Dog Man Art Book Novels & Stories

It was only my second exhibition, which Lance had insisted be in Nevada. I never allowed photos to be taken of me for security reasons. But one time, a lady was adamant about taking a photo with me because apparently, she was my biggest fan. On the other side, another girl had bought many of my paintings because of how mesmerized she was by them and had written me a letter, praising my skills and how much my paintings elated her mood–it showed her a ray of hope when she was swimming in darkness. When my assistant told me about her, I regretted not being able to meet my true fan. But it was Faith at that time? I never could have imagined such a coincidence. It was really fate, wasn't it?

He says quickly, trying to back track. “I’d love to see it sometime.” I say with a smile, trying to ease his discomfort. When I flipped the page again my breath caught. The next drawing was of me. Similar to the one he did of the wolf and I, it showed a wildness in me that looked natural. The book snapped shut as he pulled it from my grasp. “Wait! I’m not done!” I wanted to see more of the beautiful drawings and I wondered if he had more of me in there.

I couldn’t do either. Instead I grabbed my sketchbook from the passenger seat and flipped it open. The pages were filled with half-finished pieces for the showcase — twisted bodies in shadow, hands gripping too tight, eyes that looked suspiciously like storm-gray ones staring back at me. I tried to work on the centerpiece, the one that was supposed to capture raw human connection. But every line I drew curved into broad shoulders, inked skin, the way Damien’s jaw tightened right before he came inside me. It was disgusting how much of him had seeped into my art. How much of *us* had taken over everything.

One never knew when that information could come in handy. Plus, it’d help to pass the time and keep me busy. Sounded like a win-win to me. There was some type of writing on the front that I couldn’t read, but I could feel the power radiating off of the book. Strangely, Bex couldn’t feel it. I opened the cover, revealing an intricate colored illustration that showed a large silver wolf standing below a blood moon, its head tilted back in a howl. Light from the moon fell in rays onto the wolf.

In stunning detail was an image of a werewolf, his monstrous member dangling between his legs as he jerked his load into the hungry mouth of a pair of women on the ground beneath him. "Wow." Mike inspected the outer cover, but there were no words on the book. Flipping through the pages, it was evident that the artist had a one track mind - werewolves fucking humans, werewolves fucking each other, and even an image of a werewolf fucking a unicorn. This last one made Mike laugh. The unicorn had buried its horn into a tree and was backing its ass onto the cock of the howling wolf behind it.

“Well then, let me leave you to get some more rest. We’d talk more tomorrow morning” Dan released Mane’s hand and stood up. However, as he was reaching for the door, Mane stopped him and asked for a favor. “Hold on Sir Dan. If it isn’t too much to ask, can I get a couple of books to occupy my time?” Mane pleaded. Seeing that Dan was looking at him strangely, he quickly delivered an explanation for his actions. “I think that reading about world history and other things about magical beasts may help me remember something”

Not with this cursed band strangling the soul out of me. So I stared, cold and unmoved, letting my silence speak the promise my mouth never could: One day, I will destroy you. One of the books shifted slightly on the table, falling open just enough to reveal images—hand-drawn wolves with glowing, mournful eyes and shattered jaws. Caged. Silenced. Like me. His eyes flicked to the page with casual malice. “These talk about wolves who defied their mates,” he said, like he was discussing a bedtime story.

If looks could kill, I’d be dead right now. “If you'll excuse me, I'd like to take my boyfriend along with me.” She huffed and snorted but quickly masked it with a neutral expression. “Of course.” I dragged Clinton out of there and towards another carved art section. I ignored him as I touched every beautiful carved art I passed. One was of a man with a bow slung over his shoulder, dressed like a hunter. Another was a boat with two fishermen, and suddenly I stopped before a carved female wolf transforming. I had to pause as I traced a hand on it, looking at it in amusement. I didn't know humans knew about us, as I always thought they believed we were only real in movies and books.

Manik smiles. The white Iru enveloping him vanishes. “Harasho is the most reasonable dogma. You can say that it projects the current life.” Manik reaches into his jacket pockets and draws their contents. There are two books on his hands. A pink book with a couple smiling at each other on a heart frame on the cover is on his right hand and a red book with a short hair woman crying on the cover is on his left hand. “Which Doujin do you like, Your Highness?” Manik asked.

Just unmarked leather and the weight of secrets waiting to be discovered. I opened it carefully, mindful of pages that looked fragile enough to crumble at a touch. The first page made me gasp aloud. Ink drawings filled the yellowed paper—not the crude sketches of an amateur, but artwork of remarkable skill and disturbing beauty. A wolf, massive and powerful, its eyes rendered in such detail I could swear they were watching me from the page. And beside it, a woman in flowing robes, her hand extended toward the beast as if in offering or benediction.