Dawn's Path: Completed Work

Kayla rested her hand over Bryce's wildly beating heart. With trembling lips, she spoke her vow. Gave herself away and she took him, everything he ever was and ever would be, into her. She drank from the cup till the last drop it held rolled over her tongue. Sweet life flowed into her. A love so potent and pure filled every part of her being to the point she thought she might burst from the joy of it. And the brothers, always the brothers, joined her, whispering their thoughts into her mind. Their lives bound to hers. Her life bound to theirs. Through the blood in the cup and the blood flowing in her veins.

She was one of many, yet, an individual. She belonged to herself and to everybody else. And after traveling so very far through the darkness, she'd finally found light and love.

Dane closed the ceremony with a prayer in a language that had long since been forgotten by most of the world. After so much tragedy and so many lives lost. Pyres burned and blood spilled on this very ground. It was good to be gathered here for a happy occasion. These days, joy seemed fleeting and far too rare. Bad things happened and they were hard to forget. The good things were far too difficult to remember. The brotherhood needed a day like today to bolster their weary spirits. He needed today for the very same reason. The war seemed like it would never end. And a bigger part of him still believed the brothers hadn't seen the last of it yet. Roark's death was just a temporary reprieve. Something bigger was coming. The rogues had no master. And it was just a matter of time before the fighting over the territory began.

Today was not the day to think of it. Today he was content to just be happy for Kayla and Bryce and to pretend the worst was behind them. He saw it on his brothers' expressions. They were no more convinced than he. Smiling widely, Dane announced Kayla and Bryce as man and wife and presented the happily united couple to the brotherhood. After congratulating them, he gracefully slipped out of the way. Ducking through the crowd converging on Bryce and Kayla, he searched for someplace quiet where he could mull over his thoughts in relative privacy. And perhaps, enjoy a stolen moment of peace while it lasted.

The fresh spring air was loaded with the fragrant scent of blooms and new life. The nights were still cold and the ground a soggy, muddy mess. The days were crisp and flooded with sunshine. Tulips bravely poked their brilliantly colored heads through the soil. Lemon-yellow daffodils and vibrant royal-purple crocuses braved the morning frost to dot the stark gray and brown of winter's forlorn landscape with color. Red buds formed on gnarled, twisted branches forever reaching skyward in a forgotten plea. And robins, their orange-red chests puffed with anticipation, greeted each golden, glowing morning with song.

Instead of finding the sweet scents of the season inspiring, Angel found them stifling. Internally, she felt trapped. Stuck between the literal rock and a hard place. Her heart was torn between stubbornly holding on to her fears and letting them go. Everyone here was so connected, almost as if they were an extension of one another. Oh, the people here, the brothers, were still individuals. But, they were so much more. And it was difficult to not want to be a part of it. To hold her innermost self back, floating on a choppy sea of separation, instead of drowning in an ocean of togetherness.

The wedding was everything a wedding was supposed to be. Happy. Encouraging. So hopeful and filled with love it made her fangs ache from the sweetness of it all. Kayla was a shining star and she'd never shone more brilliantly than she had tonight. And Bryce, the way he looked at Kayla, as if nobody else existed but her, always her, and forever her, was almost enough to make Angel believe true love was actually possible. In the end the skeptic in her won out and as brothers rushed forward to congratulate the happy couple, she eased into the backdrop, out of sight and obviously out of mind.

Angel found herself genuinely caring for the people that called this place home. Janine was so pert and perky, and for a human, so damned energetic that sometimes it drove Angel to the brink of insanity. But, often, Janine's quirkiness was such a diversion from Angel's darker moods that she often sought her out. Alex, although cautious and aloof, and just a bit distant, was always ready to engage in a verbal sparring match.

Robbie kept her fit in the gym. Constantly putting her through the workout routines with the fierce regimented rigor of a drill sergeant. When she needed to simply sit and chill, Chris was always available, offering the solidity of her calming presence. Whenever the weight of the world got too heavy, Angel could always count on Lori to remind her that she wasn't nine thousand years old and it was ok to cut loose and have a little fun, once in a while. Anna never ceased to amaze Angel with her viewpoint on the world. Anna had seen its share of awfulness and instead of becoming a victim she chose to be a victor. And while Angel had never had a real mother, Candace was never too busy to act as a surrogate.

It amazed Angel the way the men took care of their wives. It was obvious who ruled the roost. The men were at the mercy of the fairer sex. John Mark was fierce on the battlefield and in his role of protector. But, when Robbie snapped her fingers, he came running. Dane was hot tempered, sometimes unreasonably so. But, around his wife, he was gentle as a kitten. Chris kept him and his temper under control. Will and Candace, old high school sweethearts, were still very much in love and often a little too passionate in public places. Angel always walked a bit noisily when there was a chance she might embarrass herself by bumping into them. Toby, there was nothing he wouldn't do for his Anna. Including sending her a thousand texts a day to tell her how much he loved her. Chance was light-hearted and very caring. He doted on Alex. And the way Patrick followed Janine around, reminded Angel of a lost puppy.

Even the new additions, Sebastian and Starr were fitting in. Finding their niche in the tightly knit society. Sebastian was highly skilled with a dagger. And Starr painted murals on the concrete walls of the stark corridors. Nature scenes of beauty and peaceful serenity, so realistic that it felt as if you were standing in the woods or on a tropical beach. And their love for one another, it flowed between them in an endless tide.

Sometimes, Angel felt like the odd man out. She fit, but she didn't. As much as it pained her to admit it, the not fitting in was her own fault. Everyone, despite their colorful and various backgrounds, made an effort to find where they belonged in this world. She did not. Standoffish and cool, distanced from everybody, she genuinely believed she was better off alone. If it weren't for that damnable promise, she might have been gone by now. She should go. In time Kayla would forget the words Angel had spoken out of desperation. In time, Kayla would forget about her too.

The question hung over her head. Where? Where would she go where she did fit in? Life was too dangerous for those who belonged to no one. Strays were nothing but meat for anyone stronger. Angel had made a promise to herself that night. Watching Roark burn on the pyre, she'd vowed with everything in her that she'd never bow to a master. She'd rather die than be on her knees again.

Fear held her back. Roark was dead. His body burned on the pyre. But, there were plenty of others out there willing to fill the gap he'd left behind. The city was wide open. The rogues were masterless and thirsty for blood. Roark, for all his sadism and ruthlessness had served a purpose. He kept the rogues in line. And without him, it was just a matter of time. Angel saw it. The dread and the knowledge of that simple fact haunted the brothers' eyes. The battle might be done. But, the war was far from over.

Going...somewhere...hiding might save her life. Temporarily. There were worse masters out there than Roark. Eric O'Sullivan was one of them. The bastard was lethal. Cruel in ways that made Roark seem tender. O'Sullivan wasn't a sick, twisted, fuck of a pervert like Roark. Not that Angel had enjoyed her time with him by any means. But, she hadn't left his private rooms a bloody, beaten, bruised mess, either. At least, there was that.

Roark had no taste for cold-blooded murder. He didn't play with his food. He killed quickly, mercifully. He'd take what he wanted then end it. O'Sullivan killed for fun. He prolonged the game. Drained his victims slowly. Screwed with their heads to the point they thanked him for the privilege of dying. It was the only time Roark had ever protected her. To him, she was a possession, an object. But, not even he had the stomach for the Rogue Master's appetites.

O'Sullivan was across the country. Distance was in the brotherhood's favor. Eric governed the western states with a tight fist. Hopefully, he was too busy to notice Roark's absence. Like every other Rogue Master she'd ever had the misfortune of meeting though. He thought the sun rose and set in his ass. And he operated under the belief that he was somehow untouchable. If he set his sights on the city there'd be no stopping him.

If she was nothing else, she was smart. Angel's instincts growled in protest every time she thought of leaving. Prompting her to stay put. Here, she was safe. Out there, it was just a matter of time before her luck ran out. She wasn't so certain she could do what she'd have to do to survive. Life was cruel. Life was hard. And for a vampire it could be intolerable. Humans didn't know how good they had it. At the time, when she had been one, she certainly hadn't. She hadn't been able to see past the terror of her life through to the true value of it. Dying might have been better than the world she'd found herself forced into.

There was no freedom in this life. She'd taken life to save hers. Choking on the vampire's blood, and clutching the knife she'd used to slit his throat, she'd been reborn into a world she didn't belong. She'd realized too late what she'd done. Desperation drove her to murder. Changed her from who she'd been into the thing she'd become. And there was no going back.

Inside, deep in their very core, vampires were predators. They thirsted endlessly. Craved blood with a fury that knew no limits. And there was almost nothing they wouldn't do for a few seconds worth of peace from the plague of their thirst. Including murder. The lives she'd taken could never be brought back. For a time, revenge was the only thing that fueled her. A payback for the pain and for the death she'd thought she'd been forced to die. Unable to deal with her guilt and self-hatred, unwilling to face the pain and her past, she'd turned on the only friend she'd ever had. Kayla.

Willingly she'd returned to Roark's side. Served him out of nothing more than sheer stupidity. How odd it was though, when she'd been a powerless human, he'd craved her flesh and blood, her very soul. As a vampire, he didn't want her. He only sought to use her, and she, to use him. Angel hadn't seen the truth. She truly believed Kayla had left her behind to suffer in her place. Kayla hadn't. She'd done what she'd had to do to save her life. And Kayla had been right about everything. If she'd stayed, Roark would have eventually killed them both.

Angel owed the Sons a debt she could never repay. Instead of dispatching justice on her, they'd taken her in. Keene knew of her past and of Kayla's. He'd borne silent witness to it all. And although totally devoted to the brotherhood, hadn't shared their secrets. Kayla had held the past behind closed lips. The three of them had suffered together in ways none of the brothers could imagine. Roark was dead. And finally, they were free. Lost in a private hell of Roark's making, Kayla and Keene had found their way out. Only she remained trapped. Hovering in indecision between a past she could not escape and a future that seemed so unattainable.

The only thing she could do was at the very least keep her word to Kayla. It wasn't fear of what was out there that held her rooted to this place. It was her past and that damnable promise she never should have made. Even now, standing in the shadows alone on the fringes, she didn't begrudge Keene or Kayla their happiness. Keene had Lori and Kayla, Bryce. And she had nothing.

The sound of ceremonial drums and laughter echoed off the bluffs, teasing her. Taunting her with the promises of what might be, if she were only brave enough to reach for it. Torn between her longing to fit in and her fear of fitting in and losing the distance that kept her sane and at the same time so lonely, Angel stalked the border of the woods. Wishing things were different. Wishing she were different and she could just let it go. Move beyond her past the way Keene and Kayla had.

She needed a diversion. Something to take her mind off her self-imposed exile from the life she could be leading, if she were bold enough live it. Running was her exodus. Only when she ran did she truly feel free. Safe. Her limbs pumping, she bounded into the darkness and let it swallow her whole.

She moved so fast. Gracefully leaping over anything in her path. Sheltered by her speed; nothing could stop her. Nobody could catch her. Here, there was nothing but her feet pounding the dirt, the rhythm of her breathing, and the burn in her muscles as she pushed them harder and faster. Her freedom was fleeting though. She could never outrun what she was, what she had been, and she had no idea of where or what she was running toward. The future was just as illusive as freedom. And no matter how hard she tried, it was always out of her grasp.

Chapter 4

Lance excused himself from his best man duties and slipped into the woods. Angel might outrun him. But, he could track her. Scents were unique and nobody else smelled quite like her. Sweet and exotic like Confederate jasmine on a sultry summer's night. Angel was in a dangerous place in her life. And no one seemed to recognize the signs, except for him. She hovered in a neverland of indecision, lost and alone. Maybe, it was best to let her go. The brotherhood had done everything in their power to help her fit in. He had done everything he could to make her see how much she belonged. And no matter what he'd tried. It hadn't been enough.

He was going to find a way to get through to her. No matter what it took. Whatever hell she'd suffered had damaged her severely. But, she was not as broken as she believed herself to be. She was terrified. And that was why she ran, not physically, but emotionally from everyone and everything. He'd love to kill Roark all over again, just to give her the peace of mind she needed to let the past go. There wasn't anything in her future that could hurt her besides her own self-destruction.

He'd seen her once, as she truly was. She'd opened herself up. Raw and exposed, overwhelmed by emotions she'd reached out to the Great Father and pulled him back from the oblivion of his grief over the loss of his brother. Nobody else could have done that. And they all owed her a debt for her bravery. The least he could do was try to save her now, when it was so painfully obvious she needed saving.

Angel wasn't a pet project. Saving her from herself was no mission of mercy. The brotherhood needed her. They did. But, he was kidding himself to think the brothers were his only motive. Truth was, he needed her. Somehow she'd managed to work her way under his skin. Oh sure, he was her friend. But, the feelings he had for her weren't exactly friendly. Lust rode him hard. The stolen kiss had sealed the deal for him. He'd tasted the passion on her lips. Breathed in the woman she hid from the world. And nothing about him had ever been the same since.

He wanted more. He craved Angel in a way that went beyond the simplicity of a midnight tryst. The women he'd taken to his bed had been too easy to forget afterwards. One time with her would be unforgettable. And once would never be enough. Hell yeah, he was horny. But, his sex drive wasn't what pushed him to the brink of insanity and caused the maddening rise in his groin every time he got within eyeshot of her. His need was instinctive, almost primal. They belonged together. He knew it deep in the marrow of his bones. He hadn't been looking for a mate. He hadn't wanted one. But, his body and his heart really didn't care what he wanted. He'd done the unthinkable based on nothing more than a simple kiss. He'd fallen in love. And if he weren't careful, it would destroy the both of them.

Lance followed Angel, keeping his distance and his scent downwind to avoid tipping her off to the fact she had company. Angel was still so fragile and withdrawn. He saw everything she so desperately tried to hide. She'd cringe visibly from the slightest of accidental touches. Sounds and scents, innocuous to most, would cause her hands to tremble uncontrollably. She shied away from people. Avoided eye contact. Deliberately maneuvered to keep people where she could see them. Her personal space was as far away from anyone as she could get. She was always aware, hyperaware, of her surroundings. And even around the few she trusted, she never let her guard down. She never truly had a moment's worth of peace.

The brothers respected her needs. Most of them understood her unspoken demand for space. Not all of the brothers had a happy past. Violence was a part of their lives. Some of them had suffered terribly at the hands of the enemy and it wasn't something easily forgotten.

Angel didn't realize it. But, the brothers were fiercely protective of her. Especially Keene. He'd been Roark's second for over a century. And he'd seen first hand the torment Roark had put her through. Out of respect for her, he never spoke of the horrors she'd been forced to endure. He didn't have to. All anyone had to do was look past Angel's rough exterior and they could fill in the blanks for themselves.

Her scars, the fine lines around her wrists and the pockmark divots at her neck, hinted at the abuse Roark had put her though. He'd used her thoroughly. Roughly. Painfully. Relentlessly. As much as what she'd suffered sickened him, Lance had a gut feeling Roark wasn't the only sadistic fuck responsible for her scars. Rules or not, he thoroughly agreed with Keene about one thing. Anyone who had ever or ever would even think about harming a hair on her head was a dead man. Dane would pitch them both out of the brotherhood. But, it'd be worth it. Angel was his to protect. And he'd die before he'd let anyone hurt her again.

Lance silently stalked her trail to a secluded edge of the lake and ducked behind a tangle of spindly bushes. Oblivious to his presence, she stood on the rocky shore, staring out into the black water. The play of shadow from the moonlight highlighted her features. Tormented by the anguish he saw in her expression, he longed to reach out to her. She'd push him away and resent the fact that he'd offered her any measure of comfort. Angel didn't operate that way. And she'd only see her need for nothing more than a simple hug as weakness.

Hiding in the bushes, he watched Angel fight a private war with herself. One she would never win. Angel was fiercely independent. She never spoke of her past. She carried it in her heart with brave, silent, dignity. What she didn't say had told him everything he'd ever wanted to know and plenty that he didn't. She peeled off her leather jacket, dropping it at her feet on the rocky beach. Her eyes never left the shimmering glossy black surface of the water. Gentle waves lapped at the shore, whispering things only she alone could hear.

Her jaw set, she tugged off her boots and kicked them to the side. Freeing her feet of her socks, she dug her toes into the gritty sand and biting rocks. Lance had no idea what she was up to. What thoughts were running through her mind as she pulled her turtleneck over her head and cast it to the ground. He shivered in sympathy for her exposed skin. Even in his insulated winter gear the night was cold. Riddled with angry, puckered, linear scars, her back bore the evidence of Roark's cruelty. Outraged at the thought of her helpless and beaten bloody he balled his hands into fists at his side and prayed whatever hell the goddess had sent Roark to was truly worthy of a sick, twisted, sadistic fuck like him.