Dawn's First Light

Keene snickered and nodded. He saw where Dane was going with his question. These were uncertain times for the brotherhood. Perhaps, the most difficult they'd ever faced. The brothers needed for him to succeed and conquer the trials. Hope was a precious thing. It could keep a man going when he wanted nothing more than to give up. Keene had a very different view of the world than the brothers did. He understood the miracle of hope. It was the reason he'd dared to defy his master. "I can't wait to see what John Mark has in store for me in the morning."

John Mark scoffed and grinned. He gave Keene a thumbs-up. The man had balls. John Mark had to give him that. Most men would have run by now. Hidden and avoided the fight. Not Keene though. He was going to see this through to the end. It wasn't an easy thing to live with a bull's eye painted on your back. And he respected Keene's determination to move forward with his life when all the odds were against him. But, that didn't mean John Mark had any intention of going easy on the guy. The trials weren't for the weak. If Keene wanted to bear the mark of the brothers on his skin, he was going to have to earn it. "You may be sorry you said that."

Chapter 14

Kayla wrapped her arms tightly around her chest, shaking off the chill seeping into her bones. The air this far below ground was cool and damp. But, that wasn't the reason she had goose pimples running up her arms. She wondered how much time she had left before Roark came for her and for Keene. She was helpless, trapped down here at the mercy of men who could hardly stand the sight of her. Keene was the only one who might protect her. But, he couldn't take care of himself and was just as much a victim of their whims as she. Right now, the brothers needed them. But, if that changed, the Sons might make a meal out of the both of them.

She wrapped her arms around her chest to still her shivering. The hallways were painted the same bland shade of cream. The lighting running along the walls was meant to add warmth and texture to the concrete walls. And maybe for the vampires, the dimness was comforting. But, for her, the light just added to the starkness of nothing. She hadn't been awake when the brothers brought her in and without any sort of a reference point, she'd never find her way out on her own.

Bryce saw Kayla shivering out of the corner of his eye. "Are you cold?" he asked. She was dressed for summer in a low cut, thin t-shirt and a pair of low riding jeans, baring a wide strip of her flat, tanned stomach. They should be taking better care of her. She hadn't touched the supper Janine brought to her room. No one had asked what kind of food she liked. They'd assumed she ate chicken. No one had thought to bring her fresh clothing or offered her use of the shower since she'd arrived. Shame on them. Shame on him. He found her and he should be the one to see to her every comfort.

"A little," Kayla admitted. Bryce had changed out of his jeans and t-shirt and wore the uniform of the Sons. Black leather pants and a thick, long sleeved black pull over woven out of a dense Kevlar fabric. The heavy lug soled combat boots on his feet made not a whisper of sound as he walked beside her with the grace of a predator that could swallow her whole.

She regretted her answer when Bryce lifted his shirt over his head, turned it right side out, and handed it to her. Kayla automatically took a step back, prepared to run. Vampires didn't offer humans the shirts off their backs. They undressed for one reason. And there had been plenty of times in her experience when they hadn't bothered with that. They'd unzipped their pants and taken what they wanted. And she had justifiable reason not to trust any of them. The corridors were deserted. Silent and empty beige toned caverns. He could do anything to her. And nobody would know.

Bryce frowned in confusion at Kayla's sudden retreat. She shrank away from him as if he were handing her a poisonous snake instead of the shirt off his back. He didn't get it. She looked ready to bolt. Skittish and wide eyed, scanning the hallways for an exit. He was just trying to be nice to her. "Here," he said. " Take it. I'm not cold and the Kevlar itches like a bitch. It's ok. I have a dozen more, just as itchy, in my closet."

Reluctantly, Kayla took the shirt from his hand and slid it over her head. She had no idea how to process the concept that he was trying to be nice to her and asked nothing in return. The sleeves hung past her fingertips and the loose knit dropped over her smaller frame like a warm blanket. His scent surrounded her. Masculine and musky, rugged and utterly male, with hints of pine and fresh breezes, like the woods he called home. "Thanks," she mumbled quietly.

Quickly she dropped her eyes down from his broad bare chest and stared at the terra cotta tile beneath her feet as he led the way to her room. Kayla wound the excess fabric from the sleeves in her grip and wrapped her arms around her chest. Trapping the warmth against her skin. Bryce's back was covered with swirling, intricate indigo patterns. The tattoo began at the nape of his neck, just below the soft, wispy curling ends of his dark hair, and wound around his shoulder blades, down his spine, extending around his waist, arcing in broad strokes to end at his lower right rib cage. The tattoos were as legendary as the brotherhood itself. She'd never seen one before. Only heard the stories.

"No problem," Bryce said. He blushed at the sudden shift of Kayla's eyes from his chest to the floor. He could feel her stare on his back as he led the way to her room. She was so skittish around him. Shy. Unsure. As if she wanted to be more than the timid mouse she pretended to be. Earning her trust would not be easy. Every time he tried to offer her a morsel of kindness, she shrank back, suddenly afraid.

He wasn't going to hurt her. She was careful. Staying more than an arms length away from him. As if she expected him to reach back and snatch her by the hair. He hated every vampire who had caused the level of mistrust she had for everyone she came in contact with. The only one she seemed to have even the vaguest notion of trust in was Keene. They were like lost children clinging to one another for shelter. Bryce was going to have to coax Kayla out of her fear. Bring out the woman hiding behind her timid mouse exterior. "They're the marks of my people," he explained.

She longed to reach out and run her hand along the intricate markings on his olive skinned back. They were stunning and beautiful. Almost breathing a life of their own in their intricacy and hidden meanings. She slowed, lagging behind, so that she could steal a closer look.

Bryce felt her stare burning a hole between his shoulder blades. He stopped in the middle of the hallway and extended his arms, allowing her to take her time examining the marks. It was amazing how exposed her felt at the heat of her eyes raking over him. He dropped his chin to his chest, to show the beginning of the intricate designs at the nape of his neck. My God, it was the most intimate thing he'd ever experienced. Standing here dressed in leathers and combat boots, but feeling so naked under her gaze. Hesitantly, she inched closer to him. Close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath skate over his bare skin.

"The tattoo is unique. No two brothers have exactly the same markings. The tattoos are inspired...a gift to us from our goddess. Over time, the Shaman adds to the original design. Symbols. Patterns. Whatever the goddess shows him. He translates into the living canvas of our backs. My tattoo indicates my standing in the brotherhood. What I do. And I suppose, to a certain degree, who I am." Bryce dropped his arms and shook off the prickling sensation of her palm hovering so close to his marks. He thought she might hazard a curious brush of her fingers over the swirling patterns. But, she lowered her hand and stepped back.

"And who are you, Bryce?" Kayla asked. In one brief discussion that lasted less than five minutes, he'd told her more about himself than any vampire ever had. Rogues guarded their secrets like they guarded their wealth. As if each secret held a certain power over them. She was so close to reaching out and touching the designs. She could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. For a minute, she forgot to be afraid, and then with her fingers hovering so close to his skin, she quickly remembered and drew back her hand.

"I am many different things to many different people, to the brothers I'm a tracker. To Lance, my best friend, a huge pain in the ass. To humanity, I'm a protector. But, if you're asking who I think I am. I'm only a man. Nothing mystical or steeped with meaning," he answered, shaking his head as he resumed leading her through the corridors. "Just a man."

"Oh." That wasn't the answer Kayla expected to come out of a vampire's mouth. Most of the time, they were so full of themselves. They pretended to be human. But, they weren't. There was something about Bryce that seemed very human to her. He walked a few paces ahead, leaving her to trail behind. His shoulders slumped as he pushed his hands into his pockets. Almost as if he was ashamed that he hadn't come up with a better answer to her question. She appreciated the honesty of the confession from his lips. He didn't want to be anything more or less than what he was. He just wanted to be accepted and understood for it. She got the vague idea that she'd somehow offended him and sped her steps to catch up. The last thing she wanted to do was piss him off. And she scrambled with something to say to rectify whatever insult she might have caused. "Well...your tattoo is very pretty."

"Pretty?" That so was not the word to describe the hours of agony he'd went through to receive the patterned markings. He hoped she'd say something like macho, studly, stunning, the most amazing thing she'd ever seen, but pretty? He shook his head and smirked at her over his shoulder. Pretty. Yeah. What would she say about other parts of his body? One part in particular came to mind. Maybe, she'd think his cock was cute and cuddly like that goddamned pink bear on her dresser. He snapped his head forward and kept on walking.

Kayla stifled back a chuckle, sensing his dismay at her comment. Ok, so pretty wasn't the right word to use to describe the masterpiece on his back. It was just...who would have thought a big, scary vampire could have such a fragile ego? She jogged to fall into step beside him and reached out a timid hand to place on his broad shoulder. "Sorry. I didn't mean to insult you. Your tattoos are very nice."

Bryce rolled his eyes at Kayla's attempt to soothe his battered ego. Nice didn't help much. "Humph, maybe you should quit while you're ahead. I'll accept nice as an apology if you quit trying so hard to insult me with complements." Bryce grinned and snorted at Kayla's shy embarrassment. He opened the door to her room and ushered her inside. "Here you go."

He liked the look of his black combat shirt so baggy on her tiny body. She came to them empty handed with nothing but a wad of money hidden inside a sappy, pink stuffed bear. Kayla needed clothing. Things she could call her own. "I'll see if Sam or one of the other women can scrounge you up something to wear." Kayla was petite, like Janine. But he couldn't bear to say her name, let alone ask her for clothes to lend to Kayla.

"That'd be nice." Kayla didn't have to fake the smile on her face. She snuggled into the warmth of his shirt and smiled up at him genuinely and gratefully. He tried so hard to be nice to her and make her feel at home. Something no one had ever done for her. The girls always scrambled to beat one another out for the master's affections. To Roark, she was nothing more than a shiny toy he liked to pull off the shelf and play with on occasion. To the rogues who shared his lair, she was nothing more than a morsel that would eventually fall from his vast table for them to gobble up. "Thank you, Bryce."

Bryce tipped his head. "You're welcome." He returned her smile with one of his own. He leaned against the doorjamb and bent forward, stopping himself at the last moment. He'd made major headway with Kayla tonight. In revealing parts of himself and trusting them with her, he'd earned a small fraction of her trust in return. The sweet smell of rogue mingling with her natural scent and his own smell, reminded him of where she'd come from and the hell she'd endured to escape it. One second's worth of indiscretion, the friendly peck he'd been about to place on her flushed cheek, would undo all his hard work.

"Goodnight. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask," Bryce said. He inched away from the door, walking backwards to catch a last glimpse of her as she gently closed the door and turned the lock. He walked through the corridors to his room. He was due on patrols tonight and hadn't bothered to ask for his shirt back. He meant it when he told Kayla he had dozens of identical shirts.

His room was quiet, neatly organized, almost anally tidy. He didn't spend much time in here. It was just a place to sleep on occasion and hang his hat. Other than that, it didn't mean much more. He pulled a black combat shirt out of the closet and pulled it over his head. The shirt looked better on Kayla than it did on him. He geared up with weapons and headed out for his shift. Odd, he'd been hurting so badly this morning. But, suddenly, the pain of Janine dumping him for Patrick didn't seem as bad.

Kayla turned the lock in the tumbler and leaned against the door. She slid her arms out of the sleeves of Bryce's shirt and clenched her hands around her forearms. Cradling her body within the tight embrace of her arms. She slid down the smooth surface of the locked door to the floor and drew her knees under Bryce's shirt, up close to her body. She thought he was going to kiss her. And it terrified her. She would have let him. She would have let him do whatever he wanted to her. She would do anything to feel safe. Even sacrifice her body and her blood for the illusion of safety.

But, that wasn't what terrified her the most. Being used was easy. It required no thought and she could turn off any emotion and fake the desired reaction to an unwanted caress. Actually being cared for was far more difficult. Being wanted, not as a possession, but for the person inside, was terrifying. And it was that gentler desire that scared her to death. She could deal with being used. Taking from him because she'd earned the right to. Having things given to her without anything asked of her in return implied a measure of trust and caring. And it was those emotions she had no clue of what to do with.

She was so used to being treated like a thing...a possession...a mindless, unfeeling object. She didn't know how to handle being treated like a person. She hadn't felt human in so very long. And it was that tender glimmer of hope and believing, that terrified her more than the threat of her master's retribution.

Chapter 15

Lori woke up with a horrible cramp in her neck. She'd fallen asleep while bent over her desk taking notes for class in the morning. Wiping away the tiny trickle of drool that had oozed out of the corner her mouth as she slept, she glanced at the clock. She sat down to study after work last night and must have fallen dead asleep in the middle of the first paragraph.

She couldn't believe she slept through the whole night scrunched up like that. Her butt was numb and there wasn't anyplace her body didn't hurt from being so hunched over. But, the dreams...damn. Her dreams had been the stuff locker room talk was made of. Hot and purely pornographic, the dreams made her blush just thinking about them. She stared down at the textbook and tried to focus on the paragraph in front of her. No luck there.

It was a little after five and already the sunlight was streaming through the sliding glass door that led to the tiny balcony that served as a carport for her beat up, second hand Chevy, her mom's slightly newer Taurus, and Maggie's purple ten-speed bike. Nobody actually parked in the garage. There wasn't room. The two car parking area and attached workshop were filled with half-finished projects her dad was going to get around to completing someday. And it didn't help that her mother was a notorious packrat. She went to yard sales with the religious zeal of the faithful, carted stuff home by the trunk loads, and shoved them in the garage for the ever coming and yet to arrive 'you never know when you'll need that' apocalypse.

Slamming the book closed with a loud thud, Lori gave up the pretense of studying. Classes didn't start till ten in the summer. Her mom was up, Lori could see the light shining through the curtains from the kitchen window. She could go downstairs and have a cup of coffee. But, she couldn't face her mom after the kind of dreams she'd had last night. It was too embarrassing. Her muscles complained loudly as she stood from the ladder backed chair she used at the desk. A hand me down from the basement, which was where her mom stored the 'nicer' crap she refused to get rid of.

Lori stretched and grabbed a drink of water from the faucet. A little nap before she had to get ready for class would be great. She had time. And since she was hiding from her mom and couldn't concentrate on anything besides the dreams. What else did she have to do?

Morning TV sucked. The battered nineteen inch TV she'd snatched from Maggie's bedroom only got reception on three stations. Her mom wouldn't let her run cable from the house to her apartment. Said it was the same as stealing and she should pay for her own cable. Lori suspected her mom's refusal had nothing to do with potential cable theft and everything to do with getting her into the house at least once a week to catch up on the soaps. Since her mom worked dayshift, and her dad was on the road most of the time, and Lori avoided her little sister like the plague, she was officially soap opera rehabilitated.

Stretching out on the bed to work the kinks out of her neck and back, Lori fell fast asleep. She dreamed of summertime, sun drenched skies, and of kisses. Sweet, soft kisses and deep passion filled fusions of tongues, lips, and mouths dancing together in an urgent frenzy of desire. Of hands tracing down her body and of fingers stroking her most intimate of places. Of innocence lost and pleasures of the flesh revealed. And of a man. Big, strong, and handsome so handsome it made her want to weep to look at his rugged beauty. His taste was masculine and decadent on her lips. And his touch stirred such sensations, she cried out in ecstasy from the miracle of them. His exhaled breaths were the air she needed to breathe. He consumed her. He nourished her. He was in her and she was in him. He was her everything. Flesh and bone wrapped in smooth, sinful skin.

She dreamed in shades of red. Lust...a brilliant vermilion...love...a hot cherry...pleasure...a bubbling cauldron of fiery crimson...and of eternity...the shade of his reddish-orange hair. His touch was a liquid, warm fuchsia. His lips were candy apple, so sweet on her mouth. And his passion was fluid, scalding her with its vibrant scarlet heat.

Her eyes snapped open with a start with his name rolling over her tongue in gasps of panting breaths. She awoke flushed and aching. Her skin slicked with sweat and her body trembling from his imaginary touch. The cool, gentle gusts of air from the ceiling fan were too intense on her heated flesh. She'd never imagined that her body was capable of such amazing sensations. Lori closed her eyes and exhaled, burying her reddened face in the soft pillows. She smoothed her fingertips over the flat smoothness of her stomach and shivered at the teasing surge of joy wrought by her own touch.