Dawn's Darkest Hour

"We require assistance," Michael rasped out. His voice sounded rougher than he'd intended. "Your Guardians know this city better than us. We need to find this boy. Quickly." He forced his eyes up from the dainty diamond necklace surrounding her graceful neck. After a glance into those soft, almond shaped eyes, he forced his stare to a point on the wall behind her. So not helping. Uncomfortably, he shifted in his chair. His well worn, weathered leathers ground against the new, expensive, hardly sat on leather upholstery of the chair.

God, how soft the supple skin of her neck would be beneath his lips. He could imagine those almond shaped eyes hooded with desire. Their blue irises tinted with passion. And that tightly wound hair free, fanning in a cloud of black silk across a mountain of pillows. Or better yet, fisted in his hands as he guided those satiny, glistening cupid's bow lips over his...Damn. Think. About. Something. Else. His cock was hard enough to bounce a quarter off of. If he kept thinking about Bianca like this, the damned thing was going to burst its way free of his leathers. "We'll need additional manpower for patrols."

"Yes, of course. The Guardians are happy to lend assistance. I'll get my best men on it. Marcus, you recall Sebastian, don't you?" Deliberately, she ignored the warrior. Bianca knew desire when she saw it. From a warrior, the interest was most unexpected. She thought the Sons were too good for such tawdry needs as sex. Given the bulge beneath Michael's black leather...apparently not. Good to know.

The bitch in her was factoring to what possible advantage she could manipulate the warrior's interest in her. The woman in her, ridiculous, giddy, female was flattered and tempted, very, very tempted. Before her sat, six feet-five inches, two hundred and thirty pounds worth of absolutely delicious masculinity wrapped in a tight leather package, and speaking of packages, his was nice, very, nice.

Michael was wild and untamed as the woods in which he called home. He wore his hair, a shade lighter than her own, in a simple cut that ended in a mass of gentle waves at the nape of his neck. His eyes were not quite brown, but not quite hazel either. An interesting shade interlaced with flecks of gold. Dark brows formed an arch over luxurious black fringes of lash. He had the high cheekbones of his race and a set of full, soft lips that could no doubt deliver equally soft kisses. Before his transformation, his skin would have glowed with healthy bronzed undertones. It had paled to a light golden tan with just a hint of russet.

Bianca took a deep breath, fully knowing her inhales deepened the cleft just visible beneath the silk button down she wore. Flashing a bit of eye candy never hurt a girl. "I'll have Sebastian contact you after sundown. As always, we are completely at your disposal." And how.

Sex with Michael would be nothing of the normal faire she'd endured for centuries. Experience and time did not make a better lover. Sex didn't necessarily get better with age. Her lovers were well versed in technique, but miserably predictable. As if the act were nothing more than a practiced dance. The steps of one she knew far too well.

With Michael sex would be raw and wild, a mad, relentless pounding of flesh against flesh. He'd give it everything he had and then give more, put his very soul into the physical joining. With him there'd be no fucking, no sex, but something that lay on the other side of pleasure. What humans called, making love, she supposed. Something she'd never experienced before in either life.

She took a moment to balance her wobbly knees as she stood. Casually, leaning on the high back of her chair she teetered on the point of her three-inch stilettos. Evaluating a potential partner had never affected her so before. The fact that Michael had some measure of difficulty rising from his seat left her feeling almost girlishly giddy on the inside. Of course, sporting an erection that size would be difficult, perhaps even uncomfortable. Finally, when she'd gained her composure, she led the way to the door to show the men out.

Bianca was painfully aware of how closely Michael followed behind. Holding the door wide, she ushered Marcus out. Michael paused, his eyes following the path of the tip of her tongue as she slicked it across her lips. "Please, if I can be of any further assistance to you, don't hesitate to stop by."

Michael was a drowning man transfixed by the berry tip Bianca's tongue as it traced over her lips. The very lips he had so many wicked thoughts about. Assistance? Oh yeah, hell yeah, she could definitely be of further assistance. He cleared his throat. "I'll do that." Over. And. Over. Again.

A coy smile curled the edges of Bianca's lips. Shove Marcus out of the room and close the door. She'd be happy to assist this big brute on the floor, on the desk, on the chair. Anywhere. Anytime. "I look forward to it." Her eyes followed the warrior as he walked away. And she thought the front view was good. The rear view was every bit as nice and just as tantalizing. Closing the door behind her, she wondered what color of nail polish would look good on her fingertips when she dug them into his tight ass as she came.

Chapter 85

Daniel was quickly learning that wolf equaled tranquilizer dart. Gingerly, he rubbed the newest of the additions of welts and sat on the edge of the bed to study the pattern of bruises on his body. He could damn near play connect the dots with the pinpricks pockmarked on his torso. Talk about a freak show. His life was sedate and utterly normal in comparison to the vampires.

The Head Vamp in Charge, Eric, was more concerned with the tattered carpet than he was with his captive. The last dart had been unleashed on Daniel out of disdain for the destroyed furnishings rather than out of fear of his wolf.

The broad, Yessette, looked at him like he was a giant happy meal and she was a hungry kid. Daniel was going to try really hard not to be left alone with her for too long. He was not vamp chow.

And Carter, damn didn't that one sting more than the welts left by the tranq darts? Carter had betrayed him and all his people. Daniel cursed himself for trusting Carter in the first place. What an idiot. He wasn't the only one in danger. Thanks to Carter and the depths of the secrets he held, they all were. One thing was for certain, if he got the chance, Carter would make a nice meal for his wolf. All ties between them were null and void.

Daniel sucked in a deep breath as the hot spray from the shower rained down on the bruises and welts that littered his chest and arms. He had to get it together. He stuck his head under the tap and lathered up. How long had he been out this time? Hours? Days? The world outside the window was dark. Fucking vampire. Unbreakable glass. If he weren't the one behind it, he would have been damned impressed. As the situation was, he was just plain pissed off.

His body was battered and stiff. His mind was a dizzy blur. Thanks to all the drugs in his system, he couldn't conjure up his wolf. The beast was in a haze of sedation within their shared skin. Hot water sluiced across his back. He was on his own. Daniel couldn't let defeat overcome him. He might be without his wolf. But, he was hardly without resources. His dad was out there searching for him. And he knew his father would never give up.

Daniel turned off the tap and gently dried his battered body off with a towel. Someone had been considerate enough to leave him a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt. Free balling wasn't his style. But, the clothing was definitely better than sitting around wrapped up in a sheet.

He doubted he'd be able to talk his new friend Eric into lending him a razor. A straight razor, preferably. Would be all the better to slice the vamp's throat with. Black stubble dotted his chin, rasping against the pads of his fingers. He scrubbed a hand through his short black hair and tousled it. Everyone said he looked like his mom, but he didn't see it. He was the spitting image of his father, from the rough angle of his jaw to the arch of the black brows that curved over deep, brown eyes the color of hot fudge. Daniel hoped he had been endowed with every bit of his old man's resourcefulness and determination as well. He was going to need it.

The turning of a key in the lock had Daniel darting for the bed. Maybe, if he looked helpless, his captor would make a mistake, one that would prove fatal. The cameras had already been taken care of, thanks to his wolf. Seems that even though he didn't have his wolf at his call. He still had some of his wolf's craftiness and in a fit of rage his wolf had effectively dismantled the cameras. Daniel stretched out and leaned against the pillows and waited. Scrunching down low, he looked pitiful as he could manage. Prepared to cry wolf for his warden.

Carter insisted on caring for the boy, so much so that Eric had finally caved and given him a key to the room. The visual feeds to the holding cell had been taken out by one of the wolf's numerous rampages. O'Sullivan wouldn't be able to hear or see what was going on in the room. Technology far surpassed the vampire's capacity to repair it and it wasn't exactly like Eric could call a repairman to fix the damaged equipment.

Carter set a tray loaded with food on the nightstand and set the untouched leftovers from a previous tray outside of the door before locking himself in with the boy. Daniel's stare weighed heavily on his shoulders. The boy didn't trust him. Not that Carter could blame him. Given the kidnapping and his association with O'Sullivan, what choice had he left the kid with?

Carter palmed the dart gun strapped to his side. He didn't want to have to use it. The boy lay in the middle of the bed in a heap of crumpled linens, pale as death. Slowly, careful to avoid rousing the boy's wolf, he approached. "Daniel."

Daniel stiffened from the contact of cold fingertips on his forehead. From beneath veiled lashes he watched Carter perform his assessment. The patch of bare flesh on Carter's forearm stuck out from beneath a chambray button down. It seemed the wolves weren't the only ones Carter had betrayed. Instinctively, Daniel's body stiffened from the touch.

"Take it easy. I'm here to help," Carter whispered. The walls were thick. But, he didn't trust that O'Sullivan didn't have other means of monitoring the room. "I'm going to get you out of here."

"Why should I trust you?" Daniel gritted. He slid free of Carter's reach and glared up at him. His eyes landed on the butt of the holstered tranquilizer gun. If he could have called his wolf, Carter and he wouldn't be having this conversation right now. Carter would be on the business end of a sharp pair of canines instead. Weak and disoriented, Daniel wouldn't be able to get his hands on Carter before Carter got his hands on the gun.

"Because boy," Carter leaned over Daniel, staring him down. "I'm all you've got."

Daniel lifted his chin. They were practically nose to nose. Daniel gripped Carter's collar in his fist and pulled him closer till their noses pressed together. "Know this. If I get the chance, I will kill you."

"Dully noted." Carter slid his collar free from Daniel's grip and righted his posture. He kept his stance ready. Not that he thought the boy could do any real harm. Already, sooner than expected, the wolf was beginning to disappear. Carter could no longer smell the musky earthen undertone of the wolf on Daniel's skin. They were running out of time.

Eric pondered how to gain the boy's cooperation. He needed a way to subdue to boy much as he had managed to do with Carter. Perhaps, the boy, much like Carter had, needed a gentler touch. "Yessette, love." Gently, his fingers roamed down her supple thigh. "I need a favor."

Chapter 86

Nora sat on the dewy ground. Frost coated the blades of grass around her in white. The last of the candles on the stairs struggled for a brief moment against the night chill and then sputtered out. Silence and darkness enveloped her. In these wee hours of the night, she should go home and try for a few minutes of sleep. But, really what was the point? Sleep was as much of a stranger to her these days as David.

The grounds were quiet. The windows of the McMansions across the soccer field from the school were dark. Apparently, she was the only insomniac in the neighborhood. A lone streetlamp in the parking lot shone down on her car, bathing it in a circle of dim white light. Chilled to the bone in the night dampness, she breathed into her hands to warm them with white clouds of breath. The isolation and silence should have freaked her out. Instead, she relished the time alone with her weary thoughts.

As a teenager, Nora remembered her eagerness to grow up and become an adult. Sitting on the ground at the foot of the stairs, alone in the darkness, waiting for the new day to begin, she couldn't think of anything better than being a teenager again. Life was so much simpler then, even though she hadn't realized it at the time.

She wondered if at some point, loss got easier instead of harder. Maybe, eventually, her soul would reach a point where the tender part would be numb to loss and there wouldn't be any more pain.

A decade ago, she'd sat at the foot of these very same steps holding vigil for David. Back then losing him had been difficult, for her and for the whole school. Tonight, lighting a candle for him again, had been so much more so. Because, she knew, the chapter was written, but the book was far from over. She couldn't take another random reappearance from him into her life or waiting, burning a candle for someone who might or might not come back.

Exhausted, both emotionally and physically, she crossed the flat plane of grass and fished the lighter out of her pocket. Fumbling with frozen digits, she flicked a flame to life. Gently, she cupped the extinguished wick with her palm and lit the candle again. Its golden flame was of little comfort. The candle was such a tiny beacon engulfed by so much darkness. Not much of a light to guide a life adrift in a choppy sea into the safe harbors of home again.

She was as hopeless as the candle's flame against the darkness. The memory of David frightened her. The cold and hollow pits of his eyes that night showed her the horrors that they'd looked upon time after time. That she should burn for him, an exercise in futility. David was in danger of losing himself to the nightmare of his life. She'd have to shine brighter than the darkness that lapped at his heels. She wanted that, deep down, she really did. Even though she knew there was a very, very good chance that she'd burn out before her light cut through the dark.

The hot steam of the shower did little to make David feel clean. Every trace of Rachael's blood had been scrubbed free from his skin and washed down the drain. Although, the stain wasn't visible anymore, he still felt the tackiness on his skin. Maybe his guilt at losing her would fade in time, maybe not. If he tried, he could still trace the paths her blood had burned onto his skin. The Great Father's, Drew's, words were meant to be inspiring. David didn't feel very inspired, however.

David was dressed in fresh leathers and a t-shirt that stretched tightly across his pecs, all in his favorite color, black. Sure, the color was a bad vampire cliché, but it suited his mood and the train of his thoughts. The depression swirling around in his brain was only the crux of where the dark musings in his mind took him.

Betrayed. Bianca, the bitch, had sold him out to the Sons. Why? Apprehending the son of a bitch responsible for peddling pink in his city was supposed to be his job. And he would have done it too. Bianca never, ever did anything unless it benefited her in some way. She set him up to take the fall for the drugs. Who was she protecting? What was in it for her?

David had a feeling that the whole thing with the pink went a lot deeper than some two-bit thug selling his blood for pocket change. Whoever was responsible for infiltrating pink into the city certainly didn't want the Sons to find out and was very, very good at covering his tracks.

Carter was smart enough to be the mastermind behind it all. But, it wasn't the man's MO. Then again, who would have thought that the vampire responsible for uniting the city's undead would have dumped them all like a bunch of redheaded stepchildren. David sensed this went bigger than Carter. WAY BIGGER. Carter, much like himself, was just a small fish in a much, much bigger pond. Meant to take the fall for the real ringleader. David only knew of one other vampire powerful enough and underhanded enough to pull it off. O'Sullivan.

David scrubbed a hand through his shower dampened hair. His fist contorted in rage. If O'Sullivan was behind pink, if he'd been there in the shadows watching the show that night. It also meant that he was with one hundred percent certainty Rachael's murderer. David owed O'Sullivan for more than one murder, but for two. O'Sullivan hadn't physically killed Theresa. But, he'd been the one to transform her into the soulless thing she became.

"Mother Fuck!" David hissed. There was so much more at stake than just a grudge match between O'Sullivan and him. A father had lost a son. The boy had been well out of sight, hiding in the shadows, supposedly safe from the action. Obviously, a random element like O'Sullivan hadn't been taken into account. David didn't know what O'Sullivan wanted with a human boy in the first place. But, he intended to find out. Whatever O'Sullivan planned to do with the boy wasn't good. Time was growing desperately short. David weaponed up, sliding his blades into their holders and tightening straps across his chest as he stormed out of the room. He marched down the maze of hallways and flung open the door to the Great Father's chambers. "I know where the boy is."

Chapter 87

Daniel had never been so hungry in his life. Food, if wrappers of toxic waste from various fast food restaurants could be counted as such, had been provided. He wasn't eating it though. Starvation was the only weapon he had against his captors. If his friend wanted to keep him alive, he'd have to let him go. There'd be hell to pay when his dad found him, especially if he were dead.

Weakness was already setting in. Wearily, Daniel rolled over on the bed toward the sound of a key turning in the lock. The woman, hell Daniel couldn't remember her name now, carried a tray of food into the room. The food was fresh and hot, laid out on china instead of its usual wrapper. The aroma radiating off the plate caused his mouth to water. Steam rolled off mounds of rare roast beef and mashed potatoes. A fancy china bowl held a heap of soft baby carrots drizzled in dill and butter. A cloth napkin was wrapped around a set of cutlery. And a decanter held a reddish liquid that sloshed lazily in the etched glass as she walked and set the tray down on the bedside table.

Daniel couldn't help himself when she unrolled the silverware from its napkin and held out the expensive linen to him. He sat up and took it from her dainty hand. His wolf had suddenly decided to make an appearance in his mind at the sight of the food. They were both drooling like fools. He. Wasn't. Going. To. Eat. The woman seemed to pay no attention to him as she uncapped the decanter and poured its contents into a crystal wine glass. Daniel gave no protest when she slid the napkin out of his grip, unrolled the silverware and draped the fine square of linen across his lap. "Hungry?" she asked with a smile.

"No." The word rasped from Daniel's throat. He made a pathetic gurgling sound through all the slobber. Guess Pavlov was on to something after all. His eyes followed the fork as she drug it through the gravy forming moats with the tines.