Dawn's First Light

Kayla kept her eyes low and her stance submissive, looking down at the patterns on the carpet instead of meeting his gaze. "May I be excused, Master?" She nibbled on her lips, focusing on trivial things. Innocent things like bubble gum and movies, pretty baubles, and bits of lace and pink satin. Roark was preoccupied with thoughts of Keene. He stood with his back to her and his palms resting on the tinted floor to ceiling glass wall. His spine was stiff and his body rigid with tension. "I'd like to buy a new dress for you, Master. I love to look pretty for you."

Kayla spoke in that baby talk voice she used when speaking to Roark. The sappy, sweet, childlike intonation of her words nauseated her and made the bile churn in her stomach till she thought she might wretch up the lobster bisque she'd eaten for supper the night before. She'd never address Roark by the familiar. She knew better than that. To her, he was always Master. And the word Master spoken from her lips with such false ardor was perhaps more degrading than the nonsense, high pitched lilt, cooing consonants, and breathy vowels in which she was forced to speak.

Roark gave his human charges little freedom. What was the point of opening the gait because the cattle were unhappy with the pasture? But, he was so preoccupied with thoughts of revenge that he dismissed Kayla's request with a wave of his hand and a sharp, biting grunt of approval. The girl wasn't broken yet. Everyday though, she grew closer and closer. It was in the small gestures she wasn't even aware of. The way she stared down at the carpet and didn't dare to lift her head to meet his eyes. In the submissiveness of her posture and in the manner, she pathetically clutched that ridiculous stuffed, pink bear to her chest.

He never took his palm off the glass or turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. He didn't need to. Kayla was only human and as such, had no power to block him out of her mind. He stared straight ahead, into the warm sunshine and probed her thoughts. Her head was snarl of harried bits and pieces. Filled with the image of a dress she'd seen in the shop window across the street and how desperate she was to please him.

Kayla wouldn't dare leave him. She knew far too clearly what would happen if she did. She bore his scent on her skin and no vampire who wanted to live till sunset would dare to touch a hair on her little, blonde head. He did not wish to send one of his lesser followers along as escort. Keene was the only one he'd ever trusted alone with the girls. The others were too...impulsive...with their appetites. And Kayla was his until the time came when he decided she wasn't.

The shop was within eyeshot from his perch and he could easily monitor her. She'd gone out on errands for him before. And never failed to return, usually with a new addition for his collection. Perhaps today, with his thoughts so focused on Keene, he was feeling a bit benevolent toward the female. Like a father indulging a child's whim, he reached into the front pocket of his suit jacket and opened his wallet. Dropping a couple of hundreds on the floor, he watched her scrabble at his feet to grab up the money.

"Thank you, Master," Kayla said with all the graciousness she could muster. Clutching the bills in one fist and her bear in the other, she curtseyed and scurried out of the room. Quickly before he could change his mind. Her belly did flip-flops as the elevator descended from the dizzying heights of Roark's townhouse apartment. Kayla didn't breathe her first sigh of relief until she was across the street, into the shop, out the backdoor, and in the rank alley behind the towering row of buildings lining the bustling sidewalks of downtown. Oddly enough her first scent of freedom smelled amazingly like rotting garbage.

She tucked the hundred dollar bills into the hip pocket of her low-rise jeans and hustled down the alley for an adjacent walkway a few blocks from the shadier side of town. Exactly, where she wanted to go. She couldn't think of the girls she was leaving behind. They would bear the brunt of Roark's fury once he figured it out. More than a few of them wouldn't live till nightfall. There was no way she could have risked saving just one when she wasn't sure she could save herself. Whatever he did to them would be far better than what he'd do to her, if he caught her.

Desperately short on time, she ran, pushing her way through the ambling crowd on the sidewalk. The glittering skyscrapers yielded to graffiti and urban decay. The pristine sidewalks beneath her feet were pockmarked with deep cracks and uneven fissures. Litter skittered across the pavement, tossed about by the traffic on the street. The smell of Chinese food was thick from the restaurant on the corner as the few blocks of downtown the city wanted visitors to see faded to the bad side of town.

Right now her most urgent thought was to find Keene. Warn him. Kayla didn't have time to hazard a glance over her shoulder or to feel the guilt at leaving the girls behind. She ran like the fury of the devil was on her heels, panting and gasping for breath, her hair whipping in all directions from the gusts of wind along the sidewalk. Onlookers stared at her casually from storefronts. A police cruiser slowed long enough to consider her and then sped down the street.

There was little doubt of where Keene was hiding or under whose watchful eye. It was just a matter of distance and precious time. And if Roark would get to her before she could get to Keene. Her jogging shoes made a loud slap against the pavement in synch with her pounding heart. Sweat dripped down her brow and into her eyes in droplets of stinging saline desperation. She'd been there before, to the compound and seen the compassion in the expressions. They would help her. Help Keene. At this point, she had no options but to hope she was right and throw herself on their mercy.

Chapter 3

Keene lounged on the couch, basking in the softness and the feel of the buttery leather against his skin. After waking covered in sweat with his master's voice ringing in his ears, his room was too confining and it felt as if the walls were closing in on him. Thanks to the tracker secured around his right ankle, no place within the compound was off limits to him. He'd wandered the halls like a lost puppy until he'd found his way to the rec room and taken up residence on the overstuffed couch.

Creature comforts were unfamiliar to him. He'd never had 'down time' before. And he had no idea what to do with himself in the idleness of having nothing in particular to do. He stretched out on the couch, long enough to accommodate his well over six foot tall frame and the width of his muscled body and ran his palm over the smooth, sleek leather covering.

Yeah, the Sons knew how to live. Not exactly humbly, but comfortably, without the show of garish opulence and wealth Roark was so fond of. The room was decorated in muted earth tones and boasted a natural stone fireplace that took up one wall. A big screen TV was positioned so that it could easily be watched from any point in the room. Lamps on end tables cast circles of dim light. Bright enough to illuminate the space, but not so bright as to make him feel exposed. Handmade throws in vibrant colors of yarn were scattered across the backs of chairs and the room's two oversized couches. A full sized pool table was the focal point both socially and visually of the expansive room.

Today, he had the area to himself. Just as well. The brothers didn't trust him. And it wasn't like they had a thing in common other than their hatred of Roark. To be honest, he wasn't the best at social interaction. He'd never had to be. Before, it hadn't mattered if anyone liked him or not. His job, his one and only job, had been to do Roark's bidding and keep the son of a bitch alive. That didn't leave a lot of time for the whole buddy-buddy thing. And in many ways, it was better for everyone involved if he wasn't liked. Made it easier to kill them that way. The whole vampires were immortal thing was a cruel myth. Most of the minions Roark kept company with would have been better off human. Definitely would have lived longer if they had.

The Rogue Master used death as a display of his power. Keene's mouth twisted into a convoluted grimace of a smile as he stared down at his hands. His fingers were thick and long, fondling the delicate tassels dangling from the crocheted throw draped over the back of the couch as if he'd taken the care to weave the yarn himself. His nails blunt, clean, but not free from the invisible taint of blood he'd been forced to spill at Roark's command. Guilt over the things he'd done in Roark's name left him long ago. And he was left with nothing but numbness and hatred in its place.

The killing wasn't over yet. He had one more life to take. A debt owed. Keene didn't know how or when. But, death was coming for Roark on the swift hooves of a pale horse. Keene was firm in his resolve. He had no plans past the death of his master. He'd learned long ago not to underestimate Roark. The bastard would not go down easily. And most likely Keene would sacrifice his life to see his master's end. But, at least, all accounts would be paid in full and he could die with a clear conscience.

The vision, as the brothers called it, left him rattled. Their goddess, Kokumthena, came to him. In the brief moment he'd spent in her presence, he remembered everything he'd thought he'd forgotten. He wasn't human. But, in that expanse of time, even if it was in his vivid imagination, he was more human than he'd ever been. Maybe, it was the warmth of the sun on his cheeks that made him remember what it was like to be human again. The goddess said he had a choice. And in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to choose life.

When he awoke from the vision, clutching the fragile crown of daisies woven by her hands, he decided. His life may be forfeit, but he was going to fight. He was going to undergo the trials. Prove his worth to the brothers. Join them as a warrior. Protect the brotherhood and all they fought to preserve. He'd brought this trouble to their doorstep the moment he fled his master and begged for sanctuary behind these walls. The least he could do was offer his life up to the cause.

Roark had to be taken down. And in the meantime, while Keene waited for the final showdown between the two of them, maybe he could save a few human lives in the process. He had seen the cruelty of Rogues first hand. The brutality inflicted on humanity. Rogues believed humans were food. Nothing more than cattle awaiting the slaughter, worth nothing, except for the blood in their veins. Roark wasn't the only fiend out there. Far from it, as crazy as the son of a bitch was, there were worse. And maybe, Keene would live long enough to send a few of them to hell along with Roark.

Keene pulled the throw off the back of the couch and lifted the soft yarn to his nose, inhaling the sweet scent of the human woman who painstakingly worked the colorful threads into a blanket. The stubble on his cheek scraped over the delicate weave. To him, this throw was so much more than the work of industrious hands.

The yarn represented comfort and warmth-home. Things he'd given up on long, long ago. His hands could never create such a masterpiece as the blanket. They weren't good for anything except killing. They'd never given kindness or mercy. He'd never created anything but death. And he'd never had a home, a place where he belonged. But, he could...maybe. Gently, he folded the throw and carefully placed it on the back of the couch. He didn't know the woman who crocheted the blanket. But, in the smell of home permeating the wool and the gentle illusion of hope it created within him, hers was a life worth dying for.

Chapter 4

Lori made her way through the familiar halls of the compound and into the kitchen. She needed some coffee... desperately. Today, she was scheduled to work open to close at the shop. And with being dragged out of bed so early, she'd be dead on her feet by noon. Due to the unseasonably warm temperatures Robbie had shifted the shop to summer hours a little a head of schedule. During late spring and early fall, the store closed at seven on weekdays and nine on weekends. The extended summer hours meant she wouldn't shoo out the last customer till ten tonight and wouldn't most likely get home till close to eleven.

Grinding her teeth at the thought of being trapped literally all day in an ice cream store from nine thirty this morning till eleven o'clock tonight, Lori filled the filter with coffee grounds and added an extra scoop for good measure. She poured the water into the maker and watched the second hands on her watch to see if the machine really made a full pot in three minutes. Impatiently, she drummed her nails on the stainless steel counter and reminded herself that her labors today were for a good cause. Janine deserved a honeymoon. At least, twenty-four hours to consummate her marriage to Patrick. Although, Lori was pretty sure Janine and Patrick were already as consummated as a couple could get.

The damned coffee maker was right on the money. At seven thirty-three, she was pouring her first cup and adding a generous dollop of cream and sugar to the mug. Lori sighed in relief as the first surge of caffeine jarred her system awake. Being perky and smiley for thirteen and a half hours today was going to be a real bitch. She eyed the kitchen table and bypassed it, heading for the rec room instead. Her feet were already starting to hurt at the mere thought of standing all day. Not that the dining room chairs weren't nice. But, the overstuffed couches in the rec room were much more comfortable. And today was going to be so long. She figured she'd better to soak up a little luxury while she could.

The compound was quiet this morning and there wasn't anyone around to chitchat with. Mornings at her house were a complete zoo. Especially when school was in session. Her little sister Maggie needed a cattle prod and a few threats to get anywhere on time. It amazed Lori sometimes, how at the age of almost sixteen, Maggie still couldn't reliably get herself out of bed. Lori loved her kid sister with all her heart. But, most of the time the little pest was a royal pain in the ass. On the mornings when her mom had to be at work by seven, the job of dragging Maggie out of bed for school fell to her.

It had been the happiest day of Lori's life when her mom agreed to let her move into the empty apartment above the garage. Actually, Lori hadn't exactly asked. She'd just kind of moved her stuff in and set up shop. So far, the arrangement was working out great. She had her own space. Her mom and dad were appeased that she hadn't technically moved out of the house entirely. And best of all, Maggie couldn't get her filthy paws on her stuff without asking.

Besides, at almost twenty years old, Lori thought it was time that she was out on her own. Ok, so she didn't pay rent. All her money went to towards her tuition and books. But, she wasn't entirely mooching off her parents either. She didn't raid the kitchen cabinets for food...that often. She bought her own toiletries and cleaning supplies...usually. And she still helped out around the house when her mom asked her to.

And in her mind, the whole not paying rent thing made up for all the times she'd been stuck babysitting Maggie once her parents declared her old enough to be left home alone and in charge. Granted, their requests had been for a good cause. Overtime at the hospital. An extra load on the back of her dad's semi. But, damn, Maggie had been such a brat...a worse brat than she normally was...whenever they were away. Oh well, it hardly mattered now. Maggie was her parents' problem. And she wasn't as bratty anymore, most of the time. And Lori, as an adult now, could see through the whole teenage angst thing that plagued her little sister.

Sipping her coffee, she ambled into the rec room, shocked by the pair of massive lug soled boots and the long legs they belonged to draped over the arm of the couch. "Oh! Hi," she stammered. "I didn't realize there was anyone in here." Lori hovered in the wide entryway between the dining room and the rec room, not sure if she should stay or retreat far, far away.

She had heard rumors about the man. That he was a rogue and worse than that, Roark's former second. And he definitely had an air of menace surrounding him. He was huge, thick and bulked up with heavy muscle. His gunmetal gray eyes met her gaze and held it captive for a moment, daring her to say something. He had short stubbly red shoots of hair poking through his scalp and wide, expressive reddish brows. His skin was pale, characteristically translucent, telling the truth of what he was, to those who knew what to look for. Curiously, she eyed the tattoo peeking out from beneath the rolled up right sleeve of his chambray shirt. Dropping her eyes rather than stare at him rudely, she mumbled, "Ah, I was going to watch the morning news."

Keene righted himself on the couch and smoothed the crocheted throw with the palm of his hand. One glance at her said it all. Her eyes flitted from his tattoo to the floor. The nervous shifting of her feet and the flex of her fingers around the coffee mug gave away much of her emotions. She blushed furiously as she tried to tuck away her trepidation at being in such close quarters with him.

He narrowed his eyes and studied her, which made her fidget all the more. It was a bad habit, left over from his days of serving Roark. He made every effort to look casual. Scooting to the far corner of the couch and lounging against the armrest with his elbow propped onto the fluffy padding. He draped his free arm along the back of the couch and toyed with a corner of the throw. He even tried to smile in an attempt to appear friendly. Given the girl's widened eyes, she was not impressed. But, he had made an impression on her, to say the least. "You're afraid," he said, as a statement of fact.

Lori squared her shoulders and lifted her chin to meet his eyes. She moved into the room toward the leather couch and set her mug on the coffee table. Quickly remembering that Chris had just purchased a new table after Bryce and Patrick had shattered the previous one in a terrible fight. She snatched a magazine-GQ... probably Janine's... out of the magazine rack resting at the corner of the couch and slid it under her mug. "I am not," she said, deliberately flopping onto the empty cushion beside him.

He looked so ominous. He was just so overwhelmingly huge and so male, she couldn't help but feel a little nervous around him. And maybe, just maybe, a little scared too. Determined not to let him get to her, she grabbed up the remote and began flipping through the channels. Blushing furiously at the love scene from some movie she could not remember the name of, she punched in the local news station and settled into a more comfortable position on the couch.

There were other chairs she could have chosen and an entire empty sofa that she could have sat on. She didn't have to sit here, beside him. But, she was not going to let 'Mr. Big and Scary Vampire' intimidate her. Crossing her left leg over her right knee she swung her foot back and forth. Her flip-flop sandal made sharp thwacking sounds against her heel as she curled and uncurled her toes in time with the swinging of her foot.

Keene hid his amused grin at the girl's tenacity. He watched her throat bob up and down as she sipped from her mug. She pretended not to notice and kept her eyes focused on the weather report on the screen. Her fingers nervously worked a strand of her golden blonde hair, twirling it around the end of her fingertip. He raised a brow at the darker undertones in her hair and concluded that her natural hair color was not quite the same shade of blonde as the highlights framing her freckle dotted cheeks. He would never understand why women could not be happy with what the Good Lord gave them and sought to improve upon it so vehemently.