Dawn Revealed

Although he was exhausted, Bryce didn't dare close his eyes out of fear for what he'd see when he did. Kayla shot him a shy smile, intended to offer him reassurance. Rounding the bed, she dropped the wet towel and climbed between the sheets to recline a careful close distance beside him. Her fingers worked the corner of the plush blanket, smoothing and ruffling the soft fibers with passes of nervous energy.

The warmth of her sleek skin permeated the coldness within him. Desperate for comfort and shelter, he crawled across the narrow space separating their bodies and draped his weighted limbs, still so cold and heavy, around her shoulders. Twining his legs around hers, he lowered his cheek to her breast, resting his head on the soft rise of tender skin. Listening to the only reassurance and confirmation he would ever need, the steady rhythmic beating of her heart.

Bryce clung to her. His damp hair was cool against the skin as he pressed his ear to her left breast, listening to her heart. Counting and measuring, timing each beat with a soft sigh of relief. As if his world depended on each and every beat and she was necessary for his continued existence. He tucked his toes under her calf and guided her leg forward, wedging it against the coarse hair on his thigh, locking their limbs into a tangled knot of flesh and bone.

Working her closer, his quivering fingers working a worried path over the hard ridge of her collarbone and shoulder, he draped his larger frame across her body. Held into place by the weight of him, she slid her hand free and cupped his cheek. Gently, she ran her fingers through the tangled, thick mess of his hair. Separating the strands to dry with her fingertips. Offering her warmth to comfort and soothe him as best she could. She didn't say a word, leaving him to his thoughts. He couldn't speak of what had happened out there. And perhaps, whatever held him in such terror and raw fear would simply end up being another secret in a long line of secrets between them.

Bryce dared to close his eyes. Coaxed into a sense of security by the gentle working of Kayla's fingers through his hair and the warmth of her breath on his skin. To him, she represented everything that was good in this world. She was his only reason to fight his way out of the darkness of his memories and battle to cling to the light. Her silent support was an anchor. He focused on her beating heart reassured by the rhythmic sound of valves opening and closing and blood rushing through the vessels.

He would never speak of the terrors he'd witnessed tonight. She'd understand, sometimes stories were better off left untold and secrets a necessity. Resting his cheek on the satin of her skin, he let her gentle scent and the solace of her strokes carry him away from the horrors dancing behind his closed eyes. And slowly, his mind began to retreat from the darkness and emerge into the light of her.

Lance dragged his fingers through his pale hair and swallowed back the bile rising in the back of his throat. He stayed behind to complete the job. Standing sentry while the last of the pyre burned down to smoldering embers. Bits of ash floated silently on the cool morning breeze. Choking him. Bryce would have stayed. But, there was nothing more to do but watch what was left of the remains drift away.

He would never get the taste of ash out of his mouth or the scent of burning flesh out of his nostrils. Lance had never seen such whole scale slaughter before. And prayed to the goddess he never did again. Pulling his dark glasses out of his pocket, he settled them over his eyes. He didn't quite have Bryce's tolerance for the sunlight. And dawn, rising in burning orange fury, lit the edges of the horizon.

The rogues, scrambled for the cover of the shade as dawn lit the sky. They had stayed clear of the brothers. Warily keeping out of the way. Watching each and every move the brothers made with hesitant stares. Lance wasn't so fooled that he'd blindly turn his back on them. He'd just seen too much to trust easily. And it was equally apparent the rogues didn't trust him either. Ok. So there was a timid peace between both parties forged out of circumstance and necessity. He'd do his part to maintain it, as long as the rogues did theirs.

Lance's scattered, random thoughts wandered to Angel. And how glad he was that she was safe at the compound under lock and key. He could not even begin to think about the dark whisper that had managed to embed itself in his mind. It could be her. Her ashes he tasted on his tongue. Coating his skin. He wasn't sure if he could have done it. Carried her body, dead and lifeless, to the pyre.

Terrified that he might never get her back. That somehow Roark's hold on her would never be broken he pushed back his unwanted feelings. Women were conquests. Pleasurable distractions. He'd enjoyed them. He respected women. But, have these types of feelings for just one. Never. He hadn't intended to let Angel get under his skin. And perhaps, that was exactly why she had.

Angel was hard on the surface. Her sarcasm was abrasive as steel wool and just as grating. Tough. Relentless. She chased anyone away who dared to get close to her. She dressed to deflect with outlandish clothing and a scowl. She didn't trust easily and never let her guard down around anybody. Even Keene and Kayla, who she knew better than anybody, were only allowed to venture so close to her.

Lance realized it was all an act. That beneath everything she pretended to be Angel was soft, pliable, and terrified to let anyone see her true self. And that made the kiss, the heated brush of her lips and her response to him all the more enticing. Eventually, he would break though. To what ends, he didn't know. A relationship seemed too far out of reach. And a tryst would only cheapen the trust he had managed to earn.

He smiled privately to himself. Grinning like insanity had overtaken his mind in the wake of such horror. He was already in over his head as far as Angel was concerned. In too deep to back out now, involved far beyond what he should be. He'd take whatever it was she had the courage to give him. And be damned grateful for it.

Thinking of Angel instead of the bodies burned to ash in the mound of glowing coals worked to pull his mind out of the dark place it might otherwise spiral into. It all came down to one key point none of the brothers had spoken aloud. What were they going to do with all of these rogues?

The woods couldn't sustain this many mouths to feed. And there weren't enough donors to supply this many with human blood. More had arrived since the break of dawn. Drawn inexorably to this spot, angry and confused. Baffled by what had called them here. They came in groups of three or four, sometimes, alone, drifting through the shadows in bewilderment. Lance glanced at the glowing embers, pale in the light of day, and wondered how much longer the brothers had before circumstances forced them to live up to their reputation and they added more bodies to the pyre.

Chapter 45

The Great Father led Roark through the woods. Roark walked beside him, matching his steps with silent footfalls. The both of them understood exactly how precarious and how volatile the situation was. Rogues from distant places filtered into territory, beckoned by Roark's mystical calling. He'd cut a deal with the windigo to get them to do his bidding. And eventually, the dark forces would demand payment in full for the work they had done. Roark gave away nothing in his expression. And truly what was there to say. This between them had to end. "Revenge makes a poor mistress."

Roark averted his eyes from the deep, rich brown knowingness of the Great Father's stare. The man had so much power in such a simple gesture. Just the aura surrounding him made Roark want to agree to anything the Great Father wanted. Roark respected that kind of authority. But, he would never cave to it. "So it would seem."

"Do you realize the danger you've placed us all in? Have you seen the news lately?" The Great Father strained to hold his temper in check. Getting into a fight with Roark would not undo the damage he'd done. If he had hopes of getting the two factions out of this in one piece, he needed Roark's cooperation.

"No, I've been a little too busy lately." Roark replied hinging the defensive tone in his voice. Was it really his fault if he'd inadvertently fathered a race of idiots?

"Missing persons, riots at airports, traffic accidents, murders...need I say more? Your people are dying to get to your side. And they're spilling the blood of the innocent along the way. You know I cannot allow that to go unanswered."

"What would you have me do?" Roark shivered thinking of the sheer numbers drawn to his side. The gathering was certain to attract attention. In doing what he'd done he'd violated the unspoken pact between all vampires. The Great Father was right. Something had to be done about them. More terrifying to him though wasn't the humans finding out, but the curiosity the carelessness of the rogues might arouse in the other Rogue Masters. Especially, if his call had drawn some of their ranks to his side and they'd abandoned their masters for him. And even then, there was only one master that he feared more than the Great Father. The Great Father was all about justice and fair play. O'Sullivan was not. "You can't kill them all."

"No, I don't wish to have it end like that," the Great Father admitted. "Last night the windigo did a good job of thinning the herd for us."

"Yes, a pity. It was quite unexpected. But, then again, that is the natural order of things, is it not? The strong survive and the weak perish." His speech was cut short as the Great Father reached out a hand and grasped him around the throat. Clutching so tightly that whatever Roark was going to say next was cut off.

"How many more are you willing to sacrifice to exact your revenge?" The Rogue Masters attitude of nonchalance was quickly wearing thin and he was at the end of his patience with the man. Finally, loosing his temper he snatched Roark up by the throat and gave him a little taste of what he'd inflicted on his offspring. The reasonable solution would be to kill him now and get it over with. End at least one of his problems. There had to be a way to contain the windigo, a way that didn't involve counting on Roark to do the right thing and put them back to hell.

Roark called upon the ancient darkness and let it fill every fiber of his being. He wasn't going to go down without a fight. The Great Father would never best him. The rules of the game had changed. And the sooner the Great Father figured it out, the better the chances the man might live till night fall. Casting out the black energy he sent a wave of the destructive force at the Great Father, engulfing him with the pure, unadulterated evil of the twins. Gasping for breath he fell to the ground as the Great Father released his hold. The force of what he'd unleashed sent the Great Father careening through the trees to land in a heap, dazed and completely vulnerable.

Roark's instinct for self-preservation cried out to for him to finish the man while he was down. It might be his only chance to do so. And if he didn't take it now, he might never get another one. Gripping the hilt of his dagger, he stepped forward, tasting the sweet allure of victory on the tip of his tongue. The darkness purred in eagerness, hungry for the taste of death. Killing the Great Father would ensure his position in the vampire world. No master, not even O'Sullivan would dare to cross him. Opportunities like this didn't come along everyday and he'd be a fool to pass it up.

The Great Father leapt to his feet and slid his weapon from its leather sheath. Crouching low, he prepared to face his opponent. This was not the most opportune time to battle his enemy. But sometimes fate was what it was and who was he to question Ka-tet? Slowly he circled, waiting for Roark to strike. "Are you so ready to die?" he asked, his voice was low, almost a growl.

"It's as good of a day as any," Roark answered smugly. Finally, after almost two centuries of regret, he would finish the man off. This time, he'd make sure, that the Great Father wasn't going to rise from the grave. After he killed him, he was going to hack him to bits and send the pieces back to the Sons in a cardboard box. His thirst for conquest welling in his throat as he palmed his dagger and crept forward.

"What will you do about the rogues?" the Great Father asked. Countering Roark's steps he circled the man. They'd battled before and they were evenly matched in skill and speed. Roark wouldn't die easily. But, then again neither would he. The woods were silent around them. Holding its breath as their power built and the promise that only one would be victorious hung on the air.

"Does it matter? You'll be dead, so you'll never know," Roark answered.

"And if you die?"

"Then the problem with the rogues will be solved."

"Yes, it will."

"What will you do about the Windigo?" Roark asked. Flexing his grip on the hilt of his dagger, his eyes never left the Great Father. Such a mistake might prove fatal. And Roark had plans to live a very long time.

"A way to contain them will present itself," the Great Father answered. He shifted his weight balancing it on the balls of his feet readying for Roark's attack. Roark was so certain he would win the fight. His over confidence would serve the Great Father well. Ensure an easy victory. The windigo had no loyalty to Roark. They were a chaotic force that could not be controlled. Roark was counting on them to shift the balance in his favor. And he just might get a nasty surprise. The windigo owned Roark's soul. He just hadn't figured it out yet.

"A rather cryptic response," Roark chided. The Great Father was talking. Buying time and trying to shift the fight in his favor. Both men locked gazes. Fingers flexed around hilts of weapons, promising death and pain.

"We seem to have each other over a barrel. You need my help to contain the rogues and I need your help to contain the windigo."

"Why would I help you to contain the source of my power?" Roark asked.

"How long do you think it will be before they realize that they don't need you? Before they gain a foothold in this world and cannot be contained?" The Great Father read Roark's subtle body language detecting the slight tremor in his right hand. The man had already guessed that he was out living his usefulness to them. And it was just a matter of time. "You already know this," he hissed.

"I can control them." Roark bluffed. The night in the dark caverns of Lamia's lair taught him just how expendable he was. There was no way, he'd spend the rest of eternity, or whatever time he had on this Earth, as her slave. He'd rather die at the blade of the Great Father than as her servant. It would be a kinder fate than being locked in her clutches.

"No you can't. Did you want your children slaughtered last night?" The Great Father ducked out of the way of Roark's dagger. He lifted a brow as the steel slammed into a tree trunk, landing with a solid thunk, buried to the hilt in the brown bark.

"Damn you," Roark hissed. The Great Father had him. He didn't want to be responsible for the deaths of his children and he knew it was a matter of time before either they came after him to exact their vengeance or the Windigo did it for them. Either way, the price would be his life. And he'd lived too damn long to simply wait for someone to take it from him.

"A truce?" The Great Father held up his right hand extending his palm. The scar on its fleshy surface shone white in contrast to the dark, caramel, color of his skin. He had entered a pact before with Roark before. A blood oath Roark had broken, a pact that had to be renewed and upheld if either side was going to survive the windigo.

"Agreed." Roark held up his right hand revealing a mirror image of the Great Father's scar. The flesh of the small slit was thicker and shone out pale white against his paler skin. "I assume you have a plan?"

"Not in the least." The Great Father sheathed his weapon and narrowed his eyes at Roark. "It might have helped if you'd learned how to contain the windigo before you called them forth."

Roark snickered, "If I had a way to contain Lamia and Samael we wouldn't be having this conversation." Holstering his dagger he returned the Great Father's hardened stare. "I guess, killing you will have to wait until later."

"Likewise," the Great Father said. He wondered how many times before this was over Roark and he would end up with their daggers at one another's throats. And he wondered, if it finally did come down to a test of skill, which one of them would win.

Chapter 46

Startled, Bryce jolted awake and opened his eyes. Blinking against the darkened room he put the pieces together. Haphazardly, he sifted through what was nightmare and what was reality. Forcing the world to come into focus. The woman in his arms, soft, warm, and cuddly, was real. The emotions she invoked within him were real. He pressed his pelvis into the shapely curve of her hip. Her body called to him. Jarring his need to painful fullness.

The temptation of her was enough to chase away the residual chill of his nightmares. He could himself in her heat and happily never face any other reality but her again. Bryce wanted that, he realized with aching awareness. For there to be nobody but the two of them, even if it was just a dream, and wouldn't last beyond these fleeting first moments of twilight or as she teasingly called it, vampire's dawn. He had to face the horrors of the world again. They both did. But, for just a few minutes, couldn't they enjoy and just belong to nobody but each other?

"You're awake." Kayla yawned and stretched. Bryce was needy and hard. Parting her thighs with the palm of his and stroking his fingers along her innermost core. She wanted him as desperately as he craved her. Without thought, she tugged on his arm pulling him on top of her. Responding to his caress and their shared primal need. To feel his weight pressing down on her, teasing her with the head of his swollen erection was life affirming.

And it wasn't just her, that felt the confirmation on an elemental level, someplace deep in her soul. He felt it too. The urgency was too great. The connection that flowed between them was too intense to ignore any longer. He tortured her with sweetness and erotic play. Dipping the tip of the head of his hard length in and out of her core until she was panting with need and bucking her hips against him for more. Always more.

Bryce needed to feel Kayla's warmth beneath him. He needed her wiggling and bucking in desire against him. He tortured and teased, barely able to withstand the pleasure of slipping inside of her silky wetness only to retreat and leave them both panting and desperate for completion. He gritted his teeth to hold back against the onslaught of her hips bucking against him.

Kayla was so warm, so alive, so needy for what he had to offer. Mewling like a kitten, she wrapped her legs around his hips, digging her heels into his backside to spur him on. And that was his undoing.

He slid into her slowly giving into their mutual desire. His toes curled from the sensations of pleasure surging through him. His groin was painfully tight. Her heart pounded, hammering against his chest. Her labored breathing was a summer breeze caressing his skin. Clamoring for her mouth with his lips, his body fell into a rhythm with hers. Filling her, pumping into her, advancing, withdrawing, pulsing with need, driving her harder, pushing himself harder, never able to get enough, overdosing on too much, wild thrusts made all the wilder from the eager bucking of her hips, sent him over the edge.