A Taste of Dawn

Dear Reader: It seems I just couldn't leave out a bit of romantic prose in regards to Michael and Bianca. Theirs is a story that was too short to form into a novel, but one that needed to be told. This brief taste of the Native Dawn series gives us a glimpse of Michael and Bianca and the events that occurred between the end of Book 20 'Dawn Unleashed' and the beginning of the final book in the series, Book 21. 'Dawn's End'.

At this point, after Dawn's End is released. I am considering writing one additional book in the Native Dawn series to tie up all the loose ends. I think everyone wants to know what happens to the kids when they grow up. I know I sure do. Even as I write this Evan, Mouse, Fallon, Danni, baby R.J. and of course, our newest bundle of joy, the Great Father and Tala's unborn child, are playing in my mental playground and getting into all sorts of mischief as adults.

As always, thanks for your unwavering support and happy reading.

J. Lynn.

*****

A Taste of Dawn

Winter came early this year. With leaves of gold and red still on the trees, snow fell and it kept on falling and falling and falling. The world was coated in a layer of shimmering white snow as pure as a bride on her wedding night. The city had no regards for the perfection of winter's kiss. Snowplows stripped away whatever beauty might be found. Snow, dirty and gray from the endless flow of traffic, was heaped into frozen mountains to wait for the spring thaw to melt it away. Everything in the city was about the endless progression that comes with moving full speed ahead. Nothing here stayed pure or beautiful for very long. The city was a whore with her legs wide open to tempt and to steal whatever innocence wandered too closely to her skirts.

Bianca pulled her coat higher up around her neck. She wasn't cold. The act was just a human reflex left over from the winters of long ago when the winds bit into the tenderness of living flesh and blood and the chill within her wasn't quite so eternal. The city was quiet tonight. Subdued by freezing temperatures and a fresh blanket of snow and ice.

Hidden by the cover of night she walked through the city. Only the tracks left behind by her boots were evidence that she, or anyone else had been here at all. Life happened quickly in the city. Only one thing happened quicker, death. Today's events were readily dismissed into yesterday's news. The city never mourned any person or any tragedy too long. Bianca guessed it was because of the fact that humans had such short lives the empty spaces left in the wake of pain and suffering were immediately filled. After the explosion, the city scrambled to clean up the mess and life went on. The very spot where Eric had detonated the bombs boasted towering luxury condominiums, the good life, at its best.

Bianca's eyes narrowed and scanned the empty streets. Where was Eric these days? O'Sullivan never stayed underground for too long. He lived as a human, always in such a rush. Patience had never suited him. Yet, for months, since his feeble display of power, he had remained hidden. As if he'd disappeared without a word in the billowing smoke, heat of the flames, and the rubble so efficiently scooped away in the promise of progress.

She doubted that Eric was gone for good. The blow she'd dealt him was not lethal. He wasn't dead, unfortunately. But, where in the hell was he? She'd been terrified of Eric for centuries. He always seemed to be one step ahead of everyone else. That night, when he leveled one of the most prime pieces of real estate in the city into a heap of rubble, she saw through him. He wasn't better than anyone else. He wasn't smarter. In fact, he bordered on the fringes of lunacy. What had turned her former frienemy into such a nut job? Werewolves.

O'Sullivan heard the rumors. Everyone had, but only Eric was crazy enough to believe them. Vampires could not have children. They could not eat solid food. They could not tolerate sunlight. And that was the end of story. He'd snatched onto the myth as if it were fact. He operated for months under the insane assumption that if he took the blood of a werewolf. He would somehow be transformed and what had been dead for centuries would be made alive again. Idiot. Eric got his werewolf and brought the fury of hell itself on his head.

What was worse. She'd known about it and although she hadn't helped him. She hadn't exactly hampered him either. Everyone in the city fell under the blanket of protection offered by the Guardians. The captive werewolves had been in her city and until push had come to shove. She'd stood on the sidelines doing nothing to help them. She had thought it best, for her and her Guardians, to play the middle ground and risk neither the wrath of Eric or the wrath of the Sons. The duality of her position had almost cost her life and standing here in the present and looking back into the past, it had cost her something more, her heart.

Michael was a Son, through and through a warrior strong and tough as steel. The Sons were the primary protectors of all human life against the threat of vampires and other nasty creatures of the unknown. Until she had seen one for herself, she hadn't believed in werewolves. Who knew what other forms of paranormal life were out there waiting to be discovered.

She and Michael were as different as night and day, as were the Sons and her Guardians. The Sons believed a goddess ruled their collective and individual destines. They were what they were by choice. They welcomed their sacred charge and were wholly committed to the death to it. Not so for her Guardians. Most of her legion were forced into this life and believed in little if nothing, save what they saw with their own eyes. Her little band was grouped together out of necessity. They kept the city safe, not out of their beliefs, but out of sheer force of free will. No one should be forced into this life as they had been. The Sons saw what they were as a gift. Her Guardians saw it as a curse.

The Great Father, the Sons' nefarious leader had been grateful for the help and had willingly turned the city over to the Guardians. The two groups were friends of a sort, until such a time that they became enemies. As long as the law was followed, the Sons had no qualms with anybody. Break it, and well... everyone knew what happened then. Her Guardians weren't killers. They upheld the very letter of the law, bending it like a pretzel, but keeping it nonetheless.

The law was such a simple thing. Never take a human life for food. Easy. Right? It wasn't nearly as easy as it sounded to keep or to enforce. Accidents happened. A hungry vampire, especially one new to this life, could kill in a matter of minutes. One taste, for most, was never enough. Control dangled precariously by a thin thread. A vampire could easily get over the guilt of murder for the bliss of human blood. Everyone knew it. Everyone struggled with it. Even the Sons in all their stoic ways and lofty beliefs were not immune to the endless temptation of human blood. When one tasted and could not conquer the beast, when just a taste was not enough and never would be enough, a rogue was born.

Bianca's aversion to killing of humans and sucking down an innocent life went beyond her own moral code of ethics. It was a simple matter of practicality. Eventually, one ran out of hiding places for the corpses and people tended to notice those who went missing. Where else could a string of drained bodies, littering the sidewalks and dark alleys like empty pop cans lead except to them?

Rogues didn't know when to stop. They fed and fed and fed till there was nothing left. Humanity was plentiful sure, but when they provided a vampire's primary source of food. One could not simply suck them all dry till there weren't any left. Wouldn't that leave everyone in a hell of a bind and hungry, damned hungry? What would they eat if there weren't any humans left? Rogues didn't last long in her city. Hell, they didn't last long anywhere. They always got taken out. Permanently.

The Sons frolicked in the woods and worshiped their goddess. They sustained themselves on the blood of animals. They could chant and hunt all the four-legged creatures of the forest they wanted to but, in the end, not even they could survive indefinitely without human blood.

Humans were a necessary evil. They didn't know the reality of the creatures that shared their cities with them. Somehow though they'd always suspected. Luckily, vampires had the myths created by humanity's endless imagination on their side. There was no garlic, no holy water, no cross, or prayer that could stop death from coming. Only the threat of discovery and the possibility of how creative humans really could be when they wanted to kept vampires at bay. Eric had almost, almost blown their cover during his little escapade and for that, he had to pay.

O'Sullivan was the man at large. Every being with fangs searched for him. Their mutual hatred of Eric O'Sullivan and the need to contain him was one of the things that brought the Guardians and the Sons together on such a united front. Usually, the two groups tolerated one another, not really understanding how alike and how different they truly were. They respected one another's turf and bore it a wide berth. Necessity made for strange bed partners these days. In their search for O'Sullivan, her city was teaming with Sons and werewolves.

Michael was here, too close for comfort, leading a team through the city. He was relentless. No rock was left unturned by him or by his men. She suspected his reasons for being here were more personal than the search for O'Sullivan. He wanted to ferret her out. Make a suitable and respectable woman out of her. Good luck with that. She'd been single for close to three hundred years and to say she was a bit set in her ways was an understatement.

She'd tried the country life and hated it. The woods were too quiet and too isolated. She missed the life of the city. The constant trickle of noises and smells and the endless throng of humanity, pulsing and ebbing as they went about the task of living were too much to give up for something as trivial as love.

Michael hadn't even slept with her for fear of some mystical bonding that might occur between them. She'd had a constant flow of male companions, both human, for all their subtleties and charms, and vampire and never, ever, had she felt some spiritual pull to any of them. Sex was just sex. Even good sex, was just good sex, nothing much mystical about it. Maybe if she had slept with Michael she would be able to finally get him out of her system and seek some other form of entertainment on lonely days. But, he didn't operate that way. He'd denied her and himself and for what? Solely because he clung to some superstition that he might be stuck with her eternally? She didn't buy it.

Within weeks of her trial life as a country bumpkin, she'd packed up and returned to the city where she belonged. There was plenty to do to occupy her mind. Managing an underground organization such as the Guardians kept her buried in paperwork. There were always bills to pay, a wayward member to discipline, or some other mundane task that demanded her constant attention.

There was always something to occupy her mind and keep it off the constant temptation of Michael. She wasn't about to grovel at his feet like some smitten schoolgirl. Besides, what good was temptation, if she couldn't indulge?

Right now, a tasty bit of human male was warming her sheets. He offered his neck and his body to her whenever she wanted it. She indulged, perhaps, not in the temptations of the flesh, but definitely those of the blood. She didn't hide her indiscretions from anybody, especially from Michael. Jealousy was the only tool at her disposal. Let him think what he wanted of her. She had her city and he was a guest on her turf. Here, she called the shots. If she wanted a dozen men in her bed, what was it to him? He had his chance at her bed and had turned it down flat.

Snowflakes swirled and danced around Bianca's shoulders, silently wafting to the sidewalk beneath her boots. Her blood formed ice crystals in her veins at the sight of the man prowling with the grace of an exotic cat in her direction. He was dressed in black leather from head to toe. Only the faint glimpse of silver from the blades strapped across his back caught the glimmer of the streetlights gave a hint to his lethal nature. "Michael," she said as coldly as the frigid wind.

He was beautiful in a way that made her catch her breath. Sinful, danger, male beauty stalked toward her. Leather clung to his lean, muscular thighs and narrow hips. The black jacket fit his broad chest like a second skin. The snow muffled the tread of his heavy boots as he stalked closer. The damp cold of winter helped to deaden his smell. But, she caught the trace essence of pine and spice, slightly sweet, wholly masculine. Melting snowflakes glistened in his raven's wing dark hair, curling the ends around his collar and ears. His eyes were the color of chocolate. Even though she hadn't indulged in the richness of chocolate in centuries. She still could recall the sweet decadence of its taste. His full lips pursed in an unreadable expression as he stared down at her from his towering height.

Even his voice promised sensuality. A deep, masculine growl of a whisper that made her shiver on the inside, not from the cold, but from the effect of it on her nervous system. "I have men searching every square inch of this city and so far, nothing! Where the hell is he, Bianca?"

Michael didn't mean to sound so accusing. Bianca had never revealed a secret to him. He knew she had them. They stood like a solid wall made of impenetrable steel between them. He'd given his promise that no matter what she'd done he'd protect her. He wanted to trust her. He wanted to believe in the goodness in her. She just made it so hard. He thought, for a brief, glorious second that she'd share her secrets and her heart with him. She ran like hell as fast as she could for the city, taking her secrets and her bags along with her.

He was here in this godforsaken place, with its never ending stench, its ceaseless noise, and its constant motion to fulfill his promise. Even if his word meant nothing to her and he was chasing his tail on a fool's errand. He did his best to protect her. The secrets he'd managed to ferret out were only the tip of the iceberg. He knew of her past indiscretions with Eric O'Sullivan. She'd never been directly involved in anything. She'd never tried to stop him either and in that was her deepest sin. He'd seen and he realized that Eric had a link to her on a level he'd never understand. She hated the man and yet, she still protected him.

Bianca looked so frail and defenseless. She was a china doll, delicate and breakable. Snowflakes fell around her shoulders and adorned her loose black curls, dusting them with the glittering of thousands of lights. The pale skin of her high cheekbones was reddened with the cold. Her tilted eyes were the blue of the deepest ocean. Her provincial mouth, pursed in a scowl at him, was lipsticked in a pink hue.

She was soft and curvy, beneath a layer of thick winter gear. Usually, she dressed to flaunt what she no doubt considered her best assets, those full, pert breasts of hers. Tonight, he was glad they were hidden beneath the leather. He wasn't necessarily a breast man, but he didn't mind the show. She didn't understand him at all. The whole package was a temptation he could not afford. She and that body of hers drove him absolutely insane and there was nothing he could do about it.

Bianca glared at Michael. The determined set of his jaw hinted at his frustration with her and with the whole damned situation. He hated the city. He hated that the Sons hadn't captured O'Sullivan when they'd had the chance and he hated the thoughts in his head. The suspicion that she and her Guardians, especially she, had something to do with his escape. He, of all people should know better. He was there when Eric almost killed her trying to get away. Michael had given his blood to heal her wounds. Perhaps he couldn't bring it to blame himself for Eric's escape. He'd made a choice, her life over Eric's. Did he regret it? Saving her? In his frame of mind, with that expression on his face, she almost believed he did. "Did you ever stop to think that O'Sullivan isn't in the city?"

Michael did his best to dress Bianca down with his stare. If she knew something, anything, she'd better tell him now. If the Sons got wind that she was withholding information. They'd get it out of her, one way or another, and there wasn't anything he could do to prevent it. If she were purposely not telling them something, he'd have to choose sides, and right now, he wasn't sure exactly whose side he'd be on. He owed his word of honor to the Sons and to her his vow of protection. Where would her secrets leave him in the end?

Michael grabbed Bianca by her upper arms and pinned her against a blank storefront window. "If you know something you'd better tell me. This is not the time for your secrets," he threatened. As he shook her, hard enough to rattle her fangs, the window bowed and shimmied. "Tell me," he demanded.

Bianca's head wobbled on her shoulders like a bobble head. She wanted to get physical with him, but this was not exactly what she had in mind. The toes of her boots scraped against the snowy sidewalk. She thought he was going to break the window behind her, as hard as he was shaking her and slamming her against the glass.

If he meant to physically intimidate her into a confession of facts she didn't possess, he had another thing coming. She'd spent her life being underestimated. With a carefully placed, lightening fast kick in that special place all men held in highest regards, she earned her freedom. "I told you I don't know where in the hell he is. If I knew, I wouldn't need your help. I'd kill him myself," she gritted, stifling the grin as Michael cupped his private parts and glared up at her from the sidewalk.

She rolled her eyes at Michael. Whimpering like a kicked pup, his eyes round with pain. Men and their gonads, when will they ever learn? Exasperated with him and his apparent distrust, she walked around his huddled form and headed out into the snow. "I think we should call it a night. I hear the zoo has a lovely display. Perhaps, you should stop by. You look a bit hungry. As for me, I have a nice, warm body waiting in my bed and I am starved."

Jealousy was enough to make Michael forget his throbbing groin and his wounded pride. So much for his perception of her needing his protection. She was more than capable of handling her own. The mention of another man in her bed fired up every testosterone fueled brain cell in his body. "A donor?"

"Don't stress yourself, Michael. I don't really get into the whole binding and tying up thing. He's willing enough." She chuckled under her breath. The expression on Michael's face was priceless. She could imagine the Neanderthal thoughts running though that pea sized mind of his. Her boots made whispering sounds in the snow as she left him curled into a ball on the sidewalk. "Have fun at the penguin exhibit. I hear they make a lovely snack."

Michael readjusted the parts behind his zipper and glared after Bianca. She took far too much pleasure in torturing him. She taunted him with the string of lovers, both human and vampire, that visited her private chambers. The last thing he wanted to do was add his name to the ever growing list of her companions. He'd be damned if he'd chase after her like a dog and she a bitch in heat. She was so wrong for him. Wrong beyond her secrets and her lovers. Wrong in fundamental ways that he could spend hours listing and never truly convince himself of. She teased and tormented him about his diet, his preference for animal instead of human blood, and about his apparent reluctance to bed her for fear of a bond that he wasn't sure either one of them was ready to handle. At least he had his morals. Morals, however, did little to keep him warm or his stomach filled. He stomped through the snow, intentionally going the opposite way as her tracks on the sidewalk, settling for an alley cat for dinner and his hard cot in the barracks.