Dawn Reclaimed

Chance and Will sat in the front, chattering back and forth. They had little in common with the wolves in general, let alone the wolf in the backseat. The guy wore his dark hair in a short, stubbly buzz cut. He was tall and lean, covered with a layer of taught muscle. His hard expression and his tough as nails demeanor, screamed one word. Intense.

Chance didn't know if the guy was a werewolf or a Navy Seal. One look in his hard, onyx eyes could freeze a heart mid beat. Chance pushed the dark lenses up on his nose, shielding his hazel eyes from the garish light of the sun and ran a hand through his walnut colored, chin length hair to ease the tension in his shoulders. He'd given up on trying to include their passenger in the backseat in any form of conversation a half a mile out of town. Hunter was not the chatty type, definitely not a people person.

Will glanced over at his son and then hazarded to check the rearview mirror. The guy in the backseat stared out the window, disengaged and completely cutting off any hopes of a conversation. Okay. Weren't the next two or three days going to be a blast? Hunter should patent the 'don't fuck with me' vibe he had going on.

He tugged on his short ponytail wondering how he'd look in a harsh buzz cut. The problem though, his hair would take over a century to grow back. And he was quite fond of his hair the way it was. As was his wife, Candace. She loved to trail her fingers through the ends and tug gently on the strands during... well. He cleared his throat and shifted his thoughts. There were some things a boy didn't need to know about his mom and dad. And the psychic connection between the brothers made it almost impossible to keep anything a secret.

Chance had grown up without him. It wasn't because Will had wanted it that way. He simply hadn't known Chance even existed. Sometimes, even now, it was still difficult for him to think of himself as a father. Chance and he, well they were more like buddies than father and son. Perhaps, it was better that way. There was no way to make up for all the lost time he'd missed. Wasn't his fault. But, deep down hidden so well beneath the layers, he felt it was. Call it fate or whatever, but the three of them had been brought back together again. And he was never going to let them go. If it ever came down to it, and he prayed it never did, he knew what his decision would be. He'd die to keep Candace and Chance safe. His choice.

Chance was a grown man, although sometimes, his mom and dad didn't think so. Primarily it was his mom who pulled the little kid card on him. But, his dad made the mistake too. Like today, pretending this was a road trip to the zoo or something. They were playing 'I spy' like he was five years old and it was his dad's job to keep him entertained. At first he'd resented his dad for not being there. It wasn't his dad's fault. And it wasn't his mom's. Sometimes shit happened that wasn't anyone's fault. He grinned and balled up his fist as his dad sped, passing a blue VW Beetle. He delivered a fist to his dad's bicep, a hard bone crunching punch. "I spy."

Grant pushed his way through the mid morning traffic. Pressing the gas pedal all the way to the floor as he merged onto the interstate. No wonder Toby had laughed at him when he tossed him the keys. The damned car was breaking a sweat at fifty-five miles an hour.

Claire dreamed about a beautiful woman. Elderly with mocha colored skin etched with lines of wisdom. Her hair, pure white, glittered like newly fallen snow. Her voice was like music, like the sound of water rushing over rocks. She whispered softly in a strange language that Claire had never heard before. A gnarled hand reached out to stroke her cheek with such gentleness and love that Claire couldn't help but lean into the palm and relish the warmth of the woman's touch.

Grant had barely taken time to turn off the ignition and pocket the keys once he finally made it into the driveway two and a half hours later. He hit the front door at a dead run and didn't stop until he was at the foot of the bed. He exhaled out the stress and anxiety of getting here and paused to watch Claire sleep. Her face had a calm and peaceful expression spread across it. Her lips curled in a soft smile. She sighed and shifted her weight. Her arm draped over a pillow, cradling it against her body. Carefully he sat on the edge of the bed and stroked a stray blonde curl off her cheek. "Claire." He pressed his lips to her forehead, gently waking her.

Claire's eyes fluttered open at the sound of Grant's voice. Was she dreaming again? His fingers felt real as they traced over the skin of her cheek. His scent filled her nostrils with its wild, woodsy and masculine essence. "Grant?" She felt his lips brush across her forehead. Warm and gentle. She couldn't help the smile that spread across her lips. "You're back." She reached up to brush the rough stubble across his jaw and frowned. Grant looked as if he hadn't slept in a week. Dark circles ringed his eyes. His hair had grown in the short time they'd been apart, curling at the edges to wrap around the tops of his ears and the back of his neck.

Claire looked so right in his bed. Blonde hair and pale skin a contrast of light and dark, resting against the soft, navy blue, sheets. He grasped her fingers with his palm and brought the delicate tips. "I missed you."

Claire smiled. There was not the slightest hint of deceit in his voice. His breath was hot on her fingers. His lips were soft as they brushed across her fingertips. She was curious about what he'd been doing. But, she was just so damn glad to see him. For the moment, her questions didn't matter. "Did you miss me so much that it hurt?"

"Terribly." He smiled as Claire giggled and flushed. "Did you miss me?"

Claire smiled at his question. "Nope, not at all. I hardly noticed you were gone," she teased. Giggling joyfully when he scooped her up in his arms and squeezed her gently against his chest. Her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders stroking the nape of his neck. She pressed her lips to his cheek and savored the warmth of him. "I didn't think you were ever coming back."

Claire's words stung. He felt the moisture of tears slide down his neck. Burning him. He ran a finger along her jaw and anchored her chin, angling her head back. Wincing at the sight of tears glittering in her lashes, he lowered his mouth to hers. Their tongues swabbed against one another in a hard and desperate kiss. Gently, he lowered her back against the pillows and ran his fingers through the silky strands of her golden hair. Breaking the kiss, he held her chin fast. His face inches from hers. "Claire, I always keep my promises."

"You promise?" Claire stared up at Grant, lost in the depths of his eyes. Searching them for evidence of the truth she heard in his voice.

"Promise." Grant pressed Claire's shoulders against the pillows. Gently, he rested his forehead against hers. His lips teased hers, stealing the sweetness of her mouth. Encouraged when she lifted her chin, asking him for more, his tongue found hers. Slowly, he explored her rich depths. Taking his time. Dragging out the kiss. He savored it as if it were their first kiss, as if it might their last.

Grant gripped the sheets in his fists. Stilling the fingers longing to touch and feel every curve pressed against him. He sensed that Claire was weak. As much as she tried to fake it, the pregnancy was beginning to take its toll. He was here to take care of her and to love her. There'd be time for other things later. Once she was stronger. He broke the kiss. Fighting hard against every fiber in his body shouting for more. "Are you feeling better?"

Claire kept her eyes closed and her head tilted back. "Much." Her lips tilted in a pout as Grant sat up and inched away. Gently detaching her arms from his neck, he stilled her hands with his warm grip. She melted from the love and the longing she saw in his eyes. He did miss her. He really, really did.

"I can see that," Grant chuckled and ran his finger down the slope of her nose. "I'm going to find you something to eat." Claire had lost weight. Her cheeks were hollow and her skin had the sallow tone of sickness. It was his fault that she was in this mess. Their worlds were so different. He shouldn't have risked her. He should have thought first. He couldn't regret their night together. He couldn't regret the baby growing inside of her. He did feel the sting of guilt that she was suffering, would suffer because he'd acted without thinking.

"I really need to go home. I need a shower." Claire ran her tongue over her teeth and frowned. "And my toothbrush."

Grant gestured to the bathroom. "There's a new toothbrush in the cabinet. I'll have someone scrounge you up something to wear and while I'm hunting up some food, you can grab a shower."

Claire sighed in resolution to the fact that she probably wasn't going home tonight either. Last night Nash had managed to keep her here. And tonight, Grant wasn't going to let her out of his sight. She was beginning to feel like a prisoner, a very pampered and cherished one, but still a prisoner. She guessed that as long as she made it to work on time in the morning. It really didn't matter where she slept. She could beg the OB department for a pair of scrubs to borrow for work. Since before too long, she'd be a paying customer. It was the least they could do.

She threw back the covers and dangled her feet over the edge of the bed. Her lips curled in a smile as she glanced up at him. He hovered. Trying not to be too obvious that he was sticking around to make sure that her legs weren't going to go out from underneath her. She stood and straightened the covers to prove the point that she was okay. Everyone around here seemed a little overly dramatic about a simple case of morning sickness. She was fine.

Once Claire was out of bed and tottering toward the shower. Grant relaxed a little. Her legs seemed sturdy enough. And she was getting a bit of color back into her cheeks. He rested his palm on her vacant pillow. Her scent wafted up to his nose and he inhaled. Locking the very essence of her in his nostrils. He let her gentle fragrance wash away the horrors of blood and death lingering in his mind. He whistled for Mouse as he shut the bedroom door.

Claire took her time. Relishing the deluge of hot water and lather rolling down her body. The soap had a wild, spicy, aroma that reminded her of Grant. She rinsed and lathered up again, just to have the smell of him on her skin. She washed her hair and rinsed. She took her time, dousing her hair in conditioner and massaging the rich, thick, creamy mix into her scalp. How odd. She felt totally relaxed and at home in a house filled with strangers. She smiled when she thought about spending the night, curled up with Grant in his bed. She rinsed out the conditioner and gave herself a thorough going over one more time.

She wrung out her hair and snatched a towel, running the soft fibers over her body. She stood checking out her shape in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. Turning to the side, she pressed a hand to her belly. Her stomach was a little bit rounder than usual. Pouching out between her hipbones. Her breasts were maybe a bit fuller than normal. But, that wasn't a bad thing. She'd take any and all help she could get in that department. Maybe to everyone else the subtle changes in her body weren't noticeable yet. To her though they were painfully obvious. She was starting to show.

Claire riffled through the cabinet under the sink and had no trouble locating a hairbrush. He owned literally dozens of different brushes and combs. She wondered, winding a black strand of hair around her finger, how recently he'd cut off his long hair. She brushed her damp hair. The stray strands of her blonde mingled with the wild, black, hair left in the bristles of the brush.

Quickly, she brushed her teeth with the stiff, new toothbrush and put it in the holder next to his. Securing a towel beneath her arms, she padded out of the bathroom.

Claire smiled at the note Mouse had left along with a change of meticulously folded clothing she'd left on the edge of the bed. The note had a big, round, yellow, smiley face drawn on it and a simple message scrawled across the bottom. Get well soon. Love, Marianne.

Claire would have to go commando while she waited for her bra and underwear to dry over the rung of the shower curtain. She folded her dirty clothes and placed them on the dresser and shimmied into the borrowed pair of soft, cotton, dove gray yoga pants and loose gently used long sleeved baby blue t-shirt. The borrowed socks were exactly the same shade of blue. Once she'd dressed, she sat on the edge of the bed and waited for Grant to bring breakfast, or, glancing at the clock, a very late lunch.

Hunter prowled through the apartment. Vampires certainly spared no expense when it came to their digs. A fireplace spanned one wall of a vast living room. Cream colored leather couches and chairs flanked the massive natural stone beast. A floor made of rosewood gleamed beneath his lug soled boots. Plush rugs made of very expensive wool were scattered about here and there. The place reeked of luxury and vampire.

He followed one of the vampires to his room. The bedroom was nothing like his room at home. A massive bed sat in the center, with an ornately carved headboard. A canopy draped in crimson silk matched the comforter and the mound of decorator pillows. Everything in the bedroom was overdone and overstated. He preferred a much simpler décor. Utilitarian suited him just fine. A soft beige carpet muffled his footsteps, hushing them to a whisper. He dropped his duffel bag at the foot of the bed with a resounding thud.

"So, what's the sitch?" Hunter asked the vampire casually leaning against the gleaming wooden doorframe. The vampire had tried to introduce himself. But, Hunter hadn't bothered to catch his name. The vampire, what's his name, was deceptively youthful in his appearance. It was only when one bothered to look beneath the surface that the vampire showed the true weight of his age. Non-pulsed, the vampire blinked.

"Come on and I'll show you what we've got so far." Patrick gestured for the wolf to follow. Grant must be adopted. Hunter resembled Grant in some ways. But, not enough, especially in the personality department, that anyone would mistake them for actual brothers. The guy was intense. So much so that Patrick had to wonder if the guy shoved a piece of coal up his ass he'd shit a diamond.

Patrick didn't rib and he didn't tease. Hunter followed him down the hallway to the war room. His footsteps were eerily silent and deliberate. Hunter was lethal. He was like the tame dog that turned on his master. The fucker was big. Standing about six foot-three and weighing in at over two hundred pounds, his body was a wall of pure muscle. Lean and lithe in the build Patrick had come to identify as Pack. Hunter's own body was a disguise he wore to hide his strength. He and Grant had the same squared jaw line. But, that was where the similarities ended. The short, black bristly high and tight helped to give Hunter an air of menace. His expression was one of no bullshit. But, it wasn't his build or his expression that made Patrick want to tuck tail and run the fuck away. It was Hunter's eyes or rather, the coldness, the deep emptiness in the golden-brown hue that should have been warm and wasn't, that had Patrick so on edge. Hunter's eyes were the eyes of a man who had nothing to lose.

Hunter listened to the vampire's run down of the current situation and studied the map spread out on the table. They'd drawn in their search and centered more on the downtown area instead of the outlying parts of the city. Wise choice. Predators didn't abandon their territory. As long as the hunting was good, why bother? "So, to sum it up you've got three dead girls, two confirmed sightings, and not one goddamned clue."

Patrick shot a glance across the table to Dane and John Mark. "Yeah, that's pretty much the gist of it."

"Hummm." Hunter ran a finger beneath his chin. Thinking. "He prefers blondes. Pretty girls. And my brother thinks the killer is using victims as bait. That the killer is actually hunting you."

"What are you getting at?" Dane asked.

"The killer knows what you are and how you operate. He knows you're watching the coffee shop. He knows you won't make a go for him in broad daylight, too many witnesses around. And think about it. With all the legends the vamps have propagated over the centuries. He probably believes you can't go out in the daylight. That bullshit could work to our advantage. Son of a bitch has probably figured out that you can't track his scent. Not accurately. Why not give him what he wants? Surely, there's a young, pretty blonde in the brotherhood. Plant her in the most obvious place and wait." Hunter pointed to the coffee shop on the map.

Keene hissed in irritation. His Lori was a young, pretty, blonde. But, there was no way he was putting her in any possible danger. She was staying right where she belonged, at home.

John Mark patted Keene's shoulder. "Easy big guy. He's got a point." And so did Keene, none of the vampires would willingly send a defenseless female into danger. Not that any of their women were really defenseless against a human. But, there was one, who was more dangerous than all the women and the brothers put together. "Anna."

Keene raised his brow and shared a glance with John Mark. Anna was hardly defenseless. She possessed abilities that none of them understood and that frightened her terribly. Goddess blessed, she could harness natural energies and focus them on living matter. Crush a body to death in a matter of minutes with the raw force of her power. Keene nodded, "Anna."

"Let me talk with Toby and Anna." Dane knew it was a long shot and risky using Anna as bait. But, anything was worth a try. He was asking a lot of Anna. Her gift terrified her. Doc had been helping her try to learn to control it. And she was getting better. But, her restraint was far from perfect. She'd almost killed Patrick in a fit of rage. And she would have killed Roark if Patrick hadn't stopped her. The Goddess had used Anna and her gift to stop Roark. Anna had never taken a life. She would, if she had to. Dane knew that. And he knew afterwards, she'd never be the same. Nobody ever was. He was asking a lot of Anna and of Toby. Asking her to risk her neck and possibly her soul and Toby to stand by and let her risk it.

"How many of you has he spotted so far?" Hunter asked. The brothers were a powerful force, together. Separate, he sensed their primary flaw. They weren't killers. They saw this madman, not as a predator, but as a human. He worried that when it came time for justice, they'd hesitate. He was not a killer either. But, in war, things were necessary. And taking this son of a bitch down, not handing him over to the human police, not playing twenty questions, and showing no measure of sympathy was necessary. Not if, but when, they found him. His wolf would have to be fast about it.

"We don't really know," Keene answered. "We know he's seen John Mark, but we don't really know who else, possibly myself, Sam, and Marcus as well. Maybe Patrick."

"And my brother?"

"Possibly."

"Does he know about us?"

"We aren't sure."

Hunter lifted is eyes and met Keene's steely gray stare. "You know he has to die."

Keene narrowed his eyes, matching the intensity of Hunter's stare. He knew the expression in Hunter's eyes. He'd spent over a century seeing it every time he'd looked in a mirror. There were a lot of people who wanted this killer brought to justice. But, justice was Drew's to deliver, not theirs. When they caught him, the Great Father would decide what to do with him, not them. Odds were that this man would never see the inside of a cell. If Hunter got him first, the man would not see the whites of Drew's eyes. He'd be dead. And Keene would not risk the wolf to save the life of a murder.