Dawn's Second Chance

"Fine," Janine huffed. She elbowed her way around Patrick with her chin thrust out in hard determination as she walked out into the hallway. She didn't care if he watched or not. This was a business, not pleasure. She hadn't given her blood to anyone but Patrick in so long, she wasn't sure how it would feel. But, if this was the only way she could prove her worth, by bleeding for the brothers, she had to do it. Not for Marcus,

for herself.

*****

"Ok, you're wired up." Toby went over how to use the variety of electronic devices he'd supplied to Marcus. "Cell phone with text and internet connections, night vision binoculars, lipstick drive, audio, and camera." He gently snapped the cases closed and gave his 'babies' a loving caress as he handed the cases to Marcus. "Good luck buddy."

John Mark loaded Marcus to the hilt with weaponry, swords, daggers, and handguns. "You sure you know use these?" he asked doubtfully. Marcus was no warrior. He could barely hunt well enough to feed himself. He'd probably be more likely to blow his head off with a gun rather than take out the enemy. But, time was of the essence. The brothers were counting on Marcus to do what they could not. Be inconspicuous.

"I'll figure it out," Marcus replied, tucking a wicked looking dagger into his boot. Careful not to give too much about his past away, he gingerly took the bag out of John Mark's hands and set it on the floor at his feet. Marcus knew his weapons as well as he knew his bullshit. He just preferred bullshit to blades and bullets.

John Mark handed Marcus another package, carefully placing it into his hands. "What's this?" he asked.

Marcus balanced the weight of the package in his palm with a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Gently, he tucked the explosives into the black knapsack at his feet. "Oh, you just never know what might come in handy."

Chapter 4

"Hi," Janine said, shifting nervously on the couch. She'd won her argument with Patrick. And at the time, embroiled in the safety of the idea, it sounded like a good idea. Here, faced with Marcus, the idea not so much an idea, but real. She wasn't so sure. He stood in the doorway toting black duffel bags and shiny cases of equipment. "Could you put the weapons upstairs please?" She was proficient with a gun. Thanks to hours of practice. But, she'd never managed to achieve the brothers' level of nonchalance around them, or any other weapon, for that matter. Marcus met her nervous fidgeting with an easy smile and trudged through the living room to the stairway. "I left a clean set of clothes up there for you," she called after him.

"No problem," Marcus said, shrugging as he climbed the staircase to the second story. The house was simple, homey and comfortable. A place filled with happy memories and plenty of love. The kind of place he'd never known or had been fortunate enough to call home. He took a minute, snooping casually through the upstairs room, stashing the cases and the bulging duffel bag in a small bedroom to the right of the stairway.

He always wondered who the Sons were before. He ran his finger along the dusty paperbacks on the shelves and picked up a picture frame sitting on the dresser. A very young Robbie and much thinner, pimple faced John Mark smiled at him from the snapshot. He wiped a fine coating of dust off the glass and set the picture down where he'd found it. Some couples, he guessed, were destined to be together. Not that he'd know a damned thing about that either.

Despite the months of sitting idle and the years that had passed since the picture had been taken, the room still smelled of youth, like sweet bubble gum scented innocence. God, had he ever been that young or that innocent? Probably not. Life was different for him than it had been for Robbie and John Mark. Even from the very beginning, his plate was just shy of a full meal. And he'd spent everyday scrabbling for his portion.

The clothes Janine left for him sat in a neatly folded pile on the edge of the bed. He couldn't figure her out. Why was she here nervously contemplating offering her wrist to him? The vampire in him didn't give a shit about her trepidation. She should be afraid. A little fear was good for the soul. And she should be damn afraid of the thing inside of him. God knew, he was. Finding the bathroom, he showered and changed, stuffing his used clothes into a plastic bag and tying it tightly closed.

Janine heard the light tread of Marcus's footsteps on the stairs. She couldn't back out now. She swallowed back her nervousness, knowing Patrick was close by watching. She didn't want him to pick up on her emotions and rush in to save the day. She didn't need saving. She needed to do her job and prove her worth. Marcus did his best to look innocuously human. But, he moved with a predator's grace. Stalking closer, so filled with power and danger, the air around her was thick and hard to breathe. "Toss your bag on the front porch and I'll take it with me when I go," she said with as much fake cheer and confidence as she could muster.

Marcus took the empty seat beside her and stretched his legs. A completely human gesture totally lost on her. Nervously, she shifted on the couch to make room for him. The space between them eased her discomfort. But, it was completely a symbolic gesture. In a few moments, he'd share more than a couple of cushions on the couch with her. He'd be in her head, invading the privacy of her mind. At least, for a little while, till another donor took her place.

She wasn't worried about what he'd uncover in the depths of her mind. Marcus was a man who knew how to keep secrets. After all, he'd been keeping the biggest one of them all since the day he'd met Candace. An idiot could see, hidden beneath the guise of friendship and the role of protector, how deeply he loved her. And how much it'd hurt him to let her go.

Janine trusted Marcus. He wouldn't run to Patrick to tattle what she so carefully hid. Besides, Patrick already knew the truth of her heart. He just chose to ignore it. He had a strict philosophy. He didn't fix what wasn't broken until it was broken. And he wouldn't lift a finger to fix her until she completely broke. Janine felt compelled to warn Marcus. "Patrick is close by."

"Yeah, I get it." Patrick was possessive of Janine. He didn't want to share her. Marcus could understand why. Janine was ultra feminine and wasn't shy to show her figure. Those curves were more dangerous than driving a sidewinder at ninety miles and hour. Her cherubic face surrounded by golden ringlets, were something straight off of an artist's canvas. Any red-blooded male could spend a lifetime exploring her and forget the most basic functions, such as eating and breathing. A guy could lose himself in those big blue eyes of hers. Happily drown and die in their azure depths, and thank her for the privilege. "Are you certain you want to do this?"

"Don't be such a baby," Janine scoffed with an exaggerated wave of her hand. "Yes, I'm sure." She shuffled her feet uncomfortably and avoided Marcus's green eyes. Marcus knew a lot more than he let on. He could see her on some level that Patrick could not. Marcus knew the truth of what she hid, her fear, her trepidation, and knew the reasons why she had to do this. And he didn't need a vampire blood link to do it.

Marcus caught Janine's gaze and held it. Focusing his energy, he willed her lids to fall. At first, he wasn't sure it was going to work, and then she eased back, her lids fluttering shut as a sigh escaped her plump lips. He thought, if he ever got over Candace, if he could fall in love again, it might be with someone like Janine.

Beneath her rampant consumerism, angelic good looks, and bubbly, almost overwhelming, personality, she was fragile. She wanted so much and settled for far too little, because she was brave, because she loved someone who might not have the capacity to see beyond himself and his pain, to love her in return. Patrick was selfish, a fool. And someday, Janine would have to face the hard truth. Either she'd spend her life clinging to a dream or she'd have to move on. Forget him.

Marcus didn't envy her. He didn't envy Patrick. And he'd never, ever betray what he saw beneath the layers of designer clothes and expensive, expertly applied makeup. He hadn't tasted her blood yet. And he already knew. Already saw what Janine so desperately hid. It was the same thing he hid. Desire for someone you couldn't truly have and wanted more desperately than life itself. Taking her delicate wrist in his fingers, he bit He glanced around hesitantly, seeing no sign of Patrick, he bit down filling his mouth with her sweet taste.

Patrick stood on the sidewalk, scrabbling desperately not to come unhinged at the thought of Marcus's lips on Janine. Not daring to go any closer to the house. He wasn't sure he could control his temper. He knew the instant Marcus drove his fangs through Janine's skin. Felt the first pull of blood he took from her wrist. Patrick stood helplessly on the sidewalk, waiting. "Damn," he hissed between clenched teeth. He wanted nothing more than to burst through the door and rip Janine from Marcus's arms. But, if he did, not only would he contaminate the air with his scent and endanger the mission, he'd risk his relationship with her.

For some reason, he could not comprehend, but vaguely understood, and most definitely did not agree with. Janine felt compelled to do her part for the cause. No one expected it of her. No one would ever ask it of her. Yet, she offered her wrist to prove a point. Sometimes, it seemed she delighted in doing things deliberately for no other reason than to piss him off. And he was livid beneath his cool façade of indifference.

Damned if he could figure her out. But, he sensed, hidden by her bubbly exuberance, she hurt. And he was the cause. He'd rather fight a dozen rogues than deal with an emotional entanglement.

Their relationship worked. For whatever reason, she saw something in him that he would never see in himself and kept hanging on. At first, he'd fought her. And then, he'd pushed her away. She'd finally worn him down, and, in bitter surrender, he'd given in. He cared for her. He loved her as much as he could. Maybe in time, he'd be able to give more. Do more. Love more. If he could see past what she did in the living room with Marcus. If he could ever see beyond the basic fact of what kept them apart. Her humanity. Her fragility. Her mortality. It wasn't right to ask her to give her life for the sake of keeping her around. And it wasn't fair for him to love her. When in the end, he'd have to let her go.

"Easy buddy," John Mark said. He sauntered up the sidewalk and stopped to give the seething vampire a reassuring clap on the back. "It's alright. Janine knows what she's doing."

Patrick hissed, glaring at John Mark. "What are you doing here?" He'd been so focused on Janine, monitoring her fluttering heartbeat through the plaster walls and brick exterior of Robbie's house, he hadn't heard John Mark sneak up on him.

"Damage control," John Mark replied. "Making sure you don't get a wild hair up your ass and decide to inflict some major injuries on our boy in there."

"I wouldn't do that," Patrick retorted indignantly.

"Good, I wasn't in the mood to fight you tonight." Patrick was a wiry son of a bitch, small, compact, and a hell of a handful in a fight. His size made him easy to underestimate. At five-ten and one hundred sixty pounds, he was smaller than most of the brothers. But, he was no less lethal. Lightening fast. And the best tracker John Mark had ever had the privilege of knowing.

It was easy to forget that beneath Patrick's deceptively youthful appearance, he was decades older than him. Only when one took the time to really see him, to look into the green eyes, seething with male possessiveness. Did one notice Patrick's true age. Patrick's eyes were the windows to his soul. And he'd seen more than one lifetime's worth of horror.

Patrick looked up as the front door opened and Marcus carried Janine, dazed from his spell, gently positioning her on the porch swing. If not for John Mark's restraining hand on his bicep, he would have gone after Marcus and torn him limb from limb. Perhaps, Marcus hadn't seen him or didn't hear the warning growl of masculine possessiveness rumbling in his chest at the liberty Marcus had taken with Janine. A gentle, probably harmless gesture, so simple and so tender it sent Patrick bristling with aggression. The bastard paused after setting her down and moved a lock of hair that had fallen over her cheek, taking the briefest of moments to rub the silky strands between his fingers before tucking it behind her ear.

There was a brief unspoken exchange between Patrick and Marcus, one that had John Mark reaching for Patrick to restrain the man. Marcus's look was simple to interpret, a warning to Patrick. A challenge. Patrick better take care of his female. And the warning growl Patrick had issued in response was equally filled with the promise of pain. Janine was his. The last thing the brothers needed was these two going at it like a couple of junkyard dogs warring over turf rights. John Mark stepped between the two males and shut them down with the authority of his command.

Marcus slipped silently into the house and locked the door behind him. As if a locked door would stop Patrick if he decided he wanted a piece of him. Patrick got his unspoken message loud and clear. And hadn't that been his intention? Do the guy a favor and clue him in before he lost the girl for good. Maybe, he shouldn't have bothered. Patrick obviously hadn't appreciated the favor.

He heard the heavy fall of boots on the porch and the soft groan of the swing as Patrick scooped Janine up in his arms. Marcus moved to a window and watched Patrick carry Janine to an idling SUV parked along the curb. He slid John Mark a look through the parted lace curtains. John Mark acknowledged him with a subtle, but very meaningful nod. John Mark got it and he wanted to make sure he got it too. Keep out of things that weren't his business.

Chapter 5

Alex raced along beside Chance. Forgetting her worries as dark columns of bark zipped past the periphery of her vision. Gathering her strength she released her coiled muscles, leaping onto his back and sending him sprawling into a soft heap of mud with a heavy thwack. "Did you fall down and get all dirty?" she teased. Ever since that day in the gym over a month ago, she'd been looking for ways to get even with him for showing her up on the mat. He'd been human at the time. Beating him with her superior strength and agility should have been easy. She'd grossly underestimated him and he'd given her a thorough lesson in humiliation.

Chance shifted his weight, throwing Alex off balance. Sending her flying off his back, her body landed in the mud beside him with a splat and spray of muddy, icy droplets. "Did you fall down and get all dirty?" he mimicked her mocking tone. Smirking at her indignation and the smear of mud across her cheek.

The worst of winter slowly yielded to the rebirth of spring. The early March rains transformed the woods into a boggy, slick, muddy swamp. Buds bursting with new life clung to the branches of the stark, skeletal trees overhead. Cool air nipped, sweet and filled with the promise of change nipped at Alex's cheeks. For a minute, she forgot her pain and let her heart beat and her lungs expand with joy.

Laughing, she scooped up a handful of soft, squishy water logged earth in her fingers and lobbed the soggy mess at Chance's head. He ducked in a lightening fast move she wouldn't have been able to track, if she were still human and countered, catching her off guard. Mud rolled in cool, moist dribbles down her cheek and dripped in heavy drops off her chin. Narrowing her eyes in pretend annoyance, she flicked the mud off her cheek and leapt to her feet.

Chance stalked Alex, clutching a handful of dripping wet earth in his grasp. She could do indignant like no one else he'd ever met. She was only pretending to be offended by the mud. He saw the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Threatening to break free from the perpetual cover of her frown, like the promise of sunlight stifled by a thick layer of steel gray storm clouds. "You're really dirty," he teased, tucking his hand behind his back and the mud ball from her view.

Alex shook out her jacket, sending a fine spray of water and debris into the air. "I'm not so dirty," she retorted defensively. She was too busy shaking mud free from the ends of her hair to notice what Chance was up to or what he held in his hands behind his back.

At almost thirty, she was too old to be playing in the woods. Too old and too disciplined for mud fights with a guy, no, a kid, eight years her junior. Too old for the attraction she felt blooming under the guise of having a little fun. She was not one of those women who stalked younger guys. Hell, she didn't stalk any guys, young or old. She didn't have time for the entanglements of relationships or their eventual painful end.

Chance was a warrior, his feet set on a path of sacrifice and battle. She hurt for him and for his choice. He was too young, still too human despite his vampire conversion, to understand what waited for him at the end of his road. His fate. To die like Lucien had, alone and defeated by the only enemy he could not conquer on a blood soaked battlefield. Fate. She felt the cold, wet, slick thwack of a mud ball explode on the back of her head.

"You are now!" Chance teased. He'd give a dollar to have a camera and snap a picture of the shy smile of sheer joy on her face. She was so beautiful when she let herself be. When she wasn't frowning and doing her damnedest to keep him at arms length. He didn't care that she was older. Age had kind of ceased to matter since the hands of the clock stopped rushing forward. Time was of no circumstance when Alex and he had an endless supply of it to waste.

He had no idea what her beef was with him. Something caused her to keep her distance. Prevented her from getting as close to him as he wished they could be. She'd tried, without being too overly obvious, to convince him to reconsider following in his father's footsteps and becoming a warrior.

The brothers needed warriors, good ones devoted to the cause, especially with the threat of the rogues looming over their heads. He'd never understood why she had been so reluctant. Why her eyes filled with dread and fear when he'd told her about his decision. She gave him the cold shoulder before he'd decided. Afterwards, she'd frozen him out completely. It was in rare times, like today, when she let her guard down and allowed him the pleasure of her company without reservation or hesitancy. They were friends, damn it. And they could be so much more, if she'd give him a chance.

Running at top speed for the cover in the pines, Chance ducked the mud ball aimed for the back of his scalp. The pendant around his neck, a gift from Alex, was cool and heavy against his throat. She'd given him so much more than just a bauble made of silver and turquoise dangling from a worn leather strap. She'd gifted him with something of more worth than the value of the smooth, sleek stones and shiny metal. A piece of herself, of her broken dreams, and her shattered hopes, to hold, to wear on the sweat stained and weathered strap around his neck. She'd said, on the day of his final trial, the pendant would bring him luck. It brought him so much more than that. It brought him her.

He wanted to hate the man Alex stubbornly refused to let go of. But, Chance couldn't bring himself to do it. Lucien was a ghost. A disembodied memory of a love so deep and so big it swallowed her whole. When Lucien died, a piece of her went to the grave with him. Chance understood her fear. It wasn't that Alex wasn't capable of loving him. It wasn't that he wasn't good enough for her. She was afraid on the same elemental level that some people were terrified of the dark.