Mated to the Chaos - Georgette St. Clair Page 0,14

in color on the canvas.

Four, magic existed in the world, greater than any of them knew.

Taking all of those into account, Fabiana couldn’t ignore that her paintings were prophetic, future pending to be exact.

Finally, she rested. Her paintbrush fell to the container, the thwack of water accented by her grateful sigh. She couldn’t stop once she started one of these pieces, and this one had been more detailed and involved than the others. Almost as if the fog that normally crossed them was much thinner.

And she more than knew who the piece was about. She just didn’t understand what it meant. Carlo rose from the body of a half-shifted form of a wolf. It was the thing of nightmares, like the human versions of werewolves, standing on his hind legs, his body powerful and covered with thick, black fur. As it expanded up toward his chest, the fur gave way to glorious, tanned flesh, painted over with a hint of gold, like the sun trapped within his skin. His shoulders were impossibly broad, poised with barely contained magic. His face was more angular; Carlo and yet … more. His dark hair was wild around his face, crackling with electric power that glittered the same gold as his skin and blended in with the halo above his head.

Well, halo may have been the wrong word, but she couldn’t find another.

There was nothing angelic about it. Instead, it sizzled with life, a challenge to any who wouldn’t run from the terrifying picture he was. And because Fabiana was trapped in the vision, she knew what it truly was.

Chaos.

Harnessed Chaos.

An impossible feat, but she would have believed her paintings of the future were impossible a year ago. So she had to assume this painting was important and meant something to their future. With a choked sob, she hung her head. She was so tired of this, of being forced to do things she didn’t want to do. Others may have seen this power as something great, but the loss of control, her inability to even say no, broke off little pieces of her every time it happened.

All she wanted was to be in control of her own life. To finally be free of others’ influence—those who didn’t care if she wanted it or not. Her next cry rattled her chest. She just wanted to have a right, her own control.

Just once, let me be who I want to be.

“Cucciola.”

She knew who was behind her by the “puppy” endearment. His cold, wintery scent enveloped her and reminded her of their mother, Luciana, who she’d never had a chance to truly know. But the scent was enough to soothe. To pull her back from the brink of breaking under the hell of her life.

“I can’t stop it, brother. No matter what I do.”

Pasquale pulled her tighter, lifting her light frame onto his lap and rocking her, growling softly in a wolf sort of purr. The sound, his warmth, the strength in his arms, it all helped her take a breath. Just one, so she could see.

“I hate when you cry, cucciola. It always breaks my heart.”

“I’m so tired.”

“It’s another painting.”

Giuliana and Pasquale knew about them, and Fabiana couldn’t say she wasn’t grateful to Giuliana for helping her realize she could share it with what family she had left. If she hadn’t, her brother wouldn’t be here now to help.

“Fabulous.”

A watery giggle escaped Fabiana at the nickname Giuliana had given her. “It’s easier just saying my name.”

“Except I want everyone to know just how Fabulous you are.”

Giuliana came further into the room, lowering to the floor and sitting back on her haunches. She cocked her head a bit in the way Fabiana had come to understand meant that Red—Giuliana’s wolf—was talking to her internally.

“Red says she has approved the name, and it’s the best. Well, not as amazing as Red or Snow, but it’s still awesome.”

The tightness in Fabiana’s chest eased, and a chuckle slipped out. “I think I like Fabulous just fine then.”

Fabiana loved how both of them didn’t look at the painting, waiting for her to give them permission. She wasn’t sure how they knew, how they always waited for her agreement before they did a thing. Within this house, at least, she could get some semblance of peace and feel free.

Until the visions came.

Fabiana sighed. “Take a look.”

“You first, sister. Are you okay?”

Giuliana’s green eyes were kind, and she nor her mate moved to look at the painting yet. Fabiana didn’t remember having