Dawn's Promise

Gently, playing the ever-concerned friend, he smoothed his palm along Candace's back. "Shh, it's not your pain. It's not real. You're safe with us," he whispered, hoping to calm the frantic female enough to at least sheathe her fangs before she sank them into Anna's juicy neck. Not a bad idea, sampling a bit of the sweet stuff, he thought to himself. Too bad, this was neither the time nor the place. Turning his attention to Candace, he shooed Anna out of the way. Doing his best to restrain Candace without looking like he was restraining her.

Candace threw her head back clenching her jaw as another wave of intense agony struck her. "Oh my God! What are they doing to him? My son! I've got to go to him!" She struggled beneath Neil's weight, her nails scraping across the tiled floor for purchase. Neil and Anna spoke to her. But, their words made no sense. The only thing that got through to her frenzied mind was Chance's thoughts, his pain, and the very real potential that she'd never see him again.

Chapter 46

Chance's eyes danced between his opponents, studying them for similarities as Alex suggested. Clad only in the loincloths, their broad well-muscled chests were bare. Not just his opponents in the ring, but all of the brothers standing along the mat, bore tattoos across their broad backs, swirling in patterns to end in an indigo serpent's head their right side, below the hard, bulky, granite of their chests. He had no idea of the significance of the design. Chance blinked, realizing that this was what Alex had been trying so desperately to hint at. The tattoos were the only thing the brothers had in common, their similarity and maybe their weakness.

Chance shook his head, wiping away the blood flowing freely from his upper lip. Damn, Dane had a fast and furious right hook. And it hit him with the force of a freight train. Blinking back a wave of dizziness left behind by Dane's punch, Chance danced on the balls of his feet. A few more blows like that and he would be out before he ever got started. The trial had begun and not even two seconds into it and he was wavering like a reed in a windstorm.

He backpedaled, narrowly escaping a foot aimed for his solar plexus. Lunging and rolling away, Chance ducked a fist. He wished Alex had given him another tiny hint. He didn't know what he was supposed to do with the scanty, vague, info he'd managed to figure out. And now he was a little busy to plan a strategy. Right now, concentrating on getting the hell out of the way was the best plan he could come up with. Something cracked. A sharp, brittle, dry snap came from someplace deep within his chest when a fist he hadn't seen coming toppled him to the mat.

Chance scrambled to his feet, standing with them shoulder width apart to maintain his balance. He knew better than to lock his knees, but they were so wobbly and it was the only thing he could do to remain upright. The four men crept toward him slowly. Their steps filled with purpose. His stomach reeled at the coppery taste of the blood in his mouth. Luckily, his opponents seemed unaffected by the smell. Good. At least, that was one thing he didn't have to worry about.

He darted to the right, swinging his leg out low in a sweeping kick. The vampire he'd been aiming for, John Mark, leapt gracefully out of its path. But, Patrick caught the force of his fury, landing onto the mat with a hard thud. Chance wasted no time, gathering up his strength he landed a heel forcefully and squarely into Patrick's tattooed ribs, resulting in a satisfying crunch beneath his heel. Patrick howled in pain, cradling his damaged ribs and scrabbled to the edge of the mat.

Don't get cocky, Chance reminded himself. Eying the three opponents left, his gaze darted between them. Finally, he'd figured out their shared weakness. The area of the seventh rib was no stronger than a human's. No stronger than his. Vampire or not, bones shattered, blood flowed, and they could be injured. That was the key. With no time to revel in his victory, Chance's teeth chattered, rattling in his head as Will delivered a bone crunching punch to his injured jaw. Renewed by the knowledge that his opponents weren't invincible, he countered. Delivering a series of kicks, pushing Will back to the edge of the mat. Spinning, Chance landed the heel of his left foot in John Mark's belly. As John Mark's head dropped, Chance planted his knee into John Mark's face. John Mark fell to his knees, grunting in pain.

John Mark saw the move coming. Chance meant to wail on him while he was down. Chance was a smart kid and he'd figured it out. Their area of greatest weakness. Gritting his teeth, John Mark jerked the twisted cartilage of his nose back into place before the bones permanently healed crooked. The pain didn't endear him much to Chance's cause and he reached out grabbing Chance's ankle, dropping him flat on his back on the mat. John Mark didn't grab the ankle hard enough to cause damage, just hard enough to prevent the kid's foot from making contact with his ribs.

Chance felt the air rush out of his lungs as he landed on the mat. Staring John Mark squarely in the eye, he scrambled to his feet, watching as John Mark did the same, almost mimicking his movements. He saw a flash of recognition in John Mark's brown eyes. Chance ducked out of the way just in time, as a fist the size of a dinner plate whisked by his face, narrowly missing his nose in a return blow.

Will circled around for another pass, looking for an opening. But, Chance was following him, his eyes darting between the three of them, looking for his own opening. Will had no doubt that his son had figured out their weakness and was looking for a way to exploit it. He dropped his elbow low, keeping his fists balled, protecting the weak area. Chance changed directions unexpectedly, landing a forceful kick at Dane, hitting him square in the chest with his foot.

Not letting up, Chance twisted, aiming a fist at John Mark's quickly healing nose. A human opponent would have been on his way to the emergency room. Not John Mark though. The blood had stopped and the dark circles under his eyes had already faded to a sickly yellow. It sickened Chance and went against every bit of his training to kick a man while he was down. But, it was the only way he had an ice cube's chance in hell of winning the match. He had to get in, get out, and do what damage he could before the vampires healed. The vampires were strong, virtually indestructible, and inexhaustible. He on the other hand, had to act fast, before he fatigued. He threw an amazingly strong left hook at Will, pounding him in the temple with his fist.

Chance hesitated for a moment, seeing the pain spread across his father's face. The moment cost him dearly, as strong arms wrapped around him, lifting him high into the air. Reflexively, Chance lifted his legs, not willing to sacrifice his already throbbing ankle as John Mark flung him down on the mat like a rag doll.

Chance kicked wildly at John Mark's face as John Mark tried to pin his body beneath his bulk. One of the blows struck John Mark's nose, showering the mat and Chance in a fine spray of crimson droplets. Scissoring around, Chance leapt to his feet driving a relentless series of punches against John Mark's right rib area. Chance's heart pounded rapidly in triumph, feeling the shattering of bones beneath his heel. John Mark scrabbled for the edge of the mat, cursing and clutching his broken ribs, dripping blood from his broken nose.

John Mark saw stars swimming beneath his closed eyelids. The shooting pain from his ribs was unbelievable, stopping him where he fell. Lifting his right hand and dropping it in a swooping motion, he indicated that he was out. He bowed his head to Chance and crawled off the mat defeated. Rebreaking his broken nose, John Mark watched the fight continue.

Bursting with pride, he ground his teeth against the pain of his broken ribs as his body worked to repair the damage. The kid was good, more adaptable than John Mark had anticipated. Chance had switched to a brawling street style of fighting, relying more on bruit force than speed or efficiency of movement. The switch would cost him valuable energy Chance couldn't afford to lose, especially with the two men left on the mat.

Will was a reserved fighter, weighing every option, analyzing every opening, and going for the win when his opponents least expected it. Dane was powerful, with experience on his side and lethally fast. Until now, they'd both held back, been easy on the kid. That was about to change. So far, Chance was battered and bruised, winded and barely on his feet. But, John Mark saw no reason to stop the fight. Yet.

Chance blinked, staring at the two opponents left, Will and Dane. Gathering up his resolve, he cautiously circled them. Waiting to see which one would attack first. Dane threw a series of punches, each one landing on its mark sending Chance's head spinning. Reminding him of the old cartoons, stars spun in and out of his field of vision. Shaking his head, he stumbled to maintain his footing, defensively lifting his forearms in front of his face to protect it from more punishment.

Dane darted to the left with lightening fast reflexes. But, the kid never wavered. Surprising him with a right hook landing across his ear, Dane lifted his hand to his buzzing ear. Seizing the window of opportunity, Chance landed a swift kick to the ribs driving his heel firmly into the tattoo, crushing bone beneath the force of his blow. Dane hadn't seen the move coming and paid for his lack of insight. Wrapping and arm around his battered ribs, Dane lifted his right hand to signify that, for him, the fight was over.

Chance braced himself for the next wave of pain. One more fighter left. His father stood loosely at the edge of the mat, watching with his eyes pinned on him. Chance met his steely gaze and bowed. Circling with deft steps the two faced off. Will's eyes were intense, unreadable, giving nothing away. Chance blinked, breaking his stare, fearful of what his father might see reflected in their depths and to what extremes the man would go to change their expression. Chance wasn't about to give up now. He couldn't.

Will spun and delivered a tooth chattering kick to Chance's right shoulder, effectively dislocating the joint. Chance bit down on his bottom lip, refusing to cry out in pain. His right arm dangled uselessly from his shoulder. His fingers twitched in random spasms of agony. He tracked his father's movements, steeling himself and wondering when the next crushing blow would be delivered.

Chance's head rolled back as Will's fist connected with his right brow. A rivulet of blood rolled down his temple, stinging his eye. He blinked against it, countering Will's footsteps, back peddling furiously to keep distance between them. Will was going to tear apart his right side bit by bit. Ignoring his throbbing shoulder and the bleeding cut, Chance spun to the left, keeping his injured side away from the fury of Will's blows.

Dane hushed the alarm bells ringing in the back of his mind. The kid was injured, bruised, and bleeding. Chance was exhausted, close to being beaten. But, he wasn't in mortal danger, yet. John Mark exchanged a worried glance with him and nodded in grim resignation. He wanted to give Chance every opportunity to finish the trial. But, neither one of them would let the fight go on much longer.

Chance gathered up the remainder of his strength dancing to Will's left. Will was a right-handed fighter, if Chance could keep to his left, his weaker side, he might still have slight odds of beating him. Chance dropped low, sweeping his leg in a wide arc, kicking out with a furious blow.

Will easily jumped over the sweeping limb. But, was caught be surprise as Chance stopped mid-arc and shifted direction landing a hard kick to his midsection. The surprise tactic worked, tripping him, sending him in a sprawl to the mat. Chance was on him before he could dodge out of the way. Will had been focusing on his weakness, his right ribs, on the spot where his tattoo ended. Assuming that would be the most likely place for Chance to attack. Chance went straight for his throat, landing a furious kick to his Adam's apple in a wave of blinding agony. The blow would have crushed the windpipe of a mortal man, ensuring certain death.

As his body struggled to heal the damage, Will's vision faded to red and his fangs punched out of his gums with fury. His body would heal. The damage wasn't permanent. But, he needed blood to speed the process. And his son was a wellspring ready to be tapped. Will had learned to ignore the temptation of the scent of blood. But, his eyes focused on the oozing cut above Chance's right brow. Hungry. Desperate for the blood his body needed to heal, he licked his lips and pushed his weight off the mat.

Chance dropped on Will, not noticing the fury of the beast he'd unleashed. He clamored for footing, delivering a series of left handed blows to Will's right rib cage. Delivering punishment with bone crushing blows from his left fist, he pounded his father. Bruising, battering him with the satisfying crunch of bone and grunts of pain. He didn't know...didn't realize his dad wasn't surrendering. Will was only getting madder and losing more and more control beneath his assault. Chance was only focused on winning, too determined to inflict what damage he could before his mortal body gave out.

Will was too far-gone to raise his right arm in defeat. The beast roared inside his head, hungry for the boy's blood and for vengeance. Wrenching Chance's right arm, ratcheting it down tightly against his chest, Will held his son in place. Hungry and in pain, he bit, driving the full length of his fangs though tender layers of flesh into the major artery in Chance's neck.

Chance couldn't stop the scream of pain hovering on his lips. Wailing against the searing agony and the bitter ache of betrayal, he bucked and flayed in his father's arms. Scrambling for leverage and abandoning his assault on Will's rib cage, in favor of surviving the next few seconds, Chance fought with what strength he had left. He knew with absolute certainty, if he didn't break free, he was going to die. Nothing of his dad remained. All that was left was a slavering, crazed beast.

Dane and John Mark rushed onto the mat. They had but minutes left before it'd be too late and Will would take too much. They had to get him to withdraw from Chance's battered neck. If they tried to force Chance out of his hold, the kid would bleed out from the savaged wound in his neck before they could do a damn thing about it. Chance was barely conscious, breathing with labored, ragged, shallow breaths. His heart beat barely audible even to their intensely acute preternatural hearing. Limp and hovering on the edge of death, he gave up his struggle and stilled beneath his father's bite.

Patrick landed lightly on the mat beside Chance. The kid was suffering. Barely managing to hold on to his life. Gently, Patrick whispered a word to the struggling boy. It was the only thing he could do to help; put the boy out of his misery. "Sleep."

Chance felt his body weaken. The searing pain subsided and his mind floated. He didn't try to fight it. The sweet bliss of darkness was welcoming...soothing. No more pain. No more fear. Dying was easier than he'd ever imagined it would be. And he grabbed hold of that nothingness with both hands and let it pull him down.

Chapter 47

Candace held her head, screaming in anguish as a tidal wave of pain washed over

her body. Searing pain and terror flooded her mind accompanied by a relentless

animalistic rage. The feelings that assaulting her were beyond anything she'd ever felt before. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Her son and Will both were in danger. She bolted from the kitchen and down the series of corridors toward the gym. A forbidden outsider or not, she had to see her son.

Will returned to his senses just as Candace burst through the doors of the gym and shrieked in horror. The sound of her voice and the flood of emotions from her mind pulled him back from the brink he'd been precariously balanced upon. He blinked in confusion at the bundle in his arms. The sweet coppery taste of blood rushed over his tongue in a gush of life. Pulling back and retracting his fangs from the warmth of his host, he felt the blood rush through his body, replenishing his strength and working to heal the damage to his larynx. He eased the body, still alive and very weak, clinging to life, off his chest and staggered to his feet.

Strong hands pulled Will away from the body and the coppery tang of spilled blood still calling to him. Dane guided him to the far edge of the mat. Even more confused, Will looked over his shoulder. Gasping in disbelief, his head spun as he realized what'd happened. Chance's rumpled body lay in a crumpled heap, spayed face down on the mat. Memories flooded into his mind. Will remembered now. Crying out in anguish at his mindless fury and the beast's instinct for survival. He'd almost killed his son.

"Keep away from him!" Candace hissed, clutching her unconscious son to tightly to her chest. Maternal instincts in full overdrive, she growled in warning at anyone who dared to get within reach of her boy. Tears of anguish rolled down her cheeks. He was dying in her arms. His heart barely beat in a fluttery, weak, and ineffectual rhythm in his chest. Gently, she stroked Chance's dark walnut hair and cooed softly to him. Like she used to do when he was a little boy so terrified of the dark.

She'd fight to the death to protect her son. Snapping her fangs at the Shaman, she laid a frantic kiss on Chance's cool forehead. She should have done something more to keep him out of the ring. Soft feminine hands gently coaxed Chance out of her arms as another set pulled her back from his unconscious body. "Let them help him Candace," Chris whispered. Numb and in shock, Candace let Chris wrap her arms around her waist and guide her to the edge of the mat, where she stood helplessly as the Shaman moved in to work on her lifeless son.

Chance felt his body lifted by careful hands and carried in strong arms. He was so weak and in so much pain. Death might have been a relief. Nah, probably not. At least the pain let him know he was alive. He fought against the blackness threatening to swallow him up and drag him back under. Opening a swollen eyelid, he blinked up at the warrior carting him down the hallway. Desperate for a diversion from the throbbing jolts of sheer agony dancing the mambo up and down his tortured body and more than a little embarrassed about being carried like a bride over the threshold, he gritted, "I really kicked ass."

John Mark chuckled as he carried Chance. The little punk wavered in and out of consciousness and still had the strength to verbally spar with him. The kid was going to make a fine warrior. "You sure did. Congratulations, brother. You passed the trials."

Chance weakly lifted his head and eyed John Mark suspiciously. Inside, at least on the parts that weren't bruised, he was beaming. Outwardly, it hurt to bad to turn his split lips into a smile. "This isn't another attempt to see me naked is it?" he joked. Clenching his teeth against the searing pain jolting through his body with every step John Mark took.

"Don't you wish?" John Mark teased. He walked as swiftly and smoothly as he could. The slightest jar caused Chance to grit his teeth in pain. Carefully, he stretched Chance out on the bed and hopped out of the way before Candace bowled him over to get to her son.

"Oh my God, Chance! Are you ok, baby?" She ran her hands along his hair smoothing it away from the dried tacky mess over his eyebrow. Chance had faded back into unconsciousness. His breathing became labored and his lips dusky blue. Frantic to save her son's life, Candace turned to the Shaman. "Tell me what to do," she ordered.