4

“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.

***

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.