Page 4 of What the Hex
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 façade. 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.”