Luca's POV
"I want to have an art show," I announce one morning.
Rian looks up from breakfast. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. Share my work. Maybe sell some pieces." I twist my hands nervously. "Is that okay? Or does being Luna mean—"
"It means whatever you want it to mean." He takes my hands. "You want an art show? We'll make it happen."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that." He kisses my knuckles. "Your dreams matter, Luca. Always."
Two weeks later, he's transformed a building in town into a gallery.
"Rian, this is too much—"
"Nothing is too much for you." He's everywhere—hanging paintings, adjusting lights, perfect. "Your first show should be perfect."
Opening night, I'm terrified. What if no one comes? What if they hate my work?
Rian senses my anxiety through the bond. He pulls me aside, cupping my face.
"You're brilliant. Your art is brilliant. Everyone will see what I see—pure talent." He kisses me softly. "I'm so proud of you, baby."
"Thank you. For believing in me."
"Always."
The gallery fills quickly—pack members, neighboring packs, human art collectors. My paintings line the walls—landscapes, portraits, abstract pieces showing my journey from captivity to love.
The centerpiece is a portrait of Rian—half-human, half-wolf, golden eyes burning with love.
"You captured me perfectly," he murmurs, standing behind me as we view it.
"I painted what I see. My mate. My love. My everything."
He turns me, kissing me deeply despite the crowd. "I love you. So fucking much."
"I love you too."
The show is successful—multiple pieces sell, collectors request commissions, critics praise my "raw emotional honesty."
Afterward, celebrating alone in the gallery, Rian pulls me close.
"How does it feel? Accomplishing your dream?"
"Incredible. Scary. Perfect." I kiss him. "Thank you for making this possible."
"You made it possible. I just provided the space." His hands slide down my back. "You're talented, Luca. The world needs to see your art."
"You're biased."
"Extremely. But also right." He lifts me onto a display table. "Want to celebrate properly?"
"Here?" I glance around. "Someone could—"
"I own the building. It's closed. Just us." His eyes are amber. "Let me worship my talented mate."
I can't resist him. Never can.
Later, thoroughly celebrated and satisfied, we lie tangled on the gallery floor.
"This is insane," I laugh. "We just—in my gallery—"
"Christened it properly." He grins, unrepentant. "Now every time you're here, you'll remember this."
"You're impossible."
"You love me anyway."
"Unfortunately." But I'm smiling, happy, complete.
That night, in bed, he holds me close.
"I'm proud of you," he says seriously. "You're not just my mate. You're an artist, a Luna, an incredible person. Thank you for letting me be part of your life."
"Thank you for kidnapping me."
He laughs. "Best terrible decision ever."
"Agreed."
We fall asleep tangled together, both finally having everything we need.
Each other.