Dawn Reclaimed

She saw it as a wise business investment not to own a car. Parking in downtown was expensive. And she'd casually explained her lack of transportation to her coworkers. Touting how she preferred to ride the train or walk because she was environmentally conscious. It was true, sort of. She did care about the environment. She recycled. She did her part. But, she didn't own a car because she couldn't afford one. Her paycheck only went so far. And keeping up with trends came with a hefty price tag.

Gathering up her backpack, she slid a sweatshirt over her head. Nobody she knew went to this gym. And here, she could relax, sweat, and just be herself. The streets were quiet. Everyone with any sense either drove or avoided this part of town after dark altogether. She tried not to let the dark and the sinister silence of the dilapidated neighborhood bother her as she walked to the train station.

The man spotted her through the plate glass window. Jogging at a slow pace, her face showed signs of exertion. Her gait was slow and a little strained. She wasn't the blonde he'd been hoping for, not a natural blonde. But, artificial highlights counted too. She was young enough to suit his needs, healthy enough, though a little taller than he'd like. But, light enough for him to lift.

He stalked the shadows, following her to the deserted train station. She was out in the open, under the dim lights of the platform. Alone. Practically served on a platter for him to snatch up. He'd bide his time, her presence here might be a fluke. Once he established a pattern, if she came back night after night, predictably. He'd set his plan into action. There'd be no mistakes, not this time.

Thomas spent a long, sleepless night rattling around the house, and then wandering back to bed. His brain was on overdrive. It simply would not shut up long enough to let him catch some desperately needed zzzz's. He was a doctor for God's sake. He had a prescription pad and there were plenty of pills to make him sleep like a baby. But, there was no magic bullet to cure the cause for his insomnia. Life. Claire. His mother. The whole world crowded him. Hanging over his head like loose plaster dangling from a ceiling, ready to crumble down and crush him.

His eyes popped open as the curtains fluttered as if they had been stirred by a light summer night's breeze. The windows were closed and he had the air conditioning on. He scooted over to make room for her. Stifling a yawn, he said, "Hi Mom, I thought you were grounded?"

"Grounded? Ha!"

Thomas felt the springs give beneath his mother's weight as she sat beside him on the bed. Her fingertips automatically went to his hair, riffling through the strands the way they had when he was a little boy. He'd never been a very sound sleeper. And this was her old mom's trick to coax him into dozing off. "It's the middle of the night. What are you doing here?"

Barbara pointed to her head with an index finger. She was very in tune to her son. Always had been. She didn't need a blood bond to know the kind of nights he had the most difficulty falling asleep. Tonight, his mind was a buzz of activity and restlessness. Her little boy needed his rest. "I heard you rattling around. So, I snuck out." She grinned widely, like a teenager breaking curfew. "Like my disguise?" She fluffed the long curls her red wig with a palm.

Thomas snickered, "You look like a spokesperson for Rogaine." He scooted up in the bed and rested his head against the oak headboard.

Barbara returned his snicker. "What's on your mind, Sonny Boy?" Careful not to bruise him, she guided his head onto her lap. Her fingers trailed through his hair, massaging his scalp with her fingernails. When he was a little boy, she'd do this to soothe him enough to drift off. The last time she'd held him like this, he was ten and had stayed up too late watching scary movies. He'd awakened in the middle of the night screaming and crying. Swearing that something was lurking in the closet. He knew about the monsters in the closet and the things that went bump in the night. They were his friends. She wondered, what frightened him now, twenty-three years later.

She'd tried to work her magic since then. But, like all little boys do. Thomas grew up. He'd insisted that he didn't need her to tuck him into bed anymore. It hurt, at the time. But, that he was letting her do it now, as an adult and so grown up, eased a smile across her face.

All of the sudden he felt transported back in time. He felt like he was ten years old. He could almost feel the rough flannel of cowboy print pajamas against his skin instead of the cool silk of his boxers. He sighed and closed his eyes, remembering the simpler time. When he was ten. He didn't worry about tomorrow. The future seemed such a long way off. Anymore, tomorrow took a bite out of him before it ever came. "Claire is pregnant."

Barbara's eyes widened in surprise, her Sonny Boy had been busier than she'd guessed. Her fingers stilled in his hair. She couldn't help it. Grinning, like the proud grandmamma she was going to be, she chuckled. "Its about time you gave me a grandchild."

"Mom, the baby isn't mine."

"That slut!" Barbara frowned in disappointment. She had big plans for Claire and her son. She'd always liked Claire. Claire was a good nurse, always so kind when Barbara had been her patient. Claire had a bright future. Thomas had a bright future. And Barbara had it all planned out for them. The wedding. The babies. The house.

"Mom!" Thomas huffed. "It's not like that. Claire is a good girl."

"Then why isn't she here instead of me?"

"Mom, sometimes you are unbelievable." Thomas rolled on his back and glared up at his mother. Tugging her wig free with his hand, he pulled it off her head. It was hard to have a serious conversation with her when she looked like a bad impersonation of Ronald McDonald. That was better. "I met her boyfriend or whatever he is, yesterday."

"And?"

"He's like rock and roll meets Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man. I can't compete with that. I'm nothing. Ordinary."

"Thomas, you are not ordinary. You're a good man and if she can't see that then that's her problem. Not yours." She held his chin up, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Do you love her?" Barbara felt a twinge of pity for Claire. Bad boys did not have the reputation for sticking around. She felt like she was seeing her life and her mistakes being repeated. Except this time, she was watching from the sidelines instead of living them.

"I don't know. Sometimes, I think so."

"But."

"Sometimes, I'm not sure. I could give her and the baby a good life. I know that. I know I could make her happy. We could be happy together."

"Thomas. Don't you settle! You could have a good life with Claire, sure. You could make her happy. I have no doubt of that. But, what about you? Can Claire really make you happy? Is she really the right one for you? You want to marry the love of your life, right?"

"Yes. Of course I do."

"Then don't sell yourself short. If Claire's not the right one, don't push it. Let it go. Let her go. And wait. Someday, the right one will come along."

"Mom, I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of being alone. What if this 'right one' never comes along?" Thomas rolled back onto his side and planted his head in her lap. Tonight, he didn't want to be a man in charge of his destiny. He wanted to be a little boy again and let his mom handle the big bad in the world. He didn't want to think. But, his mind was racing like a thoroughbred at the Kentucky Derby. He wasn't ready to give up on Claire completely. But, what if his mom was right? And Claire wasn't for him?

"She will." Barbara resumed her rhythmic stroking. Thomas was lonely and there was nothing she could do to make it right. She focused on the connection she shared with her son. Doc had taught her to invade his mind and find his mental signature. Locking onto the neurons and chemical signals that zipped around in that oversized brain of his. "Sleep Sonny Boy. Sleep," she whispered.

Thomas's mind stilled and his eyes grew heavy. He sighed and snuggled closer to his mom. His tense body relaxed as he slid into a world of dreams.

Barbara looked up. The Shaman stood in the doorway of the bedroom, watching her and her son. She expected him to be furious. Enraged that she'd snuck out. She loved to agitate him and get under that thick, cold skin of his. Instead he smiled at her warmly and understandingly. She held a finger to her lips and carefully shifted Thomas's head off her lap. She bent to give him a kiss on the cheek and tucked the covers around him tightly. "Goodnight, baby."

The Shaman watched Barbara tuck her son in. Their bond spanned across time and circumstance. They loved each other deeply. No matter how their lives changed, the bond between them would always remain the same. He couldn't be angry with her. Not for sneaking out to see her son. For any of the other myriad things she did to complicate his life, yes, but not for loving her son. "It's time to go."

Barbara sighed and gave Thomas one last lingering look. She pulled on her wig and did her best to center it on her head. She could give Claire an earful for what she'd done. Passing up Thomas for someone else. But, what was the point? Her son deserved the love of his life. And Claire obviously, wasn't it.



Chapter 33

Grant shivered and pulled his shirt over his head. The weather had taken a turn for the worse tonight. Throughout the evening the temperature had plummeted. And a beautiful sunny day had turned into a cold, absolutely miserable windy, stormy night. Rain ran down the back of Grant's neck in chilly torrents. Wishing for a warm bed, he kicked off his boots and worked his belt buckle loose. He couldn't trade forms with his wolf indoors. And it wasn't exactly like he could do this under the awning in the front of the building where anybody who shouldn't might see him.

He finished stripping, behind the building in the shipping and receiving area. Tonight, he...his wolf would stalk through the office building, sniffing for traces of the killer. The vampires ensured they were alone and had the building to themselves. That the search for clues could continue uninterrupted. Grant slid out of his jeans and boxers. Cold rain pelted his skin and gusts of wind bit harshly into his naked skin. In a minute, his wolf would be in control, and it wouldn't matter.

He crouched on his hands and knees, his fingers twitching and shoulders quivering from the cold and the power of the oncoming shift surging through him. Gritting his teeth to keep from screaming, he threw back his head and gave himself over. Resisting the call only made the pain worse. Like trying to paddle against the current of rushing water over rock. It was better, easier, just to let the current sweep him away. The pain faded. Grant faded. And the wolf emerged.

The wolf shook out his coat, ridding the fur of excess rainwater and the lingering smell of his human. Warm against the night chill, he looked at the vampires inquisitively, evaluating them with his golden eyes. His human supplied the necessary information. He knew what he was here to do. Wrinkling his nose, he drew the scents of the city into his nostrils. The city stank. The harsh smell of gasoline and exhaust, of decaying garbage, and people, people, people, tormented his sensitive nose.

Marcus shivered, not from the cold, but from watching man and wolf exchange forms. He swallowed back his revulsion at the sight. Grant's body had twisted and contorted in a way no human body was ever meant to. Grant's agonized facial expression as his body changed into something else was forever burned into Marcus's mind. The wolf tracked his movements with those creepy golden eyes of his as Marcus walked to the back door and pulled the lock pick kit out of his pocket. It was best to get down to business and forget about it. Although it was just his imagination, he could feel the wolf's hot breath on the back of his neck.

Apparently, the owner of the building wasn't too concerned about security. The door was shut. But, no one had replaced the broken lock. He gave the steel entry door a light shove and walked right on it. Marcus's mind was always thinking like a human's. The building was the kind of place a homeless guy could set up shop and get cozy. It was warm and dry, there were toilets and running water, probably soft couches to sleep on, loose change and snacks tucked away in desk drawers. Exactly the kind of place he would have looked for back in the day. He'd been hungry. He'd been homeless. He'd done a lot of things...back then.

Patrick couldn't help himself. The top of the wolf's back struck him mid waist. The furry beast had a head the size of a dinner plate. And his massive paws were as big as Patrick's hands. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of wet dog. This thing was no canine, not even close. The wolf's massive body was built for speed and defense. Hell, the wolf probably weighed more than he did and standing on his hind legs was probably just as tall. Patrick didn't see the danger in the wolf though. His head couldn't conceptualize that the wolf was a wild creature of nature and that Grant was still in there somewhere.

He had a soft spot for dogs of all shapes and sizes. He loved the smell of them, the feel of their sleek pelts beneath his fingertips, their honesty and trueness to their canine natures, their loyalty to their masters, everything about them that made dogs...dogs. He despised cats. Cats were cool, aloof, and indifferent. But, dogs were man's best friends. A dog would love you when nobody else in the entire world did. Dogs didn't care if you were ugly or beautiful, if you were rich or poor, or if you were fat or thin. When a dog loved you, he loved you for you. And when you had that kind of devotion. You had more than a friend. You had family.

He knew better. But, he couldn't stop himself. His hand reached out and his fingers stretched to stroke the head of the massive, furry beast at his side. The fur was sleeker and softer than he'd expected. Like stroking warm, living silk. And the teeth decidedly sharper, as the wolf, faster than he would have guessed possible, nipped his hand. Wisely, Patrick withdrew his fingers. "Ok, ok. I get it," he huffed.

The small break in the skin on the back of his hand would heal. Amputated fingers would not. He was embarrassed that he'd forgotten so easily what the wolf truly was. He'd definitely breeched protocol. Not something he'd make the mistake of doing twice. The wolf growled and pushed past him. Shaking that massive head of his head and looking over his shoulder to pin Patrick in that intelligent, golden stare of his. Yeah, Grant was in there, showing through the disguise of fur. And didn't that make him blush? He'd just, with no small measure of affection, patted Grant on the top of his head.

With Sam on his heels Patrick followed the wolf through the narrow entryway. The wolf paused to sniff, lifting his hind leg mark his territory. Patrick jumped back and narrowly avoided getting hit by the spray of urine. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a grin slide across the wolf's black lips.

The wolf sniffed, searching for the scent as he sifted through the unfamiliar smells in the air. The vampires gave him plenty of space, cautiously following behind wherever his nose led. His paws slid across the slick tiled floor of the lobby. He didn't like this place...indoors. His human fed him information, the names of things. He didn't like tile. He didn't like air conditioning. The artificial smell of the air confused him. Outdoors was better. His nails scraping against the tiled floor, he padded along. Nose pressed to the floor. People. The scent of so many people confined into one small area. Inhaling and trapping the myriad smells, he isolated the scent he'd searched for. Whimpering restlessly, he scratched at the steel door...Stairwell... his human whispered into his mind, as if the name would reassure him. Nothing about inside reassured him.

The group followed the wolf up the stairwell flight after flight. Patrick was first in line after the wolf. The wolf was a graceful and powerful animal. But, stairs were not his friend. It took the wolf a couple of clumsy attempts to learn to navigate the stairs. Patrick was the best tracker the Sons had. But, whatever the wolf smelled, he didn't.

The strong stink of chemicals stung the wolf's nose. But, the scent he tracked was faint, buried beneath the smell of chemicals... bleach...his human supplied, identifying the smell. The wolf hated stairs. And doors were worse than stairs. He whined, sniffing around the closed exit door for a way out. He couldn't open doors. In that, the vampires had the advantage. Humans had the advantage here too. They could navigate this strange new world of stairwells and closed doors in ways he could not. Outdoors, he was safe. He understood the world of trees and soft loam. Indoors, he was vulnerable. Trapped.

On the other side of the door, the scent was easier to track. Trapped in a thin layer of industrial carpet, the scent pointed the way. Human. Male. The wolf moved faster through the space. His claws dug into the soft covering on the floor. Carpet...his human readily provided the word for what it was beneath his feet. The trail ended at a door. Doors irritated the wolf. Confused him. How could a human function with all these doors blocking the way? Open space was better. Safer.

Patrick held the door open wide and cast a glance at Marcus and Sam. Whatever it was the wolf smelled, neither one of them could detect it on the air either. There was nothing in the air but the common scents associated with humanity, soaps and perfumes, dry paper, bits of food in wrappers, the artificial smell of recycled air through the ductwork, and the pungent scent of sweat. And now, with the door to the janitor's closet open, the stink of cleaners and dust.

The wolf followed his nose, bristling at the confining space. His human reassured him that they were safe and urged him deeper into the room. He caught the scent of spoiling food. Normally, such a find would be an exquisite treat to be savored. But, he was on a mission and his human's urgency, pounding at the back of his mind, wouldn't allow him to stop. He tipped the barrel over, paws digging through the garbage and his nose sniffing, sifting through the scents. Wagging his tail, he locked his teeth into the source of the scent. Triumphantly, he shook his find in the air.

"Great, underwear," Patrick said. Shooting Marcus and Sam an amused look over his shoulder, he approached Grant. Gingerly, he extended a hand to take the plaid boxers from the wolf's mouth. "Good boy?" It took a little bit of coaxing to get the wolf to release his find without ripping the underwear to shreds. He wasn't going to mention this to Grant. That he'd had a killer's dirty underwear in his mouth. Better not to do that and rub it in. He praised the wolf as he worked the boxers free from the wolf's mouth.

He really couldn't tease Grant about the underwear, all things considered. He lifted the boxers to his nose, expecting to isolate more than one unpleasant and distasteful smell. Frustrated, he passed them to Sam and Marcus. He got nothing, no trace of a scent from the cloth. How could that be? He'd thought his nose was infallible. He could scent a drop of human blood from over a mile away. And he couldn't pin down the smell of one lousy human?

The wolf sniffed the air. Another scent. Human. Blood. Female. He knew this scent. Bolting down the hall, he tracked the smell. Stumped by another heavy door and another stairwell.

Patrick was beginning to feel like a doorman. Dutifully, he held the stairwell door open for the wolf and trailed behind. Out another door and down another hall, stopped by a piece of plywood blocking a broken window. Now, Patrick knew how the killer got in. Where he went once he got in. And how he got out. The wolf had led them on the trail going in reverse.