Dawn's Path: Completed Work

He tore down every defense and left her bare and exposed. She was clinging at straws out of self-preservation. She didn't want to feel. She didn't want to fill this empty void inside of her with a sense of belonging. And with the weight of the world bearing down on her in his dark stare, he left her no shelter. In the heat of the moment, in a fit of wanting his world as her own, she'd made promises. They weighted her down and held her frozen in place as his lips descended crushing hers in a desperate kiss.

Lance sensed Angel's fear. And maybe, he shouldn't have done it. But, with her so open and vulnerable in his arms, the kiss seemed like the right thing to do. He slid his fingers down her jaw, tilting her head and increasing the angle to deepen the kiss. Her mouth was warm and soft, her breaths desperate and hungry, and her body melting into his.

Angel tried to fight him. Twisting against his grip to free her lips from his. Lance wasn't about to let her close herself off from him again. Not after everything they'd been through. He slicked his tongue along the silky border of her tightly clamped lips. Teasing her with soft strokes until she surrendered and let him in. Lance savored the small victory she'd granted him and took full advantage.

She might be able to rationalize her way to the point where she was actually able to convince herself she didn't want this. But, her body knew differently. Her tongue timidly darted into his mouth, sampling the taste of him. Her spine arched as he skated his palms down her back to settle at her hips. Cupping her butt with his fingers, he brought her pelvis against the hard ridge of his erection. He didn't even try to lie to himself. He knew exactly what his body wanted. And as for his heart, it was too late for that. She already owned it.

"Angel," he breathed against her parted lips. "Don't be afraid of this. Don't be afraid of us." Not giving her time or the opportunity to protest he pressed his mouth eagerly and hungrily against hers. Working his tongue along the fringes of her mouth, suckling, teasing, and tasting. Reveling in the newness of the sensation their joined minds projected. He felt the kiss as she felt it. The sensations rippled along his spine and passion burned along the depths of his soul, searing his heart with its heat.

Angel wrapped her arms around Lance's neck and clung to him as if he were her anchor in the stormy sea of chaos that was her life. The deeper he kissed, the more she wanted. This kiss wasn't like the first one they shared. The stolen moment that seemed a lifetime ago. This time, unlike the first time, wasn't a random meeting of bodies. This was a meeting of souls, merging of bodies, and hearts as one. And it scared her to death. "Lance." He kissed away her protests, stealing them from the breath she'd taken to speak them to life. Nothing made any sense. Nothing mattered but this, the warmth of his body against hers. The hardness of his erection pressed against her center. And the love that spilled over from him into her.

She wasn't worthy of such love. And if she were as strong as Lance claimed to believe she was, she would stop this before it went any further. But, stopping was the last thing she wanted to do. They were bonded together in a way she couldn't begin to understand. His desperate need for her overwhelmed any rational thought. And all she could do was hang on and let the wave of desire take her wherever it wanted.

Angel clung to the stubborn belief that she was damaged. That she couldn't know passion without pain. And maybe there was more truth to that belief than she'd suspected. Loving Lance was painful. It cut. It bound. It bruised. It bled. And the reality of it, of such deep love, was more real than the strike of leather against tender flesh.

Lance's fingers tore at Angel's t-shirt. Rather than break the magic spell woven by his kiss, he split the fabric and tossed aside the frayed shreds of cotton to display her soft, creamy skin. He could buy her hundreds of shirts. But, a moment like this might, once it was gone, was lost forever. He devoted no more time to the lacy bra than he had the t-shirt. It filled him with pride that she wore one of the bras he'd insisted on buying for her. But, he could always buy Angel more.

More. It always came down to more with this woman. He could never get enough of her, of the feel of her flesh beneath the pads of his fingers as he traced trails over her skin. The wait was hell. Working her up to a frenzied point of no return when he was already there. But, the rewards were so worth it. Hearing her sigh in pleasure as she writhed beneath his touch was paradise. Lance's hands got busy, wandering over every inch of her smooth, silky flesh. His tongue kept pace, probing the depths of her mouth giving her no reprieve. Her breasts were ripe, the nipples taut beneath his stroking fingertips. The scent of her arousal clouded the air with its musky undertones. And in his urgency to get to the very heart of her, the jeans went the way of the t-shirt and bra, into a tattered crumpled heap on the floor.

On bent knee, crouching at her feet as he kissed his way from the tips of her toes to that secret place hidden beneath the sheer fabric of lace panties, he hesitated. Her dainty nails scraped against his scalp urging him to finish what he'd started. And he would just as soon as he was certain Angel understood the rules. He was done with sheepish agreements whispered out of the craze of desire. This time he wanted it all, her body, her soul, and every beat of her heart in his possession and not just for one night. "Angel, this means everything."

Angel arched her back and pressing her needful flesh into his palms. She didn't need her eyes open to see the urgency etched in Lance's features. She felt it in the strokes of his fingers over her skin. And heard the gentle desperation of his deepest desires in his voice. He wasn't asking for permission to share her body for a night. He didn't need to. She was already his. Her body thrummed with building passion. All he had to do was take full possession of her. Everything could mean anything. But, she understood exactly what he wanted. And choking on the word as it escaped her lips, she agreed to the terms of her full and unconditional surrender. "Yes," she moaned. "Please."

Lance smoothed his cheek across the softness of her inner thigh and inhaled the sweetness of her skin. Gently, nudging her legs wider for him, he tilted his chin and tore away the panties blocking his path. Angel was soft and sleek as a peach, sweet and ripe for the harvest, a burst of flavor against the tip of his tongue.

He needed to claim her, to taste, feel, and pleasure every inch of her. Lance was usually methodical about how he did things, carefully analyzing and calculating every last detail. He had tried to put his skills to good use and had spent every second of his free time planning all the things he was going to do to Angel. But, crouched on his knees, the flavor of her arousal thick and sweet on his tongue, the sleek honey of her slick core coating his fingers, and the decadent, spun sugar sound of her gasps of pleasure ringing in his ears, he couldn't think beyond this moment into the next.

Slow hurt. Methodical planning was hell. Romance was on his knees with her balancing on one leg. Her thigh wrapped around his shoulder as he lapped at her clit and dove his fingers in and out of her until she quivered on the edge from the pleasure he gave her. Love was a four-letter word that was real and palpable. It was pain. It was pleasure. And it came in a gush of liquid heat, frantic gasps, and desperately searching fingers.

Angel's knees were weak and quivering. Her head spun and her pulse raced as Lance lapped and nipped at her most sensitive places. Grabbing at the soft strands of his hair she gasped and sighed, slipping over the brink. Before her knees failed, he swept her up and placed her on the bed with great care as if she were fragile and breakable. He continued his seductive torture. Diving his fingers so deeply inside of her she wanted to weep with joy.

He gave her no time to recover. He pushed her farther and harder than she'd ever been before. Demanding all of her pleasure and reveling in it. He swallowed down the essence of her being. Rolling the sweet liquid from her depths over his tongue. The havoc he created in her body was heaven and it was hell. It was pain and it was decadent pleasure. Angel drifted. She was a storm swell pounding against a rocky cliff. She was the tide rushing to shore and withdrawing into itself. And she was drowning. Panicked and overwhelmed by sheer confusion, she pressed a palm to Lance's chest and wiggled out from beneath him.

Lance felt Angel's awareness shift from pleasure to panic. He rolled on his back and shifted her on top, dragging her thighs over his hips to straddle him. He'd meant to give her nothing but pleasure. Instead, he'd pushed her too hard too fast. On his back with her on top, he groaned from the gentle pressure of her warm core against his raging erection. She calmed. Gaining the control she desperately needed. He'd been after her full surrender. She just wasn't ready to put her complete trust in him, yet.

He had faith they'd get there. Pain she would have understood. But, the pain in pleasure, the surrender found from the gentlest of touches, she grappled to embrace. A part of her wanted it. And more than that, it needed it. Gentleness, love, warmth, the tangibility of something real to cling to were the things she sought to find in the control of submission. For her, submission wasn't about trust. Never had been. In her world, submission had been about control. Even when Roark beat the shit out of her, she was still the one in control. Through the pain he unleashed on her. She could guard the one part of her that mattered. The part Lance wanted so desperately for her to place into his keeping. Her heart. Her soul.

Gently, he cupped her face in his hands. "Angel, focus on me. Hear my voice and listen to what my heart whispers into your soul. You have no reason to be afraid. We can stop if you want to. But, don't leave me. Don't you dare run away.

"I can't give you pain. I won't give you pain. Not so you can use it as a way to keep us apart. We are together. We belong together. There can be nothing between us. I love you. I'd do anything for you. But, I can't hurt you."

Angel closed her eyes and focused on the rich tenor of Lance's voice. Drawing strength more from the sound than the words. His soul, the way it brushed against hers, spoke in a language all its own. She had to overcome her fears or they'd rule her forever. Lance hovered in a world of indecision. And she'd been the one to push him to this point. If she asked, he would dominate her. But, out of love, never out of greed. He wanted her to give him all of herself, every last bit of who she was. And she wished she were brave enough, trusting enough to do so. She wasn't.

Lance was so hard beneath her. His cock probed against her entrance. Giving him her body was as close as she could come to giving him her soul. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. She closed her eyelids tightly to trap the flow beneath her lashes as she shifted her pelvis and slid him deeply inside of her. Lance's body stiffened and his chest shuddered in a rapid intake of breath. Her body contracted from the sensation of the penetration. But, she refused allow herself the pleasure of joining their bodies as one and riding him with rapid, skillful thrusts of her hips.

Lance didn't want to come. Not like this. Angel rode him with the skill and the unfortunate enthusiasm of a pro. She gasped and moaned in pleasure at the appropriate times. Automatic gestures intended to make the experience more pleasurable for him. His body was going to enjoy the ride whether he wanted it to or not. She was going to make sure of it. His cock plunged in and out of her tight core and his balls contracted. She sped the pace, bucking her hips and swiveling them in tight concentric movements. And he had to give it to her. She was damn good at what she did. His limbs tingled and his groin tightened. Hot jets of release shot from his hard cock, filling her and spilling over onto their joined bodies. Tense and sickened by her attempt to mercy fuck him as a substitution for love. He withdrew his flaccid member from her core and swallowed down the bitter bile and words rising up in his throat.

At a loss for what to say, at least anything constructive to say, Lance pulled on his jeans and left the room. Angel let him go without a word. The door slammed louder than he'd intended as he pulled it shut behind him. He knew exactly what she was trying to do. The self-destructive part of her reared its ugly head. She was like an alcoholic reaching for one last drink. An addict desperate for one more fix. And she was going to have to search for it elsewhere. He was not going to play this game. As much as he loved her and wanted to help, the next steps were not his to take.

Angel watched Lance leave and close the door behind him. He'd said he couldn't give her the pain she needed. The thing he didn't understand was that she didn't need him to give her pain. She could inflict her own brand of pain quite efficiently without him. Their link made it impossible for Lance to hide his emotions from her. And the truth of how deeply they ran was the leather strap across her flesh. He had no safe word. And she wouldn't have stopped the course she'd set into motion tonight even if he had. She'd gone beyond hurting him. She'd harmed him. Maybe, even gone as far as to break him. And in doing what she'd had to do to protect herself. She'd fucked up the only decent and good thing she'd ever had. Thrown love away in preference to stubbornly cling to her fear. And in doing that, she'd harmed herself.

Chapter 41

Patrick opened his eyes and wiped away the fine sheen of sweat that had collected on his brow. The high temperature of the sweat lodge didn't technically affect him as acutely as it would a human. But, his body still had very human reactions to the heat and the steam and he was drenched with sweat and thoroughly pruned from hours of sitting in the sweat lodge between Dane and John Mark as the three of them meditated.

Janine's presence in his mind was like a splash of ice-cold water on his heated skin. And any thoughts of returning his focus to the peaceful place he'd finally managed to create for himself in his head was shattered. She was drunk and her thoughts random and chaotic. Happy. Sad. Terrified. Hopeful. There were too many emotions spilling out of her and into him that he couldn't begin to relax enough to retreat into the calm. Let her enjoy her last night. Let her drink until she couldn't see straight. Let her have a little fun while she could. Tomorrow night, her world would never change again. It'd be so much larger in some ways and so much smaller in others.

He gritted his teeth and dragged his hand through his sweat-drenched hair. Thinking in terms of lasts and firsts wouldn't make his final hours with her as a human any happier. And above all else, he wanted her happy. "I'd better go collect my wife before she drives everyone nuts." Patrick spoke softly, his voice reverent and low in this place where magic flowed and sometimes, the goddess came to pay them a visit. Stooping to a crouch, he grabbed a towel to secure around his waist. Leaving John Mark and Dane to their meditations, he wiggled out of the narrow doorway. They would need their strength tomorrow night, in case the unthinkable happened and he failed. It would take them both and maybe more, if Janine didn't open her eyes again.

John Mark waited until Patrick was dressed and out of earshot before he cracked an eye open and drew breath to ask the question he'd been pondering for hours. "Do you think he's ready?"

"He's as ready as he can be. Drinking the life force of someone you care about, taking them to the point of death, and then sacrificing of yourself to bring them back." Dane paused, losing the thought as he recalled the fears he'd faced the night he brought Alex across. He had sworn through the sacred vow of blood to protect her. Lucien had been his best friend, his mentor, and his leader. And it had been so soon after his death that Kokumthena had recruited Alex into her service. As long as Alex was alive and well, Dane had managed to hold onto a part of Lucien. Lucien lived for Alex. She was his world. And he'd died in battle for her. Standing on the bluffs, holding her dying body in his arms, Dane did his duty and drained the life out of her. And it had been the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.

"It's a very difficult thing to do. We have to give Patrick our strength tomorrow night. Janine knows how loved she is. That in itself will give her reason enough to come back to us."

"Well said." John Mark straightened his legs and scrambled off the bench. He'd never really stopped to think about how important Janine was to the brotherhood before now. It wasn't that she kept them clothed or entertained. She saw things about them that they didn't see, or want to see, about themselves. She had a faith in the brothers that defied logic and understanding. Even when they were at their worst, she saw only the best. She pulled Patrick out of a dark place and loved him when he could not love himself. She saved his life. In some way, she'd saved each and every one of them from the darker parts of their nature. And John Mark could not imagine a world without her in it.

He finished dressing and held the door open for Dane to follow him into the hallway. He too had almost lost the one he loved so dearly. He understood the helplessness of holding the woman you loved in your arms. Of just not knowing if you had the strength or if she loved you enough to come back. His blood had the strength to save Robbie. And Patrick's would save Janine.

"I'm going to find my wife," John Mark said. He suddenly worried about if he'd told Robbie how much he loved her before she left for the city. He knew better than anyone that there were no guarantees. Life could end in a split second. He'd felt Robbie's parents die. Their lives suddenly ripped away in a head on collision with a semi. He'd stood back to back with Lucien in battle. And he'd known the moment the enemy had cut Lucien down. He'd almost died himself that night. Life was short. Nobody had a get out of jail free card when the Grim Reaper came to call. Everybody died. Practically running through the halls hot on Robbie's scent, it didn't matter if he had told her he loved her. He needed to tell her again.

"Patrick!" Janine squealed drunkenly, splashing her drink over the rim of her glass as she spun dizzily on her heel. "Baby, did you come to join the party?" Her man looked good. He stood with his chest bare. Clad only in workout pants and his hair plastered to his scalp with sweat. He was damn edible in a way that no male dancer on a stage could ever hope to be. Licking her lips from the drunken surge of lust that had her tingling in a number of unmentionable places, she sashayed across the room and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Teetering on her spiked heels with the sticky liquid of her drink dribbling down her fingers, she gripped his hair in her fist and dragged his lips to hers for a passionate kiss. And given the catcalls, masculine chuckles, feminine titters, and uncomfortable throat clearing, it was a hell of a kiss. If there weren't so many witnesses, she'd drag him into a dark corner and have her way with him here and now. Bryce and she had made their peace. They'd both moved on. But, there was no need to rub salt in a would that still wasn't completely healed. Abruptly, she ended the kiss and sipped at her drink.