Dawn Awakening

John Mark stood, frowning over Robbie. Extending his hand, he wiggled his fingers. "Gimme your cell phone." Obediently, almost robot like, she fished her phone out of her shorts pocket and slapped it into his palm. With lightening fast fingers, he pressed a series of buttons. "Here," he said, handing snapping the pink case closed and handing back to her. "I programmed my number in, just in case you change your mind or want to chat or something. You know, I'm always here for you."

Robbie nodded and shoved the phone into her pocket. Yeah, she did know that. John Mark was there for her. He had to be missing her parents every bit as much as she did. Hell, they'd practically, unofficially adopted him as a son. Too bad, her thoughts toward him didn't always run so brotherly. They ran... hell, she couldn't even think about it right now. He was hurting. Hiding it behind that goofy smile of his, that as much as his appearance had changed, always stayed the same. He was being brave for her. She should do the same for him. Maybe, when all this was over, they'd talk about it. Talk about mom and dad, laugh and remember, and cry a lot too. "Thanks."

Shyly he shrugged and gave her another smile. "You sure you don't want to go mingle with the natives?"

"Have fun," Robbie said, waving him off. She watched him awkwardly shuffle down the sidewalk. Almost as if he were as unaccustomed to his much bigger body as she was seeing him in it. His hands were shoved deep into his jeans pocket. Casting her one last smile over his shoulder as he walked away and disappeared around the corner.

Automatically, she regretted not sucking it up and going with him. At least he was trying to deal. She sat here like a lump on the stoop, dark and foreboding as a storm cloud. Unfit to be around humanity at large. He was just trying to be nice. Lend her a hand to get through this. But, she just didn't have a social bone in her body, not right now anyway.

Stretching, Robbie stood and made her way into the house. Once inside, she pulled the blinds tightly and locked the door, sitting in the dark to give the appearance that she wasn't home. Just in case someone else decided to stop by. She couldn't handle anyone right now. She admired John Mark's strength. His ability to just go through the motions till life made sense again.

Yeah, maybe that made her weak that she couldn't be more like him. Smile when she wanted to cry. Laugh instead of scream. But, she just couldn't do it. She'd never been a very good liar and she couldn't pretend that things were okay when they weren't.

The house was too quiet, the silence too dense, almost deafening. Everything reminded her of her mom and dad, the smell, the sounds, the general aura they left behind, everything reminded her of them. Pacing the room, Robbie flipped on the TV. And promptly turned it off when Wheel of Fortune flickered onto the screen. Her dad's favorite show. No, she couldn't do it. John Mark could be strong. He could knock himself out with all that strength. She just didn't have it in her.

Sinking down onto the couch, she rocked back and forth. Fisting her hair in her hands and cried. Cursed everything she'd ever believed in. And said every word she'd held back all day. Exhausted and drained, Robbie slumped back onto the cushions, clutching the pillow her dad lounged on and the throw her mom used to pull over her shoulders on cold nights, and she cried till there were no tears left. Till there was nothing left but the emptiness her parents left behind.

Chapter 9

The kitchen was filled with the heavenly aroma of simmering chicken and chocolate cake, fresh from the oven, cooling on a rack for one of Alex's mother's famous layer cakes. Her mom only pulled out the recipe for special occasions: birthdays, anniversaries, bake sales, and of course, funerals. Unable to resist temptation, guiltily, Alex ran her index finger along the rim of the bowl containing a heap of dark fudge icing and quickly jammed it into her mouth for a taste before her mom ventured in from her trip to the mailbox. "Ahh," she moaned in delight as the sweetness of the icing coated the tip of her tongue. Nothing conveyed condolences like a seven layer torte cake with fudge icing.

The funeral for the Harris' was scheduled for tomorrow. Of course, along with the rest of the townspeople, the Grays, decked out in their finest, would be there for one last goodbye. That was the way things went in small burgs. One thing you could count on. You might not see someone for a year or two, unless your paths crossed. But, when you died, everybody showed up to your funeral. Alex guessed people figured they'd better show up, in this shallow of a gene pool, the odds were pretty good that you were related to the departed, at least on some level.

Married life had been good to Alex. She lived at the lodge with Lucien and the rest of the Brothers. He'd built them a little love nest on a distant corner of the property as far from the main building as he could get and still manage to be in charge of the whole operation. Alex was busy with her scrolls, cataloging and translating the precious artifacts for hours on end, never lost with the fascination of just holding something that fragile and ancient in her fingers. And her nights...well and her days too...were filled with a healthy dose of lust and lots and lots of love.

It was hard for her to imagine life without Lucien. Although, she'd lived through twelve long years of being alone, it was hard to fathom a single day without him. He'd promised her on their wedding day, or mating ceremony, as the Sons called it, that he'd find a way to make her happy, make this work, and so far, he had.

Luckily, when the nights got too long or the days too lonely, when he was gone out on patrols in search of the rogues who had reaped so much havoc in their lives, she had her parents and naturally, her best friend, Janine, and her precious scrolls to keep her occupied till he came home and she was in his arms, again.

Alex couldn't imagine life without her parents. If one day, they were suddenly gone, ripped out of her life, the way that poor girl's parents had been. She didn't want to think about it. And so, she poured a mug of hot coffee and busied herself with thoughts of happier things. Primarily, what she planned to do to Lucien when he came home tonight.

From the guest bedroom down the hall, Alex heard Janine stir to life. The groan of the bedsprings as she got out of bed and the heaviness of her sleepy sighs. Janine was a lost soul these days. So out of her element stuck out here in the country, where life moved at such a slow pace and there wasn't much to do to occupy her time. She hung around, living out of her suitcases in the guest bedroom, trapped in relationship hell, waiting for Patrick to commit or cut her loose.

Janine had promised Patrick she'd try. And she was. With the patience of a saint and the steely will of the determined, she hung on with both hands. As lost as Janine was, Patrick was even more so, trapped by guilt he shouldn't feel, terrified of the one thing that could set him free, Janine's love. She didn't discuss much about her relationship with Patrick. Odd, considering how open she usually was. Generally speaking, Janine never held anything back. But, these days, she was closed lipped about anything having to do with Patrick.

Alex assumed Janine was sorting things out in her head. Weighing her options and carefully planning her next move. Waiting for Patrick to finally come around. And eventually, at least Alex hoped, for both his and Janine's sakes, he would.

Janine shoved her feet into her favorite purple fuzzy slippers and shook off the wave of fatigue that settled over her shoulders like a shawl. These late night hours were killing her. None of the Grays were late sleepers and usually before nine in the morning the house was bustling with activity. At least, the coffee was on. Shuffling into the kitchen for a mug of Old Joe to drive the blurriness out of her brain, she wasn't surprised to see Alex sitting at the table talking in a hushed voice to her mom.

The countertop was littered with measuring cups and baking paraphernalia, most of which she vaguely remembered from Home Economics class. Pushing a canister of flour to the side, she poured a mug of coffee and plopped into a chair. Everyone in the house knew better than to greet her before she'd had a few sips and was a bit more awake. She hated the phrase "good morning" and the most she could do was grunt in reply. It didn't take Leigh or Alexander, her overly generous hosts, too long to figure that out. Alex was her best friend and she already knew.

She felt like such a mooch, living with Alex's parents and paying nothing for her keep. Despite her impressive and very professional resume, which obviously any potential employers in this backwoods town failed to be adequately impressed by, she had yet to find a job. Her savings account was empty. Her designer checkbook was a wasteland that had not seen a deposit in weeks. Janine did what she could to help out: washed dishes when Leigh would allow it, groomed Jack, the old bay stallion, when he allowed it. And made an attempt at helping out Alexander. That hadn't worked out so well. One try at mowing the grass and Alexander, on a string of curses, vowing to shoot her in the ass with rock salt if she dared to come near the barn again, banned her from the riding lawn mower. How was she supposed to know that patch of weeds out back was a garden?

Yeah, her life was one big party these days. And Patrick sure as hell wasn't helping matters much. She supposed he was doing his best. They went out on dates. They held hands, went on long walks, and talked till their jaws were stiff. There were plenty of sweet kisses, delicate pecks on the lips filled with promises of better things to come. Whenever things got too hot and heavy, when those innocent kisses would deepen into heavy panting and roaming hands, he'd put on the brakes and go all " I'm a big, scary vampire" on her.

Ok, so he could kill her. He could accidentally hurt her if things got out of hand. If he lost control and let himself go with it, she could die. He'd practically shove her away and go off on a tirade of how she didn't understand. How she couldn't possibly comprehend what he was capable of. Blah. Blah. Blah.

Yeah, ok, it was bad for him. She got it. But, it was bad for her too. To want him as badly as she did only to be taunted by his kiss, to want to hold him with such a fierceness she trembled at the thought and only be offered his hand or a brief hug instead. To be taken to the place where she didn't care what happened next, if she could only feel his bare skin against hers, his breath hot on her cheeks, and his mouth on all the places she so longed to have it, only to be pushed away like an old pair of sweat socks when things got too hot for him to handle.

Janine did her fair share of taunting and teasing too. Wearing clothing that showed her best assets. Applying her makeup the way he liked it, light and soft with just a hint of color. Making sure not a strand of her hair was out of place so that he could muss it up with his hands. Pretending his kisses and light touches were enough, when they only served as a point of frustration for her.

And then, there was the subject of blood. His necessary evil, the thing that kept him alive, the only thing she was certain of that gave her any sway of power over him. Patrick was exclusive on that point. He drank only from her. And she was happy to do the deed. He was wrong when he compartmentalized his need for blood into nothing more than an act of sheer necessity. It was a hell of a lot more intimate than that. More intimate than sex could ever be.

The morning after, you could shove your partner out the door with a quick pat on the head and a promise to call. One you never intended to keep. Not so, not with blood. She was in Patrick, an elemental part of him. Infused into every cell of his being. And, he might resent that there'd be no quick get away when they were done and he'd taken his fill. She was with him, so much a part of him, every second of every day. Patrick wasn't one to want to need anyone for anything. On this issue, he had no choice. Her blood fed him, fueled him, and kept him sane. He needed her as much as he loathed admitting it.

Finally, Janine's caffeine fueled brain caught up with the rest of the world. Alex's mom gently iced and stacked the layers of the cake one on top of the other. Her brow creased in concentration as she worked. A bit of chocolate icing dangled in a glob from the wisp of blonde hair that had worked its way free from the tight bun at the back of her scalp. Alex sat across the table from her, eying her from over the edge of her mug with curiosity. Probably wondering exactly where her BFF's mind was this morning.

There was quiet talk amongst mother and daughter about a funeral tomorrow. Terrible thing really, an accident had killed this poor girl's parents and left her all alone in the world. Janine didn't know the girl or her parents. She couldn't even remember the girl's name. But, it was still awful. That explained the plethora of ingredients scattered across the counter. Funeral food. Not that any amount of carbs, decadent chocolate, or savory casseroles would make anything better. Around here, it was just the way things were done. Bombard the mourning with food.

She finished the remainder of her coffee with a gulp and put her empty mug in the sink. All of a sudden, her problems with Patrick and her current state of unemployment didn't seem so bad after all.

Chapter 10

The next day passed quickly, blessedly quiet and free from interruptions. Robbie was left alone to prepare herself for today. She wound her hair up tightly into a twist, absently pinning it in place. It was a good thing her fingers knew what to do without her having to think much about it. She got dressed in robot like motions, wearing the same dress she had worn to graduation. The last time she saw her parents alive.

Her trembling fingers fumbled with the buttons, pulling them through the buttonholes and smoothing down the ivory colored eyelet skirt with her palm. She was going to loose it before she even got to Reyburn's. Maybe that was better, to do her crying alone where nobody could see her. Then at the funeral, she could put on her brave face and just get through the day, till she got home, and fell apart all over again.

Robbie stood, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The sundress looked unnaturally cheerful against the grim expression on her face. Her mother's pendant stood out in stark relief against the pale ivory of the dress and her even paler skin. She grabbed her purse, stuffed with Kleenex, and prayed the waterproof mascara on her lashes lived up to its reputation.

The funeral home opened its doors at nine-thirty for family only. Robbie would be there alone for the first half hour till the funeral started promptly at ten. Thirty minutes for just her and her parents, thirty minutes to herself to mourn, to say goodbye, and to grieve not only her loss. But, the part of herself that had died with them. It wasn't much time. The rest of her life wouldn't be enough time. Sparing one final glance at the clock, she gathered up her keys and tugged on her skirt. As they said in Hollywood, the show must go on.

"You look nice," John Mark said, rising from his seat on the front stoop as he gave Robbie the once over. Staying away yesterday had been one of the hardest things he had ever done. Listening to her cry with the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to comfort her, even harder.

Irritated by the tightness of the tie around his neck, he tugged at the knot Patrick had tied like a hangman's noose with deft fingers, to loosen it. The monkey suit was a miserable thing he'd ever worn. The wool sport jacket had him cooking in the summer sun like a Thanksgiving Day turkey in a roaster oven. And the pants, itchy and hot as a sauna, chafed. The shiny leather shoes pinched his toes and squeaked when he walked. He should have known better than to let Janine pick out his clothes. Armani, whoever in the hell he was, had to be in league with the Devil to come up with this get up. At least, his preoccupation with his uncomfortable suit kept his mind off of what could only be one of the worst days of his life.

"What are you doing here?" Robbie asked in surprise at seeing John Mark on her stoop. Of course, he'd be at the funeral. When Mr. Reyburn asked about pallbearers, he was the first person who came to mind. She just hadn't expected him to be waiting for her here.

"Giving you a ride," John Mark replied. Robbie shouldn't have to go through this alone. She was doing a good job of keeping it together. Her lips forced into a thin, tight smile that came nowhere close to reaching her eyes. He could almost taste her sorrow on the air. Although, she did her best to hide it, her fingers trembled around the knot of keys in her fist. She looked so lost and so alone, like an abandoned puppy someone had dumped off along the side of the road. And, wouldn't you know, he kind of felt the same way. On this day, it wasn't about the funeral or just getting through it. It was about the two of them, holding one another up and grasping for reasons to keep on moving forward when they'd lost the two people in the world that meant the most to them.

Robbie smiled at John Mark. This time the smile wasn't forced and practiced, but genuine. He looked as uncomfortable being all dressed up as she was. Where he got the bucks to pay for an Armani suit, she'd never guess. But even with him tugging at the tie as if it were a torture device, he pulled off the look nicely. "I was planning to drive myself."

"Consider that plan nixed." John Mark took the keys out of her hand and dropped them into this pocket. Gently, he took Robbie's arm. Mindful of the way she tottered on the heels of her sandals beside him, and guided her to a highly waxed and polished sedan. "I've got friends in high places," he explained the car's extravagance away lightly, opening the passenger door for her. Sighing a sigh of surrender, curiosity in her eyes overridden by the dread of what came next, she climbed in and buckled her seatbelt.

Once they arrived at Reyburn's, John Mark took Robbie lightly by the arm and guided her into the viewing room. Rows of empty chairs placed in an orderly fashion lined each side of an aisle, down which they walked. Soft music played through the overhead speakers. The dim lights and pastel draperies, and the little touches of home scattered about, old snapshots and photo albums, mementos, like her mom's bridal bouquet and her dad's old ball cap, did nothing, absolutely nothing to soften the blow.

Robbie stopped mid stride, dragging her heels against the firmness of John Mark's hand at the small of her back, gently pushing her forward. "John Mark, I can't... I can't do this." Tears rolled down her cheeks and her whole body trembled with the force of her sobs. Her hands and feet tingled numbly. And she struggled to take in breaths against the imaginary band constricting her throat. Her knees weakened and wobbled beneath her weight. And her feet refused to move those last few steps to the twin oak coffins and the bodies of her parents as cold and dead as the grave inside.

The nauseating sweet smell of chrysanthemums assaulted her nose. Their stench, one she always associated with death, caused her stomach to churn and bile to rise in her throat. John Mark half carried her to a chair and parked her on its hard seat. He crouched in front of her, gently cupping her face in his large hands, whispering words of reassurance meant to calm her as she sobbed. Her fat, wet, tears soaked his fingers and dripped off her chin.