Gotta Have Faith Read online

  Aw, hell no. He wasn’t going to end up in Avery’s or Nat’s old rooms with the pink ruffles and old posters of Luke Perry on their walls while his wife, the woman he’d kill ten innocent men to spend one more night with, was just down the hall in their bedroom in the house they’d built together.

  Thinking of his girls only doubled the hurt. Damn. He missed them so much. Avery’s fierce independence and lilting laugh and Nat’s warm smile and her love of the outdoors.

  He had to get the hell out of here.

  Brock cleared his throat. “I really appreciate that, Faith. But I’ve survived worse weather, and if I don’t make Pennsylvania two days from now, I’ll lose my job.”

  Now her eyes went stern and matronly. He knew that look. It said “don’t defy me or I’ll hunt you down and bend you to my will in whatever way makes you bend quickest”.

  “I didn’t see a car outside, so I’ll have to assume you hitchhiked or walked or whatever to get this far. Either way, you’ll die of exposure and never make Pennsylvania, and there’s no way I’m allowing anyone who’s been to Cedar Glen to up and die and ruin our stellar reputation. No one dies on our watch. So gather up your things and do it now, please.”

  Derrick’s lips went tight and flat. “Mom, I have to interject—”

  But Faith’s eyes flashed in her son’s direction. “No. No you don’t, Derrick. You will, but you don’t have to. It’s a choice. And I’m going to choose not to hear you. I know all the concerns you’re going to throw my way. What if he robs me blind? What if he steals the good china? What if he assumes my identity? What if he’s a serial killer? You’re not a serial killer, are you, Eli?”

  “Not unless it pays really well. It’s messy, and body disposal is hard this time of year.” He couldn’t help but joke.

  She grinned now. “In the market for a new identity?”

  If you only knew. “Well, right now I’m good. But you never know if hard times happen to befall me.” He grinned back, relishing their easy banter. It had always been like this with Faith. He missed their conversations just as much as he missed their lovemaking.

  Derrick began to protest, but Faith gave him a stern look and held up a finger of warning before she turned to Brock. “Good enough. Go get your things. I’ll wait. But don’t make me wait long. I have a stew simmering on the stove. If it burns, you’ll pay. It will be ugly, or do I have to remind you about my right hook?”

  Fuck. He was screwed. So screwed. The temptation to spend a couple of days with Faith overwhelmed him, made him as giddy as a damn schoolboy with his first crush—even while pretending to be someone else. But how could he leave her when all was said and done? Lorelei would find him sooner rather than later.

  “Eli? My stew,” Faith reminded, sticking her hands inside the pockets of her coat to pull out her gloves.

  He didn’t bother to argue, didn’t even stop as he heard Derrick’s exasperated sigh or Martine’s hushed reprimands. “I’m on it.”

  He made his way back to the laundry room, where Winston was likely having a fit after being left for so long.

  The fairy was sitting at the edge of the washer, his short legs swinging as they dangled from the machine. He straightened his fringed vest and rolled his eyes at Brock. “You’re nuttier ’n squirrel shit, and that’s all I’m going to say.”

  Brock pulled open his duffel bag and searched for a pair of clean underwear, knowing Winston all too well. “No it’s not.”

  Winston clucked his tongue. “You’re right, big guy. It’s not all I’m going to say. Here’s what I’m going to say. This is crazy, Brock! If Lorelei comes hunting for your ass, we’re toast, buddy. She’s going to annihilate you, and me right along with, for going back on your word. Not to mention, she’s pretty dangerous, right? Or so she was always saying. What if she comes after Faith?”

  He knew that. He knew she’d come looking for him eventually. But she was off somewhere with that crazy coven of viper women she called sisters for an extended Christmas holiday in Bora Bora. He’d heard her say they were going on a trip the night he and Win had made their big escape. With any luck, she wouldn’t begin looking until he was long gone from Cedar Glen.

  “I don’t remember you protesting when I got us the hell out of there.”

  Winston flapped a hand at him. “Right. I know. Guilty as charged. I was giddy with the sweet smell of freedom. But being locked up again by that hellcat of a witch has to be better than dead. She’s gonna come home after hanging out with those beak-nosed hag sisters of hers, her hatred of your wildly vindictive council refreshed after massages on the beach and frolicking with stingrays, and hunt us down like small woodland creatures. I have tiny limbs. They tear easily, Brock.”

  Win waited for Brock to answer, but when he didn’t, his favorite fairy went all sentimental on him. “Look, I’m your friend. At least I’d like to think we’re friends after all this time cooped up in that basement together. I’m only telling you this for your own good, and because I like you. I don’t want to see you or your family or anyone else get hurt. I just know what those whacked-out witches can be like.”

  Brock sighed, ragged and long. Over the course of their incarceration at Club Lorelei, he and Winston had bonded. Winston was the only reason he was still alive at this point.

  There had been many dark, lonely nights as Lorelei’s prisoner—nights he’d had to struggle to find a reason to keep going. Winston had kept him going. He’d pushed, nudged, force-fed him. Whatever it took to give him hope. Even when he knew Winston himself had little hope left to give.

  He owed Win. He wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

  “I’ll look out for you, Win. Quit bitching and just stay in the duffel bag, okay? Besides, we’re going to have stew tonight, buddy. When was the last time we had stew? We’ve been surviving on Slim Jims and a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos for days. Doesn’t stew make you happy? Faith’s stew is nirvana, pal. Trust me.” In fact, his stomach rumbled just thinking about it.

  “Uh-uh-uh. You’re going to have stew. I’m going to sit in some dark room and wait for my inevitable death, while you eat that stew with your wife who has no clue you’re her husband. This is going to be torture for you. I know it. You know it. Is the torture worth some stew?”

  Bracing his hands on the edge of the washer, he looked down at Winston, his response quiet, maybe even a little husky if his ears were still hearing his words right. “It is.”

  Winston threw his small hands in the air. “Fine. Have stew. I hope it’s the best day of your life, because it might be your last.”

  “Eli?” Faith called, the impatience in her tone reaching his ears.

  Winston flicked his nose. “Hurry up, you lovesick fool. I wouldn’t want you to miss your stew.”

  Brock straightened and grabbed his jeans, still folded neatly on top of the dryer, and shoved his legs into them, trying not to think about how he was going to have to make a hasty exit tonight.

  For now, he just wanted to think about sharing a meal with his wife after five long years. He wanted to drink in every last second he spent with her.

  Before he ended up six feet under.

  Chapter Four

  This is insane, Mom, rang in Faith’s head, clear as a bell. Derrick’s hissed, angry words taunted her all while she’d walked over to her house beside Eli in the heavy fall of snow. It clanged harder in her brain as she grabbed fresh linens from the hall closet to put on her daughter Avery’s bed.

  Then it began to pound as she started down the stairs to find Eli’s broad back turned away from her as he tended the fire, completely unaware she was gobbling him up with her eyes.

  Yes. It probably was insane. But there was something about Eli she couldn’t put her finger on. Something sincere, maybe even a little lost, but she’d grown pretty good at reading people over her long life, and Eli meant no harm. He was solid, oozing integrity and pride, and yes, he was like sex on a stick.

  Okay?

  Sexysexysexy. Yum-yu
m.

  She’d tried to convince herself she hadn’t invited him to stay because he was an undeniable visual party, but it was there no matter how much she denied it.

  There was just…something. Something that had compelled her to intervene with her overbearing, protesting son and ignore all the warning bells shooting off inside her.

  Chalking this insta-attraction up to her lack of male attention for so long was the story she was sticking to for now. She had to, or she’d hate herself even more than she already did.

  Brock.

  Eli had met Brock, but he couldn’t remember how long ago. More of that anger she’d been struggling with managed its way up her spine. Clearly Brock had been fine enough to carry on a conversation with someone. He remembered where he lived, so a little soap opera amnesia was out. He wasn’t lost or held captive if he was in a hotel bar, drinking.

  So what the hell had happened to the man whose heart wouldn’t let hers go?

  She finished making her way down the stairs and shook off her questions, her irrefutable anger. She had to let this be or she’d go mad. She’d tapped every resource known to man, reached out to the far corners of the paranormal world, in some of the seediest places she could reach to, and nothing.

  There hadn’t been a single soul who’d ever had any information on Brock. Now this man, a complete stranger, and a human no less, had actually interacted with him?

  It didn’t make sense.

  For now she was going to focus on keeping a nice man from dying of exposure. When he left, she’d figure out what to do with the big ball of fury lodged deeply in her belly, and maybe she’d give a stab at figuring out the rest of her life and finally letting Brock go.

  “Thank you for stoking the fire,” she murmured to Eli as she came up behind him. “It’s pretty ugly out there, huh?” Faith tipped her head with a smile toward the big bay window in her living room where the sky had grown a purplish-blue.

  Eli nodded his sandy-brown head, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It is. I’m grateful for the place to stay.”

  Had the room gotten smaller? His eyes bluer? His body more muscular? Because she was struggling to breathe when he moved in closer to her.

  “It’s no trouble at all. Come with me and I’ll show you your room. You can get settled and then I’ll make some coffee. Do you like coffee? I love coffee. It’s probably my favorite beverage. Unless we’re talking wine. Then all bets are off—”

  Eli chuckled, interrupting her flow of endless words. “You’re nervous.”

  Faith bristled, pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her hands. “No I’m not. I was just trying to get to know you. If you’d rather I didn’t talk, all you have to do is say the word. I’m fine with silence. It’s good for you. A real test of your communication skills, using only hand gestures and grunts—”

  ”Why don’t you show me that room?” he asked, grabbing her hand and pulling her back toward the stairs, where he grabbed his duffel bag.

  Such an intimate gesture should have given her pause. No, it should have made her run in the other direction.

  But look at her, all following Eli up the stairs as if he were leading her to the meaning of life.

  As they reached the top of the stairs, he stopped short at the pictures of she and Brock and their children in various places around Cedar Glen, hanging on the walls lining the hallway. Thick black frames surrounded a multitude of happy faces, recording their lives together in years’ and years’ worth of photos.

  Faith held her breath when Eli paused to look at one of her and Derrick when he was a baby. She remembered the day like it was yesterday. Derrick was fussy, teething and crabby, and the photographer had managed to capture him with his mouth open, full wail in progress, his chubby legs rigid and unbending when she’d tried to coax him to sit on her hip.

  The photo was grainy and in black and white due to that particular era’s equipment—and that’s when she realized why Eli was staring at it. Because the face staring back at them was hers, but the timeline was all wrong.

  Damn humans.

  “My great-great-grandmother,” she muttered, patting herself on the back for her quick save.

  But Eli only nodded and kept pulling her along the corridor until he stopped at the apex of the hall where the bedrooms were located. His body stiffened and his hand tightened on hers before he let it go. But she caught him peeking into her bedroom before he did.

  Stepping around him, keeping her body as small as she could possibly make it, she pointed to Avery’s room, with its posters of Luke Perry and Jane’s Addiction hanging on the walls, a pink-canopied bed complete with frills and white lace, and white furniture.

  “I know it’s a little pink. But the bed’s really comfortable,” she assured him. “It was my daughter’s room.”

  His eyes scanned the poster of Luke Perry positioned directly over the headboard, the actor’s surly pout and narrowed gaze looking right down at the bed.

  Instantly she reacted with a sheepish wince. “I can take it down, if you’d like. I was never as fond of him as I was Jason Priestly anyway.”

  Eli barked a laugh as he dropped his duffel bag outside the door. “He livened up the Peach Pit. Let him stay. Seriously, I don’t want you to rearrange anything for me, Faith. I’m only going to be here one night.”

  Right. One night. Why did that make her chest hurt?

  Faith nodded, walking to the tall chest of drawers, the top of it still covered with Avery’s glitter nail polish and heart-shaped sticky notes. “Fresh towels are here and a fresh bar of soap, too. I have three bathrooms up here, so you won’t have to worry about your privacy, and there’s no one here but me anyway. Unless the kids come over for dinner. So it’s just us…”

  Just her and the hottie. All alone. In this big house where he was only staying one night.

  His insistence that he was leaving after tonight made her feel panicky. As if she should do time checks and remember to savor the moments she had left with him—count down the hours or something.

  Which made absolutely no sense.

  Squeezing her hands together, she decided it was best to shut up now before she began her nervous ramble again. “So I’ll let you get comfortable, take a nap, whatever you’d like to do. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything at all.”

  Eli stood in the doorframe, his forearm resting on it. The gloom from the heavy snowfall made it almost dark in Avery’s room, but she saw him.

  She saw his eyes follow her as she walked toward him, standing in the doorway.

  Saw his jaw clench and tighten, the muscles in his forearm flexing.

  Saw his stance widen as he readjusted his weight, his thick thighs rippling beneath his tight jeans.

  Saw his nostrils flare as though he smelled her, too.

  Faith’s heart began to pump erratically in her chest, her pulse pounding in her ears. Now her nostrils flared, the scent of Eli filling them, the smell of the blood coursing through his veins. Hot, virile, intoxicating.

  Was he as turned-on as she was from merely glancing at each other?

  No. He was human. Did humans react to other humans like this? Did their pheromones omit a scent as strong as they did with werewolves—strong enough for a human to smell?

  Because her reaction to him was surely oozing from her pores. Visions of him dragging her jeans from her body, his wide hands forcing them down along her thighs until they were at her feet made her legs quiver.

  The sight of him made her dizzy, weak and needy, her nipples tight and pushing painfully against her bra. So dizzy, she had to stop momentarily and catch her breath.

  When she wobbled, Eli righted her, wrapping an arm around her waist until she found herself melting into him. His tall frame meshed with hers perfectly, heated, muscled, flawless.

  And suddenly, Faith knew.

  She knew she had to have this man. Deep inside her, his tongue lavishing her breasts with hot, quick licks, his hands roaming her body, his lips on hers.
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br />   And she knew why.

  She. Knew.

  * * *

  Dude, don’t do it! Oh, Jesus, Brock, don’t do it. I know why it’s so quiet out there, you ass, and it’s only going to lead to heartbreak. I’m begging you, no amount of stew is worth this. Lifetime of stew isn’t worth it. Snap out of it!

  Winston’s voice clanged in his head, his protests reverberating until Brock used the heel of his foot to close the door, shutting Winston and his common sense out.

  He might not be able to smell Faith in the way he once had, what with his senses dulled by mortality, but he knew she smelled him.

  He knew that look in her eye as she’d crossed the room toward him, knew the sway of her full hips, round and perfectly fitting his hand. He knew the familiar flare of her nostrils meant she knew, too.

  And he wasn’t sure whether to hate the idea that she was attracted to another man—well, sort of another man—or holler in triumph that maybe, just maybe, somewhere deep down inside, Faith knew it was him.

  As she melted against him, her supple body relaxed and tense at once…when she let him slide his thigh between her legs…he felt like the world’s biggest ass for not just telling her who he was.

  For not telling her that he’d missed her, and he still loved her with an ache in his gut that hurt as if he’d been stabbed. He missed their home. He missed their children. He’d missed two very important matings in his sons’ lives. He’d missed helping Faith through one of the most difficult times in their family’s lives.

  It nearly brought him to his knees when he thought about how hard it must have been for her to stay strong while she waited to see if Derrick’s and Max’s mates would come through for them.

  And he felt like a total shit being anywhere near her when he knew he had to leave if he hoped to protect her from Lorelei.

  He couldn’t take on Lorelei in his current human condition. She’d obliterate him. Add in her sisters, and the power of their coven would be more than even his werewolf family could handle.