Page 15 of Soul to Possess (The Artmaker Trilogy #1)

My pulse skipped. There was amusement in his voice, but something underneath it too. Something steel-edged.

“I—I guess that makes sense,” I said, forcing my tone to soften.

“I do appreciate the breakfast. It’s… really good.

Yummy.” I tried to smile, eyes flicking over him like I could make sense of him if I just looked hard enough.

But I couldn’t. And that was starting to scare me.

He wore a dark gray long-sleeved shirt stretched tight across his shoulders, sleeves pushed up just enough to expose the veins in his forearms. There was more stubble on his jaw than yesterday, like a few days’ worth.

He looked… unbothered. Like I wasn’t a stranger sitting at his table. Like this was routine.

“What’s your name?” I asked, trying to make it sound casual.

“Atticus.” He said it around a mouthful of eggs, like the question was as ordinary as asking for the time.

Atticus. The name sat heavy in my head. Not familiar, not really—but sharp.

Like something from a story I couldn’t place.

I took a sip of my orange juice, buying myself a second.

What was I even supposed to say next? Thanks for the pancakes, by the way—why do you have a paddle and rope hanging on your wall?

My throat tightened. Would bringing up Marvin help—or make things worse? I said nothing. Just sat there watching him chew, waiting for my brain to catch up with my mouth.

“Cat got your tongue?” His eyes flicked up to mine, unreadable. “Or is the name Atticus somehow triggering for you?” He said it too casually. But the way he looked at me made me feel like he wasn’t just guessing. Like he was watching the way I reacted —tracking it.

I forced a small shrug. “Just… not sure what to say next.”

“Well,” he said, pausing for another bite, “what would you like to say next?”

I hesitated, then went with the simplest truth I had: “Where am I?”

“You’re in South Dakota,” he said. “Where were you headed?”

“South Dakota,” I repeated slowly.

He chuckled. “We’ve been over that, haven’t we? You were on your way to meet a husband. Marvin, right?” He leaned back a little. “Well, I don’t know anyone named Marvin around here.”

My stomach turned. “He owns a big ranch,” I offered, unsure why I felt like I had to defend the story. “No wife. No family. He sells horses—lots of them.”

Atticus tilted his head. “Gennie girl, I know every man within 300 miles of me. There’s no Marvin.”

My heart stuttered. “Maybe he goes by something else?” I asked, a whisper of hope in my voice.

He didn’t even hesitate. “Doubtful. Did he give you an address?”

“It was on my bus ticket.”

That made him pause. “Bus ticket?” One eyebrow lifted.

“Yeah… the driver said the snow made it too dangerous to go further. He dropped me off way back and told me to follow the stakes through the woods.” Atticus laughed, loud and sudden.

“No shit. My driveway’s not built for that kind of crap.

What the hell were they thinking, dropping a little thing like you in the snow like that? Lazy, useless bastards.”

I blinked, caught off guard by how fast his anger came—directed outward, but hot and sharp. He kept shaking his head, muttering. “I was wondering how you ended up out here, but you looked so damn spooked last night, I figured I’d let you get your bearings before asking.”

“They told me the stakes would lead straight to Marvin’s ranch,” I murmured.

“Well, they were wrong,” he said flatly. “Those stupid fucks probably didn’t even know where they were. You still have that ticket?”

I nodded slowly.

“Good. Lemme see it. I can at least tell you where you were supposed to end up.”

I nodded, pulse quickening. “It’s upstairs. In my bag.”

He gestured casually toward the living room. “Run along and grab it. I’ll toss the dishes in the sink. We can talk on the couch.”

His plate clanged against metal as he stood, moving with a kind of unhurried confidence that made the room feel smaller.

I left the kitchen in a rush, adrenaline already churning.

Maybe he really could help me get to Marvin.

Maybe this was all just a huge misunderstanding.

He’d been kind this morning—strangely kind.

He’d made breakfast, even smiled at me. His name was Atticus.

A beautiful, unexpected name to match a man like him.

Severe and magnetic. Dangerous-looking, but civilized.

I dug through my bag, fingers closing around the folded bus ticket.

As I made my way back down the hall, the living room came into view, quiet and sunlit.

I sank into the couch, the cushions soft enough to swallow me whole.

It felt like the first truly comfortable thing I’d touched in days.

Atticus entered with calm, clean efficiency and sat across from me, his frame relaxed but alert.

When I handed him the ticket, he took it with a faint smile, his fingers brushing mine.

He glanced over the text and gave a low chuckle.

My spine straightened. “What’s so funny?”

He didn’t look up. “You’re on the wrong end of the state, Gennie girl.”

A chill passed through me. “What?”

“You were supposed to be dropped near the Montana border—upstate South Dakota. Instead, you’re sitting a few hundred miles east, just shy of Minnesota.”

His tone was clinical, indifferent. Like we were discussing groceries.

My stomach dropped. “So I’m not even close to Marvin?”

“No,” he said simply.

Tears welled without warning. I was suddenly aware of how silent the world was outside these walls—how vast and blank everything had felt when I trudged through the snow.

It wasn’t just that I was lost. It was that I was alone, with no one coming to find me.

A sob escaped my throat. I didn’t mean for it to.

One tear slipped down, then another, hot and fast. Atticus watched me for a second before reaching beneath the coffee table and retrieving a box of tissues. He extended it without ceremony.

“For the mess you’re making on your face.”

My jaw clenched. I snatched a tissue from the box, glaring through the burn in my eyes. “What kind of mess do you think I’m making?”

He smirked, slow and amused. “Looks like crying to me. Figured I’d be polite.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, voice thick.

“Well,” he said, settling back against the cushions, “you’re in quite the predicament, huh?”

I stared at the floor, more tears spilling before I could stop them. What am I going to do now?

“Yeah,” I whispered. “I guess I am.”

He leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. “You’re not going anywhere today. Or tomorrow. Maybe not even next week.”

I looked up sharply. “Excuse me?”

“No need to get hysterical.” His voice stayed maddeningly level. “I told you already—you’re too delicate to turn into art. So relax.”

My heart slammed in my chest.

“The snow’s too deep,” he added, gesturing toward the window. “My truck’s not making it out of here until it melts. Might take a week. Maybe a month. Welcome to South Dakota.”

I couldn’t stop trembling. Every word out of his mouth twisted the situation further, like a knot tightening around my ribs. My voice barely made it past my throat. “What am I supposed to do now?”

Atticus studied me, and—for once—something almost like sympathy crossed his face.

“Hey. You’re warm,” he said quietly. “You’re safe.

Ish, anyway.” He smiled like that made it better.

“At least you’re not going to freeze to death.

And I already told you—I have no intention of turning you into art.

So just… try to breathe, Gennie. Make the best of it.

When the snow clears, if you still want to leave, I won’t stop you. ”

I let out a bitter laugh, sharp and broken. “Of course I’ll want to leave. What in the actual fuck is your problem?”

His eyes lit with something unreadable. “We’ll see.”

“I. Want. To. Go. To. Marvin.” I spit the words slowly, deliberately, as if that would anchor reality. But nothing in this house felt stable. I didn’t think NOT going to Marvin would even be an option, but now I was having to spell it out in black and white for this psychotic guy.

Atticus’s smile didn’t falter. In fact, it softened.

“If—and that’s a big if, Gennie girl—you still feel that way when the snow melts, I’ll drive you to Marvin myself.” He tilted his head. “That said… I’d probably turn Marvin into art if I saw him. So maybe it’s best if we wait to revisit that plan next month.”

I froze. “What is this ‘art’ you keep talking about?”

I understood the words. But not the meaning. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but I couldn’t stop the words from falling from my lips anyway.

He answered like I’d asked him what day it was. “My art. My special art.”

That clarified nothing. I blinked. “Oh, wow. Thank you. That cleared everything right up.”

His grin spread wider. “If you’d start paying attention, you’d see it. It’s all around you.”

He gestured to a piece on the coffee table—something I’d vaguely noticed the night before but hadn’t really looked at.

Now I did. I wished I hadn’t. It was a sculpture, maybe.

A crude one. And it looked like it had been made entirely from…

teeth. Human teeth. Some yellowed. Some cracked.

One of them had a filling. I had dismissed it last night, thought my mind was playing tricks on me, but no - it was there.

My stomach flipped.

Then he nodded toward the far wall, where another piece hung that I hadn’t noticed before.

It was round. Bulbous. It looked like a giant, lidless eye—and hair sprouted from it in chaotic patches.

Blonde. Brown. Red. Strands twisted together like the clippings of a hundred different people’s scalps, none of them matching.

A sick wave rolled through my chest. “That’s… disturbing.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Most normal girls find it a bit off-putting. If it really bothers you, I can move it to the outbuilding.”