Dawn's Shadow

The energy that flowed from her hands ebbed thawing out the flesh frozen by her touch. Dane sensed that she had more to say. Cautiously, he looked skyward. The goddess wasn't really there. But, he could feel her eyes on him, boring into his soul. "Make good use of what I have given you. Everything has a purpose," she said in parting.

Ok...so maybe not all the memos from the front office were short, sweet, and to the point. He had no frigging clue as to what she was talking about. No clue! And he needed one desperately.

He watched the last of the pyres blow away, carried heavenward on a gust of wind. There was nothing left of his brothers, Lucien, or the bodies of the rogues, only the scorched ground where the pyres had burned them to ash. And soon enough, after winter's snows, nature would take care of that. With the first hint of green grass the scars the earth bore would be erased. He wished he could say the same for the scars in his heart and in the hearts of his men.

Dane didn't really relish her visits. He appreciated directness, not cryptic answers that left too much to debate. At least, she had been direct to a fault when she told him what was to happen to Alex. He wondered how Alex would feel about that. Becoming one of them. Probably, before Lucien's death she would have been gung ho about the plan. But, now, knowing her eternity with him would be on indefinite hold, he wasn't so sure about her reaction. He had time to break it to her. After all, an immortal being like the goddess hardly followed a timeline. He could hold off for a while and give Alex a chance to recover before he broke the news.

He felt the twinge of hunger rattle deep within his gut. He hadn't fed in a while, ensuring that his brothers had what they needed first. And he'd simply been too busy to pay attention to his body. The woods grew quiet. Most of the hunters packed it up just after dawn when the deer settled for the day. But, he could always flush one out.

He turned sharply on his heel, scenting the deer. Its musky aroma was heavy on the wind. Eager for a good meal and just a few moments of quiet time before he headed to the dank caverns that had become home, he tracked the scent. The rogue popped up out of nowhere, its sweet scent probably masked by the deer and the remaining tendrils of wood smoke hanging low to the ground.

Dane gave chase, a baby rogue, seemingly alone, was not much of a challenge. He took the bastard down with a swift swing of his blade and ended its miserable life. Had to be one of Kore's leftovers. One of the missing smart enough to evade the brother's sweeps through the woods. The vampire was so freshly made Dane could still smell the humanity in its blood. Less than three months old, tops.

The kill was clean and swift, which was more than this thing would have offered its future victims. The vampire reeked of human blood. Recent blood. Somewhere out here was a body waiting to be found. Rotting and neglected. Humans weren't all that frequent visitors to the woods. But, Dane couldn't take the chance that someone would happen upon it. He didn't have time to deal with the media and the police tromping through his hunting grounds. The brothers would have to find it and get rid of it. Give the poor soul a proper burial.

He threw the rogue over his shoulder, probably not the best way to clean up his mess if a human should happen to see him, and carried the body through the woods to the bluffs. The pyre wasn't as well made as the ones that had held the mortal remains of his brothers. But, it would do. Disposing of any formal pomp and circumstance, he tossed the body onto the crudely stacked wood and set the kindling heaped around the base to light. He took no joy in this act. He stood and bore the dawn's light, a lone witness to the loss of yet another life. A prayer he hadn't intended to say fell from his lips. He prayed for the rogue. He prayed for the body his brother had yet to find. And he prayed, as hard as he ever had, for all the death to end.

Chapter 5

Patrick motioned for the pack of trackers under his command to circle around to the back of the old farmhouse. He'd spent all morning squinting against the sun from behind a pair of dark glasses with his nose to the ground chasing the scent. God, he loved his job. He was good at it. The stink of rogue, sickeningly sweet, hung nauseatingly in the air. Not a bad hiding place. Too bad, it wasn't good enough to hide them from the likes of him. Whoever was inside was one dead mother fucker. He had no patience for bullshit and definitely none for the rogue. He didn't care what sob story came out of its mouth. How much it pled and begged for its life. Might as well get another pyre ready to burn. This rogue was going to be roasting like a hog on a spit, soon.

Stealthily, he made his way through the overgrown brush at the side of the driveway. His footfalls silent as silent as the grave he planned to send this dumb son of a bitch to. The house had been empty for years and was in a severe state of decay. The car was too shinny and too new to be parked beside the old, dilapidated, rotting farmhouse so far removed from its former glory it was practically falling down on itself. The rogue might as well have rolled out the welcome mat for them. He didn't think any living creature could be this stupid. But, of course, he didn't think like a rogue now did he?

Not expecting it, he pulled on the door handle of the car, surprised to find it unlocked. Patrick had rummaged through the glove box of the hybrid easily finding the vehicle's registration. He shook his head at the name listed in neat type across the top of the form. This girl's parents had a very warped sense of humor when they named her. He sniffed at the half-drank paper cup of coffee in the console. Couldn't be more than twelve hours old. Too bad, the girl wouldn't be able to use her God given name or any other. She was probably dead by now.

Maybe, the fucktard rogue wanted to die. Good thing too, because he was going to. Patrick would make sure of that. Whoever this unfortunate woman was, she didn't deserve the hand that death dealt her. Gently, almost reverently, he put the snapshot he'd found stashed in the car's visor back into place and vowed vengeance for her death. He slid out from behind the wheel and gently closed the door. Maybe, before he sent this thing into the afterlife, he'd have a little "come to Jesus" talk with the rogue. Find out if there were more of them and where they were hiding. Find out, if this woman was the only unlucky contestant on "Wheel of Misfortune" or if there were more.

Patrick snuck onto the porch and gripped the doorknob in his fist, nothing like making an entrance straight through the front door. A little fear might loosen the rogue's tongue. He grimaced at the groan of rusted hinges as he pushed the door wide. Too bad, he wasn't the Welcome Wagon come to call. He was death, coming to visit, on swift and sure wings.

He slipped in through the door, blade drawn, heart pumping, and a soul full of vengeance. His boots barely made a sound on the warped boards as he padded deeper into the room. Even in broad daylight, a sense of doom hung like a black cloud over this house. No wonder it was abandoned and left to rot. Patrick could feel the weight of old, unsettled spirits, ghosts, pressing in around him, prickling the skin on his arms. He pushed his glasses up over his forehead and took a look around. Lightly walking from room to room, deeper into the oppressive shadows of the house.

Cursing under his breath, he saw a form, a female, huddled in a corner. She wasn't what he'd been expecting. He'd expected to see a body all right, a dead one. This was the source of the scent, the sweet and cloying scent of a rogue. Carefully, he approached the woman he'd seen in the picture and knelt in a crouch at her side. "Easy Chris, I'm not going to hurt you."

Patrick slipped his arms around her huddled frame and gently coaxed her head out of the shelter of her arms. She flinched and pulled away, burying her face in the bend of her elbow. She was his rogue. But, she barely had enough strength to move. She'd been turned and then abandoned. She wasn't capable of killing anything. She hadn't killed anything. No one had taught her how. And somehow, she'd managed to keep her instincts, the ones that would make her feed, make her do the unthinkable, under control.

He scowled, gently looking her over as best he could without frightening her. Judging by her sunken in eyes and the sharp contours of her face, she hadn't fed. Ever. She had to be hungry, unbearably hungry. His emotions got the better of him as he recalled his own brutal treatment, the days of starvation and torment, at the hands of the rogues. He holstered his dagger and slid free of his jacket, draping it over her shoulders. "You're safe now. Nobody's going to hurt you."

She'd been abandoned, much like he had right after his birth into this life. He could make sure she never knew the agony of guilt from taking human life. He could keep her safe and make good on his promise. Nobody would ever hurt her. She'd suffered enough as it was. "I'm going to take care of you now. Get you someplace warm. Find you something to eat." Patrick moved slowly, gently placing an arm under her thighs and another around her shoulders to lift her up off the grimy floor.

Chris was practically incoherent from the pain of her hunger. Terrified by the thoughts raging through her head. She wanted...no, she couldn't even admit what her mind told her she wanted, especially to the fresh faced boy so hell bent on getting her out of here. He didn't look strong enough to lift her, let alone carry her out of the hell she found herself so deeply entrenched within.

Her mouth was too parched to form words. She felt her body gently hoisted up into his impossibly strong arms. His scent was clean and good, as innocent in its aroma as his face appeared to her eyes. He was so young, maybe nineteen or twenty years old at the most, far too young to know about the horrors of her new reality. Lanky and not fully grown into his adult body. He should be awkward in the way that late adolescent males were. But, he was graceful, his footsteps smooth and sure as he carried her through the living room. Wind tousled sandy blond hair hung in an unruly, shaggy clump over a pair of green eyes that told so much more about his age than the deceptive youth of his appearance. Yes, he did know about her world.

Patrick scooped Chris up, carrying her out of the house. Tonight, after sundown, he'd come back and burn the place to the ground. No need to give the rogues another hiding place and no doubt the scent of their kind would attract more. This house was inhospitable and nobody would ever want to turn it into a home. Nobody could, not with all the negative energy hanging in the air.

He nodded to his brothers to gather up her purse and coat. Take care of any loose ends that might be left behind for someone else to find. Careful to protect her eyes from the garish light of day, he carried her down the stairs and slid her into the backseat of the car. The car would have to be dealt with at some point. By now, somebody might have noticed she was missing from her former life and notified the authorities. That was one loose end he couldn't afford to leave untied. He crawled into the tiny space beside her and kept his jacket pulled tightly over her eyes. One of his trackers slid in behind the wheel and turned the key in the ignition, backing the car out of the drive. For now, they'd have to stash the car in Alexander's barn until they came up with something better.

Chris felt the car, her car, move, bumping and shimmying down the same gravel road that had brought her here. She was so hungry, too hungry to fully grasp her situation. So far, the man had kept his promise and hadn't hurt her. In fact, he seemed more focused on protecting her than anything else. She didn't understand where he was taking her or who was driving. She couldn't bear to peek under the heavy cover of his jacket to take a look. The light, as minute as the rays were that found their way in through the cracks in her makeshift shelter were, was blinding and disorienting. A tear found its way from beneath her closed lashes and onto his fingers. "Please, don't kill me. I don't want to die. Please, don't take me to him."

He cradled Chris tightly in his arms, weary that her fear of him and of herself might win out over her sense of gratitude. If that was the right word for what forced her compliance with the plan so far. Rogues were unpredictable. Especially hungry, terrified ones like her. She was afraid that he was going to take her to the one who did this to her. Left her there alone and terrified. His fingers were wet with her tears. Drenched with the salty essence of her terror. She was still human enough for him to lock onto her mental signature. It was for the best. The only way he could ensure she remained cooperative and didn't try to fight him. "Sleep, Chris, sleep for me." He felt her body go slack. Gently he took her weight into his arms and lifted the hem of his coat.

She was pretty. Dark hair and brows, a brown almost bordering on black, walnut he guessed, for lack of a better word. She was not one of those women who starved themselves for their version of a perfect figure. She wasn't fat by any means. She'd been light in his arms. Although he guessed, like most women, she thought she was. Rather, this was a woman who enjoyed everything life had to offer. Her cheeks would be full and rosy, once she fed. Her lips were slack in sleep, plump. They'd soft and pliant, for the right man.

Patrick had a feeling about her. There was something special. Something worth finding beneath her fear, something worth saving that only she could give the brothers, especially one in particular. Dane liked brunettes. And he was crazy about a woman who knew exactly how to fill out a pair of jeans.

What was he thinking? In the midst of the brother's darkest hour, he was trying to play matchmaker. Dane would like her. She was exactly his type. But, he'd never go for it. In all the years Patrick had known him, Dane had never given in to the slightest urging of carnal desire. Dane would take a lot of convincing to warm up to her and probably her to him. But, maybe, she was exactly what he needed. Although Dane could be a real hard ass, stubborn, and unyielding, maybe he was exactly what this little number, curled up and sleeping in his lap like a lost puppy, needed too.

Chapter 6

Dane was jolted to wakefulness by the deep male voices of his brothers echoing through the dark, cavernous underground. His temper ran hot these days. He didn't need sleep as badly as he just needed to be left alone with his thoughts. Not an easy task considering every one of the brothers had an open link into each other's gray matter. Couldn't this lot take care of themselves for at least five fucking minutes? He stomped down the tunnels, eager to take his anger at being disturbed out on someone. Striking his head and cursing in a foulness that would have a seasoned sailor blushing like a schoolgirl, he bellowed down the hall, "Now what?"

Dane shoved the brothers out of the way as he pressed through a narrow opening in the rock to see what all the commotion was about. He stood there dumbfounded by the sight, the lovely sight stretched out on a cot in the chamber. Intrigued by the curves and lush fall of maple colored hair, he stepped closer. Sniffing in her scent, he determined that she was a vampire. Not a rogue...yet, but, not one of them either. Wonderful, he thought rolling his eyes, now they were taking in strays. This wasn't an orphanage for the damned and soulless. Sure, she was pretty, feminine and curvy. He'd issued simple orders that he'd expected to be followed. If it wasn't a Son, and it wasn't human, kill it. Why was this female alive? Sucking up his air?

"Gentlemen, it's a woman. You've all seen one before. Now if you please, GET THE FUCK OUT!" Dane bellowed. Within the blink of an eye, the room had much more space; just Patrick and the Shaman remained behind. "Anyone care to explain what that is doing here?" he asked, pointing to the woman. "Anyone?" he said, pinning Patrick with a pointed glare.

Patrick lifted his chin in defiance of Dane's impatient tone. Somebody had definitely woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Ok, so maybe he should have warned Dane before he brought Chris here. But, what the hell else was he supposed to do with her? He certainly couldn't have left her to her own devices. And he sure as hell wasn't killing anyone who had not broken the law.

After all, even if she had broken the law, which she hadn't, how much different was her situation than his? He'd broken the law. He'd stood condemned and rightfully so. He'd taken Nikki's life, the life of a human. Lucien had vouched for him, believed in him. The man had kept him alive even when he wasn't sure, even when Patrick hadn't wanted him to.

Dane rubbed his temples and listened to Patrick's debriefing. The woman was innocent. Great, what was he supposed to do with her? What other option did he have but to take her in? None. Maybe, she would serve some purpose. Looking at the soft figure crumpled on the bed in an unconscious heap, he couldn't imagine what it would be. She wasn't a fighter. "Ok, stash the car someplace safe and if it's got lo-jack, have Toby disable it."

Patrick nodded and cast a slanted grin at Dane. Noticing Dane's hard scowl, directed solely at him, he quickly dropped the grin like a bad habit. He knew Dane wouldn't turn her away and he knew Dane wouldn't kill her in cold blood. His leader was many things, but heartless was not one of them. Dane was a softie under the paramilitary haircut and bristling exterior of pure hard ass.

"Wake up," Patrick whispered, releasing his hold on her mind. He took a step back and watched her eyes begin to flutter open before scuttling into the darkness of the tunnels to find Toby.

"Damn it, Patrick," Dane hissed. The woman, Chris, would be terrified upon awakening and seeing him towering over her. He was not good with people, especially women. He didn't understand them. Had no idea how to relate to their moods, which changed quicker than the Indiana weather: hot, cold, sunny, then just as suddenly, stormy.

He tried to look menacing on purpose. He kept his black hair buzzed close to his scalp. His clothes simple, black on black, with more black, easier that way. He never went anywhere without a cache of weaponry strapped everywhere he could find to strap them. He hadn't smiled in decades. Didn't see the purpose of it. And he was big, far too large, far too intimidating in his size, both in his height, at a meager six foot-six-inches tall, and his musculature, to be anything but terrifying to the soft, tiny female on the cot. Awkwardly, he stepped forward as her eyes fluttered, praying he didn't scare her half to death when she opened them.

Awareness flooded back into Chris's mind. She had been resting so peacefully in a sea of black. Now, that she was awake again the sheer torment of her hunger ripped through her body. Confused, terrified, and in so much pain, she trembled as and scooted away from the mountain of a man creeping toward her. She pushed as far back as the cold, hard, wall of rock pressed into her spine would allow and looked up at the man lowering his immense body onto the side of the cot. "Who are you?"

"I'm Dane," he replied as softly as his deep, gruff bass voice would allow. He was prepared to grab her if she should try to make a run for it. He hoped she didn't. He had no desire to tackle a female. They scratched and hissed like cats. Unsure of what to do, how to get the ball rolling, he offered a handshake in an attempt to put her at ease. But, wasn't offended when she refused to take it. He didn't blame her. This situation required someone with a lot more finesse and patience than he had at his disposal. "What's your name?"