Dawn Rising

Janine set her mug on the table. Alex wouldn't meet her eyes. John Mark shuffled nervously in his seat. And Alex's parents focused on their empty coffee cups ignoring her completely. What was it? Was he dead? "What happened?" she asked, cautiously, not sure she wanted the answer.

"Lucien's doing everything he can," Alex replied. "Patrick has been taken by the Rogues." She took Janine's mug and her empty one to the coffee pot for a refill. The coffee in the carafe sloshed with the tremors from her fingers.

"They won't kill him," John Mark said. He meant his words to be a comfort. Given the tremor of Janine's lower lip and the redness splotched across her face, he'd screwed up and said the wrong thing. Annoyed with his utter stupidity, he dragged a hand through his hair. "God, I'm sorry."

Janine waved John Mark off with a flash of her fingers. "No, he'll be worse off than dead." She hid the tears burning the corners of her eyes behind the steam wafting off her refilled mug. There was nothing she could do for him. Once they got done with him. He'd be better off the sooner Lucien found the trail and put an end to him. Death would be a release. He wouldn't want to live like the thing the Rogues would turn him into.

Alex grabbed onto Janine's trembling fingers, clutching them tightly in her hand. "Lucien will never give up on Patrick. You'll see. He'll bring him back."

Lucien and his team slid silently through dark alleys and watched for a sign, something that would lead them to Patrick. Dane wasn't half the tracker that Patrick was. But, he made a pretty good man at his back. Patrick's mind had been mute despite all Lucien's attempts to reach him. Almost as if Patrick had hit the power button on a cell phone and cut him off altogether. The glimpses that Lucien saw before Patrick cut him off, were sketchy at best. Darkness, that wasn't much to go by considering the city was draped beneath its heavy cloak.

Determined, to find Patrick before it was too late, Lucien chose a random location to start the search. The darkest, most abandoned place he could think of, the warehouse district down by the river. He made a silent gesture to Dane and moved through the decaying ruins.

*************

"I can't believe there is nothing we can do!" Alex said, slamming her coffee cup on the table. "We just can't sit here and wait. Who knows what those two are doing to Patrick." She scrubbed her hand down her face in agitation. John Mark apparently, didn't know anything more about the mission than she did. Lucien was good at this clandestine shit.

Nervously, John Mark fidgeted in his chair. "If something happened to you Lucien would have my ass. We stay put." He could see the wheels in Alex's mind turning at a furious pace. Things were bad enough. If Lucien couldn't get Patrick back, they'd be worse. If something were to happen to Alex, if one hair on her little head was harmed, they'd be intolerable. "Whatever you're thinking. Just don't."

Over two hours had passed and not as much as a peep from the brothers. Waiting was worse than being out there in the thick of it. They could make it to the city before dawn if they left now. If they took the back roads, where cops and any traffic would be practically nil, she could make it in a little under two hours, maybe less if she floored it and drove like a maniac. She had a vague idea where Lucien was. And the closer she got to him the clearer her vision would be. "You're supposed to protect me right?" John Mark hesitantly nodded his head. "Well then I guess you'll have to go with me," Alex said stubbornly, pushing away from the table.

John Mark hopped to his feet, "I guess so." His hands twitched in eagerness to join in the fight. Alex had found a loophole that wouldn't land him in deep shit with the boss. If she just so happened to get in the car and drive into the city, what could he really do about it but go along for the ride? He turned to Alexander, Leigh, and Janine, "Are you in?"

Alexander scowled at John Mark's eagerness to lose his life. And the carelessness in which he handled Alex. God, they were both so young, so ready to trot into the heart of danger without a second thought as to what they would do when they got there. He had a list of reasons why they should stay put. But, he knew none of them would make their way through his daughter's or John Mark's thick skulls.

Resigned, Alexander exhaled a sigh. He was too damned old to run off to join them. He was still pretty good with a shotgun. Yeah, loaded with rock salt aimed at an unsuspecting raccoon. Rogues weren't raccoons. And he might as well ring the dinner bell. The best he could hope for was a lucky shot. He'd slow John Mark and Alex down. Put them in more danger than he'd protect them from. "At least weapon up before you go." Reluctantly, he led them to the barn and to his hidden cache of assorted blades and weaponry stashed under the bales of hay.

Janine was a little squeamish around all the lethal looking weapons. Holding it as if it would bite her, she picked up a gun. "What do you want me to do?" She was all in for riding in like Wonder Woman and saving the day. But, unless a Rogue needed an emergency makeover, she wouldn't be much value to Alex and John Mark. She'd try though. And probably die for her trouble.

Alexander dodged under his workbench. He should have known when Janine asked where the bullets went that she didn't have a damned idea of how to handle a gun. Idiot that he was, he'd obliged and loaded the bullets into the chamber before handing it back to her. When she waved it around like a baton in a homecoming parade, trying to figure out how to flick the safety off, he bolted for cover. She was going to blow her damned head off at the rate she was going. Annie Oakley, she was not.

John Mark eased the gun out of Janine's hand and flicked the safety back on. He secured the weapon in the empty holster around his hip. She had as much business handling a gun as he had at a day spa. "You know Janine, Alex's parents are...older...and someone's got to stay behind to look after them." Yeah, that little comment didn't earn him any points with Alexander. But, if it kept Janine out of the line of fire, he had broad enough shoulders to take a little criticism and a few dirty looks.

Alexander crawled from underneath the workbench and gave John Mark the dirtiest scowl he could muster. Who in the hell was this punk calling old? Janine was nodding though, like a bobble head, at the idea. At least, his sudden feebleness would keep somebody alive tonight. He rubbed the center of his chest and exhaled. "Yeah kid," he glared at Janine, "you just took ten years off my life."

Janine eagerly nodded her head. "Ok. I can do that. I'll be like a liaison, right? You'll call me and I'll keep everyone in the loop of what's going on." She liked the intrigue and danger of this spy business. It was so much better than thinking about Patrick and the real danger he faced.

"That's the idea," John Mark praised Janine. She didn't need to come along for the ride. He was going to have his hands full with Alex, who knew little more about guns than Janine. And looked every bit as uncomfortable with handling a weapon. At least, Alex knew which end the bullet came out of. When Lucien found out he'd brought her into the city and placed her in danger, his hands were going to be very, very full. "Ok, we'd better hit the road."

There wasn't time for hugs and tearful goodbyes. Alex took the shotgun from her mother, who handled bullets much like she handled a skein of yarn, with deft expertise and years of experience, and climbed into the truck. She decided after a glance in the rearview mirror at her family; that she didn't want to know how her mother came to know so much about guns.

The old beater truck her father had begrudgingly handed over the keys to; didn't look like much on the outside. There was more rust than actual metal. But, it had it where it counted underneath the hood. As soon as they were out of eyeshot of the house, John Mark punched the accelerator to the floorboard, spraying gravel like confetti from the rear tires, and sped off on the series of back roads Alex had in mind, toward the city.

Chapter 52

Janine stood in the barn, feeling totally inept and utterly helpless. Alex was the brave one, she and John Mark, speeding toward the city. Hell bent on doing whatever they could to help bring Patrick home. She was the ditzy-headed blonde left behind. There was nothing she could do but sit and wait for news to come.

Leigh saw Janine as the second daughter she'd never had. Janine was frightened and worried. Dwarfed by the emptiness of the big, sliding door of the barn. Huddled with her arms curled around her middle against the chilly air of pre-dawn. "They'll come home. Don't worry," she soothed. "Everything will be all right."

Alexander saw Janine as a lost soul, all out of sorts with the world. She was just a kid on the verge of figuring out who she'd become as a woman. Behind all that bleached blonde hair, the layers of makeup, and the endless babble from her mouth hid a terrified little girl in need of protecting. He draped his arms around his wife's shoulders and drew Janine closer into the warmth of the hug. He didn't know what would happen. He didn't know if he'd ever see his daughter again. That wasn't what Janine needed to hear. She needed hope, even if it was as thin and fragile as a spider's silken thread. "They'll bring him home. Don't you worry about that."

When Alexander and Leigh moved in to wrap her in a warm embrace, each one of them clinging to her like she was their daughter and not just a pain in the ass to be dealt with, she sighed and basked in their warmth. Janine had never been close to her parents. They had just enough money to be rid of her the minute she got old enough to go to boarding school. There were visits home, cards, phone calls, and letters, of course. But, she'd never had that closeness; that feeling of home and comfort with them that Alex had with her mom and dad. This was what family was supposed to feel like.

************

Although not a stray beam of light found its way into the dark confines of his prison, Patrick could easily see the girl. He huddled in the corner, digging his nails into the palms of his hands to distract himself from the smell of her blood. Instinctively, he inhaled deeply, catching the intoxicating scent of fresh blood oozing from a wound. He hissed between his extended fangs. They ached and burned, enticed by the gentle, coppery fragrance that seemed to be everywhere, on his skin, in the air, coating every crack and crevice of the cell. The scent and the peace from all this pain it would deliver him was all he could think about. He heard her breathing. Heard her heart fluttering like hummingbird's wings. Every minute that passed, he grew more and more intent on the scent and less aware that it was a human being that bled.

"Hello," the girl said with a weak shaky voice, "is there someone there?" The terror in her voice held back the predator roaring beneath his skin, for the time being. Patrick forced his fangs to retract. Pain like nothing he'd ever felt this side of his rebirth surged through his nerve endings. It would have been easier if the rogues had just killed him outright. Kinder and less cruel than to make him suffer like this. The brothers were coming for him. He could feel it. More of a prayer than an actual word, Patrick pressed his back into the corner as far as it would go and thought, Hurry. Please. Hurry.

Shit. Shit. Shit! Nikki thought to herself as she fumbled around in the darkness. Her first week in the big city and she had already been abducted. Her mother was right with her doom saying and grim predictions. Although, at first Nikki hadn't regretted the move. All the excitement of starting over and discovering new places, there was something different around every corner. But now, she regretted it big time.

Nikki lifted her hand to her throbbing temple, biting back the tears at the feel of warm blood ooze between her fingers. The sound of air being sucked through drawn lips drew her attention from the pain. She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or frightened. Somebody was in here with her. Tentatively, she called out, "Hello, is there someone there?"

Nikki felt around in the dark, her fingers searching the strange, cold corrugated steel beneath her. Oddly enough, her captors hadn't bothered to take away her purse. A sigh of relief escaped her throat. Her cell phone! She riffled through the contents of her purse, a mish-mash of feminine trappings. Her fingers ruffled against the cool, smooth, leather cover of her checkbook, danced over the tube of lipstick and compact, and stumbled across the hard, square, metallic, case of her cell phone. The cops were at fingertips, just minutes away from busting her out.

Triumphantly, she flipped open the phone. Her face fell, her voice a squeak of defeat, as she gasped at the display. "No signal? Damn it!" she cried out in despair. It was a mistake. She had coast-to-coast coverage. Fewer dropped calls. Guaranteed nationwide service. They promised! "Son of a bitch!" If she lived through this, she wanted a full refund from a very, very, apologetic customer service rep.

According to the display she had only one bar of battery life left on the phone. She shoved it into her pocket and resumed rummaging through the contents of her purse. There had to be something useful in here. A tube of lipstick clattered to the floor and rolled off somewhere. Some loose change congregated at the bottom of her purse fell from her fingers, landing on the steel floor with a resounding metallic plink, plink, of nickels, pennies, and dimes. Finally, her hand locked around the object she'd been searching for. "Thank God," she sighed in relief. Awkwardly fumbling with the key chain Maglite, she clicked it on, filling the area immediately around her with its white beam.

The light shone weakly, barely cutting through the thick darkness. At least now

Nikki could determine something about her surroundings and how best to escape them. Rising on trembling legs, she stood and took a few steps. Her head felt woozy and she had the distinct sensation that she might puke, pass out, or both. Hastily, she sat back down.

Nikki was comforted by the flashlight's narrow beam. As if without the blackness pressing in around her she was somehow braver than she had been in the total darkness. The light cut thin strips of illumination as she shone it along the walls. Black shadows skittered out of the path of the flashlight, hovering outside of the reach of its light.

The room was small and claustrophobic without windows or other doors. She reached out running her hand along the cold, smooth, steel surface of the walls. Ok. Even with the flashlight she had no idea of where she was. "C'mon Nikki think," she muttered to herself.

What did she know? She was in a steel room, a box, of some kind. She was terrified. Her trembling fingers could barely hold the flashlight, no heavier or bigger than an ink pen steady. She'd get one shot to call for help, assuming they moved her to a location where she could get a signal. Her head was throbbing. Blood coagulated in a sticky line in her eyebrow and along the curve of her cheek. She had nothing to use as a weapon, unless she wanted to lipstick her attacker to death. And, a scream of terror escaped her lips as the beam of her flashlight landed on a figure, huddled in the far corner of the room; she was not alone.

"Stay back!" Patrick cried out, raising his arms over his face as he shielded himself from the beam of the girl's flashlight. He could imagine how frightened she was. And seeing him in his current state wouldn't curb her fears in the least. If anything, it would increase them and excite the predator within him.

The scent of her terror, so pungent and intense in its aroma, pushed his control past the breaking point. For a vampire, there was nothing more enticing than the scent of fear and the taste of fresh blood. Her screams were like the strains of romantic violin music. They fit the mood perfectly. Patrick had the girl before she could so much as flinch a muscle in hopes to get away. Her struggling, the weak kicking of her legs and ineffectual punches of her tiny fists, were enticing, like spice to the meal. Damn, he was hungry.

Patrick pinned the girl's body against his chest, stilling her with the force of his arms. His fangs tore free of their sheaths. Damn, didn't that feel better? He was slipping, becoming more animal than man with each beat of her heart. He drew his lips back, revealing his fangs. Fangs that ached and throbbed to bury themselves deep into her flesh, relieving his agony. Her blood was the only thing that would give him back his sanity. Ease his pain. Just this once and then he'd never kill again. He'd be strong enough to think his way out of this box. Just. This. One. Time. He lowered his mouth to her throat. Feeling the heavenly thrum of her pulse beneath his tongue. That's all, just this time.

Nikki twisted and struggled beneath the steel band of arms that held her. The feel of his breath on her neck sent chills down her spine. Great, she thought to herself. This is how I am going to die, just great. Not without a fight! Her mind cried out, NO!Not like this! She bucked, gasping barely able to breathe as the arms gripped her tighter. She felt the brush of cool lips against her skin. "My name is Nikki!" she shouted. "Nichole Annabelle Morris." The lips paused, hesitating against her neck. She took a deep breath, her voice trailed off weakly, barely a whisper, "But you can call me Nikki."

Patrick paused as the girls voice penetrated his awareness, pushing back the primitive part of his mind. Hissing, he released her, throwing himself back into a corner, his corner. He fought against his hunger as he willed his fangs to retract. His breath came out in short spurts of revulsion at the thought of what he almost did. An earlier version of himself wouldn't have through twice about ripping through that fragile skin. But, he was no killer, at least, not anymore. Wasn't this what his captives wanted, for him to turn feral again? He wouldn't do it. He couldn't. "Nikki," he repeated the name, whispering it into the dark.

Nikki exhaled a relieved sigh as she sank onto the hard, cold, steel floor. Her mind was reeling. Reluctantly, trying to save the tiny battery that powered her flashlight, she switched it off and sank it deep into her pocket along side her cell phone. She tried to quell her terror at the man's appearance. Her mind had to be playing tricks on her. After all, she was scared to death. She gathered a breath, "Do you know where we are?"

"In hell." The gruff male voice answered.

Nikki scoffed, no greater truth was ever spoken. She scooted back until she brushed against the cold metal of the wall opposite his. She couldn't see him. In the impenetrable darkness, she had no idea where, exactly, he was. By the distance of his voice, he was across the cell from her. "Got a name?"

"Not important, but it's Patrick." His voice reverberated in the darkness. The scent of her fear was ebbing some now. He bit down on his arm. The pain redirected his focus from the girl. Back in the day, his victims begged for their lives, they had dozens of excuses as to why he should let them live. But, they'd never told him their names. If she hadn't said her name, hadn't put a name with the face, she'd be dead by now.

"Patrick," Nikki repeated, hesitantly. "No offense Patrick, but how about you stay on your side of hell and I'll stay on mine?" She curled her knees up under her chin and wrapped her arms around her calves, hugging her body into a tight ball.