Page 65 of Reluctant Rebel

Mikhail closed his eyes, lowering his head so he could rest it against Jinx’s. He stayed like that for a moment, simply breathing her in. She was a miracle. Everything she said or did was like a warm embrace. An embrace he craved with every breath he took.And why shouldn’t I have it?the selfish part of him questioned.Maybe there’s a way,his mind proposed.Maybe we can work through our issues and find a way to be together.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he grasped her chin, tilting her face up. “When all this crap is settled, we’re going to have another conversation about this thing between us.” When she didn’t say anything, he angled her head more. “Jinx, tell me you understand what I’m saying.”

Her lips parted, and she whispered shakily, “I understand.”

Mikhail breathed a sigh of relief, the tightness in his shoulders loosening. As far as steps went, it was tiny. But it was a start, as well as a mutual acknowledgement. “Good.” Then, before he could stop himself, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was tentative at first, testing the new,fragile bond they had just forged, then growing more urgent and desperate. When Jinx brushed against the hardness in his slacks, he sucked in a harsh breath and pulled back. He hadn’t meant for his lust to run away from him. “Sorry.”

Jinx smiled, her eyes twinkling. “Don’t be.”

Mikhail grinned at her, suddenly feeling damn good. She wasn’t retreating. Glancing around, he remembered what they were supposed to be doing. “I think we’re done here. Maybe Brax and Sabre had more luck.”

“I hope so.” Her gaze moved behind him, and she noted, “That’s an interesting painting.”

Mikhail glanced above the fireplace at the large canvas hanging there. “My mother’s doing.”

“I heard she was an artist,” Jinx murmured, moving so she was lined up with the painting.

“She liked to think so,” he acknowledged. “What do you think of it?”

Jinx looked quizzical, her brows dipping as she studied the artwork. Her head tilted to the side, and Mikhail smiled, thinking she looked damned beautiful with her black and white hair and different-coloured irises. She took a few steps closer, bringing her body in line with the window and the delicate sunlight streaming through it. Her breasts became a perfect silhouette, high and round on her chest. He felt his cock harden in his slacks again and his mouth water. He wanted to taste those mounds more than he wanted air to breathe.

Thankfully, Jinx was too busy studying the nuances of art to notice him being a complete creep.Those titties are not for you. At least, not yet.The mental scolding was enough to get him to avert his eyes. But not enough to deflate his dick. The stupid thing was still standing to attention.

“It’s a person, right?” Jinx said, suddenly facing him.

He quickly side-stepped behind the only armchair in the room, breathing a silent sigh of relief that it was tall enough to hide his predicament. “Huh?” he responded like a moron, thanks to the huge amount of blood currently pooled in his dick and balls.

Jinx’s lips quirked. “The painting. It’s a person—two people, actually.”

He nodded. “Very good. Most people think it’s just abstract. But there are two people in it.”

Jinx studied it once more. “Zagan and your mother?” she guessed.

Mikhail smiled. Jinx was damn astute. “You got it.”

At first glance, the painting appeared to be a chaotic jumble of shapes and hues, but as the viewer's eyes adjusted, the figures of a mother and son emerged from the canvas. The mother's form was rendered in sweeping curves of deep crimson and burnt orange, her body a warm, protective embrace around the smaller figure of the child. Her face was constructed by a few deft brushstrokes, yet somehow conveyed a sense of love.

The son was depicted in cooler tones—blues and greens that seemed to shimmer and shift as if alive. His form was more angular, all sharp edges and restless energy barely contained within the bounds of the painting. Where his body met his mother's, the colours blended and danced together in a joyous riot of purple.

“She really loved him,” Jinx noted. “You can see the love in every brushstroke.”

“Yes,” Mikhail agreed. “You can.”How did such a love get so twisted?he wondered.

“You know, if I was a brilliant, murderous arsehole with a serious case of mummy worship, I would keep anything important to me with her,” Jinx lifted her chin at the pointing, “with my mummy.”

Mikhail’s mouth opened and closed silently, no words forming. He walked to Jinx, embracing her before lowering her into an old-school dip. “You are truly brilliant, you know that?” He pressed his lips against hers in a hard kiss before righting her and striding over to the fireplace.

“You’re welcome,” Jinx offered breathlessly from behind him.

His hands were steady as he grasped the canvas. With a deep breath, he gently eased the massive painting away from the wall, revealing a small alcove carved into the plaster behind it. There, yellowed with age but unmistakable, lay a stack of papers.

“Do you think …? The missing pages …?" Jinx whispered from beside him, her voice barely audible.

Mikhail’s heart raced as he gingerly extracted the papers. His eyes widened as he scanned what was a list of names. Demons, dragons, fae, shifters, angels, vampires, and humans—hundreds of lives marked for elimination.

Jinx placed her hand on Mikhail’s arm, offering support. “There’s more than I thought there would be.”

Far more, Mikhail thought, his mind racing as he wondered how many of his people had already lost their lives. The sheer scope of the list was overwhelming, a crushing weight on his conscience. When Jinx jerked, he looked at her in concern. “What is it?”

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