Page 41 of Fae Devoted (Fae Touched #3)

T he Remington Pack’s kitchen smelled of charred brownies and burned sugar. Oddly enough, the acrid scent reminded Johnnie of rainy days spent learning to bake with her beloved Nana—and failing spectacularly. A young pup’s attention span was equal to a gnat’s.

Huffing in disgust, Johnnie dumped the latest pan of inedible brownies into the garbage bin and considered giving up for the night. The whole point of bribing King Alexander’s chef to allow her into his kitchen after-hours was to distract her from thoughts of Jacob.

“That worked out well,” she muttered, surveying the over-baked pie crusts and dry, cracked cakes crowding the countertops. She owed the pack a week’s worth of desserts and refused to serve less than her best.

Unlike many in the culinary world, Johnnie loved the precise science of weights and measurements that defined baking and normally found serenity in the meticulous process. Normally being the keyword. Nothing in her life was even close to normal anymore.

“Stupid mating bond.” The irony of cursing something desired fiercely a few days ago—in truth, still desired—wasn’t lost on her.

Johnnie would never regret starting the Dance with Jacob.

It was the uncharacteristic anger and disappointment toward him she could do without.

It ate at her heart like a slow-acting venom, and she couldn’t find the calm and solitude to work the ugly toxin from her system.

Not while Jacob was telegraphing feelings as chaotic as her own 24/7.

“I’m a happy person, dammit.” Gathering her heavy hair into a messy bun and securing the long locks on the top of her head with an elastic band, she hunted down another set of clean baking sheets with renewed determination.

I can do this.

Thirty minutes later, Johnnie was adding the dry ingredients to the creamed butter and sugar concoction in her second batch of cookies, the first baking in the top oven.

She turned off the stand mixer and removed its bowl, needing to fold in the last two ingredients with a wooden spoon.

The addition of espresso powder to the recipe enriched the taste of the chocolate chips, giving Jacob’s favorite cookie the extra oomph her grandmother called a little sumthin’, sumthin’ .

“And you’re thinking of him again,” she groused to the empty room.

Her neck began to tingle, and she plunked the stainless-steel bowl on the marble island with a metallic thwack. Tendrils of frustration slid against her senses, poking and prodding at the bond, like roots seeking fertile ground.

“Jo, can I come in?” Jacob called from the open doorway a moment later.

Johnnie grunted. Although the sound wasn’t near as impactful as Jacob’s masculine version, she took callow satisfaction in his answering frown.

Giving him her back, she rummaged through the drawers for another roll of parchment paper and a clean scoop as the single swinging door to the compact kitchen swished closed.

The dominant energy and addictive scent encroaching on her borrowed space told her Jacob interpreted her nonverbal response as a yes.

She turned to find him standing on the other side of the large island with a to-go cup in his hand.

They’d hardly spoken in forty-eight hours, not since her angry outburst in Remington’s office.

Her chest ached with the realization that the vast expanse of stone was indicative of more than the mere physical distance separating them.

And she was partly to blame for their lack of communication. Johnnie was avoiding him on purpose.

“I brought you a hot chocolate.” He set the steaming cup on the countertop, then stuck his hands in his front pockets. “None of the coffee machines in the building make lattes.”

“Thank you.” She pretended to focus on spooning the cookie dough onto the large aluminum sheet in round, equal sizes, although her annoying awareness of the male four feet away made it hard to concentrate on anything but him.

“Jo, can we—”

“Is there any news on Jeremiah or the twins?” she interrupted, determined to steer clear of anything personal. She wasn’t ready to address the large, hairy gorilla in the room.

“Nothing.” His cellphone buzzed an incoming message, but he ignored it.

“And the facility?” she asked, keeping her head down.

“No, and the king has been looking for months.” He paused. “We’re considering the possibility that a concealment or cloaking ward is hiding it from the local Guard.”

That made her look up.

Unscrupulous organizations used Anwyll mercenaries to hide their illegal activities all the time, and the Knights of Humanity were a prime example of how low a militant group could stoop.

Neither the knights nor the witches they hired had cared who they hurt when they unleashed the monstrous spell at Chess.

If not for Johnnie’s clanmates and the brave witches present that night, the Dádhe driven by bloodlust could have killed the humans trapped inside the club.

It’d been months since the attack, but vampires in Memphis were still afraid to venture off-island alone for fear of retaliation from the unsympathetic, Untouched community.

“But I thought an Anwyll ward didn’t work against a Ferwyn’s nose.” Johnnie felt the blood leave her face. “Unless Lord Daimhín somehow used his magic to boost the strength of the spell?”

“We can’t rule it out.”

“But that would mean the American government is working with a Fae.”

“Or a Fae masquerading as a highly-skilled witch.”

“Glamour?” Johnnie sucked in a breath. The Fae’s ability to modify their characteristics was legendary. No Anwyll student had ever replicated the spell.

Jacob’s phone vibrated again, and he removed it from his cargos long enough to glance at the screen, then tucked it inside a pocket on his thigh without answering the text.

The silence stretched, and the heaviness in her chest spread, clinging to her lungs and throat like a climbing vine seeking purchase.

The solid, comfortable quietness that was their thing in the past was now tainted by the residual anger she couldn’t seem to expel no matter how much she wanted it gone.

“I never meant to hurt you, Jo.”

“But you’re not sorry for leaving me at the cabin?” she asked, using the heel of the scoop to flatten the balls into matching circles. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“I won’t apologize for keeping you safe.” His jaw tensed, and she noticed the scruff on his face was thicker than normal, his eyes bloodshot. “But I should have explained why I needed you to stay behind.”

“Yes, you should have,” she said, shoring her defenses against the sincerity in his voice, the weariness in his face, and the longing riding the bond. He hadn’t truly apologized yet. “Did you think I wouldn’t listen to your concerns?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

“What does that mean?” She chucked the spoon into the sink, scowling at the unbaked cookies which looked more like eggs than uniform rings.

“You talked me into bringing you to Michigan against my better judgment.” He gripped the edge of the island, his hands braced wide apart as he leaned forward. “And look what happened.”

“You didn’t get caught in another príoh’s territory?” she countered, pulling her gaze from the tanned skin stretching over the carved muscles in his arms. She couldn’t think about how sexy he was when she had a point to make.

“Jo—”

“We got a solid lead on Jeremiah and found out about Charlotte because I talked to DuPont and his consort, something you couldn’t do,” she bulldozed on, transferring the misshapen cookies to the pre-heated lower oven.

“I also discovered the facility might be responsible for the missing Glaofin.” It was utterly beside the point the latter wouldn’t have occurred if he hadn’t left without her.

“Rogues marked by the Fae attacked us,” he barked, the vein in his forehead throbbing.

“And we defeated them,” she said, lifting her chin. Although they learned belatedly DuPont never had the chance to question the three survivors; the branded Dádhe chose to rip out their hearts rather than be taken by the patriarch’s people.

“They could have hurt you.”

“But they didn’t.”

“Dammit, Jo.” His voice was hoarse, his expression tortured. “You could have been killed.”

“I’m fine.” She lost some of her righteous indignation as a twinge of guilt tweaked her conscience. Johnnie had practically bullied him into letting her help find Jeremiah. “You still shouldn’t have left without discussing it with me first.”

“Maybe not, but I wasn’t willing to risk being talked into another of your harebrained schemes if you refused to listen to reason.”

“Harebrained?” she all but shouted. Her plans were brilliant and always worked out in the end. Well, almost always. There was no way she could have predicted the vampire attack. “I’ll have you know—”

“Lieutenant Tucker?” Ethan Hall poked his head inside the kitchen doorway.

“What?” Jacob snarled, not looking away.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant, the commander asked me to let you know the meeting with the king is starting soon.

” The megawatt smile females from eighteen to eight-hundred clamored for every weekend at Chess was nowhere in sight as he stepped inside the tension-filled room.

“You weren’t answering your phone, and I figured I might find you here. ”

“Hello, Ethan.” Johnnie addressed the handsome witch without glancing at him either, holding her future mate’s glower with an equal level of stubbornness.

Jacob’s dominance pulsed around him like a second skin.

And though the bond radiated his exasperation, the Clan beta kept his powerful aura contained when he could have easily forced her submission with a slight push .

“Hey Johnnie, I think your…” Ethan began.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Jacob cut him off.

Johnnie had no idea why the Anwyll dancer accompanied the queen to a meeting with the king. And even though her curiosity was killing her, she was too mule-headed to ask Jacob. She made a mental note to question Samuel instead.

“But Johnnie—”

“Leave, Ethan.” Jacob’s eyes never left hers.

“Don’t be rude,” she scolded, breaking the stalemate as her gaze lowered to his hands clutching the marble slab. His knuckles were stretched white. Another wave of guilt bubbled to the surface.

A Ferwyn male couldn’t help his genetics.

The need to protect was a fundamental part of Jacob’s DNA, and the more dominant the male, the greater the compulsion.

Johnnie must be driving his wolf crazy. But she still couldn’t believe he persuaded Dylan to distract her, then snuck off behind her back.

Jacob was an experienced warrior. She would have listened to his assessment of the situation and stayed behind because it was the smart thing to do.

Probably.

Maybe.

Shit. He still should have given me a choice, or at the very least a head’s up!

“Guys—” Ethan tried again.

“What?” Johnnie and Jacob snapped in unison, tearing their attention away from each other to glare at the male hovering in the doorway.

“Something’s burning.”

Johnnie gasped and dove toward the top oven, although her nose told her it was far too late to save the remade batch of her signature cookies.

“Not again,” she groaned, opening the door to find two dozen charred and smoking lumps of coal.

“They’re fine,” Jacob lied, coming around to her side of the island.

“They’re ruined.” Johnnie hadn’t burned anything this badly in over a decade. Using the mitt hanging on a nearby hook, she removed the tray, feeling disproportionately dejected.

They’re just cookies…

“Right then,” Ethan said, backing out the swinging door. “I’ll tell the commander you’ll be along shortly.”

Johnnie mumbled a half-hearted goodbye while placing the tray on a rack, planning to toss the blackened mess into the garbage with the discarded brownies once they cooled.

Jacob’s palm covered her left shoulder, his thumb grazing the Mating Mark there in slow, deliberate sweeps.

“What can I do to fix this?” he asked, voice scratchy.

Johnnie shivered at his touch, but she didn’t dare turn around or lean into his chest as her heart demanded. Her brain wouldn’t let her. She wasn’t ready to forgive him yet.

“They’re a lost cause,” she said, knowing he wasn’t referring to the cookies.

“Jo—”

“I need you to block the bond again.” Just saying the words made her sick to her stomach.

The hand on her shoulder tensed, his thumb going still.

“I can’t separate my feelings from yours.” The ruined cookies in front of her blurred into a black blob. “I can’t think with the bond in place.”

“I miss you, Jo.” His breath was warm on her neck.

“I miss you too.” She barely held in a sob as his nose burrowed into her clumsily knotted hair and inhaled her scent. “I just need a few days to get my head on straight. Please, Jacob, do this for me?”

For us.

A resigned sigh, then a soft kiss brushed her nape, and he was gone.

Johnnie didn’t move as the door flapped shut, her hands shaking as she placed them flat on the counter, needing a solid anchor to stop from chasing after Jacob and confessing she’d made a horrible mistake.

The conflict of warring emotions clawed at her throat, and a lone tear slid over her cheek.

She wiped it away with a wobbly exhale. Squaring her shoulders, Johnnie headed to the sink with the cooled cookie sheet in her hands. She’d clean the tray and start again.

The mating bond shifted, the sensation like a sickening slide of oil rolling off water. Panic set in, and she grasped at the rapidly fading connection, not ready to let it go.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Shouldn’t she be glad Jacob was respecting her wishes?

The faint awareness dimmed to nothingness, the bond slipping through her fingers along with the tray. The metal sheet hit the floor with a discordant clang, and Johnnie followed it down.

Sitting on the cold tile with pieces of charred, broken cookies littering the floor, she drew her legs to her chest, rested her forehead on her raised knees, and cried.