Dawn's Promise

"He's too weak from the blood loss. He's suffered some internal damage from the fight. And the shoulder may not heal completely, unless you permit us to help him."

Candace draped her body protectively over her son's limp body. "Absolutely not. I won't allow it." She knew what one sip of vampire blood could do and she wasn't willing to sacrifice her son's humanity to save his life. "It will turn him."

"No, Nik-yah Ptweowa, Mother Wolf," The Shaman said gently. Candace's upper lip was curled, showing her long, sharp, white fangs as she hovered protectively over the boy. Her stance reminded him of a mother wolf defending her pup. He approached her cautiously. There was nothing more dangerous or unpredictable than a mother protecting her young. "Our blood will heal him. Make him strong." His blood was too strong. And it would turn Chance. Another, of weaker blood, should make the sacrifice. "His father, perhaps."

"Hasn't he done enough!" Candace growled at the Shaman. "I'll do it myself." She lifted her wrist to her lips, prepared to drive the fangs into her own flesh. It would hurt. But, standing here doing nothing, watching her son die, would be far more painful than a bite that would heal in a matter of seconds.

"No, this is my fault," Will said, grasping Candace's hand. "You've spent your whole life sacrificing for our son. Now it's my turn." Determined not to show the slightest expression of pain from biting his own wrist, he struck hard, withdrawing his fangs to release a light trickle of blood from the wounds. Candace scooped up Chance in her arms, gently lifting him. Will carefully eased Chance's slack lips open and dribbled a bit of blood into his mouth.

Candace understood the bloodlust and fury that must have come over Will in the fight. It hadn't been that long ago. She'd accidentally tried to hurt Chance in her own fit of hunger. She could forgive Will for hurting their son. But, the true forgiveness had to come from Chance, not her. "Come on honey," she coaxed, "drink."

Chance regained consciousness as the first drops rolled over his tongue. He swallowed them down involuntarily. He should be nauseated by the thought of drinking blood. This should be disgusting. But, it wasn't. The damn stuff was good, sweet and rich, not coppery and tangy like his own. He snaked out his tongue, sucking and licking the open wounds to hasten the flow. Gulping it with eager mouthfuls.

Chance shivered violently as if he'd suddenly been doused into a pool of ice water. The blood raced through his body. Doing its work to knit together torn cartilage and ligaments, repair the swollen tender vessels along his brow, and kick his bone marrow into high gear to replace the lost red blood cells. He latched on to his mom, holding her death grip. Even the slightest smell, the dimmest hint of light, the softest whisper, and the lightest brush of fabric against his skin was agony. Kicking out and clawing at the covers beneath him, he wailed, begging for it to stop.

Candace gasped in horror. She'd seen this before. Mistress Kore liked to transform her new recruits in front of an audience. Kore would drain her victims, feed them from her wrist, and then laugh as they writhed in agony. Her son was going through the change. "You said this wouldn't happen! He's turning!"

"He's not. His body is reacting to my blood. It will pass in a few minutes," Will explained temporarily confused by Candace's horror. She didn't understand what was happening. In a few minutes, Chance would be fine. Healed. He offered up a reassuring smile and gripped Chance's hand tightly in his. "Ride it through, Son. It will pass."

Chance exhaled in relief as waves of torture seizing his body ebbed. Gingerly, he sat on the edge of the bed. Testing the joint, he shrugged his shoulders. He expected his body to be a throbbing mass of pain from the pummeling it had taken. Instead, he felt great. He frowned, seeing the mess of dried blood and smeared multi-colored markings on his skin. Standing firmly on strong legs, he made his way to the bathroom. He didn't need to turn on the light or look at himself in the mirror to know what kind of shape he'd been in. His memory, or what he could remember, was enough. Will, his own father, could have killed him. And had come damn close.

He poked his head out of the bathroom door. His mother nervously fluttered around his room, while Will sat on the small sofa with his hands in his lap helplessly watching her. "Mom, I feel fine now. Honestly, one hundred percent." Chance flashed a toothy smile to reassure her. "Could I get some alone time? I really need a shower." He could use some major alone time to think things through. And a shower would buy him, twenty minutes, maybe less, if he could convince her leave him at all. "And a nap." If he promised to rest, possibly, he could sneak a couple of hours to himself.

Candace doubtfully looked Chance over. Will took the hint, immediately rising from the couch. "A quick shower and then straight back to bed. I promise," Chance pled.

It was the least he could do to coax Candace into giving their son some time alone. "He's fine. Leave him be," Will said, taking Candace's arm and steering her toward the door. "He's got a lot to think about."

Chapter 48

Chance lowered his head letting the hot steamy water pelt against his scalp. Resting his weight against his knuckles he let the water pound his skin, sending the remnants of the day rolling off him in thick rivulets down the drain. In his mind, he recapped the day's events. He'd passed the trials. It almost cost him his life. But, he'd proven himself. He felt certain that he was fulfilling his destiny, for the first time in his life, he had a purpose that mattered, really mattered.

He didn't know where he and his father were. There relationship was volatile at best, before the trials, and now, he simply didn't know. Once he became a Son, they'd have to be able to rely on each other. Watch one another's backs. He had to be able to trust Will with his life. But could he? Could he really forgive his father?

Chance ran his fingers over his shoulder, brushing the silvery puckered scars from the attack. Filling his palm with fresh smelling soap, he scrubbed away the rest of the grimy residue from his skin. His dad had almost killed him today. What was he supposed to do with that? He thought about the things Alex had said to him in the library on the night before the final trial. Although the physical part of the trial was completed, maybe the trial still wasn't over yet. If asking for help was a part of the challenge, perhaps forgiveness was too.

********

"Are you really sure you have to go?" Toby asked, patting the rumpled covers. "Come back to bed," he growled seductively. Anna stood at the foot of the bed, smoothing the wrinkled clothes in her hands. Partially dressed, she smiled up at him, the wheels in her mind turning, considering. With a frown, completely squashing his hope, she slid a leg into her jeans.

"Toby, I have to go," Anna said firmly. Pulling her jeans over her hips, she buttoned them and reached for a long sleeved t-shirt. "You're cute and all, especially when you make those sad puppy dog eyes at me. But, I have to work tomorrow. And it's already getting late." She tucked the t-shirt into her jeans and reached up to smooth her disheveled hair into place.

Toby watched her dress with a baleful expression on his face. Making it difficult for her to slide her feet into her shoes instead of abandoning them and her clothes at the foot of the bed and climbing back underneath the covers for another romp. "I. Have. To. Go," she repeated stubbornly, sweeping her eyes around the room to make sure she hadn't left anything important behind before she slung her bag over her shoulder.

"I wish you didn't," Toby said softly. Giving it one last-ditch effort before he admitted defeat. His plan was on schedule, moving from phase three into faze four. Soon, she wouldn't be leaving his side at all. She'd be right here next to him, where she belonged. He'd have her heart. The deal sealed. "At least let me drive you home."

"Don't be ridiculous. Bryce and Lance said they'd be happy to drop me off. Its not like one of them isn't going to be guarding me anyway." She smiled, catching on, "You don't want me around them. You're jealous of them," she scoffed in disbelief. Teasing and secretly reveling in his emotion, she said, "Jealousy is such an ugly character flaw to have, don't you think?"

Toby tried to edge around Anna's walls. But, they stood firmly in place. Weaker, but, firmly rooted. "I'm not jealous," he grumbled. In a pout, he crossed his arms across his chest and stared at the floor.

"Aw, don't be such a sourpuss." She sidled across the room, prying on his arms to uncross them. "I don't think I've had anybody be jealous of me before. I kind of like it."

Toby lowered his face to the gentle curve of her neck and inhaled the combined scents on her skin. Sex, blood, him, and of course, her natural scent, mingled in an intoxicating perfume. "Then you'll let me take you back?"

Anna nodded her head and smiled. "You could give Lance and Bryce the night off, you know, and guard me yourself."

Toby grinned victoriously. "I think I'll do that."

*****

Marcus looked out over the city below. It was Sunday and the downtown area was all but deserted. After his encounter with Candace, he had stuck around hanging out with the trackers, who had eagerly taken him under their wing. They trusted him. He wasn't sure why. But, they did.

He walked through the old neighborhood, with its' falling down ramshackle tenements and empty buildings. The streets still looked the same, littered with scattered pieces of debris and rusting abandoned cars. The worst of humanity occupied these buildings, calling them home. Wraith like, bone thin, crack whores and their druggie pimps, thieves, ex-cons, hardly model citizens. But, these were his old stomping grounds. He shouldn't have been, but was reluctant to leave the city he'd called home for so many years.

Marcus had been walking around for hours. Not paying much attention to where his feet carried him. He looked up, seeing the scanty, burned out remains of the diner. A cold chill ran up his spine as he stepped over the rubble to the back of the charred shell. A soaked and crumbling cigarette pack squished beneath the toe of his boot near the splintered, blackened bits of the back door, dangling from rusted hinges. The smokes were his brand. Dropped from his fingers the night his life changed forever. In this spot, he'd been attacked, drained, and forced to transform into a monster.

Candace had been the ray of light amidst all the darkness, pure and untouched by all the violence and depravity constantly surrounding them. She gave him a sense of hope. Made him want to hang on, if for nothing more than seeing her reunited with her son. She made the unbearable things that happened bearable.

He stared through the shell of the building, thinking about all the unspeakable acts they'd seen. The night he'd been born, gasping and clutching at the cold, black asphalt, wasn't a curse. He couldn't see it that way at all. Because, even though he'd never have her, that night had led him to her. She'd saved him, from the darkness. And although it was just for a little while, he'd dreamed and the dream had been more than enough.

******

After he had drunk his fill, Will released the buck, sending it bounding into the woods. The early nightfall of winter draped over his shoulders like a velvet curtain. He wandered lost in thought. Marveling at the link he shared with his son. He'd forced the link on the boy through the instinctive fury of his bite. And he willingly offered his blood to speed Chance's recovery. But, it was a dangerously sharp double-edged sword. Now, not only did he share Chance's mind. But, Chance shared his. Will had to wonder what Chance would see. Was he a man of honor? Or had he made a royal mess of things, Chance would never forgive him. How could he? Was he worth being forgiven? There wasn't any point to put it off any longer. He had to talk to his son. Beg him for forgiveness. Whatever it took to make things right between them again.

******

Candace found comfort in the companionship and light conversation from the women seated at the table. They didn't press her for details about Chance. Once they'd heard from her lips that he was ok, the conversation moved on to other topics. Friendly easy topics like shopping for the perfect pair of jeans.

Worry niggled at the back of her mind. But, she pushed it far away. Her son may have passed the challenges imposed upon him by the Sons. But, his greatest trial was far from over, forging a relationship with his father.

*****

Chance wandered through the halls, searching for Will. He had been stopped and enthusiastically congratulated at least a dozen times by various members. Graciously, he'd accepted their words of praise. He couldn't think about what would come next. How or when it would happen. For now, he was content to be human. A sensation of familiarity jangled in the back of his mind as he approached the empty gym. Shaking it off dismissively, he peeked inside. A lone figure stood on the mat in darkness. His head hung low and shoulders slouched in defeat.

"Dad?" The easy way the word slid off his tongue surprised him. "Have you got a minute?"

Will stood in the center of the mat, staring down at the pristine white vinyl surface. All traces of the fight had been wiped away. But, the coppery scent, faintly lingered in the air to serve as a reminder. He sensed his Chance's presence long before his son poked his head into the gym and spotting him, walked across the floor. But, hearing Chance's voice call out the one word he'd been longing to hear, shocked him. He'd called him 'Dad', not 'Will', or 'Father', but 'Dad'.

Chance swallowed his doubts and stepped onto the mat. Everything in his gut told him that this act was the right thing to do. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Ok." Will kept his eyes focused on a blank spot on the far wall, unwilling to look at his son. He was certain even though Chance had called him 'Dad'; he'd find condemnation and contempt reflected in the boy's stare.

"About what happened at the trials today." Chance kept his gaze level focused on Will. "I can't pretend that I understand why you did what you did. But, I know it was an accident. You didn't intentionally hurt me. You couldn't." He nervously shuffled his feet and tugged on the drawstring of his warm up pants. Drawing a deep breath in, he said what he'd come here to say. "Dad, I forgive you."

"What?" Will asked. Stunned he turned, staring down at his son.

"Dad, I forgive you," Chance repeated. He took a hesitant step closer. Maybe he'd been wrong in his assumption that his dad would want to talk about what happened. Maybe, his instincts had been wrong and his father didn't care at all that he'd hurt him after all.

"You forgive me?" Will repeated the words. They danged on the tip of his tongue like sweet candy drops. His heart drummed in his chest. How he'd hoped and longed to hear that very statement. He was forgiven. He'd come to the gym to beg forgiveness only to find it freely offered. He snatched Chance up, lifting him in a bear hug. "You forgive me. God, I needed to hear that!" Aware that he was so much stronger than his son, he gently placed Chance's feet on the mat.

"Dad?" Chance cocked his head to the side. Will had tears in the corners of his eyes and was struggling in that macho way men did to hold them back. Weren't things good between the two of them? His dad didn't strike him as the kind of person who cried over nothing. "Are you ok?"

"You called me Dad."

"Well, yeah." Chance chuckled, brushing away Will's hands as they tousled his hair. Usually being treated like he was five years old irritated the shit out of him. But, considering his father had never been allowed to treat him like he was five years old when he was five years old, Chance let it slide. "Who else do you think I'd let kick my ass but my dad?"

Self consciously, Will withdrew his hand. Chance was a grown man, not a boy. And he'd tolerated his father's doting affection allowing him the courtesy of playfully ruffled his hair as if he were still five years old. Chance was a man, tried by fire, and soon he'd be a warrior, fighting at his side. They'd have one another's backs. "You know, I wasn't in too great of shape myself. You handed my ass to me on a silver platter."

Chance shrugged nonchalantly and said on a snort, "I know." Ready to put the past behind him, Chance danced lightly on the balls of his feet eager for a little sparring action. His dad was going to have his back in the ring and in life. And there was no time to start practicing like the present.

Chapter 49

"How is it, Chris, that our numbers were severely dwindled from the war with the rogues and now we have candidates crawling out of the woodwork?" Dane asked his wife. He'd just finished speaking with Neil when she slid into the study.

Chris scowled, drawing her brows together tightly together. She didn't care for Neil. There was just ...something about him that set her teeth on edge. But, that didn't mean she wanted Dane to be unreasonably hard on him either. "You took it easy on him didn't you?"

Dane snickered, wrapping an arm around Chris's hips to pull her onto his lap. "Of course I did. But, Neil isn't ready to face the trials. Not yet. He needs serious training."

"And you have just the person in mind?" Her thoughts ran immediately to John Mark. He truly enjoyed mentoring new recruits. He thrived to deliver the punishment he inflicted on them.

Dane nodded, lifting her shirt to reveal the tender skin of her bare stomach. "Oh yeah, I know just the person." If Neil could survive a few months of mentorship under John Mark's watchful eye, there might be a little hope for him after all.

Chris giggled and dragged her hands through Dane's short hair. "I had a feeling you would." Worn out from the excitement of the day. She was ready to relax with her man. Easing her legs around his waist to straddle him, she sighed happily and let him wring the tension of the day from her body with his expert touch.

*****

John Mark snuggled closer to Robbie. Basking in afterglow, he relished the few moments they had alone. He'd taken some personal time to himself to pursue his second greatest pleasure in life, his wife. His loyalty to the Sons was his first and he had served them well. Now, it was time for his little warrior to come out and play.

"You're proud of Chance aren't you?"

John Mark beamed and nodded. "Oh yeah. I had no doubt the kid would make it."

Robbie frowned and traced patterns over her husband's chiseled chest with her fingertips. "For a minute or two, I wasn't so sure."

John Mark traced his finger down the gentle slope of her pert nose. "Its like I always tell you, Ka-tet. Good fate."

Robbie pushed John Mark onto his back and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips between her thighs. "I'm more of a control freak myself," she said, grinning down at him.

John Mark lifted his hips off the bed. Wrapping his hands around Robbie's thighs he guided her onto his hard length. "I love a woman in control," he groaned in pleasure as she rocked, riding and grinding hard against him.

******

Janine stepped back to survey her handiwork. Sometimes, men just needed a little nudge. In Patrick's case, her size seven boot up his ass might get her point across. Yellow post it notes covered every surface of his room. One she hadn't formally been invited to move into yet. But, spent most nights sleeping in the bed anyway. She was about to slap the last sticky note on the back of the door, when he opened it and she fell forward pressing the note squarely onto his chest.