Page 53 of Fae Devoted
“Thank you, Miss Long. He’s been worried about frightening the few witchlings at his school when he accidentally converts or intimidating his smaller clanmates with his size,” Mr. Williamson said, pulling Johnnie from her morose thoughts.“Blake has extraordinary control for a second-grader, but every once in a while, he slips into wolf form.”
“He’s still a pup,” she said, adding a cheeriness she no longer felt. “And the teachers are trained to deal with any mishaps. But I wouldn’t worry too much. I have no doubt Blake’s protective nature won’t permit him to hurt his weaker classmates.” A female in the background added her gratitude to her mate’s. “Tell your Ca’anam that she is very welcome, and please feel free to call me if you need anything else.”
Johnnie hung up, frowning at her reflection while she plaited her hair into a single braid. Between the Knights of Humanity’s hatred, an indifferent American government, and a freakin’ Elven Lord’s machinations, she wondered what kind of world the children—and someday her pups—would inherit?
It didn’t dawn on her until she finished applying her mascara that the cabin was far too quiet.
Crap.
Tossing her makeup into her cosmetic bag, she wrenched the door open, practically ran into the kitchen, and slid to a halt. Dylan was at the stove flipping pancakes while Jacob sat at the table sipping a cup of coffee. They both turned at her abrupt entrance.
“Mornin’,” Dylan greeted, twirling the spatula with his trademark crooked half-grin.
“Morning.” She blushed to her roots, her toes curling on the cold wooden floor. In her rush to get to Jacob, she’d forgotten her shoes.
“Hungry?”
“I could eat.” Not trusting the serene scene in front of her, Johnnie inhaled. Her sensitive nose detected the combined scents of Ferwyn pine, vanilla, buttermilk, smoked hickory, and a fleeting hint of male aggression. Her appetite waned. “Is everything okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be, princess?”
“No reason, I guess.” Johnnie took the seat catty-corner from Jacob, the inside of her cheek pinched between her teeth.
“Coffee?” Dylan reached into the microwave and withdrew a tall, skinny mug.
“I’d love…some,” Johnnie finished on a soft croak, spotting the stainless-steel spoon bent into a “U” lying in the center of the table near the sugar bowl. She picked up the twisted utensil and gaped at Jacob, eyebrows raised in question. He shrugged and took another drink of his coffee.
Everything seemed fine last night, awkward but fine. Or mostly fine. Jacob was a bit touchy when it came to Dylan, but that was normal for any male in the throes of the Mating Dance. Yet it was apparentsomethinghappened while she was in the shower, but neither stubborn shifter seemed inclined to fill her in on the details.
“I made your favorite.” Dylan set what appeared to be a vanilla latte topped with milk foam in front of her. “Or tried to.”
“You remembered?” She laid the twisted metal spoon back on the linoleum tabletop.
“I remember everything.” Dylan’s boyish smile disappeared, focus turning inward. His pensive mood vanished as quickly as it appeared, and he flashed her the same lethal grin that drove all the single females crazy in college. Johnnie included. “Pancakes?”
“Um…yes, sure.” She blew on her latte, peering at Jacob through lowered eyelashes. He seemed…calm.
“Bacon?”
“Please.”
Dylan left, then quickly returned with three plates laden with food. He set one dish in front of the empty seat across from her and the other two near Jacob.
“Any news on the twins?” Jacob pushed the highest piled plate to Johnnie, then waited for her to start eating before digging into his own food.
“What twins?” she asked, attention ping-ponging between Jacob and Dylan as the younger shifter dipped his chin in a show of respect…or gratitude. For what, Johnnie didn’t know.
“Patrick and Peter Willow, Clan Remington, Horton Pack, out of Ohio,” Dylan said, sitting and choosing a pancake from his stack. He smeared it with butter, layered it with ham and bacon, then folded it like a taco.
The familiar habit reminded Johnnie of pleasant mornings spent with Dylan at their favorite college diner before everything fell apart. Memories best forgotten.
“Patrick lost his truemate and went Glaofin a decade ago. He chose the Wilderness State Park as his final hunting grounds.” Jacob scraped his plate clean and reached for his coffee. “His unmated twin joined him last fall.”
“Did you know the Willows, Jacob?” Johnnie nibbled on a thick slice of bacon.
He shook his head. As Clan Walker’s beta, Jacob crossed regional borders for political reasons more often than the overwhelming majority of shifters, but those trips were short, infrequent, and mainly confined to board rooms.
“I spoke with Peter the day he converted.” Dylan tore off a large chunk of rolled flapjack, chewed, and swallowed.
