Wicked intent

"Your art," he explained and admitted, "along with a little luck. While visiting the Alpha in Vegas, I was shocked to find a painting on his wall. It was a stunning portrait of a beautiful Wolf. But it wasn't the subject of the painting that surprised me so much. It was the familiarity with which it was drawn. So very similar to the ones in your book. And when I looked closer, I knew for certain it was yours. The signature was not your name, but the initials were-HD. The letters weren't obvious at first. They seamlessly blended in the swirls of the background forest, but they were there, and they matched the exact way you wrote them in your book. From there, it was simple to backtrack to your location."

I ground my teeth together, hating that he discovered me as a result of my own foolishness. Never, should I have allowed my artwork in a gallery. And I certainly shouldn't have included my real initials-how dumb could I be?"

I held out my hand. "It's mine. I want it back."

"In time..."