Dawn Rising

Lucien growled defensively at the human male who rushed into the room, banging a canvas bag overflowing with medical supplies carelessly against the doorframe. This was a time of mourning, the last minutes of their time together. How dare he interrupt? The human stopped dead in his tracks, regarding Lucien with wide eyes. Lucien could smell the fear radiating off of the small male. He hadn't meant to frighten him, only to protect Alex.

The Shaman placed a hand on his friend's arm to hold him back and took the bag of supplies from his shoulder. "Lucien," he said. Slowly approaching the bed with careful, measured steps. "This is Thomas. He's a doctor, a human doctor. He needs to see Alex. We can still try to save her."

Thomas shifted his weight from foot to foot nervously. The primal part of his mind screamed at him to run. The analytical part, the part that had chosen med-school, assessed his patient. He strained to look over Jack's shoulder for a better look. As Medicine Men, he and Jack had the best interests of their patient in their hearts. This had to be bad if the Almighty Shaman had called him instead of taking care of it himself. Thomas should have known when Jack called and told him to bring all the units of A negative blood he could get his hands on, it was bad.

As an ER doc, Thomas was used to bad. But, given what little he could see of his patient, her paper white skin coated in drying blood, he'd seen accident victims bound for the morgue that looked better than the woman in the snarling vampire's arms. This woman was a hopeless cause. She'd die before the vampire let him get a close enough to her to evaluate her. And from the looks of things, that wouldn't be much longer. He should have just stayed at home and enjoyed his night off.

Lucien hissed in warning at the Shaman. At this point there were no friends, only enemies. His mind couldn't register that these two had come to help Alex. Gingerly, Jack set the bag of medical supplies on the edge of the bed, lightly jarring the mattress. It was enough to send Lucien over the edge into a rage. "It's too late. Death is close. I can feel it," he growled and rolled his upper lip up to flash his fangs in warning. His would be the last touch Alex felt before she left this world. No stranger was going to lay a finger on her.

The Shaman regarded Lucien warily, studying every possible means of physically removing him from the girl's side if he had to. The Sons were in wait, surrounding the house. If needed Lucien could be removed by force. There wasn't much time left. The cloying scent of death was thick in the air. The prickle of the spirit world ran along his arms. "Lucien," he whispered slowly and softly. "You have to let us try. For the sake of the Alex's parents, we need to try." He placed a firm grasp on Lucien's shoulder, gingerly sliding his other hand down to loosen Lucien's grip on the girl.

Lucien tensed beneath the Shaman's touch, unwilling to leave Alex's side. His head told him that of course they were right. Everything that possibly could be done needed to be done. But his heart was reluctant to yield to his head. He pressed his lips against the cool smooth skin of Alex's cheek as he allowed Jack to guide him off the bed.

Lucien's knees felt rubbery and weak. He backed into the corner of the tiny bedroom, slouched against the wall, watching as the Shaman and the human doctor worked with fevered hands to save Alex. A snarl escaped his lips at the sight of Alex's fragile skin pierced by IV needles, so much like fangs. The human doctor, hell Lucien didn't remember his name, was in charge of the show. Barking out orders, his brow furrowed in determination to snatch her life out of the Grim Reaper's hands. A timid ray of hope spread through Lucien's mind. Alex wasn't going to die, not this night. She wouldn't dare. The human doctor wouldn't allow it.

The sight of human blood being pumped along the plastic tubing and into her body made his head reel. He glared at the oxygen mask that concealed her fragile beauty. The blip of the monitor that traced her thready heartbeat was deafening. He felt as if he were going to crawl out of his skin. He struggled to maintain what little control he had left. Oxygen was good. The evidence that Alex had a heartbeat, and that it was getting stronger was good. The blood...the blood...the blood. Lucien roared like a lunatic as the last of his control shattered.

Chapter 39

John Mark was too young, too new to handle the sight or smell of human blood. He paced the front yard in agitation. The sweetness of pine did nothing to mask its scent. His fangs tingled and elongated, teased by the cloying aroma so thick on the air. After sending the Rogues packing via way of miles and miles of cornfields, freshly planted for the spring. He'd come back to the house, just to make sure they didn't pull any funny business. The sword strapped across his wide shoulders was in pristine condition. He was itching for a chance to use it.

Alex was in bad shape. The forest floor was coated with her blood. John Mark would never forget the scream of pain breaking through the silence of the trees. God, if he never heard such a piteous, gut wrenching noise like that again, it'd be too soon. Lucien had given her his blood. Why wasn't it working?

John Mark put all his faith in the power of the blood. Blood was his religion. The deity he worshiped. He thought their blood was powerful enough to conquer anything. He was on the front porch. His hand on the front door knob before he'd even realized his feet had taken the first step.

Patrick blocked his path, knocking him back. "Go take a walk, kid," he said, baring his fangs in unspoken threat. John Mark knew that look. Patrick would take him out before he let him step one foot in that house. Rightfully so, he was too tempted by the scent of blood to be so near to the source.

It took every bit of will power John Mark had to harness his fangs. Slowly, knowing that movement would set Patrick off, he backed away from the door. "Sure, yeah, sure, no problem. I'll just go...guard a cornfield."

Relieved by some distance between himself and the sweet scent of blood, John Mark moved through the woods. Shamed by his behavior. He was supposed to be above the temptation of a mortal's blood. If this were some kind of a test intended solely for him by the Grandmother, he'd failed it. Miserably. He moved through acres and acres of plowed fields and gentle sloping pastureland, crossed miles of woods and wandered into the town nestled in the heart of them.

What would he do if he were in Lucien's shoes? What would he do to save Robbie, if she were dying the way Alex was? What if his blood wasn't enough to save her? Would he be so tempted then?

John Mark rounded a corner. He knew exactly where his feet carried him. Every crack in the sidewalk, he knew by heart. The leaf on every tree was branded into his memory. He made his way up the quiet street and looked up to a light, shining from her bedroom window. She was home for spring break. Good timing too. With the Rogues on the loose in the city, at least he didn't have to worry about her for the time being.

Soundlessly, he climbed the trellis attached to the front porch and perched on the narrow overhang of the roof, just outside her window. He pressed his palm to the glass. What would he give for her life? Everything. Everything he had. Everything he was.

Patrick tackled Lucien just before his brother reached the doctor. He planted a knee firmly against his leader's throat. Lucien was a strong son of a bitch. Straining, he struggled to restrain the vampire beneath him. "Damn it Lucien," he hissed. "They're trying to save her. Let the doctor work."

Alex's eyelids fluttered at the sounds of struggling. She fought against the waves of blackness that surged, threatening to pull her under. She was too weak to speak and was barely conscious enough to form words. She squeaked as she felt the sting of something pierce the skin of her arm. The tiny noise that had escaped her throat was followed by more, harsh, incomprehensible words and the rustling sounds of bodies locked in a fight.

Lucien choked and coughed as he clawed against the denim-clad knee that pressed firmly against his throat. None of Patrick's words were filtering through past Lucien's rage. He needed to touch Alex, needed to be close to her and feel her skin against his fingers. He wanted to commit every line and detail to memory before she was taken away from him. Her mind had faded and became silent. He was afraid, afraid that she was drifting across the Great River that divided the land of the living from the land of the dead. He was frightened of loosing her and terrified of being too weak to let her go.

"Get him the hell out of here!" Thomas barked. Sure the vampires were big, scary, things. But, this patient, saving her life, this was his turf. And Lucien was in the fucking way. Blood ran full flow into the IV catheter inserted into her arm. Her blood pressure was still too low. Pulse too rapid and thready for his liking. He needed more volume. More blood.

The Shaman could mix all the potions he wanted. Wave a flock of feathers over her face. Chant prayers till he didn't have a voice left. His patient simply didn't have enough. Hastily, he inserted another IV into her other arm, the one that was obviously broken. He'd deal with that later. He hooked up the tubing and squeezed the bag of blood with his fist. The life saving liquid ran in a steady stream into her arm. If he were in the ER, if there were an OR handy, he wouldn't feel so limited. There were lots of things he could try to bring her back. Drugs, intubation, an IV line sank straight into the big vessel that ran to her heart; all of the good stuff he got to play with on occasion.

Here, with the burden of the secret possibly costing her, her life. He had nothing but the basics. An ancient defibrillator that he'd salvaged from the hospital's trash heap, oxygen he'd gotten from the farm co-op, the tubing stolen from the hospital's central supply, and a few bags of blood he'd "borrowed" from the lab. Her life depended on how badly she wanted it. The magic was up to her. He was just an inept vehicle through which it flowed. "C'mon Alex, give me something here. C'mon...C'mon...C'mon," a prayer of his own, muttered through grinded teeth.

Finally, Lucien succumbed to Patrick's force, yielding allowing his brother to lead him from the bedroom. "I have failed her. I failed to keep her safe. My blood, my very essence wasn't enough to save her. I am not fit to be a Son." Lucien said as he sank onto the rough worn floorboards of the front porch, hiding his face in his hands.

Patrick said nothing as he took a seat next to Lucien. He couldn't find any words that seemed appropriate. Together they sat staring out into the darkness of the night. Patrick mussed to himself that occasions such as this were the ones that made him grateful that he remained single and unattached. Humans were nothing but trouble. They died. Plainly and simply put...they died.

Chapter 40

Dane slowed the truck on the interstate. The city loomed ahead of them with its orange glow piercing the darkness. He steered toward the first decent place he could find to make a U-turn. Who in the hell planted trees in the middle of an interstate anyway? Stupid idea. Gunning the engine he floored it and merged into the westbound lane. Looked like Leigh and Alexander's trip to D.C. was cancelled after all. Luckily, he wasn't out of range for the cell phone tower in his head to receive a signal.

"What's going on?" Alexander asked. They couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes out of the city when Dane made that U-turn headed back for home. Alexander had been feeling antsy the entire drive. He had a sinking feeling in his gut that he shouldn't have left Alex at home all alone. Dane's impromptu tour of the grassy median that separated the interstate into east and westbound lanes only confirmed his suspicions.

Shit, it wasn't his job to deliver bad news. Not his place to tell them what was happening back at home. From the plethora of messages received on his mental e-mail the situation wasn't good. He hoped he could get the couple back home before their daughter passed from this world. "There's been...a problem," he said, stomping on the gas pedal.

Janine puttered around at the airport, wasting time till it was time to board the plane. Patrick drove like his ass was on fire. Passing every vehicle on the interstate as if they were standing still. She guessed she was lucky he'd actually stopped the car before he tossed her and her luggage out on her ear. Her flight wasn't until ten forty-five. Geesh, she rolled her eyes, scanning the neat print of her boarding pass. Who went to L.A. via Atlanta, via a connecting flight out of Las Vegas? For the last minute, paying double the faire, it could have been worse, she supposed. She might have had to fly to China just to get to L.A.

She sipped a ten-dollar coffee loaded with sugar and cream till it was more syrup than actual coffee. Good thing this little excursion was on the Son's dime, otherwise she'd be bankrupt. Unemployed was such an ugly word. She was temporarily in between jobs, not broke as a joke and desperate for work.

There was a sign in a shop window across the wide mall, advertising a part-time position for a sales clerk. Maybe, she should go apply. Nah. The offerings of the shop were tantalizing. They had the cutest little scarf on display. The two hundred dollar and some odd cents price tag had her putting it back on the rack. She'd be working for free if she got a job there. Hell, she'd probably end up paying them instead of the other way around.

Maybe it was the bolus of caffeine coursing through her veins that caused her to be extra jittery. But, Janine had a bad, bad feeling about this flight. Something wasn't right. Something had her clutching her boarding pass in her fingers debating on whether to chuck it in the trash or get on the plane. Flying was safer than driving, right? There was nothing to worry about. This airport sent out hundreds of flights per day. Thousands of happy passengers got on the planes and got off of them in one piece. Airplanes didn't fall from the sky...that often. Besides, she only flew the best. She would be as safe as a babe in its mother's arms. Not a thing would go wrong. Anxiously, she checked her watch. In thirty minutes, she'd be buckled up.

She'd never been afraid of flying before. She couldn't figure out why the thought of it bothered her now. The trip to L.A., even though the circumstances sucked, was something she'd been meaning to do anyway. It was just that the money wasn't there to do it. She should enjoy this chance to spend the Son's cash instead of her own. Janine thought she'd finally talked herself through the feeling of dread that settled in the middle of her belly and dragged her suitcases and her weary body to the gate.

A row of rental car booths stretched between her and the security checkpoint. Despite the late hour, a few were still open for business. Janine paused before one of them. The lady behind the counter smiled at her wearily, her hand moving to lower the gate closed over the booth. So much for friendly, twenty-four hour service. Deciding to follow her gut, Janine trotted over to the booth just before the woman slammed the gate closed.

Janine slid her boarding pass across the counter. The ticket was non-refundable. But, it could be transferred to some other deserving soul. She had no money in her checking account. Her credit card was maxed to the limit. She had no way to rent a car. "How'd you like to spend a week in sunny, beautiful, glorious L.A.?"

The woman behind the counter eyed the boarding pass. L.A. was supposed to be nice this time of year. She would get fired. But, who cared? Her job was a crummy one anyway. There were no rules about renting a car for herself. And she could use her employee discount, while she still had one. Slowly, she pushed the gate up. Eyes narrowed on the desperate woman across the counter from her. "What'd you have in mind?"

Chapter 41

Patrick and Lucien sat on the stoop, watching as the sky lighten to a dim, dove gray. A line of dazzling golden sun peeked over the black tree line. Hours ago, Dane had returned with Alex's parents. Alexander had taken one look at his daughter and thrown everyone but his wife, the doctor, and the Shaman out of the room. Lucien didn't blame him. This was the second time he'd almost gotten Alex killed.

Lucien remained oblivious to the footsteps that approached from behind. Alex hovered a fine line between life and death with one foot in each world. Hours had passed, from the deepest midnight to the paleness of dawn, without a word on her condition. He felt like he was losing his mind. Without Patrick to keep him sane and to hold him back, he would have demanded information. Bugged and kept it up until they let him see her. The doctor and the Shaman were too busy to deal with him. Alex held the sole focus of their attention and that was where it needed to be. They were trying, despite his ineptitude, to save her life.

Patrick scowled at the bright, shiny compact car parked in the driveway. He thought he was done with Janine. Who would have thought she could be so industrious. She should be in L.A. right now, basking in the sun. He'd dropped her off at the airport, so reassured in the fact that he wouldn't have to deal with her again. Much to his chagrin, she'd pulled into the driveway shortly after two in the morning, frantic and demanding answers. He didn't have time or patience for more drama. It was all he could do to keep his brother calm, let alone deal with this frenzied female.

Patrick sighed, wincing against the gentle sunrise. It was that quiet hour, the brief period of time before night gave way to the dawn. He'd better enjoy what he could of it while it lasted. Once Janine awoke from his spell, the silent peace would be over.

The Shaman came out of the house and walked across the front porch. With a weary sigh, he lowered his body to the front stoop to join his brothers. He had never, in all his days, worked so hard to save somebody's life. Alex was tenacious, stubbornly holding her own despite death's efforts to take her down. Finally, the battle took a turn for the better. Alex was still very fragile. Broken but not defeated. Death was going to have to wait his turn for another crack at her.

Lucien rose to his feet. Finding himself unable to look at the Shaman, he focused his eyes on a speck of dirt that clung to the house's siding. He held the hope in his heart that there was good news.

The Shaman regarded the pair of vampires beside him. Patrick was watching Lucien warily ready to tackle his friend, if needed. But remained seated. Lucien looked strained and tense. Streaks of gray wove through his hair at the temples. His face had lines of fatigue and stress etched along the surface. He'd aged decades in the last few hours, despite the fact that a century might equal a thousand vampire years. No body knew for sure exactly how vampires aged. They changed. Still showed the effects of time, but to a much lesser degree.

The Shaman surveyed Lucien cautiously. Lucien was the embodiment of what it was to be a Son. He had the body of a warrior, the heart of a lover, and the soul of a leader. Jack exhaled, taking a moment to tug pensively on the braid down his back, as he was known to do when he was deep in thought. He weighed his words before he spoke them. How much to tell his leader? Lucien would sense a lie. But, that didn't mean Jack couldn't bend the truth a little, here and there. "Alex is fine." Just the basics, he decided, seeing the relieved expression on Lucien's face. It would serve no true purpose to tell Lucien how close he'd come to losing Alex last night. "She is still very weak. Thomas demands that she be left alone for the time being to get her rest. But, she will be fine."