Sebastian Solace X Painter Novels & Stories

Or maybe it's my illusions that are taking the best part of me. I stopped when I did over seventy-five of the paintings and my back was starting to hurt. I stretched my arms, yawned and crawled back into bed. I took a glance at the paintings once more and I patted myself on the head and muttered, "Well done, Sebastian Nightclaw." I closed my eyes and slept beautifully— The demons were out and my heart felt a sudden surge of peace; it was indeed therapeutic.

"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."

Carol did not look up or speak when he came over, but she paused what she was doing and just stared down at the work in front of her. “That painting is beautiful. I never knew that you could do that.” Sebastian complimented. “Thanks.” “So, what do you do with the paintings you make? Do you sell them or what?” “No.” “Okay. What is going on with you? Am I bothering you?” Sebastian asked finally when it was clear that she was going to keep up with the monosyllabic answers. “I don’t know what you mean.” “Well, you’re acting strangely.” “How so?” “Well,” Sebastian began, feeling flustered. Why was he even pursuing this in the first place? “You’re sort of quiet and not as lively as you usually are

Slowly, I pushed the door wider. The room welcomed me with the faint scent of oils and pigments. Canvases leaned against the walls, splashes of vibrant color everywhere, the floor littered with brushes and rags. My breath caught. And there he was. Sebastian sat on a stool before a towering canvas, his broad shoulders hunched as he dragged his brush across the surface. The light from the lamps glowed against his sharp features, softening him in a way I had never seen. He was utterly consumed, eyes fixed, movements sure, as though the world outside that canvas didn’t exist.

I screamed with delight and threw my arms around Sebastian, holding him tight. “I can’t believe this. Thank you,” I said, brushing away a tear of happiness. “But you only brought me to your pack yesterday… how could you possibly manage this so quickly?” He smiled, boyish and proud. “I ordered it earlier. Much earlier.” Before I could respond, a tall figure with silver hair appeared in the doorway, and my breath hitched. My favorite painter. The genius whose works I had admired since I was a child. Vincent Capuoni.

IRIS “Meet your new brother.” “What?” No, no, no, I might be dreaming. This is not true. “Jade, you’re here!” Mr.Daves suddenly showed himself and greeted us with the biggest smile I have ever seen from him. He was, like Sage, wearing a white shirt filled with blue and purple paint. “I’m so sorry, had you been waiting long? We were doing last minute customization of your rooms. We have specially colored them according to your names, I hope you’ll like—Oh!” Mr.Daves couldn’t continue his words when Skye suddenly ran up to him and embraced him.

Most were blank, but some were already in various stages of planning, from watery sepia-toned underdrawings to half-finished oils. It took me a moment until I recognized Sebastian amid the ferns of the greenhouse, his face looking up at a low angle. "Oh, perhaps not this one. It is a good likeness, but the shadows are all wrong! It's too minimalistic, soft, paints him more in the shades of a scholar than a fierce king." "I like it." I traced my nail across his smiling golden irises. "Need all kings be savage? Can one not be kind?"

Her efforts impressed many clients. One evening, while sorting through some old files, Chloe discovered one of Sebastian’s paintings tucked in a portfolio. It was an impressive piece, using deep blue and golden hues to convey both chaos and calm. Feeling delighted, Chloe took a quick photo and shared it online with the caption: Who knew Sebastian Vaughn loved painting? Hidden talent unlocked! She didn't think much of it, but soon her phone was buzzing with messages. In less than an hour, the local art scene was buzzing about it. Comments poured in, praising the painting and asking where they could purchase it or if Sebastian was taking custom orders.

No one had ever shown as much interest in her life as Sebastian did. “I insist,” “Okay,” she mumbled softly and walked over to him, removing the cover from her canvas. Sebastian’s eyes were locked on her latest piece while Larissa kept her gaze fixed on the floor. “You’re right, it’s not good enough. It’s stunning!” Sebastian’s eyes stayed on the lovers in the painting, surrounded by blood and chaos.

Just a small curved hand, fingers open. The light. That is what the painting is actually about. Sebastian has done something with it that I cannot explain technically. It is not warm, not beautiful in a decorative way. It is honest. It is the specific flat white light of early morning with a newborn, the light that belongs only to that period of life. He has painted it exactly. I don't know how long I look at it. Long enough that Sebastian sits on the arm of the sofa and picks up his tea and waits. Sebastian, who does not normally wait. He drinks his tea while I stand holding his painting and being unable to do what I normally do, which is process quickly and respond sensibly.