Dawn Reclaimed

He led Sam through the vacant dock area, deeper into the back of the building. Even though their steps were quiet, the heels of their boots made a light echoing clicks against the concrete. Winding between stacks of boxes, they searched the docks for anything out of the ordinary. He was glad they hadn't bumped into any security staff, one less complication and life to risk. The lack of any security at all was a bit surprising. Downsizing was the way of the world. The absence of alarms meant only one thing. The owners of the building had cut the wrong corners in an attempt to save money. The building was one of those sleek, modern towers of steel and glass, a monolithic tribute to human ingenuity. There was too much of it for just the four of them to cover. If it were this easy to get in, it'd be just as simple to get out. The killer could be down at the coffee shop on the corner, ordering a latte and a croissant, planning his next kill and they'd be none the wiser. It wasn't a reassuring thought.

Grant dressed, shimmying into his boxers and jeans beneath the heavy cover of wool blankets. He was better, but not great. The material was coarse against his sensitive skin. His hair was tacky with dried sweat. And he ached from head to toe. Dane was in the alley, watching over the dead woman. But, Grant could still feel her lifeless stare on him, as if, somehow, he'd failed her. He'd gone from freezing cold to clammy and damp. Three shifts in one night were more than either he or his wolf was designed to endure.

He wanted a hot shower, a change of clothes, and breakfast. He longed for Claire. He needed to feel her warmth surrounding him and the gentleness of her presence comforting him. Her gentle scent wrapped around him instead of the stink of the city and the reek of death, chasing away the dark stench of evil lingering his nostrils. Grant pressed the back of his head against the slick leather headrest and closed his eyes. He imagined Claire starting her day, humming softly to herself as she dressed for work. The mental picture of Claire, soft and warm, her belly growing round with his child brought him a sense of peace and chased the darkness out of his head.

Grant hated the loss of life and that he'd been able to do nothing to prevent it from happening again. There would always be evil in the world. Suffering was a part of life. Without it, the good would go forgotten and unappreciated for the gift it truly was. Claire was the bright spot in all this darkness. She had no idea of the part she played in keeping him together.

He had no clue of what it took to catch a maniac bent on destruction. His wolf was a defender, a hunter, and a protector. It was what he was born to do. The woman's death rattled him more than he wanted to admit. He was not cut of the same cloth as the vampires. Their lives were ones of choice not like his, one of birthright. They'd lived and died to live again. When he died, it'd be like that woman's death in the alley. A one shot deal, final and permanent. The vampires dealt in death. They were born from it. It was a strange thing, that for all this death, the animated corpses that they were, they were so alive. Defenders of life and of the blood they drank from humanity's vein.

The opening of the driver's side door dragged Grant from his thoughts. Home would have to wait. Vampires were nothing if not meticulous. And the team would spend hours debating and debriefing. The hunt had turned up nothing. The mission just as clueless and empty handed as it had been before. He had no hopes of returning to Claire before nightfall, if then. And there probably wasn't a scrap of food to be found in Guardian headquarters. He had no appetite. But, he had to eat something. His wolf needed the strength. "Dane, can we stop by a drive through on the way? I'm starving."

Dane was more than happy to accommodate Grant's request. Fast food was a point of fascination for him. How a hamburger patty went from frozen to on the bun in less than one minute nothing short of a miracle. He didn't suppose Carter kept a ready supply of food on hand. No need for it. Grant looked like shit, his skin pale and shiny with the sheen of sweat, and his movements careful and pained as he shifted position in the backseat to pull a t-shirt over his head.

Grant needed more than a hamburger. He needed the strength of the brotherhood pulsing through Dane's vein to completely regenerate him. But, now was not the time to point that out. Tonight, the brothers had need of him. The hunt would begin again at sundown. And they would keep at it night after night until they caught a killer. He slid the gear into drive and looked over his shoulder as he steered into the early morning commuter traffic. "Point the way."



Chapter 30

Claire yawned and shook the fuzzy remnants of sleep out of her addled brain. Her dreams were bizarre and strange, filled with wolves. She shrugged it off, blaming the contents of her dreams on the chocolate cake and the stress of meeting Grant's family last night. Stretching out the kinks in her back, she stumbled into the shower. Leaving a trail of lights on in her wake. Five in the morning was still five in the morning, even though the sun was shining through her lace curtains. Reality was a bitch and she was her unwilling mistress. It'd be full dark out this early in the morning by the time the baby came. By her loose calculations, her due date was close to Christmas. But, she had to make it through today first, and on to the next, and the next before she thought about the future. Tomorrow and the baby were going to come soon enough.

She couldn't help but think about Grant and the baby. Their baby. She pulled on her favorite pair of scrubs, navy blue with embroidery around the collar. The pants were snug without a baby bulge and she didn't have much time left to wear them before they were too tight. Probably after their next washing, she'd have to tuck them into the back of her closet, where she kept all the other stuff she couldn't fit into and pull out her 'fat' clothes. It seemed impossible that at just a few weeks along she had the beginnings of a pregni-belly. Grant was a big guy though and she was no skinny mini to begin with. Perhaps, it was just her imagination getting the better of her. Wiggling her toes, Claire craned her neck and looked down over her stomach. She could still see the chips in her red nail polish. Wistfully, she climbed in the shower and dressed. Pausing for a moment to frown at the snugness of the waistband of her scrubs before she grabbed her keys and made a mad dash for work.

The unit was bustling with activity when Claire arrived. Nurses rushed about tending to patients and doing the last minute things they needed to do before the end of the shift and the beginning of hers. Every bed was full. And, judging by the ceaseless buzzing of call lights and exasperated expressions on her coworkers' faces, the patients weren't exactly thrilled to be sick on such a beautiful, sunny day. Claire had no time to chitchat or any desire to. Dodging Ginger, she took her assignment and hit the floor at a dead run. Praying like hell the gods of the flu would be merciful and over look her, just this once.

Ginger snorted at Claire's attempt to bypass her. Yes, she was definitely getting the brush off this morning. But, Ginger paid no attention to it and stopped Claire in the hallway. Her hand planted firmly on her hip. Claire was her usual frazzled self. Running everywhere and getting nowhere all at the same time the way baby nurses often did. And Ginger, a twenty some odd year veteran in the field considered anyone with less than ten years under their belts on the job, an infant to take under her wing.

Claire's cheeks were flushed. An ink pen shoved in haste into the plastic clip restraining her hair at the nape of her neck protruded from behind her right ear. She hadn't seen much of her since Claire's return from vacation. Ginger felt a bit slighted about that and meant to give her an earful today. She studied Claire and snapped her gum. "Girl, there is something definitely different about you."

Claire wasn't ready to let the cat out of the bag, not yet. "Busy, can't talk now," she said. Sooner or later, she'd have to tell her best friend the big news. But, in the middle of the hallway was not the place. She should work on what she was going to tell her parents before she told anybody else. Ginger and her mom were roughly the same age. Maybe, she should try Ginger first. Before she tackled her mom with the news. She felt a little guilty for keeping all hush-hush about the biggest secret she'd ever kept in her life. But, she didn't want to be the topic of unit gossip just yet. Oscar Wilde once said that there was nothing worse in the world than being talked about except for not being talked about. Well, that may be the case. But, he'd never met Ginger and her big mouth.

Thomas smiled as he saw Claire hustling around Ginger. She was either avoiding Ginger or on a mission to do something nursely for one of his patients. He was careful not to disturb her as he walked by her, just a brush on the arm and a casual, friendly, 'hello' in passing. After meeting the competition and judging himself lacking, he'd decided on a different course of action. In his way of thinking, she wasn't taken until she had a ring on her finger. There was still time to change her mind.

His plan was simple. Be a friend. Stick around and, not that he wanted her heartbroken and hurting, be there for her incase that man responsible for the flush in her cheeks and that far away look in her eyes let her down. He'd help her pick up the pieces. And then maybe, in time, she'd get that flush and dreamy expression for him instead.

He could do fatherhood. He wasn't rich. But, he made a good enough living to give her the white picket fence, the mini van in the driveway, and a lifetime of happiness. It didn't matter that she was pregnant with another man's baby. He'd love the child anyway. DNA made that baby growing inside of her. But, it took a lot more than DNA to be a father.

Claire skidded to a stop and returned Thomas's hello. He was a good friend and deserved more than a quick 'hi' in passing. He kept her secret to himself. He hadn't judged. And most importantly, he hadn't asked any questions. She was conflicted about him. The kiss and its awkwardness had changed the dynamic between them. Blushing, she pulled her ink pen out of her hair clip and clicked it with her thumb. He knew where he stood. She was in love with Grant and she had nothing to offer Thomas but friendship.

She had hundreds of questions to ask him about her pregnancy and the baby and no one to ask but him. She couldn't talk about it at work. And her old OB nursing textbooks were damn terrifying. There were so many things that could be wrong. And that could go wrong with the little life growing inside of her. She wanted every test possible to reassure her both the baby and she were going to be fine. She trusted him as both a friend and a physician. He'd never lie to her. He'd tell her the truth, even if it weren't what she wanted to hear. She was perfectly healthy. Grant appeared to be healthy. But, the nursing texts didn't exactly leave her with a warm and fuzzy feeling. Claire had her game face down pat. Stifling her emotions and her fears behind a mask of a smile, she playfully asked, "Doc, did you think we were bored and admit all these patients on purpose?"

Thomas shrugged playfully. "Business was a little slow this quarter. What can I say? Maybe, when you're done impersonating Florence Nightingale, you'll join me for some haute cuisine in the hospital cafeteria? I hear it's green jell-o day." Friends ate lunch together didn't they? His invitation implied nothing more that a little good conversation, some bad hospital food, and a chance to bask in the sunshine that was Claire.

Claire shook her head and rolled her eyes as a patient bellowed, "Nurse!" down the hallway. "Sometime, but not today. Busy."

Thomas chuckled and patted Claire on the shoulder as she ran down the hall to see what the patient too impatient to use his call light wanted. "Take it easy, Claire," he called after her. Thomas ducked Ginger's curious stare and slid around the corner, retreating to his office. Ginger was a good nurse, a wonderful friend to Claire, but she had a mouth that wouldn't quit and a penchant for gossip. Most of which wasn't true.

Ginger returned to her charting. Doc Sterling and Claire, now that was a good match. They suited each other. Maybe, Claire had been avoiding her for a reason. Maybe a romance was blooming. At least, that was what she suspected. Claire and good Doctor Sterling were trying to keep a lid on their secret. Ginger scoffed, like Clare couldn't trust her? Who in the hell would she tell? She scoffed at that, already knowing the answer. Who would she tell? Everyone. News like that was too good to keep under wraps for very long. Claire was pretty enough to snag Thomas's attention. But, the nurses circled Thomas like sharks. And Claire would need her help to keep them off of him.

Grant downed the contents of the first bag of fast food and started on the second as the vampires mulled over the facts from last night. The vampires were no closer to discovering the identity of the killer than they were before. Even his wolf couldn't help them with that. He had the killer's base scent. But, short of that, unless he wanted to go out in wolf form and sniff every person's crotch and prowl every dark alley in the city. He had nothing of value to contribute to this little gathering.

His belly full and his wolf's appetite decently sated, Grant rested his elbow on the cushy arm of a sofa long enough to seat a football team. His eyelids wavered sleepily as he listened to the bleak musings of the men gathered round a table in the adjacent room. The vampires were absolutely certain the killer had murdered before these three women and chillingly, almost coldly pragmatically aware of the fact that he would do it again. The murderer had a penchant for blondes, if his previous patterns were anything to go by. But, they couldn't guess where he'd strike next. Or why, he'd killed the third woman the way he had. Slicing and dicing, not enough to kill her outright though, before the drugs invaded her system and did the job for him.

Patrols had been stepped up. But, manpower was in desperately short supply. The compound couldn't go unprotected. The four corners of the city had to be guarded. And the threat of Rogues still loomed over their heads like a black cloud. Grant kicked back on the sofa, resting his booted feet on the pristine white leather and earning a scowl from Carter for doing so. He was so damn tired. Trying to stay awake, just in case the vampires said something interesting. One thing was for sure, the vampires couldn't protect every blonde in the city, and they couldn't be everywhere at once.

Grant's eyes narrowed to weighted slits he fought to keep open. Couldn't the vampires do this without him? His mind, numbed to the point of exhaustion, wandered back to simpler times. The one and only time Nash packed up the whole family and took them to the ocean on a vacation. At the time Grant had been a teenager. Old enough to go out on the ocean in a boat, old enough to toss handfuls of slimy, stinky, chum into the water, old enough to bait the hook, but too young to handle the big fish drawn in by the blood. The sharks swarmed the boat. Their dorsal fins pointing out of the choppy waves like arrows. The blood had sent the sharks into a feeding frenzy the likes of which Grant had never seen before.

His eyes snapped open and his mind was suddenly alert. Blood! Of course! Blood was the missing piece. Blood was so engrained into the vampires' psyches they didn't see it for what it was. Bait! They were the hunters and seldom the hunted. Humans weren't supposed to know about them. But, the killer did. It all made perfect sense to Grant now. He was up on his feet and across the room, pounding his fist on the table to get their attention. "The murderer isn't hunting his victims. He's using his victims as bait to hunt you."

The room went deathly still as Grant explained his theory. No emotion registered on the vampires' faces as they considered Grant's theory. A human who knew about them in the right set of circumstances might be able to pull it off. Especially if the bait were still alive, as Grant put it, wiggling on the hook. Blood, more precisely, fresh, human blood was a hard thing to resist.

The man waltzed straight out of the front door and into the blazing morning sun. The street was crowded with police cars and curious crowds of on lookers. Nothing drew in a carnival crowd like death. Yellow police tape draped across the entrance to the alleyway like bright, festive, garland. Officers pushed back the throngs of people as a loaded gurney parted through the crowd. The crowd sucked in a collective breath of shock at the sight of the black bag bulging with the vague shape of a body. He grinned to himself as the gurney was stuffed into the back of an ambulance. No doubt bound for the morgue.

He kept his head down as he fought upstream through the herd of people. Now that the crisis was over and there were better things to do. The crowd drifted apart as people shuffled to their daily grind, whispering to the shufflers around them in silenced voices. A vampire wouldn't dare touch him. Not in broad daylight. Not in front of a throng of police and people. He was as safe as a babe in its mother's arms.

Patrick hated the daylight. Despised it with a passion. The UV rays of the sun made it impossible to see things clearly. Even with the dark glasses, he squinted against the sunlight. He was more adept at handling the full force light of a brilliant morning than most in the brotherhood. With age came certain tolerances. Although he looked deceptively young, he was freaking old. Keene trumped him in the age department. But, the bastard stood out like a redheaded, stepchild. Carter was almost freaking ancient. Unfortunately, he was too pretty and every female with a pulse would drop her panties for him in the middle of the sidewalk. This mission called for finesse and subtly. And he was the king of covertness. How could he not volunteer?

People hovered around the crime scene. The air was filled with hushed whispers and soft gasps as the body was rolled out of the alley. The crowd mulled about, craning their collective necks for a closer look. Patrick leaned casually against the brick facade of a neighboring building, pretending to blend in and be as morbidly interested as the rest of the crowd. He'd seen plenty of corpses in his day. And while he didn't get the livings' fascination with the dead, he assumed if he were on their side of the grave instead of his, he'd be rubbernecking it too.

Over the din of the crowd, Patrick's preternatural hearing caught bits and pieces of official sounding conversation. The detectives in charge of the case had a whole bunch of nothing. Bloodstains, a dead prostitute, and not much else. The big wigs downtown just wanted the murder swept under the carpet. No one had made the correlation between the three dead women yet. Or if someone had, it was pretty hush-hush. He looked out over the crowd. Most of them business types, dressed in power suits, toting paper cups of latte, and texting from cell phones as if their thumbs needed the workout routine. There were a lot of blondes in the herd, pale blondes, golden blondes, natural blondes, and of course, the ever popular artificial blonde.

When the excitement died down, the crowd began to disperse. The daily grind was never one to be postponed for long, not even for murder. Patrick never forgot a face. Ever. He slid the dark lenses down on his nose, hoping for a better look. The man, from the convenience store, slipped through the shoulder-to-shoulder press of people bound for another grueling day at the office. The man wound his way against the flow of foot traffic, simply walking down the sidewalk, not taking particular interest in the squad cars or ribbons of yellow police tape draped across the alley. He was dressed in a navy blue janitor's uniform, whistling to himself as if he didn't have a care in the world.