2. Chapter 2
Chapter two
I t was Arlo Eichen’s first Heritage Festival since coming to work at Blackhaven Manor, and he had…thoughts.
The event itself slapped . The lavish décor. The ornate costumes. The lively music. The magical enhancements that made the gothic castle come alive. It meant arriving at work each day felt like walking into a carefully crafted fairy tale.
And don’t even get him started on the marketplace.
Three conference rooms had been combined and transformed into a bustling shopping center brimming with magical wares. Vendors showcased everything from practical goods, like beautifully crafted bowls, to fantastical wonders, such as dragon figurines that looked and acted like real pets.
Arlo had been eyeing a little green dragon for days. Too bad the price tag was well outside his budget.
The entertainment lineup could only be described as flawless, featuring renowned musicians, hilarious comedians, and breathtaking aerial acrobats. The hotel had booked some of the biggest names in their respective industries, and Arlo had been eagerly anticipating their performances since the schedule had been finalized.
He even enjoyed the drama. The chaos. In fact, he thrived in the nonstop thrum of excitement that blanketed the Manor.
It was the people, the arrogant, entitled guests who felt like having money meant the world owed them something. That was why the staff secretly referred to the event as Hell Week.
Hitching his smile a shade brighter, he wove through the throng of people gathered in the ballroom. He had given up on trying to do his job properly, so instead of handing out crystal flutes filled with champagne, he had resorted to balancing the tray on his shoulder.
That way, when someone unexpectedly snatched a glass without so much as a glance in his direction, he didn’t have to worry about the uneven distribution upending the entire thing.
With his free hand, he ringed his collar, tugging lightly at the material. His tuxedo fit well, but he found it stuffy and uncomfortable, and the blinding shade of white gave him anxiety. Sure, it made his ass look stunning, but it would be a miracle if he made it through the evening without a single stain.
Skye clearly cared more about aesthetics than she did practicality. But hey, he wasn’t the one footing the dry-cleaning bill. If she wanted to be extra for the sake of vibes , he could roll with it.
Scanning the crowd for empty hands or half-filled glasses, his gaze landed on the most imposing figure he had ever seen. Since he worked with dragons, werewolves, and a freaking hellhound, that said a lot.
At least six-and-a-half feet tall, the guy towered above everyone else. An inky tuxedo wrapped around his broad frame, lovingly hugging every rippling muscle. Cut into a short, sophisticated style and parted to one side, his silver-white hair shimmered like starlight and emphasized his sharp cheekbones.
Everything about him screamed danger, including the empty space that surrounded him. It was as if he stood in the center of an invisible circle, an implied boundary that no one dared to cross.
Intimidating, yes, but also, stupid hot.
A shiver of desire rippled through him as he raked his gaze up the male’s chest and over the gleaming buttons on his dress shirt. He kept going, drinking in every detail as he moved along the corded column of his throat, over a chiseled jaw, a set of perfectly kissable lips, and a high-bridged nose.
Their gazes met. Held. And eyes the color of a summer storm—ghostly green with flecks of gray and gold—seemed to pierce right down to his soul.
Rather than look away or duck his head in embarrassment at being caught eye-fucking a stranger, Arlo remained fixated.
The space between them burned with tension, and while he didn’t know what it meant, it felt big. Important. As if he stood at the edge of a life-defining moment.
Then the guy arched a manicured eyebrow and smirked, a cocksure smile that instantly sent his blood pressure into the stratosphere.
The hotel didn’t have regulations against fraternizing with guests. And even if it did, he had never been very good at following the rules. Even during working hours. Like that time the hotel had hosted a fan meet and greet for a couple of famous actors.
He didn’t talk about that, though. Even his best friend didn’t know that he’d snuck away during the event to hook up with a member of the set crew.
Bringing himself back to the present, he found the male still staring at him, still wearing that sinful smile full of challenge.
He smiled back.
Challenge accepted.
A tug near his navel propelled him forward, urging him across the room. This walking wet dream had clearly come to fish, and Arlo was only too happy to take the bait. That probably made him an idiot, but whatever. Being well-behaved had never led to anything worth talking about later.
He took a step, then another, his cheeks heating at the way the stranger’s eyes caressed him from crown to sole. Not in an admiring way. Not in a way that said he liked what he saw. No, nothing so tame as that.
He stared at Arlo like he owned him.
Still balancing the tray on his shoulder, he clenched his other hand at his side to hide its trembling. He forced one foot in front of the other, closing the distance between them as his heart pounded frantically against his ribs. With every step, his bravado faltered, leaving an opening for doubt to slither in and echo all his insecurities back to him.
This guy, with his perfectly tailored suit and aristocratic features, could have anyone at Blackhaven Manor, an entire hotel filled with beautiful shifters and ethereal fae. Which begged the question—why him? What made him different? Worthy?
It also occurred to him that he had possibly misread the situation. Maybe this handsome stranger merely wanted a drink, and that eyebrow flash had been a nice way of insisting Arlo hurry his ass up.
So, which was it? Did this stranger see something special in him, or had he just embarrassed himself in ways even his grandchildren wouldn’t live down?
Only one way to find out.
“Hi,” he blurted as he came to a stop in front of the male, his voice steady but quieter than he had intended. “I’m Arlo. Arlo Eichen.
The male’s smirk deepened, and the intensity in those stormy eyes held him captive with a promise of something significant shimmering beneath the surface.
“Itri Lockwood,” he replied, his voice tinged with a classy British accent wrapped in a smooth, velvety rumble.
Arlo clenched his hand tighter and cleared his throat, desperately trying to regain his composure. “Would you like a drink?”
“I would.”
He didn’t reach for the flutes, though. Instead, he waited patiently, still smiling while Arlo selected a glass and passed it to him by the stem. Their fingers brushed during the exchange, just the whisper of a touch, but the contact sent a jolt of sensation across Arlo’s hand and up his arm.
“There you go. Enjoy.” He sounded like a fucking robot, but he really couldn’t help that at the moment. He just hoped the guy didn’t hold it against him.
“Thank you.” Itri dipped his head and brought the glass to his lips, but his eyes never strayed from Arlo’s.
The air around them seemed to crackle with energy as an undeniable current flowed between them. Arlo had never experienced anything like it before, and it both intrigued and terrified him in equal measure.
“So, what brings you here tonight?”
The moment the words left his mouth, he dropped his gaze and groaned.
Smooth. Real fucking smooth.
The guy hadn’t just waltzed into some seedy bar with overpriced beer and questionable music. They were standing in the middle of a lavish ballroom, surrounded by expensively dressed Otherlings, all for one very specific purpose.
Eventually, he forced his head up to meet Itri’s gaze again, searching for how badly he had screwed up. Instead, those haunting eyes softened and danced with a hint of amusement.
Only, it appeared to be directed inward instead of at him.
“You, apparently.”
The words hung in the air between them, laden with unspoken possibilities. Arlo’s breath hitched, a mix of exhilaration and uncertainty swirling inside him. He couldn’t deny the explosive chemistry, but lingering doubts still urged caution.
“Me?” He tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at his mouth despite the butterflies in his stomach.
“You.” Itri took another step toward him, closing the gap and taking up far more space than seemed logical. “Can’t you feel it?”
Arlo’s pulse quickened, and the world around them faded into a blur of color and sounds. He did feel something . He just didn’t understand it, and as such, he wasn’t sure if he should trust it.
It didn’t feel like a pick-up line or manipulation, and the sincerity had him totally off his game. While he admitted to a terrible habit of saying exactly what popped into his head, he took a moment to consider his next words.
“I feel a pull.” Choosing his words carefully, he placed his free hand over his bellybutton to emphasize his point. “I feel like maybe we’ve met before, but I’m pretty sure I would remember if we had.”
Itri chuckled, the sound smooth as aged whiskey. “I will take that as a compliment.”
He nodded. “You should, but that’s not the point.”
“Tell me what the point is, dove.”
Dove? A little old-fashioned, but coming from Itri, it didn’t sound forced or cheesy. It actually sounded kind of nice, and it made him feel all warm and weightless. It made him feel…special, like he mattered.
“You’re a shifter, right?”
“I am,” Itri confirmed. “Storm dragon, if you want to be specific.”
Arlo’s mouth fell open, and he stared stupidly. He worked for a dragon shifter, so he knew of their existence. Beyond Skye and her brothers, however, he had never met another draken, and honestly, he had kind of wondered if others existed. He supposed he had his answer now.
So, not only was the guy physically imposing and hot as sin, but he also happened to be one of the most powerful Otherlings in the world. Awesome. Arlo loved that for him.
Yet it did nothing to explain why the hell he was flirting with the freaking cater waiter when he could be charming the panties off literally anyone else.
“Dance with me.”
“What?” He’d heard the words. He understood them. At the same time, he needed a minute to register the request.
“Dance with me,” Itri repeated, holding his hand out, palm up.
If he’d been asked where he saw his night going, being approached by a dragon shifter for a dance wouldn’t have even made the list of possibilities. When he’d first spotted the male, he had thought they might exchange names and maybe plan to meet up after his shift ended.
This was something else entirely, and he floundered as he tried to figure out how to navigate it.
“I’m working.”
“One dance,” Itri pressed, that roguish smile doing funny things to Arlo’s stomach. “Don’t worry.” He leaned closer and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I know the owner.”
Arlo barked out a surprised laugh, and the knot in his stomach loosened a little. “I guess…” Trailing off, he glanced over his shoulder, checking on the other servers milling around the ballroom. “Okay. One dance.”
“Excellent choice.” He took the laden tray from Arlo’s shoulder and placed it on a nearby high-top table wrapped in icy blue silk. Then he returned to offer his hand once more. “Shall we?”
Arlo hesitated briefly before sliding his fingers across the shifter’s palm. An electrical current hummed against his skin from the contact, traveling up his arm and spreading throughout his entire body. His pulse pounded out a quick staccato, and his mouth turned arid as Itri led him out onto the dance floor.
Itri pulled him close, molding their bodies together from chest to hips. Gentle yet firm, his hand settled against Arlo’s lower back, guiding him effortlessly in time with the music.
The warmth of the embrace seeped through the layers of formal wear, a sensation that both comforted and excited. It wasn’t just the physical closeness that overwhelmed him, either. It was the intimacy in the way Itri held him, as if they had done this a thousand times before.
Summoning his courage, he lifted his head to meet the shifter’s gaze, a gasp catching in his throat when he found a mixture of amusement and tenderness shining back.
This close, he found the male’s physical features even more captivating. His sharp jawline and high cheekbones gave him an air of otherworldly beauty, and the playful smile that stretched his lips disarmed with its genuineness.
Still, Arlo’s gaze kept going back to his eyes. He couldn’t put it into words, but there was an intensity in his stare, a magnetism that made it impossible to look away.
The scent of woodsy cologne mingled with the faint aroma of champagne, creating an intoxicating blend that made his head spin. And all around them, the ballroom blurred into a haze of soft lights and muted colors, the chatter of guests fading into the background.
In that moment, only the two of them existed, and his would-be suitor remained the perfect gentleman. His hands never wandered too low. Never gripped him too hard. Yet Arlo had also never felt so alive. So seen. So…desired.
When Itri’s cheek came to rest atop his head, the dragon’s warm breath fanned against his ear, sending a shiver racing down his spine. The contrast between vulnerability and safety taunted and confused, and he found himself questioning if it was just an elaborate dream, something too perfect to be real.
He dismissed the idea as quickly as it came. Honestly, he had never been this creative, nor had he ever experienced anything so visceral. Every touch, every look, felt primed with unspoken promises and silent confessions. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, it might not end in utter disaster.
The melody gradually ebbed, bringing their dance to an end.
But not his ability to utterly humiliate himself, apparently.
As the final notes faded, his stomach chose that moment to grumble like a disgruntled bear waking up from hibernation. Heat immediately crept up his neck and flooded his cheeks. Instinctively, he lowered his gaze, praying the ground would open up and swallow him.
Itri wouldn’t let him hide. With a finger under his chin, he gently urged Arlo’s head up, forcing him to meet the shifter’s gaze.
“Have you eaten?” he asked, his voice quiet and filled with concern.
Arlo chuckled, though it sounded as shaky as he felt. “My shift is almost over. I’ll grab something later.” He wasn’t used to someone trying to take care of him, and he didn’t know how he felt about it. “I’m fine,” he added when the guy continued to stare at him with a raised eyebrow. “Really.”
Itri’s expression softened, but it did nothing to lessen the determination that sparked in his eyes.
“You have to eat,” he insisted, his tone inviting no argument. With his fingers still under Arlo’s chin, he scanned the ballroom, nodding to himself when his gaze landed on one of the banquet tables in the back corner. “Wait here. I’ll be back shortly.”
Before Arlo could think of a response, he walked away, striding across the floor with the confidence of someone on a mission to save the world. Arlo watched him go, a mix of gratitude and mild panic bubbling up inside him.
This couldn’t be real.
While he liked himself just fine, he had enough awareness to know that he wasn’t typically anyone’s first choice. Even then, these types of situations never resulted in anything more than a no-strings-attached bit of fun.
Itri seemed to have a lot of strings, a lot of…expectations.
And that scared him a hell of a lot more than a simple one-night stand.
As the realization took root, his cinematic meet-cute moment came to a grinding halt—complete with slow-motion music and a screeching record skip. He had been told to stay put, and while part of him wanted to obey, a bigger, louder voice screamed for him to run.
He didn’t have anything against fairytale romances or happy endings. He just didn’t believe they happened for everyone. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be that special. Some people, like him, could only do their best and hope the universe threw them a bone every now and again.
With a brief glance at Itri’s back, he sighed heavily, retrieved the tray of champagne, and prepared to return to reality.