Twisted Devotion: A Fae Paranormal Romance

by Jessi Elliott

  “Oh, yeah?” he says with a grin.

  I nod, swallowing the rest of my coffee. “Yep.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “No.” My tone is low, stern. “We won’t.” I get up and push the curls out of my face before walking away.

  Whatever game Jackson thinks he’s playing, I’m not. I need to focus on my reason for being here. To protect him. Not to entertain him or be the subject of his—what I can only imagine are sexual—taunts.

  Gloria stops me on my way back to my room. “Miss Young, please don’t judge Mr. Hawthorne too harshly. He really is a good man.”

  I offer her a small smile, but keep my comments to myself. She knows him differently than I do, and that’s fine, but I’ll make up my own mind about him.

  Not that my opinion really matters, anyway. Right now, the only thing that matters is keeping him alive.

  And he’s already testing my resolve not to kill him myself.

  Chapter 5

  I spend the rest of the morning and early into the afternoon lounging on the couch in my room. It still feels weird to think of it as my room, but I’m not an idiot. I can appreciate the luxury of this place, even if the work I’m here to do is anything but luxurious.

  The television my attention has been glued to for hours now has every streaming service imaginable, as well as cable.

  I’m halfway through an episode of House Hunters when there’s a knock at my door. I holler for whomever to come in, and sit up as Gloria walks in with a tray of food.

  “Your lunch, Miss—uh, Kelsey.”

  I smile at her and get up. “You didn’t have to bring it up here, Gloria.”

  “I figured you were enjoying your alone time,” she says with a smile, setting the tray on the coffee table in front of the couch.

  “I was, thank you.”

  “I made fettuccini alfredo with shrimp and broccoli. I hope that is to your liking.”

  “Of course,” I tell her, feeling a bit uncomfortable that she’s waiting on me. I’ve taken care of myself for so long, I’m not sure how to respond to treatment like this, so I say, “It smells amazing.”

  She flushes at the compliment. “I’m happy to hear that. Please let me know if you require anything else.”

  “This is perfect. Thank you, Gloria.”

  She nods, backing toward the door. “Enjoy,” she says on her way out, closing the door behind her.

  Bless that woman for understanding my need to be alone with my food and my television.

  When dinner rolls around, I figure I better leave the confines of my room. Eating two meals behind a closed door is a little rude, and Jackson—aside from a few comments—has been a welcoming host.

  I carry my dishes down from lunch, wandering through the main level into the kitchen. I rinse the dishes off and place them in the dishwasher as Jackson walks into the room.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” he tells me.

  I shrug, loading my glass in before closing the door. “It’s the least I can do.” Plus, leaving dishes I dirtied on the counter of someone else’s kitchen feels weird. I can clean up after myself.

  Jackson arches a brow at me. “I treat my staff very well, Kelsey.”

  “That’s not—I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Fine,” he says. “You joining me for dinner?”

  “Are you going to eat alone if I don’t?” I don’t know why I asked that. What would it matter? He’s eaten plenty of meals before I got here, and he’ll eat plenty after I leave.

  “Yeah, but that’s fine. I’m used to it.”

  Pressing my lips together, I nod. “I’ll sit with you.”

  “How charitable of you,” he teases. “But seriously, you don’t need to do the dishes.”

  “You’re right,” I say. “You can do them.”

  “You don’t think I would?” he challenges.

  My eyes narrow slightly. “I think we’re going to find out.”

  Gloria hurries into the room after I call her name. “Yes, Miss Young?”

  “Mr. Hawthorne would like to give you the rest of the night off. He’s going to clean up after dinner tonight.”

  “I’ll cook, too,” he chimes in.

  My head swings toward him. “Really? Oh, this should be interesting.”

  “I know how to cook, Red. I’m actually pretty good at it.”

  “Great,” I say and turn back to Gloria with a grin.

  “Oh my,” Gloria starts. “I’m not sure—”

  “It’s all right, Gloria,” Jackson says. “Go home and see your boys.”

  My chest swells and I glance between the two of them. Gloria has a soft, bright aura around her. Her admiration for Jackson is plain as day; she’s openly grateful for his kindness, and I can’t help but appreciate his compassion. When I try to sneak a peek at Jackson’s aura, I come up blank. Either he’s completely emotionless, or he’s hiding them from me. The former is an amusing thought, though the latter is more likely. It makes sense he trusts me as much as I trust him at this point. And while I’ve wanted to live free and open since taking down The Experiment, I’ve been keeping mine from him, too.

  Gloria’s smile is warm. “Thank you very much, Mr. Hawthorne.”

  He nods. “Have a good night.”

  She hurries out of the kitchen, and a few minutes later, the front door closes.

  I prop my hip against the counter and regard Jackson with a faint smile. “This is the part where you tell me you have other staff and someone else is going to cook and clean, right?”

  He stares at me. “Nope. It’s just you and me tonight, Red.”

  Oh. Oh no.

  What did I just do?

  I tell Jackson I’m going to shower before dinner, and surprisingly, he has no crude response. He just nods and continues chopping carrots. I have no idea what he’s making, but I’m not holding out hope for anything grand.

  I stand under the water far longer than necessary, enjoying the obscene number of shower heads raining down on me. It’s amazing. I never want to leave this shower.

  Maybe this guarding gig isn’t so bad. At least, when I’m alone and don’t have to deal with the subject I’m here to guard.

  After I’ve washed, conditioned, and loofah’d the crap out of myself, I turn off the water and get out. I take my time drying my hair, then change into some casual loungewear. I figure I’ll never really be off the clock, per se, so I’ll just go ahead and dress however I want.

  I slip on my flats and head down to the kitchen, pausing when I hear Jackson’s voice. I can’t make out what he’s saying without really tuning in to my fae hearing, which I don’t feel right about doing in his home. I shake off the feeling. I’m here to keep him safe. There should be no secrets.

  I close my eyes and focus on the sound of his voice until it comes through clearly.

  “What would you like me to do?” His voice is tense and laced with hints of restrained anger.

  Awesome. It’s day one and I’m diving into a drama-fest already.

  “I told you, that’s not going to happen.” There are a few moments of silence before he starts speaking again. “You knew the danger when she came to me. I told you we couldn’t be sure what the chances of her surviving the transition would be. You signed off and so did she. She was made very clear of what all the possible outcomes could be.”

  More silence.

  “I’m sorry this didn’t work out how we wanted. Truly, I am. She was a great girl.”

  Another stretch of nothing. As hard as I strained my hearing, I couldn’t make out what the person on the other side of the phone was saying.

  Fae hearing works great—so long as I have the energy to use it. And since I haven’t fed in a while, my abilities aren’t as strong. I make a mental note to deal with it tomorrow and focus back on Jackson’s voice.

  “I don’t know what else to tell you. You’ll have to take it up with my legal team, but there’s really nothing more to be done. I’m sorry. You both
knew the risks of the procedure before it happened.”

  He must be talking to someone who knew one of the fae who didn’t make it through the fae-human transition. I’m sure Jackson is right, though. I’m confident he had a lawyer draft an airtight liability waiver so no one could come after him regardless of the outcome of the procedure.

  By the sounds of the conversation, that doesn’t appear to matter to this person.

  I walk into the kitchen, figuring Jackson has already heard me approach, and he glances up to meet my gaze, still listening to whatever the person on the other end of the line is saying.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says. “We can talk about this later and discuss the next steps, but I need to go.” He doesn’t wait for a response before ending the call and setting his phone on the counter. “Hey,” he says to me, waving with the knife in his hand. “Feeling better?”

  “Sure,” I answer with a nod, approaching the island in the middle of the kitchen and sliding onto one of the stools. “Everything okay?”

  “All good. Just one of the few unhappy customers.”

  I frown. “Someone died?”

  “Yes, Kelsey. More than one someones have died. Nothing is guaranteed with this shit. Everyone knows that going into the process. And yet, I still have to deal with these phone calls.”

  “Because you care about people,” I offer, not really sure if it’s the truth.

  You sure as shit didn’t care about us during the fight.

  He pauses. “You think so?”

  I shrug, tapping my fingers against the marble counter. “Well, you didn’t seem to enjoy that phone call, so yeah, I’d guess so.”

  “Interesting,” he muses.

  “How goes dinner?” I ask, ready to shift the conversation away from this territory.

  “Good so far.”

  I try to glance over his shoulder at the stovetop, but I can’t quite see it from where I’m sitting. “What are you making?”

  “Roast beef with potatoes and carrots. You eat meat, right?”

  “Yeah. Well, not like bear or moose or anything like that.”

  He laughs. “Not to worry. You won’t find either inside this house. Outside, on the other hand, I make no promises.” He turns to a pot that’s steaming with boiling water and drops the carrots in. “Are you adjusting okay? Is there anything you need? Gloria let you know that we can get you anything you want, right?”

  “Yeah, I’m good, and she did. Thank you.” The adjustment has been easier than I thought it would be, which is a relief. It will allow me to focus on doing my job diligently. Here’s hoping it’ll pass the time quicker, too.

  He nods. “I’m glad to hear it. So, for the rest of this week, I’ll be at the facility working in the office, going over contracts and such.”

  “That’s fine,” I tell him.

  He smiles without looking up from the potatoes he’s cutting. “I’d like to know more about you.”

  My knee-jerk response is hell no, but I bite my tongue. Perhaps it’s only fair for him to know a few things about me considering he’s being forced to trust me with his safety—even though I’d rather keep my personal life to myself. “Uh, okay. What do you want to know?”

  “Any siblings?”

  My stomach drops. Of course, that had to be his first question. “Not anymore. You?”

  He pauses, glancing up at me, but my tight expression must deter him from prying further. “Nope. Boyfriend?” After I shake my head, he says, “Me neither.”

  An uneven laugh filters through my lips. “Cute.”

  “What about that dude you were with when we met? Sam, was it?”

  My throat goes dry. Every time I think about Seth, I want to curl into a ball. I miss him like crazy. “His name is Seth, and no, he’s not and was not my boyfriend. He was my best friend.” I steal one of the carrots Jackson left on the cutting board and bite the end off with a loud crunch.

  “Was? He isn’t around anymore, then?”

  I shake my head. I really don’t want to talk about this. “He’s going through some things.”

  “Ah, I see. And you?”

  “What about me, Jackson?” While I’m glad to move the conversation away from talking about Seth, I’m not sure what he means. I’m not about to get all deep and emotional with Jackson Hawthorne in the middle of his kitchen.

  “The fight against The Experiment was hard on everyone,” he comments.

  “Yeah, some more than others. Like the ones who actually participated in the fight.” Bitterness forces its way into my tone.

  He nods. “Fair enough.”

  A timer goes off, and he walks over to the double oven, slipping on mitts before opening the top door and pulling out the roast. He proceeds to strain the carrots from the hot water and dump them into the roast pan along with the sliced onions and chopped potatoes. He slides the pan back into the oven and sets the timer again. “It’ll be ready in about half an hour. Care for a glass of wine?”

  I probably shouldn’t. Technically, I’m working. But there’s no way in hell I’m going to manage this gig without a glass of wine here and there. “Sure. That would be nice, thank you.”

  “Red, white, or rosé?”

  “Aren’t you fancy?” I think about it for a second. “White, please.”

  He opens a bar fridge built into the counter, and I gape at him. “What?”

  There are probably stars in my eyes. “That is magical.”

  “You haven’t seen anything yet, Red,” he says in a smug voice.

  I scowl, sliding off the barstool to walk over to the bar fridge so I can admire it up close. “Now don’t go and ruin it.”

  He laughs, unscrewing the bottle top and pulling two glasses down from the cupboard above the fridge. “Ice?”

  “That’s all right,” I tell him, and he hands the glass to me. “Thank you.”

  He pours himself a glass and returns the bottle to the fridge. “I feel like we should toast to something.”

  I lean against the counter opposite to him and purse my lips. “We’re not exactly celebrating anything.” People want him dead for the work he’s doing in an attempt to improve people’s lives, and I’m stuck protecting him because of it.

  “A wicked new partnership?” he tries.

  “Yeah,” I drag the word out. “I don’t think so.”

  He sighs. “Fine. To finding common ground, then.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean, but I’m worried you’re going to stand there and continue to list things until I agree to something, so,” I clink my glass against his, “cheers.”

  He blinks at me then sets his glass down without taking a drink. “Way to completely remove the fun from that.”

  I offer him a slow smile. “Better get used to it.”

  Chapter 6

  Jackson Hawthorne—if nothing else—can cook a decent meal.

  I haven’t eaten so much since last Christmas, and even then, I don’t remember the food being this damn good. I was fortunate enough to never experience hunger while bouncing between foster homes, but it’s been a long time since I ate this much in a single sitting.

  “How was it?” he asks as he stands to start clearing the table.

  “I have to hand it to you,” I say, “that was really good.”

  He rests his hands on his hips and puffs out his chest. “Why, thank you.”

  After a good laugh, I finally manage to get out, “Okay, knock it off. It’s only cute for so long.”

  “You think I’m cute, huh?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “How forward of you. I’m utterly shocked. And this coming from the woman who vowed she’d never spend a night in my bed.”

  “You’re really annoying.”

  “But you think I’m cute,” he points out.

  “No, I—you know what? Never mind. It’s not worth the battle.”

  “Because you know I’ll win,” he tosses back at me with a wink.

  Jesus, is there something wrong with this guy’s eye? He
can’t seem to stop winking.

  I huff out a breath. “Because you’re insufferable.”

  He pouts. “Mean. And to think, I cooked you this lovely meal, shared my alcohol with you, and this is how you thank me? I’m disappointed, Red.”

  When I don’t answer, he heaves a dramatic sigh and carries the dishes away, muttering under his breath about something I choose not to hear.

  I take my time finishing my glass of wine in the peace and quiet. I hear the water running in the kitchen and smirk at the image of Jackson wearing yellow rubber gloves and using a soaped-up sponge to clean the dishes he used to prepare our meal.

  Once my glass is empty, I get up and take it to the kitchen.

  He glances over his shoulder when I walk into the room. “Do you need something?”

  “Where’s the closest feeding unit?”

  “There’s one about fifteen minutes from here, but I usually have them come to the house. Gloria can arrange the same for you.”

  “Hold up. Gloria knows what you are?”

  “Yeah,” he says casually. It’s not totally uncommon for humans to know about fae, especially when they work for them.

  “How long has she known?” I guess I figured he wouldn’t provide that information to Gloria for concern over frightening her.

  “Since about seven months after she started working for me. She’s been with me for almost four years now.”

  “Wow.” I don’t bother trying to hide my surprise.

  “I told you, Kelsey, I treat my employees very well.”

  “Noted,” I reply. “That’s fine, if you usually have a feeder come to the house. Whatever works. That’s probably easier than me having to leave to feed.”

  “Just let me know when you need it,” he tells me, drying his hands on the towel near the sink.

  “Any time would be great.”

  He takes a few steps closer, closing the gap between us, and takes the empty glass from my hand. “Any time meaning sooner rather than later.”

  I swallow, glancing at my hand when his fingers brush mine. “If possible, yes.”

  I need to be on my A-game, which means staying well-fed to keep my strength up and my abilities at their peak. As much as I don’t enjoy the feeding process, it’s necessary. It’d be as fatal as a human not eating food and drinking water. Sure, it would take longer to kill me than starvation or dehydration would a human, but the end result would be the same.