Dawn's Destiny

"You won't have to lift a finger. The girls and I will take care of everything. All you have to do is go over and extend the invitation," Anna added nervously. Usually, the Sons loved any excuse to party down at the sacred bluffs. Relations between the brotherhood and the wolves were strained. And there'd been a few light scuffles over territories. Understandable. Two very distinctively different territorial predators prowling the same woods, hunting the same food source was bound to cause a few misunderstandings. She would have thought Drew would jump at the chance to offer up an olive branch. But, he regarded her with cold disinterest.

Drew's thoughts wandered back to the same place they always did, to Tala. She had come as an emissary to petition Drew on behalf of her people. The wolves needed a new home. And she claimed the Great White Wolf had sent her here, to him, to procure it. The wolves required space to roam, prey to hunt, and above all else, privacy. His woods were more than ample to provide for their needs and still support the brothers.

The wolves had a deeply rooted connection to nature and could not tolerate being confined below ground. As lush and luxurious as the subterranean tunnels that the vampires called home were. They were not a suitable home for the pack. Tala's family had been relocated to the sprawling three-story house Anna and Chris had designed and the brothers had built, for the most part, with their own hands.

Drew, hadn't dedicated as much time to the pack as he should have. He had been

too busy avoiding Tala to pay a visit proper visit to her father. Nash was a fine pack master and he saw to the needs of his pack without much intervention from Drew. The pack had their own set of laws. And Nash, although not overly heavy handed in dispensing justice, saw to it that his pack followed them. The pack had enough wealth and means of supporting themselves and required no assistance from the Sons. Nash had traversed Drew's threshold when necessary. And Drew had never returned the favor. For cousins and neighbors, Drew and his brothers were not behaving very much like either.

He thought on the request and liked the idea. The women were right. They were always right. Trust was a thing hard earned. And he'd done nothing to earn that of the pack's. The bluffs were the central point of the territory split between the brothers and the wolves. And while there were no rules about traversing territories out of basic necessity for the continued safety and security of each group, neither bothered too much with the other.

The Sons had been neglectful to their distant cousins. And a party might aid in building a trust between them. Drew had no idea why the goddess had sent the wolves here when she had. His brother had acted in the pack's best interest in sending the wolves to him instead of him to them. But, of course, his brother probably knew, Drew was too stubborn to go to them. Somehow though, he had a feeling the timing although it had a lot to do with his brother's death, there was more to it than that. Kokumthena had sent the wolves here for a reason. And Drew wasn't certain he had even scratched the surface as to what it might be. "Tomorrow night sound good?"

Victoriously, Anna beamed up at Drew. She'd expected more of an argument based on his initial reaction to the idea. Maybe, he just accepted the rightness of bringing these two groups together in the same place. Anna didn't bother looking over her shoulder to ask for everyone's approval. She took what Drew offered and ran with it. "We can do that."

Before Drew could utter another word. The women rushed off, chattering excitedly and making their arrangements. After the noon sun settled, he would go out and pay his kin a visit. Extend the invitation. And hopefully, by some miracle, he'd catch a glimpse of Tala while he was there. If not, he most definitely would tomorrow night. And maybe, if he were lucky, she'd even grace him with a glance in his direction. He hated sounding like a lovesick schoolboy. He should go over there right now and claim what he wanted. But, he was not that man. And in affairs of the heart he had no idea of how to proceed.

He was however a man that tended to what was his. He had always stepped up to do his job. And nothing, not even Tala, even if she hated him and never wanted to see his face again, could stop him from doing his duty. He was a man of three different natures. The vampire in him longed to stay underground and wait out the day. The wolf in him needed to be above ground to revel in the light. And the man in him demanded that he be the leader he always had been and get down to business. He had a pack in need of a leader, a brotherhood in need of guidance, and a woman's heart to win.

Chapter 4

The rag tag band of recruits and volunteers that made up the Guardians stood shoulder to shoulder. Not even daring to breathe as Keene walked up and down their ranks for daily inspection. Keene said nothing. He straightened a collar here. Tucked in a shirttail there. Nudged one forward and one back to make the line absolutely perfectly straight. Discipline was a necessity. And it was something the Guardians were sorely lacking. A few rare ones in these ranks had been alive since before the Mayflower crossed the Atlantic. One or two of them had been alive even longer than that. And that made for a hell of a lot of bad habits to break. He had to be gentle though. Encouraging of this newly formed group or they would fail.

Vampires were a fickle lot by their very nature. And the mishmash of backgrounds and ages lined up eagerly before him were even more so. Strays notoriously served no one except for themselves. They hid in the shadows and avoided choosing sides. And somehow, Carter had managed to rally them together for a common cause. There were men. There were women. And a handful of them were barely out of puberty. There were the young and the old, the rich and the poor, some skilled, and some without a shred of ability whatsoever. And Keene had the task of transforming each and every one of them into a united lethal force. He was not alone in his efforts. All of the brothers had lent a hand in getting the Guardians this far.

The ranks had thinned a bit since their first day. And only the truly dedicated had stayed to complete the training. A month wasn't much time to teach this various and sundry group everything they needed to know. Keene had barely touched on the basics. And he'd have to hope the Guardians had learned something during their time together. Enough, at least, to save their assess when the occasion called for it. And he had no doubt. The occasion would come sooner rather than later. It'd take years to train the Guardians the way they ought to be trained. Unfortunately, they didn't have years. Even the weeks he had spent training them were a luxury they couldn't afford.

The city was wide open. And with the sparse number of reinforcements the Guardians had allowed the brotherhood to dispatch to patrol her glittering borders. She was ripe for the picking. The Guardians had to be handled with great care. For the moment, they were the brotherhood's allies. But, one misstep and all that could change. And the Sons sure as hell didn't need more enemies.

The Guardians had stood up for their city and for each other against the Rogues and the Sons. They willingly claimed full responsibility for protecting the city and her eight hundred thousand or so inhabitants. And the brothers needed the help in the continuing battle with the Rogues. Rogues were essentially the summation of humanity's worst fears. The reason for the myths about coffins, crosses, holy water, sunlight, and of course, the ever popular stake through the heart. Sprouting fangs didn't change who a person was. Immortality was not a get out of jail free card for a person's morality. But, the Rogues, vampires who cared little for their own kind and even less for humankind, thought differently. And that was something Keene and almost every Guardian lined up in front of him knew too much about.

The Great Father, saw the potential the Guardians possessed and had offered up the brotherhood's assistance. Not just for training, but in all things. The computer banks at the compound were linked into the Guardians' databases. The brotherhood's extensive network of security cameras was accessible from the Guardians' monitors. The brothers taught the Guardians how to fight, how to blend in, and most importantly how to kill when necessary.

As much as the brothers were opposed to it, the Guardians had full access to all areas of the compound from the weapons lockers to the goddamned closet where Candace kept the toilet brushes. Drew had granted the Guardians every right and entitlement of a fully vowed and blooded Son, including the key to the fucking front door. Keene didn't trust easily. Came with the turf. He'd seen what the Rogues were capable of. He'd done it himself. And he hoped like hell, Drew, their Great Father, hadn't made a mistake in trusting the Guardians. Otherwise, the brothers were in for one nasty fight.

Keene stepped back and wondered exactly how he was going to transform this group of lost souls into the powerful warriors they'd need to become to keep the city safe and protected. Wasn't going to be easy. Drew saw more in them than he sure as hell did. But, it wasn't as entirely hopeless as he'd first suspected.

The primary lesson the Guardians had to learn was to control their natures. While here, the Guardians ate what the Sons ate. The blood of wild game provided the mainstay of the brotherhood's diet. Only occasionally to supplement what the weaker animal blood could not they drank from humans. They hunted animals in the woods and slaked the worst of their thirst on deer. And that was a very difficult and foreign concept for the strays to grasp. It was in a vampire's nature to kill the prey. The Sons did not kill. They captured, drank, and released. Only on occasional exceptions as part of ritual celebrations was their nature allowed off the chain to kill their animal prey.

The Sons captured, they drank, and they released. The Guardians knew the rules about killing humans. They fully understood that violating that rule would get them killed. And for the most part, even before joining the ranks, very few preyed on humans and drank them down to the point of death. It was too hard to get rid of the bodies and letting the humans return to their lives, a pint or two low, but still alive, was simply easier than dealing with the remains.

But, the Guardians had a little trouble adapting to drinking from animals and not taking their fill of the death. The Strays and few random rogues making up the Guardians' ranks were killers. But, they weren't murders. It was strange though. How a newborn vampire breaking in his baby fangs could get the concept of drinking only what was absolutely necessary. Yet, a vampire many times the age of a newborn had such difficulty grasping the concept and maintaining control. The wolves had eaten very well of the litter of carcasses left behind in the first week.

At first, the trainees balked at the rules and the hours of rigorous exercises Keene had put them through. But, after an inspirational speech gently reminding them why they were here from Carter. Everyone seemed to get on board with the program. Carter was perhaps the one vampire in the ranks that did not need the training. And Keene supposed the man did put himself through the paces just to prove he was no different than the rest of them.

Carter hid his true skill and the truth of his power behind the mask of his pretty face. Carter had the strength of a master quite capable of leading the Guardians. Yet, he shielded it so well. He was old, not quite ancient, but certainly old enough to hold his own in the world. The man was a bit of a chameleon and quite skilled at blending in to the woodwork despite his masculine beauty and the draw of his powerful charisma. He'd have to be to stay hidden from O'Sullivan as well as he had all these years. It wouldn't have been easy for a man of Carter's abilities to stay under the radar. But, Carter had managed to. He'd lived in the city right under Roark's nose for decades. And not even Roark had the lack of insight to seek him out.

The only reason the brotherhood had discovered Carter at all was thanks to Angel. She'd flushed him out of hiding. And he'd revealed himself to the brothers by accident in the process of saving her life. Carter was involved long before his run in with the brothers. He'd been quietly keeping to the shadows. Cleaning up the mess the rogues left behind. And he would have continued to do so. Taking no credit. Shouldering every risk by himself, if his path hadn't led him straight to the very man, perhaps the only man, he truly feared. O'Sullivan was a nasty bastard. And unlike Roark, Eric was completely sane.

Carter, at first, was a little less than helpful. But, Keene had mad skills of persuasion. No, he didn't want to send a lamb into the lion's den. But, Carter was hardly the lamb he pretended to be. Carter had come out basically unscathed from his meeting with O'Sullivan, having delivered the brotherhood's message to the man. And maybe, seeing O'Sullivan face to face, whatever had transpired between the two of them, was what got Carter's ass in gear. Got him involved when he obviously wanted otherwise. Keene certainly hadn't expected Carter to show up at the river bottoms that night. And he sure as hell hadn't expected Carter to rally the kind of support he had. Carter was brave and there was more than a bit of beast in all that masculine beauty of his. Little by little, he earned more and more of the brotherhood's respect. Angel had been right in her assumption that the man was more than he appeared.

"What do you think?" Carter asked somewhat nervously. He couldn't believe that one little run in with a black haired vixen would have resulted in his leading a revolution. But, here he was with the symbol of the Guardians inked in black on his forearm. He was the one who supposedly never got involved in anything. He'd never wanted to be a leader. And his policy of strict non-involvement had served him well enough to stay one step ahead of Eric for the last couple of centuries. Everything was different now. He was done hiding in the shadows and finished with running from O'Sullivan. He had no specific love of the brotherhood. But, he shared in their beliefs, to a point. No human, no matter how putrid or pathetic of an existence they lived, deserved to die.

Carter waited impatiently for Keene's pensive answer. Keene was tough and wouldn't mix words. He was a formidable warrior and an absolute hulk of a man. Thick and tall, broad shouldered, with gray eyes that shone like quicksilver and hair the color of cinnamon showered down his back in springy curls. But, no one would dare to point out that the warrior's hair looked feminine in any way, shape, or form. Not if they wanted to live.

The tattoos scrolling across Keene's right bicep, black and thick ink marks, indicated his former allegiance with Roark. Keene made no attempt to hide them. And what was the point? His reputation stretched far and wide in the vampire world. Everyone knew who he had been. The deaths he'd delivered as Roark's right hand man. And everyone knew beyond a doubt what team Keene played for now. Indigo markings trailed down his back and wrapped around his right rib cage, a symbol of his place in the brotherhood. His left forearm, in a show of support, bore the markings of a Guardian.

Carter was not a small man. But, he appeared so in comparison to Keene's bulky girth. And he appeared all the prettier for the deep gauges and battle scars stretching across Keene's pockmarked skin. Carter used his looks to his advantage. It was amazing in this day and age how easy it was to score a meal with nothing more than a casual smile. He actually hated the perfect slope of his nose, the fullness of his lips, the angular tilt of his jaw, the chiseled features of his face, the lean definition of the planes of his long, lithe body, the paleness of his milky complexion, the tight spirals of his golden blond hair, and the iciness of his blue eyes.

He hated anything and everything having to do with his beauty. He would have rather lived an ugly man and died the natural death that had been stolen from him than to have this face...this sham of a life... only because he was cursed with rare masculine beauty. His mother used to stroke his cheek and tell him the angels kissed him on the day he was born and that was why he was so beautiful. He'd like to beg to differ. The only preternatural thing that had ever kissed him was a vampire. And he'd suffered the curse of that kiss for over five hundred years.

He surveyed his group. The Guardians weren't much. A rag tag assembly of misfits and outcasts any self-respecting rogue would never take seriously. But, they were here and they were trying. Choice gave men bravery. Carter understood that better than anyone. Very few of the Guardians had chosen to become what they were. Throughout the whole of their very long lives, they'd existed with very few choices. And it was this freedom, the ability to choose, they fought to uphold. Most had served a master and suffered in his grip. Many had fled across oceans and continents to escape the cruelty of a faction. And that was something not even the brothers fully understood. They made a choice to become what they were. But, they'd never known what it was like to live without one. Carter had. Keene had. And the vampires lined up in a tidy formation had. And perhaps, that was why they worked so hard to turn this lot of vampires not even the rogues would have into a force worthy of respect.

"They'll do," Keene answered with a nod. The Guardians had foregone a standard uniform. They dressed to blend into their urban environment. Some wore suits and ties, some tennis skirts and diamond bracelets, some housecoats, some black pumps and crisp linen slacks, some tattered rags, and others, pants with the ass sagging between their knees. And while no, it was not the Sons trademark black leather. The clothing was just as good at making the Guardians completely and utterly invisible. The Guardians were doing what they'd always done melting into the background, watching and waiting. Only this time, they'd act on what they saw.

Carter chuckled at Keene's assessment of his Guardians. He'd covered the various parts of the city well and his Guardians looked every bit the part they'd play in society. The brotherhood stood out like a sore thumb when they came into the city. The black leather and gleaming blades were a little hard to miss. His team was well armed, some rather creatively so. He had no idea where the blonde detailed to patrol the seedier section of the city had stashed her weapons. And he wasn't sure he wanted to.

The brothers had outfitted the Guardians with trackers and com devices disguised as ordinary everyday items such as pieces of jewelry and buttons on shirts. Anything could be fashioned into a weapon. It was more in the abilities of the person wielding the weapon than the actual weapon itself. And the three-inch stiletto heeled pumps Bianca wore on her dainty feet were quite lethal.

In his assessment, although he knew he'd send some of them out on assignment and they would never return alive, the Guardians were as ready as they were ever going to be. Keene kept insisting they weren't ready. And while Carter agreed with him in so many ways, it was a risk the Guardians were willing to take. They couldn't hide here forever training to fight the good fight but, never fighting it.

So many people underestimated others based on mere appearance. These Guardians were a hell of a lot tougher than they looked. Sure, they weren't trained. Naturally, they weren't masters of discipline. But, life on the streets, surviving it alone, had prepared them better than any amount of training ever could have. Carter was no stranger to the fact that his looks were deceiving. Generally, he wore the best of the best. Designer suits, expensive fabrics and cuts expertly tailored to fit his frame and to look the part he chose most often to play. Today, he'd ditched the clothes in preference for a more casual look. Cotton suited him and the faded jeans and t-shirt were a better option for the point he wanted to make.