Falling for Faith Page 7

  Michael didn’t say anything, he only released her hands, and holding her gently, carried her to his bedroll. Sinking down onto it with Faith clutched in his lap, he used his thumb pads to wipe away her tears.

  “That was amazing,” his voice was rough.

  She could only nod, as the guilt pierced through her. She wasn’t supposed to share that with anyone but Eli. It was their secret. And she certainly wasn’t supposed to enjoy it more with anyone else. That was treachery.

  “Talk.” He was rubbing her wrists, gently. The hands that were rough and demanding before were gentle and evocative now. She wanted nothing more than to sink into Michael and sleep, but she couldn’t. She shook her head at him, unwilling to tell him what she was thinking.

  “Okay, then.” He scooped her up in his arms and carried her back to the cabin. Once inside, he left her on the bed while he ran a bath for her.

  She watched him move around her room, getting her nightclothes ready for her while the water ran, still naked. She admired his perfect form, desperate to find a flaw. A mole, a wart, a scar, anything to focus on besides his perfection.

  The smattering of dark hair on his chest tapered down to his impressive length, hanging between powerful thighs. The hair below his lower lip accentuated the kissability of the feature. Those fucking eyes. They all added up to create a breathtaking specimen of man.

  He had a tattoo on his bicep, a band that looked like a snake coiled around the muscle. Shock drained the blood from her face, but she couldn’t think about the significance. If she did, her mind would blow. Eli had a similar tattoo, at least, she thought it might be similar. Fading memories, the passage of time, and her own faulty perceptions kept her from knowing for sure. She must just be thinking it was similar to Eli’s just because it was roughly the same size and shape and in the same place as Eli’s. Maybe no similarities existed at all, and her own feeble mind during this strange time was creating connections where none were. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to know, so she kept her eyes roaming.

  He was bigger than Eli, who’d been small, lean, and strong. Eli was darker skinned, a beautiful golden tan, and had curly dirty blond hair. Everything about Eli and Michael contrasted drastically. Even their dominant love-making styles. Eli was always quick to make sure he wasn’t going too far, asking if what he was doing was okay. And he almost always was. Michael was demanding, unapologetic, as if he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was bringing her pleasure. And he was correct in his assumptions.

  As Michael picked her up and carried her to the bath, Faith realized Eli had never done this before. He had cared for her afterwards, but it was always with cuddling. He’d never washed her before. As Michael went about cleaning her, his touches and caresses were so tender, so gentle. He washed every spot on her skin, between her toes, behind her ears, between her delicate folds. It was so intimate, like an extension of their lovemaking, but it a different side of the same coin. He paid special attention to her tortured nipples, her ankles, her wrists, the entire time, watching her carefully. She was numbed by the entire experience, unable to understand the rushing tumble of thoughts careening through her mind.

  Comparisons between the two men would make her crazy. And would involve thinking about Eli. And thinking about Eli only made her betrayal that much worse.

  After drying her off with a towel, Michael dressed her and carried her to the bed. He’d found some lanolin cream and began applying it to her nipples before rolling her over and smearing it into the skin of her butt. He doctored her wrists and ankles and then pulled her covers up, sitting next to her.

  “Talk.”

  “I can’t.” Everything was too raw.

  “Yes. You can. Tell me what’s going on up there.” He tapped her head softly.

  “No.” Her time with Eli was hers to keep sacred. If she spoke about it, she would lose something precious to her by sharing it with someone else.

  “Are you okay? Do you want me to stay with you?” The sensitivity in his eyes was all the more powerful for its rarity.

  “No. I want to be alone for a while, please.”

  He was quiet a moment, then he said, “He’s not coming back. And I’m here now. I’ll leave you alone, but I’m not going anywhere, Faith.”

  And she watched him walk away, in all his naked glory.

  Chapter Eleven

  Michael was back in the boathouse, dreaming Faith’s dreams, thinking about what they all meant.

  He was fucked.

  It didn’t matter that he was a supernatural being, he couldn’t hold a candle to the idyllic memory of her fiancé. He was turning human, whether he liked it or not, and was doomed to become one of those simpering lovesick fools who watched from afar while the object of their worship went along, living life. He would die alone.

  He would die.

  Weak.

  Michael wasn’t at all surprised when The Boss appeared at the door of the boat house, outfitted in waders, a vest with all sorts of pockets, and a mesh hat with lures and fly-bait sticking out of it.

  He turned his face away from the sight, angry. The Boss was always trying for levity in serious situations, and Michael was not amused.

  “She’ll come around,” He said gently, the rubber waders creaking as He moved through the boathouse.

  “This sucks.”

  “Yes, it does. But she’s giving up a past she’s been clinging to for a few years. They were both orphans when they met. They were all each other had until he went to fight. He made friends, and one of them killed him accidently. So she’s clinging to the idea that she won’t ever get hurt if she stays alone.”

  “Friendly fire? That’s how he died?” Michael hadn’t realized. Not that it mattered much. Dead was dead.

  The Boss nodded. He walked aimlessly around the boat house, idly playing with the end of the rope Michael had used to tie up Faith the night before, a smirk curling his lips. “Humans and their peccadillos…”

  “She’s a thief,” Michael spat out. He had been getting comfortable around her, but the sudden appearance of The Boss brought his machinations back to the forefront. “What are you trying to do here?”

  “What do you think I’m trying to do here?” Typical evasive maneuver by the Original Manipulator. Michael snorted.

  “How the fuck should I know? The others think you’re abandoning us. We’ve displeased you somehow. There’s even talk of replacements.”

  He didn’t answer straightaway, His eyes only softened with something akin to sadness. He squatted next to Michael, the waders letting out a painful sounding creak. “You’ve pleased me immensely. I just realized I’ve asked too much of my boys for too long. I’m rewarding you.” His gaze grew fuzzy, as if he was remembering something. “It’s sort of like a covenant.”

  Michael scoffed. “I’ve seen your covenants first hand. Giving land to Jews, then they spend the rest of eternity fighting to keep it. No thanks.”

  The Boss’s voice hardened. “I gave them the tools to keep it as well. As soon as they realize that, they’ll be able to have it back. But at this point, they’ll have to step outside of their violent little comfort zone and look at my Word.” He sighed. “But I digress. We’re supposed to be talking about you and Faith. You’re giving up, and she’s in danger. She needs you more now than she ever has. There’s a parallel here. Do you see it?”

  Michael didn’t answer. His mind was spinning. The idea of Faith in danger had his mouth dry, and as he tried to swallow past the lump in his throat and calm his now pounding heart, The Boss nonchalantly leaned against the boat house wall, arms crossed. “She used to be in law enforcement.”

  That shocked Michael, and he tried to hide it, but the knowing smirk on The Boss’s face reinforced what Michael already knew. It was impossible to hide things from The Boss. So he changed topics. “She’s quick to run into trouble.”

  “She’s a good match for you, and you are her protector.”

  “She’s greedy.”

 
“How do you know that?”

  “She steals! That’s how I met her, remember? She’s made a deal with the Deceiver - for thievery! How much lower can you get?” He knew it was a mistruth the moment he spoke the words. She’d been tricked by the Deceiver, just like every other human on the planet. She couldn’t help it. She was weak, a human.

  “He’s looking for her. He’s ready to collect. You must be vigilant in your protection, Michael. And be careful… Looking for faults in others becomes a veil for honest soul-searching. You might need to look to yourself to find out how to break down her walls.”

  “I don’t have a soul, remember?”

  A smile lit His lips, before He shimmered into nothingness. Ringing in Michael’s ears were the words, “Not yet.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Faith had busied herself as much as she could that morning, even making bread to bake later. Kneading and pounding the dough had done little to ease her mind though, and by the time she had the dough rising in the pans, she’d come to a decision.

  Michael had to go.

  Walking into the boat house, she was overwhelmed by memories of what had happened the night before. Her skin flushed hot when she saw the rope holding the canoe in place, and her core clenched at the memory of the smooth hull beneath her fingers while Michael spanked her. And fucked her.

  The truth was she’d loved every minute of it, and thought she might could have something with him. If it wasn’t happening so fast, she couldn’t control her emotions. And if he wasn’t who he was. What he was.

  Michael wasn’t there, so she allowed herself to wander around, picking things up and putting them down, while her mind raced to places they hadn’t gone in a while.

  She’d been raised very religious as a child in a Catholic home for children. The sisters had imparted a strong sense of spirituality in her, teaching her the dogma of Catholicism. While the one didn’t always instill the other, Faith’s faith used to be an exception. But when Eli had been killed and she’d thought on the futility of his death, she’d turned her back on any comfort her ingrained spirituality could give her.

  Putting her fate in the hands of some deity who could let her world die wasn’t in her mantra. She’d tried to regain control of her life after his death, but continuing work with the police force had just reinforced the fact that good people died, and other people got away with killing them. Every day.

  Not that Eli had died at the hands of a bad guy. He’d been shot by his friend in the platoon. It wasn’t intentional, the letter from Bryan had pleaded for her to understand. Eli’s head had popped up at the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Her Eli. Her world.

  And now, as she stared at Michael’s rumpled bed roll, she ruminated on her feelings for the one person who could have stopped it. The one she was in love with now.

  She was rejecting her love for Eli and giving it to Michael. She knew that. But Michael was an archangel, one she was familiar with, the archangel of war, the protector, the angel of death who weighs the souls for worthiness in Heaven.

  It probably was time to move on after Eli. Four years was enough of a mourning period. But to move on with Michael? Not possible.

  It may be time, but her wounds were not healed, and last night had proven that to her.

  Her hands acted of their own accord, and Faith saw herself untying the boat and dragging it to the water. She grabbed a paddle and climbed inside.

  The wooden canoe had come with the cabin. She’d personally seen to its restoration, and now it gleamed. As she quietly paddled out of the boathouse, pointing it towards the middle of the lake, she pondered her options.

  She had the necklace, which was evidence against her in the murder of the Howells. She had evil looking for her to collect on some unnamed debt. She was in love with the one who hadn’t saved her Eli. She had nothing left.

  When she reached the center of the lake, she cut the motor and looked at the murky depths below her. She imagined she saw the faces of lost loved ones swimming around: Eli, hazy visions of her parents, dead so long, the sisters, the man in the Howells’ bedroom… She leaned closer to the surface of the water, trying to make sense of it all, when the man from the Howells’ bedroom’s face became the dominant vision.

  He spoke to her, “Come. You aren’t worth anything up there. I can give Eli back to you… Come.”

  Faith startled at the sound of the words ringing clearly in her head and looked closer at the vision in the lake. The man’s black eyes shone with an intense desire, and he held his hand out to her. She could see her parents in the depths below him, smiling at her, and Eli. He was looking at her sadly, a small smile on his face as if to say he knew what she’d done but forgave her anyway. God she missed him. The man’s hand still reached for her until it broke the surface with a splash, and she lost her balance, tumbling into the cold, murky water.

  Once there, she felt a comforting weightlessness. A sense of freedom. She could just sink to the bottom and it would all end. There was nobody to miss her, nobody to care. She watched her dark hair float in front of her face a she sank into oblivion. Slowly, she remembered why she was here and began turning her head, looking for her family. Nothing. Only blackness, and a heaviness in her lungs.

  A sudden tug at her waist, and she was rising. She fought the pull, wanting to sink into the depths, but it was insistent, pulling her towards the light of the surface.

  When she splashed up into air, she saw Michael floating next to her.

  “What did you do?” he demanded, still holding on to the waist of her pants, pulling her towards him.

  “Took a boat ride and fell in,” she sputtered back at him, still not clear on what exactly had happened.

  He growled something unintelligible and started towing her to shore, leaving the canoe in the middle of the lake.

  “My boat!”

  “I’ll get it later. I don’t want you throwing yourself overboard again.”

  She stilled and allowed him to float her back to shore, but when they got there, a chill sank deep into her bones. She felt like she’d fallen off the side of a mountain. She didn’t know what was real anymore.

  At the shore, Michael continued carrying her by the waist up to the cabin, his arm wrapped around her midsection. “I can walk,” she growled out through gritted teeth.

  He dropped her without ceremony on the ground next to him and watched while she climbed to her feet. Stalking next to her, they entered her cabin, and he ushered her to her room. “Put on fresh clothes.”

  “What about you?” She looked at him, jeans and t-shirt soaked, water dripping from his hair.

  “We need to talk.”

  “You are like a broken record.” She peeled her t-shirt over her head and stepped out of her wet jeans. He’d seen everything last night, so there was no point in trying to hide anything now. “I don’t need to talk.” After the tenderness he’s shown last night that had confused her so much, the return of his gruff demeanor was almost welcome.

  “Is the idea of being with me so distasteful that you would rather kill yourself than be with me? Do you really hate me that much?” Did she actually see hurt in his eyes?

  “No, I… I hate myself.”

  He enveloped her in a crushing hug. “Don’t Faith. Don’t do that to yourself. Life is the most precious gift anyone’s given. Don’t throw it away.” The complete about face of his demeanor was undermining every defense had worked so hard to build up.

  The faces of the dead swam in front of her vision again, and she felt faint.

  “Shit.” She wobbled, and Michael caught her before she fell.

  “Did you see something out there?” He swallowed. “Was someone there?”

  “I… Yes.” She looked up at Michael’s face, remembering details of the man in the Howells’ bedroom: his smell, the glint of his eyes, his sneer. “Tell me who he is.”

  “I told you already. You made a deal with the Devil.”

  Chewing on the inside of her ch
eek, Faith thought about him. The Devil. When she’d first seen him, he’d reminded her of Michael, a little. From her Catholic school teachings, she remembered he’d been an angel, like Michael, at one point of his existence. “So he’s… like you?”

  Michael puffed out air. “Used to be, but not anymore. He’s evil, Faith.”

  “Yeah, but if he used to be like you, then you guys are sort of like, brothers, right?”

  A bark of laughter rose from his powerful chest. “Yeah. He’s like the black sheep.”

  An observation came to her, and she couldn’t help the words that came from her mouth. As much as she wanted to stop them, she couldn’t. It was as if she had some sort of divine presence inside her speaking for her. “You are more alike than you care to admit, aside from the evil stuff.” She took a deep breath and continued. “You’re pretty dark and scary yourself.”

  Still holding her, Michael led her to the bed where they dropped, Michael’s wet clothes squishing water all over her bedding, but she didn’t care.

  “I am.” He stroked her back, soothing circles that did a lot for her peace of mind. What the fuck was he doing to her? “I was.” She felt him take a deep breath and exhale slowly. “My darkness may have been the catalyst for all this.” His voice was quiet like he was talking to himself. “Humanity during times of war can be so bleak. When you spend an eternity around that and nothing else, it does things to everything involved.”

  Faith stayed silent, feeling that somehow Michael was working something out in his own head, something he himself needed to understand. She let him hold her, continuing with his circles on her back, while he thought, piecing together pieces of a puzzle she was never meant to understand.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Faith couldn’t find a way to relieve the pit of nausea in her stomach at the idea that Satan himself was after her. Nor the idea that Michael was there to protect her. Years of instinct took over, and she did the only thing she knew to do.