Dawn's First Light

Thomas riffled through the cabinets, tugging folders out of the drawers and dropping them on the battered desk. He tore pages from notebooks and added them to the pile. He retrieved a handful of thumb drives, dumping them on top the mound of paper. "That's it. I don't have anything else."

Dane snatched up the spoiled blood sample and stuffed it into his pocket. Leaning against the doorframe he watched as Thomas rounded up files and sheets of paper and dumped them into a grocery bag. Thrusting it toward him when he finished. "Are you sure that's everything?" Dane sniffed the air and determined Thomas was telling him the truth.

"I'm positive," Thomas gritted. His greatest break though would remain undiscovered, thanks to the secret. People would die and there was nothing he could do to save them. His mom would die. And there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Tears of helplessness clouded his vision. He would not give Dane the satisfaction of seeing him cry. Ever. Her death was on Dane's and the rest of the brotherhood's hands. "My mom...,"

"I am sorry. Truly I am, Thomas. But, I have no choice." Dane gripped the bag tightly in his fist. "I know how much you love her. And I wish there were something more I could do." He rested a hand on Thomas's shoulder, not surprised when the man jerked away and twisted out of his reach. He dropped his hand and dipped his head to Thomas. If Dane had his way, no human would ever die. But, he didn't have his way. "Thank you," he said, leaving the same way he'd come in. Silently.

Thomas sank onto the battered chair he used at his desk and slammed his fists, over and over again, into the wood. Crying out in rage he cleared the top of his workspace, spilling his laptop, his rag tag equipment, his half-drank coke, and crumpled bag of chips to the floor. The last three years of his life, time he could have spent with his mother instead of holed up in the basement, in his hopeless search for a cure, were gone. They had so little time left together. Maybe, six months, if he were lucky. The end would be bad for the both of the. And there was nothing...absolutely nothing he could do to change it.

Chapter 41

Kayla ignored the tingly/ buzzing sensations that ran up and down her arm. Bryce was sound asleep. Curled up next to her, using her arm for a pillow. And her arm was a mass of painful pins and needles. Her fingers felt like sausages from lack of circulation and she couldn't wiggle her pinkie. But, at least he wasn't drooling on her...she didn't think so anyway. Without feeling in her arm, she couldn't be one hundred percent sure.

Gritting her teeth in annoyance at her predicament, she held perfectly still. The slightest movement would awaken him and luckily for him, she was in an extremely generous mood today and he looked too peaceful to bother. He'd been sleeping fitfully for hours. Usually, vampires didn't require much sleep. But, Bryce certainly did. She was becoming damned uncomfortable. Between the pins and needles shooting up and down her arm and her full bladder, she was bypassing uncomfortable and headed straight for miserable. She shifted her weight, trying to reclaim her arm. She had to GO and she couldn't wait much longer for Sleeping Beauty to wake up.

Jostled awake by the shifting of the bed and the sudden thump of his head against the mattress, Bryce opened his eyes. Kayla's scent teased at his nostrils and he was hard as a brickbat in his leathers. He always woke up with a hard on. No matter what he did, the thing wouldn't go down till it was damn good and ready. Rubbing her arm and flexing her fingers, she frowned down at him. "Hi," he said, rolling onto his back.

Kayla jumped from the bed. Unable to ignore nature's call another second, she hurried for the bathroom. "I'll be back," she huffed. She uttered a long sigh of relief as she closed the bathroom door and turned on the sink faucet to cover the sound of her tending to business. Now, with her bladder emptied and the pins and needles out of her arm, she felt so much better. She took a minute to wash her hands and smooth down her hair before emerging to face the man in her bed.

"Sorry about that," Bryce said sheepishly. He wondered how long he'd been out. Apparently, long enough that Kayla had lost the circulation in her arm from where he'd used it as a pillow and held off going to bathroom till she almost popped. He lounged against the headboard, kicking himself for being such a dork. He usually never slept for more than an hour or two at a time. He'd just been so comfortable, all snuggly and warm, in her bed. If he'd been sleeping alone, like always, he would have been up a long time ago. He traced the light indentation left from her body on the mattress. He could still feel its warmth and smell her lingering scent on the sheets. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

Kayla sank onto the edge of the bed and dragged her hands through her hair. At least one of them had managed to get a decent sleep. He'd never made a move against her. But, she was still wary around him. She'd catnapped for a bit with one eye cracked open while he slept like a rock. "You looked so comfortable."

"So you suffered in silence?" Bryce asked. She liked him. The way she remained at his side, sheltering him as he slept, at his most vulnerable, proved it.

Kayla crossed her legs and pretended not to notice the stupid grin that spread across his face. "Yeah, something like that," she admitted reluctantly. She jerked away as his hand closed around her wrist and he brought her knuckles to his lips for a gentlemanly kiss. "Don't even think it," she warned. She may have been kind enough to share her bed, but not her blood. "I am not on the menu."

Bryce dropped her hand, slightly offended by her assumption that he was going to bite her. "I would never take what wasn't freely given." He blew out a breath in irritation. "Never."

"Bryce, I'm sorry. It's just..."

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. "I get it. But, I would never do that to you." He pushed back the covers. Obviously, they had a few kinks to work out in the trust department. Ok. He could relate. He was hungry and she was tempting. But, his dinner waited for him out in the woods. He got to his feet and forced a smile on his face. He wasn't mad at her. A little hurt, sure. It wasn't her fault though. She was new to this side of life. She didn't know any better. They weren't like the rogues Kayla was used to dealing with. None of the brothers would ever lay a hand on her without her permission.

"I didn't mean to offend you. I really didn't," Kayla said in a small voice as she wrapped her arms protectively over her chest. Bryce didn't understand what it was like to be small and helpless, dogpaddling in a shark-infested ocean. The rogues took what they wanted. The only thing that had saved her from being the 'special of the day' was that Roark preferred her. And they knew what would happen to them if they damaged his favorite toy.

Bryce smiled down at Kayla. His brows furrowed at the way she shied away from him as he reached down and playfully rumpled her hair. People didn't flinch like that without a reason. How many times had she been struck, or worse, out of anger? It sickened him to think about it. "It's ok. No harm done," he said. "I do have to go though. I'll catch up with you later?"

She smiled up at Bryce as she smoothed her hair down. It shamed her that she'd withdrawn and returned to her old ways so quickly. He'd only meant to reach out to play with her hair. Deep inside she knew no matter how angry she made him. He'd never hit her. His anger was like a quickly passing storm. It ended as soon as it began. He didn't yell at her. He didn't try to hit her or punish her. He even asked if he could see her again later on. Asked. "Sure."

Bryce would have loved to stay in her room and play house all day. But, the truth was that he was hungry. And her scent tormented the beast inside of him. He was better than his beast. He'd never attack a human for a meal. People weren't food. It was true he couldn't exist for long without a sip of their blood here and there to sustain him. But, he would never take what wasn't offered. It was the reason the Sons had donors. Not only was it forbidden. But, it was so beneath him. Just because a few of his kind had the reputation of a demon, didn't mean he was one. None of his brothers were.

Patrick was the prime example of how deeply his brothers believed in sacrifice and not taking from a human against their will. Bryce greatly admired the man for his strength. Even at the hands of his captors, starved to the point of death, Patrick held the girl's life in the highest regard, suffering instead of sating his need on her blood. She was placed in the cell as a temptation, a lure to trap him. Seeing that there was no other way, she'd offered her life. Patrick bore the guilt of taking it. To this day, Patrick had not a mark on him. But, he was scarred, on the inside, where only those who knew him best could see them.

Bryce mussed that Kayla, like Patrick, had suffered at the hands of the rogues. And she had plenty of scars of her own. They were deep and raw, still too painful and new to heal. Bryce couldn't help but catch the pungent scent of fear when she thought she'd made him angry. And the way she flinched when he extended his hand to touch her.

If he ever got the chance, he would make Roark pay for the pain he'd inflicted her. There wasn't a thing he could do to avenge her. He could keep her safe. And maybe in time, he could help her start to trust and remember what it was like to have a life without fear. "It's a date then," he said, heading for the door.

Kayla couldn't help her smile. She nodded and hopped off the bed to straighten the covers as Bryce closed the door behind him. She should have corrected him. Agreeing to meet up with him later was hardly a date. And they hadn't set up a time or made any concrete plans. It would be just as easy for her to lock herself in her room and hide. Let life pass her by. But, when it was so precious and so uncertain in its finiteness, she couldn't see the luxury of wasting one single minute.

****

"Angel, you must do this." Roark was rapidly losing patience with his protégé. "You must allow me to drink from you and you in turn must drink from me." The fatherly voice he was forced to use with her to gain the slightest bit of cooperation had worn thin within the first hour of bringing her home. He was impressed by her speed and agility. She crouched above his head, suspended from a chandelier in the highest point of the forty-foot arched ceiling. As impressive as her talents were, they did nothing but impede his plans. And he did not have time to play with this child.

"Why?" Angel stammered. She had managed to keep Roark from pinning her down and forcing her. She was too fast for him to catch. She couldn't believe her new speed. Before, he didn't ask. He simply took what he wanted. And now, he couldn't do that to her anymore. Oh, she had no doubt that he could catch her. But, he'd never manage it without help. He wouldn't want his minions to know the truth about how weak the man they called 'Master' really was.

She dangled well out of his reach from elegant crystal and ornate, gilded, metalwork that probably cost more than the net worth of a small country. Almost laughing out loud at his frustration with her. She wasn't giving in without a fight. That man was not going to get the chance to sink his fangs into her. The problem was that Roark was like a snake in the grass. You never saw him coming till he bit you. For the moment, she had the upper hand, and she swung from the chandelier like a circus acrobat. Irritating him all the more, just because she could.

"It's the way things are done," Roark explained with the patience of a saint. "How can I ever protect you if I don't know where you are? Not even I can keep an eye on you twenty-four\ seven. We must be linked."

"Why do we have to drink from each other?" She feared that if he drank her blood he would somehow gain power over her. And she'd be his slave, nothing but a plaything, once again. Other than killing Kayla, her freedom was the only thing she promised herself she'd never give away. She did not want to drink from him. No way. He was everything a man should be. But, she knew the dark thing that lurked inside of him. During their time together, with her bound to a bedpost, on her knees, or spread eagle on the floor, she'd seen it up close and personal. And she did not want that inside of her.

"You won't be able to communicate with me if you don't. The Sons could be organizing an attack against us right this minute and if they manage to get through me, they will kill you. We need to be able to hear one another's thoughts." He extended his hand up to her. "I'm doing this for your safety."

"Why would the Sons want me?"

"Angel, my sweet, innocent Angel," Roark said, clucking his tongue. "How many did you kill?"

"Only two." Angel stuck out her chin in defiance. "I don't imagine they cared about the rogue." She scoffed, "I did them a favor."

"Maybe so, but two human lives, Angel you violated their most sacred law and they'll demand retribution." He grinned as her fear registered on her expression. "I've seen them kill for less. I only want to protect you." He extended his hand to her. "Come down, please. I won't harm you." He hid his rage beneath a warm smile. Some called him the King of Lies. And they were right. He wanted to punish her. But, he needed her cooperation. With her speed and her thirst for vengeance, Kayla and Keene were as good as his.

Angel unwound her limbs from the gilded metalwork and dropped silently to her feet on the gleaming wood floor beneath. Gathering her courage, she took a step forward. What choice did she truly have? Roark was right. If the Sons came for her, she couldn't defend herself against them. She needed his protection. She needed him to get to Kayla. If she complied with Roark's demands, he might let her drain the girl as a present. Closing her eyes tightly, she took his hand.

"Good girl," Roark praised. With her in his grip, he could easily stop her from escaping. He may not be faster, but he was certainly stronger. "Shh, this won't hurt," he whispered softly against the flesh of her neck. Before she could offer up any protest, he bit, drinking in her life force.

Angel felt her body weaken with each greedy pull he took. Her skin crawled and her stomach heaved against the sensation of his mouth on her flesh. But, unlike before when she would have crumpled in his arms, she was strong enough to remain standing, on her own two feet. Finally, he withdrew his fangs and guided her mouth to his neck. Hissing, she pressed her lips to his skin. Unfortunately, for him, she wouldn't make the effort not to hurt him. She wanted her bite to hurt. With every ounce of brutality she could muster, she drove her fangs, tearing savagely at his flesh, swallowing him down.

His mind filled hers invading it with his thoughts. Angel shuddered as countless centuries worth of living burned their way into her consciousness. She felt his body break free from her arms and the sweet, hot, torrent slow to a trickle and then stop completely. She gasped, as the chilling cold descended along her limbs. Dropping to the floor, her body wracked with spasms and pain. The agony was so intense that it was just like being born again. "What's happening to me?"

"It will pass," Roark hissed, pressing his palm to his savaged neck. Bitch hurt him. He had not been hurt since his birth into this life. And her bite was a painful reminder that not even one as great as he was invincible. He stepped over Angel's writhing body, ignoring her cries. He stood at the bathroom sink, staring at his reflection scowling at the red stain on his collar. He unbuttoned the shirt and slid it down his powerful biceps, leaving his torso bare as he tossed it in the trash. "Leave me," he growled. He'd dealt with her long enough and he'd had his fill. His darkness wanted out to play. But, he could not afford to unleash it without risking killing her. And he'd worked too hard on her to do that. Yet.

Angel lay helpless in the floor, incapacitated by the pain. Roark was callous and cruel in his treatment of her, almost as if she'd been demoted back to nothing. And knowing his mind, hearing its whispers, she wasn't unimportant to him. She stared up at him dumbfounded in amazement. It didn't matter what he thought of her. He was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. His body was pure perfection, compact and solidly built with muscle. The tattoo that swirled down his right bicep was a sheer work of art. His hair flowed loosely along his shoulders, glowing a rich walnut brown under the harsh white light of the bathroom. She scrambled to her feet and took a step toward him stretching out a hand to feel him beneath her fingers.

"Go!" he barked. He twisted out from beneath her touch and shot a cold blast of power into her mind. Angel sniveled at the sting of his rejection and retreated from his room. He didn't care if he wounded her feelings or not. The sooner she learned that her emotions served no purpose, the better off she'd be and the more useful she'd become to him.

He preferred gentler company in his bedroom. Youthful, human females held his attentions and gained his affections. For him, it wasn't sex that got him off. But, the power he wielded over them. Dominance. He swung open the double doors leading to his private chambers, pointing to the petite redhead lounging on the sofa. "Come," he ordered, grinning in satisfaction when she hurried to her feet and rushed to his side, subdued by her desire to please him.

Angel curled up on her bed, twisting her knees up under her chin. She heard every maniacal, diabolical thought the bastard had ever entertained in his mind. She knew every cruel and self-serving act he'd ever committed. Every sin. And there were plenty of them. Hell was too good for a beast like him. When he finally did die and he would. Eventually. There would be no heavenly reward waiting for him. Roark would be lucky if Hell wanted him. Even the devil himself was a saint compared to him.

Angel clamped her hands tightly over her ears. She could hear him in her mind. Feel his pleasure as the girl did his bidding. The things he did to that poor girl. She felt disgust rising up with the bile in her stomach. Roark was a true master of degradation. Using anyone he could to get what he wanted. She knew with that first taste of his blood how trapped she truly was. Locked with him forever. At least, before, she held some hope for death. Now, she had nothing. No escape. There was no way out. She was more a prisoner now than ever.

Chapter 42

Dane was in a foul mood when he returned to the compound. He didn't mean to scare the shit out of Thomas. And he felt guilt as hell about it. But, he'd done what he had to. He tossed the bag to Toby and stormed out of the tech room. After the data was thoroughly analyzed, it would be destroyed.

Once again his life was filled with problems. And the burden of being a leader weighed heavily on his shoulders. Roark, as usual, was first and foremost in his mind. he coming. It was simply a matter of when.

Keene had almost battled with the Rogue Master and compromised the mission and the team. John Mark had managed to rope him in, for now. Dane couldn't fault the man. Living under the constant threat of Roark was enough to push anyone over the edge. And now, two humans, under the protection of the brotherhood were also in danger. The situation was going from bad to worse. Dane struggled for the modern phrase that best fit the situation the best. "Cluster Fuck," he muttered, slamming the door to his office. He flopped onto the plush sofa and covered his eyes with his forearm. Yes, that phrase fit quite well.