Page 46 of What the Hex

Ah, good point. Priya was still seething over the lake incident. Probably best not to test the limits of her patience.

“How about my dressing room?” he offered instead.

Technically, it was one of the Manor’s many conference rooms, but for the duration of filming, it had been transformed into his respite while on set. It was private, as well as non-confrontational, and it wouldn’t set off any alarm bells when they brought Owen in.

“That could work.” King gave him one of those dazzling smiles before turning to Cyrus. “What do you think?”

“I like it. I’ll head there with Storm and clear out anyone in the vicinity.”

“I’ll send Arlo out and wait for him and Owen in the lobby,” King added. “We’ll meet you guys in a few.”

As they all started to leave, Storm caught his mate by the elbow and spun him around. “Be careful and don’t touch him.”

With a sweet, indulgent smile, King pushed up on his toes for a quick, chaste kiss. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” He stole another kiss, then pulled free of Storm’s grasp. “See you in a minute.”

By the time Storm caught up with Cyrus, the hellhound had already sent any lingering staff on their way with strict instructions not to return until notified. Then they entered the modified conference room and waited.

Storm settled down on the emerald-green loveseat and tried to appear casual. For an actor, it should have been easy, but thinking about King being near Owen without even a sliver of protection made it hard to relax.

His companion, however, didn’t even attempt neutrality. He stood just a few feet from the door, arms crossed over his chest, and a perma-scowl etched into the lines of his face.

“Dude, chill. We’re supposed to be making him feel comfortable.” He waved a hand, indicating the hellhound’s tense posture. “You look like you’re going to bite his face off as soon as he walks through the door.”

Cyrus growled, but he moved over to the table that had been pushed against the wall, dragged out one of the chairs, and flopped down on it. It didn’t help. The guy looked no less brutal.

Thankfully, Storm didn’t have to worry about it for long. No more than five minutes had passed when there was a soft, perfunctory rap at the door, and King stepped into the room. Owen followed behind him with Arlo bringing up the rear. They all appeared calm, and Owen even wore a slanted smile. He clearly had no idea why he’d been summoned, but he seemed pleased by the invitation.

“Come on in,” Arlo said, his tone light and pleasant as he directed Owen to one of the two armchairs. “Have a seat.”

While Owen followed the instructions, Arlo sashayed over to Cyrus and hopped up on the table to sit. He leaned back on his palms and swung his feet, looking for all the world like a kid waiting for the bus. King, on the other hand, moved to sit beside Storm on the loveseat with a much more stoic expression.

“How do we start?” Storm asked, using his telepathic link to his mate. “Do we just ask him why he cursed us?”

“I don’t really know. I was hoping Cyrus would take it from here.”

Storm glanced at the hellhound. “Maybe that’s not such a good idea.”

Before either of them could decide how to proceed, Arlo took the burden from them.

“So, you’re a witch?”

Owen’s eyes widen, and the blood drained from his face, leaving him sickly pale. “What did I do?”

Storm didn’t know what the hell to think. That certainly hadn’t been the reaction he’d expected. “You’re not in trouble.” Yet. “We just have some questions for you.”

“Yeah,” Arlo interjected. “Like, why did you hex my friends? Not cool, bro.”

“I–I hexed someone?” A mortified groan rolled from Owen’s chest, and he dropped his face into his hands briefly before looking up at them again. “Are they okay? Did I hurt someone?”

Okay, this was getting weird. Storm had come into the room expecting to confront an asshole with a chip on his shoulder. The poor kid sure as hell didn’t fit that description. In fact, he looked like one wrong word would eviscerate him.

“No, you didn’t hurt anyone,” King said kindly. Inching to the edge of the cushion, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and linking his fingers together. “Maybe we should back up a little. You are a mage, right?”

Owen nodded. “Yes.”

“And you did curse someone at the last event?”

He chewed his bottom lip as tears welled along his red-rimmed lids. “I don’t know. If I did, I swear I didn’t do it on purpose.”