Dawn's First Light

******

Roark chuckled at Angel's handiwork. The woman on the couch was very dead. But, a sheet neatly covered her lifeless body. Angel hadn't completely lost her human side, not yet. She still had some measure of compassion, something he was going to change. The puncture wounds were clean and precise, very little of the woman's precious blood had been wasted. The kill was quick and well executed. His Angel was becoming a fearsome predator.

Out of curiosity, Roark was tempted to follow Angel just to see where her newly found vampire ambitions would take her. Unfortunately, he couldn't allow her to continue leaving a trail of dead bodies in her wake. He'd managed to get to this one early before it was discovered. The woman had been dead less than a few hours. He barked orders into his cell phone and arranged a hasty clean up to get rid of the corpse. He was getting closer to finding his wayward Angel. And soon she'd be back in the fold where she belonged.

Roark sifted through the smells of the city. Acrid, choking black clouds of exhaust belched out of tailpipes. The steamy acidic scent of asphalt baked all day under the summer's sun, burned his nose. Garbage rotted in alleyways. People reeked. The scent of humanity was as repulsive as it was alluring. He caught the scent of vampire, not his Angel, but one of his minions. He watched the man cower in the shadows before moving bravely to intercept him. "What do you want?"

"Sire. The bodies from the morgue," the rogue gulped. Fear oozed out of every pore as he spoke to his master. He'd been in charge of the garrison assigned to patrol the morgue. And reporting their failure fell on his narrow shoulders. His master would surely kill him when he learned his men had abandoned their posts to chase after what they thought was a Son. "They're gone."

"Gone?" Roark sputtered in disbelief. "Explain. The dead don't simply walk away." He had no patience for the rogue, quivering in terror at his feet. He wouldn't kill him. Yet. Not until he learned what kind of idiocy had inspired his men to disobey and abandon their posts.

"Please, forgive me Sire. The Sons tricked us. Lured us away from our posts. And somehow they slipped past us and took the bodies." He wasn't above groveling at the master's feet for his life if that's what it took to stay alive. He cringed for the fatal blow, shocked and blinking at Roark's response to the news.

Roark threw back his head in laughter. The Sons were on his turf managing to clean up the mess in a matter of minutes. If nothing else, they lived up to their reputation and were efficient. He didn't mind letting the brotherhood do the dirty work, as long as they stayed out of his way. "You do have men tracking them don't you."

"We await your orders, my master." After he'd learned the brothers had given his guard the slip he wasn't about to do anything that would further jeopardize his life. He'd tracked the entire city and came up with no trace of the Sons. No concrete evidence except for the missing bodies that the brotherhood had even been there at all. He'd rather take a beating from his master and possibly lose his life than face the Sons.

Roark backhanded the cowering vampire with a swift bone-crushing flash of his wrist. "Idiot. Get a patrol assigned. Don't be obvious. But, find them and find out what it is that they are up to. I want updates every thirty minutes." He grabbed the vampire's lapel and drew him close. The intoxicating scent of fear rolled off his skin as Roark lifted him in the air. "Don't disappoint me," he threatened darkly.

The rogue scrambled to his feet and spat a small trickle of blood onto the pavement. He considered himself lucky. Roark had let him live, for now. "Yes sire." He scurried out into the night before his master changed his mind.

Roark straightened the cuffs of his designer shirt and watched the rogue scramble away in a panic. So, he had company in his fair city. Good. Let them come. He had no link to Keene. But, there was little doubt in his mind that the almighty brotherhood had brought him along. He moved into the darkness, tracking the scent of expensive perfume and vampire through the streets. Determined to find Angel before the brothers got to her first. He was in need of a new second and luckily he had just the person in mind to fill the vacancy.

Now that Patrick had the scent, following the trail of the infant vampire was easy. They'd gone back to their original starting point at the club and fanned out across the downtown area from there. He tracked the female to an abandoned church and from there to a high-rise apartment building. He wrinkled his nose against the burning scent that assaulted his sensitive sense of smell. "She's been here. But, so have others, recently."

Keene nodded in agreement. The scent was growing faint and distant in the air. But, there was no mistaking to whom it belonged. "Roark was here."

"He must be tracking the female too," John Mark added. He rested the palm of his hand against the dagger strapped to his belt. Damn it. He'd been hoping to avoid a nasty showdown. And just when he thought they might make it out of the city without a fight. Trouble was about to put the hurt on them.

"I smell death. A human." Bryce stared into the dark, cavernous alleyway to the side of the apartment building where the scent led. There wasn't a damn thing back there worth risking his life for. He could not resurrect the dead. Trotting after the scent was a fool's errand. He could defend himself. The dead didn't need defending. But, it wasn't necessarily the corpse that he was concerned about.

"We're going to have to split up," John Mark said. There were two distinct trails, Death's, leading down a deserted black alleyway and Roark's luring them further into the heart of the city. Bryce was a good tracker and decent in a fight. But, if there were more than a couple of rogues, he'd need back up in a hurry. Keene could definitely handle his own in a fight. And he was a fair tracker. But, they weren't the only ones tracking the female and Roark already had a head start on them. He didn't like this setup one little bit. The Rogue Master was a hell of a lot more lethal than a few rogues. Keene would need Patrick's skills to cover his ass if the situation went FUBAR. And then, there was the issue of pairing up Bryce and Patrick. He had enough bullshit to deal with without the two of them trying to kill each other.

"Patrick, you and Keene got door number one. Bryce and I will take what's behind curtain number two." To say he was concerned about how Keene would react if he ran across Roark was the understatement of the year. A confrontation between the two men would be lethal. "If there's any trouble. We'll have your back."

"I know," Keene replied. He stared into the darkness beyond the feeble illumination of the streetlights. The thought of encountering Roark didn't worry him. Eventually, if not tonight, then sometime in the future, it was a certainty that the two of them would cross paths. His concern was for his brothers. Roark was out for blood and he'd stop at nothing to get it. His former master would plow through anyone and anything that got in his way. And that included the brotherhood. Keene nodded to John Mark and Bryce, and motioned to Patrick. Either he was going to run into Roark or he wasn't. Putting off the hunt for the infant wouldn't do anything but make the trail grow colder.

******

Sam sat in the passenger side of the SUV. Occasionally, she'd steal a glance at Marcus, idly passing the time as the miles ticked by admiring him. Above all the other men she'd met in her lifetime, he was the one who had managed to steal her heart.

He was good looking, with shaggy locks of light brown hair sticking up in all sorts of wayward angles and the cutest slightly receding hairline. His body was strong and well built, muscles hidden and tightly packed in a medium sized frame, disguising his true abilities. He didn't parade around, like most of the other men of her past, vying for her affections by flexing more than ample bulges. As if that had ever managed to impress her in the least. His simple and unpretentious nature was what attracted her to in the first place. His caring, loving nature was what bound her to him forever.

Marcus drove with uncanny precision along the dark interstate. At first he'd rejected the life he'd been forced into. He hadn't asked to become a vampire. But rather, was forced into it. Now, after finding the place where he truly belonged, he embraced life and the uniqueness of his existence. He joined up with the brothers as part of a personal crusade. No one should be forced like he had. For him, it had worked out for the best. But, not everybody was so lucky. For others, the life was more of a curse than a blessing.

Sam was his anchor and he loved her deeply. She completed him. She was everything he wasn't. She had an aura of sophistication and confidence that surrounded her. For her, this life had been a choice one she was well prepared to make. She was pure danger wrapped up in a pretty package for those who didn't know her better and discounted her because of her petite frame. She looked pixie like and harmless with chin length black hair as dark as raven's wings and deep, wide, chocolate brown eyes. But, she was just as lethal as any of the brotherhood's best warriors.

Marcus slowed, exiting onto the ramp leading into the city. Finally, Sam and he were getting a reprieve from their exile into country life. He had never regretted sending the Rogue Master's home up in a ball of flames. Retaliating against the torture Roark had inflicted on Anna was worth the months of punishment the four of him had endured under Dane's watchful eye and John Mark's careful observation. Although the current mission wasn't the best assignment he'd ever had, he didn't mind. It gave him a chance to see something besides cornfields and cows.

The brothers were relentless. Hot on the trail of the wayward rogue and in the ninety-degree heat, the bodies would be easily discovered by humans. Sam and he were on body retrieval detail. Upon arriving at the rendezvous point, they'd leave the SUV they drove into the city and bring back the one that served as a makeshift hearse, housing the two rotting corpses the brothers retrieved from the morgue.

Yeah, it was just a typical day in the life. Good thing Sam wasn't a white picket fence kind of girl and he wasn't a beer and football game on Sunday afternoon kind of guy. Because, this life they shared was anything but normal.



Chapter 35

"Glad you cleaned up your own mess this time," John Mark said taunting the rogue. His boots made a light whispering sound as he jumped from a low rooftop. The scent of death had led them deep into the black heart of the city and straight to the back entrance to a mortuary. "Planning to do a little late night grilling?" John Mark sauntered over to the vampire and inspected the cargo slung over the rogue's shoulder. The woman's limp arm fell against the rogue's back with a sick sounding thump. Dead woman plus rogue vampire equaled one dead vampire. And how convenient, considering their location, clean up would be a breeze. All he needed was a match and a little kindling.

"It's not my mess," the rogue huffed. Burdened with the dead woman's weight and in no position to fight the dark warrior who towered over him menacingly, he stepped back to put some distance between the brother and himself. He was merely carrying out an assignment. Doing nothing more than the grunt work his master required. He didn't want a confrontation, especially when he was alone and basically defenseless. The Sons were noted for their swift efficiency with a blade. And he doubted that any of his associates would risk their lives for him. The only thing he had was his gift of bullshit. If the warrior chose to start a fight, he wouldn't stand a chance against him.

John Mark and Bryce slowly approached the lone vampire. The woman was dead. Nothing they could do would change that. More deaths wouldn't help their cause. "Whose mess is it then?" John Mark asked, looming over the smaller man. His fangs were fully extended and the threat of pain delivered. A little intimidation could do wonders toward extracting a confession.

"I don't know," the rogue admitted. "The master called for a clean up. I came." He fished for a key and unlocked the back door to the squatty brick building, kicking it open with his toe. He was ready to fire up the crematorium and rid himself of the burden he carried over his shoulder. He winced as the two Sons followed him in and slammed the door behind them with a loud, resounding bang.

"Maybe, you should choose a different occupation then," Bryce said, bringing up the rear to cut off any chance of escape.

"Have there been any more presents left lying around?" John Mark asked. He loved being a hard ass. Loved. It. He had the rogue trembling in his Sketchers. If he just kept up the pressure, the rogue would tell him anything he wanted to know. "By my calculations this makes number three."

"A mathematician. Your mama must have been proud," the rogue said, smirking bitterly. The stench of human death choked his fragile senses. "I don't know anything else. If you've got a problem, take it up with the boss," he growled defensively. He carted the woman to the back of the building with the Sons tight on his heels. Damn, they were like gum sticking to the sole of his shoe, annoying and almost impossible to get rid of. He pushed open the stainless steel double doors and sprawled the woman out on a wheeled cart.

The rogue ran his hands through his shortly cropped blond hair and stood with his hands clenched to his side. This gig was hardly the eternal life his master had promised. As in death he was in life...a friggin busboy. He'd fight the brothers, but without much of a doubt, if he did, his dead corpse would be burning inside the crematorium alongside the woman's. "Is there anything else? I've got work to do here," he said, gesturing to the corpse.

Bryce hoped the rogue had something of value to tell them. The rogue was useless. He was just one of the Rogue Master's numerous minions. There was nothing left to do but kill him or let him do his job. Their lead had turned up nothing, quite literally, a dead end. "We should be going."

"See to it that our paths don't cross again." John Mark leaned close, curling his lip back to reveal his fangs to the rogue. "You should consider yourself lucky that I really hate cleaning up after myself. It's the only reason you're still alive." John Mark had little doubt that as soon as the rogue did his master's bidding, he'd hightail it to the deepest, darkest corner of the city he could find and disappear off the radar.

As soon as they were back in the alley, Bryce exhaled a sigh and looked up at John Mark. "Now what?" The city was his home and he felt comfortable in it. The whaling of sirens and endless hum of traffic were like a lullaby to him. He retraced their steps to the front of the high-rise apartment building and quickly isolated the trail. John Mark was a master of intimidation. But, the man could not track for shit. It was nice for a change to be able to do something better than somebody else.

"We join up with Keene and Patrick. Maybe, they'll have better luck than we did." He stared down at the text display on his cell phone. "Good, Sam and Marcus have completed the exchange." His senses were on high alert as he followed Bryce through the city. Rogues were like cockroaches. There was never just one. And the little bastards loved to come out after dark.

******

Patrick and Keene traced the scent of the female to a remote booth in the back of a posh bar in the upper crust downtown business district. She hadn't been sitting there alone. Which meant, they most likely had a fourth victim to find before the humans did. He caught the wispy floral scent of her perfume and the pungent reek of rogue, and followed it through the deserted streets. There was always a hushed lull in shallow breaths between closing time and the lightness of dawn. Even criminals had to sleep sometime.

Patrick cursed under his breath and ran through the empty streets. Realizing his efforts were most likely futile and she'd probably already killed the man she left the bar with, he slowed his steps and concentrated on the lingering traces of her scent in the humid, still air. Finding her and blindly running up on Roark in the process wouldn't help the man. If anything, things would be worse and both Keene and he would end up dead for their stupidity.

Time was of the essence and they had to get to the female quickly and end this before she took another victim. There was always the vague hope that she could be saved before she got in too deeply and her hunger consumed what was left of the human part of her soul. Patrick had his doubts about it. He knew all too well that once you took a human being's life, a part of your soul was always lost never to be found. There was no coming back from it. Ever. No matter how deeply in love he was with Janine. No matter what happiness he managed to find. It was tinged red with Nikki's blood.

Roark's scent hung thickly in the balmy summer air. He wasn't far ahead of them. Keene stuck to Patrick's side. He wanted nothing more than to give chase and confront his former master head on. Just get it over with and end it, for once and for all. But, he had to stick to the goals of the mission. This was not about him or his personal vendetta. There'd be plenty of time for that later. After all, the two of them had forever. Judging by the strength of the scent trail. He'd come face to face with Roark before the first rays of dawn struck the horizon.

*****

Angel took her time with the man. She toyed with him, seducing him with her body. He had been most obliging to her whims, eagerly providing her with the rope in hopes of a little kinky fun. With a smile on her red lips, she stared down at the terrified expression on his face and wondered if he was having fun. She certainly was. The power belonged to her. His life or death balanced in the palm of her hand.

Captive and bound and at her mercy, she tugged the expensive silk panties she'd stolen from the woman out of his mouth and placed a kiss on his trembling lips before replacing the gag. Running her fingertips over his chest, she inhaled the scent of his fear. He should be afraid. She planned to drain him slowly, drop by drop; prolong the moment of his death until it suited her to finish it. On a chuckle, she tapped him on the nose and tsked down at him. "And this is why, boys and girls, we don't invite strangers to dinner."

As reluctant as she was to admit it, she needed him. Or rather, his posh, richly decorated apartment, and of course, his blood. Angel had no intentions of shacking up with a corpse. And the longer he lived, the longer she had a safe place to lay low until things blew over. She climbed on top of him, straddling his hips with her thighs. He wiggled beneath her like a pig. Much to her disgust his cock was hard. Aroused. She rubbed her body against him, giggling at his moan of reluctant desire. Tracing her fingertips up his neck and to his jaw, she fisted his hair and held his head in her grip. "I tried to warn you. I really did. Shame you didn't listen. I told you. I play for keeps."

She ran her tongue over her fangs and inhaled the heady fragrance of his fear. She'd tasted him once or twice. Just a couple of little love bites. And he was divine. Maybe, it was like the old Pepsi versus Coke wars. And everyone had a favorite. For the moment, hers was O negative straight from the tap. She dipped her head and ran her tongue along the engorged vessel. Adrenaline added so much spice and plumped up the veins nicely. That whole fight or flight thing, she had true appreciation for it now. He gasped as she plunged her fangs into his neck and drank. His body quivered and bucked beneath her. His screams silenced by the gag in his mouth. And his cock, limp and shriveled, was just another dangly bit of unnecessary flesh.