Page 14 of Twisted Devotion

“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?”

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