Cupid Decided To Pair Me With The Draken Brothers

The canvas was older than anything I’d ever touched, I could feel the centuries in its fibers like bones beneath skin, my fingers traced the edge of the frame carefully, each brushstroke of ancient gold leaf catching the morning light that streamed through my skylights, this was the kind of project I’d dreamed about in art school, the kind that made all those lonely nights in my studio worth it.

The courier had delivered it at dawn, a sleek black van with no markings and a driver who refused to meet my eyes, he’d handed me a thick envelope along with the painting, the commission details were sparse but the payment was astronomical, enough to keep my small business afloat for years, I should have been suspicious but the painting was too beautiful to question.

I leaned closer to examine the pigments, my breath fogging slightly on the varnished surface, the piece depicted a woman with dark hair and knowing eyes, she was surrounded by three young boys who clung to her skirts with fierce expressions, there was something haunting about the way she looked out from the canvas, as if she could see straight through time and into my soul.

I set up my worktable and prepared the cleaning solution, this would be delicate work, the varnish had yellowed with age but the paint beneath seemed remarkably preserved, I mixed my solvents carefully, measured them out with the precision of a scientist, my hands were steady even as my heart raced with the thrill of the restoration.

The first drop of solution touched the canvas and the world tilted sideways.

I gasped and stumbled back, my hip connecting with my supply table and sending brushes scattering across the floor, the room spun around me and for a moment I couldn’t tell which way was up, I grabbed the edge of the worktable to steady myself, my knuckles white against the wood.

Then the visions came.

Three pairs of eyes burned in my mind, one stormy gray, one deep brown with flecks of gold, one crystalline blue that seemed to hold entire galaxies, they were male eyes, I knew that instinctively, and they were all looking at me with an intensity that made my knees weak, I could feel them somewhere in the city, powerful and waiting and utterly focused on my existence.

I shook my head hard, trying to dislodge the images, this wasn’t real, I’d been working too hard and not eating enough, my grandmother used to say that artists were prone to seeing things that weren’t there, I was probably just overtired and over-caffeinated.

But the pull wouldn’t stop.

I could feel the painting calling to me now, not with words but with something deeper, a magnetic force that drew me back to the canvas despite my shaking hands, I approached it slowly, wary as if it might bite me, the woman in the painting seemed to smile at my fear, her painted lips curving with a knowing that made my skin prickle.

I touched the surface again and this time I was ready for the jolt, it hit me like electricity but I held my ground, my fingers pressed against the canvas and I felt something unlock inside my chest, something I hadn’t even known was closed, the three pairs of eyes in my mind grew clearer and I could almost see faces to match them, handsome faces that made my breath catch.

“I’m losing my mind,” I whispered to the empty room, my voice echoing off the sloped ceiling of my attic studio, “this is absolutely insane.”

But my hand wouldn’t pull away.

I stood there for what felt like hours, connected to the painting by something I couldn’t name, my body hummed with energy I’d never felt before, the colors seemed to pulse beneath my fingertips and the woman in the portrait watched me with ancient knowing, her sons still clinging to her hem as if they’d always been there, always would be there.

When I finally forced myself to step back, I was drenched in sweat and shaking like a leaf, I looked at my phone and realized three hours had passed, three hours I couldn’t account for, three hours I’d spent touching a painting and seeing faces that weren’t there.

“This is a panic attack,” I told myself firmly, “you’re having a panic attack and you need to calm down.”

I paced the length of my studio, stepping over the scattered brushes I’d knocked to the floor, I opened all three skylights to let in fresh air, the sounds of the city drifted up to me, traffic and distant music and someone laughing on the street below, normal sounds, grounding sounds, sounds that reminded me I was just a regular woman in a regular apartment doing regular work.

But I wasn’t regular anymore, something had changed and I could feel it in the way my heart still raced, in the way my fingers still tingled, in the way I couldn’t stop thinking about those eyes, the gray one was intense and commanding, the brown one was fierce and protective, the blue one was sharp and playful, they were three completely different men and they were all looking at me.

I needed coffee, strong coffee with too much sugar, the kind Elara made at the café downstairs, she’d laugh at my panic and tell me I was being dramatic, she always did, and right now I needed someone to tell me I was being dramatic because I didn’t want to believe that any of this was real.

I threw on my jacket and practically ran down the stairs, my boots echoing on the old wooden steps, the painting was safe in my studio, hidden away from the world, but I could still feel it up there, watching me, waiting for me, I pushed through the door of the café and let the familiar chaos wash over me.

“There you are,” Elara called out from behind the counter, her voice cutting through the buzz of conversation, “I was about to send a search party, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Something like that,” I muttered, sliding onto a stool at the counter, “make it a double, please, I’m having a crisis.”

Elara’s eyebrows shot up but she didn’t ask questions, she just poured me the strongest coffee she had and added the perfect amount of sugar, the way she’d been doing for three years, she knew me too well to push when I wasn’t ready to talk.

“Bad commission?” she asked instead, wiping down the counter with practiced efficiency, “that painting must be a nightmare if it’s got you looking like this.”

The painting, I’d forgotten I’d mentioned it to her in my excitement yesterday, she’d been so happy for me, telling me this was my big break, I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the painting had somehow connected me to three mysterious men I could feel in my bones.

“The painting is fine,” I said, gripping my coffee cup like a lifeline, “I’m just not feeling well, maybe I’m coming down with something.”

Elara gave me a look that said she didn’t believe me for a second but she let it slide, that was one of the things I loved about her, she knew when to push and when to back off, she pressed a pastry into my hands instead and told me to eat something, her maternal instincts overriding her curiosity.

I sat in the café for an hour, nursing my coffee and trying to forget the feeling of being watched by three pairs of eyes, but the images wouldn’t leave me, the gray one especially, he felt like authority and safety and something else I couldn’t quite name, I could picture him clearly now, tall and broad-shouldered with a hard jaw and softer eyes than he probably wanted anyone to see.

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the image, this was insane, I was inventing perfect strangers and imposing them on a painting, I needed to go back upstairs and do my job like a normal person, I needed to stop imagining things that weren’t there.

I finished my coffee and stood up to leave, Elara waved me off with a promise to call if I needed anything, her smile was warm but her eyes were worried, I knew I’d have to tell her eventually, but right now I couldn’t find the words to explain something I didn’t understand myself.

The walk back up to my studio felt longer than usual, each step heavier than the last, the painting was waiting for me when I opened the door, still glowing faintly in the afternoon light that slanted through the skylights, the woman’s eyes seemed to follow me across the room.

I approached the worktable slowly, my heart hammering in my chest, I had to finish this restoration, I had to be professional, I couldn’t let myself get spooked by a piece of art no matter how strange it made me feel.

But the moment I touched the canvas again, the visions returned with a vengeance, this time I could see more than just eyes, I could see hands, broad and capable and undeniably masculine, one pair was elegant and precise, one pair was scarred and strong, one pair was quick and nimble, they were reaching for me in the vision, fingers stretching through the darkness to touch my face.

I pulled back with a gasp and the vision vanished, leaving me breathless and trembling, I stared at the painting and the painting stared back, the woman’s painted lips curved into a smile that felt far too knowing.

“Who are you?” I whispered to the canvas, “who are those men?”

The painting didn’t answer, of course, it was just pigment and varnish and centuries of aging, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just found something I’d been looking for my entire life without even knowing it.

I worked until the sun set, carefully cleaning the ancient varnish and revealing the vibrant colors beneath, the woman grew more beautiful with each passing hour, her eyes sharp and her expression proud, the three boys at her feet became clearer too, each one already showing the man he would become.

The gray-eyed one stared out from the canvas with a seriousness that made my heart ache, he was the oldest, the responsible one even as a child, the brown-eyed one stood with his feet planted wide and his fists clenched, a fighter from the start, the blue-eyed one smiled at the painter with a charm that was already winning hearts.

I felt connected to each of them in different ways, drawn to their strengths and moved by their vulnerabilities, I could feel their presence in the city somewhere, three powerful men who were as tied to this painting as I was becoming.

When I finally stopped for the night, my hands were cramped and my back ached from leaning over the worktable, but I’d made incredible progress, the painting was already transforming, coming back to life under my careful touch.

I covered it with a clean cloth and turned off the lights, but I could still feel it in the darkness, watching me, calling to me, I climbed into bed and closed my eyes but sleep wouldn’t come, I kept seeing those three pairs of eyes, kept feeling their presence pressing against the edges of my consciousness.

One of them was thinking about me, I could feel it with absolute certainty, one of them was lying awake in a penthouse somewhere, his thoughts consumed by the woman who’d touched his family’s painting, I didn’t know how I knew this but I knew it with every fiber of my being.

I tossed and turned until the early hours of the morning, the connection between us growing stronger with each passing minute, I could almost hear his voice now, deep and resonant and murmuring words I couldn’t quite catch.

By dawn, I was exhausted but electrified, I pulled myself out of bed and went to the worktable, revealing the painting with shaking hands, the woman smiled at me from the canvas and I knew, somehow, that I was going to meet her sons very soon.

The city was waking up outside my windows, cars honking and birds singing and life going on as if nothing had changed, but everything had changed, I could feel it in my bones, I was connected to three strangers and there was no going back.

I touched the canvas one more time and the visions flooded me again, this time I saw them clearly, three men so beautiful they took my breath away, they were standing together in a penthouse that overlooked the entire city, and they were all looking at something I couldn’t see.

Then one of them turned his head and his eyes met mine through the vision, gray and intense and utterly focused, he smiled like he’d been waiting for me his entire life.

“Hello,” he whispered, and I felt his voice in my very soul.

I jerked my hand back from the canvas and stumbled away from the worktable, my heart racing so fast I thought it might burst from my chest, that wasn’t possible, that wasn’t real, I was hallucinating or dreaming or finally losing the last thread of my sanity.

But I knew, deep down, that it was real.

Three men were out there, three powerful, dangerous men who ruled the city from the shadows, and I was connected to them by something I didn’t understand, something ancient and mystical and absolutely undeniable.

I pressed my hand to my chest and felt my heart still pounding, I could still feel his presence in my mind, patient and waiting, I could still hear his voice echoing in my ears.

I looked at the painting and the woman’s eyes seemed to hold a promise, she was looking at me like she’d known I was coming, like she’d been waiting for me too.

I had to find out what this was, I had to understand why I was seeing these visions and feeling these connections, I had to know who those three men were and why the painting had chosen me.

But as I stared at the canvas, I realized something even more terrifying, I didn’t just want to know, I wanted to meet them, I wanted to see those eyes in person and touch those hands I’d seen in my visions, I wanted to be claimed by three men who seemed to fill every empty space in my soul.

I was in trouble, the kind of trouble that changed everything, the kind of trouble that had no way out.

I was drawn to three strangers and I knew, with absolute certainty, that they were just as drawn to me.

The painting seemed to glow in the morning light, the woman’s smile widening just a fraction, I was trapped in something I didn’t understand and I had a feeling I’d never escape.

But as I stood there in my studio, surrounded by ancient canvas and swirling dust motes, I couldn’t bring myself to be afraid.

Instead, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years.

I felt hope.

And somewhere across the city, three powerful men were feeling the exact same thing.

My phone buzzed on the worktable, a sharp vibration that made me jump, I grabbed it with trembling fingers and stared at the screen, an unknown number had sent me a message, just three words that made my blood run cold.

“We’re coming for you.”

I dropped the phone like it had burned me, my heart hammering against my ribs as I backed away from the worktable, the painting seemed to pulse with energy and I could feel three pairs of eyes watching me from somewhere I couldn’t see.

This was just the beginning, I could feel it in my bones, and there was absolutely no turning back now.

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End of Chapter One

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