by Sara Summers
I raised my eyebrows.
“Thanks.”
That was surprising. A man who had realized I didn’t have any clothes other than an uncomfortable dress, but didn’t leave me to fend for myself? He’d brought me something to wear rather than waiting for me to walk out of the bathroom in a towel so he could get a look-sy?
Wow. Impressive.
Brooke would die of excitement for me when I told her about that. She had been insisting for years that my mate would do something exactly like he had just done.
When I got out of the shower, I had to open the door to grab the clothes Haiden had left for me. When I did, I got to peek out and see what he was doing.
His back was turned to me, but he was completely engulfed in whatever he was painting. There was quiet music playing as his brush glided across the canvas in the beginning of whatever masterpiece he was creating.
I couldn’t help it; I stared at him for a solid two or three minutes, entranced by an artist so consumed in the act of creating. It was beautiful. He was beautiful.
In a completely not-creepy way. It might be creepy to call a guy beautiful, I’ll agree with that, but there was literally no other word I could come up with to describe watching Haiden paint. His paintings were beautiful, the way he moved was beautiful, the fact that he had such amazing images in his head was beautiful.
All of it. Everything.
He was beautiful.
And I was creepy.
So, moving on.
I put his clothes on (they were big but comfy) and stepped out of the bathroom. When I did, Haiden didn’t even turn around. He was that engulfed in his painting.
Like I said, beautiful.
I didn’t want to disturb him in the act of creating a masterpiece, so I walked back to the couch and grabbed my phone, which I’d had left there.
I went through Pinterest and Tumblr for a solid half an hour before deciding I was ready for bed. I wasn’t quite sure how to tell Haiden that, though.
It could be bad to surprise him, so I couldn’t just call out his name or tap him on the shoulder. That could ruin his whole painting, and I wouldn’t sacrifice the piece of artwork. So, I just walked up to stand next to the canvas he was working on. After a few seconds, he looked up at me.
“I’m going to go to bed.” I told him.
“Do you want me to go with you, or…” he was hesitant, and I could tell he wanted to keep working on his painting.
“No, I’ll be fine. Stay up however late you want.” I said. “Is the bed just up the stairs?” I checked.
“Yeah.” He nodded, then stepped closer to me. He pulled me against his chest for a hug, which surprised me. Still, I hugged him back. “Would it be okay if I kissed you?” he asked.
My eyebrows shot up into my forehead. Yeah, I don’t know why, but I sincerely wasn’t expecting that question.
“Um,” I swallowed. He was my mate, right? I was supposed to kiss him, and enjoy it. Suddenly, everything that hadn’t been allowed in high school was encouraged. “Okay.” I nodded once, but I think my insides were twisted into a massive knot.
Haiden placed his hand, the one that wasn’t holding a paintbrush, on the side of my face. That felt nice, so I wasn’t about to tell him to stop. He tilted my chin upward, just a bit, and leaned down toward me.
I closed my eyes and parted my lips just a tiny bit.
When his lips touched mine, they were soft and gentle and smooth and sweet. That kiss was simple, and it was perfect.
He pulled away, and a smile pulled the corners of his lips upward.
“Goodnight.” His words were a whisper.
“Goodnight.” I nodded, then headed straight for the stairs. I wasn’t sure what to think about what had just happened, or what I was supposed to do. Haiden seemed more and more perfect for me by the minute, but he didn’t know me yet.
He didn’t know what I’d been through, he didn’t know how I felt or what I thought.
We didn’t know each other well enough, but that didn’t stop me from liking him.
He was considerate and sweet and gentle—not to mention beautiful. I know, that’s still creepy. Handsome, maybe? Nah, he’s a painter. I’m going with beautiful. He was like a living piece of artwork, and I had always loved his art.
Gosh, okay, I sound like a whack-job. Let’s stick with considerate and sweet and gentle. Those words aren’t creepy, right?
The kiss had my heart fluttering (now I sound like a cheese-ball, great), so I picked up my phone to text Brooke. She had texted me earlier but I hadn’t responded.
Brooke: Also, you’d better let me know the second anything happens between you two. I’m living vicariously through you now.
Me: Haiden kissed me
It didn’t take her long to respond. Only about three seconds.
Brooke: HOLY HERCULES
Brooke: You’re seriously the luckiest girl in the world
Brooke: Can we trade soulmates? Mine is still MIA and I’d really appreciate someone to cuddle with now that you’re gone.
Me: I don’t think that’s allowed, but I’ll see what I can do
Brooke: Seriously though, you’re lucky. From what the other girls have said, they didn’t kiss their mates for like, days or weeks. And Haiden went all alpha-male on you already? Girl, I’m jealous.
Me: Actually, he asked if he could kiss me. No alpha-male required. Just a sweet kiss.
Brooke: Okay, that’s adorable. Never mind, I won’t trade you mates. You and Haiden are too perfect for each other.
I smiled and shook my head. That was Brooke, in love with love. She wanted me to be happy, but I felt bad that she had to wait so long for her dream alpha-male to show up and kiss her passionately and sweep her off her feet. Since I was gone, I was a little worried how she would hold up.
Me: Your man is on his way. He’ll be here any time.
Brooke: A girl can dream.
We texted for a few more minutes before I yawned.
Me: I need to get to bed. Love you, girl. Have fun with the museum, see you in a few days.
Brooke: Alright, Jayday. Have fun with your hunk.
She was always making up new nicknames for me. Seriously, I had the best best-friend in the world. Brooke had always been there for me, and I couldn’t wait for her prince charming to show up. She was constantly sick, and that wouldn’t stop until she met her mate.
Gosh, I hoped he would show up soon.
I picked the side of the bed that looked less-slept-in, bunching the pillow up and resting my head against it. Despite the strangeness of sleeping in an almost-stranger’s home, I fell asleep quickly. I guess my mind was as ready for a break as the rest of me was.
Chapter 6
“Let go of me!” I shrieked, kicking my uncle in the leg. He shoved me to the ground. “Let go!” I screamed, biting down on his arm. My teeth somehow shifted, probably a result of the terror I was feeling. My uncle yelled as my sharp cheetah-teeth pierced through his skin.
Instead of getting off me, or letting me go, he slapped me across the face.
“You’re going to pay for that, you stupid animal.”
“Jazz.” Haiden shook my shoulders, pulling me out of the dream/memory. “Jazz!” his hands framed my face, and I forced my eyes to open just a little. “Are you okay?” I could tell he was worried.
“I’m fine, it was a bad dream.” I whispered, though my stomach and muscles were clenched.
“You’re shaking.” Haiden pointed out. “What were you dreaming about?”
“Nothing. Doesn’t matter.” I shook my head, trying to sit up.
“Do you have nightmares a lot?” he checked.
I wanted to lie. I wanted to tell him that I was fine and normal, that my time with my aunt and uncle hadn’t affected me at all. But that was a lie, one that he would quickly discover wasn’t the truth.
“Yes.” I looked down at the comforter, which was thick and soft and gray.
“What do you usually do when you h
ave them?”
“Brooke usually talks to me until I can calm down.” I admitted.
“Do you want to talk to me about it? I might be able to help.” Haiden suggested.
My eyes widened at the idea. Tell Haiden what I’d been through? Give him the chance to run away, to hate me or be disgusted by me? Let him in?
“No.” I shook my head. “You could show me your paintings, though. That would get my mind off of it.”
This time he was the one who hesitated. Was he scared? Really? Of showing me his paintings? He’d made more money selling them than most people could even dream of, but he was afraid to let me see them?
“Okay, I’ll let you see them on one condition.” Haiden decided.
“What’s the condition?” I narrowed my eyes at him.
“You can’t judge them.” He said. I slipped out of bed and raised an eyebrow at the famous painter in front of me.
“You’re afraid of what I’ll think? People around the world love your paintings.” I reminded him.
“They’re not you.” He shrugged. “Your opinion is important to me.”
“You don’t even know me.” I shook my head.
“Yet.” Haiden corrected me. “I might not know you yet, but you’re my soulmate, which makes you the most important person in my world. I’ve been waiting for you for years.” He said.
“Well I’ve always loved your paintings, so you don’t have to worry.” I gave him a small smile, still thinking about his words. I was the most important person in his world? Even though we had just met?
How could he believe that without knowing me?
My stomach clenched. When he found out about what I’d gone through, I was positive that would change. I couldn’t be the most important person to anyone. Not Brooke (her soulmate would take that title sometime soon), and certainly not Haiden Day.
We walked down the stairs together, but Haiden stopped me as we reached the last step.
“You have to hold my hand if you want to see my paintings.” He said, his face serious. “No eyes but mine have ever seen these, and I’m not sure that any others ever will.”
I took his hand, and he threaded his fingers between mine.
“Deal.” I nodded.
Not gonna lie, the fangirl inside me—oh who am I kidding? I was a fangirl through and through, it had nothing to do with my insides. The fangirl I was realized how lucky I was and how many girls around the world would dream of the moment I was just about to experience.
I was going to see Haiden Day’s paintings before anyone else—paintings that he might not ever show anyone else.
Brooke was right, I was the luckiest girl in the world.
And Jayday? That had to be a new classic in our nickname world.
Literally, I was Jazz Day. Jazmine Day, soulmate and wife of Haiden Day, the world-famous shifter painter.
Good gracious, that was a lot to take in.
“Okay, just… like I said, don’t judge.” Haiden warned. I nodded. No matter what his paintings looked like, I wouldn’t dislike them. Art was art just like stories are stories and poems are poems. Whether I liked them or not, they were still beautiful.
Haiden led me into his studio, which I had tried to avoid looking too closely at during the evening we’d spent together. If someone saw my buildings before they were finished, I’d be worried they’d judge them too.
He didn’t say anything as we walked around the room. His paintings were all so different. They were beautiful, and I loved seeing them in-progress.
It wasn’t until we got to the last painting, the one he had been working on when he kissed me goodnight, that I even spoke up.
And by spoke up, I mean, I gasped.
There, on a canvas in front of me, was… me. It was my face from the side, but I looked much more beautiful in his painting than I had ever looked in any mirror. My hair was messy but pretty, its usual white-blonde color contrasting perfectly with my skin.
That wasn’t what caught my attention, though. His version of me was definitely cool, but my eyes focused on a different part of the painting.
My eyes went straight to the painting-version of my eyes.
I had always heard that eyes are windows to the soul, but I never believed it until I was staring at that painting.
For the first time in my life, I felt like I saw straight inside my own soul.
“Haiden.” I whispered, blinking back the water that was threatening to make an appearance. I didn’t cry—I refused to cry. The only thing that ever made me cry was art, and well, Haiden was amazing at art.
In the painting my eyes were blue, like usual, but they looked different. They looked deeper. In my eyes, I saw sadness and pain. I saw years of hurt and frustration and held-back-tears.
But I also saw strength. I saw determination and willpower and intelligence and I saw, in myself, a person who cared deeply about everything.
In my eyes, I saw me.
“How did you paint this?” I whispered.
“I just painted what I saw.” Haiden shrugged. Though I didn’t see it, I felt his arm move a little (we were still holding hands).
“Wow.” I breathed, not sure what I was supposed to say.
What should you say to your soulmate, who’s your perfect match, who you’ve only known for a few hours but captures the essence of who you are in a painting worth millions of dollars just because he’s the one that painted it?
I had no idea, so I didn’t say anything.
Though he didn’t know what it was, I knew that Haiden must’ve at least realized that I’d been through something. The sad look in my eyes, the strength and resilience… for him to have painted that, he had to have noticed.
I waited for him to mention it, to ask me why I looked so sad.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he pulled me out of the art studio and toward one of the floor-to-ceiling windows that made up the wall of the apartment.
Haiden leaned against the wall, staring out at the dark city below us.
“This is my favorite time of day.” He admitted without looking at me. He didn’t pull his eyes away from the lights that made-up Seattle.
I suddenly wanted nothing more than to be close to him. I was standing beside a man who had accepted my pain without question, a man who hadn’t judged me or been upset with me for trying to run from him. A man who did everything he could to make me comfortable and to help me.
A man who saw me for who I was.
Haiden Day was my soulmate. We had only known each other for a short time, but I already felt connected to him in a way I’d never felt connected to anyone other than Brooke. And Haiden wasn’t Brooke. He wasn’t going to meet his soulmate and possibly move across the country. He wasn’t going to find someone else.
He was mine.
The realization had my mind spinning and jumping and cheering and cowering. Haiden was my soulmate, and we would be together for the rest of forever. We were each other’s missing pieces, and there was no one else in the world who could fit with me the way he could.
There was no one else in the world who could fit with him the way I could.
And you know what? I wanted him. Good gracious, I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life.
I stepped up to him, wrapping my arm around him and leaning against him. Haiden smiled a little, putting his arm around me to pull me closer.
“I’ve always thought 2 AM is the hour for artists.” His words were quiet, but I could tell he was letting me into his heart the way he had never let anyone else in before. He lived alone, there were no family pictures or pictures of friends on the walls. Haiden was an artist, but he didn’t have anyone close to him to appreciate his art.
But now he had me.
“The world is quiet. At 2 AM, people stop. They relax, sleep, or stay in their homes. And when the world stops moving, artists can work at our own pace. There are no rules at 2 AM, nowhere to be and nothing to do but create art.” He said, as h
e looked out at the city.
His words were beautiful, just like his paintings. Though I wasn’t an artist myself, I was intrigued by the way he explained it. Haiden’s view was different than my own, and I wanted to understand him.
“Will you tell me about yourself?” I asked quietly.
Haiden looked over at me with a wry smile on his face.
“Everything you need to know about me is written in you.” He said.
Though the line was poetic, I was entirely confused by what it meant.
“Would it sound dumb if I asked what exactly you’re trying to say?” I checked. Haiden smiled.
“I just meant that you’re my missing piece. You complement me completely, so it shouldn’t take too long to figure each other out.” He explained.
“Ah.” I nodded, though I still was a little confused.
“Here.” Haiden led me over to the couch, and I sat down next to him. “What do you want to know?” he asked.
I shrugged, pulling a decorative pillow onto my lap.
“Everything, I guess. Just tell me your story.”
“Everything?” he lifted an eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to know all of my dark secrets?’
“Eh.” I shrugged again. “Not really, but you might as well go for it.”
When Haiden laughed, I couldn’t hide my smile. He even had an attractive laugh. Was there anything about that man that wasn’t sexy?
“I was raised by my grandmother.” He began, and even those first six words surprised me. I didn’t know many people raised by their grandparents. “My parents left me with her just after I was born. They loved being cheetahs, and didn’t want anything to do with the human world. They thought I deserved to have a choice about it, though, so they gave me to her to raise me.”
Huh. That was new.
I nodded. I’d never heard of anyone choosing a life solely as an animal, but it was an interesting idea.
“My grandpa passed on when I was five or six, so I don’t really remember him. My grandmother told me stories about him every day though. She made sure I knew that they had been very much in love even on the day he died, and that I understood that our soulmates are the greatest gift the Creator has given us.” He explained.
