Dawn's Darkest Hour

The stink of the city burned the wolf's furiously twitching nose. For hours, protected by the darkness, he'd scoured miles of concrete and turned up nothing. Without a clear trail to follow, he was traveling in circles. Dawn burned on the horizon, announcing that his time was up for this day. Continuing the search in this form was too dangerous. Humans would see him and call the authorities. The wolf could end up in the local ASPCA mistaken for a stray, or worse, recognized for what he was and shot. The wolf returned to the dark alley where he'd shed his human skin and gave his body up to the man.

Hunter shivered in the cold, shadow of the alley and quickly shimmied into his clothes. His body ached and joints groaned in protest to the rapid surrender of his wolf to his human form. Despair held him in an iron fist. He'd covered miles of concrete and human filth and had nothing. He wouldn't give up looking for his boy. EVER. His son was somewhere in this city, Hunter was sure of it. Memories of his own captivity and torture caused his heart to pound rapidly and his mouth to dry to dust. The thought that his youngest son could be enduring the same at the hands of a madman caused him to drop to his knees, retching. He had to let the feeling of dread go and cling to the hope that his son was whole.

He wanted to continue the search. But, exhaustion covered him in a thick wooly blanket, confusing his mind. A warrior stood in the mouth of the alley watching silently. He'd obviously come to collect him. Even the strong needed rest. Not that he would get much till his son was safe. Wordlessly, Hunter exchanged glances with the warrior and followed him to an idling SUV. He climbed inside and shut the door. The warriors were quiet and pensive. No words were spoken, however they hung heavily in the air. A murder needed to be brought to justice. A family needed closure. A son needed to be found. A city needed to be made safe. And none of them would give up without a fight.

Chapter 74

Amy hadn't gotten much sleep since her daughter developed a sudden wild streak. Tonight she made up for it and slept hard as a rock. She was having the dream of her life. Despite the ringing of the phone she should wake up and answer. She remained dreaming.

She stood at one end of a long table. A table that was so long she could not see where it ended. It seemed to stretch for miles and miles into the distant horizon beyond where her eyes could see. Heavily loaded with every kind of food imaginable. The smell was amazing. Chairs lined each side of the table in neat rows. Plates gleamed white beneath a sky of the most incredible blue she'd ever seen. Amy didn't know what kind of a dream this was, only that the smell of the food made her incredibly hungry.

People milled around the table and eventually wandered to their seats. A dreamy smile curved her lips as she realized the identity of a small handful of the many guests seated. An aunt and uncle, she hadn't seen in twenty years. A cousin she remembered playing with as a kid. A great-grandmother, she'd never met, but recognized from picture. Her mom greeted her with a wide, welcoming smile, gently swatting at Amy's fingers when she reached for a piece of chicken. "It's not time for you to eat yet, young lady," her mother chastised. Hearing her voice again after so long brought tears to Amy's eyes. Her mother, like all the other guests calmly taking their seats, was dead.

Amy scanned the people, some she recognized, many, many others she did not. But, something inside of her told her that they were family that had long, long since been buried in their graves. Fear began to grip at her heart and her hands trembled. A little girl, dressed in a pinafore with long braids dangling past her shoulders, tugged on the hem of Amy's nightgown. "Don't be afraid," she said in a sweet angelic voice.

"You're not here, child." Tears welled up in her eyes as Amy recognized the voice. Her grandmother cupped her face with withered, cool hands and gave the tip of her nose a gentle kiss. "You're dreaming."

Her grandmother clapped her hands together in excitement and turned away. "There she is!" She pushed a man, perhaps a great uncle, out of the way. "Let me get a look at that girl!"

Amy watched her daughter wiggle through the mass of greeters. She was beaming, all smiles and happiness. Her skin glowed with contentment and her eyes twinkled with the knowledge of things beyond. "Grandma." Rachael's voice was otherworldly, like the sound of tinkling silver chimes tossed about in a gentle summer breeze.

"Rachael!" Amy cried out. She fought her way through the crowd gathered around her daughter. "What are you doing here? This is just a dream right?" She asked, gripping Rachael by the shoulders and spinning her. Rachael's blonde hair swirled like a halo as she moved.

"Mom? You're not supposed to be here."

"But, you are?" Amy asked. Fear tore at her insides. She trembled, gripping the hoodie her daughter wore with her fists, desperate to keep hold of her little girl and not let her go.

Rachael smiled down at her mother. Her mom always tried so hard to control everything. Some things were simply out of her ability to control though. "Mom, I have to take my seat. Dinner is about to start."

"NO!" Amy grappled with Rachael. Terrified that if she let her go she'd never see her again. "This is only a dream!"

"Mom, I have to go now." A cold wind passed right though Amy's soul as her daughter pressed cool lips to her cheek. "Mom, I love you. Tell dad I love him too."

Amy snapped awake, shivering with goose pimpled flesh on her arms. The phone rang again, ripping her away from the dream. Fingers trembling, Amy picked up the receiver, knowing who was on the other end before the unfamiliar voice spoke. Tears fell in a deluge as she listened and robotically answered the caller's questions and listened to the news he had to tell her.

Chapter 75

Roger hated, HATED this part of the job. A little after four in the morning he'd gotten a rude wake up call. Forensics was finishing up at a crime scene and he was getting a body in his morgue. At least, for him, the gory part was over. He'd done his job with the efficiency that came with too many damn years of experience. Samples were collected and tagged. Photographs snapped and sent for processing. He liked to get his first autopsy of the day over with before his morning donut and coffee. Slouching back in his chair at his desk, he licked the sugary stickiness off his fingers and wiped them on the leg of his scrubs.

He had a way of explaining the unexplainable and bringing the truth to light. For his victims, it was the least he could do. Help to catch a killer. Nope, the dead didn't utter a word, but a corpse sure could talk, to him. The image of the young girl's savaged neck burned behind the backs of his closed eyelids. How long she'd fought for her life and exactly what had been used to cause that much damage, he wasn't sure if he really wanted to know. Just knowing that her death had been bad, not quick and definitely not painless, was plenty.

After forensics had ID'd the girl, and collected the last possible scrap of evidence from her body. Roger got busy on her, scrubbing blood off her pale cheeks, smoothing out her matted hair as best he could before her parents arrived to confirm her ID. She was covered from the tip of her chin down to her toes by a crisp, clean white sheet. What was beneath that sheet, the girl's mangled remains, her parents didn't need or want to see.

The detectives waited for the parents while he hid in his office behind a closed door. The blinds on the wide panel of glass drawn tightly. He wasn't closed off nearly enough though. From the other side of the cheap wood, he heard the rushing of footsteps and the shocked gasps, and the inevitable sounds of a mother's sobs and a father's anguish. Nauseated, he tossed his barely touched honey bun into the trash. Why hadn't he gone into Emergency medicine like his friend Thomas?

In the ER if somebody died, or arrived already dead, they saved their tales for someone else. Some pudgy, lonely coroner, stuffed away in a dingy morgue that reeked of god knew what, somebody, just like him who had seen far too much to ever forget one single pair of lifeless eyes that stared up at him from the stainless steel autopsy table.

Chapter 76

Cole jostled in the passenger side bumping his head on the liner of the SUV as the vehicle shimmied along a dirt path. Limbs and branches scraped the black sides, marring the gleaming finish. David didn't seem to notice or to care. He gunned the engine along the deep ruts in the road. The tires kicked up dust in a cloud behind them. David's jaw was squared with determination. His eyes invisible beneath the dark lenses pressed against his face.

Sunlight streamed into the cabin of the SUV with golden brilliance, warming Cole's frozen body with its light. He swallowed past the lump in his throat as he looked into the dawn. He had no idea where they were. Pines and thick copses of trees flew past his window, grabbing at the SUV with their limbs as if to hold it captive. Surviving the night was a hollow victory. He blinked against the morning he wasn't supposed to be alive to see.

The SUV bounded over a small hill and slowed to a stop in a wide clearing. The barren field was carpeted by a layer of thick summer scorched weeds and brush turned brown for fall. Cole blew out a breath and followed David into the wide-open expanse of nothing. The sounds of nature, chattering morning birds and the whisper of wind in the tress should have calmed him. Instead, the quiet agitated him. He needed noise to shut out the screaming in his head.

David was some yards ahead of him, bounding through the field. Cole scrambled to keep David's back in sight. David came to a stop in the middle of a circle of blackened ash and earth and fell to his knees scooping up a handful of charred wood and crunching it in his fist. Particles sifted through his fingers and were caught in the morning breeze, drifting into the air. David threw back his head and wailed a mournful, pitiful cry into the empty sky. Cole said nothing. He stood absolutely still, understanding that he was nothing but a bystander to a deeper grief that he could not begin to grasp.

David knelt in the charred remains of his sister's pyre and crushed the scraps of blackened wood in his fists. This burned spot was his sister's only memorial. He smeared the soot on his cheeks. Hot, boiling tears of guilt and regret traced rivulets through the black ash. He'd failed both his sister and Rachael.

He hadn't driven out here to mourn, only to remember, and to punish himself with the hot, lashing tails of his private scourge. He wept till he was raw and bleeding on the inside. Rage and hate flamed in his soul, licking blistering wounds onto his tender insides. Everything, all that had transpired was his fault. He heaped the coals onto the heads of everyone he'd ever loved and because of him they suffered, over and over again. He stared up at the brilliance of the blue sky, blinded by the sunlight he could never truly look upon again. "WHY!"

The wolf curled his long, bushy tail over his forepaws and watched the men with curiosity. His ears perked at the sudden outburst. Answering the man's grief, the wolf howled a long soulful howl.

Cole dropped to the dried grass and wiped his tears on his sleeve. This place, here in the woods, was as good of a place as any to give Rachael her final goodbye.

Nora watched her first period class filter in and take their seats. On Mondays, the students were usually subdued. This morning an eerie hush filled the room. Her eyes went to the three empty seats in the back of the room. She didn't need to do a roll call to know who was missing. David. Rachael. And Cole.

A secretary from the main office slid into Nora's classroom and handed her a slip of paper. Nora skimmed the memo and then took her time to read it again. The saddened look on the secretary's face summed up Nora's feelings. Her fingers shook as she looked up at the class. Blinking at the tears trapped behind her lashes. She forced a cheerful smile and took a deep breath. Almost too chipper, she announced that the principal was calling an assembly at noon today. The reason for the gathering, she kept to herself, along with her grief. Rachael was dead.

Carter always watched the morning news to see what havoc his friends had reaped the night before. Just as he expected, the newscaster blandly announced that the body of a local teen had been found and identified. Details were being withheld at this point pending further investigation. Another local boy, nineteen year-old Cole Zimmerman, was also presumed missing.

Recognition slammed Carter hard as a picture of the boy from the drug bust filled the screen. Anyone with any information about the murdered girl or the missing boy was to call the local crime stoppers number immediately. All calls were strictly confidential and every lead thoroughly investigated. In other news... blah, blah, blah, the balding news figure prattled on. Carter wondered exactly what the authorities would say, if he called the number and clued them in. What would he say? Vampires did it. Yeah, like the police would follow up on that tidbit any time soon.

What in the hell was O'Sullivan up to? He was getting sloppy and far too cocky. The plan was that the young vampire and the boy were supposed to take the fall for the drugs. Didn't happen. The plan was to let the dust settle till after the Sons left. NOT going to happen thanks to Eric's little fuck up. Leaving a body to rot in the streets? An eyewitness, still breathing, someone who could positively ID Carter and lead the Sons to their doorsteps, DEFINITELY not good.

And now, thanks to Eric's unfathomable ambitions, a wolf, just a boy at that, was cooling his heels in a posh holding cell upstairs. This was BAD very bad. Not only was Eric going to draw hellfire from the Sons, but bring the fury of the pack down their collective heads. Throw Yessette, who had been staring at the wolf's door and licking her chops in a psychotic frenzy for hours, into the mix and a major cluster fuck was in the making. Wonderful. Just. Fucking. Wonderful.

Hunter scrubbed as hard as he could to get the filth of the city off his skin. Steaming water scalded his body and surrounded him in a cloud of mist. He felt dirty and tainted despite how clean he was. His fingers traced the puckered scar across his abdomen. The marred flesh was a constant reminder of the cost of being different. He climbed out of the shower and dried his limbs with a thick fluffy towel. Using a corner of the towel, he wiped the mirror free of fog and studied his haggard reflection. He'd aged a lifetime in the few hours his son had been missing.

How was he going to tell Nash and the others, especially Gina, his wife? Although she was a stepmother, she treated Daniel and his brother and sister as if they were her own. She'd want to be here to help in any way that she could. Gina was a strong woman and she'd try to overcome her terror for the sake of her son. Hunter thought back to the traumatic days and nights they'd spent trapped in hell. That experience forever bound them together in ways he would have never thought possible.

His fingers gripped the cell phone. He wouldn't risk it. Take the chance of putting another of his loved ones in harm's way, no matter what. Nash would want to send a search party to help. Hunter wasn't sure that was such a good idea. At this point, he had to assume whoever had abducted his son wanted Daniel alive. Otherwise, why would he have found tranquilizer darts at the scene?

The bigger question was, and why he wouldn't allow any other wolves to join in the search till he had an answer, why did the son of a bitch want to keep his son alive, and to for what purpose? Was his son's kidnapping a random act of violence or was someone hunting wolves for a specific purpose? Until he knew, his wolf and the crew of vampires were on their own.

Something about the fact that someone could be out hunting wolves bothered him beyond the obvious. The wolves weren't well known of. Only a select few even knew about the existence of the pack. Hunter had to consider that there could be a traitor in their midst. Someone they trusted, someone like Carter.

Hunter took a deep breath and pressed the send key. For now, he'd just stick to the facts that he knew and leave any suppositions hanging like mist in the air. Gina picked up on the first ring. "Something bad has happened hasn't it?" she asked. Hunter gripped the phone tighter, hating the news he had to tell.

Chapter 77

Amy was numb, absolutely numb. The stink of formaldehyde permeated her clothes and hair, causing her stomach to clench into tight knots. There were so many things she had to do. Arrangements that had to be made and all she could manage to do was to sit on the couch clutching a mug of tea, which had long since grown cold. Rod was doing his best to handle the endless barrage of sympathetic visitors flocking to their door armed with casseroles and pies. As if a tuna noodle surprise or a peach pie would bring her daughter back.

Occasionally, someone would slip a fresh mug of hot tea into her grasp and ask if there was anything they could do to help. Amy didn't have the energy to spare for a reply. She sat there numb and waited for the shock to wear off.

Finally, when the bulk of the crowd dwindled to a trickle and then to non-existent. She climbed the stairs to Rachael's room and went inside. Her eyes scanned the neatly arranged shelves and the coverlet on the bed. The blankets were slightly askew from Rachael's hasty attempt at tidiness. Gently, Amy smoothed the covers back into place. The room and its contents looked as if they were in a state of suspended animation, just waiting for Rachael to come back.

Rod ushered the last of the well-wishers out of the door and stuffed another shepherd's pie into the jam packed fridge. He'd already taken the phone off the hook hours ago. Just a few minutes of peace was all he wanted at this point. He clicked off the downstairs lights and drew the curtains. If people wanted to show their support, they could send a card for all he cared.

All day long, he'd been strong, for Amy. Putting on a good front, when on the inside, he was raw and bleeding. Losing Rachael felt like a part of himself, a critical part of his soul, had been torn away by a merciless hand. In the quiet, alone, he could fall apart now and finally let his grief pull him under. He didn't have the strength to be strong any longer. Not today.

Rachael's door hung open and the light from a lamp cast a golden shadow across the darkened hallway. Rod peeked inside. Amy stood in the middle of a pile of clothing and hangers dumped haphazardly at her feet. In her hands, she held a dress made of delicate fabric, studying the pastel floral print.

"None of these are right." Amy dropped the dress into the heap at her feet and dug into the closet. She pulled out a sweater and pressed it to her nose. The knit was freshly laundered, smelling of fabric softener. Deeper undertones of Rachael's perfume, the perfume Amy gotten her for her seventeenth birthday, saturated the blue fabric. Absently, she looked up at her husband searching for his help. "How does anyone decide what's good enough for their child's funeral?"

"Amy." Rod carefully sidestepped the clothing and toed his way through, making a path. "You don't have to do this today."

"I thought you said she was just going through a phase?" Amy sank onto the pile and began pulling hangers free from the clothes, arranging them in a neat stack as she folded. She had to stay busy. When she was busy she didn't hurt. Rod automatically took a defensive posture, feet spread wide and arms crossed over his chest. She didn't blame him. She would never blame him. He was all she had left in the whole world. If anything, she blamed herself in ways that hadn't had time to register yet. If anybody should bear the blame it was she. She was always pressing Rachael too hard, nitpicking over little things. She'd driven her only daughter away.