The Golden Bell (4 page)

Left with no options, she settled on waiting
on opportunity. A distraction would come, giving her the chance to
bolt. As a plan, it sucked, but she’d worked with less on shorter
notice. She’d make it work. She couldn’t afford not to.

CHAPTER 3

A blood-curdling roar jerked Fallon out of a
deep sleep. Half scream, half battle cry, it had him out of bed,
gun in hand before his mind registered why. Tearing open his door,
he bolted down the hall to Rain’s room. Before he could kick the
door open, it flew inward, and a wild-eyed fury burst out. Eyes
wide and golden-lit with fear and rage, she snarled at him and
converted her charge to a flying kick. Habit made him dodge,
surprise made him stomp on his instinctive reaction. She was in her
nightshirt, his shirt, and shaking with adrenaline. A nightmare?
Flashback?

Kirk, a friend and one of the men who’d
helped with her rescue, charged up the stairs, a wicked blade in
his hand. He’d arrived on a late flight and his body clock was
still set time zones away, so he’d volunteered to guard the TV and
fridge while Fallon went to bed. His entrance spooked the girl.
Snarling, she ran down the hall, flinging open the door to his
study.

“What’s up?” Kirk demanded, looking for
someone to disembowel.

“Check her room. I think it’s a flashback,”
Fallon supplied, dashing after his houseguest. Peeking around the
corner of his study with a great deal more caution than he’d
approached her door, he barely saved his face as the small statue
of a knight whizzed by his head. Swearing, he slipped into the
room, dodging missiles as he went. “Rain!”

No response. Looking around wildly, she
noticed the moonlight coming through the diamond paned window and
raced for it.

A fleeting prayer ran through his head as he
dove for her, tackling her just over the chaise lounge. The velvet
cushions broke her fall, but his weight sent a fresh rush of panic
through her. Damp with cold sweat, blinded by her loose hair, she
fought against his hold, trying to bite.

In the end, she exhausted herself, unable to
defeat his superior strength. Only then did he relax his rigid
hold, fractionally giving her freedom as he shifted more of his
weight off her. “Rain?” He brushed the wet hair from her eyes,
careful not to release her wrists yet. “Did you have a bad
dream?”

She blinked and drew in a shuddering breath.
Slowly she looked around, dawning bewilderment in her eyes.

The study light came on. Kirk stood at the
door, gingerly avoiding broken pottery and debris with his stocking
feet. “Doozy of temper you’ve got there, love.” He started picking
up the mess.

Fallon relaxed a little more as she stared at
Kirk, comprehension emerging. Certain she was no longer going to
attack, he moved off her, sitting beside her on the chaise. “Bad
dreams. What were you dreaming of?”

She slowly sat up, shivering. The borrowed
shirt barely covered her thighs, and it was cool by the window.
“The night my father died.”

Fallon snagged the throw blanket and covered
her. “What happened?”

“We were swarmed with Haunt. My father sensed
something and made me go down the emergency chute. He didn’t have
time to follow without being seen. I didn’t dare go back because
they were watching the house. I saw what happened through the spy
hole.” She shivered.

Fallon and Kirk exchanged glances. Carefully,
Fallon asked, “Would you recognize anyone?”

She shook her head, still lost in memories.
“They were shifted. They looked alike to me.”

The strangeness of her statement made him
frown. Shifted or not, every Haunt had recognizable and unique
characteristics. “Nothing stood out?”

She shook her head again.

“Would you recognize a scent?” All of them
had infallible scent memories and sharper than human noses, even
without shifting. She should at least be able to do that.

Avoiding his eyes, she muttered, “I couldn’t
smell anything. My nose isn’t very keen.”

What did that mean? Even with a stuffed up
nose, she should have scented something. Was she suppressing the
memories?

The color had leeched from her skin. “I-I’d
like to go lie down now.”

Wincing at his impatience in the face of her
distress, he picked her up and headed for her room, grimacing as
the shards Kirk had missed cut his feet. They’d heal in a day or
two, and she didn’t need more injuries.

“I can walk,” she said shakily.

“Humor me.” The last thing they needed was
her playing tough and independent. It wasn’t going to hurt her to
be cosseted a little. Tomorrow was going to be a rough day for her,
and she needed to rest for what remained of the night.

Stiffening when she saw her bed, she actually
turned her face to his chest. Brows rising, he paused, realizing
that she might fear dreaming again. He thought for a moment. “Would
you like me to get a radio for you? The music might help. Either
that or you can sleep on the couch. I’ll even wrestle the remote
away from Kirk for you.”

She actually smiled and risked a glance at
him. “I’d like that.”

Pleased by that small smile, he turned and
headed for the stairs. She stiffened when she saw he planned to
carry her down.

“Ye of little faith,” he chided, not pausing.
In moments she was deposited on the couch, the lights on, remote in
hand. Raising a brow at the impressive selection of snacks Kirk had
lain out, Fallon fetched her a glass of juice and a blanket. “Just
yell if he tries to change the channel. I’ll bring you a stick.”
Leaving her smiling wanly, he went to find Kirk.

Kirk raised a brow when he stepped into the
study. “Get some clothes on, mate. I’m surprised the girl didn’t
run screaming at the sight of your tallywacker hanging out.”

Fallon actually looked down before he caught
Kirk’s smirk. “Funny. You know I always wear pants when I’m
expecting trouble.” Not that he liked the black silk pajama
bottoms, but they were cooler than flannel. Besides, any man would
feel ridiculous facing down attackers with his better parts hanging
out.

Kirk grunted. “Our pigeon remembers nothing
and has flashbacks that make my sister’s PMS look like a Brady
Bunch reunion. I’d say toss her back, but she’s a menace to
society.”

Unamused, Fallon sat down in his office chair
and started picking splinters out of his feet. “Someone thinks she
remembers something. One of our own had to have tipped her hand to
the Cult. She’s too good at running.”

Kirk laughed. “Bold move, calling a taxi on
your phone.”

“She’s not listed as a genius for nothing.
She failed half of her high school classes and made perfect scores
on her GED. Intelligence found textbooks on computer hacking,
advanced electronics, chemistry and physics in her room, along with
a host of gadgets that made the hair stand up on the investigator’s
heads. If her father hadn’t got in their way, whoever had raided
their house would have had their own captive prodigy.”

No longer amused, Kirk dumped the last of the
shards in the trash. “Trying to market her inventions was the
dumbest thing her father could have done. Probably would have saved
his life if they’d continued to pretend she was nothing
special.”

“He couldn’t have known.” Fallon watched the
blood run from the cuts on his feet and frowned. It was going to
stain the carpet. Tomorrow was going to be busy, and he could use
some more rest. Kirk would be up for hours yet. “Keep an eye on
her. I’m going back to bed.” Answers would come in the morning.

“I fixed your DVD player.”

Fallon blinked at his sleepy-eyed guest. The
DVD player had been broken for weeks, and he hadn’t gotten around
to buying a new one. A glance at Kirk revealed him smirking over
his breakfast. “Oh?”

“Kirk got me the tools.”

Kirk saluted him with his toast. “She knows
her way around a Philips and a soldering iron, I’ll give her
that.”

Debating the possible attractions of the
Brit’s close-cropped black hair and rakish goatee in the eyes of
his female guest this early in the morning was beyond him. Fallon
put her ease in Kirk’s company down to bonding over too much late
night TV and junk food and then ignored it. Kirk wasn’t interested,
and Fallon was too old for childish displays of jealousy.
“Thanks.”

She smiled at him, and he blinked. The girl
was beautiful when she glowed like that.

Hiding his smirk behind his coffee mug, Kirk
caught his eye. His expression seemed to say, “Too young, too
green, too available, my friend. This one will trip you up
yet.”

Uncomfortably aware of just how well Kirk
knew his usual tastes, his usual liaisons, Fallon frowned and
concentrated on eating. He’d seen what a fresh young thing had done
to his jaded friends; not that it was a fate to fear, but it
certainly wasn’t something he had time for. As an ambassador
between worlds, he wasn’t looking for a young consort, and this one
carried a lot of baggage.

Baggage that was going to get publicly rifled
through in about fifteen minutes.

He waited until she finished her toast before
speaking. “The Council of Elders will be meeting very shortly. It’s
a video conference via satellite, so we don’t have to leave the
house.”

A sickly shade of gray replaced her normal
color. “Why do I have to meet with them? Don’t they have something
more important to do?”

Fallon studied her. “They have to decide
whether to extradite you to the Dark Lands. You’re in danger now
that the Cult has identified you.”

“I won’t go.”

He let that go. She wasn’t going to have a
choice, and it was his job to carry out the transplant. Standing
up, he offered her his hand. “We need to go.”

Ignoring his hand, she pushed her chair out
with angry defiance, pointedly keeping her space from him. With a
sigh he led the way, allowing Kirk to bring up the rear, boxing her
in. They adjourned to his study. While Fallon raised the wall
hiding a wide screen TV, Kirk seated Rain in a leather chair that
swallowed her, taking up guard behind her. In moments the screen
began to fill with faces, some very old, a couple apparently in
their middle ages. In moments seven faces stared at her, studying
her with curiosity or dispassion, depending on the Elder.

It was all she could do not to claw her way
up the back of her chair and escape.

The most ancient of faces, a man with a white
beard and the dignified essence of Sean Connery, looked at Fallon.
“Good morning, my lord. Felicitations on your latest mission. I
trust all goes smoothly?”

Fallon inclined his head. “As can be
expected, Elder Azion.” He glanced at Rain. “This is Rain Lilly
Zephyr Miller, daughter of the late Rian Miller.”

Rain winced. She hadn’t known he knew her
full name, and thanks to her hippie mother, it was a gruesome
mouthful.

Ignoring her reaction, Fallon introduced the
seven elders. “Elder Azion, Elder Traforte, Elder Rite…”

Most of the names were quickly forgotten, but
Rain remembered Azion and Rite. Azion had the advantage of first
introduction, and Rite…the man was creepy. Middle aged like her
father would have been, but with night black hair and startling
blue eyes, his face was average, but the intensity in his
expression was anything but. Against her will, her gaze kept
darting to him, and she felt grateful that he wasn’t there in
person.

Azion’s words drew her attention back to the
conversation. His gaze steady, he said calmly, “As I’m sure you’ve
been told, we’re here to decide on your future, on whether you’d be
better off here or installed in the Dark Lands.”

Her eyes narrowed with defiance. “I’m an
American citizen, and I choose to remain here.”

“It’s not that simple. You’re now a target of
the Cult and a danger to the rest of us. How do you propose to
defend yourself?”

“I’m skilled at making myself disappear,” she
said grimly. This time she would stay that way.

Kindly, Azion asked, “But what kind of life
is that, running and hiding? Living in fear? Do you feel you’d be
happy?”

“I’m happy if I’m free.” She tried to ignore
the hollowness his words invoked. It had been so long since anyone
had cared, so long since she’d had friends. Experience told her
that friends would be difficult to make on the run.

“What of a family? Most of our young men have
already left. It will be difficult for you to find a mate here on
Earth.”

Her heart twisted, and she answered harshly,
“I choose not to have one.”

Her words caused a murmur to go through her
audience. Azion’s brows rose. “Why is that? You are young, pretty
enough to easily attract a husband. Even if you aren’t ready for
children now, you may be later.”

Feeling sick, she looked aside. She wasn’t
going to win unless she confessed.

Her father had warned her, once she’d finally
learned the truth. It had been horrible enough finding out what he
was, but he’d warned her that his kind wouldn’t take well to
knowledge of her. Some of them might be incensed enough to kill
her, and he’d loved her too well to let that happen. He’d installed
the escape tunnel in the house and secrecy in her heart. Flinging
it away now was ten times worse than giving away her virginity
could ever be.

The silence stretched. They were content to
wait her out. Clearing her throat, she said hoarsely, “My mother
was human.”

A flurry of murmurs followed her confession,
making her shift in her seat. She almost expected someone to strike
her dead on the spot. Her father told her shape shifters hated
mixed blood. Little as she knew of the race, she didn’t doubt it.
Surely this would result in freedom, one way or the other.
Personally she hoped Fallon would kick her out; her blood would
make an awful mess of his carpet, and he had gone through a lot of
trouble to save her hide in the first place.