Dawn's Path: Completed Work

Lance sensed Angel's hesitation at answering his question. If he pressed her, she'd only shut him out further than she already had. And that would not help his quest to get inside of her head. "Ok," he said. Idly, as if her reluctance to answer him didn't faze him in the least, he stirred the glowing embers with the tip of an old iron poker. The chill from outside was creeping in, seeping through the floor and the walls. The windows rattled in their frames from the bursts of wind gusts. The snow fell at a steady pace, covering the world in an insulating blanket of white. He could hear the flakes gently pattering against the roof.

Their meager fire was dying. Reduced to glowing embers barely generating the least amount of heat. A pile of dry logs rested beside the natural stone fireplace. Gathering the blanket in his fist to secure it around his waist, he rose up on his knees and stretched to grab another log to throw on the grate. The sensation of Angel's fingers on his back, gently tracing his tribal tattoos froze him in place. Her palm hovered over his skin, searing him with its warmth. He sucked in a breath and held perfectly still with his arm extended mid-reach, allowing her to explore.

The contrast between the warmth of his body and the chilliness of her fingertips sent shivers racing up her spine. In the brotherhood, a Son was defined by the tattoo on his back. Angel was always so busy scurrying out of their way to avoid contact; she'd never had the opportunity to study the swirling scrollwork patterns of indigo ink before. Lance dipped his chin to his chest and sucked in a breath as her fingers traced the graceful lines etched into his skin.

The tattoo started at the nape of his neck, just below his pale hairline and extended in broad swirls and geometric forms across the width of his shoulders, arcing at the narrowness of his waist to dip low around his hip, vanishing below the intricately crocheted blanket gripped in his fist. His muscles quivered beneath the gentle brush of her fingertips over his skin. Angel was fascinated, almost lost in the intricacy of the design, the graceful way the tattoo expanded with his deep inhale. In the hierarchy of the brotherhood, she had no idea exactly what his markings symbolized. Which arcing pattern signified his standing and exactly how. "What do they mean?"

Angel had never touched him this intimately before. The contact of her warm palm against his back and the gentle scrape of her nails played havoc with his system. His body heated beneath her close scrutiny. All of the brothers had tattoos etched into their skin on the night of their birth into this world. As their lives changed, more detail was added to the design. The pain of embedding the ink into their durable vampire skin was part of the rite of passage. Every line, every swirl and graceful arc was goddess inspired. No two tattoos were exactly identical. They were as individual as DNA, as unique as the brother who bore them on his skin.

He could give her a cold, detailed, clinical explanation of the symbolism behind the marks. But, they were so much more than that. And yet, at the same time, they were nothing compared to the meaning behind her touch. She was beginning to open up to him. Granted, this was a baby step. But, to her it was a giant leap forward. What did the tattoo mean? What did the gentle strokes of her fingertips on them mean? "Everything," he answered on a pained exhale. Before he could do something stupid, like snatch her up in his arms and kiss her senseless, shattering any hopes he had of her every completely trusting him or welcoming his touch, he reached to grab a log out of the pile and tossed it into the fire.

Angel withdrew her hand and covered it with the blanket. Lost in her curiosity she'd been on her knees on the floor. The one place she swore she'd never be again. Scooting back to the edge of the rug, tucking her knees to her chest, she wound her arms tightly around her body. The coolness of the floor and the hard bite of the wood against her skin pulled her out of the present and flung her spiraling back into the past.

She was in Roark's study. Her wrists bound by a leather strap behind her back. Crouched on her knees in a miserably uncomfortable position, naked on the cold, polished wood floor that always stank like lemon-scented wax. With her eyes squeezed tightly shut, there was nothing but darkness and the black of Roark's immaculately shiny shoes. A log in the fire popped, startling her. It was a soft sound, completely innocuous. But, to her it was the crack of Roark's belt as he pulled it taught, winding it around his fists. It was the sound of leather striking her across her shoulder blades. Angel was on her feet. Panicked, tripping over the blanket tangled around her feet, she scrambled for the door.

"Angel?" Lance had no idea where she was in her head. And maybe, he'd be better off not to know. Her brown eyes were tinged black with fear. Wide and terrified, they stared at him without really registering any understanding. She wasn't here, at least in her mind. He didn't know what had set her off. Something he did? Some sound or some smell triggered a memory. And she was lost to it.

Tangled in the blanket and lost in her confusion she stumbled for the door, desperate to escape. He couldn't let her leave like this. She was terrified. Naked and so confused. He grabbed for her, securing an arm around her waist, dragging her back. She fought him, clawing at him with her nails. Snapping at him with her fangs. Cursing him with every breath of air in her lungs. Lance barely managed to contain her without hurting them both. Wrangling her to the floor in a bundle of cotton and twisted limbs, he pinned her down to the floor with his weight. His trapped her wrists over her head, holding them still in a tight grip.

Panting and wide-eyed, Angel calmed immediately. Relaxing beneath him with a gentle exhale of shuddering breaths. Lance tensed and stared down at the placid expression on her face. A part of him expected her to fight him even harder. And was prepared for the pounding she would unleash on him once she came to herself. A deeper part of him was repulsed that he'd had to resort to violence to garner her compliance. And it shamed him that some primitive corner of his caveman brain liked his dominance over her.

During his struggle to restrain her, they'd both lost the shelter of their blankets. Stretched out and pressed skin to skin, he hardened against the soft juncture of her thighs. Hating his body for responding to her pain and her vulnerability. Her nipples brushed against his chest with the rapid intake of her breaths. He'd never seen Angel so relaxed. Her body pliant, molded to his. The scent of her arousal teased and tortured him. And he had never been so aware of a woman, wanted a woman so badly in his life. "Tell me to stop," he rasped.

Her mind raced, sensibility arguing with her basic need. Her body responded to the pressure of his fingers biting into the flesh of her wrists holding her helplessly bound. Lance's thick erection pressed, thick and heavy, into the soft juncture between her thighs. The coarse hair on his legs ticked her thighs. And the weight of him, pinning down was reassuring. His breaths, panting and labored as he scrabbled to control himself, skated over her skin, sensitizing every nerve ending. Her limbs were boneless, her entire body nothing but putty, molded to him. The heat of his desire burned her. Feeling so safe, so protected, and so beautiful, the intensity of her craving for him...for this melted any resistance she might have been able to muster. "Please, Lance. Take me away from all this pain."

In this moment, Lance understood Angel better than he would have liked to. Pain was her escape. Only through pain did she truly feel anything. Pain was her way of dealing with her past. Damn that bastard Roark for reducing her to this. Leaving her no other route to pleasure except through pain. This was dangerous territory. A road he'd sworn he'd never go down. He didn't hurt women on purpose. He didn't hurt them ever. But, in her pleading, he was helpless to deny her.

Breaking down the walls that Roark had constructed brick by brick was going to take time. A part of Angel would always need pain to some degree to feel pleasure. She would crave it like a drug. And he was her dealer. Better him than some other sadistic bastard. Better here where he could protect her and her secret than someplace where it might be discovered. Because he loved her, he would give her what she needed. Release her to her dark realm of pain. Travel there with her and explore things he never thought he could. Use her pain for their mutual pleasure. Lance fought past his sympathy for his dark angel and tightened his grip on her wrists. "I trust you, Angel." Dipping his head, he claimed her lips in a brutal, crushing kiss.

Angel arched her back, crushing her body against Lances as he assaulted her lips with his teeth and tongue. The pressure he exerted on her mouth was painful and bruising. His fangs scraped across her bottom lip. His tongue took possession of her mouth, relentlessly forcing hers into a tangled dance of flesh. Greedily, he swallowed her gasp of pleasure before it escaped her lips.

He gave her no pause for air as he shifted her wrists, pinning them with one of his broad fingers to the floor. His free hand explored in a mix of teasingly soft tickles and gentle caresses and hard, sharp pinches across her swollen nipples. She sighed in ecstasy as her hips bucked from the achy desire surging through her limbs at the delight of his touch. Forcefully, Lance wedged her thighs farther apart with his knee and ground against her sex with his hip. The tip of his erection rubbed her clit taking no mercy on her. The moisture beading from the head slicked over the sensitive flesh. Crying out from the effort of holding back, Angel panted and parted her thighs in unspoken invitation. All the while, he held her wrists tightly restrained in his massive grip. Ensuring her of the safety of his complete control.

Lance was terrified that he'd hurt Angel or accidentally do something to send her careening into her past. Her body quivered beneath his fingertips as he explored and took liberties with her he'd never taken with another woman. Adjusting the pressure and his pace to her responses, he stroked the length of her curves and cupped her breast, trapping the nipple between his thumb and forefinger to pinch the swollen peak. Lowering his mouth to her breast, he laved at the flesh, gently nipping at her nipples, first one and then the other with his front teeth. Placing bruising kisses on her mouth, he tasted her lips and dipped his tongue into the slickness to taste her.

She writhed beneath him as he tortured the both of them with the promise of the pleasure yet to come. Angel was so wet and hot, so slick with desire. Mewling with the need for release. The tip of him pressed against her hot clit, teasing the nub to fullness. There was no way he was going to last long once he slid inside of her. He had to sate her first before he took care of himself. And he needed both hands free and full reign of her body to wring every bit of pleasure from her. "Clasp your hands together for me, Angel. Leave them over your head." He groaned in masculine approval as she followed his instructions to the letter and panted in heady anticipation.

Angel froze, clasping her trembling fingers together as Lance worked his way down the length of her body and gently nudged her thighs apart. For a brief second she was transported back to a time when she was human and Roark would torture her by plunging his fangs deep into her femoral artery. Bound to his bedpost she was helpless to stop him. Gagged with a thick strap of leather buckled around her chin, she couldn't speak to protest what he did and she didn't even have the luxury of screaming to release the pain. Panting and terrified, she gasped as Lance pressed a soft kiss to her core and began gently teasing the swollen flesh with the tip of his tongue.

Angel's hips bucked in time to the strokes of his tongue across the swollen heart of her. She was close. Her thighs quivered from the strain of holding back. He didn't want her to hold back. He wanted her to come for him. He wanted to make her feel so good she never thought of using pain as an escape again. He wanted so much pleasure for her.

"Does it feel good?" His voice was thick with the husky rasp of masculine desire. Worrying her bottom lip with her tip teeth she refused to respond to his question, as if she were afraid to admit to the pleasure he gave her. Scraping his fangs over her pulsating nub, he tongued soft, gentle circles around the swollen flesh and dipped his fingers into her slick sheath. Her hips bucked against the combined stokes of his fingers and his tongue. The taste and scent of her coated his lips arousing him to the point of agony. To relieve some of the pressure he palmed himself and pumped his cock with his fist. "Answer me, Angel. Does it feel good?" he asked. Pursing his lips he used his fingers to part her and blew on her clit.

Angel was dizzy from the effort of containing her orgasm. Pleasure was pain. Coming without permission was certain to heap punishment on her. The humiliation of such a lack of control was cruel enough. Lance's voice cut through the thick fog wrapped around her mind as it wandered from the past to the present. Her body couldn't take much more before it exploded into ripples of pleasure. "Y..yes," she panted. Lance rewarded her with rapid gentle flicks of his tongue against the very center of her and deep presses of his fingers into her core. Pushing her closer to the brink. No man had ever sought to pleasure her before. No man had ever put her needs ahead of his. And no man had ever kissed her as deeply and as intensely as he had.

"Good," Lance praised. He continued tasting her, certain he would never get enough of the taste and scent of her sweet desire on his lips. He plunged his fingers in and out of her tight core, marveling at the control she had and the way her muscles contracted around him. She needed to come desperately and yet, she stopped herself from the pleasure. Holding back on purpose as if she were waiting for him to give her permission to indulge. Who knew what that sadistic fuck had demanded of her or what punishments he heaped on her for disobedience. He wanted her here with him and not lost in some trap of the past. "Come for me, my Angel. Let go and come."

She could not disobey his command. With a last flick of his tongue and stroke of his fingers inside of her, he delivered her to orgasm. Crying out and writhing, expecting punishment for her pleasure she came hard. Shuddering and gasping, clutching her clasped hands tightly together her body writhed from the surge of her release.

Lance kissed a path up Angel's body, sampling and tasting every inch of her heated skin. Her cheeks were flushed from her orgasm and her lips swollen and bruised from his kiss. Gently, he pried her clasped hands apart and massaged her wrists with his thumbs as he kissed her fingertips. She trembled beneath him, not from fear, but from the pleasure he'd made her feel. Cupping the back of her head in his palm, he balanced his weight on the heel of his hand as he slid into her sleek, velvety, hot sheath. "I've got you, Angel," he whispered.

Angel drifted. Lost to the pleasure Lance gave her. His skin was hot against hers. Muscles bulging with the effort of balancing his weight on his palm and holding her close as he filled her with every inch of his hard length. She'd never been held so tenderly. Never had anyone truly care about her as they fucked her for their pleasure. Lance was so very careful with her. Straining to hold back to make sure she enjoyed it. His fingers dug into her scalp and wrapped around the ends of her hair, tugging on the strands. Giving her enough pain to draw out her pleasure. Arching her back, she responded to his kindness and his awareness of her needs and came, without permission, trusting in him that there'd be no punishment but only more pleasure.

Trembling beneath him, Lance watched the myriad expressions play over Angel's face as the release surged through her body. Snatching up her breathy exhales, inhaling them between his parted lips to draw the necessary air for his survival. He accepted the gift of her show of trust. She trusted him to keep her safe, to hold her, and to protect her as she let go and lost herself to the moment. Her tight core gripped his length, milking him with the spasms of her orgasm. He was just as lost to her and the moment as she was to him. She trusted him. And it was his turn to trust in her. Speeding his pace and increasing the depth in which he pushed inside of her, he gave himself to her and spiraled into a sweet, hot land of raw, elemental, primal passion, filling her and spilling out of her with the jets of his release.

Chapter 8

"We don't owe each other anything," Angel said. The frown on Lance's face told her that the statement was the last thing he wanted to hear. She hated hurting him. Afterwards, when their bodies were a puzzle of tangled limbs and scattered emotions, he'd reached for her and she'd quickly retreated. She'd exposed too much of what she was. And rather than reject her for it. Lance had accepted her.

His unconditional feelings for her were too much. Angel had never had an awkward afterwards before. Either she got unceremoniously booted out of the room. Or if Roark had been a little too rough, Keene carted her out and deposited her on an empty bed. She closed her eyes avoiding the intensity of Lance's stare. "Tonight was a one time deal. That's all."

The edges of Lance's lips curled in a grin. Angel wanted to run. He could tell. Almost hear the screaming impulse as it bounced around the borders of her mind. He was an absolute cad and he knew it. He'd pulled out all the stops. Using her body as a weapon in the war to win her heart. Her instincts might be clamoring for her to flee. But, her feet stayed firmly planted. He pressed a gentle kiss to her closed eyelids. "Of course," he lied.

He would rather say the words on his mind than lie to her. Promise her undying love and other endearments. But, she wasn't ready for them. And they were the last thing she'd wanted to hear. His words, although heartfelt and true, wouldn't get him anywhere. Except for farther away from where he wanted so desperately to be.

Eager for a diversion from the expression of longing darkening Lance's eyes, Angel thoroughly inspected the one room interior. The furnishings were a hodgepodge of well-used and mismatched pieces. There was no distinctive scent that defined the cabin. It smelled of pine, the woods, and fresh country air. "Who owns this place anyway?"

"Everyone," Lance answered. Still clad in nothing but one of Leigh's afghans, he stretched out on the floor and rested his head on his folded arms as he stared up at the ceiling beams. Angel sat bundled up with the quilt pulled up tightly under her chin. Her eyes round and cheeks heated with a blush. He rolled over onto his side, facing her. Tucking his afghan tightly around his waist, he rested his head on his upturned palm, studying her reactions. "Angel, talk to me. Are you having regrets about what we did? Because I'm not."

Regrets? Only about herself, about him, never? "No." She'd seen Lance's reluctance to give her what she needed to allow herself to let go. He'd been so careful with her. Too careful. She didn't have a bruise or a mark on her. Her body ached in places for all of the right reasons instead of the wrong ones. And her heart, she had no choice but to close it to him. He'd shown her how good a touch could feel. That pleasure in and of itself wasn't bad or shameful. Unfortunately, she had nothing to show him, to make him feel, but the remnants of the pain, of her that had survived her past. She'd break him in his attempts to give her what she needed. It wasn't in his psychological makeup to hit, to hurt, or to punish. And like a drug, she couldn't function without her precious pain. Her only regret was that she was so fucked up. And she could never be what he deserved.