Thorne
I couldn't concentrate.
Every time I tried to focus, Josie's voice played in my head. Her laughter. Her frown. The soft way she said my name when she was too tired to argue, but too stubborn to let things go.
It was driving me insane.
"Focus," I muttered, eyes narrowing at the canvas in front of me. My brush hovered in the air for a second longer before my hand moved in a wild, angry stroke—splattering black across what had once been a sunrise.
"Dammit!" I barked, flinging the canvas across the room. It hit the far wall with a dull smack, the wet paint staining the marble tiles like blood. My wolf stirred angrily inside me, pacing.
You need to understand her. If you want peace, you need to understand her.
That voice—my wolf's voice—was more rational than I was. And it pissed me off. I turned on the guards standing stiff near the entrance of the studio.
"What?!" I snapped.
They straightened even more. One of them flinched.
