Dawn's Promise

Guiltily, he realized that as his world was finally coming together, hers was falling apart. He'd do everything that he could to help her put the pieces of broken dreams and shattered hopes back together. Rebuild. And maybe, construct a life the three of them could live together.

Candace complied with the gentle tug of Will's hand on her arm and followed him out into the corridor and down the hall to their room. They hadn't even had to discuss terms. Her stuff went in, she picked her side of the bed, her drawers in the dresser, and her space in his closet. Her pictures littered the nightstand. He tolerated the feminine touches to his formerly masculine space. Not daring to utter a word when she draped silk flowers and bits of lace here and there. Scattering scented candles on every available surface.

With Will's gentle urging she stretched out on the bed and buried her face in a frilly pillow. Trying to ease the tension in her body and calm her worried thoughts. His warm hands ran down the length of her spine gently kneading her coiled muscles. "You need to relax," Will muttered softly into her ear. Moving to straddle her hips between his thighs as he worked at her muscles with circular massaging motions of his long, glorious fingers. If he kept that up, relaxation would be the last thing on her mind.

"Chance is growing up so fast, becoming more and more like his father every day." She grinned at the masculine sound of Will's proud chuckle. "And you," she said, sliding onto her back. "Are about to drive me to the brink of spontaneous combustion with those fingers of yours." She closed her eyes, not surprised when his mouth rested gently on her lips. She rested her hands on his thighs, feeling their muscular power beneath her fingertips.

"You think too much," he said, mouthing the words against her soft lips. "Stop worrying, Mother Hen." He stretched his body on top of hers and rested his weight on his palms. He kissed her slowly and gently, drawing each kiss out with flicks of his tongue over her lips. He caressed her skin with his mouth, working in slow deliberate strokes of his tongue over the sleek surface. Her body responded with hitched breaths, infusing the air with the scent of her need.

Candace shivered against the slow seductive onslaught of Will's lips and fingers. She had things to worry about, lots of them, primarily her son. Yet, here she was indulging in the pleasure of Will's touch as if she didn't have a care in the world. "Stop," she protested weakly. He continued his seduction, guiding her thoughts away from Chance to more carnal things. Her back arched and a moan escaped her parted lips against her will in response to the heady sensation of his lips against her skin. "I can't do this. What if Chance..." His finger pressed against her lips, silencing her protests.

"Ka'tet, good fate, everything will be fine," Will said, slowly lifting his finger and replacing it with his lips, bent on kissing her senseless before she could move them in protest. Her body softened, molding against him in hungry response to his caresses. He eased her blouse over her shoulders and down her arms, ridding her of the cotton material and flinging it carelessly on the floor. Her jeans and panties came off next. Leaving her naked, sprawled on his bed, staring up at him with eyes blazing with want. Eager to claim his prize, he stripped, hard and aching with undeniable craving only she could sate. With a hard, desperate thrust, he joined their bodies as one.

Candace cried out climaxing in a wild frenzy of heated breath and quivering limbs. One touch, one hard push of his body deep inside of her and she was so there. Desperate to have him over the edge with her, she bucked and rocked against his hard form. One minute, she had been so tense and worried, about nothing and everything at the same time, and now she was soaring high above the clouds, boneless and sated, finding perfect bliss in Will's embrace and the joining of their bodies.

She gasped and wrapped her legs around his hips, rising to meet his thrusts with urgent desperation as he stretched and filled her to quell his need. Sending her spiraling into a world of pleasure, she shuddered and fell apart, lost in his arms and his all-encompassing heat.

Will drove his cock deep into the luscious warmth of Candace's body. Filled with masculine pride at the gasps of pleasure falling from her lips. Her voice, thick and husky with fulfillment, sounding so sweet and decadent, flowed over his skin in a heated caress. Reaching down between their joined bodies to stroke the nub at the apex of her sex, he coaxed her pleasure higher and higher.

Slicked by her luxurious moisture, he pumped in and out of her, holding back with every ounce of his determination. Her tight core gripped him tightly, almost painfully, spasming with pleasure from the orgasm ripping through her. Unable to delay the moment one more second longer, he spilled into her, filling her with the hot jets of his release. Drowsy and sated, reluctant to pull out and leave the soft decadence of her sweet feminine core, he rolled onto his back and fitted her body against his masculine planes.

Perched on the warm comfort of his chest, her head tilted with every rise and fall of his breath. At first, wild and panting, then slowing with a sigh of contentment on his pursed lips, Candace stared up at him. Tracing the planes of his rugged jaw with a fingertip. "Will, I...,"

Will shifted Candace onto her back and leaned up on one elbow, staring down at her face as he traced circles around one rose tipped breast and then the other, teasing them to ripe fullness. She didn't need words to communicate her feelings for him. He understood her every thought. She loved him. She just didn't realize that she didn't need words to say it. Words could be a trap and a dangerous one at that, too ambiguous in their meaning and too easily misinterpreted. He trusted what his heart told him more than what her words could ever convey.

Chapter 36

Chance was halfway through the course, panting against the ache in his lungs. Clamoring over the rough rocky terrain, he'd been running full speed uphill for most of the trail. He kept going, pushing, assuming the last half of his trek would be downhill and much easier to navigate. He skidded to a stop at the apex of the steep hill. The view up here was beautiful, looking out over a deep valley, and a sleepy little town nestled cozily in the gentle slopes. But, he had no time to admire the beauty. Freezing rain pelted his lashes and the skies were beginning to dim around the periphery. He was losing daylight. Taking a deep breath, he gathered his resolve and forced his feet to move.

Patrick landed lightly on his feet, following a few paces behind the boy. He grinned proudly Chance was wearing down. His boot prints sloppy, dragging and spaced closer together the longer he ran. But, Chance wasn't giving up. Little did the poor kid know the most rigorous part of the trail had yet to come.

"Son of a Bitch!" Chance whaled in frustration. He'd run another two miles or so, almost to the end of the course, when an obstacle blocked his path. The lake was directly ahead of him, stretching out as far as the eye could see on all sides. His options were to risk freezing to death trying to swim across or vary off the trail and try to find a way around. That would take time. And darkness would fall in an hour or so. He was not going to turn tail and head back the way he'd come. He would not give John Mark the satisfaction of pussing out now. Not when he was so close to the finish.

"Damn it!" Chance guessed the lake was at least several miles wide, covered with a thin layer of glassy ice, too thin to support his weight. He trotted up the muddy terrain along the bank, climbing the steep sides of an incline, sliding in the loose thick muck and grappling with thin saplings to keep his balance. Trying to find a point where the lake was narrower to cross before full dark settled in. Chance paused, looking out from the height of his new vantage point. There was no narrow point, no bridge or other way across. He skidded back down the incline not ready to concede to the fact that he was about to get very wet and very cold in a few minutes.

He darted along the shoreline, in the opposite direction from the incline, skidding across the slick rocks at the water's edge. He was loosing precious time. But, maybe if he kept following the downward slope, he'd figure out a way to get across. Scrambling up a steep hillside, Chance saw a moss covered log stretching across a narrow ravine. Down below a tributary snaked though the acres of woods to feed the much larger lake.

Figuring it was his best bet. He crossed the distance and climbed onto the log. Cold, slick moss covered the bits of decaying wood not coated in a sheet of glistening ice. Grasping the log between his thighs, he began inching his way carefully across. If the log gave, he'd go crashing into the water. If it held, he'd be on the other side, safe and dry. He estimated that it was roughly about a twenty-foot drop, if he fell, and that the water was probably, well he didn't want to think about how cold the water was, or how shallow it might be.

The decaying log groaned beneath his weight as Chance shimmied across at a hurried pace. He was about three-fourths of the way across when the deafening crack of splintering wood filled the quiet around him and the log gave way, sending him falling into the water in a shower of woody debris.

Chance crashed through the thin layer of ice, curling his legs up to his chest and covering his head. The breath rushed out of his lungs in a series of fat bubbles as he sank into the cold depths. Kicking desperately, he broke through to the surface, sputtering and gasping to draw air, no matter how frigid, into his oxygen starved lungs. His limbs shook uncontrollably from the cold, making swimming to the shore almost impossible. Paddling madly, he started for the narrow strip of ground on the other side. Teeth chattering with enough force to chip their enamel surface, he grabbed a hold of a rough piece of the broken log that had fallen to the muddy shore. Using the log for leverage, he dragged his body out of the water and panted against the cold biting at his limbs.

Patrick leapt across the narrow gap between the two pieces of land and rushed toward the shore in full rescue mode when he saw Chance's head pop up out of the water. Chance splashed about in the icy stream, scrambling to grab a hold of a broken piece of timber resting against the shore. The kid panted, using the log as a perch to keep from falling back into the water. If the kid didn't get moving, Patrick was going to have to haul him in. Hypothermia was no joke. Finally, Chance hefted his weight onto his feet and stumbled into the woods.

Chance shivered violently as he coughed and sputtered, spitting muddy lake water out of his mouth. He was exhausted and out of breath. But, he didn't have the luxury of time to recover. He had to keep going or freeze to death. Stumbling onto the trail, he bit his bottom lip against the cold and mustered the strength to force his feet to move. He and John Mark were going to have a talk, a long and painful discussion, with his fists doing a majority of the talking, when he got back to the warmth and safety of the compound.

John Mark stood outside the entrance to the compound waiting for Chance. Alex chattered nervously with Janine and Robbie, all of them curious to see what kind of shape the kid would be in when he finally made it back. What could he say? His obstacle courses were things of legend. And they'd foiled more than one vampire in the past. Did an ordinary human kid really stand a chance?

Patrick dropped out of the trees above. Grinning smugly he sauntered over to John Mark and held out his hand. "He's coming. Pay up." Grumbling, John Mark retrieved a hundred dollar bill out of his wallet and slid it into Janine's willing fingers.

Chance broke through the thick of the tree line running in a zigzagged, haphazard line as fast as his tired, numb, legs could carry him. Up ahead he saw the small group waiting for him. He sprinted the last couple of hundred yards. His strength renewed by sheer force of his will and the promise of beating John Mark's cocky ass. He panted, shivering and stumbling gracelessly to a halt. Balling up his fist, he threw an unexpected punch at John Mark, grinning at the sting as his knuckles made contact with his jaw. "Bastard," Chance growled, collapsing onto his knees in exhaustion.

Alex grabbed at Chance's shoulders, awkwardly pulling him up onto his feet. His body shivered beneath her fingertips. His skin was pale, almost bluish as hypothermia set in. She glared at John Mark and wished Chance had done more damage to his smug expression. "Come on, let's get you inside," she said, half carrying him through the compound's hidden entryway.









Chapter 37

Chance shivered uncontrollably as Alex dragged him down the hallway to his room. "So cold," he muttered, teeth chattering, sounding like the keys of an old-fashioned typewriter, click clacking away. He couldn't stop shivering and dreaded the minute he did. He couldn't feel anything from the waist down and barely registered Alex peeling his wet clothes off his frozen limbs. Too cold and weak to be shy, he leaned against the wall and let her strip him bare.

Alex placed a hand over Chance's chest, checking the rapid thud of his heart. Frowning, she didn't like the way the rhythm felt against her fingers. Hastily, she guided him onto the bed. Chance followed numbly and flopped in a shivering, exhausted heap on the covers. She wrapped the blankets tightly around his quivering frame and eased off his water soaked hiking boots and socks. Scowling at the bluish tent on his toes. "You're going to be ok," she whispered, not really convinced herself.

The Shaman was the closest, in the compound and no doubt had a mix of god-knew what to cure Chance. But, Chance was human and needed a human doctor, more professed in modern medicine than ancient remedies. She flipped open her cell phone and dialed Doctor Thomas Sterling's number, begging him to come out and take a look at Chance. At least, he'd stopped shivering and mumbling incoherently. Wasn't that a good sign? She wasn't sure what more she could do for Chance. Worriedly, she sat on the edge of the bed. Pushing clumps of cold, lake soaked hair off his forehead as she waited.

*****

Thomas cursed at the failed test results clutched in his fist. Today was his day off, but he was at the hospital, sequestered in a seldom used part of the lab. Most of his coworkers no longer raised an eyebrow at his random comings and goings. They just thought he was dedicated to his job. And he was. But, he was also dedicated to another, just as important cause as well.

His frequent visits to the lab were not unusual. For the more complicated results beyond the capabilities of the small rural hospitals equipment, he enlisted his friend Roger. A pathologist for the city's coroner's office, Roger had access to a variety of high tech goodies Thomas did not. And thanks to Roger's endless curiosity and love of pathology, he never questioned where or how Thomas got the samples he sent him.

Thomas had thousands of test results and dozens of samples. Unfortunately, he was running out of ideas and becoming desperate for answers. His mom, his poor mother. All this training, all the years of schooling and the mountains of debt it'd incurred, and he had nothing. Not even the Shaman, his best friend, could do a thing to help her. Thomas kept pouring the potions, teas, and concoctions down her throat, if for no other reason than to buy him time.

Alex's desperate plea for his help couldn't have come at a better time. Feeling a little like a mad scientist, he gathered a handful of tubes and shoved them into his pocket. Maybe, this time the samples he planned to collect would yield something he could use. Violating every oath he'd ever taken, he hurried out of the lab and drove to the compound, eager to examine his new subject.

******

The Shaman ran his hands along Chance's skin, nodding reassuringly to Alex. Chance was fine, just suffering from exhaustion and exposure. Nothing a little mix of herbs wouldn't fix right up. He frowned at the prescription bottle clutched in Thomas's hand. The damned chemicals would probably harm the boy more than they'd help him. Treatment, modern toxins versus herbal remedies, was a source of constant, often heated debates between the two of them.

Thomas insisted on collecting a rainbow of tubes from the boy, filling them with blood. Listening to his lungs through a cold metal stethoscope and measuring his blood pressure with a cuff. When Thomas pulled a catheter out of his black bag, hell bent on obtaining a urine sample, the Shaman had stepped in to intervene. What could all those numbers tell him? His patient was right in front of him, resting comfortably, pink and warm as a newborn babe. Besides, as a medical professional, the Shaman had sampled Chance's blood and the kid tasted fine to him.

"Once he wakes, feed him, and put him in the shower. Make sure he drinks this." The Shaman pulled a packet of dried herbs from his medicine bag and dropped it into Alex's palm. "No more trials for today," he cautioned with a stern waggle of his index finger. "Tomorrow he can resume them."

Thomas frowned at the Shaman's instructions and added a few of his own. He set the prescription bottle on the nightstand and directed Alex to give Chance a pill as soon as he awoke and then every six hours until the bottle was empty. The kid was fine. Though Thomas would have liked to get a chest x-ray and a urine sample to confirm it. And maybe, an EKG, to make sure his heart hadn't suffered any damage from hypothermia.

Thomas's biggest worry was that an infection might set in from Chance's sudden plummet into the icy waters and miles long run through the woods in mud soaked clothes. Lake water was filled with pathogens and Chance had plenty of cuts and scrapes acting as entry points for bacteria. Given the wind chill, the kid was lucky he still had all ten fingers and toes. Sometimes, Thomas questioned the Sons' tactics for initiating new recruits. If the kid were crazy enough to get back in the saddle, Thomas wouldn't recommend it until after the antibiotics were finished. "Maybe in a week," he interjected, contradicting the Shaman.

Alex liked the sound of a week of rest better than tomorrow. Never would sound even better to her. Chance had almost died today. "John Mark made the trail impossibly hard. Chance shouldn't have been out there. At. All. John Mark almost killed him," she said, smoothing her fingers through Chance's damp hair.

The Shaman smiled down at Alex. Women. Always so worried. So protective over those they cared about. "The trials have begun. The boy has a strong heart. He was in no danger. Soon, he'll be a fine warrior. You'll see," he said, waggling a finger at Alex as he turned to leave the room.

Thomas raised a brow at Alex and silently nodded his head in agreement with her expression. The goal was to weed out the weak, not kill them. "I'll come by tomorrow to check on him," he whispered. "Every six hours, don't forget." He left Alex to tend to Chance and sprinted down the hall to catch up with the Shaman.

Alex closed her eyes, locking his hand with hers. A warrior. Chance's fate was sealed. He was destined to know an eternity of battle. So much like Lucien, if Chance didn't die in the process of trying to earn the right. She looked up as Candace and Will rushed through the door.

"Is he ok?" Candace gasped, pushing Alex out of the way to take her place at his side.