KaizerWolf

Innocent Devil’s Harem Ch. 130 (Patreon)

Published:

2023-08-19 15:45:07

Edited:

2024-04-28 21:20:43

Imported:

Tags:

Devil's Harem

Content

August 19, 2023

NOTE: Hope you enjoy.

- CHAPTER 130 -

I wasn’t sure what I expected Claire’s reaction to be when she saw me, but it wasn’t borderline panic. I mean, perhaps it was a little arrogant of me to assume she might even be happy that I made a point to come visit her, but this reaction was by far the exact opposite of that.

As I sat down at the table directly across from her, she didn’t say anything, keeping her green eyes down on her tray, her hands folded in her lap, causing us both to fall silent for a long few seconds.

Her breathing was shallow.

Shallow like she was trying not to be heard.

Like someone hiding from a threat and subconsciously attempting to keep their breathing as quiet as possible.

And yet, her heart was racing.

Just pounding a mile a minute like she was sprinting at full speed.

I didn’t understand the reaction at all, because she’d been fine with me the last time I’d seen her.

Happy to see me, even.

More than happy.

She’d been both shocked and relieved that I was the person who opened that car trunk.

Thankful and overwhelmed with relief that it was someone there to save her, rather than the man who had kidnapped her. But maybe the real reason was because almost anyone would have been better than her actual kidnapper.

Looking the platinum-blonde over more closely, I was shocked to realize that she was wearing the exact same outfit as she’d worn on that day. A faded pair of tight jean shorts and a fitted pink shirt with a frilly portion at the bottom that made it look like she was wearing a mini-skirt that was far too short to hide anything, especially if it were to be the only thing she was wearing.

In many ways, while it was absolutely acceptable attire for the school dress code, the shirt itself gave off a sexy vibe that was far more erotic than it had any right to be.

But the fact that she was wearing it was something I found very concerning, especially when it was the very thing she’d been wearing when kidnapped. And even more so when considering that, while Claire didn’t have an abnormal amount of clothing according to Avery, due to her family always being tight on money, it was still rare to see her in the exact same outfit more than twice a semester. Because even with just a dozen shirts, pants, and shorts, as well as a few skirts, she could mix and match to avoid wearing the exact same thing for months at a time.

Yet here she was, wearing the exact same thing only five days later.

I took a deep breath, not understanding at all what was going on with her.

“Is it okay that I sit here?” I wondered hesitantly.

Not meeting my gaze, she simply raised one shoulder just slightly in the smallest of shrugs.

It felt like a very noncommittal answer, as if suggesting that clearly I was already sitting, so nothing could be done about it now.

“Thanks,” I added simply, trying to change the mood of the situation.

Trying to reassure her in even the simplest ways that I wasn’t someone she should be afraid of.

She finally nodded in acknowledgement, and then took a shaky breath again, reaching out for her milk carton, resuming her attempt to open it. A task that should have been fairly easy, but one she was struggling with due to her trembling fingers not wanting to cooperate.

She visibly looked like she was starting to panic.

A panic that seemed to be specifically escalating with her inability to open the milk.

As if something horrible would happen if she couldn’t open it in enough time.

Without thinking, I reacted.

But not by helping her open it.

Instead, my right foot slid forward and gently tapped into hers, toe to toe.

The effect was immediate.

She froze solid, closing her eyes, her hands suddenly still on the milk, and…

And then grew completely still.

As still as a statue.

No longer breathing.

Her hands instantly no longer trembling.

Her pulse having nearly instantly calmed down.

Her heart had skipped a beat, the next pulse throbbing slowly and more forcefully.

In the blink of an eye, a racing panicked heartbeat had turned into a sluggish steady gallop.

Thud-dump…

She had stopped breathing, but her next breath was slow and controlled as she slowly inhaled through her nose, visibly looking like a wave of intense calm had washed over her completely.

Very slowly, without opening her eyes, she started moving her right foot, carefully sliding it to the inside of mine, prompting me to mimic the motion at the same speed, immediately causing her to place her bare leg, her bare ankle, directly against mine.

Foot to foot, ankle to ankle, pressing herself right in the space between my pants and lowcut sock.

Skin to skin.

All of which sparked a heat to flash between us that I wasn’t anticipating.

A heat that ran up my leg and into my gut.

The exact kind of contact that would have exposed me even just a couple of weeks ago. The kind of contact that would have made my hair flash white, my skin turn gray, and my eyes shift to a glowing gold. The kind of contact that would have resulted in a demon sitting in the middle of a high school classroom.

Instead, I felt only a mild graying begin to creep up my spine, otherwise feeling fine.

Both fine, warm, and fully in control.

It actually felt really good…to be this in control of myself.

It was then silent again, her heartbeat just as slow, but steadily growing louder as her heart contracted more firmly. As it pumped harder, despite not increasing in speed.

It was obvious that, for whatever reason, the physical touch was calming for her, perhaps even healing for her, despite her odd reaction just a couple minutes ago, when she seemed sincerely afraid to have me in the same room as her.

Claire finally opened her almost teary green eyes, her fingers still on the carton.

She glanced at me hesitantly through her thick eyelashes, the lashes pitch-black from her waterproof mascara, and then carefully opened her milk.

Just like that.

What had been a huge struggle a handful of seconds ago, was now a simple task that required almost no effort.

Her arm trembled again slightly as she held it up, closing her eyes as she tucked some of her platinum-blonde hair behind her ear while she started drinking it, only to begin gulping more loudly as she quickly downed the entire thing, seeming more thirsty than she even realized. Her last few gulps rapidly becoming almost desperate as she literally chugged it.

It was a thirst I felt like I could understand, one that was both physical and nonphysical.

The nonphysical thirst stemming from the simple contact of having our ankles pressed together. From the sudden heat deep within our bellies that demanded to be quenched.

At the very least, I had to look away from her delicate tan neck after watching it pulse a couple of times from her bigger gulps.

She finally set the milk down, her other foot slowly moving under the table, sliding to the other side until my right ankle was being hugged on both sides by hers. I couldn’t see her bare tan legs underneath the table, but for a brief second, it was all I could think of, wondering what it would feel like to experience their silky-smooth heat against my palm.

Unlike some girls who ate very little and often were cold, Claire was very physically active, ate a normal amount of food usually, minus not eating lunch most days, and had a ‘heat’ about her that radiated from her body.

She glanced at me hesitantly again, as if verifying that I didn’t have a problem with the unexpected intimacy of her hugging my ankle with her own, and then reached down for the square piece of pizza on her plate.

Ah, it was pizza Monday.

I hadn’t even noticed, despite the scent, having found myself way too focused on her and her scent.

The school lunches were always kind of hit or miss with my classmates, even though I personally never complained, but there wasn’t a soul in the school who complained about the pizza. That, and the Salisbury steak with mashed potatoes, the occasional time they had it. And likewise, there were rarely few who skipped the main lunch when either item was on the menu.

It made me wonder if it was the only reason why Claire decided to get lunch today.

Hard to say, but she ate her slice normally.

Not like she was overly hungry, nor like she was trying to be ‘graceful’ in front of me.

She simply just ate, taking one bite at a time, chewing, swallowing, and then taking another. Casually glancing around the room the whole time, focusing on the walls, looking at the various artwork, her gaze everywhere except for on me.

I waited until she took her last bite of the pizza before speaking up.

“So…” I began hesitantly.

She grimaced and looked straight down as she chewed, placing her now empty hands in her lap.

I tried to keep my tone lighthearted. “Wow, is my voice that distressing?”

She grimaced again, pausing her chewing briefly, before resuming and swallowing.

She then took a slow breath.

“N-No,” she managed simply.

I sighed heavily.

She didn’t say anything else.

I decided to change the subject, again keeping my tone extra lighthearted. “So you may be unsurprised to hear this, given my track record of ignoring people, but I didn’t realize you were into painting. And had no idea you’re actually good at it.”

“W-Who…” She hesitated, still not looking at me. “Who told you I was good at it?”

“Who else?” I said simply, knowing that answer should be obvious.

She grimaced at that.

“Mind if I see something you’ve painted?” I wondered. “Promise I won’t laugh if it’s not great.”

Her grimace deepened.

I sighed. “I’m just kidding. I’m sure it’s good.”

“L-Look,” she unexpectedly blurted out. “You don’t…” She hesitated as she glanced at me finally, seeming to find some courage as she did so, even as her ankles tensed against mine. “Look, you don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?” I asked seriously, feeling like she was trying to hold me in place with her feet, even though she visibly looked like she was ready to push me away.

Abruptly setting her jaw, the gesture looking more defensive than angry, her tone came out sharp.

“Pity me.”

I frowned at that. “I’m not trying to pity you.”

“Then why even talk to me?” she asked seriously. “I mean, it’s not like you ever talked to me before.”

I took a deep breath, realizing she had a point, and realizing that was truly what this looked like. As if I was just pitying her. And honestly, I realized she might even be right.

Maybe I was pitying her.

I took a deep breath, deciding to answer her comment in the most literal way possible. “Prior to a little over a week ago, I didn’t really talk to anyone. Not even Avery.” I paused when she frowned, averting her gaze downward again. “So the fact that I didn’t used to talk to you, as well as the fact that I’m talking to you now, has very little to do with you, and everything to do with me.”

Which was a true statement.

I wouldn’t have been able to handle this before getting intimate with Gabriella.

Even just talking to Claire would have been problematic, just because I did find her objectively hot, even if I’d never really been a fan of her shallow personality. At the very least, if all I cared about was appearance, then that bastard of an incubus who kidnapped her would have made a good guess by snagging Claire, in the sense that he would have grabbed someone I was at least interested in.

She sighed. “Okay, I guess that’s fair.”

“Fair?” I repeated.

She sighed again. “I mean, it makes sense, at least.”

I frowned. “I might be pitying you a little though,” I admitted.

She gave me an almost playful glare, as if she thought I was teasing, only for her expression to drop when she realized I was probably serious. At the same time, she tensed her ankles on mine more, again giving me the impression that she was afraid I was about to get up and walk away. I would have honestly expected for her aura to give me a little more insight into how she was feeling, but after it’s intensity earlier -- so intense I could smell it from across the school -- followed by its subsequent subsiding, now it seemed heavily muted.

Almost as if she was mostly just numb right now, though I didn’t understand why.

It was almost as if she felt defeated.

And her ankles touching mine didn’t feel so much like it was giving her any kind of hope or reassurance, but more like she was just trying to hold onto something -- anything -- for dear life. Touching me seemed to be causing her to feel like she had an anchor right now, but she was acting like she was petting a wild wolf for comfort only because it was less dangerous than the grizzly bear that would definitely kill her.

If she had some awareness that there was something supernatural going on, then perhaps she truly believed that I was extremely dangerous, and possibly even believed that I’d kill her myself just for a misstep on her part -- just for the tiniest of mistakes. Under those circumstances, a girl in her situation might try to seduce me in an effort to protect herself, to try to get on my good side by offering her body, but it was like Claire knew that even trying such a tactic would probably put her on my bad side. That I already didn’t have the best of perceptions of her, and she’d only reinforce the parts I didn’t like.

And maybe that was inherently the problem.

She truly viewed me as dangerous, just like she seemed to know that Gwen was highly dangerous, and had no idea how to get in my good graces. Or how to remain in my good graces.

Being around me scared her -- or rather, possibly somehow being aware of what I was capable of, in the event she truly got on my bad side, scared her -- but the physical contact made her feel like maybe she was safe in this moment.

At the very least, she was aware that I’d killed the man who kidnapped her. But that didn’t seem to give her reassurance. It instead seemed to further reinforce just how dangerous I was.

Hard to know for sure right now, but that was the impression I was starting to get.

The picture that her behavior was starting to paint for me.

I took another deep breath, wanting to address the real issue. “Look, what happened wasn’t your fault. It was my fault.”

She didn’t look up, her tone quiet. “How?” she almost whispered. “How was it your fault?”

“I think you’re smart enough to have figured that out. He did ask specifically about me, right?”

She simply nodded, focused straight down now, her hands back in her lap. She reached up briefly to almost subconsciously tuck some of her platinum-blonde hair behind her ear, but then resumed to holding her own hands on her tense thighs.

“So yeah,” I continued, my tone a bit more casual. “Definitely not your fault.”

Her tone was still quiet. “He didn’t make me get in the car with him though.”

I decided to be honest.

“Yes he did.”

She tensed at that, not responding for a long minute.

When she finally did respond, her voice was barely audible.

“And…my phone? He didn’t…he didn’t make me toss it out the…” Her voice trailed off.

My tone was gentle. “Yeah. He did.”

“H-How?” she whispered, her entire body still tense.

I didn’t respond.

At this point, I felt like we were in a bizarre limbo together. One in which I wanted to be honest with her, but also one in which I didn’t want to fully divulge any of my secrets. So while I was honest about the fact that he did make her do those things, I also couldn’t bring myself to tell her exactly ‘how.’

Part of me felt like she deserved to know, but if she did know, then it would just scare her for the rest of her life. At least, unless I did something to prevent it from happening again. Technically it was very unlikely to happen again, but just knowing it could happen would be enough to scare her for the rest of her life.

Still, I couldn’t bring myself to respond.

I sighed heavily and looked away toward the paintings on the back counter. “So which one is yours?” I wondered. “Avery was making it seem like your art was a big deal, and I’m ready to be impressed.”

She slowly glanced up at me through her eyelashes, and then turned her head to focus on the back counter too. Her tone then took on a playful hint, despite the lack of volume. “What? Are you not impressed by any of…those…” she nearly whispered.

It felt like she was trying to manage her normal façade of confidence, but failing miserably.

I frowned as I focused on her, prompting her to avert her gaze entirely. Even as her warm bare ankles tensed on mine slightly. I decided to be blunt.

“Is yours up there on the counter?”

She shook her head just barely.

I sighed, thinking back to earlier again, when I felt her intense distress, as well as the ensuing release of those feelings over the course of the class period.

“Were you painting in class earlier?”

She hesitated, grimacing as she nodded once.

“Did it make you feel better?” I wondered.

She focused on me in surprise, giving me a bewildered look, before shifting her gaze back down to her lap.

After a few seconds, she finally responded.

“Mr. Fogle has mixed feelings about what I did,” she admitted quietly. “Normally, he doesn’t give his opinion, and just encourages us to paint what feels right. But I changed the hand so drastically. I can tell he feels like I ruined it.”

“Ruined what?” I asked seriously.

She focused on me in surprise, as if she was stunned that I didn’t automatically know. “M-My project. I’ve been working on it for practically the entire year. Each canvas has taken me nearly two months to complete.”

“Each canvas?” I repeated. “So then, it’s more than one painting?”

“N-No, it’s one painting. But I don’t think you can even buy a canvas big enough to fit what was in my head. Never mind the nightmare of transporting something so huge. So instead, it’s five big ones.”

“Five big ones? Just how big?”

“They’re like five-feet by three-feet canvases. So the entire painting is like fifteen feet long.”

I just stared at her in disbelief.

The paintings on the counter were maybe two-feet by one-foot canvases at most, so the idea that hers was five feet tall and fifteen feet long was truly mindboggling.

“Can I see it?”

She didn’t respond, just staring at me with an unfocused gaze now.

I frowned, my tone gentle. “I’m trying to be your friend here, Claire. Might help if you lower your walls a little. It’s not like I’m going to point and laugh at your art. I’m just curious to see what you’ve done.”

Her unfocused gaze snapped back into focus, her brow furrowing just slightly, almost as if she’d forgotten where she was briefly and was confused when she ‘came to’ again.

Her tone was hesitant. “I…I haven’t really told anyone what it means.”

My brow furrowed, since I hadn’t even asked her to tell me what it meant to begin with. Only to let me see it.

I decided to ask her bluntly. “Would you be willing to let me see it, and tell me what it means?” I wondered, figuring it must be something abstract.

Her expression pained, almost looking torn between wanting to tell me, and not wanting to. Her tone came out strained. “Will…will you please tell me how?”

I knew what she was asking.

I took a deep breath…

And finally decided on my answer.

“Are you sure you want to know?” I wondered.

“Yes,” she whispered.

I sighed. “Okay. But you go first.”

Her pained green eyes were hopeful as she focused more intently on me.

“Promise?”

I glanced away again as I really thought about it, knowing that this kidnapping incident had already brought her too close to the situation to just leave her completely out of the loop. And while it was true that Miriam could probably make her forget entirely, just the entire concept of doing such a thing to someone like Claire or Tracey really bothered me.

I finally nodded as I focused on her again. “You’re not going to like the truth. But yeah, I promise.”

She grimaced. “I…I only have three of the canvases set up right now.”

“That’s alright,” I reassured her.

She nodded, abruptly sliding her feet away from my ankle as she placed her hands on the table to support her weight, pushing herself up out of her seat like she was exhausted all of a sudden. To the point that she immediately sat back down, cradling her head in her hands.

“Are you okay?” I asked seriously.

“Yeah, I just feel…kind of lightheaded.”

“Do you need a drink of water? Do you have your water bottle with you?”

Similar to Avery, who always had a reusable bottle on her, Claire likewise often had one even though she was only in cheerleading. Granted, I supposed cheerleading was a fairly active ‘sport,’ if Claire’s physical conditioning was any indication. Granted, she did run too, especially in seventh period gym, and most of the fit girls in school were all about ‘staying hydrated.’

“Umm, yeah, it’s on Mr. Fogle’s desk,” she managed.

I looked up to the desk in the corner on my left, across from the main doorway, seeing a few water bottles of various colors, automatically knowing hers was the pink one with the gold clip.

Quickly scooting the stool back a little, I got up to go retrieve it, setting it down next to her tray and then sitting back down myself.

She hadn’t actually finished her meal yet, having only eaten the pizza, so I encouraged her to at least eat the dessert she grabbed. A simple snickerdoodle cookie with cinnamon sugar on top.

She took a sip of water and then grabbed it, tentatively taking a bite, only to hold it out for me.

“Did…did you want a bite?” she asked hesitantly.

I shook my head. “Thank you, but it’ll just make me hungry. I’m fine right now.”

She grimaced at that. “You don’t…have to skip lunch…for me.”

“You’re right. I don’t have to.” I paused. “But I want to.”

Her grimace deepened as she slowly held it up to her full lips to take another bite, followed by taking another sip of water.

“I have dreams,” she unexpectedly blurted out.

My brow furrowed. “Bad dreams?” I wondered, knowing she’d mentioned having a dream to Avery.

She angled her entire head downward, not saying anything for a long minute, before slowly taking another bite of the cookie, raising her head more once she was taking a sip of water again.

“Umm, sometimes,” she admitted.

I frowned as I considered that response. “When you say you ‘have dreams,’ you mean…”

She grimaced. “Well, it might be best to say I have an overreactive imagination.”

“Meaning?” I prompted again.

She took a shaky breath, not meeting my gaze. “Meaning, sometimes I feel like I’m dreaming even when I’m awake. Sometimes I’ll be talking to someone and it’s like my brain just starts going down this crazy path where I’m imagining what ‘might’ happen in a given situation, and sometimes…” Her voice trailed off.

“Sometimes what?”

She sighed. “Sometimes I’m right. Right about what might happen.”

My brow furrowed at that. “Only sometimes?” I tried clarifying, feeling like ‘only sometimes’ wasn’t anything to make a big deal about, since such a thing could be said about anyone. Definitely no different than the average person’s natural intuition.

Honestly, a part of me was almost beginning to wonder if she was one of those girls who was super into tarot card reading or something. She certainly never struck me as that kind of girl, but I technically didn’t know too much about her, other than from the conversations I’d overheard in the last few years. Conversations that were mostly superficial and shallow.

Certainly, I suspected there might actually be something special about Claire, but given her recent track record of getting into bad situations, I strongly doubted that went as far as being able to anticipate what the future held.

Instead, it was more like she had an idea of how dangerous others might be.

Unfortunately, she didn’t respond, instead finishing the last couple of bites of her cookie, and then proceeding to slowly get out of her seat, seeming much more steady this time.

Once standing, she took a shaky breath, focusing down at me since I had remained in my seat.

“Ready?” she asked quietly.

I nodded, slowing getting up too as she began shuffling around the table.

It was only then that everything finally clicked when she moved straight for the closed door to the supply closet, with me beginning to assume the large canvases must be stacked against a wall or something inside, since there were five of these huge things.

However…clearly…

I was underestimating the size of the ‘supply closet.’

The moment she opened the door, the light already on, I immediately saw that it was nearly as large as half of the main room, the walls lined with metal shelving full of plastic bins and art supplies, with there even being a single square table in the middle of the room with three stools.

One of the stools was missing, because it was instead stationed in the far corner directly across from the doorway.

Stationed at the very end of three very large canvases set up on easels that elevated each piece only about two feet off the floor.

Stationed in front of one canvas…

That had a very unique hand in the bottom left corner.

I moved past Claire into the room as my eyes widened more and more, not even looking down at the square table as I moved past it, not even paying attention as Claire closed the door hesitantly, my brain trying to register the sheer volume of what could be found in this…

Picture.

It looked like a photograph.

It didn’t look like a painting, made with paint, it looked like a fucking photograph taken with a camera.

Except that the ‘impossibility’ of what was displayed before me made it clear it had to be a painting.

Made it clear that no camera could have ever captured such a thing in real life.

This wasn’t something that was made by caking on layer after layer of paint excessively until the artist got it right, much like some of the paintings in the main art room.

This was something that was painted meticulously inch-by-inch, tiny section by tiny section, just the right amount of color placed in the right spot, to create an image that was photorealistic.

And the longer I looked, the more I saw.

There was so much to see.

The first most obvious thing I noticed was the flow of the painting itself.

It was very obvious that the painting was not meant to be read like a book, from left to right, but was instead flowing from right to left.

It ended with the hand on the left.

It started on my right.

It started…with darkness.

A darkness that looked real.

As if I was looking out a real window into a different world.

A darkness that slowly transitioned into a thick jungle, one that was not full of ‘close’ vegetation that hid what was beneath, but one that had such depth to it that I felt like I was literally looking through a five foot tall window into a real jungle. A real place with real animals hidden amongst the branches, tree trunks, and other vegetation.

Frogs.

There were tree frogs.

There were ants.

There were spiders, and the occasional infinitely small spider web.

All of them painted impossibly small with impossible detail, as if I was literally looking through a literal fucking window.

And yet, the elements of the second canvas made it clear it couldn’t be real.

There was a spotted jaguar with brownish yellow fur creeping through the brush, visibly looking like a real fucking animal creeping through a real fucking rainforest, stalking its prey. The prey that was hovering just above the unique hand in the third panel on the left.

But it wasn’t just the jaguar.

The more I looked, the more I saw.

There were snakes hidden among the trees, all of them realistic, and most of them visibly looking as if they were moving toward the third panel. All of them looking like they were on the hunt in seek of their extremely vulnerable prey. Even the tiny frogs, spiders, and ants in this second panel were somehow giving off the impression of hostility.

And yet, the more I looked, the more I saw.

And that’s when I saw it.

The very thing that was truly hidden in the middle panel.

Something that looked so realistic that I almost shifted on the spot from the startle.

Slitted gold eyes.

As if there was someone or something staring at me from nearly a hundred feet away. Directly in the center of the second canvas, what seemed far in the distance, there was a pair of gold eyes hidden amongst the furthest vegetation.

It made my chest gray underneath my shirt, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end, threatening to turn white, before I got it under control.

Because it looked so real.

So small, so easy to miss, and yet so ridiculously real.

The room wasn’t even twenty feet long, and yet there was undeniably something staring right at me from a hundred feet away, through this impossible portal to another world.

But then, there was the transition on the third panel on my left.

A transition that made it impossible for it to be anything other than a painting, despite how realistic it looked.

The rainforest ended.

A massive prairie with impossible depth and distant mountains took the stage.

The sun was shining brightly, not visible on the canvas itself, and yet making it look like, if I just moved closer and glanced up out of this impossible window, then I’d see it in real life. The wind was even blowing, the distortions in the prairie grass so realistic that I was sure I’d feel the breeze if I stuck my hand out of this impossible window.

And yet, ALL OF THAT was just a BACKGROUND to the real focus.

The entire painting itself, these huge three panels, and all the hours that went into crafting such excruciating detail, all felt like just a background for the story being told in the bottom left corner of this massive five-foot-tall canvas.

A realistic sized hand, palm up, fingers curled.

And hovering just above that hand, an extremely realistic…tiny…bird.

A hummingbird…

A hummingbird in mid-flight, the wings a blur.

An almost ethereal glow surrounding it that was so subtle, that I couldn’t quite identify if I was imagining it or not.

The hand…the size of my own. Equally as life-size as everything else in the painting.

The hummingbird equally just as small, as if I was looking at a real creature that might zip away at a moment’s notice.

And all of it, the entire painting, from darkness on the right to all the creatures very clearly aiming for their vulnerable flying prey…

All of it pointed to this moment in time.

A moment in time when a hand reached out…

To defend the hummingbird from everything else behind it.

The only problem?

The visible forearm and wrist were a normal skin color…

But the hand itself…

Was gray.

The fingernails black and slightly pointed.

The very thing that her teacher was disappointed about…

The very thing that Claire had just painted over in the last hour.

The very thing that Claire had just changed in her masterpiece, in order to alleviate her distress.

Was the hand.

My hand.

Claire just spent the last hour…painting…

My hand, partially transformed.

Or more specifically, a version of my hand that she’d never seen before.

And I realized the hand wasn't relaxed.

Realized for the first time that the gesture could be defensive…or it might be a depiction of what a hand looked like just before it crushes its prey.

An ambiguity that suddenly made me realize that this was truly a depiction of how Claire must feel. As if she was being forced into a position where the hand that might protect her was also the hand that could just as easily crush her.

Except…it was a hand she'd never seen before!

Completely baffled, I focused on her in shock, seeing that she was still standing by the closed door, leaning her back against it, her hands grasping the doorknob behind her back, her green eyes unfocused as she stared at the very last panel from an angle.

As she stared at the small focus of this entire masterpiece.

A masterpiece she’d literally spent all year working on.

Spent two months per panel working on.

I spoke without thinking, just completely shocked.

“Claire…what is this?”

She responded as if her thoughts were a mile away, her voice barely audible.

“I’m…I’m the hummingbird. And this…” She slowly shifted her gaze to me, still seeming unfocused as she took a shallow breath. “This…is a painting…of my fate.” She took another shaky breath. “How I might live…or how I might soon…die.”

FEEDBACK: Thoughts? I'm guessing you guys aren't too surprised, but not sure.

If you are surprised, let me know.

Things are about to get even more interesting in the upcoming chapters.

IMPORTANT: I am extremely far ahead of the published books (which are $5 each), and so I am currently only releasing newer chapters to the Demihuman tier and higher.

Chapter 131 >>

LIST OF STORIES >>

LIST OF ARTWORK >>