Darkest Before Dawn

With a grin, Robert flipped the bird to the driver of the Redneck Mobile, as Mack, with his reds and blues flashing, pulled out of his hiding place in hot pursuit. "Welcome to Moore County, Jackass."

"Stop that," Danielle hissed, slapping his hand lightly with her fingertips. She flipped down the visor and looked in the vanity mirror with a grin at the flashing reds and blues on top of Mack's cruiser. Given the way the sheriff climbed out of the vehicle, the driver of the monster truck that had almost ran them off the road was in for a very, very expensive fine. Served him right. Couldn't stop people from killing themselves. But, that didn't mean she wanted to be along for the ride.

Satisfied that justice had been served, she flipped the visor up and shifted in her seat to look at Robert. "Robbie doesn't know about the rogues." This subject had been a bone of contention between them for years. Ever since John Mark had signed his name on the dotted line and joined the Sons. Robbie was old enough, smart enough, and needed to know what went on behind the scenes of her world. Robert didn't agree.

"I'd like to keep it that way. I just don't like her living alone so far away from home." He spared a last glance in the rearview mirror at Mack's flashing reds and blues. Dumb son of a bitch was in for a hell of a rude awakening when he'd passed in a no passing zone in Moore County.

Danielle sighed, there was no way she was getting into an argument with him. Not right now. It was late and she was tired. She looked out the window, watching as the dark forms of houses and trees and acres of farmland zipped past the window. She patted Robert's knee, ending the discussion. "She's a lot like her father. Once her mind is made up, there's no changing it. Besides, she's not a little girl anymore."

Robert huffed and concentrated on the road, changing the subject. "I sure like this car. It's so roomy," he said, calling a truce to their tiff. Today had been a good day and he didn't want it to end on the sour note of an argument. He stretched out his arm across the seat, wrapping it across Danielle's shoulders and pulling her close.

Danielle giggled, "Can we keep it?" The car was a whole lot nicer than the beat up pickup truck they'd been making due with for years. Maybe, with Robbie on the way to grad school, they'd have a few extra pennies here and there to afford something so luxurious. She ran her hand over the leather seat, relishing the sleek feel of it against her fingertips and the soft scent of new car smell in her nostrils. Probably, the rental was as close as she'd ever come to owning a car like this.

"Sure, if you give up shopping," Robert said, just to goad his wife. Even if she gave up shopping for the rest of her natural life there was no way they could afford a car this nice. Maybe, for their anniversary, he'd rent it again and explore the backseat. It was nice to pretend, once in a while.

"Ha! No deal, Buster." She playfully poked Robert in the ribs. He hated shopping. And there was no way she was letting him get out of the occasional run to the city. When he vowed for better or for worse some twenty-four years ago. It included shopping. Danielle remembered something and gasped. "Oh no! I forgot to get Robbie some new bath towels. Don't you think she'd like the pink ones we saw?"

"Yeah sure," Robert answered absently. He wasn't paying attention to the towels Danielle had eagle eyed while they were shopping. He'd been too busy just trying to survive the horrors of the white sale and dodging the herd of women in spandex.

"Once we get things going at the store this week, maybe we can head back to the city and pick them up?" Danielle asked.

"Can't you just pick her some up here in town?" Robert rolled his eyes at the thought of another trip to the city to shop. God only knew what Danielle would come back with next time.

"Don't be silly, those towels were so perfect. She'll love them." The towels from the local thrift store didn't last. They were cheap and flimsy enough to read a newspaper through. Robbie needed good sturdy towels that would be usable for years.

Robert grunted. To him a towel was a towel, but to his wife... "I guess so. Spend some more of our retirement fund." On a curse as he slammed on the brakes, narrowly missing the blur that out from the darkened woods along the shoulder of the road. "Damn deer!"

Danielle sucked in a shaky breath. "Honey, I don't think that was a deer. Not unless deer have started running on two legs." Nervously, she checked her door, making sure it was locked. What ever it was that darted in front of them, could be watching from the overgrown wall of brush and trees forming a dense fortress along the shoulder of the road. "Let's get home," she urged.

*******

Marcus crumpled up the ticket and tossed it on the floorboard. He watched the pot bellied cop climb back into the cruiser and make a U turn in the road to wait for a bigger fish to catch in his little pond. He tilted his head and studied Candace, obviously rattled by the run in with the law, out of the corner of his eye. She'd probably never had a speeding ticket in her life. The worst thing she'd ever done in her whole life was jaywalk, and that was a maybe, a big maybe. Him on the other hand...well, he'd had a somewhat colorful past.

He only did what the boss told him to. In this case, Kore. She'd told him to run the caddie off the road, land it in a ditch, and leave the rest to her. Why the couple in the caddie was of any consequence to her, he could only guess. He'd gone out and "borrowed" a truck and did what she asked. To a degree. He knew the sheriff was waiting behind the sign at the edge of town. The whole thing had been a ruse. He had no intention of running anybody off the road. No intention of killing anybody for that sadistic bitch. It was a stroke of sheer luck that the sheriff hadn't looked under the tarp in the back. The truck's owner, bound and gagged, tied up for delivery like a Thanksgiving Day turkey, would have been a little tricky to explain.

He slid the truck into drive, the powerful engine vibrating the seat under his butt as it idled. Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, he stared out past the glow of the headlights at the open black ribbon of road. "You know, we could just not go back. Take off. Start over."

Candace rolled her eyes. She didn't know why Marcus had even bothered to drag her along. She was perfectly content to hide out in the rotting decayed shell of the barn with the others. He would have killed the driver if she hadn't insisted on tying him up in the back of the truck instead. She didn't know what kind of a life Marcus had before. The run in with the local sheriff hadn't even fazed him in the least. He simply crumpled up the ticked and tossed it on the floorboards with the empty beer bottles and cans of Skoal.

Not go back. Wasn't the idea tempting? But, where would they go? Where would be far enough away that they couldn't be found? And what would be waiting for them when they got there? It wasn't like she could go home and face her son. She could never do that. Never put him in jeopardy. Marcus stared out through the windshield contemplating some escape she couldn't even dare to dream of. They could run. But, what the might run to could be worse. "You're crazy, you know that?"

"Yeah, certifiable." Marcus pulled out onto the road. There was no going ahead with the plan and no going back to the life they left behind. For them, there was only going to the hell to which there was no escape. And it wasn't so much for him that he hated the thought. His ID was still valid. He wasn't quite a corpse, yet. Hell, probably no one had bothered to report him as missing. Her, on the other hand, she had a son, there was someone out there looking for her, someone who would never find her. Nope, there was no happy reunion waiting for anyone. Just hell, more and more levels of hell.

*********

Patrick had climbed to the top of the repeater tower to clear his head after the encounter with Janine. He needed time to himself to think. Most of the brothers were simply too attached to human habits, such as a fear of heights, to come calling on him this far up. His head snapped down at the sight of a shape darting across the highway and the car that narrowly missed it.

Rogues. Only a Rogue would take that kind of a risk. Getting hit by a car and walking away would draw unwanted attention. He didn't catch any scent on the air. But, he clamored down from the tower to check it out anyway. Maybe he would find the trail he had been so desperately searching for.

*******

Kore giggled gleefully. Her heart slamming in her chest and the adrenaline racing through her veins as she darted into the woods made her feel alive. She almost had a free lunch. She envisioned it in her mind, the hapless humans stopping to investigate what had damaged their sleek, expensive car. What would they think when they saw her instead of Bambi? She was so bored, so tired of sneaking around, of playing her brother's game. She needed some excitement. She heard the rustle of brush off in the distance. Ah, she thought, inhaling the night air. The tracker, the one that got away, was close. She chuckled under her breath and began retracing her footsteps, laying another false trail for him to investigate.

*******

Patrick let loose a string of curses as the trail ended abruptly at the edge of town. He felt like such a fool, useless. He was providing his brothers with no new leads to follow.

He should be used to failure by now. He was so totally useless. Not only was he failing his brothers, but also Janine. She tugged at his heartstrings, pulling them tight and tying them in knots. But, he wouldn't take the risk. He couldn't. What could she possibly see in him? He was nothing. Trapped in a body stuck between manhood and boyhood, a perpetual teenager, he repulsed himself. He had the goods and he was no boy by any stretch of the imagination. But, he wouldn't keep up with her. Time would keep marching forward for her while he stayed behind frozen and unchanging.

"Why don't you ask her? I don't see it either. But, then again you're not my type." John Mark said from behind him.

Patrick spun around, startled by his brother. Daggers drawn ready for combat. He cursed, putting them away in their sheaths. John Mark stood, leaning against the trunk of a tree, grinning with his arms crossed over his broad chest. "I wasn't talking to you," Patrick said, begrudgingly.

John Mark smiled and tapped his head. "Telepathy is a bitch sometimes isn't it?" Sometimes, it was hard to see Patrick as he saw himself. The fucker didn't have a foot in reality when it came to his appearance. He wasn't huge. But, he was no pansy either. Patrick was lean, wiry, and one lethal son of a bitch, built for speed and death to the enemy. Ok, so he couldn't pass as a card-carrying member of the AARP. But, he wasn't exactly high-school teenage angst material either. All a person had to do was look into his eyes and they'd know the bastard had seen some serious shit in his life.

Patrick grunted at John Mark in disdain. So much for wanting a little privacy, his brothers were always in his head. Poking around in his gray matter. "What do you want?"

"Just making a final check of the woods." Lame excuse, sure. Lucien had assigned him to Patrick. Keep a casual distance. Make sure Patrick didn't do anything detrimental to anyone's health. Shielded like a mother to keep Patrick from figuring that out, John Mark lifted his head, looking up at the sky. "Pretty night."

"No shit." Patrick huffed, in no mood for small talk. John Mark was young enough to be his great-great-great grandson, yet the cocky bastard stood here, a mammoth wall of muscle, height, and strength, rocking on his heels with his hands in his pockets. "Get to the point."

"Lucien wants a progress report."

"He send you?" Patrick asked. If Lucien wanted him, why didn't he come himself? Why send John Mark as a fricking carrier pigeon to relay the message?

"Maybe."

Patrick crossed his arms, glaring at John Mark for no particular reason and for every reason. "Tell him I have nothing to report. I still can't get a fix on how many rogues are in the area or where they are. Bastards are damn tricky."

"So you'll check in," John Mark pressed. Nobody denied Lucien and had a good story to tell about it afterwards. Patrick was already on shaky ground with the brothers. Not that John Mark thought he deserved the bad rep. But, Patrick needed to play nice, play by the rules, and smooth things over before he met with the edge of a blade in the permanent sense.

Patrick sighed and ground his teeth in irritation at being ordered to do anything by anybody when all he wanted was to be left alone. "Yes, I'll be there."

John Mark nodded and walked away. He spun on his heel just before melting into the dark tree line, turning to Patrick. "Hey, I'm glad I didn't kill you after all." Awkward and probably a stupid way to phrase the sentiment, but, Patrick knew what he really meant.

"Thanks, I guess." Patrick watched the warrior disappear into the woods. Hunger gnawed at his belly. He ignored it and he made his way to Lucien's abandoned one room shack, so lovingly called wigwa by its maker. He could always snatch up an unwary rabbit on the way to talk to Lucien. When he got good and ready to talk to Lucien. Later. Right now he needed to clear his head and get some rest.

*******

Kiros waited till full dark to gather some much needed information. His many times removed grandson had been gone for hours, since early this morning. The scent of his sister and the Sons hung like a heavy cloud around the humble abode. What the hell was going on wasn't clear. But, his sister, if she had anything to do with it, chaos would rain down like hellfire any time now.

Boldly, as if he owned the place, which by the rights of long forgotten familial law, he did, he waltzed up the front walk to the porch. What bits and pieces his grandson had managed to hide, he intended to gain. Primarily, where was the girl? His great-great, too many greats to mention, granddaughter. She had yet to return home.

He stopped at the front stoop, the air trapped in his lungs. His body felt as if it had been struck by lightening, electrical jolts firing along his limbs, disabling him. He jerked back from the invisible line and hissed through his extended fangs. There were stories, ancient tales. But, in this modern age, he didn't think anyone knew of them. The house was warded. Surrounded by an impenetrable magical barrier repellant to his kind. He couldn't go in. Could not take one step closer unless invited by the home's rightful owner.

Retreating into the darkness, cursing his grandson and the Sons with all the obscenities he could muster. Bastards had blocked him from taking what was rightfully his to take. They would not stop him. For the moment, the Sons had the upper hand. But, things changed.

Chapter 32

Janine stood on the porch, clutching a coffee mug. Watching the sky turn from pale gray to the rosy pink glow of dawn. Every thought she had was of Patrick. After his abrupt exodus yesterday, she wasn't quite sure what she was supposed to think. What category her mind wanted to sift him into. The little bit of a glimpse she had gotten into his mind had her more confused than ever. He was such a contradiction in terms. An old soul trapped in a young body. He loved his brothers, but hated his kind. And the main thing that kept them apart was that she was human. She could die. And would. But, so would he. So would everybody they knew, eventually.

She felt his guilt at killing the girl. She understood his fear of killing again. She knew he felt the same raw unrealized feelings for her that she had for him. But unlike her, he was unable to face them. He was terrified of her in a way that didn't make much sense.

Through a sip of the dark liquid, the taste rolling over her tongue, she wondered what he was like when he was still human. When he was the boy his body still believed him to be. No, that wasn't exactly true. He was a man.

Alex's quick search through the Son's archives had uncovered a photo. Taken back when black and white was the only media available. Patrick had aged. He had changed. But, it was so slow. The deceptively fresh-faced youth in the picture was as young as he thought he looked. His shoulders were broader now. His face hardened and thinner, the innocence of boyhood replaced by the burden of decades of experiences she couldn't begin to fathom.

The biggest change between the Patrick she saw everyday and the one in the photograph taken so long ago was in the eyes. Physically, he looked about twenty-one, twenty-two max, but he could pass for younger. His eyes, however, were colder, more cynical, weighted by over a century of life. What was he like before, before any of this happened? Who would he have been if his life had followed its natural course and he'd been allowed to age, grow old, and die as a normal, ordinary human? Would he the confident player he had been before his abduction? Was he the self-enforced recluse that he preferred to be now?

"Hi."

Janine let out a little squeak of shock, startled by the sound of John Mark's voice behind her. "You scared the Bejesus out of me!" She shot John Mark a disdainful glare over the rim of her coffee mug. "Ought to put bells around all your necks!"

John Mark snickered and shrugged at Janine's chagrin. He lowered his nose to the rim of the mug clutched in her fingers, inhaling deeply. The heavenly aromatic steam wafting up from the dark brew teased his senses. On a groan he muttered, "I miss that."

"Here, have some." Janine held out the mug. The look of longing on John Mark's expression made her almost feel a pang of guilt at teasing him. Served him right. He deserved a bit of ribbing considering he'd almost scared her straight into a heart attack.

He smiled lightly and shook his head. Janine was only messing with him. He guessed, considering her heart rate wasn't still back down to its normal resting pace, he deserved a good poke in the ribs. "I wish. Maybe I could have a little taste of someone who has been drinking some?" He waggled his eyebrows at her and licked his lips suggestively. He wouldn't even think about drinking from her. Ever. The last time he'd had to drink from a female claimed by one of his brothers had almost resulted in his body and his head ending up in different zip codes.

Janine smirked and fluffed her hair in her usual flirtatious manner. John Mark was a looker. Still a bit too immature for her tastes in men. But, he sure filled out a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Her sights were firmly set on Patrick and she should be ashamed for taking a peek. But, she wasn't dead. "You wish."

"Nah, not really. I've got my radar fixed on someone else." He wasn't liking the news that Robbie wasn't moving back home after graduation. He just assumed that with her parents getting a bit older, she'd be coming home to learn the family business and they could finally get things started.

"She wouldn't be a redheaded college type would she?" Janine asked coyly. That little tidbit she'd picked right out of Patrick's head along with so many other details about the brothers. Some, she didn't want to know. Too much information.

"He wouldn't be a shaggy, brown haired hermit type would he?" John Mark countered. When it came to Robbie it didn't take much to set him at the end of his chain. Janine wasn't poking fun. Or at least, she didn't seem to be. She was genuinely curious. Despite all her playful flirting and ogling, it would never go anywhere. They were both taken.