could.
I nodded.
She swallowed roughly and her voice when it emerged was a squeaky whisper. "Maybe you do understand."
Before I could even process what that meant, she tore herself away from me, speed walking across the hall and out the door. Every fucking eye in this place was on me now and while I might have allowed a moment of vulnerability to creep into my words with Justice, I wouldn't let the humans see it.
Power crackled across my skin—and what did you fucking know, suddenly they were super interested in their food again.
6
Justice Winter
My hands were shaking. Why the fuck were my hands shaking? Something weird had just happened in the food hall with Jacob.
What was Jacob Compass doing to me?
Questions kept swirling through my mind over and over as I threw random shit into a bag, packing for this trip away. When the thoughts finally got to be too much, I reached for my phone, bringing up the Spotify app. Clicking on my country music playlist, I turned it as loud as I could. Most people didn't know that I was a fan of country music, jazz and blues, and all the grassroots soul. It all stemmed from my first foster home. Grams, the quintessential Tennessee grandmother, might have only had me for a few years, but in that time she left her mark. From learning how to make apple pie, bake bread and biscuits, to chasing that damn rabbit out of her garden, she was the single greatest influence in my life.
If a heart attack didn’t steal her from me when I was eight, I had no doubt my childhood would have been fucking amazing. As it was, she was the only reason I wasn't a complete monster now, because the next family to raise me…
Let's just say, if those men were here in front of me, I would torture them until they begged for death.
Those memories were not ones I wanted, so I shut those thoughts down, and let the soulful, twangy voice fill my heart and mind. Alan Jackson. His voice had got me through many hard times, despite the fact he was a man. He’d been Grams’ favorite, and my first introduction to country music. So, while I loved him initially for her, I loved him now for me.
By the time my bags were packed, toiletries, clothing, and essentials all inside, I felt somewhat calmer. I’d had a few school-appointed psychiatrist sessions when I was a teenager, and she gave me some techniques to deal with my past. It never worked for long, because my damage was so huge, but occasionally it took the edge off.
A few people knew bits and pieces of what I went through, Grace, Cam and Gretley mostly. But I’d left so much of the story out. At times I wondered if sharing everything, all the dark details, would lessen the volcano inside. Or would it just destroy the steps I’d taken to move away from what happened to me?
A knock sounded at my door and I knew it was Jacob; even his fucking knock was commanding.
His eyes were filled with amusement when I opened the door, allowing him to walk through, bag slung over his shoulder. "Alan Jackson, hey? I think I like him better than Kenny."
The fact that he knew who the artist was surprised me. "I didn't think supernaturals listened to human music," I said, grabbing my bag and leading him from the room.
He shrugged, following. "Well, outside of the fact that you like to keep your music on blast, and I have sensitive hearing, there's not enough supernatural singers for us to exclusively listen to them. Human bands and singers sneak through."
I winced. “Shit, sorry. I should have known you’d be able to hear me, with your overachieving senses…”
Heat coated my cheeks as another thought hit me. Did that mean he might also be able to hear me when I was in the shower, needing to relieve some tension?
A cool touch across my blazing skin stole my attention back. "What are you thinking," he murmured, stroking me again before he removed his hand.
Meanwhile, I had forgotten how to breathe and suddenly didn't give a fuck if he'd heard the few times I'd made myself come. Even damaged and broken chicks had needs.
"I’m thinking nothing—we should go," I said in a rush. "Let's not keep President Dickhead waiting."
Jacob didn't reply, but his smile grew larger, turning from a smirk into something blinding and beautiful. Gods. He was way too