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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“N o one has ever asked me to teach art before.” Aurie said, still feeling uncertain about the whole situation as they sat in the sunlight, each with a golden easel Galen had set up for them. However, he was relieved that she wanted to do something other than clean.

Melora beamed, taking in a deep breath as she looked around. “It’s gorgeous out here, especially with that stunning view of the mountains. I can see why you enjoy living in this place.”

His stomach clenched as he gazed at her beautiful profile. The sunlight haloed her against the mountains. He did like it here, didn’t he? His eyes scanned their surroundings, taking it in with a new light. It really was beautiful. Resentment about losing his title and home had built up for so long that he’d blinded himself to the beauty surrounding him.

He sighed. She was right. He resolved to better appreciate the value of what he had.

She turned to look at him, her eyes meeting his as she grinned. “Definitely an image worth capturing.”

His lips pulled up. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He loved the infectious joy she radiated from the simplest of things. “Yes, it is.”

She laughed and looked away, her coppery complexion deepening to a beautiful pink as she caught his double meaning. Focusing on her paintbrush, she turned toward her blank canvas and held it aloft. “Tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

Without thinking, he reached toward her, a soft chuckle puffing out. “First lesson. Holding a paintbrush is not the same as holding your quill.” He froze as his fingers neared hers—much too close. He abruptly pulled back, as if he had been shocked. It would have served him right had he been struck by lightning. He’d almost forgotten his curse and was a breath away from turning her to gold.

His heart throbbed painfully as he took another step back. Instead of adjusting her fingers to stop them from pinching the bristles as he had nearly done, he picked up his own brush to show her. “See, you want to cradle it between your fingers so you don’t choke the bristles. This will give you a nice range of motion and allow you to make smooth strokes.”

She scrunched her face adorably as she focused on her brush, moving her fingers, attempting to copy his. She frowned. “My fingers feel so far away. How will I ever have any control?”

“Holding it this way allows fluid movements like this.” He carefully dipped his brush in his paint and demonstrated on his canvas, making broad strokes while capturing the mountains on the horizon.

When he glanced back at Melora, she was biting her lip in a most distracting way. She nodded, then attempted her own strokes, laughing as she got a feel for it.

As they continued to paint, he verbally corrected her grip and explained different motions for her to practice.

He was surprised by how much fun he had teaching her. She was an apt student, picking things up quickly and complimenting him frequently. Rarely had he received such praise, especially for his own amateurish art and novice teaching. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with her words, but they made him feel confident and alive.

His father had always dismissed his painting as a hobby, insisting he focus on more important things. Aurie had been a lord—destined for greatness—until he wasn’t. Banished to the middle of nowhere, and yet… Again, he focused on Melora and the beauty she had brought into his life.

Perhaps losing his station wasn’t so bad, not with her by his side, reminding him to look around and find joy despite his circumstances.

He painted the sun radiating against the mountains, making everything glow just as she did.

“Aurelius, that’s gorgeous!” She was suddenly behind him, studying first his painting, then the mountains. “How did you make them glow like that?” she gushed. “It’s as if they’ve come to life! It’s absolutely stunning… it reminds me of that painting in the gallery of the boy with the roses. It had a similar glow…” His hand stilled and he tuned to look at her as she continued. “You didn’t paint that image in the gallery, did you? Is that why you insisted it was mediocre?”

His jaw went slack, and he was unable to formulate any words. How had she figured it out? A slight trembling built within him, spreading to his hands. He put his paintbrush down before she could notice.

“I haven’t the slightest idea why you insist on calling your work mediocre. Your paintings are exquisite, with such a distinctive style.”

“No, no,” he sputtered. “You saw the paintings done by the masters. I can only dream of being that good. My paintings pale in comparison.”

She met his gaze, her expression firm and serious. “Aurelius, I don’t know how to tell you this, and I’m afraid it might make that already huge ego of yours grow to ridiculous proportions, but I feel that I must inform you. You are an amazing artist and teacher. Your work belongs among the greats.”

His insides warmed, and his lips parted. Was she right? He looked down at his canvas. Were his paintings better than he gave himself credit for? While he would never presume to compare himself to the greats, the fact that she did warmed him straight through, as if a cozy dragon fire had been lit within. As he began to consider that perhaps he was a good artist, his eyes skimmed over all the places where he could see his mistakes.

No. No, she was wrong. His head shook of its own accord. While her words were well intended, she was no expert. However, her painting was pretty good for a beginner.

Quite suddenly, something wet brushed against his cheek. His eyes widened. He blinked and backed away as his hand instinctually rose toward his face.

Melora’s tinkling laughter met his ears. “Oops. I believe you got a little something right there.” Holding back a grin, she indicated her own cheek. She looked even more radiant with barely suppressed giggles bubbling inside of her.

Blood rushed into his ears, and his heart thudded with a bit of fear mingled with relief. She hadn’t turned to gold. He wiped the dab of paint off his face. With difficulty, he found his voice. “What was that for?”

She shrugged, looking coy with her pert little nose stuck up in the air. He was thankful she hadn’t seemed to notice that the dark yellow paint she had dabbed on him had changed to gold. “You were looking entirely too intense, studying your art. Besides, if I recall correctly, you told me once that it was important to have fun in life, to find a hobby, and I have to agree. My sister and I always tried to make our mundane tasks fun. It made all the difference.”

Without thinking, he took his own brush and dusted a streak of blue across that cute nose of hers, careful not to touch her in any other way.

“Oh, now you’ve done it!” Her eyes positively danced, glowing with delight as she came at him with her own brush once more.

“Melora, don’t.” He backed up, holding his paintbrush between them for protection, his heart thudding. He shouldn’t have followed that impulse. Much as he wanted to give in to the chase and simply play, fear for her overrode all else. He must not endanger her any further. “Please, don’t touch me.” He tried to put as much seriousness as he could muster behind his words.

Her brush tickled across his knuckles.

“I’m serious Melora! Stay back. I’m dangerous.”

Her laughter cut off as she froze. Confusion furrowed her brow. “Wh-what do you mean? How can you be dangerous?” Her voice still held half a laugh. “I can see why some might call your handsome looks dangerous, but I don’t think that makes you a threat—other than to unsuspecting females.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Don’t worry, I’m not scared of you.”

He swallowed. She should be. He hadn’t meant to tell her, fearing she’d hate him for it. He couldn’t stand to lose what they had. And yet, it had become impossible to remain silent. Melora had to know the truth for her own safety. Yet he wasn’t certain he was ready to tell her—at least not all of it.

“You must understand! You must keep your distance from me, because I’m cursed.” It was the first time he’d called the golden touch a curse out loud, but in this moment, there was no other word for it. He would never be able to touch her as he desired. “I kill anything I touch.”

She pressed her hand against her heart, still clutching the paint brush. “Kill? What are you saying? That can’t be right. You have to touch things to live.”

He shifted, uncomfortable with the reality of what she was saying. While he liked to pretend otherwise, he missed human touch more than he’d realized. Unfortunately, he hadn’t seen the full implications of the “gift” the dragon had given him until it was too late.

“I can touch non-living things just fine. It’s the animals and humans that present a problem. I never want to do anything that could hurt you. That’s why I decided to help—” He snapped his mouth shut. He’d already said too much. He definitely couldn’t tell her about being a dragon as well. He rubbed a hand across his jaw and lips. One secret was enough for today.

“You can obviously touch yourself.” She folded her arms and looked pointedly at his hand. “What about food? You seem to eat alright. You don’t poison it when you touch it, do you? Are you immune?”

“Something like that. I can eat just fine, so long as I use utensils.” He desperately needed to turn this conversation away from him and onto something else. “Now that we have that settled, can I count on you not to touch me?” He attempted a light joke to break the tension: “I know I’m irresistible, but your safety is my top priority.”

She snickered, her uncertainty melting away, just as he’d hoped. She wiped her paintbrush down his face.

“Melora!”

She laughed. “What? I didn’t touch you.” She turned and hurried back to her canvas, acting as if nothing had occurred.

His lips twitched upward. What was he going to do with this woman? How could he go on if he couldn’t bestow the simplest of touches upon her? He feared he wouldn’t be able to resist. He must redouble his efforts to rid himself of this terrible curse.