Page 68 of Ruthless Alpha Beast

Her shoes slap against the wooden floors behind me as I lead her to the tapestry I’ve been trying to avoid.

If anyone could get me to do something I didn’t want to do, it would be Tara.

ItisTara, all the time.

“Here we are,” I say, switching on the lights.

Just staring at that ugly tapestry gives me the creeps. But Tara’s drawn to it, like a moth to a flame.

“Is this what you saw?”

She shakes her head.

“Well, yes. But not this image.”

Her eyes widen as she steps closer toward it. What is it with this tapestry?

I wouldn’t exactly call it a work of art. I’ve seen better stuff, even from human artists.

“Well, this is it,” I say. “What was it that you saw?”

She squints her eyes, looking as though she’s tracing the image’s details in her mind. Then she extends her finger, but without touching the tapestry, she hovers it over the ink swirls.

“It was like a crown,” she murmurs, absentmindedly. Then she touches the tapestry, as though trying to draw what she saw. “A crown made of feathers, it was blowing outward.”

She moves her fingers along the tapestry. “Like this.”

It’s possible, unheard of, but still possible that rather than killing her, the shadow monster has driven her insane.

A crown made of feathers?

That doesn’t even make sense.

Does it?

“Okay,” I say, “but if it’s not here now—"

A white glow bleeds out from beneath her fingertips. It’s as though there’s a layer of magic that spreads beneath her hand, expanding like a blot of ink.

But it’s white, and bright as hell.

Tara gasps, shooting her hand back. I step forward, my protective instincts kicking in.

“Wait,” she whispers.

The white glow is cutting through the tapestry’s surface, slowly peeling it back.

In its place, another layer begins to form. Ink spreads and weaves across the page.

The two forces work in tandem, like converging roads, one moving into the space, the other peels back from.

The tapestry is alive.

And then it stops.

In the place of the old picture is a painting, exactly the way she described it to be.

I couldn’t picture it before, but I do now.