Elemental Compass (Supernatural Prison Book 7)

by Jaymin Eve

  Just as I opened my mouth to ask about his communing with nature, the president walked into the food hall. Everyone went so quiet it was almost eerie, and I questioned how any human could hold so much power that he would render a room silent.

  It didn't sit well with me, and I wondered if I’d be so bothered by it if the president was a woman. Men. They just couldn't be trusted, and I was big enough to admit that I had an issue with any in power. Especially human men.

  John Caine walked slowly through the hall, nodding at a few of his soldiers and smiling at some cleaners and staff. Normally that would have spoken a lot of his general character, but I knew it was all a front. From his first meeting with Louis, he’d been less than honorable, and I saw no reason to upgrade him because he bestowed a few smiles on those he considered beneath him.

  When he reached us, Jacob and I didn't move or say anything. Ball was in the president’s court now.

  "You assaulted one of my men," he drawled, blinking in an odd slow movement, like he was trying to figure out what to say.

  Or maybe that was fear.

  "Your men need a lesson in respect," Jacob said, in an affable tone. "They continue to push and harass and berate us. We don't work for them. We don't work for you. Think of this as a diplomatic exchange, and right now you're not gaining a lot of favor with my people."

  The president did more of that extended blinking, but this time I was pretty sure he was weighing up his need to show his power—i.e. dick measuring—against the odds Jacob might wrap his hands around the president's throat next.

  "You requested to speak with me," he finally said, clearly no longer concerned with punishing us on behalf of Marcus. Looked like that soldier had underestimated his importance.

  Jacob leaned back in his chair, long legs crowding into mine. "We want to take our first trip back to Stratford. It's been a month, and so far we've done nothing but trail the humans around."

  "You don't need us here, clearly," I added, pushing my half-eaten plate aside. I'd lost my appetite in the face of this man.

  Jacob briefly glared at my remaining food, before returning his gaze to the president.

  John Caine cleared his throat. "Yes, well, uh … I have been working on important matters behind the scenes to ensure that we utilize this exchange to the best of our abilities. And while I would love to grant your request to return home briefly, I'm afraid right now is not the best time—"

  He was cut off by the scraping of chair legs as Jacob stood, leaning over the top of President Caine, using his height and bulk as pure intimidation.

  "You better give me a very good reason," Jacob said, baring his teeth. "Or I'll consider our agreement null and void, and we will leave here and never return."

  The president didn’t like this threat. "You wouldn't dare. You have no idea how much rests on our little arrangement here. I could bring war to your door."

  Everyone in the entire room was listening in at this point, some obvious, and others pretending they were reading their phones, even though their eyes were not focused. The moment the president’s threat was dropped, flames raced across Jacob, not to mention the scales appearing on his forehead and down the visible skin of his chest and hands, and all those “not” listening in, let out a loud, almost unanimous gasp.

  President Caine stepped back, and the fear on his face was as clear as day. He was pissing his pants terrified, and I knew that if someone didn't reel Jacob in, this was going to get bad.

  Really bad.

  5

  Jacob Compass

  I had been doing so well. I hadn't killed Marcus, even if it was as simple as twitching my fingers and snapping his neck.

  President Caine, though, was pushing my last fucking button. His threats were going to end today; I’d had my fill of putting up with his bullshit.

  My flames pushed higher, the table under my palms starting to smoke, right before a hand wrapped around my right biceps. I cut off the flames in an instant, worried I might burn Justice. She was a supernatural, one born of a powerful fey land, but I wasn't sure she knew how to use her power to protect herself. At the base of who she was, she still acted like a human … something that wouldn’t change for many years. I’d seen it firsthand with Mischa, who was only just now thinking of herself as a shifter.

  "He's not worth it," she said, not quietly.

  Guns were trained on us all around the room, as the men who swore to protect their president with their lives stepped closer. With a snarl, I used wind to wrap around their weapons, stealing them out of their hands, all the while shaking my head at their stupidity. Humans never learned, thinking little pieces of metal were superior to my power.

  "You're forbidden from using your hocus pocus magic on me," John Caine stuttered out. "Th— This is treason."

  The absolute absurdity of his words, and the fact that the guns were now all slammed to the walls of this room, guards hurrying after them in a comical manner, had some of my annoyance easing.

  "You. Don't. Control. Us!" Justice snapped.

  She was pissed, and it reminded me of the first time I’d seen her. Outside of her astonishing beauty, the strength of her personality was absolutely mesmerizing.

  President Caine was about to learn the hard way that pissing off the ruby princess never ended well. "Give us one good reason why we shouldn't walk out and never return?" she snarled, her distrust for him written across her face.

  Her ruby eyes held the president in thrall for a few moments, and I wondered, not for the first time, if he’d chosen her initially because she was stunning in a way no human could be.

  He’d had no idea what her beauty hid inside.

  "Before you leave, I request that you visit a war zone," the president finally choked out. "I want to show you what we're up against and implore that you reconsider joining forces with the American government to combine our power and skills and end this war for once."

  Justice regarded him for a beat, and I let her have the floor, my power fading away to nothing again. "You say the right things,” she finally said, shaking her head, “and it's no surprise you're the president, but I don't trust you. It's as simple as that."

  I didn't disagree.

  He nodded. "That's fair enough. I haven’t given you any reason to trust me. But I think you've proven more than once that if you don't like what you see or learn, you can just overpower us and leave. We are taking a huge risk in trusting you, and all I’m asking for is a little of that faith returned."

  The dragon stirred in my chest, and it wasn't a lazy movement. Neither of us were happy with this situation. The president needed to remember that he wanted us here, not the other way around. We had asked the humans for nothing; we didn't need them. But we did need this situation to be over.

  "We’ll go with you to this war zone, but after that, we return home," I said, crossing my arms, settling the dragon by taking back control of the conversation.

  President Caine nodded. "Yes, that is acceptable. The plane will leave in two hours. Pack some clothing and toiletries—we’ll be gone for a few days."

  Justice swung her head toward me and I knew without even having to ask what she was thinking: that was too easy. Something else was going on.

  The president spun on his heel and left in the same eerie silence that he'd arrived in. In my experience, if a leader required that level of reverence in their presence, then they were egomaniacs. People weren't silent around us in Stratford—we welcomed an open forum in dealing with any situations and complaints that arose. We demanded respect but didn’t incite fear.

  Somewhere along the way, humans had forgotten that the leaders were there for their people, not the other way around.

  I retook my seat, hoping that Justice would finish her food before we left, but she just pushed the plate further away. I wasn't the sort of supe to question a woman’s decisions about what she did or didn’t eat, but I'd be a liar if a part of me wasn't dying to reach over and feed her. Justice was picking at her me
als like she was human, and supernaturals needed more sustenance than that.

  There I went again, acting like a damned shifter with a need to feed his mate.

  Not that Justice was my mate … or whatever.

  Before I could delve any deeper into that, Justice stood and straightened her uniform. "I'm going to head to my room and pack a bag," she said, her voice unnaturally tight.

  I was on my feet in an instant, hand wrapping around her forearm to hold her in place. "What's wrong?" I asked, leaning in close. We were being closely observed, some of the faces fearful, others furious, especially those men whose guns I’d stolen.

  Her lips flattened and she sucked in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. "I just ... I really hate war. I'm not sure I can handle whatever he’s about to show us."

  I nodded, gentling my hold but not releasing her. Even better, she wasn't trying to pull away, which was progress for us. "This won't be the first war I've seen or been part of, but it never gets easier. Bottom line, we’re here because we chose to be, and if this ends up being too much for either of us, then we'll leave. Treaty be damned."

  Humans didn't even register on my giving-a-fuck-meter. Justice on the other hand, did.

  Surprisingly.

  She chuckled darkly. "Like you ever get overwhelmed in any situation. Outside of having your man-periods the last month, which is understandable, you're generally so unflappable that it seems like nothing fazes you."

  For some stupid messed up reason, it annoyed me that she saw me that way. Like I wasn't real.

  "I have a good mask," I told her, brutally honest. "A lot of fucked up shit has happened to my pack in the past years, and trust me, it has left a mark. My man-periods as you put it—" I quirked an eyebrow at her. "Terrible analogy by the way, is not just because we’re stuck here playing puppet to a fuckhead, but because I don't like situations out of my control, and lately—"

  "Everything is out of your control," she finished before I 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 enticing for my fractured sanity. I'd thought I'd learned this lesson from a young age: not to crave beauty. It had always been a character flaw from wanting the prettiest of flowers, the shiniest of jewelry, and the sparkliest of gems.

  And men … I always, always, had the worst taste in those.

  Forcing myself not to look at him any longer, I stepped away from all the temptation he offered and walked out the door. I had no idea where the president wanted us to meet him, but thankfully before I looked like an even bigger idiot, we found him marching down the hall, half a dozen of his men trailing behind.

  "The car is waiting," he said when he reached us, and I felt Jacob's warmth at my back as he stepped closer. The fey didn't used to feel so warm to me, but I'd surmised that the more time he spent with his dragon, the warmer his energy was getting.

  "We're ready," he said shortly, and the president nodded.

  We followed him through the building in silence, walking the many halls, past countless doors. The silence was not what I'd call comfortable, but it was still infinitely better than small talk.

  When we reached what looked like a secret side exit, we emerged into a parking garage, where a few cars were waiting. The president directed us to a black SUV with darkly tinted windows. It looked nothing like any vehicle I'd seen before.

  "Bulletproof," Jacob murmured in my ear, no doubt noticing my wide-eyed stare. Bulletproof certainly explained the thick paneling on the sides and across the door.

  I wasn’t as breakable as a human, so this was cool but kind of useless to us.

  "We're heading to my private airfield," President Caine said when we were all situated in the car.

  He had two bodyguards on either side of him, neither of whom I’d seen before. It seemed that most of the guards with him today hadn’t been in the normal roster. That made me
uneasy, since I still wasn’t sure what his end game was.

  Something told me we were going to find out soon though.

  The other car with the rest of his guard drove out first and we followed. It was a smooth, silent ride, and within thirty minutes we were on the very impressive Air Force One aircraft, gliding into the blue skies.

  I had no idea how long the flight was going to be, but I assumed a while, so I closed my eyes and attempted to doze off. I trusted my instincts to wake me if anything went wrong. Not to mention, Jacob was across the aisle from my chair, and as astonishing as it was, I trusted him to have my back.

  A huge step forward for me.

  A few hours into the flight, I fell into a proper sleep, only waking as they started to serve dinner. The food was good and I managed to finish everything on my plate. For some reason, up here, in the air where I couldn't change or influence anything, my anxiety was taking a rest. I even asked for a second serving of the quiche.

  Who knew that eggs, tomato, bacon and some herbs could be so delicious?

  "I need this recipe," I mumbled around a mouthful. "I mean, for whenever I learn to cook."

  Jacob laughed, his head resting back on the headrest as he watched me closely. "I'm a rather good cook. I could teach you if you'd like? Quiche isn’t difficult, depending if you want to make your own base or not."

  I blinked at him. "I … I really don’t see you as Mr. Domesticated. Are you telling me that you do the cooking in your family?"

  He shrugged. "Yeah, a lot of the time I’m the cook. It's something I kind of enjoy. Everything except baking.”

  I lifted my eyebrows, hoping he’d tell me more. Men talking about cooking was kind of my soft spot. Yeah, my relationship with the male sex was complicated.

  At one point in time I had detested them all, refusing to even be in the same room as a man. Over the years, though, I’d learned to separate the individual from the whole. Some men could be bad, but it wasn’t all of them. I knew that now, even if, on occasion, I still hated them en masse.