The Golden Bell (2 page)

The one called Fallon glanced at her. “Home.
Wait until we’re in the air and I’ll answer your questions.”

Having no choice, she obeyed him. By his
accent, he was an American, so she assumed she was going back the
States. She’d been born there, but had run to the UK when her
father had been taken. That gambit hadn’t worked, but it no longer
mattered. Whoever these men were, she wasn’t going to get away from
them easily.

Fatigue sapped what energy she had. She’d
been running for thirty-six hours, and the strain was devastating.
Whatever would happen next was beyond her control, and even her
first sight of the inside of a private jet gave her little joy.
Cold, hungry and parched, she sat where she was told and tried to
ignore the smell of stale sweat and the dried dog crap still
clinging to her shoe.

“Water?” Fallon handed her a bottle, which
she sucked down greedily. He gave her another one.

“Bathroom?” He raised his brows in question,
then gestured toward the tail of the plane.

Grateful, she made her way past the
half-dozen others settled into roomy leather seats and locked
herself in the bathroom. The face in the mirror shocked her. Dirt
smeared her skin, and her greasy hair was half-out of her braid,
hanging around her face in shaggy brown hanks. There was nothing
she could do about the clothes, but she washed up, pulled her hair
back into a proper tail and ignored the shadows under her eyes. It
took a bit to scrub the crud off her shoe, and it was a little wet
when she finished, but at least it didn’t stink. Taking a deep
breath, she carried her footgear back up front and sat down.

Dinner was waiting for her. It was hot and
she didn’t remember the last time she’d eaten, so she attacked it,
uncaring at that point whether it was drugged or who served it.
Besides, her backpack was gone, and she didn’t delude herself that
her “rescuers” had come in with explosives and M16’s to collect
her, only to use her for their amusement. Whatever their agenda,
she was safe for the moment. After they got on the ground…she’d
deal with that later.

Exhaustion hit hard. She needed to lie down,
but a few facts wouldn’t kill her. “Why did you come after me?”

Fallon studied her. “We’d heard a rumor about
one of our females being hunted. By the time we found your trail,
the Cult was a step ahead of us. You know why we broke into the
compound, they would have used your information to locate and wipe
out others of our kind. Too many have died already.”

Sluggish as it was, her mind was still awake
enough to connect a few dots. “Rory was a charmer. How? I was
taught that only human females had the pheromone, and only one in a
million, at that.” The Black Charmers had been in existence for a
long time, and they were frighteningly competent at wiping out her
people. They used the charmers, willing or not, to capture and
control the shape shifting Haunt males, using them as informants.
To her knowledge, there’d never been a male with the pheromone.
Discovering him hadn’t been a pleasant experience.

Grimness tightened Fallon’s mouth.
“Apparently they come in different flavors now. Our friends in the
Cult are dabbling with gene splicing.”

Oh, joy. Too tired to dwell on it, she
grabbed a couple of the pillows that had been laid out for her and
arranged them, reclining her seat as much as it would go. She had
very little time before sleep snared her. “Where we going?” she
slurred, closing her eyes.

“Alaska. That’s where I’m based.”

November in Alaska, not exactly a thrilling
thought. “Am I free to leave?”

He hesitated. “The Council of Elders will
want to speak with you first.”

No, she wasn’t free, he meant. She knew what
happened to anyone who was rescued from the Cult’s clutches. Once
their face was known, they were bustled through the gate to
“protect themselves and others”. The Cult had a worldwide network
of affiliates; shape shifter-hating psychos who’d stop at nothing
to see her people dead. Not that she wanted to be captured again,
but she wasn’t wild about letting the council dictate where she
could live. Her father had raised her to take care of herself. She
wasn’t going to be dragged to an alien world, and good intentions
be hanged.

Sleep sucked her down, and she went without a
fight. When this thing landed, she wanted to be ready to bolt. Once
they got her under formal guard, her chances of escape would sink
out of sight.

It was forty below and dark, with a sharp
wind blowing. Scratching her idea to run the moment her feet hit
pavement, she ducked her head instead and pulled the blanket she’d
been given tighter. How did people survive in this frigid
climate?

A black Jeep was waiting for them. Fallon
opened the door for her and she slid into the passenger side,
grateful for the warmth. Had she been thinking faster, she might
have thought to hit the auto-lock and attempt to steal the Jeep,
but the cold and her awkward blanket distracted her. Just as well;
she’d never learned to drive a stick.

Fallon slid into the driver’s seat. One look
at his big body convinced her that she’d been wise not to try and
run. Guys didn’t like women messing with their autos. A guy like
him…she had a feeling he’d go through the window.

Curiosity made her ask. “What would you have
done if I’d driven off?”

He glanced at her mildly. “My insurance
premiums would have gone up, but the body shop guy would have been
very happy.” He looked back at the road. “You’re not that
stupid.”

Annoyed, she sniped, “I thought your type
didn’t hurt women.”

“We practice discipline, especially of our
women. If you were mine, you wouldn’t tempt me.” This time his
glance was speculative.

If he was trying to unnerve her, it worked.
She didn’t want any part of his ‘discipline’, and she definitely
didn’t want to date him. A second glance confirmed that he was
cute, no surprise she hadn’t noticed, considering; but good looks
didn’t make the firearm at his side disappear.

Frozen scenery and ice fog flowed past her
window, along with occasional traffic. It was only four in the
afternoon, and already dark. She had no money, no friends, and her
last change of underwear had been lost when she’d been seized.
Worse, she expected the day to go downhill from there.

She felt tired. A year was a long time to
run, and she was beginning to feel like the rope in a tug of war.
The bad guys had her, then the…well, she wasn’t ready to call
Fallon a good guy yet, but at least he hadn’t tied her to a chair.
She sighed.

“What’s wrong?”

“I lost my toothbrush.”

He choked, probably on a laugh. “We’ll get
you another one.”

“Are there any banks open? Trent and his
buddies didn’t bother to check my pockets, and I’ve got a little
money I’d like to exchange.” Two shillings was a little money,
after all.

“I’ll take care of it for you. Wouldn’t you
rather shower first? You’ve had a rough day.”

Debating the merits of escaping him in a bank
while exhausted, nearly penniless, and hampered by freezing
weather, she reluctantly grumbled, “Where are we going?”

“My place. I’ve got good security, and it
will make it easy for the council to speak with you.”

“About that…I’m not real eager to chat with
them.”

He looked at her. “You have nothing to fear.
You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Her lips tightened and she stared back out
the window. He was wrong there, but she wasn’t going to argue with
a stonewall. Assuming she could refuel and evade him, she was going
to run the moment she got the chance.

Not everybody hunting her was human.

CHAPTER 2

Fallon watched her out of the corner of his
eye. Something was scaring her, something other than the obvious.
In spite of her attempt at careless chitchat, she was still wound
tight. One wrong move on his part and she’d be off at a sprint,
never looking back.

Did she fear extradition? The Dark Lands,
where many of their people had fled, was a wondrous place, but
dangerous as well. It demanded strength from its people, and gave
richly to those with the heart to rule it. A spirited girl like her
would do well there, but perhaps she didn’t know that. The few of
them left here were increasingly ignorant of Dark Land lore.

Fallon was a guardian. Together with the
Council of Elders, he protected the gate from criminals intent on
escaping human justice and regulated the flow of emigrants fleeing
the increasing power of the Cult. Only a few families still
lingered on Earth. Almost all that remained of their young men had
chosen to receive special combat training, protecting their people
and the gate until the stragglers could make up their mind to cross
over. Fallon hoped it would happen soon. Those that were left
couldn’t escape the vigilantes for long.

He checked on his passenger out of the corner
of his eye. She was cute, in spite of the shadows under her eyes
and eye-watering stench. Not that he begrudged her that; she’d had
a rough day. A good shower would take care of the grime, and sleep
would restore her color. A faint grin played around his mouth as he
considered what rest would do for her feisty attitude. She’d be a
handful, and he wouldn’t mind the distraction. Life had been dull
lately. He had a feeling her visit might be just what he
needed.

The sound of gravel crunching under the
Jeep’s wheels woke her from her light doze. Squinting with
lingering sleep, she blinked as the motion lights clicked on,
illuminating the miniature castle Fallon called home. She stared at
the mullioned windows and round tower as one of the three garage
doors slid up. He smiled in amusement when her eyes widened at the
bad, black, and very expensive Lamborghini Diablo and custom made
Harley parked on either side of the Jeep. Women had a thing for
sports cars, even if most of them knew little about the specifics.
Looked like she was no exception.

“Bachelor,” she muttered, eyeing his toys
with misgiving. The odds of him having a wife and kids tucked away
in here had just drastically diminished. Fighting the urge to
squirm at the thought of sharing his house unchaperoned, she paid
close attention to his quick tour.

“Laundry room. Toss your clothes out the door
when you hop in the shower and I’ll throw them in. You can use one
of my shirts and my robe until they’re dry, but there’s no way my
pants are going to fit you.”

She cleared her throat and suggested
uneasily, “Boxers might.” Heat rose in her cheeks, but she didn’t
feel comfortable strutting around without underwear at the best of
times, and especially around him.

“Don’t wear them,” he answered easily. They
passed through a spacious kitchen. She glimpsed a large living room
with leather couches, overstuffed armchairs and a wide screen TV as
he guided her upstairs. He paused before a door and swung it open,
revealing a sparkling bathroom with a huge tub, a shower stall and
double sinks. The words ‘wife’ drifted through her brain, but she
shook it off. There were no feminine frills, no soft touches of
womanly possession. “You’ve got a housekeeper, right?”

“Right. In that drawer, there should be spare
toothbrushes. Soap and shampoo are in the shower and all the towels
are clean. Be right back with some clothes.”

Grimacing at her reflection in the mirror,
she made good use of the toothbrush, thrilled to have clean teeth
again. She’d been running hard for the better part of a week and
had scarcely been able to draw a breath before that, so little
things like pure water and the prospect of a clean soft bed held
the emotional appeal of a vacation at Club Med.

“Here you are. I’ll be in the kitchen working
on dinner when you’re done.” Her host deposited a pile of clothes
on the counter and left.

Stripping, she gratefully tossed her dirty
clothes out the door and locked it, suffering a brief pang for the
mess she was about to make of his tiled shower. She stepped in and
cranked up the heat. Hot needles of water rained down on her,
heavenly forerunners of a hopefully restful evening. It took three
shampoos and lots of soap, but finally she felt squeaky enough to
leave the shower.

Borrowing his brush, she worked the tangles
out of her waist length hair, wishing in vain for a hair dryer. His
shirt slid over her bare skin like a caress, making dormant senses
prickle uncomfortably. “Stop it,” she muttered, belting on his
maroon silk robe. “Quit stalling.” She took a deep breath and
opened the door.

True to his word, he was in the kitchen,
stirring something in a wok. Ignoring her flash of awareness at the
sight of his muscular back, and the way he turned and looked her
over slowly, as if surprised, she cleared her throat. “Mind if I
borrow this?” At his slight headshake, she took his bottle of olive
oil and spread a drop on her palms, rubbing it on her face and
hands. “Dry skin,” she explained at his curious look.

Nodding, he gestured to the kitchen island
and a plate of raw fruit and veggies. “Help yourself. This will be
done in a minute.”

Fallon was surprised. He’s suspected she’d
clean up well, but he hadn’t expected sable hair that gently waved
down to a trim little waist. Baggy clothes and sweat-streaked grime
had disguised a clear complexion and nice curves. Full lips and
smoky blue eyes that occasionally glowed green peeked at him warily
from a frame of thick lashes. The girl was hot, and he was
interested. Her fear was a hurdle, but time would cure that.

A faint whiff of smoke caught his attention.
Saving their dinner before it could burn, he tossed a potholder on
the island and drew up a stool. He’d already set out plates and
sundries, and Rain was making good use of them.

“Care to pray?”

His request caught her off-guard. Guiltily
swallowing the bite in her mouth, Rain looked at him expectantly.
With a self-deprecating smile, he moved around the island and
reached for her shoulders.