A Taste of Dawn

"Of course, I didn't know what was hidden beneath all the finery of dress. No one did. The world was a younger place back then. Vampires were the concoction of superstitious villagers. I should have known better. I went for a walk one night, after the house had settled in. The summer was unusually hot and my bedclothes sweltering. I only meant to venture out long enough to steal the brush of a cool breeze against my skin and there he was. Bathed in moonlight, Eric O'Sullivan our mysterious visitor from the north. I thought he meant to seduce me into his bed when he took my hand and led me to private chambers." She shook her head in dismay. "I was a young girl, still in the bloom of womanhood and curious, so terribly curious. I went, like a lamb to the slaughter, I went."

Michael gripped the arms of his chair until the antique wood groaned in protest. "Did he touch you?" The thought of O'Sullivan molesting a young girl, claiming her innocence for his own sickened him.

Bianca grinned woodenly. "He wasn't interested in my body, Michael. Only what he thought I could do for him. He meant to use me to get to the crown. No king would want anything less than pure in his bed. He left my virtue intact that night and in all his tender mercies, stole my soul instead." She glanced down at the blotter pad on her desk, avoiding Michael's horrified stare. "I would have rather he raped me and left me for dead than what he did to me that night."

"Bastard," Michael muttered under his breath. Bianca's body healed, regenerated cell by cell to repair whatever damage had been inflicted. The body didn't discriminate as to if the injury was desired or not. Bianca was still a virgin. Sex was a punishment. One of the few pleasures a vampire had in this long life had been robbed from her. Every time she took a lover, the suffering Eric inflicted on her, happened over and over again. "I will kill him."

Bianca smiled coldly at the man meaning to champion the cause of her suffering. "Ironic isn't it?" She picked up a Christmas themed snow globe that some well meaning Guardian had left on her desk in a vain attempt at spreading holiday cheer and turned it over in her hands. Particles of glitter sparkled as they gently floated in the water. "I was with Eric, for a time. I called him master. The French Revolution changed all of that. It seemed a virgin princess was no longer a desirable commodity. He abandoned me and sailed to America, hungry for the bounty of her promise. I found myself without a home, in a country devastated by war, and a family who could no longer recall my name.

"I traveled here and there across the whole of Europe. It seemed one war was ending just as another was beginning. After decades of scurrying from one place to another, watching war and poverty decimate everything it touched. I grew weary of the Old Country. I booked passage on a ship bound for New York. Here, I made my own home, my own family, and I call myself master. America truly is a land made up of milk and honey and I have drank deeply of her vein."

"After everything that O'Sullivan has done, why won't you help us?" Michael ground in frustration. His angst was two fold. He wanted to kill O'Sullivan for so little as harming a hair on Bianca's head. And for the fact that he nor any other man could touch her without hurting her. He could never be with her without causing her pain.

Bianca cocked her head to the side and studied Michael. He took her story to a much deeper level than she anticipated. She couldn't understand it. He'd listened to her words, but failed to hear most of them. He was stuck on some trivial key point and hadn't moved on to the hidden meaning of what she was trying to tell him. "I have helped you. If you find the thing O'Sullivan craves most. You will find O'Sullivan. He is a hunter, a parasite, and he's never too far from his prey."

Michael narrowed his eyes. What was the one thing O'Sullivan wanted more than anything else? The wolves. "Son of a bitch! He's hiding right under our noses!"

Bianca leaned back in her chair and propped her feet up on the desk. Careful not to scratch the polished surface with her spiked heels. Her work here was done. She still felt the prickling sensation of Eric's power along her skin. He wasn't close enough to be a threat to her or her Guardians, but he was close enough that the shit might splatter on her city when it finally hit the fan. She watched Michael chatter on his cell phone. Relaying the precious information she'd divulged as he paced the confines of her office.

Michael snapped his phone shut and clicked it back onto its holder on his hip. His brothers were already working the town and the surrounding counties. They'd have O'Sullivan soon enough. He could leave the city now. Return to his home and help his brothers in the search.

David and Nora, although independent agents and for all intents and purposes, strays, worked the streets and the schools. No trace of pink, the terrible drug that was a mix of dried vampire blood and glitter, was left in the city. He had no real reason to stay. Except for one, the woman, casually lounging in her chair, watching him with sapphire colored eyes.

Would Michael leave her now? He and his precious brothers had everything but the pieces put into place, thanks to her. He had no real reason to stay, nothing more to accomplish within the boundaries of her territory. How would she feel when he left? She was hardly the kind of girl that would pine away for him in his absence. Her pride wouldn't allow her to stoop to such levels.

She couldn't help him anymore than she already had. In time, the Sons would have come to the same conclusion. Coolly, her defenses already building, she watched the warrior stop in his tracks and turn to face her. Probably, Michael hoped he could soften the blow of his departure with a kind word or heartfelt thanks. She didn't need it. He could save his breath and his words. She had no use for them.

Michael sank back into his chair and stared across the desk at Bianca. Thanks weren't words enough for what she'd done for the cause. Thanks weren't a true reflection of his feelings for her. Maybe the Great Father was right when he said he was deceiving himself. He did love her. But how, when they were so very different, could they be together and did she even want him the same way he wanted her?

Bianca studied Michael, curious about his hesitation. Why he stood in front of the door, but delayed using it. She feigned disinterest. Focused her attention on her nails instead of on him. She watched him though. Wondering what was going through that thick skull of his. She thought the moment he realized the threat was closer to home he'd be gone in a blaze of black leather, eager for the glory of apprehending public enemy number one instead of tarrying on her doorstep.

Michael popped his jaw and looked beyond the cool stare of the woman, deep into her heart. She was hard as nails on the outside, could be ruthless, calculating, and colder than an arctic winter. If the centuries had taught her anything, it was how to hide who she really was. The woman she'd been so long ago.

Vampires, despite popular public misconceptions, had relatively short life spans. Not because their bodies failed, but because their hearts did. Losses piled on top of the other, layered higher and higher, until the weight of them finally crushed whatever traces of humanity remained. Watching and hiding, while the world around them changed day by day and yet remained inexorably the same could drive an old vampire, and sometimes a young one to the point of madness. The weaker ones of his species did not survive. Especially ones that had this life thrust upon them instead of being given a choice. Death was a gift, a reprieve from the pain and burden of living on, and on, and on.

Bianca was relatively old, not the oldest he'd ever met, but close. And she'd hung on to herself, the very essence of who she was, even though it was buried under layers of self-protecting defenses. The more he thought about her. The more he thought about leaving. The more reluctant his determination to go became.

Michael didn't need a reason to stay. All that was necessary was to do so. He was a Son to the core. The religion embedded so deeply into the root of his being that he could not imagine his life without it. The goddess and her mission gave him purpose. It was enough to keep him going, but it wasn't everything. He needed more. That was what the Great Father had been trying to tell him. It was okay for him to remain behind, if he chose to do so. It was okay to be a warrior and search for that missing piece of himself.

He'd thought that his mate would be a soft woman, demure and eager to please. He imagined her as a soothing balm for his soul. Bianca was none of those things. She had passion to spare. She loved life and all the finer things in it. There was nothing demure or soft about her. Sometimes, she grated him to the core. Always tempting him, teasing him, flaunting the rules at him as she danced on the border of breaking them. She was untamed, unmanageable, and exactly perfect for him. She didn't share his fundamental core of beliefs. She only believed in what her hands touched, what her eyes saw, and what her ears heard. There were so many fine women who would make a more suitable mate for him. He didn't want any of them. He only wanted her.

"I think I should stay in the city for a while. O'Sullivan might make his way back here once he learns the Sons and the wolves are on his trail."

Bianca blinked up at him from her place behind her desk. A part of her was happy that Michael had decided to stay. She had a thousand questions to ask. A thousand different scenarios rolled through her mind as to why. Every one of them had to do with her feelings about him. Was he staying for her? Could she really be enough to lure him away from his precious woods and his brothers? "My Guardians can handle the city. If Eric thinks to find his way back here, we're ready for him."

She wasn't letting Michael out of this so gracefully. If he had ulterior motives for staying behind, motives beyond Eric. She wasn't going to let him out of admitting them so easily. He needed to speak up. Tell her the truth or he was going to find himself outside of her city's borders flat on his ass. Hope was something she didn't have time for.

Michael was a breath of fresh air to her. He didn't lie. He'd given his blood and almost gave his life to protect her. She'd done the same for him. They were bound on an elemental level. She sensed that his words although not lies, weren't truths, at least not the whole truth, either. From the very beginning, she'd felt an irresistible attraction to Michael. Like a magnet to steel she was drawn to the rugged, utterly masculine, essence of him. There was nothing refined or worldly about Michael. He had no ulterior motives. Using a person for gain wasn't a part of his programming.

She'd made it her mission to tempt him into her bed. At first her interest had been for a quick, although satisfying romp. Now though, she wasn't so sure if he caved to her advances, she'd ever want to let him go. When it happened, she wasn't sure, but at some point, her heart opened up a tiny crack, and he'd tempted her, not with his body, but with his soul. With him, she could see forever. Too bad, she wasn't a forever kind of girl. She lived in the moment, took everything it gave her, and then moved on. He didn't fit into the bigger plans she had for her future. Yet, although she knew this, she still wanted to make a place for him in her life. Where he would fit, perfectly.

"It isn't the abilities of your Guardians that I doubt. O'Sullivan is a crafty bastard. Many would be tempted to come to his aid for just a taste of what he offers. Especially those who did not choose this life."

"There are no traitors in my midst," Bianca interjected. Eric boasted that he could enable a vampire the ability to walk in the daylight without pain, eat real food without suffering for days, and worst of all, an offer so tempting that even she almost fell for it. To bring life into the world, true life, not this shadowy existence through the sharing of blood, but real life through birth. He believed, he actually believed, that werewolf blood was the key to regaining what had been lost. Yeah, many of her followers would be tempted to sell their souls for the chance, not to be human, but to be something so close to it. Who wouldn't? Temptation didn't equal automatic betrayal. Her Guardians were better than that.

Outraged, Bianca jumped to her feet, determined to escort Michael to the door. He used the guise of possibilities for an excuse to stay. He believed a traitor might be in her camp while his own remained pristine. That choice was enough to keep his brothers in the fold. Hardly. O'Sullivan's offer could tempt anyone. Not even the Sons were exempt from a turncoat in their midst. If Michael had so much faith in his goddess and in his brothers, he could go back to them. She'd had enough. If he couldn't admit his real reason for staying, she was booting him to the curb, after she kicked his ass for not being honest with her.

Michael reacted out of pure instinct. This pissed off woman coming at him with claws and fangs was hardly a challenge. She wasn't going to hurt him, not really. She was honked off. He should have chosen a better excuse to stay behind. He shouldn't have verbalized his doubts about her Guardians. They'd shown nothing but respect and loyalty to her and to the greater cause. He shouldn't have reacted like the warrior he was. Instincts honed, battle hardened, he dropped her, pinning her against the plush carpet on her back.

He hovered over her and stared down. Her dainty wrists trapped beneath one of his massive hands. She wriggled against him, hips rising and falling, thrusting against his pelvis in fury, nipples grazing along the fabric of his t-shirt, breaths panting over his skin, and damn, if it didn't feel good.

"You pampas ass!" Bianca hissed in rage. He'd moved so fast she hadn't seen it. Her own fury had blinded her and made her stupid. Stupider than she already was when it came to the stoic warrior hovering over her. Her hips and torso rose off the carpet beneath his weight in an attempt to try to throw him. His grip was tight on her wrists, pinning her down. His chest pressed against hers. The heat of him and the friction of silk against the cotton of his t-shirt sent ripples of searing pleasure down her spine. She didn't want to be turned on by him. Shamed by the effect even the slightest contact with this warrior had on her, she fought harder to win her freedom.

Michael worked his hips between her thighs and pressed is body firmly against hers. That gentle pressure pushed him to insanity for more body to body contact. Her hair had escaped the tight French twist and fell in springy tendrils of raven silk around her shoulders. Her lips were pursed in outrage as he ran his free hand along the curve of her waist, up the swell of her breast, and along the gentle slope of her jaw to grip her chin. Instinct had other uses than the battlefield, but wasn't this just another battlefield? The attraction between them, wasn't it another war of a different kind?

His lips fell on hers. Her mouth was soft and warm, so inviting, a lush paradise for his tongue to explore. He felt her suck in a breath and draw it deep into her lungs. She was stiff beneath him, still fighting, always fighting. His little fighter. He took full advantage of the slight parting of her lips and dipped his tongue inside for a taste. She tasted of a rich, decadent treat, so sweet and delicious, addicting. His tongue glided along hers, twisting and tangling. He traced the sharp points of her fangs with the tip, teasing and tempting her. She was still fighting him. Doing her best to hold on to her rage, battling her body's response to his onslaught. She was losing, her limbs limp, body soft, back arching, and breaths quickening, with his every touch, every invasion, and every liberty he took with her willing flesh.

Bianca melted into the heat of the warrior pressed against her. Michael's kiss tantalized every nerve ending in her body. His grip on her was loose, more of a gesture than force in its hold. She could easily break free. Only, she didn't want to. She wanted more of him. Her hips arched into the rock hardness of him. His body was on board with the program. Stiff with desire, he moaned into her mouth, his tongue dancing wildly against hers, desperate for more. She was willing to give it, give all of herself, as soon as she extracted a reluctant confession from him. The truth, not excuses, as to why he wanted to stay.

If there were any weapon she was best at wielding it was this, her feminine wiles. She had them. She knew how to use them. "Why are you staying?" she panted. His thumb traced delicious, little circles over the hard achy points of her nipple. She arched her back for more, more contact, more pressure, more of him. His touch was a distraction meant to throw her off track. "Truth." Her fingers worked at the tight stretch of the t-shirt beneath them, tugging and pulling the fabric free from his waist and up over the taught muscles of his back. His flesh was so warm to the touch. "Please," she panted.

Michael felt the breath go out of him, as she twisted and felled him onto his back. Her weight against the swelling in his groin was torture, sweet, sweet torment. His t-shirt was wound like a restraint around his wrists. As if that'd stop him from touching her, stroking her, torturing her, if he wanted to. She stared down at him from her perch. Her thighs wrapped tightly around his hips, eyes glittering with more light than a thousand precious gems with the heat of her desire. There could be no lies, no deceit, even if it were the slightest of omission, between them. He had hundreds of excuses, but only one truth. "For you."

The truth of Michael's words washed over her like a welcoming warm springtime breeze after a long winter's freeze. She trembled beneath the weight of his truth. He hadn't lied to her to get her in the sack. She was not bedding him because she had anything to gain from the passionate exchange. The truth was out there laid bare and naked. His heart exposed for her to do with what she would. Her hands rested on the hot expanse of his smooth chest. What was her truth? What admission would she confess to him? What was she willing to risk for the one thing she'd never known till now?

Her truth? Simple and yet so difficult, she loved him. Love wove an intricate design around her. A world where possibilities existed and the improbable conquered. Her admission mingled with his taste on her lips. Heady and decadent, the words rolled on her tongue, ready to spill forth. Falling in love was easy, natural and right. Staying in love would be difficult. A world of beliefs and circumstance stretched between them like a deep chasm. One wrong step and they'd both plummet to their deaths in the darkness waiting ever so patiently to swallow them up.

Michael saw the hesitancy behind the gem like glitter in her eyes. She couldn't hide what her body told him. In its softness and scent, its flesh yielding and writhing beneath his touch. She wanted him. Her mouth fought to form words she was terrified to speak. "Make love to me, woman."

Bianca towered over him, staring down at the hungry gleam in his eyes. They had gone black as midnight, eager and wanting. She could float in their depths. Let them pull her under till she suffocated in their starless night, and not give a damn. A million what ifs roared like thunder in her mind. Her psyche was desperately scrambling for reasons. Survival instincts clamored to protect her from the worst enemy she'd ever faced. Herself.