Dawn Revealed

Lamia drank deeply. Subduing Roark with the intensity of her kiss. His weight rested limply against her. His blood added to her strength and her hunger. Roark grappled to fight against her. But, she easily overpowered him. She'd almost taken too much. She wanted his body pliant, weak, and helpless for what she had planned next. The ultimate humiliation and betrayal of his mind was a splendid game. Forcing him onto his back, she worked his cock hard, extracting a whimper of dread and heady need from his throat. Oh yes, he was exactly as she wanted him, desperate, agonized, hard, and so eager to please and ever reluctant to do so. Binding him with invisible chain, she straddled his erection and impaled her core on his stiff shaft. Laughing in satisfaction at the embittered cry of passion from his lips.

Roark swallowed back a cry of desperate need and self-hatred as Lamia rode him. Working him to desperation within her core. He strained at the chains binding him. Growling as they bit into his flesh and their hold on him tightened. His groin pulsed and tightened. She kept him teetering, panting like a whore on top of him as she bucked her hips and ground her wet heat against him. He grappled for control and found he had none. He couldn't force himself to orgasm and end it. He could only wait for her to reach her peak and offer him the release his body reluctantly begged for. He had to...he didn't want to...he...he...he...his body would betray him and he'd relish it, revel in the relief of coming for her pleasure.

Lamia raked her razor sharp nails down Roark's chest. Shredding the skin and cutting deeply into the straining muscle beneath. Blood coated her hands. And as she rode him, teasing with swivels of her hips and deep thrusts of her body, she lapped at her fingers with the tip of her tongue savoring the flavor of him. Roark was splendid, a worthy lover who matched her appetite for dominance with his reluctant surrender. His cock pulsed inside of her. His jaw clenched and his breathing was but a shudder in his chest. His lips mouthed words without any sound. His fingers curled into fists around the manacles forcing his complacency.

A tear escaped from beneath the trap of Roark's lashes. He'd gone deep within himself to preserve what was left of his sanity. The pleasure was more unbearable than the pain she'd inflicted on him. Her tight core slicked up and down his shaft. Working him into an unbearable frenzy of sensation and instinctive need. Her urgings, her commands, and his body's desire to fulfill them overwhelmed him. His muscles rigid, he bucked his hips and spilled into her. Coming as she commanded, for her. Writhing in pleasure, he'd never hated a living being more than he hated himself at this moment. She had broken him completely and left him a quivering mass of doubt and bloody, bruised flesh.

Lamia cried out in delight. Finally, after all the lonely waiting, she'd found her soul mate. Gasping and shuddering, she burst into small pieces as the orgasm ripped through her body. Roark lay perfectly still beneath her, gasping and agonized by the shame of his surrender. He was beautiful, a perfect match. Decadent in his reluctant submission. Oh, yes, he had consented. But, he'd failed to negotiate his terms. And in that tiny error in judgment, he'd made his greatest mistake.

His cock spent and of no use to her. She placed a bloody kiss on his lips and sent him back where he belonged. After all, she knew where to find him whenever she wanted him. And for him, death was no escape.

Roark's awareness, soul, or whatever remained of it after his time with Lamia, snapped into his body. He gasped, clutching at his throat. His clothing hung in tatters and agony ripped through his limbs. Blood and other things, matted and sticky, coated his skin. His taste, the taste of his blood was thick on his tongue. Heaving in disgust, he forced his weight onto his hands and knees. Her scent, trapped in his nostrils as a bitter reminder, mocked him. His ears filled with the deep rumble of mocking masculine laughter.

"I see you enjoyed your time with my sister," Samael said. Roark had definitely had, as this time period called it 'better days'. Actually, the man had gotten off fairly easily considering his sister's unusual appetites. He'd watched her pour out abuse on Roark's body. Impressed when she didn't in a fit of zealous lust, kill their key to this world. Roark was too corporeal to transcend from one world to the next. There were others who could. But, not Roark. Roark's hunger for revenge held his body earthbound. Otherwise, Samael wouldn't have had to baby sit at all. No matter. Few immortals could pull it off. Without Roark, his sister and he certainly could not.

Samael intended to keep a close eye on Roark. This time, his sister hadn't killed the piteous excuse for a man. The next time, he might not get so lucky. Battered as he had been. His psyche practically turned inside out by her adoration, Roark glared at him. Grinding his teeth to hold back his retort. Samael was going to have to step up his game. His sister had her new playmate. Which was a relief. But, he doubted Roark had the mental or physical strength to endure her for long. The man was such a tool. And soon, Samael would make use of him. He would extract his payment before his sister finished Roark off. With a low bow, Samael called on his power and disappeared into a shimmering shadow of darkness, leaving Roark to lick his wounds.

Roark pushed himself to his feet. Palming a dagger he killed a curious minion that had wandered too close. Throwing the dead weight off of him onto the ground. He ordered his men to clean up the mess. His soldiers snapped to it, smartly averting their eyes from his injuries. That was more like it and the display of power made him feel better. Here he was in control. It was his party and he called the steps to the dance. Samael and Lamia needed him. Otherwise, he had no doubt. She would have loved him to death. Somehow, he was the key. Through him they had access to this world. A little fact, he decided was best kept to himself. As soon as he won this war, even if he had to keep the Great Father alive long enough to do it. He was killing the both of them.

Chapter 36

The mood at the compound was somber. As much as the Sons clung to their beliefs that death was the natural and expected conclusion to a life. And that a person's memory ought to be celebrated, not mourned. The brothers were having difficulty living up to their philosophy. Kayla too, was in a mood. She'd slept all day. Her internal clock gradually adjusting to life at the compound, she supposed. Yawning, she shuffled to the kitchen to lay claim to the coffeepot before Janine beat her to it. Or worse, Anna made a pot of that god awful French roast. Anna was a vampire. What the hell did she know about coffee anyway?

Kayla had insisted in sleeping in her own room. Not because she cared what people thought but because she needed alone time. And she guessed, Bryce might too. The night had taken a lot out of them both. And although she couldn't speak for him, she was desperate for some time to herself to think things through.

Guessing by the thickness and black color of the liquid in the pot, the coffee was hours old. Kayla could care less. She needed the caffeine. She grabbed a mug from the cabinet and emptied the pot, filling the mug to the rim. Fresh coffee would hit the spot, after she woke up enough to make it. Gulping the strange contents of her mug, eager for a little chemically induced enthusiasm to spread through her veins, she forced the mouthful down. The stuff was bitter and horrid, almost chewable. She shuddered in revulsion and rinsed her mug in the sink. Anna's version of coffee, the French roast she insisted was a treat, would have been better than the stuff she'd just ingested. But, not by much.

Kayla bypassed the fridge. Although she couldn't remember exactly when she'd eaten last, she couldn't muster up an appetite. She was certain Anna had a plethora of neatly labeled plastic containers on the shelves and stacked in the freezer. Kayla had never seen a vampire that could stomach the scent of human food, let alone prepare meals.

One could guess Anna's moods by her cooking. When she was pissed about something. They, and by they Kayla meant Janine and herself, the only humans living at the compound, got garlic chicken. Nothing kept the vampires out of her kitchen and ensured her hours of undisturbed thought like garlic. When she was in a good mood, they ate something fresh from the stovetop instead of plucking out a prepared meal from the freezer. And when she was depressed, they ate comfort food: mashed potatoes, gravy, meat loaf, homemade breads, and the like. Sometimes, when Anna wasn't in any particular mood, she surprised them with takeout.

Today, she didn't need a hint to guess Anna's mood. Cakes and pies, plates piled high with cookies of every imaginable kind, lined the countertops. Curiously, Kayla opened the fridge and peeked inside. Wrapped casserole dishes were stacked on the shelves. Not comfort food...funeral food. Anna must have spent all day in the kitchen. Everyone had their means of handling hard emotions. Cooking must be Anna's. Which, in a bizarre twisted way, was morbidly funny, considering Anna couldn't eat a bite.

Wanting to avoid any human or non-human contact, Kayla power walked it back to her room. The last thing she wanted was for Anna to catch her snooping in the kitchen. Kayla was human and therefore needed food. But, she didn't want to gain ten pounds to console Anna. And, for some reason beyond her comprehension, she hated casseroles. They were gooey, always cold in the middle, and no matter what was in them, every dish tasted exactly the same.

"Cotton granny panties?" Angel said as she lounged on Kayla's bed and held up a pair of white cotton underwear she'd gotten from the dresser. "Really Kayla, now that you've landed a man. You need to spice it up a little."

Kayla glared at Angel. So much for avoiding contact with all persons preternatural, she thought rolling her eyes. Angel must have snuck in while she was choking down the coffee. On a snort, Angel tossed the underwear back in the drawer and pulled out a no-frills cotton bra, suspending it by the strap by her fingertip as she pinned her with a mocking raised eyebrow. Yeah, she'd changed a lot since they'd shared a living space under Roark's roof. She'd grown up. Which was more than she could say for Angel.

The woman had traded in her pink tipped spikes for deep purple, dyed stripes gelled down flat to her scalp and an all over dusting of gold glitter. It wasn't much of an improvement. At least Angel didn't have much skin showing. But her outfit, dressed in monochrome black from neck to toe in jeans and a matching turtleneck, was no less bizarre than the leather corsets and fishnet hose that Kayla had grown accustomed to seeing her wear. "Hey! Get out of my drawers!"

"Honey," Angel said, dropping the tasteless bra onto the dresser. "I wouldn't be caught dead in your drawers." Casually, she flopped onto the small loveseat across the room and crossed her legs. Picking invisible lint off the leg of her jeans, she glanced up at Kayla. "So, how's life?"

Kayla groaned and rubbed at her temples. The stout coffee was doing little to improve her bad mood. Which, thanks to her unexpected visitor was only getting worse. "Fine," she answered begrudgingly. Choosing to sit on the rumpled bed instead of beside Angel, she propped a pillow behind her back. Pretending to play mute, she hoped Angel would get the hint and leave.

Angel gritted her teeth. Ok, she deserved the silent treatment for the way she'd behaved. And everyone at the compound was in a depressed funk. She felt just as badly for them as the next person. But, she could not let it stand in the way of doing what she'd come here to do. She just wasn't very good at apologizing. "Look, I stopped by because I wanted to say I was sorry. I was really a jerk. And I shouldn't have barged in on you and Bryce like that. I was just being stupid I guess. Can you forgive me?"

Angel cast her best pleading look at Kayla, hoping to soften her and extract forgiveness. "I really am sorry."

Kayla smiled and nodded. "As long as you quit making fun of my underwear, consider yourself forgiven. You may have behaved like a maniac. Which, for you, isn't really that much of a stretch. But, I know you were just looking out for me. Things are different here. I'm different here." She hopped off the bed and ushered Angel to the door. "Now if you don't mind. I need a shower. Bryce will be stopping by soon."

"Bryce. I still can't believe it. It happened pretty fast didn't it?" Angel was pretending to act incredibly dumb and obtuse. An act only Kayla had mastered the art of. Completely ignoring the fact that Kayla was throwing her out, she made herself at home, sinking onto the bed and propping her boots against the ornately carved mahogany post. She needed answers. And Kayla was the only one who had them. Life didn't come with an instruction booklet. Damn shame, that. She needed to know how to move on. How Kayla had managed it.

"Sometimes love does," Kayla answered shrugging. Conceding to the fact that Angel wasn't going anywhere. And not even holy water and a cross would get the woman out of her bed or her room. Kayla sat on the bed next to Angel and tucked her toes under the covers.

"Are you sure it is love?" Angel smiled bitterly. She lifted her upper lip showing the tips of her fangs. "I hope you're a better judge of character than I was. I thought Roark was master of the universe. And you see where that got me."

"It wasn't your fault, Angel. It was hard being in the situation that we were in. Roark lured us in. Expensive clothes and houses, fast cars, and money, and let's not forget how charming Roark could be when the mood suited him. Who could resist him? He was...well, he was beautiful," she admitted with a heavy shrug. He was... everything...at first," Kayla said.

She lifted her eyes to meet Angel's. "I was on the streets, starving, doing things...and then he came along. I thought he was the answer to my prayers. He fed me. Cleaned me up. Gave me a place to stay. And at first, he asked for so little in return. Some small show of affection, you know, a peck on the cheek or maybe, a hug. Of course, when he asked for more, I accepted. By that time, I was so enthralled by him. The invitation into his bed seemed only natural. Who wouldn't do the same in my shoes? It was such a simple thing to do. Easy. Until it wasn't anymore. It wasn't till later, when I began to understand what he was. And I'm not talking about the fangs."

Kayla reached for her pink bear. Her first and only gift from Roark and clutched it to her chest. Rubbing her cheek over his soft fur, she held Angel's gaze. "I'm only sorry, I didn't warn you. I dragged you into that life. I did what I had to do. He would have killed me otherwise." Kayla rolled onto her side away from Angel and buried her face into the bear's fuzzy belly.

Angel curled her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. "He would have killed you anyway. And if it hadn't been me, it would have been someone else, some other girl. There was always some other girl." Idly, she drummed her nails on her shin. "Hard to believe, but, I guess something worse could have happened to me. I'm just lucky like that."

Kayla stretched out her arm and wrapped her fingers around Angel's wrist. Squeezing gently to still Angel's restless fingers. Kayla lifted her face from the bear's soft tummy and found Angel's eyes, locking their gazes. "I tried to save you...you know. I know better than anyone what he did to you. And none of it, none of this, was your fault." She released her grip and sat up on the bed. Somehow, Mr. Smiley didn't comfort her. She'd out grown him and left him behind with the awfulness of her past. Gently, she pried Angel's hands open and slid the bear into her grip. "We are the lucky ones. We survived."

Angel scoffed and slid her hand away. The pink bear, the symbol of Kayla's freedom, tumbled from her fingers. Smiling stupidly up at her with his red yarn mouth and shiny black button eyes in silent mocking. "Should we have?"

"Yes, I believe we were meant to. This was supposed to happen," Kayla said with conviction. She had no doubts that she was meant to end up on the brotherhood's doorstep. That she was meant to find Bryce and they were destined to fall in love. Angel's purpose for being here, Kayla had yet to figure it out. But, for whatever reason, Angel was a part of this.

"Why?" Angel asked. "Why us?" They'd both seen body after body carted out. Or terrified young girl after young girl, not quite up to Roark's standards, herded to the rogues to be used for their pleasure. It could have easily been either one of them. But, it wasn't. Part of her question was out of guilt. Part was the fury of her rage still burning within her. And part was simply out of morbid fascination. Kayla seemed so secure here, so certain about Bryce and her place in his life. She vowed she hadn't forgotten. But how could she be so damned sure about anything?

"Sometimes, you have to skip the questions that there aren't answers for and move on." Kayla slid from the bed and placed Mr. Smiley back on his shelf. Angel wasn't quite ready for him yet. She was too busy damning herself for surviving to accept even the slightest measure of comfort a simple stuffed toy could bring. "It was bad. It happened. And where we go from here," she said, turning to face Angel. "For once, it is up to us. We decide. And I'm not going to base my choices for my future on my past. I want something good for myself. Angel, I deserve it. And so do you.

"What you did for the Great Father...As bad as things were, and before you ask, I've kept our secrets and so has Keene. Nobody knows what really happened but us. And we'll keep it that way. Keene wants to move out of his past as badly as I do. As you do. Angel, you still have compassion. You've proven it over and over again. You are not bad. You think you are. But, you're not. And maybe, that's why you're here, not to prove it to anybody else. Everyone already sees it. But, to prove it to yourself."

"I hope you get what you deserve," Angel said. She didn't mean the statement as spitefully as it had sounded. In her head the words made sense. Spoken, they came out as damning and hurtful. "That's not how I meant it," she mumbled. Kayla had a fire, conviction and an inner strength that Angel did not. For Kayla the nightmares were over and she'd found peace. Made something worthwhile out of the ashes of her past. And Angel really did want good things for Kayla. They were...she stared at Kayla in amazement and realization. They were friends.

Angel swallowed back a bitter knot of jealousy and slid from the bed. She walked across the room and toyed with the stuffed pink bear tucked away on the shelf above the dresser. Closeness wasn't something she was used to. And in so many ways it terrified her. She understood Roark. The rules were pretty simple. But, friends? She had no idea of how to be a friend.

"I know what you meant," Kayla said. She watched Angel pace across the room with catlike grace. For Angel, the storm still raged. The past wasn't her past and it threatened to consume her. Kayla sensed Angel's inner conflict. Until Angel could let go, she'd spend her life, and it was bound to be a very long one, in constant turmoil. She got up from the bed and moved toward the dresser. Pulling Mr. Smiley from the shelf, she slid him into Angel's hands.

"Why don't you let him keep you company for a while. He's been a good friend to me. And I think he'd be a good friend to you too. I promise, he won't bite. He never fails to keep a secret. And he's an excellent listener," Kayla said.