Dawn's First Light

The Great Father raised a brow as the female focused on her prey. Like a sleek panther she circled the unwitting male and moved in for the kill. Poor bastard wouldn't know what hit him. But, it looked like he was going to have fun figuring it out. The Great Father chuckled and scanned the crowd for his brother. Human females were relentless once they set their sights on a male. And his brother, although not as good looking as he, would be a prime target and as such, utterly defenseless against a female's gentle charms.

With full intent of rescuing his brother, the Great Father frowned as he realized he'd been ditched again. What? He bobbed and weaved through the mass of sweating bodies as he headed for the door and received more than one appreciative, hungry stare, a few butt pinches, and an offer of fellatio in the bark parking lot. That one took him by surprise, considering that it was a male dressed in a tight leather miniskirt and diva makeup that goosed him by the balls as he offered up the proposition. The Great Father hoped...hoped it was the alcohol loosening the man's inhibitions. He so didn't play for that team. Never had. And, as he turned him down not in any way politely, never would.

Well, at least it wasn't the desert this time. Although, he had to admit, this adult playground of the flesh wasn't a hell of a lot better. Just different scenery, and of course, the wildlife varied a bit. Everyone seemed to be having fun though. And given the way the patrons pawed and fondled one another, the human race was in no danger of extinction anytime soon. An exit door had never looked so good. And he was glad he'd finally managed to make his way to it relatively unscathed. His testicles and his worldview might never be the same. To think, he thought vampires were the weirdest thing out there. Not even close.

Just as he pushed open the door leading out of the club, in walked a vampire. The Great Father should have expected as much. Clubs like this, filled to the bursting point with inebriated humans were prime hunting grounds. The stray had an air of refinement and nonchalance. He was handsome. Not beautiful in the way that some men were known to be. But, the vampire was definitely a product of outstanding genetics. Good looking by any time's standards, with pale blond hair that spiraled into waves around well-chiseled features and icy blue eyes. Standing a head taller than most of the males in the club, his body was a powerhouse of lean muscle and lithe grace that promised danger to anyone who was brave or stupid enough to get in his way.

Most strays survived thanks to their superior ability to blend in with the crowd. This vampire hardly required the invisibility of anonymity to ensure his survival. The Great Father knew immediately what stood in front of him. Not an ancient, but old, even by vampire standards of age, the vampire's power was unmistakable. One did not live as long as this vampire had by being stupid or reckless. Judging by the scent, the stray fed on humans. But, he was not a killer. Lethal, yes. But, he didn't murder. He knew the law and lived by it. Otherwise, he wouldn't be standing here so boldly facing him with an aura of sheer arrogance. This man bowed to no one and served no master. The stray pinned him with a hard, cold, arctic stare almost as if he were daring him to intervene. The Great Father matched the vampire's gaze and nodded in silent greeting.

Carter expected the Great Father to be...taller. Oh, he was a hulk of a male. No doubt about that. The Great Father stood a head shorter than he, with a broad, muscular battled honed frame that promised physical damage to anyone human, or otherwise, insane enough to piss him off. The Great Father been this shy of middle age when he died and random strands of silver streaked from his temples down the length of his black hair which would have brushed the tops of his wide shoulders had it not been secured into a leather tie at the nape of his neck.

Through the disguise of humanity the Great Father was as comfortable in as a second skin, wearing black denim jeans and an equally dark button down shirt, it was easy to see the warrior he had been in life and the absolutely lethal leader of the Sons he was in death. With his bronzed skin and the faint traces of age that lined the corners of his eyes and mouth, a stoic jaw and high cheekbones and aquiline nose. The Great Father's appearance was as wild, untamed, and rugged as the lands he'd died to protect.

Sold and grounded, the Great father had a certain appeal and charisma that inspired men to believe in something bigger than themselves. He drew people to him like a magnet. And Carter would be lying if he claimed he didn't feel its affect. Unfortunately, he followed no one. He'd once served a master. And his freedom was too hard earned and the price already paid in its entirety to ever consider giving it to any man no matter how righteous the cause.

Their gazes locked, Carter searched the Great Father's brown eyes for some hint of malice or cruelty and found none. The man was good to his core. And the wisdom in his stare, as if he could see past the exterior of a man into the depths of his soul and take inventory of the secrets hidden there, unnerved Carter to the marrow of his bones. Carter returned the nod and, their eyes never breaking contact, moved to let the stoic leader of the brotherhood pass. The Great Father left him to his hunting and Carter left the Great Father to his business in the city without a word spoken between them. The two of them were powerful forces and it was best, for the both of them, to give one another space and an equal measure of respect.

There were forces at work in the city tonight. He could sense them in the air. And the presence of the Great Father here merely served to confirm Carter's suspicions. There was something about to go down and he wanted no part of it. But, somehow, and it was just a guess, he had the feeling he was about to get dragged into the thick of it.

The Great Father wound through the stragglers wandering about the dim sidewalks of downtown. His senses were on high alert. He did not like being this deeply inside the Rogue Master's domain. There was no threat...to him. At least nothing that he could immediately discern. The city, although it was a mishmash of strays, humans, and the rogues that constantly managed to stay just under the brotherhood's radar, was part of the territory the Sons patrolled when the occasion arose. So far, Roark tiptoed on the line. But, he hadn't crossed it. Yet. And the Sons had no cause to bring him to justice. Yet. The law was simple. Kill and be killed. And Roark hadn't done that, at least not that the brothers could prove beyond a doubt.

He hated the noise. He hated the smells. And he disliked being surrounded by people and concrete. The Great Father could remember a time when there was no sprawling city bustling with life. Long ago, when the wind whispered through the trees and the wilderness ruled land. He should retreat to the quiet of his home and leave his brother to do whatever it was he did when he went off on his own. And he would do just that, if there weren't something, so vague and indescribable he couldn't pin it down, in the air tonight.

As he walked the sidewalks, the Great Father considered the stray. Unusual for a vampire to live so long and amass such power out on his own. That took talent and no small measure of dumb luck. And it was a curious thing. He rarely sought allegiance with other vampires. And didn't seek to do so now. That was the one thing that was certain. Strays chose to be on their own and they liked it that way. And given the pain in the ass his brother often was; the constant invasion of his privacy from the link he shared with his Sons; he could respect their self-imposed solitude.

Carter was a different story though. The man was alone, partially because he desired it and partially due to an old hurt that festered beneath his cool exterior. The Great Father could only guess what had driven the man to choose centuries of existing alone over companionship with others of his own kind. Out of respect, he gave the vampire his space. And avoided a potentially nasty confrontation. But, his instincts told him, and although he did not possess his brother's gift of precognition, that the stray and he would cross paths again.

****

The Prophet eased out of the shadows and moved silently across the rooftop. Even a soul as black as Roark's deserved some attempt at salvation. He'd seen the destiny coming for the man. The visions of it had haunted him for days. He should let destiny have Roark and play out the way it was supposed to. And the punishment fit the many atrocities the vampire had committed against humanity and his own kind alike. But, deep inside Roark, he'd seen a small glimmer. A spark so faint there was barely a trace left of it. The essence of the human Roark had once been. And it was that he wanted to spare. "You must stop."

Roark spun and faced his enemy. How the Prophet had ended up on his doorstep, or rather his rooftop, and evaded capture was beyond him. The vampire had masked his presence so effectively that not even Roark had sensed him. Not an easy thing to do. Roark bristled and bared his fangs at his adversary. The Great Father's legendary brother didn't bat an eye at the threat behind the gesture and stood there stoically unmoved.

Rumors abounded about the man. And, if not for the power leaking off of him, Roark wouldn't have known what or who the man was at all. He looked so damn human and dismissively ordinary. Upon closer evaluation there was no mistaking the family resemblance. The brothers possessed the same aquiline nose and high cheekbones. Unlike his brother though, the Prophet was lean and built for speed and agility rather than sheer muscle bound force. He wore his dark hair cropped close to the scalp in a more modern style and appeared unassuming, dressed in causal wear instead of the brotherhood's characteristic black leather. The most discerning feature about the Prophet was his eyes. Intense brown and flecked with gold, they were eerily wise in their expression, as if he had looked upon the secrets of the universe and understood them.

Roark made no move against him. As unassuming as the Prophet appeared, Roark knew if they battled it would be ugly and lethal. And the Prophet hadn't come here to fight. He'd come here to warn him of his future in an attempt to change its course. In Roark's mind, there was only one reason the Prophet would bother. And it was because the Prophet had foreseen the outcome. And it was that, he wanted to change. If the brotherhood were destined to win, the Prophet wouldn't be here warning him of it. Which meant, Roark would be the victor and the mighty Sons were about to be stamped out of existence. The Prophet was trying to save his own skin. "Stop? When I'm so close to my goal I can taste it? I think not."

The Prophet glowered at Roark's arrogant assumption. He'd come here to save the man not to be insulted by assumptions that had no basis in fact. Roark wouldn't be nearly so self-assured, if he knew what was coming for him. Of course, when a man lived far beyond his natural lifespan, death was a difficult concept to understand. Roark held no fear of death or what came afterwards. He truly believed he could not die. Idiot. Death demanded payment from everyone, eventually. No man's course in life was predetermined. Everyone had choices and free will. It wasn't Roark's life he wanted to save. But, rather the afterlife that awaited him he wanted to save Roark from.

It was a heavy burden to know when death was coming for you. And the Prophet could feel it breathing down his neck. He wasn't frightened of it though. His place was beside the goddess he'd served long before this life he knew now had ever came to him. His life had been a wonderful adventure. And he would miss it. But, his legacy was eternal and would live on. The events about to come into play could not be changed. The Prophet understood this now.

By warning Roark of what was about to transpire, he wouldn't only alter Roark's destiny but his own. He wanted his rest on the peaceful banks of the Great River. He looked forward to it. His only regret was the ones he'd leave behind and the awful burden of the legacy he would place into his brother's hands for safekeeping. The Prophet had done what he came to do. And it had been a waste of time. Roark would not be deterred. There were forces at work that could not be altered and the course of the future would play out as he'd foreseen. "You're out of time, Roark. Fate is coming for you."

Roark stretched his arms as if to embrace his pending destiny and laughed. His victory was imminent. And his enemies would be no more. "Let it come," he said. The darkness inside him roared in triumph and power surged through him. He'd start with the Prophet. After all, the man had made himself so readily available. The death of his brother would be a harsh blow to the Great Father and the Sons would be ripe for the picking.

Roark summoned the dark force within him. Intending to unleash the destructive power on his intended target. But, the Prophet had vanished into the night leaving him alone on the rooftop. Without an outlet, the power screamed for release and Roark panted against the effort it took to subdue it. Roark stared over the ledge, grinding his fangs at how easily the Prophet had escaped him. No vampire should have been able to withstand a jump from this height. Fifty-stories below, the streets were empty. He would destroy his enemy. The Prophet had all but assured him of his victory. For now, he had other business to tend to. Primarily, ridding himself of the thorn in his side. Tonight, he planned to kill Keene and start a war that would ensure his destiny.

*****

The Great Father ducked into an alley and watched Roark move through the empty shadows. Damn, he didn't like this. Roark walked with an arrogance the Great Father had seen many times before. And he'd watched that same 'King of the Universe' attitude get men killed. As the garrison Roark dispatched ran past, oblivious to his presence, the Great Father eased out of his hiding place to follow.

"Brother, its not our fight," the Prophet said gently as he rounded the corner to stop his brother from intervening. Tonight, the wheel of fate had been set into motion and he was not about to let his brother stop it from turning.

"Where have you been?" the Great Father gritted out. His first instinct was to shake off the grip on his shoulder and follow the garrison. But, he'd learned long ago not to blow off his brother's cryptic warnings.

"Here and there."

The Great Father narrowed his eyes at his brother. "What the hell does that mean?" He despised secrets and lies. His brother never lied. But, sometimes he omitted the truth. Nothing grated the Great Father more than when his brother evaded his questions. His Sons were in the city. Roark was on the move. Danger was in the air. And his brother wanted to play this game now?

The Prophet motioned his brother out of the alley. They needed to be here to bear witness. But, not to prevent what was to come. Bristling in agitation, his brother eyed him suspiciously and fell in step beside him. The events yet to play out would challenge his brother in ways he could never imagine. The Prophet hated that he couldn't warn him of them. But, things had to happen the way they had to happen. His brother would die to protect him, and that was the one thing the Prophet could not allow. "Don't worry, brother. Everything is as it should be. You'll see."

Chapter 53

Kayla shrank back in her seat. Her grip on Bryce's hand grew tighter as the miles separating her from the city shrank. She was terrified. And despite his reassurances that she'd be safe, she felt like a worm on a hook about to be cast into a very deep and murky pond. The plan was set. All she had to do was show up and put on the performance of her life.

The thought of Roark's hands on her body was nauseating. It would be all she could do to tolerate his touch. She'd never seen her body as her own to share with whom ever she chose of her own free will until now. She'd always been an object to be possessed and used as he saw fit. She'd existed because it pleased him to allow it. Things were different now. She was somebody instead of some thing. More than flesh, bone, and blood, she was a person. Kayla had never wanted anyone dead as badly as she wanted Roark dead. And she was willing to put herself on the line to do her part in killing him.

She worried he'd see through the thin veil of her servitude and that she wouldn't be able to pull it off. She hated him too badly to drop to her knees at his feet and pretend to love him. She was betting her life on the chance that he wouldn't look beyond the disguise of who she'd been, deeper into the woman she'd become. "Bryce," she whispered, clutching his hand.

Bryce smelled Kayla's fear. He was proud of her for stepping up and willingly putting herself in jeopardy. He held her hand in his, trying not to notice how trembled in his grip. He felt her body stiffen against his when the SUV slowed and exited the interstate. Downtown loomed ahead of them, a glowing dome of electric light in a dark, hazy, starless sky. "It'll be ok." He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close into his chest. Gently, he kissed the top of her head. "I promise."

Kayla closed her eyes and soaked in every bit of comfort Bryce offered her. She wanted to believe him. She really did. But, her optimism was jaded pessimism at best. He hadn't dragged her into this. She'd freely volunteered to go. Roark wanted her, not Lori. And if it would save the love of Keene's life, she would gladly offer herself up. At least, she'd had the chance to meet the woman that hid inside of her behind the ditzy smiles, blonde curls, and disguise of youth. And she liked her.

Keene sensed Lori's presence in his mind. She was terrified, in pain, and so alone. Her intense emotions magnified his worst fears and brought them into the light. Roark was a bastard and he hurt her to get to him. And he knew exactly how to do it. Keene didn't fear death. For so long, he'd lived in the hope of dying that it was no longer a threat to him. Her death however, terrified him. Without her, even though his loyalty to the brotherhood ran deep, he wouldn't have a reason to go on living. He howled an agonized wail of pain as her consciousness was abruptly ripped away from his mind. She was still alive. Somehow, he just knew. But, her absence left behind a black pit of misery that drove through the pit of his soul.

"Shit," John Mark cursed under his breath. His hands gripped the steering wheel as he struggled to keep the SUV on the road. What happened to one brother happened to them all and the ripple effect from Lori's sudden absence tore at his soul. Time was more critical now than ever. Keene was certain of where Roark held her captive. But, without a link, tracking her by scent in a city filled with humans and every conceivable smell would waste valuable seconds they didn't have. If Keene was wrong and Lori wasn't where he thought she was. They might not find her before it was too late.

"We'll find her," John Mark lied. It wasn't a very convincing lie and Keene was way too smart to believe him. But, hope was the best weapon they had. He stepped on the gas and drove into the heart of downtown.

Keene nodded and exchanged glances with John Mark through the rearview mirror. He appreciated his brother's lie. But, the raw truth of it was that with his link with Lori broken, the odds against them bringing her home in one piece were even worse than ever. The mission plans were to go in as quickly and silently as they could. Use Kayla as a distraction while they searched the townhouse for Lori. Keene didn't see the point in that now or in risking Kayla's life when Roark already knew they were coming. He directed John Mark to pull up to the curb and climbed out of the backseat. "Roark!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs.