Dawn's Never Ending Glow

Anna closed her eyes and let the warmth of Bryce's grip on her hand, hold her to the ground. He was honest, brutally so. And for that, she thanked him. Chris would have tried to spare her and skate over the details. And Toby, he would have focused on the future they were going to have afterward instead of the actual horrors of the transformation. "Thanks for being honest with me. I just needed to know."

She was still going to go through with it. No matter what the sacrifice. Their love was worth it. She wanted to spend as many days, years, maybe centuries, loving Toby as she could. And no, she didn't need time to make her decision. Anna curled up on the couch. A little on edge from Bryce's honest account of the transformation, she doubted she'd fall into a peaceful sleep anytime soon. "Will you stay with me a while longer?"

Bryce smiled and tugged the throw from off the back of the couch, tucking it around her legs "Sure."

"I miss Toby," Anna sighed as Bryce tossed the throw over her legs.

"Go to him. Stop fighting your love and go to him. Before long, you won't have to worry about your human life anymore. Turn in your notice, pack your things, and marry the poor bastard." He slid her stocking feet onto his lap and massaged her toes, hoping to get her relaxed enough to drift off. Lucky son of a bitch, he thought, as he watched her eyes fall shut.

"Thanks. You're such a good friend." Anna rested her head on the soft throw pillow. Bryce was right. She wasn't happy when she was away from Toby. Their separation, no matter how brief, made her absolutely miserable. "I'll talk to my boss tomorrow."

"Good girl," Bryce said softly. He edged into her mind and planted a suggestion. "Sleep Anna." He hummed low under his breath, continuing to massage her feet as she succumbed to his will, snoring softly. He sat on the couch for a long time, not that she was aware of it, watching her sleep. Wondering when, if ever, he'd find someone like her for himself.

Chapter 6

Dane stared at his brothers seated around the table before him. He wanted some answers. Patrick, his best tracker, had turned up nothing. No trail. No scent. It was as if the rogue appeared out of thin and then disappeared the same way. John Mark, his second in command, had the same deer in headlights look as the rest of the brother. The warriors were on alert. But, without any leads to how Roark had gotten past their security measures. They were accomplishing nothing and wasting valuable time, patrolling through the woods. How was he supposed to lead if he didn't know what to tell his brothers to be on alert for?

Alex, his prophetess and visionary, shook her head, staring at him across the table blankly. Toby, the computer and electronics genius, had ran sweeps of all the systems and increased computer security. He also had nothing more to offer. Somehow Roark had breeched their defenses. Somehow Roark had known about the wedding. And Dane wanted to know how the son of a bitch did it.

Frustrated, he scrubbed his hand through the short black spikes of his hair. "Will, increase patrols through the woods." He returned Will's nod. "Toby, keep on that computer system. I want assurance that our uplinks are secure." He didn't trust all the new technologies to begin with and his distrust was proving to be founded. "John Mark, make sure the warriors remain on alert." He sank back into his seat meeting their eyes. "The rest of you stay sharp. I want to know if anyone sees or thinks they see anything."

He and Roark crossed paths for the first time a couple of weeks ago when Sam and Marcus were captured during an intel mission. Dane had sent them undercover to investigate a rogue nest a little too close to their territories. Little did they know that Neil, an abandoned rogue the brothers had taken under their wing, was working for The Rogue Master. Not until Neil made his assassination attempt on his life.

Sam and Marcus had been returned unharmed. Roark claimed no wrongdoing and no responsibility for the attempt on Dane's life. In fact, he talked a good game. Never really saying anything of great importance. Nothing that would implicate him in any way. Roark was offering his hand in friendship, but Dane wasn't buying it.

He didn't trust Roark. After Alex's vision, he understood part of the reason why. Her vision was graphic, leaving her rattled and shaken up, petrified. She saw Roark murder The Great Father, when he was still human. Roark was the Unknown Soldier that had fired the fatal shot. Dane watched as Alex and Chance left the meeting room, hand in hand. Sometimes, he didn't understand the things that Kokumthena showed Alex in her visions or why. She had a vision of a truce between the rogues and The Sons. If he didn't trust the Rogue Master, how was such a thing as a truce possible?

Chris smoothed her hand along her husband's back. His muscles were tensed and bunched into tight balls of stress and worry. She wished there was more that she could do. But she was a secretary of sorts, not a warrior, a tracker, nor a visionary. She decorated their home. Turned the dark tunnels and cave like rooms into warm, cozy spaces. Her husband was worried it was going to fail. "Dane, tomorrow I'll go to the hunting goods stores in the area and see if anyone matching Roark's description was there buying hunting scents. Maybe Alexander was right."

Dane arched his back into her magical fingers. She massaged the knots of stress out of his spine and it felt wonderful. She was his anchor, keeping him calm and solid in the stormy sea that was his life. "Thanks babe." He didn't think her search would turn up anything. The answer couldn't be that simple. But, he understood her need to do something to help out. "Take Robbie with you, just in case."

"Ok," Chris replied. Robbie was a warrior like her husband. Dane was being protective, making sure that she was safe. She didn't think there'd be any trouble. But, if it made Dane happy and kept him from worrying, she'd do it. She smiled at him as he pulled her into his lap and ran his hands through her waves of honey brown hair.

******

Janine was spending another miserable night locked in her room. She twisted and turned, trying to apply the soothing cool aloe gel to the throbbing sunburn on her back. The bastard was right. Her back was hot and angry red, with splotchy patches of fluid filled blisters. She hadn't gotten the golden brown skin she'd hoped for. But, one nasty and painful sunburn that in a few days was going to be even more miserable when it started to peel and itch. She just wanted a little color. But, tomato red wasn't exactly what she had in mind. Janine crawled into the bed and curled up in a ball, sobbing, not from the burn but from her broken heart.

Patrick stood in the hall on the other side of Janine's door. He rested his hand on the cold panel of dark wood, debating on if he should knock or not. He could hear her soulful sobbing from inside. Got him every time. "Damn." He regretted being so pushy and hard on her. She was right. Who did he think he was? He didn't own her. He felt her suffering through the psychic link they shared. She was his donor and there were no secrets between them. She was in physical pain. But, he knew damned good and well that wasn't why she was crying. He could sense her anger, hurt feelings, and confusion. She needed him. Gently, he knocked, unable to endure another second of her tears.

"Go away," Janine's answered weakly. She turned away from the door as it opened and Patrick stepped through. "I said go away." She was scantily dressed in a loose tank and matching shorts and she didn't want him to see her lack of clothing or the effect being so close to him had on her.

Patrick was the most beautiful male she'd ever seen. Topping out at about five-nine or ten, he wasn't so tall that he towered over her. His lithe, lean frame was compact, maybe a little wiry under a firm layer of well-shaped muscle. Not too big that he dwarfed her or made her feel that at her five foot-two inch, one hundred ten pounds that she was a tiny, delicate, creature. Deceptively youthful, he couldn't walk into a bar without being carded. Unless, someone bothered to look past his sandy-brown bangs that were always in his face and into his green eyes, where his true age was painfully apparent.

They were perfect for each other in so many ways. And in others, apparently, not so much. If one went by physical appearances, Janine still looked young enough to be considered his girlfriend without raising too many eyebrows. In five or ten years, when she aged and he did not, other women would be envious. Consider her a cougar. And then in another ten years, there'd be no way she could pass as anything other than his mother, and then in another decade or two, as his grandmother. There was only one ultimate answer to their problem. And she was on board with it. She really was. But, if she were willing to lay down her life as the ultimate show of her commitment to him, he could at least tell her he loved her, slide a ring on her finger, and marry her. Not after. Before.

Patrick eased to the bed, approaching her slowly. "Janine, I'm sorry we had a fight." He gently sat on the side of the bed, careful not to shake her. Frowning at the burn and the blisters, he didn't understand why she did it. What in the hell possessed her to bake herself like a potato in an oven for hours in the sun?

In his day, ok, so it was a long, damn time ago, women prided themselves on their pale skin. Tanned skin was a sign of poverty and hard work in the fields. He took care of her. He provided for her. And considering his outdated system of values, she'd insulted him. Flaunted her body in that damned bikini. Insisted on getting a tan instead of staying inside where she belonged. He just didn't get it. She was a modern girl. Young enough to be his great, great, great, and possibly great granddaughter, if he'd had children. And, sometimes the two of them didn't connect.

Their age difference might as well be as wide and deep as the ocean separating two continents. Most of the time, they worked it out. He considered himself a progressive male and the key to his survival was in keeping up with the times. That didn't mean that sometimes, he didn't agree or have the least clue about what went on in her head. "Do you want me to call Dr. Sterling or the Shaman?" He knew better than to offer his wrist to heal her. For some reason, even though his blood would do what no human pills or one of the Shaman's potions could not, he knew she'd turn him down flat.

Janine snorted and regretted the pain from shrugging her shoulders. Her skin felt tight and hot and the slightest movement hurt. "For what? A sunburn? I'll be fine in a day or so. Patrick, that's just silly." She rolled over on her belly where the pain was at least tolerable and sighed in relief from the coolness of the sheets on her heated skin.

Of course it is, Patrick thought. He'd studied human first aid. Her burns were second degree, not severe, but damned painful. Could be life threatening, if infection set in though. He reached over and grabbed the bottle of aloe gel on her nightstand. Squirting a generous dollop of the green goo in his palm, he gently peeled back the straps of her top and smoothed the lotion over her fragile skin. "Can we kiss and make up?" he asked softly.

"No." Janine wasn't ready to consider forgiving him, just yet. When she asked him to give her some space and some time to think things through, she meant it. If she backed down now, he'd never take her seriously. She held back the sigh of relief from the cool gel and the soft stroke of his gentle fingertips as he spread the lotion over her shoulders. Why was it the only time he bothered to be this attentive with her was when she was in pain? The thought pissed her off, depressed her, and caused a fresh bout of tears to fall down her cheeks.

"Shhh, you're crying," he whispered softly. He scooted closer and gently lifted her up into his lap. Mindful of the sunburn, he held her as tightly as the areas of undamaged skin would allow. He could have handled anything, her rejection, a thorough ass chewing, anything but her tears. "Shhh, baby please. Tell me what's wrong."

Janine buried her face into the soft cotton of his shirt. His presence was comforting and soothing. His woodsy, musky scent invaded her awareness, calming her frayed nerves. God, she didn't know what was worse, Patrick the pushy, unreasonable, cocky, arrogant, male or Patrick the sensitive, gentle, caring, bordering on doting, boyfriend she'd always wanted. "I shouldn't be doing this," she said in between the sobs.

"Tell me how to make it better. Tell me what you need. How to make you happy again." She was killing him. A bullet in the brain would have been less painful than holding her in his arms, feeling the soft fall of her tears moisten his shirt, and knowing somehow, he was the cause. He was on the verge of losing the only woman he'd ever cared for. He didn't tell her that nearly often enough. But, she was the only woman he'd ever truly loved.

"You should already know," she answered. Carefully peeling her body out of his embrace, she leaned back on the mound of pillows stacked against the headboard of her bed. She couldn't meet his eyes. Couldn't stand the hurt and confusion in their green depths. How could a man be so clueless? She couldn't do this with him. Couldn't seek comfort in his arms, open her heart to him, and then retreat and shut him out. They couldn't do this on and off thing. She loved him and it was more painful than any sunburn.

Gently, Patrick traced his thumbs along Janine's cheeks, wiping away her tears. "I'm sorry, but I don't." He held her face in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers for a kiss. One kiss would fix everything. Reaffirm that she loved him. Convince her of his feelings for her. She'd put herself out there for him so many times. And she asked him to do the same. How could he? When he had so much to lose? Either way, he was caught in an unfair situation. Loving her would hurt him so much more than her loving him. He'd always be here. Unchanging. But she, would not. She didn't understand that simple fact. Eventually, he'd be forced by biology to let her go. He could not consider condemning her to a long, seemingly endless lifetime of blood and darkness. He could never take away her golden sun.

"You should go now," Janine said, shifting her chin out of the grip of his gentle fingers. This Patrick, this kind, gentle, heartbroken man had too much power over her.

Gathering all of his will, Patrick stopped his descent. Mere inches separated them and he longed to feel the soft press of her lips against his. "Ok." He'd put her through enough heartache for one day. He wouldn't compound the error by kissing her, no matter how much he wanted to. Opening his fingers, he released her chin. There were so many things he wanted to say. Should say. If he had words to adequately describe his feelings. He did not. Words could hardly do them justice.

Throwing Janine a wistful glance, he managed to find the strength to get off the bed, force his feet to move, open the door, and close it behind him.

Chapter 7

Anna nervously picked at the hem of her blouse as she watched her boss. She was a woman of her word and when she promised Bryce she'd talk to her boss today, she meant it. The expressions on his face shifted like storm clouds while he read her resignation letter. Her explanation for resigning had been simple. She was moving out of town. That's all he really needed to know, and it was the truth. She thought she was being generous, she was only required to give two weeks notice. Instead, she'd given him a month, plenty of time to find a replacement.

"Anna," her boss shifted in his seat after placing her neatly typed and eloquent letter of resignation on his blotter. "We've known each other a long time, are you certain about this? You've become quite respected in the firm." He cast a glance up at her and narrowed his eyes. Anna was an up and coming star in her career. "Has someone made you another offer? I'm almost certain I can counter any offer, if that's what it takes to keep you here." He leaned back in his chair and waited.

Anna shook her head. She didn't think in all her years at the firm, she'd ever stood on this side of the desk and had a civilized conversation with her boss. Usually, if he called her into his office, it wasn't a good thing. He was moody and temperamental. And generally had no use for anybody. But, the firm was the most reputable firm in the city. They didn't build skyscrapers. They created works of art. "No, I've had no other offers. What I said in my letter is the truth. I'm moving out of town."

She pointed a finger to the letter. Her pale pearl nail polish blended in with the bland white blotter on his desk while her ring stood out glittering in stark comparison.

Uh huh, sure, her boss grinned, seeing the ring on her finger. She had another offer all right. One he couldn't counter. People got the wrong impression of him and he could sense her nervousness, saw it in the twitch of her fingers as they toyed with the hem of her blouse. He wasn't a tyrant. He had a heart, beating in his slightly overweight, just a teeny bit beyond middle-aged chest. "Anna, I feel like we can talk openly and honestly at this point. Are you relocating because you're getting married? If that's the case, I want you to reconsider relocating."

Anna nodded, beaming. She hadn't told anyone at the office about her engagement or her resignation yet because she didn't want to answer fifty million questions and she didn't want a fuss made over her when she left. She simply wanted to collect her things and sneak quietly away. "We haven't set a date yet."

"Congratulations," he smiled and rested his chin on his fingertips. "You don't think he'd reconsider moving here do you? The city has a lot to offer a newlywed couple. And your career is progressing well ahead of schedule. Within a few years you'll make partner. And that position comes with a generous increase in your salary."

Anna bit her lip, practically drooling over his offer. More money meant more shoes, purses, designer clothes, a bigger house, a better car. "No, he's pretty attached to his hometown."

"I see." He pulled a file out of the overflowing inbox on his desk. "I have a client call in this morning and he asked for you specifically. It's a big opportunity Anna."

Anna took the folder from his hand and flipped through the intake sheets. Her boss had a brilliant mind, but he couldn't spell for shit and his handwriting was somewhere along the lines of chicken scratches. "I can't get this done in a month." She closed the folder and slid it across the desk.

It would be a good opportunity. The client, a man named O'Rourke, wanted to knock down half of old downtown and build a series of high end apartment complexes. The project was right up her alley. Immediately, her thoughts went to Marcus. Old downtown was where he grew up. The mean streets and seedy ruins of urban decay were his playground as a child. She could turn the ugliness into something beautiful. But, she couldn't have the plans drawn up in a month. It would take months, maybe a year, of careful planning to get the project out of her head and onto blueprints. Longer than that for the city council to approve the project, and perhaps, two years before the first sad remains of a gentler, more progressive era, were bulldozed to the ground. This was a big, big project and exactly what she'd always dreamed of sinking her teeth into.

"Sorry. How about Bob? He's good." Anna had been trying to find a way to make up for throwing a drink in his face and breaking his big toe with the heel of her shoe at the office Christmas party. He had yet to accept her apologies. And he still walked with a limp whenever she was around.