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Dawn's Shadow

By: msnomer68



Chapter 1

"Here's to a new day," Chris said with a clank of the rim of her well-used diner coffee mug against her best friend, Anna's, equally battered cup. "A new day and a new me." She sighed heavily, as if saying it might actually make the words believable. She felt exactly the same on the inside as she had for the past month: empty, lonely, foolish for thinking he might be the one, and angry with herself for buying every toxic word out of his mouth hook, line, and sinker. 

"He was a loser anyway," Chris said with uncertain conviction that didn't reach her voice. The words were the ones Anna needed hear, not the ones she wanted to say. A part of her, her deepest inner woman, wanted to curl into a ball under the table and bawl her eyes over her rejection. And boy, did she want to give into the urge. But, she was pretending to put her heartbreak behind her for Anna's benefit. Maybe, as long as she kept up a good front, she'd eventually believe it herself. Forcing a smile, she tucked a stray strand of thick walnut colored hair behind her ear and took a deep swallow of her coffee, filling her mouth with the bitter brew before she took back every word she'd said.

"Here. Here." Anna said in agreement, taking a sip of the steamy liquid as she patted her friend's hand in support. She hoped Chris meant every word she said and finally, after a month of tearful phone calls and long, drawn out conversations, her best friend had moved on. Gotten over it. 

Anna had been at Chris's side every minute. Offering support and condolences, coaxing Chris out of the funk of her depression. Personally, Anna had never liked the guy. But, for Chris's benefit, and because of their friendship, she'd bitten her tongue and kept her opinions to herself. God, she hated it when she was right. The bastard left Chris, her best friend, high and dry without so much as a goodbye...and at the start of the holiday season, too. What a jackass. 

"It's been a month since I've heard from "he who shall remain nameless" and it is time to move on." Chris turned her gaze to stare out at the endless sea of nameless, faceless early morning commuters in a rush to get to wherever it was they were going. Then turned her attention back to Anna. 

Her best friend had no trouble finding male admirers. At almost six feet tall and a willowy, lean figure, pale blonde hair to the middle of her back, and startling arctic blue eyes, Anna looked like a goddess straight out of a Nordic fairy tale. While she, at a dumpy five foot-four, in heels, and way, way too many curves, ordinary brown hair, and eyes, a non-descript color that was neither brown nor green, barely got noticed by the male species. Her calendar was wide open. All the time. "A month of no calls, no texts, no e-mails. Nothing. I'm over it." 

Chris took a bite of her bagel and chewed thoughtfully. "Besides, we only started dating about six months ago. It wasn't like we were soul mates or anything." At least, he had spared her the awkwardness and humiliation of a breakup speech. She'd left at least a hundred voice mails, as many texts and e-mails, and he'd simply not bothered to reply. That stung. At least, if he'd had the balls to call her, or even better, dump her face to face, she'd have closure. 

At first, all kinds of scenarios ran through her head. What if he'd been killed and his family hadn't known to call her? What if he'd been kidnapped and she was the only person who realized he was missing? What if he was in the hospital and couldn't call her? Hell, she'd even taken to reading the obituaries and watching the news. There was no John Doe in either. He was just a spineless lowlife who didn't have the courtesy to face her like a man. 

Anna smiled reassuringly at Chris and took another sip of coffee. "Well said. There are lots more apples on the tree, Girl." This is why she avoided relationships like the plague. They were messy. They were riddled with confusion and bullshit. And she didn't want to end up like Chris, a complete emotional train wreck when, the inevitable happened, and it ended. She had her career, her family, and her best friend to keep her company. And if she ever wanted to get down and dirty between the sheets, plenty of male companions to choose from.

Chris sighed, almost rolling her eyes at Anna's "go team" attitude. The woman's talents were wasted. She should be standing on the sidelines with her pompoms shaking instead of designing skyscrapers in a city far too full of them as it was. "And a whole lot of nuts too."

Anna snorted in agreement. After a couple of cups of strong brew and a pep talk Chris was starting to sound more like her old self again. Sarcastic. Sharp witted. And while her confidence had been severely shaken, thanks to that piece of shit ex of hers, Chris was finally surfacing from the muck of break up hell. 

Anna was sure after this most recent emotional upset died down, there were going to be plenty more "nuts" in Chris's future. The girl couldn't help herself. A hopeless romantic, deeply embroiled in the belief that the "right one" was just around the corner, Chris fell too hard, too fast, and got hurt way too often. Luckily though, she had her there to pick up the pieces.

Chris jumped at the rattle of the cell phone in her hip pocket. "Who could that be? You are the only person who ever calls me." Absently, she frowned at the unknown number on the display. Blow off Chris for a wrong number? Or, answer? Answer. Who knew, maybe this phone call, wrong number or not, would change her life. "Hello?"

Hearing the rugged voice on the other end sent a surge of heat to her cheeks, her heart pounding, and her palms, sweating. "It's him," she mouthed to Anna, grinning ear to ear enthusiastically. She knew she wasn't wrong about him! Anna was less than impressed by him. She hadn't said anything. But, Chris could see it. Now Anna could eat crow along with the picked at blueberry muffin on her chipped diner plate.

Anna scowled at Chris who was nodding and bobbing her head like one of those damned bobble head. Hanging on every word "her boyfriend" said on the other end. Great. Four weeks of encouragement, damp Kleenexes, and pep talks flushed down the crapper. How dare he call her now when she'd worked so hard to put her best friend back together again! Pretending not to listen in, she picked at the half eaten blueberry muffin on her plate. 

"You're where?" Chris asked. "I'm supposed to work today," she protested weakly. Disappointment dulled her excitement. He hadn't called to apologize. He hadn't called to make up. He wanted a ride home. Anna would be pissed at her decision. But, how could she leave him out there in the middle of nowhere with no way to get back to the city? A stronger woman might tell him to fuck off and hitch hike. But, she wasn't that woman. And she'd never said no to anyone who needed her. 

Irritated by her lack of testicular fortitude, Chris sighed and rolled her eyes at Anna. "Yes, I suppose I could leave work a little early." She had to think of a creative lie to tell Anna before the barrage of questions started. "Yeah, I'll come pick you up." She fumbled in her purse for a pen and snatched a napkin from the chrome dispenser on the table. "Can you give me directions?"

Anna squinted down at Chris's spidery handwriting. Chris hastily jotted down directions to a place Anna had never heard of before. What the hell? Was Chris really going to take off work early and go to the middle of Bum Fuck Egypt to pick this idiot up? He had to be kidding? 

Chris was broke most of the time, thanks to her soft heart, and couldn't afford to lose as much as an hour's worth of pay. Let alone the gas money to drive clear out to the middle of nowhere to pick this fucktard up. Chris was one of those people who dropped dollar bills into every street beggar's cup. Donated every extra cent she had to a whole slew of charities Anna had never even heard of. Not that there was anything wrong with that. But, taking care of the world's problems while neglecting her own needs was going to end up landing her friend in the poor house. 

"Yeah, I've missed you too," Chris breathed into the phone on a breathy sigh that turned Anna's stomach. "It will be kind of late by the time I get out of town and drive all the way out there." Chris shot Anna a weak, helpless smile that said, "what else can I do?" and skimmed over the scribbled directions on her napkin. Anna clenched her fists under the cover of the table and glared at the phone pressed to Chris's ear, wishing she could reach through to the other end and throttle the guy. Chris slouched into the vinyl seat. She knew she was going to get an earful as soon as she hung up the phone. And she was right. Anna had her speech all planned out, starting with a lecture on the virtues of just saying "no". 

"Ok, well look, I gotta go. Ok, see you then, bye." Chris exhaled and snapped the cell phone closed. She was in so much trouble. Flinching under Anna's disapproving scowl, she slouched down into her seat. Anna didn't know everything. The guy sounded sincerely sorry on the phone. Apologetic to a fault. Who knew? They'd have three hours together on the drive back to the city to hash things over. Maybe, they could work this out and get their relationship back on track. Anna might have plenty of men at her beck and call to toss into the scrap pile. But, she did not. And she wasn't going to call it quits until she was sure it was over.

"Unbelievable," Anna grumbled, crumpling her napkin and tossing it on her plate with a disgusted huff. My god, could Chris really be this gullible when it came to men? Did she really have no common sense? That fucker could hitch hike as far as she was concerned. She couldn't guess what he'd said to convince Chris to forgive him. 

Chris sighed and toyed with her empty coffee mug, unwilling to meet Anna's condemning stare. "I can't just leave him there," she said weakly. 

Anna blinked, rereading the directions her friend scrawled onto the napkin. "Yes, you can. He got himself there. He can get himself back," she said in steely determination. She snatched the napkin covered with Chris's scrawl and crumpled it in her fist. "You're not going. I won't sit back and watch you make a fool of yourself for him. Again." 

Chris had a temper she'd worked years to get under control and Anna was stoking the flames to life with her self-righteous and condescending attitude. What business was it of hers if she decided to give him a ride home or not? It was HER time. HER car. And HER gas. Not Anna's. Sure, she valued her best friend's opinion. But, she had no right to tell her what she was or was not going to do and who she was or was not going to do it for. Anna had no right to treat her like a child who was not capable of making her own decisions. "He said he'd explain everything when I got there." 

"I bet he will." Anna fired back. Her eyes flashed in anger at the hard set of Chris's jaw. She was going to leave work, go pick this guy up, and come back in tears after she let him break her heart again. Stupid. But, it was Chris's life and she had a right to do with it as she pleased. This time, she was not going to be there to pick up the pieces for her best friend. Chris could cry her eyes out. Again. And it wouldn't bother her in the least. Tempted to tear the napkin up into tiny illegible shreds, she threw the rumpled scrap on the table and gathered up her coat and purse.

"Sorry, I have to go. I need to hear what he has to say." Chris picked up the crumpled paper napkin and smoothed it out with her fingers. The directions were a little smeared and fuzzy, but she could still read them clearly enough. She hated that Anna was mad at her and they were fighting. But, her pride wouldn't let her apologize. Anna didn't understand what it was like to be an ugly duckling and to be so unsure of yourself. Anna was born a swan, a beautiful, graceful, pale-feathered swan. 

Chris pulled out a tattered ten-dollar bill and tossed it on the table. Although the cost of her breakfast was four dollars and some odd cents, she wasn't going to wait around for the waitress to bring back the change. Waitressing was hard work and she never left less than a five for a tip. 

"If you go and pick him up. I don't ever want to hear another word about it ever again. I watched you self-destruct once. I don't have the energy to go through it a second time. You're on your own." Anna slammed a five-dollar bill on the table with a loud slap and threw her purse over her shoulder. 

Chris shrugged and looked up at Anna's scowl. "Don't worry, you won't." Carefully, she folded the napkin and slid it into her pocket for safekeeping. She should apologize to Anna. Her best friend was just worried about her. And while she appreciated the concern, she didn't need it or want it. She slid out of the booth and pulled on her coat, slinging her purse over her shoulder and marched out of the diner before Anna could get a chance to dig at her again. Tomorrow, they'd be bawling all over each other and making up the way they always did when they fought. But, for now, she needed to get away from Anna before she convinced her to change her mind and stay home. 

"Damn," Anna cursed through gritted teeth, watching Chris stomp out of the diner. She truly regretted her temper, especially when it struck out and hurt one of her friends. She could have handled the argument better. Took her time to convince Chris that driving out to the middle of nowhere to pick up her loser ex wasn't the best of ideas. But, at seeing the hopeful gleam in Chris's eyes, she'd blown her stack. 

Anna left the diner and looked up and down the sidewalk. Just in case Chris had come to her senses and was waiting on her. She wasn't. Chris was way ahead of her, lost in the endless shuffle of morning commuters. Today was a lost cause. If she called, Chris would answer the phone. But, the conversation would be cool and guarded. Tomorrow, after they'd both had a chance to cool off, she'd call her and set things right. Tell her best friend she was only acting in her best interests, looking out for her, the way she always did. 

Chapter 2

Dane scrubbed a hand through his spiked hair and scowled at the oncoming dawn. He had a mess on his hands, an absolute mess. He exhaled and swore beneath his breath and picked his way through the neatly piled stacks of wood waiting to be burned. The senseless loss of life sickened him. In the chill of an early winter's pale morning, frost lay thick on the bodies. Lifeless flesh and bloodied clothing sparkled from the frost in the golden light of the weak, lemon yellow sunrise. Tonight the pyres would be set to light and the bodies burned to ash in their flames. Casualties of war. The remains of his brothers, those that gave their lives in the fight, lay to rest with all the pomp and ceremony befitting A Son. For the rogues, a mass pyre would do just fine. 

He motioned to the small group of brothers on clean up detail, giving the woods one final scouring, to call it a day. The dead had been rounded up. Every trace of the battle efficiently erased from the land. So many lives lost, so many men and women he considered family, gone. His body and mind ached, overwhelmed by the task of leading this group, pulling them together to pick up where they'd left off, and start over. He felt grossly inadequate to build something worth having from the ashes left behind. But, what choice did he have? He lived. And Lucien didn't. By default, he was in charge. 

He was happy for Janine and Patrick. Janine's squeals of joy at the sight of her tracker returning from the battle helped to buffer his heart against all the death and destruction that he stood in the middle of now. Unfortunately, their reunion had been short lived, he needed Patrick out in the field to help track down any rogues the brothers might have missed in the melee of blood and pain. He had no stomach for more violence and luckily, any stragglers had vanished without a trace. 

The morning after the battle had been spent in recovery. Most of The Sons had borne battle wounds and were weary down deep into their souls. Last night there had been a great victory celebration and a wedding. Robbie and John Mark, finally happy together in the wake of so much tragedy. Dane felt the warm flame of hope flicker to life in his soul for a brief second. Before, with one glance of Alex, kneeling beside Lucien's body, stubbornly clinging to his cold, lifeless hand, the darkness extinguished its heat.

Today, ceremonial fires would burn brightly in triumph. But, he'd take no comfort in them. Dane exhaled wearily and retraced his footsteps to his fallen brother's side. Alex was still there, as she had been since the warriors stretched him out on the pyre, at Lucien's side. She shivered in the cold, exhausted in a bone deep way that Dane understood all too well, because he felt it too. 

He admired her determination to see this through and her loyalty to Lucien. But, enough was enough. She'd refused to go inside and seek shelter through the bitter chill of the night. She'd refused food or drink. She was running on her grief, as if it was sustenance enough to keep her fragile body going. After almost two days, crouched on the hard ground beside her lost husband, Dane was afraid for her. Afraid she'd starve herself and push her limits too far till her body surrendered to her will and she joined him in the shadowy world of the afterlife. Not on his watch. He was responsible for her. If he had to drag her by the roots of her red hair into the land of the living, he would. "Alex...,"

Alex's eyes never left Lucien. Stubbornly, she held his hand. His fingers cold and stiff, pale with death. Her body heat wasn't enough to drive off the chill of the reality. He was gone. Everyone had tried to coax her inside: her mom, her dad, Janine, John Mark, Patrick, and now, Dane. She wasn't leaving her husband. Not until it was over. Tonight. Until then, until the flames claimed every last cell in his body, he was hers. And she'd be right here, by his side, where she belonged.

In death, the expression on Lucien's face was placid, peaceful and calm. It was difficult to look at him and convince her grieving mind that the hand she held, the face she looked upon, was nothing but a shell. He wasn't here. He was dead. The brothers had tended to his body with careful detail. No trace of the battle marred his pale skin. No hint of how he'd died showed. His head had been severed by a rogue's blade. But, to look at him, in his black leathers and battle gear, he looked as if he had merely fallen asleep. 

Alex reached out to brush away a stray leaf that had drifted on the chilly currents of winter's first breath to settle on Lucien's lifeless chest. See, she needed to be here to protect him. Her fingers brushed across the cold sliver of the heart shaped locket around his neck. The locket was his gift to her, the one thing she'd clung to for so long when she thought she'd lost him the first time. Then, she'd had hope. She'd lived in a fantasy world where Lucien's grave was empty and he was somewhere alive, waiting for her. And her hope had been right. He was alive. Now, she had nothing but hard, cold reality.

Fate was a cruel mistress, one that deserved a good hard bitch slap across the face. For twelve years, she'd existed with the thought that Lucien was dead. That cunt, fate, had brought Lucien back to her again, only to snatch him away, for good. Losing him the first time had been bad enough. Losing him again, was going to be the hardest thing she would ever have to face. She didn't know if she had the strength to do it. He'd promised her forever. He lied. He hadn't had forever to bargain with. 

"Don't say it, Dane. I'm not leaving him," Alex said, clutching Lucien's fingers harder. Although she shivered in the cold, every limb in her body aching from her vigil on the hard ground, she wasn't going anywhere. During the night, Janine had brought her a thick, fleece blanket to bundle up with and her mom had dropped off a thermos of steaming coffee. She'd refused them both. She wanted to hurt. Physical pain was real and took her mind off of where she was hurting the worst, in her heart. Her broken, empty heart that would never be right again. 


Dawn's Shadow



Dane scowled against the golden rays of dawn, cursing his limitations with both the sunlight and this stubborn scrap of a woman. He wanted to be gentle with her. Coddling. But, his worry for her well being was too great. If anything happened to her, Lucien would move the heavens to cross the barrier between the worlds and kick his ass. That wasn't what scared him. He had to honor his brother's last wish. Sending Lucien to the spirit world was Alex's job, her final task. And he didn't envy the burden of lighting the pyre that would set Lucien's soul free. His job, his final task to his brother, was to keep her safe. "Alex," he said, latching onto her mental signature. "Sleep."

Gently, he bent and pried her cool fingers from Lucien's death stilled hand. Cradling her limp body in his arms, he carried her to her parent's house. She could hate him for what he'd done, taking advantage of her human state, later. Once she was warm and bundled up in her parent's and Janine's love, she might forgive him. Once she moved through the awful task ahead of her, she might find peace, in time. 

With Alex delivered safe and sound at home, Dane traversed the paths of the trackers. Ok, so he was a bit, no a lot of a micromanager and had to check and double check everything for himself before he declared the job done. 

Having checked miles and miles of woodlands and brush dusted with the early morning frost, he was finally satisfied, there were no traces of a battle left for human eyes to find. This time of year was tricky for The Sons, sharing the woods with the hunters. Competing for the same food. If only the hunters realized how precarious their situation was and how easily they could become the hunted. 

Dane darted over the hardened ground, his feet barely touching the fallen leaves as he trekked back to the mining shafts The Sons now called home. Their previous home was a ruin of ash and charred wood. By this afternoon, their former home would be flattened, all traces that there was ever a dwelling there at all, erased. He approached the shafts cautiously; the guards posted at the entrance were edgy with hair triggers and bad tempers. Of course, these days, who could fault them? There was plenty to be pissed off about. He nodded in greeting and walked past them, cringing as they bowed to him the way they had once bowed to Lucien. 

The tunnels were dark, dank, and musty. Lit by an occasional battery operated lantern. Their dim light barely cut through the blackness that surrounded him and sure as hell didn't do a thing to lend to an inviting or homey atmosphere. The place was more like a tomb than a home. He turned a sharp corner, cursing as he scraped his head on a low part of the cavern's roof. Laughter echoed through the deep tunnel. Turning, he found the old Shaman, Doc, chuckling at his expense. "What's so damned funny?" Dane asked, rubbing the sore spot on the top of his scalp.

The old Shaman chuckled and regarded the warrior chief scrunched down in the tunnel. Patting the Dane's chest with a firm hand he said, "Our Father made good medicine when he made you. Big and strong as an ox." He pointed to Dane's head with a finger. "Good mind and strong heart. But, I think he made you too big for such a tiny place." Pointing to his own small stooped frame, Doc said, "I was too old to grow so big when I was made." 

Doc looked up at Dane with wisdom twinkling in his eyes. Everyone agreed living topside wasn't safe anymore. Their lodge had been too easy to find and too easily destroyed. The brothers looked to Dane for leadership. Little did they know how reluctant he was to take the helm and do what needed to be done. The younger ones needed home and hearth to feel normal, to have a sense of belonging and roots. If something wasn't done soon to set things to rights, there might not be a brotherhood to house. "Maybe, you'll find a comfortable place for this old man soon. One with high ceilings for you too, I think." Cackling he wandered off into the darkness leaving Dane alone.

"Crazy old coot," Dane called after Doc. His voice echoed through the darkness back to him. He looked around at his bleak surroundings. This place, dug so deep into the bowels of the earth wasn't fit for bats, let alone the brothers. He got it. He took the Shaman's hint. But, damned if he knew how to turn this place into a home. 

Chapter 3

Chris punched the accelerator to the floor, navigating her environmentally friendly hybrid onto the interstate. She had hoped to make an earlier start, but it seemed that her work schedule for the day had other plans for her. Now, it was rush hour and she was under the very real threat of being squashed like a bug by the endless flow of bumper- to- bumper traffic. 

She shuddered as a semi, blazing past her at warp nine, blasted its horn and flew past her driver's side window in a huff of exhaust and grinding gears. She grinned, cranked up the radio to drown out the noise of the traffic and adjusted her sun visor against the last rays of the setting sun. She was going to be tired and pissed off by the time she got there to pick him up. And she looked forward to the opportunity to subject him to three plus hours of nagging hell on the drive back. Determined to make the most of her time, she settled for a book on CD instead of the radio's fuzzy reception, and watched the odometer tick the miles away.

Chris flipped on her turn signal, glad to see some sign of civilization after an hour or so of driving in the total blackness of the interstate at night. Her butt was numb and her legs were stiff. She pulled into the gas station just off the main highway, eager for a stretch and a desperately needed bathroom break. Groaning in sheer delight of being out of the car, she let out a long yawn and shuffled across the parking lot. God, she hoped the bathrooms were clean and the coffee, hot and fresh. Given nasal twang of honky-tonk music blaring from the speakers and the grime encrusted windows of the station, she didn't hold out much hope for either.

Sighing as she took a sip of something that was coffee in name only, Chris buckled her seatbelt. Even though the gas station wasn't much, the guy behind the counter made up for it. Tall with broad shoulders and arresting dark eyes, the kind that almost bore through a girl's soul and left her shivering in her skinny jeans, he was the complete opposite of her loser ex. She took one last second to study her hurriedly scribbled directions and slid the car in reverse. Whatever her ex's story was, it'd better be good. She couldn't wait to hear his explanation of how he ended up out here in the middle of BFE without a way home. 

According to her directions, she was supposed to drive through town and turn left on County Road something or other and then hang a right on some deserted stretch, and then another left. Great. She edged the car out into traffic, not that there was any, and putted into town. The speed limit was only twenty-nine miles per hour. Twenty-nine, not thirty, she rolled her eyes in irritation. Who did that? Talk about a speed trap.

Main Street was a stretch of non-descript shops closed down for the night. But hey, the town had its merits. Commerce was alive and well at the local bar, judging by the row of beat up pick-up trucks lined up outside. Besides the bar, there was a cafe, a clothing store, a jewelry shop, a florist, a bank, and oh, and an ice cream shop bordering the edge of the bustling "metropolis". Hell, there was even a hospital, boastfully serving the "tri-county's" healthcare needs. What more could anyone want? 

"Geez, where am I the Twilight Zone?" Chris muttered. Nervously, she chuckled to herself and returned the redneck's wave. Yeah, the town had everything, including friendly local nut jobs to boot. Who in the hell waved at random passersby anymore? Was she in Mayberry and she'd missed the sign? Maybe, she'd stop and have a piece of pie with Aunt Bea on the way back. Really? 

She punched down on the accelerator when the town's only stoplight turned green and drove the whole two seconds through the remainder of the Town That Time Forgot. The black highway stretched out in an endless ribbon in front of her. Keeping her eyes peeled for the only landmark visible in the darkness, the county road whatever in the hell it was sign, she drove, clutching the steering wheel with her sweat-slicked palms, growing more and more nervous as she thought about coming face to face with her ex for the first time since he'd disappeared off the grid.

Wearily, Chris rubbed her eyes, cursing as her car bumped and shimmied down the narrow stretch of gravel road. At first, she didn't think she would be able to find her turn off from the highway and now she wondered if she would be able to find the house she was looking for. "What a pain in the ass," she grumbled. Gritting her teeth as the front wheel of her car sank into a crater-sized pothole. If her car suffered any damage, she was going to make her ex pay for the repairs in blood.

She hadn't passed another house for miles. There was nothing out here but endless stretches of barren cornfields and menacing looking patches of dense black woods. The red glow of a reflector at the end of a long lane shone like a beacon. "That's got to be it," she whispered, hoping she was at the right place and wouldn't end up with a shotgun shoved in her face. She slowed the car to a crawl and matched the weather worn, barely visible, address on the mailbox to the ones on her directions. Signaling out of habit, it wasn't like there was another breathing soul out on the road but her, she turned up a long, bumpy, gravel lane. 

She pulled up beside a house at the end of the lane and slid the car into park. It was difficult to make out any details about the tiny farmhouse in the blackness that engulfed her. The headlights of her car barely penetrated the inky night around her. She scowled realizing that there were no lights shining through the windows. But, after all it was almost midnight and she was supposed to be here hours ago. "Maybe everyone is in bed," she guessed. She didn't care if she woke up the entire town. She'd driven all this way and she was not going back until she had her wayward ex in tow. 

Ignoring the tiny hairs that stood straight up in alarm along the back of her neck and the tops of her arms, she turned off the ignition and climbed out of the car. Something wasn't right here. Or maybe, it was just the general creepiness surrounding this place and the darkness that had seemed to swallow her whole was getting to her. Either way, she shook off the feeling of dread and stomped up the uneven walk to the porch. 

In the pitch black, with only a thin sliver of moon to light the way, she stumbled up the steps and made her way to the front door. He should have been watching for her. Any considerate person would have turned on the porch light the minute she pulled up. Then again, anyone with a conscience wouldn't have dragged her out here to the middle of nowhere after a month of no contact. But, the house was dark and silent. Everything was too quiet, almost as if the woods and barren fields were holding their breath in wait for something. 

Questioning her sanity for the umpteenth time, she gingerly knocked on the rickety wooden door. Unable to shake the feeling that something was "off", she waited for someone to answer. The house had that unlived in feeling to it. As if it had been uninhabited for a long time. Just as Chris was about to give up and go back to the car, the door opened. The creaking hinges added to the air of unease hanging over her like a dark cloud. 

Chris tightened her grip on her keys. She had the sudden sensation that she should run for it. It was him, her ex, standing in the doorway, smiling. But, there was something...different about him. Something not quite...right. He still looked the same. Short and stocky, his hair mussed to hide the thinness of his receding hairline. But, something about him, about his appearance, set her sense of self-preservation jangling at high alert. 

Not being one to pass up a second chance at a possible relationship. Or, if things turned out to be unsalvageable, to pass up the opportunity to give him what for, she stepped through the open door. She couldn't figure out why her inner voice was screaming at her to run. Why adrenaline pumped through her system, sending her heart racing and her knees knocking. After all, she had known him a while and it wasn't like he was an axe murder or something. But, the closing of the door behind her had her wishing she hadn't come. 

Chris shivered in the cold and looked around. The place was empty. Not one stick of furniture, no personal baubles, no photos, anywhere. Peeling wallpaper hung from the plaster walls in long strips. The air had that musty, closed-in smell that houses got when they had been empty for a long time. She couldn't make out the print on what little wallpaper stubbornly clung to the walls. What little light managed to find its way in through the moth-eaten tatters of curtains left on the windows was lost in the darkness. Overhead, from the second floor, she heard the scuffling of dozens of tiny feet on the floorboards. Mice, she thought. Ok. So, sissy or not, she was going with her gut on this one. Whether he came with her or not, she was getting the hell out of here. 

"Ah, it's really getting late. We should hit the road," Chris said, whispering, almost afraid that the sound of her voice would awaken whatever monster waited in the closet. She flinched at his insistent tug on the sleeve of her coat, pulling her further into the room. He said something...she couldn't make out the words falling from his mouth. Her feet faltered, stumbling and tripping over the warped floor beneath them, reluctant to let her body follow his insistent pull deeper into the darkness. She went...willingly. But, she shouldn't go with him. Her body knew what her fuzzy mind had suddenly forgotten at the brush of his lips across her throat and his cold embrace, tight and unforgiving, locking her in place. She should run. But...she just couldn't remember why. 

"How I've missed you, sweet Chris," he whispered against the hollow of her throat. She'd been the first person he'd thought to call. His escape wasn't easy. He'd damn near died trying to get away. And he hadn't gotten far. Not far enough. He was cold and hungry. So damned hungry it hurt. He knew she'd come. 

The breathlessness of his voice sent a chill up her spine. Something was definitely wrong, very wrong. She needed to wake up! Get out of here! She was in danger. But, she didn't have the physical strength or the emotional will to break free of his embrace. "I need to go," Chris whimpered in protest. "Please."

"Do you love me?" he asked, sliding her coat down her shoulders. He didn't know why it was important to him to hear her confession. The words would not change the outcome. In this, he was just as much of a victim as she. He hadn't asked for this to happen to him anymore than she'd asked for him to share it with her. He just didn't want to be in it alone.

The sensation of his fingers along arms made her legs tremble and her knees threaten to buckle. She shivered from the cold. Not from the cold of the air around her. But, from the cold that radiated from him and dug its way deep into her soul. Her fuzzy mind grappled for an answer to his question. Did she love him? Did she? "I...I...I," she stuttered, unable to wrap her head around what was truly happening to her. She couldn't wake up. She couldn't run. She couldn't answer the question. 

The pain, hard and sharp as a thousand needles, was everywhere. Ripping away any thought except those of agony and death from her mind. He was hurting her. Hurting! Biting! Drinking her blood! The scream that replaced any reply she could have given, died in her throat. 

Eagerly, hungrily, he bit down. Overcome with the sweetness of the liquid rolling over his tongue and down his parched throat, he dug his fangs in and widened the wound to hasten the flow. She felt so good in his arms. She eased his pain and filled every hollow molecule of his body. He meant...never mind what he'd intended to do with that one phone call. This was everything. This was the missing piece to his miserable existence. Bliss. 

Her warmth surged through his system, leaving the awful thoughts in its wake. She was warm because she was alive, truly alive. He was cold, so damned cold and empty, because he wasn't. He hadn't been alive for...he couldn't remember exactly how long. Someone had taken his life and left him like this, hollow and aching for more. 

Her life was in his hands and he was swallowing it down. Gulp by gulp, taking everything away from her. He swallowed with needy gulps. Her heart sped along, slamming against her ribs, its' pace growing rapid and thready, steadily weaker and weaker as he drank. He should have waited for her answer. Out of curiosity, waited to see if she loved him or not before demanding she made the ultimate sacrifice to him. But, he couldn't say no to his instincts on second longer and holding her was hell. Maybe, he should have asked himself before he placed the call that sealed her fate, if he loved her.

Chris's heart beat erratically in her chest now. She was going to die; he knew that. He lowered her body to the cold, warped, wooden floor and watched what little blood seeped from the wounds drain in a thin rivulet of crimson damnation across her pale skin. Did he love her? 

He had done exactly as he was told. Kept out of sight. Not hunted any humans. Reigned in his hunger until it became intolerable. And Chris, almost dead on the floor, was a result of his never-ending obedience to his maker. He learned fast out of fear of Mistress Kore's cold, all-seeing, all-knowing eyes and the terror of her swift retribution for anyone who failed her. She would know he had killed. 

Scrabbling to come up with a plan, he watched Chris wither on the floor. No, he hadn't loved the woman. But, he didn't wish her dead. And, not knowing where he, or anyone else stood in the outcome of the battle, he sure as hell didn't want to incur the Mistress's wrath. Just in case, she wasn't dead and her blood-thirsty henchmen were still on the loose, he didn't want a rotting corpse to lead them straight to him. Maybe, it wasn't fair to Chris. But, he came first. And no one had certainly asked him his opinion before the deed was done.

He understood how it was done. He remembered his own conversion into this life in vivid, agonizing detail. Nervously, he bit down on his wrist, hoping he was right. Hoping, that he was vampire enough to make it happen. "Drink Chris. Please drink," he uttered in desperation. She would blend in with the others. Her scent would lead the Sons and his mistress's henchmen off his trail. He could get away. His mistress made so many, she'd never know the difference. And the Sons, to them the only good rogue was a dead one. Better it be Chris than him.

Chris screamed out in agony as the biting cold raced along her limbs replacing the sweetness she had tasted just moments before. She heard the sound of footsteps retreating farther and farther away. Across the hollow sounding wooden floor, crashing haphazardly into the woods, swiftly as if hell were on their heels, abandoning her. She opened her mouth to cry out for help, but found no voice only whimpers of searing pain. Her body was dying, shuddering and convulsing in spasms, each one more agonizing than the one before. Couldn't she die faster? Less painfully? 

Death was so cold. So black. So painful. Not the happy place she imagined, but one of sheer terror, blood, and agony. Pitifully helpless, her blunt fingernails clawed at the moldering floorboards beneath them. Finally, able to find her voice, she wailed, releasing the horror inflicted upon her body into the darkness. Floating in an endless sea of pain, she begged for death to find her and the darkness to swallow her up.




Dawn's Shadow



Stopping to look over his shoulder at the sound of Chris's inhuman wails of terror, he felt a twinge of regret for what he had done. Not enough regret to make him go back into that house and definitely not enough to make him stick around. He thought about taking her car. But, that would mean going back inside to get the keys out of her pocket. He turned his back on her screams and ran for it, as fast and far as his legs would carry him from the guilt of what he'd done.

Chris huddled in the corner of the cold, dark and empty living room clamping her hands down tightly over her ears. She rocked back and forth squeezing her eyes closed to block out the horror of the darkness. Her stomach cramped and reeled with hunger. The likes of which she'd never experienced before. She was so cold. Shivering from the emptiness inside of her, she drew her knees up to her chest and rocked back and forth in the dark. Tears flowed down her cheeks to pool into an icy puddle on her sleeve. She wasn't dead. No, death was too kind of a fate for her. She'd skipped dead and gone straight to hell, alive and kicking. Trapped in a waking nightmare of confusion and pain and of darkness so much darkness. Mouthing a prayer, she prayed for and end and for dawn to come.



Chapter 4

Alex awoke as the last few rays of sunlight peeked in around the tightly drawn curtains of her bedroom window. She felt around next to her, but the bed was cold and neatly made. Empty. She cut off the tears before they could flow in an endless river down her cheeks. Once she started crying, the tears might never end. They would just fall and fall and fall. 

Her feet landed on the rough braided rug on the floor beside her bed. She had to do this. She owed it to Lucien and to The Sons. Tonight, she would honor her husband one final time. Release his soul from its earthly prison in the flames of the pyre. She shuffled into the bathroom and flicked on the light. The reflection staring back at her from the vanity over the sink was not a pleasant one. She looked haggard and worn down, as if her body bore the weight of her shattered heart. This broken woman reflected in the glass was not the one the Sons needed to see. She had to pull herself together, stuff the remains of her heart someplace deep inside where only she could feel the pain and the burden of it, and pretend to be ok. 

*****

Dane tied the buckskin cloth, tightly securing it around his waist. He applied the ceremonial face paint without the aid of a mirror. He had been applying the brilliantly colored paints for over seventy-five years. He hardly needed to stare at his reflection to trace the patterns over his cheeks. 

The medallion hung like a weight around his neck. He held the heavy circle of gold in his palm and traced the pattern carved on its surface with his fingertip. The last time the medallion had been worn; it hung around Lucien's neck, signifying his position as the leader. Lucien had accepted it and worn it proudly. To Dane the heavy artifact felt like a noose that was getting tighter day-by-day. He could barely breathe under the strain of its bulk and the ever-tightening chain of gold from which it hung. He didn't want this. He didn't want to be a leader. He knew this time would come, when he'd eventually have to step in. Deep down, he'd always known, Lucien wouldn't wear the medallion for long. 

*****

Alex shook off her mother's and Janine's offers to help her get ready. She dismissed a ride in the warmth of her dad's pickup truck. She had to do this alone. This was her goodbye. People were trying to be nice, almost catering to her every whim. Almost drowning her in the tidal wave of their sympathies. Preferring Jack's company and the long ride to the bluffs on his back to one more well meant "I'm so sorry" she headed out. 

Fully human without the aid of Lucien's healing blood she felt every bump and dip in the trail as Jack cantered along, his breath making steamy puffs from the effort of carrying her on his back. At least, she didn't have to make idle conversation with the horse. Didn't have to pretend to be ok, for a little while longer. Jack was good like that. He listened, as much as a horse could listen. But, he never gave her any more than what she asked for or needed. And the long ride, as bumpy and painful as it was to her aching right leg and weaker self, gave her time to get her head in the right place before she arrived at the bluffs. 

Orange light glowed up ahead from the wide clearing barely visible through the stark woods. Casting her battered feelings aside, she entered the circle of torches and scrambled off Jack's back. Someone took the reins from her, although it didn't register whom. Her body hardly noticed the chill on the frosty air as she took the torch from Dane's hand and moved to the pyre in the middle where Lucien lay, stretched out on top the wood. 

His ceremonial shroud covered him from head to toe. To pull it back for one last look would have been too hard to bear. It was better this way, better for the brothers and better for her to remember him as he was, not as this lifeless shell underneath the ornate coverings that hid him from view. She threw her voice high into the night sky and chanted, offering the song to the goddess. She sang what was in her heart and hoped that on some plane, at some level, the words reached Lucien's soul. 

Reaching the northern most point of the pyre she lowered the torch's flame to the dry kindling, watching as it caught and spread with greedy tongues of fire. Next she went to the east and did the same, then to the south, and finally to the west. The flames licked at the wood hungry to do their job and consume every bit they touched. With her grizzly task done, Alex exhaled the shaky breath she'd been holding and as tossed the torch into the flames, watching the love of her life and all her hopes and dreams burn to ash.

Strong hands wrapped around Alex's narrow shoulders, quivering with repressed grief, and pulled her back from the pyre. A gentler pair of hands draped a blanket over her head and guided her into their owner's embrace. Her dad was the pillar of her strength. But, right now, she needed her mom's softer, kinder support to keep her upright. She fell into the arms and allowed them to hold her tight. Her job was done. Lucien was gone. And there was nothing left, but the memories and pain. Nothing but ash and smoke, the bitter, acrid taste of it on her tongue and the harsh smell of it in her nose, to remember him by. 

******

Janine clutched Patrick's hand tightly and held back her tears. She watched as Alex's shoulders trembled in surrender to her grief. She wanted to go to her best friend and comfort her. But, Patrick held her back. He understood what her heart could not. Right now, Alex needed space to grieve. Time to heal. She'd been so strong, while Janine was the one who fell apart. Janine cried the tears that Alex could not. She cried enough for the both of them, for all of the brothers combined. Felt the pain that they would not allow themselves to feel. 

The morning, after the dust had settled and the brothers came home, battered but not beaten, triumphant, but not without the heavy weight of their loss borne on their shoulders. She'd been so relieved to see Patrick, alive and whole, with hardly a scratch on him. She'd rushed into his arms and covered his face with kisses, luxuriating in the feeling of his arms wrapped around her, while Alex mourned silently. She felt a pang of guilt at her happiness. Why hadn't it been Patrick instead of Lucien? And what would she have done...what emotional state would she be in now if it had been? Life wasn't fair. She shouldn't have to choose between her best friend's grief and her happiness. How could she stand by Patrick's side when Alex was standing there alone? 

Patrick held Janine in his arms. Since the morning of his return from the battle he had hardly let her out of his sight. And when he did have to leave her, he made sure that she was well protected. He couldn't imagine what went through Lucien's head in those last brief seconds of his life. Those precious seconds between death and life, when you knew death was coming for you and your number was finally up. Had he been thinking about Alex, about leaving her behind? Could he leave Janine or would death have to drag him kicking and screaming into the afterlife? Would he crawl his way out of the pits of hell to be by her side for just five more minutes? 

He'd wasted enough time with his bullshit. Their relationship was tenuous at best. He was still terrified by the depth of his feelings for her. Horrified that at some point, she'd leave him behind. And until Lucien's death, until the battlefield ran red with his blood, Patrick had never considered that he might be the one leave her behind. No more. Time was too precious to waste. Janine was too precious to waste one more second taking for granted. 

*******

The Great Father watched the small assembly from a distance. He could sense their heartbreak. Their greatest trial had come in their darkest hour. He longed to give them the direction and purpose they so desperately needed. But, his brother, the Prophet, forbade his interference. Wasn't he the boss? Wasn't this his show? His brother advised against his interference. And as usual, his brother was right. The Sons had to learn to get by without him. They had done well enough without him. 

His brother warned there might come a time when he wouldn't be there for them. And, as his brother in his usual cryptic babble had said, there might be a time when he had to learn to get by without him. His brother had gone to Arizona, alone. 

What was he supposed to do with his time? Without his brother? The goddess had sent her white wolf from whatever plane it lived to comfort him. The animal was splendid, thickly muscled with a coat of the purest white he'd ever seen. Idly, he stroked the animal's head, lost in thought. Wondering what prompted the sudden trip to Arizona and what his brother had seen in his prophetic dreams that he wasn't telling him about.

******

John Mark was so over funerals. So done with the crying and the soul crushing weight of loss. It was a relief to slip into the woods with Robbie at his side. She was quiet, lost in her own head, which gave him plenty of space to sort through his. They were just learning to live again, getting over the death of her parents, when this happened and death hit them and the whole brotherhood with all the finesse of a Mack truck. If death came in threes, as the superstition went, the brotherhood was paid up well in advance. 

There were so many unknowns. Without Lucien what would happen to them now? Dane was their leader. But, he didn't want to be. The brothers knew it. Sensed his reluctance. But, never spoke of it. Who would take Lucien's place if Dane...nah, he wasn't going there. But, who would be Dane's second, the one who would take his place...if...the unthinkable were to happen? Did he want the job? Did he want to be Dane's second? 

Robbie walked beside John Mark. She gave him space alone with his thoughts. She didn't know Lucien or any of the brothers very well. But, that didn't mean their loss didn't hit home, especially, so soon after the deaths of her parents. She was a warrior, tattooed and named by the Great Father. She was ready for anything, or at least that's what she told herself. 

When it had been John Mark's pain filling her head, when she felt him dying on the battlefield, she'd come undone. She understood, perhaps better than anyone what Alex had suffered. To feel the one you love die, to feel him, the presence that kept a vital part of you alive, suddenly ripped away. Alex needed friends and she needed support to get her through this, to move her beyond the point she was at in her head. And when Alex was ready to accept her friendship, Robbie would be there for her. 

How much more could the brothers take before they lost the glue that held them together completely? She didn't understand a lot about their internal dynamics. But, it seemed to her, the very balance of everything the Sons were, dangled by a thread. She didn't want to be rootless like the rogues. She didn't want to wander from place to place staying hidden, scuttling in the shadows. Even though John Mark tried to protect her from his innermost worries, she knew he shared some of her concerns. Where would they go? Who would lead them? What would they do if they were suddenly cast to the four winds and on their own? 

******

Will offered to help Dane with the grim task of lighting the pyres. The man, his leader, stoically declined and set the last bundle of wood to light with short, clipped movements weighted down by his unspoken grief. The man was doing his duty to his brothers plain and simple, bearing the task alone instead of sharing the load. It was so like Dane to take the burden unto himself. 

Will wondered who amongst the brothers would be strong enough or crazy enough to step up and be his second. Did he want the job? Hell no. He was good at what he did and for him, to be good at one thing was plenty. He was content to be what he was, a little worker bee with a big sword. The bigger picture of who he was supposed to become simply hadn't unfolded for him yet. And it wasn't like he didn't have plenty of time to figure it out.

He still could not get the image of Candace out of his head. It couldn't have been her. Sure, she'd aged in the twenty or so years since he'd seen her. But, he could have sworn it was her. Saw it in the curve of her cheek, the honey color of her hair, and in the fullness of the lips he'd dreamed about every night since his decision had forced his life into such a different direction. Sometimes, he regretted simply disappearing from her life without even so much as a goodbye. 

That was the way of the Sons. Old ties had to be severed. And she'd only been nineteen at the time, young enough to get over him and move on with her life. Surely, she'd done exactly that. He had a vague idea of her whereabouts. What she did for a living. He wasn't one to pour salt in a wound that was almost, but never fully healed. He didn't bother with the specific details of her life. 

Knowing that she had moved on and married and had the houseful of kids they'd dreamed of would have been too hard, too painful for him. He would have been happy for her, of course. But, he would have kicked himself and would have continued to kick himself, because, instead of marrying Joe Blow, she would have married him. Mothered his children. Warmed his bed. And they could have grown old, together. He missed her every day. But, he'd made his decision and that was that. He didn't have time for regrets or dreams that were never meant to be. 

Not one inch of the woods had been left unturned. He had searched everywhere for a trace of the woman, who couldn't be his Candy, but who he felt so deeply in his bones, might very well be her. And come up empty handed. She and her two companions had simply disappeared without a trace. Primarily, because he'd let them escape. He'd allowed a rogue, no...three of them... to go free. He hadn't told a soul. He didn't want the brothers to hunt the rogues down...just incase, it was his Candy after all. He'd just have to keep looking. Lock his suspicions up tightly in his brain and hope he was wrong and the woman wasn't her.

*******

Dane moved through the pyres, lighting them one after one until the air was thick and hazy with smoke and the ashes of the dead. There had been offers to help, others willing to light the pyres and shoulder his burden. Alex had done her job. And he had to do his. Now, with the last pyre lit, there was nothing to do but think about the loss and what lay ahead in the blankness of an uncertain future. 

Dane stood guard, as was his duty, long after the last of his brothers had slipped away into the dark. The sun was peeking over the horizon, adding a rosy blush to the dark gray of the sky. He would stand here as long as a wisp of smoke drifted up from the smoldering remains of the pyres. 

Dane's shoulders slumped and he leaned heavily on his sword as he reviewed his mental "to do" list. First priority was to relocate what was left of their numbers and set up some new digs for the brothers. Rebuilding would take time, and manpower, both of which were in short supply. So far, they had a few cots and a handful of battery operated lanterns. The old mines were the perfect place. But, how to pull it off and remain under the radar? 

His second priority was to add to their dwindled numbers, cut down to less than half. The territories were grossly under protected and his brothers were growing weary, physically and mentally taxed by the added patrols, dangerously close to the breaking point with all that had happened. But, only Kokumthena knew who was destined to become a Son, and she'd been pretty quiet throughout this whole ordeal.

The sound of a shotgun rang through the woods, echoing in the trees with a sharp pop. Dane smiled, the hunter in him pleased with the kill. Gauging by the lightness of the smell on the wind, the woods were short a deer. "Not bad, for a human," he muttered to himself. Odd, before his change, he wouldn't have thought about hunting and killing wild animals. Funny, how things changed and necessity was the mother of invention. Luckily, the humans, for the most part, were not a threat to their primary food source. The best most of them would do. The closest they'd come to catching anything would be a case of the sniffles from being out in the cold. 

The air stirred in tiny swirls around Dane. His skin tingled as he felt the presence of his goddess coming to collect the souls of the dead and scatter the ash with her mystical hand. He felt her power, thick on the pale morning dawn. It danced along his flesh and made his hair stand up on end. He dropped to one knee and lowered his eyes, patiently waiting. Maybe, she'd drop a set of blue prints in his lap. Maybe, she would tell him what he was supposed to do next in such a time of uncertainty. Tell him how he was supposed to lead the brothers when he was so woefully inept.

"My Psai-wi-ne-noth-tu, my Great Warrior, why is your heart so burdened?" The voice was sweeter, more melodic than any sound he'd ever or ever would hear. Loaded with wisdom and a purity his feeble earthbound mind would never truly comprehend, he breathed in her presence and let it fill all the vacant spaces left by doubt. 

The goddess was brazen in her subtlety. She never ever came out and said anything, rather dropped cryptic hints like breadcrumbs at what she wanted you to do. Right now he'd prefer a bossy boss to the dozen or so little whispered suggestions she was about to lay at his feet. 

"Alex is to become one of us, my most precious daughter, and your sister. After her time of mourning has passed, offer her my gift." 

Dane snapped his jaw shut. Ok, that was pretty damned direct, more so than he expected. Maybe, the higher you moved up the food chain the more blunt the memos that came from the front office. Lucien had tried to turn Alex and failed. If Lucien loved her and couldn't do it, how was he supposed to do it? "I don't have the strength." 

The musical sound of Kokumthena's laughter rang throughout the woods, resounding off the gray matter stuffed in his skull. "Do you think so little of me? Doubt the destiny I have given you?" As she rested her hand on the top of his head, he felt the chill of her ethereal touch clear to the tips of his toes. "You have great strength and great abilities. You just lack the faith to use them." 

"No, I.." Dane ground his teeth together, stopping himself at the energy of her raw power running along his skin. Not angering a Goddess would be a wise decision, if he wanted to keep his head on his shoulders. 




Dawn's Shadow



The energy that flowed from her hands ebbed thawing out the flesh frozen by her touch. Dane sensed that she had more to say. Cautiously, he looked skyward. The goddess wasn't really there. But, he could feel her eyes on him, boring into his soul. "Make good use of what I have given you. Everything has a purpose," she said in parting.

Ok...so maybe not all the memos from the front office were short, sweet, and to the point. He had no frigging clue as to what she was talking about. No clue! And he needed one desperately. 

He watched the last of the pyres blow away, carried heavenward on a gust of wind. There was nothing left of his brothers, Lucien, or the bodies of the rogues, only the scorched ground where the pyres had burned them to ash. And soon enough, after winter's snows, nature would take care of that. With the first hint of green grass the scars the earth bore would be erased. He wished he could say the same for the scars in his heart and in the hearts of his men. 

Dane didn't really relish her visits. He appreciated directness, not cryptic answers that left too much to debate. At least, she had been direct to a fault when she told him what was to happen to Alex. He wondered how Alex would feel about that. Becoming one of them. Probably, before Lucien's death she would have been gung ho about the plan. But, now, knowing her eternity with him would be on indefinite hold, he wasn't so sure about her reaction. He had time to break it to her. After all, an immortal being like the goddess hardly followed a timeline. He could hold off for a while and give Alex a chance to recover before he broke the news.

He felt the twinge of hunger rattle deep within his gut. He hadn't fed in a while, ensuring that his brothers had what they needed first. And he'd simply been too busy to pay attention to his body. The woods grew quiet. Most of the hunters packed it up just after dawn when the deer settled for the day. But, he could always flush one out. 

He turned sharply on his heel, scenting the deer. Its musky aroma was heavy on the wind. Eager for a good meal and just a few moments of quiet time before he headed to the dank caverns that had become home, he tracked the scent. The rogue popped up out of nowhere, its sweet scent probably masked by the deer and the remaining tendrils of wood smoke hanging low to the ground. 

Dane gave chase, a baby rogue, seemingly alone, was not much of a challenge. He took the bastard down with a swift swing of his blade and ended its miserable life. Had to be one of Kore's leftovers. One of the missing smart enough to evade the brother's sweeps through the woods. The vampire was so freshly made Dane could still smell the humanity in its blood. Less than three months old, tops. 

The kill was clean and swift, which was more than this thing would have offered its future victims. The vampire reeked of human blood. Recent blood. Somewhere out here was a body waiting to be found. Rotting and neglected. Humans weren't all that frequent visitors to the woods. But, Dane couldn't take the chance that someone would happen upon it. He didn't have time to deal with the media and the police tromping through his hunting grounds. The brothers would have to find it and get rid of it. Give the poor soul a proper burial. 

He threw the rogue over his shoulder, probably not the best way to clean up his mess if a human should happen to see him, and carried the body through the woods to the bluffs. The pyre wasn't as well made as the ones that had held the mortal remains of his brothers. But, it would do. Disposing of any formal pomp and circumstance, he tossed the body onto the crudely stacked wood and set the kindling heaped around the base to light. He took no joy in this act. He stood and bore the dawn's light, a lone witness to the loss of yet another life. A prayer he hadn't intended to say fell from his lips. He prayed for the rogue. He prayed for the body his brother had yet to find. And he prayed, as hard as he ever had, for all the death to end. 

Chapter 5

Patrick motioned for the pack of trackers under his command to circle around to the back of the old farmhouse. He'd spent all morning squinting against the sun from behind a pair of dark glasses with his nose to the ground chasing the scent. God, he loved his job. He was good at it. The stink of rogue, sickeningly sweet, hung nauseatingly in the air. Not a bad hiding place. Too bad, it wasn't good enough to hide them from the likes of him. Whoever was inside was one dead mother fucker. He had no patience for bullshit and definitely none for the rogue. He didn't care what sob story came out of its mouth. How much it pled and begged for its life. Might as well get another pyre ready to burn. This rogue was going to be roasting like a hog on a spit, soon.

Stealthily, he made his way through the overgrown brush at the side of the driveway. His footfalls silent as silent as the grave he planned to send this dumb son of a bitch to. The house had been empty for years and was in a severe state of decay. The car was too shinny and too new to be parked beside the old, dilapidated, rotting farmhouse so far removed from its former glory it was practically falling down on itself. The rogue might as well have rolled out the welcome mat for them. He didn't think any living creature could be this stupid. But, of course, he didn't think like a rogue now did he? 

Not expecting it, he pulled on the door handle of the car, surprised to find it unlocked. Patrick had rummaged through the glove box of the hybrid easily finding the vehicle's registration. He shook his head at the name listed in neat type across the top of the form. This girl's parents had a very warped sense of humor when they named her. He sniffed at the half-drank paper cup of coffee in the console. Couldn't be more than twelve hours old. Too bad, the girl wouldn't be able to use her God given name or any other. She was probably dead by now. 

Maybe, the fucktard rogue wanted to die. Good thing too, because he was going to. Patrick would make sure of that. Whoever this unfortunate woman was, she didn't deserve the hand that death dealt her. Gently, almost reverently, he put the snapshot he'd found stashed in the car's visor back into place and vowed vengeance for her death. He slid out from behind the wheel and gently closed the door. Maybe, before he sent this thing into the afterlife, he'd have a little "come to Jesus" talk with the rogue. Find out if there were more of them and where they were hiding. Find out, if this woman was the only unlucky contestant on "Wheel of Misfortune" or if there were more. 

Patrick snuck onto the porch and gripped the doorknob in his fist, nothing like making an entrance straight through the front door. A little fear might loosen the rogue's tongue. He grimaced at the groan of rusted hinges as he pushed the door wide. Too bad, he wasn't the Welcome Wagon come to call. He was death, coming to visit, on swift and sure wings. 

He slipped in through the door, blade drawn, heart pumping, and a soul full of vengeance. His boots barely made a sound on the warped boards as he padded deeper into the room. Even in broad daylight, a sense of doom hung like a black cloud over this house. No wonder it was abandoned and left to rot. Patrick could feel the weight of old, unsettled spirits, ghosts, pressing in around him, prickling the skin on his arms. He pushed his glasses up over his forehead and took a look around. Lightly walking from room to room, deeper into the oppressive shadows of the house.

Cursing under his breath, he saw a form, a female, huddled in a corner. She wasn't what he'd been expecting. He'd expected to see a body all right, a dead one. This was the source of the scent, the sweet and cloying scent of a rogue. Carefully, he approached the woman he'd seen in the picture and knelt in a crouch at her side. "Easy Chris, I'm not going to hurt you." 

Patrick slipped his arms around her huddled frame and gently coaxed her head out of the shelter of her arms. She flinched and pulled away, burying her face in the bend of her elbow. She was his rogue. But, she barely had enough strength to move. She'd been turned and then abandoned. She wasn't capable of killing anything. She hadn't killed anything. No one had taught her how. And somehow, she'd managed to keep her instincts, the ones that would make her feed, make her do the unthinkable, under control. 

He scowled, gently looking her over as best he could without frightening her. Judging by her sunken in eyes and the sharp contours of her face, she hadn't fed. Ever. She had to be hungry, unbearably hungry. His emotions got the better of him as he recalled his own brutal treatment, the days of starvation and torment, at the hands of the rogues. He holstered his dagger and slid free of his jacket, draping it over her shoulders. "You're safe now. Nobody's going to hurt you."

She'd been abandoned, much like he had right after his birth into this life. He could make sure she never knew the agony of guilt from taking human life. He could keep her safe and make good on his promise. Nobody would ever hurt her. She'd suffered enough as it was. "I'm going to take care of you now. Get you someplace warm. Find you something to eat." Patrick moved slowly, gently placing an arm under her thighs and another around her shoulders to lift her up off the grimy floor.

Chris was practically incoherent from the pain of her hunger. Terrified by the thoughts raging through her head. She wanted...no, she couldn't even admit what her mind told her she wanted, especially to the fresh faced boy so hell bent on getting her out of here. He didn't look strong enough to lift her, let alone carry her out of the hell she found herself so deeply entrenched within. 

Her mouth was too parched to form words. She felt her body gently hoisted up into his impossibly strong arms. His scent was clean and good, as innocent in its aroma as his face appeared to her eyes. He was so young, maybe nineteen or twenty years old at the most, far too young to know about the horrors of her new reality. Lanky and not fully grown into his adult body. He should be awkward in the way that late adolescent males were. But, he was graceful, his footsteps smooth and sure as he carried her through the living room. Wind tousled sandy blond hair hung in an unruly, shaggy clump over a pair of green eyes that told so much more about his age than the deceptive youth of his appearance. Yes, he did know about her world. 

Patrick scooped Chris up, carrying her out of the house. Tonight, after sundown, he'd come back and burn the place to the ground. No need to give the rogues another hiding place and no doubt the scent of their kind would attract more. This house was inhospitable and nobody would ever want to turn it into a home. Nobody could, not with all the negative energy hanging in the air. 

He nodded to his brothers to gather up her purse and coat. Take care of any loose ends that might be left behind for someone else to find. Careful to protect her eyes from the garish light of day, he carried her down the stairs and slid her into the backseat of the car. The car would have to be dealt with at some point. By now, somebody might have noticed she was missing from her former life and notified the authorities. That was one loose end he couldn't afford to leave untied. He crawled into the tiny space beside her and kept his jacket pulled tightly over her eyes. One of his trackers slid in behind the wheel and turned the key in the ignition, backing the car out of the drive. For now, they'd have to stash the car in Alexander's barn until they came up with something better. 

Chris felt the car, her car, move, bumping and shimmying down the same gravel road that had brought her here. She was so hungry, too hungry to fully grasp her situation. So far, the man had kept his promise and hadn't hurt her. In fact, he seemed more focused on protecting her than anything else. She didn't understand where he was taking her or who was driving. She couldn't bear to peek under the heavy cover of his jacket to take a look. The light, as minute as the rays were that found their way in through the cracks in her makeshift shelter were, was blinding and disorienting. A tear found its way from beneath her closed lashes and onto his fingers. "Please, don't kill me. I don't want to die. Please, don't take me to him." 

He cradled Chris tightly in his arms, weary that her fear of him and of herself might win out over her sense of gratitude. If that was the right word for what forced her compliance with the plan so far. Rogues were unpredictable. Especially hungry, terrified ones like her. She was afraid that he was going to take her to the one who did this to her. Left her there alone and terrified. His fingers were wet with her tears. Drenched with the salty essence of her terror. She was still human enough for him to lock onto her mental signature. It was for the best. The only way he could ensure she remained cooperative and didn't try to fight him. "Sleep, Chris, sleep for me." He felt her body go slack. Gently he took her weight into his arms and lifted the hem of his coat. 

She was pretty. Dark hair and brows, a brown almost bordering on black, walnut he guessed, for lack of a better word. She was not one of those women who starved themselves for their version of a perfect figure. She wasn't fat by any means. She'd been light in his arms. Although he guessed, like most women, she thought she was. Rather, this was a woman who enjoyed everything life had to offer. Her cheeks would be full and rosy, once she fed. Her lips were slack in sleep, plump. They'd soft and pliant, for the right man. 

Patrick had a feeling about her. There was something special. Something worth finding beneath her fear, something worth saving that only she could give the brothers, especially one in particular. Dane liked brunettes. And he was crazy about a woman who knew exactly how to fill out a pair of jeans. 

What was he thinking? In the midst of the brother's darkest hour, he was trying to play matchmaker. Dane would like her. She was exactly his type. But, he'd never go for it. In all the years Patrick had known him, Dane had never given in to the slightest urging of carnal desire. Dane would take a lot of convincing to warm up to her and probably her to him. But, maybe, she was exactly what he needed. Although Dane could be a real hard ass, stubborn, and unyielding, maybe he was exactly what this little number, curled up and sleeping in his lap like a lost puppy, needed too. 

Chapter 6

Dane was jolted to wakefulness by the deep male voices of his brothers echoing through the dark, cavernous underground. His temper ran hot these days. He didn't need sleep as badly as he just needed to be left alone with his thoughts. Not an easy task considering every one of the brothers had an open link into each other's gray matter. Couldn't this lot take care of themselves for at least five fucking minutes? He stomped down the tunnels, eager to take his anger at being disturbed out on someone. Striking his head and cursing in a foulness that would have a seasoned sailor blushing like a schoolgirl, he bellowed down the hall, "Now what?" 

Dane shoved the brothers out of the way as he pressed through a narrow opening in the rock to see what all the commotion was about. He stood there dumbfounded by the sight, the lovely sight stretched out on a cot in the chamber. Intrigued by the curves and lush fall of maple colored hair, he stepped closer. Sniffing in her scent, he determined that she was a vampire. Not a rogue...yet, but, not one of them either. Wonderful, he thought rolling his eyes, now they were taking in strays. This wasn't an orphanage for the damned and soulless. Sure, she was pretty, feminine and curvy. He'd issued simple orders that he'd expected to be followed. If it wasn't a Son, and it wasn't human, kill it. Why was this female alive? Sucking up his air? 

"Gentlemen, it's a woman. You've all seen one before. Now if you please, GET THE FUCK OUT!" Dane bellowed. Within the blink of an eye, the room had much more space; just Patrick and the Shaman remained behind. "Anyone care to explain what that is doing here?" he asked, pointing to the woman. "Anyone?" he said, pinning Patrick with a pointed glare.

Patrick lifted his chin in defiance of Dane's impatient tone. Somebody had definitely woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Ok, so maybe he should have warned Dane before he brought Chris here. But, what the hell else was he supposed to do with her? He certainly couldn't have left her to her own devices. And he sure as hell wasn't killing anyone who had not broken the law. 

After all, even if she had broken the law, which she hadn't, how much different was her situation than his? He'd broken the law. He'd stood condemned and rightfully so. He'd taken Nikki's life, the life of a human. Lucien had vouched for him, believed in him. The man had kept him alive even when he wasn't sure, even when Patrick hadn't wanted him to. 

Dane rubbed his temples and listened to Patrick's debriefing. The woman was innocent. Great, what was he supposed to do with her? What other option did he have but to take her in? None. Maybe, she would serve some purpose. Looking at the soft figure crumpled on the bed in an unconscious heap, he couldn't imagine what it would be. She wasn't a fighter. "Ok, stash the car someplace safe and if it's got lo-jack, have Toby disable it."

Patrick nodded and cast a slanted grin at Dane. Noticing Dane's hard scowl, directed solely at him, he quickly dropped the grin like a bad habit. He knew Dane wouldn't turn her away and he knew Dane wouldn't kill her in cold blood. His leader was many things, but heartless was not one of them. Dane was a softie under the paramilitary haircut and bristling exterior of pure hard ass. 

"Wake up," Patrick whispered, releasing his hold on her mind. He took a step back and watched her eyes begin to flutter open before scuttling into the darkness of the tunnels to find Toby. 

"Damn it, Patrick," Dane hissed. The woman, Chris, would be terrified upon awakening and seeing him towering over her. He was not good with people, especially women. He didn't understand them. Had no idea how to relate to their moods, which changed quicker than the Indiana weather: hot, cold, sunny, then just as suddenly, stormy.

He tried to look menacing on purpose. He kept his black hair buzzed close to his scalp. His clothes simple, black on black, with more black, easier that way. He never went anywhere without a cache of weaponry strapped everywhere he could find to strap them. He hadn't smiled in decades. Didn't see the purpose of it. And he was big, far too large, far too intimidating in his size, both in his height, at a meager six foot-six-inches tall, and his musculature, to be anything but terrifying to the soft, tiny female on the cot. Awkwardly, he stepped forward as her eyes fluttered, praying he didn't scare her half to death when she opened them.

Awareness flooded back into Chris's mind. She had been resting so peacefully in a sea of black. Now, that she was awake again the sheer torment of her hunger ripped through her body. Confused, terrified, and in so much pain, she trembled as and scooted away from the mountain of a man creeping toward her. She pushed as far back as the cold, hard, wall of rock pressed into her spine would allow and looked up at the man lowering his immense body onto the side of the cot. "Who are you?"

"I'm Dane," he replied as softly as his deep, gruff bass voice would allow. He was prepared to grab her if she should try to make a run for it. He hoped she didn't. He had no desire to tackle a female. They scratched and hissed like cats. Unsure of what to do, how to get the ball rolling, he offered a handshake in an attempt to put her at ease. But, wasn't offended when she refused to take it. He didn't blame her. This situation required someone with a lot more finesse and patience than he had at his disposal. "What's your name?"




Dawn's Shadow



Chris eyed Dane warily, noting the ripple of his muscles underneath a snug black t-shirt. His military haircut, russet colored skin, and the deep, rich brown of his eyes, so dark they were almost black, did little to ease her discomfort. He was rugged looking, confident in his "don't fuck with me and mine" attitude, and scary as hell with more blades than a Ginsu chef strapped all over his body. He was a man that protected what he considered his. And while that thought might be appealing, down right attractive even. It frightened her half to death. "Chris," she mumbled, wishing she were smaller so that she could put just a little more space between herself and the man crowding the cot. 

"Chris," Dane nodded. "I know you don't understand what's happening to you. But, I need for you to trust me and to do what I say. Can you do that?" Dane dropped his right hand and rested it loosely on the top of his thigh. He tilted his chin down, trying to make eye contact. She looked away, refusing to meet his gaze. Ok, no touching and no eye contact. How was he supposed to communicate with her? "Are you hungry?"

Chris nodded her head. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten a real meal. Probably yesterday, if it was yesterday that she had breakfast with Anna. She wasn't really sure what day it was. A tall black coffee and a couple of strips of bacon sounded great right now. Unconsciously, she licked her lips.

Dane took a deep breath. He hated the thought of another vampire feeding at his wrist. But, sometimes as a leader, a guy had to do what a guy had to do. If this would prevent just one rogue from being on the streets it was worth the sacrifice. He had seen enough death over the past two days to last him for the rest of his very long life. His blood wouldn't sustain her for very long. At best, it would take a bit of the bite out of her hunger long enough for him to find a donor. He couldn't stand the thought of her in pain. 

"Chris, do you remember how I told you that you'd have to trust me? Now is one of those times." He had no way of explaining things to her. None of the words were adequate. She might not even understand them if he spoke them. She probably wouldn't believe him. After all, what was he? The stuff of legends, tales used to frighten children, a comical Halloween figure, a cartoon on a box of cereal. Not real. But, what was happening to her was very real. There was only one way to get her to put the pieces together and that was for her to figure them out for herself. Frowning, he lifted his wrist to his mouth and bit down, wincing at the pressure. "Drink."

Chris gasped as she watched Dane bite through his skin. Gulping hard at her revulsion, she squeezed her eyes shut so she wouldn't have to watch him mutilate himself. So she wouldn't see the blood that held her so captivated. She wanted it. She wanted to do as he said and drink. This was madness. Her thoughts were sick, demented, and deranged. People didn't drink blood. People didn't crave blood. But, she did. What was wrong with her? 

Her stomach reeled at the thought of drinking blood. But, every nerve ending hummed at the scent of it. Her body pulled her mind along for the ride, closer to the oozing wound. She grabbed on to the covers on the cot, trying to control the urges of her body. Instinct guided her to the source of the delicious aroma that flooded the tiny room. 

Dane saw the struggle between Chris's mind and her body. "It's ok. Your body needs this to survive. Drink. Chris." He slid closer to her, bringing his wrist to her mouth. His other hand grasped the back of her neck guiding her head to the source of her need. "You're still the same person as you always were. You're just...different now."

Chris twisted out of Dane's hold on the back of her neck. What was he asking her to do? Drink his blood? Was he crazy? He was right. She was different. She wanted his blood. Not just his blood, any blood! Her mouth flooded with saliva at the scent and sight of it. She was just as crazy as he was, maybe crazier! "No!" She pushed him away and wedged herself into the corner, as far away from him as she could get. "No!"

She was bat shit crazy! These people had kidnapped her! Her ex had set her up! She'd thought she was being rescued. But, somehow, these people had been in on the whole thing! They were trying to get her to do things that weren't even human. Trying to make her believe she was something that wasn't even possible! This...this couldn't be happening to her. Her eyes flicked to the unguarded entrance of the cell. She could do it. Run, like she should have done when she first stepped foot out of the car. She'd rather take her chances in the darkness beyond the meager light of the lantern than stay in here with him, trapped in this insanity. Why hadn't she listened to Anna and stayed home?

"Damn it!" Dane hissed. Women always had to do everything the hard way. She'd barely made it onto her feet before he latched onto her waist and slammed her back on the cot. Ok, hard way it was. Her choice, not his. "You are what you are. Don't you understand that?" He glowered over her cowering form, hating himself for her fear. 

"What am I?" Chris asked. 

"A vampire." 

Chris laughed hysterically. A vampire. Insane. Only she would have the misfortune to be drugged and kidnapped by a bunch of lunatics. Where were the good, old-fashioned ax murders when you needed them? These idiots were absolutely out of their minds. Too bad she wasn't a religious person and didn't happen to have a cross at her disposal. She could go all Van Helsing on their assess and escape. "That's impossible. Vampires don't exist." 

She gasped as Dane parted his lips and two perfectly normal looking canines lengthened in his mouth. Gingerly, she ran her tongue over her teeth and stifled a cry of shock and terror as the tip found two horrifically long and needle sharp points. She...she...this wasn't real...this couldn't be happening to her. She sifted through her memories, fragmented as they were. The bite, drinking from his wrist, the pain, and then more pain, the searing daylight, and the hunger, the emptiness that cramped her stomach and burned her with its fury. She was a vampire. "What happens if I don't drink?"

Dane grunted at Chris's stubborn refusal. She wouldn't hold out forever. Nobody could. Eventually, she would take what her body needed to survive. The trick was to get her to drink before she lost the battle to her instinct and became a mindless, uncontrollable thing that was no better or not salvageable than a rabid dog. "You will continue to grow weaker and weaker. And your suffering will become unbearable. You'll turn into something you don't want to be, Chris. Your mind will break. And you'll do things that you would rather die than do." 

"I can't. I can't drink blood." She slid to the edge of the cot and hid her face in her hands as if the darkness of her cupped palms would make everything go away. Blinking fiercely, she held back the tears. "My ex did this to me. He made me into this...thing. I didn't ask for it. I don't want it." 

Dane knelt at her feet and gently pried her hands away from her face. "Chris please, I know how hard this is to understand. But, you must do this." The blue of her eyes glittered beneath the fall of her tears. He hated it when a woman cried. Hated. It. Their tears went straight to his heart and clouded his judgment. Gently, he ran a finger along her jaw and lifted her gaze to meet his. Despite her suffering and her terror, he could still see the hardness of her determination. He had to break her. It was for her own good. The only way he'd ever get through to her. "You will drink." With a huff he released her chin, rose to his feet, and stomped out of the chamber. 



Chapter 7

Anna checked her cell phone for the millionth time today. She'd started texting Chris at the crack of dawn and still hadn't gotten a reply. Anger seethed inside Anna at being ignored by her best friend. Sure, the fight had been ugly. And maybe, Chris was entitled to her hurt feelings. But, to not call her back...when Anna's only concern was for her safety, as she'd indicated in the numerous texts and voice mails, wasn't like Chris at all. 

Annoyed, Anna stared at the blank screen on her phone and picked at her lunch. Today, her usual chef's salad was as unappealing as shoe leather. She'd even tried to call Chris's work, just to check up on her. And the call got transferred straight to voice mail. Unfortunately, Chris blended in a little too well. She'd been working in the same boxy cubicle for two years. Yet, her coworkers didn't even know who she was. When Anna had finally managed to get a live human being to answer the main line. The person who picked up didn't even realize Chris wasn't there.

Chris had no close relatives. Her parents were elderly, living in some retirement community outside of Phoenix. As far as Anna knew, she was Chris's only friend. Chris was shy, and in her shyness utterly forgettable. Anna had told her time and time again to go out, meet people. But, Chris would only shrug and change the subject. This was why Anna thought Chris needed more contact with the waking world. She could far too easily disappear and no one but Anna would realize it.

Anna tossed her uneaten salad in the trash and pushed her way through the meandering lunch crowd. Everyone was taking their time today, gawking at the decorations. Holiday lights and greenery dangled from the lampposts. It wasn't even Thanksgiving yet and already the city was decked out in its Christmas finest. People needed to give it a rest. Couldn't they just take one holiday at a time? For her, Christmas had lost its appeal somewhere around the time she figured out there was no Santa Claus.

Anna stood elbow to elbow with the masses gathered at the crosswalk, waiting for the traffic light to change. Everyone seemed to be extra jovial today. Smiling. Actually being polite, for once. Maybe, it was the start of the holiday season that lifted their moods. Maybe, it was the anticipation to be done with the old and in with the new. The hope that next year would be better than this one that lifted their collective spirits.

The skyscraper that housed her firm was the tallest in the city. And from her vantage point, the coveted corner office. She could look out the window and stare down at the world. Sometimes, she felt guilty about that. But, she'd worked damn hard to get where she was and she'd earned her view of the city. She'd sacrificed so much for the right to look down at the "little people" bustling about on the sidewalks below. More than anyone, even Chris who knew her the best, could ever imagine. 

Standing by the window now, her office illuminated by the weak light of the noonday sun, Anna thought about her own anonymity. She had a brass plate on the door of her office with her name on it. Her picture was in the foyer, with the rest of the senior partners. Hell, she'd even gotten a few write ups in the newspaper. But, for all that, she was just as forgettable and anonymous as Chris. 

She had no friends except for Chris. She hardly considered her short list of male "contacts" friends. Someone in the office might miss her long enough to move her things out and theirs in. Her family wasn't one of those close-knit families. Two or three times a year, they got together and pretended to care, really care, about one another. There wasn't anyone who really knew her, nobody, just Chris. 

They were friends by accident. Just as matter of being in the right place at the right time, both of them, lonely and wanting more than their simple, uncomplicated lives would allow. Waiting in line for coffee on a busy, blustery February morning, Valentine's Day, the worst day of the year for single women across the globe. Anna was feeling the bite of jealousy, anger even, at all the women with boyfriends and husbands. Hell, even same sex partners weren't exempt from her rage at the occasion. Boyfriends, life mates, whatever the title, who bought the loves of their lives flowers and candy, promised their love, when she had nothing. Alone.

Chris had forgotten her purse that morning. In a flush of embarrassment and shame, she tried to explain the situation to the man behind the counter. An explanation he didn't care to hear. Either she paid up for her double shot expresso or he was tossing it down the drain. Anna, impatient for her morning dose of caffeine, dropped a ten on the counter, just to get the harried woman out of the way. Incident forgotten, Anna went about her day. And the next morning, Chris was waiting for her at the front door of the coffee shop, hopeful to pay back the favor. 

Morning after morning they met at the coffee shop and exchanged conversation over double expressos, hot chocolates, or whatever drink struck their fancy. They liked a lot of the same things. Read a lot of the same authors. Ate at the same places and shopped at the same stores. A friendship between the two of them quickly formed. It was nice to have a best friend, a connection with another human being, in a city so full of strangers. That had been three years ago. And the fact that Chris hadn't bothered to call her back, stung.

From the window of her office, Anna could just barely make out the rooftop of Chris's apartment building. If Chris didn't call her back by quitting time, Anna was going to drop by. Chris might ignore her calls, as unlikely as it was. But, she wouldn't refuse someone pounding on her door. And besides, Anna had a key.



Chapter 8

Chris pounded her fists against the guard's chest. He stared down at her with a look of exasperation across his face. He stood there, tolerating her invasion into his personal space, her insults, and her incessant badgering with a hardened, stoic set to his jaw. He should go across the pond and work for Buckingham Palace. "You have to let me out of here!" she screamed, stomping to the far corner of her cell. 

She paced the confines of her cell. She felt as if the walls were closing in around her and she had to get out. Her stomach cramped, her mouth was dry, and she was so thirsty. Apparently, her captors planned to starve her. No one had brought her so much as a sip of water or a scrap of bread. Food. Water. Basic human necessities. But, she wasn't human. Her stomach twisted in a knot, the pain was getting worse. Just like he said it would. Hunger occupied her every thought. She'd been hungry before. But, never like this. This was torture. 

Huddled in the corner, as far away from the scrutinizing eyes of the guard as she could get, Chris took a look at her bleak surroundings. Dark shadows hugged the rough walls. Black dust, thick and choking, covered everything, tingeing everything it touched with a grimy layer of grit. Her cell was tiny, cramped with barely enough room for the old cot and the battery operated lantern sitting on a makeshift nightstand beside the cot. There were no creature comforts. No heat. No electricity. No running water to wash away the grimy coating of dust on her skin. There was no other way in or out, except through the guard.

She had nothing to make a weapon out of, even if she did have the guts to use it on the wall of muscle and man blocking the exit. Someone had been kind enough to return her purse, after picking through it to remove any potentially threatening object and her cell phone. It was still nice to have something that reminded her of her old life, something to cling to that was actually hers. Dejected by the lack of effect her pleas, her begging, had on the guard, Chris sat on the cot and cradled her designer knockoff bag in her lap, loosing an unearthly wail of frustration and pain. How could anyone treat another human being so badly? But, at the thought that she wasn't human, not anymore, she screamed even louder. 

The shrill feminine screams sent a chill up Dane's spine. In this dark and vacant void, they seemed to come from the very walls. He stomped through the darkness cursing, as he grew closer to the source of his torment. The woman had not stopped her incessant wailing. She just kept getting louder and louder. The sounds of torment were unnerving and had interrupted his rest for the last time. He was done with this woman. DONE. "What is going on here!" he demanded of the guard in an accusatory tone. As if Will had done anything to her, but stare in disbelief at how such a harmless, delicate looking creature could make such an unholy racket. 

"Keewa, your wife, won't shut up," Will grumbled in irritation. He knew why Dane had chosen him to guard the woman. He was the least likely to be affected by any tears, any ploy for sympathy, the woman would have tried to employ to gain her freedom.

John Mark was too much a sucker, and he would have caved at the first crystalline teardrop to trail down her cheek. Patrick would have seen the human still inside of her and while he wouldn't have let her escape, he would have wasted his time trying to reason with her. The other females in the compound would have been too sympathetic to her plight to be of any value in guarding her. Toby abhorred violence unless it was absolutely necessary. And Doc, well Doc would have probably tried psychoanalyzing her the way he did all the brothers. 

Dane growled and barred his fangs in a warning at Will. He couldn't allow for any disrespect from the brothers he intended to lead. It was difficult for the brothers. Lucien's death had left a void he was struggling to fill. And the brothers still saw him as an equal, just one of the guys. "You're relieved." 

Will hastily surrendered his post, unfettered by Dane's warning. He knew he should be more respectful toward his new leader. But, it was damn hard to see Dane as anything but Lucien's second. And after hours of putting up with that shrew, screeching and threatening, pounding on his chest with weak, ineffectual fists, quivering in hunger and pain unnecessarily because she was simply too stubborn to give in, he was over it. Even he had his limits and she had tested them to their breaking point. "Good luck, you're going to need it!" he shouted over his shoulder at Dane. Poor bastard didn't stand a chance against that woman. 

Dane stood with his arms crossed and his back turned away from her. Chris saw it as an opening, a meager chance at escape. She had a few crumpled dollar bills and a handful of maxed out credit cards. If she could get out of here and figure out where she was, she could call Anna to come pick her up. Go someplace safe with lots of people and wait for her to come. Gathering her strength, on wobbly legs, she charged him, cursing as she bounced off his muscular frame and landed squarely on her butt in a cloud of sooty, black dust.

Dane spun and glared down at Chris. He was at his wit's end with this woman. She was going to see the light. See things his way. "You are going to eat," he commanded, approaching her with slow deliberate steps. He withdrew a dagger from his belt and dragged it across his forearm, barely registering the sting of the blade or the scent of his blood, flooding the tiny cell.

Chris scuffled away, crawling backwards like a crab until her hands brushed against the wall. The man was huge, frightening, his brown eyes glowing with fury. All of it directed at her. Gingerly, she ran her tongue along the area wincing as the sharp point of a canine pierced her tongue. "Oh my God!" She clasped her hand tightly across her mouth and nose. The smell of his blood, the sight of it, lazily rolling down his forearm to drip in fat, crimson drops off the end of his index finger, caused her to be like this...like him.

Dane bent and grabbed a fistful of Chris's hair, dragging her to her feet. He ignored her struggles and the cries stifled by her clamped lips and forced her head down, toward the wound. He couldn't understand why she couldn't accept what she was or how she had the strength to keep fighting it. Using the bulk of his forearm, he wedged her mouth open. If he could just get her to taste, instinct would take care of the rest. Once she fed from him, he could delegate the responsibility of teaching her to hunt and to feed, responsibly, from humans to one of the brothers. The sooner she came to some sort of peace with what she was. The sooner he could get her out of his hair, for good.