Page 3 of Shamrocked
"Whose?"
"That fucking gargoyle. He won't let me sleep."
"Riann, honey, you're scaring me. You know that gargoyle isn't real. Right?"
I lifted my head and shoved my too-long bangs out of my eyes. "He moves by himself. I think he's haunted or something. When I try to sleep, I have horrible dreams about him and some of his friends."
"I don't believe in ghosts," she said firmly. "Let alone haunted gargoyles."
"I'm telling you, there's something weird about him. It's not my imagination. I mean, look at some of these paintings. It's all things he's making me paint. I can't stop."
She took my hand and helped me up to my feet. I looked at the canvas I'd been working on and flinched. I'd dragged a thick, red brush stroke down the middle of the man's forehead like a barbaric war stripe. Even though the stroke ended abruptly, it looked perfect on him. Like it was meant to be.
"That's Keane."
Viviana gave me her trademarked side-eye. "How do you know?"
"Doran, the gargoyle, told me. He said if I could find Keane, I'd never walk away unsatisfied."
She laughed sheepishly, staring at the man's lush mouth and the sultry heat in his eyes. "Yeah, I can kind of see that, I guess. He's gorgeous in a rough, sexy kind of way."
Propped against the wall were the other canvases I'd blown through like a crazy woman. At one point, I'd had to run to the art store and buy more supplies. On Vivi’s credit card, of course, because I didn't have two pennies to rub together until I got paid from the diner. Which, of course, had probably fired me, because I couldn't remember what day it was or when I'd been scheduled to work. Lou didn't have much patience with waitresses who didn't bother to show up or call.
"Who's this?" She’d moved down to the next canvas. This one was mostly a man's back, but he peeked over his shoulder with a mean furrow between his eyes like he was pissed and headed off to kick some serious ass. He wore a black leather jacket with a pirate skull—though the crossbones were replaced with swords—a Celtic cross, and roses painted on his back.
"Aidan. Once he’s revealed, there's no escape."
In each hand, he held long, thin, wickedly curved blades.
The next painting was super dark. Thick shadows hung around the man in the center, and the dark color of his skin made him hard to see. But the center of his chest glowed, illuminating a blood-stained white tank top, the hard, broad slope of his shoulders, and the chiseled planes of his face. "Ivarr. No one can stand against his light."
The last man stared out of the canvas with a mean, formidable glare. "Let me guess, that's the man hidden in the gargoyle."
I nodded. He still looked like the statue, down to a rough, bumpy nose that had been broken in one too-many bar fights. He glared out of the canvas, his shoulders and neck corded with strain, his hands fisted at his sides. In the same red paint, I’d writtenfree mein thick block letters across the top of the canvas.
When I looked at him, I heard his voice in my head. “Find me. Find them. Before it's too late.”
The words he repeated in my head whenever I tried to close my eyes.
"These are all fantastic," Viviana whispered softly. "Some of your finest work."
"Yeah, I know. But it's fucking driving me crazy. I can barely sleep."
She took my aching hand, my fingers coated in splatters of paint, and dragged me down the hallway to a barstool at the granite-topped island. "Sit. I'm going to make us some chamomile tea, and we'll decide what to do next. Okay?"
Numbly, I nodded and mustered enough strength to climb up into the high stool. My thighs already ached because the chair was too fucking tall for me, and I couldn't touch my feet on the support bar. It sucked being so short.
"What day is it?" I asked her as she filled a kettle with water and readied our mugs.
She gave me another careful, slow look. "Friday."
Fuck. I'd lost the entire week. "I remember you leaving for work in that raspberry suit that looks so good on you. We grabbed a bite of dinner that night. Then nothing but painting and painting and painting."
Grimly, she shook her head. "That's not good, honey."
"I know."
"So what can I do to help you break out of this obsession? Was it triggered by the divorce?"
