Dawn's Shadow

The heat in her blue eyes as they roamed over his naked lower half and settled on his face undid him. He'd never seen a more erotic sight than Chris, taking him with her mouth while looking into his eyes and gauging her movements in time to his changing expressions. He moaned eagerly. Swiftly lifting her off the floor and onto the cot, pinning her beneath him. He couldn't wait another second. Like a starving animal he tore at her clothes, ripping them free from her body. She panted and writhed in response to his urgency and cried out his name as he plunged inside of her and began thrusting in a wild, deep, and hard rhythm.

Chris trembled from the force of Dane's desperate undulations. His orgasm was intense, filling her the hilt and spilling over onto the cot. Pleasured but not completely sated, he rode her. His mouth on her neck, fingers wrapped in her hair, and the friction of their joined bodies had her there in a matter of minutes, coming with him as he shot into her a second time.

Exhausted and fully sated, Dane pulled out of Chris's body and shivered at the sudden chill that sank over where all that luscious heat had been seconds ago. Her eyes were heavily lidded and her body slack in post-orgasm bliss. She was his woman and it was his job to see to her every happiness. And that included thoroughly fucking her senseless.

He slid in one finger and then a second. Her sheath was tight and so wet. Slicked by his orgasm and her desire, he plunged his fingers deep into her core. And found that spot hidden so high inside of her velvet depths. Working it with his fingers, gently stroking and then rapidly massaging the place he knew she liked so well, he brought her again. And to his immense pleasure and hers...he brought her one more time. Now, he was done, out and down for the count. Sighing in happiness, he draped her limbs around his body and rested her cheek on his chest. She was the best gift he'd ever received. The only gift he'd ever want. And after seventy-five long years, it was worth the wait to open it.



Chapter 42

"Take what you need baby." Patrick urged, gently stroking his fingers through Janine's sleek blonde curls. She was weaker than she let on. Alex was unskilled and hadn't been able to stop. Janine had let him heal her savaged and bruised flesh with a drop of his blood. But, she refused to drink, not as much as a small sip, to restore her body. They'd had this discussion before. And she'd refused to let him heal her then. She said it was too painful to feel the desire, his desire for her, running through her veins when he wouldn't do a thing about it to slake the burn.

She'd been brutalized enough for a dozen lifetimes. And he was not going to take the chance on hurting her. Of course, they'd had that discussion about a thousand times too. They played. They took and they gave. He'd brought her to orgasm with his mouth, his tongue, and his fingers. Sent her on shuddering waves of passion. And she'd done the same to him. For him, it was plenty. More than he'd ever dared to ask for. But, for her, it was never enough. She wanted him, all of him. He couldn't risk giving her what she wanted. His main instinct was to protect her from everything, including himself.

The log chains and the duct tape would have worked. Safely bound, he could have given her what she so desperately wanted. But, him trussed up like a hog on a spit, wasn't how she wanted it. Janine had a head full of roses and hearts. That wasn't the reality of him. Where she saw passion, he saw nothing but pain. Where she saw love, he saw nothing but blood and death.

Today was a primary example. She'd been trying to help Alex. And the gesture of friendship had almost gotten her killed. How much worse would it be if he took what she offered in the name of love and he hurt her beyond what her fragile body could handle? One pound per square inch too much pressure could snap a bone. An overly zealous embrace could shatter her spine and paralyze her for life. A kiss gone too far might be the last kiss she ever got. He couldn't afford to lose himself with her. He couldn't forget for one split second what he was and the blood, all the blood, staining his hands.

If he didn't love her as much as he did, he would risk it. Fuck her seven ways from Sunday and let the consequences fall where they may. He didn't fear his death, delivered by the brothers' swift sword of justice, nearly as much as he feared her. He nuzzled Janine's hair and rested his cheek atop of the sleek curls. Yeah, he wasn't afraid of his death, only of life. The life, she entrusted to his arms, sacrificed to his lips, and longed for to the very core of her being.

Ironic really, he wouldn't let go out of fear of harming her. And she would eventually grow weary of the game, if he didn't give her what she wanted, find someone, maybe one of his brothers even, who could. In her desire to make love to him, to demolish the only physical and emotional barrier that still stood, like a wall, between them. She couldn't see how much he loved her. He loved her enough to say no to this one, final step. And that thought was what terrified him beyond his own death, beyond the risk of letting go, the thought of losing her.

The fear was enough, so potent that it kept his lips closed. Prevented him from confessing his feelings for her. And forced him to keep the deepest parts of himself to himself. He held her. Gave her what he could. And accepted what she gave within the boundaries of his control. She doubted that he loved her, truly loved her, although everyday, every time he said no. In his own mind, it was the only proof he had to show her how deeply his feelings ran. And it was the one thing that would condemn them both.

Janine sighed into Patrick's chest. The rough cotton of his t-shirt scraped against her cheek. The man was a true masochist. He denied himself all of life's simple pleasures, including fabric softener. He felt, deep down in his core he didn't deserve them. She was the only indulgence he ever allowed himself, and even then only with limits.

She was so worn down, past acceptance to the point of giving up completely. Today had frightened him. And it'd shaken her up a little too. She wasn't scared of Alex. Alex might have killed her. But, she didn't have the power to hurt her. Not the way Patrick could. With Alex, her death would have been quick. Patrick killed her slowly, little by little, day by day.

Her feminine ego took a beating every time he said "no" and used the same lame excuses over and over. She could repeat them all word for word. Didn't he get it? She wasn't afraid of dying. Ok, so death was a little scary. But, not terrifying. The only thing she was terrified of, truly terrified of, was this man who held her so gently in his arms. The thought that he might push her too far, force her into a corner with no way out, kept her awake at night.

She wondered in the back of her mind if that's what he was trying to do, because he didn't have the strength to do it himself. He wasn't the first guy who played games with her. He knew, eventually if he held out long enough, pushed hard enough, he'd force her hand and she'd leave him. She worried she wasn't good enough. That he didn't love her enough. Maybe, he didn't love her at all and she was just a way to pass the time till someone better, someone immortal, came along.

He didn't know how many times she'd almost conceded to his idea of their first night together. How close she'd come to digging out the log chains and the duct tape just for the chance to finally be with him. For some people, that was love. Bondage, the cut of chains into tender flesh, was their passion. She wasn't one of those people. And the thought of Patrick, bound and gagged beneath her while she took what she wanted, sickened her to the very pit of her stomach. A little slap and tickle could be fun. What he wanted, and the reasons why he wanted it, wasn't sex play or even some kind of a deep- seated perversion. He was afraid to let go. Horrified by touching her. The chains and the duct tape might ensure her physical safety. But, they wouldn't do a thing, except destroy her soul.

Janine dug her fingers around the collar of his t-shirt and clung to the fabric for dear life. "The only thing I need is you," she said, pressing her face into the hard planes of his chest. His hands trembled, clenching and unclenching into fists at the small of her back. Tears hovered in the corners of her eyes, dampening her lashes and threatening to spill over onto his t-shirt. She didn't give a damn about her ruined mascara. "Please. If you love me, even just a little, try."

Patrick clung to the back of Janine's blouse, balling up the material in his fists and then opening his fingers to release the wrinkled fabric. He wished he could give her what she wanted. The pleading tone of desperation in her voice was almost enough to make him chance it all. Maybe, they could. Maybe, he could make love to her the way a man ought to make love to a woman. Give her the happiness she so richly deserved and quell both of their deepest fears for once and for all. "I know baby, I know."

He eased Janine back on the cot and positioned his body between her thighs. Perched above her with his weight balanced on the heels of his hands, he stared down at her. The tears she refused to shed gathered in the corners of her eyes. "Let me make you feel good," he whispered, laying his lips to the fading purple bruise and puckered pink skin of the wound Alex had inflicted on her shoulder.

Janine's body quivered at the promise of pleasure in Patrick's soft voice. And her heart shattered into a billion pieces at the unspoken limitations he placed on her pleasure. He wanted to love her, but not completely. He wanted to take her places, send her body soaring. But, leave her earthbound and tethered by his fear. "No," she whispered. Gathering her strength, she pressed her palms against his chest, pushing him away. "It's not enough. Not this time."

Patrick got up from the cot and tucked the covers around Janine's shoulders. She turned onto her side, away from him and curled up into a ball. Refusing to speak to him. He regretted being a slave to his constant fears. He hated what that fear was doing to her, to them both. It was slowly tearing them apart. But, he felt so damned helpless against it. Not knowing what else to say, what perfect combination of words he could string together to make this right, he planted a soft kiss to her cheek and left the room. Disappearing into the darkness of the tunnels. The darkness was so comforting and familiar. Not at all like the woman, confusing and frustrating, he'd left, holding back her sobs until he was gone and she could shed her tears in peace.

Janine curled up into a ball, her knees drawn tightly to her chest. She buried her face in the pillow, surrounded by Patrick's familiar scent. Alone in the darkness, shivering, not from the cold, but from his absence, she let the tears she hadn't wanted him to see, fall like rain. It was hell. Wanting someone who didn't want you the same way. Loving someone who loved you back, but not enough. And needing, what you might never get, with such bitter desperation.





Chapter 43

Anna's hand trembled, her fingers clutching the crystal flute with a death grip. The walls of the crowded room seemed to be pressing in on her. People, brushing by, smiling, and laughing, pausing to make small talk in an endless game of social chase. The closer they got, the farther back she crept. Leery of them all, she kept her back against a wall and her eyes on the exit. Her mind was preoccupied with a game of its own that had nothing to do with office politics or social posturing. Guessing which of her office mates were vampires and which ones weren't.

"Ho, ho, ho, Miss Anna." The man, a drafting engineer from her division, interrupted her train of thought, leaning in close. Trapping her in the abandoned corner of the room she'd chosen to seek refuge. He smiled at her flirtatiously. Brazenly, looking down the V of her dress at the modest bit of cleavage showing at the neckline. He cut off her escape with his body, planting a hand firmly against the wall on each side of her shoulders. "It seems someone is standing under the mistletoe," he said, laughing as he held a plastic sprig of berries over her head. Congratulating himself on his genius, he licked his lips in anticipation of the kiss.

Anna could smell the alcohol on his breath. Maybe, it was a clever ruse and he was acting drunk. Maybe, he had singled her out as his next victim. He lacked that sense of otherworldliness she'd felt around Chris. But, she was taking no chances where the fanged, demons of the night were concerned. She pressed her back against the wall and tried to shimmy underneath his arm. He lowered his hand to her shoulder and wedged his hip against hers, pinning her in place.

She tried to convince herself that she was being paranoid, delusional even. They had worked for years side by side on project after project. He couldn't be one of them. But, how was she supposed to know for sure? Maybe, he was just better at hiding what he was. Vampires walked beside humans, blending in, living in unassuming homes, leading unassuming lives. Until one day, they went in for the kill.

Anna felt a rush of panic as he lowered his mouth, intent on claiming his kiss. She threw the remainders of her untouched drink in his face and stomped gracelessly on his toe with the spiked heel of her shoe. He jerked back and bellowed out an angry and shocked wail. Cursing under his breath, he withdrew from his pursuit and limped off to the bathroom. The dull roar of conversation stopped and people, her coworkers and friends, turned to stare at her in disbelief over what she'd just done.

Stifling her tears, Anna ran from the room and snatched her coat off the rack in the foyer. The firm she worked for pulled out all the stops once a year and shelled out thousands of dollars for a ballroom in the most luxurious hotel downtown had to offer. She hadn't wanted to go in the first place. But, with her firm spending a bundle, how could she have said no? Short of being on her deathbed, there was no excuse good enough for ditching the party.

No one in the office knew how blurry the line between reality and fiction had gotten for her. She hid in her office. Popped her pills. And prayed it would go away. Her terror hadn't gone anywhere. It was getting worse. She pushed the button for the elevator and nervously waited for the doors to slide open.

Luckily, the elevator was on her floor and the doors slid open with a soft ping. Down the hall, noisy chatter took the place of shocked silence. And the band started to play the first notes some one hit wonder she hadn't heard since college. She rested her head on the mirrored surface of the closed doors and pushed the down button. Breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, she struggled to regain her composure. Tears fell, trailing black rivulets of mascara down her cheeks. She dabbed at them with her fingers, smearing the black goop and making the smears worse.

The elevator jolted to a stop with a hard thud. The doors whispered open with a soft hiss. She kept her head down. Her eyes focused on the posh, luxurious carpet beneath her feet. Catching someone staring at her, at her ruined makeup, and her tear-reddened cheeks would have been humiliating. Dodging the doors before they closed and trapped her inside, Anna bolted from the elevator. Abruptly, running head long into a man.

"Please, allow me." The man's voice, the depth and richness of the deep rumble of baritone and the ease in which he spoke had Anna stopping to look up. He stood casually in front of her, reaching into the front pocket of an expensive and immaculate suit to retrieve a handkerchief. She'd never seen a man who could strip her bare and leave her quivering from just a glance. Icy cold, arctic blue as her own, his eyes held her captive. In his hand he held a neatly folded white, linen handkerchief, which he extended to her.

He was tall, tall enough that she had to crane her neck to take in the full effect of him. His hair hung in a tumble of unruly curls, pale blond, but not as pale as hers, stopping at the curve of his angular and well-pronounced jaw. The corners of his mouth curled into a curious grin. The suit was expertly tailored and fitted across his broad shoulders and narrow waist. He was a beautiful, breathtakingly beautiful man. And he was one of them. She could sense the otherworldliness radiating off of him in waves. When she failed to take the handkerchief from his hand, he reached out with it to dab her eyes. "No woman as beautiful as you should ever have tears," he said in a voice that had her panting and trembling at the same time.

Terrified, she stood, her feet unwilling to move. At this point, she wasn't sure if she could remember how to run. But, with one word, she knew, she would have followed him anywhere. Offered him anything. Somehow, she found the strength to breathe. Her mouth struggled to form words as he dabbed at the tears and cleaned away the smears on her cheeks with the corner of the handkerchief. Linen that expensive should feel coarse on her skin. But, it was soft as a lover's touch, smelling like the man, of luxury, indulgence, privilege, and death. "I'm ruining your handkerchief. Please, let me pay you for it," she said, her voice meek and trembling with horror.

The man finished dabbing at her spoiled makeup and folded the handkerchief, slipping it back into the breast pocket of his suit. "A smile would be payment enough," he said. "No?" He reached around her and pressed the up button, summoning the elevator. "I suppose, I'll have to settle for the ghost of smiles past. I can see them on your face. It is one that has had many more smiles than tears. I hope nothing ever changes that."

Anna stared up at the man. She should scream, call the cops, do something other than stare, overwhelmed by the aura of his presence. The elevator dinged its arrival and the doors whisked open. He stepped inside and suddenly, as if he had really held some sort of hold over her, she snapped awake. Wrapping her coat tightly over her shoulders she took a step back. He stuck his foot in the path of the doors blocking them open with an expensive, highly polished, Italian loafer. "Goodnight, Anna," he said and moved to the back, pressing the button for his floor with a wink. "It was a pleasure meeting you."

Anna sucked in lungfuls of air, trembling in the middle of the bustling lobby, staring at the closed doors long after the elevator began its trek up. He knew her name. And that wink only mean one thing. He knew that she knew what he was. The adrenaline coursing through her system finally got her feet moving. She didn't care who saw or what they thought. She fled the lobby, dodging the rich and more dignified. Bolting for her car, parked in the parking garage beneath the hotel.

Anna's fingers trembled, fumbling with the key she managed to put it in the ignition and start the car. Her doors were locked and a hotel security vehicle cruised past the row of parked cars. But, she wasn't safe. She was so tired of feeling terrified all of the time. She dumped the contents of her purse, spilling them onto the seat. Pawing though the loose change, lipsticks, tampons, fuzzies, breath mints, and crumpled receipts, she found what she was looking for, the little bottle of pills promising instant sanity.

She clutched the bottle in her fist and with trembling fingers worked to get the lid off. Tears rolled in a hot torrent down her face and dripped off the end of her chin. She just wanted it to end. She couldn't stand living in constant fear another minute. The pills would calm her. Temporarily, make her terror go away.