by Regine Abel
Like everyone else, I needed to restock on fresh produce but grocery stores and pharmacies usually overflowed with customers on the day after the Mist. Even restaurants and bars received heavy traffic from people going crazy after being cooped up in their houses for so many days. With the weekend right around the corner, I decided to hold off until after work on Friday. I’d stop by Muse Food, the mega supermarket in the heart of the artistic district, a stone’s throw away from the studio. Surrounded by museums, exposition halls, and art academies, the market sought to cater to the exotic needs of foreign artists and the exchange students who gravitated to the area.
I mostly cooked on weekends, and I’d been itching for some Moroccan food for a while. On the menu: couscous royal and a tajine kefta. The price of the meat would put a dent in my budget. But after the past few days, I deserved some pampering.
A pretty brunette greeted customers at the entrance to the massive supermarket. Dressed in white with a black artist apron, she picked paintbrush-shaped lollipops which she handed out to customers, pointing out that they came in various flavors and could be found on sale in aisle four. I loved the damn things. They had a creamy, toffee taste to them that demanded seconds. Naturally, I avoided buying them but never snubbed a freebie.
I had a healthy appetite and a healthy weight, although my ideal weight would require shedding an extra ten to fifteen pounds. It didn’t trouble me. I was pleased with my appearance but had to be careful in my indulgences and exercise regularly to maintain my figure. Thankfully, aside from ice cream—especially in the form of profiteroles—strawberry shortcakes, and the occasional paintbrush lollipop, I didn’t have much of a sweet tooth. Well, okay, add most fruits dipped in chocolate. But who could resist that?
Lips slightly parted, I twirled the lollipop on my tongue while eyeing the contents of my shopping cart, battling the nagging feeling I had forgotten something. I never wrote a shopping list and systematically kicked myself for it.
“Excuse me,” a husky male voice said, suavely.
My head jerked to the left and up to look at the towering, muscular, breathtaking man who had spoken. Pitch black hair down to his shoulders, foggy-grey eyes, and chiseled cheekbones that gave his stunning face an air of nobility, but my gaze remained locked on the most perfect lips, which begged to be kissed. They stretched in an amused smile and his soft chuckle snapped me out of my brain tilt. My face heated when I realized I was staring at him, mouth gaping with my lollipop sitting still on my tongue. I yanked it out and closed my mouth with an audible sound.
“Err, hi! Sorry. You took me by surprise. I was lost in thought.”
Oh God, now I’m babbling.
My cheeks heated up a notch, and his smile broadened. I cleared my throat.
“Can I help you, sir?” I asked, feeling awkward with my lollipop clutched in my hand.
“I’m new in the neighborhood, and this place is massive,” he said with a sheepish look. “Any idea where I could find shortening?”
“Shortening?” I asked, unable to stop myself from scrunching my face in disapproval. “As in to make a pie crust?”
“Yes?” he said, taken aback by my negative response. “You do not approve?”
“I used to,” I conceded, “but after a short stay in Paris, it’s butter for me, all the way.”
He raised an amused eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Mmhmm,” I said with a nod. “But if you really want that weird fat instead, I can show you where it’s located.”
“Weird fat, huh?” His storm-colored eyes sparkled with mirth, giving me all kinds of delicious tingles. “I guess giving butter a try won’t hurt. Same amount?”
“Yep!” I said, leaning on my shopping cart.
“All right, then. What about baking powder?”
“Same place as the shortening,” I deadpanned.
He blinked, and it was my turn to chuckle.
“Aisle twenty-three, past the frozen products, next to the chips and sweets aisle. Not on the flour shelves but near the sprinkles and other cake decorating stuff. It’s a little tricky to find because they usually have some kind of display with free samples creating dead-ends in that area.”
“I see,” he said slowly, crestfallen.
I laughed again, having deliberately made it sound worse than it was to have an excuse to stick around him a bit longer. Such an odd behavior for me. I wasn’t prudish, and definitely not a wallflower, but I also didn’t pursue men. The old school part of me still expected the man to make the first move, although I didn’t shy away from a little flirting. It had been ages since I’d last acted so boldly… and I freaking loved it!
“This way, newbie,” I said, gesturing with my head for him to follow.
He laughed and trailed after me.
“Thank you, Ms…?”
“Jade,” I said, flicking my ginger hair over my shoulder while pushing my cart ahead.
“Like your eyes,” he said, with a seductive smile.
My stomach swirled with the most exquisite feeling as I forced my face to display a mildly flattered expression instead of fanning myself over him.
“Spot on,” I said casually, as we turned into the frozen food aisle.
I couldn’t help walking a little taller when I noticed the envious gazes other female shoppers cast my way. He wasn’t mine, but for the next few minutes, I got to be the lucky bitch other women wished they could be.
“While newbie is indeed accurate in my case, the name is actually Kazan,” he said, smiling.
“So what brings you to our lovely neck of…?” I stopped dead in my tracks and turned to stare at him, my eyes feeling like they’d pop out of my head any minute. “Kazan? As in Kazan Dale, the painter?”
He gave me a cautious look. “Maybe?”
“Oh God! I called Kazan Dale a newbie.”
Turning away from him, I closed my eyes, mortified, and held on to my cart with both hands—the lollipop in the right one making it awkward.
Kazan laughed. “Appropriately so,” he said gently. “I can’t even find my way around a grocery store.”
I cracked my lids open and eyed him from the side. He pinched his sexy lips to keep from laughing again.
“Please tell me you’re coming out of your retirement, hiatus, or whatever made you stop?” I asked, timidly.
He sobered and gave me a calculating look. “For now, yes.”
I perked up. “That’s awesome news! I don’t mean to go all fangirl on you, but I’ve been a great admirer of your work since your first posts on the art forums. Please tell me you’re planning an exhibition here in the not too distant future?”
“Maybe?”
“You totally are!” I said, fighting the urge to squeal like a schoolgirl. “Note to self, when Kazan Dale says maybe, it means yes.”
He laughed again and said, “Maybe.”
Putting his hand on the small of my back, he applied a light pressure to encourage me to move on. I realized I’d stopped smack in the middle of the aisle. Although wide, it totally inconvenienced the other patrons.
“I take it you’re an artist, too?” he asked.
Blood rushed to my cheeks, with both embarrassment and pleasure that he’d show interest in me.
“Not of your caliber, but I’m pretty decent,” I said, trying to sound the right level of modest. “I’m a character artist and the art lead of my project. Video games,” I added as he opened his mouth to ask a question.
His brow shot up, not with the elitist disdain I’d expected, but with genuine, delighted surprise. My liking of—instant infatuation with—him went up another notch.
“I love video games,” he said, with sincere enthusiasm. “3D modeling?”
“Yes, although I do a lot of concept art on my tablet and still paint in my small studio at home.”
“I would love to see your work,” Kazan said as we stopped in front of the shelves containing baking powder.
“I… Wow, I’d be honored for you to look at
it,” I said, blown away. “Here, let me give you my business card. You’ll find the link to my online portfolio on it.”
I rummaged through my purse and pulled out a card, which I extended to him. He took it with his left hand then leaned forward to pick up the baking powder on the shelf next to me with the other hand. His chest brushed against my back, making me weak in the knees. My breath caught in my throat as he straightened and our eyes met. I remained transfixed by his grey eyes, which darkened, the heady scent of his subtle cologne making me dizzy. Mesmerized, I drowned in the foggy depths of his gaze as time seemed to slow.
A sharp pain in my chest snapped me out of my daze. My hand flew to my Mist tattoo, which suddenly flared up, burning cold, with a tugging sensation as if energy were being sucked out of me.
Kazan flinched and blood drained from his face. He blinked and staggered a couple of steps away from me. He cast a worried look towards me, appearing to become worn out at an alarming rate.
Oh God. The Mistwalker is leeching him! Leeching us!
I could feel my own energy draining away quickly and moved away from Kazan as well.
“Well, thank you for your help,” Kazan said, suddenly eager to leave. “I think I’m more jetlagged than I realized. I better head back, but I’ll check it out,” he added, waving my card.
“Take care,” I said, my chest tightening with an irrational sense of loss. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“Likewise,” Kazan said.
With a final smile and head nod, he walked away.
The pulling sensation and freezing burn faded away as suddenly as they had begun, and with them, the Mistwalker’s presence.
CHAPTER 3
Jade
Over the next three days, I fell into something of a depression. The Mistwalker had not manifested himself again after that major cock-blocking. However, neither had Kazan. The number of views on my portfolio had increased, but that didn’t mean they came from him.
My obsession with both of them felt unhealthy. The Mistwalker couldn’t be helped. Everything about him and his agenda remained a mystery and, based on that incident in the supermarket, he could literally be trying to mess up my life. For the first time in three years, I’d finally met someone who stirred emotions that had been buried deep since Patrick left, and he messed it up.
My fascination with Kazan had started six years ago, the very first time I’d seen one of his paintings. As a huge Luis Royo fan, I’d been rendered speechless by Kazan’s art, similar in theme but so photo-realistic I’d initially thought they’d been photo manipulations before realizing they were 100% hand painted.
He’d wink in and out of existence, sometimes posting new work and doing exhibitions over long stretches then falling off the face of the Earth for months. A little over three years ago, his agent had declared that Kazan would be taking an extended leave from both public life—which had mostly been non-existent to begin with—and from painting—with no real explanation or justification. It broke my heart, and I’d cussed the heck out of the media and tabloids who I held responsible for constantly hounding him.
Kazan never wanted his picture taken, apparently so that he could maintain a normal life outside of his art. He’d had no known relationship or significant other. Rumors had it he was gay and kept it under wraps for fear it might negatively impact his career. That never made much sense to me as artistic circles had tons of gays and lesbians. In truth, it seemed to me it would have made him even more welcome in the inner circles.
Yet, from my brief encounter with Kazan, I didn’t get the sense of him being socially inept; quite the opposite. Despite his soft and gentle demeanor, he’d possessed an undeniable strength—predatory energy even—which lurked beneath his gorgeous exterior. I tingled all over again just thinking about him.
Looking at my sketchbook, I sighed at yet another drawing of Kazan. In the first four days of the past week, nearly twenty pages had been dedicated to the Mistwalker. The last three days, Kazan had dominated. Some of the pictures should go straight to the garbage; not because they were bad, but because I’d taken some very naughty liberties. If Laura saw this—and she always browsed through my sketchbooks—I’d never hear the end of it. This latest portrait, though, I actually wanted to paint.
I eyed the blank canvas sitting on my easel and chewed my bottom lip. As I rose to step towards it, my phone chimed, indicating a new text message. I cast an absent-minded look at it, my mind already on the painting, then did a double take.
‘Hi Jade. It’s Kazan. Loved your portfolio!’
My heart skipped a beat. I plopped myself back into my desk chair and grabbed my phone with greedy hands.
‘Wow! Thanks! Can’t believe you checked it out.’
‘Of course, I did. Can I call you? Is it a good time?’
Could he call me? Seriously? I’d hoped he’d do exactly that when I gave him my business card. Not hearing from him for the first 24 hours had been normal; it would have made him look too eager, although that hadn’t stopped me from wishing. Waiting 48 hours had sucked. By the third day, today, I’d started wallowing in self-pity.
‘Sure. Not busy right now.’
The phone rang seconds later. I counted two seconds before answering, to avoid revealing how much I’d been dying to hear his sultry voice again.
“Hello,” I said.
“Hello, pretty lady,” Kazan answered, his suave, bedroom voice making my insides liquefy. “Why would you doubt I’d look at your work? I said I would, and my word is important to me.”
I squirmed with both pleasure and embarrassment at his gently chastising tone. “I didn’t mean to doubt you, but you must get a million groupies asking you to check their work, so I figured you wouldn’t get around to mine in the near future.”
He chuckled, sending a delicious shiver down my spine.
“I don’t have groupies,” he said, sounding amused. “They’ve all moved on to new pastures after my last disappearing act, giving me plenty of time to examine the beautiful work of a long-time admirer who doesn’t fangirl on me.”
It was my turn to laugh at having my own words used on me.
“Well, that long-time admirer is flattered,” I said, a smile in my voice.
“I especially liked the fierce, green-eyed, red-headed dragon slayer and her fearless, freckled sidekick.”
“Oh God! I can’t believe I left that up!” I said, my face burning with embarrassment. “It’s an old drawing that my little sister Laura dared me to make of us as dragon slayers in the kind of ridiculous, barely-there armor that women in fantasy art and video games usually wear.”
“You mean the type of outfit women in my paintings wear?”
Ugh… Can I put my foot in my mouth any deeper?
“Well, your art is different,” I answered lamely.
“Really? How?”
I squirmed on my chair, not quite knowing how to answer. As much as I hated the objectification of women in games, Kazan’s sexy, semi-erotic art didn’t offend me in the least. I found it beautiful.
“Honestly, I can’t give a rational answer,” I confessed. “I think it bothers me in games because it’s all about titillating young boys and reduces female characters to pure eye candy. In your paintings, it feels like you’re celebrating the beauty of a woman’s body, her great inner-strength wrapped in a deceptive fragility. When I look at the women in your paintings, I want to be them.”
“Even the ones in the arms of monsters?”
His voice had dropped an octave, making my skin erupt in goosebumps.
“Especially those,” I said, softly.
And that was true. I’d always felt a little twisted about my love for monster and alien romance novels and the far too scarce movies in the genre. I’d seen every possible version of Beauty and the Beast and never missed a single sci-fi movie involving some hot alien falling for a human female… or vice-versa. Although I preferred the former as it was easier to picture myself as the lucky lady.
/> The silence stretched for a couple of seconds. I held my breath, waiting for his response to my overly honest admission.
“I want to paint you, Jade. Will you let me?” he said at last.
My stomach lurched, and my heart leapt.
“What?” I whispered, refusing to believe my ears.
“I want to paint you. Will you model for me?”
Are you fucking kidding me? HELL YES!
“Err… I’ve never posed professionally.”
“I don’t care. You’re perfect. That’s all I could think about from the first time I laid eyes on you. Please say yes.”
“O… Okay,” I breathed out, still disbelieving he had truly asked me, and even more that I had accepted.
“Wonderful! Can we start this Saturday?” Kazan asked.
The genuine happiness in his voice made me tingle again. That man had the most incredible effect on me.
I felt my eyes bulge. “So soon?”
“I have decided to hold a painting exhibition right after the next Mist,” Kazan said. “I want your painting to be part of it. Which means we have to sign a standard modeling contract.”
Wait. What?!
“Ugh… I don’t know about that…”
“Think about it,” he said, quickly. “You don’t have to commit to anything right now. Either way, I want to paint you. That gives you almost a month to reflect on whether you want to be part of the exhibit. If you don’t agree in the end, then I’ll at least have it as part of my personal collection.”
“All right,” I said, overwhelmed by conflicting emotions.
I had a respectably nice body. Although a bit more plump than his usual models, Kazan would definitely make me look drop dead gorgeous. I wanted to see myself through his eyes and I especially wanted to see which monster, if any, he’d pair me with. But, even dressed, the highly suggestive poses and outfits of the women in his paintings left little to the imagination. I didn’t feel comfortable with the public—and likely my coworkers—seeing me like that. Then again, to be Kazan Dale’s muse, if only for a single painting, held some serious bragging rights.