Rain: A Liliphim Novel

By Melissa Niska

At the end of a perfectly mundane day Rain Harts life was forever altered. Finding herself suddenly thrust into the center of a supernatural world filled with creatures she never dreamed existed, she quickly learns what she is and that the cost of her happiness can be high, but is it more than she's willing to pay? The unexpected renown she attains through nothing more than being real gains her invaluable friends and dangerous enemies. Raised an orphan in a human world she never thought shed learn who her parents were; the truth of her lineage just might kill her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 23, 2010
• ISBN: 9781456819507

Melissa Niska

Melissa has been making stuff up since she was 13 as a way to hide from her rebellious sister’s chaotic fallout. She loves to travel, having recently visited Guam and obtained her scuba diving certification, and she wants to go everywhere she’s never been. She adores spending time with her family and friends as well as taking tribal fusion belly dance classes at Hot Pot Studios from world renowned teacher Amy Sigil. Melissa lives in the Sacramento California area with her husband David and their two ridiculously spoiled cats.

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Copyright © 2010 by Melissa Niska.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2010917174

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4568-1949-1

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4568-1948-4

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4568-1950-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

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Contents

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

There aren’t enough letters in the words thank you to express the thankfulness of my thank you! To my husband David, always supportive and encouraging. To my family: Mom and Dad, Elizabeth, Margo, Shyanne, Laura, Alison, Pete and Colin, thank you for suffering through years of incessant typewriter clicking and my endless yammering about my made-up worlds. To The Gang: Atomic Ken, Joe, Jordan, Jason, Sky, Bo and Kevin, thank you for helping me laugh through the frustrating moments even when you didn’t know that’s what you were doing. To Unmata, Verbatim, Street Team and all of Hot Pot Studios, thank you for being a constant source of inspiration, support, encouragement, and for several of you thank you for inspiring characters that can be found lurking within these pages. To friends old and new: Zia, Vince, the Tucson Gang, Ellen, Becky, Candace, Carrie, Wes and a myriad of others I’m sure I’m forgetting.

A special thank you to The Crüxshadows, whose music was my constant writing companion and is always an endless source of inspiration. Also a huge thank you to Nina Storey, whose song Cowboy inspired the personality of the character Drahomir.

Dedicated to everyone who believed in me and encouraged me to keep telling my stories, no matter how small the audience.

PROLOGUE

My very own stalker. Super. I should have been surprised, but I’d checked that emotional reaction off my to feel list over a month ago along with scared and angry. I’d already done all the normal things that you’re supposed to do in situations like this: I talked to the police and filed reports, but since I didn’t know who my shadow was I couldn’t very well have a restraining order delivered. Besides, he always stayed the required distance away anyway so what would be the point?

I’d been able to deduce that it’s a man simply by the silhouette. After all, no woman is shaped like that; I don’t care how butch she is. He’s never approached me, which has made it easier for me to start feeling comfortable again despite his constant presence.

He didn’t feel menacing; he’s sent me flowers after all. What would it hurt to let him continue to waste his time sitting outside my house, my office and following me all over town in his oh-so-stealthy Mustang? Not a new one either, those look like an older model with a water retention problem; but a 1960-something that should have been red or blue to do it any justice. Someone should have told him that just because it’s black doesn’t mean people can’t see it.

I was strangely comfortable with the arrangement. I guess I should confess something about my social calendar. Yup, empty. I work in generic corporate America, doing a job that doesn’t really impact anyone or anything, and the highlight of each day is tormenting my red Beta fish, Sting, with the purple rock on the end of my pen that he thinks is a rival.

I get up, I go to work and I go home. So stimulating. The knowledge that someone, anyone, found me interesting and not strange or scary was worth any uncomfortable niggles in the back of my head whenever I caught sight of that car.

The thing is I’ve never seen his face. Ever. He manages to stay in shadows, no matter how sunny the day is; when I think I will be able to finally catch a glimpse he lowers his head almost as if he knows I’m looking right at that moment. I didn’t mind this at first, but now it’s wearing thin and I am waiting for him to approach me. Stupid of me I know, he could be a serial killer for all I know but there’s that interest factor again.

For those of you who aren’t plain, allow me to explain. I’m five foot five; I have auburn hair to the middle of my back, hazel eyes, freckles across my nose and am about 15 pounds overweight. Forget already? Most people do.

Add to that a quirky sense of humor that no one else seems to understand, a directness that keeps people from asking for my honest opinion and, oh yes, the fact that strange things tend to happen when I’m around. Things like the neighbor’s prized roses shaking themselves out of the ground when I argued with her about picking one. She doesn’t talk to me anymore. Add all this together and you’ve got a single girl who sits home alone on Friday nights.

How long could he follow me around before he finally told me what he wanted? Well, you know what happens when you ask yourself questions like that don’t you? You find the person able to answer them sitting on your couch when you get home from work on a Friday night when all you expected to find was a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.

So why would anyone care about an average, outcast of an orphan like me? I don’t stand out. I don’t make waves if I can avoid it and I certainly don’t attract attention. So why me? Who am I? I thought I was simply Rain Hart, odd nut and outcast. Until recently that is.

CHAPTER 1

I stared blindly at Sting swimming in lazy circles, pausing occasionally to puff up and feel superior to the purple address book propped next to his bowl. The low hum of voices around me was as normal a sound as that of my own breathing and was strangely comforting, with one exception: Meredith.

As her voice boomed from the next cubicle at a volume that would make the Rolling Stones cringe, I closed my eyes and wished desperately for a tazer. Only one hit, please? A little one? My mind begged any omnipotent being who might be listening and in a giving mood. They must all have fled the area in search of someplace quiet. I thought to myself, taunting the fish absently with the purple rock that was glued to the top of my pen. The Middle East maybe.

Rain? Came the troll’s dreaded voice. Five foot square with an excessive mucus problem, Meredith had no idea the effect she had on my nerves or the steps I had to take to keep from reaching out and pinching her lips together.

Yes? I answered without turning around, picking up the tiny stuffed dragon that had suddenly fallen from the top of my monitor.

I was wondering—Jillian has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow and Brad . . .

As she prattled on about her personal life, which couldn’t have been less interesting, I filtered the pertinent information from the drivel and managed to decipher the long-winded and unwanted explanation to determine that she wanted to trade schedules.

Sure, I can switch with you. I said, jumping in with the hope of derailing the rest of the story.

Really? Great. I’ll let Melinda know. And, having gotten her way, she turned and waddled off like a bipedal bologna toward our supervisor’s office. Muttering to myself, I rolled my eyes. Now it’d be four days until I had a day off. Glancing at the clock I heaved a relieved sigh, gathered my things and was out the door in two minutes flat.

Like every other office building at 5:00, mine spewed a steady stream of worker drones for a full 15 minutes like a giant monster dislodging a multi-colored hairball. I stood in front of the gray façade and contemplated the unchanging weather.

Phoenix had two seasons, ‘summer’ and ‘not summer’. ‘Not summer’ lasted for about three to four months, the rest of the year belonged to ‘summer’ and it went indiscriminately between scorching and blazing. The locals always said that it was a dry heat, but my argument with that was that my oven was a dry heat too, but I don’t want to live there either. It was October and ‘not summer’ was finally starting. The high today was forecast to only reach 90 or so, downright fall-like.

Heat shimmered off the cars in the parking lot, distorting everything behind them into a twisted mass of color. My little mini SUV was white, so while you could still sweat to death inside, it would take longer. I made my way out onto the sun-softened asphalt, wiping away the fine sheen of sweat that had already formed on my forehead.

The air conditioning came on full-blast the moment I started the car. Since that was the setting it lived in most of the year, and I grimaced in the face of the initial shock of hot air that blew through the vents. Steering with my fingertips to keep from burning my hands, I backed out of my space and pointed the car in the direction of Bell Rd. to find some dinner. By the time I waded through the rush hour traffic it’d be an hour later and I’d be hungry.

I decided on Red Lobster as usual, not because the food was better than average but because it shared a parking lot with a huge bookstore. Not only did I enjoy walking around after a meal to ease digestion, but also, bookstores were my church. They were quiet, and the scent of sweet coffee mingled perfectly with the smell of books to make a perfume for my soul.

I ate at the Lobster often and yet the hostess still found it necessary to look sympathetic when I asked for a table for one. I could think of worse things than eating alone; like a sharp stick in the eye. She led me to the same table she always did and I had to wonder if it was there just for me, as it was small and had only one chair. It filled an odd corner that would otherwise have been useless and the darkness of the nook was brightened with a single candle in a red jar.

I smiled my thanks at her and hooked my purse strap over the back of my chair, scooching it around so my back was to the wall and I had a full view of the room. I didn’t even need to look at the menu. As soon as the server appeared at the table I ordered the snow crab legs and a Midori sour on the rocks.

As I waited I folded my hands together and leaned forward on the table edge, observing the activity around me. My eyes focused on the couple to my right and watched as the young woman, no more than 22 with short auburn hair and long red nails laughed at her male companion, touching him lightly. A small smile hovered at the corners of my mouth and I knew it would look sad if I let it out so it stayed locked away as it always did.

My meal arrived in short order and I began to dismember my lovely sea spider, dipping the delectable meat into the melted butter before popping it into my mouth to chew it slowly. Cheese biscuits and steamed broccoli rounded out the meal and I sighed, content in the moment.

While I ate, my gaze moved back out to the dining room, taking in the large group that was clearly celebrating a birthday; the pointy hats were a dead giveaway. Past them were more couples, a few having quiet arguments and the rest smiling and laughing with each other.

On the far left of the room there was a lone man seated in a booth meant for four, playing idly with the ice in his water. His long fingers poked at the cubes, plunging them into the bottom of the glass to fight their way to the surface again.

His hair was dark gold, like fine aged brass, and it gleamed in the dim light, the long wavy mass framing a classically sculpted face. A straight narrow nose over perfectly shaped lips, and high cheekbones made him almost pretty.

His eyes sparkled from the shadow his hair cast on his face and when I met his stare he smiled. Though I was sitting in a corner with my back to the wall I turned to see who he was looking at, certain his attention must be focused on someone else. There was nothing behind me but a framed picture of a red snapper and I looked back only to find the booth empty, the wet water glass the sole proof that I hadn’t imagined him altogether.

I finished my crab and wiped the butter from my lips with the coarse white napkin, the picture of the stranger still niggling at the back of my mind, and I shook my head to jostle it free, hoping it would fade away.

Swallowing the last of my drink and tucking some cash in the little black folder that the server left when he brought my meal, I picked up my purse and wound my way through the maze of tables, making my way out the door and into the night.

Pausing outside I looked around at the faces that moved through the parking lot and along the sidewalk in front of me, none of them looking familiar nor taking any notice of me.

Turning my gaze, I focused on the bookstore, its contemporary face shining out of the dark like a beacon and I found myself drawn to it like a frog to water. It was still 85 degrees as I made my way through the lot though it was around 7:30 in the evening.

One of my main complaints about Phoenix was that there was never a reprieve from the heat; even at midnight it was still too hot to sleep under the sheets. I often wondered what insane pioneer was heading west hundreds of years ago and declared, "No water, no plant life, boiling hot temperatures; let’s live here!!" I still wasn’t sure how I had ended up here and why I hadn’t left yet.

With a reverent sigh I pushed the great glass doors open, stepping through into the cool whoosh of the air conditioning and finally smiling for the first time that day. I wandered the aisles and trailed my fingers over the rows of spines like a kid with a stick at a picket fence. I spent half an hour making my way across the store to the Starbucks it shared space with and by then I had digested enough to have made room for the coffee I was now chilled enough to want.

I ordered a tall black coffee, which always got me odd looks, not just from the Barista, but from the other customers too. After all, who goes to a coffee shop to get plain coffee? The looks no longer embarrassed me and I simply shook my head while I paid and took the cup.

Going to the counter along the opposite wall I added cream and more sugar than I should have but hey, I like sweet things. I took a small sip and made an unconscious mmmm noise. Strolling back into the store, I chose a book from the sci-fi section and settled into an overstuffed chair of cream cotton with wide green stripes and proceeded to get lost in another world.

My coffee was gone and I was halfway through my book when the announcement came that the store would be closing in ten minutes. I tossed my cup out and went to the cashier with the book, paying and heading out the door.

I stopped and stared at the virtually empty parking lot. After all, it was almost 11:00 and most people were home and in bed. My gaze landed on the black Mustang and stayed there. Not because the car was an unusual sight for me anymore, but because my stalker was leaning on the fender less than 50 feet away.

He was in shadow of course, having parked between lampposts; so he was no more than a silhouette against the light behind him as usual. He had his arms folded across his chest with his feet crossed at the ankle and the fact that it was a man still perplexed me. When I continued to stare he stood and opened the door, sliding in; and with a turn of the key he put the car in gear and drove away.

I simply shook my head, fingers sorting through my own keys as I walked to my car. Following his example I climbed into the driver’s seat, started the car and headed home.

CHAPTER 2

I drove up to my rental house after yet another boring day in the vision insurance world. I listened to people complain about their eye glasses as though the rest of the world had come unhinged by making them wait a whole week for them to be made. It seemed that the art of grinding glass into a certain shape had lost its mystique. Either that or it is the way we teach people to expect instant gratification and then reward them when they throw a fit for not getting it.

I came around the corner and saw the black Mustang in my driveway. The shot of adrenaline down my spine was electric. I felt it trickle like warm water but still managed to break out in goose bumps. I pulled into the driveway beside the car I’d seen every day for the past month and killed the engine.

I sat there a moment, simply staring at it as though it might disappear if I blinked. Gathering my things I slipped out of my little white Kia Sportage and locked the door, all but skittering around the front to peer into the driver side window of the Mustang.

This man had followed me for so long that I’d grown comfortable, and now the thought of actually talking to him had me very nervous. I wasn’t a scared person by nature; I’d taken self-defense classes and I practiced what I’d learned a few times a week but this whole situation had me feeling unprepared. Why now? Why the hell was he in my house and how did he get in?

I walked to my door and stood there staring at it for God knows how long. Certainly no more than a minute passed, but it felt like days, days that I stood there with my keys in my hand staring at the red paint I’d been so pleased with on the split Dutch door. Slowly reaching out I put my key in the lock and turned it, hearing the dead bolt slide and I jumped as it clicked into its open position.

Calm down girl, it’s probably nothing. I could hear my own voice, but even in my head it wasn’t convincing. I turned the knob and pushed the door open but I didn’t go in; I couldn’t seem to make my legs move. Who the hell put glue on my doorstep? OK not really glue, but fear and glue often have the same effect.

Are you going to come in? The voice drifted from my living room, which couldn’t be seen from the front door, and again I jumped. My breathing was shallow and I was certain I was going to hyperventilate. So why then was I actually considering moving forward and not running away? I should have turned around, gotten back in my car and high-tailed it out of there. Well, you know that saying about curiosity? I was just hoping that today I wasn’t the cat.

I suddenly remembered how to put one foot in front of the other and set my Birkenstock clad feet into motion, moving into my entryway, soundless on the honey colored tile. Without turning, I closed the door and hung my purse and workbag on the coat rack behind the door. As an impulse I picked up my bright red umbrella from the corner where it lived, giving a couple of test jabs with it in a moment of delusional samurai prowess.

I decided that I was now well armed and ready for anything. Yeah, right. Each step I took toward the living room made the voice in my head louder and louder as it screamed at me to run fast and run far in the other direction. Captain Obvious, that’s me. I rounded the corner and found more glue on the floor. I got it in my eyes too, as was evident in that I couldn’t blink. I just stood there staring at the man on my couch with my umbrella pointed at him.

He sat at the far end, one booted foot resting on the opposite leather clad knee. A black T-shirt and black leather jacket completed his ensemble but it was the five o’clock shadow along his jaw that made the laughter bubble to the surface. It started out as a snicker but within a few moments it had me doubled over as tears streamed out of my eyes. The man on the couch stiffened, sitting up straighter and raising one eyebrow at me. Who knew my laughter could bruise an ego I’d never met?

Something funny, Rain? he asked. His use of my name should have startled me but he’d been following me for a month so I wasn’t surprised that he knew it.

Are you serious? I asked.

About what, pray tell?

You, I said as if that explained everything. He continued to stare at me without blinking, which gave me the moment I needed to regain a little of my composure. I managed to move to the chair that sat at an angle to the couch and collapse into it. After another moment, I leaned back and stared at him again.

His blue eyes were almost cobalt and had that sultry, heavy lidded look that made you think of sex. His black hair clearly had natural wave to it, and it was pulled into a pony-tail at the base of his skull. He drummed his tapered fingers on the arm of the couch. It seemed I’d gotten all the time he was willing to give so I motioned at him with the umbrella from tip to toe and another smile found its way onto my face.

You look like you stepped off the cover of a romance novel, I said, and his scowl deepened, drawing his dark eyebrows together.

Excuse me? His voice was low, almost a growl, and I felt it in my chest. Was the male voice supposed to rumble inside you like thunder?

How long did it take you to create this . . . character? Probably not wise to taunt the man who broke into your house but hey, humor as self defense had worked in the past. Foolish? Who me?

I expected him to stand, or move or something. Instead he sat on the couch, both hands wrapped around his bent knees and his arms trembled with the effort it was taking to stay sitting. This sobered me a little and my smile faded.

Look, I’m sorry, I said, fighting down another smile. But you’ve been following me around for a month. You’ve never shown yourself and now here you sit, sex personified, and I’m supposed to think this isn’t an elaborate joke?

At this his expression finally changed. It became knowing and smug, and he leaned forward, resting his forearms where his hands had just been.

And who would take the time to play that kind of a joke on you, Rain? His voice was harsh and I felt my own gaze harden. "What friend do you have