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Dawn Reclaimed

By: msnomer68



The Native Dawn Series Book 13 

Lycan Dawn book 2

Chapter 1

Claire mumbled something intelligible and rolled over, dragging the blankets over her face. Bathing the room with the promise of a simply glorious late spring day, morning light streamed garishly, nauseatingly cheerfully through the lace curtains covering her bedroom window. Cursing the alarm clock, she hit the snooze button and burrowed down deep into the covers. Her dream was better than reality. And damn it, she didn't want to get out of bed. She didn't want to shower, dress, choke down something loosely resembling breakfast, and drag her happy ass into work this morning. Her vacation was officially, painfully over. And the real world was waiting for her with its arms wide open to welcome her back to it. 

Nope. She didn't want any part of reality. The game of life wasn't fun anymore. And she'd rather stay fast asleep than play another round. In her dreams Grant wasn't a desperate thug who had kidnapped her and somehow in the process stolen her heart. He was a man. Stable. Strong. Someone she could build and share a future with. Dreams were funny like that. Supplying the missing pieces a person needed to fill in the blanks and make the dream world so much better than the actual reality of the normal day-to-day bullshit that went on in the real world. She turned and skimmed her palm across the cool sheets of the bed to make sure he wasn't there beside her. He was gone. Of course, he was gone. The bed was cold, lonely, and so fucking empty it hurt. 

Claire sat up in the bed and shook it off. She was depressed, alone, and due at work in less than an hour. Letting a string of curses fly from her lips a second time, she turned off the alarm clock and scowled at the pillow she'd been hugging in her sleep. It was a poor substitution for a warm body, for Grant. Irritated with herself, she kicked the pillow out from beneath the covers and onto the floor. Drawing her legs up to her chest, she rested her chin on her knees. Putting off reality for just a few more minutes before the clock forced her to give it up, climb out of the bed, and get on with her life. 

She'd known it all along. Knew with that first breathless kiss that this was coming. But the knowing didn't stop her heart from shattering into a million pieces when it had. That morning when she'd woken up alone, she'd been so certain, so sure in her convictions that it would hurt, but she'd be ok. She wasn't ok. And it hurt like a mother- fucker. Yeah, Yeah, experiences made you a better person and all that. Whatever. She didn't want to be a better person. She just wanted Grant back. 

There was still so much that she didn't know about him. Maybe, given his desperate situation, she should be glad that he'd kept his promise and was gone. When she'd first met him. He frightened her half to death. He'd been hiding in the cabin. Stealing refuge. And she'd just happened along, planning on a vacation consisting of nothing more than seven days of restful peace and quiet. Her quiet vacation, a desperately needed break away from the hustle and bustle of the hospital and her busy life, had turned into so much more than that. Instead of reading books, spending the days in the sunshine, and soaking up the country air, she'd found him. And now, her life was turned upside down.

She leaned over and picked the pillow up off the floor, hugging it to her chest. God, she was so stupid. She should have put the dirty pillowcase in the washer the minute she returned home two days ahead of schedule. Bringing the pillow to her nose, she inhaled the faint lingering scent of him on the pillowcase. The masculine scent of smoky campfires, warm sunny days, cool nights, and musky passion brought a contented smile to her lips and a bitter ache to her heart. 

Grant was perhaps the most attractive man she'd ever seen. Devastatingly, heartstoppingly handsome, he was everything a man should be. Tall and well built, with broad shoulders and narrow, lean, athletic hips. Dark hair, not quite black, neatly trimmed in a style suited to play the sharp angles of his face and high cheekbones to their fullest. Soft and decadent as fine silk as she ran the strands through her fingers. He had the darkest, deepest, soul searching brown eyes. The color and heat of their expression reminded her of rich, decadent, steamy, hot chocolate on cold winter nights. The pillowcase clutched in her arms smelled of his warm, bronzed skin and the breaths exhaled from his soft, full, pouty lips. Lips she'd kissed. Lips that had kissed every inch of her with a passion that burned and left her aching for more.

Claire plucked a strand of stray, dark, hair free of the pillowcase and wound it around her finger. This was all that was left of him, a strand of hair and her broken heart. She should have run when she'd had the chance. Tried her best to escape before he'd managed to ensnare her in his trap. But, she hadn't. Instead, she'd given him everything she had worth giving.

Oh, Grant was honest with her, absolutely, undoubtedly, and painfully honest with her from the very beginning. Not that her heart had heeded his warning. Her body hadn't minded the caresses and warmth of his touch one little bit. No matter how temporary he'd cautioned they were. She'd thought she was a woman of the world. She'd thought she could handle the 'love 'em and leave 'em' nature of their time together. And she'd been wrong. There was no getting over it and no getting over him. One wonderful day and night in his arms was never going to be enough to see her through the long haul. 

She chastised herself over and over again. The self-condemning party in her head never missed a beat. Should have known better. Should have kept her distance. She knew the score. Knew it was coming. And knew the consequences. The empty bed was exactly what she deserved. 

Her heart begged to differ and argued Grant's finer points with the enthusiasm of the Colts Cheerleaders during playoffs. Grant was an honorable man. He had feelings for her. She'd seen them in the depths of his eyes. She'd felt his emotions in the careful way he'd touched and held her so close. She'd heard them in his voice when he said her name. But, if her stupid heart believed all that were true, then why wasn't he here and why was she here alone? 

Claire silenced her thoughts. The doubts that snaked through them were poisonous. She climbed out of the bed and set her feet on the fuzzy throw rug at the side of her bed. In the morning the wooden floors of her modest house were cool. And her feet were always perpetually cold. No one had expected her back from vacation so soon. And she'd managed to avoid unwanted and unexpected company by parking her car in the narrow one car garage in back of the house. Ginger, her best friend she supposed, had left another five million annoying messages on her voice mail. And Claire had not answered one of them. She'd had her time in Pityland. But, now it was time to face the world, grab reality by the balls, and deal with the facts. 

Fact number one, Grant was in something way over his head. And he'd left, not because he'd wanted to but because he'd had to. Fact number two, she didn't know a damn thing about him. And it was not her style to let a man with a possibly shady past and definitely a questionable future, drag her down with him. Fact number three, the clock was ticking and she was due at work, bright eyed, and bushy tailed in less than thirty minutes. And she had to get her ass in gear. The most undeniable fact of all, and the one she had to keep reminding herself of. She didn't do the 'woe is me' thing. Grant was gone and maybe that was good. Damn good. She'd met someone special. Someone she'd shared a wonderful and passionate night with. Now, it was over. And it was time to move on. 

She couldn't look Grant up in the phone book. She didn't even know his last name. She couldn't drive by his house. She didn't know where he lived. She wouldn't bump into him accidentally on the streets. He wouldn't call her. He wouldn't stop by out of the blue someday. There would be no surprise lunch dates, romantic, candlelight dinners, or strolls through the park. Odds were more than likely she'd never see him again. Grant was on the lam, desperate and alone. Hell, he was probably halfway across the country by now. And whatever had driven him away was going to keep him away.

Hustling into the shower, Claire put it out of her mind. Her job demanded polite smiles, caring hands, and an upbeat personality. People didn't come to the hospital for the hell of it. Her patients were there for a reason. Some of them awful, heart wrenching reasons. And they deserved the version of her they'd come to rely on. Nurse Claire never let anybody down. Her patients and her coworkers had enough to deal with without her bringing them down.

Claire yanked a pair of scrubs of the hanger and hastily pulled them on. Scooping her blonde hair up into a messy ponytail at the nape of her neck and shoving her feet into her tennis shoes, she snatched up her keys and made a run for the front door. The light on her answering machine blinked furiously. Most people with a need to get a hold of her did it by calling her cell phone. But, with her voice mail inundated with messages from Ginger, her mom had called and left a message on her landline instead. She glanced at her watch and bit her bottom lip. She really didn't have time to listen to her mom's latest tirade. But, if she'd gone to the trouble to call and leave a message on the landline, it had to be important. 

Claire rarely checked her answering machine. Usually, it was nothing but a bunch of advertising calls and telemarketers anyway. And she hadn't noticed the four messages blinking on the machine till now. She pushed play, impatiently tapping her finger against the device and listened to the messages. Thomas's mother was dead. She'd died and the funeral service held last week when Claire had been off on vacation. "Damn," she muttered under her breath. It was too late to send flowers. Definitely bad timing on her part to run to the hospital gift shop and pick up a sympathy card for Thomas, And way out of line to show up at his house, toting a condolence casserole, this late after the fact. 

The nurse in Claire rationalized that Barbara's death was a blessing. Her suffering finally come to an end. But, she thought of the night when she'd sat with Barbara. Thomas's mother was desperately hanging on, enduring her torment for his sake. She wasn't afraid of death. Her biggest and darkest fear was of leaving her son alone in the world. Claire had tried to comfort the dying woman. Give her hope with a promise she never should have made. And she'd shattered the woman's trust. She'd promised Barbara that she'd be there for Thomas when the time came. The time had come and gone. And she'd broken her promise and left Thomas to deal with his mother's death alone. 

All of the sudden, her problems didn't seem so bad. At least Grant was still alive and out there, somewhere. Someday she might see him again. At least she clung to the hope. Barbara wasn't coming back. Ever. Thomas was as alone in the world. Really and truly alone. His mom was gone. He had no brothers and sisters. Claire had never heard Barbara mention any relatives. Thomas had no one. Maybe, a few close friends, but no family. 

Claire had no idea what she'd do without her mom and dad to drive her nuts. They were divorced. But, she still had them. In the beginning, she'd tried to get them to kiss and makeup. And since then, she'd grown to accept that they were never getting back together. They tolerated each other, for her sake, on birthdays, holidays, and special occasions. But, other than that, after the pictures were snapped, they retreated to their respective corners of single life and parented with her stuck in the middle, in between the both of them. 

Careful, not to scrape the sides of her car against the narrow single car garage door, she backed out of the drive and resolved to put her personal drama behind her. Claire hung a right at the corner and vowed to make it up to Barbara. Determined to put aside her personal feelings about the sometimes egotistical, very mercurial, and occasionally pigheaded, Doctor Thomas Sterling and be the best friend he'd ever had. 





Chapter 2

Gentle hands brushed across Grant's stubble lined jaw. Feminine hands. "Claire?" he rasped. His throat was raw and parched. His body ached and throbbed. And his head felt like a walnut in a vice. Forcing his eyes to open he hoped to see a pair of teal colored eyes staring down at him. No, the eyes were brown, soft and gentle, tinted with concern. Eyes of a person he knew well. But, that were so different from the last time he'd looked into them. Instead of hard resolve and grim determination, Tala's eyes blazed with the fire of a new life and of hope. "Tala?"

Disappointment shuddered through him. How many times had he fantasized about waking up and seeing Tala staring down at him? Here she was. But, she wasn't the woman who filled his dreams with desperate longing. Not the woman he longed to wake up to. Nor did she have the eyes he so urgently wanted to see. He'd been dreaming. Fading in and out of consciousness. His body was battered and aching, weak as a newborn pup. He'd been so confused. Crying out for her. Not understanding in his hazy, dream state, why Claire wasn't there. 

What he felt for Tala was friendship, the love of a brother for a sister, nothing more, nothing less. He understood that now. After falling in love, he knew the difference between misguided and misplaced affectionate friendship and true love. At one time, he'd thought Tala was the one, his soul mate. And that notion had almost gotten them both killed. 

Eager and ambitious, thinking he could force her to love him. Grant had stupidly challenged her father to a battle for the death. But Tala, fearing for her father's life had taken his place in the fight. At the time, he had been too impetuous and too bent on his own ego to decline. He'd beaten her within an inch of her life. Pounded her with his fists, broken her bones, and almost killed her in a fit of jealous rage. He realized now what a fool he'd been. Tala would have never have loved him the way he'd wanted her to. And only after experiencing love first hand, did he realize no beating, no pounding, and no amount of force could make someone love another.

His foolishness had cost him greatly. He'd lost the fight. Lost his home. And lost his wolf. He was as human as the other ninety-nine percent of the planet. Fragile. Breakable. Mortal. 

Chased from the territory, an angry pack of wolves at his heels. He'd stumbled across the cabin. Sought refuge until he'd recovered enough to travel on. And that was when he'd met Claire. She'd taken him totally by surprise. Even as his captive, she had an aura of kindness and understanding around her. She was afraid of him, at first. But, she'd overcome her fear and shown him genuine compassion. Her teal eyes saw through the muddle of his desperate situation. Stripped through him and saw the man he could be. The man he wanted to become, for her. He closed his eyes. Trying desperately to hold onto the vision of her in his mind. Trying to remember her gentle scent, the exact shade of blonde her hair turned in the sunlight, and the warmth of her lips on his. "Where's Claire? How long have I been here?"

Tala bit her bottom lip in doubt. She didn't know how much she should tell him. The events at the bluffs were a hazy memory to her. She remembered the wolves. She remembered Grant. She remembered Grant's wolf, bounding through the woods, changing back to human. And she remembered sinking her fangs into him and drinking, and drinking, and drinking. She perched on the side of the bed, stilling him with the gentle press of her palms against his chest. She'd almost killed him. Almost drained him to the point of death. And he would have died if not for the mysterious Claire holding him earthbound. 

Her blood had healed Grant's body. And his wolf took care of the rest. It was good to have them back safe and sound with the Pack where they belonged. On the outside he was still the same old Grant he'd always been. But, on the inside, he'd changed. And he was so different from the man he had been a week ago. She didn't know how much of what happened he remembered. She didn't know if he'd remember his wolf claiming their shared body or if he'd remember her attacking him once the wolf had relented it back into Grant's care. She didn't know if he'd remember drinking from her wrist. And most importantly, she didn't know if he'd remember the truth, that she'd almost killed him. That she'd lost control and drank him to death. Whoever the illusive Claire was, Tala owed her a great debt for saving Grant's life. "Grant..." 

Grant rested his head against the pillows, drifting in a sea of familiarity. The scents of the wolves comforted him and wrapped around him like a warm blanket. The bed, soft and warm, was his. He was in his old room. Home. The whispers of wolf song echoed in his mind. Pushing out worries of the past. Drowning out his thoughts of Claire. He clung to his memories desperately. He didn't want to let her go. He couldn't let her go.

Grant struggled to sit up in the massive bed. The oak headboard was cold and hard behind his back. His head spun and his stomach lurched from the sudden movement. "I have to find her. Have to explain."

Grant had been fading in and out of consciousness for days. When he'd awaken, he'd cry out for Claire. Moaning her name as he tossed restlessly in the bed. Tala didn't have the heart to tell him the truth about Claire. He'd realize it soon enough. She leaned over and eased him down onto the pillows and covered his shivering body with the blankets. "Grant, you're home. That's all that matters," she said gently. She didn't want to shatter the hope he clung so desperately to. The hope was all that bound the wolf and the man together by a fragile strand. And she couldn't tear it way. 

Grant grasped Tala's dainty hand and reached up to tug on her braid the way he had when they were kids. Squeezing her fingers with his, he shivered at the coolness of her skin. Vampire? Wolf? It didn't matter. "Are you happy?" he asked. He forced his eyes to stay open although he desperately wanted to close them. 

"Yes," Tala answered softly. She smiled up at Drew. He hadn't left Grant's side since returning from the woods. Concern lined his face. At one time, Drew wouldn't have hesitated to kick Grant's ass to hell and back. Now, things were different. Grant's sacrifice had turned hatred into respect. And Drew, although Grant was too out of it to realize, had come to a truce with the man.

Grant's eyelids were suddenly very heavy. His mind quieted. He forced his eyes to stay open. He met Drew's stare and glanced down at the broad fingers wrapped protectively around Tala's narrow shoulder. They were happy. Mates. "Good." Grant struggled to stay awake. Fight against Drew's power. But, he was too weak to battle the whispered suggestion of sleep. Maybe, he was more human than he thought. Or perhaps, his battered body and frayed mind simply acknowledged that dreams were better than the reality waiting for him to wake. "So sorry. Everything I did. So... sorry, I hurt... you." 

Grant had come full circle. No longer the egotistical bastard that he once was. Being without the strength of his pack. Being alone without his wolf had taught him a lesson in humility. He felt the power of his wolf stirring beneath his skin. No, he wasn't human, not any more. Somehow. He'd found his way back home where he belonged.

Tala drew the covers up tighter under Grant's chin as he drifted off. Gently, she ran her fingers through his hair, brushing his bangs off his sweat-drenched forehead. Grant needed time to heal. He was still very weak. His brow wrinkled for a moment then smoothed as sleep claimed him. He had hard decisions to make. Choices. But, now was not the time for them. "You're home now. Safe. That's all that matters." She glanced across the room at her father. "Dad, take care of him."


Dawn Reclaimed



"I will." Nash replied. He dipped his head at Drew and focused his attention on his daughter. Tala was exhausted from sitting her vigil at Grant's side, guilty at having almost taken his life. And yes, while it was true, something about Grant had changed. Nash had to wonder if Grant had felt any particular remorse about almost taking hers.

The man was having a difficult time adjusting to the return of his wolf and the healing properties of Tala's hybrid blood. Donning his wolf coat should have been as easy and welcome as sliding in to a pair of broken in jeans. But, it hadn't been. Grant was weak, shaken, and hovering in a no man's land between wolf, human, and just a touch of something else. His body fought the natural transition and Tala's healing, almost as if he either wanted to die or remain human. And maybe, he did. The return from where he'd been was not going to be an easy one. He'd betrayed too many trusts. Showed himself as a traitor to the Pack. And regaining his standing and the trust of the Pack was not going to be as simple as saying 'I'm sorry' to those he'd offended so deeply. 

Grant had not been awake enough and Tala, way too diligent in her vigil at his side for Nash to question him. The Great White Wolf had issued his edict. Grant was under Pack protection and therefore, not to be harmed. And while Nash agreed, many of the Pack did not. Theirs was a world of survival of the fittest. Grant was weak, ripe for the picking. And the Pack was hungry for vengeance. It was all Nash could do to keep Hunter, his eldest son, from drowning him in the river as he'd threatened to do when Grant was just a baby. 

No, drowning him in the river was too merciful. The Pack wanted to feast on Grant's entrails and bathe in his blood. And in a different time and place, Nash might have allowed it. Times were different now. And Nash would die to protect Grant. No matter what he'd done, Grant deserved the right to defend himself against the Pack. 

Nash, still saw Grant as a son. He'd practically raised the orphan cur from a pup. He understood what the Pack did not. Whatever had happened to Grant, had changed the man. And Nash had an instinctive feeling that the illusive Claire was responsible. Nothing, absolutely nothing could inspire a man to change quite like a woman. Nash kept the pack, especially Hunter, busy tracking the woman and out of trouble while Grant recovered. Pack took care of their own and Claire, know it or not, was Pack. "You two should get going. There's nothing more to be done here. I'll let you know when Grant is stronger." 

Gently, Drew tightened his fingers around Tala's shoulder and guided her from the room. He glanced over at Grant, huddled on the bed beneath mounds of comforters. He wished the wolf a speedy recovery. Under no uncertain terms he'd made it perfectly clear that Grant was Pack and he was welcome under this roof. Drew had extended his umbrella of protection far and wide and beneath it he'd included the mysterious Claire. The brothers were watching over her, from a distance, hidden well out of sight. An easy, boring assignment, considering she hadn't left the house in two days. And perfect for a vampire needing to cool his heels. Keene had the common sense not to balk about it. And he did his job with his usual thoroughness, wisely keeping his mouth shut about the task.

"Thank you," Drew whispered to Nash. He steered Tala through the Pack mates curiously gathered around the bedroom door, openly snooping. He nodded at them as he passed. Inhaled the earthy musk of wolf on their skin and shivered at the energy rippling off of them. He shook his head, still not quite believing that he had a family and kin. The Pack revered him. And they were so touchy-feely. Gently, he dodged the hands reaching for him and the inquisitive stares following him as he guided Tala down the hall. 

He was the brother of their founder. And he'd inherited the family he'd known nothing about upon his brother's death. He was the key to the legacy of the Great White Wolf, Pack Master Supreme. And while he was uncomfortable with the responsibility of leading the Pack, he managed to do so with his usual grace and no small amount of bullshit. 

Tala was his one saving grace. She was the bridge between two very different worlds. Without her, he wasn't certain he could have ever accepted the part of himself that was wolf. He'd been a vampire, a warrior, and a leader for so long. Dead but alive, living but not truly living, leading the Sons, but never truly one of them. Belonging nowhere and everywhere at the same time. He hadn't realized how dull and colorless, how empty his world truly had been, until she came along. Drew winced out of habit at the dazzling morning sun and instinctively shied away. As a vampire, he couldn't tolerate the brilliant prisms of blinding light. But, Tala had given him back the day. Given him back his life, his humanity, and his sun.

Tala smiled up at Drew, beaming as he shot her a crooked, almost boyish grin and reached out to take her hand. How different he was now from the cold, removed, almost hard man he'd been on that frosty morning they'd first met. Her man was a contradiction in terms. Old with an ancient soul, but young with a child's wonder at the most simplest of things. Things other people took for granted. As if everything he experienced was for the first time. And in so many ways it was. She'd bridged the gulf between worlds ripped him from the lifelessness and stagnancy of his and dragged him kicking and screaming, denying his very nature, into hers. She'd given him back so many parts of himself he'd simply forgotten existed. Saved him from the worst of himself. And in return, he had eased her so gently into the woman she knew she was and yet was too afraid to become. 

Love was so confusing sometimes. Holding a person in thrall with the promises of it and still so terrifying. Tala had fought Drew, battled her attraction and her wolf to keep hold of herself. She'd lost the battle and she was a better woman, a better wolf, for it. She simply hadn't understood how wrapped up in duty, in the rules of her world, and her fear of it, she'd been until he showed her differently. They both had come a long way. Clinging to each other and to the love that bound them together. But, they still had so much further to go. 

Their combined lives and worlds were not easily navigated. The Pack had been Tala's whole life as the brotherhood had been Drew's. And the two worlds were coming to an uneasy truce. The brothers and the wolves needed each other, even if they weren't quite sure how yet. Tala had her theories. She kept them to herself, and her father and Drew out of the loop of her thoughts. Sometimes, it was best to let the alpha males draw their own conclusions about things. 

It would be the same with Grant. With him unconscious and struggling so hard to hold himself in one piece, it was easy to love him again. Not as a woman loves a man, but as her best friend. She had no idea who the mysterious Claire was. The Pack had sniffed her out easily enough. Not much fooled a wolf's sense of smell. And tracking Claire from the cabin had been far too simple a task. She was just curious about who Claire was. What she meant to Grant. And why now, out of all the most inopportune times, Grant might have finally found his soul mate in a human. It wasn't as if Tala could just go knock on the woman's door, invite herself in for coffee, and have a heart to heart with her. Grant might have betrayed her father and her, but he would never betray the truth about their world. 

Claire would have to wait. Grant was stronger now. Getting better. And eventually, he'd have to make his own choices about which world he wanted to be part of. Pack magic would keep him whole. But, it might take the woman, the mysterious Claire, to complete him. Tala didn't envy Claire the task. It wasn't easy to live with one foot in two separate worlds and trying to bridge the gap in between them. 

The Pack avoided the human world. It wasn't that they couldn't live amongst them. They just didn't. Unlike their vampire cousins, the Pack was not as adept at hiding. And humans instinctively feared predators. No, the Pack wasn't the werewolves of pop fiction. They did not howl at the moon. They did not piss on tree stumps. They did not stalk the woods for little girls in read cloaks. Their bite was not contagious. And they absolutely did not turn into beasts once a month. In fact, the most difficult bridge to build had been convincing the brothers that they were not werewolves. And many a nose had been bloodied because some unwitting brother had made that mistake. The wolves were spirit. The husk of their earthbound shells shared with their spirit wolves, the guardians of the goddess's domain between the land of the living and the realm of the dead.

Tala knew a lot about forming bridges of understanding. And Drew still had much to accept and understand about his nature. Food, primarily. Ok, so Tala didn't daydream about juicy carotids. But, she did manage a sip or two of blood here and there. She was a vampire...sort of...a wolf...of course...and still just as human as ever. Drew however, had yet to concede to take a bite of human food. Tala thought that after two hundred years of deprivation, he would have been tempted to taste at least a bite of one of the dishes Anna had made with painstaking care. But, he hadn't, yet. 

Tala didn't want to think about blood. She hadn't hazarded a sip unsupervised since sucking on Grant with the enthusiasm of a kid with a juice box on a hot summer day. No matter what he'd done to her, she'd always carry the guilt of what she'd done to him. Drew had done his best to absolve her. Touting bits of wisdom about her dual nature. None of it helped. She was not a monster no more than Drew was. And she did not kill. Neither did the Sons for that matter. 

There were vampires who did, rogues. And it was their job to stop the rogues from sucking humanity dry. But, the brothers were not without their weaknesses. Daylight didn't fry them to ash. That was a convenient fiction created by folklore. But, to a wolf, the light of the sun was nothing. Most people mistook them for very large dogs. And it was easy for them to go places the brothers could not. And that, for humanity, and for the Lost Children yet to be found, was why Tala worked so hard to bridge the gap between worlds. 

Somehow, she got the impression that Claire was part of this, part of her world whether Claire knew it or not. Tala could only guess at the impact the woman would have on Grant and on the Pack. But, it was something big. Another bridge yet to be built. 

 Chapter 3

Thomas scowled at the pager buzzing noisily on his coffee table. He planned to spend the day locked in the house away from the world. Guess that wasn't happening. Although it was over a week ago, the funeral and the wake, and the condolences afterwards had left him drained. Everybody in town loved his mother. And in the town's usual style, everyone had turned out to see her into the afterlife. The mourner's pain had ripped through the core of his soul and left a dark brand there. People bought the lie easily enough. Whispered sympathetically and understandingly about the closed coffin, never guessing the truth that it was empty. And that was just as well. He had no words to explain the truth to them and couldn't have even if he had.

He heard the words whispered over and over again throughout the crowd and if he heard them one more time from anybody he'd go bat shit insane. His mother was not in a 'better place' now. Well, not the place the mourners thought that she was, anyway. He wanted to shout the truth. To spill the secret that indeed, his mother had gone on to a better life. She wasn't dead. Only changed in ways that they could never dream or imagine.

He didn't recognize the number displayed on his beeper. Probably the nervous parent of a stuffy nosed feverish kid. "Take a fucking Tylenol," he grumbled as he punched the number on his pager display into his cell phone and waited for an answer. "Doctor Thomas Sterling here, I was paged." 

He was surprised by the voice on the other end of the line, happily so. A bit disappointed by the reason for her call, he listened to the awkward silence on the other end. Claire must have heard the news about his mother. And just like everyone else, was calling to offer her condolences. God, he didn't need it. And if there were one person who deserved the whole truth it was Claire. She'd been so good to his mom at the end, so caring and understanding. And that he couldn't tell her a thing left him feeling guilty and ashamed. 

"Oh my God! Thomas, are you ok? I just got back from vacation. I'm so sorry to hear about your mother," Claire sputtered. Embarrassed by her broken sentences and her lack of diligence to know the goings on in town, she prattled bravely forward with her plan. Determined to keep her promise to his mom. Barbara was a force unto herself. And if Claire didn't hold up her end, the woman would probably haunt her forever. "Is there anything I can do?"

Thomas groaned inwardly. He was right. A sympathy call, naturally. "No. I'm absolutely fine. Thanks for calling," he said curtly. Couldn't someone just call and say 'how's it hanging?' or something like that. Why did there need to be a reason for a 'hi how are ya?' He could hear the nurse in Claire's voice. Just doing her job. Offering her version of efficient comfort and well-practiced empathy and 'positive regard' for who she considered to be her patient and at the moment that was he. 

Claire bit her bottom lip. Thinking. Thomas sounded so down. He had to be depressed. His mother had been everything to him. He was such a devoted son. Too bad, his mother had never known the truth about him. That she'd never get the grandchildren she so desperately wanted. Claire recalled the night she'd learned the truth. Thomas locked with his arm around the older, attractive, but very much older man. Gay. But, he was safe. A friend. No risk of physical entanglement or anything else. Too bad, Thomas was in the closet. His secret kept hidden from the world. In this day and age he shouldn't have to live like that to protect his reputation. "I could come over after work tonight," she threw out the offer hesitantly. The first day back to work was proving to be a royal bitch. And after twelve hours, she would be exhausted. But, she could manage, to keep her promise. Besides, it was better to be wrapped up in someone else's misery than in her own. 

Thomas cast a glance at his messy living room. There were empty cardboard boxes everywhere. Half had been filled with the meager possessions he'd stashed in the basement when he'd moved back home. And the other half contained the odds and ends his mom didn't want anymore. He was trying to make the place his. But, the cherished boxes of absolute crap didn't really fit his life anymore. He was a thirty-three year old man and somehow the Star Wars figurines he'd been collecting since he was a kid didn't work with the pale blue walls and plastic doilies on the arms of the sofa. 

His mom wouldn't listen to his excuses about why he didn't want to live in the house anymore. And insisted he got rid of anything he wanted to and redecorate the place to suit him. She was as pushy as a vampire as she had been as a human and every bit as hardheaded, refusing to hear him out. He could paint, move the furniture, replace the shag carpet on the floors, and none of it would matter. The place would always be his mom's. The house he'd grown up in. And she simply didn't get that.

"Sure, sounds good," he said. Company was the last thing he'd been expecting. The casseroles had stopped filtering in a few days ago. As if by some unspoken edict the townsfolk decided he needed the privacy to mourn a woman that wasn't actually dead. But, the house was quiet. Too quiet without the soap operas and chatter of talk shows his mom was addicted to. And maybe some gentler company would be just the thing to snap him out of his funk. 

He needed to shower and straighten things up before she stopped by. More than that he wanted time to come up with a plan to show her how he felt for her and to practice the apology he owed her for being such an ass. Knowing Claire, she'd probably already forgotten about it, anyway. He had a zillion casseroles tucked away in the freezer. The outpouring of sympathy food from the neighborhood had been more than one man could possibly eat. "I could throw together something for supper," he offered, hoping to soften her up. 

"Ok." She smoothed her rumpled scrubs and tucked in the stray hairs that had escaped her clip. No need to change and look presentable. Not for Thomas, anyway. He was unattainable, batted for the wrong team. And she wasn't in the market, not so soon after Grant. She could head over as soon as her shift ended in a couple of hours. "I'll see you then."

"Bye, Claire," Thomas said, hanging up the phone. He hustled, snatching empty cardboard boxes and kicking them down the basement steps. He fluffed the ancient pillows on the couch. Sneezing at the dust he'd kicked up in his attempt to clean. He grabbed his mother's silver candlesticks and set them on the dining room table and quickly squashed the idea. The last thing he wanted was for things to look practiced. And potato chip casserole wasn't exactly candlelit dinner cuisine. 

After setting the oven to three fifty and shoving the frozen casserole in to bake, he ran for the shower. Claire got off work at seven thirty. And his bed hadn't been made in a week. He needed clean sheets and something more presentable to wear than threadbare, wrinkled scrubs. The laundry he'd been putting off washing had to be done. And he had a hell of a lot to do before Claire got here. 

He had to set the mood without it looking like he'd planned to. Potato chip casserole was about as romantic as a trip to the dentist. Cursing under his breath that he hadn't had the foresight to go grocery shopping, he snatched the casserole out of the oven and tucked the tin foil back into place before tossing it into the freezer with the other less than desirable casseroles. He fished among the tuna casseroles and shepherd's pies for something better to fix for dinner. Anna's lasagna was definitely a more appealing choice. She was one of the few people who knew his mother wasn't dead. But, she'd sent over a frozen tray of it anyway. Italian food was sexy? Right? 

Hell, he didn't know. He hadn't dated since his senior prom. He had business associates and coworkers, in college a few conquests. But, no one he'd ever thought about seriously before. He'd always been too busy to think too much about dating. His education had come first. And then, his mother had gotten sick. There just hadn't been the time to devote to actually getting involved in a relationship. And now that he had his career and extra time to spare, he had no idea of what women liked or didn't like or of even how to bridge the subject with Claire. 

Thomas scowled at the bag of wilted salad and pitched it in the trash. Ok. He wasn't exactly taking the best of care of himself. His fridge was empty. Seemed like he was still too busy to tend to some things, like grocery shopping and housekeeping. Claire would understand. She always understood. And maybe, that was the problem. She was too understanding. He slammed the lasagna into the oven and fished the good dishes out of the cabinet, dusting them with the hem of his t-shirt before setting the table. 

The dining room was something out of the eighties with a mauve silk flower arrangement on the table and a country blue tablecloth. No way in hell Claire was going to get a mixed signal about that. Everything in the house screamed 'mom' and nothing stood out that had his stamp on it. Maybe, it was best just to try to be friends with her first and see what happened after that. After all, how could he possibly think about seducing her when it still felt like his mom was in the next room breathing down his neck? 




Dawn Reclaimed



Chapter 4

Everything about the woman screamed VICTIM. The fact that she was alone in the dimly lit deserted parking garage so late after office hours ended for the day. Her high heels clacking as she walked along the concrete floor echoing in the cavernous garage's emptiness made a quick escape to safety impossible. Her shapely legs showed beneath a tightly fitting navy pencil skirt. Inadvertently attracting the wrong kind of attention to her body. In one arm she juggled an armload of slick covered files. In the other hand she lugged a briefcase stuffed to the point of rupture and a purse in an equal state of disarray. Keys jangled noisily from her fingertips. She was distracted by her burden and totally unaware of her surroundings. She felt safe in her environment, was careless, and completely oblivious. And she was just the woman he'd been looking for.

There was no warning. No hint to a presence. There were no requests. No time to scream for help. Flesh and bone hit the concrete with a sickening crunch. Blood spilled and seeped into the cracks of the hard gray surface. Pooling around her lifeless body to congeal into a sticky mat. He was quick and cunning. And she was dead. Simple. Nothing taken. No collectables. She was for practice. 

With each attempt, he got better and better, faster and more efficient. Soon he'd be ready to put his skills to the test. He'd killed randomly for years. But, humans no longer held his fascination. Oh, they were a nice pastime. Especially when they fought back and begged helplessly for their pathetic lives. But, he had his sights on bigger and better prey. Vampires. And the coppery scent of her blood, heavy in the air was just the thing to lure them out of hiding.

He had to hurry. Hide. Before his scent became too noticeable. He sniffed his clothes. He smelled like the city. Like old tires and burned motor oil. The smell of her fresh blood made a nice cover. And he wanted time, just as any good hunter would, to study his prey. The thought of letting the quarry go disappointed him. But, vampires were fast and powerful. Predators. If they caught on to him, he'd join the woman in death. They wouldn't hesitate. And he couldn't blame them. Killing was fun. 

Carter walked along the streets of downtown silently observing the life around him. The few humans that were left in the business district ignored his presence. Hurriedly, they bustled along eager to get home and put the day's stress and worry behind them. If nothing else, Carter was an expert at not being noticed and blending in. He pulled the collar of his jacket up around his neck and shrank down into its woolen folds. Cold fall rain dripped from the glowing orange night sky above. In the city, it was never truly dark. From a distance, twinkling lights glittered like jewels. Pretty to look at. But, from the street, the lights blended into an ugly cloak that covered everything in harsh, garish, haze of exhaust fumes and decay.

The Guardians stayed out of sight. Patrolling the city. Protecting it from things more dangerous than any humanity could dream up in its wildest and most frightening nightmares. Rogues. Vampires, who if left to their own devices, would drain the whole of humanity dry without an ounce of regret or remorse. 

Saying no to their nature and to their violent upbringing made the Guardians strong. Giving in was easy. Killing was easy. But, fighting to hold on to the one thing that separated the Guardians from the Rogues was hard. Protecting humans, guarding them with their lives, and keeping the trust of the Sons, prevented the Guardians from falling back into the darkness that had taken them so long to escape. 

Carter wasn't altruistic or generous. He made a choice. He chose to protect humanity from the dark thugs of vampire kind for a simple reason. Humans had something special. Something he envied them for. They could change. And they would change. They could live. And they could die. Oh, he would die, eventually. He did change, so slowly. For a vampire aging a year, could take a century if not longer. The planet would cease to exist before he truly could grow old. And rather than let the bitterness and the pain of his loss consume his soul he chose to fight and to protect humans from the darkest of his kind. 

He stared at his reflection in the window of a darkened storefront. He looked the same as he had the day his human life ended. Pale blond hair hung to the bottom of his chin in unruly curls. A sharply sloped aquiline nose protruded between closely set eyes. He was tall and lithe, lean muscled and not bulky like the brothers. In his time, he'd been considered quite attractive and he'd thought it a gift. But, he'd grown so tired of looking at the same reflection day after day, year after year, decade after decade, that he considered himself ugly and repulsive. And he hated the prettiness in him that had drawn his maker to him in the first place. He should have died a long, long time ago. And while some might consider his current state a blessing, he considered it a curse. 

Shaking off his pensive mood, he dipped his head and rounded the corner. Carter's fangs popped out from his gums as the smell hit him. Blood had been shed. Human blood. He drew in a deep breath and held it. Almost tasting the sweet blood on his tongue. A fresh kill, close by, probably happened not more than a few minutes ago. Quickening his steps, he tracked the scent to a parking garage. 

Carter sucked in a breath at the senselessness of the death. The woman laid in a tangle of scattered folders and twisted limbs. Her dull eyes glazed over in death. Blood congealed and coagulated in pools beneath her body. He reached out a hand and traced the curve of her cheek with a fingertip. Her skin hadn't had the time to grow cool yet. She'd died fast. Bled out quickly. And been left to rot. One of her black designer pumps, the toe scraped and the heel snapped, lay abandoned in a storm gutter not two feet away from the body. Her expensive panty hose had runners and tears in the knees. A gold earring dangled precariously from the bloody mat of her hair. And the scream she hadn't had time to scream hovered in a grimace of terror on her pale lips. 

Carter's nostrils flared wildly. Searching for a scent to track. Someone had killed this woman. Brutally. Her throat cut, awkwardly in haste. Her beauty was still evident despite the pallor of her cooling skin and the dusky gray of once ruby lips. Could have been a rogue. The deep laceration practically severing her head from her neck, a ruse to throw off the humans. But, generally speaking, a rogue never wasted a meal. And there was too much blood slowly oozing toward the downward slope of the pavement on its way to the storm drain for it to be a rogue kill.

Carter hastily fished the woman's driver's license out of her purse. Slipping it into his back pocket before he shifted his weight to his feet. Things would not bode well for him if he were discovered standing over a dead body. He didn't need to worry about fingerprints. The world he'd lived in had ceased to exist long ago and as far as the modern world was concerned, he didn't exist at all. He gently tugged the silk scarf hanging in tatters around the woman's neck free from the body and clutched it in his fist.

Scanning the concrete beams and parked cars, he looked for cameras. Nothing. Good, that was one less problem to deal with. He sniffed again trying to draw out a fresh human scent. Whoever had murdered this woman was clever. Had been quick about it. And hadn't done it for any apparent reason other than he could. Nothing was taken, her jewelry and purse intact, and her car keys still clutched in her dead fingers. The smell of fresh death and the reek of downtown covered any hint of a scent trail.

Carter gave the woman and the parking garage a final once over. The garage was quiet, eerily still, and almost empty this time of the evening with the few cars remaining belonging to a handful of stragglers still trapped in the corporate world in the skyscraper above. People died everyday. Murder wasn't uncommon in a city of this size. Her case would make the evening news and then quickly be forgotten. Her death would never be solved. The killer had been too quick, too efficient, and even as random as the murder seemed, too methodical to make the mistake of leaving a shred of evidence behind. 

He was not in the business of protecting humans from other humans. The Guardians had enough on their plates handling the paranormal nut jobs hiding in the city to worry about the more mundane human ones. But, if chance had him in the right place at the right time, he wouldn't hesitate to serve his particular brand of justice and enjoy a decent meal for a change while he was at it.

Carter lifted her scarf to his nose and sifted through the lingering scents. The coppery essence of her blood, the sharp tang of her sweat and the tears she'd managed to shed before she died, and the too sweet floral perfume she'd applied just before leaving work for the night. Scent was a valuable tool to a vampire. Far more valuable than fingerprints were to a detective. But, the scarf bore no traces of the killer's scent. He pocketed the silk scarf and left her to the humans to deal with. The ding of the elevator announced the arrival of someone on this level of the parking garage. Her death was about to be discovered. Soon enough this place would be crawling with police and it would not bode well if he hung around. Employing his speed, he melted into the night the way only a vampire could. 

The killer slipped out from in between the dark, narrow columns of thick concrete that had hidden him, shaking with glee and grinning like the maniac he was. And yes, he knew he was a nut job. But, there was no therapy that could cure his particular ailment. He was a killer. And he enjoyed it. He had such a respect, almost a reverence, for his prey. The vampire moved so quickly and with such grace. Finally, he had prey worthy of his particular talents. And it'd be his best hunt yet. 

A vampire could blend in so easily. Disguised amongst humans. He'd have to be careful. If one didn't know what to look for, it was impossible to tell the difference. He knew the telltale signs. And he knew a vampire for what it was. A killer. Prey. A vampire wouldn't die as easily as a human. And he had so many adventures planned for the two of them. So many things he'd always wanted to explore. He'd worked hard to master the art of death. And he considered himself a master of the craft. None of those lucky enough to meet his acquaintance actually lived to see his life's work brought to fruition. And nobody without his particular brand of insanity could truly appreciate his attention to detail. But, a vampire...what fun they'd have together. 

The killer licked his lips eagerly. He wanted the vampire now. But, patience and careful study were the best strategies. And he'd spent too long, invested too much to blow it now. He'd take his time and leave a trail for the vampire to follow. Lure him in. Seduce him. Slowly, like a lover. And together they'd dance a most splendid dance. 



Chapter 5

Grant threw his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. His head spun and his stomach did a woozy dance. In the distance, from the woods, the voices of his family called to him. He barely managed to force his trembling legs to carry him down the hallway and stairs and through the dining room to the backdoor. His wolf scratched beneath the surface of his mind, begging to be freed. Slowly, his strength was returning. A shift was possible. He was one of the Pack again. A wolf. He could resume his life right where it had left off. Stop aging. Stop the pain. And forget, simply forget. 

His hand rested on the brass doorknob. His fingers tightened around its cool, smooth surface. He wondered what Claire would think about him, if she knew the truth. What he really was. Would she understand in that kind, compassionate way of hers? Or would she run in terror? Could he even find the right words to explain something that wasn't supposed to exist in reality to her? Somehow he doubted if the direct approach. No matter how kind or compassionate she was. Just marching right up to her and saying 'hi, Claire. I know you think I'm some kind of a psychopath. But really, I'm a werewolf. Surprise,' would be the right thing to say.

How could he explain the intricacies of pack life to her? That he didn't go to a job everyday, but patrolled the spirit world. What would she think of his living situation? That he shared a home with over thirty other people. No matter how big it was. The house wasn't private. And when it was stripped down to the very basest level, he had nothing, except for the clothes on his back and a few odds and ends. He owned nothing. The wolves operated as a community, a unit of many, joined as one. They shared everything. Humans were individuals, sharing little if anything, reveling in their possessions and their privacy, and living, for the most part, only for themselves. 

And the whole furry, howl at the moon thing he had going on? What would she think about that? Could he trust her to keep his secret? And was it even fair to put her in the position where she had no other option? She wouldn't be able to breathe a word to anybody. Damn it, it was better if she thought he was really gone. He could avoid town easily enough. She'd never know the difference. But, he wanted to see her again. He had to see her again. He couldn't leave things the way he'd left them. Claire deserved closure. But, he didn't want closure. He wanted her. 

Ultimately, there was only one thing he could do. He had to live as a human. Get a job. Rent an apartment. If he stayed close, he could still run with the Pack. Keep his wolf strong and healthy and fulfill the obligations of his birthright. Live the best of both worlds. Find a sweet spot to call home in that narrow space between the two of them. Have Claire. Have his wolf. 

The struggles of the last weeks had changed him. He had learned to rely on himself. He was more of an individual now than he ever had been. Even as desperate as his situation had been, he'd enjoyed being solely and completely his own man. He could understand now, what he hadn't before. How it felt to be one and only one instead of one of many. And as much as being home comforted and restored him. He longed for that freedom too. The simple world of the wolf wasn't enough. 

Claire could not be a part of his world. But, he could be a part of hers. It wasn't a lie, hiding the truth from her. And eventually, she would figure it out. There was no way to keep her in the dark about his true nature forever. She'd age at a normal human pace. He would not. He could pretend for a little while. Play human. But, even without his wolf, he would never have been truly human. He was never going to be human. Maybe though, by then she'd love him enough to see in him what she'd seen in him during the days they'd spent together and the truth of what he was wouldn't matter. Once he had his life together, he'd approach her. Pursue her with every bit of charm he possessed. Win her heart completely. But first, he had to find her. And be content with catching glimpses of her from the shadows until he figured this out. 

Grant stepped out onto the deck and stripped down to bare skin. He stood, letting the still of the early night soak into his pores. The magic poured over him. Reforming bone and muscle, stripping his humanity away until nothing but a shaggy brown wolf remained in his place. The wolf howled, tossing his furry head back snuffling the night. He flexed his paws. His claws scraped the wooden deck beneath them. The woods were alive with his brothers and sisters. Teeming with prey to be hunted and consumed. His human had other plans than sating the urge to roam. Trotting off the deck, the wolf tore through the thick brambles and underbrush of the woods. Searching for the scent burned into his memory. Scenting out Claire. 

Claire tapped on the door with her foot, balancing her purse on her arm and two huge steaming paper cups in her hands. The spring night was unseasonably chilly and hot cocoa sounded like heaven after the grueling day she'd had at work. She knew stopping to grab a couple of extra large hot chocolates would make her run a few minutes late. But, how could she resist? She was sitting at the corner, waiting for the light to turn green and the cocoa just called to her. Who was she to argue? As far as condolences went, it wasn't much. But, she didn't plan on talking about Barbara, unless Thomas brought it up first. Tonight was for him and if he wanted to talk, she'd listen. He might need a break from reality. And she'd let him decide how the night and the conversation went. 

Claire pasted what she hoped was a warm and friendly smile on her lips as Thomas answered the door. "Hope you don't mind whipped cream?"

Thomas snickered and stepped back to let Claire in. "Love it," he answered. Relieving her of one of the hot cups before she spilled it and burned her fingers, he ushered her into the house. The place smelled like an Italian restaurant. In the back of the freezer he'd scored a box of frozen garlic bread to go with the meal. And he'd even managed to find a bottle of wine tucked away in the cabinet behind a box of crackers. He had soft music playing in the background, nothing too obvious, just the local music station and the lights dimmed subtly but not too subtly.

Claire set her purse and keys on the coffee table and wiggled out of the nylon jacket she'd gotten for being nurse of the month last September. Thomas had done some rearranging since she'd come here last. The tattered photo album, containing the damning baby pictures of him no longer sat on the coffee table. The house smelled of garlic bread, lemon furniture polish. Fresh tracks from the vacuum cleaner wound a path across the baby blue carpet in the living room. He'd switched the sofa and loveseat around and gotten rid of those horrible plastic doilies that his mother used to cover the arms. Hoping her feet didn't smell after twelve hours in her socks, she kicked off her shoes and wished she knew what to say. Not wanting to ask the obvious questions. She settled for something just as cliché, "How are you doing?"

"Good," Thomas answered. Claire looked cute. Her cheeks and tip of her nose were reddened from the chill of the night air. Her blonde hair was loosely fastened in a clip at the back of her head to spill into a waterfall down her neck. She looked a little tired. Her eyes, weary after twelve hours on the job. She wore her scrubs, the pink ones, he thought brought out the blue in her eyes. 

The silence between them was almost palpable. Uncomfortable. Claire studied Thomas. His hair sand-colored hair was spiked at the tips with gel and disheveled as if he'd tried for the casual look and didn't quite make the mark. His cologne tainted the air with the overpowering scent of spice and sandalwood. Choking out the heavenly aroma of whatever he had baking in the oven. He wore a freshly ironed button down shirt, loose at the collar and untucked at the waist and a faded pair of jeans. He was freshly shaved and still had a scrap of toilet paper stuck to his jaw from where he'd nicked himself with the razor. It was all she could do not to reach out and brush it away. 

His bare toes poked out from beneath the tattered hem of his pants. He'd tried for casually put together and failed miserably. Thomas was not a tall guy, nor was he broad in the shoulders, so average in his build and stature, maybe even a little bit too thin. He had no fat on him. And she'd seen him working out in the hospital gym on occasion. He was no slouch. But, he had the thinness and light frame of a runner. Thomas and she were almost the same height, practically seeing eye-to-eye where they stood in the middle of the living room. His hazel eyes reflected the exhaustion that he was trying so desperately to hide from her. She shouldn't have come. He needed his rest.




Dawn Reclaimed



"Come," Thomas said. Trying to fill the void in a conversation that hadn't even truly begun, he motioned to a dining room chair. " Sit." He turned his attention to dinner while Claire settled in and sipped her hot chocolate. Wearing a pair of faded, red, lobster claw oven mitts, he pulled the lasagna out of the oven and set it on the stove to cool. "I'm really glad you stopped by," he said hoping for casual friendliness. 

He cut the layers of melted cheese and other goodies with a knife and dished out two heaping servings along with a slice of garlic bread on the side of the plate. Claire had brought hot chocolate and while he didn't care for it and the cheap bottle of red wine would go better with their meal, he didn't want to appear rude or ungrateful. Before setting Claire's plate in front of her, he quickly stashed the bottle of wine behind the breadbox, hoping she wouldn't notice. 

"Thanks," Claire mumbled as Thomas set the plate in front of her. The food looked as good as it smelled. Melted cheese and sauce oozed between the wide layers of lasagna noodles. She really wasn't nearly hungry enough to half polish off the serving Thomas had dished out for her. But, for the sake of politeness she dug in, cutting through the cheese with her fork. "I wish I'd found out sooner. Thomas, I'm so sorry." Claire covered her mouth with a paper napkin and chewed her food. "There must be something I can do. Maybe, I could help you around the house or something."

"No, I'm fine." Thomas swallowed the bite of food he'd been chewing and reached across the table. Sliding a finger beneath Claire's chin, he forced her face up to meet his eyes. She abused Anna's lasagna with the tines of her fork, picking at the noodles and scooping up bits of sauce and cheese out of the middle. Pretending to eat but not really eating. He'd served her the best piece right from the middle of the pan. A bit overcooked, his outside corner was crispy and a little burnt on the edges. But, the food was still passable. And it had faired somewhat better than the too hard, too long in the freezer, and then into the oven garlic bread he'd thrown on their plates. 

Claire's eyes met his and then flicked down to her plate. She didn't believe him. Well, he was fine, sort of. "Really, Claire," he said going for what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He hated that he couldn't have a simple conversation with someone without telling one whopper of a white lie. He despised the grief and sympathy she lavished on him. He didn't deserve it. And he sure as hell didn't have any room in the freezer for another condolence casserole. He sat back down in his chair and dropped his hand from her chin, spearing a noodle with his fork and stuffing it into his mouth before he said something really stupid. Like telling her the truth. 

Claire had an impeccable bullshit meter. Came with the territory of being a nurse, he supposed. He ate with the enthusiasm of a lumberjack to keep his mouth busy. If anyone deserved to know his mom was still on this side of the grave, it was Claire. The lasagna settled into a lump in his belly. He could tell her the truth. It wasn't like she'd believe it. She'd probably think he was delusional with grief. He chewed and forced another bite down. 

No, he couldn't burden Claire with the truth. How much worse would it be for her than it was for him? Claire thrived on honesty. He'd been lying about the biggest secret of them all for most of his adult life. Vampires did exist. He even covered for the brothers. Telling a series of convenient yet plausible fictions, when the occasion called for it. Just like it did tonight. 

"I am planning to give the house a makeover once things settle down a little. But, I wouldn't want you to waste a day off by forcing you into hard labor," he joked. "I've got a few friends coming over to help out, big guys. We'll have this place looking good in no time. New carpet, paint, I don't know. Something to make it seem more like mine and less like my mom's. You live down the block, Claire. And you'll be the first person I invite over when its finished." 

Claire blushed when Thomas mentioned that he had friends. Big guys coming over to help him out, it made for a good cover story. When she hadn't known any better, she never would have guessed. But, now that she knew, the truth was plain to see. And she was a bit offended that he insisted on pretending. Why couldn't he admit the obvious? Didn't he trust her to keep his secret? He didn't have to lie to her about what he was. His sexuality didn't matter to her in the least. She could use all the friends she could get. People who could help to fill the empty space in her heart left behind by Grant.

Outside of work Thomas was an entirely different person. Relaxed, congenial, almost charming, attentive, and he had a truly great smile. He was attractive and would still be the heartthrob of the hospital. The nurses on her unit had a running bet going on which one of them was going to land a date with Doctor Thomas Sterling. And she was definitely going to pull her money out of the betting pool. The girls were always baking him cookies, inviting him to pitch ins, flirting with him, and staring after him with lustful sighs. Maybe, that was the reason behind his mercurial mood swings and why sometimes, he was such a shit at work. It had to be hell, living a lie. "Sure."

Thomas groaned inwardly. Could the woman not take a hint? He was hoping she'd have a more encouraging reply than just 'sure'. He dropped his fork in his plate as Claire's face fell. Her cautious smile drooped into a frown and her eyes clouded with sadness. He'd tried to keep the conversation light and away from any mention of his mom. But, surrounded by these pale blue walls and the lingering essence of sickness and her perfume in the air. How could her name not come up in an otherwise routine conversation? He hadn't meant to upset Claire and he wasn't quite sure what he'd said to cause such a sudden change in her mood. "Hey, are you ok?" he asked gently.

Thomas had his hands full with his own worries and she would not burden him with hers. Besides, what did she have to be upset about? Grant hadn't promised anything. He owed her nothing. And that was exactly what she was going to get, nothing. Eventually, her hope would crumble and the pain would fade. He wasn't calling. He wasn't going to stop by. She was never going to see him again. And rather than pout or bawl, it was time she got over it. Claire took a sip of the hot chocolate. The sweet sugary slurry rolled down her throat easing the lump. "Sorry, just thinking. I'm fine." 

Thomas pushed aside his half eaten plate of lasagna. Likewise, Claire had barely touched a bite of her food. But, it was obvious that she wasn't going to eat either. Raising a brow as she followed suit and smiled apologetically at him, he cleared away the dishes. Anna's lasagna was too good to waste and he packaged up Claire's leftovers for her to take home for later. Picking up his cooling hot chocolate he took a deep gulp and quickly ushered her to the sofa. "So, what did you do on your vacation? Something fun I hope," Thomas floundered. 

Trying to keep the conversation going wasn't easy. Whatever he'd said had left Claire with a deep frown on her face and sadness in her eyes. To keep the small talk from returning to his mother, the less he talked about her the better, he'd turned the topic to something safer. Decreased the odds that he'd slip up and say something he shouldn't. That was the problem with lies. The web of deceit was fragile and easily broken. 

Claire's cheeks burned fiery red. "Oh, I didn't do much. Went out to dad's cabin and read." She grimaced at how lame her answer sounded. "I guess I'm not that exciting of a person." What was she going to say? That she'd been kidnapped, fallen in love, and had a night of mind blowing sex with her captor? Not hardly. The abridged version that she recited to Thomas sounded more plausible than the truth. 

"So you like to read?"

Claire was lost in her thoughts. The magical night played over and over again in her mind. She could almost feel the sensation of his touch against her skin and taste the lingering essence of him on the tip of her tongue. "Yes," she answered absently. Her finger traced the plastic lid of her cup as she wandered in her thoughts. "Fantasy is so much better than reality. Sometimes, a moment of escape seems so real." 

Doubts flooded her mind. Maybe, Grant had played her. Maybe, he didn't care at all and she'd dreamed the whole love thing up. Maybe, he banked on her feelings and used her. The sex, what she thought was making love, nothing more than a manipulation, a play to keep her quiet and out of the police station.

Thomas was dying. No matter what he said or how hard he tried to stick to the safe subjects. The frown on Claire's face and the sadness in her eyes just got worse. She was depressed. And although he didn't know the cause, the 'fixer' in him wanted to help. Claire was a sunshine girl of smiles and summer days. The wintry melancholy of her current mood didn't suit her. "Claire," Thomas said. He scooted closer to her on the sofa and smoothed a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. "I'm here for you. If you need to talk, nothing you say will leave this room. I promise." 

He meant to be reassuring. But, the feel of her skin, soft and warm, slightly golden with the start of a summer tan, sent shockwaves up his fingertips. Why hadn't he looked at her as anything other than a coworker before now? The way the dim lamplight fell across the planes of her face only amplified how pretty she truly was. He'd never taken the time or the chance to see her as a woman beyond the efficient nurse Claire he knew from work. But, he saw her clearly, now. 

"I appreciate that, but we're supposed to be talking about you." Claire shifted and broke the contact, blushing in shame for allowing her self-pity and doubt to take away from Thomas and his needs. She forced a smile and lifted her eyes to meet his. Hoping her ruse worked before he whipped out a prescription pad and forced a healthy dose of chemical happiness on her. She didn't need pills. She needed Grant. 

Thomas rested his hand on his thigh. Pressing his fingers into the rough denim of his jeans, he rubbed the sweat off his palm. That one simple touch had wet his appetite for more. So far, the attraction was fragile, just a spark beginning to kindle. But, now was not the time to explore it. "Not much to talk about here," he said, casually leaning back against the arm of the sofa. Another lie. Pretty soon he was going to have to start keeping a journal of what lie he'd told to whom so that he could keep his stories straight. 

"Here either," Claire shrugged. Her lips curled into an embarrassed little smile. Thomas was too nice. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was interested in her. Something about the way he looked at her tripped her radar. He was a moderately attractive man and his touch had sent a few unwanted tingles down her spine. There was still the issue that he batted for the wrong team. And even if he did play ball occasionally for the other side, she so was not going there. More uncertain about herself than ever, confused by the mild tingle of attraction, and embarrassed because of it, she stood and gathered up her jacket, purse, and car keys. "I should go."

Thomas sighed and stood, following on Claire's heels as he walked her to the front door. "Thanks for stopping by, Claire. Hopefully, you'll make a habit of it and keep me on track with the remodeling. I promise, next time, I won't burn supper," he said. They stood in the doorway awkwardly and he was uncertain of how to end the evening. Was there any harm in a hug? Hugs were friendly. Casual. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around her shoulders, pulling her close for the hug. She was warm, curvy, and felt nice in his arms.

Claire awkwardly returned the gesture. Gently and loosely squeezing Thomas around the waist before she stepped closer and squeezed him harder. She hadn't realized how badly she needed a hug. Not one of those light, timid girly hugs Ginger and her mother gave her. But, a genuine, sort of squeeze the life out of you, hug only a guy could give. And Thomas was a very good hugger. "I'd like that." 

Thomas and she had lived down the street from one another for years, since she'd bought the house and he'd moved in to take care of Barbara. They were casual acquaintances at work. But, he'd never invited her over before and he'd certainly never hugged her. She smiled at the comfort of the easy friendship beginning between them. Releasing the hug, she turned and ran smack into a wall of denim, black leather, and muscle. "Oh, sorry. I didn't hear anyone behind me," she stammered in utter humiliation. 

"Hey guys. I forgot you were stopping by tonight," Thomas said uncomfortably. "My helpers," he explained to Claire. He cast an unappreciative glare at John Mark and Dane. They had to know he had company and he resented the interruption. Vampires. Pushy bastards. He'd forgotten his mom was sending them over to collect the bits and pieces of random crap crammed into boxes in the basement. She called it vintage. He called it junk. But, either way it was getting donated to the annual Ladies Auxiliary charity auction. "John Mark, Dane, this is Claire."

"Hi," Dane said. He didn't bother extending his hand for a handshake. Claire stared up at him with her mouth hanging open, nodding like a bobble head. Ah, the effect he had on women. Maybe, the paramilitary haircut or the black on black monochrome of his clothing did make him appear too intimidating. It was meant to. Or perhaps, it was just his overwhelming personality that had her heart slamming against her ribs. He tried for friendly. But, the harder he tried the closer she inched towards Thomas. 

"Claire," John Mark said as he extended his hand. The blonde's eyes were wide as saucers, staring up at him, wide with disbelief. Or maybe, she was just overwhelmed with his sheer awesomeness. He did after all, have a way with the ladies. He heard her heart pickup the pace and beat frantically in her chest. Sometimes, people knew. They really didn't know. But, like prey, people were instinctively fearful of predators and things that went bump in the night. And Claire was. 

Claire took the man's big paw in her hand and gave it a timid shake. Something about the men set her heart pounding in her chest. Perhaps it was their sheer mountainous size, the black clothing, or their raven hair and dark eyes. Whatever. These guys gave her the jitters. "Nice to meet you," she stuttered shakily. "I'll catch you later, Thomas." She made tracks, as quickly as she could without breaking into an outright run. Her heart was still pounding like a jackrabbit's as she started the car and buckled her seatbelt. 

She was loosing it. She cast a worried glance towards Thomas's house. Staring in through the sheer drapes covering big picture window overlooking the street. The trio stood talking. The big guys towered over Thomas, listening and nodding as he spoke. She gunned the engine and pulled away from the curb, shaking her head at the absurdity of it. Her heartbeat slowed into a normal rhythm as the distance between her and the men increased. 

Thomas didn't seem to be in as bad of shape as she'd originally thought. Sure, his mother's death had left him shaken. But, men mourned differently than women. And he certainly had no shortage of companions to see him through it. But, as accepting as she was of his lifestyle, she didn't want to think about what went on when the drapes were closed. "Get a grip," she whispered to herself. The guys certainly didn't look the type. But, then again, neither did Thomas. She was afraid to leave him with his buddies. They were scary. Not the kind of men you'd want to bump into in a dark alley or anywhere else for that matter. Thomas didn't look like he was in any danger though. If anything, with the company he kept, huge, hunky, damn fine specimens of manhood, he was probably the safest guy in town. 

He wasn't afraid. So why was she? Slowing the car and pulling into her drive, she exhaled a drawn out, almost wistful breath. The men had been huge and frightening. But, she'd always been attracted to the bad boy type. And damn, were they good looking. Right up her alley, if it hadn't been for the black leather and the hint of the gun holster she'd seen tucked beneath Dane's jacket, that and the fact that there was just something off about the two of them. But, why was it all the good looking guys were gay? 

Thomas scowled at the amused looks on Dane and John Mark's faces in displeasure. If they hadn't shown up maybe he could have stolen a kiss. But no... now he'd be lucky if he ever got Claire to pop by again. The expression on her face when she turned and saw John Mark and Dane, eyes as big as dinner plates and wide with fear. It was obvious they'd scared her off. "Thanks guys," he muttered sarcastically. Actually, it was more his fault than theirs. If anything, vampires were punctual. And if he'd remembered, he wouldn't have asked Claire over. 

He knew the vampires, not these ones, anyway, weren't dangerous. But, he didn't like the thought of Claire being around them. Exposed to them. They wouldn't physically harm her. However, trouble had an uncanny knack for finding the brotherhood wherever they went. 

"She's pretty," John Mark said, teasing Thomas. He couldn't help it. Thomas was flustered and flushed. His neck and cheeks splotched with red. Thomas stomped down the basement stairs. Making a once over through the boxes in the basement as he pretended to ignore him. "Too bad I'm spoken for."

Thomas cleared his throat and lifted a box. "Yes, too bad," he said, shoving a box of his mom's castoffs into John Mark's arms. He turned his back, taking his time about selecting a box to add to the heap. John Mark could hold the box he'd barely been able to lift all night and not break a sweat. Realistically, he knew John Mark and Dane were jerking his chain. But, the teasing rubbed him the wrong way. Claire was nothing to joke about. And he wanted his private life, private. 

"She yours?" John Mark prodded. He was having a good time screwing with Thomas. Getting under his skin was just too easy. The box in his arms was destined for the donation bin down at the Ladies Auxiliary. He didn't ask what was in it. And he didn't mind taking time out of his patrol to lend a hand. 

He'd already delivered at least five million of Anna's cakes and pies and twice as many of her cookies. Janine had robbed every closet and dresser drawer in the compound, pilfering clothing, last season's styles and colors, for the cause. And Leigh had done herself proud with another prize afghan. He stood grinning as Thomas riffled through another box and groaned, struggling to heft the load off the floor.

Thomas hefted another box on top of John Mark's load and glared at him over the folded cardboard top. "Yes...I mean no. Not yet."

"Well, good luck with that buddy," John Mark said. 

Thomas blinked. One minute John Mark was standing with his arms loaded and the next, he wasn't. Not so much as a breeze stirred in his wake. At this rate the basement would be empty of all the excess crap he didn't want or need in less than ten minutes. And as for what he'd do without all the extra stuff filling every inch of available space, he didn't know. Maybe, buy a pool table or add a big screen TV and a couple of recliners. 

Dane stood in the doorway that separated the tiny laundry area from the rest of the basement. His head tipped to the side curiously. Trying to be inconspicuous as he took a whiff of the air. The scent he interpreted made him wonder exactly how close Thomas and Claire were. He pressed his lips together. Determined to keep them zipped. Soon enough, Thomas would figure it out for himself. He was curious as to why the sudden urge to rid the basement of all this excess stuff had become top priority. Sure, the auction funded the Spring Harvest Festival. But, Dane wondered if Thomas's sudden urge to clean had less to do with that and more to do with something else. What he'd caught in Claire's scent. And he guessed, maybe Thomas already knew. Dane wondered why, if Thomas knew, his mom did not. And thought it the better part of valor, not to ask. 




Dawn Reclaimed



Chapter 6

Sometimes Mack went into the station early. It seemed, the older he got the earlier he woke up and the less tolerance he had for stupid people and bullshit. So, coming in early worked out pretty good for him. He could get a jump on the day instead of sitting around the house swilling down a pot of coffee and rereading the morning edition of the weekly newspaper. And as a side bonus, he could avoid stupid people. The worst of the idiots generally didn't roll out of bed until after noon. And by then he could pass the buck and go on his paging system for the rest of the day. 

Oh, he was never technically off duty. The electronic leash was always tight on his collar. But, he didn't necessarily have to roll out the welcome mat down at the station for whatever f'idiot happened to wander in either. He had a few reliable and more discreet boys, eager for his job, on backup to handle the masses of the less intelligent after hours. And most of the time, people around here dealt with their own problems just fine. He rarely had company down at the station house. And that suited him perfectly. At his age, hovering so close to retirement, the less bullshit he had to sift through, the better. 

He slid his worn, brass nametag through the flap over the pocket of his brown, polyester uniform. The thing was so old the engraving was almost illegible. But, he was superstitious and wouldn't replace the nametag that barely bore his name. In the past twenty- seven years, he and the faux brass nametag had seen their fair share of shit. Next year, he was planning to put it to rest and himself out to pasture. Sheriff Mack Brown was officially and permanently going fishing.

Straightening his dark brown tie in the mirror over the sink in the men's room he wondered when he became so jaded about the world and all the people in it. He hadn't always been this way. Running his slightly gnarled fingers down the wrinkles etched in his permatanned face, he tried to remember back to his first day on the job. He had come to the force fresh out of police academy. But, he wasn't like the rest of the herd of eager young twenty-something bucks. He'd graduated head of his class at the ripe old age of just shy of forty. People here liked him. They respected him. They knew him. And they had no trouble voting him into the position of Moore County Sheriff. 

Frowning, he drained the last dregs of black coffee from the battered ceramic mug he kept at the station and sat at his desk. Scrolling through the state's shared computer database, he scanned for anything unusual. Nothing too out of the ordinary caught his eye, just the typical brutality of human on human violence. Bile rose to his throat as he skimmed the preliminary investigation of a woman's brutal murder. What kind of a whack job would slash a woman's throat so viciously and just leave her like that to bleed out on the cold concrete floor of a parking garage? She was an administrative assistant. Just a little fish in a much bigger pond and like too many of the other little fishes, she'd gotten eaten by a shark. 

The detectives on the case had no leads and weren't likely to find any. Most likely they'd chalk her murder up to random gang violence and close the file. There were too many other cases that had clues and a slight chance of getting solved to waste resources on one that didn't. There would be no justice for this woman. Thank God he only had a year left. He had his fill of human suffering. 

Murders like the woman's, without justice always brought him around to thoughts of his son. The cocky, little bastard was way too much like his old man. And just like dear old dad, thought he had something to prove to the world. During a bitter argument, his son had peeled out of the driveway and never made it back alive. That was thirty-four years ago. And Mack had carried the guilt, all the things he shouldn't have said and should have said instead with him everyday since.

He'd been fighting with his son at the time, berating him for being so careless and getting his girlfriend pregnant. The girl was only sixteen and his son a couple of months shy of his eighteenth birthday. They were just kids and knew so little of the real world. And his son, merely a boy, thought himself a man. His big plan had been to drop out of high school, marry the girl, and do right by his unborn child. Mack had been furious at the idea of his kid working beside him at the sawmill for the rest of his life. And without a good education, stuck in this town, that hot, dusty sawmill was exactly where he'd end up, just like his father and his father before him. 

The fight had been ugly and Mack a very different man. His temper had gotten he better of him and he'd said plenty of things he hadn't meant. He hadn't gotten to finish high school because he'd done the same thing as his son and gotten a girl pregnant at the start of his senior year. And he'd worked at that miserable sawmill everyday since. Oh, he'd done right and married the girl. Three years later they were divorced and she'd left him behind to raise their toddler son and he had not heard a word from her since that day she packed her bags for the big city. And damn it, if he hadn't seen his son's life playing out exactly like his. 

He'd followed his son out the front door, still shouting, cussing him for being so stupid, and he had still been on a rampage as his son, his baby boy, flipped him the bird, shouted a few choice curse words at him in reply, and peeled out of that damn driveway. Regret still burned inside Mack. Hit him hard on the nights he couldn't sleep. Which, these days was most of them. He'd never gotten the chance to tell his son how much he loved him. And he'd never gotten the chance to say goodbye. He got the call a few days later, his son's body had been found, his throat slashed, and his blood staining the pavement red in an abandoned alley deep in the cold, black heart of the city. 

He hadn't been able to face what a horrible father he'd been. And he'd buried his

son in the cemetery outside of town quietly, privately without a funeral or any last words. The neighbors had seen and heard the fight. There wasn't much to do in a small town. People watched the news. People read the newspapers. And people talked. The rumors, speculation, and sympathetic glances eventually died down. But, Mack couldn't go on.

His son's murderer was never brought to justice. The detectives never found a shred of evidence. Nothing. And to them, his son's murder was just another unsolvable crime in a city where murder and death happened everyday. That incident changed his life. He gave up working at the sawmill and went to the state law academy. He worked hard. Studied hard. And dedicated his life to preventing the same thing from happening to somebody else. No father should ever have to bury his son the way he had. 

Mack wondered if the murdered woman had a family, a father. He rocked back in his chair and stared blankly at the screen saver scrolling across his computer screen. He'd kept tabs on the girl his son had gotten pregnant. Despite the gossip and the hushed whispers, she never faltered. She walked down the sidewalks of Main Street with her head held high and her pregnant belly protruding. Proud of the life she carried inside of her. His grandson was born on the fifteenth of May the following year. 

He never knew the right words to say to her. He played stupid. Acted as if he was totally clueless about her pregnancy. And when the baby came, he pretended that he didn't know the child was his son's. He'd slipped in and snuck a peek at his grandson through the hospital nursery's thick glass window. 

He was in the police academy at the time. But, birth records were public knowledge. And the girl had never listed his son's name on the birth certificate. She'd never approached him about his son or her pregnancy. And he left things alone. She waited tables after school at the diner and he always made sure he sat in her section. But, she never said a word about it. She took his order. Brought his food. And slipped the extra tips he left her into the pocket of her stained, polyester apron. She knew that he knew. She knew about the fight. Everyone in town knew about the fight he'd had with his son. And week after week, she said nothing. It was as if they'd come to a silent agreement not to talk about the baby or his father. Maybe, it was just too painful for the both of them to bring it up. 

She'd slip him baby pictures now and then. Tucked neatly underneath his plate when she brought his order. He'd smile up at her and whisper a soft 'thank you' and carefully stash them into a pocket. He still had them. Photos of his grandson as a red-faced infant and snapshots of his first Christmas, his first birthday, pictures of events he could never be part of simply because neither one of them would be the one to take the first step. 

She quit the diner shortly after graduating high school and took a job shelving books in the library and the pictures stopped coming. He still saw her around town. Would sit on a bench and watch his grandson play in the park. He attended every little league game. Clapped louder than any grandparent had a right to after every school play, Christmas program, and band recital. He offered his services as a chaperone for the senior prom. And when his grandson walked across that stage with Magna Cum Laude cords around his neck and that college diploma clutched in his hand, he cried like a baby. 

And for all of it, she knew he was there watching from the sidelines. And of him, to his grandson, she'd never breathed a word. Not even when her own parents died, first her father and shortly after her mother, and his grandson lost the only grandparents he'd ever known. That Mack knew of, she'd never mentioned him to her son. 

Mack respected her wishes and kept his distance. But, that was the problem with a small town. There really wasn't much distance to keep. And a secret only stayed a secret so long. He was proud of her and of the man his grandson had grown up to become. She had done a fine job of raising him. But, it hurt. Knowing the secret stood between his grandson and he with the density of a brick wall he might never be able to breech. It wasn't his grandson's fault. It wasn't his mother's fault. And it wasn't his fault. But, after thirty-three years, he was ready to put the past behind him. Ready for the secret to be told and the truth to come to light. 

Every time Mack looked at his grandson, he saw his son and the faint reflection of himself. He knew he should make this right, especially now, before another opportunity slipped through his fingers. He was running thin on second chances and a little shy on time. He wasn't getting any younger. And every year he put it off would only result in more questions he wasn't certain he could answer. He didn't fear rejection. But rather the painful questions that he knew would follow after the truth came out. His grandson was a bright young man. And he would demand answers, about his father and about him. Mack had deprived his grandson of the only thing he could have offered, a relationship with his grandfather. And that was something, no matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to explain. 

Mack's eyes snapped up from his computer monitor to the door. She flung the door open so hard the glass rattled in its steel frame. Thump, thump, thumping across the tile floor, smacking her walker down hard as her house slippers shushed in uneven steps to his desk. He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and groan at the woman storming a path of destruction through the station house. She hadn't bothered with formalities like changing out of her pink, floral duster, or unwinding her white hair from the baby blue curlers underneath her satin sleep cap. She wore a green, cable knit sweater buttoned to her neck and a permanent scowl on her pudgy, wrinkled face. He shuddered at what catastrophe she'd conjured up to bring her into the station this early in the morning. Probably, her damned cat, the white Persian with the snot green eyes who was every bit as persnickety and hateful its owner, was stuck in a tree. "Mornin' Mrs. Jones. What can I do for you today?" he said, putting on his good ole boy grin as he dipped his hat at her.

"Sheriff, I saw a wolf last night. Sniffing around in my back yard," she said, thumping her walker against the tile to punctuate her point. The woman had a voice like nails on a chalk board and it was all Mack could do not to press his hands to his ears to block it out. 

"A wolf?" Mack kept his face expressionless. It was entirely too possible. As if dealing with vampires weren't enough. Now, he had to worry about werewolves digging through the garbage cans? Maybe, he'd get lucky and one of the furry, bark at the moon gang would eat that damn cat. Not likely though. The little bastard would probably give them food poisoning. 

Despite the Great Father's reassurances that the Pack would stay hidden in the woods, one was prowling through the streets of town. Rumors traveled fast. And the last thing Mack needed was a bunch of trigger-happy rednecks trampling the woods on a campaign to shoot the first thing that moved. "It was dog, I assure you. Probably, just a stray sniffing through the garbage for a good meal. And everyone loves your cooking, Mrs. Jones, even the dogs. I'll get a hold of animal control in the city and have them come down this week." 

"Sheriff, I'm not senile. I know what I saw. And that wasn't any dog. It was a wolf. I watch Animal Planet," she added briskly, as if that explained everything. "Now, I want to know what you're going to do about it." 

Mack gritted his teeth as the vile Mrs. Jones glared at him with a glare that would have melted the paint off the walls. Oh no, the woman wasn't senile. She was sharp as a tack and never missed a thing. How Jonsey actually stayed married to that woman was nothing short of a miracle. Mack had known her his entire life. And even as a teenager a few grades ahead of him, she'd never had one redeeming trait about her personality. She had always been mean and spiteful and age hadn't mellowed her out one bit. Looking at her, wrinkled, fat, and her hair in curlers reminded him of exactly how old he was actually getting. "Ok, ok. I'll go out and set some traps today. Hopefully, I'll solve your...dog problem soon enough."

He shrank back from the beady, shrewd eyes glaring at him from behind thick pop bottle glasses. She thumped her walker at him and harrumphed. Ok...his logical explanation wasn't working. Maybe, it was better to roll with it and let her think she had seen a wolf pissing on her prize tulips. Jonesy was a gun-toting member of the NRA. And Mack really, really wanted to keep him and his assortment of high-powered shotguns out of the woods. "I'm sure its nothing to worry about. A wolf, if that was what you saw, is very uncommon in these parts and they usually don't wander too close to civilization. He probably got loose from a wildlife preserve and will find his way back home on his own." 

"If that mangy beast eats my cat. I'm holding you personally responsible."

Turning on her heel she stormed out of the office, incredibly spry for a sixty-something woman on a walker. Mack exhaled and frowned at the lingering reek of Ben-gay and trail of crumpled Kleenexes she'd left in her wake. "I could only be so lucky," he grumbled under his breath. 

Mack pulled out the cell phone he carried with him at all times. Soon after he'd been sworn in as the county sheriff. He had been introduced to the other world that existed simultaneously and covertly around him. Sometimes, it felt as if he existed in two alternate realities. And, he supposed he did. 

He flipped through the numbers wondering which voice of authority to call. Wolves were Nash's problem and vampires were Dane's. And, if he surmised the Great Father was in charge of the whole paranormal ball of wax. Deciding to nip this in the bud, before things got out of hand and he had a town full of pissed off, paranoid citizens spotting wolves around every corner. He hit speed dial and waited for Drew to pick up. 

 Chapter 7

Nash always got up early. He relished the sleepy quiet of the house and the hushed stillness just before sunrise began to pierce the horizon. Privacy was a rarity he seldom got to cherish. Already, the Pack was beginning to stir. He glanced up at the ceiling and sipped his coffee. Hearing the sounds of movement, bare feet shuffling across the floor above his head, he gauged by the heaviness of the steps, Grant was getting an early start to his day too. 

Having Grant back, offering forgiveness for such a grievous offence as the one he'd committed had the whole Pack in an uproar. Nash left the Pack with no choice. He was the alpha and his decisions were final. And the Great White Wolf had made it his edict as well. The Pack might grumble under their breaths. But, they wisely kept their mouths shut. They couldn't begin to understand his motivation for breaking with tradition. Why he'd let Grant live in the first place. And why the man, who had challenged him for alpha and almost killed Tala was back under his roof.

The truth. When it had been Nash's turn in the arena challenging for Pack Master, he'd been forced to murder his own flesh and blood, his father, for the sake of tradition. No more. Tradition ended when Grant was allowed to flee from the fight, wounded but still breathing. No more killing. Life was too precious a gift to snatch away from anyone when there was a better option. 

Nash nodded at the gentle knock on the patio door, welcoming the Great White Wolf in. Drew, didn't look happy. His mouth set in a hard line and his posture rigid. His eyes were hidden beneath dark sunglasses, out of habit. Not that Nash needed to see Drew's eyes to gauge his mood. "I take it this isn't a social call," Nash said. He motioned for Drew to take the seat next to him and waited for him to speak. Drew was a man who did not mix words and left nothing in his speech to interpretation. 

"I got a very disturbing phone call from the Sheriff this morning," Drew said. Nash sat casually, one arm resting on the back of the chair with his fingers wrapped around a mug of steaming coffee. There was nothing casual about Nash. The man might appear relaxed and easy going. But, beneath the façade created by the simple, button down shirt and the sleeves rolled to his elbows and the faded, denim jeans and worn boots was a powerhouse of lethal, bruit force. And Nash had the thick scar marring his right cheek, from the corner of his eye to his jaw line and down his neck to prove it. 

"Really?" Nash wasn't surprised. And he had a vague suspicion of which wolf had broken the rules. The Great White Wolf's power rippled off him in waves. Drew wore his authority well. He knew when to step in and when to let Nash handle Pack business. And today, he was simply advising Nash that he'd better tend to business. Nash sipped his coffee and waited for Drew to get down to it. 

"One of our brothers has been spotted in town. I thought it was clear that the town was off limits while in wolf form. The last thing I want or any of us need is a bunch of rednecks with shotguns hunting us down."

"I agree," Nash said. He'd worn his hair down, loose around his shoulders to dry after his shower. In business mode, he wove his salt and pepper hair into a tight braid at the base of his skull and secured it with a leather band. Drew wanted results not meaningless promises. And he was looking expectantly at him to get them. "I'll take care of it." 

"I did it," Grant said. Clearing his throat as he entered the room, he went straight to the coffee pot to down a quick mug of the stout brew before starting his day. Grant offered no reason as to why he'd gone to town in his wolf form. It wasn't that it wasn't Nash's business. As Pack Master everything was Nash's business. And Drew, Grant could not even imagine the responsibilities heaped on his shoulders. Grant took a sip of the coffee and scowled at the cup. This wasn't the milder stuff the pack drank. The coffee in the pot was the good stuff Nash reserved for his early morning wakeups. And damn was it strong. Grant went to the fridge and pulled out the cream, pouring a generous dollop into his mug and stirring it to make the stuff more palatable. "It was so late and I didn't think anyone would see me."