Victoria
The town was everything a diterranean paradise should be: narrow cobblestone streets winding between buildings of pristine white, doorways painted vibrant blue to match the sea beyond. Bougainvillea spilled over walls in riots of pink and purple, and the scent of olive oil and fresh bread perated the air.
I wandered without purpose, simply absorbing the sights and sounds. Locals called greetings to each other, children played in small courtyards, and elderly won dressed in black sat in shady spots, their gnarled hands working through strings of worry beads.
For the first ti since leaving the Howlthorne Pack, I was completely alone—no Enzo controlling my movents, no Leo protecting , just and Ava experiencing the world on our terms.
*Do you feel it too?* I asked my wolf silently.
Ava stretched contentedly within . *Freedom,* she agreed. *Though I miss our mate.*
*He’s not far,* I reminded her, knowing that Leo was probably fighting the urge to follow at this very mont. *We needed this.*
After exploring the town square and poking my head into several charming shops, I followed the sound of waves to a path leading down to a small cove. The beach was less polished than our private stretch of sand, with more pebbles than pristine white grains, but it held its own wild beauty.
A cluster of ancient olive trees stood sentinel at one end of the cove, their gnarled trunks and silver-green leaves rustling in the sea breeze. I felt drawn to them, my feet carrying across the warm sand before my mind had consciously decided to move.
As I approached, I felt a curious stirring in my blood—that sa connection to plant life that had surprised when I’d first discovered my mixed heritage. Unlike pure werewolves, my mother’s forest nymph lineage had gifted with an ability to sense the ancient consciousness of trees and plants.
I placed my palm against the rough bark of the largest olive tree, closing my eyes as its essence unfurled within my mind—ancient, patient, serene. The tree had stood here for centuries, witnessing countless human dramas, yet remaining unchanged in its quiet dignity.
*You understand, don’t you?* I thought to the tree. *The need to grow your own roots, to stretch toward the sun on your own terms.*
A sense of affirmation washed over , the tree’s energy humming in agreent. Unlike the frantic pace of human—or werewolf—existence, the olive tree asured ti in decades rather than minutes, finding contentnt in slow, steady growth.
"Excuse , but you’ve completely ruined my composition!"
The irritated male voice snapped out of my communion with the tree. I turned, startled, to find a young man with tousled dark curls frowning at from behind an easel set up several yards away.
"I’m sorry?" I blinked, disoriented as I transitioned from the tree’s ancient perspective back to human interaction.
"I’ve been working on this seascape for hours," he explained, gesturing toward his canvas with a paint-smudged hand. "And then you wandered into fra and destroyed the perfect emptiness I was trying to capture."
His accent was distinctly British despite his diterranean appearance. He wore paint-splattered jeans and a faded t-shirt, his arms tanned from countless hours under the sun. Despite his complaint, there was sothing more amused than truly annoyed in his expression.
"I didn’t realize I was trespassing on an artistic vision," I replied, finding my footing in the conversation. "Is this beach reserved for painters only?"
A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. "No, though that would make my life easier." He studied with open curiosity. "Arican?"
I nodded. "Is that as obvious as being a tourist?"
"The accent gives you away." He set down his paintbrush. "I’m Nicos, by the way. Local artist, perpetual beach dweller, and apparently terrible at selecting empty locations for landscape painting."
"Victoria," I offered, carefully omitting my last na. "And I really am sorry about ruining your composition."
Nicos shrugged. "Perhaps it was fate. The scene was missing sothing anyway." His eyes lit up suddenly. "Actually, would you mind terribly if I painted you in it? You have this... I don’t know how to describe it... this presence that would transform the entire piece."
I hesitated, caught off guard by the request. Leo would absolutely hate this.
*But Leo isn’t here,* Ava reminded . *And this is exactly what you wanted—to make your own choices.*
"What would I have to do?" I asked cautiously.
"Just sit by the olive tree where you were standing before," Nicos explained, already mixing colors on his palette with renewed enthusiasm. "The way the light filters through the leaves onto your hair—it creates this effect like you’re wearing a crown of silver. Very goddess-like."
The complint made blush. "I’m hardly a goddess."
"Greece is the birthplace of goddesses," he replied with a wink. "We know one when we see one."
Against my better judgnt—or perhaps because of it—I found myself agreeing. I returned to my position by the olive tree, sitting on a smooth rock beneath its branches.
"Perfect!" Nicos called. "Now just look out toward the sea like you were doing before, like you’re searching for sothing on the horizon."
It wasn’t difficult to follow his direction. The vast blue expanse naturally drew my gaze, and I found myself contemplating the strange twists of fate that had brought here—from a virtual prisoner in Enzo’s ho to the mate of the most powerful Alpha in Arica, now sitting on a Greek beach being painted by a stranger.
Ti seed to flow differently as Nicos worked. He humd occasionally, muttering to himself in Greek when sothing pleased or frustrated him. I sent the promised text updates to Leo, careful to ntion I was "exploring" rather than "modeling for a human artist"—a small omission that pricked my conscience.
"Tell about yourself, Victoria from Arica," Nicos called as he painted. "What brings you to our little corner of paradise?"
"Honeymoon," I answered truthfully, watching his eyebrows rise.
"Ah! And where is the lucky husband?"
"At the villa. He’s... giving so space to explore."
Nicos looked impressed. "That’s rare. Most newlywed n I’ve observed can barely let their brides out of arm’s reach."
If he only knew just how rare it was for an Alpha werewolf to allow his mate such freedom. "He’s trying to respect my independence."
"A modern man," Nicos nodded approvingly. "Or a very confident one."
"Both," I replied, thinking of how much strength it must have taken for Leo to let walk away alone this morning.
The hours passed in pleasant conversation. Nicos told about growing up on the island, about his dreams of having his work displayed in galleries across Europe, about the changing character of his holand as tourism reshaped the economy. In turn, I shared carefully edited stories about my life—my love of plants, my recent marriage, my desire to see more of the world.
When the sun began to dip lower in the sky, I rembered Leo’s condition. "I should be getting back soon."
"Just a few more minutes," Nicos pleaded. "I’m nearly finished with the essential elents. I can complete the details from mory."
I checked the ti on Leo’s phone. "Okay, but I really need to leave in twenty minutes."
He worked with increased intensity, his brush moving quickly across the canvas. Finally, he stepped back with a satisfied sigh. "Would you like to see?"
I approached his easel with curious anticipation. The painting took my breath away. Nicos had captured the seascape with extraordinary skill—the dancing light on water, the ancient dignity of the olive trees—but what shocked was his portrayal of . The woman in the painting seed to glow with an inner light, her connection to the trees around her palpable. There was sothing wild and otherworldly in her eyes, sothing that hinted at my dual nature without explicitly revealing it.
"Nicos, this is... incredible."
He bead at my reaction. "I told you—you have sothing of the goddess about you. It practically painted itself."
"How much would you charge for sothing like this?" I asked impulsively.
His eyebrows shot up. "You want to buy it?"
"I’d love to surprise my husband with it," I said, already imagining Leo’s conflicted reaction to seeing how another man had perceived .
Nicos nad a price that seed too low for such skill, and I agreed imdiately. "I can’t take it now, obviously," I said, gesturing to the wet paint. "But perhaps we could arrange for it to be delivered to our villa when it’s dry?"
We exchanged contact information, and I promised to return the following day with paynt. As I finally turned to leave, Nicos called after .
"Victoria! Would you consider sitting for again? Perhaps tomorrow? I have so ideas for a series..."
I hesitated, knowing I should decline. But the experience had been so freeing, so different from anything I’d done before.
"I’ll try," I said noncommittally. "But I can’t promise."
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