Dawn Revealed

"I'll talk to her." A real job would be a nice change of pace. Earning her way instead of pinning her hopes on the scraps that fell off someone's table. She smiled up at Bryce. "Thanks." She faked a yawn and glanced at her watch eager to escape before he could trap her into talking for hours. "I really should go."

"Mind if I walk you to your room?"

"I don't want to keep you from the party."

"Oh, you're not. I was on my way back anyway." In a moment of courage he grabbed her hand before she could jerk it away in protest. He guided her through the darkness of the woods and to the compound. He slowed his steps, prolonging their time together as he walked her to her room.

Kayla gave up and allowed Bryce to escort her all the way to her bedroom door. But, the minute she was in the well-lit corridors of the compound and no longer needed his help to guide her. She slid her hand out of his. The contact felt too intimate and awkward. Even though it was nothing more than two people holding hands. It felt too much like a boyfriend/girlfriend kind of thing for comfort. "Good night," she said, pausing at her door.

"You know if you need anything, I'll be around." He leaned casually with one arm resting on the edge of the doorframe. With his free hand he traced a line along her jaw. He longed for the tiniest peck on his cheek, something to give him a hint that her heart was softening to him, just the littlest bit.

"I know. Thanks again." Kayla slipped under his arm and gently closed the door shutting him out. She had feelings for him that went beyond casual friendship. And they terrified her. For so long she'd lived without any choices at all. For so long, she came when called, like a dog. She didn't know how to respond to a man who showed her genuine interest, beyond the services she could provide on her knees, back, or whatever position he preferred.

To those kinds of men she'd been nothing more than a source of amusement to pass the time and after Roark found her, a meal and shiny toy. Otherwise, she was totally insignificant to any man. She wondered when she would have a sense of her own self worth. When her guard could be let down and she could live again.

Kayla took a long hot shower, scrubbing her skin until it was a glowing red. As if a few bubbles and swipes with a loofah would wash her clean. She was dirty, stained, and soiled on the inside, not the out. She slid into her nightgown and beneath the sheets. Squeezing Mr. Smiles tightly in her arms she settled into a troubled and fretful sleep. Dreading the nightmares that haunted her dreams.

Chapter 5

Angel spotted the vampire looming in the treetops, watching her below him, with too much curiosity. She cocked her head and glared up at him. He was like a ghostly specter, practically ethereal in his pallor. His hair was so blond it was almost white against the dark backdrop of leaves. His skin was translucent in the moonlight. Dressed in his black combat gear, if not for his pale face and his scent, she wouldn't have noticed him at all. His eyes were his darkest feature. A brown so intense, they were almost black. And they were pinned on her.

Angel hated being stared at almost as much as she hated being spied on. A sly smile slid across her lips. If this vampire wanted to play, she definitely could. She was fast and had confidence in the fact that he wouldn't catch up with her unless she wanted him to. She would definitely make his night more interesting, if he somehow managed to catch her. Tipping her head, she goaded him with a daring grin. Before he had a chance to react, she bolted into the darkness.

Lance was bored out of his skull. He was high up in the trees, contemplating jumping, not that it would kill him or even cause him the slightest harm. But, it would be something to do. He was on patrol, as usual. Dane was pretty strict in his punishments. And Lance had been out here every night for months. Since the brothers returned from the city, things had been dead quiet, too quiet. He missed the hustling pace and the miles of concrete that were once his to guard. His exile wouldn't last forever. Eventually, Dane would get over it and ship his ass back to the city. He hoped.

So what, they'd blown up the Rogue Master's house. Could happen to anyone, right? Actually, Marcus was the mastermind behind the idea. Lance personally didn't know TNT from a firecracker. But, cutting the gas lines to make it look like an accident to the humans. That had been all on him. And Dane had made him pay for his part in the incident ever since.

He caught the female vampire's scent, wild and exotic, like jasmine on a hot summer night, long before he saw her standing down below, staring up at him with voyeuristic curiosity. His first instinct was to climb down and offer her a brief, but very satisfying midnight rendezvous in the bushes. She was a culmination of beauty and the beast. On the outside, she was easy on the eyes, lithe and athletic. She looked damn hot in that tight leather corset and black lace. And the boots, she could walk all over him with those numbers on her feet any day. On the inside though, he sensed the caged beast growling low in agitation at its confinement. She was the girl his mama had always warned him about. Too bad, he'd never listened too much to what his mama had to say.

Her dark eyes locked with his for a brief second and then the coyest, most seductive smile he'd ever seen played across her lips. That woman had the most kissable mouth he'd ever laid eyes on. He hadn't kissed anything except for Dane's ass since he got here. The locals were off limits, Dane's rules, not his. And at this point, after so many months of punishment and cold showers, even female livestock was starting to look pretty damned appealing.

With a daring glimmer in her dark eyes and a smile that went straight to his groin on her lips, she dipped her head to him and then darted into the woods. Leaping down from the treetops against his better judgment. He bolted into the night in hot pursuit of his Dark Angel.

Angel sped through the dark woods bobbing and weaving her way through the trees. The pale vampire was close behind, but no match for her speed or agility. When she was running, she could almost forget the problems of her past that weighed heavily on her shoulders. It was as if she could leave them behind and outrun them. She slowed her pace, for a few minutes, to make the game more interesting and to fool him into thinking that he could catch her. She heard his pounding footsteps, so soft that they were inaudible to humans, growing closer. Filling the silent woods with laughter she poured on speed, leaving him behind.

Lance cursed, thinking his prey was growing weary of the game. She was the fastest vampire he'd ever seen. Although he could easily follow her heady jasmine scented trail, he couldn't catch up. Pouring on speed, he slid through the woods, enjoying the thrill of the hunt. The dark, tempting vixen might be hard to catch, but not impossible.

Chapter 6

Roark hated country life. Hated it. Fresh air did not agree with him. He missed the confusion and the noise of the city. Abandoning his posh penthouse for this remote, secluded hovel had been a strategic move on his part. And this lush green corner of hell was one he was certain the brotherhood had no knowledge of. Completely private and off the grid, the shack didn't boast even the most basic of luxuries. But, of course, he'd been around long before electricity and indoor plumbing. He'd lived in far worse conditions than these. And then he'd died.

His minions though knew nothing of the concept of sacrifice. Surrounded by fools and incompetents, he'd like to believe that he'd weeded out the bad and kept the cream of the crop. But, it simply wasn't true. He'd kept the bad and eliminated the worst. His 'army' was filled with simpering idiots and cannon fodder not worth the time it took to kill them. The best he could hope for was that the brotherhood would find them and do the job for him.

Damn the Great Father. If the bastard hadn't shown up when he had and saved Keene's miserable ass. Roark would have had his former second's worthless head stuffed and mounted above his mantle by now. Damn the daylight. If dawn hadn't risen over the city skyline, Roark would have pressed his attack while he still had a half assed army behind him to do it. He'd had the numbers to take the Sons down. There was but one law and not even he could break it. Humanity could never know.

His next attack would be carefully and strategically planned. And the battle would definitely start when there was plenty of time to finish it. Defeat was unacceptable. There were too many deserters and traitors still walking upright and very much alive. Keene was number one on his list. Followed closely by Angel. He'd saved the bitch's life and she'd run straight into the arms of the enemy the first chance she'd gotten. And of course, he couldn't forget his little Kayla.

Roark couldn't afford let the three of them live. Word of mouth was the only thing standing between him and a bigger, meaner predator. To save his reputation, they had to die, slowly and painfully. Everyday they lived made him look a fool. He was a Rogue Master, not a sniveling weakling. His ruthlessness was the only way to prove it.

There was only one man he held more hatred for than Keene. The Great Father. And yes, the man was going to pay, dearly.

Roark thought back to the fateful day on the battlefield, when he'd first met the Great Father, nearly two centuries ago. He had a vested interest in the outcome of the battle. Not because he clung to any particular ideology. But, because the battle represented the one thing he held dear. Acquisition. America was a wilderness of untold wealth and riches. And he was an investor, nothing more. Human life meant nothing to him then. And it still didn't beyond the necessity of it for his ongoing survival. He could have never imagined the bloodthirsty nature of the beast named progress. The Great Father and his band of followers were simply in the way.

Outnumbered by the Americans and abandoned by the British, the Natives under Tecumseh's command began to flounder. Hungry for power and confident in the victory, Roark grabbed a weapon and jumped into the midst of the fray to sate his lust for death. It was his bullet that tore through the Great Father's human skin and ended his mortal life. Tecumseh was only a man. A human. If Roark had known then what the man was destined to become, he would have taken the time to make sure that the man was good and dead where he lay bleeding the ground red. But, hindsight was always twenty-twenty.

The rumors were true. Tecumseh's body was never found among the dead on the battlefield because there was no body to be found. Roark had underestimated the loyalty of Tecumseh's men, and the power Tecumseh's miserable goddess, Kokumthena, their benevolent Grandmother. Tecumseh's men had gotten him clear of the battlefield and taken him to his brother, the Prophet, in hopes he could be healed. Once Tecumseh was out of danger, Kokumthena had transformed him from a mere mortal warrior into a patriarch. If Roark hadn't shot him in the belly and left him to die, the Sons never would have been born. Tecumseh would have lived and died an ordinary human death and he'd have been dust in his grave long ago.

Organized, lethal, and with a cause to serve, Tecumseh fathered his followers. Small in numbers, but the most feared of all vampires in the immortal world. The Sons' sole purpose was to uphold their goddess's edict. Protect human life at all costs. A noble endeavor to be sure. Roark had no argument with that. Someone had to police the rogues that got out of hand. And only a vampire with a death wish crossed the Sons. He had no problem with the Sons taking out the trash. But, as usual, the Great Father was in his way.

The only sacred law among the vampires was that humanity could not discover their existence. Vampires were the stuff of legends and myths, Hollywood B movies, and cheesy paperbacks, and they needed to stay that way. If some small shred of evidence did leak out, the truth was quickly glossed over and dismissed as utter bullshit. Humans loved their bullshit and in their desperation to believe they were at the top of the food chain, they clung to the lies fed to them.

If humanity began to suspect or see irrefutable evidence of his kind, it could be the end of the vampires. After all, he'd seen humans and the havoc they wreaked time and time again. There was no more ruthless or lethal force on the earth than a human armed with a righteous cause. The vampires were woefully outnumbered. And with technology...Roark shuddered to think what the humans might do to them, if they knew the truth.

Roark had been beaten back for the last time. The fact that the Great Father lived at all was a serious insult. He wanted what he wanted when he wanted it. And currently, that was a healthy dose of revenge. He'd delivered the Great Father into the hands of death once. And he could do it again. Only this time, he'd make damn good and sure the bastard was good and dead. Then no vampire with a shred of sanity would stand against him. He'd have it all at the Great Father's expense. The entire country, hell maybe the world, would see him as the master he was meant to be. Oh sure, he'd kill Keene, Angel, and his precious Kayla. But, there'd be no sweeter victory than putting the Great Father in his grave, for the last and final time.

The strange thing of it was, Roark respected the man. In life, Tecumseh had been a powerful orator and a motivator of men. He'd done everything in his power in an attempt to save his people and preserve his home. It just wasn't enough. Fear had a way to turning brother against brother and sending even the bravest scurrying for cover. Nothing stood in the way of progress. There was a land to conquer, railways to build, and a country to be born. Not even a man as great as Tecumseh could have stood in the way of the future.

In death, the Great Father was still just as magnificent of a force. And his men followed him out of loyalty. He had a charisma that drew people to him. He made them want to believe. And belief was a dangerous thing. Roark could not fault the Great Father for being who he was. It was more to the point that he could not allow him to live.

Coal was the name of Roark's vengeance. After the battle when the land sat empty and free for the taking. Wiley as a wolf, the Great Father had slipped in the back door and snatched right out of the hands of the very men who sought to take it from him. Somehow the man knew what lay beneath the ground just waiting to be discovered. And he'd made a fortune on what was at the time the very lifeblood of the world.

Roark preferred shinier things. He'd gone further west to the pacific shores to the gold mines of California. And while he'd amassed a good deal of wealth, he always begrudged the Great Father for stealing the coalmines out of his grasp. A wiser man might let it go. Coal no longer dominated the world. And the mines zigzagging beneath the earth were stripped clean long ago. Roark's gold mines were every bit as barren. And the battle for today's fortunes was fought on an imaginary but just as bloody front. Stocks and bonds were the future's shiny gold and rich black coal. How odd it was that a man could be worth millions and never physically hold a dime of it in his hand.

Oh, it wasn't just their history that made them bitter enemies. Roark might have seen his way clear to let it go, if the Great Father hadn't imposed his lofty morality on the world. What right did he have to tell them how to live? And over the decades, the Great Father and his mighty Sons had taken out plenty of good men. Vampires did what they had to do to survive. They delivered death. Discriminately and under the cover of darkness they preyed on the humans. But, not all were so discriminate. And it was those few that Roark agreed, needed to die. Let the Sons put them down. Rid the world of the filth.

Roark didn't prey on the innocent. Goodness left a bitter taste in his mouth. He dined on depravity and the weakness of the human soul once it was completely devoid of one shred of decency. Ok, so he usually was the one who corrupted the innocent and then sucked them dry. But, who was the Great Father to nominate himself judge, jury, and executioner?

Surrounded by idiots and fools, Roark knew he didn't stand a chance against his adversary. His minions were spineless pieces of shit. And without Keene to train them, Roark had an army of doorstops, if they were even that useful. He needed something to trump the Great Father's power. Something not even the Prophet, the Great Father's visionary brother would foresee. And he knew exactly what it was and where to find it.

Deep within him existed a force so dark, so evil, that nothing could stand against it. Roark had been just a boy when the darkness sought him out, a child of fifteen, a poor, starving peasant boy with no future and no hope. Romanced by the idea of ultimate power, he offered the darkness his throat and became one with it.

The darkness had its way with him and he'd done its bidding willfully and without remorse. Murder sated the beast. Suffering was its siren song. And in death he found bliss and the evil, sweet release. The early years had been horrific. Terrifying. And the darkness had made him its unwilling slave. So powerful it was that he huddled in caves and dark places to save humanity from the full fury of its wrath. The world was a lot smaller then. And he would have bled it dry.

He was no longer a terrified child. And the darkness no longer ruled him. He was in control. And as long as he fed it, the evil did his bidding. He would stand before the darkness as a man. He no longer had a frail boy's body or innocence of face. He'd aged, so painfully slowly over the centuries. To a passerby, he'd appear in his early twenties. Attractive. Youthful. A perfect disguise. It wasn't till they saw the truth in his eyes before they died that they learned the secret of the ancient being inside of him.

The darkness called to every vampire. It was the heart and soul of every rogue and death to those too weak to control it. Not even the Sons were immune to its seductive whispers. Eternally damned and insatiably hungry, the evil begged to be fed. And over the centuries, Roark had fed it well.

Perhaps, there was more to the Prophet than Roark realized. The man had tried to warn him off this course. As if the Prophet knew what he was about to do. And maybe, he did. There was no salvation for him anyway. And no other means to achieve his goal. Roark stared out into the dawn, gritting his fangs at the agony incited by the glowing orange orb. Inside of him the darkness pulsed and balked in fury at the light. Forcing his focus on the sun, he called to the maker of them all and welcomed the darkness home.

Chapter 7

Kokumthena wandered about the lush, emerald green meadow. Inhaling the fresh, gentle, scent of earth and fragrant, fragile blossoms bursting with new life. Above her head fluffy white clouds drifted lazily across a picturesque blue sky. A gentle breeze, neither too hot or too cold, rustled in the leaves whispering to her its secrets. A doe grazed in the waist high grasses without fear of the hunt. The spirits of her brown-eyed children frolicked in the nearby woods, giggling joyously in their pursuit of play. In the distance the current of the Great River splashed against the rocky shore. There was no night; only one endless, absolutely perfect day.

To some, her realm was heaven and to others, hell. But, to her, it was home. The Great River separated the land of the living from the land of the dead. And in this shadowy netherworld, between life and death, she reigned supreme. She could be anybody she chose to be. Alter her appearance to appease the spirits that drifted through this place on their journey to the afterlife. Her true form was beyond the limited capacity of human understanding. The human soul was infinite as she. But, the human mind was very small and finite in what it could comprehend.