Page 46 of Fae Devoted (Fae Touched #3)

T he wide, metal bracelets pinched, but it wasn’t the discomfort of over-tight bands or the sickening burn of a high concentration of pure iron touching Johnnie’s skin that made her scream when the soldiers clamped them on her wrists.

It was the unnatural sundering of her connection with Jacob.

For several horrifying moments, she thought he was dead.

After confiscating Johnnie’s rifle and phone, removing her jacket, ammo, and the pistol from her waistband, the Untouched soldiers dragged her in a devastated daze to the big farmhouse. Her brain told her it was the wrought iron messing with a half-finished Dance, but her heart wasn’t listening.

They entered the pristine living room, the contemporary style in stark contrast to the rickety porch steps and the home’s peeling paint outside.

The men led her into a modern kitchen and through a door that should have been the walk-in pantry but instead was a long, unpadded elevator.

A soldier pressed the pad of his thumb to a small panel.

The doors closed, and they began to descend.

Shaken to her core by the abrupt rendering of the bond, Johnnie searched her soul.

The loss wasn’t the same as when Jacob blocked the bond.

That was more like turning down a radio’s volume to a sub-vocal level.

This was dampening the music to an almost nonexistent state.

She had to listen hard to hear the slightest vibration of sound, but it was there.

Johnnie exhaled a pent-up breath as the doors slid open.

“Get moving,” the Untouched soldier at her back ordered, shoving her between the shoulder blades.

“I’m going, I’m going.” Finally able to think again, she soaked in every detail of the facility.

And it was Abby’s facility, this place couldn’t be anything else.

Were the Glaofin twins somewhere in the building?

Was Jeremiah? She inhaled, and the familiar copper and salt smell of humans assailed her senses, but she didn’t detect the scent of a Ferwyn—or a witchling—lingering in the underground passages.

Johnnie didn’t know if she should be relieved or not.

She stepped onto a concrete floor and underneath a running track of fluorescent lights, the austere hallway ending in a T about fifty feet ahead.

Although there was nothing to distinguish which US branch they represented, her escorts were dressed in military fatigues.

They marched her to the end of the tunnel, and half the soldiers turned left while they urged her to the right.

Johnnie’s innate sense of direction told her they were headed toward the barn.

They walked another twenty yards, passing a line of closed doors and mounted cameras.

The lead soldier entered the room on the right, and the man behind her pushed her into a scene straight from a movie set.

It had a narrow table, two metal chairs, a long mirror graced an entire wall side, and harsh overhead lighting.

Oh Mylanta, this is bad. Breathe, Johnnie, breathe.

“Sit.” The oldest of the three men still accompanying her pulled out a chair.

It was made of steel. She lifted her chin and sat.

The scant amount of ore present in the seat was nothing compared to the iron bracelets inflaming her wrists.

The young soldier she mentally dubbed bully boy frowned at her lack of reaction.

“Flanders.” The man she assumed was the senior officer sat in the chair diagonal to her’s. “Go inform the Director we have an unexpected guest.”

“Yes, sir.” Bully boy saluted and left the room. Definitely military.

The third moved to stand guard at the entrance, his expression blank.

“Name?” The gray-haired human folded his hands on the tabletop, hard blue gaze intent on her face.

Stall, stall, stall.

“Why am I here?” Johnnie’s metal cuffs thunked as she set them on the scarred wooden surface, palms up. The angry, swollen flesh peeking over the wristlets was bright red against her fair skin. “And why am I wearing these?”

The guard at the door winced, the reaction slight but noticeable. It was gone as quickly as it came, his features returning to an unemotional mask.

Her interrogator leaned forward. “Name?”

“I didn’t see any private property signs posted, but all my focus was on the mature buck I was hunting. I know it’s not technically rifle season yet, but he was a twelve-pointer. I’ll understand if you have to report me to the game warden though, and I apologize if—”

A sharp knock and the sympathetic soldier moved to allow a slender-framed human who looked to be in his mid-sixties wearing glasses and a rumpled gray suit into the room.

“Sergeant Major.” The mysterious man acknowledged the officer, but his attention was on Johnnie. “What do we have here?”

“The female was found on grounds, and she was armed.”

“Well, how else would you shoot a—”

“A she-wolf?” He pushed the wire-rimmed glasses up the narrow bridge of his nose, thin lips turned down as he addressed the sergeant. “She made it close enough to the ward to trigger the alarm, and no one noticed?”

He tensed before answering, “Yes, sir.”

“You may leave.”

“Mr. Director, if I could suggest—”

“You may not.” The Director gestured to the other soldier. “Parker, remove the cuffs.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, fishing what looked like a penlight from a pocket on his thigh.

“Sir, I don’t advise—”

“We’ll be fine.” His gaze returned to her, his brown eyes soft and kind. “Won’t we, my dear?”

“Um…yes?” Nodding, Johnnie attempted to appear sincere while trying to figure out the man’s angle. Good cop, bad cop?

Parker approached, and the sergeant exited in a rigid huff.

“Keep your hands still.” The remaining soldier’s voice was as flat as his expression.

“Okay.” She loosely curled her fingers but otherwise didn’t move when he depressed one end of the slender pen and pointed the resulting laser light over the three-inch seam of the iron band on her left wrist. The magnetically closed bracelet opened with a click, and she bit her cheek.

He ran the beam over the right one, and it fell open, the unlatched edge scraping against blistered flesh.

Johnnie couldn’t suppress a hiss of pain.

Parker’s eyes met hers, his throat bobbing on a hard swallow.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, lifting her wrists free of the cuffs, careful to avoid further contact.

“The bracelets are standard protocol, I’m afraid. Can’t be too careful,” the Director said, pulling out the seat next to hers. “Would you like to see our doctor?”

“No, thank you.” Johnnie wouldn’t trust any treatment the facility’s people might offer. “It won’t take long for them to heal on their own.”

“Yes, of course.” The deep wrinkles around his eyes crimped with a self-deprecating smile. “You’ll have to forgive me. We don’t get many Fae Touched visitors here.”

Not a lie, but his wording gave the man wiggle room.

“Oh? What exactly do you do in here?”

“Mostly research.” He removed his glasses, retrieved a small cloth from the inside of his jacket, and cleaned the smudged lenses.

“Research?” Johnnie looked at her burned wrists, then the armed soldier guarding the door.

“Ah, well.” He returned the frames to his nose, folded the cloth into a neat square, and placed it in his suit pocket. “It’s highly sensitive work.”

Johnnie took a slow, shuddery breath. Had these monsters taken the twins for research? If Jeremiah was interested in this place, it could mean Charlotte was there as well as the brothers. Johnnie was desperate for answers but only said, “I see.”

“So, Miss…?” When she remained silent, he sighed. “You might as well tell me your name. We have your phone, and our IT men and women are quite competent.”

Her knee bounced beneath the table, thoughts scrabbling to remember any incriminating texts she might have left for the facility to discover.

No, she’d been smarter than that. She hadn’t mentioned Jeremiah or the Fae in any written messages to Jacob.

And they couldn’t trace her outgoing voicemails.

At least, she didn’t think they could. But her numerous calls to Samuel would reveal her connection to the Walker Pack, and therefore… Abby.

This deceptively harmless man held the MacCarthy halfblood siblings captive for years. Would they attempt to get to Abby through Johnnie once they identified Samuel as her Alpha?

Not happening.

“What is your name, and what were you doing in these woods?”

She clamped her lips shut.

“This doesn’t need to be an unpleasant experience for either of us if you would cooperate.” The Director dropped his chin and shook his head, expelling a long sigh. “Why do you people insist on making things so difficult?”

“Parker?” He twisted to the door, the action exposing the back of his neck and the bottom serifs of an upside-down Y peeking through his overlong but thinning gray hair.

“Yes, sir?” The soldier blanched, but Johnnie hardly noticed, her mind unable to accept what she was seeing.

The Director belonged to the Athair.

The facility was part of the US government, and its leader was the Fae’s puppet.

“Replace this young lady’s cuffs.”

A coating of ice froze the breath in her throat and her heart in her chest, the cold seeping into her veins until she felt her trembling fingers go numb. Her pulse beat sluggishly, but she couldn’t catch her breath.

Misinterpreting her distress, the Director’s sad brown eyes fell on her again, and he patted her cold hand in a parody of comfort. His fingers landed on her iron-scorched skin with every light slap.

“And Parker,” he said, tone mournful as he beckoned the guard with his other hand. “Notify Doctor Richards to meet us in medical.”

“She’s waking up.” The voice was high and girlish.

What is a pup doing in my room?

“Jacob?” No, that wasn’t right. Johnnie wasn’t speaking to her male at the moment, so he definitely wouldn’t be in her bed. She hadn’t forgiven him yet…or had she?

“Who’s Jacob, Miss Hannah?”