Six Hours to Sunrise (Sanguine Series #1)

By Melissa R. Smith

Newly revised-March 2013!
After being told by her unconventional preacher father that she has to marry a man she’s never met, Madeline Stevens checks herself into a hotel room, determined to end her suffering. Little did she know, a glance at an ad in the hotel’s phone book would lead her to a mysterious man named Reece and the beginning of six hours she would never forget.

There is one problem.

Reece Summerall is no ordinary man. A Sanguine who’s existed for over a hundred years, he never thought it was possible to find a companion until he became completely blindsided. When Reece is forced to take a drastic step in order to save Madeline’s life, he unwillingly binds the two of them together forever. When she learns the truth about him, will they be able to go their separate ways or will their strong bond bring them back together? Or will her father’s teachings ultimately drive a wedge between them?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melissa R. Smith
• Release date: Jul 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476194509

Melissa R. Smith

I'm an independent author looking for a following. I've spent the past ten years writing in various genre's, including historical and contemporary fanfiction. However, most all of my full length novels are of the area of paranormal romance. You'll find my books to have strong, adult female characters, a touch of humor and minimal sexual content. If you like my books, please spread the word!

Book preview

Six Hours to Sunrise

-A Sanguine Novel

By: Melissa R. Smith

***

Copyright 2011 - Melissa R. Smith

Smashwords Edition

The life of every creature is in its blood. That is why I have said to the people of Israel, ‘You must never eat or drink blood, for the life of any creature is in its blood.’

Leviticus 17:14

Introduction

I often wonder what it would be like to write my own book. Yes, me. Reece Summerall. Sanguine. Author. I like the sound of that. The Idiot’s Guide to Sanguine Society would be a best seller. Especially here in the southern part of the United States, where we still experience prejudice on a regular basis.

Sanguines – not vampires, thank you – tend to grow a fondness for one region and stay within the general area even when on the move. Some prefer damp, cloudy climates because they’re able to go out in the daytime more often with the security of near constant cloud cover. I guess it was what they were accustomed to in parts of Europe before coming to the States. Others, however, prefer less depressing conditions. I’m one of them. Maybe it’s because I’ve never been to Europe.

Sanguines kept their original roots in Europe for many centuries, long before the word vampire ever thought of becoming part of American pop culture. Although with our official unveiling in early 1901, there came an increasing call in the European nations by Sanguines for basic rights and privileges. Countering, humans started demanding strict regulations in regards to how we feed and where we must live. It caused so much of a rift between Sanguines and humans by the First World War that many decided it was no longer the best environment for them. So they left in droves, spreading out to different parts of the world to start over. In America, even as early as the first settlers, I’ve been told, we began to come over with the temptation of living in absolute secrecy. It was only after the Civil War that many started drifting further and further west to the Rocky Mountains. Yet, after the unveiling, many states, in their panic, closed their borders and banned residency. That’s when the first permanent territories in the United States were formed.

I’m considered an old Sanguine in the Brotherhood since I was created over a hundred and forty-four years ago, but I’m very young compared to many of my friends. I was born and raised in the south on an old fashioned, white columned, cotton plantation in southern Georgia, which, I’m proud to say, is still around today. It’s a museum, I think. I, as others of my time, helped run the plantation alongside my father and two older brothers until the Civil War took us all to fight. It was there, on a battlefield in Virginia, that I lost both of my brothers to injury. I survived. On the way home from the war, starving and near death, I was befriended and later created Sanguine by a fellow soldier named Jacob Terrance and therefore secured my allegiance to, what was loosely called at the time, the Confederate Territory. Of course, that’s a story for another time.

Although the current Southeastern Territory – or SET for short – consists of Tennessee, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, the Carolinas, Florida and Louisiana, only half – the Carolinas, Georgia and Louisiana – are open for Sanguine residency. I believe that’s why we tend to stick together more than other territories. Blame the old Bible Belt mentality for that. Some still believe in the old ideal of anything that walks the two worlds is unholy. I don’t believe so myself. I think God loves all creatures, even those who can’t die. I also believe, ultimately, that one day we’ll all get that chance for redemption and salvation. For some, redemption will just take a little longer.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love the south in general. Despite the horrifically hot summers, where we have to hunker down in our homes during the day, the scenery is beautiful, lush and green and the people are still charming and polite. Men open doors, help the elderly with their groceries and women are still gracious and know how to cool one fine, southern meal. Makes me wish I could still eat food. I really miss greens and cornbread.

The Sanguine Brotherhood likes to keep a low profile. Still, there are a few things that most humans are aware of. The main one, of course, is that we value privacy. We typically don’t socialize with humans at any organized church or religion, nor do we wish to take high positions within government. We do, however, like employment with night jobs or work from home where we can shield ourselves inside during the day. I’m sure it’s not hard for people to spot a Sanguine home from the windows covered in black shutters. We also tend to be exceptional with computers, numbers and mathematical figures, so many of us are accountants bookkeepers or work in the IT industry. With our strength, we’re sought after as crew for the transportation department since we like working at night and don’t require sleep.

We obviously can’t go out in full sunlight, especially in the south, but there are those of us who are brave enough to go out on dark, stormy days. Of course we must take great pains to cover up in thick, black cloth since direct contact through ultraviolet rays, even behind the clouds, can still cause great pain. Otherwise, we’re immune to disease and typical human ailments, so we don’t require medical care.

I chose Charlotte, North Carolina to live because of the people’s laid back attitude towards us. Sure, there are communities within the state that don’t want us around, but thankfully they don’t feel the need to attack us with torches and pitchforks. And as a bonus, we don’t have to deal with constant harassment of the Militia. The Militia is a group of humans who have been around as long as we’ve been in America. They oppose us being here, mingling among our chosen prey. Because of that, they appointed themselves the overseers of us poor Sanguines who are apparently too stupid to realize the implications of killing and disposing of humans haphazardly. That scares the locals, the Militia says. Wow, imagine that.

Random human killings don’t occur very often in North Carolina and in turn, the Militia stays out of our way. Not to say the Militia isn’t here at all. Wherever Sectarians are, Militia follows. Most Sects, those who do love to hunt and kill humans for sport, don’t like the Charlotte area because we’ve learned to police our own. They stick to New Orleans, where things are, I would say, a bit more laid back. Therefore, that’s where most of the Militia expel their energy these days.

So, what would I say in a book about Sanguines? I’d say that, while we want to live peacefully, we still need blood…human blood to survive. Contrary to what you’ve read in books, however, we don’t drain humans dry to satisfy that hunger. I mean, we don’t have to. Humans can donate blood, not just for hospital use, but for us as well. Depositories, which are located in the back of most all independent, human pharmacies, were created in the mid-1920’s. All Sanguines are encouraged to get their blood supplies from there as its been established that more than 85-90% percent can survive very well on O positive blood. Some Sanguines do require the rarer blood types which can only be obtained by special order or through specialized Depositories that now, thanks to the internet, have direct home delivery.

Yes, while we’re immortal, there are ways we can die, or expire being the more acceptable term. One is from being beheaded, which is from either ritual Sanguine suicide or Elder punishment and the other, more common way is from a disease called Tainted Blood Systemia, or TBS, which comes from consuming blood that has been in contact with oxygen for too long. That, unfortunately, is something that happens far too often from improper handling and storage of donated blood over the years. Many Sanguines have succumbed to TBS, even though the Depositories continue to claim their handling practices meet all acceptable safety requirements.

I’m a Purist, someone who prefers to stay away from the Depositories. Like Sects, Purists don’t think the Depositories do their best to keep the collected blood safe enough for Sanguine consumption. There will always be a risk of contracting TBS from bagged blood because it’s nearly impossible to take blood from the vein of a human and seal it in a plastic container without most of it reaching oxygen in the process. And at those amounts, it causes the blood to have a foul taste, as I’ve been told. Honestly, I wouldn’t want to drink bagged blood unless the world runs out of humans and thankfully, I don’t see that happening. While no one close to me has succumbed to Tainted Blood Systemia, from what I understand, it is an agonizing death. And the older the Sanguine, the longer it takes for death to consume him. Not the way to go, if you ask me. Beheading isn’t lovely to watch either, but at least it’s fast.

If I were to warn people about how a Sanguine expiration would appear, I would tell them to take a small piece of wood and burn it. Observe how the wood slowly turns grayish white and then blows away to nothing, like dust in the wind? That’s a fairly accurate description. And the more bagged blood he drinks, the pastier the ash is. Simply put, instead of blowing away, it just... coagulates in a glob on the floor. That’s due to the preservatives that keep the blood from clotting. So, in the end, no matter how much someone tries to claim they aren’t a bagger, that’s a sure give away. Thankfully, most humans will never witness a Sanguine expire in their lifetime. It’s better for public relations.

A debate on whether or not to bag would invariably lead to just how us Purists get our blood, as well as how we make and keep connections with women. I feel once our fellow residents realized we don’t put women under some strange trance to lure them into our lair, the better off we would be.

Instead, we use clubs or Sanguine establishments. Every state that allows us to reside within her borders has at least one, some have more depending on the number of Purists who need it. They’re run by the reigning Elder, which makes it convenient if a Sanguine needs to find an Elder to settle a dispute or to register their residency. Sanguine clubs were designed as a safe meeting place for humans and Sanguines to interact and find possible companions. Purists get to feed safely and humans reap the benefits. I’ve been told that the effect that comes from having your blood taken is like drinking a bottle of Red Bull, followed by a supershot triple espresso, all while sitting on a washing machine on the full spin cycle. I suppose that would make anyone come back for more.

The process of forming an attachment is much more complex. We still don’t even know what causes a Sanguine to be drawn to a particular human beyond that of compatible blood type. Yes, I guess it’s really like when humans fall in love. That can’t be explained any more than connecting can. Women (and some men, as there are Sanguines that prefer male blood) are found in various places like blood drives and invited to the club; some come by word of mouth. They’re told ahead of time what their purpose is, so they can make an informed choice. Once inside, it’s like any other club. Sanguines and humans meet, see if they connect, spend time getting to know one another. If the purpose is just for feeding, then there are designated Feeding Rooms set up for privacy, as feeding in the main club is frowned upon. If they wish to become companions, then they can spend the evening together at the club, or leave to be alone elsewhere.

I wasn’t ever into the whole concept of connecting with just one person or taking a companion. I wouldn’t have called myself a player, but I loved sampling a new woman almost every week. A blond here, a brunette there, an occasional redhead. Lovely and delicious, AB positive or negative, A, B or O, I liked them all. I had my favorites, but never felt the need to take it further than the club. After being a Sanguine for so long, I just didn’t think there would be one for me. That is, until I was completely blindsided.

After that, nothing in my world was the same again. Would I explain in my book how one chance sighting would alter me for all time? Would I explain the implications of going against ages old, southern fundamentalist teachings and the problems it caused? Absolutely.

And I would say it was well worth it.

1

I was more than ready to end my life when I checked into the hotel. I planned it all out carefully. It was time. My life, at the age of twenty-eight, was going nowhere fast.

I was a library clerk in the city of Collinwood, North Carolina. I looked like I worked in a library too, which was the bad part. Long, mousy colored, bland hair. Average, slightly round body, short legs. Oblong face complete with patches of blotchy, acne scarred skin and topped with dark, thick glasses.

Of course I could say that this situation was all my fault, but I couldn't. I’m the only child born to parents who were very traditional. By traditional, I don't mean old fashioned but fundamentalist. Radical. They existed in some other time, some other era. My father was a preacher at the only non-denominational community church here in Collinwood, my mother a homemaker. We lived in a modest two bedroom home, but had very little modern conveniences beyond electricity. Father only conceded to a telephone because he thought it beneficial to be on call to his flock at all times.

His flock, as he called them, didn’t share my father’s extreme traditional ideals. Collinwood, about twenty miles outside of Kannapolis, wasn’t exactly the middle of the prairie. The community was modern and expanding with the inclusion of the new schools and children of the church grew up, at least as far as I could tell, normal. I think everyone saw the differences in our family, yet not one ever felt it was right to question the severity of his faith or the freedom to do as he pleased. We were as close to Amish as we could get living in North Carolina. I daresay, even the Amish knew what a DVD player was.

My sole purpose as daughter of a preacher was to marry another preacher and become a preacher's wife. Unfortunately, I knew young preacher men with my father’s beliefs would be scarce. So, I did my chores and was respectful to my family while being accessible to the flock for simple services like babysitting and cooking for bake sales.

I kept my hair long, uncut and uncolored. I wore dresses and skirts as Mother did. In the summer, the skirts could be no higher than four inches below the knee, during the winter, they had to be at least tea length. They were handmade; clean and neatly ironed, but pretty out of date. I went to public school from seventh grade to graduation after my mother successfully argued that I needed socialization. It was rare she argued and even rarer that she won, so my father must have already been agreeable beforehand. He probably figured I might be able to find a husband faster that way as members of his flock sent their sons to the public school.

Growing up, at first I wasn’t aware of just how different my life was. I trusted Father when he said things like music and cell phones were wrong, even though I knew others had them. But, when I began school, my eyes were opened to harsh reality. I hated school. In a high school that held less than 500 students, I was an outcast, pure and simple. Oh, I made some friends over time, even as shy and sheltered as I was, but they didn't stay my friends long when they found out that I wasn't allowed to have them sleep over, nor was I allowed to spend the night away. I wasn't allowed to hang out when I was a teenager, go to parties, go to the high school football games or join extracurricular activities. I wasn't allowed to drive, even to take Driver’s Ed. If you truly want to embarrass your children, my friends, go to their school and start raising your voice to the principal about how your child must be exempt from Driver’s Ed because it was sin for women to drive. And be sure to do it while the office is full of people. By the time third period started, it was all over the school.

Dating was nonexistent, of course. It was no secret I was a virgin and I was taunted mercilessly for it. Perhaps if I had been kept out of school, I couldn't make comparisons to the outside world and I could have remained ignorant. But that wasn't so. I knew how different things were. I knew other parents didn’t do this to their children.

I knew just how insignificant my life really was.

It was a miracle in itself that I was allowed to get a job when I turned twenty-four. But, the economy being what it was, Father thought it might be good to have some extra income. Mother couldn't work outside the home; she was a wife, so it was up to me to work until I married. I applied to JC Penny’s but Father said no, for obvious reasons. Grocery stores, no. And forget Wal-Mart, too many worldly temptations hiding behind those blue vests. In the end, there weren’t many options for a woman with my upbringing in my city, so with my good high school grades, a library clerk I became.

On the bright side, it wasn’t a horrible job. I managed to make some friends in the last couple of years and with their help, I was able to emerge from my shell and try new things. I finally got my driver’s license when I was twenty-five even though I had to sneak around to do it. I was able to slip out to see movies in the theatre and I bought an ipod for the first time on my twenty-seventh birthday. I kept it hidden at the library. The library was the only exposure I had to the internet as well. I was experiencing the joy of Wikipedia, email, FoodTV.com and the wonders of Ebay. And now, I was growing an addiction for Netflix, which sent amazing things to my secret P.O box as well as streaming them to my work computer. Bliss. For the first time, I thought I might actually catch up to the 21st century.

Instead, it came crashing down.

As crazy as it seemed, my father had somehow found a man willing to marry me. I wouldn't be an old maid, he said over and over. The man, twenty-nine years old, shared Father’s views and was looking for a wife so he could move to the Savannah, Georgia area and open his own church.

Jack Wiley, Jr., was his name. Young Jack was associate pastor of an eight hundred member church in Livingston, a community forty miles northeast of Winston-Salem. Intelligent, Father attempted to sell me, he stood about five foot nine and had bright red hair and freckles. He was respectful when they first met for coffee, passive and very dedicated to the church flock. Would make beautiful, gifted, well mannered children, Jack Sr. had said. The deal was struck within an hour. And apparently, Young Jack was as excited about it as his father was.

This was it. My future was set in stone. My friends told me I was old enough to say no, to fight it, but I couldn't. They didn't understand. This was what I was raised for, what I was taught and now I knew I had no business wishing otherwise. It was all planned out for me. I would sew, cook and clean and eventually raise babies, all for a man that I probably would never love. I would be subservient at all times, never talk back or be allowed to express an opinion. I'd go to church and sit on the front pew, stare longingly at my husband and pretend not to be bored. I'd be on call at all hours of the day and night to the flock. I'd be the first one to visit after the birth of children, or the death of loved ones, holding in my arms a casserole dish, a comforting smile and words of wisdom.

I would become my mother.

Yes, conventional thinking was that suicide was the ultimate sin, unforgivable in the eyes of God, but what else could I do when faced with being delivered into a life of misery? Had I been put here for a reason that I had to endure something so bleak? I had no idea and, call me a coward, I didn't want to find out.

After some online research at work, the hotel I chose was in an area just off Hwy. 85 between Kannapolis and Concord. No frills, just nice and clean with a friendly staff. It had a bed, a television, small desk and a bathroom, that's all that mattered. A bonus, it had a dazzling array of in-room movies, many I hadn't seen. Who cares how much got put on the bill? I don't think anyone was going to worry about payment tomorrow morning.

The most important thing was that it had a bathtub. In researching many ways to die, it came down to just one thing, it had to be painless. I wasn't one of those brave enough to shoot themselves or jump off a bridge to their deaths. There was always a chance that I might survive, lay bleeding and in pain before anyone would find me. Nor did I think I would have access to pills since Father rarely used doctors. Therefore, I concluded the easiest way would copy what I saw seen in a movie I watched a couple of weeks ago. I brought my father's straight razor and when the time came, I would soak in the bath, open up my veins and simply go to sleep.

But, in the meantime, I was going to do something that I never did before, order myself a fancy, gourmet meal. My spendthrift father would never approve of this, of course. He always preached about frugality and eliminating excess. The hotel didn't have a restaurant, but the lady at the front desk suggested a place that delivered and that the menu was in the yellow pages in my room. I found the menu for Hannigan’s Steakhouse and picked up the phone to order myself the filet mignon dinner for two, including two orders of turtle cheesecake. I can safely say, if I was going, I was going with a full belly.

Except, something stopped me.

When I put the yellow pages down on the bed, the pages fell open to a section that had something in it, a thick piece of paper folded hard and tucked away. Curious, I pulled out the white paper and looked at it. Written from the hotel stationary with a blue pen was bold letters.

Midnight Special.

When I looked at the section where the paper had been tucked, it was the dating section. You know, where singles' lines were listed? Of course, I never considered stuff like that would be listed in the phone book, but I was still annoyingly naïve. Circled in the same blue ink was an ad for a place called The Dutch Club.

Interesting.

Need a date for a special occasion and don’t want to face the meat market or the impersonal nature of online dating services? Need a companion to take to your office Halloween party, sister’s wedding or class reunion? How about a night of fun and fantasy? Let us take the worry away. Our experts will choose just the right man for you, no matter what the need. Call us! You don’t know what you’re missing!

Although I didn’t recognize the address, the ad said that they served the Charlotte and Mecklenburg/Cabarrus County areas. Yes, I loved it. I was going to a lot of trouble to make my last night on earth a blow out. First the in-room movies, then the filet mignon. Why not enjoy it with a man? I didn't want to die a virgin, but I thought I wouldn't have much of a say in that. Now, perhaps I did.

Before I knew it, I dialed the toll-free number. To prevent chickening out, I told myself it was only curiosity, I mean I couldn't possibly afford a male escort, especially if he was expected to have sex with me, right?

But it certainly didn't hurt to ask.

2

Hello, Dutch Club, this is Jayne, may I help you? a voice on the other end of the line asked. Obviously a woman, very young sounding, high pitched and nasally. Hard to tell much else, there was loud music and the sound of people talking in the background.

Yes, my voice rose above it, I'd like some information about your...uh, your...services?

Ah, yes. The woman named Jayne said, the music and voices fading. I guess she moved to a quieter place. About what in particular?

Honestly, I don’t really know for sure, this is my first time even considering something like this.

That’s understandable. Well, just take your time and answer some simple questions. Start with how you found us. Did you see a billboard, flyer?

"No, an ad in the yellow pages. I was going through it looking for a