Dawn's Path: Completed Work

Patrick took his place in the center of the ring of brothers. The light from the bonfire turned the sky an eerie orange glow. And the heat radiating from the fire should have warmed his frozen skin. It did little. His heart had already stopped beating and it wouldn't resume a rhythm until Janine opened her eyes and saw him again.

Janine balanced on her knees and inhaled deeply of the smoke from the burning herbs. The Shaman tended to her as he did everyone undergoing this particular ritual. Her skin itched beneath the drawings of power he'd traced in paint across her cheeks and forehead. She didn't know a damn thing about charkas or energy conduits. Hell, she couldn't even begin to remotely interpret the sing song words of his rhythmic chanting. She'd heard them before and they made no more sense to her now than they had then. Her palms were sweaty and her heart pounding like a drum inside of her chest. Whatever he was doing had the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck standing on edge.

She stifled the urge to cough as the pungent smoke tickled her nose and the back of her throat. She tried to relax and just go with it. Let the energy from Doc's blessings and call to the spirits flow through her. It wasn't happening. Despite the woven rug beneath her, the floor was cold and relentlessly hard. The herbal mixture burning in his smudge pot played hell with her sinuses and she sneezed, spraying him with snot and scattering whatever magic he was attempting to gather on her behalf. She was nervous and on edge. And quite truthfully, she didn't particularly look forward to dying.

She could write a novel based on her experiences with the Sons. She knew what was about to happen. And she'd been a pacifier for a baby vampire cutting his fangs on more than one occasion. This was going to hurt. There was no nice, sugarcoated way to put it. Alex had tried to spare her the gory details. Gloss over the pain she'd experienced. Janine knew her best friend far too well. And just as she was able to identify the individual herbs by scent burning in the smudge pot, she knew bullshit when she smelled it.

Her stomach rolled and she was glad she'd passed on the tray Anna had sent to her room. Tequila and a few bites of grilled chicken were going to be the last meal she'd ever eat. No surprise there, nothing else had exactly gone the way she'd planned on her last day as a human. She'd slept all day and hadn't managed to say a proper goodbye to anyone. Maybe, that was a good thing. After all, saying goodbye had a sense of permanence to it. And damn it. She wasn't going to die. She was going to remain her beautiful, glorious self forever.

Janine participated in the ritual as best she could. But her thoughts were scattered to the wind. She couldn't manage a concentrated train of thought for longer than five seconds. Doc's fingers skimmed over her forehead and she felt the sticky wetness of paint against her skin as he added something to the symbols. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Did she need the extra help to pull through this? Or was he just being his usual cryptic self?

Doc was an odd duck, after all. He was a mix of old and new, eclectic, and damn hard to read. She'd tried more times than she could count to get him to dress the part of his importance and reveal the man within. With him crouched down in front of her, chanting in an ancient language almost as old as time, it wasn't difficult to see his true self. He called on the spirits. He saw things not of this world and called them friends. Life and death were at his beck and call. His potions could kill as easily as they could heal. He was the freezing of a winter's gale and the warm sunshine of the spring thaw. And he was desperately trying to prepare her for something there was no preparation for.

No wonder he was so strange. With one foot in the world of the spirit and one foot in the land of the living, who wouldn't be? He could be sending her to her death or into a life she could not imagine. His voice was an echoing, rich, deep bass that demanded her full attention. All vampires were born the same way. Even the Great Father had been human. It was easy to forget that sometimes. That Doc had been here himself. Terrified and kneeling, praying that the magic transformed him into something greater than he was. The purification ritual complete, he left her, kneeling on the floor, to ponder that thought while she waited for the last final minutes of her life to slowly pass.

Alex paced outside of the Shaman's door. Waiting. Robbie's eyes coolly tracked her movements. But, she stood stoically, wordlessly, at her post. Honoring Janine with her silence. Words were not spoken during this time inexorably slipping away with each breath Janine took. Nothing could be permitted to break a candidate's concentration or to sway the decision. Would she even try to talk Janine out of this, if she could? Nobody would have changed her mind in her final moments. Her choice had been made. And so had Janine's.

Her thoughts were a mixture of worries. She worried about Janine and if she would survive. She worried about Patrick and how difficult this was for him. And what would happen to him, if Janine didn't pull through. And she worried about her mother. She was going to provide Janine's first sip of sustenance. What if Janine couldn't contain her bloodlust and took too much? What if she accidentally killed her? Alex was being ridiculous and she knew it. Patrick would never allow Janine to go too far. Janine wouldn't let herself go down that path.

Alex felt a hand brush across her shoulder and wrap around her bicep, gently pulling her into the warmth of a hug. "Everything will be fine," Chance reassured. She stared up, mesmerized by the golden-green hue of his hazel eyes and exhaled. Grateful for the strength he lent her in his presence. She had been there with him too, helplessly watching as he shuddered and cried out in agony on the night of his transformation. History truly did repeat itself and Chance had said the exact same thing to her that night.

He was right. Everything did turn out fine, more than fine actually. But, the thought of seeing someone she cared about suffer a lifetime's worth of agony in a matter of minutes, while she stood to the side helpless to do anything about it, didn't really ease her worry. And the fear of loosing Janine forever turned her thoughts bleak and pessimistic. She slid out of Chance's arms and forced a smile for his benefit more than her own. "I know."

Robbie gathered the ceremonial robe in her arms. The white fur was soft and sleek against her fingertips. The robe was a one size fits all. And much like the wedding dress passed down from bride to bride, that somehow, no matter the size of the person wearing it, the dress always seemed to fit perfectly, so did the robe. Janine was tiny, so slight, the robe should droop over her shoulders; the sleeves dangle from the tips of her fingers; and the hem drag far behind her on the ground. It wouldn't though.

The robe had magic in it. And Robbie had placed it on many shoulders. But, she'd never worn it herself. Kiros had seen to that the night he killed her. John Mark had barely managed to pull her out of death's grip. She remembered little else about that night. Nothing, except for darkness trying to suck her down, the sound of desperation in John Mark's voice as he begged her to live, the taste of blood on the tip of her tongue, and the pain of being reborn.

Much as the robe had magic, instinctively, she knew Janine's journey was coming to an end or perhaps, its beginning. She unfolded the robe draped over her arm. And as Janine timidly, her steps tremulous, emerged from the Shaman's quarters reeking of herbal smoke and ancient magic, Robbie placed it over her shoulders.

Janine had been forbidden from speaking. Staring down at the floor beneath her bare feet, she felt the weight of the robe fall from Robbie's hands onto her shoulders. She couldn't lift her eyes from their resting place to meet Alex's concerned gaze. Chance was better equipped to take care of Alex at this moment than she was, deprived of her words. Janine hadn't realized how dependent she was on speech to convey thoughts and emotions. But, really, what was there to say?

Robbie's fingertips brushed her cheek as she positioned the hood over her head. And Janine took some small measure of comfort from the gentle contact. Weighted by the fur, tradition, ancient magic, and the uncertainty of the unknown, Janine fell in step beside Robbie, walking the last stretch of the familiar hallway in the unfamiliarity of silence. Alex and Chance followed behind her. Not even their footfalls made a whisper of sound as they rose and fell. Hers, the clumsy steps of a human, were the only noise she heard.

It was cold outside, dark as black velvet, and still as the grave. Janine gave Old Jack a gentle pat, grateful for the warmth of his soft, thick winter coat. Jack flicked his ears and rattled his bridle as means of a greeting. He too had made this trip out to the bluffs many times before.

Without the benefit of stirrups and a saddle, Chance had to help her onto Jack's back. Robbie was behind her and had an arm around her waist securing her in place. Janine stole a quick breath, trapping the cool, moist air in her lungs. Their hands brushed briefly as Alex handed the reins over to Robbie. Alex's trembled and hers strained to maintain the contact. Their eyes met. And Janine couldn't help but break from tradition. She spoke. Her words hovered in the darkness on a puff of white breath. "Love you."

Alex nodded as Chance gently pulled her back. Janine's words, possibly the last words she'd ever speak on this side of the grave, hurt as much as they healed. There had been so much history between them. Not all of it good, but certainly there was more good than bad. She wanted to jerk Janine off Jack's back, tuck her away someplace safe, and keep her there for the rest of her life. Her lips trembled, her reply dying on the tip of her tongue. She raised her hand and stretched out her fingers as if she could capture the lingering white puffs of Janine's spoken words and trap them in her fist. Chance gave Jack a sharp slap on the butt to get him in gear. And Janine, safe, soft, human, and alive rode off, the white fur of the robe too quickly swallowed up in the darkness.

Jack ambled along the trail at a leisurely pace, as if to him, this was just an ordinary day, and perhaps, it was. But, it wasn't to her. One way or another her life would never be the same.

Patrick smelled the essence of pungent herbal smoke and the sweet, lingering fragrance that was always Janine long before he heard Jack's plodding hooves slap against the muddy ground, the soft whinny of his exhales, and the rattle of his bridle. He focused his eyes on the hungry tongue of flames consuming the wood of the bonfire. He could not look at her. He did not want to see her one last time. Dane shifted his weight beside him. And John Mark stepped out of the circle of brothers to guide Janine into its center. He knew what would come next. John Mark would petition the brothers for her admittance into the fold. Challenge her worthiness to be one of them. No one would refute her right. She had been one of them long before now.

With the words said, grimly spoken, and unanimously agreed upon. Patrick inhaled and exhaled. He lifted his hands and slid the robe free of Janine's shoulders letting the dense fur fall to the ground in a heap at her feet. She shivered beneath his fingertips. The warmth of the fire failed to reach her or warm her trembling skin. Terror lit her blue eyes, cutting him to the quick. Her jaw was set in determination to see this through. His heart rate quickened. Guilt like nothing he'd ever felt before tore at him. His fingers balled up into fists, clenching and unclenching with indecision.

She lifted her eyes, drowning pools of blue, riotous with fear and gentle pleas. Her lower lip trembled and her breaths were exhales of wordless puffs of white. Patrick reached into the place where his hunter dwelled. His awareness and emotion faded. The fingers of a fiend reached out for Janine and gripped her quivering shoulders in a ruthless, unbreakable hold. His fangs descended, aching with the need to find purchase in her cooling flesh. Patrick pulled her to Janine, holding her to his chest in a death grip. Pinning her arms down to her sides to prevent her struggles. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "So sorry."

Without hesitation, Patrick unleashed his hunter and struck. Driving his fangs deeply and mercilessly into her carotid to feast on the red torrent flowing in a river. He drank of her, swallowing down her life and reveling in the heat and sweetness of her death. She bucked in his arms, weakly struggling to free herself from his hold. Her fight only spurred the instinctive, savage, animalistic beast within him to feed harder, faster, to kill with frenzied, ruthless abandon.

Pain. Pain was everywhere. Burning at her neck in sharp, gasping exhales of Patrick's breaths against her skin. Searing her flesh at the point where his lips pressed against her, bruising and sucking with desperation. His fangs dove in, tearing her skin and savaging the wounds open wide to hasten the flow of her life down his throat. Tears of agony rolled down her cheeks, falling onto the frozen ground beneath her feet. Blood he failed to capture dribbled from the corners of his mouth and pooled in the hollow of her throat. Her fingertips dug into his arm, her sharp nails clawing at his skin. He had to stop. Someone had to make him stop. He was hurting her. He was killing her...killing her.

Janine stilled in Patrick's arms. Fighting him wouldn't stop it from happening. And it was best just to leg go and drift away. Just. Let. Go. And. Drift. Her pain ebbed and the last visage of strength left her body. She hovered on the edge of awareness. She didn't hurt anymore. She didn't feel anything. She wasn't afraid. The firelight dancing beneath the thin web of her closed eyes faded to black. Dying was more peaceful than she'd ever imagined. A warm place, so still that not even a last gasping exhale could cause as much as a ripple in the black warmth of nothing. It was so nice here, safe, comfortable, and devoid of anything. She didn't want to leave it. Ever.

The flow of Janine's blood slowed to a trickle. She'd stopped struggling against him long ago. Cold and so pale, complacent, her body was limp in his arms. Her heart sputtered in irregular random beats, fleeting and so weak, clinging to life. There was little life left in her. The spark was fading faster and faster and then...it burned out.

Janine hesitantly opened her eyes and blinked against the bright, clarity of a perfect, cloudless, sunny sky. Beneath her the sand shifted and rocks scraped against her palms as she pushed her body up off the ground. Heaven was a beach after you died? Life was a beach and then you died? Right? What was she doing here? Where, exactly, was here anyway?

To her right, waves lazily lapped at the shore, splashing onto the rocks. She knew this place. And gasping, she realized that this wasn't where she was supposed to end up. She was supposed to open here eyes and see Patrick smiling down at her. She was supposed to have fangs, an aversion to sunlight, and a taste for steak tartar. She was supposed to wake up. But, she wasn't supposed to wake up dead! "No! No! No!" she shouted, pounding her fists into the sand.

This was all wrong! If she were truly dead, where was Saint Peter? Where were the pearly gates? She heard wolves howling and not trumpets blowing to welcome her home. This was a mistake of epic proportions. She didn't belong here, wherever here was. Twisting her arms behind her back she felt for wings. "Oh shit," she blurted out, clamping her hand over her mouth in horror that she'd cussed.

She half expected brimstone and hellfire to come falling out of the sky in retribution to her potty mouth. Which surely had no business being in a place as beautiful as this. Instead, she was greeted by fury of pink lapping tongues, friendly round, dark puppy eyes, and soft plush pelts, in shades of black, brown, and gray. Soft, cool, slick black noses snuffled in her hair. And thick, bushy tails pelted her in their wagging eagerness. Giggling she played with the massive dogs. Rubbing their bellies, scratching behind their ears, mimicking their playful barks and growls, and reveling in the thickness of their soft fur. There were dogs in heaven. Who knew?

Standing on wobbly legs, she ran her hands along their furry backs and took her first timid steps. The sound of feminine laughter echoed through the trees. Chilling and cool as a summer breeze, the soft laughter wafted over her. The dogs sat on their haunches, their tongues lolling out of the corners of their mouths, and tails wagging happily. Janine was uncertain about the musical laughter, sounding like the tinkling of thousands of silver bells. She wasn't in heaven, not by technical definition. And she might not be as dead as she thought she was. She was in the shadow land, Kokumthena's domain, the land between the living and the dead.

Janine gasped in awe as Kokumthena stepped out of the shade of a copse of evergreens. The goddess was even more brilliant and more beautiful than she could have ever imagined. The drawings, the stories, the clumsy descriptions of her, everything Janine had heard about the goddess, failed to do the deity justice. Kokumthena's steps were graceful, her entire aura one of regality and the wisdom of eternity. Her white hair flowed over her shoulders, wrapping around her slight frame, gracefully falling down past her calves to her ankles, the tips just brushing the ground. Her bronzed skin seemed to glow. And her dark eyes saw everything. Penetrating deep into Janine's heart and separating marrow from bone, truth from lie, with nothing but a glance. She was old, ancient, yet timeless.

And if Janine could see her, if she were here in this peaceful place, quivering in the goddess's presence, it meant only one thing. Janine had to decide whether to cross or remain on this side of the river. That was a tricky thing. She'd only just arrived here. But, in human terms, in the way the living measured time. Weeks, decades, or even centuries might have passed. She wanted to be wherever Patrick was. Living. Dead. It didn't matter, as long as she was with him.

"Child."

"So...," Janine fishlipped, the words died on her tongue before she could speak them. Blinking back her tears, she evaded Kokumthena's knowing stare. The goddess already knew what she was going to do. She had all the answers, and Janine, only questions and more questions. She stared out over the peaceful beach. It would be easier for her to let go of her human life and cross the river. Maybe. But, what was easiest wasn't always the best. And apparently, she wasn't the only one who thought so. Lucien was here. He hadn't crossed as Alex, as all of them, had believed. He waded in the middle of the river, his eyes flicking from one shore to the other shore before they locked on her.

"He lingers here. The warrior in him has yet to find peace. I have tried. But, he refuses to move on," Kokumthena said. Janine saw the sadness in the goddess's eyes. And in truth, it broke her heart. There were so many souls, beckoning him to join them on the other side. Robbie's parents stood on the shore, extending their hands to him. But, he wouldn't budge. He was trapped here in the shadow land. Waiting for Alex. Watching from a distance, as she lived her life.

"I could take him across," Janine said. Time had no meaning here. Patrick would come. Death wouldn't separate them for long. And if he could see the state of hovering between worlds that Lucien was in, he'd understand her sacrifice. Lucien died horribly. And he deserved peace. He'd earned his rest. And Alex, if she knew he was here waiting on her to come, she'd move heaven and earth to deliver him from this place.