A Portrait of Pain by Jane Washington
I bit down on my lip, flicking my eyes from the familiar view to the silhouettes standing before the window. I had painted us all in the living room, arms wrapped up around each other—showing love in so many different ways. Miro had one arm wrapped around my waist and one arm slung around Cabe’s neck. Noah was half hugging me, his face turned into my hair, and Silas was grinning at me over Noah’s head, his arm stretching around the front of us all to touch my stomach.
The painting didn’t reveal anything other than that one single, possessive touch—but I had lived a lifetime with my baby in the thirty minutes that it had taken me to paint the scene. I had caught her tears and braided her hair. I had traced the little Atmá mark on her knee with my finger while I whispered to her that she was special. The second time I whispered it to her, it had only been in my mind as I closed my eyes and touched my forehead to hers, but she had heard me anyway, because that was her gift.
She heard the whispers of the world. She heard the whispers of our minds and understood it all.
“What are you smiling at?” Miro seemed to have finally caught on to the fact that I was staring at my painting, grinning like an idiot.
I quickly donned a mask, brushing past him to tip my brushes into the sink. “Nothing, Bossman.”
He followed me, his arm catching my waist. He was laughing at me. “Did you see something? Was it Poison’s wedding again? Because you know she loves when you see her marrying that guy she hates.”
I shook my head, refusing to tell him anything. I had learned to do that after a while, because my visions weren’t always guaranteed. They were only glimpses into a possible future that would probably come about, unless I was proactive about stopping it. This was one future that I wasn’t touching, and I wanted my guys to experience our girl one surprise at a time. Miro narrowed his dark eyes on me, his fingers playing with the apron draped over my front.
“Fine.” His voice was soft, teasing me in that velvety way of his. “Don’t tell me.” I felt a tug against the strings of my apron and then he was whipping it over my head.
He wasn’t even wearing one, because he wasn’t as messy as me. I grinned up at him as he lifted me, sitting me against the edge of the sink.
“How long until you have to leave?” he asked, his lips skimming up my neck. I liked the playful version of Miro; he somehow managed to be both dominant and fun, all at once.
‘Playtime’ with Silas was much more serious, and with Noah and Cabe, it was a mixture of intensity and laughter.
“About a minute,” I replied, just to tease him. I actually had more like twenty minutes, but since we had bought the art studio downtown, Miro had started deliberately disrupting my days.
Whenever he had business with a human representative outside of the Klovoda, he sent Silas in his place, since the humans didn’t know any better unless Silas spoke in his natural accent. On those days, Miro would turn up to the art studio pretending to want to paint, and an hour later I always found myself naked, the paints drying while he pushed me up against something.
“Liar,” he accused before his teeth closed over my lower lip, biting down.
The bite led to a kiss, and in a matter of minutes, I was lifting my hips up so that he could slide my skirt down my legs. He pulled my blouse off, his hands shaping over my bra, and our kiss grew heated, my hands grabbing at him desperately. When he pushed inside me, we both gasped a little, and when we released, it was with a heavy crash that left us both panting.
It never lessened, this urgency that I had for them, and if the desperate way they tore my clothes off whenever they got the chance was any indication, it hadn’t lessened for them, either.
When the bell chimed in the room next door, I pushed gently against Miro’s chest. He didn’t budge. We had been leaning against each other, his hands pulling my thighs apart, his body still joined with mine. My pairs sometimes defied logic in their possessiveness or protectiveness over me, and this was apparently going to be one of those times.
“Miro …” I tried to push him back again, but he only cut his eyes to me, narrowing them on my face.
“No.” His fingers tightened, pulling me closer. “You can go to lunch another day.”
I laughed, trying to muffle the sound against his neck. Someone tried the door handle leading into the back studio, but it was locked.
“I can hear you both, idiots!” Poison shouted. “I know you’re in there!”
“Oh hey, Poison!” I shouted back, winking at Miro.
He growled softly, and for a moment, I watched him struggling with the decision before he pulled from me and started fixing his clothes. I quickly re-dressed myself and turned to the sink, washing my hands and splashing water on my face.
I didn’t want our art studio to be famous for smelling like sex. That really wasn’t what I had in mind when I came across the empty store. When I was done, Miro hauled me up, carrying me across the room and pulling the door open. “Hey,” he said, setting me down before my friend. “She’s been painting you and Charles again.”
“I refuse to marry him,” Poison snarled. “How does your stupid vision-magic feel about that, huh?”
“Feels pretty good,” I replied casually, examining my fingernails.
“Ugh.” She shook her head. She already knew that she was fighting a losing battle. She and Clarin ran a crazy little boutique designer store a block away from us. Clarin was selling his own line of clothing and Poison was running the shop—which was where the crazy came into it. She had terrible customer service skills.
“So are you coming to Tariq’s party tonight?” I nudged her. “Not every day your cousin turns twenty-four.” I had given up long ago trying to educate Poison on the fact that Tariq wasn’t actually her cousin—or me either, for that matter. But it was an impossible task, just like trying to convince her that she was going to marry Charles.
“Of course I’m coming. He said my new band could play there.”
“He what—you what?” I tried to hold in my laughter. “What band?”
She sniffed, almost disdainfully. “It’s a recent development,” she admitted, “but they’re lucky to have me so don’t ruin it.”
“How could she possibly ruin it?” Miro asked, a smirk in his voice.
“By telling them that I don’t play any instruments, duh.” Poison rolled her eyes. “I keep calling in sick to all the practices. I figured it would be so loud at the party they won’t even realise I’m not playing anything.”
“What did you tell them you played?” I asked, stupefied.
“The xylophone.” She shrugged, and I had to turn and hide my face against Miro’s chest because the laughter was making me shake too badly.
“Anyway, are you coming for lunch or not?” She grabbed my arm, not even waiting for an answer, and I quickly turned to wave at Miro.
He shook his head at me before pushing back into the painting studio.
My phone rang before I was even halfway across the street and Poison finally released me so that I could answer it.
“Hey, mouse, are you guys coming over?” Clarin didn’t even wait for a greeting.
“I thought we were going to lunch,” I asked the both of them.
“Nope,” Clarin said, as Poison shook her head.
“No time for that,” Poison added.
“O-kay,” I drew the word out, waiting for one of them to elaborate. They didn’t.
“Pick up some coffee on the way!” Clarin demanded, before hanging up the phone.
“He wants coffee?” Poison guessed, glancing back as we crossed the street. I nodded, and she grinned. “Every week he’s addicted to something new. One week it’s tattoos, the next it’s Matt Damon, and now it’s coffee. We’re so lucky he hasn’t tried cocaine. I mean really lucky.”
We stopped at a coffee cart and ordered Clarin a triple-shot Americano, because when Clarin got obsessed, he got obsessed, and then we were pushing into Leather Wings: their store. I had no idea where the name had com
“Here, switch,” Clarin said, jumping over the counter to stand in front of me. He shoved a hanger into my hand and took the coffee from my other hand. “Go go go,” he urged, when I didn’t move.
I glanced down at the dress I was holding, and then back at Clarin. “How many of those have you had today?” I asked, a little cautiously. He was actually bouncing, shifting so quickly from foot to foot that it was making me want to tie him up and force him to be still.
“Dunno.” He took a sip, a happy smile spreading over his face. God, he was hopeless. “Why aren’t you trying it on?” he asked me.
I looked to Poison for help.
“Why aren’t you trying it on, cupcake?” She arched a brow. “You hate his designs, don’t you? Why didn’t you just tell us—”
I shouldered past her, an annoyed growl catching in my throat. “Impossible,” I mumbled, shoving the curtains of one of the changing rooms aside and stepping in. I pulled off my clothes and stepped into the dress, trying not to admire the pale-yellow colour. It was a really nice dress. It was so nice I might have to keep it and admit that I loved when Clarin dressed me.
I slipped my arms into the two straps, watching the perfect way it gathered about my body, the floor-length skirt separated by two long slits up either side. It seemed to move with me, accentuating curves I sometimes forgot I had, transforming me into a sensual creature that I didn’t even recognise.
I must have stood there staring at it for too long, because the curtain suddenly drew back, and Clarin filled the space.
“You love it,” he said for me, his whole face transforming. He looked like I had just given him a present.
“I love it,” I confirmed, turning and pulling him into a tight hug. “Thanks, Clarin.”
He hugged me back, but his smile had gained a somewhat devious edge when he drew back. “You’ve got something there,” he told me, tapping my collarbone.
When I turned to consult the mirror, he quickly backed out of the room, and I was left to examine the small bruise forming on my silvery skin. The colour still hadn’t returned to its normal shade, staying the same shocking texture that my valcrick had gifted me with after the explosion. I was starting to doubt that I was ever going to look the way I once did, but it was easy to accept the changes. When I looked at myself, I wasn’t reminded of all the horrible things Danny had done. I wasn’t reminded of all the terrifying deaths that I had endured through my visions—of all the things that might have come to pass.
Instead, I was comforted, because things were finally … finally different.
“Who? Seph?” Clarin’s voice carried over to me, louder than necessary. “No we haven’t seen her.”
Well … some things were different. Some things would never change.
“She’s supposed to be with you,” a reply came, feet walking closer to my dressing room. Noah.
I had no idea why Clarin had even bothered lying to him. He could feel me. I poked my head out of the curtain, catching sight of a broad chest before Noah and Cabe were spilling into the small space, tugging the curtain closed behind them.
“You can’t do that!” Clarin called after them. “I have standards, guys! No sex in the dressing rooms—whoops, sorry, ma’am. Didn’t see you there. Here, let me help you out with that …”
Cabe and Noah shared a look, but then I had their full attention. Or my new dress had their full attention.
“Yes.” Cabe grinned, drifting over to me, his mouth forming a roguish smile.
“No,” Noah returned on a grunt. “She can’t wear this. Tariq’s friends are always trying to hit on her.”
“They’re human.” Cabe was stepping into me, his hands shaping to my waist. “They don’t understand that she’s bonded. They don’t even understand that she’s taken. They think she’s just flirting with all four of us.”
“Miro’s been in the art studio again.” Noah pressed his hand against my collarbone, dragging his palm along the top of my dress. “He’s marked you up.”
“It’s just a little mark.” I glanced down.
“I wasn’t complaining.” Noah nipped at my jaw, his hand slipping into the opening created by my skirt. “How serious do you think he was about not being allowed to—”
“Really fucking serious,” Clarin announced, shoving the curtains open again.
I found a giggle catching in my throat as Noah and Cabe both straightened away from me, spinning to glare at Clarin. I pushed them all out of the changing room before a fight could break out and swapped out my clothes, emerging with the beautiful dress slung over my arm.
“How much is it?” I asked Clarin, already knowing that he would fight me to the death before he let me pay for any of his clothes.
“My muse gets all her clothes for free,” he announced, his voice dropping into a flirty growl. He even winked at me.
“Clarin.” The word was a warning from both Noah and Cabe, but there was a third person who had spoken. Poison had said it at exactly the same time, even mimicking their tone. They turned their glares on her.
“Can’t we all just get along?” I attempted pathetically, holding my arms out.
“We’d love to all get along,” Poison stated. “But apparently you aren’t allowed more than two sets of pairs. Apparently that’s too much.” She rolled her eyes.
I tried to prevent the laugh from breaking out of me, but I wasn’t sure that I entirely succeeded, because Poison was grinning at me.
“Get out of here,” Clarin muttered, pushing gently against my back, “before those two trash my beautiful shop.”
I obediently moved to the door, Noah and Cabe right behind me, the dress still draped over my arm. I didn’t have time to question why they were hijacking my apparently non-existent lunch date with Poison, because they were already ushering me into Noah’s car.
“This was the only time we could get an appointment,” Cabe explained in a rush, crowding me into the back and sliding in beside me.
Noah pulled the car into traffic and I glanced from one of them to the other, my mind momentarily going blank. “Huh?” I said stupidly.
“You’re getting a tattoo.” Noah laughed from the front seat. “You said you wanted a permanent insurance policy, remember?”
“Uh …” I felt like I was losing brain cells by the second. “Did I agree to this at some point?”
“We offered to get you a ring,” Cabe stated casually. “You said that was a bad idea, so this is our compromise.”
“You offered to marry me,” I pointed out. “And when you realised that I couldn’t legally marry four people, you decided that I’d marry you all in order, filing for divorce every other year just to keep the cycle going.”
“It was better than your suggestion,” Cabe defended himself, dragging me onto his lap and tangling up my seatbelt in the process.
“I didn’t have a suggestion.” I smacked him in the chest.
“Exactly—”
“Children?” Noah grumbled, glancing in the rear-view mirror. “Could we not fight in the backseat, please?”
“Sorry, Dad.” Cabe kicked his foot up on the center console.
I ignored their bickering, because I was actually pretty intrigued with the idea of getting a tattoo. Cabe and Noah weren’t forcing me to do something that I wasn’t interested in—they were simply assuming that I would want to do this … and they were assuming correctly.
“You didn’t tell the others?” I asked, looking at Cabe from my position resting in his lap. I was ignoring the twisted-up seatbelt because I didn’t want to move. His hand felt nice resting against the skin left bare by the top of my shirt, fingers absently tapping against the base of my throat.
“Nope.” His brows pulled up, silently asking me if he was supposed to have told them.
A groan sounded from the front seat, breaking us apart. “Could we also not make out like that while I’m driving?” Noah managed.
“Sorry.” I slipped toward his seat, wrapping my arms around his chest from behind.
He made a strangled sound and Cabe shot forward, pulling me back with a laugh. “Alright, pretty devil. That’s enough touching for you. What tattoo are you going to get?”
“A monitor line,” I replied immediately, blinking as the words left me.
Wow, I must have put more thought into this than I had realised.
“A monitor line?” Cabe questioned.
“Here.” I drew a line across my chest, following the pattern of a heart monitor, with the bumps and the dips, ending right above my heart. “I can feel all of your hearts, all at once … after a while, it just starts to sound like one.”
“That’s your new insurance policy?” he asked, his thumb slipping over my cheek, his smile stunning.
I nodded, and Noah pulled the car into a spot, jumping out and opening my door. He was laughing, and I couldn’t understand why until my feet hit the concrete and my eyes fell upon the sleek, low sports car parked right beside us.
Silas was leaning up against the side of it, his phone in his hand.
I stared at him, struck by the slight curve of his mouth; his obvious amusement.
“Are you here to stop us, or are you here to watch?” I asked him.
“Neither.” He turned and locked his car, walking away from us.
“Well then why are you here?” I caught up to him, the other two following.
“I’m here to deliver.” He was swinging his keys around his finger, looking decidedly pleased with himself.
When I realised what he was saying, I stumbled over my own feet. Noah caught me, linking our fingers together and pulling me along.