Bea Paige [Paige - Strokes: A Dark Contemporary Reverse Harem Romance (Finding Their Muse Book 2)

Prequel to The Sisters of Hex series:

Five Gold Rings: https://books2read.com/FiveGoldRings

Sisters of Hex: Accacia

Out Now:

#1 Accacias Curse https://books2read.com/AccaciasCurse

#2 Accacias Blood https://books2read.com/AccaciasBlood

#3 Accacias Bite https://books2read.com/AccaciasBite

Sisters of Hex: Fern

Out Now:

#1 Ferns Decision https://books2read.com/FernsDecision

#2 Ferns Wings https://books2read.com/FernsWings

#3 Ferns Flight https://books2read.com/FernsFlight

Finding Their Muse (dark contemporary romance / reverse harem)

#1 Steps https://books2read.com/Steps

#2 Strokes https://books2read.com/Strokes

#3 Strings Coming Soon

#4 Symphony Coming Soon

The Brothers Freed Series (contemporary romance / reverse harem)

#1 Avalanche of Desire https://books2read.com/AvalancheOfDesire

#2 Storm of Seduction https://books2read.com/StormSeduction

#3 Dawn of Love https://books2read.com/DawnOfLove

Links to Bea Paiges social media:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/BeaPaige/

Instagram:https://www.instagram.com/beapaigeauthor/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/BeaPaigeAuthor

Pinterest:https://www.pinterest.co.uk/beapaigeauthor

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/bea-paige

Web:https://www.beapaige.co.uk

I f I told you that Ive never seen the bright golds and yellows of a sunrise, the dusky pink blossom of a cherry tree, the stark red of blood blooming from a wound, what would you think?

Like most people, youd believe I was blind. That I see nothing.

The thing is, I see everything.

But I dont see colour.

You could tell me how the ocean off the coast of Lands End is a deep midnight blue, how green the meadows that surround the manor look on a bright spring day. You could even tell me that my eyes are a rich chocolate brown with flecks of gold.

But I wont understand what that means.

I never will.

During the day, my life is lived in shades of grey. The light might break up the darkness so that I can distinguish one object from another, but at night I live in a black void, a pit so deep, so dark, that no light can penetrate it.

If in the daytime Im barely alive, then at night Im a fucking ghost.

Im a ghost who walks amongst the living.

Every night, whilst the world sleeps, dreams filled with kaleidoscopic colour, I wade through the inky darkness trying to find a way back to the living.

Tonight, its no different.

Along the silent hallways of Browlace Manor, I roam. Im an apparition, as pale and as colourless as the world around me.

But Im not the only ghost that treads the wooden boards beneath my bare feet.

This home is filled with them.

Mine, Ivans, Eriks.

Each of us have demons that taunt us, memories that haunt us daily. Our hearts may beat, we may breathe the dust-filled air of this old, creaking house, but none of us really live.

We hide behind locked doors. Closed off from one another, trapped in our own versions of hell.

Ivan bleeds for the woman he destroyed, fucking women in the studio where his wife slit her wrists. He craves that one moment of blissful release because its the only way he can find peace from the guilt hell never be able to outrun.

Erik is a prisoner to his own memories, the west wing of the manor his personal jail. It wouldnt matter if Ms Hadley left the doors unlocked because hes never been able to escape the nightmares of his past. Theres no freedom in being free, not for him.

And me? I crave the impossible. I search for something Ill never be able to have. I search for colour, any shade other than the faded monochrome that surrounds me. I use drugs, willing to chase the dragon just for a glimpse of its fiery breath, and as a result insomnia plagues me. Not that it matters, there is no comfort in the arms of sleep, only more torture, more anguish, more pain, more fucking grey.

It's a thankless colour. A colour thats bland, dull, lifeless, drab. Its the colour of nothingness, of the space between day and night, light and dark. Its the colour of punishment, of a fathers disappointment. Its the brittle cold mist that hangs over Browlace Manor in the middle of winter. Its the colour of aging, of paper thin flesh over brittle bones, of ash and dust, of smoke. Of everything that happens after life. Its Svetlanas gravestone that sits nestled amongst the wood she once loved to roam in.

Grey is the remains of dreams, of whispers painted along the edge of sanity.

And the one thing, the only thing that keeps me from losing my mind entirely are my pencils, paintbrushes and the possibilities of an empty canvas. The small shard of hope, that one day I might finally be able to breath colour into my life through art.

Pushing open the door to my studio I turn on the light switch, objects take shape, forming slowly as my eyes adjust to the sudden change. This room is my sanctuary. Its the only place where I feel a little less ghostlike and a little more alive.

In the far corner of the room a large canvas leans against the wall, a painting of the woman Ive been trying to recreate for the past two years. Even from where I stand, I know it hasnt captured her. It pales into insignificance.

How can I capture someone so pure, so free, so innocent, so full of colour, life?

For months, following my arrival at Browlace Manor, shed been my muse. Shed posed for me in my studio here.

Shed come willingly at first.

Shed laid bare so that I could draw every contour of her body; the sharp point of her jaw, the curve of her breasts and hips, the thatch of hair between her legs, the dip of her waist under a ribcage that expanded with anticipation and exhaled with desire. She was young, only twenty-two and had the soft plumpness that comes with being so youthful.