Dawning (The Risen Series Book 1)

by Marie F. Crow

  With both of them being shirtless, I can see the marks along their chests and sides. I am not sure what the rules of combat were, but there seems to have been very few. The amount of shading covering both their bodies makes me wince.

  Shelia is the attending nurse to “their” side. Simon also has a bag of ice across his eyes. Even with his natural dark coloring, I can see the bruises already shading along his skin. She fusses over each one, allowing him no male pride with his injuries.

  Richard is lying on his back and clutching his wrapped ribs. His breathing is unsteady, causing grimaces of pain in time with each of his inhales. Most of his bruising is on his lower torso with only a few to his face. I am not familiar with their fighting styles, but looking at their injuries, I know whom from “our side” they were matched against.

  Kidney shots are Rhett’s favorite, second only to the ribs. He prefers to leave long-term damage, not just bruises, to remind you of him. J.D. is a straight brawler. Wherever he can land a punch, he will. Looking from one side to the other, I cannot determine a winner.

  That’s my girl mind at work though. Their male minds see it differently. Both sides have returned and received blows in the insanity of appeasing their male egos. There does not have to be a winner.

  “He’s watching you,” I hear Aimes’ little whisper in my ear. Lawless and Dolph are standing in the center of the room staring at me. White tape is around them in a large square on the floor, dictating the boundaries of the makeshift boxing ring for today’s main event. From their hands to their wrists, white fabric and tape is bound tightly to protect them.

  Law is standing, facing me, and giving me his full attention as he waits for me to see him. Dolph stands to the side in his typical style of keeping everything in sight. He glances from Lawless to me. His face may be unreadable, but I still feel his unease with the way his eyes continue to look down before finding us. They are both rather calm considering what is about to happen. It only further proves their insanity.

  Chapel comes to stand between the two men, telling them the agreed upon rules. Aimes and I are too far back to hear him but looking at the damage already done to the others, I cannot imagine there are many to list.

  Lawless is staring into Dolph with seething anger. His anger makes this seem more personal for him than it was for the other two sets. Chapel keeps pushing Lawless back as he is talking, only to have him creep up again to him and Dolph. Dolph takes the threat in stride, watching the other man with enough caution to let Lawless know there will be no backing down.

  Chapel is having a hard time keeping the two men apart before the fight starts. I can see them exchanging whispered words to provoke the other further. Rhett and Simon have come to either side of the white tape, hoping their presence will calm their counterparts.

  Lawless and Dolph are not even aware of anything around them anymore, much less, the men standing beside them who are shouting to talk to them. Their eyes are focusing only on the other with how consumed they have both become with their anger. It is frightening to watch, and the real match has not yet even started.

  “You have to choose a side. It will settle Lawless some,” Marxx’ voice startles me when he sneaks up behind me.

  As he pulls me to “their” side of the room, I am mentally counting the many bells I am going to sew on their clothing as I follow him. Elves will be envious when I am through with them. Marxx positions himself between Aimes and me as if he is expecting our own brawl to begin at any moment. If they had Jell-O, I am sure it would be encouraged.

  I glance again to the “ring” in the middle of the room as I follow behind Marxx. Rhett and Simon have had to step in to help Chapel separate Lawless and Dolph. There seems to be more vocal commotion now they have been pulled apart then when they were standing toe-to-toe.

  Rhett is whispering in Law’s ear, but he is not listening to the words. Lawless’ eyes are on me, following me, as I walk to “our” side. The weight of their anger makes me stumble under his gaze. Never have I seen such rage from him. Never do I want to see it again and I lower my head to hide my weakness with not being able to face him.

  I grab Marxx’ hand when we reach “our” side of the gym. I can feel his shock travel through his body at my touch. I can’t look at him. My head is too heavy to lift with my fears of what is about to happen. I can’t do this alone. They cannot ask me to stand here and watch Lawless do this without someone to help me.

  My hand trembles in his with my fears. The tension in our arms slackens as he comes to me. I feel him slide against my back, cradling me in his arms.

  “I’m here,” Marxx’ deep voice whispers into my ear. “I’m here, Hells.”

  I give in. All the strength I have been hiding behind, I let it fade in this moment. I let Marxx hold me, pulling me close to him. I let his arms support me and his voice soothe me.

  I don’t want to fight them anymore. I want to hide from this before me. I want to hide from what I have left behind me. I want to fall to the floor in my sorrow and fill the room with my tears, but not yet. I cannot yet. I pull Marxx’ arms tight around me, using them as seams to hold me together. I am still taking baby steps.

  “You have to watch. If he can take the blows, you can at least watch,” Marxx tells me.

  “I didn’t ask him to take any blows,” I reply, and my voice is haunted with the guilt of the thought.

  “You don’t have to ask him. You haven’t figured that out yet?

  Now get ready,” Marxx whispers.

  I feel the pressure of his arms increase with his words, and I know the fight is about to start.

  I did not see it start. I heard it. I hear the sickening sound skin makes as it is connected against repeatedly. I hear the sounds of pain from those connections from both of them. I look up to see them being separated by Simon, Rhett and Chapel. Each is fighting off their captor with the agreement to keep space between the two of them. Already blood is flowing from both of their faces from lacerations. Now they circle one another, collecting their breath before they attack again.

  “Were the other two fights this brutal?” I whisper to the man behind me.

  “No,” Is the only word he gives to me, bringing my fear back to the surface.

  “When does it end?” I ask with weak words, afraid of each answer I am seeking.

  “When one steps over the tape,” he says, causing my stomach to clench with the realization of how far this could go.

  “Did Rhett or J.D. step over the tape?” I am afraid of his answer.

  “No,” he says, offering me the same word and it doubles my fear.

  Law cannot step over the tape. He must be the one to finish it, following the lead of the two who have gone before him. To do any- thing less, will cost him more than just the fight. Unfortunately, Dolph is in the same situation.

  He cannot step over the tape either. It will mean everyone from his side fell to ours. It will allow a sore spot that will forever taunt their pride. It will be the ultimate declaration, declaring which side has the better protectors. Something no male wants to have proven against them by falling to another. As Lawless lands the first blow with this new round of attacks, I see no way for this to end.

  The men are panting, and bleeding, as they are pulled apart again. Both are spitting blood from the wounds in their mouths. My tears are flowing as freely as the many cuts upon their faces. Dolph is just as relentless as Law is with his attacks and my body aches with each blow landed. Neither is showing any sign of yielding with their hate still so abundant. With their eyes, even now, they glare at each other around the men holding them apart. They will not succumb to the other, but they may to another.

  “I can stop this,” I whisper aloud with the shock of my own realization of the logic.

  “I was wondering how much longer it would take you,” Marxx tells me.

  His arms drop from around me. I am without his arms as my shield to protect me now, but I have truth as my lance. For once, finally, truth is on my
side.

  Lawless’ eyes swing to me with my movement from the side of the room. He was not intentionally looking for me. It was his senses, preparing him for any possible attack, which was signaled by my movement. The heat simmers in his honey-toned eyes seeing me walk towards him. His body relaxes a moment with the loss of his anger. It pulls Rhett’s eyes to me with how well attuned the men are to each other’s every subtle change. They are both waiting to see what I will do. Hell, so am I.

  The world stalls in this moment. The colors leak away around me. The noise of their shouting is sinking below me. The fire I have let fade inside me quickens with what I am preparing myself to do.

  Aimes told me I have to give them my heart. Marxx told me I have to choose a side. It will settle him. Lawless is not fighting for himself. He is fighting for me. Give me something to fight for, I told him. He is. Now I have to stop it, because he will not. He wanted me to see this. He wanted me to see he is still holding hope for us. I see it. I just wish I had not been so slow to see it. I really do sometimes need my own vest to help with these things. The men relax some with the fact a girl is so close to them as I come to the white tape. I never slow in my path to Lawless. I do not give him the chance to reject me, melting the courage from me I am counting on to carry me through this.

  Rhett still holds onto him, unsure of what either of us will do after so long apart and with so much under our bridge. Law’s eyes still hold the rage I saw in them at the start of this and my knees grow weak with my new fear of him. It turns my spine into water. My courage fails me in these few spaces left between us, but it is close enough.

  Pushing Rhett aside, Lawless fills the steps I could not take to him. He grasps my head between his hands, forcing his lips down upon mine. He kisses me with all the anger he is feeling. The anger he feels for Dolph, from my words and from my actions. His anger is hot, and it scalds me, bringing me to life underneath him. He is rough, forcing his tongue between my lips, and I swallow down all of his rage. I let him bruise my lips the way he let Dolph bruise his body. The feel of his roughness pulls sounds from the depths of me and they feed him encouragements.

  He pushes the kiss further and harder. I can taste his blood like warm copper, coating my mouth. I pull from him, separating our lips to see him, but he is not looking at me. His eyes are locked on someone behind us, glowing with an unspoken message in them. “Enough,” I whisper to him, with him still holding me tightly, “you’ve won.”

  He looks to me with those very simple words. “You’ve won,” I tell him again, and he has.

  Chapter 42

  Paula makes the rounds of stitching cuts and inspecting the many lumps and bruises between the six men. Every mark is suddenly very funny to them. They are laughing, congratulating the ones with the best bruise or the deepest cut like they were marks of honor while sharing “war stories” of past fights and the better marks they left on their bodies than the ones they are wearing now.

  Dolph and Lawless are less willing to fully give into the bonding. They are still sending cautious glances to one another between their stories and the laughter. Rhett, either consciously or subconsciously, keeps placing himself between them as he tries to block their view of the other.

  I look to Aimes to see if she is noticing it as well. She nods, telling me she is as curious as I am. Rhett’s job has always been to block J.D. from danger. Now, he is mirroring another man’s movements and we wonder what it could mean for Lawless. I prefer to think, with Rhett’s love for fighting, he’s just hoping to catch a piece of the action should they erupt. When Rhett smiles at Dolph, Aimes and I both look to each other with a nod and an eye roll.

  Slowly, we all filter out from the gym amid this new male recon- ciliation. Their male-high is not as peaked with so many watching us when we reach the third floor. Their enthusiasm is reined in with the many looks of shock and confusion from the other res- idents around us. Their laughter is contagious though and soon the whole place enjoys the mood swing of the leading men of our lives.

  For once, the two sides do not retreat to their rooms to hide behind closed doors. They sit in the common area enjoying the company around them. Slowly, the other male residents blend in among them, sharing their own stories and laughter. Those who live here are quick to put the pieces together. The first one to shout, “I love you man!” I plan to shoot myself.

  Shelia and I stand together watching the melding of our families. She is wearing the same smile of pride she wore when she opened these doors to us what seems so long ago. She and I know though, there is still a long road ahead of us. There are still many things to settle, not only within our own family, but between theirs as well. The tension between Dolph and Lawless is still lingering like a magnetic pull. Their collision could shatter this fragile truce we are holding. If Ross is added, it could explode.

  My mood shifts when I see Leslie slink into the room. Her jeans are painted on, sliding perfectly into her knee-high black boots and her walk shows she knows it. The blue tank top she wears allows for no hidden surprises of her body. Her hair is pulled up high, letting the red waves frame her face, drawing the colors of her eyes deeper into their natural shade. If I did not hate her so much, she might make me question my sexual morality. Might.

  Aimes comes to stand beside me when Leslie slinks in. We are watching Leslie pretending to not notice that she has our attention. We know she is aware of our eyes. No woman naturally flips her hair as many times as she has unless trying to prove a point.

  “Watch this,” Aimes says to me.

  I turn to see her smiling with mischief with her hidden knowledge of what is about to happen. Aimes and I may not be on firm ice, but nothing brings women together, despite their differences, like the hate for another woman. Especially if that woman is in shoes better than yours.

  I watch as Leslie walks behind the couch where the main alphas from our families are sitting. Her fingertips trail along each broad shoulder as she passes behind them. Like a Siren, she leaves them silent in her wake. Flashing a smile at us standing here watching her, she stops behind Lawless, running her hands over his black hair in its close-cropped mohawk. Her body is bent over, allowing her to taste the flesh of his ear, his neck and the hollow of his shoulder. He shivers with her playful action, causing a smile to spread across his lips.

  “Yup, this has been super fun to watch. What do you suggest for the encore?” My voice is as sour as the bile I taste watching them. “Shall we hold the camera for them?” I ask. “A little night vision to help set the mood?”

  “That is not supposed to happen,” Aimes says. She sounds shocked at the show before us.

  “Why? Afraid of losing your spot now?” I let the bile burn my question. My attitude is not improving as Leslie’s hands disappear from my view.

  “They always refuse her. It’s like a group game for them. See how long until the skank catches on, we aren’t talking to her kind of deal.” She ignores my taunt while watching the rules being broken saying, “If she even tries to touch them, they dodge her, still keeping her on ignore mode. I don’t understand.”

  I smile at the pain of his betrayal in her voice. “What isn’t there to understand? Perky boobs. Tight ass. Possible end of the world. It is really simple math. Oh, and being easy kind of helps solve the whole what is x and y debate,” I tell her.

  “No, Helena, you don’t understand.” Aimes turns to me, placing her back to the couch, telling me, “He loves you. I mean really loves you. Romeo and Juliet deal.”

  “Remind me again, who gets the poison and who gets the dagger? Just for the sake of staying true to the story. Would hate to mix that little detail up when I kill him,” I ask. I smile at her, letting her know how much I trust her opinion of what is happening.

  “Actually, Romeo kills himself. Well, Juliet does, too,” Shelia says.

  I had forgotten Shelia was standing beside me.

  She smiles and says to me, “So, just wait and let him kill himself. That is, if you truly wan
t to stay true to the story.”

  “Here comes the head Montague now,” Aimes nudges me, bringing my attention forward again.

  J.D.’s powerful body strides over to us where we have been watching their little brouhaha. His face is showing the same feelings we are having over their encore. Lawless has pulled her down closer to him, enjoying the view her low-cut top provides him, listening to the Siren sing her words. Too bad it’s me who is drowning with her song and not him.

  “You going to just stand here and watch this?” J.D. looks to me with his question, surprised with my lack of reaction.

  I stare at him with complete disinterest in his words. “Did you just bite your thumb at us, Sir?”

  The female giggling over what I have asked only adds to his confusion. I guess the story was not mandatory reading for everyone after all. Maybe it just wasn’t for him.

  “I’m getting too old for this shit,” he mutters to himself as he joins our picket line watching the show. “I’m gonna have to spell this out for you, aren’t I? I think you know exactly what he is doing.”

  “Trying to catch a serious case of skank?” Aimes asks him. “You should probably warn him, with the whole zombie apocalypse thing going on, there is a shortage of cream for that.”

  “No, he is testing me. He stepped into the ring today. Now he wants to see if I will, too,” I answer them both.

  J.D. says nothing but looks at me with a sense of pride having figured it out.

  “Please,” I roll my eyes with J.D.’s look, saying, “Lawless is a lot of things I have discovered as of late, but deep is not one of them. Ever.”

  All three of them stare at me now. I am not sure what they are expecting from me.

  “What? You want me to walk over there, take her by the hair, and slam her face against the coffee table? How about a metal chair to the back in a classic wrestling style?” I ask them, at a loss over what they are expecting from me.