Dawn's First Light

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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