Page 17

Emersyn Teixeira

I leaned against the door frame, silently watching my brother throw paint at a canvas.

I personally didn't see the vision, but that's what made Killian's talent so special.

What I saw as colors mixed, he saw as so much more.

What the smudges didn't pull out of me invoked others to pay thousands for his creations.

Killian spent hours putting colors on a white foundation since he was seven.

He was an emotional child who struggled to find peace outside of crayons and paint.

Each color weighed heavily in emotion...

emotions he struggled to convey with words.

His art, drawings, and paintings had become his autobiography that only he could decipher.

Killian's relationship with colors extended beyond the basic human concept of red, blue, yellow, and green.

They whispered the truth and evoked emotion in Killian that no other human could.

Colors connected him to the world that seemed to suffocate him.

Through research, I learned Killian had a condition known as aura synesthesia.

He associated his emotions, the emotions of others, and their energy with colors. Each color he saw carried a meaning.

When he met someone, his face twisted into an intense grimace that most found to be rude.

He wouldn't speak and barely blinked. This was his way of making sense of the array of pigments people seemed to carry with them.

Whatever color he saw advised him more than an actual person ever could.

Through colors, Killian knew who to trust, kill, or not care enough about to waste his time.

Killian saw the world uniquely. Very few related to or understood it, leaving him to live a somewhat lonely life.

"Standing there will only piss me off. You know I hate a looming presence," he voiced, never taking his eyes off his painting.

"And you know I love watching you in your element. What is going on here?" I asked of his painting.

The canvas housed thick smudges of midnight blue, dark plum, forest green, with thin strokes of dusky rose. The blend of colors was breathtaking, but what I saw as beautiful, Killian probably saw differently.

"Nothing," he huffed, adding another thick slab of the rose color.

"Killian, you can talk to me." I sighed, walking fully into his studio. "I know you think I don't understand, but?—"

"Emersyn, you don't understand. How can you when you find what I want as troublesome and weakening?"

I froze as a chill swept my spine from his cold tone.

"I may not want the same things as you, but it doesn't mean I don't understand."

"Then what does it mean? Have I not asked you to find me a wife?"

"Yeah, but?—"

"See, that's the problem. There is no but . Either you will or you won't, and you've made it very clear that you won't. Your exact words, if I'm not mistaken, were, ' Why do you need companionship when you have Grim, Ghost, and me?' "

I blinked back my frustration at how my brother twisted my intentions.

"Killian, I want you to have companionship. I really do?—"

"And here comes another but ," he interrupted, finally placing his lifeless eyes on me. A simple glance from Killian always felt like a hammer caving my chest in.

"Yes, a but is coming because you only hear the no instead of listening to the reason that follows.

I want you to be happy, Killian. You're my brother.

What kind of sister would I be if I didn't want that for you, but.

.." I paused to let the love and concern I felt for Killian sink in.

Hopefully, he saw whatever colors he needed to see to believe what I was telling him.

"The way you are going about finding a wife is a bit much. First, you ask me to help you, and when I say no, you make a deal with Chance. You were going to let that man give you his estranged daughter."

"So." He shrugged.

"So?" I snipped. "You can't just make deals with people to find you a wife. That's not how companionship, relationships, or marriage work."

"It worked for Beast." He shrugged.

"Who is Beast?"

"From Beauty and the Beast. Belle didn't willingly live in that gloomy, dusty ass castle. She did so in exchange for her father's freedom."

"Okay, but that's a fairytale. This is real life."

"It doesn't matter." He waved me off. "The point is the soil in which the seed grows doesn't have to be the richest for it to sprout. Love can flourish under the harshest conditions."

"That may be true, but what woman is going to willingly sign on to be the wife of a man she doesn't know?"

"It doesn't have to be willingly." He shrugged as if forcing a woman to marry him was the unkept soil that was supposed to sprout years of love.

"Killian, you?—"

"Sorry to interrupt, but a Mr. Gravehart is here," Irving, Killian's house manager, informed us.

"I'll be there in a second. Thank you, Irving."

Nodding his head, Irving left as swiftly as he came.

"Which Gravehart is here?" I asked, happy for the change in conversation.

"Crown."

"Crown? Why him?"

"I don't know. Emersyn. I was told of his arrival, the same as you."

"Whatever," I huffed.

"Gather him and his friend."

"How do you know he brought a friend if you don't know why he's here?"

"Just a hunch. I'll be there after I clean up."

I wanted to say more, but knew it was best to leave it alone.

Sauntering into the foyer, I stopped a few inches away from the door, waiting to hear the chime of the doorbell.

Years had gone by since the last time I'd seen Crown in person.

The two of us spoke on occasion whenever he needed my expertise and didn't want to involve his brother.

Wolfe was good at what he did, but sometimes death required the touch of a woman.

Those conversations lacked the humor and laughs I missed the most. They were brief, stoic even, and always about business.

The opposite of what I hoped our interaction would be today.

The doorbell finally chimed. My cheeks hiked, taking the corners of my mouth to new heights.

My foot barely moved forward before I heard faint clicks of nails against the floor approaching from behind me.

Metal tags clanked together, adding an almost muted chime to the rhythm of the nails and the deep yet steady breathing of my protectors.

Grim to my left and Ghost to my right, their presence alone was a quiet reminder of their strength and the lengths they would go to protect.

"Sit. Eyes up," I commanded, stepping in front of both dogs.

With my back toward the front door, I waited to make sure they listened.

They lowered their stout frame into a poised and controlled sit.

The doorbell chimed again, making their ears tilt, and their dark eyes lock in.

As the front door opened, my smile grew.

Crown stood handsomely, grinning in my direction, but something was different.

"Isn't this a great surprise?" I beamed, pulling him into a hug.

Oddly, his body tensed against mine. That was a first. I pulled away, then angled my body off to the side to allow him entrance into the house.

"This is Rize," Crown announced with a nod in Rize's direction. The young man who followed behind Crown I wasn't familiar with by face, but I knew him by name.

"Rize, huh? Crown, you know I don't play that street name nonsense. You are the exception, not the rule," I scolded, never taking my eyes off Crown. He was uneasy and defensive, but why?

"Rivian, but I prefer you call me Rize." The young man stepped forward, entering my space, causing heavy breathing to shake the room.

I peered over my shoulder, and my two guards were still in their poised position, breathing steadily but deeply, making their nostrils flare.

"They prefer strangers not to be in my personal space. See the way their tail sways?"

Rize nodded, his eyes shifting from the dogs to me, then back again. Fear didn't gleam in his irises like I expected. He was tough. That was good to know.

"Do you believe a conversation can happen without words?" I pried.

"They say movement of the body is a language."

"The same can be said about animals. My friends are letting you know they're showing restraint. When their tails stop, it's best you say your prayers and ask God to watch over your loved ones. Those two will send you off to glory..." I paused, then chuckled. "Or to flames."

For a fleeting moment, Rize's eyes ballooned, then slowly deflated. A confident smile spread across his handsome face, but the space he created between us didn't go unnoticed.

"I mean no harm, but I'd be a fool not to question your intentions. Was that your way of asking if a nigga been naughty or nice?"

Rize couldn't have been older than twenty-five, and that was me being generous.

He had the face of a sophomore in college but the voice of a man who'd lived more years than he had ahead of him.

His young and inexperienced stare cruised along my frame.

When I saw pink slip from between his lips and then glide across, I knew I had him.

I matched his smirk as his eyes reintroduced themselves to mine.

"So, what list would you like to be on?" I cooed, toying with him.

"I'm nice at a few things. None of 'em being things your gorgeous self might be interested in."

"Oh really?" My smirk deepened. It was clear Crown walked Rize into the lion's den without telling him it was the lioness who protected the kingdom at all costs.

"Not to sound sexist or anything, but someone as breathtaking as you deserves to be put up. The shit I'm nice at gon' have a nigga seeing flames before them pearly gates."

I stifled my laugh. Rize was a charmer. Maybe if I was some innocent wet behind-the-ear bitch I might've fallen for it.