Dawn Revealed

She gave up on wondering when the torture was going to end and simply accepted it. Her husband was terribly close to falling into a dark place she wasn't sure even she would be able to pull him out of. Angel wasn't helping things. Her constant begging, relentless kicking at the door, and grappling with the restraints to the point her wrists and ankles were raw meat, only made Keene worse.

Arguing with Angel in an attempt to shut her up wouldn't help either. The three of them were stuck in this awful place. Trapped. And there wasn't a damn thing anybody could do about it. Lori felt herself slipping, moment by moment, wandering closer to the tantalizing darkness calling to her. Her eyes fixed on Angel. Narrowing to slits. Nobody had truly considered her a threat. No, they weren't protecting anyone from her. She was harmless to everyone but herself, the baby vampire barely able to control her own fangs.

Patrick had tossed her in the room and locked her in. But, he hadn't bothered to bind her limbs. Her hands were free. And right now it was tempting...too tempting to wrap them around Angel's skinny neck and squeeze the life out of her. They forgot one key point. Lori was just as subject to the calling as Angel and Keene. And it affected her just the same. The brothers had inadvertently created a lethal situation by locking the three predators in the same room together. "Keene, we have to get out of here."

Lori was on her feet and across the inescapable storeroom turned into a makeshift cell. Glaring down at Angel. Licking her lips at the smell of blood, tracing each drop as it welled to the surface of Angel's skin to drop onto the concrete floor. Her hunger didn't care that vampire blood wouldn't offer any sustenance or that by drinking it she'd bind herself to Angel. The predator within her didn't give a damn about preserving life. It wanted out to play, to feast on the death she was capable of causing. It wanted violence and pain, payment for the longevity of its host. "Angel, shut the fuck up!"

Angel snapped her head up, turning her focus from the door to the woman towering over her. She'd never considered Lori as dangerous. She'd never really considered her as anything at all besides Keene's wife and a sort of friend she sometimes spoke to when the mood struck her. The cute little coed playmate kitten had claws. And they were out. Bound as she was, if Lori truly wanted her dead, there wasn't a lot she could do about it.

The thought was tempting. To just keep annoying the shit out of her, push her till she broke. It was the only way Angel would ever truly escape her ties to Roark. Her eyes flicked from the door to Lori and then back to the door. And with that simple change in her focus, she began to realize that she didn't want to die.

Angel scooted her way into the corner and clamped her mouth shut. Her eyes never left Lori. Watching warily as the blonde campus coed contemplated her fate. Lori eased out a breath and retracted her fangs, replacing the snarl with a satisfied smile. Retreating to huddle with Keene wrapped in her arms, talking softly to him as she stroked her fingers through his hair in calming passes. Angel remained silent, her stare fixed on the door. She had a future. And no matter how temporary it might be, she wanted every last second of it.

Chapter 48

Dane paced the bluffs. The once peaceful and sacred clearing overlooking the valley and the town down below had been converted into a temporary command post and holding area for the rogues. They were safer here than in the clearing Roark had chosen to house them. Easier to keep an eye on corralled in this location. Their escape made trickier by the steep cliffs of shale and deep gullies.

The Great Father and Rogue Master discussed and debated. Pouring over crumbling aged texts in hopes of finding a way to break the calling and return the windigo to their realm. So far, they had nothing. Dane preferred a more direct approach to things. And had an excellent way to rid the brotherhood of the responsibility of babysitting the rogues and sending the windigo back to hell. Kill Roark and their problems would be solved.

The wide clearing was filled to the point of bursting with rogues. Their numbers were growing larger minute by minute. With the passing of time Roark's minions from distant locations filtered into the overcrowded space. The rogues were restless and volatile. Creating a dangerous crucible that threatened to boil over at any minute. And he had the joyous task of tagging the numbers, keeping track of them, and trying to keep them fed.

In small groups, the brothers took the rogues out into the woods to hunt. Some of the rogues simply refused. Turning their noses up at what was on the menu and grumbling under their breath. As if the brothers had insulted them with such humble faire. Dane knew they were running out of time before this whole mess got out of hand. The rogues were hungry. And there simply weren't enough donors or deer to go around.

No matter how inconvenienced the rogues or the brothers were. Everyone was trying to get along and play nice. One thing was certain and plainly apparent. No one on either side wanted a repeat of last night. And unfortunately, it seemed there was little anyone could do to prevent it.

Alex hated being put on the spot. She had been requested to report to the bluffs. And here she stood, in the tent that served as the temporary command post, waiting patiently for her turn to speak. She hated people staring at her with such faith in their eyes when she didn't have a clue as to what to tell them. She'd been here before and much like before she had nothing but a head full of ideas without any substance behind them.

The Great Father had asked for her help. His request had nothing to do with her hit and miss skills as a prophetess. In a distant life not all that long ago, she'd earned a degree in Native American history and was somewhat of an expert in the field. He hoped she had something, some insight or some idea of how to put the lid on what Roark had unleashed. She was already on it. And had spent the last two days researching history books, scrolls, and websites. Anything she could find worth reading, she studied with a fervor that would have made her college professors proud.

Alex didn't have much. She clutched a few sheets of paper in her hand and hoped her thinking was at least somewhat on track. Every ancient culture and religion had some version of the Native American windigo. Stories of beasts that possessed such an unfathomable darkness and evil abounded on the World Wide Web and on the pages of books. But, of how to contain them, she found nothing. The best she had was an educated guess. And goddess help them all if she was wrong.

Worrying at her bottom lip with her top teeth, she shuffled her weight from foot to foot in doubt. What if she was wrong and somehow her idea made things worse? She stood an infant in the presence of a being that was possibly over a thousand years old. If Roark hadn't figured it out, what made her think she had? But, of course, how bright was Roark if he'd turned the windigo loose in the first place?

Her skin prickled from the power radiating off these two masters. The Great Father's head was bent in contemplation over a map. Roark stood likewise, drumming his fingers on the table in a monotonous rhythm. She had to tell them before she lost her nerve. She found something, a picture, it wasn't much, but it might be enough.

The great leaders were debating on how to handle the rogues. To her, the more obvious dilemma was how to contain the Windigo and send them back. Intent on getting their attention, she cleared her throat.

"Alex." The Great Father held up a hand to cut off the Rogue Master. "Go ahead." He was curious about what his young prophetess had to say. Her generation represented the future. Sometimes, he was too old for his own good. No matter how hard he tried to embrace the world and see it through fresh eyes. He was stuck with one foot trapped in the past and the other on the slippery ground of the uncertain present. The same was true of Roark.

Roark resented the interruption. He was in the process of negotiating hunting rights for the rogues when the petite redhead had barged in on the conversation. He silenced her instantly with a hard glare intended to put her in her place. Infants did not speak unless spoken to. She was, perhaps, less than two years into this life and still reeked of her humanity. And the Great Father had turned to her for advice.

Nervously, Alex clutched the printed pages in her hands. Roark pinned her with a look that would have melted sand into glass. His jaw ticked as the reprimand he was about to unleash on her was cut off by a wave of the Great Father's hand and an equally hard glare. The Great Father must have sensed her anxiety over being so close to Roark. She'd had her share of bad experiences with Rogue Masters before. But, not even Kore and her twisted brother Kiros were nearly as terrifying as Roark. "I think I might have found something."

"Look at this," Alex said. She fanned the pages out on the table and pointed to a picture or more importantly the story the pictures represented. Ages old pictographs found in the depths of a forgotten cave in the wilds of Syria. The pictures were of primitive cave paintings. Although grainy and blurry, they told a story of ancient man, of animal sacrifices on the altar, of worship, and of a great evil. The beings were far larger than the stick figure men etched into the walls of the cave. It wasn't the depiction of worship that got her attention though. Lightening bolts drawn in zigzags crossed the sky. And it was those ancient bolts that got her attention.

"What are you thinking?" Roark studied the pictures with mild disinterest. He'd already dismissed anything she had to say as utter nonsense. And he had every intention of discrediting her ideas and making her look the fool in front of her master.

"Anna. She can do something similar," Alex carefully replied. She hadn't been there when Anna had fried Roark's ass and almost killed Patrick in the process. And she really didn't want to bring it up. She had a feeling Roark was a little too into himself and the power he liked to think he had over everything in the known universe. He wouldn't necessarily like this little trip down memory lane. She didn't want to do anything to call his attention to Anna. But, in dismissing her, Roark had insulted her and she didn't really mind throwing a little humble pie in his face.

"And?"

"If this is a depiction of the windigo, which is what I think it is. This might be a way to send them back to their realm. Every god wants to be worshiped. And lets face it. The windigo were forgotten a long time ago. We fool them. Make them think we've been converted into followers. A ritual sacrifice like the one in the picture should get their attention. And once we lure them into our trap. We sick Anna on them and problem solved."

"And the sacrifice? Are you volunteering?" He had his doubts about the state of her virginity. But, he didn't think Lamia and Samael wouldn't be too picky. Roark leered at her silently grinning as she shifted uncomfortably on her feet.

"No. I hoped you would." Alex grinned innocently. The guy was creepy. "Actually, I was thinking of something a little more intelligent than you. A bull."

Roark snubbed his nose up at Alex and turned to the Great Father. "Surely, you're not going to listen to this female? It's impossible that her idea is of any merit. She's just a child."

"It is possible and I can't see how we have anything to lose," the Great Father countered. "I will discuss this with my brothers and begin preparations for the ritual. Can you keep the rogues under control for a while longer?"

"Of course," Roark said. He hoped. Confined in such a small location, with more arriving every minute, his rogues were restless and volatile. He was used to maintaining order through fear. His rogues weren't afraid of him anymore. When he walked among them, they daringly met his eye and refused to yield out of his way. He understood how precarious a rogue master's hold on the world was. And how easily it could change. Looking out over the masses he regretted what he'd have to do to maintain his standing. Not here though. Not with the brothers watching. He'd have to pick them off one by one. Quiet. Private. Quickly. His survival and the survival of his world depended on it.

Chapter 49

Anna squirmed and bit her bottom lip in doubt as the Great Father laid out the plan. He was asking her to unleash the very thing that she was so very terrified of. The power she'd released that night was just a sampling of what she truly was capable of. She'd felt the energy surging through her, begging for release. Even now, it flowed within, so very close at the edge of her control. The Shaman was helping her to learn and come to terms with her abilities. And they were just now beginning to understand it, a little. But, there was so much more they didn't know.

She regretted not killing Roark when she'd had the chance. She'd never understood why Patrick had jumped in between her and Roark and taken the brunt of it. With the amount of energy surging through her that night, she could have killed them both. "I haven't tried to use my power since that night," she whispered. "What if I can't control it?"

"I have faith in you." The Great Father laid a reassuring hand on Anna's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. She was terrified of the dormant force inside of her. And she struggled with the weight of what he was asking of her. He removed his hand and did his best to live up to his reputation. He was afraid too. Still so uncertain as to if the plan would work. And he understood the terror of having something, a living breathing thing inside of you that was so different but so much a part of you. He lived with it too. And he was just beginning to comprehend the strange urgings and changes slowly coming to the surface. To be the same and yet so different and so terrified of who you might become.

"I wish I did," Anna muttered. The Great Father seemed so confident in her. Almost as if he already knew the outcome of what he was asking her to do. She wished she shared his optimism and his faith in her. So far, she hadn't contributed anything of any real value to the brotherhood. This would change that. What good were the cookies, cakes, and pies she stress baked to the brothers? Absolutely none.

Sometimes she felt as if her only function was to take up space. She didn't go out in the field armed to the teeth in defense of what was theirs. She didn't have any special skills that were of value to anybody. She was an architect. She'd basically designed their underground home. But, how much were her efforts worth if the brotherhood had to constantly defend it from fiends like Roark? Lifting her eyes she met the Great Father's stare. "Ok, I'll do it. I mean...I'll try."

The Great Father nodded and left Toby to care for his wife. He wandered the stone hallways and counted the lives under his keeping. Sometimes, he didn't understand what Kokumthena had ever seen in him. Why she'd tasked him with this responsibility and the burden of immortality. Or why he'd shared it with his Sons. None of them had asked for her gift or the heavy weight of such a task on their shoulders.

He now understood his enemy better than he ever had before. Roark maintained control though fear. He committed the insane acts he did out of his own fear of losing control. Roark had created a big dysfunctional family born of his blood. And he'd done it for a reason. Forever was a long time to live alone. And even with his new understanding, it didn't change anything. He couldn't allow Roark to live. Not with the danger Roark represented to the brotherhood. Assuming they survived intact, Roark had to die or he would have to die trying.

Marcus always seemed to pull the short straw when it came to work details. Corpse taxi, babysitting truckers, and now, just to add to their diversity, steer wrangling. Marcus wondered how much longer Dane was going to punish him. Somehow, Marcus doubted Dane's choice of assignments had nothing to do with his part in orchestrating the demolition of Roark's house and everything to do with the fact that he'd scammed on Dane's adopted little sister. Dane tolerated the fact that they were a couple. But, he sure as hell didn't like it.

It wasn't that Sam cared what her big brother thought. She'd wanted to go public for months. Have the big wedding on the bluffs with all the trimmings. And Marcus wanted to give it to her. But, it just never seemed to be the right time. Everyone already knew they were together and that their relationship was more than just a casual fling. It was simply that nobody wanted to risk Dane's wrath and come right out and say it. As silly as it was, Marcus and Sam lived under the grid. Sneaking into one another's rooms, stealing kisses in dark corners, and sharing private moments of intense passion whenever they could. The only problem with their current arrangement was that in the brotherhood, there were no secrets. And Dane, along with everybody else, knew everything.

Sam leaned on the fence and smiled at Marcus. Beneath his rough exterior, the constant casualness in which he viewed the world and everyone in it, as if he couldn't give a damn about any of it, beat a heart of pure gold. He loved deeply. He was loyal to those in his inner circle. He'd risked his life countless times. Put himself in danger to keep somebody else out of harm's way. And he always did what was best for other people before he considered what was best for him. And beyond Marcus's capacity and duties to the Sons, her big brother could not stand him.

Dane thought Marcus was too old for her. Too old? Ha! They were vampires what the hell did age have to do with anything? He thought Marcus was too rough around the edges, too worldly and too experienced to be good for her. Oh, her big brother had offered his share of opinions about the men she should be dating. Pointed out men he thought would make suitable mates for her. Stuffed shirts. Cookie cutter wanna be's. Posers made of plastic and Styrofoam, stiff as cardboard without substance or real personality. And even if Marcus had never came into her life. She would have never conceded to choosing one of the guys Dane picked out for her instead. She'd rather be alone than end up marrying someone who tried as hard as those guys did.

Did she want more? Sure. And deep in her heart she knew that the only reason Marcus hadn't given it to her was because of Dane. He put up with scrutiny he didn't deserve because of her. He kept his mouth shut. Took the shittiest assignments and all the crap Dane dished out on him out of fear confronting her brother would only make it worse. Sam was so over it. Over the sneaking around and hiding in dark corners. Living a half-truth to keep her brother placated when the only thing she really wanted was to go public. Marry her man, not in secret as they had, but in full view of everyone and with her brother's blessing. And she was going to. Assuming the brothers got out of this crisis in one piece and another one didn't follow right on its heels.

Deep in her heart of hearts Sam was all girl, frilly and pink tutus instead of black leather and combat boots. She couldn't help herself. A part of her felt sorry for the poor animal. Alexander never ceased to amaze her. All she'd said was that the brothers needed a bull and Alexander had come through for them and came up with the bull.

The bull's eyes were round and deep pools of brown, almost the same color as hers. She stroked his black, coarse pelt, the exact color of her hair. And felt the rough scrape of his tongue as he licked her fingers in curiosity. She thought bulls were mean, aggressive animals. But, this one was tame and almost complacent, completely accepting of his fate. She tried to tell herself if it weren't them, it would be somebody else. And with that in mind she hadn't named him. And she sure as hell hadn't told the bull what was about to happen to him. He was better off not knowing and she was better off not thinking about it. "I'm sorry, fella."