Dawn Revealed

He wound between the lifeless bodies and unrecognizable parts, heads without necks, and limbs torn free from torsos. These vampires hadn't stood a chance. Whatever had hit them had moved so quickly. Most of the dead had simply fallen where they'd stood. And the ones death hadn't touched, the number so few, were shocked, almost lifeless in a state of motionless, silent, terror. Patrick had never felt the slightest bit of sympathy for any rogue, until now.

John Mark took the lead. Dane was at the compound, checking and probably double-checking that everything was secure. As his second, it was John Mark's job to cover Dane while he was away. He motioned for the patrol to close in the perimeter. Since the rogues had been reduced to a controllable cluster of about fifty or so. And with them being so willingly cooperative, subdued the shock they'd witnessed. It made sense to corral them to a central point out of eyeshot of the mess.

He assigned Sam and Marcus to babysit the rogues. Dane wouldn't like having his adopted sister in the thick of the action. But, he had damn few choices. Sam was fierce and she wouldn't hesitate to press any rogue that got out of hand back in line. And nothing got past Marcus. He knew every nasty trick the rogues might pull. And his gift of bullshit just might be enough to keep the rogues from trying anything stupid.

Dane wouldn't like the job he'd assigned Chris to do any better. John Mark needed her center stage. Moving through the terrified masses to instill a sense of calm. She had a way about her that was nothing short of uncanny.

Candace played mom unlike any other. She offered her support to those who needed it. Fearlessly giving out hugs and gentle words meant to reassure without the least hesitation.

There were a few better left at the compound and out of sight. Alex with her creepy gift of foresight would only serve to cause chaos if a vision came in the midst of all this orderly disorder. And Anna, there was no way she could be out here. One spike of emotion or momentary loss of control and she could fry anyone within a fifty yard radius of her to ash. The Shaman never joined in the fun. It wasn't that he wasn't capable. And in a pinch he would be a good man to have at your back. But, as their only healer, he was too essential to risk. The same was true of Toby. He was the only brother who understood the intricacies of modern technology. He was no pantywaist, dangerous in a fight. But, with a keyboard, he could be lethal. And Janine...no way in hell would anyone let her out here. Corpses hardly needed fashion advice. One whiff of her or Kayla and the tenuous control the brothers had over the situation would be lost.

Keene would be handy to have around. He understood the rogues in a way the brothers did not. John Mark had no doubt that Keene knew most of these rogues personally. Who better to control them than Keene? Unfortunately, Keene, Lori, and Angel were still hip deep in la la land, subject to Roark's damnable spell.

John Mark pinned Patrick with a look. He guessed there really wasn't any point to put off what needed to be done. They hadn't made the mess and nobody wanted to clean it up. But, leaving the bodies to rot in the warm fall sunlight really wouldn't soften anyone to their cause. He sidestepped a particularly gooey blob of something red and slick and cleared a spot in the center of the flat ground. Here would be just as good as anywhere and they needed to do this tonight before daylight hit and the humans saw the smoke. With this many bodies, there was going to be one hell of a big pyre.

Patrick nodded and clapped Bryce on the back, pressing him forward. Witnessing the destruction from a distance and seeing it first hand was quite different. Silently, he motioned for Lance to start building the pyre. Even with vampire speed, they'd have to push it to get the job done before daybreak.

Perhaps, leaving Anna to her stress baking hadn't been such a good idea. She had so much power. And there was little doubt she could have taken care of the pyre with a flick of her wrist. The dose she'd unleashed on him was just a sample. And it'd almost killed him. Sometimes she could control her gift. Sometimes. She'd hit him with just a tiny spark once, right on the ass, to get his attention. And he was still sore from that small jolt.

Her gift was untested. An unknown. And she was their ace in the hole. Her secret was safe. Roark would never tell his followers about his humiliation and about how one woman, a victim, had almost, and would have if not for Patrick drawing her focus away, sent him back to the pits of hell where he belonged.

The rogues watched the Sons gather up the bodies. The mound of mangled and barely recognizable as once living beings grew higher. Stacked as neatly as the cords of wood beneath them. Shaken and dumbstruck by the dark cloud of death that came without warning and with an indescribable vengeance, no one put up a fight. A few of the braver souls ventured out to help gather the dead. The brothers turned down no hand willing to perform the grizzly work.

Side by side the rogues worked with the brotherhood in a tenuous peace, so thin and fragile, silently negotiated out of necessity between the factions. Each side wary and cautious, but willing to put aside their differences to do what needed to be done.

Bryce was numb by the time the last of the bodies was stacked onto the pyre. His hands coated with the blood of the dead. Toward the end, he paid the rogues no heed. His mind focused on the task with nothing but his desire to get it done and over with, he worked harder. Hefting bodies, nameless, faceless shells onto the pyre.

Every piece that could be found was found and placed onto the pyre. It was hard, not to think of the remains as something more than just pieces of raw meat. These were people once. Human beings with lives and purpose. Whatever circumstances had led them down the path that ended here on this night, the dead were more than scattered parts on a field. They deserved better. No matter what they had done. They deserved better than to die the way they had and to have this mass pyre of unknown people and body parts as their funeral.

Disgusted and shaken by the horrors of he'd seen tonight. Bryce stood to the side as Patrick doused the mound with gasoline. Setting the pyre to light was not their duty. But on this night, with the dead piled to the sky, it had to be done. Not one of the rogues stepped forward to honor their dead. The rogues were disorganized and lost as orphans without a father to guide them.

John Mark stepped forward with a lighted torch. The flames danced wildly in the darkness. On what might have been otherwise a beautiful night, clear and cool with a full harvest moon shining down on the crispness of fall splendor, he launched the torch into the velvet sky. It sailed in a graceful arc and landed in the center of the pyre in a shower of sparks and a flash of hungry flame.

It didn't seem right to send these people to whatever awaited them in the afterlife silently without song or a whispered goodbye. Rogue or not, murder, victim, or simply caught in a crossfire not of their making. They deserved something. Bryce knew no death songs. He'd never contemplated what song his brothers might sing about him when his time eventually came. He assumed it wouldn't matter to him. But, tonight surrounded by the dead, it mattered. His voice low and soft, cutting through the silence and the pop of burning wood, he sang for strangers he'd never met and enemies he'd never defeated. And it was the right thing to do.

The rogues stared at the warrior singing so beautifully. His rich low baritone voice filled the silence. Firelight danced in their haunted eyes. Smoke wafted upwards, marring the night sky with the remnants of the horrors they'd never forget. Drawn to this place against their will. Assuming the brotherhood would finish what the dark force started and simply accepting it as the end. Nothing but fact in the midst of such unspeakable terror, they waited their turn to die.

Rumors of the Sons and the death they delivered were well known. Few of the rogues had ever seen them this close. In a way the Sons were more fiction than fact, the boogeymen of the vampire world. But, they were real. Not the merciless dispensers of justice their reputation made them out to be. The Sons were people, no different than them. Doing what they had to do, exactly as they did. There was evil everywhere, in dark places and in the light. Realizing this, that there could be peace, some of the rogues joined in, adding their voices to the song. Sparks of religions long forgotten, prayers and hymns, beliefs in gods that they thought had abandoned them became believable again.

Chapter 44

With the oncoming dawn, Bryce was relieved of his duties and ordered back to the compound. He'd seen enough death to last however long he lived. Stinking of the funeral pyre and decay, he was covered from head to toe with gore and the blood of once alive beings. He didn't hesitate. Shoving all attempts at shyness aside, he stripped the second he reached the thick, magnetically sealed hidden entry to the compound. Vowing to burn the clothes and boots he'd worn later.

Unable to stand bringing those tainted items into his home. And not giving a damn about who saw him naked, he left his gear in a heap outside the door. They were contaminated and so was he. His skin was sticky with dried blood and other things. He wanted nothing more than a hot shower and to crawl into his bed with Kayla by his side. Surround himself in her love and her sweet purity and let it chase away the nightmares he was certain would haunt him the minute he closed his eyes.

Kayla spent the night pacing the floor of Bryce's bedroom suite. At a loss of what else to do or where else to go, terrified and worried, his bedroom was the only place that made sense. The room, filled with the strength of his presence and his spicy earthy scent, comforted her. The bedroom was a contradiction in terms. Decorated tastefully in masculine shades of green and brown, neat as a pin, and utterly devoid of personal touches.

Bryce didn't talk about his age. She didn't ask. Sometimes she saw hints. References to the past, a manner of speaking, or some antiquated ideal that clued her in. But, should someone who had obviously lived more than one lifetime have collected at least a few personal trinkets along the way? Pictures? Journals? Something? Some link to the past that would tell her a little about the man he might have been before?

His clothes were neatly folded and organized in an orderly fashion in the drawers and closets. The toiletries in the bathroom were arranged in the same way. Precise. Deliberate. Impersonal. Bryce said he was stationed here as a punishment. For the part he'd played in destroying Roark's house.

Maybe, he'd left his belongings in the city. Tucked away in some forgotten apartment. Hell, she didn't even know what part of the city he'd lived in or what his life had been like before they met. Bryce was passionate and there was nothing he wouldn't do to protect the ones he cared about. Kayla counted herself lucky that she was in that small circle.

She respected his privacy too much to draw on their link to fill in the missing pieces about him she didn't know. Everyone had secrets they'd rather not share, dark parts of their pasts that were better off never seeing the light of day. She sure as hell had plenty of her own. Things she'd never tell. And maybe in that, Bryce and she were exactly alike.

She loved him enough to accept that about him. Not to question or to doubt who or what he was or had been. And it was exactly the same for her. He didn't question her about her past. It wasn't that he wished to be ignorant or to sweep the things that had happened under the rug. It was just that he loved her beyond them. Bryce was that way. He saw the bigger picture. And for him, she could do the same.

She knew Janine was a part of Bryce's past. Something had happened between the two of them. The tension when Patrick and Bryce were in the same room was almost palpable. And she could see it in Janine's eyes. The regret that Janine felt over hurting him was written on her face. Kayla was also a bit suspicious about his past with Anna. The emotions weren't as deep or as painfully intense. Toby wasn't clueless. But, unlike Patrick, he joked around with Bryce and kept things light.

Kayla was curious, but not threatened by the women. Sure both Anna and Janine were beautiful and she considered them her friends. But, they'd made their choices about the men in their lives. They were in love with their husbands and for them there would never be anybody else. They wanted what was best for Bryce and they cared for him deeply. And both of the women had decided that what was best for him was her. If their opinion of her ever changed though. She'd have a hell of a fight on her hands to keep him.

All night, sleep evaded her and the few moments that she had been able to snatch were filled with terrifying and horrific dreams. Bryce had tried to protect her by hiding the details of how much danger they were in. She didn't need him to tell her anything. She could sense it. Hear it in his voice and had seen it etched on his expression. Roark was nearby. Still trying to kill her. Kill Keene and Angel. To him, it was almost a hobby of sorts. Kayla felt the instinctive need to protect Bryce. Risk her life for Keene the way he'd risked his for her. She was human and there wasn't much she could do except give Roark the satisfaction of dying. And even that wouldn't placate him for long. She didn't know what his end goal was. Only that it was bigger and went far beyond her.

The bed was rumpled and out of sorts with the tidiness of Bryce's impersonal space. To have something to do she smoothed the covers and straightened the pillows. Her skin prickled with awareness. Something was happening out there. Bryce shielded his emotions from her. Sheltering her from the details of things she could only imagine.

Kayla felt Bryce. His mind was a choppy sea of random thoughts that made her shiver to spite herself. He was in the compound. Walking through the halls, moving so fast, quivering with emotions so raw and fierce. She looked up as he stumbled through the door. Her jaw dropped in shock as she gasped at the sight of him.

He was naked. Covered with rusty colored dried blood. His skin streaked with mud. Kayla dropped the pillow she'd been fluffing and sucked in a breath at the horror she saw darkening his gray eyes to the color of storm clouds about to burst. Grabbing his hand, she led him into the bathroom. Never letting go of his hand, his fingers quivering slightly in her grip, she reached to turn on the hot water tap in the shower. He said nothing, stood with his head hung low. His dark hair fell across his eyes, curtaining the blankness and horror in their sightless stare. As she lifted her hand to brush the clumps of matted hair out of his eyes, he twisted out of her reach. "Don't touch me," Bryce gritted, withdrawing from her completely.

Kayla nodded and busied herself, fetching towels and a washcloth from the linen closet. Folding them neatly, she placed the soft, fluffy towels on the edge of the vanity and tested the water. Bryce was on edge, grappling with emotions and horrors she didn't want to think about. Later, once he was able to process everything, there'd be time for questions. For now, he needed the comfort of normalcy to pull him out of that dark place to which he'd retreated.

Bryce didn't mean to take any of this out on Kayla. He tried to contain his horror at her contact with his skin. The brush of her fingers over the gore so thick and dried on his hand sickened him. He was contaminated. And the last thing he wanted to do was to contaminate her with the terror of the things ...with the death he'd seen tonight. He didn't want her to touch him. Not like this when he was so dirty. He didn't want the taint of this horror on her smooth, soft skin.

He allowed Kayla to guide him into shower. Understanding shone in her eyes. He was in a dark place and she knew it. Understood he needed his space. Balancing his weight on his fist against the tile he ducked his head under the hot spray and let the water run down his chest, swirling in pink, washing the horrors he'd seen down the drain. He stopped her, pressing a damp hand to her shoulder as she moved to pull her t-shirt over her head to join him. "Don't I'm... contaminated," he said.

Fingers trembling, he took the washcloth she handed him and scrubbed at the filth coating his skin. The steam reminded him of the mists inching silently over the bodies. The heat of the water was the heat of the fire. Despite the clean scent of his shower gel. The expensive stuff Janine insisted on buying for everybody. He could still smell the death and thick, choking, lingering aroma of wood smoke and burning flesh on his skin. Taste the ashes of the dead on his tongue. He battled against the dark emotions constantly tugging at the borders of his soul to pull him under. He'd done what he could for the dead. Prayed and sang to give them a worthy send off. But, he found no respite in his actions. And the memories of those lifeless eyes glazed and fixed on a distant point not of this world would never leave him.

"Bryce, let me help you," Kayla said. Warm swirls of steam from the shower heated her skin as she slid out of her clothing. Her actions and intent was not about sex. But, about the comfort only skin to skin contact could give. The sound of water smacking against tile drown out the brush of her clothing dropping to the floor. Naked and exposing herself as he was equally exposed she climbed into the shower. The hot water reddened her skin, a little too warm for her liking. But, Bryce needed the heat.

He stood facing the corner, staring blankly at the white tile. Trapped in a waking nightmare from which he could not escape. Gently, she pried the soapy washcloth out of his clenched fingers and went to work, scrubbing at his skin with vigorous passes of the cloth. His shoulders slowly began to relax and his muscles loosened beneath her careful motions. She guided the hot spray over his head, working the lather of the clean smelling shampoo free from his tangled hair. With her fingertips, easing the suds over the width of his back, she traced the dark lines of his tattoo. His muscles rippled and flexed. His spine arched as if even that subtle brush of her against him was too much to bear.

Kayla didn't pressure him to tell her anything. How could he possibly put into words what had caused him to withdraw so abruptly and completely from her. Right now, he needed her unconditional acceptance of him. She stood with him in the shower. Enduring the steam and the heat, rewashing skin that was already clean and free from blemish.

Bryce turned off the tap and stood there dripping. His eyes never left the perfection of the white tile. He dipped his head and allowed Kayla to towel dry his hair. Her touch was gentle and precise. Working the softness of the towel over his shoulders and chest and then down his arms and legs. Not bothering to dry herself, she wrapped the damp towel around her body and tucked in the edges to form a thick terry cloth sheath around her breasts. Woodenly, he watched her pause at the sink long enough to retrieve a comb out of the drawer. With gentle passes of the teeth through his hair, she combed the wet mess out of his eyes.

Without a word, she tugged on his fingertips, leading him from the bathroom to stand beside the bed. He wanted to say so many things. But, the words dried up on the tip of his tongue mingling with the ashes of the dead. Unwilling to meet her eyes, he stood obediently as she pulled back the covers and fluffed the pillows to prepare a cocoon of safety for him to retreat within. He complied with her unspoken request and climbed into the nest she'd made with such care. Her hands were confident, as if she knew what he needed as they worked to complete the task. Tucking the blankets, soft and fragrant, fresh from the laundry, under his chin.