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Dawn Unleashed

By: msnomer68



Chapter 1

The long hard winter had taken its toll on the city and its inhabitants. The streets were a slushy, wet mess thanks to a sudden spike in the temperature. Rivulets of melted sludge from the snow piles heaped against the curbs dribbled into filth plugged storm drains. Eager for the reprieve from winter's icy siege, dwellers of the magnificent city abandoned heavy coats in bleak shades of winter in exchange for colorful lightweight jackets of spring. Desperate for the deceptive hope that spring had finally arrived and the cold was finally at an end, the city was decked out in her Easter best for the auspicious occasion. 

Spindly trees fooled by the warmth of faux spring began to show the first signs of life. Their dark budding branches stretched up toward the sky hungry for the warm brilliant rays of sunlight able to permeate the caverns of steel, glass, and brick. Flocks of pigeons clustered on the sidewalks pecking at invisible crumbs fluttered their wings in a noisy ruffle of feathers and cooing protests whenever a passerby would inadvertently hazard too close. 

Cole stood at the curb, packed shoulder to shoulder along with everybody else obediently waiting for the traffic signal to change. The sound of the city around him was deafeningly loud after the long quiet respite of the woods. The endless influx of white noise was like an old song whose words had been forgotten, but the vague memory of the tune somewhat remembered. 

He maneuvered through the city. His limbs moved in time to the to urban beat of the streets, keeping pace with all the busyness around him. Cole burrowed into his lightweight jacket and pulled the collar up higher against the biting wind gusting down from the towering rooftops above. The cold nipped at his cheeks and nose, turning them a bright, ruddy red, setting goose bumps across the back of his neck. Winter wasn't done with the city yet, not by a long shot. 

His sandy brown hair flapped wildly in the breeze, the tips tickling the tops of his ears and back of his neck. He found himself wishing he'd planned ahead and worn his winter coat. Springtime was a deceptive bitch and still a ways off. He'd been fooled by the perfect blue of the sunny sky and was beginning to regret it. Cole jammed his fists into the pockets of his jacket to warm his freezing fingers and wondered if black leather was a better defense against the cold. 

Six months seemed like a lifetime ago. Hell, it might as well have been, as far as he was concerned. The last time his feet had pounded this particular maze of concrete he'd been a different person. A kid. Months of training and mental preparation had transformed him. His body was strong and his mind sharp. He had worked hard to pack on the extra twenty pounds of muscle he now carried on his bulkier somewhat awkward frame. Somehow, he'd grown another inch and hovered precariously close to six feet tall in stocking feet. 

John Mark preened over him like a proud papa at his success at turning him from a boy into a man. Not that he had needed John Mark or the brotherhood's declaration to know what he already knew. He was ready, finally ready for what waited for him when he returned and for what would come afterwards. He'd come back on the eve of his birth into manhood to give his girl, the city and all the people he'd left behind in it one final goodbye kiss. 

There were some loose ends that needed tied up before he took the plunge. The sidewalks were a bustle of activity. People preoccupied by the busyness of life stormed around him thoroughly annoyed by the obstruction he'd created by doing nothing more than standing with his feet firmly planted smack dab in the middle of the sidewalk. 

He paid the shoves and rude noises no attention. In the grand scheme of things an elbow to the ribs, a smashed big toe, and a few curse words muttered at him under harried breaths really didn't matter in the least. Cole stared down at the patch of gray concrete beneath his feet, memorizing every slight detail that marred the surface. His fingers wandered to the gold cross around his neck and gave it a squeeze. The slight prickle of pain from the sharp points of the cross poking into the pads of his fingers served as a reminder. As if he'd ever forget the cold, hard bite of the concrete through the knees of his jeans, the chill of death he'd embraced in his arms, and the smell of her blood as her life slowly seeped onto the sidewalk. 

The city grew dim and the sidewalks quiet after rush hour died down. Cole's fingers and the tip of his nose were numb from the cold. The jacket did little to keep the chill of the memories soaking deep into his bones at bay. He knelt and pressed his palm against the sidewalk. With the warmth of the sun faded and darkness shrouding him the concrete was cold against his fingertips. The sidewalk was dirty and gritty. The stain of blood was invisible and for the most part unknown, but no amount of time, rain, or snow would ever wash this place clean. 

Slowly, stiff from the cold and his crouch on the sidewalk, Cole pushed his weight onto to his feet, shoved his hands into his pockets to warm them, and moved on. He pulled into at a burger joint just off the expressway and ordered a substantial meal of greasy cheeseburgers just the way he liked them. Loaded to the point where the bun disintegrated in his hands and a mix of grease, catsup, and mayonnaise, with bits of lettuce, tomato, and pickle rolled down his chin. He savored every last bite, chewing thoroughly and washing it down with a chocolate shake chaser. 

The food in his stomach filled the hollow spot, but did nothing to warm him. 

The chill in his body had nothing to do with the falling temperatures of night or the long winter still exercising its hold on the city. Knowing what he was here to do, to say goodbye and anticipation of what would come tomorrow, the event he'd been training for all this time; sent him straight into deep freeze mode. 

Cole climbed back into his borrowed truck, a big, sleek, black diesel model, and turned the heat on high, cupping his hands over the vents in hopes of trapping some warmth. He could feel their eyes on him as he pulled out and took the onramp back onto the expressway. The brothers were just doing their job. Keeping one human boy safe from things that went bump in the night. At least, they stayed out of sight allowing him what small measure of privacy they could. 

This journey was important to him. So that he could put the things from the past where they belonged and in the proper drawer of his mental filing cabinet. The miles ticked by. The heart of the city became a glowing orange orb in his rearview mirror as he changed lanes and slowed to a stop at the end of the off ramp. He signaled and made a right turn to complete his trip down memory lane.

Cole still had a couple of hours to kill before he could complete his final task and tie up the last loose end. He knew exactly how he'd spend them, visiting an old friend. The slush of the day had frozen into a sheet of ice on the street. His tires skidded on the skating rink of a road. The street department didn't bother to salt this particular stretch of pavement. There wasn't any point. Nobody drove to cemeteries in the middle of the night. 

The graveyard was quiet and dark. Cole scaled the wrought iron fence with an ease that surprised even him. Of course though, the ironwork wasn't designed to keep anybody out and the people inside of its perimeter weren't exactly going anywhere either. 

Frost covered tombstones twinkled with glimmering bits of starlight beneath the glow of the fat, full moon overhead. He wandered through the tidy rows, checking the names carved on the stones. 

Death was surreal in this place of neatly clipped lawns, silk flowers with their bows flapping in the gentle night breeze, and the orderly rows of tombstones. The names and dates chiseled with precision into the stones perched above the flat ground. Given all the efficiency and order of the graveyard. It was far easier to kid yourself and believe that death happened to somebody else and never to you. 

Cole snickered as he paused for a moment at the base of David's headstone and wondered if his own tombstone might end up at the head of the empty plot beside David's grave. Nah, his stepfather wouldn't want to waste good money on a grave and a monument when there wasn't a body to bury in the ground beneath it. 

The neatly manicured frost covered grass crunched beneath his feet. The warmth of the day had melted the snow pack and turned the ground to mush that had since frozen over. Cole supposed wandering through a graveyard in the middle of the night ought to creep him out. It didn't. The living were far more dangerous than the dead. There were no ghosts from the great beyond come to haunt him. The only ghosts that existed were the ones people concocted in their own minds. 

The cold was a damp cold that sank down deep into his bones. He watched his exhales form puffs of white steam into the darkness of the night with morbid fascination. He was still in the ranks of the living. Shivering his ass off wandering amongst the dead with the intention of visiting someone who wouldn't really know or probably care if he were there or not. Finally, he found the grave he'd been looking for. Yeah, ghosts might not exist, but he sure as hell was haunted by the name chiseled so neatly into the stone.

Rachael. Fucking eighteen years old and her life was over before she'd even gotten the chance to live it. Not her fault and not fair either, but there it was. 

In it for the long haul until dawn, Cole set up shop and sat on the ground. "Hello, Rachael. Been a while, hasn't it." The words floated in the darkness trapped in the steamy white cloud of his exhale. He paused as if in anticipation for her reply. She wouldn't answer him back. The dead weren't really here in this place of sorrow and remembering. Rachael was gone. Perhaps, to a better place or perhaps, to nowhere, as if she'd been, but suddenly wasn't anymore and the light that was her had been forever snuffed out of existence. 

Cole didn't know exactly where he stood in his beliefs in heaven and hell, but if anyone deserved the heaven he'd learned about in one of his rare trips to Sunday school as a kid, it was Rachael. In a way, he supposed it was kind of strange sitting in a cemetery at the foot of a grave in the middle of the night, talking to a headstone. The brothers didn't judge. They hovered in the backdrop of pines and winter bald trees intent to give him his space to do whatever it was he needed to do. After all, who could possibly understand the thin barrier between the living and the dead and the difference between the two better than a vampire? Paying the brothers as much mind as they paid him and pretending they weren't there at all, he talked on and on. Perhaps, he talked to nobody but himself, but maybe, she was listening.

The gray light of first dawn crept over the deep green of the pines as he finally emptied himself of things to say and sat there in peaceful silence. This was the dawning of the first day of the rest of his life, or the dawn of the last day of what was left of this version of his life, depending on how he chose to look at it. 

Cole scrambled to his feet and stretched. His limbs were stiff and heavy from sitting on the ground. He gingerly hedged around her grave, not wanting to step on her and bent over the tombstone. The winged granite angel carved into the stone bore no resemblance to Rachael whatsoever. Rachael had been everything warm, bright, and full of life. The angel was cold and gray, and so very still. 

Cole's fingertips were icy and numb as he brought them to his lips. He kissed the pads of his fingers and rested them on her headstone. "I miss you." The warmth of his fingers left a pattern of melted frost on the stone. He watched the beads of condensation reform into a thin layer of glistening ice crystals on the granite. He couldn't go where she was, wherever that happened to be. She'd left him behind without any choice but to forge ahead into the unknown. 

Maybe, it was that way for all living left with the bitter duty of burying the dead and charged with the task of remembering them. He didn't know how these things went for other people. Only how they went for him and he would remember her forever. Forever. God... how that word hung over his head. Forever had a whole different meaning for him now. 

This graveyard was the very essence of forever for humanity. The graves, the statuary, the angels, crosses, and the vague promises of better things waiting on the other side, had little meaning for the immortal. Death itself had no claim on him now, or it wouldn't, come moonrise tonight. Maybe, he should drop to his knees and pray. Maybe, he should simply turn his back and walk away, but it was truly too late for that. He would remember Rachael and honor what she'd died for. He had one last task to complete. A vow, he'd promised not to her, but to himself. Vengeance. 

Chapter 2

The old neighborhood looked exactly as he remembered. Not much could have changed in just six months. Somehow though, everything seemed different to him. As if he were seeing the neighborhood and the houses in it for the first time. Hanging from a post in the front yard a For Sale sign flapped in the breeze. The windows of Rachael's house were the dark and blank, like the sightless eyes of a corpse. Her parents must have moved away and started over someplace else. He couldn't blame them.

The rose trellis he'd scaled to sneak into her window last fall was covered with dried twisted brown winter dead vines intertwined through the white latticework. Cole shrugged off the deep feeling of sadness for the things that would never be the same again and rolled his truck to a stop in front of his house.

His car, his baby girl, sat parked crooked in the driveway. As if someone had hastily backed her in and then left her to rot. Her tires, the beautiful, overpriced, low profile tires that transformed her from a thing of sheer sleek beauty into the queen of the streets were flat. A dried layer of muck caked her once gleaming candy apple red paint job. Across the windshield, someone, probably his little sister, had traced the words, 'Wash Me' with a fingertip. 

Unused and unappreciated, the car that he'd treated better than any living being, slowly rusted in the driveway. The battery was most likely drained and he doubted that the car would even start after so many months of neglect. Cole gritted his teeth at the placard in the front windshield. The weather beaten orange and black For Sale sign was practically illegible beneath a layer of frost. He didn't care about the car as much as what her deliberate neglect and the for sale sign represented. His family had written him off.

The car, his prized possession, been purchased with blood money. Literally, blood sold for money. Pink. Flecks of vampire blood, dehydrated and mixed with food grade glitter and then divvied out to customers in little glass vials. Seemed harmless enough at the time. In actuality, Pink was more dangerous and lethal than Meth, more addictive than cocaine, everybody wanted it, and he'd been more than happy to provide. 

The thought that he'd ever dealt that poison rankled him. Something good had come out of all the bad he'd done though. He wasn't that self-centered, snot nosed punk he had been, not anymore. The months of pushing himself well past his physical and emotional limits had made certain of that. Cole Zimmerman, at least the Cole Zimmerman that everyone remembered him as didn't exist any more. 

The parking space beside his car was empty. His step dad still worked the early morning shift. Good. Running into Bill Zimmerman was not exactly what Cole had in mind. The two of them had never gotten along. Cole carried the man's last name, but nothing else of that prick was inside of him. At first, things had been pretty good, but when his half-brothers and sisters came along that quickly changed. Things between the two of them escalated to a fevered pitch just shy of pure hatred. No doubt, selling the car was his step dad's idea and more power to him. 

Cole frowned at the house with its dilapidated shingles and peeling paint. The guttering he used to scale just outside his bedroom window hung haphazardly by a couple of loose screws. The same shabby curtains that had been hanging there for as long as he could remember still covered the windows. The driveway was dotted with winter brown weeds poking up through the gravel. The screen in the screen door was torn to shreds left to flutter like tattered black wings in the breeze. Without the blood money he'd sold his soul to earn, the house and most likely his family had started to fall to the wayside. He had no grudge against anyone under that roof, with the exception of his step dad and if his family could use the money selling the car would no doubt provide. They were welcome to it. 

The house's windows were still dark. The hour was early and nobody was awake yet. Cole gripped the cold metal of the drainpipe that ran along the roofline and down to the ground. The thing was loose as a kid's front tooth and wobbled precariously as he shimmied up the slick pipe to his bedroom window. He hesitated for a minute before easing the window open and climbing inside. Was it still his bedroom or had one of his siblings claimed the space? He sure as hell didn't want the entire house awake. What he had to say was between him and his mother.

Cole clamped down on the thought that someone had gone through his things, carelessly cramming them into cardboard boxes. Boxes hell, if his step dad had anything to do with it, his stuff was probably in a dozen trash bags, moldering in a landfill somewhere. It was just stuff. Stuff he'd left behind. CDs, clothes, and a few trinkets, nothing that really amounted to much. He wasn't here for the car or his stuff, just a brief visit to tie up the one remaining loose end from his former life. 

Gingerly, he inched open the bedroom window and slipped inside. It was like visiting a museum or something. Everything, all his stuff, was exactly where he'd left it. Even the mound of dirty clothes he'd kicked into the corner a lifetime ago was still there. Oddly though, it wasn't the heartfelt homecoming he'd envisioned in his mind. It was just a sad reminder of who he'd been back then. When he stopped to think about it, the Cole Zimmerman he'd been wasn't really that likable of a person. In fact, he'd been a real asshole. He opened the bedroom door and eased down the hall. Very careful not to wake the twins, he ventured past their room and into the open door at the end of the hall. 

His mom slept curled up on her side, bundled up in a worn, faded comforter that had seen more than its fair share of winters. The mattress sagged wearily beneath her slight weight. All that was visible from under the mound of covers was a tuft of her blonde hair. Gently, he tiptoed over to the edge of the bed, careful not to startle her as he eased his weight onto the mattress. If she cried out, the whole house would snap awake and steal this moment that he'd intended for just the two of them. 

He owed her an explanation. With Rachael's death fresh on his heels and the decisions her murder had led him to, he'd vanished without a trace. His mom, Jessie Zimmerman, deserved so much better than to never know what happened to her oldest son. "Mom," Cole said softly, timidly reaching out a hand to shake her awake. She stirred and mumbled something intelligible and fought to remain in lost in her world of dreams. "Mom, wake up."

Jessie thought she had to be dreaming the same dream she dreamt over and over again. She heard Cole, gently calling her name. She could feel his fingers through the rough flannel of her nightgown, gently shaking shoulders. She didn't want to wake up and be faced with the reality that this was just a dream. Her son was still missing. He was just a runaway and would come home when he was good and ready to. At least that's what the police, Bill, and everybody else kept telling her. 


Dawn Unleashed



She was awake, but not quite ready to be awakened yet. The shaking became more insistent and the voice more demanding. These days sleep was a rare and precious commodity she didn't get much of an opportunity to indulge in. Cole wasn't here. Once again her mind had substituted reality for a much more pleasant fiction. Jesse mumbled something unintelligible and reluctantly gave up the notion of stealing a few extra seconds of sleep. With a yawn, she pried her eyes open and blinked in shock.

"Cole? Oh my GOD! COLE!" Jessie threw back the covers and wrapped her arms around her son, grabbing him in a desperate hug. He was safe and sound. She swore to herself that if he ever came back she wouldn't push him for answers. She promised herself that she wouldn't cry all over him if he came home again. She did though. She cried hard, the deep sobs heaving her shoulders and she asked, what she swore she wouldn't. "Where have you been?" 

Cole returned his mom's embrace. She felt small, almost frail in his arms. He buried his nose in the collar of her nightgown, inhaling that wonderful mom scent he'd missed so very much. "Don't cry, mom," he said, barely managing to keep his voice from cracking. She had a death grip on his jacket and wasn't about to let him go. She hadn't hugged him like this since the third grade when he'd fallen out of a tree and broken his arm.

Jessie snapped on the light on the bedside table and took a closer look at her son. Cole was different and not the boy she remembered. "You let your hair grow out," she said, sifting through the strands with her fingers. Cole had always been well built, tough and strong, big for his age. Over the past months, he'd gone through a growth spurt and filled out the t-shirt beneath his jacket, stretching it with the well defined muscles of his chest and arms. There was something else, not so much visible as something she perceived with her mother's intuition. The boy behind his hazel eyes had grown up into a man. She realized then he'd come, not as a prodigal asking for forgiveness, but as a fully gown man, to tell her goodbye. "You're ok?" 

"Yeah mom, I'm good." Cole exhaled and just sat there giving his mom time to ebb the flow of her tears and himself a chance to breathe before he said what he'd come to say. "I came...,"

"Yeah, I know, to say goodbye," Jessie said in resignation. She held Cole's hand loosely in hers. His fingers were long and sculpted. The hands of an artist and so much like his father's. His grip strong and secure. Her hands were dwarfed by the size of his palm. As much as she didn't want to, she slid her fingers free from his grip and let him go. "The car. I'm sure if you get a new battery and air up the tires, it'll run." 

Cole shook his head and smiled a sad smile. "No, you keep it. Sell it if you want. Where I'm going it'll only be in the way." His mom rested her head on his shoulder and stared up at him. Her unshed tears glittered like diamonds in the dim lamplight. Her hair was threaded through with gray beneath the fading blonde of her dye job. He felt responsible for each and every strand of gray and the lines of stress at the corners of her mouth and eyes. She wasn't quite forty yet, but in the months he'd been away she'd aged a decade and it was all his fault.

"I can only stay for a minute. I came to tell you not to worry about me anymore, that and to tell you how sorry I am for disappearing like I did. I put you through hell and I know it. I love you, mom. I never meant to hurt you."

"I love you too, Cole. Don't ask me not to worry about you though." She ran her fingers along the line of dark stubble on his jaw. Her little boy was a man now, so big and strong. Cole had her nose and his father's broad cheekbones. The shape of his ears came from her side of the family, but he'd gotten his height and the breadth of his shoulders from Robert. "I brought you into this world and that gives me the right to worry as much as I like."

Cole chuckled for a brief moment and rested his cheek against the top of his mom's head. He felt like a little boy again leaning on his mom to keep him upright. His heart was breaking as he watched her tears silently roll down her cheek. God, he was so lucky he had a mom like her. Turning his back on her and walking away was the hardest thing he would ever do, no matter how long he lived. Necessary, yes, but that didn't mean protecting her from the truth of the world he was about to become a part of didn't hurt. "But, I can still ask you not to." 

"Where are you going, can I ask you that?" Jesse stiffened. Cole wasn't saying goodbye as in an I'll see you next week or next month, even next year, kind of goodbye. He was saying goodbye permanently. Damn it, Cole was nineteen, almost twenty and twice her size. He had the legal right to do what he wanted with his life, but that didn't mean she didn't have the fleeting idea to try and knock him out and tie him to the bed until he came to his senses. He was her baby boy, hers. 

"I wish I could explain it. Just know that I'm doing something good. Something I hope will make a difference. Something that will make you proud of me." 

"Cole, I've always been proud of you."

"But, this time, I'm actually going to earn it."

Jessie sighed and gently trapped Cole's chin in the palm of her hand. Now it made sense. He'd been gone six months. Cole left a boy but came back a man. Of course, he wouldn't want her or his brothers and sisters to find out about it. He definitely wouldn't want Bill to know what he had planned to do with his life. "Did you run off and join the Marines?"

"Something like that," Cole mumbled. His mom was scrambling for explanations and the one she'd provided for herself was as good as anything he could have come up with. The Marines were a walk in the park compared to the kind of training he'd spent the past six months enduring. "Look, I've gotta go. I mean it. Sell the car, move the twins into my old room, and do not worry about me." He cupped his mom's chin in his palms and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek. Reluctantly, he released her face and gave her one last lingering hug. "I'm glad I came. I couldn't take leaving things between us the way I had. I missed you."

"You'll come around for visits won't you?" She asked the question out of the vague hope he would agree. She had never, ever used mom guilt on her children. Damn, it was tempting to lay it on thick though. She didn't want her baby boy fighting the good fight for God and country. She wanted him home, safe and sound. Jesse gave Cole the biggest hug she'd ever given him in her life. She had to force her arms open to release her hold on him. 

The time for lies was over and he didn't want to make promises he couldn't keep. He moved off the bed and stood over his mom, staring down at her, memorizing every last detail of her face. Yeah, it was better she think he was joining the Marines than to know the truth. He might not see her again for a very long time. In a matter of years, he'd have to disappear from her life to protect her. He might be able to fake it for a while, but he'd never be able to hide the truth forever. As much as it killed him and he knew he shouldn't, he bent to give her one last hug. "Love you, mom." 

Jessie struggled not to wrap her arms around Cole and beg him to stay. She gripped the blankets in her fists to keep herself planted on the bed as he turned, gave her a ghost of a smile, and closed the bedroom door softly behind him. 

Cole riffled through his dresser drawer and found what he was looking for. The rest of his things his step dad could do with whatever he wanted. Stuff them in trash bags. Cram them into cardboard boxes. Cole didn't care. He didn't know why he needed the snapshot. He hadn't seen his father, his real father, in years. He hadn't even spoken on the phone to him since his sixteenth birthday. But, at zero hour the photo of him with his dad taken on a sunny day in September was more important than the collective piles of crap he owned. 

He was six in the picture and his dad, roughly around twenty-six. The snapshot was of one of those rare happy days when his dad had actually come to visit after the divorce. In the picture, taken by a stranger in the park, his dad had his arm draped casually around Cole's narrow shoulders. His dad had seldom hugged or touched him at all. The brushes of his fingertips were cautious and hesitant as if they were painful for his father to endure. Cole never understood why his dad was so hands off and so sparse with the physical display of affection or why he'd stopped visiting all together and moved to a remote corner of Montana. His dad had never bothered to explain and he as a kid and feeling so abandoned by the father who was supposed to love and protect him, had never asked for one. Their whole relationship from Cole's point of view was based on assumptions.

In this the final dawn he'd ever see with his human eyes. The snapshot was important, but he couldn't bring himself to call his father, not even to say goodbye or hear his voice one last time. Maybe, that ship had sailed and was never coming into port. Maybe, he just needed one happy memory to take the place of all the bad ones that had happened since. The photo represented everything his childhood should have been and wasn't. 

Now that he was older, Cole could see the resemblance between the two of them. Subtleties that he'd never noticed before, in the curve of their broad shoulders, the tilt of their chin, and the shape of his cheekbones. His hair was lighter than his father's and his eye color was unique a mix of his dad's brown eyes and his mom's green ones. Carefully, Cole smoothed the tattered corners of the photograph and slid it into the worn leather wallet in his back pocket for safekeeping. 

The house was beginning to awaken around him. From his sister's room he heard the rustle of blankets. The twins asleep in the bedroom down the hall exhaled a collective dreamy sigh. And the baby he'd never really acknowledged as his half-sister or even as a part of the family at all, snuffled in her crib. Cole didn't have any more explanations in him and no heart for another goodbye. He slid back the curtains and exited the same way he'd entered, out the window.

Cole nodded to the invisible pairs of eyes keeping watch over him. All the loose ends were tied up. Everything he'd set out to do was done. He climbed into the truck and navigated down the narrow streets of the city. There was no time for regrets now. The time for turning back had passed. He picked up speed and merged onto the interstate to make the final trek of his long journey into manhood.

Chapter 3

Daniel rolled over onto his side and idly toyed with one of Yessette's springy blonde curls. Tugging the curl straight between his fingertips, he released her hair and was fascinated by the way it'd bounce back into shape and shimmer like spun platinum in the dim lamplight. Except for the late night hours he kept these days. Life was good, so very good and sweet too. As sweet as a berry pie fresh from the oven. He lounged in the silk sheets bathed in luxury with her at his side. Anything and everything he'd ever wanted was at his fingertips for the taking. Eric did everything in his power to make sure of that. Money? No problem. The icing on the cake, that one thing Eric O'Sullivan couldn't supply, Yessette certainly could. "I told you. I can't." 

Yessette pursed her full lips into a pout and pulled the covers over her naked skin. "Why not? You promised to show me." The boy, as she refused to call him a man, was becoming more and more arrogant by the hour to the point where he was practically intolerable. Her flesh crawled every time Daniel laid a finger on her. At first, the game had been fun and exciting. She lived to please Eric and he'd rewarded her with plenty of pretty sparkly baubles. But, now with her jewelry boxes over flowing and Daniel so corrupt that not even she could tolerate him. The game had grown dull. 

The boy was predictable and fretfully boring in his feeble attempts to win her heart. Eric had asked her for this one little favor and she had yet to deliver what he sought after the most. No amount of coaxing or begging or any of the other things she did to keep Daniel happy had any effect. Eric was growing more and more impatient with her. Carter billowed like a dark storm cloud through the house always so full of gloom and doom. As for Daniel, words could not describe what she thought about him. Even now with him reaching for her breast, she brushed his hand away and crossed her arms over her chest. "You get nothing until you show me. Not even as much as a teensy tiny kiss on the cheek."

Daniel sighed and dragged his hand through his hair in frustration. The chin length strands tangled around his fingertips. He hated the stuff, but he kept letting it grow and grow because that's the way she liked it. He hated it when Yessette acted like a spoiled brat. Which anymore, was all of the time. His black brows knitted into a line as he flung his head back on the pillows and scowled up at her. 

There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep her happy. Nothing. What she asked of him though was physically impossible. She nagged him on a daily basis and every day his answer was the same. He couldn't show her what he no longer possessed. "Yessette, please try to understand. I. Can. Not. Do. It."

"Humph." Yessette waved Daniel off with a flash of her white fangs. The only redeeming quality Daniel had was his blood. The vibrant gift of life was much to her liking, but Eric had forbidden her from drinking her fill. She could only sample and the paltry sips did little to quench her thirst. "I think I'll go sleep in my bed for the day." She flung back the silk comforter and slid into her robe. The robe was a simple token of appreciation Eric had picked up from Paris some decades ago. "I ask for one tiny little favor and you deny me. I do so much for you and get such miniscule offerings in return," she chastised as she cinched the silk ties on the robe closed. "Obviously, you need some time alone to think about it." She flung her hair over her shoulder in a huff as she stomped out of the room.

"Great," Daniel muttered under his breath. He ran his palm over the warm dimple left in the bed by her absence. "Women." Sighing, he slid further under the covers and pulled them up to his chin. Obviously, his bedroom was about to get a lot colder in the days to come. At least, this time, she hadn't gone full-blown Hurricane Yessette on him. He'd seen more than one of her temper tantrums and they weren't pretty.

Nothing would placate the woman. No excuse would deter Yessette's ceaseless demanding for what he simply didn't possess. She just didn't get it. He didn't have it in him anymore. It wasn't that he hadn't tried, because he had. His wolf simply wasn't there. There was not as much as a flutter of power beneath his skin. His calls, pleas for the wolf and he to become one, remained unanswered. The closest he could get to a wolf these days was on Animal Planet. 

Yessette had a simple mind, singular in focus and almost brutal in its childlike innocence and pragmatic view of the world. For centuries Eric had spoiled her rotten. Showering her with expensive gifts the price of which Daniel couldn't even begin to pay. Eric had indulged Yessette's every whim no matter how bizarre the request. Whenever she through a tantrum, Eric would pat her on the top of her pretty blonde head and pull trinkets from his pockets to soothe the heat of her latest tirade. 

The thought of it sickened Daniel. It was so obvious to him Yessette was playing them both. But, if that were the case, who was the one pulling her strings? Carter? Perhaps. Though he hardly seemed the type. It was more likely Eric was playing Yessette and she was playing both Carter and him under Eric's careful instruction. 

Oh, Daniel did his fair share of playing too. He spent Eric's money by the fistfuls and lounged around this posh playground of depravity doing absolutely nothing to earn his keep. He ate gourmet meals. Wore more gold than King Tut. His clothes were custom tailored to fit. Eric offered him Yessette as payment for services he had yet to render and he'd definitely had his fair share of paydays in that regard. Daniel dangled his wolf, the wolf he no longer possessed, under Eric's greedy little nose much in the same way Yessette had but to bat her incredibly long lashes at him to bring him to heel. They were all game players. But, for the life of him he couldn't figure out exactly what game they were playing. 

Carter leaned against the third story banister and stretched out his long legs. Effectively blocking a majority of the narrow hallway with their length. "What's the matter, Yessette? Relationship trouble?" he asked mockingly. He returned the disdainful, pouty, scowl she cast at him with a knowing grin. "You know these May/December trysts hardly ever work out." 

"The boy doesn't love me anymore. He hates me." In her agitated state, the American accent she'd worked so hard to acquire slipped into the thick, drawling, rapid fire speech of her native tongue. "I would just as soon bed an ox than to spend one more day with him." Yessette paused and studied Carter for a brief moment and sniffled. His obvious lack of interest in her reflected in the icy pools of his gaze. "You don't love me either," she pouted, childishly stomping her petite foot. 

Carter frowned and took a deep breath. In the process of her most recent temper tantrum, the neckline of Yessette's robe had slipped open to reveal her full breasts. He leaned over and pulled the silk closed, holding the fabric between his fingertips. Even though she behaved like a small child. She was still a very beautiful and desirable woman. She damned well knew it. She used her body as a means to an end with expert precision and cool calculation. Their time had come and gone. The past and was in the past. He no longer wanted her in a sexual way. He couldn't ignore her inner child long enough to spark up the slightest hint of interest in her. The only remnants of feeling that he had left for her was pity and regret. 

Daniel, still so much a boy himself, had yet to see the truth beyond her curves, platinum blonde hair, and sapphire eyes. Daniel's mind was filled with a fantasy of words whispered by her lush lips in the heat of passion. Carter still had hopes that the blinders would be ripped free from the Daniel's eyes and he'd see Yessette as she truly was. There was still time for Carter to fulfill his promise. Unfortunately, grace, had an expiration date and for Daniel, the clock was ticking.

Gently, he bent over and brushed her cool cheek with his lips. "Unfortunately Yessette, I do." So deep was his love for her that it had become a stumbling block or perhaps, a chopping block for him. He'd risked and sacrificed all that he was to protect her. He still lacked the will to do what he knew someday would have to be done. "Go to bed." 

Chapter 4

Bianca tucked a stray strand of hair into her tight chignon. She wasn't going for seduction, but for shrewd businesswoman and nothing said 'don't fuck with this girl' like a crisp suit, a tight chignon, and a sharp tongue. If those things didn't accomplish her goals, the wicked looking blade tucked under her skirt might be convincing enough. Michael was all sugar and spice and definitely, definitely everything nice. But, she wanted him out of her city. 

She'd tried to play nice and go with the flow, but she was done with it. The Sons were putting a cramp in her management style and they needed to go. Now. Let them return to romping through the woods. She could handle the city. "So," she said. "I hate to be a bitch, but I really must withdraw my former invitation." Bianca leaned meaningfully over her desk and stared Michael down. He sat in the wingback chair inches away from her, unfettered and unaffected. "I think it's important for company to get the hint when they've worn out their welcome. Don't you?"




Dawn Unleashed



Michael forced his eyes up from the display of generous cleavage and cleared his throat. His mind was already formulating exactly all the ways he could bend Bianca over the desk and turn her scowl into a grin of utter fulfillment. No one could do shrewd businesswoman like her. The woman had bitch honed into a work of art. Unfortunately, women in authority were a definite turn on for him. He shifted in his chair to hide his burgeoning erection. His thoughts were in the gutter and there was little hope of getting them out anytime soon. He wondered if she wore a thong or was totally in the buff under that tight knee length skirt. "My men and I have been ordered to stay behind to offer our assistance." 

Bianca twiddled a pencil between her fingers. The pencil with its sharp pointy end could make a handy weapon in a bind, if necessary. She hoped it wouldn't come to that. Michael was nice eye candy and it'd a shame to ruin his face. Physically, he could be mistaken as a contestant in a Mr. Fitness competition. He was all broad shoulders and rope after rope of stacked, hard, lean muscle. The casual disarray of his dark hair begged for long strokes from her fingertips. She could imagine the thick black fringe of his eyelashes at half-mast over those rich sable colored eyes as she lapped her way down his chest with the tip of her tongue. 

Nope. Not going there. What he had below the belt was painfully evident given the bulge he was sporting. The erection barely hidden beneath his black leather pants seemed more than adequate to get the job done and done well. Bianca focused on keeping the razor sharp scowl on her face that had frightened many an adversary into compliance over the ages. Her mind had a tendency to scamper to the naughty playground that hid in the very back of her brain whenever Michael was around her for more than ten minutes. "Your assistance is neither required nor appreciated." 

"I'll be sure to convey your refusal of our aid to the Great Father." 

Bianca's eyes narrowed into slits. The fury in her eyes burned like a hot flame. "Are you threatening me with the Great Father?" Angrily, she drummed her lacquered nails on the desk's gleaming surface. This wasn't going the way she'd imagined it at all. The fingers of her free hand rested on the hilt of the blade beneath her skirt. It was so tempting to carve her name into his chest and lap up the blood.

"I didn't realize our presence implied a threat." Michael studied the fury in Bianca's seemingly guileless eyes. Just exactly what had he said to transform a casual business meeting into a pissing contest? Outwardly, she was cool and collected. But, inwardly the fire raged so hot that he swore he could smell smoke. Not a hair so much as dared to slip from the pins holding back thick luxurious waves of jet black, so dark the highlights looked blue under the lights. What he wouldn't give to feel the softness of the strands between his fingers as he guided her head...He had to stop thinking like that about her. His leathers were already uncomfortably tight. Given that Bianca undoubtedly had a bigger set of balls than most men he knew. He still couldn't bring himself to adjust his current discomfort within view of the gentler sex. 

Bianca snorted and gave Michael's statement a dismissive wave. "It doesn't. I just don't feel the presence of such a large garrison of warriors is necessary. After all, don't you have to get home and guard a pine tree or something?" The sensation of his dark eyes following the trail of her tongue as she licked her lips was both unnerving and exciting at the same time. 

So, it was like that was it? She could play. She could definitely play. Michael was celibate by choice. A fact he made no attempt to hide. The idea that he might be the oldest living virgin in history was enticing in its own right. Crossing her legs at the knee and perched on the edge of the desk as she was, she gave him a good view of what he was missing out on. 

Michael didn't use his size to intimidate often. Bianca seemed to need some convincing that his presence was indeed a necessity. He stood and leaned over the desk, forcing her to crane her neck to look up at him. The Guardians were good, but the Sons were better. The city was still deep under the siege of the drug named Pink. Day by day more if its inhabitants fell victim to the lure of an easy high. 

Besides, there was still Daniel to think about. He'd promised the boy's father that he would stay behind and look after him. Daniel definitely ran with some bad company. O'Sullivan was a thug. Michael had his suspicions about exactly who was behind the manufacture and selling of the drug. Perhaps he could kill all his birds with one stone. Pin something that would stick on O'Sullivan and use it as an excuse to drag Daniel back home by his short hairs. He, unfortunately, though he loathed admitting it, had a gentler reason, a more personal one, to remain in the city. "Perhaps we could come to a compromise."

Bianca refused to crane her neck to stare up at the man towering over her. She would not budge one damn inch to put space between them. Her eyes stared at the tattoo poking out from underneath the collar of his black t-shirt. The markings that reminded her of exactly how very different the two of them were. "What did you have in mind?" 

Michael dipped his head to engage her eyes. "I'll send the others back and remain behind, as a liaison." 

Bianca jutted out her chin in defiance. Interference was still interference, no matter how pretty the package it came in. "We already have liaisons. Marcus and Sam are sufficient representatives of the Sons or do you doubt their abilities?" 

Infuriating woman. Michael ground his molars to bite back the words issued by her challenge. "They're both adequately skilled. Good warriors. But, you need all the manpower on the streets you can get. Your Guardians are relatively young and untried in battle. You need people with experience." 

Bianca planted her hands on the desk and pushed her body firmly against Michael's. It was so tempting to open her legs wide to accommodate his hips and wrap her ankles in a loop around his perfect ass to guide him in closer. She was close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. Their faces were inches away from each other. Neither one of them was willing to back down and be the first to cave. What she needed was this leather wearing, blade packing, absolutely egotistical, positively gorgeous, and way too distracting male out of her office. The nearness of his mouth was like a drug to her. Taunting her with the temptation of fruit yet to be harvested from the vine. 

"You need my help. The pine trees will have to make due on their own," Michael said. Bianca's mouth was way too inviting. Her eyes darted from his lips to his eyes and rested there for a minute before flicking away. She was considering his offer. Unaware of her actions, she gnawed on her bottom lip as she thought out her options. To kick all the warriors out of the city would raise unwelcome attention that she obviously didn't want. To accept his offer might cause him to think that her Guardians were too weak to hold their own. Which, he absolutely knew differently for a fact. "Well? Do I send my men packing?"

Damn. Michael had her between a rock and a hard place and he knew it. Putting the pressure on her didn't bother him in the least. He didn't so much as blink as he waited patiently for her answer. She really, really didn't want the Sons sniffing around. So far, she'd managed to avoid stepping in the shit on her back stoop. Keeping one of the almighty warriors busy would certainly be easier than chasing after an entire garrison. "All right. You win," she said with a deep sigh of resignation. "Get your gear and make yourself at home."

Michael grinned in triumph. One small victory won. He needed to be at the heart of Guardian Central if he was going to be of any use to them. Besides, Marcus and Sam, as welcoming as they were with their home, were deep in the bonds of married bliss. The last thing he wanted was to be a third wheel. Bianca's bedroom was just beyond a thickly paneled door on the far side of the office. This was a girl who shifted gears from business to pleasure with ease. "Where do I sleep?"

"The men's quarters are one story below. Make yourself at home," Bianca said with a coy smile. "Patrols head out at dusk." 

Chapter 5

Robert had given up his search and returned home. The Mountain Time zone gave him two extra hours in which to watch the never-ending show of nightmares. Night after night, the dreams would come. Each one was more horrific than the one before it. Not even the solitude of his familiar woods and the tiny cabin nestled cozily on the side of a steep mountain brought any sort of relief from the grim images in his mind. His son was lost to him. Not dead, but utterly lost. 

Even though he'd been home for over six weeks. He still wore a thick layer of latex gloves on his hands. The terror of his visions was so deeply rooted that he feared any skin to object contact. Not even contact with items that he knew weren't contaminated by anyone's thoughts but his own were touched without the gloves. The risks of tapping into his gift, he'd thought, would be worth the benefit. He was so wrong. 

After days of contact with objects, things, and people, he had a head full of nightmares. He'd failed to pinpoint his son's location. But, he'd caught enough glimpses to realize exactly what was happening to Cole and to fear the creature his son was destined to become. 

He'd tried to engross his mind in his artwork and lose himself to the yielding of clay to his fingertips. Every sculpture he designed seemed to contain a piece of the nightmare playing in a repeating loop over and over in his head. Sales were down. People didn't invest in terror. They wanted happiness and sunshine. Perky bits of art that would bring light to their already dreary, horror filled lives. 

The ringing of his cell phone jolted him upright into a startled sitting position in his bed. He fumbled in the dark and felt on the nightstand for his phone. The area code and number lit up on the display were familiar to him. Anxious for what little news the caller could provide he flipped open the phone and pressed it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Oh Robert, I didn't wake you did I?" The chipper voice on the other end asked. Jesse was nervous about talking to her ex. Robert's voice was gravelly and rough as it was upon first awakening. Really, it was odd the things you remembered about a person such as the sound of a voice upon awakening for the day. She blushed at the things flooding her memory banks. Robert slept naked, always had, and if she'd woke him up, and given the rustle of sheets against bare skin, she had. He was naked now. 

"No Jess, I was awake." Robert dragged a hand over his face and tried to shake off the weariness caused by another sleepless night. In the background he could hear the rowdy explosion of noise that came with a houseful of children. The squeal of a toddler and the hurried tirade of a teenager's rapid speech served as bitter reminders that she'd gone on with her life and had left him behind. 

"Well good. I wanted to call you and let you know that Cole is ok." His ex-wife's voice rose high, almost shrill in her excitement. "He's fine." The sounds of her hesitant exhale of relief echoed through the connection. "I thought for so long that something bad had happened to him. You can't imagine how good it was to see him again!"

Robert scrubbed his hand over the stubble on his jaw and tried to make sense of it. Cole might not love him, but Robert was certain Cole loved his mother and though he'd never admit it, his half brothers and sisters. Cole would never risk his family. Robert knew him better than that. "How did he look, Jess?" He braced himself for the worst. A part wanted to hope for better and that the random glimpses he'd snatched from Cole's life were wrong.

"Great. He's grown into such a fine man. He's taller than you now. Wherever he's been, it's really worked out for the best. He looks like he's gained twenty pounds of muscle. This new life has been good to him. You'd be proud. Cole joined the Marines. Says, he's finally got a direction for his life." 

Robert gritted his teeth, listening to Jessie talk on and on about their son. Cole must be a good actor if he could convince the woman who had raised him for over nineteen years that everything was absolutely peachy. Either that, or she was so desperate for good news that she hadn't heard anything other than what she wanted to hear. He didn't know. He couldn't read his ex-wife the way he'd once been able to. In the distance, he heard the wail of a baby's hungry cry. It was just another reminder of exactly how differently their lives had ended up. He couldn't bring himself to share his suspicions with Jess. She already had so much on her plate and she'd never understand. "That's good, Jess."

"Robert, you don't sound happy. Is there anything wrong? I thought you'd be just as thrilled with the news as I am." Jess bounced her daughter on her hip and wished the damned microwave would hurry up so that she could at least solve one crisis before another one began. 

Her twin toddlers were too quiet and probably up to no good. They weren't perched in front of the TV or pestering her for their breakfast as they usually did in the morning. God, she hoped the twins hadn't found the markers and were entertaining themselves by drawing on the walls. Her daughter was stomping around upstairs, going off in a tirade about something probably less critical than the twins' current preoccupation with whatever had them so quiet. Her daughter would just have to take care of herself. Jess could only handle one crisis at a time. She plopped the bundle on her hip into the highchair and neatly deposited the bottle between her chubby fingers and moved through the house in search of the twins. 

The last thing Robert needed was his ex worrying about him. Jess had always been a worrier. No doubt over the last thirteen years since their divorce, she had worry down to a fine art. "No. I'm glad Cole is ok. Really glad." Robert stared at nothing in particular as he listened to Jess's harried breathing. She was moving through the house, shuffling around this and that. The sounds were so ordinary and everyday. The noises of her life amplified the quiet of his. He scrambled for something reassuring to say and came up blank. They were strangers now. Cole was the only thing they had in common and he couldn't talk about Cole without blurting out the truth. "Look Jess, I'd better go. Someone sounds hungry." 

"Yeah, that'd be the twins," Jesse said. She shooed them out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. Thankfully, they'd gotten into the Mr. Bubble and had been in the process of finger painting the shower walls when she found them. Nothing serious and they hadn't made too much of a mess. She stumbled in the jumble of everything left unsaid between Robert and she and settled for an awkward silence. Before the problems with Cole she hadn't spoken to her ex in over a year and now, she wasn't sure of what else there was to say or how to say it. 

Robert heard the awkwardness in Jess's voice. Her hesitation stretched out in the distance between them. "Ok, well. Jess, will you tell Cole if he ever needs anything or if you ever need me...please, call." 

"I'll do that. Goodbye, Robert."

"Bye Jess," Robert said into the blank silence of the ended call. Despite any mask Cole could put on. Jess would notice the difference in their son. A mother always knew. Robert plopped into the chair at his computer desk and contemplated his hazardously low funds. He'd failed Cole thus far in his life. Maybe, there was still time left to turn things around and save his son. 

The duffel bag he'd packed from the first trip was still in the corner where he'd left it. He scanned the Internet for a flight to book. A wicked March storm was about to roll through the Midwest and the inbound flights that hadn't been cancelled yet were filled to capacity for the rest of the week. He could risk it, camp out at the airport, and hope for a cancellation, or book the first flight available for next week. But, by then it might be too late. 

The storm was one of those slow moving bastards that reaped havoc and left a path of snow and ice in its wake. Snowfall of greater than a foot had been predicted for most of the states in the path of the storm and that was just the appetizer before the main course of ice, high winds, and below freezing temperatures to be followed by a dessert of more snow. Too risky to fly and he hated flying and airports and people packed like sardines shoulder to shoulder anyway. 

He opted for the open road with a hope and a prayer that his ancient jeep still had it in her to make the trip. Montana wasn't in the band of states in the path of the storm. Mother nature had already beaten the hell out of the mountains and the remote roads wouldn't be more than snow packed lanes till June. Most of the states he'd have to drive through were though. Ending up a NHTSA statistic on the interstate was a risk he'd have to take. If there were even the slightest chance that time hadn't run out for Cole, he was willing to do anything to save his only son. 

Chapter 6

The compound was silent as Cole wound his way through the maze of halls to his room. Although, most of what the general public thought they knew about vampires was pure myth. Most of his counterparts preferred the night to broad daylight and dozed through the brightest hours of the day. Lucky for him, he'd always been a night person. With no need to guard him, the sets of eyes that had been assigned to keep tabs on him were off tending to other business. 

That was good. He needed some time alone. He felt better now that he'd said his goodbyes, but couldn't quite shake the nagging sensation that not all of his loose ends were as neatly tied up as he wanted to believe they were. 

Didn't matter, in a few, too few, short hours it'd be over with. His fate sealed forever. Cole flopped on the bed and stared up at the dimpled rock ceiling over his head. Compared to the stillness of waiting, the clock's hands frozen in place, the trials hadn't seemed like that big of a deal after all. 

He didn't quite know what to do with himself. Every waking hour had been spent in preparation for tonight. John Mark wouldn't let him train today. Cole was supposed to spend these final hours as a human enjoying them. Cole supposed the intent was for him to contemplate his life. Where it had been and where it was going next. 

He should venture down to the kitchen and raid the refrigerator. Anna had cooked him a virtual feast and had smiled knowingly, packing the food away into plastic containers without a grumble of complaint, when he confessed to her he simply couldn't manage a bite. His stomach grumbled from its neglect. He really should try to eat, but with as nervous as he was. He probably wouldn't keep the food down very long anyway. Tossing his cookies wasn't the way he wanted his last day as a human to be spent. 

He thought about wandering into town and seeing if he couldn't coax some willing female into his bed for a last romp in the sack. The idea of that left him cold. He shuddered at the thought that he could end up a self-imposed monk like Michael. His cock was half erect at the concept nailing a final piece of ass before his big debut into the unknown. Unfortunately, his mind just wasn't on board with the plan. 

He gave up cigarettes once he was of age to buy them and the lure of breaking the rules no longer came into play. He used to drink to the point of falling down stupid, because it was the thing to do at the time. Actually though, he'd never really developed a taste for alcohol. Soaking in a bubble bath was too girly for him to consider. Sex was out. Masturbation, one last yank on the chain for the hell of it, wasn't even a thought. Food wasn't appealing in the least. He could fill his head with the chatter of mindless reruns on TV and might before the day was over. He could roll over and take a nap, but what a waste that would be of his final day on earth as a living, breathing member of the human race. 




Dawn Unleashed



A couple of mile run on the treadmill might help to clear his mind, but John Mark, had banned him from the gym under the guise of saving his strength for what was to come. Yeah, he was going to need his strength to walk those last few steps straight into the arms of death. The brothers had told him under no uncertain terms how this was going to go down. Having the life sucked out of him to the last heartbeat didn't sound like fun times. They'd all been where he was about to go. Alone, slightly terrified, and human, watching the hands of the clock tick slowly by until time ran out. 

His leathers, stiff, new, and shiny black, hung in the closet waiting for him to wear them. There was a chance he might not get the opportunity to break them in. The brothers had made certain he understood that as well. Sometimes, the blood didn't take hold and once you were dead. Well, there wasn't any coming back from that. His fingers fiddled with the pendant around his neck, digging the blunt points of the cross into the pads and under his nails. 

The pain helped him to focus on the bigger picture. Death wasn't so scary. Dying though, that was another story. He supposed there were worse ways to go. At least he knew the how, the time, and the place of his scheduled demise. That was certainly more than most people got. Cole restlessly tossed on the bed. He forced his eyes closed and tried not to think about the things that terrified him the most. To a certain degree, death would be far easier than opening his eyes and seeing the world, irrevocably altered and yet so much the same, through his new vampire eyes. 

He'd never been necessarily good or particularly bad. Ok, so he'd done bad things, but he'd since then redeemed himself of any wrong through the sweat and pain he'd endured in the past six months. Cole didn't suppose there was a place in the afterlife reserved specifically for the spiritually mediocre. With less than two hours to go he truly didn't have a mind to doubt the existence of God or of heaven or hell. Either he'd go up or he'd go down. He preferred up, definitely up, but if he went down instead, at least he had the satisfaction of knowing he'd given the salvation of his soul his best shot. 

Most of the brothers were believers in a higher power. It probably had something to do with stepping a foot into the grave and living to talk about it. Doc with his incense, chanting in words Cole didn't understand, and waving of feathers, was perhaps the most spiritual man Cole had ever met. Doc had tried his best to impart his wisdom, but until now Cole had remained a skeptic. 

There was always Keene. The embodiment of what a good Catholic boy should be. He prayed like a madman for hours in the chapel Chris had built for him, for all of them, in the very heart of the compound. Keene clung to the belief that God didn't abandon anybody no matter how bad a person was, but rather it was people that abandoned God. Keene believed wholeheartedly that heaven had a special place for beings like them. Even now, as badly as Cole wanted and needed to hold onto that faith, he wavered at minus two hours and counting. 

The Great Father was too cryptic in his beliefs for Cole to make any sense of them. Maybe, that was in part due to the fact that Drew had seen the goddess to which he prayed first hand. There wasn't quite anything like that to make a believer out of the most agnostic of souls. 

Cole didn't have much interaction with the pack. From what little he knew though the wolves were staunch believers in the spirit and the goddess. Beings of both ethereal and physical body, their ties were to the earth beneath their paws and the air they drew forth into their lungs.

His mother had an old family bible perched up high on a shelf out of reach of the destructive fingers of his half brothers and sisters. He'd never bothered to dust it off and crack open the cover. Before, the words on the thin, crinkly pages had never mattered much. Cole could recall bits and pieces of scripture. Scraps of wisdom he'd heard at funerals and weddings and somehow managed to pick up along the way. Psalm 23 might be appropriate for the situation. He got up from the bed and paced around the room before giving in and dropping to his knees. 

Dim light from the crack beneath the bathroom door spilled across the floor. The thick nap of the carpet was soft beneath his knees. Whether it was at the feet of God or man, he'd never knelt in humility and asked for any intercession on his part before. The effect of kneeling was as intended and he'd never felt so small and insignificant in his life. "The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want." Cole paused trying to remember the next part and came up short. He could not remember which words followed. There was something about still waters and green pastures, but he didn't know the exact order of the sentences. 

Not wanting to further embarrass himself in front of God. Thanks to his lack of basic knowledge and essential stupidity of all things heavenly, he quickly shut his trap. Silence was better than stumbling over words that failed him when there was so much to say. He ended the prayer with a quick Amen, but stayed kneeling on the floor with his eyes closed and head bowed, grappling, reaching deep within himself to feel the presence of God. 

Cole couldn't remember the twenty-third Psalm, but he did remember the meaning of the word Amen. He didn't know where or when he'd picked up that particular trivial fact. Maybe, it wasn't such a trivial fact at all though. Amen loosely translated meant 'so be it' and really, now on the verge of what he was about to do. What better word was there to use and what greater peace was there to make within himself? He whispered the word over and over again. Uttered it into the darkness until it became a pray all of its one. Whether he lived or he died was only partially up to him. The rest of it rested in the hands of something bigger, something more than he would ever be. "Amen. So be it. Amen." 

Chapter 7

Hunter stared out into the calm stillness of the pines. So far, he'd managed to keep the pack master from reaching a final verdict regarding his son. Daniel was just a boy. He didn't understand what his decision meant. At eighteen, how could he? He was in the infancy of his growing power. A power that had come upon him way too soon for him to fully appreciate what it meant. 

There was still time to get him back. Kidnap his son, if he had to. Daniel had always been the reckless one, impulsive, and always in such a hurry to be a man. His son was a man now and the pack master had forbidden any intercession on Daniel's behalf. "Every man has to come to his own conclusions about what to do with his life," the Supreme Pack Master had said in his stoic wisdom. But, as a father, Hunter felt compelled to do something before it was too late and he lost his son forever. 

Marianne slouched over a bowl of cereal at the dining room table and watched her dad out of the corner of one eye. An untouched mug of coffee rested in his grip. He stared off into some distant point. He was probably not even aware that she sat less than ten feet away from him. 

Even though he was handsome for his age. He seemed to have aged another ten years in a matter of months. Worry lines that hadn't been there just a week ago bordered the corners of his eyes and mouth. Gray had started to invade his dark hair at the temples. Her father was leaner now than she'd ever seen him. Lean, not in a healthy way, but simply because he usually didn't bother to keep himself properly fed. He was distracted more of the time than not and was here, but not really here. 

A part of her wanted to hate Daniel for what he'd done to their father, but in a way she understood it. The lure of bigger and better places could suck a person in. Tristen, the oldest of her siblings, was settling contentedly into the happiness of married bliss, parenthood, and routine. Daniel had never been a homebody. He'd never, ever had a content bone in his body. Ever. His was a restless spirit filled with wanting. His whole life, he'd always dreamed of more. Though he'd never been able to define exactly what more consisted of. 

These days, not even Gina, her step mom, seemed to be the comfort to her dad she'd once been. Her father was withdrawing, more and more as the days passed. Returning back to the place he'd been after their mother died. Marianne and her brothers had lost him once. She didn't want to lose him again. She didn't want a Father in Absentia. She needed her dad now more than ever. But, she was as helpless as Gina to pull him back. 

At thirteen, she'd abandoned the braids and pigtails in exchange for flowing hair that stopped at her waist. Her collection of t-shirts with glittery hearts, rainbows, and ponies had been upgraded to knit sweaters, leggings, and layer after layer of scarves. She was getting boobs and curves, finally. Her father, so preoccupied by Daniel, had barely noticed that she was beginning to grow up right before his eyes. 

"Dad."

"What is it, Mouse?" 

She dropped her spoon in the cereal bowl. The metal clattered off the empty insides of the bowl. He hadn't bothered to spare her as much as a glance. What could she say to pull him back from the edge? Beg for his attention? Threaten to leave like Daniel had? Dejectedly, she sighed and shook her head. "Never mind."

Hunter rose from his perch on the stool by the sliding glass door and dumped the cold coffee in his mug down the kitchen sink. He was alienating his daughter, again, and the sigh of her disappointment stung him deeply. Mouse, she was growing up so fast. Trapped in the middle of that awkward stage where she was so unsure about everything and needed constant mentoring and reassurance. 

Tristen was a father now himself and he needed the guidance only a father could provide. Hunter's only grandchild was cute as a damn button. With one bat of her lashes and with those green eyes she'd inherited from her mother she'd have Tristen wrapped around her little finger before too much longer. Tristen and Kacie were already making plans to expand their family. Tristen had always loved kids and Kacie loved him too much to deny him his heart's truest desires. This was a dangerous time for Tristen and Kacie, as Hunter well knew. Too many times the babies so desperately wanted didn't come or if they did, it was not without risk. 

Gina and he were a fairly new couple themselves. She'd undergone plenty of changes for him. Before this mess with Daniel had happened the two of them had been so close. They'd even ventured to begin discussions about starting a family. Gina was nervous and uncertain about the whole thing. She filled her days with busyness and most nights, the nights when he'd wander the house endlessly till dawn, curled up in an empty bed with a novel. Hunter didn't even know the title of the book on her nightstand. There hadn't been talk about having a baby and neither one of them had taken the steps to initiate making a baby in weeks. 

Daniel was at the forefront of everyone's mind. Nobody talked about him, as if mentioning his name was taboo. More than likely, no one knew exactly what to say and it was safer not to bridge the subject of Daniel at all. His family was beginning to fall apart. It was up to him and only him to put them back together again. "Marianne, I have something to tell you."

She raised an eyebrow at her dad's use of her given name instead of her nickname. He didn't glance away from the patio door to meet her eyes. Two could play the cold shoulder routine. She pretended to be more interested in her empty cereal bowl than she was in anything he had to say. She was listening though. "What is it, Dad?" 

"I might not be back for a long while. I'm going after Daniel. I'm going to do whatever it takes to bring him home."

Marianne beamed up at her father. Not that he'd trusted her with such an important piece of information before. Nothing was a secret around this house for very long. It was that he'd always taught her that the pack master's word was law. The penalties for disobedience were harsh and unpleasant. He was willing to risk his own punishment for Daniel. She learned something more in those few sentences hanging in the air between them. That sometimes, rules, even the best intended ones, were meant to be broken. 

Her father could be very convincing when he wanted to be. What would happen if he couldn't convince Daniel to come home? Daniel still had a place at the table, because she insisted on setting one. With the pack though, he had already lost his place. Fighting his way back in and gaining their trust again was not going to be easy, if impossible. The pack might have given up and turned their backs on him, but her father hadn't and neither would she. "Go for it, Dad."

Chapter 8

O'Sullivan stormed in circles around and around his bedroom, working hard at controlling the anger that boiled within him. So far, he'd given Daniel everything he'd ever dreamed of. What, exactly, was his investment yielding in return? Nothing! Yessette cowered in the corner, an innocent victim of his outrage. She'd done her best to work her magic and not even she had been enough to coax the boy into revealing his wolf. Eric smoothed his hand over his tightly drawn back ponytail, curling the ends between his fingers as he glowered down at her. There was a suitable option to his current predicament. Obviously, if Daniel wouldn't or couldn't, as he claimed, produce his wolf, Eric would have to find another one. "I need another wolf." But, how, exactly how, was he going to get one without the boy's help? 

Daniel was no fool. Stupid, yes, but he was not a complete fool. He'd never knowingly betray his own people. The boy had exhausted Eric's boundless patience and now Eric wanted results. Ignoring Yessette's snivels from the corner, he set about plotting exactly how he'd go about getting a replacement wolf. There was only one person he trusted in the world to get the job done. Himself. 

Daniel showered and shuffled through the expensive clothing crammed into his closet. Eric had a real nice operation here. How he made his fortune, Daniel could only guess and probably really didn't want to know about it. Ultimately, it didn't matter what Eric did to earn his money. It mattered more that he had plenty to burn and Daniel possessed plenty of will to spend it. 

Without his wolf, he couldn't detect the scent of the person lightly tapping on his bedroom door. He suspected it was Yessette come back to beg forgiveness. Let her beg. He could do with some amusement. Life around here was boring and decidedly more tedious without her. "Come in."

Eric quickly put a lid over his simmering anger and opened the door. He pasted an amicable smile on his face that he really didn't feel and stepped inside the room. Seeing Daniel zip up a pair of two hundred dollar jeans and cram his feet into fifteen hundred dollar loafers grated him. The bed was in a total disarray of mangled silk sheets and antique goose down comforters. Eric picked his way through the small fortune of clothing tossed haphazardly on the floor and perched on the edge of a wingback chair worth far more than the room's current occupant. "Daniel, I think its time we had a talk." 

"Is this about Yessette? Did she send you to plea her case?" Eric was a pompous ass. He walked across the room, scowling at the mess and plopped his fancy butt down on the edge of a chair. Eric was the living definition of the word metrosexual. With his two thousand dollar cashmere suits and Italian leather loafers, the net worth of his clothing alone probably totaled more than the gross national product of a small country. Daniel didn't think he'd ever seen Eric with as much as a hair out of place and it wasn't now. Gathered tightly in a ponytail at the nape of his neck, the gold clasp used to secure it out of his face probably cost more than the average family of four earned in a year. 

Eric was all about image, how he projected it and how he played it to his advantage. He sat with his legs crossed at the knee and his hands casually resting on his thighs, smiling at him as if they were best friends. Daniel knew better than that. Eric was an old bastard, a really, really old bastard and he had no friends. 

"No." Eric studied Daniel. The oaf didn't know a damn thing about style or presentation. Daniel's dark hair hung loosely about his face, covering his dark eyes so that the expression behind the bangs was unreadable. Daniel had not developed fully into a man yet and still had the softness of youth and baby fat about his face. He did not have the size and bulk so common to the brotherhood. Eric had heard through rumors that the brothers and the pack were cousins of a sort. He could see the similarities in Daniel's russet skin tone and fullness of his cheekbones and that long, aquiline nose.

At the ripe old age of eighteen, Daniel thought he'd seen the world and he wanted it. His innocence about the way the world truly was and his eager hunger for more, always for more, had proven to be Eric's best weapon against him. Oh, yes Daniel had the tasted the sweet fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, but he had yet to learn of its true poison. Daniel sat on the bed propped up on a mountain of pillows totally disregarding him in preference of some electronic toy Eric had purchased for a meager penance. "I told you there'd be favors I'd ask of you from time to time. I've come to tell you that its time for me to call one in for payment." 

"Ok sure, what do you want?" Daniel knew damn good and well what Eric wanted. He simply couldn't give it to him. He thumbed through the display on his iPod and pretended to ignore Eric. Maybe, if he feigned disinterest long enough, Eric would simply go away. 

"You like the lifestyle I've afforded you. Do you not?" Eric calculated the boy's reaction. After all these centuries of living there was little the boy could hide from his keen senses of observation. "And I know how very much Yessette means to you. It'd be a shame if I had to forbid her from your visits or alter your time together. True?"

"You can't do that." Just the threat of what Eric proposed to do was enough to have him staring up at the man in disbelief. Eric couldn't keep Yessette and he apart. Sure, Yessette was pissed at him, but she'd come around. All couples had lover's quarrels from time to time. She loved him for his body and the blood that flowed through his veins. He wasn't stupid enough to believe otherwise. In actuality though, he wished she loved him for him, but what could he really expect from her given the company she kept. She truly didn't know any better, but he was working on that. 

O'Sullivan grinned and dipped his head. He had the boy by the literal balls when it came to Yessette. The fool believed he was in love and Yessette, he'd have to give her credit where it was due, had Daniel convinced that loved him in return. "Oh, but I can and I will. I can do anything I want with Yessette. Unfortunate things. Unless, you comply."

Daniel's posture stiffened. The bastard was talking about hurting Yessette. Eric was a very powerful man and even a fool would think twice about denying him what he asked. O'Sullivan held the power of death literally in his palm. Daniel had seen him unleash that unholy power once before and knew how quickly the man could transform into a cold hardhearted killer. "What do you want me to do?"

"Simple. It's such a small favor, nothing really, compared to the life of one you hold so dearly." He had the boy's attention. All of the arrogance and cockiness was gone out of Daniel's expression, leaving a quaking child in its wake. 

"What?" Daniel's stomach turned at the thought of what Eric might require him to do. That O'Sullivan had threatened Yessette's life so easily and so casually terrified him. "What do you want me to do?"




Dawn Unleashed



O'Sullivan leveled his gaze, pinning the boy with the power of his stare. "Give me the wolf." 

Daniel ground his teeth as he considered how to answer. If O'Sullivan realized that the ability was no longer his. He might kill him and do something even worse to Yessette. Yet, he had no way to give Eric what he wanted. "I can't." He lowered his eyes to the floor out of shame and embarrassment. He could maintain distance from the pack for only a short while. Without the ties of magic and family that flowed from wolf to wolf, there was no power for him to draw upon. His dad could do it and of course, his grandpa, being the pack master, could do it without the aid of the pack. But, he could not. "There have to be at least two for the magic to work."

"Boy, you're trying my patience. I don't want excuses. I want the wolf." So, Carter had been telling him the truth after all. Eric didn't give a damn about metaphysical bullshit. He wanted his wolf and he wanted it now. Daniel didn't truly appreciate or understand his greater purpose in Eric's world. The hand that rocked the cradle ruled the world and Daniel held the key to the cradle within his veins. 

Daniel cowered under the force of O'Sullivan's words. "What do you expect me to do?"

"Shouldn't that be obvious? Find me another wolf. All you have to do is locate one. I'll take care of the rest." O'Sullivan lowered his voice and stood. "Yessette is depending on you. Don't disappoint her." He left Daniel alone in the room, to think it over. Fear was a powerful motivator and sometimes desire was thicker than blood.

Daniel scrubbed his hand through his hair and cursed under his breath. Eric didn't understand the gravity of what he was asking. He wanted Daniel to sacrifice one of his own kind in exchange for Yessette. Daniel knew he was in over his head. He wouldn't be able to hold O'Sullivan off forever. Eventually, Eric would lose patience and track down the pack for himself. Daniel had no doubt Eric could pull it off, especially with Carter's help. Daniel couldn't afford to let that happen. Risking one wolf for the sake of the pack was better than endangering all of them. Once Eric discovered the location of the pack, he might not be content to stop there. The pack would lead him straight to the brotherhood and that would be bad, as in nuclear war, bad. 

The cell phone in Daniel's palm was cool and slick. Eric had given him the phone under the guise that Daniel was free to come and go and to call home whenever he wanted to. He didn't want to call home now, but what other choice did he have? Daniel had never understood before now why Carter changed camps and had abandoned the Guardians, the brotherhood, and Shayla. He'd hated Carter for it as a matter of fact. Eric's circle of influence was more far reaching than Daniel had realized. Eric had something he held over Carter's head. Daniel suspected Eric threatened them both with the same thing. Yessette. 

Knowing he was going straight to hell for what he was about to do. Daniel dialed the number. The voice on the other end made him long for home, but stronger was the need to protect the people he loved. "Mouse, let me talk to dad." 

"Daniel?" Marianne was so startled to hear his voice she nearly dropped the phone. There was an urgency in Daniel's voice that had her clenching her teeth together in a sudden surge of panic. "Danny, are you ok?"

"Mouse, I don't have time for this. Let me talk to dad!" Daniel regretted being so sharp with his little sister. Sometimes, Mouse could be a huge pain in the ass. She wasn't being a pain now though. She was genuinely worried about him.

There was a pause and a hesitant breath. "I can't. Dad isn't here. He went to the city to look for you." He could hear his sister's soft breaths in the pause on the other end of the line. "You could call his cell phone. I know he'd love to talk to you. We all miss you so much. Danny, you are coming home? Aren't you?"

"It's too late for that." Daniel flipped the phone closed, ending the call before his sister's pleas coaxed him into agreeing to come home. He had his dad's cell phone number. One call and his dad would come with guns blazing in an attempt to rescue him. There wasn't anything to rescue him from, but that wouldn't matter to his dad. 

He couldn't go home. There wasn't anything there for him anymore. His place was here at Yessette's side doing whatever he could to protect her. "Shit," Daniel muttered, throwing the phone onto his bed. His dad was here, looking for him, and it appeared that O'Sullivan might, just might get his wolf after all unless Daniel did something to prevent it.

Chapter 9

The unanticipated winter storm made the last few hundred miles of the drive a living hell. The row of semi trailers and passenger cars pulled over to the shoulder were a grim reminder to Robert that he shouldn't be out here. Finally, the jeep crept across the state line at a snail's pace. The snow plows and salt trucks had lost the battle to the inches of white snow falling from the sky above and the high winds making it impossible to keep the interstate clear. Ice caked his wiper blades, leaving a blurry trail of filth across the windshield. He was fatigued and frozen to the bone as another mile slowly ticked by. He'd lost two hours thanks to the time change and nightfall came far too early for his liking, bathing the flat lands of the Midwest in complete darkness. His tires spun on an unseen patch of black ice buried in the narrow track of pavement on the interstate and he scrambled to keep the jeep out of a ditch. 

He could barely make out the road ahead of him for the heavy snowfall caught in the glow of his headlights. The flakes of snow blended into one big wall of white. Robert sighed wearily and flexed his fingers. He didn't dare take his hands off the wheel for a second. He'd been on the road for over twelve hours. The last four of them spent driving with his hazard lights on to warn off traffic coming up behind him. Not that there was much worry about that. He hadn't seen another car, not one that hadn't skidded into a ditch or pulled over onto the shoulder of the road, for over an hour. He seemed to be the only f'idiot crazy enough to brave the interstate on a night like this. 

Light, haphazard flakes of snow had started in Kansas and had only gotten worse as he'd traveled east. St. Louis was a bitch in good road conditions with the addition of the snow it'd been a real party. Illinois was nothing but flat ground and drifts. Indiana, so far, hadn't faired any better, if not worse, than her neighboring state. He was so close to his destination, but still, had another couple of hours of driving, probably more like three or four hours worth, given the condition of the roads, before he arrived in the city safely. Assuming, he made it to the city at all without having to call a tow truck to haul his miserable ass out of a ditch. 

Admitting defeat, he signaled and inched down an ice covered off ramp into one of a dozen little burgs that sprung up along the interstate to earn its feeble existence off road weary travelers, like him. He should have stopped sooner. Maybe, pulled over in Terre Haute and waited the storm out there. But, he'd been too stubborn and the city seemed so close at the time. Two hours later and he was still only half way there. 

The burg boasted to be the heart of Moore County according to the snow caked sign at the end of the off ramp. Big deal, Robert thought as he slid rather than drove the last few yards into a gas station. The parking lot was a slick, mushy mess of tire tracks and footprints. He could do with a cup of hot coffee, a trip to the men's room, and a cap off on the gas tank before he got back out on the road again. Time was wasting and he didn't want to spend a second longer in this insignificant pit stop than he had to.

The gas station was a hub of activity. People shivered as they waited in line to fill up their gas cans at the kerosene pump. The quick mart was stuffed to capacity as brave souls made stops for emergency packs of smokes, lotto tickets, stale bread, and overpriced gallons of milk. Everyone was making urgent last minute purchases, preparing for the worst of the storm, which surprisingly, had yet to arrive. 

Robert shook his head and pulled up beside a dilapidated, battered pump. After chipping away at a layer of ice frozen over his gas cap, he shoved the nozzle into the jeep and began filling up. No credit card slot? No demand for prepayment? Come on, what year was this? 1950? Eagerly, he gave the handle a hard squeeze. The pump was incredibly slow, ticking away the gallons with a cheerful ding. He was freezing his ass off out here. Miserably underdressed for the weather in tennis shoes, a light jacket and jeans. 

The crowd shot him wary looks as they shuffled across the slick lot to their vehicles, consisting mostly of big SUVs and four wheel drives. He was in the heart of Redneck central. Finally the pump stopped and he replaced the nozzle and the gas cap with frozen, clumsy fingers. Wincing against the sting of the cold seeping through his inadequate gloves, he blew on his fingertips to warm them and paused to stomp snow from his shoes against the doorframe on his way in. The sounds of conversation from the people mulling about talking about the weather gave him the impression the snowstorm was the biggest thing that had happened around here in the last twenty years. The smells of gasoline, cigarette smoke, and coffee that had sat too long on the warmer assaulted his sense of smell. 

Robert shivered inside of his jacket and waited his turn in line. Careful not to touch anyone or anything, but needing to free his hands from his wet gloves, he buried his hands deep into his pockets. He so desperately wanted a cup of coffee, even if it was bad. But, with all these people and their random thoughts left on the surface of everything they'd touched, he didn't dare. This wasn't the kind of place he could slide into a pair of latex gloves without being noticed. 

"Evening," the county cop said, sauntering over to stand in line next to him.

"Evening," Robert answered back. Deeply wrinkled skin, leathery and perma tanned from too many years in the sun gave the sheriff a weathered appearance. Tufts of salt and pepper hair poked out from beneath his brown sheriff's hat. The battered nametag on his uniform coat was barely legible, but he made out the officer's name. Sheriff Mack Brown at his service. He couldn't help but notice the heavily loaded utility belt strapped to the sheriff's hip. The gun was standard issue. But, the long, lethal looking hunting knife strapped beside it was not. What was the guy expecting in the middle of a snowstorm, a grizzly attack or perhaps the abominable snowman? 

Mack studied the man standing beside him. The man pretended not to notice he was being watched and fished a pair of twenties from his leather wallet. The man was a little taller than average. Medium brown hair, dampened darker brown from the melting snow, drooped over the collar of his disheveled jacket. According to the driver's license Mack had caught a glimpse of. The man was from way out of state. People from out of state automatically earned a place on his radar. It wasn't that the town or he didn't welcome strangers. Some of the folks around here, the inhabitants of Moore County were stranger than the common populous could ever guess. "Cold one out there."

"Yeah," Robert answered uncomfortably. When in foreign territories, it wasn't wise to engage the natives. But, what could he do except for play along? He was stuck in line with the Sheriff behind him. In a few minutes, he'd be back on the interstate anyway. He just simply wasn't in the habit of talking to people. Thanks to the Internet and online purchasing, he rarely had to leave his cabin or interact with anyone.

"Slick out," Mack said. The man wasn't a brilliant conversationalist. He stood still shivering in his jacket waiting his turn in line. He was dressed way too light for the weather in nothing but jeans, a jacket, and tennis shoes. Everyone else had enough sense to bundle up in parkas and heavy boots, gloves, and scarves. This idiot was dressed for a walk on the beach by comparison. 

"Uh huh." Robert slid the twenties to the cashier with a fingertip, careful not to brush against her or the sticky countertop beneath. He hoped the sheriff would lose interest in their non-conversation and go hassle someone else. Gingerly, Robert took his change and shoved it into his pocket. Sidestepping a throng of people mulling around the counter he made his way to the door.

"Not a fit night to be driving," Mack said as he followed the man. Over the years he'd lost count of how many dead he'd seen scraped off the interstates on nights like this. He was tired of it, damn tired of it. He was supposed to be retired by now, but when it came right down to it. As much as he'd dreamed about the day he'd hang up his sheriff's badge. He wasn't quite as ready to give it up as he'd thought. Maybe, next year he'd retire. "Where you headed?"

Robert planted his feet in the ice to keep from slipping and pointed east with his thumb. Sheriff Mack Brown wasn't going to give up easily and was on his heels like a bloodhound on a scent. 

"Ah, big city." Mack nodded his head and shivered as a gust of wind blew inside of his winter gear. He walked around the rusty jeep. Not a bad vehicle, but hardly sturdy enough for the roads tonight. "It'd be a shame to drive from..." He brushed the snow off the license plate. "Montana and not sample a piece of Anna's homemade pecan pie. Come on and try a piece, my treat. You look like you could do with a hot cup of fresh coffee and a slice."

Robert grumbled under his breath. He really just wanted to get to the city before midnight in his time zone. "Interstate closed?" The sheriff had no reason to make him stick around otherwise. 

"Not yet, maybe in an hour or two, maybe more, maybe less." He shrugged. The staties were out on patrol, picking up stranded travelers and ushering them to safety. Gladys, the owner of the only hotel in town hadn't had a full house since the last snowstorm and was doing a happy dance at the possibility that her rooms might be booked before the night was over. The Ladies Auxiliary had opened up their basement meeting room in anticipation of a sudden influx of strangers in need. They had more styrofoam cups than Starbucks and were just waiting to show off their version of down home hospitality. 

Reports chattered over the mic clipped to his shoulder as the state boys arranged tow trucks and ambulances for the growing list of slide offs. It was just a matter of time before the snowplows and the state boys admitted defeat and the interstates were forced to close till the storm blew itself out. "Damned dangerous night to be out though." He held out his gloved hand. "Name is Mack. Mack Brown."

Robert knew when he was beaten. His insides were frozen sold as a chunk of ice and he was damned tired. A rest break might not be such a bad idea after all. Give the plows a chance to get ahead of the storm before he headed back out. "Robert. Robert Black." He grasped the sheriff's gloved hand and gave it a sturdy shake. Through the thick leather gloves on Mack's hands, he could pick up nothing. His vision was blessedly free from the sheriff's thoughts. Mack wasn't a bad man, but he didn't need his gift to sense that. An interfering man, maybe. His intentions were good enough though. "I should offer to buy."

"Can't let you do that. Could be construed as bribery of an elected official."

"Pie?" Robert asked, clearing a layer of caked snow from his wiper blades. The rich sound of Mack's laughter filled the air. 

"You've never had Anna's pie before. Follow me into town. The restaurant is just down the road on Main Street."

"Will do." Robert slid behind the wheel and buckled up. The last thing he needed was a ticket for a seat belt violation, considering he was on his way to have pie with the sheriff. While he was waiting for Mack's cruiser to back out and lead the way, he slid his hands into a pair of latex gloves. There was nothing here worth the crushing pain of the random images he was surely to get off everything he touched. His son wouldn't be within one hundred miles of this hole in the wall town. There was nothing here Robert needed to see with his hands.

Chapter 10

Cole did his best to shut down his brain and focus. Why did he have to be reborn on a night like this? Worst storm of the season, or so the newscaster announced, with an almost gleeful lilt in his monotone voice. Great. Couldn't be bad enough that he'd have to be naked during his birth. Oh no, he'd be freezing his balls off in snowdrifts and subzero temperatures too. Wonderful.

The Shaman did his best to ease Cole's nervously twitching body. No amount of chanting and incense was going to draw Cole's thoughts away from what was going to come. Cole wasn't scared. Anticipation had him flinching under the Shaman's skillful fingers as he painted the ancient symbols across his chest. Cole dropped to his knees and bowed his head as clouds of thick smoke wafted over his shoulders from the pungent herbs smoldering in the shaman's pot.

The leather thong itched Cole in places he didn't know he could itch and certainly couldn't scratch in public. He tried hard not to squirm as the Shaman completed the purification ritual and silently left the room. 

Cole prayed as hard as his wavering attention span would allow. He'd given up the formality of prayer for short utterances of vowels and syllables linked together to form a mishmash or words he hoped made sense or were at least worth bending God's ear to listen to. Despite the lingering smoky tang on incense on his skin there wasn't a shred of calm left in him. His palms sweated and his mouth was dry. His heart raced in his chest. Soon, a warrior would come to escort him to the bluffs and whatever was going to happen would happen. 

"The boy is ready then," Drew confirmed. From a distance he'd watched Cole begin an incredible journey from boyhood into manhood. Cole had chosen his path and the proving ground waited for him. Tonight, he would complete the final mile of his journey and the true task would begin. 

John Mark tightened the straps over his chest and nodded to the Great Father. Sometimes, the lines between the warrior, the leader, and the friend were blurry. Tonight, there was no fuzziness to them at all. Drew was the Great Father, leader of his people and father of them all.

"Very well then. Bring him to the bluffs." 

Tonight Cole would be issued one last challenge. John Mark had spent months training the boy for this night. Cole had the tools. How he decided to use them was up to him. Silently, John Mark dipped his head in reverence as The Great Father brushed past him. He walked the long hall to the room where Cole was waiting. The energy from Cole's nervous anticipation radiated off the rock. To him, it seemed like a lifetime ago that he'd been in Cole's shoes and walked that final stretch into rebirth. Gently, he pulled back the beaded curtains and wordlessly waved Cole out.

Cole glanced up at the whisper of beads that were strung together to form a curtain across the threshold. John Mark stood stoically, motioning for him to come out. Cole took a deep breath and unwound his folded legs from beneath his body. They ached as circulation rushed back into them. He paid no attention. For the moment, every last sensation, every human one, was savored and treasured. "So, this is it." Nervously, he licked his lips and memorized the feel of his tongue on their surface. 

The ceremonial robe was heavy and warmer than he'd anticipated against the bare skin of his shoulders. The dense white fur weighted him down. The hood drooped over his eyes, making it almost impossible to see as he followed John Mark through the long winding halls this last time. His breathing kicked up as he jogged to keep pace. The ceremonial blades brushing against John Mark's back marked every last step with a soft whisper of steel and leather against flesh.