Read Online Golden Stair by Jennifer Blackstream - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jennifer Blackstream
Tags: Romance, Paranormal
Ads: Link
think lust demon parents were particularly affectionate.”
Adonis shot her a grin. “I’m so pleased to be in the presence of an expert on incubus child rearing.”
Ivy blushed and cursed herself for it. “Sorry,” she muttered. After a moment of silence, during which both she and Adonis continued to admire the painting, Ivy gathered the courage to speak again. “The way you look when you’re painting—the way you look at it now—reminds me of how I feel when I paint.”
“Like you’re bleeding onto the canvas?”
“Exactly,” she said excitedly. She sat on the floor next to the circle. “You put so much life into this picture, I feel like they’re right in front of me.”
“They are so in love,” he murmured. “I’ve never known such happiness. To be near them when they’re together is to get a rare glimpse into something beautiful.”
Ivy tried to resist, but she couldn’t help but feel the truth of his words as she viewed the painting. The part of her mind that believed her mother’s warnings searched the portrait for some hint of sexual deviancy, some sign that the demon was the monster Dame Gothel had always claimed he was. She looked for the lust that would surely be present in a painting that came to life at the hands of a ruthless incubus. No one who painted with the intensity and abandon that he had could hide the piece of themselves that bled out through the paint. There was proof of his true nature in the painting, proof that what her mother said was true.
But she couldn’t find it. The king didn’t paw at his wife, he didn’t leer at her with crude lust. His hands around her waist were gentle, but with a loving firmness that spoke of how badly he wanted to keep her with him. Likewise, the queen looked up at the king as if the very sight of him brought her the greatest joy. Ivy could feel a kiss in their future, as if Adonis had captured a true moment in time. Somehow, she knew that the kiss would be pure, the type of kiss that only true love could produce. Or maybe that was just her fanciful imagination.
“You can feel their love.” It wasn’t a question. “Is that the demon king your mother has told you about?”
“A painting is not proof.” Even to her own ears, Ivy’s claim held no conviction. Tears burned behind her eyes as she carefully tucked her emotions away deep inside her. She wouldn’t think about it now, wouldn’t think about what this meant. Life as she knew it depended on how she handled this day’s events and she needed time to think. Alone.
“May I see more of your work?” the demon asked after a few moments.
It was such a simple request. Part of her worried he was trying to manipulate her, trying to weasel his way past her defenses. But a larger part of her recognized how much of himself he’d revealed to her by letting her see this painting. It was a revelation that had to be reciprocated.
She brought out several of her paintings. Most of them were violent, exorcisms of the nightmares her mother described to her. But there were a few that held happiness. A sunrise over the lake outside her tower, sunbeams illuminating colorful fish and vibrant aquatic plants. A sunset awash in crimson and plum, the brightest colors burning in the sky before bowing to the soft touch of darkness. Each painting was filled with little details of plants or animals she wanted to see, to touch. And in some places, blended into the brushstrokes in a way that hid them from her mother’s watchful eye, were creatures, people. Nymphs weaving through the ripples of the lake, sylphs laughing on the breeze. It wasn’t just the world she wanted to see, it was the people, the creatures she wanted to meet. There was adventure out there.
Adventure she had no business wanting.
Suddenly Ivy couldn’t breathe past the lump in her throat. Adonis was a painter. Would he know what to look for in her paintings? Would his artistic
Adonis shot her a grin. “I’m so pleased to be in the presence of an expert on incubus child rearing.”
Ivy blushed and cursed herself for it. “Sorry,” she muttered. After a moment of silence, during which both she and Adonis continued to admire the painting, Ivy gathered the courage to speak again. “The way you look when you’re painting—the way you look at it now—reminds me of how I feel when I paint.”
“Like you’re bleeding onto the canvas?”
“Exactly,” she said excitedly. She sat on the floor next to the circle. “You put so much life into this picture, I feel like they’re right in front of me.”
“They are so in love,” he murmured. “I’ve never known such happiness. To be near them when they’re together is to get a rare glimpse into something beautiful.”
Ivy tried to resist, but she couldn’t help but feel the truth of his words as she viewed the painting. The part of her mind that believed her mother’s warnings searched the portrait for some hint of sexual deviancy, some sign that the demon was the monster Dame Gothel had always claimed he was. She looked for the lust that would surely be present in a painting that came to life at the hands of a ruthless incubus. No one who painted with the intensity and abandon that he had could hide the piece of themselves that bled out through the paint. There was proof of his true nature in the painting, proof that what her mother said was true.
But she couldn’t find it. The king didn’t paw at his wife, he didn’t leer at her with crude lust. His hands around her waist were gentle, but with a loving firmness that spoke of how badly he wanted to keep her with him. Likewise, the queen looked up at the king as if the very sight of him brought her the greatest joy. Ivy could feel a kiss in their future, as if Adonis had captured a true moment in time. Somehow, she knew that the kiss would be pure, the type of kiss that only true love could produce. Or maybe that was just her fanciful imagination.
“You can feel their love.” It wasn’t a question. “Is that the demon king your mother has told you about?”
“A painting is not proof.” Even to her own ears, Ivy’s claim held no conviction. Tears burned behind her eyes as she carefully tucked her emotions away deep inside her. She wouldn’t think about it now, wouldn’t think about what this meant. Life as she knew it depended on how she handled this day’s events and she needed time to think. Alone.
“May I see more of your work?” the demon asked after a few moments.
It was such a simple request. Part of her worried he was trying to manipulate her, trying to weasel his way past her defenses. But a larger part of her recognized how much of himself he’d revealed to her by letting her see this painting. It was a revelation that had to be reciprocated.
She brought out several of her paintings. Most of them were violent, exorcisms of the nightmares her mother described to her. But there were a few that held happiness. A sunrise over the lake outside her tower, sunbeams illuminating colorful fish and vibrant aquatic plants. A sunset awash in crimson and plum, the brightest colors burning in the sky before bowing to the soft touch of darkness. Each painting was filled with little details of plants or animals she wanted to see, to touch. And in some places, blended into the brushstrokes in a way that hid them from her mother’s watchful eye, were creatures, people. Nymphs weaving through the ripples of the lake, sylphs laughing on the breeze. It wasn’t just the world she wanted to see, it was the people, the creatures she wanted to meet. There was adventure out there.
Adventure she had no business wanting.
Suddenly Ivy couldn’t breathe past the lump in her throat. Adonis was a painter. Would he know what to look for in her paintings? Would his artistic
Similar Books
