Dawn Forever

"See to it that I don't." John Mark stood. He picked his way through the carnage of broken glass, tattered upholstery, and splintered wood. Pausing at the doorway, he turned and stared Bryce down.

He had just one more thing to say. A promise. "If Janine gets hurt because of the two of you, if either one of you endangers her in any way, or tries through deceit or trickery to influence any decision she might make of her own free will. There won't be enough left of either one of you to soak up with a sponge." He plucked the dagger from the holster on his belt and tossed it. In a move so fast he could barely track the path of the blade, the tip of the dagger landed in the narrow space between Bryce's feet with a heavy thud.

Chapter 3

Patrick stood at the end of Janine's bed. She slept peacefully and quietly, oblivious to his presence. The first rays of dawn peeked over the horizon, bathing her in a pale golden light through the sheerness of the bedroom curtains. Her sleeping mind was open to him. He had an advantage that Bryce could never have. She was his human donor. The link was weak due to her stubborn refusal to take his blood. He could still easily slip in and share her secrets as easily as one would open a book and skim through its pages. "Janine," he whispered, creeping along the edges of her mind. "Tell me what it is you want."

Janine shifted in her sleep, giving the covers a toss off her shoulders. A frown formed on her lax lips. "Patrick," she breathed. Even in slumber, where her mind was most vulnerable, she tried to fight him. Patrick pushed gently at her psyche. Janine was an open person when she was awake and generally, she spoke her mind freely. That she struggled now gave him a hint that what she felt and most wanted to say was something she was reluctant to give voice. Her brow wrinkled into deep furrows and her breathing sped and then she relaxed mumbling in her sleep. "Tell me you love me."

Patrick took a step back in surprise. He thought it was about the ring and the flowers he assumed she fervently believed she deserved. About the commitment he was so hesitant to give her. He never suspected all of this was over three little words.

She left and was torturing herself and him because of three insignificant words? Three words that he couldn't say as often as she needed to hear them had driven her into the arms of another man? He plopped down on the edge of the rocker and buried his face in his palms. "I do, Janine. I really do."

"Not good enough," Janine, although still sleeping, grumbled with conviction. Patrick glanced through his parted fingers and stared at her shape buried under the covers. Her reply was a slap in the face. Or maybe, the wake up call he needed. He was on his feet and stalking around the side of the bed.

"How can I prove it to you?" Patrick kept his voice soft, just loud enough for her subconscious mind to register. This was the most meaningful and the longest conversation they'd had in weeks. He stood at the edge of the bed and gently eased her sleep tousled blonde curls away from her face. Her full lips were pursed into a soft ring. It was hard to look at the pink flesh and not think about Bryce kissing them. He quickly squashed the surge of jealousy that ran through him like a lightening bolt. Her cheeks flushed under his inspection as if she knew he hovered above her. And on some level, although she was not fully aware, she probably did.

"Say it," Janine answered hard enough to drive her point home. She tilted her chin and slid her cheek out from underneath the soft caress of his fingertips. For all intents and purposes, she was still asleep. But, on some level she was there, speaking her heart as honestly as she'd ever spoken it to him.

She hovered on the verge of waking. Maybe it was because her mind registered their conversation as some version of a very fucked up dream or it was the sunlight streaming through the windows in full glory that had her stirring.

"I.." Patrick stopped himself at the last minute. He withdrew his fingers from her sleep warmed skin and clenched them into a fist. How could he say that he loved her? He did love her, on some level. But, the kind of love she needed him to confess was eternal. She was not. Eventually, no matter how much he loved her, she would die. If he were lucky, maybe they'd have a few decades together, possibly more.

Patrick knew he could transform Janine. But, even if she managed to talk him into trying, which he never would. It wasn't a sure bet. Transformation involved draining a person to the last heartbeat and then filling the empty shell with vampire blood. It was risky, and not everyone survived. She could slip away in the process.

He could not imagine feeling her heart stutter in that lethal rhythm and then stop while he held her in his arms. He could not fathom standing on the sidelines, helplessly watching as one of the brothers did what he did not have the courage to do for the sake of eternal love. It was a chance he wasn't willing to take, not with her. He lowered his lips to her cheek, gently giving her a kiss before he disappeared into the golden-pink hue of dawn.

Janine awakened to the singing of birds and the soft gentle breeze of morning air rustling the lace curtains. At some point during the night, in the midst of all her tossing and turning her exhausted body and harried mind must have simply given out and she'd finally fallen asleep. She couldn't have slept more than a few hours. But, damn, she felt great. For the first time in over a week, more like her old self. And it was good to have the old, perky, energetic, innocuously cute, and incorrigibly funny Janine back.

She dreamed of Patrick last night. No big shocker there. Her fingers traced the spot on her cheek. The skin still tingled where he'd kissed her in the dream. There was such an expression of despair and anguish in his eyes as he stared down at her with longing. She was tempted to call him, just to hear his voice. It was a stupid, stupid thought she quickly dismissed. Why would she bother? After all, it was just her mind compensating for the harsh reality of what she knew she'd never get from him.

She would not let her dreams, which she had no control over dictate that which she did. Today was a new day and the old had no place in it. Janine declared today a 'no tear day' and threw back the covers in determination. After a deep yawn that went to her toes and a joint cracking stretch, she bounced out of the bed full of anticipation. Wondering what the day had in store for her.

She had to be at the shop in an hour to open. The patrons probably didn't care what she looked like as long as she served up their order and made correct change. But, she did. And an hour wasn't much time to shower, do her hair, and put on her face. Today she was going all out on herself. She hopped in the shower and chose the good body wash she saved for special occasions. Why not? Today might be special.

After drying off and picking through her hair. Adding an extra dollop of gel to tame the curls into soft ringlets she pulled it back away from her face in a pretty clip she'd found at the dime store. Not her best look, but Robbie insisted. And yeah, probably nobody would be particularly enamored of her if a stray hair ended up in a hot fudge sundae.

Janine balanced the multi-tiered box she kept her makeup in on the vanity with her hip. Taking her time, she fingered through the contents. She had every color of eye shadow imaginable and twice as many shades of lipstick. Brushes. Lash curlers. Tweezers. Concealer and foundation. Nail polish. Someone else might be appalled at how much makeup she owned. But, in her mind beauty knew no limits. The brothers had their war paint and she had hers.

With a careful hand, she stroked on her eye shadow and highlighted her brows. Today she was going for a simple look with pinks and browns in shades certain to make her blue eyes pop. Thanks to the cherry red sunburn across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, she didn't need blush and had to pile on extra moisturizer to keep her from resembling a leper when the burn started to peel. She applied a light coat of lip-gloss and blew herself a kiss in the mirror to fully smooth the gloss over her lips.

Today, she was going all out. Since it was officially a 'tear free day' she chose the mascara that ran like crazy when she cried but did wonderful things to her lashes and made them appear super long. Overall, she was pleased with her efforts and with her time. She had ten minutes left to get dressed in her What's the Scoop t-shirt and kaki shorts.

Since today was the first day of the rest of her life and she felt like pampering herself a little. She skipped the cotton undies and chose something special out of her unmentionable drawer. Silk panties and a matching lacy push up bra might seem a bit silly to some women, especially under her uniform. But, what the hell.

She pulled on the panties and slid into her bra and gave herself a quick once over. Over the past week, she'd avoided the compound like the plague and hadn't necessarily had the energy to work out. It was beginning to show.

Her butt was a source of contention for her. She was too short for so much junk in her trunk. But, it was there. She stared infuriated by the fat dimple in her left cheek. Huge. As deep as a crater on the moon. And that would have to be remedied immediately. Saddlebags were for horses and Harleys. Maybe, John Mark would set her up a mini version of his infamous torture chamber, otherwise known as the gym, in the basement.

Janine was not about to let her big butt get her down. Not today. Today she was an unstoppable force to be reckoned with. She riffled through the bottles of perfume strewn across the dresser and selected her favorite one. The most expensive one she saved for special occasions. The one Patrick could not stand the smell of. Oh well. The perfume wasn't for him. It was for her. With five minutes left on the clock to get to work, she rushed out the door and hopped on her bike to pedal, on such a glorious late spring morning, to the shop.

Chapter 4

Keene had been dragged all over the California coastline, from one beach to another. He stayed close to Roark, keeping vigilant although reluctant watch over his master. Their host, a Master by the name of O'Sullivan, welcomed them into his territory with a flash of grandeur intended more for show than actual enthusiasm at having to share his turf. O'Sullivan was a dangerous vampire, lethal and sneaky about his dealings, so typical of a Rogue Master. But, the whole honor among thieves thing required that unless Roark created a problem, O'Sullivan didn't have an issue or a choice.

The man made Keene's fangs crawl. He expected an attack at any minute. Wished for it. O'Sullivan was powerful. He kept his true numbers hidden. And the actual span of his influence disguised by an air of amicable friendship. The man was no friend. Keene knew for a fact how ambitious their host was.

O'Sullivan's territory included the entire state of California and trickled north into Oregon, south into the Mexican border, and east; how far, Keene was unsure of. But, he had no doubt the master had faithful followers spread throughout the southwest and possibly even deeper into the heart of the United States. Only one man possibly had such a broad circle of influence and was an equal match for O'Sullivan's power, the Great Father.

O'Sullivan played a good game. One Roark could only dream of. The man moved through the streets with arrogant confidence, as if he owned them. And in a way, he did, at least the shadowy underworld that went down when the humans were tucked away in their beds for the night. O'Sullivan didn't need an entourage. Wherever he went, he did so alone, without a second to guard his back. He wore his ambition like a cloak around his shoulders. And left a wake of menace and threat in his path. Danger crackled in the air. And Keene begrudgingly protected his master out of instinct from the unseen, palpable threat.

But, with the hoards of scantily clad people crammed onto every square inch of available space. It was close to impossible to guard Roark. How was he supposed to hide his weapons in the ridiculous swimming trunks the females insisted that he wear? He felt naked in the skin-tight, black Speedo. And the fabric, although it moved with him and was remarkably breathable, clung to his package and showed every bulge. There was too much bare flesh on this beach. Too many women with breasts that nature had no hand in creating. And damn, were they a beautiful sight to behold. He struggled with guarding more than his Master. His arousal was painfully, agonizingly apparent in the confines of the swimsuit.

More and more Keene's thoughts drifted to the quiet, calm of the dense woodlands and filled him with longing. He gritted his fangs against the pang in his heart. He had other desires too. Deep-seated longings every bit as torturous as the teasing pipe dream of his eventual escape. Before he left this world for good and his soul was delivered into whatever eternal rest waited for him. He was going to fuck and fuck and fuck the first female willing to take him into her bed and rid himself of over a century of pent up sexual frustration.

His master was busy soaking up the attention and affections lavished upon him by the human females and vampire entourage he called his faithful followers. The man was an idiot. The vampires were using him for the protection he could offer and his deep pockets, filled to the brim with money. The humans were letting him use them in hopes of becoming transformed. The situation was completely absurd and Roark was none the wiser.

Keene grunted pressing his sunglasses tighter against his face, protecting his eyes from the white glare of the sun on the sand. He was not allowed under the dim shade of the cabana. He stood at full attention, baking in the heat and broiling in the sun. If only he could escape. Slip away and disappear into the throngs of humanity. The Great Father offered him asylum. Said he could break the hold the Rogue Master had over him. Was there really a refuge for him to turn to?

Keene knew that if he tried to make a run for it, when he was found, his long term of servitude would be at an end. Death would be such a small price to pay for just a taste of freedom. He didn't worry about upsetting the truce between the Great Father and the Rogue Master. The thing was a ruse, a means for Roark to gain access to the brothers. Keene wasn't considered a threat and Roark spoke freely of his plans for them. In acquiring the brotherhood, Roark would become the most powerful Rogue Master on the continent, perhaps, in the world.

Keene considered the Sons loyal. They would fight to the death to protect their leader, The Great Father. They would never betray one another and they would never stray from their ideals to save their own skins. The primary difference between the Rogues and the Sons was that the brothers relied on animals for their primary source of food, taking only sips from willing donors. The Rogues took whatever they wanted from whomever they chose. Killing randomly, when their urges got too strong. The Rogue Master didn't punish his minions for their mistakes. Nope. He sent him, his second, to clean up the mess. The brothers had very different beliefs, and they put those who murdered humans for food to death.

The Sons were swift and effective, hunting down rogues and delivering irreversible justice. Their name alone was enough to invoke fear and obedience throughout the vampire community. Oddly enough both he and his master agreed on one point, the Sons and the terror their name invoked were a necessity. Otherwise, vampires would hunt and feed gluttonously, as it was in their darkest natures to do, endangering the fragile balance between hunter and hunted. It wouldn't take long for humanity to realize how much truth was interwoven into their fictions. And then, the hunted might very well become the hunter.

"Keene!" Roark barked, lifting his face from the neck of a bikini clad, youthful female O'Sullivan had generously offered up as means of demonstrating his hospitality. The Master lounged on the chaise beside him, masking his menace behind a wide, fanged smile. "Fetch the females something to drink."

Roark held up a wad of bills. Money was just one meager display of his standing. Sending his second to run the errand was perhaps his boldest. Posturing for O'Sullivan, showing the powerful Master that he could hold his own without cowering in the shadow of his second for protection. O'Sullivan had men mixed in with the crowd. Hidden out of sight. As bold as the Rogue Master was, he would not risk an ambush within eyeshot of so many bystanders. And Roark was secure as a babe in his mother's arms, for the moment. After dark, while the humans slept, that might be another story.

"Keene, can I have one of those?" Kayla asked, pointing to the pink, frothy drink with fruit and an umbrella sticking out of the top, a bikini clad passerby clutched in her hand. She was stalling for time. O'Sullivan was far scarier than Roark on his worst day. The man wasn't ugly. Quite the opposite, he was breathtakingly handsome. And if she'd been an ordinary human female, she would have swooned at the way his eyes locked on her with lust and appreciation. She knew better. The man could kill in ways Roark hadn't even dreamed of in the deepest, blackest, recesses of his dark imagination.

Kayla hid her anger well and her fear even better. Behind a wide, lame, ditzy smile perfected by years of practice. Roark had offered her up to O'Sullivan like a choice sow on market day. And the man could not wait to sink his fangs into her. There was nothing quite as demeaning as being treated as exactly what she was to Roark to put her in her place. To him, she was just a possession, probably, one step above his favorite pair of socks. Disposable. Easily forgotten. Worth nothing of real value. And in offering her wrist or her neck or whatever body parts O'Sullivan wanted to use of hers, he'd driven the point home. Her life was nothing to him. And soon he'd end it for her.

"Oh, me too!" The other girl, Angel, planted firmly on O'Sullivan's lap chimed in. She was awestruck by the honor of being chosen to feed such a powerful master. Maybe, he'd like her so well that he'd insist on keeping her. She was going to do her best, in whatever way she could to prove her value to him. She wiggled her hips seductively, giggling like a schoolgirl when his erection poked into the fabric of her scanty bikini bottoms. He liked her. And that was just so cool.

"As you wish." Keene took the money from Roark's outstretched fingers and stormed out of the cabana. He was nothing more than a boy from the hill country of Kentucky when Roark stumbled across him. He drank water and if he was lucky a sip or two of moonshine snuck from his papa's mason jar. The stinking, sweet smelling concoctions served up in the tall, frosty glasses were a mystery to him. What were they? And most importantly where was he supposed to find one? He tracked the scent, choking back his revulsion at the fruitiness of the drink to the far end of the beach.

He trod through the hot sand, feeling the temperature burn through the souls of his shoes. He had about twenty minutes before Roark became suspicious. About thirty minutes or so, before he sent his minions to look for him. And given their bungling and weak skills. They wouldn't find him if he left them a map and a compass. He had about an hour before the Rogue Master came after him personally. Roark could not afford to look weak in front of O'Sullivan. And in Keene's abandonment, he would look a fool. Maybe, O'Sullivan would kill him. If only Keene could get that lucky.