2 comments/ 3082 views/ 5 favorites Dawn's End By: msnomer68 Prologue Carter ambled aimlessly across the rugged terrain of the frozen wasteland. He waited with bated breath and some measure of both heady anticipation and a fair amount of dread for the Grim Reaper to finally find him. He longed for the insanity that would eventually come and escort him to a shadowy world of lunacy. Drugging his mind so his body wouldn't feel death's final embrace. He begged for those days of blissful mindlessness yet to come to hurry the hell up and arrive so that he could at long last be done with it. The day had not yet arrived and he was still as sane as a vampire with a soul dark as his could be. He wandered and waited for the end to begin. A question he couldn't bring himself to mutter was posed on his lips. Why? Why was the angel of death so cruel? Why had the dark angel turned the comforting solace of his embrace away from him? Carter wondered what manner of creature he was that not even hell had a place for him? He was not a believer in the golden promise of redemption. The time where he believed in such things had long since come and gone. He thought at one time, perhaps, salvation was possible. He was mistaken. Heaven was a place reserved for the faithful and his faith had abandoned him long, long ago. He had dealt death to others countless times over the ages. He'd delivered more souls than he cared to count into the Grim Reaper's skeletal grasp. And now, when he wanted death to snatch him up and carry him to some dark desolate corner of the afterlife. It seemed the bastard Reaper had turned his back on him. In the rugged north, frozen in a perpetual winter, Carter made a meager existence out of the sparse offerings found in the endless tundra of snow and ice. This place was as close to hell as he could get and still be technically alive. He hunted when he could and drank enough to give him some measure of strength. Coward that he was, he consumed enough of a sampling of life to evade the hand of death for another day, another week, or perhaps, another month. He was a coward in waiting for the end to find him. As much as he entertained himself with the idea of death, he truly deep in his heart of hearts did not want to die. Perhaps, it was curiosity that kept him alive. Perhaps, some commitment that he had yet to see to its completion kept his feet moving south out of the frozen, lifeless wasteland of the Arctic Circle. Perhaps, he wanted to be death's hapless victim and be free of the burden of choosing the time and place of his own demise. One could hardly blame him for that. How many of his victims at the final moment had begged him for a stay of execution? For just a few more days, hours, or even seconds in which to hang onto life a little longer? How many fervently whispered pleas had he heard escape the lips of the condemned as he drained the life out of them? It made sense, in a twisted way. The irony of it was not lost on him. Justice had been served. When he most wanted death to take him as his victim. Death had, in return, played a cruel joke on him instead and he kept living and living, and living. He wondered if he was still alive because, when it came down to it, he didn't really have the balls to lie down and die. Chapter 1 Drew held the tiny bundle close to his chest. He sucked in a breath and trapped it deep within his lungs. She was so tiny and fragile. Swaddled head to toe in pink blankets she stirred and then settled into the warmth of his arms. He was breathless, amazed, and more terrified, of her and because of her, than he'd ever been of anything in his life. It'd been a damn long time since he'd held a baby. Lifetimes had come and gone in an endless procession of days and nights since then. It hadn't changed any, but he sure as hell had. His daughter blinked up at him and smacked her lips contentedly. Sung as a bug in a rug she fell fast asleep. Poor thing didn't even have a name yet. They'd been so busy in the planning for her arrival and so certain she would be a he. They hadn't considered the possibility of a baby girl. The nursery and everything in it was blue. The name they'd picked out had been for the boy they thought they were expecting. Agreeing on a name had been nothing short of a miracle. Tala had wanted a name with meaning and tradition and he'd wanted something timeless while at the same time, contemporary. Chas, short for Chaska, which meant first son in the ancient tongue, was what they'd finally agreed upon. Chaska Lucien, in honor of the Sons fallen brother and one of Drew's closest friends, was a very good name, adaptable, contemporary and yet timeless and ancient at the same time. It seemed generic to Drew to name this beautiful, perfect baby girl in his arms Winona, or first daughter, although he supposed they could. She deserved a special name with meaning. In all the world, there was no other one quite like her. She was unique, one of a kind, and very, very special. She was the answer to every prayer he'd ever dared to pray. A key to the future in ways he could not even begin to imagine. She was everything he'd hung his every hope and dream on. In all his years, despite the wonder this long life held for him, he'd never seen anything as amazing as the child asleep in his arms. The labor had not been easy. Exhausted, Tala, his mate, rested on the bed with a dreamy smile on her face. During the worst of the delivery, he'd cursed and begged the goddess in equal measure for her most precious gift. Staring down at the baby, rocking her ever so carefully, he wondered what someone would give for this gift. What price would a chance at true immortality bring? What measures would someone go to, to get it? Many called him father. Great Father, Father of the Sons. Great White Wolf, Psaiwiwuhkernekah Ptweowa, Father of all wolves. Only one beautiful, sweet baby girl would ever call him dad. Looking down at his daughter, he knew, his Tala knew, and his people knew, there wasn't anything he wouldn't do to protect his daughter. Tala shooed her private medical team out of the room. Claire and Jan understood all too well the intimacy of this family moment and once they were sure both the baby and her and quite possibly Drew were stable. They got good and gone. Thomas hovered, constantly checking her blood pressure and pulse, tentatively pressing her belly, and eyeballing the baby from a distance. Every rise and fall of the baby's little chest as she snuggled in her father's arms seemed to reassure him just a little more. Thomas was cautious around Drew. Of course, it didn't help that Drew gave the well-meaning doctor the hairy eyeball and growled in his throat every time Thomas dared to so much as wander within ten feet of the baby. It was a bit of a shock to hear Thomas announce she'd given birth to a perfectly healthy baby girl. Baby girl? Drew had been so certain they were having a boy. He'd even managed to convince her of it. She was so sure the baby was a boy she'd made Thomas double check. Twice. Nope, Chas, as he was supposed to be named, was a healthy, happy, and absolutely perfect baby girl. They were both too dumbfounded by the news to consider a name for the bundle of joy dozing in Drew's protective arms. Too confused by the goddess's mistake to discuss what they should name their daughter. Perhaps, the goddess hadn't made a mistake at all and the baby had decided things for herself. Hope was as good of a name as any. It fit. Everything hung on those narrow shoulders swaddled in the pink blanket Claire had somehow managed to produce out of thin air. Tala could smell the fresh paint and hear the busyness bustling behind the closed door to the delivery room. Janine ordered people around in her usual harried efficient manner. Demanded the blue walls of the nursery be immediately repainted. Hustled out the blue bedding, blue decorations, and of course, reissued pink 'it's a girl' bubble gum cigars to replace the blue 'it's a boy' cigars that Patrick had purchased in advance for the occasion. Everyone was bursting at the seams to get a peek at the newest addition to the compound's many residents. They were going to have to wait. She needed a few minutes to recover before any visitors were allowed inside. That, and if they were about to introduce their daughter to the world, perhaps giving her a name would be appropriate. "Drew, I like the name Hope, Hope Catori Nakoma, maybe Cat, for short? What do you think?" Drew exhaled and gently ran the tip of his finger across the bridge of his daughter's pug nose. There was a lot to be said about a name. Hope Catori Nakoma was a bit of a mouthful. Catori meant spirit and Nakoma meant Great Warrior in the ancient language of the ancestors. The spirit of a great warrior and one of hope. He wanted his daughter to know nothing of bloodshed and war. But, if she were going to survive in this world he'd helped to create she would need a strong name to see her through it. Leave it to Tala to toss more than a bit of heritage into the name. His name, the one he'd been born with, not the updated name he'd chosen for himself, was Tecumseh, Panther Across the Sky or Shooting Star, depending on what a person wanted to believe. Now days, he was known as Andrew, Drew actually, a much simpler name to summarize complex man that he was. He'd been born in a time of war. He had lived to know nothing but battlefields and the human suffering that came hand in hand with war. He had died, bleeding the ground red on foreign soil in a foreign land, for a cause he had no hope of ever seeing to fruition. He'd died so far away from everything he'd ever known and been reborn to father a race and champion an even greater cause. Peace was still a long way from coming, if there would ever be peace at all. Human history had his name recorded in its pages. For all intents and purposes, he was immortal. If for no other reason than the role he'd played in the past. Being reduced to dust in the annals of yesterday was not true immortality. Being what he was wasn't true immortality. This child asleep in his arms and the legacy he'd built for her was his only chance at true immortality. He smiled down at the baby and patted her tiny, diapered butt with the palm of his hand. Who knew what she was to become. The woman she'd someday grow up to be. Freak of nature or force of nature, wolf or vampire, or some mix between the two, or perhaps, she'd grow up to be simply whoever she wanted to be. He held the future in his hands. Tala and his to shape, but what she'd do with it when she grew up was entirely up to her. "Cat," he said with a nod. "I like it." Chapter 2 Shayla peeked out from behind the curtains in her bedroom and stared out into the blinding wash of white illuminated by a brilliant yellow sun. The deep freeze of winter had tightened its greedy fist in the dark of the night. Howling winds and particles of ice had tumbled down from the velvet black, starless sky. She'd fallen asleep watching the weather with the comforter tucked up high under her chin in an attempt to drive away the cold. The chill that permeated her bones wasn't on the outside, but deep inside of her and no amount of warmth was going to thaw the marrow anytime soon. The glittering morning was a mockery of the frozen wasteland within her soul. Tracker yawned and stretched sleepily. His black hair trailed across the pillows. Shayla glanced over her shoulder to meet his eyes. Every morning, he woke up happy. Glad to be alive. Glad to have her at his side. It wasn't his fault. He was doing his best and she was trying. God knew she was trying. She wondered, if not so long ago, when someone else stood gazing out the window and forcing a smile, as she did now. If she looked upon him the same way Tracker looked at her. She wondered, if he felt the same lie then, that she felt now, crushing down like a weight on her chest. "Good morning." Tracker sat up in the bed and cracked his neck. Shayla's side of the bed was cold. How long had she been awake, staring through the thin pane of glass that separated her from the world? What was she looking for all those long hours she spent gazing out into nothing? "Come back to bed," he said. Scooting across the sheets to the chilly emptiness of her side of the bed to warm it, he patted the definitely warmer rumpled covers on his side. "Can't," Shayla answered. Tracker was doing his best to tempt her back under the covers. Batting the long fringe of his lashes over rich chocolate brown eyes that any female would die for. Stretching his arms high over his head to highlight the magnificence of his muscular chest and deep russet skin, as soft as silk atop steel. Pursing his full lips in mock disappointment at her. A part of the frozen wasteland that used to be her heart did thaw, just a bit. Over the last few months he'd let his hair grow out till it hung like a midnight velvet curtain around his shoulders. "Claire and Jan were up most of the night helping Thomas with the delivery. I'm on baby detail in about half an hour." This had Tracker's attention. Everyone knew that Tala was due any day and that the pack's team of nurses and Thomas Sterling, resident physician to the paranormal, were on standby for the delivery. They must have decided to keep the Great Mother's labor a secret to avoid an unwanted crowd of worriers holding vigil at her bedside. He reached across the narrow space between the bed and the window and snatched Shayla around the waist with a wide sweep of his arm, tugging her close beside him. "A girl?" he asked, nuzzling the softness of her belly thorough the fuzziness of her flannel nightgown. Her stomach was flat and taut as ever, but a man could dream, couldn't he? Shayla felt the moisture and heat of his mouth through the penguins embossed on her flannel gown and forced a playful giggle from her throat. He wanted children so badly. He made no attempt to hide it. He had their lives all planned out, a formal mating ceremony, and babies, lots and lots of babies. There was love in there too, of course. He loved her so much more than what she deserved. This was the game they played. Every night, she accepted him into her bed. Every morning, she woke to the longing in his eyes. Her heart, although cracked and shattered enough to let the liquid essence of his love trickle in, could never fully belong to him. In her own way, she loved him back. Her love seemed so incomplete, so shallow and empty compared to his. She wished she could give him everything he asked for with total abandon. This shallow impersonation of true love was the best she could muster. Someone else had stolen her love long before Tracker ever came into the picture. Carter had left her with empty hands and a big hole in her heart that even Tracker's love in its wholeness could never fill. Still, she couldn't regret the few brief months of happiness she'd known with Carter. No matter how bad it hurt and how hard she tried to forget and move on, she couldn't bring herself to abandon the idea of him. Tracker growled deep in his throat. Aroused by the change in Shayla's scent and the feel of her body wiggling in his arms brought out the predator in him. With each movement, each muscle that tensed, she became more and more prey. Delicate prey, but still prey none the less and his wolf was itching to win the chase. Had been for months. She peeked out from the bush and darted for cover, like a scared rabbit, when he got too close. His wolf was hungry. He had her body and some measure of her affection, perhaps even a small piece of her heart. Those meager tidbits were mere morsels, crumbs from a feast that fell to the floor from someone else's table. He contented himself on them and tried to make a meal of the sparse crumbs. Impatience wouldn't get him anywhere. His wolf's patience would make the capture, when it eventually came, all the sweeter. He was thrilled with the news about the newest addition to the pack, excited and eager to welcome the little pup into the group. His joy was limited though. He wanted an addition to the pack of his own. He wanted to see Shayla's stomach stretched with the burden of his baby. He wanted her eyes on him and only him when they made love and subsequently made a baby. He was so damned tired of competing with another man. Carter was long gone. By basic definition, the man was a fucking ghost. Tracker had kept his end of the deal and protected Shayla and the pack. He could only hope that Carter would uphold his promise as well. If Carter didn't and he dared to show his face again, no matter how brokenhearted Shayla would be. No matter how much it hurt her. He'd kill him. There was no time limit on their agreement and he would protect Shayla at all costs, even if he were protecting her from herself. Tracker stood, drawing his length up Shayla's body. The nightgown was a wad of soft fabric in his palms, inching higher on her thighs. Her tanned skin, a result of carefully planned genetics rather than hours of sunbathing, was sleek beneath his fingertips. Her hair, dark and cool as a moonless night was silky, tickling the tops of his hands as he brought the gown over her hips. She was naked perfection beneath the demure flannel covering. Narrow waist, curvy hips, and pert breasts with peaks pearled from arousal. No matter how hard she ran or how much she held back. Her body knew what and whom it wanted. She gazed up at him with heavily lidded eyes. The irises were tawny brown, infused with flecks of sparkling gold. Fool's gold, he thought, because, if there were ever a bigger fool than him, he had yet to meet the man. A smarter man would have moved on to easier conquests. There were plenty of women. The problem was that none of them were Shayla. "Let's do it." Shayla shivered from the heat of the breath from Tracker's lips as it skated across the bare skin of her neck. His interests were abundantly clear. As proven by the nightgown that had somehow, under the guidance of his crafty fingertips, worked its way to her waist. The bulge tenting his cotton sleep pants did little to hide exactly how interested he was. Tracker wasn't simply referring to sex. If only the question were that easy to answer. He meant the mating ceremony. She'd been holding him at bay for months. Dangling the carrot in front of his nose, she never let him sneak as much as a nibble from the tip. "I can't." Not as long as Carter is still between us. She silently kept the thought to herself. It wasn't as if Tracker needed Carter, or rather Carter's absence, rubbed in his face. "Any minute the house is going to be overran with rambunctious, hungry toddlers." Right on cue, the sound of bedcovers stirring from the adjacent room caused Tracker to release his hold on her. Shayla's nightgown fell to her ankles in a whisper of soft flannel. "See," she said with an arch of her brow. Tracker tiptoed over to R. J's room and peeked inside. He was an Omega, protector of the pack, as such his skills at moving as silently as air were unmatched. "Still sleeping," he mouthed to the empty space Shayla had just abandoned. He heard the bathroom door ease shut and the spray of water pound against the tiles. Tracker stood in the doorway watching R.J. sleep. The little guy dreamed on unaware. At mid-toddler stage, R.J. was beginning to resemble his father and look less like his mother. A spiky patch of short black hair poked out of a tangled wad of blankets. Tracker might have been an Omega at the time, but there had nothing that could have been done to save Ramon's life. That was something, even though it would have meant not having Shayla, he deeply regretted. Genetics and the powers that be had determined Ramon and Shayla to be perfect matches. One could not argue with science and the laws of probability. Love had nothing to do with producing the most viable offspring. Eugenics had been their god by necessity. Dawn's End Their pack was dying. Isolated from society and trapped behind a fence meant to preserve what remained of their genetic purity. Without the aid of any outside support, their pack had fallen and crumbled, taken under siege by a larger, more ambitious pack master bent on saving what remained of his own wolves. Ruthlessly, Seff put down those who caused trouble and offered resistance. Ramon had been slaughtered as an example. Eloise rescued the pack and freed them. The fences were down. The packs' homes deserted for the most part. People went to the places they'd only dreamed of going. The empty streets and houses left behind were under the careful guard of his twin brother in the hopes that someday they'd be useful again. Eloise, his former pack mistress no longer needed his protection. Cut loose after decades at her side. Instead of patrolling a ghost town like his brother, Catcher, Tracker followed the pack and Shayla north. Over two hundred years of careful genetic tracking were lost in the pack's vie for freedom. The records had been destroyed when the Grand Manor burned to ash. The pack no longer worshiped genetics. They pursued something even more difficult and as fanciful as capturing a breeze in one's palm. Love. "Tracker, could you hand me a pair of socks?" Shayla called from the bathroom. She hurriedly dried off and wound her hair in a towel. Wrapped in the ugliest robe she could find, a hideous pink fleece robe with faded rubber ducks and a zipper that went up to the chin, she hoped to feign off Tracker's advances. She'd forgotten her socks and the tile was cool beneath her bare feet. She could hide in the bathroom all day. Wait for Tracker to lose interest for the moment and wander off before she ventured out to dress. After all if she blow dried her hair and took her time doing it. The process of getting ready for the day could take over an hour. Tracker was as still a man as he was patient. He'd never have the stamina to wait her out. But, cold feet and freezing clammy toes were a sure deal breaker. "Sure," Tracker answered. Rifling through dresser drawers obediently, his fingers sifted through the lacy under things she was so fond of wearing. He was in the wrong drawer, but, like any male, he luxuriated in the feel of soft silks and coarse laces that had rested against his mate's delicate skin. He felt something, hidden at the bottom of the pile of panties, in the very back of the drawer. Something his male sense of self-preservation warned him to leave alone. The case was small. Dwarfed in the largeness of his palm. Awkwardly, he snapped the lid open, careful of the fragility of the plastic. Pills. Pastel, pink pills in neat rows, labeled with days of the week in miniscule print. The top row was empty, the plastic flattened by the thumb she'd used to punch them out. Half of the second row was empty as well. Today's pill was already punched out and presumably taken. Birth control pills. His inner wolf bristled in fury at Shayla's deception. She didn't want to have his baby. As improbable as pregnancies were, as unlikely as it might be for her to conceive at all, she didn't want to risk a chance. She'd insulted him and the proud heritage they'd both been born into. Shayla combed her hair, weaving it into a damp braid to rest at the middle of her back. Tracker had yet to produce a pair of socks. Knowing him, he was probably stewing over which pair would make her the most pleased with him. It wasn't like he had many pairs to choose from. All her socks were exactly the same, except for the ones saved back for special occasions. White socks were white socks. It didn't matter which ones he got. They were all white and merely socks. Impatiently, she pulled her jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt over her bra and panties and emerged from the bathroom totally unprepared for what he'd discovered in her underwear drawer. Through the dense cloud of billowing white steam, she saw the fury sparking to life in Tracker's eyes. In his hand he held the case. Its telltale shape was clutched tightly in his fingers and the plastic crackling beneath the pressure of his grip. "Oh," she breathed, more of a gasp than a word. An angry growl from his throat was his reply. Mentally, she scrambled for the words to make this right. They'd never discussed precautions. She'd never brought the subject up. Carefully, in a don't ask don't tell kind of way, she'd danced around the topic time and time again. She had decided for herself what she wanted. Even though, it was the exact opposite of what he so desperately desired. Children were treasured and cherished. The future of her kind rested with them. Any measures at preventing babies were frowned upon. In her world, any child was a gift. There were no bastard children. Only children nurtured and loved and adored by the pack as a whole. "You don't want my baby?" he asked. Tracker's question stung. "I...I...I...," Shayla mumbled, fish mouthing an attempt at an explanation. By taking one tiny pill a day. That one simple act of choosing her destiny for herself, she'd rejected him and she'd hurt him. It was better to let him cling to the belief that at any moment a period would be missed and he'd be a father. She sank onto the edge of the bed. The socks were forgotten in the heat of his rage. Every bit of his anger and hurt was directed at her. "I'm sorry. I should have told you." Tracker tensed his jaw and resisted the urge to throw the pack of pills and the subsequent unopened packs, three month's worth, in her face. "You think?" he snapped angrily. The tremble of her chin and gleam of unshed tears in her eyes did nothing to soften his outrage. She lied to him. Every month he secretly prayed that this would be the month. Every month he'd been disappointed over and over again. He'd tried so hard to prove himself a good mate. His attempts at winning her heart had been exhausting. This was his reward? Shayla wanted to cry, partly out of guilt for hurting his feelings, partly out of humiliation for being caught, and partly out of frustration. Why couldn't she love him the way he deserved? Why couldn't the memory of Carter just go away? Dissolve into thin air much the way the man had and leave her in peace? Anger of her own bubbled beneath the surface of any apology she might attempt. It was her body and she had the right to do with it what she wanted. She'd cried on her wedding night. Tears of joy that she'd been lucky enough in the lottery called genetics to actually get to marry the man she loved. So many didn't have her luck. Resentment at their lot ate at couples like a cancer. They bore their children, died in the process, and did their best to tolerate their mates, if they survived for future attempts, all for the sake of eugenics. She got so damned lucky with Ramon. When he died a part of her died with him. When she'd gotten a second chance at love with Carter. She felt as if she were the luckiest woman on earth. She'd been forced to rethink that a time or two. Unlucky, especially in love, was more the case these days. Here Tracker stood, offering her a rare third chance and she was throwing it back in his face. Tracker carefully set the pills on the top of the dresser. He gripped the wooden edges. The wood was cool and sleek beneath his hands. "What do I have to do, Shayla? It's still him isn't it? He hasn't sought you out. He isn't here. He isn't going to be here either. Do you know why?" Tracker didn't wait for her to answer his rhetorical question. "Because he doesn't want you. He made me a deal. You were part of that deal. The pack kept his little demented Yessette safe. I protected you and R.J. and in return he promised never to come back. He wants you to move on, with me. Did you know that, Shayla? Yessette meant more to him than you did. In the end, he chose her over you. Let him go." The tears Shayla had tried so hard to restrain fell freely. Burning her cheeks with their salty, bitter heat. She knew, deep in her heart that Carter held a secret. She never guessed that secret was another woman. Carter had come shortly before the attack on O'Sullivan to meet with Nash and the Great White Wolf. He hadn't said a word to her. At the time, she didn't understand why. Now, she knew. He was letting her go. He couldn't have chosen a better pair of hands to deliver her into. Tracker, for all his gentleness, was as brutal of a killer as he. No one in the pack would protect her, kill to keep her safe, as quickly, and undoubtedly without question, as Tracker would. The pain in Shayla's eyes made Tracker wish he could snatch his words out of the air and stuff them back into his mouth. He was hurt and angry. He'd lashed out. Hurt in return, the one woman he was tasked to protect. "Shayla, I didn't mean for you to ever find any of this out. Especially not like this. I'm sorry. I should have kept my mouth shut." Shayla snuffled and wiped her damp cheeks on the sleeve of her shirt. "No, I'm glad I know the truth. I didn't realize my life was something to be bargained with like a possession. To the both of you, I had no more value than a prized brood mare." She shook her head with disappointment in Carter, in Tracker, and most of all in herself. "I guess we both had our secrets, didn't we. I think we are even." Tracker nodded, "Yes, I think we are." He crossed the room, mindful of the timid rabbit staring up at him with wide, fearful eyes. Gently, even more gently than he needed to be, he cupped her chin. "I want you to love me. Will you ever look upon me the way you did him? Will you ever let go of the piece of your heart that you hold back for him? Can you ever give it to me?" Shayla closed her eyes and breathed in Tracker's scent. Her wolf responded with a wagging tail and an eager yip. "I wish I could." There were no more lies between them. Determined that there never would be again, she did the only thing she could and told the truth. "I do love you, just not enough." "See, we're making progress," Tracker said. With a light teasing in his voice, he hid his pain behind the playfulness of his words. No matter what he did, he'd never be enough for her. Unless he could kill the love she had for Carter, he didn't stand a chance. Unfortunately, he wasn't willing to risk the part of Shayla that would die when her love for Carter did. His tone turned serious. "I know right now, you want me to go. You're angry and hurt. So am I. But, I'm not going anywhere. My wolf is patient and he will wait for you, as long as it takes." Shayla rested her forehead against the buttery softness of Tracker's lips. "It might take a long time," she whispered. He was right. They were both and the both of them had hurt the other. She could hardly begrudge him and make him the sole culprit of her pain. In so many ways she was her own worst enemy. She certainly didn't need any help in the heartbreak department. That he was still willing. Despite the hurt she inflicted spoke volumes of his character and of his love for her. "Mom?" said a tiny, cherubic voice behind them. R.J. stood, dressed his pajamas, in the doorway, gripping the stuffed wolf Tracker had bought him for his birthday underneath his arm. Tracker chuckled at the sight of R.J. with his rumpled pajamas and tousled hair. "I guess you've got mouths to feed. I'll let you get busy feeding them." He turned to glance at Shayla. Couldn't she see it? He could give her more than that vampire ever could. He could make her happy and give her something that bastard never could. A life. Head cocked to the side, he released the stiffness in his jaw. "Keep trying?" Shayla nodded, "Ok." She felt the coldness creep over her from the absence of Tracker's heat. The prickly ripples of Tracker's energy spread over her skin. He was going to change into his familiar tawny gray and brown wolf and take to the woods. She wished she could do the same. The wolf didn't think, at least not of matters of the heart. The wolf was all about the simpler things in life. The crunch of hard packed snow under its paws, the smell of game in the air, the thrill of the hunt, and the satisfaction of the kill preoccupied a wolf's baser thoughts. Territory and boundaries were all that mattered. She wished she could disappear into the ease of four legs and fur, at least for a little while. Tracker pursed his lips and frowned at Shayla. She huddled by the window with her arms wrapped tightly around her chest. Obviously, holding herself together. He'd been hard on her, harder than he meant to be. But, it had to be done. The sooner she realized that she had no hope of a future with Carter. The sooner their lives could begin. He forced a smile on his face, hoping it reached his eyes and warmed them with unspoken reassurances. "I love you." She returned his smile, but not his words as he disappeared down the hallway. With R.J. in her arms, she went downstairs to greet a very frazzled Marianne and Fallon. The two tweens had made a feeble attempt to keep the three toddlers of the pack busy till she showed up to take over. The wolf ran through the woods intent on the hunt. Sniffing and marking his territory, the wolf and man were one, of one body and one mind. Elemental things, images ran through his thoughts. One thing was evident to the both of them, the man and the wolf. Shayla and her wolf was their mate and they'd kill anything that threatened the bond between them. Chapter 3 Hunger drove Carter south. Barren white planes of snow gave way to the gentle rise and fall of hills, hints of green pine, and barren brown patches of earth. Still, he didn't stop. He kept moving south, always south, like a migratory bird toward the illusive promise of warmth. The smell of humanity was a heady aroma, keeping his feet moving, closer and closer to at first the small towns and then the larger cities. He was so damned hungry, almost as feral as the beast raging inside his head for the taste of human blood. He was alone, a solitary figure wrapped in shadows. His mind and its endless rambling memories provided him his only source of companionship. Above the wail of northern winds through the tall tops of pines he could hear Yessette's final pleas. The sound of her soft voice as it begged him, a whisper beneath the gale. He had been determined to die with her. What an idiot he was to think this life was done with him or he done with it. His survival instinct was an unstoppable force. When those last moments came, when he hovered in and out of insanity, his need, no his cowardice, had driven him south out of the wastelands and into the thick of humanity. A dark highway stretched out before him in an endless ribbon of black. The moon, pregnant in its fullness illuminated the thin patches of snow mounded on either side of the roadway. The meager samplings of lesser forms of life did little to slake his growing hunger. Game was more plentiful, but it was survival rations. The buck. The doe. Occasionally, when the opportunity presented itself, a great cat, or bear would be unlucky enough to stumble across his path. Predator stalked predator, and eventually became prey. Fed but not sated, he wandered wherever his feet carried him. His boots were well worn. Soles thin from all thousands of miles he'd traveled. His clothes hung in tatters on his too thin frame. His hair drooped in a tangled mass, tainted a muddy brown from months of filth and neglect. His eyes, sharp as bright blue laser beams, focused on the flashing taillights at the side of the road. The blinking red cut through the darkness some yards ahead of him. If the Sons, the great warriors, saw him now, they'd kill him out of general principle. He was too dangerous to leave alive and too pathetic to end his life for himself. They'd be doing him a favor. One he could not do himself. The smell of blood was potent and intoxicating. Through the white light of headlights he saw the source of the scent. Not the deer, bleeding the pavement red, but the frightened shape of the female crouched, tearfully sobbing beside the battered lifeless shape. She was fumbling with a cell phone clutched in her trembling hands. A thin trickle of blood oozed from a cut above her right eyebrow. She shivered in the biting cold and stared out into the darkness surrounding the narrow beam of her cockeyed headlights as if looking for something. The prey always sensed a predator near by. Sheltered in a thick copse of pine, he remained invisible from her. Watching. "Shit!" she cursed, snapping the cell phone closed as she stood on shaky legs. The stretch of road was deserted, remote and rarely traveled at this time of night. Carter didn't know exactly where his travels had landed him, only that he'd been walking this highway for hours and had seen very little traffic on this abandoned ribbon of pavement. She was alone. Waiting for help that would come too late. She almost looked relieved to see him, a lone figure emerging out of the darkness. She saw the possibility of assistance and in him the hope of an ally to offer companionship during the long wait for help to arrive. Warily, true to the instincts of prey, she stood and opened her mouth to speak. "Can't get reception on my phone," she called out, almost jovially, to him. If he'd been a cougar, a bear, or even a wolf, she'd recognize the predator he was and lock herself in the car and pray for safety. His human skin was a deception that had served him well over the endless flow of days and nights in his long life. Carter, dizzied by the sweetness of the aroma of fresh blood, paused for a moment to study his prey. She was young, not more than perhaps twenty. Innocent. Expectant for what life had to offer. Little did she know that thanks to her bad luck to end up in the wrong place at the wrong time, how short her life was about to become. He nodded, as if he understood and was even sympathetic to her plight. Hit a deer in the middle of the night. Busted up her car. No cell phone reception. Could happen to anyone. Maybe had happened to him. Communicated with that one nod his whole demeanor seemed to say trust me and she was eagerly inclined to do so. Nervously, somewhat embarrassed, the girl nudged a hopelessly twisted scrap of metal with her toe. "I know," she said falsely humble. "I should have stayed on the main highway, but traffic was backed up for miles. I thought I could save some time by taking the back roads instead." She gave him a watery half-embarrassed smile. "Stupid huh? My mom is going to kill me when she finds out what I've done to her car." Carter tipped his head and shot her an understanding smile. Softly, his voice no more than a whisper he said, "No your mother is not, but I am." He hated himself all the more for the warning. Every life he tasted and spared added to the cacophony of voices in his head. Death was the only thing that silenced them for good. He was so close to the edge. He couldn't bear to add one more voice to the menagerie in his mind. The girl inched slowly toward the open driver's side door. Finally she became aware that he was perhaps not the friend she'd hoped for. Fear was good. Its pungent tang added spice to the sweet promise of blood. Fear took him to a place where the nagging voice of his conscience was drowned out. Her eyes darted from him to the shine of the dome light and out into the woods. Run for it. Please do, he silently begged. His beast purred with excitement and hungrily licked his chops at the promise of the chase. He could hide a body so well it would never be found. He had centuries of practice at remaining undetected. He could spare her the pain and disappointment of living that he could not spare himself from. Her blood would give him life and strength. Sever him from the madness raging in his mind. She had dark hair and brown eyes opened wide with terror. "You're not going to help me, are you?" she asked in a tremulous voice. Dawn's End Carter shook his head. "No, but you're going to help me." She didn't stand a chance against him. He moved, like the predator that he was, for the kill. Wrapped in his arms around her. The wild flutter of her heart pressed against his chest like the wings of a caged bird. The heat of her panting breaths seared his skin. The vessel beneath his tongue pounded wildly. He was a killer. Through the deaths of others he found life. For centuries this had been all he'd ever known. Death. He struck without mercy, feeling muscles clenched with the pain of his bite. Her life flowed into him. Her blood cleared away the thick muck of insanity from his mind. He should have no remorse. No pity. Her thoughts were fleeting as snowflakes in summer, melting into the blazing heat of his consciousness. If he didn't stop, her blood would be on his hands. He had enough of guilt and of death. His hands were stained and would never be washed clean. He let her go, sealed the wounds, and whispered suggestions into her ear. She wouldn't remember him, only the terror he'd instilled in her this night. He left with her tucked safely in the car behind the locked door and melted into the night. The eerie howl of a wolf pierced the silence. He recognized the singer of the song immediately. He'd traveled so far. His feet on a whim of their own had carried him back to the one place above all that he should not be. For lack of better definition, he was home. Chapter 4 Daniel had no interest in the checker game spread across his bed. Fallon's cinnamon colored brows were knitted in concentration as she studied the pattern of red and black checkers. Operation Cheer up Daniel was in full swing. At some point after his return he'd managed to become his little sister's pet cause. Today was Fallon's turn to entertain him. He wasn't entertained, not exactly annoyed either, but not appreciative of the little girl's efforts. He'd rather spend his time staring out the window, watching the swirling snows buffet the panes of glass, watching for ghosts that weren't there. Yessette was dead. He could feel her absence in the very core of his soul. Her loss was a deep wound that might never heal. In a few weeks, he'd be nineteen. He had no idea of how much torture his sister and her constant companion, Fallon, planned to inflict upon him. He had no energy to work up as much as a ghost of a smile at the thought of a birthday cake and presents. Why celebrate life when he didn't live it? Why welcome in the dawning of a new year when everything he loved was in the past? Idly he pushed a red checker across the board. Hoping that if he threw the game, Fallon would give up and leave him alone. She might decide to torture him with endless hands of gin rummy or hangman. He much preferred hangman. Fallon glared at him, pursing her lips and wrinkling her nose in disapproval. Patterns of light brown freckles dotted her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Her hair hung around her shoulders in a tangled mass of red curls. Wide blue eyes with impossibly long sand colored lashes batted at him. She looked like a life sized Shirley Temple doll. And would be just as easily dismissed as an inanimate object, if only she'd just leave him alone. That was the problem. Living with a pack of a few hundred or so wolves, nobody was ever truly alone. It wasn't that there wasn't enough space, because there was. It was just that there was no real place that was quiet enough or uninhabited enough to accommodate his brooding thoughts. "Looks like you win," he said, emptying the plastic checkers into the box as he folded the board. Fallon tamped the lid down on the box and frowned at Daniel. He was as exciting and as entertaining as hanging out with a humongous storm cloud, steel gray and promising rain at any second. His room used to be the cool forbidden zone no kid would dare to invade. Invitations into his room were a rarity. An invite to his room could transform a kid from ordinary to rock star status. All the posters were gone. All the music discs had been stashed away. The video games sat in an abandoned corner of the room collecting dust. The bedroom was as cold and barren and devoid of life as he was. Ever since he'd come back from the city he'd been like this. Spending hours staring at nothing. He never came down to dinner with the pack. He emerged long enough to forage for food in the kitchen and then disappear behind his locked door. It took his sister and her weeks of bugging and pestering him to coax him into open the door just a crack. Marianne was relentless. She spent hours nagging, knocking, and carrying conversations with the empty air until he had finally let her in. Fallon had been fast on her heels. "You let me win," Fallon brooded. He was trying to get rid of her. Daniel may be older. But, he had no right to completely ignore her. Maybe, it hurt because he was so much older and he still saw her as a little girl. She was. Six years was a bottomless pit separating them. She was going on thirteen and was just beginning to discover that boys weren't so icky. There weren't many kids her age in the pack and she was the only redhead among them. She stuck out like a cherry in a bowl of chocolate sauce. Luckily, Marianne had taken her under wing and they had become fast and furious friends. "Well, you're just a little girl," Daniel answered with a dismissive wave of his hand. That hurt. Fallon blinked back the sting of rejection and slid off the edge of the bed. She daydreamed about the day when she'd grow up and he'd realize he was madly in love with her. Daniel was beautiful. He had deep brown eyes to die for and hair so black it had blue highlights in the sun. He wasn't as tall as the other men, but just as broad in the shoulders, thick and stocky, and absolutely right for her. Just the sight of him made her sigh and her stomach quiver with butterflies. He was an adult and had gone off to do the things adults do. He was so far out of her league it sometimes made her cry over the injustice of it. Daniel was too much older and too much time stretched between them. Something bad had happened to him in the city. Once, she asked and he completely closed off her and the rest of the world for days. She was deep in the throes of her first crush. To her, he was amazing and beautiful, so untouchable. Unfortunately, to him, she was just another little girl. Back before Daniel turned into an adult and such a grump he used to tease and play with her. Toss her over his shoulder for a piggyback ride. He'd walk right past her and pretend not to see her when they'd play hide and seek with the other kids so that she had a chance of winning. He used to lift her up to a branch just out of her reach so that she could climb up high to pick apples straight from the tree. All of that was gone. He grew up and she was still in the painful process of growing up. "Well, I won't be a little girl forever," Fallon quipped. Snatching the game under her arm, she turned on her heel and stomped out of the room. "Shit," Daniel muttered under his breath. He flopped onto the pillows and stared up at the stark whiteness of the ceiling. He hadn't meant to sound so callous. What would have been the harm of humoring Fallon just a little while longer? It wasn't like his schedule was overly booked and he had anything better to do. Now, he had to add hurting a little girl's feelings to the ever growing list of things he'd done wrong in the very long year since he'd turned into an adult. Chapter 5 O'Sullivan loved it. He had the wolves and the Sons turning in circles, tripping over their collective feet looking for him. He had other enemies out there. Not everybody was happy with his little display in the city. What the hell did he care? When they saw what he had to offer. They'd come crawling to him on hands and knees, begging to lick his boots with their undead tongues. His to do list was growing. Carter had been a very naughty, naughty boy. Murdered his Yessette. Yes, of course, the deed needed doing. Yessette was demented and twisted. For centuries O'Sullivan had tasked himself with cleaning up her messes. Her demise couldn't have come at a better time. Quite simply she was one less thing to worry about. But, he owed Carter a bit of revenge for tasking himself with the duty of her execution. Would he sacrifice one child for the other? Absolutely. Carter was of the old ways. He lurked in shadows. Hid beneath the façade of a humanity that had abandoned him centuries ago. It was time, at last, for the vampires to come out of hiding and truly walk in the light. Fortunately for them, Eric O'Sullivan knew exactly how they were going to do it. Eric got the sensation that his prodigal son was homeward bound. Awareness of Carter's presence hummed in every cell of his body. If he could sense Carter then Carter could sense him. Carter was weak, his shoulders slumped and burdened by a multitude of past sins. Eric mussed the time for sitting on his laurels and congratulating himself on his sudden burst of creativity was drawing to an end. It was time for him to act. He had no conscience to speak of. But, Carter, on the other hand, would sell his own mother for another chance at the illusive brass ring of redemption. The Sons were not a force to be toyed with. If Carter disclosed his location there wouldn't be enough pieces left of him to fit into a basket. Eric knew this. He had no love for his son nor his son for him. Carter had finally absolved himself of his greatest sin. Yessette. While Carter's conscience might be clear. The taint of her blood was still on his hands. His son had one great lesson left to learn. How sweet and how painful revenge could indeed be. A love for a love, a life for a life, and he knew exactly whom Carter cherished most in this world. The very creature whose blood Eric so desperately desired was so close at hand. She would provide the means to his ends and through her death he could kill two birds with one stone. Chapter 6 Shayla dug deep beneath the silky things in the top drawer of her dresser. She unearthed the packet of pills and turned them over and over in her hands. By denying Tracker the one thing he most desperately wanted was she still holding on to the deceiving hope that Carter might come back someday? Was she still waiting for him? She snapped open the lid of the plastic case and ran her finger along the rows of blister pack pills. Today's pill had yet to be taken. Tracker had given her the freedom of choice. What would she choose? Fan the embers of a dying love or grasp the love that was so freely offered. Take what she could get? Knowing she wasn't worthy of half of what Tracker offered. Possibly, hope for the best with Tracker or wait empty and alone for Carter to come back? The pill was so tiny, just a dot of pale pastel pink in the dark skin of her palm. One forced swallow and she'd have the time she needed to make her decision. Her fingers closed tightly around the pill. From the corner of his room, R.J. squealed in delight. A smile spread across Shayla's lips as she watched her son chase after a toy truck that had seen its share of the rowdy play of children. His bounding footsteps were wobbly and unbalanced, toddling across the room with a soft pitter-patter of bare feet against polished wood flooring. Ramon Junior was barely two years old and already so much like his father it made her ache on the inside. She saw Ramon in the way R.J. cocked his head to the side when he concentrated. She saw Ramon's smile brighten every inch of her son's face when he grinned. Ramon's storm cloud frown darkened the corners of R.J.'s mouth when he frowned. R.J. would never know how much he was like the man he'd never met. Shayla rolled the pill around in her palm with the tip of her index finger. Maybe, R.J., or rather Ramon, was why she took such precautions. Tracker was so dedicated. He'd willingly martyr himself for a cause, if he believed in it enough. He'd die...for her and for the pack. She didn't want to see Tracker's expression on a son or daughter's face and be left with the pang of memory. She didn't want be left behind to put the pieces back together again. By denying Tracker, she was denying herself. Maybe, she loved Tracker a little more than she was willing to admit. A little more than was safe. With a deep breath, she dropped the packet of birth control pills into the trash. She was tired so tired of living in fear. Exhausted by being bound so tightly by and endless stream of what ifs that seemed to hold her heart under a relentless siege. Tracker deserved better than her terror. She deserved better than to live under the constant shadow of her deepest fears. She opened her fingers. The pill clung to her palm, stuck in place by a moist layer of sweat. She scraped the pill free with a fingernail and sent it into the trashcan where it landed in the middle of a wad of paper with a soft whisper. Carter was safe. She realized this now. He believed in nothing. He loved nothing. There wasn't room in his heart for anything or anyone. His mind was filled to the brim with brooding thoughts and painful regrets. She wasn't saying that he didn't love her. He did, as much as he could. She'd been the fool, not him. He'd tried to warn her off. She was the one that wouldn't listen. He'd held himself back and in exchange for the nothing he'd offered, she had given him her whole heart. She'd hoped her love would heal his wounds. Her dreams for a future he didn't want were nothing but bittersweet deceptions. And she'd suffered because of herself far more than she'd suffered because of him. Time had changed her, irrevocably so. She was no longer the wide- eyed girl who entered married life with Ramon, dizzied with fantasies about princes on white steeds, and visions of rainbows and happily ever after dancing in her head. Life had made her pragmatic. Jaded in ways. This time, she knew there weren't any magical castles or benevolent fairy godmothers to right every wrong. There was Tracker. There was her. There was a life waiting for her as his mate. Determination filled her. She was going to move on and leave Carter and all the pain of the past in the past, where it belonged. Her mind was made up. Now, if only, she could convince her heart to follow suit. Tracker made his way up the stairwell to Shayla's room. After his long run in the woods, with the simplistic thoughts of his wolf chasing away the thoughts of doubts that buzzed like angry bees in his mind, he was calmer and focused. It had taken him so long to rid himself of his anger that the sky was washed with hues of deep purple twilight before he had finally emerged from the woods. Oh, his wolf still wanted his pound of flesh, especially if he could extract it from the vampire's backside. Subdued by the run, at least Tracker could think clearly once more. He would not take out his rage on Shayla. The house was full of suppertime chatter and the clanking of silverware against dishes. Tracker's stomach rolled at the scent of food. His wolf had over indulged himself on a meal of jackrabbits lured out of hiding by the promise of a patch of greens freed from an icy layer of snow by the heat of the sun. Shayla had yet to come down to supper. Her gentle scent lingered in the hallway outside of the open door to her rooms. He thought about knocking, but stood in the doorway watching her instead. She noticed his presence, quiet as he was. His scent, the mixed smells of the woods and the musky aroma of his wolf, still lingering on his skin, gave him away. She beckoned him to her with a subtle glance over her shoulder. Tracker marveled at the control this one little female had over him. Just one bat of those long, doe like lashes and he was putty in her hands. His wolf panted in his head and rolled onto its back like a puppy eager for a belly scratch. She had them both he and his wolf tied up in knots. Shayla turned to face Tracker. He was dressed only in a pair of sweats snatched from the community stash in the mudroom. They rested low on his hips, revealing his sculpted chest. She took a deep breath at the sight of him. Her wolf scrabbled at the back of her mind, panting wildly. There was no denying how he affected her physically. His nose twitched at the change in her scent. He knew. She fought the flutter of nervous butterflies in her stomach and lowered her eyes. Somehow, she thought her acceptance to his proposal should be done more formally. They weren't animals. There should be more to this than rubbing noses and inhaling the musky essence of mutual attraction. Tongue-tied she took a deep breath and whispered the word that would seal her heart from Carter forever. "Yes." Tracker sucked in a breath. His nostrils were filled with Shayla's scent. Their wolves were in perfect agreement. The musky aroma of her wolf's reaction to him hung heavily in the air. His eyes widened in surprise as the word she spoke registered in his mind. All the months of patience, baiting the traps she sidestepped time and time again, were finally paying off. His wolf howled in approval. "Yes?" Shayla nodded, "Yes." Tracker grabbed her up in his arms and spun her. Their bodies crashed against one another, tight with friction. She thought he was going to squeeze the last bit of air from her lungs with his powerful arms. His lips were wild and desperate on hers. The breaths that escaped from his mouth seared her with their heat. His heart danced wildly against her chest while hers stuttered to maintain its pulse. This would be the happiest moment of Tracker's life. If only he hadn't caught the faint, bitter traces of doubt's scent along her skin. No matter. She'd accepted. Finally, she'd accepted him and the life he was offering. He would make her happy, so happy, that she'd never think of the vampire again. He'd make sure of that. He'd won. He'd kill to ensure his victory, if he had to. Chapter 7 Carter wandered the woods. He gave the sleepy little burgs a wide berth, settling for the wildness and untamed beauty of the trees. He was hardly a fit sight for human eyes with the filthy tattered rags hanging on his back. Nature understood. Survival of the fittest was her motto. The natives of the forest scurried out of his path. They understood nature as well as she understood herself and he was a predator. The warm glow of life and light pierced the darkness of the woods. The house hummed with the vibrancy of its occupants. Darkened, curtained windows, like eyes closed in sleep, blocked out the night. Three levels towered from beyond a thick copse of trees and stretched far across a wide clearing. The house was conspicuous enough not to draw the attention of the locals, but large enough to shelter the many inhabitants comfortably. No welcoming committee had come out to greet him, but Carter could feel the weight of their wolfen stares on his back. Carter glided through the darkness with the gracefulness of a cat. He scolded himself for being here. He shouldn't be here. He had hurt Shayla enough. Her windows were dark. The drapes had been left open just enough to show the soft glow of a nightlight from R.J.'s room. Was she on the other side of that thin pane of glass waiting for him? Did he want her to be? Moving forward on silent feet. By now his presence was detected and a wolf, veiled from sight by the thick growth of low, bushy pines, watched him. Daniel, Carter thought suspiciously. If it were another wolf, he'd be fighting for his life instead of inching his way closer to Shayla's window. He only wanted a peek at her, just to see if she was all right. He convinced himself as he scrabbled over the porch roof's ice slicked shingles that he'd sneak one meager glimpse at her and be gone. That's all. He wouldn't open the window. He wouldn't step inside and inhale her scent. He wouldn't allow his eyes to trail down her shapely frame. He wouldn't try to guess what visions filled her dreams. What could be the harm in just one peek? Dawn's End Carter chose the window directly across from Shayla's bed. That empty pane of glass would give him the best vantage point from which to view her. The house was silent. He heard the rustle of covers as Shayla turned over in her sleep. A pang of emptiness stabbed his chest as he caught the sound of R.J.'s gentle snores. Just a look, a reassurance that she was fine, and then he was gone. Mindful of the steep slope of the roof, he crept closer and pressed his nose against the window's frost covered pane. A breath hitched in his throat as he looked in on her. A curtain of sleek, black hair fell over the mound of pillows. His fingers itched to touch its softness. Her mouth was slack in slumber, but he remembered how lush and nourishing those lips had been against his. The covers had been tossed aside, revealing the curve of her waist and the bare skin of her hip. He had taken for granted how gentle and smooth that skin had been beneath his fingertips. The breath he held caught in his chest. He thought time would have erased most of the details of her from his mind. He had not forgotten a single one. His hand pressed against the frozen pane of glass, straining to stretch across the distance between them and touch her once more. She was so beautiful and full of life and warmth. Seeing her again made him ache with longing. A shape beside her moved in the bed. Dark eyes narrowed with rage met his. An arm protectively draped over Shayla's waist and pulled the covers up to her chin. Tracker stared at him with menace in his eyes and a determined set of his jaw. Tracker hadn't forgotten him either. A pang of guilt stabbed Carter in the chest. He should never have forced Shayla into the arms of another man. In the end, what choice had he left her with? That she was in Tracker's arms instead of his was his fault. His choice. He had to deal with the consequences. Tracker was an opportunist. He saw an opening and he took it. Tracker was the better man. Better for Shayla than he could ever hope to be. He'd taken her love for granted. How easily he'd used Tracker's affections for her as a gambling chip. Admitting defeat, he dipped his chin toward the victor and disappeared into the night. The jiggling of the bed as Tracker moved woke Shayla. Sleepily, she sighed and asked, "What's the matter?" Tracker watched the blur of white disappear from the window. This round was his and he'd won. Gently, he smoothed his fingers along Shayla's cheek. "Nothing, go back to sleep," he whispered. Pressing his lips against her forehead, he settled back into the soft down of the covers. The rest of the night, his eyes stayed alert and focused on the window where Carter had been. Chapter 8 Daniel shivered violently. The cold bit into his bare skin. Pain from his rapid shift surged along his straining limbs. Carter drifted silently as a scrap of paper carried on a breeze through the blackness. Their eyes met for a moment and then he turned away. Daniel blinked against the curtain of falling snow. Flakes caught in the fringe of his lashes and then melted into cold tears. His teeth chattered against a wintry gust of arctic air. "So, she's dead?" The question hung between them frozen on white puffs of heated breath. Carter stopped in his tracks. The snow swirled around his shoulders as the winds tugged on the tatters of his clothes. He turned to face Daniel. The boy quivered violently, like a lone sapling caught in a windstorm. "Yes." He stared into the darkness. He had no fear of the boy turning into his wolf to carry out his vengeance against him. That the wolf could snap his head off his shoulders with those powerful jaws and end the misery of his existence was not lost on him. Instead the boy stood, with his arms crossed, shivering from cold that had nothing to do with the plummeting temperatures and everything to do with the winter deep in his soul. "Why?" Daniel gritted past the biting cold. His voice carried gently on the wind. The question was hollow and pointless, but he asked it anyway. "In death, as in life, we all make choices, Daniel," Carter answered. He drew his eyes from the skeletal black arms of the trees that with the zeal of the religious reached into the sky, wildly waving back and forth in worship of the frigid winds. Daniel was so young and fragile in his innocence. He saw love as an absolute and as necessary as air. He didn't understand exactly how variable love could be. "She cared for you, Daniel. Know that. I cannot answer if it was love or not, but you were important to her." "Not important enough," Daniel said. His body convulsed from the cold. Muscles moaned and trembled on his bones. Naked from the shift, he held his ground, pretending not to notice how numb he was from the chill. "Did you kill her?" Daniel shouted to be heard over the howl of the wind. He had to know. He had to hear it from Carter's lips. How did she die? Did she suffer? Did she have a choice in the end? The answers changed nothing. His wounds were permanent and would leave deep, twisted scars, incapable of ever truly healing. "Yes." Carter answered. "Why'd she let you?" Carter sized up the boy. Daniel was so much like he had been at that age. Innocent, untainted, and so unsure of what life had in store for him, and of course, wounded, so very wounded. "Perhaps, because she cared too much. You mattered more to her than you will ever know. What nobler thing is there than to die for love?" In the time it took Daniel to blink, Carter was gone. He stared into the woods, searching for a trace of movement. But, Carter had disappeared into the night without so much as a footprint left behind. Daniel hung his head low the tears freezing on his cheeks. He mourned the woman he'd loved. The woman they'd both loved. In the end, Carter had loved her more than he ever could have. Carter had loved her enough to set her free. Chapter 9 Deep in his darkest hearts Eric was a hunter and a damned good one. He would not have survived so long if he hadn't been. The fates were cruel bitches and this was the life that their hands had delivered him into. In all his centuries, he'd seen things that would make these little people inhabiting the planet today die from sheer terror. They frenzied about gathering and collecting like little ants. Pushing carts overloaded with things, useless things that would neither end nor prolong their miserable lives one second longer. The Super Center was packed thick with the throng of humanity and its endless stench. His prey was insight. He stalked behind his target, casually taking his time to know his prey. Without their wolves, their noses were practically as useless as any human's. He had to be careful though. The woman and her son appeared to be unguarded. But, things were seldom what they seemed. In the old days, he simply would have snatched her and the babe and been done with it. The old days were long gone. He'd have to play this game of cat and mouse. Patiently watch and wait for the time to be just right. She took her time examining the produce. Bending over the bin of apples, sniffing and squeezing, weighing each one in her palm before she gently put it in her cart. She was completely oblivious to the danger she was in. People were strange, perhaps the wolves even stranger. No one expected the boogieman in the bright light of day. As if the daylight would protect them. Over a number of centuries, one develops a tolerance of such things. When he decided to make his move it wouldn't matter if the sun shone or the moon was in full bloom. The boogieman had come to town. Her long black braid drooped over her shoulder. Shayla, Carter's beloved. Her blood wasn't the strongest, but it would be the sweetest he'd ever tasted. Vengeance added sweetness to even the most bitter of tastes. What of the boy? The child was a mere toddler and so utterly innocent, bendable and shapeable to anyone's whim. With the proper instruction, the boy would forget his mother had ever existed. One way or the other, he was going to father a child. It could take years for the change to revitalize his body. He wasn't known for patiently waiting. Not when what he wanted was so close it was practically within his grasp. He followed behind at a close distance as Shayla pushed the cart out of the produce section and into the frozen foods department. Quickly, he ducked behind a display as she glanced over her shoulder. Almost as if she knew she was being followed, her pace quickened. No, she wasn't one of the more powerful wolves. Otherwise he'd never gotten as close to her as he had. Her instincts, or rather her wolf's instincts had alerted her to danger though. Shayla shivered despite the warmth from the bakery's ovens. She'd meant to check out the frozen food section. Her craving for ice cream had driven her to brave the crowds at the Super Center on a Saturday morning. She'd felt safe enough with Tracker. Felt safe among the crowd of people and their carts pushing alongside one another like bumper cars, till now. Nervously, she looked over her shoulder, trying her best for casual and not paranoid. Goose bumps lifted the hairs on her arms to high alert. Her wolf had sensed something she had not. Danger was close by. She scanned the crowd. Shoulder to shoulder housewives and stair-stepped kids, occasionally, a bored father lumbered through the store. No real threat was visible. What had set off her wolf? The lady at the counter impatiently snapped her gum to get her attention. This was Saturday and there was a long line of people behind her. Embarrassed by her distraction at apparently nothing, Shayla mumbled an apology and quickly pushed her cart out of the way. Her palms were sweaty and her heart raced. Her wolf growled beneath the surface, but she saw nothing worthy of such an alert. R.J. dribbled a shower of mushy cookie down his shirt. His eyes were big and round, filled with nervousness because of the tension radiating off his mother. Shayla took a crumpled napkin out of her purse and dabbed at the mess. R.J. had years left before he came into his wolf. But, she could see the very first flutter of gold in his otherwise brown eyes. "You're a mess," she scolded softly, hiding the worry in her voice. R.J. grinned up at her. A sleek trail of drool and cookie crumbs oozed out of the corner of his mouth. Her eyes flitted through the crowd. There was absolutely no danger here. Nothing to be worried about visible to her human eyes, yet, her wolf knew differently. Hurriedly, she pushed her loaded cart through the mass gathered at the border of the bakery. Where in the hell was Tracker? She navigated the cart, careful not to sideswipe an older lady eagerly pawing through the half-off racks. She maneuvered to the only place she could think of where a man dragged unwillingly to the store on a Saturday morning would retreat, the sporting goods section. Tracker leaned back on his heels with a smirk on his face. At the counter, a pimple faced sales clerk who knew as much about shotguns as Tracker did about frilly pink tutus was giving his best sales pitch to a beer bellied good ol' boy with a neck so red it would have glowed in the dark. Tracker hoped the kid didn't work off commission. The good ol' boy was anything but convinced that he should spend his hard earned money on a double pump action shotgun when he had a perfectly good single action hunting rifle on display in the back window of his pickup truck. Tracker was about to step up and help the kid out when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Alerted to the danger, he sniffed the air. He smelled the sweet smells of perfume from the cosmetic counter. Droughts of the scent of freshly baked bread wafted into his nostrils and made his stomach growl eagerly. His eyes flicked down the wide aisle to his left and right, scanning the crowds as they mulled about. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Nothing but shoppers wandered the myriad aisles. Casually, almost disinterestedly, he meandered away from the hunting goods section. Something was wrong. He could taste it on the tip of his tongue, like a flavor he could not describe. Shayla was in this mess of people. Somewhere. She and R.J. could be in danger. It didn't matter that he could not isolate the source of the threat and take it out. His instincts were never wrong. Too many years of disciplined training and protecting set off his inner alarm. He'd be a fool that no matter how innocuous the scene before him seemed to be, to ignore it. Eric moved through the toy section so gracefully that his feet never seemed to touch the stained white tiles beneath them. He glanced at the rows and rows of brightly colored plastic with their blinking lights and ear splitting shrieks. How any child could survive to adulthood and not be deranged from all the noise and light, he did not know. His child would never have any of these modern torture devices meant to educate and stimulate. There were other ways to raise children. A firm hand and hours of devoted study would serve any child well enough. It was, after all, how he was raised and he'd turned out just fine. He turned down an aisle and cocked his head to the side in amusement. Vampire dolls? He picked up the box and studied the doll inside. The plastic figurine had fat, pink curls and tiny white fangs peeking out from beneath smiling, ruby colored lips. Was this how the public saw them? As objects to be played with? Innocuously cute and harmless? Well, he could teach the public a thing or two. Could he really flash his fangs and be adored? Huggable? Him? How far society had come. How low they'd sunk. Humans used to huddle around campfires terrified of the dark and the creatures that dwelled within it. He remembered, all to well, the bleak days of fire and angry mobs. When his kind were feared and terrorized for being what they were. These days light illuminated every dark corner. There was nothing for humanity to fear anymore. No black shadows in which to hide. Maybe, just maybe, it was time for them to be afraid again. Give them something real to terrify them. Irritated, he shoved the doll back onto the shelf and skulked through the store. Shayla scanned the hunting goods section in search of Tracker. There wasn't anybody in the aisles except for a pimple faced attendant talking to a mountain of a man in bib overalls from across a glass counter. Her senses were still on alarm. Buckled in the basket of the cart, R.J. shifted nervously. His cookie crumb coated fingers gripped her braid. The front wheel of her cart wobbled wildly as she pushed maximum speed through the aisles. The crowd gathered around the latest and greatest toy known to man slowed her progress to a crawl. She should have cut through house wares and avoided the toy department all together. Christmas time and toys, she should have known better. Stopped by the crowd of onlookers, anxious to find Tracker and get the hell out of this place, she glanced over her shoulder. The breath she'd inhaled caught in her throat. Around her, the world stopped and narrowed down to the point where it was just the two of them. The sappy strains of Christmas music playing on the store's speaker system drowned out by the pounding of her heart. Her skin prickled beneath his stare. He was dressed in a long, black wool trench coat. Expensive Italian loafers peeked out from the hem of his expertly tailored designer suit of charcoal colored wool. His hair was sleeked back from his face, gathered in a golden clasp at the base of his skull. The locks flowed down his back in a mass of walnut curls. He was beautiful, for a man. Death wrapped up in a glorious package of finery and excess. "O'Sullivan," she breathed out his name in a whisper. She'd only met him once and that had been more than enough for her to grasp the danger she and her son were in. Evan, her nephew, had called him a bad man. He didn't know how bad Eric O'Sullivan was. Her body tensed, every nerve fiber clamoring with its neighbor. Her hand immediately tightened around R.J.'s tiny arm. From the end of the aisle, O'Sullivan tipped his chin in acknowledgment of her. Grinning knowingly as he lifted his fingers to his lips and blew her a kiss. Faster than she could blink, he was gone, as if he'd never been standing there, merely ten feet away. Shayla's body shivered against her will like a leaf on a tree. O'Sullivan was toying with her, like a cat toys with a mouse before delivering the killing blow. Suddenly, she had a great sympathy for her prey. For once, she knew exactly how it felt to be in a hunter's sights. Tracker wound through the flow of shoppers and loaded carts. He should be better at his job than this. He should have been able to track Shayla's lush scent. With the throng of people pressed against him. He couldn't. He couldn't smell a damned thing over the scent of humanity. Too many types of fabric softeners and detergents lingered on their clothing. The myriad array of soaps and sprays meant to smell good stank like hell and had clouded his sense of smell. His ears, strained to hear the subtle pulse of her heartbeat. But, he could hear nothing over the din of noise from the shoppers. Finally, rounding a colorful display creatively designed to pry money from the wallets of desperate holiday shoppers, he saw her. She stood, staring at a blank point, perhaps the only empty space in the store, behind her. The crowd bumped and pressed against her like a stream flowed around a rock. She stood, oblivious to their annoyed grumbles. Her skin pale, fingers trembling, locked around R.J. protectively, staring at nothing. "Shayla?" This close to her, his nose got with the program and he coughed against the pungent scent of her fear. Shayla jumped as Tracker wrapped his fingers around her bicep. It was foolish of her to be so jumpy. O'Sullivan wanted his presence known. He would never risk an outright attack around this many witnesses. He was subtler than that. He'd wait until he could get her alone and then strike without warning. She forced a smile to her lips. There was no way she was dragging Tracker into her mess. Whatever O'Sullivan wanted with her was her business alone. She would not have Tracker risk his life for her. "You startled me," she giggled nervously. "I didn't expect the crowds to be this bad today." Tracker lifted a brow at Shayla's nervous chatter. She was covering for something. Something she didn't want him to know about. His senses were calming. The danger, whatever it was, had passed. "It's Saturday, two weeks before Christmas. What did you expect?" Shayla faked a sigh and looked wistfully into her cart. "All of this for a pint of rocky road." Melted ice cream dripped from under the cardboard lid of the container onto the produce she'd meticulously selected. All of the sudden, fresh apples and ice cream didn't mean as much as they had a half-hour ago. Tracker played along. Pressing her was no way to get results out of her. He knew this. Blind to whatever danger laid in wait for them. He would protect her as best he could. It was what he did and he was damned good at it. The handgun tucked into the back of his pants pressed against his spine. The hilt of the long blade hidden in the leg of his jeans brushed against the hairs of calf. They weren't his weapons of choice. He did his best work with claws and fang. "Ready to go then?" Shayla nodded, "Lets." Eric frowned at the Omega. He had not expected a royal guard to be accompanying his prey on a simple trip to the grocery store. There was a familiarity to the way the Omega handled Shayla. A flair of intimacy shone in their eyes. The casualness of touch as his hand brushed across the small of her back. His little she wolf had been busy. Kindling the home fires with someone else while Carter was away. Dawn's End Carter was so unlucky in love that it would almost be comical, if it hadn't been so tragic. He preferred guilt to the companionship of beautiful women. Shayla was beautiful. Eric had to admit that. Not as lovely as Yessette. Never. But, she was beautiful in her own way. He slid free from the crowds, pondering what, exactly what to do with her once he finally got his hands on her and how through her, he could hurt Carter the most. Chapter 10 Hasty decisions were Daniel's forte these days. Maybe it was cabin fever setting in. The snows had started early this year, sending the woods into a deep freeze in mid October and the freeze had yet to let up. He felt the bite of the chilly northern wind in the marrow of his bones and the cold was unshakable. Downstairs, children chattered noisily as they decorated the massive pine tree, cut and dragged from the woods for a Christmas tree. Christmas used to make him happy. He used to have the ability to grasp the cheer of the season and hold it like a tangible object in his palm. Now he felt nothing but emptiness and cold. He could force himself to go downstairs and paste a useless smile on his face. Drape a few strands of tinsel on an evergreen branch and pretend, for his family's sake. He simply didn't have the energy for it though. He could not take another second of staring out into heavily clouded gunmetal gray skies either. Preoccupied by watching the snow drift downward in an endless shower on the ground. He, in so many ways, was as dead as Yessette. He wished he had died. Death would have been easier than the pretense of living. Daniel snatched the duffle, crammed with clothes and things he would need for his trip, and threw it over his shoulder. His route was planned out. His destination was south Texas. A place that rarely saw snow, the heat would warm his skin and the sand would scour away the layers of frost from his frozen soul. Catcher had welcomed him with open arms, eager for companionship amongst the isolation of his home. He maintained the houses, tended gardens loaded with vegetables that no one was there to eat, and swept the walkways where no foot tread any longer. Loneliness was a bad thing for wolves. They were pack animals to the core. Catcher had stubbornly stayed behind, while his twin and the rest of the pack went out in search of a bigger, broader world. Daniel palmed the keys in his hand. His dad had been hesitant to agree to his exodus, but Gina had managed to coax him into compliance. Not that his father could stop him. Daniel was a fully mature werewolf, legally nineteen years of age, and his own person. He gave his empty room a last look over like it was the last time he'd ever see the small space again. Nothing was wasted amongst the pack. Soon, someone else would claim the bedroom. He wished the room's future occupant well. He did his best to sneak down the stairs without a sound to announce his departure. The heavy bag on his right shoulder threw him off balance and he noisily clunked down the stairs. The bag smacked the wall beside him as he tripped. Daniel grimaced at the sets of eyes, turned from the glittering magic of the Christmas tree, to him. Hunter gently dropped a fragile glass ornament in Gina's palm and picked his way through the boxes and heaps of crumpled packing paper to his son. "You're on your way then?" Daniel nodded, "Yeah. I guess I should get there sometime tomorrow evening unless there's snow." He shifted his eyes from his father's and focused on the far wall, staring at nothing. There were a lot of unsaid words hanging in the air between them. There always had been. Hunter cleared his throat. Daniel had always been rash and impulsive. He'd never had Tristen's drive or Marianne's sense of future. His impulsivity had almost cost him his life. There were so many things he could say to his son and needed to say. But, there weren't words enough to do them justice. Daniel had been wounded by the loss of his mother far more than his other two siblings. Perhaps, in ways Hunter could not begin to fathom. He settled for a hug, locking his arms around Daniel and holding on, squeezing tightly till Daniel was forced to wiggle himself free. "Take care." Daniel worked his way free from his father's arms and gave him a pat on the shoulder, "I will." Neither one of them were good at emotional displays. Yet, tears burned the backs of his eyelids. He quickly hugged his stepmother Gina, enduring the wet feel of her kiss on his cheek. Tristen and he exchanged a quick, manly handshake and muttered a few awkward utterances. Gently, he pried Marianne's arms from around his waist and gave her singular braid a sharp tug. Nash, his grandfather, was last in the long line of well wishers to bid him goodbye, or so he thought. His footsteps made hollow sounds on the porch. On the newly fallen snow his steps crunched and creaked. He vowed he'd leave without a backwards glance. He was wrong. He turned to look over his shoulder. Wet, splatters of falling snow caught in his lashes and clouded his vision. Every window of the house was awash with brightness. The light shone through curtains onto the fresh white of the snow, setting it to bright with a warm golden glow. Smoke puffed out of the chimney's tall stack like dragon's breath, filling the air with the pungent, earthy scent of burning wood. He turned his head to stare out into the woods. He'd walked every last mile of timber lined wilderness. He knew every dip and gully. He drank from the streams and ate from the bounty of the land. Nature had done her job well today. Decorated, in her own way, for Christmas in the draping of snow from the highest pine bough and the gentle glitter of light trapped in the icicles suspended from bare skeletal branches high in the tree tops. He felt a pang of homesickness deep in his heart. This was his family. This was his home. He would see them again, someday, when he finally found himself and what he was looking for in the wilds of south Texas. He walked across the snow to his car. Tristen, miraculously, had handed over the keys to the 69 Camaro he'd been laboring over for years without so much as batting an eye. He'd smiled when he'd said that he expected to see them both home again in one piece. The gentle tap of a finger on a windowpane drew Daniel's attention from loading his duffel into the trunk. Fallon's face filled the bottom corner of the window. Her nose smashed against the cold glass, fogging the pane with her breath. Daniel forced a smile on his face and waved at the little girl. She returned his smile and pressed her lips to the pane. She mouthed the words against the frosted window. Daniel could see the faint sheen of tears on her cheeks through the glass, but he couldn't make out what she'd said. He dropped his bag into the trunk and slammed the lid down tight. Carefully, he crunched his way over the frozen tangles of an ice encrusted bush to the window. Fallon's lips were pursed in an expectant kiss against the glass. Daniel breathed out a breath and pressed his lips against the window to kiss her in return. The heat from their mouths formed a fog on the glass separating them. It wasn't much of a first kiss, just a brush of lips against cold panes of glass. He shouldn't have done it, but he knew the pain of loving someone too much, with such desperation and wild hope that it made his whole being ache. With a gentle tap on the windowpane he walked to the idling car and slid behind the wheel. Determined not to look back, he adjusted the rearview mirror and caught one last long glimpse of his home and the little girl in the window. Chapter 11 Shayla stood within range of the glimmering light from the Christmas tree. The festive multicolored bulbs shone like beacons in the darkness. The house was quiet around her. After the young had been tucked securely in their beds. The adults, bursting with Christmas spirit had headed out into the woods for a hunt. She chose to stay behind and keep watch over her son. The mood tonight had been light, full of joy and eager glee. Evenings like this, spent together with a majority of the pack under the same roof at the same time were a rarity. Christmases hadn't always been like this for the pack. For her pack, it hadn't existed at all. Nash's pack hadn't exchanged gifts or put up a tree, but they'd feasted in honor of the occasion. The Christmas tree had come later with the blending of humans and the human traditions they'd brought along with them. She didn't mind Christmas as much as she thought she would. Presents tumbled from piles stacked at the bottom of the tree. It'd been all she could do to keep R.J. out of them and out the branches. G.T. hadn't been much easier to control either. Claire and Grant's son had chewed and slobbered on more than his faire share of the presents, but nobody seemed too much bothered by it. The night was cold and clear, illuminated by a fat, silvery full moon. It was the perfect night for a run to forget the press of the world on their shoulders. Let them enjoy it while they could. She'd managed to tuck her worries and her fear in the dark corners of her mind. Had even managed to hang a few ornaments on the tree and stuff a few presents amongst the branches. During the lightness of the occasion, she had kept a careful eye on R.J. and had not left him out of her sight, not for a second. Tracker watched her as closely as she watched R.J. He hadn't asked a word in question. He was an Omega and difficult to fool. He knew something was wrong, but wisely kept his concern to himself. She appreciated that he was giving her space. Telling him about O'Sullivan would be the right thing to do. But, she couldn't bring herself to say the bastard's name aloud. As if just saying his name would bring the threat closer than it already was. She knew O'Sullivan and Carter had a past. She knew he was Carter's maker. She'd already reasoned that since he couldn't get to Carter. O'Sullivan would use her instead to lure him in. She felt the bull's eye on her back smack dab between her shoulder blades. Her concern wasn't for herself, only for her son. How she could best protect him. R.J. snuffled against her neck. His warm breath tickled her skin. She was afraid to put him down in his bed. Her arms were rubbery with the strain of holding him so tightly. She settled into a rocking chair and gently rocked him till he stilled and drifted back to sleep. His weight was heavy in her arms and her fingertips were numb from holding him. She took the stairs slowly, climbing them one by one. Her room was quiet and dark. Awkwardly bending, careful not to wake him, she pulled back the covers on his bed and lowered him into it. Eventually, she was going to have to let him go. Reluctantly, she tucked the covers under his chin. Her body felt lighter without the burden of her son in her arms. Her soul was heavy as ever. Her silence could endanger the entire pack. Telling them would send them into a state of perpetual alarm. They would be on alert for the 'if' or the 'when' O'Sullivan would choose to strike. She needed to talk to someone. Someone she could trust. Someone who would listen and help her think things through. There was only one person who fit the bill and that was Carter. Her bare feet padded across the floor. The wood was slick and cool against her soles. Moonlight streamed through the window, making eerie patterns of dark and light dance across the walls. On the frost covered glass, she saw the faint tracings of a handprint. She pressed her palm to the outline. Stretching her fingers to fill the white pattern of the fingers imprinted on the glass. She knew, by the fit of her hand into the print whose palm had been pressed on the glass. Only one hand fit hers in such a way. "Carter, where are you," she whispered into the darkness outside her window. Chapter 12 The vampires might own the city, but the woods belonged to the wolves. They had committed every inch of this land to memory. Stalking in the darkness, they hunted. Every smell was familiar. Every sound was like words to a song. Every sight remained etched in their minds. The third tree on the right was an old hickory with tall branches that hid the juiciest of squirrels just out of their reach. A stream flowed sluggishly, choked with ice through the middle of the woods before it reached its end at the river on the eastern most border of their territory. Here, the best game could be found. Succulent deer and rabbits pudgy with a dense layer of winter fat was theirs for the taking. The wolf paused on the sandy beach to drink. His nose hovered over the icy water as he dipped his tongue to lap up a deep gulp. Movement caught his eye. His stomach grumbled eagerly at the hope of an easy meal. He lifted his black snout into the air and inhaled. The scent was not a good one. A Vampire was close. A snarl curled his lip. The scent wasn't one he was familiar with. His benevolent cousins had a sweetness that lingered. This thing did not belong in his woods. Yellow eyes narrowed, he stalked after the shadow. The thrill of the chase usually enthralled Eric. He loved tracking and stalking prey. Reveled in the victory that waited at the end of the chase. Not, when he was on the receiving end though. Bare black tree limbs snagged his clothes. Rocks rose up out of the black earth to trip his feet. The wolf was quickly gaining on him, nipping at his heels. He'd wondered what the true capabilities of the wolves were. Unfortunately, he was finding out, the hard way. He was fast, but the wolf was equally fast. He was lethal, but the wolf was just as lethal. He was the kind of hunter that did not stop till he feasted on his prey. The same could be said of the wolf. Eric did not like this turn of events, at all. Haphazardly, he darted through the blanket of night covering the woods like a shroud. He meant to test the boundaries of the wolf's territory. He ran toward the dim glow of civilization like a child scrambling for base in a game of tag. The werewolves were creatures of humanity's imagination. As determined as the wolf was to capture him. No wolf would risk following him into the sleepy town that sprang up out of the woods. Discovery was something the wolves could not afford. Even as ignorant as humans were of the real world that lurked in the shadows around them. A human would know that this wolf was not a creature of nature. Eric paused within the glow of a streetlamp and stared over his shoulder. He was right. The wolf did not bound out of the thick tree row at the border of the woods after him. Here, no matter if he were a creature of legend or not, he had the advantage. He looked human. He could pass for somebody's brother or perhaps a benevolent stranger. The wolf could not. Eric stood in the safety of modern convenience and taunted the wolf. Even if the wolf had given himself over to his human form, he couldn't continue the chase. A naked man darting through the middle of town would draw every bit as much attention as a wolf the size of an overgrown Great Dane. The wolf stalked the periphery of his habitat, snorting and growling low from his throat in agitation. Eric threw back his head and laughed. He should have realized the wolf's true limitations much, much sooner. The wolf's human counterpart, the soul that shared his furred body shouted in warning. No matter who had possession of the physical body at the time, the other half was still present, in a blurred version of awareness. The wolf was eager to rip the vampire's throat out and eliminate the threat. His human wouldn't allow it. No prize was worth the danger of discovery. The wolf curled his black lips high over his row of sharp white teeth and bristled at the vampire. As if he'd never been there at all, the vampire vanished in between a row of houses. Leaving behind his scent, the scorching scent that came from consuming human life, hung in the air like lingering smoke from a fire. The wolf retreated into the safety of the denser woods. There would be no feast tonight. Tucked safely out of sight, the wolf lifted his leathery black snout into the night and loosed a howl. The eerie sound echoed through the darkness and was repeated from the throats of every brother and sister. Danger was at the mouth of their din. Eric's boots were silent as a whisper on the empty streets. The town was nestled down in its bed, sleeping away the wee hours of the night oblivious to his presence. The soulful sounds of wolf song pierced the stillness. By showing himself, he'd upped the stakes of the game. The wolves knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that he was here. Death had come to town. Chapter 13 Carter wandered the quiet streets of downtown wary of the shadows at his back. A quiet breeze stirred behind him. The Guardians gave him a wide berth. Always out of eyeshot, silently watching, but he knew they were there. He should know better than anybody. He'd trained them well. Perhaps too well, considering they were on his tail. It had been months since he'd been inside the city's boundaries. The rapid pulse of humanity beat against his eardrums in a steady harmony to the sound of his footsteps on the concrete. The buzz of a neon sign broke the stillness of the night. Its garish red light shone across the white dusting of snow on the cracked sidewalk beneath his feet. He slowed his gait and stopped in the wash of the crimson glow. "Show yourself, Guardian," he spoke into the darkness. Peals of feminine laughter echoed off the deep canyon of glass and steel, ringing out like a chorus of hundreds of childlike voices. "Well, well aren't you a sight for sore eyes and I do mean a sight," Bianca said. Emerging from the narrow mouth of a dark alley, she smiled like a cat with a canary in its mouth. "I'd almost written you off as dead." Casually, she leaned against a lamppost decorated in a wrapping of artificial evergreen boughs, taking him in. Carter wore rags. His tattered pants flapped in the wind. A filthy jacket too large for his frame drooped on his shoulders. His hair, his once glorious ringlets of blond hair hung in a dirty rat's nest of tangles. He was a shamble of the man he'd once been. A man she'd both feared and respected reduced to less than a scrap of paper left to be tossed about on the wind. "Bianca," Carter bowed mockingly at the waist. "I'm surprised to see you out here doing the grunt work." She was beautiful as ever. Both light and dark with her raven hair tucked under her fur lined hood and her pale skin, white as frost. Three inch spiked heels and form fitting black leather pants added length to her long, long legs, making them stretch all the way up to here. She evaluated him coolly. Her eyes, the deepest blue of the ocean, ran over his frame and he suddenly found himself embarrassed by their almost pitying expression. He forced her into becoming what she was. He should have recognized her for the power starved leader she was. He'd disregarded her as his second, powerless to harm him. She'd proven him wrong. She'd not only taken the city for herself, but also his Guardians. For too long she rode on both sides of the fence in her vie for power. A move that served her well and gave her every advantage. He wondered if he stood in the presence of a friend or an enemy. Defenseless as he was, unarmed and weak, she could easily kill him. He wondered if she would. "It has been a while hasn't it?" Bianca relished the feeling of Carter's wary eyes. The world he'd left was not the one he was coming back to and he had no idea what to make of it. He didn't know a damn thing. She immensely enjoyed his moment of ignorance. She'd chosen, just like she always had, the winning team. Eric was exactly where she wanted him, out of her city. Carter was exactly where she'd always fantasized he would be, at her mercy. Today was a sweet, sweet day.