Page 62 of Wolves & Watercolors
“Are you sure you’re okay doing this?” I ask for the tenth time. Standing in the garden, I clutch my paint bag and my collapsible easel, a canvas tucked under my arm.
Cedar laughs, running a hand through his gilded hair. The early morning light hits his sun kissed skin, lighting up the line of his jaw and cheekbones. This man is so handsome.
“I said yes. It’s fine.”
“But it feels kinda private,” I whisper, stepping closer. “I’ve only seen you as a wolf once, and that was accidental. It seems, I don’t know, intimate.”
He lowers his mouth to graze below my ear, catching my earlobe with his teeth for a second before he pulls back. “It’s not. The whole pack goes running together all the time. I promise, we have done much more intimate things already.”
The seduction in his voice makes me shiver. Forget painting, I want to jump him.
As if reading my mind, Cedar steps back and pulls his shirt over his head. My eyes widen and I glance around us to see if anyone else is around.
He laughs at my expression. “I can’t shift if I’m dressed.”
“Oh.”
Shirt tossed over the side of a garden bed, he takes a step forward and shifts right out of his pants. Apparently there are no boxers to worry about. I stow that information away.
A wolf I can only describe as reddish-gold stands before me. The tapered line of his muzzle is beautiful, as is the white fluff under his ears. He looks so soft.
I expected to feel fear, but it’s gone. My brain knows it’s Cedar and my heart feels so much for him, I know I’m safe. With a smile, I sink down to my knees and reach for him. He lets me thread my fingers into the silky fur around his neck.
On instinct, I dig my nails in and scratch like he’s a dog. His nose goes up in the air and he leans forward, a goofy pull to his lips. It’s almost like he’s smiling. I continue scratching, and then switch to petting down his scruff and over his shoulders. His fur gets rougher on his back.
“You are really beautiful,” I murmur. “Like a big golden retriever.”
He chuffs in response and stands. A white tail brushes against me as he turns and trots a few feet away. I can’t help but laugh.
“I’m just saying, I think you’d be a great snuggle buddy in this form. You’re very fluffy,” I say over my shoulder as I set up my easel.
My brain slides into painting mode, and I survey the scenery to map out the basic shapes, areas of light and dark, and any details in the foreground I can use for framing. Cedar’s tail lashes, and he lowers his head while watching me.
“What?”
His sleek body turns, pacing back and forth, before sitting, standing again, and then laying down. His head moves back and forth.
“Are you wondering how to pose for me?” I ask with a grin. He stops moving and watches me with eerily familiar blue eyes. “Can you just sit? Face this way a bit, so the light hits your profile.” He obeys my hand motions. “There, that’s perfect.”
Once in place, he goes still as marble. I grab my phone and snap a picture of the entire scene to reference later when the light changes. Then I select my favorite sketching pencil and get to work laying out the proportions.
My tongue sticks out against my top lip as I detail out Cedar’s form. It takes several attempts to capture him, but I’m happy with my work. Radiating out from him I begin adding the little flowers and stems that stand out from the garden beds. In slow layers, I add more and more detail while keeping the center focus on his canine shape.
Sketch finished, I step back and compare my work to real life. It’s almost perfect. With a soft eraser, I fix a few details down at the bottom edge and redraw them. Now it’s perfect.
Cedar hasn’t moved an inch, even though at least thirty or forty minutes have passed. Once I rough in the shadows, I won’t need him to stay there. With practiced movements, I lay out the warm browns I’ve selected for the underpainting and a selection of brushes for the work.
My gaze flickers between the garden and my canvas as I layer shadows, creating highlights by what I leave untouched. Time ceases to have meaning and I’m lost in my work. When the underpainting is finished, I set my brush down and step back. The vision for the painting to clear on the canvas and the reference is no longer necessary.
“Cedar, I’m done for now. Do you want to see?”
His coat shimmers in the brightening sunlight as he trots over to me. Between one step and the next, he transforms, until a very naked Cedar stands a few feet away from me.
I keep my eyes on my painting as he dresses.
“That’s incredible,” he says, his hands going to my waist as he steps up behind me.
“Thanks. I was feeling inspired.”
