3. Chapter 3

Chapter three

A fter spending a good portion of the morning in his cabin, Owen had donned his sweater jacket and headed down to the lake. Lounging in the sun on the banks of the water with a designer playlist had sounded like the perfect way to pass a few hours.

Alone.

Not exactly ideal, especially in a festival environment, but he'd grown accustomed to solitude. Besides, it would be safer for everyone if he avoided crowded spaces. Even the simple act of buying a coffee from the lobby café had felt like navigating a complicated maze. Only, the obstacles were other people, and none of them remained still for long.

After a close call with a clumsy fairy, he had seriously considered taking advantage of the hotel's room service. Again, it would be the safer option, but ultimately, spending the entire week locked away kind of defeated the purpose of attending the Spooktacular in the first place.

He'd spent a couple of hours by the lake, soaking up the sun and enjoying the quiet until his rumbling stomach had become too uncomfortable to ignore. Pausing his music, he'd brought up the Manor's website to search for food options while he trudged up the hill toward his cabin.

With the exception of a few fae on the forest path that led to the treehouse suites, he hadn't seen another soul outside since his arrival. Distracted by his phone, and confident that he was mostly alone, he hadn't given much thought to his surroundings. Not until the hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood on end, and a low buzz started in his ears.

It was a feeling that every creature on the planet recognized, even if they had never experienced it before. The feeling of being watched. Stalked. Hunted. The oppressive weight of a stare that triggered an innate sense of self-preservation.

Abandoning the pursuit for lunch, he snapped his head up, searching for any potential threat. He didn't have to look far. His gaze immediately landed on a massive male dressed in solid black standing a few cabins down from his own.

Despite the sizeable distance separating them, Owen couldn't move. Every muscle in his body seized, his feet rooted to the ground, and his chest constricted, making each subsequent breath painful and shallow. His heart drummed erratically against his ribs, shaking his entire body until it felt like his very soul was vibrating.

So fixated on the male, he hadn't noticed his companion—an equally intimidating female—until she stepped away from an evergreen at the corner of the building. She watched him, her bright eyes alert, but her body language appeared far less intense. While she might have been surprised to see him there, she didn't give the impression that she might rip his face off for existing.

The male, on the other hand, still hadn't looked away, and even without supernatural senses, Owen could hear the audible growl emanating from the guy's throat. It was deep, primal, and it seemed to be growing in volume.

Yet, despite every instinct he possessed telling him to run, or at the very least, appease the beast, he wasn't afraid. Not truly. A nervous energy filled him, and adrenaline flooded his veins, but he wouldn't call it fear. The stranger could snap him like a twig without breaking a sweat, but Owen knew he wouldn't hurt him.

Where that confidence came from, he couldn't say, nor did he understand why he accepted it with such ease. He didn't know this man, had never even seen him before, but at the same time, there existed a familiarity about him. Some part of him, long buried and untouched, recognized and reacted to this stranger.

To his overwhelmed senses, the realization seemed to take an eternity, but really, only seconds had passed. When reality finally came rushing back, however, he still didn't move or speak.

He didn't trust it. He couldn't. What he thought he felt made no fucking sense, and he worried he'd only end up humiliating himself by making the first move. There also happened to be the issue of his…disability.

As someone who barely counted as an Otherling, he didn't have the greatest understanding of the different races. Considering the male's size and demeanor, Owen guessed him to be a shifter, possibly a werewolf, but he'd been wrong before. Besides, he'd begun to realize that even non-magic users weren't completely safe.

Shifters might not be able to cast spells or brew potions, but that didn't mean they possessed no magic at all. They just had a different kind. Intrinsic. The ability to transform into an animal—either completely or partially—wasn't exactly a learned behavior anyone could copy.

Sadly, to someone like Owen, the type of magic didn't matter. He still absorbed it, still transferred it, whether he wanted to or not.

"Hey, there!" the female called. Stepping toward him, she forced his attention away from her companion. "Are you a guest at the hotel?"

"Y–yes," he stammered, his voice hoarse from disuse. With a deep breath to steady his nerves, he cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm staying there." For emphasis, he pointed to the back door of his cabin. "I'm sorry. Who are you?"

With the way they were dressed, coupled with their unnatural alertness, he thought they might be security. Maybe even special guards brought in for the festival.

"I'm Seneca." She sounded pleasant enough, but she didn't smile. "This is Fenix. We're Guardians of Princess Iliana Nightstar."

Holy fucking hell. Guardians? He'd heard about them, of course, but he'd never seen one in person. Then again, he'd never met royalty, either. Given what little he did know about them, he understood that the female was under no obligation to share that information with him. He also didn't get the sense that Seneca was in the habit of explaining herself.

He just didn't know what it meant.

"I wasn't aware anyone else was staying in the cabins."

Well, that made two of them, but he had assumed he would have neighbors at some point. Given the popularity of the Manor's festivals, it only stood to reason that the hotel would be at full capacity.

"I'm quiet, and I keep to myself," he blurted. "I won't be a problem."

For the first time, a small but genuine smile curved the corner of her lips. "I believe you. What's your name?"

"Oh, sorry!" Shit, he couldn't believe he'd forgotten something so basic. "I'm Owen." Reluctantly, his gaze slid past her to Fenix. "It's nice to meet you."

Hoping to ingratiate himself, even just a little, he moved his headphones down to hang around his neck and pasted on a bright smile. At best, he hoped for reciprocation. At worst, total indifference.

What he hadn't expected was for the male to let loose a violent growl that echoed through the forest as he charged at him.

Thinking back on it later, he would probably claim to have overreacted. In that moment, though, all those pretty poetic thoughts about trust and familiarity went right out the fucking window.

As an avid nature lover, he had watched a plethora of documentaries warning him not to run if chased by a predator. Instead, he should make himself appear bigger, more intimidating, and create a lot of noise. While the advice might be good in theory, it was next to impossible to follow with more than two hundred pounds of pure muscle barreling down on him.

So, rather than stand his ground, he did what anyone in his situation would have done. He dropped his phone, screamed like a banshee, and sprinted in the opposite direction.

Which took him right back the way he had come.

With too much momentum and not enough coordination, he tripped over nothing more than a tuft of dying grass and went tumbling ass over teakettle down the hill. He flipped and rolled, grunting in pain every time he slammed against the ground. Fortunately, he found a nice, soft landing at the bottom before he could plunge into the cold waters of the lake.

Unfortunately , that stopping point happened to be a face plant into a couple of inches of soggy mud.

Cold, wet, caked in the gods only knew what, and utterly mortified, he no longer gave a flying fuck about being mauled or eaten. In fact, he welcomed it. Death would certainly be kinder at that point.

Struggling up on his knees, he wiped at his eyes while he coughed and sputtered, expelling as much dirt as he could. Both his jacket and the shirt underneath clung to him, and the frigid water seeped through the denim of his jeans. The back of his head throbbed, likely from hitting the ground so many times, and to top it all off, he'd lost his glasses during the fall.

Overwhelmed with negative emotions and teetering on a whole ass breakdown, he dropped his head back and yelled to the sky in frustration. It actually felt pretty damn good. Well, until the sky yelled back in the form of booming thunder before unleashing in a violent downpour. On the bright side, at least the rain washed away most of the mud.

Completely dejected, he hung his head and rounded his shoulders against the onslaught.

"Fuck, are you okay?"

At the sound of the deep voice, Owen scrambled to his feet and took several steps back. Clearly, he wasn't as ready for death as he thought.

The shifter held his hands up in a consolatory gesture. "Easy. I'm not going to hurt you. It's Owen, right?"

He nodded silently.

"I'm Fenix."

He nodded again.

"Are you okay?"

This time, instead of a nod, Owen arched an eyebrow at him.

"Right. Stupid question." Fenix cursed again as he dragged his fingers through his wet hair. "Let's try again. Are you hurt?"

"My head hurts."

He immediately clamped his lips shut again, unsure as to why he'd said that. It was the truth, but a white lie probably would have been the better choice. Besides, it wasn't like he needed a doctor or a medic.

Fenix's eyebrows drew together in concern, and he stepped forward with his hand outstretched. Without hesitation, Owen took another step back, maintaining the distance between them.

The shifter's expression morphed from concern to sadness to anger, and eventually, acceptance, all in the span of a heartbeat. "It probably doesn't mean much, but I really am sorry. I would never hurt you."

Oddly, Owen believed him, but he still had questions. "Why did you run at me like that?"

"I lost control." Another sigh. "A pretty poor excuse, I know, and I don't blame you if you never want to see me again."

Owen frowned. Yes, he'd been scared, but despite everything, he wasn't angry. He certainly had no intentions of ghosting the guy. The whys of it didn't make a lot of sense to him, and moreover, he really couldn't comprehend why it would matter to Fenix.

"Can I please take a look at your head? I just need to know that you're okay."

Well, that was kind of sweet. Not going to happen, but still, aww .

He shook his head and took another step back. "That's not a good idea."

"It's okay if you don't trust me." Fenix tried to smile, but it strained at the edges. "I don't blame you. Will you let me take you to the castle to have a medic look at it?"

"I'm okay. Nothing serious." The look on Fenix's face tugged at his heart, and he couldn't resist explaining himself. "It's not that I don't trust you." It was true, even if he had every reason not to. "I'm an accipere ."

He waited for the shock. The disdain. This time, he felt sure Fenix would be the one to retreat. Instead, the guy laughed.

"Is that all?"

"You know what that is?" A lot of Otherlings did, but not all. It was always a relief when he didn't have to elaborate.

Fenix nodded.

"I don't know how to control it."

"That's okay. I'll control it for both of us." As he spoke, he took another step forward. Then another.

Against all his better judgment, Owen remained motionless, studying the Guardian while he waited for the guy to come to him.

Even drench, with water dripping from the tips of his hair, he was stunning. Dark brows framed deep-set eyes, and his plump lips parted slightly, revealing the tips of his canines. Muscles flexed beneath his shirt as he moved, and the sodden fabric highlighted every hard ridge and defined valley.

When he reached toward him, Owen flinched. He had spent so long avoiding touch, it had become as natural as breathing. Fenix must have noticed, but he didn't react. He didn't pull away. His long fingers threaded through Owen's wet hair and slid around to the back of his head.

"Yep," he confirmed as he gently inspected the area. "You've got a pretty good knot there. Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous?"

"Nauseated," Owen corrected, then immediately wanted to die. "Uh, no, nothing like that," he continued quickly. "I'm fine. Really."

Fenix bobbed his head, but he didn't remove his hand. "I'd still feel better if you saw a medic."

"I think an ice pack will be enough." The shifter's touch felt nice, but it had already been several seconds, and he didn't want to push his luck. Stepping away, he dragged a hand over his face and flung the water away. "I wouldn't mind getting out of this rain, though."

"Good idea." Fenix made a similar motion, wiping the water away from his eyes. "You said you're in the last cabin?"

Owen nodded. "I need to find my glasses." He patted his pockets and sighed. "And my phone."

"Come on, tal— " He cut off abruptly and cleared his throat. "I'll help you look."

Owen frowned, curious as to what he'd meant to say. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Fenix answered gruffly, turning away from him. "Let's go."

Great. He'd freaked out, completely humiliated himself, and now, he'd pissed off the only person to show him even a modicum of affection in longer than he could remember. Not just anyone, either, but an elite Guardian.

Gods, he really should have stayed home.