Dawn Reclaimed

Anna stood in front of the mirror, practicing her human look. She rarely left the compound and didn't have to try to pass for human too often. The brothers were afraid for her. And sometimes, she was afraid for herself. Her gift was too unpredictable, too dangerous to be turned loose on the streets. And in the hands of an enemy, she would be lethal. She blew out a breath and focused on moving human slow and human clumsy. The stress of pretending to be something she no longer was heated her hands and her palms began to glow with white light. The patrons of the coffee shop would definitely have damn hot coffee. Too bad she might bring the entire building down around them if her power got the better of her.

The killer needed to recognize what she was, but nobody else did. She was bait. Blonde, female, and if what Grant suspected was true, her fanged nature was exactly what the killer was looking for. Vampires were creatures of natural law, and part of that was the ability to disguise what they were from humans. Their skin was too pale and their eyes too intense. Her eyes were duller behind the tinted lenses. With the right combination of clothing and color, her skin wouldn't seem as pale and translucent under the lights. And as for her fangs, as long as they stayed tucked away, she was passable for human. Tomorrow was her first day and she had to get her look just right. But, not too right, just in case the killer got a craving for mocha latte and sconces.

Dane and Carter studied a map of the city. Deciding where to send patrols. They were running out of options and time. The killer accomplished exactly what he wanted. They weren't getting anywhere fast.

Keene sat to the side, watching and making suggestions. The map was a mishmash of colored lines, stretching out like a multicolored spider web on paper. For all of their heightened senses, preternatural speed and strength, they had nothing. The sightings of the blooded scraps of cloth were dotted on the map in pink highlighter. There was no discernable pattern to follow. Downtown encompassed a twenty or so block radius. But finding one human in a sea of humanity was akin to isolating one drop of water in an ocean. The woman was still missing and it was just a matter of time before they found her. Dead. No one had said it. Nobody would. But, they all knew the awful reality of her situation. Alive was a miracle. Dead, though would be the most probable outcome.

"Why don't you just kill me and get it over with?" Gina huddled on the far corner of the cot with her back pressed to the wall. The man showed up less than fifteen minutes ago and stood at the table whistling as he fingered the collection of stainless steel implements. She had no idea what he had planned for her. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes and she could not hide the trembling in her limbs. She wasn't above begging for her life. She didn't want to die. But, she didn't want to live so badly that she'd rather be tortured to death either. As odd as it sounded, ultimately she begged not to live but to die, fast and painlessly. And maybe, given the gleam in his eye as he studied his arsenal of torture, begging for a good death was far more reasonable.

"No, no, no. Can't do that. You're too valuable. I need you alive." The man grinned. He wanted to hurt her so badly he could practically taste it. He was hard and aching, his cock pulsing beneath his zipper. He didn't like the way she made him feel. She made him feel dirty. And he desperately needed the purity of her screams to cleanse away the layer of filth. He chose his blade with care. Not too big or he might cut her too deeply. His hand wrapped around a surgical scalpel. A nice lightweight instrument, good quality, capable of a multitude of tasks, the sterile, razor, sharp edge would do nicely for his purposes.

Gina's heels dug into the woolen blanket beneath her as she scrambled as far away from him as her chains would allow. Her heart was pounding and her mouth dry with fear. Was he going to take his time and hack her into little pieces slowly? She was hoping he'd just go for the sickle hanging on the wall and have it done. One swing and that would be it. With the scalpel he could carve away on her for hours, or days. "You don't have to do this," she pleaded.

The man slowly approached his prey. Shivering with delight as her eyes grew wide and round with terror. The whimper escaping her throat caressed his ears like a lover's voice. "You don't understand. Yes. I do."

Gina bucked and kicked, resisting for all she was worth. But she hadn't counted on him being so strong. Her eyes stung and watered as his fist connected with her jaw. Stunning her long enough for him to lock the chains on her wrists onto a hook sank into the wall above the cot. At first, she thought the blessed blackness was going to give her a reprieve. But, sadly, not, she felt the sting as he drew the scalpel across the tender flesh of her bicep.

Her blood welled to the straight edges of the cut. Rolling in a slow trickle down her arm. Her gasp of pain, merely foreplay, wasn't nearly enough for him. She was teasing and not playing by the rules. Frustrated, he jabbed the scalpel to the hilt and dug it in. Dragging it down her arm and exposing a layer of yellow fat. Her scream was his reward. He panted as release shot through him, dampening the fly of his pants. "Scream again for me," he rasped.

Blood ran thick, hot, and tacky in a trail down her arm, pooling in the hollow of her armpit and trickling across her back. Her arm throbbed with each pulse. Bounding jolts of pain surged along the cut. He panted and sweated against her. An expression of serene pleasure plastered across his face. He wanted her to scream. Hurting her got him off. She bit the inside of her cheek as he dragged the blade down for another pass. She would not scream for him. She would not give him what he wanted. She. Would. Not.

Rage shot through him. He cut her over and over again. He wasn't done yet. He needed more. Her blood stained his clothes. His hands were covered with sticky, fibrous clots. The air smelled like copper. Her arm was striped with his handiwork. Flesh cut in ribbons. And she still would not scream. The palm of his hand connected with her cheek. "Bitch. Filthy rotten bitch!"

Gina was completely numb. The pain was nothing more but a whisper. A nasty reminder of the punishment her body was enduring. Her face was swelling quickly from the blows to her cheek. Her cheek throbbed with heat. But, it didn't matter. Darkness was creeping up on her and she welcomed it. Finally. She wouldn't hurt any more.

"Don't you dare pass out on me! Don't you fucking dare!" The man grabbed and shook her shoulders. Blood saturated the bedding beneath her back. Her head lolled from side to side like a bobble head as he shook her. If he didn't get a hold of himself, he was going to kill her. And he'd invested too much time to kill her by accident. "Damn it!" he hissed. Snatching up a towel from the stack on the table, he bound her arm to staunch the flow of blood.

Gina roused for a moment. Sluggishly, she forced her eyes open. Everything was all swimmy and out of focus. Throbbing pain gnawed at her right cheek and her left arm. Her wrists were raw and bruised from being suspended over her head. Her cuts had been roughly and crudely bandaged. Her shirt stuck to her back. Fused to her skin with dried blood. Her blood. She lifted her head and looked around. The room was blessedly empty. Hope that someone would find her in time was fleeting. She didn't know how many more of his sessions of torture she could endure before she gave up.

The man thought for sure he'd killed her. Doing so would have been a joy, but he needed her alive. He left her breathing and able to be roused. But, she didn't stay awake. Preferring the darkness to his company, not that he blamed her in the slightest. He was going to have to be more careful with her in the future. He prepared the bundle with careful precision. Each envelope contained a bit of the blood soaked towel, a tuft of her downy hair and a snapshot. He fingered the photos before he slid them in. She really did make a pathetic and beautiful victim, a true work of art. Heart wrenching agony lined her facial features. Too bad he couldn't play with her more. He wasn't going to be able to hold out much longer. And he needed his wits and skill to finish what he'd started. It was time to draw the vampires in.

He was starving. And he still resented not getting to enjoy his overpriced blueberry sconce and espresso. The vampires were probably watching the shop. Eh, what the hell. Exactly what could they do to him in the middle of downtown AM rush hour traffic? Nothing. He had hours to kill till morning. But, it would be so worth the wait. He threw a jacket over his soiled clothes. Still reeking with the scent of her blood, he was going to wear them home and to the shop in the morning. Bathe in her scent and use it to flush the vampires out of hiding.



Chapter 49

Claire emerged from the woods just as the sky turned deep indigo and the sun sank into a glorious bed of orange and pink, bedding down for the night. She walked across the patchy lawn toward the house. The place was big enough to technically be called a mansion. But, it lacked the opulence and pretentiousness of a true mansion. It was just a very big house, unassuming and built to be lived in. Mouse sat on the porch swing, watching her cross the lawn. Unusual since it was almost suppertime and everyone else seemed to be inside waiting for the meal to be served. "Mouse, what are you doing out here?"

"Taking a break from my homework and hiding out." Marianne grinned slyly at Claire as if the two of them shared a secret. "I always get drafted to set the table. And tonight, it isn't my turn. Daniel, my brother, always bolts. He hates setting the table worse than doing dishes. But, it's his turn and I'm going to make sure he does it. If he can't find me, he can't make me do it instead." She was going to play it cool and not get her hopes up. Casually, she sat in the swing, rocking it back and forth with her toes as if Claire's answer didn't matter. The ability to develop a strong poker face was key to being a good leader. Besides, she didn't want to end up bawling like a big baby when Claire left again. "Are you planning to stay for supper?"

Claire eased up the porch steps, amazed at how tired she was from her jaunt through the woods. "Yeah, I guess so. I kind of don't have a ride to my car until Grant comes back." Mouse looked up at her from the porch swing. The girl's eyes were dark and cautious. Claire didn't realize how badly she'd hurt Mouse's feelings, until now. She'd reacted badly to her unveiling of the truth. And Mouse had suffered for it. The family Mouse was born a part of wasn't her fault. Claire all but flopped onto the porch swing beside Mouse. Saying she was sorry might open another can of worms. Mouse was one of those kids that needed every detail. And Claire had barely began to explore her thoughts about the secret Grant had entrusted to her, let alone explain them to a twelve year-old. But, there were things she could do to help mend the break in the bridge. "Can I sit next to you at supper again?"

Marianne beamed at Claire's question. She'd thought Claire was gone for good. Claire wasn't mad at her. She didn't seem mad at anybody. Marianne understood adults far better than she did kids her own age. Mostly because there weren't any kids her age around. And while she'd love a best friend her age to grow up with, she had a best friend sitting beside her on the swing. Adults had a quiet way of saying things they couldn't say aloud. "Sure. Wanna help me with my homework?"

"Ok. What's the subject? I hope its not math. I'm terrible at math."

Marianne giggled, "Nope. Human Reproduction." She shrugged. "I was curious about the baby, so grandpa told me to look it up."

Claire stared down at Mouse, flabbergasted. "Aren't you a little young for the facts of life?"

Marianne tipped her head and rested her hand on Claire's stomach. "Babies are a fact of life. Besides, I'm almost thirteen. In a family like mine, don't you think I've already figured out where babies come from," she answered pointedly.

"How'd you know I was having a baby?" Claire asked. So, everyone in Grant's family knew the big secret while she had only told two other people. "Never mind," she said. Following Mouse through the front door, she bent and whispered into her ear, "Remind me to have a long talk with your Uncle Grant when he gets back."

She followed Mouse to a workroom in the basement. The room was set up as a classroom, equipped with shelves overflowing with textbooks, a bank of computers, a white board, every type of art and craft supply a child could ever want, and a neatly arranged row of desks. Over Mouse's shoulder she read the computer monitor. "And so the egg travels down the fallopian tube," she said, pointing to a picture on the screen.

"I can't believe I'm doing this with a twelve year-old," Claire muttered under her breath. It wasn't that she didn't believe in education. She did. It was just that getting down to the biological nitty-gritty of how babies were made with Mouse was a little embarrassing.

Grant slid in through the back door, wearing nothing but his jeans. The scent of baking meatloaf and mashed potatoes, mixed with the gentle fragrance of Claire was welcoming. Smelled like home to him. He padded through the mudroom, grinning like a fiend, up the stairs to his room to shower before Supper.

Begrudgingly, Tristen followed behind his uncle. Glowering at his grandpa as he skulked though the dining room on his way to the stairs. He hurt, his stomach retched, his head throbbed, and he felt like he had been ripped apart limb from limb and just as carelessly slammed back together. He hated this life. Hated the way he felt. Hated the pain. And right now, he hated everything and everyone in it.

He was almost twenty-one and was just now earning the right to be recognized by the Pack as a man. He should be having the time of his life. Going to college at an actual brick and mortar university with frat parties, homecoming parades, and beer bongs. He was in college...online. He should be working some stupid dead end job at a convenience store for extra cash, fixing up his car and flirting with the girls. He'd never had a real kiss, held hands, or suffered the heartbreak of a first crush. He should not schlepping through the woods on all fours and howling at the moon. He'd thought he was ready for it. Maybe, nothing ever prepared you for changing shape and taking your place in the Pack. Quite honestly, it sucked. The pain. The confusion. Knowing his life was already planned out for him and there was nothing he could do to change it.

He could run away like some of the others had. Hide out somewhere and have a normal life. But, he wouldn't abandon Mouse and Daniel like their father had. As soon as his brother and sister were old enough, he might though. For now, he was going to have to put up and shut up. Tristen stomped up the stairs and into his room. Turning Pack had some comps. He now had his own room and no longer had to share space with his little brother. His door hung wide open and Daniel was stretched out on his bed pawing through a stack of CDs. HIS CDs. "Get the hell out of my room," he growled.

"Have you seen my Metallica CD?" Daniel asked. Ignoring the fury in his brother's eyes, he continued pawing through the stack of cases splayed out on the bed. He'd seen that same look in Tristen's eyes for years. So, it didn't bother him a bit to see it now. "Hey! That one's mine!" he screeched as Tristen snatched a disc out of his hand. "You've scratched it!"

"I said GET OUT!" Tristen bellowed. He seethed with fury at the violation of his privacy. And his little brother, as usual, was oblivious and unaffected by his outrage. Tristen threw the disc, shattering it against the wall. Nobody here had exclusive ownership over anything. Daniel had no right to be in his room. He had no right to be going through his things, whether they were technically his things or not. Tristen's body trembled with the ancient, mystic power in his blood. His muscles strained and stretched. His wolf howled, about to break free. Tristen quivered with the force of the shift he could not control. His wolf was going to go nuclear and there was nothing he could do to stop it. " Get out NOW, Daniel!"

"Hell no! You broke my disc. My. Disc. You're so gonna pay me back for it. And I mean NOW!" Daniel shouted. He didn't care what post-teen angst his brother was in the throws of this week. Tristen had no right to treat him like a little bitch. Tristen thought he was hot shit because he'd had his first shift. He hadn't said two words to him all day, stomping around brooding like he owned the place. Bullshit on that. His brother was all high and mighty, NOT. And that whole 'communal property' clause, not happening, not in the world according to Daniel. He'd washed shit tons of dishes to earn that CD. And now, his favorite possession was shattered into millions of silvery bits because his brother had a temper tantrum. Fuck that! Daniel balled up his fist and planted his knuckles in Tristen's face.

Claire heard scuffling and angry shouts coming from the floor above. "What's going on up there?" she asked Mouse. Someone was mighty pissed off for the noise to carry through the air conditioning vents into the basement.

"Oh nothing, just my older brothers, fighting as usual. No big deal. Usually Grandpa just lets them duke it out and settle it themselves. He says it's good for them. Builds character." Marianne shrugged and returned to the Internet. She snickered to herself as something crashed to the floor with a loud bang and either Daniel or Tristen, she couldn't tell which, unleashed a string of curse words so dirty even a sailor would blush in shame. The both of them were going to be in deep trouble when the dust settled, especially if their grandpa had to go up there and settle it for them. She was likely to get out of setting the table and washing dishes for the rest of her natural life.

Claire was really beginning to question Nash's child rearing skills. It sounded like a war going on above her head. Was that normally how parents handled fights between siblings? But then again, Mouse and her brothers weren't ordinary children. There was another loud bang that sounded suspiciously like a fist, maybe a head, crashing through drywall. Claire hoped this place was sturdy enough to hold up to the abuse these two teenage boys were intent on unleashing. She headed for the stairs. Nash might not think stopping the fight was necessary. But, she did. "I'm going to go check on them and put a stop to this."

Marianne shrugged and logged out of the computer. "Good luck with that," she mumbled as she followed Claire to the staircase and up the stairs. Claire was a nurse. And her brothers were pretty indestructible anyway. Marianne snorted at the curse words flowing like a waterfall of profanity out of Daniel's mouth. He was going to be in big, big trouble by the time grandpa got through with him. She waved at her grandpa as she passed through the dining room on Claire's heels. He waved back with a smile and then looked up to glare at the ceiling overhead. Oh yeah, her older brothers were in deep, deep caca.

Claire trotted a faster up the stairs to the second floor. The boys were bellowing at each other, exchanging curse words with the speed of an Indy car during the 500. Oh...she'd heard a lot of obscenities in her day. All of them, she thought, until Tristen, or was it Daniel, came up with several creative uses for a few lesser and much dirtier ones she rarely heard and never in that context before. Furniture scraped across the wooden floors to slam into the walls with a loud bang. And then there was a deep, piercing, earsplitting wail of agony. A door to one of the bedrooms down at the end of the hall hung off its hinges. A shredded T-shirt flew out of the door into the hall. "BOYS! ARE YOU OK?" She skidded to a stop inches from the bedroom door and flung an arm out across Mouse's chest. "Stop. Stay back," she whispered.