Painter Of The Night Novels & Stories

The lights in the room flashed one after another and the whole space fell into a terrifying darkness. Mrs. Dieter could not contain the terror in her heart, so she immediately left the painting room. That night, Edward still clutched his painting for fear of it being vandalized again. Mrs. Dieter was alone in her bedroom, but she was always surrounded by nightmares. She woke up startled after seeing demon eyes hovering around her. The sun had already begun to seep through the curtain and shine on the bed.

That Night Copyright © K.I. Lynn This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This work is copyrighted. All rights are reserved. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the author.

But for Lilia, none of that mattered. Her eyes were fixed on the painting—the last item of the night. "Horizon’s Lament," a masterpiece by Elian Devereux, the last work from the renowned artist before his untimely death. She had spent months studying it—memorizing every brushstroke, tracing the artist's intentions in catalog prints, and immersing herself in its history. This was more than just a painting. It was her last connection to something pure, something untouchable. And tonight, she was determined to win it.

With the blinds wide open, someone with a high-end camera might capture Matthew in his natural habitat. He paced the room, obviously lost in his own sea of thoughts. The woman was trying to introduce herself and even begged him to stop-----but he didn’t because he couldn’t. He couldn’t even recall her face, primarily because it was dark. He remembers her perfect silhouette against the soft light of the moon and her scent, lavender and berries. He was in heat and all logic and rationale was nonexistent last night. “Sir, are you alright?” “Silas, can you get me a copy of the CCTV footage from 10 to 5 AM?”

The silence was thick, charged but not uncomfortable and Nirvana leaned slightly on the door frame, quickly pulling back her sweater which had slipped over and showed her collarbone and shoulder back into place. There were blank and covered canvases all over the room, as well as stored paints. The lightning was warm and indirect with warm-tone strip lights behind the furniture, obviously designed for eyes that work late into the night. Nirvana wondered if he was usually hit with bouts of inspiration late at night too. “You’re extremely quiet when you paint,” She murmured, her eyes trailing over the dark smears on his canvas that she could see from her position. “I thought that you’d be sharp

He replied and picked up a canvas, placed it in its stand, and pulled a stool in front of it. “Sit.” He said to Lily and she stared at him for a few seconds before slowly taking the seat. He picked up a painting brush on the table close to him and handed it to Lily. “I don't know how to work with it.” She said as she took the brush from him. “No one said anything about painting.” He replied and stood behind her, she suddenly inhaled his fragrance and she knew he was so close to her. He slowly moved her hair from her neck and Lily felt goosebumps all over her body as his fingers brushed her neck softly.

Tabitha's POV Upon hearing Noah's words, I followed his gaze and looked over. When I saw the painting hanging on the wall, I was stunned. Noah's excited voice still echoed in my ears: "Tabitha, do you know who painted this? The painter must have a broad vision and a beautiful mind." I looked at the painting, which presented a profound forest night scene with a full moon hanging in the night sky. The silver moonlight poured down, penetrating through layers of overlapping leaves, bringing a touch of mysterious brightness to the dark forest.

If every one-night stand was this good, I'd have to have them more often. My mind wandered, and my eyes roamed around the room. I hadn't really been in a state to notice earlier, but now I could see this room was just as luxurious as the sitting area. It was a little smaller, but in an intimate way. There was another painting on the wall, but I couldn't see what it was in the dim light. I suddenly felt his hand in mine and looked over to see him watching me. "It's Toulouse-Lautrec," he said, apparently having noticed me looking at the painting. "You can get a better look in the morning." And he settled down into the bed beside me like we did this every night.

Its walls were adorned with paintings of various sizes, depicting ancient battles, portraits, moon rituals, abstract beauty, natural scenery and mysterious forest landscapes. At the centre of the room stood a large, recently installed canvas. It became Lennon’s focus the moment he entered. He stepped forward and approached the painting. He stopped directly in front of it and studied it slowly and intensely. The painting depicted a pack of wolves in half-shadowed forms standing beneath a dense night sky. Only a faint light was visible, slipping through the clouds, revealing eyes that glowed calmly yet alertly. Lennon raised one hand as if to touch the painting, but stopped a centimetre from t

He set aside his paintbrush and made his way to the bathroom, feeling invigorated by the creative energy that had flowed through him all night. As the warm water from the shower washed away the remnants of the long night, Rob couldn't help but smile again. The white horse remained etched in his mind, a symbol of his unwavering passion for art. And as he stepped out of the shower, he felt ready to face the day ahead, knowing that his sleepless night had been well worth it for the art he had created.