Chapter One #2
The crowd went absolutely wild as the spotlight trained on me.
The music kicked in, the first slow and sultry notes of “Baby, I’m Electric.
” I’d surveyed the Stepchild when I arrived, so I knew this place was huge, but I hadn’t quite registered what that would mean when it was packed with fans, shoulder to shoulder, screaming my name.
With the only lights in the room coming from the illuminated cell phones and the spotlight trained on me, it was suddenly enormous, and also completely isolating at the same time.
My skin felt hot and tight and I willed my bear to stay inside…
“Synamon! Syn! Honey!” Men were calling out my name, telling me how gorgeous I was. Declaring their undying love for me.
“Let me claim you, baby!” another one called out, earning hoots and hollers from everyone around him.
I blew a kiss to the crowd as I started my act. I’d practiced dozens of times, but the stage was so much bigger than the tiny spare bedroom I usually filmed in. Not that I ever let anyone see that room, claiming it was my junk room. But now, I’d suddenly let everyone in.
As the guitar kicked in, the terror faded away and I felt something I’d never felt before.
Liberated.
On this stage, I was Synamon Honey. Ellie wasn’t even part of the equation.
The Redheaded Stepchild was my universe, and everyone in it was madly in love with me.
I was their queen. Instead of letting that realization scare the shit out of me, I leaned into it and gave my fans the best performance of my life.
But between you and me, I have another secret: it wasn’t a performance at all. This was me. I was Synamon Honey.
My bear was right—uptight Ellie was an act.
A trauma response.
A security blanket.
And if I wasn’t careful, I could get addicted to this feeling of absolute freedom.
The song came to an end, welcoming another round of thunderous applause and more proposals for marriage and mating.
That was when I spotted Brad, standing in the middle of the crowd, a good head above most of the others, glowing like he had his own personal spotlight shining on him.
A chill went down my spine as everything, everyone else faded away.
A hand on my shoulder startled me back to reality. “You can head backstage now, Ms. Honey,” the emcee said softly, almost apologetically.
Jen waited for me on the side of the stage with a fuzzy robe and a dozen roses.
“Girl,” she said emphatically. “That was in-fucking-credible. I swear to the moon something came over you.”
“I know, it was crazy.” My voice didn’t even feel like it belonged to me, echoing as the cheers, the pleas for my return rang in my ears. My body shook with pure adrenaline. “It was such a rush.”
“Think you might want to do it again?” Jen waggled her brows at me hopefully.
“Because the stage manager is interested in booking you on a regular basis. Like, creating a night around you. I know it seems like we’re in the middle of nowhere, but this place is shifter central.
It’s perfect. He says they’ve never sold out an event so fast.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to say yes. A million times yes. Book me until my boobs started to sag and no man, shifter, human, or otherwise, was interested in looking at my ass ever again.
But instead, practical Ellie entered the chat.
“Let’s see how I feel after the night is over.”
Jen groaned as she opened the door of my dressing room. She stood in front of it, crossing her arms once again, not so much in manager mode. It was big sisterly, sick of her best friend’s shit mode.
“Synamon Honey,” she said my name like she was about to ground me for two weeks.
“You were straight fire on that stage. Seriously, you’re a natural.
Every single person in that crowd was in absolute awe of not only your performance but your presence.
I’ve never felt such raw energy before. Every man out there wants to fuck you.
And the ladies who didn’t want to fuck you? They want to be you.”
I scoffed. “How excited will they be if they come see it every week? Or month, or whatever.”
“This isn’t whatever.” Jen rolled her eyes. “How many subscribers do you have?”
“Like, six hundred thousand?” The number went up every day, and honestly? I was a little embarrassed to say it out loud. It felt like bragging.
My bear rolled her eyes, knowing full well that Synamon Honey owned that number.
“Your retention rate month-to-month?”
“Ninety-eight percent.”
Jen softened. “Look, I’m not talking to you as your manager. This is your best friend speaking.” She grasped my shoulders. “I saw something in you tonight that I’ve never seen before. Girl, you’re a star. This can be so much bigger than Only Bears, if you let it. Stop holding yourself back.”
There were so many excuses on the tip of my tongue right now, but they were dead on arrival.
It wasn’t just that Jen was right—I felt different.
I could blame it on the adrenaline, the sold-out crowd, or the absolute adoration was usually reserved for the comment section.
But I loved being Synamon Honey. Even if I knew it couldn’t last forever.
I needed to take advantage of this opportunity.
“Okay.” The word came out softly, like I hadn’t just made the biggest declaration of my life.
Jen’s face lit up, and she was just about to pounce on me with a hug. I held up my hand and added, “but let’s see how I do with the meet and greet line before we commit to everything.”
Some of that glow faded. “Seriously, just channel whatever you did on that stage and they’ll all be eating out of your hand.”
The butterflies started doing gymnastics in my belly when I found Brad waiting for us on the other side of the door.
“Ready?” he asked, all business.
I nodded, swallowing an unexpected pang of disappointment. Maybe what had happened when he introduced himself and then onstage was simply lightning in a bottle, something that I couldn’t easily create. The practical Ellie side of me was relieved I hadn’t agreed to those return engagements yet.
A swarm of mostly men and a few women waited for me in the side bar room that had become my meet and greet area. Jen got right to work, checking tickets, collecting money, and sending people over to me.
Brad stood close to the table, his gaze surveying the line.
“You were really great up there,” the first man said as he slid his Synamon Honey calendar across the table for me to sign. “I drove all the way from Missoula to see you.”
“Wow, thank you so much. I hope you have a safe trip home,” I said as I signed it.
“Can I take a picture with you?” the next guy asked hopefully.
I glanced at Jen, who nodded.
“Sure.” I smiled and leaned forward.
The man put his head close to mine and pressed the button on the screen. “Told you I’d meet her. Synamon, can you say hi to my buddy—”
“You asked for a picture.” Suddenly, Brad was right there and every word was tipped with a growl.
“Sorry, man.” The guy stopped the video. “Can I still get the picture?”
“No,” Brad said at the same time I said, “Yes.”
My fan smirked at my bodyguard as we took the selfie.
Brad glowered as the man walked away.
“They paid a lot of money,” I whispered, sounding too much like Ellie for my own comfort.
“They need to respect your boundaries.” He crossed his arms, and it had a completely different effect than when Jen did it. Less scold, more tear some heads off.
“Will you sign my arm?” the next guy asked as he rolled up his sleeve.
“Sweet moon, do you have a tattoo of me?” It was done in pinup style, with a peach cobbler.
“Yes.” His cheeks pinked. “I just couldn’t get enough of that video, so I wanted to have a piece of it with me everywhere I go.”
“I don’t know what to say. I’m so flattered.” I leaned forward, emblazoned my name on the bare skin below the tat, and added a little crescent moon for flourish.
Another confession—I was apparently full of them tonight—this signing had me floating on cloud freaking nine. My lives, videos, and posts got countless comments gushing about my performance, but it was easy to discount them when I was home by myself. But here, in person, I felt nothing but love.
What a rush.
“Hi—” I was just about to ask the next fan’s name when Brad stepped in and put his big, strong hand on my bare shoulder.
“We need to go. Now.”