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Dawn Redeemed

By: msnomer68



Chapter 1

Erica shuffled nervously in her seat. The cordiality of the greeting had dissipated into an awkward, uncomfortable silence hanging heavily in the air between them. Her eyes fixed on the man's neatly groomed nails, on his soft, chambray button down shirt, on the tiled patterns beneath her feet, on the brilliant sunny afternoon outside of the coffee shop window, anywhere and everywhere, but traveling up to meet his eyes. 

The locket secured by a dainty chain straining to hold its clasp around his muscular neck gave her some measure of hope. She assumed she'd lost the locket somewhere along the way. Maybe, at the bottom of the ocean, buried in a pile of sand, or lost in a tangle of sheets. She hadn't been too upset about it though. The locket hadn't been an expensive piece of jewelry. At the time, the Super Center had dozens exactly like it sitting in the discount bin and probably, to this day, still did. 

The locket was just a cheap bauble she'd thought was pretty and in a moment of weakness, splurged and parted with ten bucks of her hard earned cash to buy. The heart shaped locket was battered and scratched. The gold plating wasn't as shiny, the engraved surface worn practically smooth, and the diamond chip long gone. As if the man, who in the spirit of finders keepers, wore it did so because it was something cherished and valuable, and he never took it off. 

Her cousin, Alex, had a locket exactly like it. And Erica wondered if Alex had lost hers too or if the locket was sitting forgotten in the bottom of some jewelry box never again to see the light of day. Her cousin and she were like that. Constantly digging through the discount bins eager to spend their money on cheap trinkets they didn't really need or want. And hey, ten bucks was a hell of a steel for twenty-four karat gold plating and a genuine diamond chip, even back in the day. 

Erica was mentally dawdling and she knew it. She was just so eager to focus on something, anything other than the expression on Torr's face as he opened the envelope and shuffled through the pictures. What would she see if she allowed her eyes travel up to meet his? Hatred? Anger? Joy? Elation? Confusion? She was prepared for all of those emotions and could probably handle them. Denial was the only thing she wasn't sure she could deal with. But, it was kind of hard to deny the truth when it was at your fingertips, wasn't it. 

The uncomfortable silence stretched on and on as Torr flipped through the snapshots. His hands were careful and his touch cautious. He had such beautiful hands, the fingers long. The movements calculated and purposeful, like those of a concert pianist. The gust of his exhale riffled the edges of the napkin beneath her empty coffee mug. And the quiet, oh god, the quiet was killing her. 

Maybe agreeing to meet with him was a mistake. She'd played this scene out in her mind hundreds of times. Never had she expected the weighty silence that hung between them. She'd imagined him cursing her in a fit of anger over what she'd done. Because sometimes emotions didn't have any other way of expressing themselves. She had expected questions or perhaps, tears. But, his stoicism as he flipped to the pictures and stacked them neatly on the table in the vacant space between them had her practically screaming at him to say something. His quiet resignation, his fingers working the sharp edges of the photographs so efficiently, wasn't exactly like anything she could have anticipated. 

Erica wished her mug wasn't bone dry. Getting up from her damned uncomfortable straight backed chair and walking across the shop to the bar for another double shot mocha latte with extra foam would break the stillness and the awful quiet. It'd give her something to do besides sit here and wait for him to say something...anything. Was Torr ever going to speak or were they just going to sit here in silence with that stack of neatly arranged pictures on the table between them? 

Torr was overwhelmed by the pictures in the envelope and by the woman who had slid them across the table to him. The gears in his mind churned to a stop and suddenly, though he always knew exactly what to say in any given situation, he was speechless. Erica sat on the edge of her chair, prim and proper as any debutante. She didn't nervously tap her nails against the tabletop or twist the ends of her hair between her fingertips the way some women did when they were on edge. She was still, her chest barely rising and falling with her shallow almost non-existent breaths. 

He'd seen the flicker of recognition on her face as her eyes traveled up him and stopped to focus on the locket around his throat. Her eyes refused to wander any higher to gauge the expression on his face. The whimsical clock on the wall, a black cat with his tail swinging and eyes bobbing back and forth to mark the seconds as they passed and turned into minutes, ticked to fill up the empty silence in the room. 

The barista leaning with one hip on the counter and a bored sneer on her face snickered at something funny. Her thumbs furiously danced over the screen of the iPhone clutched in her grip as she texted a reply. Erica either didn't notice the break in the awful silence or didn't react to it if she had. Her attention was fixed on him, but at the same time, not on him. Bracing herself, as she waited for him to say something. Maybe, she thought he'd scream at her and demand an explanation. He was in no place to judge anything or anybody. 

He was careful with the snapshots, his eyes roaming over their glossy surfaces and memorizing every last detail. Torr's fingers trembled slightly as he held the photographs. Erica was so focused on avoiding the subtleties of his reaction that she didn't notice. He flipped a snapshot over and traced the edge of his fingernail across the loopy scroll of her neat handwriting. This picture was his favorite. Just a moment in time, nothing but a blink of an eye, captured on high gloss paper. He felt a pang of regret over what he'd missed. So much time was just gone and so many moments he'd never gotten the chance to celebrate, lost. 

The snapshot was of a happy day. One of those unintended candid shots that by some twist turned out better than the planned poses intended to capture the moment. He didn't know who had taken the picture of the little girl and her mother. The two of them locked arm in arm and smiling at the camera over the lit candles of a birthday cake with pink frosting and 'happy birthday' spelled out in candy letters across the top. Perhaps the picture had been snapped by a relative or friend of the family.

The five candles on the cake illuminated her cherubic face and unruly auburn curls in a wash of golden light. He was glad that the little girl and her mother had gotten this one perfect moment frozen in time. All of the snapshots were of happy times, but of course, nobody needed a picture to remember the unhappy ones. Those kind of memories locked in your subconscious and stayed put. He ought to know. His mental photo album was full to the point of bursting. 

Torr was careful not to bend the edges of the pictures with his clumsy fingers. Cautious not to smudge their glossy surfaces with fingerprints. He took his time to arrange the snapshots into a stack in the middle of the table. Erica's eyes followed the movements of his hands, measuring each flick of a fingernail or brush of a fingertip. "She's a pretty little girl. She looks so much like you." 

Erica nodded in agreement. But, she only agreed to a point. Fallon did have the Gray family trademark red hair and of course, their stubbornness and hot temper. But, there were parts of her she'd inherited from her father too. Torr was not a stupid man. Besides, it didn't take a genius to put two and two together and come up with one little girl with eyes the exact indescribable shade of navy blue and a dimple in her chin to figure it out. Torr was waiting for her to spell it out. Not because he wasn't intelligent enough to come up with the answer himself, but because he wanted hear it as a confirmation from her lips. 

Erica gripped the empty mug between her palms. Thank god the coffee shop served up their brew in mismatched sometimes chipped porcelain mugs instead of styrofoam or paper cups. Otherwise, she would have crushed the thing between her hands from how tightly she was holding on. Tensing for his reaction to what she was about to say, she took a deep breath and came out with it. "Fallon looks like her father too."

Torr looked up from the pictures to meet Erica's eyes. He needed to see the truth in them, before he posed the question. Her eyes were reluctant, wandering over the tile floor and then up and over to the plate glass window behind him to view the glorious afternoon outside before finally having the courage to meet his stare. "If I could ask." He added the picture to the stack, face up. His fingers fluttered over the smiling faces, as if he could connect to the subjects in the photographs with just a touch. "Who is her father?"

"You are." Erica winced and mentally kicked herself for being so blunt. She'd meant to be gentler in her handling of such a delicate subject. But, she'd botched that up royally in her blurting out of the truth. She met Torr's indescribable blue eyes and saw nothing but understanding and realization in the drowning pools of their depths. Knowing that he believed her should make her feel better, not worse. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and took a deep breath. Resting her fingers on his forearm, the tips burning from the contact of his skin against hers, she confessed. "I should have told you sooner. I'm sorry. I had no right to keep Fallon from you all these years."

"You had every right. I never tried to contact you after...I should have. It is I that am sorry. You went through so much on your own... for so many years." He gently took the tips of her fingers in his hand, warming the cool flesh with his palm. He pushed past the heavy feeling of regret that had settled deep in his gut. He knew and had known long before she told him the truth. In the end he was justified in remaining on the outside with nothing more than a brief glimpse in. He had done what he had to do to keep them safe. Something he could tell her about until the words dried up on the tip of his tongue, but never truly explain. "Can you forgive me?"

"You can still be her dad," Erica said in a small voice. Torr hadn't yelled at her. He hadn't accused her of keeping Fallon from him. He didn't call her a liar. He didn't deny the truth or start spouting bullshit about child support and visitation rights. There was no accusation in his tone, nothing but gentleness, understanding, and fragile, hesitant acceptance.

"I'd like that. I'd really like that." Torr released Erica's hand and gave her a reassuring smile. Reluctantly, he gathered up the pictures, taking painstaking caution not to bend the edges so that they stayed as crisp and sharp as they had been when she handed them over to him. His eyes remained locked on hers as he slid the pictures into the envelope and pushed it across the table. 

"They're yours, keep them." The pictures weren't much of a consolation prize considering all he'd missed. She had made copies of the originals with the hope that he'd want them. He pocketed the envelope, carefully sliding it into the pocket of his jacket as if it were filled with thousand dollar bills instead of copies of a couple of dozen snapshots she'd gotten from the Super Center for a dime apiece. 

Torr nodded and rested his hand on the envelope he'd slid into his jacket pocket for safekeeping. He wasn't necessarily a sentimental man. He never saved ticket stubs, newspaper clippings, book marked favorites pages on his laptop, or had shelves filled with baubles or family photos. He didn't even own a picture fame, but you could bet your ass he was stopping by the Super Center on his way home to pick up some. Maybe, one of those wall collages where he could see all the happy moments he'd missed out on at the same time. 

Erica was curious about the locket at his throat. Her eyes flicked to the heart shaped pendant and then darted away as if they should be ashamed for noticing. The proper thing to do would have been to unclasp the chain and return it to its rightful owner. But, he didn't. He offered nothing as means of explanation for it and the chain stayed clasped around his neck, right where it belonged. There were some places he simply wasn't ready to go yet. "Thank you."

Erica eased back in the wooden chair and breathed out a sigh of relief. Things had gone better than she could of hoped for. Torr wanted to be part of Fallon's life. He hadn't rejected his daughter. She'd heard the eagerness in his voice. She hadn't thought beyond this meeting into the depth of what it truly meant to introduce Fallon to her father. 

She toyed with her empty mug, twisting and turning the thing between her fingers. Obviously, this was the beginning of a new chapter on so many levels and she wasn't quite sure of where Torr belonged on the pages. "Fallon started school today. It's been so hard on her, moving and leaving all her friends behind, and now her first day of school, so late in the year. I don't want to put too much on her all at once." 

She worried that Torr would think she was trying to back out. She wasn't, not completely. It was a strange concept, to no longer think of Fallon as hers exclusively. Today had been about baby steps. Getting to know the man who had fathered her child as more than an unwitting sperm donor and an unfortunate or perhaps, fortunate consequence of a one night stand. Torr was a man who wore his emotions behind an unreadable mask. He gave nothing away. His expression was guarded and hesitant. Everything about him was so reserved, each move, each sip he took from his mug, and the way he looked at her.

"Of course," Torr said. He kept his expression blank. Erica shuffled nervously in her chair, looking down again instead of at him. Yeah, he got it. This had been difficult for her. Perhaps, one of the hardest things in her life she'd ever had to do to this point. She was unsure of him and maybe, a little of herself. To her, he was a stranger and what had happened between them nothing more than an enjoyable temporary union of bodies. She didn't know, and there was no way she could, how much the hope of finally meeting his daughter had kept him alive. 

He studied Erica. She fidgeted nonstop with the cup in her hands, avoiding his gaze. Today was a trial run for her. He truly expected no less. Naturally she would want to meet him, gauge him for herself before she introduced him to Fallon. "I understand. You don't have to answer this, but what have you told Fallon about me? Surely questions have come up."

Erica took a long drawn out breath. Torr had the right to ask the question. The truth might sting though. She'd been vague and evasive with Fallon. Her little girl was intuitive and on some level had sensed her mom's discomfort about answering questions about her father. The truth was now that Fallon was getting older and smarter. The pat answers Erica had fed her daughter weren't going to hold much worth in the future.

Fallon might not be mature enough to understand the intricacies of the relationship between her mother and father, but she was old enough to realize that sometimes things just happened and the explanations for them really didn't matter beyond the reality of what was. She deserved the right to make the decision on whether she wanted to get to know her father or not. Erica wasn't going to take that from her. "I've always told her that if her dad had gotten the chance to know her, he'd love her as much as I do."

Torr nodded in appreciation of Erica's explanation. There were hundreds of possible explanations for his absence and in the end Erica had chosen the only explanation with the truth intricately woven in terms a little girl would understand. "Wise words. True words. I do love her. Erica, I've always wondered."

"Yet, you never tried to find me." 

"I did find you didn't I." 

"You did," Erica said. Raising Fallon on her own had been tough. She could feel anger and accusation surging in her gut. A part of her wanted to resent Torr. It wasn't his fault. She hadn't exactly made herself easy to find, had she. She'd been the one to sneak out of that hotel room while he was asleep. She'd hopped the first available flight home. And she'd made damn sure she'd remained as anonymous as possible during their encounter. She hadn't told him a thing about herself and she hadn't asked any of the important questions about him in return. 

Erica could feel the fight brewing. It was purely a defensive tactic. No doubt to scare him off or to perhaps, test his mettle. Torr didn't look like the type to scare easily. And she was not the kind of woman who turned her back on anything once she'd set her mind to it. She could have just as easily sought him out, but she hadn't. She was every bit as much to blame as he was. And pointing the finger of at him or turning it onto herself wouldn't change the situation and it certainly wouldn't help Fallon. 

She blew out a breath of resignation. She didn't want to fight with Torr. He truly hadn't done anything wrong. Right or wrong, they'd both had a part to play. She'd come here to tell him the truth, and she had. The past was the past, nothing either one of them could do would change it or give him back the years he'd lost with their daughter. 

Erica gathered her purse in her hand and slung the thin brown strap over her right shoulder. The awkward silence was back with a vengeance. The truth was they were both at an impasse, trying so desperately not to say anything that might piss the other one off. Wasn't that some consolation? They both wanted what was best for Fallon. And if anyone deserved some peace in this life, it was her. "I really should be going. Errands to run and such," she said lamely. Hers was not a graceful exit. She scooted her chair back, the grating of wood against tile broke the stillness in the tiny café. 

Torr stood, ever the contrite gentleman, and helped her with her jacket. Six-foot four inches of solid male and raw testosterone crowded the narrow space between them. His breath was hot, stirring the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. She'd forgotten how attractive he was. No, not really, she remembered, oh god, how she remembered. In ten years, time seemed to barely have an effect on him at all. 

He looked exactly the same. Wild, unruly deep walnut colored waves artfully styled in a casual, almost devil may care tumble, framed a hard masculine jaw. The cleft in his chin was perfect for playful nipping and seductive sweeps of a tongue. His lips were full, the lower lip slightly larger than the upper, pouty and definitely made for kissing and sinful pleasures. His chest was broad with just a hint of his powerful pecs and washboard abs visible beneath the his casual button down shirt. The fit of his faded Levis on his narrow hips and the way they molded to his defined thighs took her back to a night that had no place in the present. 

Erica felt the blush creep along her cheeks, remembering exactly what he could do with those lips and all the other parts of his glorious body. Her blush deepened as he shot her a smile that said, he hadn't forgotten either. She wanted to blow out the breath she'd been holding and instead trapped it deep within her lungs. His touch was light, skating over her neck as he smoothed her collar into place. She was overwhelmed by him and with his crowding of her personal space. "I'll...give me some time to explain this to Fallon."

"Take all the time you need," Torr said. He fished in his wallet and tossed a five dollar bill on the table. A tip the barista certainly hadn't earned. He was close enough to touch Erica. To pull out the pins holding her tight chignon in place and run his hands through the silky strands of her strawberry blonde hair. He could almost taste her scent. It was so thick in the air, mingling with the aroma of coffee beans and sweet cream. 


Dawn Redeemed



He affected her more than she was ready to admit. But, he was a very patient man. He tucked the chairs under the table, careful not to make a sound as he did so. Lest he interrupt the barista's texting and earn a glare for his trouble. He jogged ahead of Erica and held open the door. He'd learned no lessons in courtesy from his father. That was for sure. He was a self-taught gentleman and took pride in it. 

Coward that she was. Erica scurried for the door. The tiny bells strung across the top of the threshold chimed cheerfully as Torr held the door open for her. The space was so narrow. Filled with his big body. That she had to brush against him to get past. He was only being polite. But she was completely unnerved from the contact. She could still feel the heat of his skin on hers. She heard the gentle thump of the door closing and the soft whisper of the soles of his boots against the sidewalk behind her. And there he was, Torr, in her space, again. Crowding her. She looked up and took a step back, pressing a brave and wavering hand to his hard chest. "Torr, I...I just need time, ok?"

Torr stared down at the dainty fingertips pressed so timidly against his chest. Time was a curse and it'd already stolen too much away from him. Erica held all the cards and he truly had no other choice but to sit tight and wait. Pushing her would only serve to make her his enemy in a war without victors. "You'll call when you feel the time is right?"

Erica nodded and withdrew her hand. She could feel the throbbing of his heartbeat against her fingertips and it was too intimate for strangers. She wanted to brush the windswept locks away from his forehead so she could get a better look at his eyes and read their meaning. But, that was a gesture saved for familiar people and they were not familiar. He stepped back, giving her just enough room to breathe. "Torr, it was nice to see you again." 

"Likewise." A sudden gust of wind caught her skirt and sent the hem ruffling around her knees. Her bottom lip quavered as if she had something more to say. His fingers caught a strand of hair that had worked its way out of her tight chignon and tucked it behind her ear. The gesture was too familiar, too intimate, and way too soon. Her eyes quickly flicked away from his and began tracking an empty potato chip bag that had gotten caught up in the sudden gale and skittered haphazardly across the sidewalk. 

Erica caught her breath and turned her face away from the heat of his palm as his long fingers gently brushed over her cheek. The empty potato chip bag careening in the spring wind was suddenly the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen. Anything beat staring up into his eyes and seeing the unmistakable glint of the past in their depths. 

She gripped her purse tightly, jerking the strap into her shoulder. Turning on her heel, her shoes made light clacking noises on the sidewalk as she walked in a hurried pace toward the safety of her car. Halfway there she hazarded a glance over her shoulder. Torr stood in the middle of the sidewalk with one hand in his pocket resting over the envelope, staring after her with those unblinking, unreadable blue eyes. 

Torr stared after Erica and watched her climb into a beat up car that had seen better days. Her steps were hurried, their retreat hasty. She climbed in behind the wheel, revealing a good length of thigh. Erica was no longer the giddy co-ed he'd met on a beach in Corpus Christi ten years ago. She'd grown up into a beautiful, sensuous woman with soft curves and a cautious nature. She had been in his life for one night. And that one night, had guaranteed she'd be in his life forever. 

His fingers clutched the envelope as if it had more value than gold. To him, it did. Her car sputtered to life and pulled away from the curb. She turned right at the stoplight and disappeared around the corner. He hadn't missed on single detail. Her eyes were awash with a woman's remembrance of things perhaps best forgotten. He sidestepped a couple holding hands as they meandered down the sidewalk. Envying them just a little, he climbed into his truck. 

Sunlight streamed through the windshield, heating up the truck's interior. Erica had laid it all out on the table for him. Honestly and openly, she had placed every bit of her faith and trust in him. She didn't know what kind of a man he was. Maybe the fact that she didn't know was the very thing that bothered him and had his sense of guilt in overdrive. She'd held nothing back and he'd misrepresented himself and told her not much of anything in return. 

He'd been misrepresenting himself for years. Their night together had been a lie. A lie of omission perhaps, but still a lie. Trusting her wasn't his issue. The fact that the truth would scare her off and he'd never see his daughter again, was. He had no pictures to fill in the missing blanks for her. The bitter truth of what he was went beyond what words could explain. 

"Shit." He pounded his fist on the steering wheel. The truck engine idled, vibrating raw power up his shins. He wanted to come clean and tell her everything. But he couldn't. Not yet. Erica wasn't ready to her the reality of what she believed was nothing but fiction. She was surrounded by the mythical creatures of horrific legend and didn't have the slightest clue of how deep she was in. She was a sheep, hip deep in wolves, and their daughter, was one of the wolves. 

He had to tell her. But how? He couldn't sugarcoat the truth to make it go down easier. She'd be terrified and with good reason. He knew the beast that dwelled inside of him and shared his skin all too well. Torr ripped open the envelope and fingered the picture of his daughter and Erica he'd placed at the top of the stack. The truth was as real as the snapshot clutched in his fingers. 

Genetics never lied. His daughter was more like him than her mother would ever guess. He tucked the picture into the visor and gave it one last long, hard glance before he put the truck in gear. The truth would be a blessing and a curse for Fallon, just as it was for him. But, it was also the only thing that mattered. 

Chapter 2

Carter paced around the confines of the waiting room. Pain roared through him. Tightness and darkness crushed in on him. He struggled and fought for space to catch his breath. The presence screamed in his mind. Sheer agony held him in its unyielding grip. In all the centuries of his long existence, he'd never known such exquisite torment.

He clutched at the sweat soaked ends of his tangled blond hair and pulled hard on the strands. Anything to distract himself from the pain and the screaming in his mind. He was not alone in his agonizing torment. The Presence was struggling for its life, about to be born.

He felt the spark of life, sputtering and flickering, like a flame in the darkness. The presence he'd been hopelessly linked to for weeks was in danger of going silent forever. Rage and fear clutched at his heart. He wasn't afraid for himself, but for the woman and the baby she struggled to bring into the world. 

Shayla panted and pushed with all her might. Fighting the smothering waves of fatigue to bring her son into the world. The labor had been hard and long. Painful contractions had turned into hours of agony. She tried as best she could to do what Thomas and Claire encouraged her to do, but it wasn't enough. She was losing the fight. "Save the baby." She stifled a scream as another wave of torture pulled her under.

"I'm not going to lose you or the baby." Thomas panted, "Not going to happen, Shayla." His gloves were coated with a slick covering of blood as he fought to bring this baby into the world. The labor had been sudden and come on Shayla hard and fast. The delivery had stalled, ground to a halt leaving her with nothing but pain and loosing far too much blood. She'd worked too hard for too long and she was giving out. "Come on Shayla, don't you give up on me." 

The woman was exhausted. She barely had the energy left to give a weak push. Monitors dinged and alarmed in a clamoring symphony. The baby was losing the battle and so was the mother. He was determined, not to let either one of them go. No one would die today. Not if he could do anything to prevent it. And he could. 

"Thomas..." Claire whispered, shaking her head no. She knew exactly what he was thinking. She'd thought the same thing herself. They weren't equipped to handle this type of medical intervention and there wasn't time to get Shayla anyplace that was. There was only one way to save the lives of her and the baby. For all their medical expertise, the trays of sterilized instruments, and room full of high tech gadgetry, they were going to have to place their trust in an ancient power old as the universe.

"Get Carter." Thomas met Claire's worried stare and didn't have to ask her twice. He slipped off his gloves and gripped Shayla's cool, pale hand with his fingers. Her stare wild eyed and panicked. Her expression riddled with pain. Her skin so pale, she was a ghostly shade of white. But, for all that, she had a graceful resignation in her gaze, a sort of peace that he'd seen only on the faces of the dying. He couldn't accept that. "Don't you worry, Shayla. Don't you worry about a thing. Everything is going to be just fine."

Thomas's words echoed over her from some distant place, reaching to her from the other side of so much pain and blood. Shayla rested her fevered cheek in his cool palm and closed her eyes. It was so quiet and still, as if time were holding its breath and waiting. Thomas's fingers drifted over her cheeks like the fluttering of butterfly wings and his voice...it was so urgent, begging her to hold on. 

Shayla couldn't understand why Thomas was so worried when she was not. She believed and trusted every word he said. He was the one that sounded completely unconvinced. He wasn't going to let her or her baby die. The words weren't just words used by a doctor to comfort a frightened patient. Above all else, he trusted in his ability to force the meaning of his words to bend reality to his will. If he said she wasn't going to die and the baby wasn't going to die, they weren't. 

Claire hovered over her in the way nurses do when they feel completely helpless. She was cool in a crisis. She had her head in the game. Claire's eyes tracked the blip on the screen, watching the baby's heartbeat and flicked down to her. A wave of agony ripped through Shayla. It was time for another push, but she was so damn tired. It hurt. The pain tore at her from the inside out. Shayla tried to be a good patient for their sakes. Gritting her teeth and panting, she didn't have the strength to hold back the scream exploding from her throat. "Do something!" 

"Shayla," Thomas said calmly. "I am." 

Carter writhed on the floor, his fingers digging into the tiles beneath them. He couldn't breathe. The world swallowed him up in a dark tunnel and surrounded him with nothing but pain and suffering. There were only a few choice ways a vampire could die, but he wondered if he was about to discover a new one. The presence was killing him. Dragging him down into death with it. A scream ripped out of his throat and echoed off the stone walls around him, taunting him with a chilling pitch.

He rolled onto his hands and knees, gasping from the effort to claw his way upright, pushing himself up along the wall to clamor to his feet. The world pitched and rolled, tipped at odd angles and wavered, fading into darkness again, always into darkness. So, this was how it would end for him. An ancient vampire killed, not by a blade, but by his own mind. 

Drew was helpless, but to watch Carter careen down a path from which there was no return. Death was close, not only for Carter, but for Shayla and her unborn child as well. Drew was in command of everything he saw, every brother, every wolf, and every human in on the secret. Yet, he could do nothing to intervene. Sometimes fate had to be allowed to play out and follow its predetermined course. Once the trek had started there was no stopping it. "Shayla needs you."

Carter dropped down to his knees. Clutching his head as darkness tore at the edges of his mind. "I can't help her."

"If you want her and the child to survive, you're the only one who can." Drew understood Carter at a deeper level than perhaps he understood himself. The two of them were more alike than what they'd ever care or concede to admit. Both of them reluctant masters, yet slaves to a bigger world and their own sense of morality. 

Duty commanded them. Drew had no doubt surely, as he was the Great Father to his Sons and the Great White Wolf to his pack, Carter's sense of duty to Shayla would get him on his feet. But, unlike so many times when Carter had stood alone for what he believed was right. This time he'd need a little help. Drew extended his hand to Carter and waited for duty to do what Carter could not. 

Carter grappled to pull himself free of the darkness swallowing him whole in greedy gulps. He weakly reached for the outstretched hand with trembling fingers. Shayla trusted him with her life. He never understood why, but it was time for him to do what he could to prove himself worthy of such a great and unearned trust. "Help me. Take me to her."

He felt his body lifted to its feet. He was boneless and wavered as arms, thick as tree stumps, clamped around his waist and hefted the burden of his weight with broad, willing shoulders and a strong back. He helped as best he could. His weak legs wobbling to keep him upright. Carter could smell the coppery, sweet, rich scent of wolf blood tainting the air. Drew trusted him with the lives of his own. He shouldn't. Carter was what he was at his core and no duty bound the fiend that lived inside of him. "The blood. I can't."

"Carter, you have to. I know you almost as well as you know yourself. Certainly, more than you give me credit for. Find a way." He carried Carter through the door to the medical suite and neatly deposited him at Shayla's bedside. She was gray as a stormy sky. Her eyes seeing, but not registering what was going on around her. His first instinct was to throw Carter out of the way and banish Thomas and Claire. Protect Shayla and her unborn child, but there was no way to protect anyone from death's embrace. And she was close, so close. If she and the child were going to survive, death would have to be defeated by sheer force of will. Only the desire to live could combat death with any measure of effectiveness. "You will find a way," he said. Only he wasn't certain to whom he was talking to, Shayla or Carter. 

"Carter," Shayla whispered weakly. She floated in a happy place between reality and fiction as the waves of pain gave her a brief respite and for a moment, before she realized it was him, she thought she was staring up at the face of an angel. He was beautiful. His hair a golden tumble surrounding a square jaw, perfectly symmetrical, masculine features, and his soft, pliable, almost decadent mouth. His blonde brows were drawn tight into a frown over his pale, arctic blue eyes. He was worried, when for the life of her she couldn't imagine why. "I'm glad you're here."

"I'm always here for you, Shayla." Carter ran a finger down her pale, sweat drenched cheek. He knew nothing about modern medicine. In his time, people died, they just simply died. There was no medicine or high tech procedure to save them. They were born, they lived, and they died. Plain and simple. His eyes flicked over to an array of instruments strewn across a cold, sterile looking, wheeled tray table. He needed no degree in physiology to interpret the blips on the monitors. Shayla was fading and so was the baby. 

Carter glanced up at Thomas's doubtful face. He didn't need the good doctor or the worried nurse to tell him what had to be done. He knew. They were going to cut the baby out of Shayla. He buckled down against the lapping waves of black that rushed over his mind and focused all his attention on her. He could smell her pain mingling with the scent of her blood and the medicinal antiseptic tang of the air. He heard Shayla's heart, weakly pounding in her chest. She was dying. The baby, the source of the presence that had tormented him for weeks was dying with her. He should be glad and let it happen. Rid himself of the blasted sing song voice of pure innocence that invaded his every thought. But, he couldn't. A life was a life. And, in truth, the baby and his mother deserved to live more than he did. 

"Shayla, listen to my voice." He searched through the waves of pain in her mind and focused. They were linked, tied together by the presence and the bond of their blood. "Follow it. Let me carry you away. There is no pain waiting for you, only the respite of sleep. Blissful peace. Can you feel it?"

Shayla's vision wavered and slid out of focus. Carter's voice was like a warm, gentle wave of comfort carrying her out to a place beyond the grip of pain. His voice wrapped around her like a thick, warm, velvety soft blanket. For a moment she drifted on the currents of the sound of the richness of his deep baritone. Agony, a new terrifying surge of sheer agony, pulled her back into reality. Tears rolled down her face as she tried to be brave for him and for her baby.

"No, don't fight it. You can't. You're not strong enough. Just let me carry you away." Carter hummed softly as he stroked Shayla's cool, tear dampened cheek. Her features went slack and her eyelids drifted hesitantly closed. "That's it. Sleep, my angel. Sleep for me." 

Carter's voice held a deep hypnotic quality that had Thomas ready to abandon his fight for Shayla and the baby's life and curl up on the couch and take a nap. He shook it off and slid his hands into the surgical gloves Claire held out for him. "Is she ready?" 

Carter didn't take his eyes off Shayla. Her face was lax in slumber. He was a powerful, old bastard. Today, it served him well. She dreamed of far off places where there wasn't any pain, fear, or worry. He could hold her there for a time. The medication Claire shot into Shayla's vein would help her to stay susceptible to his influence. "Yes."

"Can you handle this? There's going to be a lot of blood." Thomas stared over Shayla's belly at Carter as he washed her skin with surgical scrub. He hadn't done a C-section since med school and yeah, he wasn't one hundred percent certain he could pull it off. But, trying and knowing he could at least save the baby was better than losing them both. Then again, he knew he wouldn't lose Shayla. Carter would see to that. If she bled out before he could get the incisions closed, it'd only hasten the process of Shayla's conversion. No, he wasn't worried about Shayla or his abilities. His nervousness around a master vampire trapped in a room filled with the scent of blood was a far greater concern. 

"I will be fine. Please, proceed."

Thomas took a deep breath and began to make the first incision. In med school the conditions had been perfect and he'd had a lead physician, an expert, standing over his shoulder to correct any mistakes before they happened. The C-section had been anticipated. He'd had the luxury of time and a team of trained professionals. Claire was no more an OB nurse than he was a surgeon, but the two of them were learning quickly to become the medical jack of all trades. "Is she ok?"

"Yes." 

A few moments later, Thomas handed a screaming, very healthy, red faced baby boy over to Claire. But, they weren't out of the woods yet. Shayla wasn't doing as good as her son. Her blood pressure was dropping and her heart rate increasing. She'd lost too much blood and her body, was giving up the fight. Thomas couldn't risk a transfusion of the conventional kind. There wasn't time to weigh the benefits versus the risks. Something about wolf DNA defied the laws of human medicine and crossed straight over into the never land of the paranormal. There were simply some things he could not do. "Carter, heal her, quickly."




Dawn Redeemed



Carter didn't hesitate. He bit his wrist and held the dripping flesh to Shayla's dusky lips. "Drink." He watched the first drop of crimson fall to her bluish-gray lips and her pale tongue flick out lap up what he'd offered.. Gently, prying her mouth open wider he offered her the fullness of his gift. Damn the consequences. His blood was potent and pure and she was so close to death. If she turned into a thing like him, they could both rot in hell together...later. The most important thing, for the now, was that she lived. He pressed his wrist against her mouth and winced from the force of her teeth tearing at his flesh as she latched on and drank. 

Thomas swallowed the bile rising in his throat as he watched Carter's blood do its magic. The sight was fascinating but a bit unnerving at the same time. Her body healed ahead of his suture job and he simply put down his forceps and needle and let the magic of Carter's blood and Shayla's wolf DNA do their thing. 

The layers of muscle, fat, and skin knitted together better than any stitch he could have sewn. A ripple of pink scar tissue wove across her bikini line. Her blood pressure sailed up to a healthy normal level and her heart rate evened out. Shayla's skin no longer had a gray cast to it, but a healthy tanned glow. Her lips, pink and supple instead of that deathly shade of blue. 

Watching her heal thanks to the magic in Carter's blood outraged Thomas on so many levels. How many could benefit from just a single drop? Diseases capable of killing could be cured. People could be brought back from the brink of death, by one crimson drop. He had first hand knowledge of the magic in the blood. He had experienced the miracle for himself and lived to tell no one. The secret had to be kept. Humanity outnumbered vampires tens thousands to one. If the secret of the magic got out, every vampire in the world would be hunted and drained. Either that or more would be made until the humans were hunted and drained. Life, and unfortunately, death, had a delicate balance. The benefit of one could not outweigh the benefit of the other. Regrettably, that was the way things were meant to be. He had no option but to accept things for what they were. Life for some and death for others. 

Shayla writhed on the table as the searing agony of Carter's blood took hold. She felt every cell fuse back together, knit closed, and heal. Cellular membrane attached to cellular membrane, forming tissues, repairing her till she was whole once again. She heard the flutter, the deafening flutter of a heartbeat, from across the room. Her son, Ramon, named in honor of his father, breathing, warm and alive, the pulse of life thundering in her ears. "My son."

"Would you like to say hello to your baby boy?" Claire asked. She cuddled the infant, wrapped tightly in soft, warm, blue blankets. Cooing softly under her breath to soothe the squirming bundle. To have such a awful introduction into the world he was a lively, wiggly thing, desperate for his mother. "Here he is, mama." Claire blinked back tears of wonder and joy as she handed the baby to his mother.

"Look Carter."

Carter reveled in the silence in his mind. His mind was the dark, comfortable silent haven it had always been before. The Presence had been brought safely into the world and his thoughts were his own again. "He's ... fine?" Carter's voice wavered tremulously in awe of the life Shayla held in her arms. 

"He's perfect, Carter. Absolutely perfect." Shayla cuddled the bundle in her arms, cooing and smiling down at him. She held back her tears of joy out of fear Carter would misinterpret them as tears of sorrow. She felt Carter's doubt and worry as clearly as if it was her own. He feared that his blood had hurt the baby. He worried that just by being near Ramon he would contaminate him with the stain of darkness. "Hold him. It's ok. I trust you."

Unwillingly, Carter took the bundle out of her arms and stared down at the tiny face. Ramon's little fingers reached up, curling and uncurling in the empty space of air. The baby had Shayla's black hair and tanned skin, her almond shaped eyes, and slightly too large for her face, but nonetheless perfect for her, nose. But, was there a hint of blue in the baby's dark eyes? 

He'd drank from Shayla and she from him, before she'd learned that she was pregnant with her deceased husband's child. The blood exchange had been out of necessity, not for pleasure. He could have cried in relief to see the perfection of this bundle in his arms and almost did. The baby in his arms was pure and innocent, without the taint of his stain. "I have not held a baby in my arms...in a very long time," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

"Well, it hasn't changed much."

"No, I suppose I am the one who has changed." Carter passed the baby to Shayla and swallowed against the hunger roaring in his gut. "A great deal, I'm afraid." There were others gathered in the hall anxiously waiting for news. Thomas and Claire were still tidying up a bit, cleaning bloodied instruments, discarding stained paper drapes in airtight containers, and putting things back in their proper order before letting visitors in the room. 

Carter slid from the room, putting the closed steel door and a pair of guards between her and his gnawing need. The pack stepped back to make way for him to pass as he shouldered his way through the brothers. The predator had needs that must be met. And he was but the beast's unwitting servant. For a moment, just a brief moment, he'd forgotten that one basic rule. He looked human, but he was not and had not been in as long as he had held a babe in his arms. He fled the corridor in a blur, searching out a place of solitude where he might soothe his beast and sate his hunger. 

Shayla gently stroked her son's cheek and put him to her breast to nurse. So much of Ramon was in her son. They had the same dark expressive eyes and wild, unruly shook of black hair. She had tried to keep Ramon's death distanced from her heart. But, looking down at his likeness and holding his son in her arms, brought the memories and the hurt crashing down around her. 

Ramon was impulsive and idealistic. Standing up for those lofty ideals was what got him killed and took him away from her. She didn't think one man could make a difference. He thought one man could. Ramon died on that platform. His blood stained the wooden planks red while she and the pack stood helplessly watching. Seff thought he was showing his authority over them all by murdering her husband. Ramon didn't stand a chance against Seff and his thugs. He was bound with heavy ropes and beaten to a pulp before Seff dragged the blade across his throat finally ending it. 

His body hadn't been laid to rest. Seff left him tied to the platform to rot as a grizzly reminder of his power over them all. Ramon's death did not do exactly as Seff planned. His death gave birth to the resistance. 

Shayla refused to play the role of martyr for her dead husband. She refused to give in to self-pity and drown in the pits of despair. She wanted to. She wanted to stay down and never get up. Instead, she did her job, well. She was the only one with access to the inside of The Grand Manor, Seff's base of operation. She dusted and vacuumed, and prepared his meals, while she gathered bits and pieces of information to relay to the others. She did this, not only for the resistance, or for herself, but for her husband's memory. She had nothing to lose after his death. And if she were going to die, she'd do it serving a greater cause. 

That was how she met Carter, he and a rag tag bunch had come to free her mistress, Eloise. He was cool and aloof, the first vampire she'd ever met. Before him, she, they all, believed that the pack were the only ones in the preternatural universe. She hadn't wanted to take his blood or share hers with him. But, it was the only way. Through the blood link, they were able to communicate and develop a plan to help Eloise and Seff's son, Torr, escape. 

Ramon would have beamed with pride the day the fence that had always surrounded the complex came tumbling down. He would have danced around the flames that constructed Seff's funeral pyre in triumph. He would have been so proud of her and her role in securing the freedom of their people. His face would have shone with pride and joy when she told him she was pregnant with his son. She would have seen love reflected in his dark expressive eyes. She could have damned him and cursed his name for sacrificing himself for the pack. But, to what ends? He was the man he was and she wouldn't have had him any other way.

From wherever he was, she hoped he could see their son. She blinked back a tear of sadness. She wouldn't cry over the past and her losses. Ramon wouldn't want that. She didn't want it. And it wouldn't do their son any good. She had the future wrapped up in baby blue blankets in her arms. She would embrace it and plunge bravely forward. Ramon would want her to. He wasn't the only reason she refused to look back. She was doing it for their son and for herself and perhaps, for Carter as well. 

Chapter 3

Fallon gathered up her backpack and slung it over her shoulder determined not to let the kids needle her to the point of tears. Being the new kid sucked rotten grapes. Her classes were months behind where she'd been in school. She'd already learned everything they covered in class. Lunch was terrible, some dried up thing slapped on a tray that she couldn't even identify and certainly wasn't going to eat. 

She'd worn her favorite skirt and the cute little white patent leather sandals her mother had bought her for her birthday in hopes of making a good impression on the other kids. That had been a mistake. The ribbon she'd used to tie back her hair dangled limply from her ponytail and her shoes had scuffs on them. Her tights were ruined, splashed with mud. And so far the only impression that had been made was the bruises on her arms from where some girl, in her class but far older and bigger than all the other fourth graders, had punched her. And all this was before afternoon recess. 

She shuffled to gym class, fighting her way through the crowded, noisy hallways like a fish swimming against the current. Some kids regarded her with curiosity and others with polite indifference. She liked the kids that left her alone the best. But, not all the kids cut her slack. There were a few that were out to make her life and the rest of the school year torture. 

"The new kid doesn't know which side of the hallway to walk on." A voice taunted behind her. "Maybe we should show her." 

Fallon bit her lip hard enough to draw a trickle of blood. She had high hopes at eight-o-clock this morning of meeting new friends and finding a replacement for her best friend back home. Nope. Not happening. In the way of all well meaning adults, she'd stood at the front of the class and been introduced about a hundred times. "This is Fallon Grey she is a transfer student from Washington, D.C," they'd say and then they'd ask her the most dreaded question of all, to tell the class a little about herself. Like any other good student, she did as the teachers asked. She told the kids about her former life, the things she'd seen and the places she'd been. She was just being honest, not bragging. Annnnnddddd that was what got the ball rolling. 

A shoulder slammed against her and knocked her into the white cinder block wall as a bigger girl, the size of a sixth grader, stomped past followed by her entourage of worshipers. She shouldn't have worked the math problem the teacher had written on the board and shouted out the answer before 'the Behemoth', as she'd nicknamed the bigger girl, standing at the board and fumbling with the addition part of the problem and getting it wrong, had finished. 

She was only trying to be helpful. Unfortunately, 'the Behemoth' didn't see it that way. In trying, she'd committed a fatal social error and embarrassed the other girl in front of the whole class. There were lots of stifled giggles and a few sympathetic glances from the other kids. Fallon should have taken the hint and disappeared right then and there.

She really, really hadn't meant to embarrass anyone. It was just that she'd learned the math the teacher was struggling to teach last semester. English class, art class, history class, and music class hadn't gone any better. She was just ahead of everybody else. The girl...the Behemoth...and a few of her cronies were painfully so far behind and in danger of getting held back...again. Fallon would offer her services as a tutor, if it weren't that the girls would probably beat her up for her trouble. 

Fallon sucked in a breath and kept walking. So far, there hadn't been any bloodshed, just a sore shoulder. Anger bubbled beneath the surface of her calm exterior. She would not get in a fight on her first day of school. No amount of bullying could make her bring down the kind of wrath she'd get if her mom had to come down and talk to the principal. 

Maybe if she begged. Her mom would let her skip the rest of the semester and let her give it another try next fall. NOPE. That was not going to happen. She could always try the sympathy routine. Whine about how mean the kids were and how she didn't fit in. No, then her mother WOULD go to the principal's office and she'd be the laughing stock of the entire school. She was just going to have to suck it up and hope her shoulder held out.

Fallon looked forward to the ringing of the final bell. Then all she had to do was survive the bus ride home. She had a best friend waiting for her in the woods. If she could find a way to sneak out past her mom's watchful eye and go see him. Her mom said he was a wolf, maybe he was. He did look a lot like the pictures of wolves she'd seen on the internet. Big bushy tail, high erect ears, and the deepest soulful eyes she'd ever stared into. He wasn't like the wolf in Little Red Riding hood. Nope, he wasn't like that at all. He wouldn't eat her. 

Fallon took a deep breath and walked through the bank of doors leading to the gymnasium. She felt the girl's hateful scowl on her back as she walked past and handed her admission slip to the teacher. She was good at gym. Very good. Maybe that'd earn her some points in the school's social hierarchy. She shrank under the pairs of eyes scowling at her. Maybe not. The gym was painted bright blue and trimmed with eye blinding yellow in honor of the school's colors. Her favorite color was brown, soft, wolf brown. She took her place in line...at the back of it out of eyeshot and reach of the other kids...especially the Behemoth and her band of merry tormentors. Today they were playing kickball...wonderful...just wonderful. She tried to focus on the game. Of course, she'd been picked last for a team and her turn to kick never came. She just stood there waiting her turn, melting in her hose and skirt beneath the heat of the spring sun. It was just as well that she didn't get a chance to play. Her mind kept wandering back to the woods and the wild, and to her wolf.

Fallon watched the yellow school bus dip and shimmy down the gravel road and disappear beyond a wide curve. Coughing on the thick cloud of dust left in its wake, she ambled up the driveway to her aunt and uncle's house. Her aunt promised her something special to celebrate her first day of school. Probably cookies or a pie...or if she were really lucky, maybe an ice pack for her bruised shoulder. There was no way she was telling her aunt and uncle and especially not her mom about what a wimp she had been.

Fallon was already making up a story about how great today had gone. Yeah, she was the popular one...lots of friends...the best school lunch she'd ever eaten...the teachers loved her, which wasn't a lie...and she loved her classes. In a way, that was true too. She wouldn't have to study too much to keep up since the rest of this year was going to be more like a review than her actually learning something. 

Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes at the thought of how far she was going to have to stretch the truth to placate her family. But, her mom didn't need to know everything. Mom was stressed and uptight a lot and Fallon understood why. Her mom's adult life wasn't really going any better than her kid life. Her mom's favorite slogan was 'fake it until you make it' and that was exactly what Fallon was going to do. 

She should get a T-shirt or something for surviving her first day. The toe of her sandal found a loose rock and sent it bumping down the drive. Her eyes scanned the woods for a sign of her friend. She didn't see him hiding in the pines or thick lines of maples lining the edge of the meadow. Her tiny shoulders drooped in disappointment. She'd saved half her sandwich and stuffed into her backpack to give to him after school. He wouldn't mind the awfulness of a school lunch. She'd been looking forward to stroking his thick fur and feeling his pink tongue skate across her cheek all day. He wasn't here. Maybe he wasn't coming back. 

Alexander leaned on the split rail fence as he watched the little girl walk dejectedly up the drive. Idly kicking rocks with the toe of her scuffed sandal. She drug her backpack through the gravel behind her. Poor kid. The first day of school hadn't gone so well, if he had to make a guess. He locked the gate behind him and walked over to the front porch where Fallon sat with her backpack and jacket in a puddle at her feet. Her chin resting on her knuckles as she stared off into the woods. "Wanna talk about it?"

"No." Fallon glanced at her great uncle out of the corner of her eye. He was dressed in his usual faded jeans and worn tattered flannel shirt that was so threadbare the plaid had blended into one solid, murky green color. "Where's mom?"

"Still in town, I guess." Alexander eased his weary body onto the porch swing. The rusty springs groaned in protest from his weight. Idly he pushed the swing back and forth with the heel of his boot as he studied Fallon. Fathering came easy to him, always had. The fixer in him wanted to right everything that was wrong in her little corner of the universe. But, there was no fixing the horror of being a square peg trying to fit in a round hole. 

Fallon was special, extra special in his book. Smart as a whip. Graceful as a ballerina. Shrewd as a tax accountant on April fifteenth. Gifted in ways not even he could understand. No doubt her new teachers saw it as well and unfortunately, so did the other kids. She was a shining star in a dark sky filled with dimmer lights. One day that light in her would be a blessing and a very rare thing. But, at the ripe old age of ten and trying so hard just to belong, shining so brightly too often left a kid feeling nothing but alone and singled out by everybody. "There's an empty seat over here. Don't want to get your school clothes all dirty."

Fallon sighed and plopped her butt down on the swing with a thud that rattled the ancient rusty chains. "It was awful, Uncle Alexander. Awful. Nobody likes me." Her uncle had a patient, understanding way about him that made her want to spill her guts. She'd come up the drive intending to give him the same planned out, well thought answer she planned to give her mom. Instead, the truth just spilled out. 

"Nobody?" Alexander tugged on a lock of Fallon's red hair watching the curl straighten and then spring up into a tight corkscrew. The moment was something straight out of the past. He'd done this before, with Erica and with his own daughter, Alex, and before them he with his own father, and probably, his father with his grandfather. The house and the lands surrounding it had been part of the Gray family tree since the day it'd been built at the turn of the century...not this century, but the century before. The house had changed a bit and so had the men who had sat on this porch swing intent on comforting a winsome child. "You want me to go down there and rough 'em up for you?"




Dawn Redeemed



Fallon giggled and playfully batted her uncle's gnarled fingers away. She could imagine Uncle Alexander stomping down to the school, barreling through the playground in his battered boots, tattered overalls, and faded John Deere ball cap to kick some little kid's butt. He was weathered and crinkled around the edges, like a piece of old paper. Rugged as some character in a western. But he had a lightness and true joy twinkling in his mischievous blue eyes that made her capable of seeing her as a kid...misfit and out of place as she. "You really rough up any kids in school?"

Uncle Alexander smiled slyly. Deep laugh lines crinkled at the corners of his mouth and eyes. He ran his hand over his stubbly jaw, perhaps in contemplation or maybe, Fallon suspected, actually counting the number of fights he'd been in at her age. "Maybe, a few," he said. His smile faded into a mock frown and his expression was so utterly incapable of being as harsh as he tried to sound. "But, don't you do it, young lady."

Fallon yanked the frayed ball cap off his head, unleashing a tangle of unkempt red waves faded blond with time. The cap was stained with the yellow tint of sweat and smelled of hay, horses, and summertime. The faded ball cap was too big for her head and slid forward to cover her eyes. She supposed she should be grossed out at the sharp, pungent smell of the cap. But, in a way the smell of sweat and horses, hay, and engine oil was comforting and just so much Uncle Alexander. Grinning, she pushed the bill back on her forehead and gave her uncle a peck on the cheek. "I'll try hard not to."

"That's my girl," Alexander said as he snatched his cap off her head and slid it over his brow. The old porch swing groaned as he swung it back and forth with his heel. He'd spent all day putting in the barn. Nothing was broken until he declared it broken and he was not about to give up on that old lawnmower yet. He'd turn Jack loose in the front yard before he called it quits and parted with the cash for a shiny new mower from the Super Center. Damn things were made in China now, of all places...China. What he had in the barn was good old-fashioned American craftsmanship, solid steel and not that aluminum alloy crap that was all spit and shine and no horsepower. 

Leigh would be on him to fix the swing before summertime came in earnest. All it needed was a fresh coat of paint, maybe some nails hammered back into place, and a little WD-40 on the springs. Unlike the mower he'd been patching together for years, and much like this little girl's mood, an easy fix. "Go play till dinner, just don't get dirty."

"Ok." Fallon trotted over to the stairs and gathered up her backpack and jacket. Her feet made loud echoing clomping sounds as she skipped across the front porch. She loved that clippity-clop sound she made. It was sort of like the noise of Jack's hooves on the gravel road. Jack was great, but they weren't tight...not like she and her wolf. She threw her things on her bed and fished the half eaten sandwich out of her backpack. The day was forgotten for the time being in preference of the idea of spending time with her wolf before her mom got home. Maybe her friend would smell the food and come out to play.

"Don't wander too far off!" Leigh called after the ball of energy bouncing out the backdoor. She lost sight of Fallon somewhere between flouring the pork chops and around the corner of the barn. Unlike her mother, Leigh didn't worry about what was in the woods or in the spring grass of the meadow. Sometimes, when Alexander wasn't around, she herself went for a short run barefoot in the meadow or hiking through the woods like some great explorer. Maybe, Erica had forgotten what it was like to be a kid Fallon's age and how quickly the fragile time between child and adult actually passed. Leigh certainly never had. There was more to life than being an adult and sometimes, you just had to cut loose and be a kid, even if you weren't. 

"I won't, Aunt Leigh!" Fallon replied. The screen door slammed shut behind her with a loud bang. The kitchen was filled with the glorious smells of supper cooking and her surprise cooling on the counter. Not even the lure of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies was enough to keep her in the house. She bounded off the back porch and across the wide rolling yard. The new grass was springy under the soles of her sneakers. She paused at the border of the woods and held out the sandwich in her fingers, patiently waiting as she whistled under her breath.

"There you are." Fallon smiled as the dog timidly emerged from under a cover of thick spring foliage. "I was worried my mom had scared you off," she whispered. Gently stroking the thick fur along the wolf's neck as he took the sandwich from her hand and swallowed it in one big, eager gulp. She wrapped her arms around his thick, furry neck and pressed her face into the softness, inhaling his musky scent. The dog made a contented sound, almost like a purr, that vibrated against her cheek. "I didn't think you'd ever come back. Please, promise me you'll never leave me."



Chapter 4

Erica's car bumped and shimmied along the narrow gravel lane leading to the ranch. The meeting with Torr had left her unnerved, but hopeful. She was relieved that he hadn't pulled any of that macho crap and demanded to see Fallon today. There had been no mention of custody or visitation rights. And he hadn't said a word to deny that Fallon was his. Torr made no demand for paternity tests. If he had, she would have walked out the door and never tried to contact him again. He seemed eager to accept the fact that he had a daughter. And he was willing to give her time. 

The unnerving part of their meeting had been that he seemed eager to pick up things where they'd left off years ago. But, exactly, where was that? She was not into the one night stand thing, and that's all they had been to each other, just a means to an end. There wasn't anything else to it. At least she'd spent the last ten years convincing herself that there wasn't. She didn't expect any spark of interest again. Somewhere in her mind she'd filed him neatly away with all the other guys she'd ever dated. Not that there had been many. It was flattering to know that Torr was still interested. Unnerving as hell though to realize that he could still affect her the same way he had years ago. 

She slid the car into park and climbed out. Her life was quickly falling apart at the seams. No calls, again, today for a job. Living with her aunt and uncle after years of independence, bit at what was left of her ego. Her shop had failed and she'd packed up and hauled her daughter and everything they owned half way across the country and she was still essentially, no better off. No worse, but no better. 

The cool country air brushed over her skin and ruffled the ends of her hair as Erica leaned against the dusty fender to collect her thoughts. She needed a minute to put on her happy, hopeful face for her daughter and her aunt and uncle. She couldn't help but wonder if she'd made a mistake in coming here. No, there weren't any mistakes, only situations and challenges to deal with. Nobody said starting over would be easy. Except for raising Fallon on her own and placing that call to Torr. Starting over was the hardest thing she'd ever done.

"Penny for your thoughts." 

"Don't do that!" Erica jumped and pressed her hand to her heart in shock. Her cousin wasn't there one minute and was there the next. As if she'd just materialized out of thin air next to her. 

"Sorry, it's a vampire thing." Alex grinned, flashing a row of perfectly white teeth and no hint of fang. Erica was rattled. Not exactly the effect Alex was going for. It was six in the evening and she could smell her mother getting supper on the table. Alex was only trying to be sociable. She much preferred staying in the shadows until after dark. But, for the benefit of her cousin, she was trying not to do the whole Creature of the Night kind of thing. 

Erica rubbed her neck self-consciously and scowled at Alex. "You're not hungry are you?" She studied Alex intently. Alex...was still so much Alex and yet so different. Her cousin was a head shorter and about ten pounds lighter than she. Her unruly crimson waves were cut blunt and fell in line with her jaw opposed to Erica's blonder, coppery tinted hair pulled tightly back into a chignon. Alex wore dark sunglasses glasses over her brown eyes and her skin was pale, perfect, and flawless, almost translucent in the afternoon light without a hint of imperfection. Erica had to scrub her face at least three times a day to keep from becoming a resident of zit city. Even without makeup, Alex was beautiful in a way that Erica doubted she could ever pull off sans lipstick, blusher, foundation, and eye shadow. In a word, it wasn't fair, but there were trade offs for Alex's kind of eternal, effortless beauty. And Erica didn't want to think about that. "I'm still not used to the whole vampire thing," Erica mumbled. 

"Neither am I. It's been two years and I'd still kill for a cup of coffee." Alex licked her lips and smiled at the fond memory of the way a hot mug of coffee warmed her fingers and rolled over her tongue. Her father always kept a pot at the ready. Nothing put things in their proper perspective like a hot cup of stout, black coffee. Erica looked like she could use a cup herself. "So, what had you in such deep thought?"

Erica groaned and rubbed the tight muscles in her neck. Alex was her best friend, or had been back in the day before everything that happened, primarily life, happened. They were rebuilding and coming to a fragile friendship the way women with very different lives often did. "Nothing. Everything. I met with Torr today."

"And?" Alex waved her fingers at Erica in a gesture that asked for all the details. Back in the day Erica would have told her anything and everything without a moment's of hesitation. These days, Erica was reserved and hesitant to confess to anything and Alex suspected it had nothing to do with her fangs. 

"The meeting went well. I guess."

Alex frowned at Erica's scowl. "That's a good thing isn't it?" Alex moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with her cousin and childhood best friend. Casually, leaning against her so that their shoulders brushed as they walked to the house. She matched her pace to Erica's slower gait. The spring grass was thick around their feet. Obviously, her dad hadn't gotten the mower fixed yet otherwise the grass wouldn't have been so overgrown. Her dad kept the grass at precisely two inches, always had. Last summer, his grass had stopped growing at the required two inch mark. Thanks to a little middle of the night magic from her and Chance's speedy passes with a lawnmower that actually worked. Her dad hadn't figured it out and had fertilized the hell out of the yard to get it to grow.

Erica loved the soft brush of the grass against the tips of her toes. She'd worn her gently used peep toed sling back pumps today because they matched her skirt and looked a bit more feminine than her ballet flats. "I suppose. Torr didn't even try to deny that Fallon was his. He was...well, congenial and understanding to a fault about the whole thing. He didn't demand visitation or argue about child support. He didn't do any of the things I expected him to do. I thought he might be angry, accuse me of keeping her from him. But, he wasn't. In fact, he apologized for leaving me on my own to raise her all these years."

"Promising."

Erica slid her shoulder away from Alex's. They could walk circles across this lush lawn and debate Torr for hours and still not come up with a suitable conclusion. She stopped mid stride and pinned Alex with a meaningful look. "Torr wants to see her."

"Naturally he would. You have to give him credit for that." 

"I do," Erica agreed. 

"Why do I hear this big but?" Alex turned her back toward the sun. At five thirty in the evening the big ball of orange fire had yet to set. The days were beginning to get longer. She missed the warmth of the sunlight on her face almost as much as she missed a hot mug of coffee clutched in her hands. Erica was so perfect in her imperfections. She fumbled through life, or at least thought she did. Alex, with her gift of visions, endured each day as if she were watching a movie she'd already seen over and over again. Alex missed the closeness she'd once had with her cousin. But, things changed whether she did or not. 

"Alex, I get the impression that he wants more than just to see Fallon. He wants us to pick up where we left off." Erica smoothed a windswept tendril away from her face. "We were only together one night. There is no picking up where we left off."

"Could there be? Maybe not picking up where you left off, but a new start? Starting over seems to be your theme for this year." Alex walked beside Erica as her cousin started yet another trek around the front yard. She caught Erica staring at her out of the corner of her eye. Erica's sensible shoes clattered noisily in the grass while she stepped in that silent way vampires did and didn't make a whisper of sound.

"Could you at least make some noise when you walk? It's very unnerving. I feel like a Clydesdale tromping next to you."

"Are you picking on me?" Alex asked with overdone offence in her voice.

Erica shook her head and snickered. "Deflecting, I guess. I really don't want to think about Torr and what is or isn't between us or what could be between us. There's something about him...you know in ten years, he doesn't look like he's aged a bit. Maybe I'd feel better about the whole thing if he had a few gray hairs or a paunchy belly. Hell, I'd settle for a wrinkle or two. He just looks so damned...perfect. Life isn't fair."

Alex nudged Erica gently in the ribs with her elbow in a playful gesture. Ah, here it was the true crux of the problem. Erica felt deficient and conflicted by her past. She marked her imperfections, counted each and every one of them until they were bigger and more pronounced than they actually were. She made them larger than life. 

Erica was pretty with a perky nose and curling strawberry blonde hair that reached to the tops of her narrow shoulders. She had curves and hips softened by time and bringing Fallon into the world. Her tummy was rounded with just the slightest hint of pudge. Her face was gentle and not harsh or unkind. With her pale skin and trademark sprinkling of freckles over the tops of her cheeks and bridge of her nose, the two of them looked enough alike to be sisters. Most people who didn't know them assumed they were.

Erica had a rounded woman's figure earned by birthing a child and sacrificing 'me' time in the gym to care for her daughter. Alex was curvy, but her body lacked Erica's rounded, womanly shape. Erica was a head taller and a bit stockier than she, but Erica was by no means fat. The two of them had been trading clothes back and forth since they were kids. Her size tens were a little baggy on Erica and Erica's size eights a little too snug for Alex. But, growing up, they shared almost everything but bras and underwear. 

Erica had her beat in the bra department. Alex had her mother's flat chest and wore a B cup while Erica was fuller in the bust and topped out at a solid 36 D. Erica complained that it was difficult to find sexy bras in her size. Alex would have been happy to find a bra that looked good on her without the added benefit of padding and underwires to give her what her mama hadn't. Erica had no confidence in herself and could not see beyond her flaws to look at the bigger picture. Torr's interest was a good thing. Erica could do far worse than a pushy wolf with a big heart and an even bigger ego. "So, you are interested."

"I didn't say that. I've got bigger things to think about than a romp in the sheets with an old flame." Erica grabbed onto the handrail and began dragging her weary body up the front porch steps. 

"Could be fun."

"Could be a disaster too." Erica stopped on the top step and looked over her shoulder at Alex. "Alex, what is he? A normal person shows signs of a bit of wear and tear after ten years. He isn't normal is he?"

"Maybe he's just big into plastic surgery." Alex shrugged off Erica's suspicions nonchalantly. She knew Torr's secret, but she couldn't tell Erica, not even to warn her. Torr's burden was his alone to carry and when he was ready to share it, he would. "Not all wear and tear is visible on the outside of a person, you know. Time takes bites out of us all, even if you don't see them."

"I guess so." The suspicion in Erica's eyes softened. Alex had that far off look on her face that she got when she was thinking about the past, about Lucian. And happy as Alex was with Chance there was still a piece of her that was missing. Erica let the subject of her love life drop. "Let's just see how things go with Fallon first, ok."

"Sure." Alex smiled and followed Erica into the house. The aroma of cooking food filled the living room. Her dad was snoozing in his beat up Lazy Boy lounger with the remote in his lap like he did every afternoon. He snorted and smacked his lips as she and Erica came through the front door. She caught a glimpse of her mom from the hallway that led to the kitchen, worrying over a pan of fried pork chops. The house smelled of home and family. She missed that smell and the familiarity of home. Someday, sooner than she ever wanted to admit, her parents would be gone and so would the wonderful smells and comfort of home.

"Hey girls. Just watching a little afternoon boob tube." Alexander yawned and stretched. "What are you two up to?"

"Nothing, dad," Alex said. She snatched the remote out of his lap and flopped on the couch. Talk about time standing still. The living room looked the way it always had. Nothing ever changed here. The furniture was a mix of a shabby 1980's blue upholstered couch and matching loveseat, her dad's beat up recliner, and her mom's well worn rocker. 

Her parents didn't have a flat screen TV. Her dad still snored in front of the same old console TV, worn and scratched with age, that they'd gathered round for as long as she could remember. The carpet was a bit threadbare in places and hopelessly stained in others. Some of the worst stains and signs of wear strategically covered with brilliantly colored throw rugs her mom had made from scraps of yarn. The paint on the walls had been the same color since she was a little girl. Her whole family history could be told from the little groupings and single snapshots scattered across the yellowed paint. 

Alexander shook his head and turned his attention from the drone of the TV. The girls looked like two peas in a pod. Curled up into a collective ball in the middle of the couch and their attention focused on a commercial for something or other. But, wasn't that the way it always had been for the two of them? Thick as thieves and planning their next shopping trip to the Super Center. 

"Uncle Alexander, have you ever heard any reports of wolf sightings around here?" Erica asked. 

There were lots of wolves in the woods. Not the kind of wolves that were on the Discovery Channel, but wolves nonetheless. "Nah. There aren't any wolves around here," he prattled dismissively. 

Erica scooted to the edge of the couch and glared at her uncle. He didn't believe her. "I saw one. Fallon was playing with it."

Alexander stiffened in his chair and hid his worry behind a casual shrug. "Probably the neighbor's dog." Maybe, Erica would buy it. "Thing looks like a wolf from a distance. Friendly pooch though." As a human in the know he knew a hell of a lot about things Erica didn't. 

"Uncle Alexander, that thing wasn't any dog. I know the difference between a dog and a wolf. I think we should call Animal Control or something."




Dawn Redeemed



"If you really think," Alexander snorted, "you saw a wolf, I doubt if it would be playing fetch with Fallon. Wolves are usually more afraid of us than we are of them." 

"Usually. Uncle Alexander, please. I don't want Fallon to get hurt."

"Ok, ok. After supper I'll give Mack Brown a call. Have him come out and take a look around." 

"The County Sheriff?"

Alexander shrugged, "Closest thing we've got to Animal Control around here. You're not in Washington, D.C. anymore, Erica." He turned his attention back to the TV. He knew the wolves meant no harm. He knew about them and their secrets. What could possibly interest one of the pack enough to lure a wolf out of the safety of the woods? "If, and I say If, there's a wolf in the woods, Mack will take care of it."

"Thanks, Uncle Alexander." He hadn't seemed too concerned with her 'alleged' wolf sighting. But at least he was going to give the local authorities a call tonight. If a wolf was on the loose, people needed to know about it. "Where is Fallon anyway?"

"Outside playing. Too nice of a day to keep her cooked up in the house." Alexander kicked back his recliner and propped his feet up. 

"She knew she wasn't supposed to go outside alone. Didn't she tell you that?"

"Must have slipped her mind." Alexander watched from beneath a cracked eyelid. Erica pushed back a heavy lined drape and stared out the window. "Uncle Alexander," Erica gasped, "she's almost in the woods."

"You played in those same woods all day when you were her age," Alexander justified. 

"There wasn't a rabid wolf stalking the woods then." Erica slid the curtain back and stomped toward the front door. 

"And there isn't now. You're making too much out of this 'wolf' sighting. Like I said, it's probably the neighbor's dog. Nothing to worry about."

Erica rested her hand on the latch and pushed open the screen door. "Uncle Alexander, she's just a little girl and I don't want her out there alone." Her fingers trembled in outrage. Struggling to keep from yelling at her uncle for his oversight. He was just trying to be the good guy. Everyone was trying to be so nice...too nice. Carefully avoiding the more difficult subjects like her mother's death, her failed business venture, and the fact that she was broke as a joke and didn't have any promising leads on a job. Their overt niceness was driving her nuts. It was ok to talk about the hard things. In fact, it might help if they did.

Once she found a job, if she couldn't trust her uncle to watch Fallon, she'd have to put her in daycare after school. It was an expense she couldn't afford. The extra money she spent paying someone to take care of Fallon would have to come from somewhere. Probably, her apartment fund and then she'd never get out from under her aunt and uncle's roof. The thought of that was too dismal to think about. Her uncle was such a push over and Fallon far too bright for a kid her age. 

"Dad," Alex cautioned. Her dad was digging the hole deep and deeper for himself. Erica's emotions gave off a scent. Worry smelled like burned wax. Anger was acrid like sulfur. Despair gave off the sweet, choking, cloying scent of garbage left to rot in the sun. Erica smelled of all three. She was lost, humiliated at what she considered a defeat, and confused about a great number of things. And she'd only been in a world she didn't even know existed for a few short weeks. 

Alex nodded when her dad snapped his mouth shut and watched Erica with his blue eyes pinned on her back. Her dad sometimes could argue a point to death, sort of like a terrier with a bone. He needed to let it go. Fighting with Erica and trying to convince her that what she saw, obviously a wolf, was a dog wasn't going to work. Alex had a strategy of her own. Her dad knew the score. He was always hip deep in the know. And he knew exactly what and who Fallon's father was. 

"I'm sorry. I'll keep a better eye on her from now on. I promise," Alexander said contritely. 

"Thanks," Erica said as she worked to contain her anger. Opening the screen door and letting it slam behind her, she went out on the front porch. "Fallon! Time for dinner!" When Fallon didn't immediately come, she walked across the front yard determined to drag her daughter out of the woods by her red hair if she had to. The grass was spongy against her stocking feet. So unlike the concrete sidewalks of D.C. Her uncle was right she wasn't in the city anymore. But the dangers weren't any less. The city had thugs and criminals hiding around every corner. The country, with its rolling meadows, flat acres of farmland, and thick, deep woods had threats, different threats, all of its own.

The wolf cocked his head at the sound of the slamming of a screen door and a woman's soft foot falls coming closer across the grass. A little yip escaped his black lips and he nudged the little girl with the tip of his sleek, cool, shiny nose. Bounding into the safety of the woods, he left the little girl. The woman was a mother protecting her young. The wolf could understand.

Fallon shuffled her feet in the grass. "I'm sorry, mom." She knew she was in trouble. The expression on her mother's face gave no hint to the punishment she had in mind. But, that determined look said it all. "Uncle Alexander said I could go out and play." She looked up hopefully at her mom.

"You didn't tell him you couldn't go out by yourself did you?"

"No." Suddenly the uneven bright spring green grass beneath her tattered sneakers seemed much more interesting. "Are you mad?"

"Disappointed. Come on, it's time for supper, after that young lady, you get in the tub and take your bath and then straight to bed." Erica gave Fallon a gentle shove between the shoulder blades and marched her toward the house.

"Ok." Arguing would only make her punishment worse. If she zipped her lip now, she might get to watch TV or read a book before bed. If she pouted or argued, she'd lay there awake in bed staring at a dark ceiling for hours. "I promise from now on I'll make sure I have an adult with me when I go out to play."

"You'd better." Erica marched Fallon through the living room. She felt her uncle's eyes on them as they walked past the TV. Uncle Alexander watched her from beneath his half closed eyelids as he pretended to be dozing in his recliner. "That goes for you too, Uncle Alexander. She doesn't go out alone from now on."

Alexander nodded and winked at Fallon. They were both in the dog house and they both knew it. From now on, they'd have to be on high alert around Erica until she relaxed a bit. "Ok."

Alex leaned close to her father's ear. Erica was busy helping Fallon wash up for dinner and change out of her school clothes. Well out of earshot where she couldn't hear the conversation. "Torr?"

"Could be. Hell, they all look alike to me in their wolf forms. I can't tell one from the other."

"Erica doesn't know," Alex whispered.

"Yet."

Alex nodded. "I'll have a talk with him. He has to tell her."

"Soon." Alexander turned up the volume on the TV. He watched his daughter go from pretending to be human to being what she was, a graceful preternatural predator, an ethereal being of both beauty and fear, in less than a split second. Erica slid out of the screen door without as much as stirring the air or making the floorboards creak beneath her feet. 

Chapter 5

Layers of soft, spongy loam carpeted the ground beneath Alex's feet. Stark tree trunks of black, brown, tan, pale ash, and evergreen bordered a long twisting path. Alex walked deeper into the woods, looking for what she could smell and sense, but not see. Branches green with spring leaves and the fragrant aroma of dogwood, apple blossoms, and the heavy, fat buds of pink blooms drooping from the tulip trees formed an archway over her head. 

Alex had never been much of an outdoor girl. Not since she had been a kid and used to play in these woods with Erica. She preferred museums filled with dusty artifacts, and musty books and parchments to fresh air and lush scenery. She reached out with her preternatural senses and listened to the overwhelming noise of the quiet. She heard the slightest flutter of a bird's wing from yards away. Squirrels and chipmunks softly chattered from their burrows. A wary rabbit munched on tender shoots of grass, his velvet ears flicking every which way at the sound of her footsteps. 

The wolf was close, silently watching her from his hiding place. His brown fur blended in with the bark of the trees, making him impossible to see. His musky scent was thick in the air and she could hear his light exhales. For some reason Alex felt a little like that rabbit and those squirrels and chipmunks burrowed in their dins. She felt like prey caught in a predator's crosshairs. 

The wolf was one with nature and the solid ground beneath his paws, but he was not a natural wolf. Torr was goddess blessed and an equally cursed by the wolf sharing his preternatural skin. Alex wasn't afraid. It was just a little unnerving and well, creepy to be in the woods at dusk with a wolf's golden eyes pinned on her back. After all, things hadn't exactly work out too well for Red Riding Hood in the end now had they?

The wolves of the not so natural variety were wickedly fast, fiercely intelligent, and efficiently lethal in the hunt. They were massive in their forms, thick bands of muscle and sinew covered by a deceptively soft, downy coat of luxurious fur. Even the females, typically smaller than the males, were roughly about the size of bull mastiffs and twice their width in the shoulders and chest. Their teeth and their razor sharp claws were nothing to take lightly. Only an idiot would offer his throat to the wolf and expect to live to tell about it. 

The vampires held their own nicely in the preternatural world. But, their world was one of planning and careful posturing, of laws and consequences. Even the brotherhood, to a degree, relied on reputation to maintain order. Vampires were solitary by nature. They had community, but were not communal. It wasn't so with the wolves. Their very natures made them what they were. Many honed by instinct and drive into a singular, unstoppable force. 

Alex put the widest tree she could find, a gnarled old maple tree as big around as a house, at her back. Wolves interpreted body language and scent more than they relied on what was said. With Torr in this form, she wasn't exactly sure if he could completely understand words and concepts. Part of the two blended halves of him did. Otherwise, she'd be lunch for a hungry predator by now. 

Alex hadn't swallowed the Kool-aid. She'd learned the ancient language for a more practical purpose. When she wasn't dreaming dreams or seeing visions. She did as she'd always done and lived precariously though a long forgotten past. She took the bits and pieces of so many lives and made some kind of sense of the random order of history. Artifacts of a people scattered to the wind had been preserved because she took the time to do it. Scrolls and scraps of weathered paper were translated and passed down to the next generation, not because a few of the brothers weren't old enough to remember the distant past, but because she felt it important enough to do the work. The dead spoke from their graves and the hodgepodge of the things they'd left behind was their voice. Sometimes the living were to busy living to care, but she did. 

She cleared her throat. Not because the wolf wasn't paying attention. Somehow, it just seemed like the thing to do. Alex rarely spoke the ancient language aloud. The Midwestern nasal twang of her accent hardly did the beauty of the words justice. It'd be no different if she were speaking French or Spanish or any other foreign word. There'd be a lilt of a syllable, the missed silent H, or mispronounced roll of an R, that wouldn't quite come out right. And there was nothing worse than butchering someone's native tongue. "Brother Wolf," she said, trying to get it right. "I need to speak with the man who shares your body." 

The wolf gracefully stepped out of his hiding place and pinned her in the depths of his golden citrine stare. His dark nostrils flared wide capturing her scent. His ears were perked high atop his broad head and twitching like mini radars honing in on a sound. His tail flicked in irritation as if she'd offended him with her request. He flashed his sharp teeth in a gesture of supremacy. Alex froze under his watchful gaze, looking everywhere but meeting his unearthly yellow stare. 

Torr's wolf was a magnificent creature. Larger than most with soft rich walnut brown fur and a brush of cream on his forelegs, the tips of his ears and tail, and dusting his underbelly. He was big...very, very big. The aura of raw, primitive magic pouring off of him in waves was breathtaking. Energy sizzled along the hairs of Alex's arms and her skin prickled from the sting of so much power. Torr was no ordinary pack wolf. The man might deny what he was born to be. But, his wolf sure as hell didn't. She was looking at an Alpha pack master and reeling in the force of him. 

The wolf sized her up and tested her scent on the air. With a flick of his massive tail, rattling the brush in protest and reluctance to give up his hold on his shared body, he turned in a fluid, graceful movement and bounded into the bushes. Alex's stomach wrenched in her throat at the sounds coming from the thick cover of things she'd rather not see or think about. 

The noise of the transformation from wolf into human was soft as a whisper and yet deafening in her ears. And damn, it sounded painful. She gritted her teeth at the thick, fluid, almost gloppy sound of flesh molding over snapping tendons and crunching bone. There was a rustle of wet leaves and twigs being dragged over the ground by sharp claws as they turned into fingernails. 

The worst of it confirmed her suspicions. Torr's restrained gasps of pain, his heavy panting behind tightly clamped lips and grinding molars, and the grunt of his confusion were more than enough for her to get an all too clear mental image of what was happening behind the bushes. The whole process took less than a minute or two, yet it dragged on and on for what seemed like hours.

Alex sat on the ground, leaning her back against the tree trunk and waited. At this point, she didn't know which side of the preternatural family got the better end of the deal. Wolves could eat and drink. They enjoyed the sunshine on their faces. They had families and children. They were born to be what they were. She'd always believed despite what she'd been told, having never seen it for herself, that the transformation was a graceful thing...painless and sort of magical, just a poof and a wolf or a man appeared. That was so not the case. 

Vampires were made, not born. The human body had to in effect die to be reborn. The rebirth was horrifying and painful. But, like so many awful things, the mind had a way of protecting you from the worst and it was easy to put that kind of agony away on some mental shelf and forget about it. She couldn't eat. She couldn't tolerate the sunlight. Alex missed those things about living. She'd chosen to become what she was and there was no way out of it once the choice was made. 

The wolves had no choice. Well, they did, but the choice was something worse than death. To deny what was so much a part of you...down deep into the core of your being was a kind of living hell. Like being kept alive on a ventilator, conscious but not conscious, and never taking so much as a gasp of air on your own volition.

No life, it seemed was without tradeoffs and consequences. Humanity had plenty of penalties for being born as they were as well. They could do about anything, eat, drink, sunbathe, have children. But the price for it was heavy, sixty or maybe, if a person was lucky enough eighty or ninety short years. And then it was game over forever. Alex did her best to keep her mom and dad around for as long as she could. But, the only thing she was really accomplishing was buying them or perhaps herself a few extra precious years. 

Torr groaned and rolled onto his back blinking up at the cool dim purple of evening twilight. He hated when his wolf dumped him in the middle of nowhere like an old burlap bag. He'd have to give his wolf time in their shared body or streak through the woods naked till he found the backpack with his clothes he'd stashed away under a fallen log. Great. Damned wolf. The confusion after a shift was the worst. Far worse than the pain of changing back. He sat up and shook off his the logy, hazy feeling that came with not exactly knowing where you were. Sort of like when you woke up in a strange place. Sometimes, it took a minute for everything to come back on line. 

Someone was here. He heard the purposefully noisy shuffling of leaves beneath feet. Wonderful. He ducked low and peeked through the brush, cursing as a stray thorn pricked his finger. A woman, at first in his dazed confused state from the transformation, he thought it was Erica. Then he realized that the woman wasn't Erica but her cousin, Alex. "I'm naked." His voice sounded gruff and harsh.

"I assumed that." Alex felt her cheeks heat to a blush. She sounded flippant, as if his current state of dress didn't phase her, but it did. "I came to talk to you about Erica and Fallon." She moved closer to the bush and sat on a downed log a few yards away. Alex focused her eyes on her hands, on the beauty of nature...anywhere instead of the naked thigh extending out from the cover of sparse spring leaves. 

"I'm kind of in a compromised state here." Torr sat up again. Doing his best to stay covered by the brush. Nudity didn't effect him the way it did Alex. For the pack nudity was a fact of their lives. For her, clothing was not optional. He could see the reddened blush spread across her cheeks and the way her eyes flickered up and down, everywhere but looking at him. He spotted an orange strap peeking out from beneath the log she'd taken residence up on. "Could you toss me that backpack please?"

"Huh?" How many wolves carried a backpack with them. "Oh," she said as it dawned on her that he must have stripped and transformed into his wolf close to the house. Her fingers wrapped around the orange straps and hefted the backpack from underneath the log. Trying her best not to catch a sneak peak at him, she tossed the bag in his general direction.

Torr caught the bag easily with one hand and got to work getting dressed. Alex must want to talk to him pretty damn bad to chase his wolf through the woods. "Thanks." 

Alex heard the whisper of a zipper and the rustling of clothes sliding over naked flesh. Damn, it was hard not to risk a peek at Torr as he dressed. She shyly looked down at her hands. Back before, she used to love to wear nail polish. That had been a different woman in a different time. As happily married as she was to Chance, Torr emanated an aura of raw sexuality that was pure male that, quite honestly, was hard to resist. Dried foliage crinkled under the sound of his shifting body weight as he stood. He walked with the grace common to all big predators. The log shifted as he sat down next to her. Even dressed he effected her on some level, but he didn't seem to notice and she tried damn hard not to. Straddling the rough bark between his thighs had her thinking things no potential cousin ought to think. "Have you been seeing Fallon?"

"Yes. At least, my wolf has. It's the only way I can get close to her as of right now. I promised Erica I wouldn't push and I won't. Fallon is very comfortable around my wolf. And I hope you know this, she is perfectly safe." Torr settled into a more comfortable position on the log. Alex's cheeks were burning red and she still refused to meet his eyes. Sometimes he didn't get women. The female members of the Grey family were a particular challenge. Alex blushed as shyly as a schoolgirl and fiddled with the zipper of her jacket. He sort of wished she'd just get to the point and say what she'd tracked him down to say. For a preternatural being with one foot in the visionary world of the future, she was so damn human.