Fallon [Darklands]

by Autumn Dawn

  Relieved, Fallon stepped back. “Good idea. You've had a rough day. I'll carry this stuff up for you and let you get settled."

  She leapt on the idea, padding behind him up the stairs. He entered one of the guest rooms and set the bags on the floor. For a moment they just stared at each other. “There's a lock on the door, but you won't need it. Nothing is going to bother you here.” He looked at her gravely, hoping she'd believe him. The girl deserved a little peace.

  She wouldn't quite meet his eyes. “Thanks. I mean it. You've been ... really nice."

  Hm. He'd had more gushing comments made about him, but none quite as warming. The girl was refreshing—he wouldn't mind keeping her around for a while. “You're welcome, and good night.” Closing the door softly, he left her to her dreams.

  Chapter Three

  It wasn't that she wasn't grateful. Rain cast a guilty look up the stairs. At 2:00 AM in the morning, it was deathly quiet save for the muted hum of appliances. Stealthily, she lifted the phone from its cradle and dialed the cab company. With great care, she shut the phonebook and tucked it back in its place in the hall secretary.

  Leaving this way rankled. She hated taking anything he'd given her—it just drove the guilt deeper—but she'd desperately needed the socks and underwear, so she'd left him the last of her European money with the rest of her new clothes folded on the bed. She'd doubted he'd want the toothbrush back.

  She had a vague plan to head south, out of the cold. It would mean hitchhiking, maybe with a trucker. If she could make it that far, she felt certain she could leave the whole lot of them behind, maybe start a new life. The Haunts and Cult could have each other. All she wanted was peace.

  It had been a trick to lock her door from the outside, but she was resourceful, and it made the illusion of her sleeping in more real. She had to get away from there before the counsel found out where she was. If she waited that long, it would be too late. Her father had waited on the counsel and paid for it with his life.

  "You've reached the Artic Cab Company. How can I help you?” A sleepy voice answered on the other line.

  Straightening, Rain opened her mouth to give directions—

  "Put it back."

  Swearing, Rain whipped around at the cold words and stared. Just beyond the reach of the desk light's glow, Fallon stood there in jeans and nothing else, staring at her with a hot golden glow in his normally jade eyes. Shivers chilled her. Even with her sharp ears strained for any sound, she hadn't heard him coming.

  "Hello? Is anyone there?"

  Fumbling with the phone in her lax hand, Rain quickly said, “Wrong number,” and hung up. Guiltily, she shifted from foot to foot, waiting for Fallon to explode.

  His eyes narrowed. “Am I such a poor host that it's worth risking frost bite? It's cold as sin out there, and you've got nowhere to go."

  She drew a deep breath. “I had a plan."

  "So do I. Get back to bed.” The lethal words warned of impending retribution unless he was obeyed.

  There was nothing else for it—she wasn't stupid enough to attack a full-blood Haunt in his prime—so she eyed him, wondering if he'd move or force her to slip past him, passing through his personal space as she did. Intimidating thought, and she was already nervous.

  Slowly, he moved aside, never taking his eyes off of her.

  Giving thanks to his sketchy sense of chivalry, she slid past, holding her breath until she made the stairs.

  He stalked after her.

  Eyes widening, she hurried along, juggling her lock picks in her haste to get her door unlocked. Difficult become impossible when he paused behind her and stared at her hands.

  Giving her a look, he slipped the tools from her damp fingers and did the honors. Blinking at him in surprise, she slid into the room, unsurprised when he kept her picks.

  He drew her door key from his pocket and tossed it on the carpeted floor. “You'll feel better having that, though there's little point, is there?” He looked at the bed and his brows rose. Moving closer, he frowned at the piles of folded clothes and the foreign currency resting on top. He glanced at her.

  "I paid you back,” she said defensively. It wasn't much money, but it was all she had.

  "Did you put a price on your rescue, too? I could present you with an itemized bill, if you like.” Arms folded, he looked at her with an unreadable expression. The posture did sinful things to all that naked muscle.

  Tamping down on her sudden urge to weep, she looked aside. “I can't pay you back for that. I can only say thank you.” A pitiful, inadequate phrase, but all she had.

  "That was all I wanted for the clothes, too. If you really want to return the favor, then stay here and get some rest. I'm not in the mood to track you through the ice fog.” His tone had softened. Firmly, he reached out and lifted her chin. “If you leave, I will find you ... and you won't like my mood when I do.” With that final warning, he released her and strode out of her room.

  It was a minute before she could breathe normally again. Just standing next to him sucked all the air out of her lungs. Standing next to him while he was half-naked....

  Groaning, she moved the clothes off the bed and onto the dresser, then threw herself down on it. How did he manage to make her feel like an erring child and a hormone plagued teen at the same time? It confused her, added to the stress in an already stressful moment. Now he thought she was ungrateful. That hurt. Maybe she hadn't stopped mentally running long enough to really consider what he'd done for her, but she didn't have time. He was going to make her speak to the counsel, and she had to stop it.

  Her father's murderer was on the counsel. She couldn't prove it, had no idea who it was, but the last time she'd spoken to her father he'd told her he was going to share one of her inventions with his friend on the counsel. The next thing she'd known, their home was being raided and her father was dead, his workshop ransacked. She'd barely gotten away with her life that time—she wasn't dumb enough to tempt fate twice.

  Just thinking about the night her father had died chilled her. They'd played chess that evening to decide who got to pick the movie. She'd won and picked A Knight's Tale. To make up for it, she'd made her dad popcorn. She'd gotten up to use the bathroom halfway through and had no sooner finished that she'd heard the danger alarm go off. With no time to waste, she'd opened the door concealed in the back of the shower wall and jumped down, locking the tunnel from the top. Then she'd raced to the surveillance cameras and watched as their house swarmed with werewolves.

  She'd seen her father die.

  There'd been no time to linger, to absorb the shock. She'd simply grabbed a emergency pack and bolted like she'd been trained to do.

  Her paranoid father had always worried about things like their neighbors finding out what they were and coming to lynch them. She didn't think he'd expected to go at the hands of his own people.

  If he couldn't trust them, neither could she.

  How was she going to escape Fallon? Clearly sneaking away would be bloody difficult. Killing him wasn't an acceptable option, even if she could manage it—a doubtful prospect at best. Incapacitating him might work, but he was wily enough to make that tough. Getting the drugs to make him sleep, let alone getting him to take them, would tax even her sneaky mind, and coshing him on the head ... She shuddered, imaging his expression if he weren't knocked out, or worse, his retribution if she tried to bash him and failed. Haunt men made Navy Seals look like babes in nappies, and her pitiful street fighting wouldn't save her. If he wanted to, Fallon could power through her moves like a full throttle locomotive, smashing her in the process. You didn't take on a Haunt male unless you were suicidal, and she hadn't reached that point yet.

  She could seduce him. As soon as the notion presented itself, she rejected it. Stupid idea. Bedding him wouldn't relax his guard, especially when she'd flinched from him like a caged pidgin at dinner. Not only would he not believe it, she just couldn't do it.

  Men scared her. It wasn't because she'd suffer
ed any hideous hurt at their hands. Her father had been her best friend, but she'd always been shy, not the kind of girl that appealing males made up to. As a result she'd had no boyfriends, had experienced only a couple of forgettable kisses. Someone like Fallon wouldn't even want her, and she didn't need to deal with rejection on top of everything else.

  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.

  * * * *

  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, 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. With a snarl, she ran down the hall, flinging open the door to his study.

  "What's up?” Kirk demanded, looking around 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 had sensed something and made me go down the emergency shoot. He didn't have time to follow without being seen. I didn't dare go back—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 all 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 be able to do at least 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—and they rarely suffered from illness—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 while he'd been cleaning cut his feet. They'd heal in a day or two, and she didn't need cut feet.

  "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—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, then realized that she might fear falling back into the dream. 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 array 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 own phone."

  "She's not listed as a genius for nothing. She failed half of her high school classes, then made perfect scores on her GED. Intelligence found texts 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.

  "What was her father like, anyway?"

  Fallon thought about it. “We don't know much about him. Apparently he was a recluse, both from humans and his own kind. He was a widower, and not much of a warrior, according to his family. No real ambitions, no children other than Rain. He raised alfalfa and beans or something. Pretty solitary."

  "Did he see Rain as his ticket to early retirement?"

  "Who knows? Her inventions brought in a lot of money before she used it up running. The fortune might not have helped him out much, but it helped to sav
e Rain's life."

  "Good thing for her."

  "Yeah.” Tomorrow was going to be busy, and Fallon 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 VCR."

  Fallon blinked at his sleepy-eyed guest. The VCR 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, 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 Darklands. You're in danger now that the Cult has identified you."