Dawn Reclaimed

Michael was their newest recruit to join the city beat. And while he was a good enough tracker and a halfway decent fighter, he lacked Lance and Bryce's particular flare. The vampire was all work and no play. Took himself too seriously. And he would have made a better Guardian than a brother, for all the grim seriousness he dedicated to the job. He was stationed here permanently. And for a man so at odds with the city, Sam had to wonder exactly what he'd done to piss off Dane and end up here.

Will and Chance were here on loan from the compound. But, Candace and Alex were getting a little testy about not having them home sooner. Keene and Patrick had arrived to replace them. And as soon as they got a handle on the patrol routes, Will and Chance were officially on their way back home. Home had a nice ring to it. Sam was trying to make the best of it. As for the hunting, the zoo kept her fed. But, caged animals didn't present much of a challenge. Rats however, were fun to chase. But, damn did they taste terrible. She had to do something though to keep her skills honed razor sharp.

Oh, there was plenty of violence. They did what they could to take a bite out of crime and still stick to the shadows. But, human on human violence was a human matter. And she'd had to cling to Marcus like saran-wrap to keep him from interfering. Dane would have his ass if he knew how many times or exactly how literally Marcus took the bite out of crime thing. A dazed and pint low criminal didn't exactly run from the police or put up much of a fight.

Despite her husband's insistent reassurance that she didn't need to tag along, she had. It wasn't that Marcus didn't think she could handle herself. She'd already proven that time and time again. He patrolled this part of town for a reason. Because it reminded him of who he had been, before. And it was that ugliness he wanted to protect her from. Sam knew the man she was in love with. The man she'd given her heart to in secret. And she needed no protection from the darker parts of him. There was too much light overshadowing the darkness. Yes, he'd done desperate things in a desperate time. And it was the weight of those things she wanted to protect him from.

Sam really didn't care what the brothers thought of her. They dismissed her as too small to do the job, too young, and too innocent. Underestimation was her biggest weapon. She'd seen evil, true evil. And evil had a name. Roark. She'd passed the trials and earned her place among them. She was a warrior. Ready for action. And she had nothing to prove to anybody. Maybe, it was naïve of her to think. But, good always triumphed over evil. The brothers had kicked Roark's ass and sent him straight to hell where he belonged.

Her heart kicked up a beat as Marcus and she followed their noses to a dark and deserted parking lot. The strip mall it bordered was anything but cheery. Blank, dark windows with gates pulled tightly across the storefronts and that empty feeling that came with slow urban decay. They stayed to the shadows. Their palms rested on the hilts of their weapons, ready to fight as they tracked the scent of so much blood to its origin. Beside her Marcus was tense, his fingers flexing. Sam swallowed hard and exchanged a glance with him. The place was too empty, too quiet. There was nothing, not even a heartbeat. Nothing but the lingering scent of death and blood bled out on the pavement mocking them.

The van rolled into the gas station and parked at the far end, away from the view of the few patrons crazy or desperate enough to brave this part of the city after dark. The man pulled his ball cap low over his eyes and slid on his best disguise, that of nobody. He popped the hood and meandered out of the vehicle. Holding a flashlight, the narrow beam cutting a slice through the darkness, he pretended to study the engine. The van was in perfect working order. He fiddled with a few cables and scratched his head. Walking like he had no idea why the van wouldn't start. But, of course with a loose battery cable, it wouldn't. He climbed behind the wheel and cranked the key. Nothing. He dialed his cell phone and pretended to call for help. The automated voice on the other end of the line didn't seem to care that his van wouldn't start. But, from his vantage point, parked facing the parking lot across the street. He had the perfect view.

He saw them. Shadows moving so quickly, dark shadows almost blending in imperceptibly with the black parking lot. Two of them, one had to be a male. Not large, medium build, not his type. Nice for practice though. The man's lips spread into a thin smile, making him look like a lunatic instead of a guy with engine trouble. A female. She was very small, her petite shadow very fragile looking. He could definitely do her, alive or dead. What luck. The head count was now up to three sightings. He couldn't help but wonder how many more were out there. If he were to expose them for what they were, the city might pin a medal on his chest. But, he had no intention of giving the game away. This was his most exciting hunt yet.

"Shit!" Marcus hissed. The girl's hazel eyes stared up at him blankly. He knelt in the bed of the truck. Feeling for a pulse he knew he wouldn't find. They were too late. Her cooling skin had a waxy texture to it, mottled and rubbery beneath his fingertips. He'd seen death before. Way too much of it. There was no way to bring her back. She'd been gone too long. Her soul bound for wherever it was souls went. Heaven, he hoped. Surely, she'd already been through hell on her last few minutes on earth. Whoever had done this to her had been quick about it. At least there was that. The girl, in the prime of her life, somewhere around twenty had been hobbled at the ankles, her tendons cut cleanly and meticulously. Her throat bore a clean line, practically from ear to ear, precise as an incision line, deep and to the bone. He lifted his hand. His fingers came away tacky with the congealing blood coating her skin. Whoever had done this, knew what he was doing. And her death had been one of intent. Disgusted, he turned away.

"There's blood everywhere," Sam gasped. Crouching low to the ground, the toes of her black boots stopped at the edge of a thick, tacky, inky puddle of cold, dead blood congealing by the driver's side door. A trail of dots and splatters of dried blood decorated the side of the truck, straight to the girl's lifeless body in the bed. Blood was blood. Dead or not, smelling of rot and decay, her body still reacted to the scent. Sam shook, her hands quivering as she shook of the urge to sink her fangs into something warm and alive. "Who was she?"

Marcus lifted the girl's lifeless arm and read the gold ID bracelet affixed to her left wrist. "Theresa. Her name was Theresa," he grated. Knowing her name really didn't help. In fact, it made it worse to put a name with a face. Rogues didn't kill because of some perverse drive, as the brothers believed. They killed because it was easier. Simpler not to know anything about the life you'd stolen. Sam would never understand that. He would never allow it. Her hands were clean and free from the stain of blood. His...were not.

This was not the work of any rogue. Rogues were too smart for this. And the kill simply wasn't their style. Too much blood left behind. The body would have been hidden and not left out on display in the open. A rogue kill would have at least been comprehensible. What had been done to this girl served no purpose. She'd died, Marcus suspected, because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was just an unfortunate victim in a city full of them.

He carefully positioned her arm at her side, showing her at least some respect in death and reached for his cell phone. The brothers were visitors here, deep in the heart of Guardian territory. Calling Carter first was a breech of protocol. But, this was Carter's turf. And protocol versus territory was easy to figure out.

"Carter, we found a dead girl just like the last." Marcus kept his voice even, the timber cool and distant. Removed from what he saw in front of him. As if the sight of her and the scent of death and blood didn't faze him. It did. The predator within him wanted to rend flesh from bone, rip, tear, consume, and kill. Marcus kept his fangs in check and that darker part of him on a tight leash. He'd had his fill of death a long time ago. And it was not a place he ever wanted to go again.

Sharing his headspace with a donor who didn't mind was the better option. He was not a killer. Even when he'd had to kill to prove his place in the ranks, he'd been quick and merciful about it. He'd rationalized it was better him doing the killing than the bitch psychopath Kore or her nut job brother Kiros. They tended to play games and drag it out. Savor the terror of their victims. And he'd had no problem rationalizing the deaths he dealt as an act of kindness. He'd just been grateful at the time that it wasn't his neck beneath their fangs.

Oh, it had been. Make no mistake about that. Kore had been the one to birth him into this nightmare of an unlife. And every time the brothers sent another sociopath, vampire to hell. It was a small victory. Just his way of flipping the bitch, probably watching him from the pits of hell and waiting for him to join her, the bird. Marcus felt a pang of sympathy for the girl and also breathed a sigh of relief. He knew all about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. One cigarette had changed his life or rather, his death. He gently slid the girl's eyelids closed, lowering them over her lifeless eyes, like blinds over a window to shut out the night. She didn't know. Would never know. And most likely would not share his opinion. There were worse things than death.

"In the bed of a pickup with her throat cut," he said. Marcus didn't give a location. He didn't have to. The tracker in the heel of his right boot would take care of that. He ended the call and gave Theresa one last disparaging look. Silently, he dropped over the rusty rear quarter panel of the truck and looked at Sam. Wishing she'd just listen to him once in a while and stay home. Her sheltered upbringing with the Sons as their human ward didn't prepare her for the worst humanity had to offer. Rogues were brutal and cruel. But humans, how they could do the things they did to one another, and why defied explanation. At least with a rogue the motives were pretty much apparent. Sam thought she was tough and she was. But, instinctively he wanted to shield that inner part of her that was pure and untainted. And it was that light inside of her he was determined to protect. "Carter is on his way."

Marcus and Sam scoured the area. But there were no clues. No distinct scent to follow but rather a myriad of traces of humanity. Exhaust, burned oil, sweat, filth, blood, all mixed together in a noxious perfume that clouded the night like a bleak, black, shroud of death. Sam found the girl's purse. Abandoned by the front tire. The contents spilled across the pavement. She riffled through the faux, leather wallet and pulled out a driver's license. "Theresa Jackson," she said, reading the name on the license. "I am sorry. So sorry."

She scooped up the loose change, a tube of lipstick, and the remnants of Theresa's ruined life, stuffing them inside of the purse. Objectivity and cool removal from the death of an innocent was hard, perhaps the hardest thing she'd ever had to pretend. She tucked the license back into the plastic holder and snapped the wallet shut. Theresa had ten dollars and a handful of change to her name and not much else. A human's life had ended, not because of the vampires. Sam could have handled that. She'd been preparing for it her whole life. Training to defend humanity against a darker fiend.

The law, the only law the brotherhood enforced. Forbade her from taking human life. And it sickened her that the human responsible for this was going to be turned over to the human version of justice. The brotherhood's version was swift and final. But, the human was not subject to it. Oh, they'd track the killer. They'd find him. Arrange it so that the evidence pointed to him and he was convicted. But, it'd be years, if not longer, if ever, that the human version of justice was served. This killer would get to live while the ones with the misfortune to get caught in the crosshairs died. It wasn't fair. It was a weak, watered down version of vengeance. But, Sam had no other choice. If she found the killer before anybody else and carried out the sentence. It'd be her that would see justice at the end of a blade. Her head.

Carter could smell the death and blood from two blocks away. His sense of smell led him to a dumpster behind a decaying office building. Smart. Efficient. Planned. This killer wanted to get caught. He lifted the rumpled wad of blood-stained clothing to his nose and inhaled the pungent scent of sweat, the rotting meat smell of dead blood, and the sweet, cloying essence of death. He could smell the girl's blood, matching the scent thick in the air. The clues left for him to track couldn't be any clearer. One drop, smeared on the sleeve of a t-shirt. The clothing was non-descript, a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. And the clue as precise as if the killer had a neon sign hanging over his head pointing the way.

This was a dangerous game the killer played. Toying with a vampire was never a wise thing. Tipping your hand to let them know exactly what ace you held was suicidal. The killer knew what they were. The single drop of blood, type O positive, on the sleeve was all the proof Carter needed. He shared a glance, knowing and confirming, with Keene. Keene was a brother. But, he was also as bent on justice as Carter. This was Guardian territory. Their ways. Their laws. The brotherhood was simply lending a hand.

The Guardians made the rules for their city. And the brothers could not intervene without risking a war. And war was something neither side wanted. To Carter, a killer was a killer and they all shared the same fate, human or not. Keene understood that and most likely, warrior or not, agreed. Without a word, Keene would stand back and let the Guardians do their job. And this human male, the one responsible for the death of an innocent, would be brought to swift and final justice. Carter tore the sleeve off the t-shirt and folded it into a neat square, tucking it into the pocket of his jacket.

Keene reached into the dumpster and pulled what remained of the t-shirt free from a pile of rotting garbage. He inhaled the combined scents embedded into the cloth and with a nod at Carter dropped the t-shirt into the heap. The brothers were here as support and backup. Justice was the Guardians to serve. If the brotherhood found the killer first, the case would go to the human courts to sort out. But, if the Guardians found him first, there wouldn't be enough left of the killer to mop up with a sponge. He'd delivered too many deaths like that himself. Rarely would he agree that death was the answer. He didn't stomach killing or killers. And on this one thing, he shielded his thoughts from the brothers. He'd never hamper an investigation. But, he didn't have to move as quickly on it as the Guardians would either. He could pretend to be a little confused, a little unsure of the trail. Stand back and let Carter and his men do as he had trained them to do.

They didn't need the blip on the screen of their cell phones to lead them to the murder scene. As handy as the tracking devices Toby had implanted in the heels of their boots were. The smell of death was enough to aid them in finding their way. Keene jumped into the back of the truck and took a look at the dead girl. Disgust rumpled his features. Such a waste. The girl might not have been much in the terms that humans used to judge one another. But, her life had been precious and she'd mattered even in some small way to someone. Oh, yes, justice would be served. And it wouldn't be at the hands of any human courts of law. The killer had killed as efficiently and brutally as any rogue. And human or not, he'd be dealt with as a rogue. The Great Father might not agree. But, luckily since the murder happened on Guardian territory, he didn't have to. The murder was a Guardian issue and let the Guardians have at it.

Carter could do nothing to help the girl except bring her killer to justice. And he would. He was more concerned for Sam. She crouched on the pavement, fingering the dead girl's purse. Mourning the life lost. She was shaken and pale. Not used to seeing death so up close and personal. He could sense her need for vengeance rippling through the tension in her body. She was a danger to herself. The brothers would kill her for taking out her revenge on the human responsible. And that was something he could not allow to happen. He already had enough blood on his hands without adding hers and Marcus's to it. He didn't know Marcus well. But, he knew Marcus would die to defend the woman he loved, even if it meant fighting the whole damn brotherhood to do it.

Apparently, not all the brothers bought the entire philosophy for the simplistic nature of what it was. Sam and Marcus, and Keene didn't. They wanted the killer brought to justice. They wouldn't stand in the Guardians' way. But, the less they knew about what the Guardians actually did to dispatch justice. The better it was for both sides. Keene could keep a secret, so could Marcus. Sam, even though she agreed with the form of justice Carter had in mind, would fold under the pressure. "Sam, why don't you have Marcus take you home. Keene and I will take it from here."

Sam nodded and allowed Carter to ease her onto her feet. That she'd gotten so shook up embarrassed her. She was supposed to be better than this, tougher. The expression on Carter's face said it all. He empathized with her. He understood. He didn't judge. But, the hard set of his mouth promised he'd take care of business. It was better if she didn't know. Then she wouldn't have to lie if the Great Father asked. "I memorized the address for you."

"Good girl." Carter nodded and cast a glance over her shoulder at Marcus. They understood each other clearly. The best thing for both sides was to get Sam out of here. "Take her home." He'd take a peek at the girl's driver's license and memorize the address just in case. But, the address, this night, was one that Sam wasn't likely to ever forget.

Marcus nodded and steered Sam away from the truck by the shoulders. She'd seen enough. She had nothing to prove to anybody. Death should sicken a person. And that it didn't seem to faze anyone but her spoke volumes as to how much death they'd seen and she had not. They were the ones who handled it poorly, not her. They were too removed, too unaffected, and too eager to kill to see justice done. "Sun will be up soon," he said, leading her away.

Sam nodded and stared at the dried blood on her hands. She didn't think no matter how many times she washed them she'd ever get the stain or the smell off her skin. Using the excuse that dawn was coming was as good as any. They didn't want her here and it was not because she was weak. They knew she was exactly like them. And she would kill to see justice done. And it was herself they were protecting her from.

The man twitched excitedly. Four vampires. His mind raced, planning a strategy. The one in the truck bed was a big son of a bitch, thick and stocky beneath a dark jacket. Long hair trailed down his back, hanging in deceptively curly, girly looking ponytail. The man would have to save him for last. Make sure his strength was up for the kill. Make sure his plan would work. The big bastard would be the pinnacle by which his success was measured. For starters, maybe the ordinary looking male or the tiny female. The blond male was almost as intimidating as the male crouching in the bed of the truck. Too much to risk. Indecision might cost him. He needed more time, more death to take the edge off and lure them in. He had to study his prey, a little bit longer.