Dawn Reclaimed

Toby had no trouble pulling up Gina Kleinschmidt's bio. John Mark shared the information Toby fed into his smart phone with the rest of the class. Toby had tried. He'd tried. But, the older the vampire, the less they wanted to do with technology. And Carter was older than dirt. The stoic leader of the Guardians and technology definitely did not mix. Dane was still in his training pants compared to Carter. But, he didn't play well with technology either.

The wolf had tracked Gina's scent to the gym. Stymied didn't begin to cover the animal/man's reaction. The wolf sniffed all over the place and the trail led back to where it began at the train platform. For all their combined preternatural abilities and centuries of experience, not a one of them, not the Guardians, not the Sons, and not the wolf, had anything. All they'd managed to do between them was track what very well could have been the last two hours of a woman's life.

John Mark scanned through the data files on his phone and gritted his teeth. Gina was a good girl. Adopted as a baby and raised by two loving parents. She'd worked hard in school and even harder as an adult. Toby was working to hack into the system and track down her birth parents. Maybe, there was some link between her birth parents and what was happening now. It was a long shot and probably another blind lead. The adoption records were sealed up nice and tight. The adoption had happened in another state and Toby wasn't having any luck breaking into the database. Gina's adoptive parents were elderly and they'd flown south to spend their remaining days in the sunshine. John Mark texted Toby and told him to forget it.

As much as he wanted to believe failure wasn't an option. It was a very real possibility. They might be too late to save her. It was odd and a very bitter thing, to be this powerful and yet, at the same time to be so powerless. Life and death flowed through his veins. He could, and he had, stopped death in its tracks. Robbie would have died if he hadn't brought her across. But, for Gina, if she'd already crossed, there wasn't a thing he could do to help her. He could stop dying but he couldn't bring the dead back.

Gina's current life was lived in the twenty-block radius of the downtown area. Her apartment was only a short commuter train ride from the gym and her job, just another jaunt down the rails from her apartment. They had a starting point. But, the end point was something John Mark didn't want to think about. Even if they, by some miracle, did manage to get to her in time, her life was never going to be the same. The ambitious young woman trying so desperately to carve a future out of the concrete jungle was gone forever.

The only consolation or hope he had was that the killer was hunting them. Using Gina as bait, and he might, just might, keep her alive to lure them in. But, as for Gina, he couldn't decide if that was a blessing or a curse. Perhaps, both. He pocketed his smart phone and motioned for the guys to pack it up. The night wasn't getting any younger. And they were wasting time looking over the same shit they'd already seen. Gina wasn't here. She was out there somewhere.

Hunter snapped back into his body. The shift was painful, cold, and confusing. Laying face down in the grit of the city, he pushed himself onto his feet. Shaking off the remainder of his wolf, he dressed and geared up. The image of Gina Kleinschmidt's AKA Gina Klein's face was burned into his mind and her scent etched into his memory. Ignoring the vampires, he stalked out of the shadows and sifted through the contents of her purse and gym bag, retrieving a set of keys. The vampires could function in the light. But, they preferred the dark. He didn't blame them. The dark was easier than the light for a lot of reasons.

He did not have a vampire's sensitivities or limitations. He didn't have to hunt for his food. He shied away from the light because he chose to. And, although they were all pretending to be human, his wolf was creative and far craftier than any vampire. His wolf could get him into places his human form could not. When he was a wolf, he didn't think, he didn't have a human's mind to bind him to any rules. His wolf was the ultimate hunter. Pocketing the keys clutched in his fist, he nodded to the vampires. This was where they parted company. No one moved to stop him. No one said a word. The understanding between them didn't need to be spoken. All of them wanted this man...this thing, dead. And there was no justice more swift or final than that of the Pack.





Chapter 44

Claire hesitated before opening the door. Grant patiently waited on the porch while she stared at him through the pane of glass separating them. Was she really about to let the wolf into the sheep pen? Her hand rested on the doorknob. Her fingers flexed around the tumbler of her dead bolt lock, hesitating on whether to unlock the door and let him in or not. The bigger question was, if he wanted in bad enough was there anything she could really do to stop him? Short of calling 911 or animal control, she didn't suppose that there was. Unlocking her dead bolt, she twisted the doorknob and stepped back to let him in.

The truth was a bit difficult for her to process. He'd given her time to go home and shower, as he promised he would. She would have liked to dress in body armor. But, the best she could come up with, given her rounded stomach and too rapidly expanding waistline was a pair of cutoffs from last summer and a faded blouse she'd pulled out of the back of her closet. Claire tried to rationalize her weight gain as just a part of the pregnancy. It wasn't. She wasn't that pregnant. She was just getting fat. And if she didn't start watching what she ate more carefully. She was going to be the size of a house by the time the baby came.

Watching him saunter through her front door, she felt like Little Red Riding Hood. And he looked every bit the part of the big bad wolf. Dressed unassumingly in a pair of battered jeans, a faded t-shirt, and soft, worn leather loafers, smelling soap and shaving cream, fresh from a shower, he had no right to look or smell so good. It wasn't fair. He looked like an ordinary guy. Well, a little above ordinary for this small town, more like male fashion model attractive. And of the monster she knew he was, there was not one trace.

Grant had a way of crowding her, of gravitating toward her, that even the slightest brush of their arms had her curling her toes and practically melting into a puddle of quivering desire. She hated that. Her body responded to the subtle contact with a dizzying rush of adrenaline. What was it about him that held her in such a thrall? Grant represented everything she didn't need in a man and everything she wanted. Was she really so pathetically attracted to the bad boy type she couldn't hear the logical voice of self-preservation? Or was it that she didn't want to listen?

"Hi, Claire. Thanks for letting me in." Grant couldn't play it cool around Claire if he tried. And he was really, really trying to try. The gentle brush of their bodies as he walked through the front door was enough to send his senses reeling and his wolf whimpering for more. She stood close enough that if he wanted to, he could reach his fingers out and stroke her cheek. He could wrap his arms around her and draw her close. He could kiss her. He could do all those things and so many more. But, he kept his hands and all his other body parts to himself. No point to push his luck.

He leaned against the back of the couch, trying so hard to be causal. God, she was beautiful. Her face was fuller than when he'd first met her. Her hair a little longer and her skin deeper gold with a summertime tan. And those teal colored eyes of hers, wide open. Just looking at her, at her stomach, rounded with their unborn child, filled him with pride and with love. Her feet were bare, pale in contrast to the dark wooden floors. Her pink polished toenails curled in response to the rake of his eyes down her body. Oh, she didn't want to respond. She'd rather blow him off and send him packing. And in a way, he didn't blame her. It wasn't everyday a hen invited a wolf into the coop.

Grant's brown eyes, raking over her body, not stripping her down, but staring her down with the intensity that was just him. Heated her cheeks to a scalding blush. Claire stepped back and gave herself some space. Across the room didn't help. Hell, she doubted if she migrated to the next county to escape the heat in his stare would be far enough away. Grant was the embodiment of temptation and lust. Mouthwatering masculinity wrapped in a pretend, very pretty wrapper of casualness and restrained passion. But, there was more than that to the pulse pounding physical response of her body. Her head, the part of her that didn't know the difference between a wolf and a man, in her heart of hearts, she loved him with everything she was. And that sucked. She should boot his ass out the door for lying to her. She should run for the hills and forget about him. Instead, she lamely said, "I made coffee," and retreated to the kitchen to retrieve mugs from the cabinet.

"Thanks." Grant's lips curved in a devilish grin as he made himself at home like he owned the place. Seated on the couch with his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles and one arm draped across the back, he watched Claire try to lose herself to the distraction of business. As was her way when she was uncomfortable with a situation she wasn't ready to confront. He sensed her displeasure at the way her body responded to him. Her face was flushed and her heart raced. The scent of her interest laced the air with the musky perfume of lust. At least, that was one part of Claire that he didn't have to worry about winning over. Now, if only he could get her brain on board with her body.

Instinctively, he stroked her fingers as she handed him a mug of steaming coffee. For a moment, their fingertips touched and her eyes lifted, locking with his before shifting away and retreating to the no man's land of the rug beneath their feet. Claire sat on the couch, safely on the other side of the neural zone, vacant center cushion of her three-seater sofa. The way she worked so hard to avoid him without appearing to avoid him was almost laughable. Sipping the coffee, he watched her, not wanting to but doing it anyway, watch him.

Claire stared down at her hands and avoided Grant's too cocky stare. He knew what he did to her and he reveled in that knowledge. Her fingertips tingled from the brush of their hands. Nervously, she licked her lips and took a hesitant sip from her mug. Her coffee was lukewarm and way too weak. She liked her coffee hot and strong, thick enough to stand a horseshoe on end. But, caffeine was bad for the baby. But, according to the Internet, so was decaffeinated coffee. She'd chosen the lesser of two evils diluted her half a mug of coffee with skim milk. And it was terrible. Thin, weak, and watered down to the point of disgusting.

His touch should not feel so good or so right. She shifted her eyes to meet his and was automatically lost in their brown depths. There was so much wisdom, passion, and love in the gaze that met hers. She was all about the baby. Giving up caffeine, artificial sweeteners, and anything else that was bad for her. But, as for the man so much worse for her and possibly the baby than a whole swimming pool of coffee and a mountain of artificial sweeteners, she couldn't give him up. Stupid, stupid, stupid Red Riding Hood. Not only had she invited him into the coop. But, if her body had anything to say about the situation, which it didn't, she'd be inviting him into her bed next. And that would be a ridiculously stupid move.

Grant wanted to slide across the cushion between them and kiss some sense into her or rather, kiss her absolutely and irrevocably senseless. He kept his butt planted in place and shifted on the couch to look her in the eye. "Can you have an open mind about this? About me?" He rested his hand, palm up on the empty space between them. Hoping she'd meet him in the middle and place her hand in his. But, she didn't. She stayed as firmly rooted on her side of the couch as he did on his.

"I don't know. I keep trying to convince myself that what I saw wasn't real. But, it was, wasn't it." Claire stared down at Grant's empty hand. How she wished she could take that leap of faith he asked of her and place her hand in his. The truth stretched out between them like an invisible barrier. He wanted her to have an open mind. And she wanted to try to do as he asked of her. But, Grant wasn't human. Or maybe, he was human with something more. Did it really matter? Whatever he was and whatever she was had combined to form the life growing inside of her. Obviously, their DNA was compatible. But, were they at the core of who they were? "You're a werewolf," she said with conviction she wished she truly didn't feel.

Grant winced at the generic term Claire used to describe him. He was not a werewolf. Never had been. Never would be. He was not a mindless beast that went all hairy during the full moon. He did not ransack villages and eat virgins for breakfast. He was a human being with a wolf's heart and soul sharing the same physical space and body as he did. His wolf and he were both renters in the same flesh and blood apartment. He was not a dog or some damned fictional character out of a fucking fairytale. He was real. His wolf was real. And the two of them were inextricably a part of her life whether she accepted them or not. "I'm very real, Claire. I regret the way you found out. But, I don't regret and I will never regret what I am."

Claire lifted her chin and met Grant's gaze. His eyes blazed with intensity and hurt. She hadn't meant to offend him. And she supposed two could play the game of pissedoffness. He'd certainly pulled a number on her. And if his feelings were a little bruised, because she'd bit back, too bad. "What are you?"

"You called me a werewolf. But, that's a shallow and very simplified definition of what I am. The wolf and I are two separate entities sharing the same physical body. When I'm in this form, I'm Grant. And when the wolf is in his form, he's a wolf. The wolf does not control me and I do not control him. We are symbiont beings, Claire. Separate, yet at the same time, together. Without my wolf, I am still who I am, but only a shadow, a lesser version of myself. He is a part of me. And it took me almost losing him and my family to fully appreciate how much of him is in me and how big a part of me is in him. I can exist without my wolf. But, I can't really live without him."

Claire bit her lip as she pondered the meaning of Grant's words. "The wolf could have killed me?"

"Never. The wolf and I share experiences through our memories. He recognized you, your scent and your face. He can't hate what I love no more than I can hate what he loves. And Claire, I love you."

"Why? Why do you even exist at all?" Grant sat on her couch offering her his love. Confessing the words that she longed to hear and that scared her more than the thought of being mauled to death by the wolf that he claimed loved her too.

"I've asked myself that same question for years. Until I met you, I never really knew the answer. Claire, you truly have no idea what I was like before we stumbled into each other's lives. I was wild, angry, and feral, more beast than man. But, you changed all that. You gave me a reason to hang on to the man. Claire, you tamed the beast."

Grant was hedging her questions. He said all the things that she wanted to hear. But, she needed hard facts more than poetic words and promises filled with hot air. "You said years. Grant, you can't be a day over twenty-five." Claire reached for her coffee mug. She needed something to distract her from his eyes and the truth of his words corroding through her resolve.

"Claire, my kind ages very slowly once the shift sets in. I'm older than I look. Actually, I'm thirty-seven. My brother, Hunter, he served his country in Vietnam. Nash was born at the turn of the century, and I don't mean this century. And Nana, she gave up counting her human years a very long time ago. We age. We die, just like everybody else, only slower."

"How is that possible?" Claire gasped. Her half drained coffee mug fell from her trembling fingers and crashed to the floor. She sat stupidly staring at the puddle of rich mocha soaking into the throw rug under the coffee table. Nash didn't look a year over fifty. And Nana, she might be old enough to get a decent senior discount at Happy's. But, she sure as hell didn't look anywhere over one hundred. Hunter, his brother, should be wrinkled and gray, not the angry, although very healthy thirty something man he appeared to be. "No, that can't be right."

"Sit tight, I'll get some paper towels," Grant said. Claire looked as if she bordered between bolting from the door and hearing the rest of what he had to say with rapt fascination. Yeah, learning you weren't at the top of the food chain tended to do that to people. He snatched a handful of paper towels off the roll and crouched at her feet, mopping up her spilled coffee. Claire curled up on the couch, tucking her toes under her butt. Her hand hovered, her fingers trembling, reaching for his hair as if she wanted, no needed, to touch him. "Claire, I don't bite."

Claire stared down at Grant as he dutifully cleaned up her mess. Gently, he scooted her feet to the side as he wiped and dabbed at the sticky puddle. Timidly, she stretched out her hand and brushed her fingers over his hair. He felt very real beneath her fingertips. All of this, him, the baby, his family, the craziness she was suddenly thrown into was real. "I don't know what to think...I'm sorry...I want to believe you. I do. But, I don't understand."

Grant paused and closed his eyes at the hesitancy of her touch. "Claire, sometimes I don't either." He sat back on his haunches and lifted his face, holding completely still as her fingertips explored his cheek and jaw. He tipped his chin, nuzzling her palm with his lips. Distracting her with the physical attraction between them would be easier than explaining facts that defied logical explanation. His wolf purred in pleasure at the gentle way she stroked his face. And he, the man, was fully on board with his wolf. He wanted to pull her into his arms. Crawl up into her lap and prove he was as tame as any lapdog could be. But, that'd be a lie. He was a tamed beast, true enough. But, he was still a beast. And he knew better than to forget how fragile the border between nature and nurture was. "I'd better throw these away." Grant rose to his feet and went to the kitchen.

"Thanks," Claire said. Grant prattled around in the kitchen. She heard the faucet turn on and water splash into her copper teakettle. He dug through the cabinets and found her tea stash. Some people were beer snobs, some wine, and some, coffee. She was a tea snob to the extreme and she had more varieties than should be allowed by law. She'd retreated to safe zone of busyness earlier and now, it was Grant's turn to do the same. Making tea was as good of an excuse as the coffee she'd made earlier.

Grant stared mesmerized by the blue flame from the burner of Claire's gas stove. That old myth 'a watch pot never boiled' was pure bullshit. This one boiled just fine. He took the whistling teakettle off the stove and flicked the knob, extinguishing the flame. He didn't know where she'd gotten it. But, the tea in the tin in the back of her cupboard looked a lot like Nana's special blend. He added a generous pinch of the dried leaves and herbs to the steeper and watched the silver ball bob up and down in the steaming water. He didn't have any clue of how the rest of their evening was going to go down. Good? Bad? He had a lot of explaining to do and no idea of how to do it.