Inheritance

Chapter 10, Amber

Despite staying out late with Dakota, I woke with the sun, and had a wild urge to paint. I pulled a canvas out of my art-suitcase, and some acrylic paint, and began a self portrait. Just the bust of my head, neck, and shoulders, with water around me. I was in the lake, and it was night. With each stroke, I felt the painting come to life. For finishing touches, I dipped my paintbrush in white and tapped it, splattering stars into the background. I set it near the window to dry, and and took Luna for a jog around part of the lake, "Bunny Trail" as I'd heard it called by my Nana a long time ago.

The morning air was still cool. It cleared my mind, although it was hard to believe that last night even happened. How can he and I go from kissing to arguing within minutes? And what does he have against my scars? I grumbled to myself. Luna looked back at me, wagging her tail and panting.

On our way back to the house, Luna and I passed grandpa's art studio, beside the house. After cleaning the whole house, I couldn't find the key anywhere. Maybe it was time to try my hand at lock-picking? I gave it a go, pulling a copper-colored bobby pin out of my hair. Putting it in the lock, I realized T.V. shows hadn't taught me anything about lock-picking, especially if a skeleton key was needed to unlock the door.

I let Luna back into the house, and then came back to the art studio, more eager than ever to get the door open. Little terra-cotta pots were stacked by the side of the studio. I lifted one of the smaller pots and bashed it through the window of the door. The glass shattered, and I carefully poked my arm through, and unlocked the door from the inside. Inside, I realized that the art studio had changed, a lot. Some of the paintings on the gallery wall had remained the same, implying a sense of peace, where as others, more recent paintings, were terrifying. More self portraits, wolves, and slash-art. Long, thick scratches lined the more recent paintings. One was a portrait of my dad, with long slashes across his face, ripping through the canvas. Goosebumps rose along my arms, and the hairs raised on the back of my neck as I concluded that the "scratch-art" I'd seen in the house and now the studio, was not fueled by artistic passion, but by rage.

I jumped about a foot in the air when a voice said behind me

"Hey."
I spun on my heels, still holding the slashed painting of my dad. I gasped,

"Dakota! You scared me."
He had on a crisp white tee and some blue swim trunks. Not his typical home improvement outfit. One of his arms was behind his back. He apologized

"I didn't mean to... I saw that the door was open so I thought I'd say hi. Uh..."

He pulled a bouquet of wildflowers out from behind his back and handed them to me, while saying

"Summer, I'm sorry about last night. I shouldn't have acted like that about your scratches. But we do need to talk about them... scratches in this town mean something... something big."
I raised an eyebrow and said

"Oh please don't tell me 'every scar has a story'. It's cliché."

I put the flowers down on my grandpa's paint table. He shook his head

"Okay, I won't. It's just that... wolf scratches are a big deal in these parts. It kind of matters what wolf scratched you. And when. Would you mind telling me?"

I scrunched my brows and huffed,

"You're still making a big deal about it, Dakota! But to appease you, I was seven and walking on Bunny Trail in the middle of the day, and a wolf came out of nowhere, and scratched me before taking off. I was with Amber and Ivy."

He nodded his head at that, seeming deep in thought, and then gave a casual smile while shrugging his shoulders

"What can I say, I'm a vet. I always want to know about animal bites or scratches... Thanks for telling me."