Dawn Awakening

John Mark stared down at Robbie. She looked up at him, her eyes glittering like emeralds in a backdrop of the red fire of her hair and the peachy creaminess of her pale skin, with wonder in her expression. She'd never looked at him this way before. And he hoped she always had that expression of love and sincerity on her face and in her eyes when she looked at him. It was as if she was, really and truly, seeing him for the first time.

The part of him that was pure male let out a jungle cry and pounded on his chest like Tarzan. The softer part, the part she'd worked her way into so long ago was just...happy...overwhelmed and basking in the fact that she loved him. And the little boy in him, dug the toe of his sneaker through the dirt and stared back from underneath the brim of his ball cap in an 'aw shucks' kind of way. He hooked her chin with his finger and held it in place. Bending down to meet her lips, he worshiped them with a kiss.

Robbie was all for a round two, or was it three, or maybe four? She'd lost count. When he broke the kiss and shooed her by patting her on the rump out of the bed. "You hungry?" he asked. She thought about it for a minute and nodded. Wasn't her grumbling stomach what woke her up in the first place? With a 'shame on you' expression on her face, she snatched her tattered clothing off the floor and hooked the scraps of lace that were once a bra, holding them out to him for inspection. He grinned slyly and gave her a shrug that was anything but apologetic.

























Chapter 39

Candace had one bar of power left on her Iphone. One bar and then all her pictures, her music, and the remnants of her old life would be gone. She ran her thumbnail over the picture. The snapshot was blurred, taken in haste on her way out the door on what was to become the last day of her life. And she was torn away from everything she'd ever known and ever loved. "Don't," Marcus said, gently placing his hand on her fingertips to stop her before she could press the send key to dial home, one last time.

"He's my son," Candace said, her voice thick with longing and regret. "Chance. He's all I've got." Marcus slid the phone out of her hands and clicked off the power to conserve what was left of her battery. Whenever there was an empty minute and she thought no one was watching, she'd pull out the phone and flip through the snap shots of her son. He watched over her, keeping her from placing the call that might end her life and the life of her son's for good.

They were in a precarious situation. From where they were there was no going home again. No one got to call anyone for a last goodbye. Not unless they wanted to and wanted their family to suffer the consequences. He wouldn't have to watch over her so closely much longer. When the battery died, he'd ditch the phone and try to do his best to help her forget the son she'd left behind.

He was lucky in that regard, he had no one he cared about. No one left behind. There was only one person in the world he thought he might love, and she was sitting on the sodden floor of the abandoned ramshackle house beside him. "If you love him, you'll let him go. He can't know about this. Ever."

Candace nodded and took her phone from Marcus's hands. She ran her fingers over the slick, cold, black screen and tucked the phone into her pocket. Marcus was right. Chance was safe. As long as she stayed away, he might someday move on. Accept that she wasn't coming home. But, she hoped, somewhere deep inside he realized that it wasn't because she didn't love him, but because she did. "I know."

Marcus wrapped an arm around Candace's quivering shoulders. She was crying softly to herself. Not daring to make so much as a whisper to draw any attention to them. The dark wasn't good for much these days, the nights so long, cold, and endless. But, they were good for something. Mourning losses. Everyone here had a story. Everyone had something they'd lost. And in the dark, they could cry while they waited for whatever came with the dawn. Gently, he pulled her head down to rest in the crook of his arm and bent his mouth to whisper into her ear. "Something is coming. I can feel it. Something is about to go down. If we're going to run, we've got to do it then. This is the only chance we're going to get."

A glimmer of hope shimmered for a second in Candace's eyes and then was quickly extinguished. Their situation was hopeless. And this was not the time to foster dreams of a tomorrow that might be snuffed out as quickly as a candle's flame. A man she barely knew sat across the room from them, idly shuffling a deck of cards, watching them with a curious eye. She ducked into the warmth of Marcus's chest, burying her face in his neck, whispering softly, grabbing whatever comfort she could from his friendship and the weight of his arm around her shoulders. "Ok. When the time is right, we run."

*******

Kore eyed the man sitting across the desk from her with keen interest. Not every offspring of her brother's, his legacy to her, was a complete fuck up. This man had more potential than the whole lot of them combined. And what was more, he shared her particular goals when it came to the future and relished her means to execute them. She didn't know what dark hole her brother had dug him out of. But, she wished she had a dozen more like him. "Soon, DuPage. The Sons will let down their guard and when they do, we'll be ready. Just keep what few of my brother's children alive that you can until the time is right. The Sons will be so busy with them, they won't notice it when we slip up from behind and slash their throats right under their noses. It'll be easy. The Sons haven't fought a group this big in a long time. They won't know what hit them."

DuPage loved this woman. He admired her ruthlessness and the way she administered her justice. Not to mention the graciousness of her rewards, which she lavished on him. Throughout the course of his life, he'd had desires without an outlet in which to express them. He enjoyed killing. Reveled in stalking the prey and bringing it down. Until now, he'd had to keep his operation low key. Hunt amongst the sewers where not even the bravest of souls would ventures. Soon, he'd be out in the open. And he'd kill just for the sheer pleasure of it. Just as he'd always dreamed. With an eager grin, he nodded and kissed her delicate hand. Soon the world would be thrown into chaos and it'd be theirs for the taking. "As you wish."





Chapter 40

After a quick meal on the local wildlife, Robbie and John Mark returned to her house. No matter how many things changed. This one thing remained exactly the same. The familiar smell she'd always associated with home. The smell of lemon wax on the hardwood floors and gentle trace of vanilla and sugar, the scents of her parents, still lingered in the air as much a part of the house as the brick and mortar from which it was made. Simple things and simple comforts, the hot shower, fresh clothing, and the house, things that served to remind her that she, despite her fangs and all of the changes, she still was the same.

She dried her hair with a towel and ran her fingers through the wet strands to separate them. Robbie wondered how John Mark fit in to her new life. Obviously, they were together, bound in an unbreakable tie. The word forever, ominous and heavy, reverberated in her skull. Such a large word when she was still stuck on getting used to so many ideas centering around him, like he was the sun and every thought and feeling she had about him were the planets and the stars in its orbit.

John Mark smiled at Robbie as she emerged from the bathroom. Her hair, damp from the shower and her skin a creamy peach from its steamy heat. It'd take all his force of will to keep on his side of the door and not join her. "You look better," he said, shaking his head in mock dismay. "Too many clothes, though."

Robbie was one of those women who would look sexy as hell wearing a burlap sack. The weather was late summer hot, hazy and humid as hell. She looked cool and summery with a low cut tank top and high cut shorts that showed the shapeliness of her legs. With a groan that had nothing to do with hefting his body off the couch and everything to do with the woman in front of him, he got off the couch and headed to the bathroom for a shower, probably a cold one to quell the desire just looking at her stirred within him. "I'm next."

John Mark showered in the bathroom, leaving Robbie with a little down time while she listened to him curse as he used the last of the hot water in the tank. Her throat was parched and dry. And her stomach complained relentlessly, rumbling in hunger. Unthinkingly, she shuffled into the kitchen and flung the refrigerator door open for a peek inside. Chiding herself, she remembered John Mark's warning. What was she doing? She couldn't eat anything in the fridge, not that there was a hell of a lot to choose from even if she could. Irritated with her insatiable hunger, she dumped a half-eaten block of cheese, a nearly-empty bottle of catsup, and a stray package of opened, petrified hotdogs into the trash.

With the fridge thoroughly emptied, washed, and unplugged, she made her way to the cabinets. The unopened bags, boxes of treats, and canned goods, she could donate to the local food bank. The opened ones, crackers, chips and a smashed box of chocolate pudding mix that had probably been in the back of the cabinets since Regan was in office, went into the garbage along with the stuff she'd emptied out of the fridge.

A half-empty bag of chocolate chip cookies rattled in her hands. Ever since her first taste in kindergarten, these had been her favorite. She couldn't just toss them into the trash. The cookies had been there for her through so many difficult times, comforting her, coaxing a frown into a smile. And with one bite and a tall glass of cold milk, setting the world to rights again time after time. She had to try.

Maybe, she was different. Maybe, she could eat them. Cautiously, Robbie slid a cookie out of the opened package and lifted it to her mouth, determined to take a bite, just to be sure. Her nose wrinkled at the scent. The cookie didn't smell the same. The chocolate chips were sickeningly sweet in their scent. Her stomach reeled in nausea as she forced the cookie into her mouth and chewed. The taste was indescribable, utterly disgusting, and almost rancid. Her stomach lurched and rolled. Repulsed she spit the mushy, half-chewed cookie into the sink.

John Mark was right about regular food. And he was right when he predicted she'd try to eat it anyway. Maybe, in an emergency, she could choke down a bite or two, enough to fake it if she had to. What would she do for comfort food now? When she was having a craving for something sweet, what was she going to do? Snack on a diabetic? John Mark slipped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into the line of his body. "How do you live like this?" she whispered, transfixed by the bits of her previous life floating on a swirl of water and disappearing down the drain.

John Mark didn't answer. An "I told you so," would only get him a swift elbow in the ribs or the always dreaded pouty silent treatment. He held her tightly with one arm around her waist, pinning her between the counter and his body. Reaching around, he turned off the tap. The sink made a gurgling noise as the last bits of cookie were chased down the drain. For him, it had been a Slim Jim that had been his undoing. Before, the salty, chewy, meaty snacks were practically their own food group. After, one bite had sent him rolling on the floor in agony.

He had no pat answer. This was the hard part. Figuring things out for yourself and how to deal with them. Sorting through all the things that made up so much of your humanity and deciding to cling to what was left and made you truly human. He couldn't do that for her. She had to do it for herself. The best he could do was to point her in the right direction and let her go to it. And maybe, create a diversion to keep her mind off all the things she'd lost and planted firmly on the things she'd gained.

Robbie gasped at the tickle of John Mark's lips across her neck. The failed food incident was quickly forgotten by the hard press of his body stirring things deep within her to life. He smelled fresh from the shower. His natural scent faintly tinted by the smell of her floral shower gel. Cool tendrils of wet hair dripped beads of moisture down the curve of her neck and across her skin.

She ran a hand along his bare stomach, feeling the soft edge of a towel secured around his waist. "Too few clothes," she teased, reproachfully. Marveling at the sensation of his supple lips tracing paths up and down her skin, Robbie leaned into him and let his hands work their magic, whisking away her troubles with the stroke of his fingertips.

"Gotta do laundry," John Mark breathed into Robbie's ear. Her backside pressed against his erection, the friction of the soft towel on the sensitive skin had him thinking about all the ways they could do it in the kitchen. It wasn't like they were likely to use the room for anything else at this point. Maybe, instead of thinking about all the food she couldn't eat when she meandered into the kitchen, she'd remember the wild sex they were about to have, on the counter tops, on the table, on the floor, and all the places in between. Yeah, he liked that idea. So much better than mourning a box of half-stale cookies that really weren't that much of a treat to begin with.

Robbie slid around in John Mark's arms, claiming his lips with her mouth. Her body was on fire with little more than just a flick of his tongue along side hers and a brush of his fingertips over her taut nipples. With a husky male voice, he whispered in her ear, "Better take these off before they become a casualty." Slowly, he began to work her shorts and panties over her hips. Wiggling first one leg and then the other free, she kicked the bothersome articles of clothing across the floor. When he went to work on her t-shirt, she lifted her arms over her head to help out.

John Mark tossed Robbie's t-shirt on the floor and grinned at the enthusiastic little minx in his arms. He bet Julia Child never had this much fun in the kitchen in her life. With deft fingers, he released the clasp of her bra, sending it to join the heap of clothes on the floor. Lowering his head, he tongued one rosy peak and then the other. He'd never considered himself a breast man, but one look at her, the perfection of the pert globes, rising and falling with her labored breaths, had him reconsidering. He worked his hand between her thighs and coaxed them apart with his fingers. Thighs were nice, and legs...even better...rumps and necks too. She was a feast laid out before him. Whoever said it was all about the presentation, had to be talking about her, because he was a starving man and he couldn't get enough.

Robbie clung to John Mark's shoulders. The muscles working beneath her fingers as she balanced on the balls of her feet with her thighs spread wide to grant him access to her entrance. The gentle probing, his fingers slicking along the deepest parts of her had her weak kneed and too wobbly to stand on her own.

Jolts of pleasure surged throughout her body and had her bucking her hips to meet his hand. His mouth stayed busy on her breasts, teasing first one and then the other until they were heavy and aching with need. She couldn't support her own weight. She was rising higher and higher, hovering painfully, so close, yet dangling with her feet off the ground. "Please," she whimpered on a moan.

It felt so good...his fingers...his mouth...But, it hurt, just hanging there, scrabbling for the moment in the wake of such torturous pleasure. "John Mark...I need...," the words died in her throat as he lifted her and worked the towel from around his hips, teasing her with the head of his length just out side her entrance, pressing and stroking, slick with her moisture, so hot and full against her sensitive nub. Robbie tried to maneuver her hips to work him inside of her. Right where she needed him the most. But, he stilled her with his hands grasping her hips and his fingers kneading the flesh of her buttocks.

She clawed at his back with her nails, trying to get her point across. He couldn't leave her like this. He couldn't! It wasn't fair that he had such self-control when she was a writhing mess. She wrapped her thighs around his hips and spurred her heels into the firm flesh of his backside, protesting his denial with her mouth on his lips, panting and begging for him to do something to quell the burning ache inside of her, to have mercy on her and end her suffering.

Damn, he liked the sound of her voice, thick and sweet as syrup, honeyed with passion. Her labored breathing flittering over his skin and her fingers clawing at his shoulders in wild desperation, her body wriggling in his arms taut with tension and pleasure had him hard and stiff, ready to burst. He lifted Robbie with one arm and worked the towel around his hips free with his fingers. Positioning his shaft at her entrance, he buried his length to the hilt with one swift stroke.

Robbie came apart in his arms, gasping and sighing, writhing in wild abandon as he pumped into her. Filling her with his length, he balanced her body weight on the edge of the counter, freeing a hand to work her nipples to quivering peaks with his palm. He ground his molars, struggling to prolong the moment of his release. The pleasure of her walls squeezing and milking his shaft was almost painful, almost too much to bear. He held back for as long as he could, pistoning and thrusting, whispering her name like the lyrics of a song he couldn't get out of his head. When the moment came, on one final deep push of his erection into her warm, soft depths, he spilled into her, his release overflowing in hot jets down her curls and inner thighs.

Robbie rested her cheek on John Mark's heaving chest. Holy crow, the kitchen had never gotten such a workout before. Who knew the one room she'd avoided for years could be so much fun? With her feet finally touching the earth and her body limp and boneless in his arms, realization hit her like a ton of bricks. The curtains! Her mom's cheerful red and white checked gingham print curtains were open and anyone could see everything. Mortified, her face heated with shame, she groaned, "The neighbors."

John Mark chuckled at Robbie's chagrin. Shielding her nudity against the shelter of his chest, he whispered into her ear, "They'd better get used to it." Hard and ready for more kitchen antics, he slid into her depths. Robbie cried out in joy. Her sighs were such a beautiful sound in his ears. Her body was putty in his hands to be molded. Wanting to spare her the worry, not that anyone was watching, linked body to body, he carried her to the bedroom and lowered her to the bed.

He drove her to the brink then gently eased her back, teasing her and coaxing her to a climax and then leaving her hanging, writhing against him in such a heated bundle of pleasure. Pumping into her, he stared down at her face, watching the expressions pass across her delicate features as she bucked beneath him.

Pride was a powerful aphrodisiac. And his ego was having a field day. Robbie's lips formed a pink O. Her cheeks blazed with blush. And her lashes fluttered over her closed eyes as she hovered on the brink. He roared with masculine pleasure when, with wild thrusts of her hips, she came for him. He did this for her. He made her feel like this. He took her apart and put her back together again. She was his, only his. And with that knowledge, that it was him that did this to her...for her...he shot his release into her, marking her as his.