The Fourth Sunrise

Acclaim for the novels of H.T. Night:

“
Vampire Love Story
is a passionate story that is told from a refreshing perspective. This book was a blast. Night invents a brand new world for the Vampire genre. Great Job!”

—
Summer Lee
, author of
Angel Heart
and
Kindred Spirits

“
Vampire Love Story
is a hip and timely vampire novel filled with real characters and some of the coolest vampires since
The Lost Boys
! You’re going to love Night’s completely original take on the supernatural.”

—
J
.R. Rain
, author of
Moon Dance
and
The Body Departed

“Night is a true storyteller.
Winning Sarah’s Heart
is thoughtful and inspirational.”

—
Elaine Babich
, author
You Never Called Me Princess
and
Relatively Normal

OTHER BOOKS BY H.T. NIGHT

The Fourth Sunrise

Romeo and Juliet: A Vampire and Werewolf Love Story

VAMPIRE LOVE STORY SERIES

Vampire Love Story

The Werewolf Whisperer

Forever and Always

Vampires vs. Werewolves

One Love

Divine Blood

Sons of Josiah

ENTWINED SERIES

Werewolf Love Story: Part One

Werewolf Love Story: Part Two

The Rise of Kyro

Loving Maya

Werewolf Without a Cause

VAMPIRE SUPERHERO SERIES

with Elizabeth Basque

Vampire Superhero No. 1

Vampire Superhero No. 2

Vampire Superhero No. 3

WINNING SARAH’S HEART SERIES

Episode One: Back to School

Episode Two: Boys Being Boys

Episode Three: Looking Good, Cody Greer

Episode Four: Saying Goodbye

Episode Five: Something Special about Silence

Episode Six: Junior High

Episode Seven: Finding Cody

Episode Eight: Lovesick Quarterback

Episode Nine: A Very Cody Christmas

WITH J.R. RAIN AND SCOTT NICHOLSON

Bad Blood

THE FOURTH SUNRISE

Published by H.T. Night

Copyright © 2012 by H.T. Night

All rights reserved.

Ebook Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

(
Author’s note:
All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.)

Dedication

I dedicate this to Alberto Silva, a friend for life. I also dedicate this book to my three wonderful sisters.

Acknowledgment

Special thanks to Eve Paludan, J.R. Rain, Margaret Cervenkas, April M. Reign, and Liz Jones for all their help.

The Fourth Sunrise

Chapter One

Present Day – Delta, Colorado - Coffee Shop, 8:15 p.m.

I pulled my old, 1982 Ford Courier truck into the coffee shop driveway. My truck’s white paint was in desperate need of a new coat. With the recent recession, I was going to have to just rely on good hand washing to keep it looking slick. I parked next to a big blue minivan. There was a time when my truck used to be the muscle in a parking lot. That was a whole other world ago. Now it just looked kind of pathetic, trying to retain its former relevance. The climate of automobile culture changes so dramatically each year that I wondered if everyone would soon be riding in one of those algae-sucking hybrids.

I looked in my rearview mirror, hoping to see, by a slim chance, if the woman I had come to see had pulled in the parking lot driveway after me. I knew it was wishful thinking, but then again, I was more excited than I had ever been to see her, at least since—well, since the last time I saw her, fourteen years ago. That night had been the last time we had had any contact of any sort, at least until a couple of months ago.

I parked and shut off the ignition. Then I pulled out my black comb from my hip pocket, and combed back my silver-plated hair, leaning into my reflection in my driver’s side mirror. My hair had a natural tint that looked more silver than gray. I was fortunate to still have a full head of hair at the tender age of sixty-four. A full head of gray or silver hair was what eventually happened to most of us—at least, the men who got to keep their hair—but the wrinkles on my face were the sad reality of all the wasted years I had spent apart from this wonderful woman, the woman who I was to meet on this hope-filled night.

Done with my comb, I reached in my pocket and pulled out the only two pictures I had of her. Both pictures captured what I loved about her the most—her innocence. I looked down in my lap and stared at each photo. Just managing to obtain these two pictures was a challenge in itself. She was a paradox—she was the most beautiful woman in the world and yet, she hated to have her photo taken.

Those photos were two of my most prized possessions. I stared down at both pictures and took each in hand, individually, as I had done many times over the years. This time was different. I would be seeing her shortly and that anticipation was enough to put an old man in the hospital with the excitement that was building throughout my body. Luckily, I was in pretty tip-top shape for a man my age. My shoulder and knees were weak from my baseball and military days, but the rest of me was built “Ford tough.” Like my truck, I was still stocky, reliable and functional, but with a couple of minor dents and scratches.

Once more, I looked down at the two pictures that I’d placed neatly in my lap. Very shortly, it would be show time, and I needed one last pick-me-up. Nothing motivated me more than seeing her beautiful face. The first picture to the left was the most beautiful photo I had ever seen of any woman taken at any given time, past or present. The photo looked to be taken around 1968. I could tell it was done at one of those portrait studios and this was just a smaller version of a much larger beautiful picture. In it, Christine was standing on a larger prop, a rusty-brown rock with a blue backdrop. She was wearing a beautiful white summer dress. Her hair was blowing back just enough that the photo seemed elegant, but with just a hint of sexuality. The photo reminded me of what an angel might look like in heaven, if one believed in such things.

The other picture was taken on the night of our third meeting, many years later, but years before the present day. On that night, we managed to find photo booth and forever engrained the moment we shared, just two middle-aged folks smiling without a worry in the world. It was a typical three-set photo strip, each photo a different pose. I was lucky enough to get the photo I wanted. I did the gentlemanly thing and let her keep two out of the three photos. To be honest, I regretted that decision later, as every photo I had of her was sacred to me. But what was I going to do, not give her a picture?

The last time I saw Christine was fourteen years ago when this very picture was taken. We were both newly fifty. Christine looked radiant and beautiful as she always did. I just looked like a guy who was happy. It was one of the few times when I actually was. There we were, sitting tightly together, so we could get both our faces in the snapshot. At the time, I remember thinking that I wished we would have kissed in the picture. But now, I was glad that we didn’t. I liked it that I had another picture with Christine looking into the camera.

Christine Connelly had been her name for the past forty-four years. But that wasn’t how I knew her. In my heart, she would always be Christine Norquist. She still looked more beautiful than I ever remembered. Her long hair, now a little darker, was a tad grayer than the two previous meetings. But she was still the most beautiful woman on that night. Christine was head and shoulders above all women, even at the tender age of fifty, and tonight, even pushing her mid-sixties, she would be the most beautiful woman in the coffee shop.

I had loved this woman longer than I could remember not loving her. I gazed at the picture one last time and placed it in my glove compartment. This was it.
Maybe the fourth time would be a charm.

I stepped slowly out of my pickup truck. I looked up into the Colorado sky. It was getting dark, which was very appropriate. All of our meetings had been the same: each meeting had begun when it was dark. It was sort of our thing, only seeing one another at night. We weren’t vampires or anything. It was just the way everything had worked out.

Walking up to the coffee shop, I was very nervous. We had never before met at a coffee shop, but we had been to this very spot a couple of times. Now it was called
Coffee for Folks.
What it lacked in clever name branding, it apparently made up for with delicious coffee. I should know. I had been here many times over the years. We decided to meet at this particular coffee shop because it was scheduled to stay open all night for the first night of the town’s fair. It was a fair we were both now very familiar with, the city of Delta’s homegrown fair …Deltarado Days.

I walked up to the front door and I paused. I closed my eyes and held my breath as opened the door. I opened my eyes as I entered the shop, and I scanned the coffee shop’s booths behind my metal-framed glasses. She was nowhere to be found. I guessed that she hadn’t arrived yet.

“Good evening, Joel,” a friendly voice said from behind the counter. Like I said, I had been here a couple of times. I looked over and waved to Marlene, a lovely woman with golden blond hair and no older than twenty.

“
Good evening to you, Marcy,” I said with pep in my voice. I told her that I preferred to call her Marcy because it was shorter, and because I am a stubborn old man who did things his own way. I said it as joke and she laughed at the time, but the funny part about it is that the name stuck. She still calls me Joel. I think that calling me by my first name was enough of a nickname for her. Most young folks called me Mr. Murphy.

“
What can I get you today?” Marcy asked.

“
Actually, dear, I am waiting for a lady friend to show,” I said, trying not to sound too excited because I knew she would rib me about it. When I had come in here, I had always been alone. All of my life, I had done most things alone.

“
A lady friend, Joel? Wow, sounds serious. Would you like to have a seat and wait? I can get you some of that special pudding that you like.”

“
Special pudding? You make me sound like I’m 95 years old. I’m still in my sixties.” I paused for a bit and contemplated and said, “I’ll have the pudding.”

“
You know I love you, Joel. Everyone here loves you,” Marcy said very sincerely and straightforward, as always. Then she teased me, saying, “You don’t look a day over sixty-four.”

“
Thanks, dear,” I smiled. “I’ll go sit in my usual spot in the corner booth.”

Marcy turned to another girl in the coffee shop and I overheard her saying to a coworker, “This is going to be so cute when his date gets here.”