Dawn's Darkest Hour

David set the car on the desk, carefully placing the plastic tires back in the clean outline left on the wood. It wasn't Theresa's fault. The fault was solely on his shoulders. He'd been too weak, too soft, to stop her in time. Despite the bruises and the pain, her mind hazy from blood loss and in shock from the realization of what her children had become. He could still see the love in his mother's eyes. She still loved her children. Loved him. Would she feel the same now, if he told her what he'd done?

He was a killer, a murderer. He took and took, and despite his best efforts, gave little, if anything, in return. David eased onto the narrow twin bed, ignoring the dust cloud that floated around him. He couldn't take back what he'd done. And deep in his heart, he knew he'd do it again. He couldn't change what he was. The pillows and the bedding were musty. The fabric was brittle from dry rot and years of nonuse. Arms wrapped tightly around a pillow, he inhaled and tried to capture any trace of a scent, an essence from a simpler time, of the boy he'd been, before.

The scents buried deep were those of neglect. Decay and rot stung his nose. There was nothing left of him. This room was his shrine. The dusty relics lining the shelves and thumb tacked to the walls, a monument to the boy who had died ten years ago. David curled into a ball, gripping the pillow in his arms like a drowning man clinging to a life preserver in the middle of a turbid sea, and wept.

Tears of bitter agony and loss streamed hot down his cheeks. He cried for the boy who had never gotten to be a man. Tears fell for his little sister, who searched for love, but never realized how deeply loved she truly was. His shoulders shuddered. Wracked by sobs for the children they'd been, stolen forever from their mother's embrace. A river soaked the pillowcase for Nora and the life they could have had, if one bad decision hadn't torn it away from them. His breath hitched with guilt over Rachael and Cole and the faith they so wrongly placed in him. A muted wail wrenched from his throat for all the humans who have had, and would have the misfortune of crossing his tainted path.

The bedroom door opened, flooding the room, darkened by drawn curtains, with a single ray of light. "David."

David looked through the blur of his tears and saw his mother. Not the thin, weathered shell of a woman that time and loss had wilted. But, the strong, beautiful woman who baked birthday cakes, hummed silly show tunes while folding the laundry with caring hands, kissed every boo-boo, and made everything, simply everything in her little boy's life absolutely perfect. "Mom."

Without fear, eyes heavy with concern and worry, she sat on the bed and rested her little boy's head on her shoulder. Her arms wrapped tightly around his quivering shoulders, anchoring him. Fingers, warm and capable, stroked lightly through his hair, calming the raging storm tearing his soul apart. David held on for dear life as if she were the only thing that could keep his head above the surging tide. "Who am I?"

Arms, strong, warm and capable, rocked him gently. He wasn't a vampire who took life. He was a little boy, battered and bruised. In desperate need of solace and respite, David clung to her. Soothed by the rhythmic back and forth motions and the tickle of her breath on his cheek. Soft lips brushed across his forehead. Fingers gently wiped away the tears, sparing him from their searing heat. "You're my son."

"You wouldn't love me if you knew what I've done," David said. His voice quivered through his sobs. "Theresa...I had to...I...," He was cut off by a fresh deluge of tears, salted by the bitter taste of guilt.

"Shhh, I know." She quickly corrected when her husband entered the room. "We know." Everyday, she felt the pang of loss. But, she didn't blame David. She didn't blame anybody. Theresa was gone. David did what needed to be done. Her own life was slipping by faster and faster. Blame was something she didn't have time or energy for.

David felt the warmth of a broad, thick hand between his shoulder blades. A hand that had spent all night turning wrenches to put together a bike in time for Christmas morning. A hand, that held his and guided him safely across the street time after time. A hand that was strong and worked hard to provide, and over all the years had never, ever faltered. "Dad." He buried his face deep in the crook of his mother's neck. Just like he had as a little boy. No urge to take life, no scent of food, only the comfort of love was all he felt. "I'm so sorry."

He stood strong, deeply moved, flooded with regret at how much of his son had slipped away and how much still remained. Theresa, one look into her eyes, and he knew. Even though she walked, she was already dead. David's eyes glittered with the sheen of his tears. Humanity, no matter how touched by darkness, reflected in their depths. If he could spare his son this burden, he'd gladly take it from him. Protect his little boy and take him by the hand and guide him to safety, just one more time. "We love you son. There's nothing to forgive."

Tears fell in a cleansing rain, washing down over them and erasing layers of regret, shame, and self-hatred. Enough so that David felt clean, for the first time since he opened his eyes into his new reality. Absolution was freely given and he drank it in as if it were lifeblood. Their love was a warm bath, soaking him clean. A purpose beyond his own needs was in his grasp. Salvation, he realized, could never be earned, only given. And that's what he'd spent the last ten years doing. Trying to repay a bill that was so large, so insurmountable that an eternity would never erase the debt.

Chapter 65

Nora finished grading the stack of papers strewn across the top of her coffee table and curled up on the end of the couch, nestling a cold cup of coffee in her frozen fingers. Her poor students, either their work wasn't up to par or her mood was too dark for generosity.

The different parts of her mind chattered back and forth with one another inside her head. One side argued that she was getting exactly what she'd asked for and to just forget about David completely. The other side countered with a tirade of hopeful expressions; David could call her at any minute; any second he'd be knocking at her door. Right. Sure. Not happening.

Last night, she'd been so certain that she could deal with this. One-night stands had never been her thing. She should have known better. Promises, not that there had been any, whispered in passion didn't mean a damn thing. He'd been straight with her. She just hadn't bothered to listen.

One thing that all sides of her frazzled psyche agreed on was that the walls of her tiny house were far too confining. She needed to get out of here. Stretch her legs and do something nice for herself. There was a Chinese joint in downtown. Had the best shrimp mei fun on the planet. Rarely, did the occasion to drive the hour into downtown arise and she hadn't been there in months. Why not tonight? She could go for a huge, steaming bowl of curly noodles dripping in soy sauce. On a Sunday evening, traffic and parking wouldn't be much of an issue. She got up off the couch and changed out of her sweats.

Nora scowled at her roots as she brushed her hair. Aging was a bitch. She traced the beginnings of a laugh line with her fingertip. Damn it. Turning to the side, she sucked her tummy in as deeply as she could. Ok, so she was a little soft around the middle. So what? Maybe her boobs weren't as perky as they once were. Maybe some gray hairs had snuck in here and there. She was still young damn it! She still had it, just a little bit more of it, but it was still there!

Bitterly, she thought about David. No wonder he didn't want her. He still had the body of a teenager. Time, for him had stopped, completely. She looked more like an older sister than his girlfriend. No wonder, he'd only promised her one night. Hell, it was probably out of pity more than actual interest. Never been with a human, no probably he hadn't. Why would he be when vampire chicks never aged, never went gray, and never, ever sagged in all those important places?

And what about her? What was she thinking? Her biological clock was ticking at a maddening pace. Someday, she hoped to have children, the white picket fence, and a husband. Could David really offer her any of those things? It was obvious, painfully too obvious that he couldn't give her what she really wanted. She just had to face the facts and move on quickly as possible. Giving up all of her dreams, for him, when he couldn't even begin to fulfill them, wasn't fair, to either one of them. Why? Why did reality have to hurt so badly?

She had to stop this. She wasn't some sniveling teenage girl with unrequited love for the captain of the football team. She was a grown woman with hopes and dreams. The sooner she snapped out of this, the better. What was the point of torturing herself? Why bother thinking about what dreams she could let go of and which ones to hold on to when David certainly wasn't burning up her phone lines or knocking down her door? The best she could do was to make due with the small taste she'd been given and hope it was enough to see her through till the right one came along.

Her stomach rumbled. Angry from neglect and reminding her not so gently of why she'd gotten off the couch in the first place. She paused at her front door and jangled the keys off a fingertip. What if David DID stop by while she was out? Her stomach won and forced her hit the interstate. Her heart begged her to resume her perch on the couch and wait for him. Maybe, it would do him some good, if he did pop by unannounced and she wasn't home. If he thought she actually had a life, he might, just might want to be a part of it.

Chapter 66

Rachael had never watched so many reruns of bad TV in her life. Cole was a complete gentleman. Casually keeping his distance. She didn't want distance. He was the first boy in her entire life that had shown even the slightest hint of interest in her. Maybe the make out session had been a fluke. All day long, he'd been treating her with careful indifference, as if the kisses had never happened at all. His coolness stung. He sipped on a coke, holding each mouthful, relishing it, before he swallowed it down. The last dull rays of sun crept through the curtains. He stood in the window, watching the day slowly fade into shades of plum and gray. "Are you scared?" she asked.

Cole tore his gaze away from the setting sun. David would be back any minute and then it would be time to get down to business. More than likely, time for him to die. He hadn't liked being so cold toward Rachael. More than anything he would have rather been cuddling with her than maintaining the distance between them. She sat cross-legged on the bed, looking absolutely ridiculous, but damned cute in the oversized pink hoodie he'd picked up from the hotel gift shop.

He should be macho and lie like hell about what was going on in his head. She didn't need to know that on the inside he was scared shitless. Maybe that was why he'd kept such a wide space between them all day. Otherwise he would confess his feelings and might even cry. She didn't need to see that. The ice clinked against the side of his glass as he pushed his straw around and sucked up every last drop of watery pop. Wondering if he was drinking his last coke, he savored the sugary taste. His mouth was cool and his tongue frozen in place. Instead of answering her, he shrugged and resumed his vigil. It was too late for confessions now. The sun, he'd been tracking all day, sank behind the concrete mountains of the city.

Rachael tucked her knees under her chin and stared at Cole's dark outline silhouetted in the last drafts of light. She began to feel a twinge of fear for him. Everything had been so clear before the time had actually come. But now that the time had drawn closer, the edges were more than a bit fuzzy. What if David broke his promise and failed to keep Cole alive? "Well I am," she muttered.

"I shouldn't have brought you here. You should go home. While you still can." Cole let the curtains fall closed. The stiff fabric fanned through his fingers. "You have a good family. They must be worried."

Rachael shrugged and studied her toenail polish. Yeah, her mom was frantic. Begging, pleading, willing to promise her anything, including full pardon, if she just came home. She didn't want to go into the conversation she'd had with her mom with Cole. His phone, rested in its holster on his belt, quiet and still. Didn't his parents notice that he didn't come home last night and hadn't been there all day? Didn't they care? Telling him about her family and their worry seemed too much like bragging. "Nah, they're good."

Cole raised an eyebrow. Rachael wouldn't look him in the eye when she spoke. Her shoulders hunched and curled in on themselves. She stared at her toenails, which had become suddenly fascinating. "You're a terrible liar. How much trouble are you in?" He sat on the edge of the bed and slid a finger under her jaw, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"Enough," Rachael muttered. She had no doubt that the second she got in the front door. The offer for a full pardon would be rescinded. Didn't matter, if her parents started the whole as long as you're under my roof speech. She wouldn't be there for very long. "I want to be here with you."

Cole frowned at the honesty in her eyes. He wasn't sure he was worth bringing trouble to Rachael's doorstep. Guilt pangs shot through his stomach. "I'm sorry I've been such a dickwad today. It's just that..."

Rachael rested her chin on his finger and stared deeply into his eyes, reading the mixed expression of worry and fear. "You're scared."

"Yeah."

David threw the hotel door open and hefted the bag he'd snuck through the lobby on the bed. It landed with a solid clunk on the paisley printed comforted. Olive drab, military grade canvas really clashed with the swirling patterns in cranberry, hunter green, and brown. "We're out of time. I've got less than an hour to transform you from a boy into a man."

Staring at David, Cole didn't bother to contradict him and profess that he already was a man. Looking at David, it was all too apparent exactly how out of his league Cole really was. David, hell he was barely recognizable as the kid who sat beside Rachael in the lunchroom everyday. The guy-the man-was a wall of black leather clad menace. He had more blades strapped to him than Cole had ever seen in one place. Even David's eyes were different. No longer the stare of a boy, but two cold, hard, lumps of obsidian embedded in sockets. Eyes that promised death, a long, painful one, delivered with fierce efficiency.

Rachael gripped the sleeve of Cole's shirt and stared in disbelief at David. She wasn't even in this particular fight and terror, just at the sight of him, coursed through her veins. At one time, she'd thought there might be a romantic interest between them. But, that was when he could fool her into thinking he was just another boy. There was no mistaking what he was now. A vampire, one hundred percent lethal, all fangs, blades and black leather, not a hint of his other side left behind his cold, dark stare. In the depths of his eyes, she saw exactly how different their worlds really were.

Cole and Rachael were afraid. Good. They should be. Neither one of them were ready for what awaited them in the dark. David could scent the fear radiating off Rachael and Cole. Bad. If he could, so could every other vampire in a ten-block radius. And nothing brought the bad boys out to play like the pungent aroma of terror.

He wanted to climb back into himself and resume the role of teenage boy he was so comfortable playing instead of skilled warrior. But, this was not the time. If he was going to keep Cole alive, he needed the boy to know and understand exactly what he was up against. He drew the blade from its resting place across his back and pressed it against Cole's throat. "You now have forty-five minutes to learn how to use one of these."

Chapter 67

"Keep yourself in your human skin," Hunter warned as he deposited Daniel at his post. Predetermined by his father to be as far out of the action as possible, Hunter had chosen to place Daniel across the street, around the corner, at the mouth of a deeply recessed doorway well out of view. As. Far. From. The. Action. As. Possible.

Daniel rolled his eyes behind his father's back and settled in for a long and boring wait. Hold his human form. Hell, there wasn't enough excitement to work up the urge to piss on a fire hydrant and mark his territory, let alone involuntarily shift.

He suppressed the smart assed comment teetering on the tip of his tongue and clamped his lips together tightly. When his dad was in warrior mode like he was tonight. One off color comment might get him demoted back to the group's official boot polisher. Again. His dad hated, HATED, the city and had been on edge ever since the moment he'd agreed to accompany the Sons on the mission. Even though Daniel understood the cause for his dad's apprehension. Damn it, did the old man have to take it out on him?

Daniel pressed the earpiece of his com set deeper into his ear and tested the connection, "Hello... tune in Tokyo..."

"Cut the chatter," the voice of a brother snapped into his earpiece. Daniel pounded the back of his skull into the brick wall behind him and stood there, like a manikin in a department store window, and waited for something to happen.

Hunter bristled beneath his leathers. Damned kid. Should have left him at home. He nodded to Marcus as he passed the man on his way to his position. Hunter chose the hot spot straight into the heart of danger. The Sons were already at their posts and very, very well hidden. As hard as Hunter tried, he couldn't see them enshrouded in the darkness, black as the very shadows in which they hid. Pleasure to be working with professionals. Maybe Daniel would learn something from the Sons. Probably not though. Daniel primarily learned every lesson the hard way. Hunter slid into the night. The only thing left to do was wait for the guests to arrive and the party to start.

Marcus casually leaned against the lamppost at the end of the block, waiting for a bus that would never come. Playing chameleon, as the most innocuous looking member of this little ensemble, his job was easy. Look harmless. That he could do, unless shit went critical. Underneath his zipped canvas jacket, he carried a various assortment of lethal blades, poised and ready to do business.

Michael stared across the dark pitch roof and met the eyes of his brother. This was the finest group of sons-a' bitches he'd ever had the pleasure of working with. The wolves had proven their salt in his book and were just as much a part of this rag tag ensemble as his fully fanged brethren. Now, if their informant's source, Bianca, held true. The show should be just about ready to begin. Good. The sooner they cracked some Rogue skulls, the quicker they could go home.

The stink of Chinese burned Carter's throat. Garlic was the worst. Over the stench wafting in nauseating waves from this hot, foulness of the kitchen, the Sons wouldn't smell a thing, except for bad takeout. He glanced into one of the pots bubbling on the stove and almost lost his lunch. He was curious about modern food, especially about Big Macs. But, as for whatever was boiling in the pot, the smell alone was enough to staunch all curiosity. Who in their right mind would eat that? He wondered as the cook fished chunks of something out of the steaming cauldron and dropped it unceremoniously onto a mountain of tiny, curly noodles.

O'Sullivan idly toyed with a limp, cold, chicken's wing-still attached to the bird. His boy looked a little green around the gills. Guess Carter hadn't learned to tolerate the alluring scent of human food. Well not necessarily the aroma of the food, but of the humans who ate it. One thing he'd found out long ago. If a vampire wanted to score a snack, wherever the food was, the humans weren't far from it and thusly, so was dinner. A plump, well-fed human tasted so much better than a starving one. Maybe, that's why he'd come to America after all. The cuisine was so rich and satisfying.