After Dawn, What Came Next

The others were beginning to stir and so was her hunger. This was the part of her innermost self she strived to hide from everybody else. Predators of two differing species didn’t always play well together. Her wolf side often battled with her vampire half and the small, mingling pieces of her that were human, like her father had been, once upon a time. Drinking blood came as naturally to her as taking down a deer did to the pack. The consumption of life though, the mere thought of it, sent her softer human side reeling. Like everybody else, human, wolf, or otherwise, she did what she had to do to curb her wilder cravings.

She ran with the pack and participated in the hunt to tame her wolfen instincts and the parts of her that were a vampire and a hunter-gatherer as her ancestors had been. She drank blood to keep the fanged demon that was more beast than thought calm, cool, and at bay.

Cat did not eat meat from a grocery store. Mass murder of animals and the butchery of such innocent creatures, there was no sport and it served no purpose other than nourishment of the body. Lentils and soy proteins could do the same thing, a suitable solution to the problem. Not that the pack agreed with her on that particular point. Sure, they had voted out meatloaf Monday as their first official act of collective governance, but it was only in favor of ham instead. Unfortunately, there really was no substitute for blood. As much as the idea of it grossed her out, it was a necessity. And she was going to have to drink soon.

She wondered where in this labyrinth of floors, corridors, and rooms Carter had stashed the boys. Cat needed coffee and maybe a nice warm croissant in the worst way. Impatient with the girls, she roused them awake and waited for their brains to come online. Truth was, she was eager to see Christian again. She didn’t do the girly thing often, wear makeup, do her hair in anything but a braid or leave it hanging loose at the small of her back and she certainly didn’t usually care about what she wore, as long as it was vintage. But, she had a feeling tonight, she would take all of the trappings of femininity into account and that would take extra time.

Cat wasn’t scared of graveyards, but it was a weird place to meet for a first date. Assuming, this was a date and not some boyish scheme to freak her out. She didn’t scare easily and neither did her friends. He had agreed, reluctantly, that she should ask them to tag along. In the essence of safety and to pretend she was in the spirit of the Brat Pack’s first official assignment she insisted. It was best that she not think of him as anything other than an assignment. She had made contact and earned a small measure of trust from him. She hoped. But, she couldn’t quite figure out why Carter had assigned the Brat Pack to follow him in the first place. Christian was just one guy. How dangerous could he be?





















Chapter 40

Catcher wanted to take a bite out of the obnoxious female. Too bad she was such a tiny thing, no more than a snack to his wolf, or he might have done just that. Vampires weren’t to his liking on his best days. Being studied, circled by her as she clucked her tongue and shook her head at everything about him only cemented his opinion. Unsure of what to do with him in terms of his outdated appearance, his brother had sent him to this spitfire woman for what was called a makeover. Catcher called it torture. He had been scrubbed, groomed, buffed, and polished within an inch of his life and she still wasn’t done with him yet.

His skin was sore and tender as if he had been engaged in a battle from trying on so many clothes. The little blonde had taken one look at him, divested him of his worn boots, t-shirt, and battered jeans, and shoved him into the shower. He took baths. He was not a dirty person, but she made him feel as if he had spent the last decade rolling in the mud. Catcher worked for a living. His hands were calloused and his fingernails jagged from hard labor at the compound. Something, this woman probably knew nothing about. She had never broken a sweat in her life from the looks of her. Teetering on dangerously spiked heels, wearing silks and finery, Janine resembled a shiny bauble dangling from a golden chain rather than a woman of any true purpose. But, as ornamental as she was, she had managed to command him into complete complacency.

She refused to allow him to look in the mirror as she hovered around him like a pesky fly, plucking at this, snipping at that, twisting his head first one way and then the other, before snipping and plucking some more. Catcher grumbled low in his throat as Janine slathered some sort of smelly lotion over his freshly shaven jaw and reached, picking through the myriad collection of bottles, jars, and tubes of goop on the dressing table to grab something else necessary for his ‘makeover’. He was a man not a Thanksgiving Day turkey and he did not appreciate being slathered down like a plucked hen being prepped for the oven.

“Oh hush you,” Janine grumbled. She squeezed a generous dollop of moisturizer out of the tube and gently rubbed the blob onto Catcher’s cheeks. Hadn’t the man ever heard of skin care before? His skin was weathered from the sun and reddened from shaving. She had started with the basics, shower and shave and now was taking the time to thoroughly evaluate the true potential of her next masterpiece.

Catcher was not a bad looking specimen of manhood. He had the necessary raw material she needed to work with. Sporting a wide brow, high cheekbones, full, although chapped, lips, a long aquiline nose, a strong angular jaw, long dark lashes veiling intense brown eyes flecked with gold, Catcher had the makings of a male model. Janine was careful though. He also was identical to his brother in every way, right down to the last pore. Unshaven, smelling of road hazard and Texas dust, and his clothes bedraggled, he had come to her resembling something feral and untamed and she was supposed to turn him into a civilized male.

He had gorgeous hair, long and silky, a color not quite so black it looked blue under the lights, but richer than an ordinary brown. She had decided on a quick trim and a deep conditioning treatment rather than cutting the luxury of hair any woman would die for and would kill to run her fingers through. She could sit here all day and pet him, marvel in that indulgent luxurious softness and never get tired of it, but she had a job to do. The challenge was that every time she looked at Catcher, she saw his brother. The two men were carbon copies of each other, but there were also very different men. She was determined to bring out those differences rather than cookie cutter Catcher into an exact copy of his brother.

Catcher had it in mind to ‘mate a female’ as he put it rather bluntly. Boy, was she going to have to work on his choice of words. If he went up to any available woman and demanded to ‘mate’ her, he would end up with a foot up his ass. He was raw and obviously didn’t get out much. How in the hell was she supposed to turn that immense ego of his into dating material? That was the true difference between him and his brother. That huge, far too male, prideful, demanding, and utterly self-centered ego of his. He was not going to be the flirtatious flowers and candy or deeply romantic candlelit dinner and wine kind of guy. Taming him into someone a woman would actually consider going out with was going to be nothing short of a miracle. But, she had managed it before and would do so again.

It had been too long since she had planned a wedding. She was already ticking through her mental list of available women remotely suitable for Catcher. Like most men in the pack, it was impossible to gauge his true age by his appearance. She estimated by his speech and mannerisms, that he was somewhere around fifty. A young woman with today’s ideals would never do. He needed someone more seasoned and maybe, a bit battle scarred, like him. Catcher needed a woman with a softer side to compensate for his hardness. A woman capable of seeing past his ego and gruff exterior that could bring out the gentler side of him, someone he could love and could love him…someone safe.

Catcher was fierce to the point of being capable of brutality. His moral compass didn’t and wouldn’t ever point precisely due north. It didn’t take Janine twenty seconds to know he had killed and would kill for someone he loved. Not entirely a bad quality in a male, but not exactly a good one either. He was gorgeous, breathtakingly so. But, he needed someone capable of seeing beyond the outside and looking deep within. He was hard and ruthless, but Janine got the sense that somewhere within him was a bruised and somewhat battered soul with deep and old hurts. His woman would have to be a healing balm, a cool drink of water to a parched soul.

Janine kept her mouth shut. She had a woman in mind, but Catcher wasn’t exactly ready to actually pursue a member of the opposite sex yet. In matters of the heart, sometimes all a person needed was a nudge or in some cases a not so gentle shove. Sometimes though, it was best to step back and let the heart find its own way.

Out of her mental list of single women only one stood out as possibly fitting the bill. Fallon was a natural nurturer and when the situation called for it, tough as nails. Catcher would need a woman he could respect. Fallon was definitely respectable. She didn’t take any shit from anybody and she could more than hold her own against Catcher’s less than desirable traits. She was capable of putting him in his place and would, if he needed put there. She could heal with those hands of hers and after fostering a broken heart for the last twenty-five years was in need of a bit of healing herself. Catcher and Fallon might very well be perfect for each other, but there was one teeny-tiny problem. Daniel.

Janine riffled through the closet. There was no shortage of males needing to expand their wardrobe out of the typical t-shirts and jeans. The brothers rarely wore their leathers anymore, but coaxing them out of their usual monochrome black hadn’t quite happened yet. She still had hope though and the clothing stashed away for when someone actually got bold enough to try say…navy blue or brown… for a change.

She squashed the idea of dressing Catcher in slacks or god forbid a bold color. Although with his russet skin tone and dark hair, pink or aqua would be great colors for him. He was too rough around the edges for a tux or finely tailored suit. She should probably start with something simple and work up from there. Underwear and socks might be a good place to begin.

She didn’t have to guess his size. Some people could take a bite of a gourmet meal and instinctively know every spice in the dish. Food. God, she still missed food. A chocolate shake and…Janine shook off the thought and got back to business. She was the same with people and their sizes. Tracker was a solid size tall large in shirts and thirty-four waist: thirty-six inseam in pants. Catcher was a bit broader in the shoulders and leaner in the hips and maybe, just a hair taller than his brother.

Janine wanted to burn Catcher’s old clothes or at the very least, put them out of their misery and use them as the dust rags they were. Instead, just in case he balked too much, she neatly folded them and set them to the side. She handed him the outfit she had finally decided on and shoved him into the bathroom to change. He had no problem with nudity and had dropped the towel leaving her a too fine view of his well shaped, muscular backside. Fanning her blushing face, she straightened the bottles and tubes on the dressing table and distracted herself from the flair of heat by setting some of the products aside for his skin care regimen.

Catcher frowned and tugged at the underwear. The itchy, confining cotton had him feeling as if his balls were hitched somewhere up around his ears. He liked his bare feet to make contact with the ground. The socks were thick and hot, dulling the sensation of cool tile against his soles. Janine had soaked his feet in some sort of oily, sweet smelling brew and trimmed his toenails, before moving up to do the same thing to his fingernails. He could barely fasten the jeans with the blunt nails she had left him with. “Women appreciate well groomed hands,” she had said in a laughably serious tone.

The clothing was new and stiff. The jeans fit him like a glove, not tight, but not his worn, flexible, comfortable wear either. During his time with Eloise he had been required to wear finer attire in the course of duty. With the pack it had always been about image though. Eloise had much preferred him to stand out as the lethal protector he was bred to be rather than to blend in. The button down shirt, a sleek material of a rich hunter green shade, was snug across his shoulders. This get up would never do for defense. There was nowhere to stash his handgun or blades, as much wardrobe accessories to him as Janine’s dangly earrings were to her.

Catcher adjusted the jeans lower on his hips and unbuttoned an extra button at the collar. He was strangling and confined in the clothing Janine had chosen for him. She had covered the mirrors with a sheet and he still wasn’t allowed to examine at any great length what she had done to him. Trusting anyone other than Eloise or his brother did not come naturally to him. His brother had sent him to this pint sized powerhouse of a vampire to get civilized and Catcher had no other choice than to trust his brother’s good judgment and Janine’s guidance in the matter of winning a female’s heart.

What did love have to do with anything anyway? He was here to find a woman capable of bearing his children and becoming a suitable companion for him. He was a desirable male, fit and from the best possible genetic line. He could more than defend a female and provide for her. The instinct to protect was bred into him. Defense and weaponry was all he had ever known. Other than that, what more could any female ask for?

Janine talked of love. Tracker and Shayla spoke of the joys of marriage and children to him. The pack had flourished under Nash and Eloise’s example of coupling and love. Children, while still rare, abounded and were happy, playing of all things, instead of training for battle. This was not the pack he had grown up in. Not only in its happiness but, in the mindset and the aura of pure joy that was so evident in every face he saw.

Catcher supposed Janine would instruct him in this surreal concept of love. She certainly seemed knowledgeable on the subject. He would need the help. He had no idea of women beyond the obvious. A male bedded a female and produced children, but there was more to it than that, or so everyone claimed.

Times had changed and he had not changed with them. It had always been about image to a degree. Eloise had led the pack by the sheer force of her will. She had Seff at bay as long as she had due to the appearance of strength in the pack. She had dressed to boast of the pack’s wealth and to display how much they had prospered under her leadership.

He had been remade not to display his strength or courage in battle. Traits he considered valuable above all others, but to make him into something he was not. A woman should want him because of his attributes not because of his clothes. Janine promised him a woman would, but sometimes, a little window dressing helped to catch the eye. Perhaps, she was right. Eloise hadn’t loved her mate, but she did love her husband. She was forced into breeding. The second time around she had chosen out of this thing called love. Choice was always better than force. Even he realized that. To be chosen, the idea of it filled him with pride. Yes, that was it! A female would choose him as equally as he would choose her. Together they would have this missing piece slid into place. This thing that no one could explain or define called love.

Renewed with purpose to conquer his invisible foe, this love thing, Catcher zipped up his fly and stashed his daggers in his socks and his handgun at his back. Boldly and determined he strode out of the bathroom and asked, “Tell me how to win a female’s affections, Janine.”

Janine sucked in a breath at the sight of Catcher. He was no longer his brother’s disheveled twin, but a man of worth. The unbuttoning of a few buttons at his throat completed the look she had been going for. Always with an unhealthy attraction for the bad boy, she had a weakness for the rough and tumble sort. Catcher couldn’t do refined male if his life depended on it, but he definitely had the roguish image of the bad boy down pat. She nodded in approval and circled him to view her handiwork.

The jeans clung to his butt in all the right ways and gave the lightest hint at the package hidden beneath the fly, just as she had intended. The shirt was exactly the right color for him, snug across the shoulders and biceps to show the bulge of muscle but not giving away too much. His hair was a satiny curtain tumbling to the middle of his back, so touchable as if it were almost a living, breathing entity separate from Catcher. His stance was pure male, pure confidence, and absolute masculine assuredness. He would do, as long as he didn’t open his mouth.

Looks weren’t enough to win a woman’s heart. He had asked her how. Now, the hardest part of her job came due. How to tame the proverbial shrew? A girl had the right to know what she was getting into in terms of a potential mate. Polishing Catcher’s exterior would not help his interior thought process. She shrugged. “Be yourself, but don’t be yourself, not at first anyway.”

Catcher frowned at Janine’s advice. How could he be himself but not be himself at the same time? He was who he was. Who he had always been. “How?”

Janine wished she had an answer for that one. She had been hooking up couples for most of her life. Scouting out the attributes of a person that would complement another. Most of the males she had given advice to over the years seldom listened. Sometimes the best thing to do was let a stubborn, pigheaded man figure it out for himself. After a few times of getting kicked on his ass, he would eventually get a clue. Catcher would probably take some major bruising though to get the idea. “You know how to hunt, right?”

Catcher bristled. Know how to hunt? He had been hunting before he could toddle. “Yes.”

“Well, study your prey. Learn what she likes and doesn’t like. Watch her. See what she responds to. If a woman likes flowers, give them to her. If she likes sweets, buy her candy. Bait the trap, but don’t snap it shut too soon. Give her time. If…once a woman decides you are worth her time, she’ll do the work. All you have to do is follow her lead.”

Catcher nodded in understanding. He could definitely stalk prey. His wolf was patient and stealthy. Once he put his sights on a woman, how could she possibly resist him? Poor thing. She wouldn’t know what hit her. He grinned at the thought. “I can do that.”

Janine straightened Catcher’s collar and pulled the sheet free from the mirror so that he could revel in his new image. His chest widened with a deep, abrupt intake of breath as he studied his reflection. It was still him captured in the mirror’s shiny surface, only better. Her own chest puffed with pride in her creation. He was gorgeous and definitely had potential. What he chose to do with it was up to him. She thrust a bag of products into his hand and patted him on the back. “Remember Catcher, it’s all about the girl.”

Catcher watched Janine retreat, leaving him to his own devices and staring at himself in the mirror. It was him he saw and only him in the reflection. A better him than he had ever been thanks to the clothes and all the bottles and tubes of goop. He had always seen himself as an extension of his brother and never as a separate entity before. He was definitely his own man, still so much like his brother, but belonging only to himself. He repeated Janine’s last bit of advice, pondering what she meant and what the words might mean for him in the future.