Page 90 of Fae Devoted
“I don’t know if those claims are true or sheer propaganda.” The woman’s shoulders pushed back, and she raised her chin, although her fingers twisted together in front of her slender waistline. “I won’t take the risk with that little girl’s life.”
Propaganda?Johnnie had to remember this human was presumably a paid employee working for a covert government agency that manipulated and imprisoned Abby and Conlan for years. An organization which in all likelihood was responsible for the Willow twins’ disappearance and shackling her in debilitating iron prior to confirming she was more than a simple trespasser who’d stumbled through their ward.
“I swear I won’t hurt her…or you.”
“No, you won’t.” Her sharp jawline firmed, hands breaking apart to lower and ball at her sides.
A human would be virtually defenseless against any of the magical races under ordinary circumstances, even equippedwith a gun, which Hannah wasn’t. But Johnnie didn’t doubt her determination to defend the orphaned child. The woman’s aversion to the Fae Touched didn’t seem to extend to Charlotte.
The witchling returned to the main room, tongue clamped between her teeth and the glass in both hands, transporting the overflowing cup with mincing steps.
Johnnie raised her manacled wrists with an unavoidable grimace, then painfully positioned them over her stomach to appear less threatening. The last thing she wanted to do was scare a child or her caregiver.
Hannah halted her advance several feet shy of the bed. “I’ll give it to her, honey.”
“Okay.” Charlotte’s shoulders slumped.
The witchling smelled of vanilla pods freshly scraped free of its seeds, like all Anwyll did when not performing a spell, yet somehow richer…smokier. She could almost taste the flavor of warm vanilla on her tongue.
“Take small sips.” The authoritative tone she used on Charlotte returned as she tipped the glass to Johnnie’s mouth and encouraged her to drink.
“Thank you,” she said again, managing the pretense of a smile for Charlotte’s sake. “I feel much better now.”
“You’re welcome.” Her tiny chest puffed out, and a wide grin with a missing tooth in the front graced her adorable face.
Hannah set the glass on the cherry-wood end table, her gaze falling to the thick bands clasped around Johnnie’s swollen wrists. “The doc was here a few minutes before you woke up and gave you something to help with the pain. You should feel better soon.”
As long as iron touched bare skin,betterwould remain a relative term.
If the Director was truly concerned with her comfort while still keeping her restrained, why didn’t he order the damagingmetal exchanged for a less toxic pair of carbon and aluminum steel handcuffs strong enough to hold a she-wolf? And why bother ordering a human painkiller when it wouldn’t last? Her Ferwyn metabolism would burn off any drug within record time, although the iron would delay the process.
“Why are you here, Hannah?” Moreover, why was Johnnie being kept in an elegant suite instead of a locked cell?
“The Director asked us to—”
“It’sMissHannah,” Charlotte piped up, hurling past the stunned human who lunged too late and missed the incredibly fast Anwyll.
“Charlie—” she sputtered. Hannah’s empty hand extended toward the witchling who flopped her petite torso on the mattress near Johnnie’s legs with an excruciating bounce.
“She’s my teacher,” Charlotte happily explained with a slight lisp and a Southern lilt.
Fear tinged the air again and Hannah’s gaze flew to the closed exit, then back to Johnnie. Even in her weakened condition, they both knew she could kill the child before the woman called for the soldiers no doubt guarding the outside of the door.
“And my name’s Charlotte Ann Miller, but my friends call me Charlie,” she continued, blissfully unaware of her teacher’s distress. Her grin suddenly drooped, and she stared at her hands. “At least they used to before Mama died. I don’t get to have friends anymore. Not in this stupid place.”
“Well…” Johnnie kept her tone soft-spoken and her expression open, hopefully reassuring the nervous human. “My real name is Joan Helen Long, but everyone calls me Johnnie. And I’d love to be your friend if you’ll have me.” The Director would retrieve her name from her phone soon anyway if he hadn’t already.
Hannah’s hand covered her mouth and tears threatened, but she nodded. Trusting Johnnie to uphold her prior claim of never harming a child.
“You would?” Charlie sniffled and rubbed at her button nose, gorgeous sapphire eyes glistening. “We both have boy names.”
“But Charlotte is a lovely name, and Joan is absolutely dreadful.” She crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. The analgesic must have kicked in somewhat because she remained conscious, and her stomach contents stayed where they belonged. Charlie giggled again, making the discomfort worth it.
“Who’s Jacob?” she asked, rolling onto her back, spindly legs hanging over the edge of the huge bed.
“Jacob is…” She hesitated, then grasped her wolf necklace. It gave her a measure of comfort to touch the heart-shaped pendant with her fingers, despite the pain the movement caused. It was possible the facility hadn’t uncovered her intimate connection to a prominent Clan’s beta. A relationship the Director might somehow use to his advantage. But her male was known as Tucker to almost everyone except her, and there were a lot of Jacobs in the world. “Um…my boyfriend.”
“You have a boyfriend?” Charlie squealed, and Johnnie braced as the witchling flipped onto her stomach and propped on her elbows. “Is he cute? I bet he’s cute.”
