“This exhibition is very dear to me. I’ve created some of my best work, spurned by my love for this amazing town and the natural beauty and untamed wildness of the forest that surrounds it. For too long my work has been buried on the higher end of the art market, available to only the few who could afford to open their chequebook and write down whatever number I fancied, without flinching. But no more. I want everyone to be able to enjoy these pieces, and to be able to see me and meet me and talk with me about what my art means for them. I’m not going to hide anymore.” He paused, his eyes showing a flicker of fear before he smiled once more. “And that’s where this fine lady comes in.”
Ryan held up my hand. “I’d like you all to meet Alexandra Kline. I want you to remember that name, because soon it’s going to be even bigger than mine.”
What? I stared at him, gape-mouthed. What is he doing? He shouldn’t be talking about me. This is his moment!
“Alex is the mastermind behind the entire exhibition,” Ryan said. “She put it together, she designed the whole event. She worked tirelessly to make sure my artwork had the best chance to get international attention. And more than that, she helped me.”
He cleared his throat, and carried on. “You see, for ten years I’ve shut myself away from the world, having little contact with anyone. I believed that was the only way to heal the wounds in my life – to sit alone and ruminate upon them and paint them again and again until they ceased to have meaning. But after I met Alex, I didn’t want to hide anymore.”
Oh, Ryan. A tear escaped from my eye and rolled down my cheek. The crowd cheered and clapped.
“And so, to honour her commitment to my work, and to me, I’ve created this new piece. She is the inspiration behind this work. I think you’ll see that it is the final piece in the narrative that pulls together this collection.” He gestured to Marcus, who directed two gallery attendants to take down the cloth covering his eleventh painting. Cameramen rushed forward, their flashing lights blinding me as I struggled to contain my emotions. I pushed my way to the back of the platform, anxious to see what Ryan had created. Every eye in the room focused on that canvas, the clamour falling away into a stunned, awe-filled silence.
I gasped at the colours burst before my vision. Ryan’s strokes were free, expressive, light – a great departure from his often restrained, careful style. In the centre of the painting was a figure wearing a black robe that faded into a rainbow of swirling colours across the bottom of the canvas. I could see whole universes amidst the swirls, glittering stars and galaxies. The figure held a gleaning sword aloft, the blade carved with black runes. All around the robed figure, strings of light cascaded out like strands of hair, and red foxes leapt jauntily between the strings, their faces bright with mischievous smiles. In the corner, I saw two tiny fox cubs, paws tucked beneath their rust-coloured bodies, eyes wide with delight and wonder.
Beneath the robe was a woman, her delicate face downcast, but her eyes looking up, piercing deep into the gaze of the viewer, swallowing them in pools of intense blue. Her face was angular, strong, almost slightly uncomfortable. And then I realised why.
She looked exactly like me.
My chest swelled. Time seemed to stop, the room around me fading into nothing, the only things in existence were the painting. The beautiful painting of me. Me. I glanced down at the title of the piece.
My Bride?
What? What kind of a title was that? Was he …
Omigod.
My heart thudded against my chest. Behind me, Ryan cleared his throat. I turned back to the audience, looked down, and there he was, kneeling on the platform on one knee and staring up at me with the biggest smirk on his face. In his hands was a small box containing a beautiful ring. Not a diamond but a tiny, glittering geode – a chunk of rough crystal hewn straight from the Earth itself. A wonder of nature, just like him.
“I thought this would be more you,” he smiled.
Omigod.
The press went crazy, screaming questions at Ryan, cramming forward to get the best shot. Somewhere behind me, I could hear Kylie squealing, and she wasn’t the only one. The whole room was buzzing with excitement. But it was all white noise, background detail on the great canvas of my life, which Ryan had just painted over with bold, passionate strokes.
Marriage? Married to Ryan Raynard, the wild fox-man, the remarkable artist, the mischievous and arrogant man who’d stolen my heart?
“Well?” Ryan cocked his head to the side, his sexy smirk dangerously close to enveloping his serious face. “James Alexandra Kline, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife, and forever linking together the Raynard and Fauntelroy lines?”
I took a deep breath. “Yes. A thousand times, yes.”
The whole room cheered, erupting into applause that echoed around the cavernous space like thunder trapped in a cowshed. Ryan grinned madly, his whole face alive with mirth. He leapt off his knees and I held my arms out to embrace him. His arms grazed my shoulders and I prepared myself to sink into his warmth. But someone or something tore him away from me, his face crumbling as he was flung from the platform. I thought for a second he had fallen, but then I heard the scream. I turned, the world moving in slow motion. I saw my new fiancé sliding across the floor, a giant grey wolf dragging him by the collar of his jacket.
Isengrim looked awful. His fur was streaked with filth, the matted clumps clinging to his body. His once thick, muscular frame appeared sunken and wraithlike. He must’ve been depending on his pack for far too long, if a few days on his own had reduced his condition so. White froth rolled from between his wet lips, dribbling across Ryan’s face and jacket.
How had he got in like that? How had he escaped our notice? How had he been allowed to surprise us? I fumbled in my wallet for the bottle of iridium, but it was no use. I couldn’t throw it at Isengrim without getting any on Ryan. Panic rose in my throat. What do I do?
People in the crowd were panicking, pushing each other out of the way as they raced for the exit. The doors quickly became blocked by a sea of bodies shoving each other. It reminded me of my ex-boyfriend’s metal concerts, except instead of black t-shirts and beer flying everywhere, there were expensive designer cocktail dresses and salmon puffs were sliding across the floor.
Isengrim’s yellow eyes bore into mine as he pulled Ryan across the floor. I stood, frozen, looking at my love being dragged away from me, at the stampede of people that at any moment would turn nasty. Move. I commanded myself. I pulled my legs forward, as if they were moving through treacle. I leapt down off the platform and stalked toward the wolf and my love.
Isengrim’s eyes darted around the room. A security guard approached him from behind, but the wolf growled at him through his teeth, and the man moved back again. Isengrim’s eyes met mine again, and I shuddered at the white-hot rage that boiled there. His whole body arched, his muscles tensing. He drew back his head, and tossed Ryan across the floor, toward the other end of the room.
Ryan hit the edge of the bar, halting his slide. The table wobbled, and several champagne flutes sailed off the edge, crashing over the pair and shattering on the floor. Isengrim stalked toward Ryan, teeth bared and claws clack-clacking against the wood floor. A low growl echoing through the room. Ryan tried to pick himself up, but he was moving so slowly. He wouldn’t make it in time.
I screamed as Isengrim pounced, his sharp teeth aimed right at Ryan’s throat. Ryan grabbed one of the larger shards, and swiped it across Isengrim’s face. The wolf yelped as the glass cut into him, blood pouring over his eye and momentarily blinding him. Ryan kicked out his leg and pulled Isengrim’s hind leg out from under him. The wolf lost his balance, fell over, and took out the table, pulling down the whole bar on top of himself. Glass shattered across the floor, the tiny shards flowing across a river of champagne across the room.
Ryan pulled himself to his feet, his chest heaving. Isengrim had torn his shirt open, and I could see cuts across Ryan’s chest. Thankfully, they didn’t look dee
p. I knew he couldn’t shift, not with all these people watching. But that’s exactly what Isengrim wanted. He was trying to bait Ryan into getting angry and shifting against his will. And it was working. I saw Ryan’s ears flicker up, his red fur appearing on his cheeks, then flickering away again. Hold on, babe, just a little longer.
Isengrim stalked along the edge of the crowd, snarling and gnashing his teeth. He grabbed the corner of a lady’s dress and tried to pull her toward him. She screamed and held tight to her escort, and with a tear the skirt of her dress came free. Isengrim flung the fabric aside and darted forward, grabbing another woman by the shoulder of her thick, fur coat and pulled her down. She sobbed and kicked as he pulled her back to the centre of the room.
“Don’t you dare,” Ryan stalked forward. He had his back to the stage, and I could see the red fur of his tail sticking out of the back of his pants. No, Ryan, no. You’ve got to calm down. I willed him.
Isengrim continued to drag the snivelling woman across the room, his eyes trained on Ryan, and a trail of blood staining the floor behind him. Isengrim dropped the woman, who lay still, clutching her torn shoulder as blood pooled on the floor. No one ran in to help her.
Ryan and Isengrim slowly circled each other. The only sound in the room the woman’s weeping and the click click click as the cameras recorded everything. Isengrim pulled his lips back, baring his sharp, bloody teeth. He was inching closer to the platform, closer to me. Just as I realised what he was planning to do, I saw his feet leave the ground and the great grey wolf sailed through the air toward me, his jaws open and ready to devour me.
All the blood rushed to my head. My vision narrowed, the entire room disappearing, becoming only those gleaming yellow eyes as they sailed toward me. I willed my legs to move, to pull myself down and cover my face against his attack but I was frozen in place, utterly incapable of saving myself. The wolf seemed to come in slow motion, his jaws dripping frothy saliva in thick strings. Another moment and he would be upon me.
So this is how I die.
Above the pounding in my ears I heard Ryan yell. “Marcus, now!”
I didn’t see what happened, but in a flash Isengrim’s yellow eyes faltered, then disappeared. I saw a flash of sandy fur and the wolf crashed backwards. I leapt out of the way as Isengrim toppled through the velvet rope, sailing straight into Ryan’s new painting. The canvas fell from the wall and clattered on top of him. The wolf threw it off and got to his feet again, letting out a great howl of pain and rage. I stared at Isengrim – something seemed strange about him. His fur was covered in red splotches, and his legs splayed out in a strange angle, as though he didn’t have full control over them anymore.
Isengrim growled through his teeth and lunged at Ryan again. Halfway through the air he seemed to lose momentum, and instead of landing on top of Ryan, he skidded across the hardwood floor, leaving a trail of blood behind him. I saw clumps of his fur falling away from his skin, streaked with colour from the still wet paint.
Isengrim writhed on the floor, howling again. But this time, it was a howl of agony. He reached out with a paw and clawed at the floor, leaving a trail of claw marks deep in the wood. He stretched out his other paw, pulling himself forward, whimpering as he struggled to reach Ryan.
His face flickered between the howling wolf and the man twisted in agony, and then, suddenly he couldn’t hold his wolf form any more, and instead of a wolf, a naked man lay on the floor, his skin burning and melting away, his limbs contorting as his fingers fell off, dropping to the floor in a pool of blood.
“No, no!” Isengrim screamed, holding up his hands. All around the room, reporters started to scream. I watched in horror as Isengrim’s hands seemed to shrink before my eyes, the bones disintegrating and the skin shrivelling away like dried leaves curling in the autumn. He cried, an inhuman sound, and fell back to the ground as his legs shrivelled away into tiny stumps.
“You did this to me,” Isengrim screamed at me, and tried to crawl toward me, dragging himself a few feet across the floor on his elbows. But then his arms completely disintegrated, becoming nothing more than dust on the ground. Isengrim looked up into my eyes, and I stared back, hoping my gaze conveyed all my feelings for him and what he had tried to do to my town, and not the terror and disgust that I felt at that moment as I watched that great, proud wolf dying in front of me.
Isengrim’s eyes rolled back in his head, and his whole body sagged against the floor. Great holes appeared in his skin as his flesh was eaten away, and in a few moments all that remained of him was a small pile of grey dust.
Ryan raced to my side, gathering me in his arms, pulling my head against his chest. “It’s over,” he whispered into my ear. “It’s finally over.”
All around us, cameras snapped away, recording the carnage, the shattered glass, the champagne river, the dust that was once Isengrim on the floor. Ryan and I wrapped in each other’s arms. He looked down on my face, wiping my hair from my eyes and kissing the lids. I forgot about the cameras, losing myself completely in his eyes.
“You painted the black figure with iridium,” I said. He nodded. “And you did it without hurting yourself. That was genius, Ryan.”
“I thought it was what you would have done,” he smiled.
I stared down at the crumpled canvas. The frame had broken under the impact, jabbing the jagged edge of the wood through the canvas, tearing right through the middle of the central figure. Even though I knew it had been necessary, I couldn’t help but be swept away by grief that the beautiful painting was ruined.
“Don’t worry, it was only a Giclée print. The real painting is back in my studio.” Ryan kicked the frame with the tip of his boot. “It was the finest painting I’ve ever completed. I couldn’t bear to see it destroyed.”
I heard footsteps behind me, slamming down against the floorboards. I didn’t even need to turn around to know that it was Matthew. “James Alexandra Kline, what’s going on?” he thundered, his wide frame threatening to burst out of his grey suit. “First, you show up with that intern instead of the real Ryan Raynard you promised me. Now, you’ve let a wild animal inside and turned the opening into a circus show–”
“No, Matthew,” I said calmly, hooking my arm through Ryan’s. “I’ve turned this opening into the most newsworthy art event in the entire country. You will have more people through these doors in the coming weeks than the Tate Modern has all year.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She’s talking about me,” Ryan leaned over me and extended his hand. “Excuse me, I don’t think we’ve had a chance to speak together. I’m Ryan Raynard. I was pretending to intern at the gallery so I could keep an eye on the exhibition and make sure my paintings were in the best hands. Alex was kind enough to indulge me in all my little whims. I hope you didn’t mind my little performance art piece here. Alex assured me the gallery was completely open to any of my requests.”
“Performance art?” Matthew looked confused.
“Of course,” Ryan gestured to the pile of dust on the ground, which the cleaners were frantically shovelling up and dumping in a rubbish bag. Miss Havisham was barking orders at the catering staff as they scrambled to right the tables and sweep up the glass. “You didn’t think this was real, did you? I wanted to do something different for the opening, and I thought I’d tackle the themes of wild disorder and how everything eventually becomes dust–”
“Ah, right. Of course.” Matthew nodded, as if he understood exactly what Ryan was talking about. “I mean, obviously it was performance art. Obviously. Good work, Mr Raynard.” He nodded again, looking like one of those bobbly-headed bulldogs. “I was wondering if you would mind perhaps maybe signing this print for me?” He thrust out a limited-edition print of one of Ryan’s most famous pieces, his face shining with childhood eagerness.
“Of course. Anything for a true fan,” Ryan reached for the pen. “But first, I think you owe my fiancée an apology.”
“An apology?”
Ryan pulled me close. “Since you obviously came over here to berate her for something that was entirely my doing. She’s done an amazing job here, and I think she should be recognised for it.”
“Of course. Of course.” Matthew pushed the pen into Ryan’s hand, and turned to me. “I apologise, Alex. I might have been … a little hasty. But I hope you have a plan for how you’re going to deal with all the press–”
“I do have a plan, actually. You’re going to do it. Because I officially quit.”
Matthew’s face paled. “Excuse me?”
“I quit. I’m done. Finished. As of Monday I don’t work at the Halt Institute any longer.”
“But ... but …” he stuttered, his face turning purple. “You can’t quit! You demanded your job back this week! I’ve already drawn up your new contract–”
“Oh, that pesky thing. I took the liberty of shredding it last night,” I smiled. “I thought I’d save you the hassle. You see, working here has made me realise how much I hate working here. I don’t want to be in gallery management. I want to be an artist. And Ryan here has taught me the importance of going after what I want.”
“Alex,” Matthew’s face changed shade to red, then to pale white. “I think you should take a few days off and think seriously about this. I can look at the budget; see what I can do about a raise. I’m sure we can work something out–”
“I’ve already worked something out, Matthew,” I smiled sweetly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I see another champagne fountain being erected over there. I need a drink.”
I turned on my heel and walked away, dragging Ryan along behind me. I couldn’t keep the grin off my face. One of the waiters walked past with a tray of champagne flutes. I grabbed two and passed one to Ryan.
He clinked glasses with me, staring at me with amused eyes. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
“I can’t believe it either. Are you impressed?”
“You’re damn right I am.” He kissed me. “I have complete confidence in you, Alex. You’re going to be an amazing artist.”
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