Dawn's Promise

"None of us asked for this, to become this thing that we are. I was work and I snuck out to grab a smoke and got this instead." He laughed sarcastically. "They always told me smoking was a killer. I guess they were right."

Alex smiled back. She admired the guy's truthfulness and the fierceness in which he protected his friends. "Well, if you're telling us the truth..."

Marcus cut her off. "I am," he said defensively. "I've got no reason to lie. Look, I respect what you've got going here." He gestured to his plush surroundings. "I understand why you fight to protect it. But, understand this. That night, none of us wanted to fight you. She used our ignorance against us. We knew nothing. Only the suffering she could inflict for disobedience."

"We understand that." Dane stepped forward touching Alex lightly on the shoulder. "We need to go." He towered over Marcus, staring him down. The man was telling the truth. He could sense his honesty and his bewilderment over what had become his life. "You have no need to fear. No harm will come to you and the others. If you're here to learn as you claim, we will be glad to help you. If you aren't our enemy, we'll happily call you friend."

Marcus stared at the door long after they'd left the room and locked it shut behind them. Friend. He didn't have many of those. Candace was the only friend he'd ever had. Life on the streets was hard. This life was even more difficult than that one. Everyone watched out for what was theirs and took what they could get. It was just the way things were...are. Maybe, these people were different. Maybe, they weren't. He wasn't about to drop his guard yet. But, he wasn't exactly ready to write them off either. They had a closeness he couldn't begin to understand. And somewhere deep inside, it was the very thing he'd always wanted. They weren't friends yet. But, maybe someday, they would be.

Chapter 8

Chance left his nightly series of e-mails, texts, and voice mails, just as he did, every night, sometimes two or three times a night. Still nothing. There was never a reply. The police had no leads. She had just simply disappeared. Gone. Her co-workers were the last ones to see her. Her coat and purse left draped over the back of her chair, abandoned. Her car parked in the employee parking lot, empty and deserted. No one seemed to have any answers.

And by this point, after three months, he hovered on the brink of giving up. Still, he went through the motions, the ritual of calling, e-mailing, and texting. He littered the city with fliers. He checked in weekly with the detective in charge of handling his mother's case. He called the hospitals, the homeless shelters, and everyplace else he could think of, and the response was always the same. Nobody had seen her. Every spare moment, he spent looking for her.

Restless and bored, and out of ideas, with still another week out of school for the Holiday break, he jogged to the gym. Thankfully, it was always open. He needed something to take out his frustrations on and a punching bag would work just fine. Sweating on the treadmill, adding another twenty pounds to the bench press, pushing his body to its limits and beyond, purified him. The gym was where he did his best thinking. Maybe, something would come to him. Some inspiration. A stray glimmer of hope might light upon his shoulder and whisper in his ear. Because, he was running out of hope that he'd ever see his mom again.

Patrick pulled to a stop in front of a non-descript, three-bedroom, two bath, pale blue, sided ranch style home on the outskirts of town. Decent neighborhood. Consisted mostly of middle class families. One of those housing developments where every house looked exactly like its neighbor. The only thing different was the number on the mailbox and the lawn ornaments in the postage stamp sized yard. "Let's go see if anyone's at home."

Will had been quiet on the drive up. Contemplative. What did one say to a son who didn't know he existed? He'd never gotten time to compile a cover story with Candace before he left for the city. What had she told Chance when he asked about his father?

The windows of the house were dark, the draperies drawn tight to shut out the night. A porch light shone weakly beside the front door. The light was barely bright enough to illuminate a circle on the stoop. The house was well kept, the yard maintained. Some of the neighboring houses were still decorated for Christmas. This house was dark, devoid of cheer and warmth. Obviously inhabited, but it hadn't been lived in, truly lived in, for months.

Will walked silently beside Patrick with his hands jammed into the front pockets of his jacket. Patrick didn't envy Will. At first, maybe he did. Every man wanted a son. And Will had what Patrick and the brothers could only dream about and wish for silently in the depths of their heart of hearts. Some introduction this was going to be. The kid's mom had been gone for months. He'd never known his dad. And now, he was about to have the awful truth shoved down his throat.

Humans didn't particularly have warm and fuzzy feelings for vampires. They feared them. This situation had to be handled with a lot of finesse and more than a decent measure of tact. And Patrick hoped like hell Will had a plan to do just that.

Dane didn't assign him to come along for the ride just for the hell of it. Patrick knew he was here to do damage control. Put the kid out, if it came down to it. Nice and easy. Drop him, bundle up the cargo, and head for home. But, there was some damage, not even he could control. The shock the kid was about to receive, the truth he was about to have laid out for him wasn't going to be easy to hear. Nah, he didn't envy the kid, the mom, and especially not the father.

Will went through the motions of knocking on the door, though judging from the silence and the echo of his fist, pounding on the frame, there was nobody home. Patrick had them in the house in less than ten seconds. "Easy." Patrick grinned slipping the black leather kit back into his pocket. "After you." He held the door open for Will. Patrick went about his work, pinning down the kid's scent. While Will wandered room from room looking around.

Will followed Candace's delicate rose scent to her bedroom. The bedroom was neat and tidy. The bed made, decorated with a matching sea foam green floral print spread and curtain combo. The room was small and nondescript. This wasn't a place where she spent much of her time, just long enough to sleep.

He wandered through a set of adjacent French doors. This room was definitely her style. She spent a great deal of time here, in her study. Movie posters and paraphernalia decorated the pale green walls. A computer desk sat in the corner loaded with books and loose papers.

He walked down the hall past a simple looking, small bathroom stopping at the next door. Here a scent was strong, masculine and earthy. His son's room. He let himself in. This room was not tidy, anything but. Discarded wrappers and pop cans littered the floor. The bed was rumpled, unmade. Abandoned clothing was strewn about in piles. Like his mother, books were stacked high on the computer desk and in plies around the bed.

He sorted through the knickknacks on the shelf over the bed. Ribbons and trophies covered with a layer of dust. A picture in a frame on the end of the shelf caught his attention. Gingerly, he took the frame off the shelf and stared at the snapshot. A younger, a lot more innocent version of himself, smiled crookedly at the person who had captured the moment. A moment he didn't remember. Chance knew about him, vaguely. But, he knew he had a father, once as young as he, and that his father smiled. He dusted the glass off with the hem of his t-shirt and set the picture back in its place on the shelf.

Will ran his fingers over the open textbook on the bed and riffled through the pages. Hastily scribbled notes, written in broad, thick, scrawling handwriting filled the margins. His son was a lefty. Will could tell by the tilt of the script. He settled his palm on the pillow at the head of the bed and pressed his hand into the cool fabric. The scent from the case wafted around him like dust particles in the air.

There were hints of the man Chance had grown up to be and traces of the boy he had been growing up, scattered everywhere. A pair of roller blades hung by the tied laces on the doorknob. Snapshots of Chance and his mother filled a corkboard hung on the wall. A yearbook from high school gathered dust on a bookshelf in the corner of the room. A model airplane hung from the light on the ceiling fan. And a battered stuffed animal, lay under the bed with one furry paw sticking out from underneath the dust ruffle.

He opened the top drawer in the nightstand by the bed and riffled through the contents. Stashed way in the back where Chance's mother wasn't likely to find them, an unopened box of condoms got a soft chuckle and then a harsh frown. No father liked to think about his son hooking up with a girl.

Patrick stood in the doorway to Chance's room, watching Will acquaint himself with the son he'd never known. There were a lot of things a person could glean about someone by simply looking into their private space. Chance loved sports. A pair of cleats and a dusty, worn baseball mitt sat abandoned for the winter in the corner of his room. Boxing gloves, used and scuffed from wear, were draped over the back of the chair. A basketball had rolled into a heap of clothes on the floor. Trophies and ribbons lined the shelves above Chance's bed. Tattered, dog-eared sports magazines, sat in messy stacks around the bed. And a Sports Illustrated Swim Suit edition calendar from last year, still turned to October's month, the month his mother had disappeared, hung on the wall.

Chance worked as hard as he played. His laptop was open on the desk. The university's home page pulled on the screen. Textbooks lay open in a pile of notebooks, ink pens, and highlighters, on the bed. A sweat stained navy blue t-shirt turned inside out joined a heap of similar t-shirts at the base of the overflowing dirty clothes hamper. Chance's room smelled of sweat from his many workouts, the musty aroma of books and papers, and the faint tinge of despair.

And Chance loved. He loved his mother. Pictures of the two of them together were clustered in frames and pinned on the tack board over his desk in a chronicle of his childhood years. Patrick's eyes traveled to the framed photo, sitting up high on a shelf over Chance's bed. A picture of Will, dulled with time, taken before his change. Yeah, the kid loved and Patrick hoped it was strong enough. " Hey," he said softly, drawing Will's attention from his son. "I've got the scent. Let's go."

Patrick tracked Chance's scent through the neighborhood. Will followed a few steps behind. "He's here," Patrick said, stopping under the gym's neon display. Will watched through the glass window in the front of the gym. His son stood on the mat. Engrossed in his reflection as he shadowboxed. He moved with a lithe grace Will had never possessed as a human. Chance boxed with an easy one-two rhythm, punching with his taped fists, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, as he worked through the routine. For the first time in his life, Will felt an overwhelming surge of pride and knowledge that he had done something right.

The locked door presented no challenge for Patrick. He had the security system and the lock disabled in less than a minute. There was no one at the desk. No one at the gym except for Chance as luck would have it. This was going to be simple. In and out. Collect the kid and get the hell home. Patrick slid the small packet back inside his pocket and waved Will inside. "Come on."

Will removed his jacket and stood at the edge of the mat, waiting for Chance to realize he was there. His son stopped shadowboxing, catching movement behind him from the floor to ceiling mirror's reflection. With a heavy huff, Chance lowered his arms and turned.

Will's voice stuck in his throat. My God, his son...frozen in place...in the wonder of seeing Chance not through the safety of a computer screen, but in person, real, breathing, alive, with blood pumping through his veins. Will stood there staring at the shadowy reflection of his likeness. Chance was so beautiful. Awestruck by the wonder of his son, his miracle, Will managed to croak out a one-word greeting. "Hi."

Will suppressed the urge to snatch Chance off the mat and hustle him to the SUV, lock him away where nothing bad could ever happen to him. Chance blinked down at him from his place on the edge of the mat above, leaning down on the ropes a little confused by Will's speechlessness. Will tried to remind himself, that to his son, he wouldn't look like a father, but as a guy, roughly the same age.

"Oh, hey. I didn't hear anyone come in," Chance answered. He pulled the earbuds out of his ears and slid through the ropes of the boxing ring to sit on the edge. "I didn't think anyone was going to show tonight, since it's New Year's Day." He grabbed at a towel hanging on the corner post of the ring and wiped away the fine sheen of sweat from his face.

Slugging down a big gulp of water from his water bottle, he frowned at the guy. Chance came to the gym everyday and he'd never seen this guy around before, or his buddy, casually leaning on the edge of the ring, around here before either. Doug was always running specials in the paper, trying to promote the gym. Maybe, these two were new members? Nobody got in without a membership and a key. And the gym was deserted except for the three of them. Good, he could use a new sparring partner. Very few were brave enough to go into the ring with him for a round of playful sparring or otherwise.

Since he worked part time at the gym, Chance made it his personal mission to see to these two. Give them a tour of the facility. Maybe, an introductory lesson in pain 101. Grinning he cracked his knuckles and twisted the kink out of his neck. "You starting early on that New Year's resolution? Maybe, a complementary lesson or two?" Recapping his water bottle he sized the guys up.

The dark haired one stood about six-one, maybe six-two. He was lean, narrow in the waist and wide in the shoulders. Muscular beneath his t-shirt and jacket, but he probably had shit for endurance. And his size would make him slow and awkward in the ring. Yeah, this guy relied on bruit strength to get in quick, get out, and get the job done. But, of course, the unapproachable air of menace the guy used for sheer intimidation, his size, the black jeans, jacket, and t-shirt and the heavy black lug soled combat boots, meant that he probably didn't get fucked with too often. Not unless someone had a death wish or just loved to visit the hospital emergency room.

The cocky fucker leaning against the edge of the mat was a different story all together. This little son of a bitch was a powerhouse beneath his casual appearance. Topping out at about five-eight or five-nine and tipping the scales at around one hundred sixty pounds, the skinny bastard was built for his size. It was the wiry ones you had to watch out for. Size wasn't everything in the ring. Speed and stamina were just as important. The guy had a very relaxed air, long sandy colored bangs hung over his eyes. Compact and built for power and speed, Chance bet the guy packed a hell of a punch. Hell, a Chihuahua was cute and harmless, till it bit the shit out of you.

Chance didn't usually offer to spar with the customers on their first visit. He wanted to see what they had in terms of skill first. There was no need to put someone in the ring who had no idea of what they were doing. He'd just hurt them or they'd hurt him. But, something told him these two knew exactly how to handle themselves. Besides, it was just a friendly match to break the ice. Work off a few post-holiday pounds and, in his case, a few months of pent up frustration. Chance smiled crookedly, "Any takers? Wanna go a round or two."

"Sure," Will replied. This might be his chance to break the ice with his son. He stripped off his jacket and pulled his t-shirt over his head, dropping it on a nearby bench. Bending to untie his boots and pull his feet free of his socks, he eyed Chance, already warming up in the center of the ring.

Chance stretched and worked the kinks out of his muscles. The ink on the big guy's back was impressive. Covering the base of his neck, from shoulder to shoulder, down, over his spine, and curling around below the beltline, the tattoo work was more a piece of art than most of the amateurish back alley tats he saw in the gym. "Nice ink. You need gear?" Chance pointed to the rack of headgear at the foot of the ring.

"Nah, I'm good," Will replied, stepping through the ropes into the ring. He had to remember to hold back. He worked with John Mark from time to time, training new recruits. Vampires. Like Alex and Robbie. But, he hadn't fought a human in the ring. Ever.

"Ok," Chance shrugged, lowering his headgear and sliding the mouthpiece between his lips. "It's your pretty face. Hey you," he said, pointing to the wiry guy, "referee us." Chance took position in the center of the mat. "No funny stuff. Got it." MMA fighting was brutal, bloody, and dangerous. But, it had rules and standards. The last thing he needed was this behemoth slipping into street style and fighting dirty in the middle of a sparring match.

"Got it." Will took position opposite Chance and bowed.

Chance bowed and then took a defensive stance. His feet spread wide waiting for his opponent to strike first. He wanted to see what the big hulk of muscle and flesh was made of. An array of fists and feet flew through the air, failing to find their mark. The guy was fast, Chance had to give him credit for that. But sometimes speed wasn't enough. He counterpunched, feeling the familiar sting up his arm as he connected with the man's jaw. He countered a return kick, dropping low and swinging his leg in a sweeping movement knocking the man down to the mat, flat on his back.

"You're pretty good," Will admitted. The kid was lightening fast and his punches strong, for a human. He took the hand that Chance offered. But, instead of using it to pull himself up, he knocked the boy off balance, landing him onto his back, dazed and biting back a string of curses. He leapt to his feet, rebounding off the mat and in a blinding fast move brought his foot down toward the boy's throat. His foot was blocked with a forearm, and he found his body teetering off balance. He landed, kissing the heavy canvas of the mat with his face.

Patrick chuckled and clapped as the sparring match continued. Yelling cheers of encouragement, here and there. He felt the bond between father and son start to form. "Kick his ass for me kid."

His son, the words rebounded in his mind as he countered an onslaught of flying feet. Pride swelled filling him. The boy had potential, definite potential. He parried, cinching his arms around Chance's waist from behind lifting him high into the air. He was surprised by the boy's lithe body twisting to land solidly on his shoulders with his knees. He let out a whoosh of air as the weight lifted and the boy back flipped, landing lightly on the mat behind him. He felt the press of a foot solid against his butt sending him sprawling face down, yet again. His son was destined. Will knew that now. His son was destined to join their ranks and take his place by his side as a warrior.

Chance bowed to him and then walked over to Patrick, landing a high five. "Ass kicking free of charge." Chance walked to the edge of the mat, grabbing his water bottle and slugging down half of it in one thirsty gulp. "Who are you guys anyway?"