Dawn Revealed

Angel ran her palm over the bear's fuzzy, pink head. She wasn't so sure about confessing her secrets to a stuffed bear. But, she gently tucked him under her arm. Her supply of friends had grown exponentially. She'd gone from zero to two in less than ten minutes. "I think I've already got a friend," she said. The stuffed bear was the first gift she'd ever received that had been given without something expected in return. Kayla would have given it whether Angel accepted her offer of friendship or not. "Thank you."

Kayla shut the door behind Angel and turned the lock. She didn't know if she'd done Angel any good or not. Maybe, what she'd failed to accomplish Mr. Smiley would. He had a way with people.

She had a feeling Angel had retreated out of a sense of self-preservation. It would have been a tear-jerker, girly hug minute, if she'd stayed. And even though a real person existed under the purple hair dye, black clothing, and gruff, 'to hell with you' scowl always marring her expression; emotional entanglements so weren't Angel's style. Confident that the two of them had buried the hatchet for once and for all, Kayla hurriedly showered and dressed. Bryce would be stopping by any minute. And she couldn't wait to see him.

Angel nestled Mr. Smiley onto the mass of pillows on her bed. He was the only personal possession she owned. Just him and the angel wind chime Lance had bought for her. She ran her finger over the chimes, listening to the musical sound they made. The angel glittered from her perch and swung as the chimes tinkled. She peeled off her boots and her jeans. Tugging her black turtleneck over her head. She showered and shampooed out the purple dye. It swirled down the drain in a stream of grape colored water.

Clean and towel dried, Angel found the sundress she'd tucked into the back of the closet. The fabric was expensive, soft against her fingertips. The warm, bright pink shade complemented her darker skin tone and brown eyes. She couldn't remember ever voluntarily wearing pink in her life.

The sandals Lance had bought, insisting he was loaning her the money and charging her interest, compounded daily, fit her perfectly. She walked across the room. Her feet made whispering sounds against the thick nap of the carpet. Shocked, she studied her reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror on the closet door. Mockingly flouncing and fluffing the skirt, she stared at this new version of herself. "Who in the hell are you?" she growled in accusation.

She looked, well except for the scowl etched onto her expression. She looked like a picture perfect image of somebody carefree and happy, somebody without the past she'd had and the internal scars marring her soul, somebody...normal. The stranger blinked at her, a sarcastic smile cut across her face. Curling her lips, she flashed her fangs at the stupid bitch standing so prettily in the mirror's reflection and tore at the dress.

She'd never be that woman. Ever. The dress in tatters and the mirror shattered by the sandal she'd flung in disgust at her other self, she pulled on her black clothing and boots. Donning her persona of pure 'don't fuck with me' attitude stormed out of her room. The past howled like a demon in her heart. Like a hollow wind freezing her soul in a state of suspended animation. The compound wasn't big enough to contain her. Pinned up. Confined like an animal she paced down the halls. She had to get out before she suffocated.

Chapter 37

Roark ran the soap over his body. Crouching beneath the cold, weak stream of water sputtering from the spout of the makeshift shower. He felt dirty even though his skin was scrubbed raw. He'd had more sex in his long life than he could even remember. But this time, it was different. He was the one being used, not the user. It left an open wound on the edge of his psyche. And he choked on the bitterness of it. He'd have plenty of time for therapy, once his enemy was vanquished. Hurrying into clean clothes and pushing the sordid event out of his mind, he went out to check on his men.

Samael knew Roark's mind and what dwelled deep in his black twisted heart. Roark's longing for revenge and thirst for conquer was something that Samael could use to his advantage. His sister had sated her voracious appetite. And he had appetites of his own to tend. However his tastes were more on the macabre than hers. He spoke into Roark's consciousness. "Invoke the rite of the blood," he whispered. "Use our power to call your children home. Sift through them separate the kernel from the chaff. And vanquish your foe. Take what is rightfully yours."

Roark's eyes widened. He ran his eyes over the woods, searching for the source of the masculine whisper in his mind. Samael. Was the bastard corporeal? Roark didn't sense Samael's presence. And quite frankly, he hoped he never saw the man or his bitch of a sister in the flesh again. Not that they needed flesh and bone to touch him. Thirsty for conquest, he asked, "Will it call all of them? Even the betrayers?"

"Yes," Samael purred.

Roark smiled in satisfaction. Now he had the means to finish off Keene for good. His bastard betraying second would die, while his apple pie, sugar and spice, and everything nice wife watched. As for Angel, he had a far worse punishment in store for her. Death would be a blessing. He'd keep her chained and bound for all time, until he got bored with her. As his concubine, she'd pay her penance on her back or her knees; whichever position suited his mood.

As for the betraying bitch Kayla, she was human and had never tasted his blood. She'd suffer worse than Angel and Keene combined. She'd know pain unlike anything she'd ever felt or he'd ever inflicted. He'd unleash the insults done to him on her supple flesh. Keene and Angel, he'd eventually kill. But, not her. He'd make her immortal. And not even death would be an escape.

Samael felt the cold draw as Roark tapped into his power and drew it into himself. Exhaling, Samael released his energy, sending it spiraling to the four corners of the globe. Soon, he vowed. The ground shuddered and the skies wept. There would be no quarter for humanity. The earth would bleed. And he would feast on the death left in hell's fury.

Keene hissed and fought against the chill that settled within the depths of his soul. He slid his arm out from under Lori's delicate shoulders and gripped the bedpost in terror. A compulsion threatened to overtake him. A drive he couldn't explain. He needed to travel north. He didn't know why. And he could not battle against it. Roaring in agony he shattered the bedpost with his fist. "Dane!" He couldn't abandon his wife. Lori! The bed frame trembled as he grappled for a hold on something to keep his feet anchored. The compulsion was so strong. He had to go. Somewhere. North. Away. Now. "Dane!"

"Keene, what's happening?" Lori's eyes welled with tears as she looked into Keene's steel gray eyes widened with terror. She hurriedly dressed and slid into her tennis shoes. She had to travel north. Feeling the inexplicable pull she reached for the doorknob. This didn't make sense. The only thing north of the compound was miles and miles of isolated woods. There wasn't anything to travel north for. But for the life of her, she couldn't think it through. She didn't know why or how far north she had to travel. Only that she had to go.

Keene kept his feet planted fighting the urge to leave the compound. He'd heard only rumors of such an occurrence happening one other time. Myths. Stories. They weren't real. No vampire had that kind of power. Not even Roark "Lori, don't go! Stay. Fight it." Roark! It had to be. The bastard had pulled out all the stops and invoked the rite of the blood. Calling all his children and his children's children and every vampire made of even a trace of his blood to his side. Keene was desperately afraid, not for himself, but for his wife. She was born of his blood and Roark had sired him. Roark was compelling them. "NO!"

The northern woods... Keene could sense that Roark wasn't far. His presence burned like an angry flame in Keene's mind. Searing him. Willing his feet to move. Calling him to his side. To his death and Lori along with him.

"I can't, Keene. We have to go." Lori cried out as Keene encircled her waist with his arms, locking her in his embrace. Restraining her. Preventing her from getting where she needed to go. Where she had to go. He was her husband. He should be helping her. Not hurting her. And every second she denied the compulsion the more painful it became and the more difficult to deny. She wrestled in his grip, struggling for her freedom. She'd kill him if she had to, anything to quiet the compulsion and accomplish her goal.

"Angel!" Keene cried out as another bolt of fear jolted through him. Angel had stolen a rogue's blood to become a vampire. The bastard, his former master sired the rogue. She too was of Roark's bloodline. For her the compulsion would be much worse. His ties to Roark had been severed by the Great Father's blood as had Lori's. But, still the need, almost as if their lives depended on it, to travel north was almost undeniable. Angel would be drawn into a death trap. She didn't stand a chance against a calling this strong.

Dane arrived at the bedroom the same time as John Mark and Patrick. The tone of Keene's voice was one of sheer panic and terror. Lori screamed and cursed, not at an intruder as they'd expected. But, to their shock, she flung obscenities at her husband. Was this a domestic issue? A lover's quarrel? Drawing a sword, Dane flung open the door.

"You must stop us," Keene begged. "Roark has invoked the rite of blood. He is calling every vampire he's ever made and all of his descendents to his side. He has to be stopped." Keene bit back the urge to fight his way through his brothers. "We are no good to you. You must restrain us. We cannot go." He huffed out the last sentence as his control snapped. Releasing Lori, he charged John Mark.

John Mark and Dane struggled to keep hold of the vampire. Keene had the strength of a charging bull and all of its mindless fury. Grabbing hold of his fiery red ponytail, Dane slammed Keene's skull hard against the doorframe in an attempt to stun him long enough for John Mark to gain control of his flailing limbs.

Patrick landed on top of Lori with a resounding thud, knocking her to the floor. She was so tiny. But, he didn't let her size fool him in the least. He knew first hand how strong a crazed vampire on the loose could be. "Damn it!" he huffed at the wriggling blonde beneath his weight. "Hold still!"

Will bolted through the halls at a breakneck pace. Chance was tight on his heels. Both of them carried heavy links of steel cable and locks. Hopefully, it would be enough to hold Keene until they could figure out what was going on and how to stop it. If Keene managed to break free and went on a crazed rampage, there wouldn't be much, shy of killing him that they could do to stop him.

Chance skidded to a stop, dumbfounded as the stocky framed man barreled up the hall toward them. His eyes held the look of sheer madness. Coiling his muscles, Chance prepared to unleash all his strength and meet the man, his friend, head on. He only had to hold Keene for a few minutes until his brothers could successfully restrain him.

"Must go north! Out of my way!" Keene bellowed. He didn't want to harm anyone and deeply regretted that Dane and John Mark hadn't been able to adequately restrain him. But, he was powerless against this compulsion. He had to get to Roark. And he was so close. He could almost feel the power that his former master commanded.

"Not today buddy," Chance said bracing himself for impact. This was going to hurt. Badly. Just before Keen tore into him and ripped him a new asshole, Chance leapt and grabbed onto the pipes over his head. Doing a fairly decent Bruce Lee impersonation, he swung out and planted his feet into Keene's broad chest, driving him back. And to think, his mom regretted letting him watch Mortal Kombat fifty times in a row. Johnny Cage just saved his butt from a painful kicking.

John Mark and Dane raced down the hall diving into the melee. Will tackled Keene from the front, aided by his overly smug son, while John Mark and Dane went for the legs. Dropping Keene to the floor. From the screeches coming from the bedroom, which sounded strangely enough like a cat getting skinned alive, Patrick was having a bit of difficulty containing Lori. They had to hurry and get this sitch under control. Chance and Will struggled to hold the crazed beast that was once a sensible man down while John Mark and Dane grappled to tighten the steel cables around his wrists and ankles, and any other body part that they could manage to trap in the cabling. Hopefully it'd hold him long enough to could figure out what was going on.

"You have to find Angel!" Keene roared. "She will be affected too. Worse than us." He struggled against the tight bands of cable biting into his powerful muscles. Despite his best efforts, they held. That was good, very good. He panted against the compulsion. Snapping at his brothers like a rabid dog. The air whooshed out of him as Dane planted his size fourteen combat boot in the center of his back, pinning him to the floor.

Dane had no idea what the hell was going on. But, he knew Keene. And the man did not bullshit. "Chance, Will, find Angel. I'll have Patrick help you as soon as we get Lori and Keene safe." Dane cupped Keene's jaw in his hand and stared into the maddened, steel gray eyes. "What about the others? Candace, Chris, and Marcus? Will they be affected?" Dane's heart thudded with concern for his gentle wife. Turned by a rogue, she'd had no choice. Neither had Candace and Marcus. Innocent victims of a battle, they'd been turned by a madman. But, his wife, her tender heart would break if the brothers were forced to restrain her.

"Not of Roark's line. Safe." Keene growled. He hissed as he tried desperately to keep a fragile hold on his control. "Don't know... how many." He panted beneath his bindings, struggling to free his limbs from the cabling. "Dangerous."

"We're going to take care of you and Lori. Don't worry about Angel. We'll get to her in time. You're safe. Lori's safe. You concentrate on that. On staying you," John Mark said. And he hoped like hell he was right. He hoisted Keene up by the torso while Dane grappled with the legs. John Mark didn't even Dane, even though he lugged the heavier part of Keene's body down the hall. He was rather fond of his family jewels as was his wife. And one well aimed kick and Dane was going to be singing soprano for a damn long time.

John Mark and Dane headed for the storeroom, lugging Keene down the hall. There, Keene and Lori would be safe. Locked behind a steel door and in a room made from solid rock. No way to escape. He hoped like hell, Doc had some kind of mystical cure or could whip something up quickly. If a war was coming, they were going to need Keene in the fight. "I have some advice for you buddy," he said, grunting from the effort of carrying Keene. "Go on a diet. Damn, you're a heavy son of a bitch."

Patrick slung the shrieking woman over his shoulder. He didn't know what the hell was going on. But, the sheer expression of terror in Keene's eyes gave him a hint that whatever it was, it wasn't good. Desperate times called for desperate measures and he'd made due with what he could find. Lori called him names that would make a sailor blush. Wriggling in her cocoon. Perched on his shoulder. For once, he was grateful his wife spent so much money on fine linens. He didn't know the difference between thousand count Egyptian cotton and toilet paper. But, it made a handy wrapper for a lunatic. He'd wound Lori up, to protect himself from her slice and dice razor sharp fingernails. The bed sheet burrito worked like a charm.

"A bed sheet?" John Mark scoffed over Dane's shoulder. Patrick had it easy compared to their burden. Lori weighed like a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet.

"It works," Patrick beamed. "The storeroom?" He tightened his grip on the wad of wriggling baby blue poplin in his arms. He'd wrapped her up so tightly that she couldn't so much as get an eyelash free. But, he'd feel better when she was locked up behind a steel door.

"Deluxe accommodations for two at the Ritz. Nice and romantic. " John Mark grunted under the weight of his heavy writhing burden. "Keene, did I mention you're a heavy son of a bitch?"

Keene's hands and feet were bound with steel cable as were Lori's. He exhaled a sigh of relief as the door slammed shut and locked, containing them safely in the storeroom. They couldn't hurt anyone locked in here. And they couldn't get out. "We're safe, Lori," he whispered to his wife. He'd managed to gain enough slack in his bindings to release her from her makeshift restraints. She rested her head in his lap and stared up at him with tear filled eyes.

"What about Angel?" Lori asked. She and Keene might be safe from the calling.

But, Angel certainly wasn't. If Roark was behind what was happening to them. All of the brothers were at risk. Keene was skilled, a good fighter, and he was trapped in here. Victim to something he didn't ask for and if he'd been given the choice, never would have chosen.

"I don't know." Keene bent over and pressed a kiss to Lori's forehead. The brothers had accepted her as one of them. But, if she posed a threat, he knew what would happen. He just couldn't bring himself to say it aloud.

The rules were the same for all of the brothers. And even if she didn't break the cardinal law, her life was forfeit if they failed to get her under control. The brothers couldn't afford to allow her to slip into the enemy's grip. She knew too much. And they'd kill her before Roark could torture the secrets out of her. She'd never willingly tell him a thing. But, she was still fragile...broken. Angel would rather die than end up as a slave to Roark or betray the Sons. The fact that his brothers would grant her that small mercy was the only comfort he had.

Lori nodded in understanding of everything Keene hadn't said. Angel had saved her life. And there was nothing she could do to repay the favor. The brothers wouldn't hesitate to do what was necessary. Angel didn't deserve to die. But, Lori knew Angel well enough to realize, she'd rather go out dying for something than nothing. "We can hope."

"Yes, hope is good," he agreed. Keene eased Lori's head down onto his thigh and stroked her hair. Hope was all they had. And his wavered like a flickering candle in the darkest night. A sense of dread filled his mind, as if Armageddon itself was at hand. For all he knew, it very well could be.

Chapter 38

Angel wandered the woods. Finally she could breathe. It wasn't the serene beauty or velvet night that quieted the storm in her mind. She didn't know exactly what had helped. The crisp air on her cheeks, the fat harvest moon lighting the woods with a wash of silvery light, or maybe, it was the guy walking silently beside her. She'd bumped into Lance and he was determined to follow her wherever she wandered. It was strange though. She didn't really mind his presence as much as she should. He'd simply dipped his blond head at her and fell in step beside her. No questions. No comments. No small talk.

Lance prided himself on being a multitasker. He'd been out on patrol when Angel showed up dead center in the middle of his route. Always keyed into a woman's emotions, being the ladies man he was, he could tell she was in no mood for chitchat. Ok, so the scowl on her face had been his first clue. No talking. He got it. Saved him the trouble of having to find her. Dane was a stickler for the rules. And nobody went out on patrol alone. Especially after...well, after what happened to the Prophet.