Painter Of The Night S3 Novels & Stories

Alex, Liam and Victoria face a dark night when they return to Edward Grey's house. This time, they haven't brought the haunted painting with them, for fear that it might surprise them in the night. Considering that the incident in Evelyn's gallery took place at night. The purpose of the three of them coming tonight was definitely to unravel the mystery of the codes they had successfully identified this afternoon. They sneaked into Edward's house like a bunch of thieves. That night, Edward's house looked like any other. Because Edward wasn't home.

"Without looking over her shoulder for once." My phone vibrated in my pocket. Tiny's name flashed on the screen. "Report," I answered quietly, moving further from the bedroom. "Everything's clear, Alpha," my Beta's deep voice rumbled. "The painter has been vetted. Former art professor, human, no connections to any packs or supernatural factions." I stiffened. "What painter?" There was a pause on the line. "The one your Luna sat for yesterday. On the south beach. I assumed you knew."

When I opened my eyes, everything felt wrong. The air was too still. The light was too dim. And the silence… the silence felt watched. A sharp ache throbbed behind my skull as I pushed myself upright. My hands trembled. My breath hitched. This wasn’t my room. It wasn’t anywhere I recognized. Then it hit me I was captured last night. Captured because I was running from Adrian.

"Before we got separated. Did you?" I thought back. Yes. We had stopped in front of it, two students with clipboards and measuring tapes. The painting showed a staircase, spiraling down into blue shadows. At the bottom, a tiny figure. The artist? Some said it was a self-portrait. Others said it was whoever looked long enough. "I saw it move," Emma said. "The figure at the bottom. It looked up. And then you weren't there anymore." The lights flickered. For a moment, the hallway went dark. When they came back on, I was standing in front of a door that hadn't been there before. Number 000. The paint was fresh. The knob was warm.

Although Nathaniel had given me permission to stay out late, it was of no use. I was going to go upstairs, drink water, sleep, and in the morning, I would figure out what came next. Mainly because that was all I could do right now. But first, I would have to call Pamela. She needs to understand that Elliot tricked me. The lights were on in the living room. I almost walked past because Nathaniel always had the lights on for some reason; he often left them on when he fell asleep, resting on the couch after a long shift. I had covered him with a blanket more times than I could count over the past two years.

“Really? I’d love that! And statistically speaking, the chances of getting attacked by another demon are pretty low. I’ll bring vanquishing potions just in case.” She doesn’t take her eyes off the TV, but I can tell she’s trying not to smile. “Given what I saw last night, I don’t think you need any potions.” A commercial for adult diapers comes on and she flicks her eyes to me. “As much as I hate to admit it, you were pretty fucking badass last night.” “Thank you.” I smile. “Maybe me, you, Lucas, and Dom—” “No.” “You don’t know what I was going to ask.”

She’d see herself in every brushstroke, every violent colour, every shadowed line. And maybe that was what he wanted. Maybe he wanted to force her to see what she had done to him. What they had done to each other. So he worked through the night, paint staining his arms, his shirt, his skin. Each stroke was both confession and accusation. By dawn, he stepped back, exhausted, staring at the canvas that loomed above the others. It wasn’t just a painting. It was Sophia, stripped bare, and the truth they were both running from.

When the third night came she was tired in the good way. Lucas disappeared on the second day. She did not look for him. She knew where he was. On the morning of the third day she walked into the council room and stopped. He had hung a painting on the wall above the main table — large, framed properly, clearly worked on for weeks without a word. All four of them. The ceremony ground, the silver-black light, the moment after the integration when they had all reached her at once. He had the light right, the way he always got the light right. He had painted their faces not in the dramatic version of that moment but the real one — Kyson's relief doing battle with his composure and losing, Hayden'

Gracie says, and we look at each other. I've seen nothing like it. We got back home before mom could realize that we were not home. NIGHT 9:00 PM I'm lying on my bed, thinking about the incident that happened up the street today. I wonder if that old man survived it, I wonder if he's still alive or in a coma.

EXTRA: Midnight: I should bring Ryder back before it gets too late so she can have her beauty sleep. Ryder: *staying up until 2 am trying to wash the paint off*