by Dicey Grenor
His body tensed, and he made no move to accept the check. “No.”
I frowned. He knew I was a bestselling author. I could afford to buy several of his paintings. “I assure you the check’s good.”
“I’m sure it is.” He pulled me closer to his frame. “But I don’t want your money.”
“Well, I can’t let you paint me for free.”
He kissed the corner of my mouth as either a seduction move or a distraction method. “I refuse to paint you.”
My turn to tense. “What do you mean? Why not?”
“I’m afraid you won’t like what I paint.”
Uh oh. Was he afraid I would have a negative reaction to whatever he painted, and he didn’t want to risk ruining our awesome, destined connection? Or was he certain I wouldn’t like his painting, because he saw something vile about me? He’d said he didn’t see snakes, but what about rotting flesh? Did he see a decrepit and tattered soul? A wasted and corrupt one?
As he continued to kiss the corners of my mouth and ease his way to my lips, the thought occurred to me that he wanted to skip the painting step and go straight to option B of our destiny. I was eager for a more physical connection with him too. I just didn’t want to risk something getting in the way of my painting, such as bad sex and us wanting to part ways quickly with the assurance we’d never see each other again. Or risk the sex being so good, we’d be awkward…and try to part ways as quickly as possible. Too many things could go wrong if we didn’t get to the painting first.
“Chaos, I really want a Soul Painting.”
He pressed me closer to an obvious erection of significant endowment. “That’s all you want from me?”
I shook my head. “Not exactly.” I stared into his eye a moment then kissed him back passionately to let him know his efforts were not in vain. I was equally as interested in physical intimacy but… “We need to do one thing at a time. Paint me first. We can get to…other things afterward.”
He broke away from my lips, removing his arms from mine. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“I don’t understand. If you see something bad like snakes in my soul, you need to tell me. I can handle it.” Never mind that my voice had begun to shake and my nerves had turned slightly hysterical.
“I don’t think you can.” He left my body to the cool air as he separated from me completely and stood behind his booth. “I’ve received an invitation for ten years straight and turned them all down. I usually only paint in private settings. I made an exception this year because the invitation said you would be here. I find your books about the war over our souls and how lust, music, and art play a part into it, fascinating. I came here specifically to meet you.” Chaos pulled a stack of my books from under his booth table. “I was even hoping you would sign your books for me.”
I was stunned in more ways than one. One, my crush was really a die-hard fan of my work. And two, he wouldn’t paint my Soul Portrait. I just couldn’t accept the latter. “I will sign your books…”
He smiled and extended a pen.
“…if you paint my portrait. I want to know what you see.”
His smile dropped. “I will not.”
Our eyes locked in a battle of wills, my two eyes to his one. Surely, he would lose by being outnumbered.
“Sir, I have a customer here for you,” Mr. Montei suddenly appeared from the drapes with information and a giddy, pimple-faced teenaged boy on his heels.
“Okay. Stand here, young man.” Chaos’s face did not show any excitement when he turned to the customer and pointed to the yellow tape line on the floor. “I’d be delighted to paint your portrait.” Without delay, Chaos got out a paintbrush and began stroking it across a fresh canvas as I stood there pondering what his rejection meant.
“Dynasty, I believe you have fans waiting at your booth as well. Come this way, please,” Mr. Montei commanded as his gloved hand pointed outside the draped C-H-A-O-S area. “With the severe storm approaching, we will have to cancel your panels and shut the convention down early. In one hour, you two will reconvene at this location. Then I will drive you to the hotel I have waiting for you and your destiny.”
Part II
It was as good as dark by the time an hour had passed, and I’d found my way back to the spot Mr. Montei had indicated. The lights had pretty much blown completely out by then and the rumble of the thunder outside had turned the convention atmosphere into something ominous instead of magical. With most of the convention attendees being rushed out due to the impending storm, the stadium now resembled a ghost town-slash-haunted house.
My nerves didn’t have time to become alarmed. At least my assistant had texted that she’d made it to her lodging safely.
“Are you up for this?” Chaos stood next to me with his elbow extended in invitation, his eyes expectant and eager.
Perhaps I was being too sensitive about the portrait matter anyway. Maybe my portrait, hell, even my soul, was so special to Chaos, that he didn’t want to paint it at the convention. He probably just needed privacy. Somewhere he could relax and not worry about a public display and reaction from onlookers. I was determined to put my hurt feelings aside temporarily to hang out with him. To see if the electricity we experienced from scarce touches could transfer to an explosion when we made love. Not to mention, there was the possibility he’d change his mind after we had sex. I imagined he’d be in a more agreeable mood. At least that’s what my assistant had thought would most likely happen when I told her he’d refused.
I accepted his offer by locking my arm around his. “Definitely.” I was up for anything with him.
Mr. Montei was going to drop us off at a hotel. We were going to have mind-blowing sex. Chaos was going to paint my Soul Portrait. And from there, we’d determine if we had the potential to be more to each other, perhaps even soul mates.
Grinning as we followed Mr. Montei out to the limousine, I mused on how my life choices had landed me here. I was once a struggling indie author without two nickels to rub together. Unknown, broke, desperate… Until my agent had made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Sure, it meant tweaking some things here and there to make my books more palatable to the masses. But those tweaks were necessary for success, and they afforded me high-value commercialism. The rest, as they say, was history. Selling out to my publisher, compromising on my values, sacrificing my artistic integrity… It had all been worth it to watch my destiny unfold. Even saying, “And may the darkness seep into you and capture your soul as you read this book,” fifty million times had been worth it. It had afforded me a life of luxury, adoring fans, and now a date with Chaos.
“I didn’t think you were going to come,” Chaos whispered in my ear as he slid closer to me on the seat, “since I wouldn’t paint your portrait.”
“I better come. You better see to it that I do.” My eyes twinkled in the darkness with the devilishness of sexual innuendo and an ultimatum: Be good at this or else.
Thunder and lightning roared and crackled around us as we rode down the winding, narrow road. The storm outside had no bearing on the storm raging in my body. Neither did the fact that our driver, Mr. Montei, did not raise the partition to give us privacy. When Chaos’s hand traveled down the waist of my leather pants and sought the delicate flesh between my legs with purpose and skill, I knew “being good” would be no problem for him. I was so turned on already. It would take five, ten minutes top for me to climax. I spread my legs further and arched my back. The heel of his hand pressed down on my clit.
Make that thirty, forty seconds top.
When one of his long fingers found its way inside me, and he bit my earlobe at the same time, my first orgasm rippled through my body with the force of ten horsepower.
Huffing and puffing, I reached over and began undoing his buckle. “I won’t lie,” I said while stroking him not so gently. “You scared me when you said you wouldn’t paint my portrait. I’m fearful of what you see in me.”
He nodded and stretched his long legs out
to give me more access. “I usually scare people for different reasons, but that’s fair.”
“You have my heart too, Chaos. I feel like we’re kindred spirits, and that I already know you.” I’d never been one for insta-love stories before, but when it came to Chaos, all bets were off. I’d fallen for him a long time ago. My heart was his to lose. He already had it. I stared into his eyes as the lightning illuminated his face, and I got to watch him wince during his release as I stroked him dry. He was mostly quiet during climax. Neither of us were much for screaming, it seemed. However, the tension in his face had given the weight of his pleasure away. It would only get better from here.
“Well, that’s a good start,” he murmured as we pulled up to the dark mansion. Calling it a hotel would be an epic understatement. He kissed my cheek before cleaning himself up.
The mansion appeared vacant. Not a soul was in sight as we walked the long staircase to the top floor. Candles were burning in strategic locations throughout the halls, making it difficult for me to decide whether the setting was of a romance or horror film. Rose petals sprinkled along the floors in random places added to the mystique.
The room was immaculate. Beautiful floral-patterned curtains, the smell of incense and lavender oil, a magnificent four-poster bed with silk sheets… The thought crossed my mind that this was part of a ritual, and I was being offered up as a sacrifice.
Yet, nothing happened. No voodoo dolls or pools of blood dropped from the ceiling. No scarecrows or skeletons popped out of the closets. No black widow spiders or slivering snakes crawled from under the bed. These things, most likely to be found in my books and his paintings, were absent from the fantasy world built just for us.
We wasted no more time before taking advantage of it either. After showing us to our room, Mr. Montei said his farewells, and Chaos and I were on each other with dirty, sinful abandon. Our clothes hit the floor in impatient rips. Our tongues dueled for dominance. Our hands dug into each other’s skin as our nails scratched and clawed. A sense of animal urgency overtook us, and there was no stopping the mating call.
The next time was sweet and delicate, much like I’d imagine Chaos to be. Slow, seductive, and deliberate. He licked my wounds. I massaged his bruises. We scrubbed each other’s backs as we soaked in the tub. And when he entered my body for the fifth time while we stood on the balcony, I swore I saw stars. I screamed out his name as my walls clamped down on him and milked him again. I hadn’t known my climax sounds could get so loud. But oh, well. The sounds were carried away in the desertion of the mansion and the storm hovering over us.
He carried me to the bed, as my legs were too weak to make it on their own. He tucked me in the sheet and asked if I was okay. I assured him I was better than okay. He looked closer as if he were trying to read my mind instead of my mouth. “Tell me why you write.”
What kind of pillow talk was that? I had to remember he was a fan of my books. He was as interested in getting to know the real me as I was in getting to know the man behind his painter mask.
“I write because it’s who I am, not just what I do. It’s my preferred form of self-expression. When I want to get a point across, I’m most effective when I write it down.”
“I have the gift of seeing souls and painting them.” His head leaned closer to mine. “I think writing is your gift. But you don’t get to use it the way you want. You have to get your publisher’s point across, not your own.”
I nodded. Tough to argue with that point. Plus, I was sleepy. Exhausted. I brushed my thumb across his bottom lip, smearing leftover black lipstick that I hadn’t sucked off. “So have you changed your mind about painting my portrait?”
A somber look crossed his face. “No.” It was a simple answer, one just as resolved as the first time he’d given it. “I’ve read your series three times though. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“Yes, of course. But I was really excited about meeting you for—”
“Be with me.” He shook my shoulders. “Let that be enough.” It was a plea.
One I just couldn’t accept. “I’ve shared my gift with you each time you’ve read one of my books. It’s only fair that you share your gift with me.”
He pondered for a long moment, trailing a nail down the tattoo on my ab muscles. “One question before I do.” His dark eye swung up to mine. “Why be your publisher’s puppet?”
“I do what I have to do to sell books. By any means necessary. I have to make a living.”
“You were on Forbes list of wealthiest authors some time ago. That goes beyond making a living. Why not stop once you’d achieved a level of success that paid your bills?”
“It’s not one of those trains you can just jump off of. Getting on that bestseller list and becoming the author I am today required me to make many sacrifices, many concessions. When the powers that be come to collect, you have to give them what they asked for because they gave you what you wanted.”
“Are you saying you sold your soul for fame and fortune?”
“No. Not literally. Not consciously.” He was back to making me feel guilty again, suggesting I’d entered some sort of Faustian Bargain. Only people with shady character, like his customer from earlier would do something like that. “Enough of this interrogation. Why don’t you tell me what you see?” I ripped off the eyepatch covering the eye he never showed the world, the one he really saw with.
Rumors told a story of him being stabbed in his eye when he was younger. For retribution, he was magically given the sight of souls. But that couldn’t be true. There, on his face, where an eye should have been, was the smoothest, plainest pale skin. No scar tissue, no sunken eye socket. An eye had never been there.
I handed over his eyepatch, aware that I’d just exposed his handicap. He was born with a disability, and I’d just made a gigantic deal out of it. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Like I said, it’s a gift.” He got up from the bed and started banging around in one of the closets. “I left some stuff to paint with last time I was here. I will find it and paint your Soul Portrait now.”
Smiling, I stretched like a feline and watched him get his supplies ready. It took him so long, I started dozing off.
“You sure you want me to do this?” he asked some time later as he finished setting up his easel, canvas, and paints.
“Yes,” I nodded. “Please stop stalling.”
“Okay. Try not to move.”
I sat up in the bed and struck a sexy pose. I’d gotten a second wind upon realizing I’d won the battle. He was finally going to paint me. The painting would be my prize.
“I want to see you again,” he said. “Tomorrow. The next day. Many days after that. I think we can be good for each other.”
My sense of accomplishment and completion could not be contained. “I’d like that.”
He painted and painted.
I dozed off and woke up again. “Is it ready yet?”
“Not yet.”
Trying to remain still as he painted was a challenge I failed at repeatedly. My head kept nodding from exhaustion. Each time I looked up again, he was painting. He kept looking at his canvas and back at me. And he just kept painting. The storm had stopped. The sun had started rising. Chaos kept painting.
“Is it ready yet?”
“Yes. It’s ready,” he sighed.
My heart leapt. Squealing with excitement, I jumped up from the bed and walked naked towards him.
“Wait.” He adjusted the sheet around his waist and stood in the way of the portrait. “I need you to understand that I see this as a good thing.”
My eyes squinted in skepticism. Why the disclaimer?
Chaos pursed his lips in response to the confusion on my face. When he eased the canvas around toward me, I looked closely.
I looked again. And again.
And still—I saw…nothing. “What the hell? What have you been painting for the past several hours?” Had the customer been right? Was Chaos really a fraud?
> He pointed at the canvas. “Your soul.”
I felt as shocked and as horrified as his earlier customer. “What do you mean you painted my soul? There’s nothing there!”
“Exactly.” He started cleaning the paint off his rings as he’d done earlier.
“What are you saying? I have no soul?”
“Didn’t you say you had no soul? Didn’t you say you’d done whatever it took for money and fame? Didn’t you acknowledge that you’d been about the business of capturing souls for your publisher?” He swept his stringy hair off to the side of one shoulder. “I just paint what I see. And I see nothing.”
Sinking to the floor, I let a frustrated tear escape and roll down my cheek. I stared at the canvas in shock and awe. Truth of the matter was, I didn’t know what not having a soul meant. Did it mean I was doomed to roam the earth with no afterlife to go to upon death? Did it mean I was doomed to a fiery river? Did it mean I would continue to perform compromising acts until they became more evil? I had no idea. Why had I interpreted this as bad in the first place? And the bigger question…
I studied Chaos and his calm demeanor. “Why did you say this was a good thing?”
Chaos shrugged. “Mr. Montei convinced me to attend the Pretty Horrors Goth Convention this year by saying my soul mate would be there. I’d grown frustrated with the dating scene, and had given up on finding the one for me. But he’d said something intriguing--that she’d be a woman without a soul. It’s befitting of a man who sees souls. It means I won’t have to look at yours all the time. All I see is what everyone else sees when they look at you: beauty. I finally get to judge what I see without being distracted by objects, colors, and designs. There is peace in this. Peace with you. Considering our gifts, I feel we are destined to be together.”
Slowly, my sobbing turned to grinning. Perhaps not having a soul wasn’t so bad after all, just a matter of adjusting my perception.