Mated to My Intended's Enemy novel Chapter 118

Chapter 118: Chapter 118 Human Artist

Victoria

The town was everything a Mediterranean paradise should be: narrow cobblestone streets winding between buildings of pristine white, doorways painted vibrant blue to match the sea beyond. Bougainvillea spilled over walls in riots of pink and purple, and the scent of olive oil and fresh bread permeated the air.

I wandered without purpose, simply absorbing the sights and sounds. Locals called greetings to each other, children played in small courtyards, and elderly women dressed in black sat in shady spots, their gnarled hands working through strings of worry beads.

For the first time since leaving the Howlthorne Pack, I was completely alone—no Enzo controlling my movements, no Leo protecting me, just me and Ava experiencing the world on our terms.

*Do you feel it too?* I asked my wolf silently.

Ava stretched contentedly within me. *Freedom,* she agreed. *Though I miss our mate.*

*He’s not far,* I reminded her, knowing that Leo was probably fighting the urge to follow me at this very moment. *We needed this.*

After exploring the town square and poking my head into several charming shops, I followed the sound of waves to a path leading down to a small cove. The beach was less polished than our private stretch of sand, with more pebbles than pristine white grains, but it held its own wild beauty.

A cluster of ancient olive trees stood sentinel at one end of the cove, their gnarled trunks and silver-green leaves rustling in the sea breeze. I felt drawn to them, my feet carrying me across the warm sand before my mind had consciously decided to move.

As I approached, I felt a curious stirring in my blood—that same connection to plant life that had surprised me when I’d first discovered my mixed heritage. Unlike pure werewolves, my mother’s forest nymph lineage had gifted me with an ability to sense the ancient consciousness of trees and plants.

I placed my palm against the rough bark of the largest olive tree, closing my eyes as its essence unfurled within my mind—ancient, patient, serene. The tree had stood here for centuries, witnessing countless human dramas, yet remaining unchanged in its quiet dignity.

*You understand, don’t you?* I thought to the tree. *The need to grow your own roots, to stretch toward the sun on your own terms.*

A sense of affirmation washed over me, the tree’s energy humming in agreement. Unlike the frantic pace of human—or werewolf—existence, the olive tree measured time in decades rather than minutes, finding contentment in slow, steady growth.

"Excuse me, but you’ve completely ruined my composition!"

The irritated male voice snapped me out of my communion with the tree. I turned, startled, to find a young man with tousled dark curls frowning at me from behind an easel set up several yards away.

"I’m sorry?" I blinked, disoriented as I transitioned from the tree’s ancient perspective back to human interaction.

"I’ve been working on this seascape for hours," he explained, gesturing toward his canvas with a paint-smudged hand. "And then you wandered into frame and destroyed the perfect emptiness I was trying to capture."

His accent was distinctly British despite his Mediterranean appearance. He wore paint-splattered jeans and a faded t-shirt, his arms tanned from countless hours under the sun. Despite his complaint, there was something more amused than truly annoyed in his expression.

"I didn’t realize I was trespassing on an artistic vision," I replied, finding my footing in the conversation. "Is this beach reserved for painters only?"

A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. "No, though that would make my life easier." He studied me with open curiosity. "American?"

I nodded. "Is that as obvious as being a tourist?"

"The accent gives you away." He set down his paintbrush. "I’m Nicos, by the way. Local artist, perpetual beach dweller, and apparently terrible at selecting empty locations for landscape painting."

"Victoria," I offered, carefully omitting my last name. "And I really am sorry about ruining your composition."

Nicos shrugged. "Perhaps it was fate. The scene was missing something anyway." His eyes lit up suddenly. "Actually, would you mind terribly if I painted you in it? You have this... I don’t know how to describe it... this presence that would transform the entire piece."

I hesitated, caught off guard by the request. Leo would absolutely hate this.

*But Leo isn’t here,* Ava reminded me. *And this is exactly what you wanted—to make your own choices.*

"What would I have to do?" I asked cautiously.

"Just sit by the olive tree where you were standing before," Nicos explained, already mixing colors on his palette with renewed enthusiasm. "The way the light filters through the leaves onto your hair—it creates this effect like you’re wearing a crown of silver. Very goddess-like."

The compliment made me blush. "I’m hardly a goddess."

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