Page 45 of What the Hex
Then Cyrus switched to a recording of him and Owen in what appeared to be a friendly conversation. There was no audio, so Storm couldn’t be sure what they were talking about, but both of them were smiling. At the end of the conversation, they shook hands.
The time stamp showed only fifteen minutes had passed since the first clip.
Finally, the hellhound brought up the footage of Owen making his way onto the stage to shake Storm’s hand. That had happened nearly an hour after Owen and Cyrus’ interaction.
The evidence was irrefutable, and the timeline made sense, but Storm couldn’t wrap his head around it. Why would Owen want to curse him, let alone two strangers, that by all appearances, he had been amiable with during the evening?
“He’ll be at the fan meeting tonight,” King announced, speaking for the first time since they had entered the room. “I think we should plan to talk to him before the event starts to avoid any disruptions.” His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. “Taking him to the side during registration would probably be better than dragging him into the security office. We don’t want to scare him.”
There was no accusation or anger in his voice, though no one would have blamed him if there had been. Instead, he spoke matter-of-factly with clear action steps, the way he might approach a broken pipe in one of the guest rooms.
“I agree,” Cyrus said. “We don’t want to spook him and risk being hexed again.”
“Or piss him off,” King countered. “We still need his help with Nita.”
As a human, now that they were bonded, it was assumed King would receive what many referred to as a paranormal upgrade. Things like heightened senses, immunity to diseases, and faster healing were some of the first and most common of these enhancements. In King, however, the most notable changes—so far—had been cerebral.
There was a calmness about him now. He seemed clearer minded and less anxious, less indecisive. When choosing what to eat for breakfast, he hadn’t spent ten minutes fretting over what he wanted to eat versus what he thought he should eat. Instead, he’d compromised by simply adding Greek yogurt and fresh fruit to his waffle.
When it came to selecting an outfit, he had chosen comfort over style, recognizing it would be a long, exhausting day that required him to be on his feet for hours at a time. Storm still thought he looked stunning in his dark-washed jeans and lavender V-neck, but he acknowledged that it wasn’t something Daniella would have approved of.
Given King’s previous jealousy and dislike of Owen, he had expected more of an aggressive reaction to learning the male had caused this mess. He’d even anticipated an I-told-you-so. Or two.
Maybe it was his infusion of supernatural blood, or maybe because he simply felt more secure in his and Storm’s relationship. Whatever the reason, he now possessed an air of confidence that hadn’t been there before.
While Storm would never want to change anything about his mate, he did like this more assured version of him. Not because he thought there had been anything wrong with King before, but because the guy seemed happy. Content and comfortable in his own skin.
“He might already be here,” Storm offered, referring to his troublesome fan. “Fifty or so people have been lined up outside since sunrise.”
Damien had once told him they did that so they could be the first through the doors to get a front-row seat, but it still sounded extreme and unnecessary to him. After five years of this fame gig, he probably should have been used to it. Yet, he doubted it would ever be normal to him.
Cyrus immediately turned to the collection of monitors on the back wall and began clacking away at the keyboard. Within seconds, the center screen showed an enlarged view of the portico in front of the hotel. Unlike the crowd gathered beyond the police line in the parking lot, the fans waiting to enter sat in a neat row, chattering amongst themselves.
Which made it pretty easy to spot Owen’s colorful mohawk in the lineup. Alone, and apparently uninterested in engaging his fellow partygoers, he leaned against one of the stone lions with his legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. Wearing a pair of oversized headphones, he had his head tilted back and his eyes closed.
The picture of ease, he didn’t look like he had a care in the world. He sure as hell didn’t give off the appearance of someone returning to the scene of the crime after cursing three people.
Storm couldn’t decide if it was cockiness, indifference, or something else, but the whole vibe felt strange. “Are you sure it’s him?”
“I think he’s someone worth talking to,” Cyrus responded.
When he swirled around in his seat and started to stand, however, King stopped him with a hand to his shoulder.
“I think someone else should go get him.” He glanced up at Storm with an apologetic smile. “If either of us step outside, it’s going to be chaos.” Then he returned his attention to the hellhound. “And no offense, but you’re kind of scary on your best day.”
The guard smiled at this. “Thanks.”
Somehow, Storm didn’t think his mate had meant it as a compliment. “So, who do we send?”
“Arlo,” King answered without hesitation. “He’s charming and non-threatening. Plus, he’ll love the chance to put on a performance.”
Storm admitted to being slightly biased since the guy happened to be his mate’s best friend, but Arlo did seem perfect for the task. There wasn’t an intimidating bone in his body, and just a few minutes in his presence could brighten anyone’s day.
“Alright,” Cyrus announced, pushing out of his chair…and actually making it to his feet this time. “Go get him.”
“Should we meet at the café?” Storm suggested.
King shook his head. “Too many windows. We don’t want to start unnecessary rumors.”