Dawn's Darkest Hour

. "What?" David asked with an incredulous tone in his voice as he shook her fingers off his sleeve and turned.

Nora steadied herself and squared her shoulders. The look on the kid's face was intense and his tone aggressive enough to make her drop her extended hand to her side. There was no way she was going to let her first period English student see how much he intimidated her though. "The exit," she said, pointing to the doors on the opposite side of the cafeteria.

David glowered down at the petite teacher that had thwarted his big bust. The top of her head barely cleared the collar of his t-shirt. Even though she wore glasses and dyed her hair in a wash of blonde and copper highlights to look older. He saw her youth hidden behind the thick lenses and bad color job. My God, she was about the same age as him. Or the same age he would have been, if he still had birthdays to celebrate.

Hints of her natural hair color peeked through the heavy highlights. Her hair was the color of nutmeg, underneath all that dye. She should go back to the color God gave her instead of the copper and blonde, which washed out her complexion and dulled the gold flecks in her eyes. A heavy layer of bronzed lipstick masked a lush mouth and full, soft lips. Too much foundation and powder, used in a feeble attempt at calming the spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks, cracked in the fine lines around her mouth and the corners of her eyes. There was no shame in being young, David thought. As long as youth didn't last a damned eternity, as it would in his case. Underneath all the cosmetics, a beautiful woman hid begging and pleading to be found.

She used camouflage, much as he did, to fit in and hide who she really was. He knew her. He would bet his fangs that he knew her. It wasn't so much her physical appearance or her mannerisms as it was the energy radiating from every cell of her body that was so familiar to him. She wasn't a person that he'd bumped into, once upon a time, forgotten and then remembered. She was Déjà vu, and even though he couldn't place her, yet. He'd had this moment with her over and over again. "Who are you, really, Mrs. Temple?"

Nora stepped back in shock. She could feel her heart tap dancing in her chest at his question. He was her David. Now that she'd seen him up close, the physical similarities were too numerous for it to be a coincidence. "It's Ms. Temple," Nora corrected. Nervously, she licked her lips and stared up into the muddy depths of his eyes. Obsidian stones met her gaze, hard and cold. But, somewhere, her David, was in there, lost. How he hadn't changed physically in ten years, she didn't know. Why he'd come back now, she didn't know. How she could prove, if only to herself that the kid standing in front of her wasn't really a kid, but a man. She didn't have a clue. "The question is, David Russ... who are you, really?"

David stepped back and sucked in a shocked breath. She knew him. Not David, the eighteen year-old student, he pretended to be. But, the David he had been years ago. Who in the hell was she? He couldn't risk her pursuing his identity any further than she already had. If she was as smart as she seemed to be. Putting two and two together might be dangerous...for the both of them. He did his best to mask his thoughts behind a confused, apathetic, teenage expression and shrugged at her. "I've gotta get to class."

Nora narrowed her eyes behind her thick lenses. Whatever hint she saw of her David was gone. Hidden behind the teenage face he wore. "Fine, go." Crossing her arms over her chest, she watched him shuffle off in a clumsy, overstated, jog. His story, the nonchalant expression in which he regarded her, didn't hold water. Doubting what she knew in her heart wouldn't solve the riddle of him and it wouldn't settle the feeling of her heartbeat hammering in her chest. She knew who David Russ really was. The only missing pieces were how and why.

Chapter 21

Carter pried his sleepy eyes open against the glare filtering in through the curtains. What kind of a sadistic fuck would leave the drapes open in broad daylight? The sick fuck sitting casually in the leather wingback across the room, well out of reach of the blinding rays, watching him with a knowing smirk. Naturally. Shielding his sensitive eyes from the light, Carter glowered at O'Sullivan. "Go to hell," he barked.

O'Sullivan tilted back his head and laughed, a cold, mocking laugh. "We're already Hell's permanent residents, in case you forgot." Victory was so sweet. He had Carter right where he wanted him and with Yessette's help, he'd keep him right there. Women...the mighty Carter's only weakness. Fool.

O'Sullivan's eyes roamed over the silky curves of Yessette's nude form. "Splendid, isn't she," he casually observed. "Nearly four hundred years-old and not a wrinkle to mar her beautiful flesh. A wise investment, turning her, wouldn't you say?" Eric grinned as he watched Carter scramble to cover his prize with a sheet.

Carter tugged the sheets over Yessette's sleeping body. "Bastard, don't look at her!" he hissed as he protectively folded his body over hers. O'Sullivan didn't deserve to take in Yessette's beauty.

Yessette shifted in his arms. A soft moan escaped her lips as she opened her eyes. "Eric, is that you?"

"Yes Dearest," Eric answered softly.

"It's daylight," Yessette whimpered, cuddling into Carter's bare chest. Her Carter, she smiled, comforted by his warmth. Her fingers snaked along the sharp peak of his hip and slicked over his flat, rigid stomach muscles, brushing across the soft down beneath.

Carter stilled Yessette's exploring fingers with his palm. "Shhhhh, sweet. Go back to sleep."

Eric fingered the remote in his grip. "I know, Sweetest." he pressed a button and the mechanism whirred to life, inching the drapes closed. He heard the sweet whispered sigh of relief escape from Yessette's lips. "Better?" His eyes met Carter's. Grinning, he mocked Carter's fury. "Hungry, Pet?"

Yessette forgot about her carnal quest and snapped upright in the bed. "Oh yes!" Her eyes widened in eagerness. Tiny, sharp, white points peeked out from beneath her red lips. "Eric, you always think of everything!" Happily she clapped her hands in anticipation.

The girl mounted a large winding staircase. She wasn't really sure where she was. Somehow she found her way up. Her bare feet padded along the stairs, past the landing on the second floor and up to the third. She had something...something important she should be doing. But, she didn't remember what. Thought past the voice in her head compelling her to climb was impossible to manage. She had to go to the voice. The voice was all that mattered. Her legs were a little wobbly by the time her feet struck the thick carpet runner on the third floor. Her heart pounded in her chest from the effort of hustling up three fights of stairs. Maybe she'd score more pink today.

The guy had the good stuff and plenty of it. His stuff wasn't the cut version she could find on campus. His shit was the best and very, very potent. Already, her fingers were trembling in anticipation. She came to a shuffling halt in front of a closed door and rested her palm on the knob's cool surface. What was she doing here? If not for the effort of her pounding heart and the exhaustion in her limbs, she wouldn't have remembered climbing the stairs at all. "Come inside," the voice compelled. Without hesitation, she turned the knob, pushed the door open, and took a step into the dark room.

"Oh, she's so pretty," Yessette gasped, sliding from the bed. Unashamed by her nudity, the sheet fluttered to pool at her feet. Yessette gracefully stepped free of the sheet and walked toward the woman. Her fingers stroked the woman's flushed cheek. The woman's was so pink, so alive, and so warm. "She's like a china doll," Yessette said, fingering the woman's long ruby locks and gently arranging them over her shoulder.

"Do you like her?" O'Sullivan asked Yessette. Slowly, he tugged the woman's blouse out of her jeans and unbuttoned the buttons. Her hand twitched in protest, gripping the edges of the blouse with her fingers. "Shhhh," he commanded, opening her fists. The woman sighed and swayed, pliable as putty. He'd ensured tonight's entrée would be compliant and willing. Pink took the fun out of the game. But, there was other compensation to be had. Carter had already set his feet upon the path. All O'Sullivan had to do was give him a little nudge.

"So pretty...Is she all mine?" Yessette asked. Her throat was parched. She wanted to take a big gulp and drink till the woman was all gone.

"Now, don't be greedy," Eric chastised Yessette like one would a spoiled, overindulged, child. "We have a guest to think about. You don't want Carter to go hungry do you?"

Yessette's lips pursed into a pout. "We can get more." She tipped her head and studied the bounding artery at the base of the woman's supple neck. Gently, she lowered her face to the woman's skin and inhaled. Intoxicated by the scent of the blood rushing through the vessels. Her lips heated as she placed a soft kiss. "I want her."

O'Sullivan dropped the woman's shirt into a heap on the floor. A moan of delight wrenched free from her tender throat as he leaned her head back against his chest and he stroked the weight of a pert, youthful, breast with his fingers. His lips feathered kisses across the length of her neck. He liked to add a little spice to his meals. He always cleaned everything on his plate after he'd played with the food for a bit. "Taste her, Yessette. Tell us how delicious she is."

Eric stroked Yessette's cheek and gently guided her lips to the woman's neck. Yessette quivered with excitement beneath his fingertips. He loved to watch her feed. She was more beast than woman. Yessette fed with wild abandon, without conscience or thought. He slid his fingers into the woman's hair and held her still with unmovable arms. She bucked in agony as Yessette dipped into the bounty.

Carter gripped the sheets in his fists. His heart pounded loudly in his chest. The predator deep inside of him growled and clawed its way to the surface, awakened by the sweet, coppery scent of spilled blood. His fangs ached and throbbed with a hunger he had ignored for ages. They didn't ache for want of sustenance. They ached in greed. To steal the woman's life ebbing away, drop by crimson drop. "Bastard."

O'Sullivan glanced over the woman's head at Carter. Carter's fangs were out, honed into sharp, lethal points. "You don't have to kill her. We'll do that for you. Come Carter, taste of her." He lifted her wrist in his hand and brought it to his lips. Her fingers dangled limply in the air. There was no reaction, no hint of pain from the woman as Eric dug his fangs into her radial artery and freed a river of blood. Licking the sweet, rich fluid from his lips, he raised his head to meet Carter's stare. "This is who you are. Her heart still beats, but the woman is already dead. She was dead from the moment she entered this room. You know that. Come. Drink. Be at peace with yourself for once. Be what you are."

Carter moved off the bed. The war inside of him was lost. He was glad that Shayla wouldn't have to see him fall. The woman's skin was cool against his wide palms. Poor thing wasn't long for this world, maybe a few more minutes. Her eyes glittered with the sight of the dying, as if they beheld what waited on the other side of death. One strike would end it for her and hasten the journey. He hesitated, his fangs inches from a choice artery on the side of her neck. The twin of the artery Yessette worried like a starving terrier.

Yessette lifted her greedy face from its bounty. Her Carter was going to join them in the feast. He was such a gentleman, patiently waiting for her to finish first. No need, she couldn't take another sip. Blood coated her lips as she pressed them against Carter's mouth. Eagerly, he suckled at the crimson tip of her tongue. Savoring the taste of the kill against his taste buds. He was always so shy. She slid her lips from his mouth and guided him to the nourishment he'd so long deprived himself of.

Carter drove his fangs into the woman's tender flesh. Hunger held him under siege. He was its unwitting victim and with the scent of blood heavy in the air. There was nothing left, but to give in. Blood rolled over his tongue and coated his dry throat, offering sweet relief. He drank deep of the human wellspring. Yessette's fingers stroked the curve of his broad shoulders, gently applying light pressure, encouraging him. He was nude from his night with Yessette. The fading warmth of the woman pressed against his groin. Another hunger sparked to life, aching with needs to be sated.

Cupping the back of Yessette's head with his palm, Carter pressed her face against the bleeding wounds on the woman's supple neck. Blood from his fingers, the woman's blood, streaked Yessette's pale blonde hair. Yessette mewled like a kitten and lapped at the trickle of blood from the woman's wounds. Carter ran his erection along the curve of her backside and tipped Yessette's hips up to meet the hard tip. Intoxicated by the scent blood and the heady, musk of sex, he plunged deep inside of her soft core and pumped.

O'Sullivan gently pried Yessette's fangs out of the corpse's throat. Whatever the woman had been, she wasn't anymore. Dead as a doornail, he discarded the thing onto the floor and choked back his revulsion at the scent of blooming decay radiating off the cold flesh. Yessette leaned heavily against him, using his body for support as Carter pistoned repeatedly into her soft flesh. Carter's fall from grace was long, hard, and glorious, a thing of beauty to watch.

Eager for a taste from the bud that had been denied him for so very long, Eric stole a kiss from Yessette's bloodstained lips. Her mouth was a sweet berry laden treat dripping with decadent juice. He drank deeply of the deep cup of her mouth. Their intertwined bodies twisted and heaved in a tangle of flesh. Lips fluttered like butterflies from flower to flower, tasting and sampling bountiful nectar.

Carter's body twitched with the force of his oncoming release. Yessette was a soft mound of satisfied flesh beneath him. Her body molded into a hot, wet, receptacle for him to plunge into over and over again. O'Sullivan's hands traveled along the curve of Carter's back and rested firmly on his rump, sampling the hard muscled ridges flexing and contracting with each push, gripping them with his fingernails and coaxing Carter faster and faster until he careened headlong into orgasm. Carter wasn't into men, but he didn't flinch beneath Eric's touch. The pliant body wrapped around his cock was too distracting for a wayward caress to deter him from the release gripping his groin. With a roar of lust, he gave one final thrust and filled her with thick, hot jets of release.

O'Sullivan's palms slicked across Carter's sweat drenched flesh. For centuries, he'd envied this man, the pious pillar of self-control that Carter had represented. Watching him fall was bittersweet. Triumph and torture. Temptation and shame. His eyes met Carter's. They both knew the point of no return had been crossed.

The woman on the floor wasn't the only corpse in the room. Whatever was left of Carter's human side lay dead beside her. Carter's death was celebrated with a kiss and a victorious meeting of flesh, forbidden and craved for far too long. Carter's mouth was hard on his lips. Each of the men struggled for dominance over the other. The kiss was about control rather than the ages old taboo.

Carter slid his semi-erect cock out of Yessette's slit. He didn't know if it was the sudden rush of cool air or the sensation of a man's mouth on his that shrank him to a fraction of his size. Resolve held him fast and he matched each stroke of O'Sullivan's greedy tongue. His world had already spun out of control the moment the bastard stepped into his life again. Why not give in? He had nothing left to lose. Life didn't mean very much when one had plenty of it to spare.

The kiss broke apart as suddenly as it had started. O'Sullivan watched Carter with wary eyes. Slowly, he brought his wrist to his lips and bit, offering the dripping wound to Carter. Eric's eyes widened as Carter gripped his wrist in a hard, relentless grasp. A hiss escaped his lips as Carter sank fangs into his wrist, widening the wound and drank of him.

O' Sullivan's blood burned a searing trail down Carter's esophagus. His stomach lurched in revulsion at its offering. With a flick of his tongue, Carter sealed the wounds and returned O'Sullivan's wrist. The men traded deep stares, speaking in gesture instead of words.

Carter's flesh was hot beneath Eric's lips. The sting of his fangs breaking his skin was insensible. He bit through the tattoo etched into his right forearm. The indigo infinity symbol that extended length vertically from his wrist to his elbow. The symbol of everything Carter had been. Everything he once believed and held to be true was now broken. Carter was a Guardian no more.

And so, his journey into the deepest pit of Hell was now complete. O'Sullivan drank him down. Carter was too numb to feel the searing pain of fangs driven deep into his flesh. He was as dead as the corpse on the floor and rotting away bit by bit.

"There, she's pretty again." Yessette studied her handiwork. She'd dressed the woman in one of her best dresses and carefully arranged the crimson locks with satin bows. The bodice of the dress was too snug around the woman's waist and Yessette had to tuck in the split edges to make the satin hang right.

"She is just like a doll," Yessette whispered. Kneeling on one knee, she adjusted the girl's head, which lolled haphazardly to one side. Smiling innocently, unaware of her folly, she grinned up at Carter and Eric. "Can I keep her?"

Eric took Yessette's hand and lifted her gently to her feet. He regretted turning her more than anything he'd ever done in his long, long life. Although she'd served her ultimate purpose and led Carter back to the fold, she was a constant reminder of every sin against man and God he'd ever committed. "Yessette," he said, gripping her chin with his fingers. "You know how fragile they are. We have to burry her so that God can claim her soul on Judgment Day. You want God to be able to find her don't you?"

Yessette nodded eagerly, "Yes, of course." She tipped her head and grabbed onto an errant thought as Eric slid a silk robe over her shoulders. "Will God find us on Judgment Day? I want to go to heaven. I've been a good girl, haven't I? Don't good girls go to heaven?"

Eric cradled the back of Yessette's neck with his fingers and lowered his lips to her forehead, giving her a gentle peck. She looked up at him as if he actually held the answer to her question in his palm. If anyone of their kind deserved to go to heaven, it was her. Her delicate mind had broken into pieces when he turned her. She was as blameless as an infant. On the outside, she was every inch a woman. But, on the inside, she had little comprehension of the true meaning her actions. "Yes, of course, good girls go to heaven," he appeased and shooed her out of the way.

"And bad girls burn in the pits of Hell," Yessette sing-songed merrily.

Carter hefted the weight of the corpse over his shoulder. "And so do we," he muttered as he followed O'Sullivan out of the room. The body draped over his shoulder sickened him. If anyone deserved the fires of hell, it was he and the bastard leading the way. Whatever eternal reward awaited Yessette. She should have gone to it long, long ago.

Chapter 22

Shayla sat in the window seat and stared out into the lush, green of nothing. Chilly water from a recent shower dripped from the ends of her hair and rolled down her shoulders and back in a trail of fat, cold, wet tears. The faded terry cloth robe drooped over her shoulders, weighting her down. So much was gone. Ramon, her husband, was gone. Carter, the man she thought she knew so well, her version of him was gone. The difference between the two men in her life was like that of night and day. Ramon died, torn away from her by the greedy fingers of death, dying for a cause. Carter had chosen to rip himself out of her life. Despite the heavy robe, she felt raw and exposed, frozen and so, so empty.