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Dawn's First Light

By: msnomer68



Prologue

Keene stared up at the ceiling and contemplated the darkness. He was safe, at the compound, tucked under the covers in a warm bed as snugly as a babe in its crib. He could dream the dreams long forgotten by a very different man, in a very different place and time. Dare he consider himself so lucky...to dream dreams and plan for the life he never thought he'd live? 

Death had been his only goal. His master's death or possibly his own, either way, it would have been means to an end. He would have been free. There could be no world where the two of them existed in peace. Roark would never simply let him go. And Keene would never simply walk away. Not with the threat of someday...the day his master would come for him...hanging over his head. Until one or the other of the two of them were dead. There'd never be peace. And as for his dreams, he could dream them. At least, he had that much. But, he could never dare to live them.

Roark was the infection that tainted the body. And as long as he lived, the putrid disease would eat Keene from the inside out. There was only one thing to do, rid the body of the pathogen. Cut it out. Keene opened his eyes and stared out into the darkness that was never really dark. As long as a sliver of light dared to penetrate the inky blackness, he could see. Shadowy outlines teased his vision, not of the furniture in his room, but of the future he could have. When the time finally came.

Vampires rarely slept. The function wasn't a necessity. Sleep was a left over habit from a life he had ceased to live over one hundred and fifty-years ago. This morning, the luxury came with a hefty price that would someday, soon, have to be paid. And as his lids fluttered closed over his steel gray eyes, he wondered exactly when his debt would require payment to be rendered.

******

From his perch high atop the city, Roark watched the sun creep over the skyline. Its golden yellow rays reached out between the towering buildings like fingers gently stroking the world below with a mother's loving touch. Unable to permeate the thick layer of tinted glass, the light had no effect on him. He could sit here all day and never have to seek shelter of the cool, dark shadows. Mastery of the one-thing vampires feared the most, the light, gave him a heady sense of omniscience. He was no god. There was no such being. Or if there was, the Almighty had turned his back on him too long ago to remember. But, to a lucky few, he was the Alpha, and to one, the Omega...the Beginning, and soon enough...the End. 

Roark wore his power like a fine suit of the sleekest cut and most luxurious fabric. He liked to consider himself a patient man. But, even patience had its limits. The longer he had to wait to extract his vengeance on his wayward second. The thinner his patience grew and the worse the punishment would be. He had seen the very worst of humanity and of his kind. In that, the humans had an edge, they died far too quickly. Death, even at the hand of cruelty, came mercifully for the fragile beings on the back of a swift, pale horse. But, it wasn't so for vampires. A vampire could suffer for a very, very long time. And Keene would. 

Darkness was a friend and an ally. It shunned the light and swallowed it down into the hollowness of its belly. Roark stood from his chair and pressed his palm to the warmth of the sun-heated glass. He summoned his power and channeled it. Searching out the man he sought to destroy. "Keene," he whispered low, in the promise of a curse. His lips curled into a wicked, twisted smile as their minds connected. The man dreamed. And in those dreams, Roark found weakness in the form of hope. 

Roark sent out just a small taste of his power through the link. Enough to grab Keene's attention and remind the man they were still bound, and that no matter how far or how long he ran, he still owned him. Patience gave Roark time to plot and plan. And when the time came, he would be the harbinger of Keene's destruction in ways that not even Hell itself could imagine.

******

Keene dreamed of a beautiful sun dappled meadow. He ran his hands over the tops of lush green grasses and drank from a pure, clear, cool stream. He dreamed of pleasures long denied. And of a paradise he'd never known. The dream ended abruptly, smothered by black threads. Gasping and choking, he snapped awake and fumbling through the darkness, scrabbling for the thin slivers of light. Not even the glow of the lamp on his bedside table and the normalcy of the paleness of the light could chase away the dark shadows lingering in the very pit of his soul. 

"Master," he whispered. Swallowing back the bile, he scrubbed his hand over his scalp. His fingers scraped over the thick, reddish-orange stubble on his head. Biting back a curse, he closed his eyes and opened them again for a quick reality check. The room was unchanged. The dresser holding his borrowed clothing sat along the wall. The borrowed bed he dared to dream his first dream in over a century and a half was still as soft and luxurious as it had been when he'd fallen asleep. He lived a borrowed life with borrowed things. And the sudden shattering of his dream had been a reminder of that. He owned nothing. Not even his soul. 



Chapter 1

Lori dabbed at the corners of her eyes and blushed at the gesture. She felt like such a sap, bawling in celebration of someone else's joy. Weddings always made her cry. There was something magical about the joining of two lives as one forever. Janine and Patrick were so much in love and so happy together. And they were the perfect couple. They just fit, like two missing pieces in a puzzle. Their road hadn't been an easy one. They fought and gave each other hell for the better part of a year before they finally got over themselves and came to the inevitable conclusion that they belonged together. 

She sighed sleepily and walked up the shady trail to the compound. The day was still young, just beginning with the fullness of dawn. Already hot and muggy, as summers reputably were in this part of the country, the day promised to be a scorcher. Even the leaves of the trees seemed to sag under the burden of the humidity. The atmosphere had a still quality to it and draped over everything like a hot, damp, heavy blanket taken from the dryer too soon. 

Lori was a summer girl and she loved the warmth of the sun on her skin and the wonderful golden-brown tan she got from basking for hours under its rays. At this ungodly hour, the beach down by the lake would be deserted and she'd have the whole place to herself for a few hours before people started to flock there to escape the relentless humidity. Happy for Janine and Patrick but grumbling to herself, she trudged through the damp heat. Robbie had ripped her out of bed so early this morning to attend the impromptu wedding. And there was no way she'd be able to go back to sleep if she tried. The shop didn't open for a few hours, so she had some time to kill. The sun was still too weak in the sky to work on her tan. And there were things she should be doing, like studying for her classes. But, she couldn't face Cellular Biology at such an ungodly hour. 

Deep in thought, Lori couldn't help but wonder about the one person who was missing from the happy wedding celebration. Bryce. Was he a sore loser or had letting go of Janine simply been too much for him to bear? He'd made an honest attempt to win her affections. But, in the end Bryce considered Janine's happiness above his own and stepped aside. Janine went back to Patrick, the love of her life, and left Bryce in the dust of lovers past. Lori couldn't help but speculate about what had gone on between Bryce and Janine in those final moments when they'd said goodbye.

In a way, Lori was disappointed that Bryce wasn't there. Eye candy was good at any time of day and it would have made fitting compensation for having been dragged out of bed on less than five hours sleep. Bryce was lean, well built with trim, compact layers of muscle beneath the silk of his olive toned skin. He had a tight curved butt. Great to admire from a distance, and she could only speculate about this too, even better to fondle. With thick wavy black hair that curled on the ends, startling pale gray eyes, just a shade above clear, and a strong jaw, he was the complete package of raw, masculine beauty.

She on the other hand was a wreck. When it wasn't streaked and lightened from the sun, her hair was a plain, ordinary shade of blonde most commonly known as 'dirty dishwater' blonde. If not for the products and the painstaking care she took everyday. Her hair was a mess of wild, unruly, shoulder length tangles. It was still flat on one side from where Robbie had yanked her out of bed and not given her time to brush through the rat's nest. Her eyes were the color of the plowed fields that she grew up surrounded by, plain green, and flat. She was too short and too skinny, devoid of curves, and way, way too flat chested for any man's tastes. As embarrassing as it was, at almost twenty, she could still shop in the tween section of the Super Center. 

She was too young to be considered worth a second glance from a man like Bryce. Too plain and too ordinary. And he was way out of her league. But, she had hopes, when puberty finally caught up with her, that someone of the male persuasion would finally sit up and take notice. She worked out everyday and there wasn't an ounce of flab beneath her tanned skin. She studied hard, taking college classes at the local vo-tech to earn a degree in nursing. She loved her job at 'What's the Scoop', but it was hardly a career. And barely paid enough to cover her bills. By the time she shelled out the cash for her tuition and bought a few essentials, she certainly didn't have enough left to save up a dime to get a boob job.

The doctor she'd chosen after months of careful research called his outrageous fee a two for one special. Yeah, kind of hard to get just one boob done at a time and the ad was only poking fun. But, he did the best work in the state. And the results were nothing short of amazing. That was her goal. The first thing she was going to do, once she graduated and got her first big paycheck as a registered nurse. Finance some boobs, great big ones. Maybe, double D's or at least a self-respecting C cup, anything would be better than the padded, push-up thirty-four B she wore with a bit of room to spare. 

She chuckled beneath her breath as she climbed the last hill leading to the compound. Her friend Corrine had hated her big boobs. She called them udders and cursed at her humongous, pendulous breasts because they were always in the way. Ok, Lori didn't want boobs that big. Just a nice set, enough to grab a man's attention and keep it for more than five seconds before dismissing her and her less than a mouthful as not worth the effort. 

Lori missed her friend. The stout, graying woman was always so vibrant and full of jokes and so much fun to work with. Corrine was killed over a year ago in an accident. Or at least that's what the brotherhood wanted the townsfolk to believe. But, she knew the facts. Everyone was always trying to protect her from the truth. Keeping the secret and being a part of the group always involved risk. Lori understood that. But, when it was her turn to sign up. She'd had no fear. Willingly, she'd volunteered to do her part. And she had.

Absently, Lori rubbed the small, patterned tattoo along the right side of her neck. The tattoo marked her as a donor and indicated the trust the brothers placed in her and she in them. Their lives and hers hung in the balance of that simple and sometimes complicated pact of faith. Cloaked in silence and clandestine mystery, the agreement was a secret she'd never divulge, and hers a life they'd die to protect.

She was more than the perky coed who lived in the apartment above her parents' garage and worked as a 'What's the Scoop' girl every summer. She knew things no college course could ever teach her. There was a life out there beyond the normalcy of the mundane. A shadowy world filled with magic, the unexplained, and the unseen. And she was part of it. Life and death didn't have the same meaning for her as they did for everybody else. And she understood how loose the definitions of the two really were. 

She was alive, living her everyday life. The brothers were alive, although some of them had been technically dead for centuries. Yet, the two existed simultaneously along side the other. It was strange really, if she thought about it, how alike the two really were, and at the same time, how very different. 

Lori pressed her palm to the electronic reader hidden beneath a thick layer of vines and summertime overgrowth and waited for the magnetic door to hiss open. She thought it was cool being allowed inside the brotherhood's secret inner sanctum. Although, perhaps considering the gift flowing through her body and the instinctive hungers the brothers battled, she shouldn't think as such. A bird, startled by the rustling greenery, called out shrilly and flew off in a fluttery, haphazard flapping of its black wings. The locals whispered rumors that the woods were haunted and for the most part gave them a wide berth. Nah, the woods weren't haunted. They were just full of vampires. 



Chapter 2

Kayla sat curled up on the edge of the plush, red velvet, chaise lounge. Clutching her faithful companion, the pink bear she never let out of her sight, tightly in her arms. Being human, she was considered unimportant, and Roark spoke freely around her. There was talk of attack and of war against the Sons. The Rogue Master never tired of listing the ways he planned to torture Keene once he got him back in his possession. She swallowed back the bile rising in her throat as Roark rattled them off one by one. In her whole life, Kayla had never wished anyone dead, her master excluded. But, Keene would be better off dead than to endure the things Roark had in store for him. 

She put on her best stupid face and smiled blankly and adoringly, up at the man. She played with her pink teddy bear, pretending not to care about his plans for Keene, as if she were a brainless simpleton or a child. She did this so often that it was second nature to her by now. Batting her blue eyes at him, she faked an expression of pure innocence he completely ignored. In a way, that was good. It meant he was too distracted by the train of his thoughts to bother her. And in a way, it was bad, very, very bad. 

Kayla knew her time with Roark was growing short with every tick of the clock. She was aging, almost twenty-four. He preferred younger, almost juvenile company. And the streets were filled with girls, ready to and willing to pay the price and take her place.

She kept up her youthful façade, playing it for as long as she could. But, her youth wouldn't last much longer. When he grew tired of her, he'd turn her over to his minions to do with as they pleased. She'd seen what happened to the other girls. Their bodies discarded like empty fast food wrappers, dumped in an alley or worse torn into unrecognizable shreds. The ones he preferred in the herd, he gave to Keene to dispose of. 

Keene did the job the Master required of him. But, he was far merciful than the blood crazed minions. He did it quick and painlessly. Usually a swift twist of the neck and it was done. Kayla knew. Roark had made her watch before just for the sheer pleasure of seeing her cower in fear. 

Kayla hated it. She despised the circumstances in which she was forced to live. Roark was a powerful man, beautiful and dangerous as a cobra. Before him, she got by the best she could. Life on the streets wasn't easy and she'd been forced to do all kinds of things for nothing more than the loose change in a pocket or a morsel of food. When he found her, wandering the sidewalks late one night, cold, hungry, and alone, he seemed like some kind of a beneficent savior. All he asked of her in exchange for a meal, clean clothes, and a real bed was the pleasure of her company. He was charming, at first. Seductive, rich, and so overwhelming in his raw masculinity, that at the age of eighteen Kayla couldn't help falling at his feet in heady rapture and a deep sense of something akin to worship. 

Roark moved with a lithe grace and the sleek, harnessed power of a predator on the hunt. Even now, with her false worship and pretend innocence, she couldn't help but admire him. He surrounded himself and those around him in opulent, decadent luxury. Her master was a collector of beautiful things. And he enjoyed them freely. 

His beauty was only skin deep though. And it didn't take her long to figure that out. Beneath the piercing green eyes that she always felt on her, and the sleek waves of his hair, smooth and silky as dark chocolate, and the sheer, overwhelming draw of his presence. The master was a cruel, hard being with a heart blacker than midnight. Nothing in this life came free. Everything had a price. And the price for her opulent surroundings, the luxurious sheets of finest silk on which she slept, the gourmet food she ate, the designer clothing on her back, and for her very life, was high. She paid for everything he lavished on her with her blood, with her body, and with her very soul.

Keene too would pay such a price, when Roark finally caught up with him. But, he was the lucky one because at least he got a taste of freedom before the master came to exact his payment. Kayla didn't want to watch Keene suffer. She could not stand to do nothing while Roark tortured him till the man finally broke and begged for mercy. And Roark would make her watch. There was nothing he liked more than an audience when he exercised his power and his brutality. 

There was always an unspoken agreement between the two of them. When it came her turn and Roark ordered her death. Keene would do what he could to protect her. He had little sway over their master. But, maybe, he could prevent Roark from handing her over to the minions to be raped, drained, and torn into tiny pieces. And if Roark ordered her death by his hands, at least she had the reassurance that Keene would make it quick. All Keene ever asked in return was that she do nothing to provoke the Rogue Master's twisted sense of rage. 

So, Kayla played along. She bought herself as much time as she could. Curling her tawny hair into soft, chin length ringlets around her face. Wearing pink and frills to entice the master's shrewd eye. She strategically applied her makeup to enhance what remained of the youthfulness of her face. And she was compliant as a rag doll. She let the sick, twisted, fuck that was their master, do whatever he wanted to her and she did whatever demented thing he required of her to do. 

There was one thing Kayla hated more than the travesty of her life. And that was Roark. Keene and she were of the same mind on that too. Although, neither of them dared to utter the thought aloud, they both wanted him dead. 

Kayla was the head honcho amongst the girls. Roark's favorite. Perhaps because of her complacency or her skill at the way she pleasured him. Or maybe, it was the fact that somewhere, not matter how deeply she hid it, he knew he hadn't broken her yet. The minute he did, she was a dead woman. 

Usually, sometimes mercifully, the girls Roark reduced to empty shells with lifeless eyes like the dolls on Kayla's dresser were glad to die by the time he handed them over to his minions. Or if they'd especially pleased him, to Keene for disposal. Kayla often wondered if that reason was why Keene killed them without a moment's worth of hesitation. Because, there was simply nothing left of them to save.

Keene would not like the direction of her thoughts. He was unusually protective of her. Maybe it was because out of all of Roark's former playthings, she'd been around the longest. The things she thought were dangerous and they would get her killed in the most painful, most horrific way. Being handed over to the minions would be a blessing compared to what he would do to her if he caught the slightest hint of what was in her mind. 


Dawn's First Light



Kayla kept her eyes low and her stance submissive, looking down at the patterns on the carpet instead of meeting his gaze. "May I be excused, Master?" She nibbled on her lips, focusing on trivial things. Innocent things like bubble gum and movies, pretty baubles, and bits of lace and pink satin. Roark was preoccupied with thoughts of Keene. He stood with his back to her and his palms resting on the tinted floor to ceiling glass wall. His spine was stiff and his body rigid with tension. "I'd like to buy a new dress for you, Master. I love to look pretty for you."

Kayla spoke in that baby talk voice she used when speaking to Roark. The sappy, sweet, childlike intonation of her words nauseated her and made the bile churn in her stomach till she thought she might wretch up the lobster bisque she'd eaten for supper the night before. She'd never address Roark by the familiar. She knew better than that. To her, he was always Master. And the word Master spoken from her lips with such false ardor was perhaps more degrading than the nonsense, high pitched lilt, cooing consonants, and breathy vowels in which she was forced to speak. 

Roark gave his human charges little freedom. What was the point of opening the gait because the cattle were unhappy with the pasture? But, he was so preoccupied with thoughts of revenge that he dismissed Kayla's request with a wave of his hand and a sharp, biting grunt of approval. The girl wasn't broken yet. Everyday though, she grew closer and closer. It was in the small gestures she wasn't even aware of. The way she stared down at the carpet and didn't dare to lift her head to meet his eyes. In the submissiveness of her posture and in the manner, she pathetically clutched that ridiculous stuffed, pink bear to her chest. 

He never took his palm off the glass or turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. He didn't need to. Kayla was only human and as such, had no power to block him out of her mind. He stared straight ahead, into the warm sunshine and probed her thoughts. Her head was snarl of harried bits and pieces. Filled with the image of a dress she'd seen in the shop window across the street and how desperate she was to please him.

Kayla wouldn't dare leave him. She knew far too clearly what would happen if she did. She bore his scent on her skin and no vampire who wanted to live till sunset would dare to touch a hair on her little, blonde head. He did not wish to send one of his lesser followers along as escort. Keene was the only one he'd ever trusted alone with the girls. The others were too...impulsive...with their appetites. And Kayla was his until the time came when he decided she wasn't. 

The shop was within eyeshot from his perch and he could easily monitor her. She'd gone out on errands for him before. And never failed to return, usually with a new addition for his collection. Perhaps today, with his thoughts so focused on Keene, he was feeling a bit benevolent toward the female. Like a father indulging a child's whim, he reached into the front pocket of his suit jacket and opened his wallet. Dropping a couple of hundreds on the floor, he watched her scrabble at his feet to grab up the money. 

"Thank you, Master," Kayla said with all the graciousness she could muster. Clutching the bills in one fist and her bear in the other, she curtseyed and scurried out of the room. Quickly before he could change his mind. Her belly did flip-flops as the elevator descended from the dizzying heights of Roark's townhouse apartment. Kayla didn't breathe her first sigh of relief until she was across the street, into the shop, out the backdoor, and in the rank alley behind the towering row of buildings lining the bustling sidewalks of downtown. Oddly enough her first scent of freedom smelled amazingly like rotting garbage. 

She tucked the hundred dollar bills into the hip pocket of her low-rise jeans and hustled down the alley for an adjacent walkway a few blocks from the shadier side of town. Exactly, where she wanted to go. She couldn't think of the girls she was leaving behind. They would bear the brunt of Roark's fury once he figured it out. More than a few of them wouldn't live till nightfall. There was no way she could have risked saving just one when she wasn't sure she could save herself. Whatever he did to them would be far better than what he'd do to her, if he caught her. 

Desperately short on time, she ran, pushing her way through the ambling crowd on the sidewalk. The glittering skyscrapers yielded to graffiti and urban decay. The pristine sidewalks beneath her feet were pockmarked with deep cracks and uneven fissures. Litter skittered across the pavement, tossed about by the traffic on the street. The smell of Chinese food was thick from the restaurant on the corner as the few blocks of downtown the city wanted visitors to see faded to the bad side of town. 

Right now her most urgent thought was to find Keene. Warn him. Kayla didn't have time to hazard a glance over her shoulder or to feel the guilt at leaving the girls behind. She ran like the fury of the devil was on her heels, panting and gasping for breath, her hair whipping in all directions from the gusts of wind along the sidewalk. Onlookers stared at her casually from storefronts. A police cruiser slowed long enough to consider her and then sped down the street. 

There was little doubt of where Keene was hiding or under whose watchful eye. It was just a matter of distance and precious time. And if Roark would get to her before she could get to Keene. Her jogging shoes made a loud slap against the pavement in synch with her pounding heart. Sweat dripped down her brow and into her eyes in droplets of stinging saline desperation. She'd been there before, to the compound and seen the compassion in the expressions. They would help her. Help Keene. At this point, she had no options but to hope she was right and throw herself on their mercy. 



Chapter 3

Keene lounged on the couch, basking in the softness and the feel of the buttery leather against his skin. After waking covered in sweat with his master's voice ringing in his ears, his room was too confining and it felt as if the walls were closing in on him. Thanks to the tracker secured around his right ankle, no place within the compound was off limits to him. He'd wandered the halls like a lost puppy until he'd found his way to the rec room and taken up residence on the overstuffed couch. 

Creature comforts were unfamiliar to him. He'd never had 'down time' before. And he had no idea what to do with himself in the idleness of having nothing in particular to do. He stretched out on the couch, long enough to accommodate his well over six foot tall frame and the width of his muscled body and ran his palm over the smooth, sleek leather covering. 

Yeah, the Sons knew how to live. Not exactly humbly, but comfortably, without the show of garish opulence and wealth Roark was so fond of. The room was decorated in muted earth tones and boasted a natural stone fireplace that took up one wall. A big screen TV was positioned so that it could easily be watched from any point in the room. Lamps on end tables cast circles of dim light. Bright enough to illuminate the space, but not so bright as to make him feel exposed. Handmade throws in vibrant colors of yarn were scattered across the backs of chairs and the room's two oversized couches. A full sized pool table was the focal point both socially and visually of the expansive room. 

Today, he had the area to himself. Just as well. The brothers didn't trust him. And it wasn't like they had a thing in common other than their hatred of Roark. To be honest, he wasn't the best at social interaction. He'd never had to be. Before, it hadn't mattered if anyone liked him or not. His job, his one and only job, had been to do Roark's bidding and keep the son of a bitch alive. That didn't leave a lot of time for the whole buddy-buddy thing. And in many ways, it was better for everyone involved if he wasn't liked. Made it easier to kill them that way. The whole vampires were immortal thing was a cruel myth. Most of the minions Roark kept company with would have been better off human. Definitely would have lived longer if they had. 

The Rogue Master used death as a display of his power. Keene's mouth twisted into a convoluted grimace of a smile as he stared down at his hands. His fingers were thick and long, fondling the delicate tassels dangling from the crocheted throw draped over the back of the couch as if he'd taken the care to weave the yarn himself. His nails blunt, clean, but not free from the invisible taint of blood he'd been forced to spill at Roark's command. Guilt over the things he'd done in Roark's name left him long ago. And he was left with nothing but numbness and hatred in its place. 

The killing wasn't over yet. He had one more life to take. A debt owed. Keene didn't know how or when. But, death was coming for Roark on the swift hooves of a pale horse. Keene was firm in his resolve. He had no plans past the death of his master. He'd learned long ago not to underestimate Roark. The bastard would not go down easily. And most likely Keene would sacrifice his life to see his master's end. But, at least, all accounts would be paid in full and he could die with a clear conscience. 

The vision, as the brothers called it, left him rattled. Their goddess, Kokumthena, came to him. In the brief moment he'd spent in her presence, he remembered everything he'd thought he'd forgotten. He wasn't human. But, in that expanse of time, even if it was in his vivid imagination, he was more human than he'd ever been. Maybe, it was the warmth of the sun on his cheeks that made him remember what it was like to be human again. The goddess said he had a choice. And in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to choose life. 

When he awoke from the vision, clutching the fragile crown of daisies woven by her hands, he decided. His life may be forfeit, but he was going to fight. He was going to undergo the trials. Prove his worth to the brothers. Join them as a warrior. Protect the brotherhood and all they fought to preserve. He'd brought this trouble to their doorstep the moment he fled his master and begged for sanctuary behind these walls. The least he could do was offer his life up to the cause.

Roark had to be taken down. And in the meantime, while Keene waited for the final showdown between the two of them, maybe he could save a few human lives in the process. He had seen the cruelty of Rogues first hand. The brutality inflicted on humanity. Rogues believed humans were food. Nothing more than cattle awaiting the slaughter, worth nothing, except for the blood in their veins. Roark wasn't the only fiend out there. Far from it, as crazy as the son of a bitch was, there were worse. And maybe, Keene would live long enough to send a few of them to hell along with Roark. 

Keene pulled the throw off the back of the couch and lifted the soft yarn to his nose, inhaling the sweet scent of the human woman who painstakingly worked the colorful threads into a blanket. The stubble on his cheek scraped over the delicate weave. To him, this throw was so much more than the work of industrious hands. 

The yarn represented comfort and warmth-home. Things he'd given up on long, long ago. His hands could never create such a masterpiece as the blanket. They weren't good for anything except killing. They'd never given kindness or mercy. He'd never created anything but death. And he'd never had a home, a place where he belonged. But, he could...maybe. Gently, he folded the throw and carefully placed it on the back of the couch. He didn't know the woman who crocheted the blanket. But, in the smell of home permeating the wool and the gentle illusion of hope it created within him, hers was a life worth dying for. 



Chapter 4

Lori made her way through the familiar halls of the compound and into the kitchen. She needed some coffee... desperately. Today, she was scheduled to work open to close at the shop. And with being dragged out of bed so early, she'd be dead on her feet by noon. Due to the unseasonably warm temperatures Robbie had shifted the shop to summer hours a little a head of schedule. During late spring and early fall, the store closed at seven on weekdays and nine on weekends. The extended summer hours meant she wouldn't shoo out the last customer till ten tonight and wouldn't most likely get home till close to eleven. 

Grinding her teeth at the thought of being trapped literally all day in an ice cream store from nine thirty this morning till eleven o'clock tonight, Lori filled the filter with coffee grounds and added an extra scoop for good measure. She poured the water into the maker and watched the second hands on her watch to see if the machine really made a full pot in three minutes. Impatiently, she drummed her nails on the stainless steel counter and reminded herself that her labors today were for a good cause. Janine deserved a honeymoon. At least, twenty-four hours to consummate her marriage to Patrick. Although, Lori was pretty sure Janine and Patrick were already as consummated as a couple could get. 

The damned coffee maker was right on the money. At seven thirty-three, she was pouring her first cup and adding a generous dollop of cream and sugar to the mug. Lori sighed in relief as the first surge of caffeine jarred her system awake. Being perky and smiley for thirteen and a half hours today was going to be a real bitch. She eyed the kitchen table and bypassed it, heading for the rec room instead. Her feet were already starting to hurt at the mere thought of standing all day. Not that the dining room chairs weren't nice. But, the overstuffed couches in the rec room were much more comfortable. And today was going to be so long. She figured she'd better to soak up a little luxury while she could. 

The compound was quiet this morning and there wasn't anyone around to chitchat with. Mornings at her house were a complete zoo. Especially when school was in session. Her little sister Maggie needed a cattle prod and a few threats to get anywhere on time. It amazed Lori sometimes, how at the age of almost sixteen, Maggie still couldn't reliably get herself out of bed. Lori loved her kid sister with all her heart. But, most of the time the little pest was a royal pain in the ass. On the mornings when her mom had to be at work by seven, the job of dragging Maggie out of bed for school fell to her. 

It had been the happiest day of Lori's life when her mom agreed to let her move into the empty apartment above the garage. Actually, Lori hadn't exactly asked. She'd just kind of moved her stuff in and set up shop. So far, the arrangement was working out great. She had her own space. Her mom and dad were appeased that she hadn't technically moved out of the house entirely. And best of all, Maggie couldn't get her filthy paws on her stuff without asking. 

Besides, at almost twenty years old, Lori thought it was time that she was out on her own. Ok, so she didn't pay rent. All her money went to towards her tuition and books. But, she wasn't entirely mooching off her parents either. She didn't raid the kitchen cabinets for food...that often. She bought her own toiletries and cleaning supplies...usually. And she still helped out around the house when her mom asked her to.

And in her mind, the whole not paying rent thing made up for all the times she'd been stuck babysitting Maggie once her parents declared her old enough to be left home alone and in charge. Granted, their requests had been for a good cause. Overtime at the hospital. An extra load on the back of her dad's semi. But, damn, Maggie had been such a brat...a worse brat than she normally was...whenever they were away. Oh well, it hardly mattered now. Maggie was her parents' problem. And she wasn't as bratty anymore, most of the time. And Lori, as an adult now, could see through the whole teenage angst thing that plagued her little sister.

Sipping her coffee, she ambled into the rec room, shocked by the pair of massive lug soled boots and the long legs they belonged to draped over the arm of the couch. "Oh! Hi," she stammered. "I didn't realize there was anyone in here." Lori hovered in the wide entryway between the dining room and the rec room, not sure if she should stay or retreat far, far away. 

She had heard rumors about the man. That he was a rogue and worse than that, Roark's former second. And he definitely had an air of menace surrounding him. He was huge, thick and bulked up with heavy muscle. His gunmetal gray eyes met her gaze and held it captive for a moment, daring her to say something. He had short stubbly red shoots of hair poking through his scalp and wide, expressive reddish brows. His skin was pale, characteristically translucent, telling the truth of what he was, to those who knew what to look for. Curiously, she eyed the tattoo peeking out from beneath the rolled up right sleeve of his chambray shirt. Dropping her eyes rather than stare at him rudely, she mumbled, "Ah, I was going to watch the morning news." 

Keene righted himself on the couch and smoothed the crocheted throw with the palm of his hand. One glance at her said it all. Her eyes flitted from his tattoo to the floor. The nervous shifting of her feet and the flex of her fingers around the coffee mug gave away much of her emotions. She blushed furiously as she tried to tuck away her trepidation at being in such close quarters with him. 

He narrowed his eyes and studied her, which made her fidget all the more. It was a bad habit, left over from his days of serving Roark. He made every effort to look casual. Scooting to the far corner of the couch and lounging against the armrest with his elbow propped onto the fluffy padding. He draped his free arm along the back of the couch and toyed with a corner of the throw. He even tried to smile in an attempt to appear friendly. Given the girl's widened eyes, she was not impressed. But, he had made an impression on her, to say the least. "You're afraid," he said, as a statement of fact. 

Lori squared her shoulders and lifted her chin to meet his eyes. She moved into the room toward the leather couch and set her mug on the coffee table. Quickly remembering that Chris had just purchased a new table after Bryce and Patrick had shattered the previous one in a terrible fight. She snatched a magazine-GQ... probably Janine's... out of the magazine rack resting at the corner of the couch and slid it under her mug. "I am not," she said, deliberately flopping onto the empty cushion beside him.

He looked so ominous. He was just so overwhelmingly huge and so male, she couldn't help but feel a little nervous around him. And maybe, just maybe, a little scared too. Determined not to let him get to her, she grabbed up the remote and began flipping through the channels. Blushing furiously at the love scene from some movie she could not remember the name of, she punched in the local news station and settled into a more comfortable position on the couch. 

There were other chairs she could have chosen and an entire empty sofa that she could have sat on. She didn't have to sit here, beside him. But, she was not going to let 'Mr. Big and Scary Vampire' intimidate her. Crossing her left leg over her right knee she swung her foot back and forth. Her flip-flop sandal made sharp thwacking sounds against her heel as she curled and uncurled her toes in time with the swinging of her foot.

Keene hid his amused grin at the girl's tenacity. He watched her throat bob up and down as she sipped from her mug. She pretended not to notice and kept her eyes focused on the weather report on the screen. Her fingers nervously worked a strand of her golden blonde hair, twirling it around the end of her fingertip. He raised a brow at the darker undertones in her hair and concluded that her natural hair color was not quite the same shade of blonde as the highlights framing her freckle dotted cheeks. He would never understand why women could not be happy with what the Good Lord gave them and sought to improve upon it so vehemently. 




Dawn's First Light



The girl was quite lovely. He followed the path of her pink tongue as it snaked between her plump, blush- colored lips to chase a stray drop of coffee that had dripped from the rim of her mug. Her wide set green eyes, a shade paler than the most brilliant kelly-green, refused to glance away from the TV screen to grant him a better look at them; as if her entire existence depended on seven day forecast. She had a narrow, upturned, patrician nose that balanced out the femininity of her face. Unlike his crooked and somewhat flat beak of a nose, hers had never been used as a punching bag. 

She was delicate and slender; just beginning to fill out the curves she'd fully grow into sometime in her mid-twenties. She was out of adolescence and no longer moved with a teen's awkwardness. But, she wasn't quite comfortable in her adult skin. The girl worshiped the sun, something that she might regret someday in the future. But, the tan suited her and glowed with warmth and vitality of youth. 

Keene lounged on the arm of the couch and snickered at the heated blush on her cheeks. "Didn't anyone teach you not to lie to a vampire?" he chastised. "Your physiology gives you away. I can hear your heartbeat racing in your chest. See the stain of pink on your cheeks. Even your scent has changed. You are afraid of me." 

Lori drained the contents of her mug in one gulp. No, she guessed nobody had told her she couldn't lie to a vampire. Made sense. Maybe, the brothers weren't as rude as he seemed to be in pointing it out. "If you were going to hurt me, you already would have done it." She didn't know how to tell him the truth of why she was so nervous around him without coming off like some delicate, defenseless, and totally brainless Pollyanna. "Its just that you're so..." she searched for a word that wouldn't offend him but would manage to get her point across. Unfortunately, she had nothing. The only one that came to mind in describing him was 'big' "I mean, look at you. You out weigh me by at least a hundred pounds."

She winced at what she'd said and hoped she hadn't hurt his feelings. As she glanced up to meet his eyes, expecting to see hurt or at the very least offense, she saw an amused twinkle. When he smiled and humor light his gray eyes, he looked far younger and definitely more approachable, and not nearly as scary. He should laugh more often. Lori had no idea how old he was. She would have guessed a thousand years, if someone had asked her before she saw him smile. But, with his full lips curled into a crooked, amused, masculine grin and his eyes crinkled in the corners. She could see his youth. Or at least, how young he had been, long ago. 

Glancing away, blushing even redder if it were possible, she returned his smile. Lori wanted to ask. But, never would. Sometimes, memories were more painful than any truth, no matter how difficult it was. The question poised on the tip of her tongue and hovered there. Pressing her lips together, she bit it back. It really wasn't important anyway. But, she wondered exactly how old was when he'd been turned. He couldn't have been much older than she was now. And she couldn't imagine what it was like to lose your life before you got the chance to live that much of it. 

Keene sized her up. She was such a tiny thing. Even sitting on the couch, with that sandal slapping against her heel with an annoying thwack-thwack, she couldn't sit all the way back and have her feet rest flat on the floor. Her waist was so narrow that he could have wrapped both his meaty hands around it and had his fingers overlap. He had biceps larger than her thighs. And her wrists were so thin and fragile. "Definitely more," he said, nodding in agreement.

"When I first came in and you were stretched out on the couch, your feet hung over the edge. You're what, like seven feet tall?" 

Keene shook his head and snickered. "Only six-foot six." He shifted his position on the couch and stretched out his long legs to show off his height. The girl's heartbeat didn't race in her chest anymore. And her scent was no longer the pungent acrid mix of fear and trepidation. She smelled nice. Like sugar, vanilla, and the sweet bubblegum essence of youth. She was still curious about him. But, she no longer was afraid. 

Lori giggled at the way he downplayed his height and at the same time stretched out his very long legs to show it off. Obviously, he'd never had her particular issues with being vertically challenged. "My mistake," she said with an exaggerated eye roll. He might have intimated her before she got to know him a little better, but not anymore. He was actually kind of nice. And she intended to give the brothers who spoke of him, so harshly in whispered tones of doubt at Dane's decision to allow him to stay, a huge piece of her mind. She twirled her empty coffee mug in her fingers and glanced up at him. "You're just so huge everywhere. Its a bit intimidating."

"Well you don't have to worry about my biting you. You're so small. You'd be nothing more than an appetizer. Hardly worth the effort." 

Lori snorted and chuckled. "Well Shorty, that's reassuring." Her attention flittered from him to the TV screen where a newscaster, Gina...something or other, reported on a murder investigation in vivid detail. She couldn't help it. Murders gave her the chills. Especially when the victim was found in an abandoned alley shortly before dawn ripped limb from limb. "My God, she's only a few months younger than me," Lori gasped as she wrapped her fingers tightly around the mug. 

Keene pulled the remote from her fingers and clicked off the TV. His master was baiting him. Using the death of one of the girls to flush him out of hiding. Keene recognized the snapshot immediately. The fresh-faced girl in the picture and the wasted, empty, shell of a waif he remembered, the redhead his master toyed with, were one in the same. He sucked in a breath and stared at the girl beside him. Nineteen. She was nineteen. Exactly the age he'd been when Roark found him. And exactly the age and type his master preferred. 

Oooookkkkk. Lori blinked at him and uncrossed her legs, scooting to the edge of the couch. Something had him rattled to the very tips of his fangs. She wondered if he knew the girl on the news and if her death was more than a senseless act of random violence. She thought about asking him about it and then thought the better of it. "Well, I guess I'd better get ready for work," she said pushing off from the cushions. 

"It was nice meeting you, Miss..." Keene rose to his feet as she got up off the couch. He did have some manners left, after all. He quickly pushed the thoughts of the dead redhead out of his mind. It shamed him that he'd never bothered to learn her name. It was just that he knew by how easily the master had broken her. She wouldn't be around long enough for it to matter. Names had power and pain. The fewer of them he remembered the better. 

Strangely though, he did not deceive himself that he was going to be around here long enough for it to matter and the roles truly were reversed and it was his name that wouldn't be remembered for longer than a few moments after Roark killed him. Keene found himself wanting to know this girl's name and for her to know his. 

"Lori." She smiled at his old fashioned gestures. They way he automatically jumped to his feet when she got off the couch. She pushed back the impulse to sit back down and hop to her feet, just to see if he'd do it a second time. And the only time she'd ever been called Miss anything was...well...never. His attempt at propriety and manners was so cute. "It was nice meeting you too, ah..., Mr....ah?"

"Keene," he answered. He returned her smile as she turned on her heel and left the rec room. She paused in the kitchen long enough to rinse her cup and deposit it in the dishwasher before the sound of her sandals thwacking against the floor grew fainter.  

He enjoyed playfully bantering with Lori. But, he wondered if he'd ever truly get used to having casual friendships with humans. The concept was strange to him. He'd had contact with the master's playthings. He tried like hell not to get to know them on a personal level. A painful lesson he'd learned long ago. Despite his efforts, some got through and he genuinely cared for them. 

It was harder to kill someone you knew. To look into her eyes, and know that neither one of you truly has a choice. Some fought. Some cried. Some begged. But, they all died. He couldn't afford to let them live. He'd tried it once. Tried to help one escape. Roark anticipated it, of course. And the things he did to that girl. The things he made Keene watch him do to her were the stuff of nightmares. She would have been better off if he'd just done his job. But, wasn't that the lesson Roark wanted him to learn? He could still hear her agonized screams of terror and pain in his head. After that night, he never let another one live. Death was far merciful than another moment in the master's hands. 

Keene wound through the hallways in search of Dane. He had to tell the man who had taken him in about the redhead. The list of reasons for the Sons' leader to allow him to stay under his protection was dangerously short. And he was definitely on borrowed grace. His thoughts wandered to Lori. Now he had a name. Lori. But, in giving him her name, she did not give him power over her. Quite the opposite, in knowing her name, she had power over him. 



Chapter 5

In the rundown, decayed part of the city less than six blocks from glittering downtown, it didn't take Kayla long to find what she was looking for. The car parked in the center of the overgrown front yard with a handwritten, barely legible 'for sale' sign in tucked underneath a wiper wasn't much. But, the tires were inflated and the guy in the sweat stained wife beater standing on the front porch watching her climb behind the wheel had proven it would start. Other than that, she didn't anything more. 

And even better, he didn't ask her any questions. He counted the wad of cash she thrust in his hand and signed over the title. In fact, he seemed a bit relieved that she hadn't bothered to haggle over the asking price. She didn't have time to barter. So far, there was no sign of Roark or his men. But, she could feel his eyes on the back of her skull. 

She tightened her hands on the wheel and pulled out of the front yard and onto the street. The brakes groaned pitifully as she rolled to a stop at the end of the block and made a right turn. The car was not in good shape, to say the least. No one with an ounce of sense would have bought the rusted out clunker. Especially not for the seven hundred dollars she'd paid in cash. 

The interior was stained and torn, reeking of sweat, rot, and the pungent stink of despair. Springs and bits of foam stuffing poked out of random splits in the seat. Jagged pieces of the torn headliner flipped back and forth in the wind from the back window, which wouldn't fully roll up. She had to duck her head for a clear view through the spider web cracks in the windshield. One headlight was busted out. The plate was expired. And there was barely enough gas to make it out of downtown before she had to stop for a fill up. 

The engine knocked and wheezed pitifully as she idled at a stoplight. Nervously, she watched the temperature gauge inch dangerously toward hot. Clouds of bluish white smoke, smelling of burned oil billowed out of the rattling tail pipe. She balanced one foot on the gas and the other on the break to keep the motor running. At one time, the paint job might have been blue. She wasn't sure for all the reddish brown patches of rust. The vehicle should have been put out of its misery a decade ago. And possibly, given the bullet hole in the rear quarter panel, somebody had tried. 

She ignored the annoyed glare of the prissy woman in a compact, bright and shiny new Cadillac in the turn lane beside her and coaxed the car through the intersection. Beads of sweat rolled down her spine and dampened the waistband of her jeans. Her escape had been in the works for months. And even though she'd never been certain of exactly how she planned to pull it off, she was not deterred by her current course of action. 

Turning into a gas station at the bottom of the onramp, she shoved the gear into park and left the engine running. She didn't dare turn off the car for fear it wouldn't start a second time and jogged to the window to pre-pay for the gas. There wasn't much cause for worry that someone was actually crazy enough to steal the car. They wouldn't get very far if they did. But, if the engine wouldn't turn over, she was dead, perhaps literally, in the water. The sun beat down overhead. The attendant didn't even glance at her as she slid the crumpled twenty through the slot. That was ok with her. The fewer people who saw her and she interacted with the better the chance they'd actually live to see tomorrow. 

Roark had tracked Keene across the country. And Kayla had no doubt he'd follow her trail through the city. She hoped the guy she'd bought the car from spent the money quickly while he had the chance. And given the scabbed track marks up and down his forearms and the way he twitched and dug at his skin with his filthy fingernails, the money was already gone. Shot into his veins. She couldn't help but feel bad about what was coming for him. Roark didn't feed on the dregs of society. But, his minions would rip the man limb from limb. 

She could rationalize that she was doing the man a favor. After all, his death wouldn't be good, no matter how it happened. Overdose. Disease. A lifetime of addiction slowly wasting away to nothing. His future had no rosy ending. And death by the vampires, although painful, would be far quicker and merciful than letting nature take its course. There was no time to consider the morality of the consequences of her actions. That she'd inadvertently and most assuredly brought death to his doorstep. This was about survival. Hers. Keene's. 

She couldn't stop to think about what Roark would do to the girls or to anybody else unfortunate enough to trip his radar. If she did, she'd turn this rusted heap of junk around right now and throw herself at his mercy. Unfortunately, he had none. And her act of selfless sacrifice would not change a thing. He'd only make her watch as he killed them. And then take even longer to exact his revenge on her. She didn't want to die. Not like that and certainly not because a fit of conscience overrode her instincts for self-preservation. 

Kayla struggled with the gas cap and finally worked it free. She bounced nervously on the balls of her feet as the pumped the gas. Sweating from the relentless heat and humidity, she didn't spare herself the comfort of wiping the beads from her brow. It was the least she could do as some form of atonement for the ones Roark would kill in his pursuit of her. 

The engine sputtered and rattled before it died in a gasping wheeze of aged exhaustion. Cursing under her breath, she tightened down the gas cap and replaced the nozzle on the pump. Praying desperately, she climbed behind the wheel and cranked the key over. The plastic hula girl stuck on the dash shimmied in her skirt as the engine protested, spewed a cloud of white blue smoke out the back, and clamored to life. Nursing the gas petal and brake, she pulled out of the station and turned onto the onramp.

The wheel jerked and vibrated in her hands as she coaxed the vehicle up to speed and merged into traffic. She'd done it. A hesitant tear of relief rolled down her cheek. The rooftops of the city rolled past her cracked passenger side window. In the distance, she could see the skyscrapers, pointing up like fingers through the humid cloud of haze hanging over downtown. 

Kayla shrank in her seat. It was only her imagination. But, she could feel Roark staring down at her from one of those windows. Watching her desperate ploy for freedom and laughing at her. He wasn't going to let her go. He was only playing with her. Making her think that she had the upper hand. Any minute, she expected him to burst through the pavement, rip his way into the car, and drag her back. 

Kayla didn't breathe. She didn't dare to exhale her first sigh of relief till the city skyline shrank into the distance in the rearview mirror. She could still feel Roark's eyes on her. Watching her every move, waiting...calculating. Her terror of him kept her foot pressed to the gas pedal much as it had held her virtually immobile since the day he'd sheltered her in his car and named his price.

She couldn't help but congratulate herself on her creativity. Roark and everybody else assumed the pink bear she clung to with such veracity was an innocuous toy. Her mother hadn't taught her much. But, she'd taught her only daughter how to sew. And those lessons Kayla used to think were so meaningless and boring might have very well saved her life today. 

Roark wasn't going to keep her around forever. He valued youth and innocence. And her time with him was quickly running out. She was older than the other girls by years. And her worth was fading in his eyes with every passing day. The only reason he hadn't ended her before now was that he could not fully break her. She refused to let him turn her into an empty shell as he had so many others. He fucked her. He used her body. But, he never got inside her head. 

Even her mind had its limits and she was closer to reaching them than he knew. Every time he reached for her, it became more and more difficult not to cringe and pull away from his touch. The harder she fought him. The more ruthless he became. He had done things to her. Made her do things that no human being should ever be forced to do. Just thinking of the myriad ways he tortured her had her body trembling and breaking out in a cold sweat and her hands clutching the wheel. 

She couldn't remember exactly when the realization struck her that she had to get away or she was going to die, if not by his hands then by her own. Suicides weren't an uncommon event among the girls. Everyone had a breaking point. Even her. The only thing that kept her going was her plan. Built on a simple hope that she could survive him. The master was rich. And he loved to flash his wealth. Nothing drew admirers to his side like cold hard cash. 

Kayla wasn't even sure if he knew how much money he did have and how much of it he left simply laying around. She was smart and she was careful. Never taking too much at any one time and never enough to be missed. Little by little she'd squirreled away a nice nest egg. And nobody was the wiser. The pink bear she carted everywhere was stuffed, but not with white, fluffy foam. Tucked away in his soft, round tummy and his hollow head were all the bills she'd managed to accumulate. 

She ran her hand over the bear's fuzzy, soft pink coat. He was a little thinner now after her purchase. His head was a bit loose from where she'd broken the seam she'd stitched and unstitched so many times before. In her desperation, she'd ripped through the minute careful strokes of her needle and thread to pull out the money. 

The most ironic thing about it was, Roark had given her the means of her escape. It was shortly after her arrival. He'd been so harsh and brutal in her indoctrination to his bed that he'd almost killed her. She never understood why he'd bothered to make atonement for his cruelty that night. He'd simply presented her the bear and bent to kiss her on the forehead. It was the only gesture of compassion he'd ever shown her. Maybe, it was because she didn't die that night he felt compelled to be kind to her, just one time.

Early the next morning Keene had slipped into her room and knelt beside her bed to tend her wounds the best he could. He stopped the bleeding and bound the torn flesh on her back. He iced her bruises and gave her something to dull the pain. He was kind and gentle with her. But, for all his attempts to heal her, there were some kinds of pain, soul deep pain and the scars that went along with it, that would never heal. It was then, in his compassion and kindness toward her, that she realized the key to her survival, because it was his too. Roark could do whatever he wanted to their bodies. But, he could never touch their souls. That one thing was theirs and theirs alone and it would never belong to him. 




Dawn's First Light



It was her turn to repay the favor for what Keene had done for her that night. He'd kept her alive and given her a bigger reason, the only reason she needed to live. He'd risked his own hide to save her life that night. And she was doing the same for him. 

A smile curled her lips as she stroked the bear's pink fur. He was a little tattered and threadbare with wear and tear, his fur just a little matted from his many travels. When she got to where she was going. Assuming the Sons didn't kill her, she'd have to give him a thorough bath and repair job. 

Kayla didn't need a map to get to her destination. She had a photographic memory and could find her way back to the compound. She wasn't sure where her final destination would be. She couldn't go home. First of all, Roark would find her there. And her father had no use for her. After her mother died from cancer, he resorted to alcohol as a way to ease his pain. And he simply forgot that he had a seventeen year-old daughter to take care of. She'd ceased to exist and rather than watch him drown in the bottom of a bottle she took her chances on the streets. 

She didn't know if she'd be welcomed at the compound, or if she'd stay if she were. The only reason Kayla had for going there was to warn Keene and repay her debt to him for saving her life. She had money, enough to get by for a while. And the farther she was from Roark, the longer she'd live. He would definitely be coming for Keene and if she were there, her too.

Who knew? Maybe, she'd simply disappear and start a new life. Become somebody else and walk in a different pair of shoes for a while. With the miles between her and Roark increasing, the city no longer visible in her rearview mirror, and nothing ahead of her but open interstate. Anything seemed possible. 



Chapter 6

On silent feet, Lance tracked Bryce through the woods. He followed at a casual distance and gave his brother plenty of space. Bryce was not in a good place in his head. And Lance didn't need a psychic link to know it. He could read it in his best friend's body language. 

Bryce stomped through the trees with all the grace of a bull in a china shop. He crushed tender saplings, reaching desperately for the sunlight through the dense shady canopy of leaves, beneath his boots. Squirrels scampered up the rough bark of the trees and chattered nervously from the safety of the branches above. Even the birds had stopped singing and hunkered down in their nests for fear of drawing his attention. Nice. Bryce in his rampage had managed to scare the shit out of defenseless creatures. 

Lance rolled his eyes and kept pace. He supposed it was better that Bryce take his rage out on the woods than on Patrick. But, wasn't that all behind him now? After all, Janine and Patrick were married. And Bryce accepted his defeat with all the grace of a pouting child. Would the man ever learn? First it was Anna and then Janine. Bryce could sure pick 'em. Not that the women weren't damn beautiful and the cream of the crop. But, DAMN! C'mon. Just because the filly wasn't in the barn didn't mean you could saddle her up and go for a ride. It was just common sense. Something Bryce sorely lacked when it came to the opposite sex. 

It would have been less painful if the man had put his dick in a meat grinder than to go through everything he'd gone through for the sake of love. Bryce was like a stray puppy when it came to women. Almost pathetic. He latched onto any female who showed him the least bit of attention. His little crush on Anna had been bad. But, Janine...his brother had genuinely believed he stood a chance. And worse than that, he thought he was actually in love. 

Lance was ready to put his brother on a street corner with a cardboard sign around his neck that read 'free to a good home'. He just didn't get it. Why Bryce went so flip dizzy crazy and made such a fool of himself over a woman. Lance wasn't gay or anything like that and he didn't particularly enjoy jerking off in the shower as a substitution for a female's gentler ministrations either. But, he liked looking like a complete idiot, like Bryce, a whole lot less. 

The kicker had been when Bryce bought Janine an engagement ring. He just wanted to shake his best friend like a bobble head and jack slap some sense into him over that fiasco. He'd tried like hell to talk Bryce out of it. Wasn't happening. Exhausted with all the talking and lecturing, Lance stepped back and took a seat in the cheap seats to watch the show. What did Bryce think was going to happen? Of course, she turned him down. And even though Janine had been gentle about it. He had felt his brother's pain and disappointment. There just wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. 

Lance really hadn't meant to intrude in Bryce's business. But, he also didn't like seeing his best friend in pain. The thing was, nobody blamed Patrick or Janine. Hell, nobody blamed Bryce. They didn't need to. The man was too busy blaming himself. Sometimes shit just happened. Bryce put up a good fight. Not exactly a fair fight, but a good one. And yeah, he and Janine might have been great together, if she hadn't been in love with Patrick. It took Bryce, in part, to make it happen. Bryce had been the catalyst behind getting Patrick off his ass and onto his feet. There was nothing quite as effective as seeing another man pursuing your female to get a guy in gear. 

Lance knew his best friend well, in ways better than Bryce knew himself. And this morning especially, he'd been determined to keep the hell out of the way and give the man time to get Janine out of his system. Well, that didn't go as planned either. He'd been down in the valley grabbing a quick snack before the heat of the day drove the deer under the dense cover of the woods when something had fallen from the trees and smacked him on the head. 

At first, he thought it was a damn squirrel pelting him with a pinecone. The little bastards were always doing that. He just would have ignored it and gone on his merry way. Couldn't be anything that simple, of course not. He'd been plunked on the noggin by the engagement ring. With the size of the diamond Bryce had picked out, Lance was surprised he hadn't ended up with a concussion. The ring was expensive as hell and although Bryce had chucked it off the bluffs, Lance wasn't about to let his best friend throw away that kind of money over a temporarily broken heart. 

He'd tucked the ring in his pocket with full intent to give it back to Bryce when he realized what kind of shape his brother was in. He was not a golden retriever. If Bryce tossed it into the woods again, he sure as hell wasn't going to play fetch. Once Bryce came to his senses he'd regret throwing the diamond ring away. But, now was not the time to even attempt to give it back to him. 

Where in the hell was Marcus when he needed him? Wiley little bastard knew when to get the fuck out of Dodge and stay out. Marcus was so much better at the whole saying the right thing than he was. Lance just wanted to grab his brother, give him a good shake and tell him to get the hell over it and stop with the poor pitiful me pouting routine. Probably wouldn't be the best way to handle the situation. And Bryce would more likely than not, kick his ass for it. 

And so, here he was with a splitting headache and spots in his vision from traipsing through the woods in broad daylight following Bryce to make sure he didn't do something stupid. Something like ignore Dane's orders and make a run for the city to escape the shame and embarrassment of having to face the happily married couple. Yeah, living under the same roof with the three of them wasn't going to make for fun times for anybody. But, hip deep in the shit with their leader, what choice did any of them have? 

Nope, Dane wasn't going to let them return to the city anytime soon. When the man said something, he meant it. They were being punished. What did he think they were going to do? Level the whole city? And there were parts of it that could use and abrupt urban renewal of the TNT variety. Even Dane agreed with that. But, people had to live somewhere. 

The whole set up was fine for Marcus and Sam. They frolicked through the woods and fucked like bunnies every chance they got. And wasn't that a not so pretty mental image Lance did not need in his head. Next week, Bryce would probably be tripping over his feet chasing after some other female in the name of love. But, as for him, although he didn't regret his part in blowing the Rogue Master's home to kingdom come, he was bored shitless and could not wait to get back to the city. 

All this emo drama tended to put a huge cramp in his style. He was about tracking rogues and protecting his city. Since he had balls and a penis, and didn't do the whole guy on guy thing, women were a necessity. And love...well, love and his dick... one had nothing to do with the other. He loved his cock and he loved to fuck. He loved to fuck women with his cock and whatever other appendages seemed appropriate in the heat of the moment. But, mix love and fucking together and it was a sure recipe for disaster. And he wanted no part of it. Love 'em and leave 'em was his philosophy. Better for everyone that way. If only he could have managed to convert Bryce to his way of thinking, the guy would be a hell of a lot better off and a hell of a lot happier. 

*****

Bryce could hear Lance stomping through the woods behind him. The man did stealth like a freaking bulldozer. The fact that his best friend followed him like he was his mama or something really pissed him off. He didn't make it easy for his brother to keep pace. He chose the hardest trails, the steepest inclines, the rockiest terrain, and the sunniest patches to traverse. Lance didn't quite have his tolerance for sunlight. And the brilliance of the noonday sun had to be giving him a killer headache. Good. Bryce paused long enough to flash a squirrel that had dared to inch too close to him a show of fang before heading north deeper into the tree line.

He did not need a nursemaid. And he resented the fact that Lance obviously thought differently. He wasn't nearly as stupid as the man believed him to be. There was no way in hell he was going off on some impulse tangent and risk getting stuck out here in the sticks permanently. Although, the idea of avoidance, of not having to face Janine and Patrick did have merit, as far as he was concerned. Dane was a man who would never go back on a punishment and he did not take disobedience lightly. He'd consider the humiliation Bryce would no doubt have to suck up and live with, just another consequence of his sentence. 

And wasn't that just another thing Bryce couldn't get through his head. They hadn't exactly disobeyed orders, if you interpreted them by the letter of Dane's commands. Ok, so they forgot to fill the brothers in on the plan. But, at the time, their reasoning seemed solid enough. The Rogue Master had to pay. And they'd made sure he did. It wasn't like the bastard didn't deserve it for what he'd done to Anna. And the fireworks display really had been a thing of beauty. 

He was an idiot for the women in his life. Ok, so he knew Anna wouldn't turn her back on Toby. But, Janine, how stupid could he have been? Lance flapped his gums at him for weeks. Warning him that he was about to make a mistake. It was just that he'd been so certain. He hadn't bothered to listen. And the heaping helping of humble pie on his plate left a hell of a bitter taste in his mouth. Damn, Bryce hated it when other people, especially his best friend, were right. 

Bryce ground his molars in irritation and headed west through the steep cliffs of shale. He just wanted to be alone to brood with some measure of dignity. Lance, the fucker, was hot on his trail, like a goddamned bloodhound. Too bad he couldn't track this good when it really mattered for something besides baby-sitting detail. Bryce winced against the hot sunlight beating down on his scalp and did his best to shake his pale shadow. 

He wasn't going anywhere. Ever. Lance didn't need to follow him around to make sure of it. He was stuck in this damnable place and with his damnable innate desire to find his missing half. He was sick and tired of watching everyone get what they wanted while he jerked off alone in the shower. Oh sure, there were plenty of females out there. And of course, he was a good catch for the right one. Whatthefuckever. He was over it. And the condolences from Anna and Janine, although well meant, weren't worth shit. Even though the ring cost him a small fortune, he was glad he'd thrown it over the bluffs. Maybe, somebody with better luck than him would find it and the finger it belonged on. 

Despite the blazing sun Lance stuck to him like glue. And Bryce was not immune to the sun's blinding rays. He could feel a killer headache starting behind his eyes. And he was already in a foul assed mood without any help. He turned and circled around to the south, moving into the shade. "Would you please quit following me?" he growled, as he scowled over his shoulder at Lance. The man did the hide and go seek thing as well as he did stealth. It was damned hard to blend in with that wild shook of white blond hair of his against the backdrop of green and brown. 

Lance popped through the boundary of the tree line and breathed a sigh of relief at the cool, shady dimness of the woods. He'd go through the fiery inner circle of hell for his best friend. But, damn was he glad Bryce had chosen to move under deeper cover. "I thought I'd be following you all day," he grumbled as means of a greeting. The two of them were best friends. But, that didn't mean they did the man hug, warm and fuzzy thing or got in touch with their inner female. The insults they generally tossed at one another like live grenades were the way they showed affection. Anyone who didn't know them better would think they couldn't stand each other. And sometimes, they couldn't. 

"Fuck you," Bryce spat. He was spoiling for a fight. And Lance was as good as anyone to take his frustrations out on. Hell, probably better, because the guy wouldn't take it personally. That was the good thing about having him as a best friend. He never took offense and just rolled with it. 

"Sorry, you're not my type," Lance said, falling in step beside his brother. The two of them had been together longer than most happily married senior citizens. It was odd, how two opposites like them had managed to become best friends. Bryce was as dark as he was light. Yin and yang, was what some of the brothers, those who wanted a thorough ass whipping, called them. He was ghost pale, tall and lanky while Bryce was a full head shorter, heavier built, and had an olive skin tone and dark, almost black hair.

The only similarity they shared in terms of appearance was their light colored eyes. Although his were a faint blue color, Bryce's were a pale, almost clear, shade of gray. Lance didn't know if the women considered Bryce good looking or not. For a guy, Bryce seemed ok to him in terms of appearance. And he doubted that looks were really a deal breaker for Bryce when it came to females. Women didn't do the whole desperate thing and Bryce was definitely desperate. 

Bryce didn't know Lance had a type. Actually, he figured anything with breasts qualified as a type to Lance. He couldn't count how many times he'd been stuck outside the apartment while Lance delivered his 'payload' into some willing female. Hearing acuity sure as hell had its drawbacks. Being stuck out here in the sticks must really be putting a cramp in his brother's sex life. Dane had made it perfectly clear that the local women were off limits. And until he saw fit to release them from their punishment, Lance had no choice but to endure the chaste purity of a Benedictine monk. 

Bryce didn't do the whole 'drive by fucking' thing as Lance called it. He had values and morals while Lance lived for his next conquest. That teeny tiny thing dangling between his legs was going to get him in big trouble One of these days Lance was going to meet a woman he couldn't con into his bed and dump the next morning. And she was going to get her hooks into him so deep that his brother wouldn't know which way was up. Tame the man slut in him and teach him some respect. And Bryce was going to laugh his ass off when it happened. 

"You want to go see what Marcus and Sam are up to? Maybe, shoot some pool?" Lance asked, looking for an excuse to get Bryce into the compound. Eventually, his brother was going to have to go home. Dane wouldn't let Bryce off the hook forever. Sooner or later, he was going to have to face Janine and Patrick. And Lance just wanted to get this particular piece of emotional bullshit put behind him. 

Bryce pulled up short and glared at his best friend. Yeah, he was into the whole self-inflicted pain thing and while he was at it, maybe he'd ask Janine how many times Patrick fucked her this morning just to drive the blade in his heart all the way home. He'd done the whole brotherly yackity-smackity bonding bullshit with Patrick. And he was not going to get in the way of Janine's happiness. But, now was not the time for Lance to come up with such a dumb ass, lame question. 

Did he want to go back to the compound and want to shoot pool with Sam and Marcus? Sure, like he wanted to hang out with another flip dizzy in love couple that couldn't keep from pawing at each other for more than five minutes. Shoot pool? He'd rather shoot himself in the head and end his misery. "You know, for someone with two college degrees, you are pretty damned dumb. I promise you I'm not going to run off. I want the hell out of here as badly as you do. And pissing off Dane won't get either one of us home any sooner. Just, please, back the fuck off and give me some space!"

Oooookkkkk. Lance held up his hands in a gesture of surrender and took a few steps back well out of punching bag range. Let the fucker pout and drown in a river of self-pity. And he thought PMS was something only women went through. Shit. He was only trying to help. Bryce didn't have to be so damned pissy about it. "Fine. Just don't do stupid, ok?" 

"Trust me, not planning to," Bryce said. And he meant it. His stupid days were over. He was over Anna. He was over Janine. And he was over waiting for the right one to come along. He just wanted to do his time. Get back to the city. And take out decades worth of unspent sexual tension on some Rogue pieces of shit. 

Chapter 7

Keene looked hesitantly at the men and dropped his jeans to the floor. There was nothing wrong with his physique. In fact, quite the contrary, if the assessment that the average male penis topped out at six inches in length and two inches in diameter when fully erect was accurate; he was far above the norm and should have no qualms about standing unabashedly naked around other males. But, dropping his pants and climbing into the sweat lodge with four other naked men was not what he considered to be a necessary or particularly bonding experience.

John Mark shoved at Keene's back, pushing him toward the small round doorway to the sweat lodge. Ok, so the big baby didn't like getting naked in front of strangers. Who did? You just did it. Kept your eyes above the waistline, and sucked it up like a man. Just like the communal showers in gym class. Don't ask. Don't look. And don't tell. Besides, it wasn't like John Mark had anything to worry about in the full frontal nudity department. Robbie swore he was a god and yeah, he tended to believe his wife on that particular subject. Keene dug his heels in and bucked, twisting his back out from under John Mark's hand. As his unofficial mentor, John Mark simply pushed harder. "Get in there, you big oaf. You have to do this. You have to be spiritually ready for the trials." 




Dawn's First Light



He rapped Keene on the head with his knuckles and huffed in mild surprise. Yesterday, he would have sworn Keene's scalp was covered in reddish-orange stubble. It was as if the stuff had grown almost a half-inch over night. Nobody grew hair that fast. Not even humans. "Nobody's checking to make sure you're a natural redhead. Now will you move it and get inside?"

Keene growled at John Mark distain. It wasn't his state of undress that had him balking at shoving his big body into a tiny hole. He'd always hated tight, closed in spaces. And with four fully-grown men in the small space, they'd be crammed in there shoulder to shoulder. He wouldn't be able to breathe. There wouldn't be enough air. 

Keene dropped his fangs in defense and braced his palms on either side of the narrow opening. Besides, he had no spirituality. He'd assumed that God didn't like his kind and there was no salvation or pearly gates waiting for him when he died. And he'd given up on such pretenses as prayer long ago. Couldn't he do whatever mumbo-jumbo the brothers required on the outside of the lodge instead of the inside? 

Chance sensed John Mark was about to get his ass handed to him if he kept trying to stuff Keene in the hole. The fear flickering wildly in the man's eyes and the extended fangs should have been a pretty big hint not to press him much farther. Keene was claustrophobic. Everyone was afraid of something. And Chance didn't want to think about what had happened in Keene's past to cause his particular brand of terror. 

On the exterior, Keene was one hundred percent, bad ass, and hard as stone. He appeared utterly invincible and afraid of nothing. But, on the inside, he was no different than anybody else. And the man was terrified of enclosed places. 

The trials didn't have an official starting point, as Chance had learned the hard way. Often, the hardest challenge wasn't the physical but the mental and subtlest. He had no idea what Keene's trial was. Whether it was to overcome his fear or served some deeper purpose. Perhaps, the challenge wasn't meant for Keene at all, but for them. Chance reached up through the hole and extended his hand to the man. He didn't make a move to touch Keene. He simply stretched out his fingers and waited for Keene to decide. "Hey, we're all naked. Trust me, in a few months you won't think anything about it," he said.

Keene hovered in the doorway with the young male in front of him and John Mark behind him. Each of them waited to see what he would do. No one had ever extended him a hand to help before. He expected his presence in the compound to be tolerated by the brothers out of fear of retribution from their leader. He didn't expect anyone to willingly offer the gesture of friendship unless forced to do so. 

In his statement, the boy had said more than just a summation of fact. In here, naked and exposed, there were no rogues and no brothers. No measure of any greater or lesser physique. Beneath this humid dome of earthen walls, there were only men as equals. Keene loosened his grip on the outer rim of the hole. Gathering what courage he could muster, he thrust his hand inside the entryway and locked onto the boy's wrist with his fingers. 

Chance gently pulled Keene through the entryway. Crouched awkwardly in the tiny opening with no space to right his stooped posture, Keene stumbled and would have fallen flat on his face. Acting on pure reflex, Chance reached out and grabbed Keene by the right bicep, locking his fingers over the tattoo that Keene bore with such disdain. As if the marks made on him by his former master tainted him and made him less than what he was.

Keene looked down to the point on his bicep gripped by the boy's fingers and up to meet his eyes. There was too much said in that simple gesture of preventing a nasty face plant than words could say. By touching him and willingly lending a hand, without fear or hesitation, gripping the tattoo that identified him as his master's servant. The boy had shown kindness and acceptance. And today, he'd made a lifelong friend. 

Will slid down the bench to make room for Keene. He was right when he told Candace their son was special. He was only beginning to realize exactly how special Chance was going to turn out to be. His son had done what none of the brothers had considered. In reaching out to help Keene, Chance had taught them all a valuable lesson in service and humility. 

The Rogue Master's mark on Keene's bicep didn't change who he was on the inside. Only Chance saw that and behaved in the manner befitting a Son. Even Will was shamed by his own inaction and personal bias toward Keene. The trials were a global thing. They affected every brother in a unique and individual way. Help had two parts. Keene had to learn to accept it and the brothers had to learn to offer it. Their lives depended on their ability to function as part of the bigger whole. Humbled by the lesson his son taught him, he reached around Chance and offered Keene his hand in greeting.

He thought about how far he and Chance had come in the last year. They'd run full circle, from complete strangers to the best of friends, trusting and relying on one another. When Chance first met him, he refused to acknowledge that he was his father. It was a hard road for the both of them to get to where they were in their relationship as father and son, and as brothers. 

Dane nodded to John Mark as he climbed in behind Keene and secured the door tightly closed. He regarded John Mark, his second in command, as both a friend and his brother. As a leader it was his job to remain impartial toward those he led. But, the relationship between his second and himself was filled with different dynamics than the one he had with the rest of the brothers for many reasons. 

During the dark times, after the rogue attack and destruction of their home, John Mark stuck by him. Dane didn't want to be a leader and fought against taking command every step of the way. He was Lucien's second and as such, the job of leading the Sons fell to him. But, he'd deceived himself into thinking he'd never have to step up. He'd allowed his own grief to cloud his judgment and that mistake had almost shattered the brotherhood. 

The brothers were barely keeping it together by the skin of their teeth. They were homeless and shattered by loss. It had taken John Mark to get him off his ass and on his feet. Show him what, as a leader, he was supposed to be. There were still plenty of challenges yet to face. And Dane no longer held any misconceptions about death. It came for everyone. And one day, it would come for him. And the torch would fall to John Mark to lead these men.

Luckily, Chris came along when she did. John Mark may have shown him who the brothers needed him to be. But, it was she, in that calm, quiet way of hers that showed him how to live and how to love. Chris's strength was not revealed in a flash of steel or bodily display of force, but in quieter ways. His wife knew how to rein him in when he got too close to the edge. And it seemed like she was constantly pulling him back. Dane could not imagine life or the brotherhood without her. 

John Mark plopped down beside Dane and contemplated his new charge. Keene looked a bit like a raisin in a bowl of rice. Most of the brothers shared a common lineage through their Shawnee heritage. And Keene was as Celtic as they came. John Mark tried to imagine what Keene's life would have been if allowed to follow its natural course. And he did not want to think about what the man's life had been like in Roark's service. It was a wonder Keene had any thread of sanity left. He had to give the man credit for that. In all the things Keene might or might not be. He was a survivor.

He didn't know how Chance had managed to coax Keene into the lodge. But, somehow he'd done it. John Mark was testing Keene. He'd sensed the fear radiating off the man and pushed it to the limit. He wanted to see how far he could push Keene, if he could press him into attacking. And the man had been close. Fear had no place in the Sons. Fear got you and your brothers killed. And with the threat of Roark breathing down his neck, Keene had more reasons to fear than anybody. 

Keene might not appreciate this particular lesson or fully understand why John Mark had insisted upon it. All the warriors had been where Keene was. And there was nothing quite like the exposure of having every part of you tested. Spirituality was about so much more than going to church every Sunday. That was religion. A person could be religious and never connect with a higher power. Spirituality operated on a completely different level. It was about who you were and how you related to the world, both the seen and the unseen. This little exercise was about so much more than Keene conquering his fear of enclosed places. This first test was about Keene seeing himself as something beyond Roark's henchman. John Mark was helping him to look deep within himself to the soul of the man who lived inside the house of flesh and bone. 

The inside of the sweat lodge was more spacious than Keene perceived from the outside. There were seats for at least a dozen men. Not that the space wasn't tight and it wasn't like he was going to stretch out his legs. But, he could breathe and he wasn't sitting on top of anyone. Extremes in temperatures really weren't an issue for him. But, the smoky, damp humidity in the air clung to his skin and melded with the beads of sweat on his brow. And he began to understand why the brothers entered this place completely naked. Clothing would have been miserable.

He didn't quite know what to make of the brothers. In so many ways they were so similar to one another in their dark hair, eyes and bronzed skin. The boy, who had reached out his hand to steady him, had the slightest hint of Anglo-Saxon in his blood and was not as dark as the man who was obviously his father. Keene could hardly recall his father. The memories were lost in the recesses of his mind. Roark, for all intents and purposes, had been the only father he'd ever known. 

Keene had never seen a Son without their trademark black leather combat gear. He knew of their tattoos and that the marks identified them as brothers. But, he'd been too busy defending his master to consider them before. Roark, it seemed, hadn't taught him everything. The tattoos on their backs were unique from brother to brother. No two were exactly alike. Swirling in a mix of deeply pigmented indigo designs from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, down the spine, and ending at the right seventh rib, the most vulnerable place on a vampire's body. The boy's tattoo was sparse compared to Dane's, which was the most intricate. 

If he passed the trials, he'd have the right to the brotherhood's signifying marks. His eyes trailed to the tattoo on his right upper arm. To him, they were the mark of his damnation-of Roark's ownership of him. Short of disarticulating his arm at the shoulder joint or ripping his flesh from the bone, there was no way to be rid of the tattoo. But, unlike the brothers he was not proud of the significance of them. The marks condemned him and offered him no salvation. The thing he wanted more than anything else was to belong to no man, except himself. And he had to question what his answer would be if the time came. Would he willingly accept the mark of another master? Or would he choose to belong to no one? 

Dane led the chants, calling on the wisdom of the ancestors to guide their meditations. Pouring more water on the hot coals, the room quickly filled with dense steam and the pungent scent of sage and lemongrass. The spirits were with them whispering to their minds in a singular ethereal voice. 

He could feel the prickling presence of the goddess rolling along his skin. Her power filled the air and permeated every pore on his body. He drew on her energy and cast it out to the brothers. What each man experienced in the sweat lodge was individual. No man could put it into words. 

Dane opened his eyes and ran his gaze over the men. Chance sat with his eyes closed and his hands resting on his folded knees. John Mark, a little more awkwardly, with his eyes shut, breathed in and out, shivering from the goddess's presence on his skin. Eyes closed, Will cracked his neck and rolled his head from shoulder to shoulder before settling down into the rhythm of just being. And Keene, seeming so at odds with himself and the brothers, met Dane's stare. Dane could not imagine what the goddess had in store for the man or how her presence affected him. Dane contemplated that and held to the thought as Her power washed over him and swept him away.

Keene felt awkward and out of place. He followed suit, imitating the other men by closing his eyes. Waiting for something to happen. And he was certain something was supposed to happen. The brothers were so deeply under the influence of something that he could have killed them all right here and right now and they would have been completely oblivious to their own deaths. He was not his master's puppet any longer. And this line of thought was definitely Roark's. 

Perhaps, he'd let the Rogue Master do his thinking for him too long. He'd only acted and carried out orders. Personal thoughts were too dangerous for anyone with a shred of conscience. And if he had to actually think about the atrocities he'd committed in Roark's name, he'd go insane. He was not crazy and he'd done only what he had to do to survive. Roark had no power over him. And in truth, if Keene would have realized it sooner, the man never had. Energy the likes of which he'd never felt before rushed over his body and infused into every fiber of his being. 

His master used power to destroy. This energy surging through him was not destructive. It was a building and binding power that ran from brother to brother and created the magic that flowed between them. Yes, magic was the word that best described the life force that held the brothers together as one. And although he didn't understand how it worked, he found himself drawn in.

Keene heard echoing voices whispering in his mind. The voices of mocking doubt overshadowing the peace he might have found in the meditations belonged to him. He had discovered his greatest weakness in his inability to trust. Keene began to see the brothers as they truly were. They were individuals and had freewill. But, they were also an interdependent part of the same whole. Distrust and doubt had no place among them. To be a free man meant risk, meant that he had to be able to trust in his instincts and in the brothers he intended to join. If he couldn't find a way to defeat his doubts, he'd might as well turn himself over to Roark now and suffer the consequences. He'd rather die at the Rogue Master's hand as a free man than as a prisoner to his own doubt.

John Mark's eyes popped open and he stretched the best he could in the tight confines of the sweat lodge. Refreshed and energized, he was ready to mentor Keene through the trials. The goddess had a way of communicating with him in the recesses of his mind and he knew exactly what kind of challenges Keene needed to face to ready him for a life of service in the Sons. And he had some pretty fun surprises in store for the former second. He could be a little harder on Keene than he had been on Chance. Hell, a lot harder. Keene could take it. 

Keene would undergo plenty of physical rigors. But, his most difficult and the ones he'd be most likely to fail were psychological. The man hid his scars well. But, the goddess had seen them. John Mark had no intention of exploiting Keene's past for the purposes of breaking him and deliberately causing his failure. A body part could not function if it were bound by the limitations of useless, inflexible tissues. All men were tortured by some dark part of their pasts. But, Keene's had been a living hell. And his biggest fault, the one thing that would cause him to fail was his own mind. John Mark's job was to open it, to cut through the bindings of the scars, and to show Keene that his past had no bearing on his future.

Keene opened his eyes when John Mark clapped him sharply on the shoulder. He could not describe where the meditations had taken him. To another place? Another time? He'd traveled long and far and had no idea how long he'd journeyed in a world that went so far beyond the physical. "You're ready," John Mark said to him. 

"What happens now?" Keene asked. 

"You eat and get some rest. I'll see you in the gym at daybreak," John Mark answered. He moved around Keene to get to the door. His shoulder length hair clung to his sweat dampened skin and the cooler air outside of the lodge caused him to shiver. He grabbed for a towel and rubbed the sticky layer of sweat from his torso. 

Keene climbed out of the sweat lodge behind John Mark. Quickly snatching a towel, he wrapped it around his waist and cinched it tightly. He was used to stretching out his time between meals to the last possible moment. Roark wanted him a bit weak and would not allow him to feed freely enough to maintain his full strength. Hunger was a way of life for him. And dinner did sound good. But, he had to wonder who or what was on the menu. He cast John Mark a questioning look. 

Chance pulled on his jeans and buttoned his fly. He was sweaty and the denim stuck to him. He flinched as Keene posed the unspoken question. Oh boy. Wasn't this an awkward moment. Rogues didn't exactly follow the same dietary restrictions as the Sons. And to his knowledge, Keene had not eaten since he arrived and the subject had never come up. 

Some of the older vampires could go weeks in between meals. And Keene was no baby, but he wasn't an ancient either. Most of the brothers preferred to eat sooner rather than later to avoid accidents. Prolonged hunger was a sure way to have your beast snap his leash. John Mark stood, staring at Keene. And Keene stood, staring at John Mark. The non-verbal tension between the two men over the subject was thick enough to cut with a knife. Yeah, awkward. "Come on," Chance said, grabbing Keene by the elbow. "I know just the spot." 

Chapter 8

Lori spent the day staring out into the hot, lazy sun drenched stretch of pavement in front of the shop. Business was slow today. The oppressive heat and relentless humidity kept almost everyone confined indoors. Things hadn't picked up much this afternoon either and she was bored, bored, bored. She thought about calling Robbie and just seeing if she could close up shop early. Today, Robbie spent more paying her one employee than she made in selling ice cream. So far, the take for the day was a whopping eight dollars and seventy-seven cents. 

At least tomorrow, it would be Robbie's turn for a fun filled day of jimmies and vanilla soft serve. Robbie desperately needed to hire a second person to help at the shop. And Lori had considered telling Maggie to drop off an application. But, then she'd have to deal with her little sister even more than she did now. Not happening. Ever. Lori would rather work all day than put up with Maggie constantly shadowing her every move. And besides, the extra cash of being the only official 'What's the Scoop' girl was going to come in handy when she had to shell out the money for a full class load this fall.

Tomorrow, the forecast called for sunny skies and temperatures above the ninety- degree mark. A day to her self at the lake sounded like heaven. But, she had studying to do. And if she were going to land a scholarship after her two-year degree at the vo-tech was completed, she needed good grades. Otherwise, she was never getting out of this town. She was tired of being known as Ginger and Bob's little girl and Maggie's older sister. 

Lori didn't have many friends left after high school graduation. She bumped into her old classmates now and then around town. The promises to call and get together never happened. Everyone was just too busy living their lives to hang out anymore. Mostly, she entertained herself with thoughts of getting out of this town for good. It wasn't a bad place to live. She supposed. But, it wasn't exactly a Mecca of the known universe either. Everything was always the same around here. Dull.