2. Chapter 2

Chapter two

T he drive from the airport in Colorado Springs to the sleepy town of Echo Falls took less than an hour, but it was like entering an entirely different world.

The urban jungle of steel and concrete gave way to open spaces and oceans of green for as far as the eye could see. The houses became increasingly smaller and older, while the yards that surrounded them grew exponentially. Instead of dogs and cats, animals like goats, pigs, and chickens roamed front lawns. One place had a horse just hanging out by the porch.

To Storm Black, it felt like coming home.

As a kid from a rural town in the Texas panhandle no one had ever heard of, he couldn't have imagined he would one day leave his family farm for the bright lights of the movie industry. If someone had told him back then that he'd grow up to be an actor with fans all across the globe, he would have laughed in their face.

By the gods, that seemed like a lifetime ago. In the past five years, everything had changed. He'd gone from sharing a two-bedroom apartment with three other guys, to living alone in a hillside mansion in upstate New York. The way he walked, talked, and dressed had changed. His smile. His mannerisms. His group of friends.

His name.

That last one had been the hardest to adjust to. There were still times when someone would call his name on set, and it would take him a moment to realize they were talking to him. Apparently, Steven Blackburn wasn't glamorous enough for the film industry.

"Damn, would you look at that."

Beside him in the backseat of the rental SUV, his best friend and co-star, Damien Frost—real name—leaned across him to stare out the window. His auburn locks fell forward to hide one side of his face, and his bronze highlights gleamed when the sunlight caught them just right.

Slight in build with soft features and enormous jade eyes that dominated a heart-shaped face, he was the quintessential "pretty boy." He also happened to be a pro at navigating the line between being personable and personal. A skill Storm hadn't quite mastered yet.

Goddess, he'd nearly dissolved into a panic attack the first time an interviewer had asked him what kind of shifter he was. Maybe it was a question he should have anticipated, but he'd never had anyone ask him so bluntly before. Worse had been when she'd insisted he transform into a mountain lion right there in front of the cameras.

He still didn't know what he would have done if Damien hadn't come to his rescue. The werewolf had smoothly and deftly diverted the conversation to less dangerous topics, and he'd done so in a way that had made the interviewer think it was her idea.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he followed Damien's gaze to the enormous gothic castle in the distance. Everyone in the paranormal world had heard of the infamous Blackhaven Manor, though few ever had the opportunity to stay within its walls.

The hotel might cater exclusively to Otherlings, but only to those with deep pockets. Or those willing to scrimp and save for months or even years to spend a single night in one of its rooms.

To an outsider, the description probably sounded bitter, but Storm didn't have an opinion one way or another. He saw a stay at the Manor akin to a trip to Disney World or going on a Caribbean cruise.

It wasn't just lodging. It was an experience.

"Did you hear that we're getting around-the-clock personal assistants?" Damien asked, settling back onto his side of the car. "That could be fun."

Storm shrugged. "Sure."

They typically had some type of aid on set who brought them water and snacks. It was a welcomed perk, but he couldn't imagine why he would need a dedicated assistant. He already had his manager breathing down his neck, and the idea of some stranger following him around twenty-four hours a day made him itchy.

The driver slowed to a stop in front of a set of wide steps flanked by massive stone dragons. Huge, arched double doors stood open in anticipation of their arrival, and a couple of staff members hurried out to greet them and retrieve their luggage.

For safety reasons, his manager or one of her assistants would typically check him into a hotel upon his arrival. Then he would slip in through a back door or a private elevator to get to his room.

It all felt very clandestine, and frankly, unnecessary, but as Damian liked to remind him, he was a celebrity now. Which meant certain protocols had to be followed.

Thankfully, the Manor had been closed to outsiders for their three-week stay, which meant he could walk right through the front doors like a regular person. Of course, once they started allowing people inside for the fan meetings, he would have to be more cautious. For now, however, he planned to enjoy this small bit of freedom.

A statuesque female with dazzling blue eyes that seemed to peer right into his soul met them just inside the lobby.

"Welcome to Blackhaven Manor, gentlemen. I'm Skye Maddock."

Her voice held a musical quality, and the smile she gave them appeared natural and sincere. She was beautiful, no doubt, not to mention charming, but instinct told him it was all a calculated fa?ade. Not fake exactly, but definitely exaggerated.

In that moment, he felt a certain connection to the female. He knew what it was like to always be "on." He understood the fatigue of upholding a particular image, constantly questioning every action and word.

"Storm Black," he responded, taking her offered hand in a gentle grasp. "We're excited to be here."

"Very much so." With a mischievous wink, his co-star nudged him out of the way, taking Skye's hand and bringing it to his lips to brush a delicate kiss over the knuckles. "Damien Frost."

Instead of the blush and giggle he'd likely expected, Skye arched one sculpted eyebrow and pulled her hand free with a bit of a snap. Storm turned his head and coughed into his fist to cover his laughter.

It was all for show, of course. He knew for a fact that Damien was so gay he couldn't even think straight. The thinking part—or lack thereof—was what often led to hilarious mishaps like the one he'd just found himself in.

"Right," Skye said after a significant pause. "I'm sure you're eager to see your rooms after a day of traveling."

As if summoned by magic, two male staff members appeared on either side of her, dressed in identical uniforms of white slacks and black button-downs. The one on the left, a willowy male with big, bright eyes, stepped forward to stand directly in front of Damien.

"Arlo Eichen. I'll be your personal assistant during your stay. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to let me know."

"Actually, I could go for a cup of coffee. Where can I get that?"

Clearly excited to be of service so soon after their meeting, Arlo nodded eagerly and began ushering Damien across the lobby. "Right this way."

Storm watched them go with a crooked grin, then turned back to the other male. "I guess you're with me?"

"Yes, sir." With his hands clasped together behind him, he stepped forward, but unlike his companion, stopped short of invading Storm's personal space. "Kingston Mathers, but you can call me King. Anything you need, I'm happy to help."

Oh, he was a cutie.

Storm estimated he had a few inches on the guy and at least fifty pounds. Unlike Arlo's wiry physique, King was all soft lines and gentle slopes. With round cheeks, blond curls, and a smattering of freckles on his otherwise fair complexion, he checked every one of Storm's boxes.

And those eyes. He had never seen eyes such a vibrant green. They didn't sparkle, though. They didn't gleam. Instead, they appeared lost, haunted, and it broke his fucking heart. No one that stunning should look so damn sad.

"Would you also like some coffee?" he asked when Storm said nothing. "Or I could show you to your room, if you prefer."

"My room, I think." Traveling always made him feel gross, and he wanted a quick shower and a change of clothes before he struck out to explore the castle.

"Of course. Right this way."

As he turned, his hair fanned out behind him, wafting the most enticing scent directly at Storm. It was sweet, with just a hint of spice, kind of like dark chocolate and cinnamon, but more complex.

Storm inhaled deeply, drawing the fragrance deep into his lungs.

Instantly, his heart tripped, stuttered, then kicked into a furious rhythm, thundering wildly against his ribs. Warmth, like pure sunshine, blossomed in the pit of his stomach and spread out to encompass every cell in his body. His hands shook. His fangs elongated. A deep growl vibrated his vocal cords.

Then, before he could even question what was happening to him, all hell broke loose.

Reacting on instinct, he lunged forward, grabbing King by the elbow to whirl him around. He hated the fear that shined in those brilliant green eyes. Even more, he hated he had put it there, but he couldn't find the words to reassure his mate. Hell, he couldn't seem to find his voice at all.

"Storm," Damien called his name as he approached. "What are you doing?"

With a firm grip still on King's arm, he faced his friend with a menacing snarl. "Mine!"

Well, at least he'd found his voice, even if it was too deep and contained way too much gravel.

Damien looked back and forth between him and King several times before nodding. "That's great, but you're hurting him. Ease up, dude."

Bullshit. He would never hurt his mate. "Mine!"

"Yeah, I heard you the first time, but seriously, you need to chill." His gaze flickered to King again. "You're scaring the shit out of him."

"No freaking way!" Arlo shouted. "You're mated to Storm Black?"

The resulting gasps and murmurs that rippled through the lobby finally pulled Storm from his stupor and dropped him rudely back into reality. With great effort, he retracted his fangs and shook his head to clear it. Once he had regained a bit of control, he loosened his grip on King's elbow, though he didn't release him completely.

"Are you okay?" The growl was gone from his voice, but he still sounded like he'd been chain smoking for the past fifty years. "Did I hurt you?"

"I'm okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, really. You didn't hurt me."

"Did I scare you?"

"You startled me, sure, but I'm not scared."

Detecting no deception through his body language or chemosignals, Storm nodded. "I'm sorry. I don't really know what came over me, but that's no excuse."

A shy smile curved King's lips, and he reached up with his free hand to brush a stray curl away from his eyes. "Meeting your soulmate isn't something that happens every day. It looks pretty intense."

Understatement of the century, and far more leniency than he deserved.

"Are you okay?"

Now, the guy was worried about him? Forget leniency. It was the man himself Storm didn't deserve.

"I will be." With great reluctance, he finally released his grasp and dropped his arm to his side. "I think we probably need to talk, though." He glanced sideways at the eager expressions on Damien and Arlon's faces. "Alone."

King chuckled, and though it was quiet and lacked force, it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

"Come on. I'll show you to your room. I think that's about as much privacy as we're going to get around here."

"How good is your hearing?" Arlo asked, his eyes locked on Damien.

Damien, the fucking traitor, gave him a Cheshire grin. "Excellent."

Palming his friend's face, Storm gave him a playful shove. "Go away."

"Oh, fine." Damien huffed dramatically, but his smile never dimmed. "We'll talk later."

King laughed again as he watched the pair disappear across the lobby toward the bank of elevators. "I thought Arlo was bad enough."

"Damien is worse." He really wouldn't put it past the wolf to post up outside of his door to eavesdrop.

"Don't worry. Your rooms are on different floors in separate wings." King leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Plus, I know the head of security."

King was taking the news of their mating better than Storm had any right to expect. Really, though, he was just glad to see that the haunting sadness had disappeared. At least, for the time being.

Whatever had put that look in his mate's eyes wasn't a surface-level problem. That kind of pain ran deep, and he imagined it wouldn't stay hidden for long.

"Hey, King. I hear congratulations are in order."

King looked over his shoulder at an approaching elf with sandy hair and a knowing smile. "I think everyone heard that, but thanks."

"I guess you got your wish."

His brow furrowed, and he titled his head. "What do you mean?"

The other male blanched but recovered quickly and turned his attention to Storm. "Oliver McKenzie. It's nice to finally meet you."

Storm relaxed as he shook the elf's hand. "You wrote the screenplay for Checking In ."

"I did."

"If you have time later, I'd love to pick your brain about my character."

His face split into a wide grin as he tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. "I was hoping you'd say that. How about dinner tonight?" He glanced at King. "Unless you have other plans?"

"Tonight is fine," King answered. "You should bring your mate."

Storm shrugged. Whatever his mate wanted was fine by him. "Sure. That sounds great."

"Stay here." He pointed at the floor. "Don't move. I'll go make a reservation."

Storm gave him a mock salute. "Yes, sir."

"He looks happy," Oliver mused as they watched King hurry over to the row of registration counters.

"Does he not usually?"

"Oh, he does. He's the nicest guy you'll ever meet. A little excitable maybe, but utterly selfless."

Storm frowned. Granted, they had just met, but excitable was the last word he would use to describe his mate.

"It's just…" Oliver trailed off and sucked his bottom lip between his teeth.

"What?" True, it would be better to hear it from King, but he would take whatever help he could get.

Oliver shook his head. "Maybe it's nothing, but he seems different lately. Kind of…"

"Sad?" he supplied.

"I was going to say quiet, but yeah. Sad."

"And he hasn't said anything about why?"

The elf shook his head again. "Not a word. Maybe he'll talk to you."

Storm wasn't arrogant enough to think the guy would open up to him—a virtual stranger—when he refused to reveal his problems to his own friends. Then again, the magical bond between them defied logic, so maybe the idea wasn't that farfetched. Either way, it wouldn't stop him from trying.

And if he found out that someone had hurt his sweet mate, may the goddess have mercy on them because he sure as hell wouldn't.