit down. She wouldn’t listen. I knew this. “There’s no need for you to get up this early.”
Gran frowned, and I replayed what I’d just said. Had my tone been off? Did it sound like I was telling her what to do? Neither would fly with her. She’d put me in my place quickly.
“No, I’m not working at the diner anymore. I quit so I can spend time doing what I want—like cooking an omelet with fresh veggies and herbs for my granddaughter first thing in the morning,” she insisted in a sassy tone.
“Right. I’m sorry. Thanks for the omelet, Gran. It smells good.”
“You’re welcome.” She glared at me. “I think the real question is—why are you up so early? You’ve never been an early bird.”
“It’s not by choice.” I laughed. “My alarm woke me. I forgot to turn it off before I went to bed.” I leaned against the counter and swiped another tomato and a basil leaf from the cutting board. I wrapped the leaf around the tomato and then popped them both in my mouth.
“Oh. Do you go into the gallery this early? Or is this when you start painting for the day?” Gran asked, making me realize how little we knew of each other’s daily schedule even though we talked multiple times a week.
“Neither. I wake up at five and go to the gym to work out,” I said.
Gran arched a brow, glaring at me. “Since when do you workout?”
I knew the question was coming as soon as I’d said something. Gran knew as well as I did that working out had never been my thing. I didn’t get the rush of endorphins people talked about having as motivation to continue torturing their bodies daily. However, I did find that it was another excellent way to keep my sanity, as well as my bear’s, while not shifting as much living in the city.
Consumed (Gem Creek Bears Book 7) Page 2