The Fire of Dawn

By V.V. AKU

It’s the last day of the summer holiday in The Hague when Leah Koopmans’s carefree life as a teen is brutally flipped upside down. Her pale skin turns a dazzling gold, her senses heighten, and her muscles possess an uncanny strength. But with these exhilarating new powers comes a thirst that can only be quenched by one thing: human blood.

While her body craves for fresh victims and her heart drowns in guilt, she meets inhumanly handsome Max Machiavelli, who claims that Leah is immortal like him. Infatuation ignites into blistering passion when she joins his coven in Amsterdam. But as the mysteries shrouding her sudden change to immortality unravel, Leah quickly learns that her aversion to taking life isn’t the only thing that sets her apart from this group of herculean strangers.

From the picturesque canals of Amsterdam to Corsica’s limestone cliffs and the untamed Siberian wilderness; from first loves to fierce battles, The Fire of Dawn is an extraordinary tale packed with romance, betrayal, and bloodsucking suspense that will keep you on the edge of your seat till the very last page.

• Language: English
• Publisher: V.V. AKU
• Release date: Jun 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9789081877114

V.V. AKU

V.V. Aku has always believed in beautiful stories. She found the man of her dreams and her way in complex China, and wrote a fairytale of her own: The Fire of Dawn-a scintillating tale about strength, self-discovery, and a girl who dared to follow her heart.Born and raised in The Netherlands, V.V. Aku (Veerle Ackerstaff) soon discovered that the world was a place worth exploring. After graduating high school, she set out to travel the globe until she finally touched down in China. On the border of Tibet she met Anzi Aku, a wild Black-Yi man who lives at the foot of the Himalayas. She has joined his clan and tries to find her place among the tribe and its shamans. When she’s not researching the clan’s mythology on vampires, she shamelessly gives in to the compulsion to write about the countless characters that haunt her dreams.V.V. Aku is the author of The Fire of Dawn and Black Dusk. She has been the creator of stories since the age of three, and has a Post-Graduate Diploma in English Language Teaching to Adults from The University of Cambridge ESOL. After nearly a decade of working as an English language teacher and TEFL trainer in China, Thailand, The Netherlands, and the UK, she now devotes all her time to writing, her family, and practicing Kung Fu. The Fire of Dawn is her debut novel.

Book preview

The Fire of Dawn

Immortality is only the beginning

By V.V. AKU

Copyright Veerle Valerie Ackerstaff 2012

The rights of V.V. AKU to be identified as the author of this work have been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-90-818771-1-4

First published in 2012

Smashwords Edition

www.fireofdawn.com

VA Publications

Lassuslaan 6

4837 AW Breda

The Netherlands

For my father, Rene Ackerstaff,

who taught me how to dream.

And for my mother, Mootje Willems,

who showed me how to turn them into reality.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Eons of gratitude to Elizabeth Smith, my kickass copy editor, whose feedback and encouragement made The Fire of Dawn into the story that it is today. Thank you also Vincent Bogers and Derek Murphy for your awesome cover designs, and Bethany Pepka, Dianne Bond, and Nadine Hudson for your input. Grazie, Neeltje van Strien for your help with Italian translations. Spasibo, Anellia Mladenova for helping me decipher the Russian language. A huge thank you to Mootje Willems, Homme Dijkstra, Sanne Klootwijk, Lizette Bremer, Christiaan van Velzen, Seb Ackerstaff, Jessie Verdonschot, Diederick van Duivenboden, Jurriaan van Duivenboden, Nick Pellatt, and everyone else I haven’t mentioned, for your invaluable support.

My dear husband, Anzi Aku, and my kids, Shiguo and Shibu, I will never be able to thank you enough for your unfaltering belief in me. I love you.

LOCATIONS IN THE FIRE OF DAWN

Western Europe

Russia and Siberia

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

DAWN

LOST AND FOUND

OVER THE THRESHOLD

THE COVEN

FIRSTS

CROSSING BORDERS

FAMILY

ACCEPTANCE

NEW ALLIANCES

BALANCE

FALSE FRIENDS

LOST

IN CAPTIVITY

THE HUNT

UNHINGED

DECISIONS

DISTORTED

INSIDE OUT

HOMEWARD

ACCUSATIONS

RED AND BLACK

REVELATIONS

THE BEGINNING

When Good and Evil collide at dawn,

how can you tell which one is which?

I have tried to look for the black and the white,

but in the end I could not see.

For your light is my dark and my dark is your light.

Prologue

Moscow, Russia

Eighteen years ago

Koos van der Merwe hastened across the mosaic floor of the Great Hall and stopped in front of a large brass door. His graying hair stuck to the salty drops that burst out of his forehead. The night was cold, but to Koos it felt like two hundred degrees inside his robes.

His right hand, trembling, hovered an inch from the gilded door handle, unsure if he should barge in. Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t have dreamed of entering the Grand Master’s chambers without a summons, but there was nothing normal about what was happening. A fearful shiver shot through him. Calm down, he told himself. The Grand Master must be informed. He took a deep breath and exhaled audibly, rolled his shoulders, then stepped into the dimly lit room.

The curtains were already drawn for the night. All the lights apart from a small desk lamp where the old Grand Master sat reading had been turned off, leaving most of the chambers in darkness, robbing it of its usual splendor. The antique furniture was drowned in shadows. The white marble floor looked gray in the gloom and the red seventeenth-century Persian carpet gaped up at him like a massive black hole. Koos swiftly moved toward the enormous mahogany desk, ignoring the nerves that clawed at his heart.

Eighty-year-old Grand Master, Demitri Thompson, looked up and rubbed his weary eyes. Like Koos, he donned traditional red-and-black robes that bore the Brotherhood’s emblem - a silver cross wreathed by a circle of flames. It symbolized their most powerful ally, the sun, which had adorned their clothes for more than four centuries - ever since the Brotherhood had taken up their holy quest.

‘Koos.’ The man’s voice sounded like an aged, cracked bell.

‘Sir, I’m sorry. I apologize for disturbing you at this late hour, but it has happened.’

Silence hung between them for a moment. Demitri Thompson put his elbows on the table, folded his wrinkled hands, and placed them underneath his chin, letting his white-haired head rest. His hazy brown eyes, hidden behind thick tortoise-shell glasses, were filled with pain as he forced a sad smile. ‘When?’

‘The child was born this evening.’

The old man sighed. ‘As long as this child is alive we are all in danger. Call the others. It must be destroyed.’

We won’t stand a chance, Koos thought. Still, he nodded once and then turned. Stalling in the doorway, he shot a glance over his shoulder. The Grand Master had staggered to his feet. ‘Sir, where are you going?’

‘To pray, my dear friend. We’ll need all the help we can get.’

1. Dawn

The Hague, The Netherlands

Present Day

Three partially melted ice cubes danced around in my glass to the rhythm of the music and gently squeezed the fresh leaves of mint that floated around in my drink.

‘Happy eighteenth birthday, Leah. Here’s to freedom,’ Maaike said, bringing her mouth close to my ear, her red curls bouncing to the deafening beat. She clinked her Rum and Coke against my untouched Mojito. I took a sip. The sour taste of lime made my lips pucker.

‘No more curfews,’ I answered, raising my glass.

‘Amen to that,’ Maaike assented, took a big gulp, and then turned her attention to the hot Antillean guy behind her.

I stared around. Everything at the club was so vivid - each pearl of sweat on the dancers’ faces, the smell of sloshing ale and cocktails, and the sound of rustling clothes. An enticing taste found itself into my mouth. It was so delicious that it guided me forward and lured me into the crowd, away from my friends.

‘Where are you going?’ Maaike called after me. I didn’t answer, but moved faster.

I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the mirrors surrounding the dance floor. My skin, normally so pale that it bordered on translucent, was alight - suffused with a golden shine. The unique violet shade of my irises sparkled in the flickering disco lights and my long, dark blonde hair swayed gracefully with each step as I effortlessly weaved through the throng of students celebrating the last Friday night of the summer holiday.

The appealing taste grew more intense, rusty but mouthwatering. I placed my right hand on my stomach and felt it growl with hunger.

Then it happened.

A white flash filled up the club, blinding me, but then faded as abruptly as it had appeared - giving way to bright flames that licked up the walls and engulfed the ceiling. Panicked cries ignited around me. I turned to find Maaike. Her eyes were wide, filled with fright as the inferno slithered across the floor to envelop her. She screamed. Blisters formed on her face. Her skin turned black. And then she was gone.

I jolted upright, my windpipe blocked by horror - Maaike’s agonized shriek ringing in my ears and my heart slamming against the inside of my chest. A brutal headache throbbed in my skull. It was so hot, as if the fire was still torching my skin.

Just a nightmare, I thought and lay back down.

Carefully, I peered through fluttering eyelids. The bright morning light stung my eyes. It took a while before I was able to focus. Confusion made that even harder. I expected to see my room’s peeling crimson ceiling, but instead found myself gazing up at a dark-green roof of corrugated iron. Air quivered into my nostrils for one breath, but it didn’t take longer than a second for bewilderment to turn into bloodcurdling terror. I was outside, on a plastic bench at a bus stop.

Frantically, I sat up to look around. There was nothing that I recognized. The name on the bus schedule didn’t ring any bells either. The street was deserted - neither person, nor car in sight.

My hands went up to cradle my head - something I instinctively did whenever I was scared. My fingers got caught in tangles of hard, dry strands. I pulled back and was immediately terrified of what I saw. My bare, milky-white arms were covered in soot, dirt, and rust-brown smears that looked like dried blood. My black top and jeans were hardly visible through the grime. In a daze, I ran my trembling hands over my body, trying to find out where the blood had come from. It wasn’t mine. I didn’t have a scratch on me.

It wasn’t a dream. The realization hit me like a tidal wave. Bile rose in the back of my throat. I slipped off the bench, crammed myself in the corner of the shelter, shut my eyes, and curled up into a ball - my body rocking back and forth. Tears ran freely down my cheeks and I put my head in my hands, wheezing madly as I tried to force air into my lungs.

It had been my eighteenth birthday yesterday. Maaike had picked me up at home. But I couldn’t remember what had happened afterward. The only thing I painstakingly recalled was the sight of her boiling flesh before waking up. An irrepressible shiver quaked through me.

‘Are you all right, dear?’ The creaky voice came out of nowhere and I jumped in surprise.

‘Do you need help? Are you hurt?’

I looked up to see the old lady’s face changing from one of concern to one of horror. My hands went up to wipe away my tears and I saw that my fingers were soaked in fresh blood. I ran them over my face, trying to discover the wounds, but I couldn’t find any until my fingers reached my eyes. I’m crying tears of blood!

The old lady took out her cell phone and pressed the Call button with a bleep. A muffled voice answered almost immediately. ‘112, what’s your emergency?’

Staring into her shriveled face - her glassy blue eyes wide and alarmed - my own fright magnified, clogging my brain and wrapping me in a cloak of panic. What is happening to me? I jumped up, nearly knocking the old lady out of the way, and ran. I had no idea where I was going or why I was running. My mind had gone into complete lockdown - no information coming in or out except for the excruciating memory of Maaike’s burning face and the nauseating awareness of the blood that incessantly rolled in warm drops from my eyes to my lips. I tasted the rust and my head swirled.

The road forked and without thinking I turned left. There were houses up ahead and people taking out trash and walking their dogs. A group of teenage girls on bicycles was coming my way, carrying field hockey sticks. I felt a sense of relief when I saw their green-and-yellow tracksuits. At least I was still in The Hague. They belonged to the same club as Maaike. The same club that Maaike had belonged to, I corrected myself. I shook my head in denial, but the empty feeling in my heart was unmistakable and impossible to ignore.

I dodged onto a tree-lined bike lane. My feet dragged along the tarmac like ten-ton bricks, getting heavier with each step. The trees thinned out and gave way to yellow sand dotted with plumes of marram grass. Squawks of hungry seagulls sounded in the distance. A small white sign with red letters and the image of a bicycle confirmed my suspicions of my location.

Scheveningen Beach, 2.1 km

Without an ounce of shade for me to hide in, the sun was everywhere, frying me from above and below as the light reflected off the bright sand. I could barely put one foot in front of the other. Breathing became even more difficult. My lungs objected to each heavy draw of hot air, and a nasty stitch in my side eventually stopped me.

Looking around, I was surprised to see that the trees from which I had emerged were only a few yards back - it felt as though I had run much farther. They were part of a forest that stretched as far as the eye could see. A freeway cut through it in the middle.

Forcing my body to obey, I edged back toward the shade and stopped as soon as the leaves blocked the sun. But I had no time to catch my breath. The approaching sound of rattling bike fenders and excited voices grew rapidly louder. It was Saturday morning, August thirty-first, with clear, blue skies - half of Holland would soon be heading out this way to claim their spot on The Hague’s favorite beach.

With reignited panic, I jumped off the bike lane and into the forest. There was no path and I had to tear through shoulder-high blackberry bushes. Thorns hooked into my clothes and skin. Blood burst from the cuts, but I barely felt it. I pushed myself deeper into the woods, burrowing through a jungle of overgrown ferns, and didn’t stop until my legs couldn’t carry me one step farther. I sat down on a patch of green moss, leaned my back against the bark of a beech, and buried my head between my knees. My body felt empty, drained, and disconnected from my soul. The world started to spin. My eyelids were heavy and before I knew it, I was sucked into an all-consuming darkness.

Then slowly, the insufferable heat subsided and my headache vanished.

When I opened my eyes, the world had changed completely. The sun had set. The forest was dark except for the drips of moonlight that filtered through the thatched roof of branches above my head, but colors danced in the nightly blackness - clouds of purple and green. White auras clung to every living organism around me, shrouding trees and toadstools with rays of light. I stared around in wonder. I could see as clearly as I had during the day, clearer even, as if in high-definition. Every vein in every leaf was easily discernable, each pine needle on the ground, each grain of sand stuck to the sole of my sneaker. Even more remarkable, I saw it all at the same time. Every detail of everything that my eyes touched was equally distinct.

My gaze dropped to my hands and my high was instantly smothered. Their gory surface reminded me of the flames that had devoured Maaike. She’s really gone. Despair crawled back under my skin. I scowled at my fingers as if they were to blame for her death, but then felt my eyes widen. Bewildered, I gasped and blinked a few times to clear my vision. Beneath the grime, the myriad of scratches from my battle with the thorn bushes had vanished and my skin possessed a strange golden glow. The mesmerizing shine rippled across my naked arms and ankles to the accelerating beat of my heart.

I raised my palms to admire them better, but before I knew it, my hands were already up. I flipped them over, moving so fast that the force of that movement blew my long hair out of my face. Wow.

An angry growl suddenly blared into my ears, like someone stepping on the accelerator of a car. The noise rose and then faded, only to repeat itself. But the sound wasn’t just one car. There were hundreds. Is that the freeway? Straining my ears, I tried to listen for other sounds I could pick up on and jumped when I heard a loud rumbling, as if a bulldozer was shifting earth next to my ear, followed by a terrifying crunch. The picture of a serial killer mauling bones flashed through my head. Quickly, I scrambled to my feet but when I pushed myself off the ground, I was launched into the air. I landed, teetering on my toes, and then pitched forward. My right leg caught me before my skull smashed against the tree trunk in front of me. The sickening crunching ceased.

I turned, but so uncontrollably fast that I spun around like a top. When I finally stopped, my heart was pounding wildly in the back of my throat. Afraid of making any big movements, I carefully tipped my head into the direction of the sound and scanned the curtain of leaves. My gaze landed on two enormous, black, beady eyes. Startled, I jumped backward, felt the trunk push against my spine, and then heard a thunderous crack. With a high-pitched whoosh the tree fell, crashing into another one.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the colossal creature move. It leaped through the air and landed on a huge bough then held my gaze for about ten seconds before lifting up its gigantic paws - its dark nails looking like black daggers - and shoving a brownish object into its mouth. Two razor-sharp, chisel-shaped teeth cut through the object in a matter of seconds, followed by the raucous munching.

It took me a while to understand what it was but even then what I saw didn’t make sense. The creature was a squirrel. I was seeing it in close up. I inhaled deeply, trying to expel the adrenaline that rushed through me, and as I did my eyes slowly adjusted. Gradually the animal grew smaller in my vision, yet it remained unbelievably defined. I could still see every hair, every mote of dust sticking to its pelt, each tiny drop of dew caught in its whiskers. As though my eyes were powerful zoom lenses, the squirrel appeared larger again when I refocused. Not knowing how to react, I let an awkward giggle roll over my lips.

The same ear-popping sound I had heard earlier, like shifting earth, made me look to my right. With my eyes zooming in, I was perplexed to find the fluffy tip of a hare’s tail sticking out of a hole a good forty yards away. The animal was digging. I concentrated hard and sensed the sound fading, in response, to a more tolerable volume.

This is insane, I thought, but hesitantly took a step forward. I merely had to think about lifting my foot and it had already moved. My body felt alien to me but the feeling was exhilarating, obscuring any lingering fear and confusion.

I dared a few more careful steps until I was confident that I wasn’t going to spin out of control and crash into a tree. Then faster. Pushing my feet harder off the ground, I was soon swishing past bushes, feeling more as if I were flying than running. My speed threw my clothes and hair out behind me. The wind roared past my eardrums and lashed at my face. The trees became one big blur and yet I effortlessly slalomed my way around the maze of trunks. The smell of salt soon hit my nose and my footsteps changed pitch as the bouncy, leaf-blanketed forest floor changed into soft, powdery sand that spat up from under my heels.

My muscles felt like liquid fire as I dashed through the starlit dunes. All around me, bunnies darted toward the safety of their burrows. To my right, a red fox with dilated pupils, yellow in the moonlight, froze in shock. To my left, a flock of offended seagulls cackled madly and rose up into flight.

I aimed for the ocean. The sea was calm, low tide. Tiny crabs scampered along the water’s edge in rhythmic disarray, locked in a lover’s dance with the undulating waves. They must have felt the vibration of my footsteps and hurriedly buried themselves in the sand as I drew near. I was careful not to step on any of them as I passed.

Once the first splash of salt water made it through the fabric of my shoes, I stopped.

My breathing was steady, to my surprise. Not a drop of sweat crept through my pores. I buried my feet in the slop and let the waves glide over them. The sea was pleasantly cool.

I took a few more steps until I was in knee-deep and let my fingertips fondle the water’s surface. The gilded glow on my skin appeared even brighter underwater, shining through the briny liquid like a submerged beacon of light.

I dropped to my knees and let the waves roll over me. Then I lowered my head and listened as they crashed onto shore. Salty drops splashed onto my face, prickling my lips, nibbling my cheeks. The current pulled on my tangled hair. Feeling the suction of the flow together with the tiny fragments of shell against my skin was as if being caressed by a legion of fingernails. But it felt great - being cleansed. The water washed away the dirt, blood, and other painful, physical reminders of the fire and my bleeding eyes.

I lay there for a while, stretched out on my back in the shallow waves, with my head just above water, the taste of the sea saturating my mouth - salt, fish, seaweed, and wet sand - and was entranced by the dots of light that graced the horizon. Fishing boats, I realized. I zoomed in and blinked a few times in astonishment. Did I just see a chubby man flick his cigarette butt over the railing? I was just about to look for other details that I could spot when the wind stirred and changed course.

The fresh breeze carried a whiff of something rusty. It was delicious but so strong that it stung my eyes and burned my nose. My mouth felt dry, as if I had drunk a gallon of seawater, and I had to swallow just to be able to take another breath. My stomach growled menacingly and suddenly I was famished. Clawing at my empty belly, I looked around for the source of the torturous scent.

To my right, the beach was empty. But about eight hundred yards to my left, a couple - a few years older than me, I guessed - sat huddled around a bonfire. I could easily make out their clothes and even the brand of the surfboard that had been stuck in the sand and was being used to lean against. Another board served as a table and was stacked with beer cans, packs of smokes, and an empty bag of potato chips.

The guy - hefty, with blond sun-bleached hair, a dark tan, and playing the guitar - had a mean laceration on his knee. A wound probably sustained from falling onto a razor clam. He had patched it up using a simple bandage, but blood still seeped through, coloring the patch rusty brown.

The wind grew fiercer and more of the mouthwatering aroma blew in my face, making it impossible to focus on anything besides the irrepressible need to still my hunger. An all-consuming thirst clawed at my throat and without realizing that I was moving, I found myself drifting toward the couple as if an unstoppable force was pulling me in.

The girl - with brown ringlets, her wetsuit stripped down to her waist - was first to spot me. She edged closer to her boyfriend, put her hand on his leg, and scrutinized me from head to toe. From her sour expression I could tell that I wasn’t welcome. But my mind was completely preoccupied with the mellifluent sloshing of her boyfriend’s heart and that bloody bandage below her hand.

I felt myself break into a run and launch myself at the guitarist. In the back of my head a loud voice was screaming, ordering me to stop, but I didn’t listen. I couldn’t. Possessed by lust, I shoved the girl violently out of the way. She landed with a startled shriek and a splash in the water. The guy gasped. My hands cupped around his armpits. I lifted him up and pulled him closer to me as if he were no heavier than the guitar still strapped to his torso. His heart throbbed against my bosom. His carotid artery jumped in his neck, beckoning me.

My lips crashed down on his throat and for a split second I savored their contact with his trembling skin. Then I bit down, hard, my teeth slicing effortlessly through tissue and veins. He struggled in my grasp, but I barely took notice. My arms were like titanium deadbolts and did not budge even when he dug his nails deeply into my flesh.

Warm trickles of his blood slid down my chin as I gobbled the thick liquid that streamed into my mouth. His body convulsed in spasms as it fought against death and his screams finally died in a gurgle as blood flooded his windpipe. Then his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he grew limp in my arms. My grip on him loosened and his drained corpse slumped to the sand.

Strange images flashed in front of my eyes - hallucinations, pictures shrouded in fog. As if I was looking through the surfer’s eyes, I saw the bonfire and then his girlfriend flying through the air. The entire scene of what had just happened replayed inside my head. I cringed when I saw my own face - hungry, focused, terrifying. Even through the fog, the peculiar gloss on my skin was entrancing, as if a fire was burning beneath it. But my eyes were what took my breath