Dawn's Promise

"Well, ah..." Candace stuttered and bit her bottom lip, unsure of what to say. Her eyes darted between the two most important men in her life. The tension between the two of them was thick enough to cut with a knife. Chance wasn't handling seeing her with Will very well. And she couldn't blame him. Will was determined to have her in his life no matter what their son thought. And she agreed. Chance was an adult. And it was important to her to have a life of her own, whether he liked it or approved of it or not. She just wished there'd been a better way to break the news to him. And that she didn't feel so caught in the middle. Neither one of the men in her life had the right to make her chose one over the other. And if it came down to it, she wasn't sure she was willing to make a choice.

"Yeah." Chance turned on his heel and walked through the hall toward the kitchen, leaving his parents behind, standing in awkward silence. He wasn't a child. Yet, he'd acted like a spoiled brat and behaved badly. It was good for his mom to have a love interest and about damned time. But, did it have to be Will? Chance bristled in irritation. The man was the bane of his existence. And what made it so much worse was that he knew it.

"Maybe I should go talk to him," Candace said tugging against Will's arm. She had hurt two of the men she cared the most about in less than a twelve-hour period. In either instance, she didn't know how to make it right.

"He's fine. Candy, just let it go. Chance is going to have to get used to sharing you," Will said, leading her the opposite direction down the halls away from Chance. His hope was that the three of them could become a family. Not the Hallmark kind, nor the sitcom ones that he saw on TV, but a real one. It was starting to come together. And the sooner Chance accepted him, that like it or not, he was his father and a part of his life, the better.























Chapter 27

Chance smelled the coffee brewing long before he entered the kitchen. The earthy aroma prickled his nostrils and made him wish he could at least tolerate the bitter taste. He lifted a brow, surprised to see Alex standing at the counter with her head bent over the brewing pot, inhaling the heavenly scent. She was dressed for bed, wrapped up from head to toe in a battered, threadbare, pepto-pink robe that dragged the floor and a matching pair of beat up slippers. Her reddish curls were bound up into a sloppy bun with a pencil poking out of the center like an antenna. Making his way to the fridge, he snagged what was left of the turkey before Janine beat him to it and grumbled in annoyance at the few scraps of meat left at the bottom of the deli bag.

"Hi," Alex said grimly, looking up from the pot of black steaming liquid to Chance. He leaned against the fridge casually stuffing scraps of leftover turkey into his mouth, chewing as he watched her reach for a mug. "Want a cup?"

Chance shrugged and shook his head. "Nah, never touch the stuff. Caffeine will kill you. Not that you have to worry about that." He lifted his brows in curiosity as she filled a mug to the brim with coffee and moved past him to riffle through the fridge for a container of cream. It was the middle of the night and she was making coffee for whom? It wasn't like she was going to drink any and he'd already turned down her offer. He watched her carefully measure out two heaping spoonfuls of sugar and add them to the mug. Her spoon made clanking noises against the chipped mug as she stirred thoughtfully.

Alex chuckled at the envious tone in Chance's voice when he referred to her supposed immortality. He didn't have a clue, not really, of how enviable in so many ways humans truly were. "No, I suppose I don't." Ok, so her behavior was a little bit obsessive. Pretending not to notice the curious expression on his face, she put the creamer back in the fridge and wrapped her fingers around the mug. The warmth from the coffee infused her chilly skin. She lifted the mug, the contents gently sloshed against the rim, and lifted it to her nose, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. Wishing like hell she could take one single sip.

"It's just a habit," she explained. "Before," she lifted her eyes from her mug to Chance, "you know... when I couldn't sleep, I'd just give up. Call it a night and put on a pot and wait for the rest of the world to wake up."

"Ah," Chance replied, nodding, "an insomniac." Grumbling, he stared into the fridge and took inventory of its meager contents. What the hell was he supposed to make that would be remotely filling out of half a gallon of milk, a crumbly block of cheese, a jar of mayonnaise, and Alex's coffee cream? He'd kill for a slice of pizza right now, a fast food hamburger, something loaded with calories and salt. Instead, he settled for a glass of milk and some graham crackers he'd managed to scrounge out of the back of the cabinets.

Alex shrugged in dismissal of his assessment of her sleep habits and shuffled to a barstool. Recurrent nightmares tended to do that to a person. Funny, she never dreamed now. Not since the transformation. And when an image did manage to find its way into her head, the fuzzy vision was prophetic in nature. With a heavy sigh, not sure which, if the nightmares or the visions were worse, she hefted her body up on the stool and leaned heavily on the stainless steel countertop clutching her rapidly cooling mug in her fingers.

Chance set his milk and the package of graham crackers on the counter, settling onto a barstool beside Alex. "Hey you're not still mad at me are you?"

"For what?" Alex asked.

"Kicking your ass on the mat today." Chance dipped the edge of his cracker in his milk and watched the soggy particles sink to the bottom of the glass. Glancing up to Alex, regretting the longing look in her eye as he snapped a cracker in half, showering crumbs across the countertop and took a bite. Gingerly, he scooped the crumbs up with his palm and brushed them onto the floor. Sweet and dry, the bite in his mouth coated his tongue. His eyes still locked on hers, he lifted his glass and took a long gulp of cold milk to wash it down.

Alex frowned at the crumbs stuck to Chance's full bottom lip and the thin trace of milk ringing his mouth and scowled at the cold coffee in her mug. In that one gesture, something as simple as taking a bite, he'd proven exactly how different they were. She slid off her stool and padded across the kitchen to pour her mug's contents down the sink. Not one to waste, and feeling so self-conscious because he watched her so intently, she refilled her mug, skipping the cream and sugar and leaned against the counter. Soothed by the warmth of the chipped porcelain against her fingers. "I let you win," she said defensively.

Chance scoffed and nipped through the edge of a cracker with his blunt, ordinary, human teeth. "Yeah, sure, ok." He swallowed down the last of his milk, watching her over the rim of his glass. Alex was actually a very pretty girl, when she wasn't frowning at him or trying like hell to kick his ass. Eager to shift the subject away from her humiliation on the mat, he asked, "So you're a raving insomniac, eh?"

Alex smiled at Chance. Sans graham cracker crumbs, he wasn't bad looking. A little young, perhaps and definitely not her type, too boyish and full of himself for her liking, but he wasn't entirely repulsive. "Yeah, most of the time. Tonight, I couldn't get my brain to shut off. What's your story?"

" I usually don't have trouble sleeping," Chance answered. Almost timidly, Alex walked across the floor. Her battered slippers never making a sound as they brushed against the tile. Agilely, she slid onto her seat and leaned an elbow on the counter. Her right hand rested on the handle of her battered mug. "But tonight, I got hungry." He left out the part about waking up pruned like a raisin in the tub. Too much information. He chuckled softly under his breath and shook his head. "I wish I hadn't left my room though."

"Why's that?" Alex asked. Her curiosity inflamed by the streak of red blush fanning across his high cheekbones. She sat back in her chair and toyed with the handle of her mug. Gesturing with her hand, she encouraged him to continue his story. For a minute, she forgot that he was human and she was a vampire. That she wasn't supposed to like him or even speak to him. This late at night, they were just two people sitting side-by-side, enjoying one another's company.

Chance repressed a shudder and grinned up at Alex to hide his embarrassment. "I caught my mom playing lip tango with Will in the hallway," he muttered, fingering his empty glass at the bemused expression on her face. "I'm serious. They were going at it like a couple of teenagers behind the bleachers. Pawing at each other. The man had his tongue stuck halfway down her throat."

Alex snorted genuinely amused by the shock in Chance's voice. She knew about his mother and Will. The psychic link between the brothers was better than any gossip column. And she'd done her damnedest to block it out. There were things about the brothers she simply didn't want to know. "Yeah," she said on a chuckle. "It's hard to imagine our parents as sexual beings."

Chance held up a hand, frowning and shaking his head at the mental picture. "Don't, Just don't."

Alex scoffed and surveyed Chance with her eyes. He was attractive enough to have a string of girls at his beck and call. "Ok. What about you? Surely, you've got a girlfriend waiting at home."

"Nope, footloose and fancy free," Chance volunteered. "Women are a complication I don't need right now." He didn't know why he felt compelled to tell Alex the absolute truth about his lack of dates. It wasn't like the information mattered. She was so far out of his league. Older. Pretty. Dead.

"Yes, we are. I'll be the first to admit that," Alex replied.

Suddenly curious, Chance asked, "And you? Is there a guy vamp running around here somewhere with your name tattooed across his bicep?" Alex's expression clouded over, her eyes fixed on the vacant spot on her left ring finger. A twinge of guilt surged through his gut. Gently he reached out and touched her hand. "Hey, I'm sorry." What he was sorry for, he didn't know. For some reason his question upset her deeply. Immediately erasing the casual friendliness building between them. "You don't have to tell me. I didn't mean to pry."

Alex shook her head and swallowed the lump in her throat. "No, you didn't know. It's ok," she said in a thick voice loaded with emotion. Actually, she was glad to have someone to talk to who didn't know about her past. She was lonely and the nights were the worst. "Lucien, my husband, was killed a few months ago. He died in the battle between the Sons and the Rogues."

"I'm sorry, Alex," Chance replied softly. He gently squeezed her arm and dropped his hand to his lap. They sat side by side, passing the time without much else to say. Alex with her cooling mug of black coffee and he with his empty glass, occasionally, they'd exchange a glance and look away, struggling to think of words to fill the deafening silence and coming up short.

"Your mom's back," Alex whispered.

"How'd you know that?"

Alex grinned, pointing an index finger to her temple. "It's a vampire thing," she answered as if it explained everything.

"Oh," Chance said, raising a brow. "Must come in handy." He frowned and looked over his shoulder toward the entry to the kitchen. "Well, I'd kind of like to avoid the two of them right now. I've suffered enough humiliation for one night. I think I'd better slink off to my room before my mom corners me, or worse, Will does. I've got a match with John Mark in the morning."

Alex chuckled, knowing how grueling John Mark's workouts could be. "He will kick your ass." She took the dirty glass from Chance's hand and shooed him toward the hallway. " Better hurry if you want to avoid the 'rents. They're in the main vestibule." She watched Chance jog through the kitchen to pause at the doorway, shooting her a wide, slightly crooked grin and a wave before he vanished down the hall. "Good luck," Alex whispered after him. Smiling a genuine smile for the first time since what seemed like forever, she washed his glass and her beat up mug, setting them side by side in the dish strainer to dry.

























Chapter 28

Lance glared at the red blip on the handheld receiver's display screen. Fucking Toby and his damned gadgets. Toby had dropped the thing off, given Dane's instructions, and relieved him of his post outside of Anna's house, shooing him off with a smug wave of his fingers. Pride somewhat wounded by the gizmo in his hand and Toby's abrupt dismissal, Lance scrubbed his hand through his white blond hair and grumbled to himself. He was a tracker, and damned good one. He didn't need some device to find some errant stray on the loose.

"Guess who finally showed up to dinner," Lance muttered to himself. He shivered out of habit at the white puffs of steam released into the cold air from his lips. He cursed and brushed fat moisture laden flakes of snow off his shoulders. The bitter biting wind and the snow swirling in mini-tornadoes from the black sky overhead put him on edge. He hated winter. Hidden in the shadows of the wee hours before dawn, he stalked across town honing in on the signal displayed on the screen. Too bad Dane had given the order to observe. He was itching for a good fight and one lone stray would be an easy outlet for his agitation. Soundlessly, he landed on a rooftop and stuffed the receiver into his pocket. Looking down at Marcus, he followed to see what in the hell the man was up to.

Marcus had no idea of where he was headed. He wandered the deserted streets of the business district lost and without a plan. The glow of neon lights and the pungent smell of humanity did little to quell his feeling of uneasiness. Although the streets were devoid of human life, he was not alone.

There were predators out there, staking the shadows. He could smell them, hear their soft footsteps crunch through the snow, and that itchy sensation he got at the back of his neck clued him in. Someone or something was following him. He needed to get off the streets. Find someplace to lay low for a couple of hours until he came up with a plan for what he was going to do with the rest of his long, long life. Maybe, California or Texas, definitely not Vegas, too many memories there, and he wasn't planning on sticking around here any longer than he had to.

Idly, as if he was just an ordinary guy out on a stroll, he stopped at a payphone and snatched up the dog-eared, grime stained phonebook in his hand. Flipping through what was left of the pages, he looked for her name. Luckily, most of the missing pages or smeared illegible print was in the yellow pages and not the white pages. Of course, Candace, oblivious to the evils in the world would have a listed phone number. He memorized her address and flipped to the inside cover, scanning the map of the city to pin down directions to her house. He wasn't far. And he'd be better off there than roaming the streets with a Son on his heels.

Lance dropped down to the icy street two stories below and followed Marcus at a safe distance. The fucking wind had shifted direction and blew his scent straight at Marcus. By now, given the speed and winding path Marcus took through the quiet streets leading away from downtown, he knew he had company.

The glittering high rises and dark storefronts of the posh overpriced boutiques lining bustling heart of the city became fewer and fewer giving way to shabby boarded up windows and long neglected crumbling brick structures and cracked sidewalks littered with trash and heaps of filthy snow. A few blocks more and neighborhoods in varying states of decay began to crop up, yielding to strip malls on the outskirts of town and clusters of modest middle income housing.

Marcus hazarded a glance over his shoulder into the dimly lit streets behind him. The streets were empty except for the random passing of a car idling down the snow packed road. Hunkering down into his jacket, he quickened his pace, scanning the dark porches for the house number.

The Son, his scent unmistakable and easily distinguishable from a rogue by its lack of almost nauseating cotton-candy sweetness, was still some distance away. Following him. No doubt Dane had assigned the pair of eyes to keep tabs on him. Marcus hoped the nosy son of a bitch unfortunate enough to draw his name out of the hat for baby-sitting detail froze his balls off.

He stopped short on the sidewalk, spotting her name on the mailbox and quickly beat feet across the postage stamp sized front yard to the back of the house away from his shadow's failed attempt at stealth. Marcus inhaled, detecting her scent hovering like a cloud over the three-bedroom, red brick, ranch style home. Her earthy aroma, replenishing as an unexpected afternoon shower on a hot summer's day, was the only thing that distinguished her home from all the other cookie cutter houses in the neighborhood.

He sidled up to one of the windows at the side of the house. Getting in would be no problem. Child's play. He took a last glance around the slumbering neighborhood, unable to spot or scent the tracker on his heels and pulled his trusty knife out of the hip pocket of his jeans. He turned the folded blade over and over in his hand. The outer shell was scratched and nicked, dotted with rust. It was one of the few birthday presents he'd received during the hell that was his childhood that was actually worth a damn. The Sons hadn't bothered to confiscate the knife, thinking its thin three-inch blade wasn't a threat. And to them, it wasn't. But, it had its uses, and breaking and entering was just one of them. Jimmying the lock, he pressed his palms against the sill and let himself in.

"What are you doing my friend?" Lance whispered, slipping around the side of a neighboring house, watching. He slid out his cell phone and sent a text, curious about who lived in the tidy urban piece of paradise.

Marcus closed the window, shutting out the remainder of the night. He was surrounded by Candace's gentle essence. The home was furnished in uncomplicated pieces and decorated in her simple style. Pictures of her and her son were scattered about, mixed in amongst her knick-knacks. "Candace," he said and blew out a breath. He followed the trail of her scent to where it was the strongest. Her bedroom. "What are you doing here?" he chastised himself, stretching across her bed and wrapping his body tightly in the soft covers thick with her scent.

******

Candace sat cross-legged in the center of the bed listening to Dane and Will debate amongst themselves. "What is Marcus doing at my house?" she asked, barging in on the conversation. She shrugged of their stares. After all if she were the topic of such a heated exchange, she might as well chime in.

Dane stood at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed. Candace didn't seem the least bit concerned that Marcus had broken into her home. She didn't seem to understand the danger she and her son might have been in if a rogue or a stray had been following him instead of a tracker. As it was, the house would now smell of the Sons, something humans would be oblivious to, but might draw unwanted attention, placing her in danger if she were ever to return home. "I was hoping you could tell me."

"I honestly have no idea. I don't remember telling him where I lived." Candace felt the suspicion radiating off of Dane. She was fine with Marcus staying at her house. She trusted him. "Really, I don't mind if he stays there. But, how'd he get in?" Now it was Will's turn to stare and blink at her incredulously as if he could not believe how innocent she was about the world. She frowned and scowled up at him in reply.