The Artist
Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Three weeks had passed since I had returned to work — Twenty-One days of reliving, illustrating, and telling my story. That alone had been mentally taxing. But it was the time that I spent with Alexander outside the bed that had me beat. The time that he had demanded we spend getting to know each other. It was bullshit, and I hated it. He’d give me detailed information about his life, and I was expected to reciprocate. I didn’t, not completely. Anything he drug out of me was superficial. He knew what I was doing; you’d think he’d take the hint. He just tried harder. Suddenly, none of it mattered. It was a painful sense of joy that filled me at this very moment. This was it, the last chapter in my life. My heart contracted, aching with the finality. Sitting up straight, I watched my trembling hand place the pencil down. An emotional explosion rippled through me. Every moment of the past few weeks merged into this precise time. From simple thoughts to complex feelings. The purpose that had made me want to speak was done; there was nothing else I needed to say. My body felt, while my mind tried to process. But the feelings were intense and foreign. I turned the page over, taking a fined-tipped marker I wrote the last sentence I would ever create.

Wonder woman, don’t look back. Eternally yours, Henley. I couldn’t even label the emotions that I felt; there are no known words to describe them. When the ink dried, I slid the sketch into a protective sleeve before placing it in an oversized envelope. Monica and I had an understanding. She was not to look at these pages until she was alone. She was not allowed to comment on what she saw. These were raw and emotional, and my personal memories. Trying to keep myself appearing normal was a struggle. I didn’t want to tip anyone off. This was it; the last time Monica and I would see each other. The last time I would speak to my best friend. I would not crumble now. I would give her peace.

“Mo, I am really beat today. I think I want to call it quits early.” I said, handing her the envelope. Of course, she was worried, eyeing me closely.

“You have been working hard. I understand, Henley.” She smiled through her concern. “I can come back tomorrow.”

“No, I have something else I want you to do.” I shook my head.

“What’s that?”

“There is a historian here in the city named Rain Stark. She is an expert on Omega history. I would like you to meet her.”

“Ok, what for?” Mo asked me.

Monica was instantly suspicious of my motives. " So, you can tell me what she looks like.”

“Why?”

“She is a freeborn Omega, like me.” Mo looked at me, surprised. We’d never talked about freeborn Omegas. She didn’t know there was someone out there like me. It was enough to throw Mo off my real intention. It was enough to get her out of Alexander’s apartment and my heart.

Jamie-

Henley was off. If my military training had taught me anything, it was tactic. I had not survived war on luck and looks. Henley had gone into the studio after breakfast. A meal she had not touched. This was the second day she had done this. When I entered the studio at noon, nothing had been moved. No sketches had been drawn; nothing had changed. She was simply sitting in an old rocking chair by the window. I approached her, wary of what this change meant.

“I expected Monica to be in today,” I said, walking towards her with a tray of food. She didn’t look up at me, let alone honestly acknowledge me. The silence was odd and worrisome. “Henley, are you not feeling well?” I asked, very concerned, for all of us. Henley held many lives in her tiny hands.

“Mo won’t be in.” The words were haunting, almost prophecy.

“May I ask why?”

Silent seconds made me uneasy as I waited for her to speak.

“The weather is changing, traitor.”

The coldness in her voice took my composure by surprise. I didn’t like her answer or the resolve in which she said them.

“Do I need to make arrangements for her?” I asked, ignoring the fear that she had released. Henley pulled her eyes from the window, chilling my blood with what I saw in them. The brilliant blue fire that I looked forward to seeing was dull and cold.

I left the studio in a camouflaged panic. Holding my cards to my chest as I inwardly prepared for Henley to play her hand. Henley was stacking the deck. Once free of her eyes, I ran to my computer. Henley was planning an attack, and I was not ready for it. I still had Monica’s phone, and computer tapped. Since she had been coming to the apartment, my intrusiveness had slipped. I had taken the camera’s out of the studiohere, but I had not taken them out of the Henley’s old work studio. I had weeks of audio and video to watch. Fuck, how could I be so stupid? Hours of dead air played through my computer as I watched Monica working by herself. Nothing, nothing was off about her routine at the old studio, or even her cell: no odd phone calls, no incriminating evidence, no damning texts. I was sick.

Cass-

Henley had reached a chasm, emotionally. I felt her standing on the edge of reason. She’d been struggling since I claimed her. Finding peace would be a process for anyone. Henley, more so, she felt that I had wronged her. She’d believed I had taken her unjustly. She faulted me for everything, even though the Alpha she claimed loved her, had not. Years of living together, and he had made no move. I would be a dammed fool for not taking the opportunity to be bonded. Omegas did not just fall from the heavens. These genetic mates were rare, endangered, and prized. Henley was the rarest of them. A freeborn Omega of cosmic perfection. The little star could outshine Helen of Troy. I’d seen through her facade, even with her incredible history, and medically credentials.

I knew better. She called to me. Drawing me to her being, not physically, but chemically. Henley had invaded my body with hers. Demanding that I take action, that I claim her. Weeks of her relentless war had brought us here. She’d agreed to return to her work, art that I was not allowed to see. It was irritating that I was forbidden in her studio. I resented not being able to share in her talent. It was important for us to grow. Very difficult to do when she restricted my role in her life. Still, I had let her set the terms for now. It had softened her resistance. Her dedication to her art kept her mind guarded while she worked. I spent hours behind a shield that I could not see around. No doubt, this was a skill she’d learned to protect herself. Our only time to bond outside our bed was the brief window of her time I had demanded. My allotted hours of her life when she had to converse with me like a normal person. -And while she contributed to the conversation, it was superficial. It lacked the depth and meaning I wanted and needed it to be. I was become frustrated with it with her. I gained nothing with my small victory, nothing. Henley continued to outmatch me in this. I only had control when I took her to our nest. That was the only battlefield I ruled. I was agitated and resentful about the truth. I could not replace a way to marry the two halves of Henley’s being. Not when she continued to treat them as two separate entities, referring to herself as an anomaly, not a person. Henley, the will, and heart were my enemy. Henley, the body, was the traitor Omega her will hated. I owned the body. I fought to conquer the heart. Today felt different, hopeful. Her typical abrasive attitude was somehow less sharp. Her mind wandered, straying from the warrior that I usually encountered. She did not rise and leave our nest before me. She did not run for the solitude of the studio. Henley was oddly at peace with the moment. And the little ember of hope that I dared to hold on to exploded in my chest. I was so far off task it was shameful; working was damn near impossible. I wanted badly to walk out of my office and straight to Henley, pull her to our nest, and praise her for hours. Only fools declare victory without the spoils.

Henley was quiet at dinner, more so than normal. It wasn’t that she was too busy eating; she barely touched her food; she spent more time moving it around her plate.

“What did you work on today?” I tried to engage her, sipping my wine, watching her closely.

“I didn’t work on anything today.”

“Why? Are you needing inspiration?” I was curious to know if she suffered from an artist form of writer’s block. She shook her head, not turning her attention to me thoroughly. Usually, this slight in manners upset me, but Henley was disconnected. “Are you not feeling well?” I asked, growing concerned. Henley had been working frantically lately. Life had been tumultuous for her. It would be understandable that she was overwrought.

“I feel fine.” The generic answer was less than telling, or convincing.

I mused out loud, letting the unhappy grumble speak for me. “I know damn well that you have a very large vocabulary, Henley.” Vividly remembering the numerous ways, she’d told me to go to hell. Henley did not lack creativity. I felt the protective need to comfort and care for her overtake me. Purring always soothed her emotional state. She eyed me with an unreadable expression. Staring at me with emotions that I truly struggled to name. I pressed on the bond, using it to decipher her needs. But it too was tainted with a bad connection. I didn’t care for the mood Henley was in; it had me blind and out of control of Henley’s Omega. The only portion of my mate I could communicate with.

“Let’s get you into our nest,” I said, rising out of my chair.

“I don’t want to be fucked.” Henley had no problem making that statement clear, stopping me with the fierceness of her tone.

“I do not fuck you, Henley, I make love to you, we are mates.” My ire was rising; Henley had me in a constant state of agitation I greatly despised.

“Call it what you want to; I am not in the mood to be touched.”

“I am not in the mood to be disrespected by my Omega.” I snapped at her, reaching down and snatched her up from her chair.

Henley’s temper usually aided in our mating. The harder she fought to resist her Omega made our coupling incredibly powerful. But she’d given up the fight before I had ripped her clothes off. Tonight, the Omega was not only, uninterested, she was comatose. The harder I rutted her, the less she reacted. I made every effort to coax a response from Henley. She was like a traumatized woman, forcefully moved by my hands and body. It was repulsive and awkward. I was unable to perform, feeling like a rapist, I’d lost my erection thirty minutes ago. Defeated and sick, I rolled off her. Henley immediately curled into a ball and fell asleep.

He was there, the imposter. She had moved him, isolated him to the back of her mind. I was confused by all of this, her bizarre behavior. Henley wounded me daily, mortally at times. Whatever had just happened in this bed was the worst of our exchanges. I need to be out of the tainted nest, leaving Henley alone. I headed for the bar. The morning was a mirror of last night. Henley was distant and cold, uninterested in eating or talking. Jamison reported she did not draw a single image. Dinner was another disaster; I was almost relieved when an unexpected call excused me.

Jamison exploded into the room, throwing a stack of drawings on my desk. “We’ve been fucking played Cass. You’ve been played. This whole fucking month.” He said. I took a sketch, looking down at it briefly. A detailed drawing of a crow on the branch of a tree. Beautiful, but haunting. The little work she allowed me to see was always perfect. “Henley has made peace with her situation,” I said, placing the drawing back on my test.

“Open your eyes.” Jamie pounded his hands on my desk. “These are a diversion. A fucking smokescreen she made while she created her epitaph. She’s made peace her death, and these.” He scattered the pages. ”Are bullshit.” I failed to see how a crow in a tree had any importance in Henley’s life, but there was a worry that jabbed a nerve in my heart. Jamison was not an average soldier. He did not go off half-cocked.

“What do you know?”

“Monica Reed signed a $2 million contract with the biggest publishing company in town. She plans to release a memoir written and illustrated by Henley Allred.”

“She cannot do that.” Fear and disbelief spiked my veins with deadly clarity.

“She can and did. You have nothing to stop her.” Jamie said.

“I have Henley.”

“Wake the fuck up, Cass.” Jamie’s voice was worried, but that did not excuse his outburst.

“I am tired of being spoken to with disrespect,” I warned him.

“I’m tired of watching you kill that woman. You should’ve never challenged his claim.” I jumped across my desk. Fist flying as I set to beat the shit out of my second. But Jamison was ex-special forces. And he was more than happy to remind me of that. He caught me with a roundhouse kick to my abdomen, dropping me like a stone.

“You’re going to kill her. Mark my words.” Jamison said.

“She was unclaimed.” I gasped as I tried to catch my breath.

“She was not unclaimed.” Jamie bellowed. “We watched him do it.” He reminded my recovering form. “Henley was a freeborn Omega, and we have killed her.” My second bellowed at me. “She’s right; we deserve to burn in hell.”