Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Chloe

S ympathy fills me as I watch Holden curl in on himself.

I remember being insecure like that, and it pains me to see this tender man still hurting from something that happened in childhood.

"I wouldn't have guessed you'd been pudgy or nerdy." When his hazel eyes flick up to meet mine in surprise, I lean closer. "But the most interesting people start out as awkward kids, don't you think?"

His uncertain gaze sweeps over me. "Sounds like you have some experience with that."

"We all have our pasts and our insecurities." Wanting to put him at ease, I give him a teasing smile. "And we've already trauma bonded over a cake disaster, so there's no reason to stop now."

Holden chuckles and moves our empty plates to the sink before bringing out a knife and drawing the Rice Krispie Treats we made closer. "How big of a square would you like?"

I tilt my head in contemplation. "Well, that depends on if I'm allowed to have seconds."

As he cuts the dessert into squares, his laughter fills the room, and the easy sound warms my heart.

"How about this?" He brings the entire pan over. "You can eat as many as you want until they're gone."

"Challenge accepted." I eye the ingredients still on the counter. "Though, if we run out, we can always make more."

"Bold for someone who claims not to know how to bake." He scoops out a sticky square, waits for me to do the same, and raises it in a toast. "Deal."

Giggling, I tap my treat against his and take a bite. The amount of marshmallow puff we crammed into the mixing bowl makes the mouthful melt on my tongue, and I let out a moan. "You've ruined me for the store-bought ones."

"Well, I should hope so." A pleased grin forms on his lips. "I'll make you as many as you want while you're staying at Misty Pines."

"You better be careful with that promise," I warn, "because I'll empty your pantry of rice cereal and marshmallows."

He arches an eyebrow. "Then I'll just send Kyle to the mainland to buy more."

As I pluck another square from the pan, strings of marshmallow puff stretch upward then break off, leaving a trail of sugary sweetness. "Was it hard to adjust to island life?"

He swallows his mouthful. "It was a learning curve, especially with grocery shopping. I had to learn to prioritize how fast things spoil and plan our meals accordingly."

He takes another bite of his treat, savoring the taste. "I'm working on a garden behind the Homestead, which also comes with a learning curve. I'd never gardened before, so the first year, I ended up with way too many zucchinis, and all my tomatoes fell over."

"It's incredible that you can grow anything," I say, impressed by his multiple skills.

"Is your black thumb limited to the kitchen, or does it extend to plants as well?" he teases, surprising a laugh from me.

"Guilty as charged. Even succulents wither up and die as soon as they come through my door," I admit, a little sheepish. "So, did you switch from computer science to culinary school? Or a business degree? How does one study to prepare for running a resort?"

"Business degree. I already knew how to cook for a crowd. With so many kids, we had a strict grocery budget, and my pappa taught me how to make food stretch." Pride shines in his eyes.

"That kind of knowledge must have been invaluable when your pack decided to build Misty Pines."

"It did." He looks at me with curiosity. "Do you have any siblings?"

The question dims my good mood. I didn't grow up in a warm household like his, and he'd be horrified if I told him we had a chef to make our meals.

"I'm an only child," I say.

He pulls another treat from the pan. "Does the black thumb run in your family?"

"My mom was never interested in anything to do with house chores." I nibble on my bottom lip. "We…didn't live alone until my sophomore year of high school, and by then, she was too set in her ways."

Holden catches on to the meaning under my words, and his expression softens. "Oh, no, was it a dissolution of bond?"

Dissolutions are rare. Pack bonds develop on a cellular level, so breaking that bond hurts all parties involved. People have been known to go crazy from a bond breaking.

But my parents weren't like that, and the truth sits heavy in my chest.

At my silence, his eyes widen with worry that he crossed a line. "Actually, it's none of my business. I shouldn't have asked."

I shake my head, wanting to wipe away the look of guilt on his face. "It was a separation of pack. My parents weren't bonded. My mother married into the pack and was exclusive to my father."

Or, she was supposed to be. I spent sixteen years, secure within my place in my father's pack, honored as the acknowledged heir. But the second my mother's infidelity was revealed, the ease with which my father cut me out proved that it had all been an illusion.

Holden's gentle gaze fills with sympathy. We're quite the pair, indulging in a pan of Rice Krispie Treats born from a disaster. An Alpha with a loving family who somehow still grew up fearing rejection, and an Omega afraid of showing her true colors because the most important people in my world already rejected me.

Holden has nothing to fear now, though. He's found a pack that values him.

Me?

I'm left still wondering if I'll ever find a bond strong enough to withstand the storm.

The soft purr of my laptop fan fills the room.

I sit at my desk, clad in my favorite red panda onesie, with my hair piled on top of my head in a messy bun. My computer glasses perch on the tip of my nose as I focus on the screen.

The inspiration fairy had finally deigned to show up, and the words are flowing.

Despite that, the afternoon sun casts long shadows through the window in a reminder that I'm far from hitting today's word goal. I blame it on sleeping in late after staying awake until dawn.

I had a hard time settling down last night, unused to the sounds of the island. Without the low thrum of city traffic for a background, I found myself flinching awake at every tap of a branch against the window and snap of a twig, my mind playing tricks and spinning stories of serial killers or ravenous bears.

I eventually pulled out my eReader, and the steamy monster romance had made me forget everything, including the time. But the story left me inspired and itching to indulge in writing some smut featuring an adorable Alpha who bakes.

My fingers fly over the keyboard, the sultry scene unfolding before my eyes. My heart races as I imagine the way his strong hands would knead the dough, the scent of vanilla cake surrounding him like a sensual cloud.

Last night, Holden and I shared dinner in the kitchen, then devoured two-thirds of the pan of Rice Krispie Treats together, the sticky marshmallow sweetness clinging to our fingers.

A small smile plays over my lips as I recall the warmth of his laughter, his hazel eyes twinkling beneath a canopy of thick lashes. The slight pinch to his ears only adds to his allure, sparking the idea of wicked elves who lure unsuspecting maidens into the den.

Too bad Holden is a gentleman, and I had to let my imagination finish the night alone back at my cabin.

If Grady knew what I was working on right now, he'd be furious. He wants me to focus on "serious" writing, but doesn't everyone deserve a little indulgence now and then?

"Stuff it, Grady." Catching my bottom lip between my teeth, I allow my naughty Alpha elf to bring out the cream, and the sensual scene turns downright dirty.

Thirty minutes later, I hit a roadblock in my story. I snatch up my troll and stroke its neon-blue hair against my cheek as I reread the last few paragraphs. Pillow talk? Cut to the next morning?

Unsure of how I want to continue, I stretch my arms above my head and stand from my desk, taking a moment to ease the tension in my shoulders.

Maybe I need a brief break.

Wandering over to the small dining table, I unload the box of gifts from my fans. My fingers trace the edges of the hand-drawn fanart, each piece inspired by the world I created. Happiness fills me as I snap pictures, sending them to Grady, who runs my social media account.

My phone vibrates in my hand, and Grady's picture appears on my screen.

A smile on my lips, I answer. "Can't you see I'm working?"

"I can see you're not working on what you should be." He chuckles. "Are you avoiding writing?"

"I'm taking a break." I glance back at my laptop. "My characters are being difficult."

Excitement fills his voice. "Does this mean you're plotting the spin-off series we discussed?"

My shoulders tense. "Well, no… It's just a silly little thing to get my muse going."

He sighs. "You're scared."

I stiffen at the accusation. "Why would I be scared?"

"You're afraid of success," he says with a tenderness that takes the sting out of the words. "I have to force you to have social accounts, and it was like pulling teeth to convince you to do the book tour. But change is good . Yes, success means more trolls and critical reviews, but it also brings in fans who love your stories. This is what we've been working toward since we got your first manuscript published."

"I know." My shoulders hunch, because he's not entirely wrong.

While I am afraid, it's not in the way he thinks. Becoming too popular would draw out people from my past that I'd rather stay buried. My mom already receives a monthly allowance, and she's the least of the evils I left behind.

All my secrets would be exposed if even one person connected Aurora Storm to Chloe Sinclair, disgraced Omega daughter of the Mosswood Sinclairs.

The book signing in Pinecrest was too close to my hometown for comfort. I only agreed to it because no one from my old high school would ever expect me to make something of myself.

It helps, too, that I did a private name change the moment I turned eighteen, dropping the well-known last name to become a more common Richardson. No one searching for Chloe Sinclair will find any record from the last eight years.

I bite my lip, and the flavor of strawberry gloss bursts on my tongue. While Grady may be right, I crave something new, something different. Something with a naughty elf who bakes. It might be silly and never make it out of my digital filing drawer, but it's what I want, and this is my retreat from reality.

"Okay, so I'm a little scared," I admit, my toes curling inside my rainbow llama slippers. "But that's not the only reason, Grady."

"Fine, I won't push anymore," he says in a tone that makes me feel like I'm disappointing him. "Just don't let fear hold you back from taking your career to the next level. I want what's best for you."

"I know you do." My gaze shifts back to the fan gifts, the proof that readers love what I've already created and still want more from that world.

"Good." His voice softens. "Now, stop sending me things to post, and get back to whatever is inspiring you at the moment."

"Will do."

We say our final goodbyes and hang up, but when I turn to my computer, guilt and expectation crush my enthusiasm for returning to my elf and maiden.

Instead, I continue to sift through the box, and my fingers brush against a lone envelope nestled among the gifts. Grady handles all the fan letters, screening them to ensure none disrupt my creative mojo. This one must have slipped through the cracks.

It can't be that bad, right?

I hesitate, the weight of the letter heavy in my hands. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open the envelope, pulling out the folded letter inside. Blocky, precise handwriting fills the single sheet.

Dear Aurora Storm,

I cannot express how much I adore The Fairy and the Dragonlord series.

The praise brings on a warm flush of pride, but also a bittersweet ache. How a Dragon Stole the Fairy's Heart (and Her Tiara) had been my final farewell to a universe I've lived and breathed for years. When I said goodbye to those characters, it was like parting with old friends, leaving an empty spot within me.

Your vivid descriptions and the chemistry between the characters kept me enthralled from beginning to end. I truly felt as if I were living in that enchanted world, experiencing the love and passion firsthand. Thank you for creating this masterpiece. Your talent is a gift, and I eagerly await your next work of art.

My hand presses to my heart, touched that my story had such a tremendous impact on this reader. At the same time, it adds to the pressure to continue the series.

I flip the note over, and a chill goes down my spine.

Each time we meet, the call of the dragonlords draws me to you, my fairy princess. Yearning fills me for the day we will become one in the sacred flight and forge our fated bond. I know you feel our connection, too, and I see the message hidden in your words.

Soon our union will come to pass as our destinies demand,

Your True Dragonlord

Pulse racing, the piece of paper flutters from my fingers, all the warm feelings from a moment before gone, leaving me unnerved.

This is why Grady screens my fan mail. My hand shakes as I bend to pick up the letter and quickly fold it, sliding it into the envelope. I set it aside, intending to pass it along to him later.

Anxiety fills me, putting me in the wrong headspace for creativity. I slip off my rainbow llama slippers, revealing my bubblegum nail polish, and sit to put on my sneakers. Some fresh air and nature might help clear my mind.

Holden promised the construction workers would stay off the guest paths, and with no one else on the island, I don't bother changing out of my comfy onesie. I need to breathe in the beauty of the wilderness and exhale the bad mojo from that creepy letter.

I pull up my hood to hide my vibrant pink hair, tweak the little pointed ears on top for happiness, and step outside into the crisp afternoon.

The sun filters through the surrounding trees, casting dappled light over the ground, and the scent of earth and pine needles fills the air. I inhale deeply, and the tension slowly ebbs away.

Born in the city, nature has never been my thing, but Misty Pines inspires the inner explorer I never knew existed. With a determined stride, I head off down a narrow dirt path that winds through the woods near my cabin. The sound of leaves crunching beneath my sneakers adds a rhythmic beat to the birdsong and the distant crash of waves against the cliff wall.

As I walk, the sun begins to set, alerting me that dinner will be served soon up at the Homestead. The thought leads back to Holden with his golden-brown curls and the scent of vanilla cake. The decadent sweetness drew me in with the craving to investigate further, to discover how sweet he tastes.

My face warms, and I take another deep breath to cool my libido. If my imagination continues to pursue those thoughts, I'll never be able to sit across the table from him again without blurting out something embarrassing.

Like how I want to nibble on his clean-shaven cheeks and suck on the pinched tips of his ears.

With a mental slap, I look around. Dismayed, I realize no logs mark the path to keep guests from getting lost. I'm in the wild, with no idea where my cabin is.

Worried now, I turn, my sneakers crunching on a carpet of fallen leaves as I search for where I went off course.

Dusk has set, making everything look different and harder to see. My heart races, my breath turning shallow. This was supposed to be a simple walk to reduce my stress, not make it worse.

Why did I ever think stepping out into nature would reduce my stress? I'm no explorer. I can't even read a map.

I spin in another circle, spot a path leading uphill, and hope sparks to life. Surely it must lead to the Homestead, or at least somewhere recognizable.

Clinging to this lifeline, I set off with renewed determination not to be defeated by Mother Nature.

As I make my way upward through the darkening woods, an eerie stillness replaces the peaceful birdsong, sending a shiver of trepidation through me. My imagination resurrects serial killers with ski masks and machetes hiding out here, waiting for a poor, unsuspecting woman in a onesie to stumble by. The skin between my shoulder blades itches, and I sense that someone is watching me.

A loud crackle of breaking branches echoes through the trees, shattering the silence like a rock thrown through glass, and my heart jumps into my throat as adrenaline floods my veins.

"It's not a bear," I whisper, remembering that the website didn't mention the wildlife on the island.

The crash comes closer, and the bush to my left shakes.

I lurch backward. "It's not a bear…"

A black, shadowy beast leaps out from the bush, slamming into me with enough force to send me tumbling to the ground.

Screaming, I thrash beneath the monster. Slick, cold fur brushes my face as it clambers over me, its weight pressing down with an undeniable, predatory intent.

Fear grips me as I realize I'm about to be mounted by this creature from the depths of hell.

"Is this punishment for dabbling in monster porn?" Desperation laces my voice. "I promise never to buy another tentacle dildo again if I survive this!"

As suddenly as it began, the nightmare ends. The crushing weight lifts from my body to leave me lying on the ground, gasping for breath and trembling with aftershock.

The world swims back into focus, and my heart leaps into my throat as a pair of work boots appear in front of me. The worn, scuffed leather shows the steel toes beneath where it rubbed off in one spot, and mud clings to the rubber soles.

Serial killer shoes? Fresh from burying a corpse and ready for his next victim?

With a gulp, I force myself to look up, up, up to a familiar face with a bushy beard. "Tutu guy?"

He squats in front of me. "Did you say tentacle dildo?"

A whine of protest escapes me, and I pull my hood lower. Being claimed by the hell beast would have been less embarrassing than this.