by Rose Wulf
Blake’s lips curved into an easy grin. “Whatever you say, beautiful.” He shifted and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “I’ve got a couple boxed dishes that only take about twenty minutes in the oven.”
“That sounds perfect,” Brooke declared as she sat up properly. She smiled at him before looking around for her discarded suit, which had gathered along the opposite wall of the hot tub. Her bikini was tangled with his trunks, trapped between the currents of two jets.
Blake followed her gaze and laughed faintly as the current of the jets altered course until they were propelling the discarded fabric forward. As he plucked his shorts from the pile, he said, “Special delivery.”
Brooke laughed and moved away from him in order to pull her swimsuit back on.
“For the record,” Blake added, his trunks already in place and one hand braced on the edge of the hot tub, “that swimsuit was a brilliant purchase.”
As she tied the top around her neck, Brooke grinned and said, “You have such a dirty mind.”
“Says the one who lured me to the hot tub specifically so that she could fulfill her naughty fantasy.” As he spoke, he climbed from the water, his body absorbing the moisture that clung to his skin as he pulled away.
Brooke had finished tying her bikini into place by the time he’d stepped out of the hot tub, and as she climbed out after him, she gave him a teasing smirk. “You say that like you think that was my only fantasy.”
Blake stopped moving, finding himself watching her as she passed him. He hadn’t actually given a thought as to how many inappropriate fantasies she might have, but now he couldn’t help but wonder. And the thought had him thinking they’d left the hot tub a little too soon.
Brooke paused, halfway through the sliding glass door, and looked over at him. “Aren’t you coming?”
Releasing a breath, Blake smiled. “Of course.” This woman might be the death of me, he decided as he followed her into the house, belatedly pulling the water off her dripping body. On the other hand, is there a better way to go? He shook his head, laughing silently at himself.
****
Brooke detoured into the bedroom—which she was now sharing with Blake—and called, “I’ll be out in a minute. There’s no way I’m eating dinner in a bikini.”
She didn’t comment on Blake’s resulting chuckle as she moved to her new nightgown, which was draped over the foot of the bed. She might not be willing to eat dinner in a swimsuit, but she had no qualms about eating dinner in her pajamas. So she grabbed the nightgown, moved to grab a pair of clean panties, and continued on to the bathroom.
The nightgown and panties were folded and waiting on the side of the counter, and Brooke’s arms were up, reaching for the tie behind her neck, when her eyes landed on a faint red spot on her skin. She paused, realizing immediately what it was, and her hand lowered until her fingertips were brushing the mark. It would undoubtedly be gone by the time she was warm enough to take off her coat the following morning, but she still couldn’t stop the grin.
He gave me a hickey. She felt like a teenager for feeling even slightly excited about that fact, but there was no denying she was. Until she convinced him to give her a ring, a hickey was just about the most blatant advertisement of his possession that she was going to get.
She paused again, her hand stilling over the red mark and her eyes going wide. Until he gives me a ring, she repeated slowly. Oh God. She swallowed heavily. Somehow, there was a big difference between knowing she was in love with the man and knowing she wanted to marry him. But she did, she realized. She wanted it more than she’d wanted just about anything, ever.
****
“I’ve made a decision,” Georgia declared the next night as she met up with Brooke in the drink station.
Brooke, paying only the necessary amount of attention to what she was doing, pulled her focus forward. “A decision about what?” The last time Georgia had made such a declaration, she’d ended up dragging Brooke to a bar and getting more than a little drunk. On the other hand, that was also the night Georgia had met her current boyfriend.
Georgia stuck a glass filled with ice under the soda machine. “We need to do something fun. Just us girls, you know? Get away for a few hours, forget all our problems, talk about our love lives, that sort of thing.”
“That sounds like a high school sleepover,” Brooke said as she set one filled glass on her tray and then reached for the second.
“Ah, but it’ll be better,” Georgia insisted as she began filling her own glass. “The next time we have the same day off I’ll rent us a boat, and we’ll go floating off shore. I love just floating around.”
Curious, Brooke asked, “Why not skip the boat rental and just use the main beach?”
Georgia clucked her tongue at Brooke, reaching for a new glass as she said, “Because you can go farther out in a boat, of course!”
Of course, Brooke thought with a mental eye-roll as she secured her second glass on her tray and stepped out of Georgia’s way. “I have Tuesday off,” she said.
Smiling, Georgia pulled her second glass from beneath the stream. “Great! Then we’ll do it Tuesday! We’ll pack a lunch and meet in the morning, and make a day of it! Back before the rental place closes, of course.”
“Who all are you inviting?” Brooke asked.
Georgia pursed her lips. “Well, I’ll probably invite Emma, but I doubt anyone else would want to come anyway. And this is a strictly-girls thing, so no boyfriends, got it?”
With a laugh, Brooke turned toward the dining area and assured her friend, “Relax, he works Tuesday anyway.”
As Georgia turned to follow Brooke, she asked, “Will you want me to pick you up? Or do you think you’ll have a car by then?”
Brooke swallowed a sigh of frustration. “I’ll meet you at the beach. Blake and I are going to the dealership this weekend, but I doubt I’ll be able to afford a new car just yet, so I’ll ride with him to the beach on Tuesday.”
“That’ll work, too,” Georgia allowed. With barely a pause, as the doors swung shut behind her, Georgia asked, “Hey, when’s the new girl supposed to get here again, do you remember?”
Brooke paused for a beat as she tried to re-orient her brain. “Uh, Monday, I think. Why?”
Georgia came up beside her so that she could whisper, “I always get nervous with Earl in the kitchen. Anyway, talk later!” And then she sashayed off to her patiently waiting table.
Brooke shook her head even as she turned toward her own table. It was a sentiment she didn’t necessarily disagree with, though she herself was usually more wary with Paula running the kitchen than Earl. Either way, it’ll be nice to get a solid routine going again.
She was standing before her table, preparing to hand out the drinks, when she finally registered the sudden pit in her stomach. It felt as if someone were boring holes into her back, and she suddenly wanted to throw up. Still, she fought to keep her smile in place as she set down the drinks and pulled out her notepad to take their orders.
“Are you all right, Brooke?” Mrs. Buchannon asked after her order had been jotted down. She was sitting opposite her younger daughter, and both women were looking up at Brooke with concerned frowns.
“Yeah,” Clarabelle said, her voice quiet, “you look a little pale.”
Brooke swallowed and attempted another smile as she tucked away the notepad. “Oh, I’m fine.” She paused, suddenly remembering a conversation she’d had with Clarabelle once before, and lowered her own voice to ask, “Hey, Clare, have you learned anything more about … that guy?”
Clarabelle’s eyes lit up instantly with realization and she slowly shook her head. “No, I haven’t. I’ve only seen him in passing twice since you asked me, and no one I’ve talked to even knew who I was talking about.”
Mrs. Buchannon was looking back and forth between them, before finally settling her gaze on her daughter and asking, “What are we talking about?”
Clarabelle leaned over the table so tha
t she could stage-whisper, “The guy in the expensive shirt that’s sitting in the booth behind Brooke.”
“It’s nothing, really,” Brooke quickly insisted. “Just sort of a, um, passing curiosity. Anyway, thanks, Clare. I’ll be back with your salads soon.” She offered them one more slightly less strained smile and turned to make her exit. But she couldn’t stop her eyes from flicking to the side, and she immediately regretted it.
Mystery Man was staring at her blatantly, and for the beat that their gazes met, his eyes narrowed and she could have sworn they sparked.
Best not to test that theory, she decided as she continued to the next table. She pulled her attention forward and did her best to ignore him, eternally grateful that he wasn’t sitting at one of her tables.
****
Blake was walking downtown when he saw him—the older man that was somehow related to Brooke’s ‘Mystery Man’; the man they suspected was responsible for Nate’s accident. He was exiting a shoe store less than a block ahead of Blake, and turning in the opposite direction.
Despite having only seen the man once, briefly, Blake was sure it was the same man, just as he’d been sure that the older man Logan had seen was the man who’d glared at him back in February. And he knew he’d never get a better chance to finally get a few answers. They were in the middle of Main Street, and though it wasn’t particularly busy, there were plenty of people around. Blake doubted the old man would try anything with so many potential witnesses.
Decision made, he quickly increased his pace and began jogging after the man. He didn’t care if a few people gave him odd looks for running down the sidewalk. If he could get even two answers out of the man, it would be worth it.
“Hey!” Blake called when he was close enough.
The man was taller up close than he’d remembered, though not by much. He wore a lightweight jacket, black dress shoes, and overly ironed black slacks. A single plastic bag hung from one hand, and his other hand was tucked away in his pocket. Up close, and from this different angle, Blake could see that the man still had traces of brown in his full head of gray hair.
The man in question stopped walking when Blake called out to him, and after a deliberate pause, he turned in place. He said nothing as he turned to face Blake, meeting Blake’s eyes fearlessly. Blake noted, now that he was really looking, the man didn’t actually appear as old as he’d first assumed. He bore notable lines across his face, proof of a hard life, but he didn’t actually look much older than Blake’s own parents. His expression was cold, detached, and his dark eyes betrayed nothing but hatred. His tone was demeaning as he said, “Blake Hawke, I suppose?”
Blake’s eyes narrowed. He had honestly expected the man to play dumb. Good, he thought. I wasn’t in the mood for that game, anyway. “And you would be?”
“Busy,” the man replied shortly. “You should enjoy your final days, elemental.” With a final sneer, he turned to resume walking.
“You don’t really think I’m going to let you walk away without answering me, do you?” Blake challenged, taking a small step forward.
The man paused again, now sideways to Blake, and turned his head to glare at him once more. “Are you under the impression that because we’re in public I’m not willing to strike you down? You fool. My family’s entire purpose in life is to eradicate your family from existence. These ignorant human witnesses mean nothing to me.”
Opting to ignore the man’s blatant superiority complex, Blake said, “My family has done nothing to any of you. And if you really wanted to ‘strike me down’, you’re missing a prime opportunity right now.” Okay, so goading the lightning-throwing enemy is probably stupid, he reflected after the words had left his mouth. Too late now. So let’s see what he does with it.
His dark eyes narrowed even more, and his hand curled around the handle of the plastic bag he still held. “I’m going to let you live today,” he said in a tone that perfectly matched his expression. “Perhaps you should use the time to educate yourself, you insolent fool.”
The man had already turned around, his back once more to Blake, by the time Blake said, “Are you talking about that old feud? The one that supposedly happened centuries ago? Because if you are, you need to realize that my family had nothing to do with that!”
The older man stopped walking once again, only a few feet away, and almost immediately, Blake could feel the increase in electrical energy swirling in the air around him. He had definitely ticked him off with that one.
“You know nothing,” the man spat as he turned back around. He did not step closer, but there was a definite spark in his eyes. “The fact that my ancestors were nearly exterminated before my time does not mean you should be forgiven. Justice will not be achieved while even one elemental breathes!” He took a deep breath, and the crackle in the air receded slightly. His cold, calm edge returned when he opened his eyes again. “Your time is nearly up, Hawke.”
Blake said nothing more as the man turned again and walked off. He really had thought the man would hold back, not wanting to risk exposure by using his powers in front of so many people. But he had clearly been wrong. And the surge of electricity in the air had caused Blake to break out in a cold sweat. He knew better than to pursue the man further, at least right in that moment, but he hated that he really hadn’t learned anything at all.
He had hoped to at least get a name.
With a sigh, Blake turned and began walking in the opposite direction. As he walked, he reflected on the conversation once more. Maybe I didn’t really learn nothing, he decided after a minute. It’s good to know that the enemy doesn’t care about witnesses—and it’s safe to assume they don’t care about bystanders. And the way he talked about his family makes me think we’re dealing with more than just him and the Mystery Man. But where are they hiding?
For everything he might have gleaned from the man, he’d developed at least one new question. Still, a little contact was probably a step in the right direction. And if he was shopping, that probably means he’s—they’re—staying somewhere local, right? Darien wasn’t that big, especially when you’d lived there your whole life. Blake knew most of the families, at least by name if not by face. It shouldn’t be too hard to figure out who their enemy was if they were really living in town, right?
It’s something, at least, he finally decided as he rounded the corner to the parking lot where his Mustang waited. And in the meantime, I should make sure the others know not to try to corner them in public. It was as much for their own sake as for the sake of everyone else. Their enemy might not care about the people around them, but Blake did, and he knew the rest of his family would feel the same. There was no sense in dragging innocent people into their mess.
The ringing of his phone pulled Blake out of his thoughts even as he unlocked his car. Brooke’s obligatorily smiling face, from the picture she’d let him take near the beginning of the semester, greeted him when he looked at the display. Making a mental note to get a new picture, he said, “Hey.”
“Hey.” There was no underlying trace of discomfort or distress in her voice, and he hoped that meant she hadn’t had yet another visit from her Mystery Man. “I’m off early… Are you busy, or do you think you can come get me?”
Lips curving in a smile, Blake angled into his car. “I’m always free for you. Be there in a few minutes.”
As he drove, Blake called his mother and told her about his conversation with their enemy. “We definitely shouldn’t approach them in public,” he repeated when he was done. “He obviously didn’t care about bystanders.” Blake worried about some of his brothers in this regard. Mostly Dean, but both Dean and Nate were prone to impulse control issues. And then there was Dean’s temper to consider.
Lillian, however, didn’t seem to care so much for his choice of emphasis. “Blake, I’m surprised you would take such a risk. You could have been killed!” The anger in her voice was nearly overridden by the fear. And that combination tugged guiltily at his heart.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” he said. “Really. I just … I thought it seemed like a safe risk. We need answers we’re not getting from Uncle Nicholas.” Or at least he wasn’t. He’d spoken to Nicholas twice now—the second time asking his uncle to email over the documents he’d dug up—but neither call had yielded useful results. Although he hadn’t finished going over the documents yet.
“Nicholas is telling us what he knows,” Lillian said. “More importantly, answers to questions are not worth your life. I don’t want you doing something so reckless again.”
“Mom—”
“Promise,” Lillian interrupted.
Blake released a breath as he pulled the car into a parking spot at the diner. He didn’t want Brooke learning about his afternoon excitement by overhearing his conversation with his mother. “I promise.”
“Good,” Lillian said as Brooke stepped out of the diner. “I’ll pass along the warning to your brothers.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Brooke shuffled into the diner bright and early Sunday morning, gathering with the rest of her coworkers in the dining area. She had been wrong, it turned out, about the day of their new cook’s arrival, and Earl and Paula wanted all of their best (or at least most reliable) workers on shift that day to help break her in.
Georgia navigated her way to Brooke’s side as Brooke came to a stop in the small crowd and, voice hushed, asked, “So, how was the car hunt?”
The day before Blake, Brooke, and Angela—riding along in order to decide what kind of car she wanted for her upcoming birthday—had gone into the next town over and spent several hours looking at vehicles. There were three dealerships in that town, it turned out, and they had hit each one. Angela had gushed over several options—all of which were out of Brooke’s price-range.
In the end, Brooke had written down a few types and their associated prices, but she had not settled on any car in particular. Or, more accurately, the one she wanted was a little too much, and she was still trying to talk herself out of it.
