frustration.
He kept going over and over the dream in his mind. He replayed that look on her face. It was a look of longing, desire, and then fear. It broke his heart to have her look up at him with absolute terror and scream the way she did. All these years heâd been searching for her, but when she saw his truest form, it horrified her. What if she refused him? What if she refused to accept what she was or what her destiny was? He hated to admit it, but it seemed Davis was right. This was all going to be much more complicated than he thought.
He heard what Davis had said. Court her like a human. Itâs not that he didnât know what to do; after all heâd lived quietly among them his entire life. He saw the ridiculous mating rituals they invested in. To Malcolm it seemed like one big dance of bullshit, pretending to be a modified version of who they really were. Never showing their true self until it was too late to turn back. They kept that side of themselves locked away for so long they were afraid of being rejected for who they really were. As he thought about it, he realized he was actually doing the very same thing.
Sam didnât know that shapeshifters existed, let alone that she had that gift inside of her. If he blurted it out, sheâd think he was insane. Great. He ran a hand over his face. It looks like Iâm courting her like a human male after all. He knew heâd have to gain her trust before he could tell her who she really was. As he went back in the house, he reminded himself he owed Davis an apology.
***
In the amber light of the setting sun, Sam put the finishing touches on her studio. She took one last survey of the space, and after moving a few things around, decided it was exactly how she wanted it. Nonie had a date for a bridge game at Millieâs, so she could eat out in her studio guilt-free. She salivated at the thought of the leftover chowder in the fridge. As she ran into the kitchen, Nonie was just putting on her jacket to go out.
âDonât wait up, dear. You know these games can go on into the wee hours.â
âHow much playing do you really do? I think itâs all about the Chardonnay and the gossip,â Sam teased as she warmed her chowder in the microwave.
âIâm quite sure I donât know what youâre talking about, dear.â Nonie walked out the door.
Sam smiled and shook her head. I hope I have that much fun when Iâm her age, Sam thought. She walked out to the studio with a steaming bowl of chowder and a simmering excitement. What would she paint first? Nonie wanted a portrait of the house, but she needed full sunlight for that. A sunset or a landscape would probably make the most sense, but one image had haunted her all day. That yellow-eyed eagle from her dream had been floating around her brain since she woke up that morning. Mystical was the best description for that bird. Mystical and a little bit scary. Sam liked to put the things that scared her onto canvas. It helped take away the fear. She hit play on her iPod and Amy Pettyâs song âSleepwalking to Dreamingâ filled the small space. Sam smiled. How fitting .
Her gaze danced over her materials, deciding which medium to use, finally settling on charcoal. She set out to sketch the very same eagle sheâd seen in her dream. She had it soaring high over the ocean with a large pearly moon looming behind it. She smoothed edges and lines with her fingers, massaging the image to life before her eyes. She intently crafted the curve of the graceful wingspan. With painstaking detail, she carved out the intricate pattern of the feathers. Sam spent a significant amount of time on the piercing eyes, which seemed fixated on her even from the canvas. She was completely entranced, almost possessed by the creation of this portrait.
Finally, after several intense hours, she stopped. Her gaze remained locked on the eyes of the bird. Her breath came in a heavy
He kept going over and over the dream in his mind. He replayed that look on her face. It was a look of longing, desire, and then fear. It broke his heart to have her look up at him with absolute terror and scream the way she did. All these years heâd been searching for her, but when she saw his truest form, it horrified her. What if she refused him? What if she refused to accept what she was or what her destiny was? He hated to admit it, but it seemed Davis was right. This was all going to be much more complicated than he thought.
He heard what Davis had said. Court her like a human. Itâs not that he didnât know what to do; after all heâd lived quietly among them his entire life. He saw the ridiculous mating rituals they invested in. To Malcolm it seemed like one big dance of bullshit, pretending to be a modified version of who they really were. Never showing their true self until it was too late to turn back. They kept that side of themselves locked away for so long they were afraid of being rejected for who they really were. As he thought about it, he realized he was actually doing the very same thing.
Sam didnât know that shapeshifters existed, let alone that she had that gift inside of her. If he blurted it out, sheâd think he was insane. Great. He ran a hand over his face. It looks like Iâm courting her like a human male after all. He knew heâd have to gain her trust before he could tell her who she really was. As he went back in the house, he reminded himself he owed Davis an apology.
***
In the amber light of the setting sun, Sam put the finishing touches on her studio. She took one last survey of the space, and after moving a few things around, decided it was exactly how she wanted it. Nonie had a date for a bridge game at Millieâs, so she could eat out in her studio guilt-free. She salivated at the thought of the leftover chowder in the fridge. As she ran into the kitchen, Nonie was just putting on her jacket to go out.
âDonât wait up, dear. You know these games can go on into the wee hours.â
âHow much playing do you really do? I think itâs all about the Chardonnay and the gossip,â Sam teased as she warmed her chowder in the microwave.
âIâm quite sure I donât know what youâre talking about, dear.â Nonie walked out the door.
Sam smiled and shook her head. I hope I have that much fun when Iâm her age, Sam thought. She walked out to the studio with a steaming bowl of chowder and a simmering excitement. What would she paint first? Nonie wanted a portrait of the house, but she needed full sunlight for that. A sunset or a landscape would probably make the most sense, but one image had haunted her all day. That yellow-eyed eagle from her dream had been floating around her brain since she woke up that morning. Mystical was the best description for that bird. Mystical and a little bit scary. Sam liked to put the things that scared her onto canvas. It helped take away the fear. She hit play on her iPod and Amy Pettyâs song âSleepwalking to Dreamingâ filled the small space. Sam smiled. How fitting .
Her gaze danced over her materials, deciding which medium to use, finally settling on charcoal. She set out to sketch the very same eagle sheâd seen in her dream. She had it soaring high over the ocean with a large pearly moon looming behind it. She smoothed edges and lines with her fingers, massaging the image to life before her eyes. She intently crafted the curve of the graceful wingspan. With painstaking detail, she carved out the intricate pattern of the feathers. Sam spent a significant amount of time on the piercing eyes, which seemed fixated on her even from the canvas. She was completely entranced, almost possessed by the creation of this portrait.
Finally, after several intense hours, she stopped. Her gaze remained locked on the eyes of the bird. Her breath came in a heavy
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