Dawn's Darkest Hour

"I survived when so many did not. Do you know how I met my end, boy? On the battlefield with a tomahawk in my fist, covered in the blood of my enemies and that of my brothers. With my dying breath, I realized, all blood is red, and it all flows just as freely.

"Revenge is a mistress served by a fool. She's never satisfied. One life too quickly turns into two, and two to three. I lived and watched the legends and the scattered remains of my people fade to dust. Who would I have exacted my vengeance on? An entire race? The whole of Europe? Who deserved to die to sate my thirst for justice? O'Sullivan, we'll get him and serve punishment. But, if you think he's the only one out there who deserves the vengeance of another, you're wrong."

David watched the Great Father turn on a heel and storm out of the tech room. Dumbfounded, he rose to his feet, ignoring the eyes of the men on his back as he left. His losses didn't suddenly seem so important in comparison.

Chapter 89

Cole was bored. He could not watch another second's worth of his picture scrolling across the morning news cast. Sleep? Forget it. Every time he closed his eyes, he was given an instant replay of Rachael's death. Nervous energy coiled inside of him. Desperately in need of a release, he tried the doorknob and found it unlocked. The shouts of men and the smacking of flesh against flesh as they sparred echoed down the hallway. That was exactly what he needed, to kick some ass.

The gym was state of the art. Definitely better than any he'd ever seen before. Equipment was neatly stacked along the walls. Machines idled and hummed, at the ready to be used. In the center a white mat stretched out from wall to wall, filling the empty space. On the mat two men duked it out in a sparring match. Cole stepped into the gym, closer to the mat to watch their graceful dance.

John Mark smelled the human the second he entered the room. Scrawny kid without much bulk, Cole had spaghetti noodles for arms and skinny chicken legs. The boy watched the sparring match evolving in the ring with curious interest. Interest, he could work with. In Cole, he sensed some measure of potential. "You might want to step back before you accidentally get hurt, princess," he goaded.

Cole took in the man ribbing him on the mat. The guy was built like a freakin' Sherman tank. Shoulder length black hair was pulled tightly back into a ponytail at the base of his scalp. Broad chest with huge pecs, and even wider shoulders and bigger biceps bulged and rippled with muscles. Across the man's back a tattoo of swirling patterns and graceful arcs stretched from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. Nice ink work. The guy, a vampire, out weighed him by at least seventy pounds and stood about six inches taller, give or take a foot. No one bullshitted him and got away with it. Anyone with so much as the slightest measure of common sense would be running like a scared sissy girl. Cockily, Cole sized him up. "I can take you."

Chance snickered and stepped out of the way. John Mark was all brawn and raw power, a highly trained fighting machine. But, the kid, Chance guessed, was a street brawler. The two games were played by two totally different sets of rules. He drifted to the kid's corner and took the shirt, one of his old ones, from the kid's hands, and gave the kid a pat on the back. "If all else fails, go for the balls."

Cole nodded a thank you to the guy and kicked off his borrowed shoes. The guy was roughly his size. Had to be the guy's mother he'd met late last night. "Thanks for the threads and the advice." Distance was Cole's best friend. He'd watched the man fight and knew how damned fast his moves were. Distance might give Cole an edge. At least he'd see the big, meaty fist before it connected with his jaw. Problem, in order to return a punch, he was going to have to get up close and personal with the incredible hulk circling the ring.

John Mark decided to take it easy on the kid. Didn't want to bust up that beautiful fashion model puss of his too early in the match. He needed to see if his instincts were right. Quickly, he slid in and delivered a love tap to the kid's jaw. "Didn't hurt did it?" John Mark teased.

Cole shook the stars from his vision. "That all you've got?" He danced around the mat with an awkward grace. Usually, he took care of business head on. That approach would get him pounded into the mat this time.

Kid moved like a goddamned brick. Chance clamped his jaws shut and watched John Mark maneuver the kid like a puppet on a string. Not good. Lucky thing, the kid could take a punch. He winced on Cole's behalf as John Mark delivered an almost casual classic one-two combo.

John Mark doubted his instincts about Cole as the kid's head wobbled on his shoulders like a bobble head in the back glass of a Buick with a bad set of shocks. The kid was slow and clumsy. But, he was still standing. That was always a plus.

Cole tasted blood on the tip of his tongue. Oh shit! He was bleeding in a room full of vampires. Bad. Very. Bad. He twisted out of the way, narrowly avoiding a fist aimed for his temple. He should run. Fast. Get the hell out of here before he became the main course.

Hell. No. Cole was tired of being used as a vampire punching bag. His reflexes were just a bit enhanced from the recent infusion of David's blood. Vampires, even the big and bad ass ones had weaknesses. Cole took the other vampire's advice and in a series of movements, exploited one of the biggest, a hastily placed kick to the groin. As his opponent bent to protect his manhood, Cole delivered a knee straight into his kisser, dropping him efficiently, like a giant oak in the forest. No man with his parts intact was getting up from that one.

"Yeah!" Chance cheered. After receiving a disdainful scowl from John Mark, he changed his tune. "Are you ok?" he chuckled in fake concern for the big lout curled up on the mat.

John Mark rolled onto his knees and struggled against the surges of pain in his groin to stand upright. He knew he hadn't been wrong about Cole. "I like this kid."

Cole stood out of the vampire's reach watching him with a wary eye. "You mean you're not going to kill me?"

John Mark chuckled as he limped to the side of the mat. Gingerly, he reached down and gave Cole's shoulder a gentle readjusting. "Kill you? Hell no. I'm going to train you."

Chapter 90

Amy stood in the middle of a barren stretch of grass. The natural beauty of gently rolling hills and shallow valleys, thick copses of evergreens and tall, bushy maples, a small pond with a curvy shore, surrounded her with a resplendent display of fall foliage. The surface of the pond was as clear and reflective as a mirror. Over her arm a zippered garment bag drooped heavily.

Her heels of her shoes cut through the dew covered grass, leaving little divots in the ground where she walked. A clear, blue sky tinted with the golden purple of dawn brushed across the horizon. Rachael's grave would face this dazzling display every morning. The SUV idled patiently in wait for her on the winding gravel drive. Thin pine stakes with pink flags poked out of the grass, marking the borders of her daughter's grave. "This is a nice place," she muttered to no one in particular. Rod stood by her side, his shoulders hunched and hands buried deep inside his jacket pockets. He nodded in reply even though she wasn't talking to him.

She wanted to see the place where her daughter would be laid to rest before the digging equipment chewed a ragged six- foot hole into the quiet earth beneath her feet. Today, she was just dropping off the dress and finalizing the arrangements. After that, she had no place really to go and nothing special to do, but wait for the day of her daughter's funeral to arrive.

Nothing in Rachael's closet had been good enough for a funeral. Oddly enough she'd spent the sleepless hours of last night shopping for the perfect dress and gratefully paid the express shipping to receive it by seven o'clock this morning. The dress was embroidered with little pink flowers and made of the finest crepe material her visa card could buy.

Rachael hated pink, especially the shade of pink Amy had chosen. Well, that was too bad. The dress was conservative, perhaps a little too girlish for an eighteen year-old. The heart shaped neckline was ruffled with intricately woven lace and the sleeves were puffed and ended in a tight gather just above the wrists. She'd dug through Rachael's endless supply of hair ties and ribbons and found the cutest little headband with a pink bow on the top.

Amy had picked out everything. Rod had no comments or any real say so. When she'd asked about which earrings looked better with the dress, the pearl studs or the diamond posts, he'd grunted and turned away. Amy thought the pearls looked better. She had very specific instructions on how she wanted things done. The mortician had told her not to bother with shoes and hose, but Amy had brought them along anyway. She couldn't imagine her little girl being buried without her shoes.

Rod shivered in his thin jacket and pretended that he was anywhere else but at the foot of his daughter's grave. Thankfully, the casseroles, baskets of flowers, and well- wishers had dwindled to a small trickle. He was going to lose his mind if he had to pretend to be strong for somebody else's benefit for another second. Amy and he were left to themselves with nothing to do but contemplate what direction their lives were headed in next. "We should take that up to the office," he said softly, nodding to the bag drooped over his wife's arm.

Amy nodded and carefully picked her way along a gentle slope so slick with morning dew. Rod was trying so hard to be strong. He kept things as normal as he could for her. They had dinner every night, thanks to him. Even if all three meals consisted of a god awful casserole left by a concerned neighbor. He heated up the food and dished it out on plates that neither one of them touched. The first night, he'd accidentally set Rachael's place at the table. Since then, they both sat on the couch in front of TV trays in the living room. Pretending to keep going, despite the emptiness that Rachael's death had left in its wake.

Amy stared out at the graves creeping past her window as Rod drove the SUV at a snail's pace along the gravel road that led to the chapel/ office of the cemetery. Death certainly was convenient these days. One stop shopping, just like at the Super Center. A grieving family could hold the funeral and burial in the same place. The casket would be closed and neatly whisked away under a thin cloak of efficiency. No driving. No clumsy graveside service in the rain or the cold. No need to worry about great-granny dropping over of heat stroke or falling and breaking a hip. Everything was neat and tidy. Death wrapped up in a clean, pretty bow. A product purchased and delivered with swift, cool efficient hands.

Rachael would probably haunt them for the rest of their lives. Rod hoped that from heaven she couldn't see the dress her mother had picked out for her to wear. Rod would have buried her in one of her black hoodies and a pair of jeans. That was the way he remembered Rachael. Amy was going to dress her up in a frilly dress like a doll. Maybe, it was better, easier, somehow for the both of them if Rachael didn't look like herself. That way, they could remember her how she truly was without the taint of the grave. He would never remember how she looked, dead in her coffin. Not in the ridiculous get up she'd be buried in because that wasn't his little girl, but an imposter.

"Rod, I don't know if I can do this," Amy whispered. Her voice cracked and she began the search through her pockets for the endless wads of tissue she kept at the ready.

"What choice do we have?" Rod answered thinly. He shut off the engine and took the keys from the ignition. Amy was drying her eyes on the edge of a battered, crumpled tissue. The steering wheel was hard and cold against his forehead as he leaned against it and closed his eyes. Both of them were wearing down, beaten by the non-stop grieving that was their every waking hour.

His soul had more holes in it than swiss cheese and he just wanted this over with, to put it behind them and go on. Slowly, he lifted his head and opened the car door. He came around to Amy's side and held the door wide for her. Extending his hand he gave her a minute to collect herself. "Amy, we're going to get through this."

"How?" Amy sniveled into her handkerchief.

"The best we can." Rod took the garment bag from her arms and helped her climb down, steadying her as he took her hand and led her up to the ornately carved set of glass doors.

Chapter 91

Bleary eyed, Nora drew deeply on the paper cup filled with bad coffee from the teacher's lounge. Sleep was a stranger she no longer knew. This morning, instead of the stack of homework that usually accumulated on the corner of her desk, there was an empty space. She didn't blame the students. They were hurting too.

Instead of prattling on with a lecture their overwhelmed minds would refuse to comprehend, she cut them a break and let the students do as they pleased. The energy to teach had fled her spirit today and the students, likewise, had no spark of energy in which to learn. Some gathered in small groups and whispered amongst themselves. Others dropped their heads onto their desks and buried their faces in the folds of their arms and slept. A zealous few worked on assignments. She stared into the murky depths of her coffee cup and contemplated every possible outcome to the story of David and Nora. The ending that was the most likely was not a happy one.

Shayla stared into her coffee cup and dropped a handful of butter cookies on the tray of RJ's highchair. He'd already had his breakfast and wasn't really interested in food. The cookies amused him with their flowered shape more than anything else. She needed a moment to catch her breath. The news of Hunter's son's abduction wasn't being handled well. A mutiny was in the works. The Great Packmaster had ordered them to stay put. But, some of the pack had other plans. "Don't say it," she said, glancing wearily over the rim of her mug at her sister.

"Don't say what?" Ruby asked, pouring Evan a bowl of cereal. Her son was bouncing up and down in his chair enthusiastically at the thought of getting an early morning appetizer before the real breakfast was served.

"I told you so," Shayla said.

Ruby set the bowl on the table and got out of the way as he son grappled for a spoon and the milk. She balanced her mug in her palm and sat next to her sister. She knew Shayla well. Shayla felt personally responsible for Daniel's abduction. "It doesn't look good for Carter does it?"

Evan dribbled milk down his chin and stared across the table at his mom and his aunt. Listening in on their quiet conversation. As usual, the adults were all too quick to dismiss a kid and assumed he was too young to grasp the topic of their conversation. "Mommy, Uncle Carter didn't do it."

"Hush Evan," Ruby snapped, scowling across the table at him. She turned her attention back to Shayla who was drowning in the bottom of her coffee cup. Weighted down by a responsibility and blame that wasn't hers to bear. Carter knew secrets and he'd exploited them. Not her sister's fault.

Evan glared back at his mother. He was seven years old. Too old to be dismissed and ignored. He had a secret. "But MOM!" His mom hated that he was different from the other kids and she tried to dismiss his gift more often than not.

Shayla set down her empty mug and stared across the table at the little boy clad in Spiderman pajamas. "Evan, do you know who took Daniel?"

Evan nodded emphatically. "Uh huh. The bad man did it." He'd met the Bad Man and was frightened to say his name aloud. The Bad Man was the embodiment of the boogeyman for him.

Ruby rolled her eyes at her son. Of course a bad man had taken Daniel. No mystery there. Evan was just a kid with an overactive imagination.

"Sweetie, do you know where Daniel is?" Shayla asked. Evan was a very special little boy. He knew things. How he knew them, she could only guess. But, he did. If there was even the slightest chance that Evan could help locate Daniel, they had to take it.

Evan wrinkled his nose and strained to recall the details of his dream. In a seven year-old's mind details were forgotten as quickly as they came to the surface. He would know the place if he saw it. He didn't have all the words he needed to describe it though. He hopped from the table and darted up the stairs to his bedroom to grab a few sheets of blank paper and a box of crayons. He couldn't tell the adults what he saw, but he could draw it.

Shayla watched as a house formed on the blank paper. The lines were wobbly and uneven. Sometimes, the colors overlapped and crayon escaped the waxy lines. Evan's sketch wasn't much to go by, looking more like the product of imagination than a house. Maybe the Sons could glean something from it though. All she concluded was that they were looking for an old Victorian brick three-story house with a black roof and a weather vane sticking out the top. But, anything was better than what they currently had to go by which was nothing.

Evan took out a blue crayon and pointed to a window way up high. "That's where Daniel is." He was proud of his work. He'd done his best to translate what his mind's eye saw onto the sheet. His eyes met Aunt Shayla's. "Here's where Uncle Carter sleeps." He pointed to a window on the second story and filled the panes in with heavy black lines.

Smiling she praised Evan for his efforts and folded the paper, slipping it into her hip pocket. "Carter lives with the Bad Man?"

Frowning Evan nodded. "He doesn't want to though. He misses us. A lot."

"Why...," Shayla was about to ask a seven year-old why if Carter missed them so much he was staying with the Bad Man. "Never mind. Thank you, for your help, Evan."

Evan nodded and returned to his soggy cereal. His mom stared at him in dismay. He'd messed up again and said something he shouldn't have. His mom didn't believe him. At least, Aunt Shayla did.

"You can't possibly be thinking about turning that in to the Great Packmaster?" Ruby asked, pointing to Shayla's pocket. "Evan's just a little boy with a very active imagination. He doesn't know anything."

Shayla loosened the tray on the highchair and cradled her son to her breast. "Ruby, if it'd bring Daniel home, I'd dance naked in the front yard and wave chicken bones in the air."

Evan giggled, dribbling his milk all over the tablecloth.

"Eat your breakfast, Evan," Ruby ordered as her sister left the dining room. Insanity. Shayla was just now putting together the pieces of her broken life. The last thing she needed was to build up her hopes based on a little boy's drawing and proclamation that Carter missed her. Her son was leading the team on a wild goose chase and risking his aunt's fragile heart. For once, Ruby secretly wished, her son was wrong about what his dreams revealed.

Chapter 92

Daniel groggily pried his eyes open. Once again, he did a mental count down of the days that had passed since he'd been captured and came up blank. How long had it been a week? Two weeks? The smell of bacon and coffee tickled at his nose. Gingerly, he sat up in the bed. His head throbbed miserably. He expected to see Yessette holding the tray. Instead, Eric crossed the room and sat breakfast in front of him. "I think its time you and I had a little talk," Eric said, taking a seat in the wingback across the room.

Daniel eyed the tranquilizer gun resting casually in Eric's palm. "That's right, your wolf makes an appearance and I'll use it," Eric said. "Neither one of us wants that. I'm here to be your friend, not to drug you. But, I have to ensure my own safety."