Dawn's Path: Completed Work

Angel could have easily ditched the vampire after their escape. Even at top speed and nothing but a blur of movement to the human eye, he was slower than she. But, he had saved her ass and she owed him. Suspicion about who he really was and more importantly, why he was following her niggled the back of her mind. She had to start trusting sometime. And if this stranger had wanted her dead, she would have been. Instinctively, she sent out a psychic flair for help to the brothers. So far, none of the rogues were on their trail. But, that didn't mean they wouldn't be or that they weren't somewhere up ahead of them setting a trap.

She had what she came for and was more than ready to return to the compound. The problem was exactly what to do with the stranger who'd saved her life? By the scent of him, it was obvious what he ate. And if the brothers stumbled across him, they'd automatically consider him the enemy. This man, although he was far from a friend, was no enemy. And he did not deserve to die through guilt by association.

Carter ducked into a narrow recess carved into a wall of concrete. That no rogues were out hunting them only confirmed his suspicions. O'Sullivan had called them off. And that was not good, especially for the unsuspecting woman beside him. Sniffing the air, smelling nothing but the remnants of garbage, he exhaled. "I think we lost them." He studied the tilt of her head. Yeah, she didn't believe his cover story any more than he did. He smiled in an attempt to charm her and extended his hand. "Carter."

Angel raised her brows and accepted Carter's outstretched hand. "Angel." She had a thousand questions and only he had the answers. Primarily, she wanted to know why the Rogue Master of the western seaboard was in the city. And although she detected no particular air of menace, she thought the better of asking him. Vampires, especially the old ones, tended to be a bit testy when pushed.

"I take it you knew Roark?" Carter asked.

"You could say that," Angel retorted. Her eyes narrowed. He'd helped her escape the bad guys. He'd sensed them long before she had. And had gotten her out. "What were you doing there? Were you following me?"

Carter smiled and dipped his head. His charm fell flat on its face. And she would not be so easily deceived to let the matter drop by a handsome face and a set of dimples. "Naturally. You smelled of the Sons and I did not want to see you harmed. These days, it's dangerous for a Son to wander the city alone. And exactly why were you alone?"

"Personal business."

Carter sniffed the air checking for danger. He caught the earthy undertones of the Sons, closing in from all directions. They might have parted ways peaceably enough on their first encounter. But, he wasn't willing to press his luck a second time. It was best to leave her to her friends and make a hasty retreat. The problem was, reeking of garbage and rogue, and the stink of decay from Roark's lair, he'd have a hard time making himself disappear. "We've got company."

Angel smelled the gentle scent of her brothers and chuckled. "They're my friends. But, I think it's best you leave, unless you want to meet them."

"Perhaps another time," Carter said. He snatched up her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles before bowing and darting out into the lingering cover of shadows and darkness.

"Thanks for saving my ass," Angel called after Carter. He was already gone. Swallowed up by the maze of buildings and darkness of shadows. She wiped her knuckles on the thighs of her jeans and snickered at his gesture. The warmth of his hand and of his lips lingered on her skin. Hinting at the power he hid beneath his pretty façade. He was strong enough to take the city and become its master. Maybe, the city would be better off if he did. The problem with the rogues was growing. And there seemed to be one unfortunate solution. Carter wasn't the only rogue out there without the taste or lust for killing. And if the brotherhood had to hunt them down, too many like him would be caught in the crossfire of a bitter, long, and brutal war.

"I can't say I'd do it again." Carter's voice was distant. Echoing through the shadows.

Angel tucked her journal in the waistband of her jeans, hiding it beneath her jacket just in time as Chance rounded the corner. "Hi," she said lamely. She'd called for help and she had it in abundance. Will landed silently on his feet onto the sidewalk beside her from an unseen perch over her head. Marcus walked casually beside Sam, twirling the hilt of his dagger between his fingers.

"Trouble?" Chance asked.

"Not at all," Angel stammered. She hated herself for considering what she was considering. But, there were worse things than handing over control of the city to Carter. The man had a conscience and he would do what was necessary to save lives. Not all of the rogues were worth saving. But, she wanted to try to save the ones that were. Carter was the key to preventing the city from falling into the wrong hands. The brotherhood needed a new master in control of the rogues as badly as the rogues did. The answer was not wholesale slaughter. But, backing the right man for the job. And she'd found him. "I know where the rogues are. But, you have to promise to give me time to talk to Dane before you make a move against them. "

"Are you really ok?" Chance asked. If anyone should hate the rogues, it was Angel. She had plenty of reasons to want them dead. And yet, she was practically begging for their lives. At the very least she was willing to defy Dane and risk the mission to keep the rogues' location a secret. Something within her had changed in such a short time. Chance didn't know Angel all that well. But, she seemed strangely at peace and no longer at odds with the world and with herself.

Marcus sheathed his dagger and crossed his arms over his chest. Angel was onto something. He could see it in the glimmer of her eyes. He didn't want to kill anyone, rogue or otherwise. He was a brother. But, he'd been where these rogues were. And he knew the hardness of the lives they lived. His brothers, for the most part, had been called into the service of the Sons. They knew the freedom of choice. Most of the rogues did not. They were dragged into this life the same as he had been. Kicking and screaming, cursing their maker's name and the world into which they'd been born. He was more than willing to consider any alternative to bloodshed. "You get what you came for?"

"I did."

Angel's answer satisfied Marcus. "Good." He didn't press her for details. It wasn't his place to question. The inner workings of a woman's mind and the secrets it held were hers and hers alone.

Angel was lucky to be alive. Given the smell of the vampire on her clothing. A vampire with the power of a rogue master was not a vampire to be taken lightly. The scent was already fading. And his trail wasn't going to get any warmer while they stood around and shot the shit. "Well boys, we should get going."

Angel grabbed Marcus by the sleeve of his jacket. The brother in him would not let the matter of Carter go. She could see Marcus's determination to hunt him down in his eye. The mission was top priority number one. And she could not fault Marcus for that. She had her doubts as to if the brothers would actually be able to track Carter with any measure of efficiency. Carter hadn't gotten to be as old as he was by being stupid. But, he also hadn't gotten there by being a pacifist either. He would be lethal and deadly if cornered. She did not want him to be killed for mistaking the brothers' presence as one of threat. "Don't hurt him, please Marcus. Just pretend you didn't smell him. He's not a rogue. And he saved my life when he didn't have to. Just this once, Marcus, remember who you once were. Who I was. Carter is important. I can't explain how. But, he is. Just give me the time I asked for. Please."

"Fine. I'll drop it, for now. But, if this bites us in the ass, it'll be you standing there right along beside me, explaining it to Dane."

Angel rose up on her toes and gave Marcus a quick peck on the cheek. Which earned her a grumble of displeasure from Sam. "You won't regret it. I promise," she said. Her car was a few blocks away. Well within an easy jog. And she'd rather do it alone than appear helpless and ask one of the brothers to walk her. Snatching her keys out of her pocket she grinned and bolted for the car.

"I'd better not," Marcus shouted after Angel. Embarrassed by the display of affection, he wiped her kiss off his cheek and shrugged at his wife. For the moment, he had bigger things to worry about than a rogue that was not a rogue. Sam didn't share. And the peck on the cheek, as unbidden as it had been, was going to take him no small amount of sweet talk to finesse his way out of the doghouse.

The drive home was going to be a long one. The softness of morning shadows bathed the world in a dim shade of purple-gray. Angel gunned the engine and merged onto the interstate. The city no longer towered above her. But, shrank to small points of light in her rearview mirror. Roark's laughter, low and menacing, rumbled in her head. It was just too much to ask that the bastard actually stayed dead. "Did you think I'd really let you go so easily?"

She had no fear of him or his words and they had no hold on her. "Not this time, Roark. Never again." Angel's voice was resolute, steeped with determination to let the past stay in the past. She had a life to look forward to, a very long and happy one. And Roark had no place in it.

Instead of wasting her time talking to the imaginary ghost of a dead man, she placed a call to the one person she truly did wish to speak to. Lance answered on the first ring. The relief in his voice was almost palpable in the distance still separating them. She had so much to tell him, so many things to say. And she started with the words that mattered the most. "Lance, I love you."

Chapter 52

Anna was thrilled to have someone to cook for again. Her kitchen had become a very empty place without Janine to keep her company. Although, she had to admit, she wasn't exactly thrilled with her current guest. The Great Father paced back and forth, practically wearing a hole in her tile floor with the agitated stomping of his feet. Generally, he was the living, breathing definition of the word stoic. That was not the case today. He was so much unlike his self that she had to bite back the urge to pry. Prying was not her place. With everyone else who traversed the sanctity of her kitchen, yes. But, he was not a man to ask questions of.

He'd showered and changed into stiff new clothes. Janine would be thrilled. Like most old vampires, the Great Father was a confusing contradiction. And it was difficult to see him for the man he truly was beneath his age and the weight of the world resting on his shoulders. He grunted in discomfort and tugged at the clumsy mess he'd made out of his tie. Shrugging his shoulders as he continued his relentless pacing, he swung his arms getting used to the confining fit of the tailored suit coat. Janine was pretty good at guessing sizes. But, since no one had ever seen the Great Father out of a battered sweatshirt or bare-chested in his ceremonial wear, and he sure as he wouldn't have held still for an actual fitting, she'd had no choice.

Black dress slacks hugged his muscular thighs and accentuated his height. But, he didn't appear to be particularly happy to be wearing them either. He scratched at the winter weight wool fabric in displeasure. His fingers traveled up and down his body, busied with tugging at the high neck of the dress shirt, scratching at the waistband of the slacks, and grappling with the sleeves of the suit coat. Stomping his big feet, encased in shiny black Italian leather loafers, he flexed his toes and rolled up on the balls of his feet to break in the shoes.

He was in a word, miserable. Janine claimed the clothes made the man. But, in this case, Anna was pretty sure though, the only thing this outfit would manage make was one miserable male. He shied away from modern conveniences like blow dryers. And water from his recent shower dripped off the ends of his black hair, soaking his collar and spotting the broad shoulders of his suit coat with droplets of moisture. He'd even, and her nose was never wrong, put on the designer cologne Janine had gotten him last Christmas.

He'd stomped into her kitchen and demanded food. Blinking at her and frowning when she'd asked exactly what it was he wanted her to cook. As if she should automatically know without asking. She didn't. Food was a pretty vague order and coming from the Great Father a very daunting request to fulfill. Since it was morning, she'd decided on typical breakfast faire. And as she stirred the pancake batter and put strips of bacon in a skillet, she hoped she was right.

The Great Father stood in the kitchen marveling at Anna's expertise. The mystery of all the gadgets and knobs befuddled him. He knew better than to touch...anything. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sweet syrup warming on the stove filled the air. His nose twitched and his belly rumbled. The smell of food should repulse him as it had for almost two hundred years. Strangely enough his mouth watered in eager anticipation. Not happening. He could not eat and would not try. He'd learned the hard way about the folly of trying to be that human long ago.

Anna's pale blonde brows were raised in curiosity. And her lips pursed to trap the questions she was wise enough not to ask. He didn't mind females. In fact, he enjoyed the company of the gentler sex. But, in his over two hundred years as a male of the species he'd learned a thing or two about women. And one did not say anything one did not want repeated, especially not to these women. They clucked like a bunch of mother hens. And worked at gossip the way an sculptor might work a lump of clay. In order not to become the latest topic of feminine conversation, he wisely kept his mouth shut and continued his relentless pacing.

He grunted and bit the inside of his cheek in frustration. Tala was hungry. And even though the compound had the latest in kitchen technology. The food was taking too long to prepare. Back in the day, when fast food restaurants had installed their first drive through windows. He'd been fascinated by the prospect. Imagined himself a would be entrepreneur. Food had always held him in rapt fascination. And how a meal could go from raw to fully prepared in less than two minutes was still a mystery to him.

It wasn't just the speed in which Anna prepared the food that had him grinding his fangs in frustration. It was the whole question of his age that had him pacing. He was outdated and way behind the times, as Tala had so innocently pointed out. He needed what the women at the compound called a makeover.

Unlike most males, he could multitask. And as he showered, he reluctantly flipped on the TV for a little advice. And he had not liked what he saw on the screen one bit. Skeletal women parading around half-naked, males so thin that in his day they would have been considered on the verge of starvation, and skin, so much skin showing everywhere. The world was decidedly different. Times had changed. And he wasn't so certain that he could catch up. Or for that matter, that he wanted to.

Life ran at a faster pace than it had in his time. There was so much noise, so much chatter it made his head hurt. Beeping gadgets, cars that could travel at speeds no human being was ever meant to travel, airplanes, phones, televisions, something called an ipod that was this year's must have, e-readers, the internet, and even more inventions than he could even begin to wrap his mind around. People paid good money to 'reconnect' with Mother Nature. There were pills to cure everything from the common cold to something in his day no self-respecting male would ever talk about. Erectile dysfunction, what the hell was that? The world was too full of stuff. And the quiet places were in danger of being lost forever.

He should forget this task of 'reinventing' himself and leave the female to Dane. There was nothing wrong with him the way he was...the way he had always been. It was the world that was wrong. And he could find no rightness in it. His brother had accused him of being pigheaded and stubborn as an old mule. And he was.

He'd never considered it before. Why there were so few of his ilk around. Why most of his original Sons had chosen to end their lives when there was still so much work to be done. Even his brother, who had foretold his own death, had chosen to meet his fate gracefully instead of fighting it to the bitter end. Death was the only thing ever denied them. The passing of decades and centuries wore a man down to the marrow. Too few vampires had the mettle for true immortality. Time marched bravely forward and they, like the relics of a forgotten age, were left behind in the dust and decay to rot.

Death would be easier than tripping over his feet to keep up. But, he'd never been a man to admit defeat. And this modern age with all its trinkets and toys would not get the better of him. He was here, alive, because the goddess willed it. He still had a job to do. And he would never consider quitting before his task was done simply because it was easier.

The suit he'd found hanging in his closet itched to no end. Stiff and the fabric inflexible and confining, he pulled on the constricting tie around his neck and tried to make some kind of peace with the clothing. The shoes pinched his toes. The waistband of his pants dug into his skin. And the crotch rode up. The clothing was not designed for combat. And in the field it would be as ineffectual as a pink tutu on a pig. He was armed. Not comfortably. And the weaponry was not in easy reach. But, according to the television and to Janine, the designer wear was the latest in male fashion. And he absolutely hated it.

He'd seen an advertisement on the television for the bottle of cologne sitting unopened on his dresser. More travesty of the modern age. He didn't care what he smelled like. Ok, that wasn't exactly true. He did care. And there were a few limits to how much stink he would endure. But, his little experiment in male perfume didn't settle well. The cologne was way to sweet in its scent. The sugary smell burned his sensitive nose and caused his eyes to water. And to him the sweetness was a bit too foppish for his taste. He smelled like a damn woman. Or worse, he reeked like one of Anna's sugar cookies. Not even a deranged rogue would consider him a threat smelling like this. He stank. And he hated this particular trap of the modern world even more than he despised the shoes and the clothing.

He felt like a peacock strutting his feathers. And no, he had no particular issue with men who indulged with other men. But, this modern time seemed to flaunt sex. Especially same sex couplings, as if they were the first ones to discover it. And that was not the case. Homosexuality had been around a hell of a lot longer than he had. He was not a peacock nor a woman. But with all the preening he'd done in front of the mirror, he certainly felt like one.

According to the television, everything about him was wrong. His clothes. His hair. His scent. His outlook on life. Hell, even his name was obsolete. He simply did not fit. He was a square peg trying desperately to wedge its way into a round hole. Flipping through the channels after he'd finally mastered the remote control. And he was going to have to talk with Dane about why the brothers needed over three hundred TV channels with the same damn thing, which amounted to nothing, on every station. He tried on several names he'd come across in the programs.

He did not want to be named after a city. No matter how big or great the city was in this day and time. Things changed far too rapidly and cities came and went. There were some male names that didn't make any sense to him at all. He wanted a name people could spell and just as easily define. No trendy names that would become as obsolete as he seemed to be. A worthy name, a name that implied strength, a name that stood the test of time and lived up to its reputation, a good, solid name tried and true was exactly what he needed. But, what?