Dawn Reclaimed

Maybe, it was Claire's apparent differences that made her so likeable. Maybe, it was her shyness and her calm, gentle spirit that made Marianne want to befriend her. Maybe, it was because of the changes Claire incited in Grant that was the woman's only appeal. Grant was cautious and caring around Claire. Attentive. His wolf had claimed her. And whether Claire knew it or not, she was part of the family. Marianne knew what it was like to be the odd ball in the crowd. There was no one in the family close to her age and she had no real friends. She decided right then and there even though years separated her from Claire, they were going to be friends. Marianne nodded in approval. "I like you."

"Mouse," Grant gritted between clamped molars. "Don't you have a table to set?" She was freaking Claire out. Inspecting her like she was fresh meat. Mouse could be blunt to the point of rudeness. A trait she'd most likely learned from her father. And she was far too young to catch the nuances of the things she said and in the subtleties of how she behaved. Mouse's overt curiosity was unwelcome and intrusive. Grant sure as hell didn't want her accidentally slipping up and saying something to tip Claire off. He was going to tell Claire everything, in time. Luckily though, Claire hadn't caught on and took it in stride, smiling indulgently and politely at Mouse.

Grant took Claire's hand as Mouse glowered at him, rolling her eyes as she moved to set the extra place at the table. "Claire, there's someone very important I want you to meet." Gently, Grant towed Claire out of the dining room and across the living room to a corner where his great, great, great, great, great, great, great, many more greats grandmother sat, finger crocheting an afghan.

Claire didn't know how many more members of Grant's family she could withstand meeting at one time. Nash was overwhelming. Marianne had been a bit terrifying, for a twelve year old. His entire family was well, unique. Two's company. Three's a crowd. But, the twenty or thirty she'd spotted mulling about the house were a damn army. How in the hell did they feed all these people at one time? Who did the laundry? And exactly how many bathrooms were in this place?

"Claire," Grant said in a hushed, reverent voice. "This is Nana. She's my great-great grandmother." Ok, so he'd omitted at least a few greats. But, Claire didn't need to know how old Nana, the oldest of the Pack and one of the original daughters of the Great White Wolf, truly was. Even he wasn't precisely certain of her true age.

This wrinkled old woman, paying more attention to her crochet work than to him was truly ancient. But, she was far from as feeble and senile as she appeared, rocking in her chair, her head bent and eyes squinting in the dim circle of the lamplight cast from the floor lamp behind her. Her mind was sharp, her hearing crystal clear, and her sense of smell infallible. She knew things. He never understood how. But, she had that wisdom and ethereal sense of eternity that elders get as if they spent half their time in this world and the other half in the next. He knelt down at Nana's feet, pulling Claire to the floor with him. "Nana, this is Claire."

"Quiet, Boy." The woman's voice was strong and the commanding snap of it shocked Claire. It was difficult to guess Nana's age. Her skin, while deeply wrinkled, like an apple left in the sun to dry, was a rich russet color, like Grant's. Her hair was pure white and braided down her back to wrap into a coil at her side. Her gnarled fingers worked the baby blue yarn with deft motions as they wove the strand into an intricate design. Claire expected to find Nana's eyes to be clouded with age. But, Nana's eyes were every bit as intense and sharp as her voice. And they studied Claire with fierce shrewdness, assessing her.

Nana was filled with the life and vitality of a woman half her age. Her skin should have bagged on her bones, jiggling from the effects of time and gravity. But, she was incredibly fit and tone. Casually, finished counting the stitches, she sat down the blanket and held out her hand to Claire. Claire was unsure of what to do. Did Nana want to shake hands? Nervously, Claire lifted her fingers and left them hovering over Nana's extended palm.

Grant suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at Nana's insistence to touch Claire. Would probably earn him an embarrassing box upside the ears for the trouble. Nana was a toucher. There was nothing he could say to explain Nana's behavior to Claire, nothing that would make sense to her anyway. He had to hope Claire rolled with it and chalked it up to senility. It was best just to get it over with before Nana did something even more difficult to explain. "Go ahead, give her your hand."

Claire awkwardly extended her hand. The woman's papery thin fingers wrapped around her wrist and dragged her closer. For someone so fragile looking, Nana's grip was strong, almost painful. She winced and resisted the urge to jerk her hand away as Nana lifted the back of her hand to her nose and sniffed. Nana released her hand with a satisfied grunt. "I like her. Comes from good stock this one does."

Claire exchanged a look with Grant and rubbed the back of her hand on the hem of her shorts. Ok, that was weird. Maybe, Nana had a touch of senility or something. Grant shrugged dismissively, smiling dotingly at his great, great, grandmother. Nana had already returned to the crocheted blanket stretched out across her lap. Her thin lips moving as she counted the stitches. Preoccupied with her task, she ignored them completely.

"Soup's on!" Nash's voice echoed from the depths of the kitchen. In a flash of flurry, the living room was deserted. Chairs scraped across the wood floor. Plates and silverware clanked eagerly against one another as the members of Grant's large, extended family took their seats at the table.

"Better come on before its all gone. Food doesn't last around here very long. It's kind of a first come first served kind of thing. And you don't want to be last," Grant explained. He helped Claire to her feet, prodding her toward the dining room.

"What about Nana?" Claire asked.

"She'll eat when she's ready to. She's not nearly as fragile as she lets on." Grant couldn't exactly tell Claire that Nana's wolf was powerful enough to take down a buck with one snap of her jaws, or that she preferred hunting for her food rather than having it served to her. "She's the only exception to the first come first served rule. They'll save her a plate for later."

Chapter 26

The table was as long as a football field and piled high with heaping platters and bowls of food. Chairs stretched down each side of the table, each one of them filled except for the two set aside for them. Claire gave up trying to count how many people were actually seated around the table after reaching number fifteen. Supper was a very casual affair for Grant's family. The room was a din of chatter as platters and bowls were passed from person to person. What wasn't passed around was simply reached for between bites of mashed potatoes and gravy or mouthfuls of fried chicken. She sat, on the edge of her seat, squeezed elbow to elbow in between Grant and Mouse. Gingerly, she took one of the remaining chicken legs from the platter and passed it down the line.

The bowl of mashed potatoes came to her from Grant's direction. Not to appear too eager and ever mindful of her waistline, she dipped a small spoonful onto her plate and passed the bowl to Mouse. Some of Grant's family members heaped the potatoes high on their plates and doused them in enough gravy to launch a ship. Claire wasn't certain there was enough to go around twice, if anyone wanted seconds. Grant gave her plate a disparaging frown and when the next dish came around, he plopped a generous serving on her plate and bypassed her completely.

The dining room was filled with conversation. Friendly chatter volleyed across the table like a ball over a net. Silverware clanked zealously against dishes as Grant's family with no measure of aplomb or propriety dug in. Claire ate daintily, shyly picking at her chicken with the tines of her fork. Table manners were not a priority at this dining room table. Mouse sat beside her, sucking every last bit of chicken from the bone. Across from her, two teenage boys fought over the last dinner roll and ended up splitting it down the middle after a disapproving glare from Nash.

Laughter echoed off the walls and permeated the air with the sound of joy. Claire couldn't help but smile between bites of mashed potatoes. These people, for all their quirks and oddities, loved one another. Grant's family was curious about her. But, even for as overwhelming as they were. She felt strangely welcome and at home with them.

Meals were quiet affairs at her house. Suppers were rushed and were just another thing her mother had to accomplish before falling into bed. She'd always hurried to finish and clear the table to keep the peace. Grant's family lingered around the table long after the platters were empty, casually talking and generally enjoying one another's company. No one was left out of the conversation, including her. She met each and every person sitting at the table, although she'd never remember all of their names. No one here rushed to gather up the dishes. Here, there didn't seem to be much of an urgency to do anything. Night had settled in and the sliding glass doors leading onto a vast patio were filled with darkness. One by one, Grant's family filtered out of the dining room, wandering off to do whatever it was they did.

She watched Grant. He was different around his family, content and happy. His posture relaxed. He sat with his long legs stretched out beneath the dining room table and an arm casually draped around the back of her chair, idly playing with a stray strand of her hair. He was completely at ease, joking and laughing with his family. A toddler had climbed into his lap. Grant cradled the little one to his chest, swabbing his hand over the little boy's dark hair. Gently rocking his leg back and forth as the little one drifted off to sleep. The nap didn't last long. Just a five minute power nap to doze off a fully belly. Soon, the toddler was climbing down out of Grant's lap and toddling off in search of his mother.

Claire recalled Grant's explanation of why he'd ran from his family. She could hardly believe the Grant that had been hiding in her father's cabin, kidnapping her, and this Grant were one in the same. Then he'd been desperate, guilt ridden, and afraid. Wounded by regret. But, when Claire had asked him about it. He didn't try to lie to her about what he'd done. He'd hurt a woman out of anger and spite. Hit her. He'd fought with Nash. And as a consequence, his family had driven him away. He didn't think he'd ever return home again. Didn't think his family would let him. That fight changed him. The time they spent together in the cabin had somehow healed him. Given him the courage to seek out forgiveness.

When Claire woke up and found Grant gone. That hurt, the weeks of living in suspended animation, wondering where he was and if she'd ever see him again, were unbearable. But, seeing him with his family. Witnessing this side of him, the gentle, relaxed, version of him eased the memory of the pain. She was glad he'd found his way back to them and back to her.

His warm lips brushed against her ear. "They like you," he whispered. His hand slid beneath the tablecloth and rested on her knee. She blushed as his fingertips traced circles across her skin. Clare was a little ashamed by the trek of her thoughts. She'd conjured up a thousand different theories about Grant's family. Anything her mind could come up with to explain why there were so many generations under the same roof. The hardened, cynical part of her brain wanted to believe there was something off, aside from the apparent, about them. Her theories ranged from religious cult to some kind of incestuous, family tree didn't fork, scenario. Since meeting them, she'd dismissed the ridiculousness of her rampant ideas. If these people could accept her, the very least she could do was to have an open mind and try to accept them in return.

Grant sensed Claire's nervousness gradually melt away. His family really did like her. They'd gone out of their way to be nice to her, included her in their conversations, and made certain she got plenty to eat. And they were really trying to appear normal for her sake. He was proud of them and of Claire. She seemed to be taking the sheer enormity of his family in stride. Laughing along with them, smiling like she was genuinely having a good time, and finally, after getting over her shyness, she'd managed to clean all the food off her plate.

Marianne wheeled the rolling cart around the table, loading it with dirty dishes. Claire had offered to help. And Marianne considered it for about five seconds before refusing. Insisting that company didn't do dishes or help clear the table. Once she'd rolled the cart into the kitchen, she craned her neck to peek around the corner of the half wall dividing the kitchen from the dining room. Curiously, she watched her uncle with Claire. They were so in love, smiling and laughing to private jokes. Someday, when she was old enough, she wanted that for herself. Claire had such a profound impact on Grant. She'd tamed the beast. And Marianne couldn't help but wonder if love would do the same for her dad.

Nash stood beside his granddaughter, peeking around the wall to see what she was staring at. "Mouse, what are you doing?"

"Nothing. Claire is good for him, Grandpa."

"Yes, she is," Nash agreed. Claire and Grant were not going to have an easy road. Sometimes, love was not enough. And Grant was going to have to tell her about his world. By bringing her here, Grant had determined that she was going to be a part of it. Nash didn't share Grant's optimism. Humans had a difficult enough time accepting one another. What was Claire going to do when she found out the truth about Grant and about the baby she carried?

"I like her. Do you like her, Grandpa?"

Nash smiled and tugged on Mouse's braid. Claire had an aura of strength about her, a quiet calm and grace rare in humans. He'd never gotten the whole story from Grant about how Claire and he had actually met. But, Nash knew his adopted son. And probably, the circumstances were not the best. That she'd seen the worst of Grant and was still here, smiling at him with stars glittering in her eyes, gave Nash hope. Yes, Claire was a special woman. "Yes, I do." He cut two pieces of chocolate cake and laid them on plates. "Why don't you take these over to them?" He carefully handed Mouse the plates and smiled as she balanced them on her palms. "Remember our secret."

"Ok, Grandpa." Marianne balanced the plates on her palms and walked as carefully as she could to the dining room table. Her grandfather, hell everyone, was always telling her to remember the secret. As if she could forget. As if anyone would believe her if she did slip up and spill it. She was as close to being human as a coyote was to being a Chihuahua, genetically similar, close, but not quite the same. She set the plates down in front of Grant and Claire and stepped back with a smile. Claire was pregnant. Her baby would be a genetic crossbreed. And for that, Marianne envied her unborn cousin, just a little.

"Thanks, Mouse," Grant said. Claire and he had the dining room table to themselves. He kept the conversation light and away from bigger topics. Tonight he'd made some serious headway with Claire and he didn't want to mess it up with deeper subjects.

Claire protested the gigantic slice of chocolate cake vehemently. She did not need the calories. The icing was a rich, dark brown color, probably thick and decadent. The cake looked good enough to melt in her mouth. And there were more calories in that slab and the supper she'd eaten than she ate in a day, maybe two. Grant had kept heaping food on her plate and she'd eaten every last bite of it. The waistband of her shorts bit into her bulging waist. And no, it was not baby fat. It was plain old ordinary pudge. At this early stage of the game at just a little pregnant, she could not blame the baby for any sudden weight gain. Damn it, she was going to fit into her pre-pregnancy jeans the minute this baby popped out. "I am stuffed. Marianne, why don't you eat one piece and Grant and I will share the other."

Marianne eagerly slid the plate over to the opposite side of the table and perched on the edge of a chair. "Okay." She wasn't about to turn down a piece of cake this big. Dissecting the cake from the icing with her fork and scooping it up, she took a huge bite. Sweets were virtually off limits for kids. Her grandfather claimed sugar made them too hyper and whatever treats they got were served sparingly. She could handle the sugar rush. She'd done it before and been absolutely fine. Gobbling up the slice before her grandfather caught her or her brothers ratted her out, she ate as fast as respectable.

"It's really good," Grant coaxed. He took a bite to encourage Claire to dig in. He could see it in her eyes. Claire had a weakness for chocolate and her eyes gleamed with temptation. Her spoon sat forlorn and untouched at the side of the plate. Her jaw set in determination as she denied herself one taste. "Try it." He held his spoon, loaded with a bite of cake to Claire's lips until she reluctantly conceded and opened. Feeding her with his spoon, off his plate, stirred an instinct in him that was protective and filled with pride. Providing for his female and his child in a caveman sort of way. He watched as her lips wrapped around the morsel and closed. How could she make something as simple as taking a bite look so sexy? His groin stiffened and his tongue ached to trace the vermilion border of her mouth to lap up the stray crumb clinging to her bottom lip.

Claire blushed at Grant's intense stare. The cake was rich, moist, and decadent, melting in her mouth. Just like she knew it would be. Her shyness overwhelmed by the sweetness coating her tongue, she opened for another taste. Grant took his time, torturing her, carefully spooning another, bigger bite, lifting it to her lips as he held a hand beneath her chin to catch any stray crumbs. "That is heaven," Claire said with a sigh.

Oh yes, Grant silently agreed. It was.

"I helped make it," Marianne chimed in. She'd measured the ingredients, cracked the eggs, and stirred the batter under her grandfather's careful supervision. And the second his back was turned to put the cakes into the oven, she'd licked as much batter out of the bowl as she could without getting in trouble.

"Well you did an excellent job," Claire replied. In so many ways, Mouse reminded her of Grant. What he might have been like at that same age. Trying to draw Grant's attention off of her and the fact that he'd somehow managed to feed her the entire piece of cake while only taking a small bite for himself. She changed the subject. "What grade are you in?"

"Claire, Mouse is home schooled. All the kids are." Grant said, explaining away Mouse's expression of puzzlement. The blessings of the wolf manifested earlier than the shift. And Pack children did not integrate well in public schools. It took time to learn to hide what they were. One mistake, something seemingly innocent, might out the Pack to someone who knew what to look for. Werewolves were creatures of myth and fantasy. But, there were humans out there who believed enough to connect the dots. And even if they didn't make the paranormal connection, the children would be outcasts and labeled as different.

"Oh, well what are you learning?" Claire asked. No wonder she'd never overheard any rumors about Grant or his incredibly large family arriving in town. The family was virtually an island to themselves. She pushed the niggling doubt that there was something...unusual going on here to the back of her mind. These were nice people. There was nothing funny going on. Lots of families home schooled these days.