For days she wasted paper while the Alpha stared, watching her paint her promised portrait for him. Claire was beginning to suspect that Shepherd was trying to drive her crazy with the constant appraisal of her work. But there was a method to his madness, even Claire understood that. He was forcing her to look at herself over and over, until it was no longer quite so nausea inspiring, until it was her face on the paper and not some unknown woman Claire had conjured up.

A deep breath, the type that preceded some grand speech the bastard was going to make, passed Shepherd’s lips. Claire’s eyes shot up, blazing warning as she snarled, “I swear to the Gods, Shepherd, if you say one thing about this painting, I am going to scream.”

Undaunted, he cocked an eyebrow and stated, “I want you to paint yourself smiling more.”

Pounding her fist on the table, biting back the rising noise in her throat, Claire let out a stream of obscenities so vulgar the man began to laugh. Paint-stained hands balled up the picture, Claire throwing it right in his face. Then it was her turn to laugh at the absolute look of murder in his eyes.

Popping her lips, grinning impishly, she reached for another piece of paper and ignored the swelling, angry male. Innocently, she dipped the brush and began the outline again, painting the same smug grin she was wearing at that moment. When the basic form was drawn, she arrogantly held it up, and watched him narrow his eyes and appraise.

Before he could speak, a knock came to the door and a man whose voice Claire didn’t recognize spouted off something in their language. Shepherd’s attention focused on what he was hearing, the Alpha already standing as he replied in kind.

Shepherd immediately began pulling on his armor.

A strange anxiety twisted in her stomach, this situation not having arisen before. Watching him dress for battle at a summons and not simply because he was leaving for the day, meant something was going on—something that could be dangerous to him, to Thólos, to anyone.

“You do not need to be concerned, little one.” There was a smile in his voice.

When Claire’s eyes darted up to meet his, she found him collected and calm. But she felt incredibly uneasy, all humor from only a few moments ago evaporating. “What’s going on?”

The purr began. Shepherd pulled on his coat and came to where she sat, alarmed and stiff. Stroking the line of her jaw, he explained, “There is nothing. I simply lost the hour playing your game with the paints.”

He was lying. The man always knew what time it was without the presence of a clock. “I don’t believe you.”