Chapter 1

Chapter One

Chloe

W hen I published my first fantasy romance series six years ago, I never expected it to lead to a secret identity, complete with a disguise.

I wince as I wiggle my blue contact lens, cursing under my breath. "I hate these things."

Grady pulls out a small bottle of eye drops from his pocket. "Here, let me help you, Chloe."

My shoulders slump with relief. "You're always so prepared."

"With how forgetful you are, I have to be." He steps closer, a smile playing on his lips. "You were like this in university, and you haven't changed at all."

"Hey!" I smack him in the chest. "That was a decade ago!"

"Eight years, and not a second longer." He frowns at me as he unscrews the cap to the eye drops. "There's still a little time before I'm thirty."

In mock-horror, I slap my palms to my cheeks. "Oh, no, you're so old. "

"Shush." He nudges my chin. "Tip your head back."

I tilt my face up, and Grady holds a tissue beneath my eye to protect my makeup. He squeezes a few drops out, and I blink, relieved when the lens settles into place.

Blotting the corner of my eye, he tosses the tissue into the trash can. "Better?"

"Much." I give him a weak smile.

"You have some flyaways." He adjusts my blond wig, tucking the natural strands of my vibrant pink hair into hiding. "Can't have your true color giving you away."

"Ugh, I hate this disguise." The pins holding the wig secure stab at my scalp. "Why did I let you talk me into this signing tour?"

"You're the one who decided to write as a Beta because you wanted to keep your true dynamic a secret." His hazel eyes catch mine. "I told you to debut as an Omega author."

"Just because it was my choice doesn't make it less annoying," I grumble.

The decision to hide my second gender as an Omega was born out of fear and self-doubt that people would link my pen name to me in real life. It worked, too, until I got popular enough for readers to want to meet me.

"Hey." He grips my shoulders, concern etched across his handsome face. "You just have to make it through this last signing, and then no more peopling for a while."

He breathes in deeply, and I do the same, the tight bodice on my dress squishing my boobs as I expand my lungs. His cologne of cedarwood and bourbon tickles my nose, comforting with its familiarity but itchy with artificial chemicals.

Betas like Grady don't have noses as sensitive as Omegas, so I've never told him that it bothers me.

Warmth shimmers in his hazel eyes. "Remember, you are the amazing author, Aurora Storm, and the readers who came today are here because they love your stories."

The words ease my anxiety, but it doesn't completely unravel the knot of nerves in my stomach. I glance around the small back room of the bookstore, taking in the cluttered shelves and dim lighting.

In a few minutes, I'll be signing books and pretending to be someone I'm not. It's exhausting wearing this disguise and hiding my true identity, but it's what I have to do if I want to keep supporting myself with my writing.

"Thanks, Grady." I reach up to fix the fall of his blond hair and straighten his tie. "Where would I be without you?"

"Probably still moaning and groaning over sending your first book to a publisher," he jokes.

I giggle. "It's a good thing you snatched it out of my hands and submitted it for me, then."

"That's why I'm your agent. I've got your back when you want to burn your manuscripts." He leans in to gently kiss my cheek, then backs away. "Come out in five minutes. You'll do great."

"Okay," I whisper, watching him leave the room.

Once he's gone, I take a deep breath and turn to triple-check my reflection. I need to make sure no sign of my true coloring shows through the artificial blond hair and blue-eyed persona I show the world.

This is the last signing. One more hour, and then I'm home free.

Determined to make it through the event without any problems, I add a few more drops of pheromone blocker to my necklace. It's tripling up on the scent-masking soap and body spray I used this morning, but it makes me feel safer.

This close to the finish line, I can't risk being discovered as an Omega, not when everything is finally going my way.

The slow tick of minutes passing gives my anxiety time to dissipate.

I straighten my shoulders, run a hand down my frilly dress, and slide on my fake cat-eye glasses. The rhinestone rim sparkles, and I plaster a smile on my strawberry-glossed lips.

I can do this.

When the clock on the wall shows five past the hour, I step out of the room. The faint scent of old books curls around me, mingling with the aroma of brewed coffee from the small cafe tucked in the back. Sunlight streams through the front windows without reaching the books.

I head through the tall shelves, passing plush armchairs that encourage customers to sit and read. Resisting the urge to snuggle into one with a good book, I approach the cozy nook near the cafe. Nerves set in when I spot the chalkboard sign with my name and the time of the signing displayed, and I take another steadying breath.

As I step out of the aisle, I realize the bookstore manager is still droning on from the front.

Crap. Grady hasn't introduced me yet.

I abort my arrival, duck back behind the shelves, and collide with a solid chest. I wobble on my platform sandals, nearly toppling over.

Strong hands grip my arms, catching me before I fall, and tingles rush through me. Heart racing, I look up into the face of a man who seems to have stepped straight out of a fairy tale. Or maybe not a fairy tale. More like a raunchy, motorcycle-club romance.

Tall and buff, he wears his long, chestnut-colored hair pulled up into a bun. A thick beard frames his square jawline, bushy enough to bury my fingers in.

Embarrassment blazes in my cheeks when I realize I'm staring. "Sorry, I didn't see you there."

"It's my bad for following too close." Cinnamon-brown eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. "Are you all right?"

The deep rumble of his voice sends a shiver down my spine. "Y-yes, thank you."

The scent of smoked applewood and cider envelops me like a warm embrace, pooling low in my stomach, and I tense as I realize he's an Alpha. A delicious, fantasy-inducing Alpha who smells divine.

As I step back, I can't stop my gaze from drifting down his body, only to come to a halt on the fluffy, pink tutu he wears over a pair of jeans. Sleeve tattoos snake around his muscular arms, and he balances a stack of my books in one hand.

"Shoot. My crown fell." He crouches, picking up a diamond, princess tiara from the floor and settling it on his head.

Oh no, he's a super fan .

Alarm surges through me, and I take another step back as I attempt a weak smile. "That's a very…nice outfit."

He chuckles, the infectious sound warming me despite the creeping panic setting in. He adjusts the diamond-speckled crown, and a rainbow-beaded bracelet slips down his wrist. "Think I pull it off?"

Before I can come up with a response, his nose twitches, and confusion furrows his brow. Fear shoots through me. He must be picking up on my Omega scent through all the blockers. My hand flutters toward my necklace, and he tracks the motion, his gaze sharpening with the beginning of suspicion.

My hand freezes inches from touching my lucky shamrock, not wanting to draw attention to it.

Grady's voice rings out. "Please welcome, Aurora Storm!"

"Well, that's me!" With a bob of my head, I spin on my heel and totter away from the weird, tempting man as fast as possible.

"Thank you so much for coming." The pen glides over the paper as I scribble my signature on the title page, adding a little heart next to my name.

"It's such an honor to meet you," the fan gushes, her eyes wide with excitement. "It took over two hours to drive here."

"I appreciate you making such a long trip." I smile up at her beaming face. "Have a magical day, and have safe travels on your way home."

Book clutched to her chest, she steps aside to make way for a tall figure with flowers in hand, and my smile tenses.

Simon Sullivan is one of my most dedicated fans. His limp, dirty-blond hair sweeps off to the right, covering one eye, and a small goatee gives definition to his weak chin. Dragon cufflinks and a blue-stone bolo tie adorn his all-black button-up shirt, the jewelry a nod to my series that both flatters and unnerves me.

"Aurora, congratulations on the new release!" The fanatical gleam in his dark brown eyes sends a shiver down my spine. "I read it again last night. It's just so amazing."

"Thank you, Simon," I say, trying to sound composed. "It's so great to see you here, too."

Because of my reservations, Grady only arranged five signings for my tour, and Simon has shown up at every single one of them.

"These are for you." He tries to hand me the bouquet, but Grady jumps forward to take the flowers from him, placing them with the other gifts fans brought me.

"Let me sign your book." I take Simon's copy of How a Dragon Stole the Fairy's Heart (and Her Tiara) , flipping it open to the title page. "To my hero. May the wings of eternity carry you to your next adventure."

It's one of six messages I've rotated through today in an attempt not to be repetitive when people have multiple books for me to sign. I scrawl my signature at the bottom with a heart at the end and pass the book back.

"Thank you so much, Aurora!" He slips it into the bag from the bookstore. "This one is for my collection."

He said the same thing at yesterday's signing. "I'm so happy that you love the series."

"Can I take a picture with you?" he asks.

"Sure." Brushing my hand over my skirt, I stand from my chair.

Simon leans over the narrow table between us, his cologne enveloping me. The artificial vanilla and pine scent, based on the male lead from The Fairy and the Dragonlord , tickles my nose, and I fight down a sneeze.

Several pictures later, Grady intervenes. "Thank you for always supporting Aurora, Simon. Have a safe drive home."

Annoyance flickers across Simon's face before he turns back to me and beams. "I can't wait for your next release. I'll buy lots of copies."

While I know the words are meant as encouragement, they settle on my shoulders with the weight of my fans' expectations. It takes me eight months to write my epic fantasy books, and the same day they come out, reviews pour in demanding another one. It's constant pressure.

When Simon doesn't move along, I smile again. "Your support means a lot."

His lips part, about to say something else, but Grady steps in, his voice firm as he glances at the people still waiting. "Thank you, Simon. We need to keep the line moving."

Simon hesitates for a moment, disappointment flickering in his eyes before he reluctantly leaves.

The next person takes his place, and my breath catches at the sight of Mr. Tutu. An adorable six-year-old girl grasps his hand, dressed in a matching pink tutu and tiara. Long, chestnut- colored hair cascades down her back, and excitement shines in her cinnamon-brown eyes.

She gives me a gap-toothed smile that tugs at my heartstrings. A father who'd dress up with his daughter is too sweet, and guilt berates me for thinking he was weird.

He releases the little girl's hand to set the entire stack of books from my series on the table. "Is it okay to bring so many?"

"Of course." The covers look worn and creased from reading. "Would you like them personalized?"

"Can you please dedicate them to Holden?" His deep, smooth voice warms me like melted chocolate.

"Certainly."

While I sign, the little girl peppers me with questions about being a writer, her excitement contagious. He observes the interaction with a softness to his face that can only be described as adoration.

What would it have been like to have a dad like him?

When I peek up through my lashes, my heart flutters. There's no denying he's handsome, even in the princess outfit.

"Here you go." I close the last book and push the stack back toward him. "Have a magical day, and don't let any dragons steal your tiaras."

"No one is getting my crown." He winks, and the little girl giggles.

They move away, and the child takes his hand again. "Blake, Blake! Can we have ice cream now?"

Disappointment crushes those pesky flutters. Obviously, he's taken, and Holden must be his partner. It's been so long since I've had the time or emotional energy to meet someone and form any kind of connection.

The longing for companionship tugs at me, an emptiness inside that demands to be filled. But I push the feeling aside and smile at the next person who steps forward in line.

The last of the fans trickle out, leaving me drained but grateful for their support.

Grady ushers me toward the back exit of the bookstore, his eyes scanning the area for any lingering admirers.

As we step outside, the cool evening air greets us with a gentle kiss against my flushed cheeks. I can't wait to take off this hot wig and change out of these clothes into something more comfortable.

"Another successful signing," Grady says, his voice warm and proud as he opens the trunk to stow away the presents from my fans.

A sense of satisfaction fills his tone, taking as much pride—if not more—in my success as I do. Without him, I wouldn't even be here. He's been such an integral part of my journey, and I owe him everything.

Settling into the passenger seat of his sedan, I let out a sigh of relief.

Blessed silence falls as Grady drives us away from Cornerstone Bookshop. The twinkling lights wrapped around streetlamps cast a soft glow over the streets, creating a magical atmosphere.

Pinecrest is an adorable coastal town. Grady had suggested that I rent a room so I could do some exploring before heading on to my final destination, and I now wish I had listened.

At the time, though, its proximity to my hometown of Mosswood made me want to get in and out as fast as possible.

"Your publisher is thrilled with this book's success." Grady glances over at me, a hint of excitement in his voice. "They're already talking about the next book."

Aware of where this conversation is headed, I tense. We've had this argument already, and it never ends well. "You know I want to focus on something new. My heart isn't in continuing the series, and I don't want to disappoint my readers by giving them something half-hearted."

"A spin-off would make both your fans and your publisher happy," Grady insists, his pushiness grating on my nerves. "You have such a gift for storytelling. Why not share more from the universe you've already created?"

"Maybe you should write the book if that's what you want," I snap, then regret the harsh words when Grady's face falls.

He was two years above me in university and the TA for my creative writing class. He recognized talent in my stories and worked with me to polish my first manuscript. Grady opened the door to the publishing world for me, but while my dream took flight, his never got off the ground.

"Grady, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it like that," I whisper, my heart aching with guilt. "I promise to think about it during my retreat, okay?"

He glances over at me, his hazel eyes searching mine before he gives me a tight-lipped smile. "It's all right. You're under a lot of stress. Just… will you give it more thought? For both your fans and yourself."

I nod, and the tension between us eases.

For the rest of the drive through town, Grady reminds me of my schedule for the next two weeks, which I've already memorized. But Grady is a worrier, so I let him talk it out without complaint.

A few minutes later, he parks at the small dock at the waterfront.

Before I can climb out, Grady turns to me. "I want you to know I understand how stressed you've been. I don't take it personally, and I'm always here for you."

"Thank you." The center console digs into my stomach as I lean across it to wrap my arms around him in a tight hug. "I'm so grateful to have you as a friend."

His breath ruffles against my ear. "Same. You mean so much to me, and I only want what's best for you."

My eyes sting, and I sniffle as I pull back to climb out of the car.

A salty breeze and the caw of seagulls fill the air, and I inhale a deep, cleansing breath before walking to the trunk.

Grady takes my heavy suitcases while I carry the box filled with gifts from my fans.

Sun-bleached wooden steps lead down from the parking lot to the dock, and the rhythmic lapping of waves against the pilings echoes throughout the small harbor.

Fishing boats of all sizes gently bob, their colorful hulls pock-marked with chipped layers of paint. Nets hang from weathered poles, long empty at this time of day.

We walk down the dock to a water taxi with the name Misty Pines Resort stenciled on the stern in cursive.

My heart flutters in anticipation. A retreat awaits me across these waters, a sanctuary of peace and tranquility where I can escape the pressures of my everyday life and let my creativity flow.

Or, at least, that's the plan.

A man with a closely cropped brown beard and shaved head hops over the side of the boat onto the worn planks in front of us.

"You must be Chloe Richardson! Welcome!" He tips his Scally cap at us before he grabs one of my suitcases and lifts it into the ship. "My name is Kyle, and I'll be your transportation to Misty Pines Island Resort."

"It's a pleasure to meet you." I pass him my box. "The pictures on your website are beautiful. I'm looking forward to my stay."

"We'll be at your service." He turns to finish securing my bags.

Grady kisses my cheek and steps back. "Enjoy your retreat. I'll call you in a few days to check up on you."

Kyle offers his hand. "May I help you on board? Those shoes look dangerous."

"I'd appreciate it. Otherwise, I might end up in the ocean." With his assistance, I board the water taxi, my balance wobbling as the boat dips.

"The trip will take about fifteen minutes." Kyle tucks my hand into his elbow and escorts me to a covered sitting area. "The best view of the island will be on the left side."

With a sigh of relief, I settle onto the cold, metal bench. The minute we arrive, I'm tossing these sandals into the nearest fire pit.

Kyle strides to the helm, and the engine rumbles to life.

The water taxi pulls away from land, and I twist to wave at Grady, who still stands on the dock.

The salty breeze tousles my wig as the shoreline recedes into the distance, and I face forward, eager for some uninterrupted time with just me and my muse.