Dawn Reclaimed

"I don't believe you," the man sing-songed. He grabbed the woman's shirt and ripped it open. Exposing his fresh cut and several others. He had just the thing, something that wouldn't kill her. But would make her scream in agony. Salt. He got up and walked to his worktable. Snatching the blue canister of table salt, he shook it and grinned at the werewolf. The man slid the pour spout open and shook a good measure onto his hand. "This might sting a bit."

Gina thrashed wildly. The wound between her breasts stretched and tore in throbbing agony with each move. Fresh blood rolled down her sides. The man took his time, shaking the salt out of the canister into his palm. Tormenting her. Nothing, absolutely nothing could prepare her for the mindless agony as he sprinkled the salt across the gash. She screamed. She begged. She bargained with God to take her from this awful place and away from the pain. Pain. There was nothing but a sea of pain and she was drowning in it.

He chuckled with glee. This was so much fun. He loved being in control. He pulled a pair of pliers out of his pocket and adjusted them. "Her front teeth are next. I'll pull them out one by one until you tell me. How. Many. Vampires. Are. There? I've got all day. But, I don't think she does. I'm betting she'll pass out before I get through all thirty-two of her teeth. What do you think?"

The woman's screams made him ache with desire. But, he had no time to indulge himself. Not when he was so close to learning what he wanted to know. He pried the woman's jaw open with his hand. Gagging her as he forced the pliers into her mouth and locked them down tightly on her front tooth.

"At least ten," Hunter admitted. "That I know of. Probably, many more." He flexed and balled his hands into fists. Tugging against the cold links of steel that bound him. He was no closer to getting free than he was when he first woke up. But his rage fueled him. Abandoning hopes for the spirit world and seeing his wife again, he focused his energies on staying alive and saving the woman.

"I'll save her teeth for later. But, you aren't being honest with me. I can tell. So that's a wrong answer. At this stage of the game, I think we should be completely truthful. Don't you?" the man asked as he drew the blade across the woman's inner forearm, drawing out a fresh well of blood and a throaty scream.

"I am telling the truth. I really don't know," Hunter said desperately. "Ten. Twenty. More. I don't know."

The man analyzed the woman's wrist and the spurting blood. "Oops, I think I nicked an artery. Sorry about that, cupcake," he said patting the woman's cheek. "All bleedings stops, eventually. I can vouch for that." He ripped a length of her t-shirt free and wrapped it tightly around her wrist. Staunching the flow of blood. She was a little grayer what he liked to see in a victim he was supposed to keep alive. And he had determined she'd redeemed herself in her usefulness in controlling the werewolf. He was so hard and needed to kill something so bad. Needed release. But, if he killed her, the werewolf would clam up and he'd never get the rest of his answers.

The fucking woman had gone unconscious on him. He could carve her like a side of roast beef and she wouldn't utter a sound. No good. He needed to make something hurt. Needed to hear screams. He turned his attention to the werewolf. Still bloody and battered, but healing. "So, tell me. How do I kill a vampire?"

Hunter clamped his lips shut. The woman was unconscious. Better for the killer to send her to the spirit world now than to delay it any longer. She would be free from her suffering. If he couldn't save her, maybe, he could push the man too far and end it for her. And he, although improved, was a long way from healed. Another few carefully aimed blows and cuts and he'd join her at the river. The scent of death grew thicker in the room. Neither one of them had much time left. And he could not go to his grave knowing he'd betrayed his cousins by delivering them into the hands of a killer. He would not tell the killer how to destroy the vampires.

The man sighed and shook his head. "So, we're back to this again are we? Very well, I don't know how to kill a vampire exactly. But, I think I've figured out how to kill a werewolf and I definitely know how to kill a human." He picked up the ball bat, swung, and struck the werewolf, crushing his ribs.

Anna crossed her arms in defiance. "I'm going. It's me he wants and it's me he'll get. Two people's lives depend on me. I'll be surrounded by warriors and I'm not exactly helpless, you know." She stood her ground arguing her point.

"But, you don't know what the killer has in mind. We don't know what he's done to Hunter or the woman, or if they're even alive. He could be more dangerous than you think. More dangerous than what any of us have anticipated. You're staying here," Toby protested. He wasn't going to win. And he knew it. But, he'd put up one hell of a fight before he let his wife put herself in danger's path.

Dane had patrols on every block covering the entire west side of the city. Searching for scents, sounds, smells that didn't belong. The killer was out there. Somewhere. He wanted Anna. And was willing to go to any extremes to get what he wanted. Grant and Nash were on their way. The plan was to move out as soon as the men arrived. Anna was key to their plan. Once she lured the killer out. The wolves and the Sons would move in and rescue Hunter and the woman. The Guardians were on backup. At this point, it was an anything goes situation, especially, if Hunter or Gina, or the both of them were dead.

Lance gunned the SUV's engine. The petal pressed all the way down to the metal as they rolled along the dark stretch of interstate leading to the city. The compound was whittled down to nothing. Almost defenseless, except for the women, and anyone dumb enough to think that the girls were defenseless was going to get what they deserved. Angel, his dark Angel, was as brutal as any male. Maybe, more so. His duty was to see the wolves safely to the city and haul ass back home double time. Drew didn't like leaving the compound so poorly protected. And wolves were driven by their emotions, to a big degree. Drew wouldn't let the men drive themselves, not in their heightened emotional state. Wolves didn't have opposable thumbs and even if they did, wouldn't the news have a field day with those kinds of headlines.

Grant ground his teeth and shuffled restlessly in the seat. The closer he got to the city, the heavier the feeling of dread. His brother wasn't in trouble. He was in deep, deep shit. Grant could sense it.

Grant's agitation was thick in the air. A scent more than a feeling, thick and pungent, sour/sweet like rotting fruit. Nash said nothing. But stared out at the landscape. There were no words that could prepare or predict what waited for Grant or his brother.

Claire spent a sleepless night in the bed she'd shared with Grant. Pressing her face into the pillow to catch his scent in the fabric. Wrapping herself tightly in the blankets to feel his warmth. Mouse was curled up in a little ball beside her. Snoring and thrashing about. Ever since Grant and Nash had left for the city, the little girl had clung onto her like a life preserver. Even though she slept, the child was as worried and troubled as Claire.

Grant was headed into danger, risking his life for his brother and a stranger he'd never met. There was nothing Claire or anyone else could do besides worry. The red display on the digital clock read twelve-o-five AM. Grant should be well into the city by now. Claire slid from beneath the blankets. Careful not to wake up Mouse, the girl needed her sleep. She stared out into the night. From the sky above, drops of rain began to fall. Somewhere off in the distance, a wolf howled, long and soulfully. Claire might have imagined it. But, she could have sworn that she heard worry in the wolf's forlorn cry before.

"Damn it!" the man hissed. The last cut was too deep. The last blow was too hard. The werewolf was wheezing pitifully. Head lolled in a precarious position to the side. God damned beast was stubborn. Despite his torture, he'd divulged no further information about the vampires. The man was exhausted. Needs left unfulfilled. The woman was just as stubborn as the werewolf. If she'd regained consciousness he would have played with her some more. But, she remained in la-la land. Oblivious to what he had in store for her once she awoke.

The man began to doubt whether he had the strength or endurance to capture and torture one of the vampires to death. But, that really wasn't his objective. A nice thought to toy with. But, not what he was after. He wanted to feel the sting of the bite. He wanted to feel his life sucked away, drop by drop. And the blonde was just the one to deliver him. Time was passing. He was supposed to meet with the vampires at noon. He couldn't go looking like he did now. Stained with blood and filth, haggard and worn down. He had to be fresh and alert for their rendezvous. No doubt, they'd try to get the drop on him. He snapped away, taking pictures of the werewolf and the woman. Too bad, he hadn't thought to take up photography sooner. He would have liked a scrapbook of his artwork.

He locked the door behind him. The two weren't going to cause him any problems. They were alive. They were chained. Nope, they wouldn't be any problem at all. He'd stop by to check on them later. After a quick nap and a shower. He stank, like blood and death.

"This is where you found the backpack?" Grant asked. Dropping down onto his knees he peeked behind the dumpster.

"Yes. That and a few scraps of blood soaked clothing scattered around the city," Dane answered carefully. "The killer has him. Hunter is still alive. The killer wants to trade your brother and the woman for Anna."

"Why Anna?" Nash asked.

"We don't know. Our best guess is that he's got a thing for blondes and he wants to move on to bigger and better targets. Humans aren't entertaining enough for him. "

"What do you plan to do?"

"Give him what he wants," Dane answered. At this point, what choice did they have but to give in to the demands of a madman? A woman's life hung in the balance. Dane didn't know Hunter well. But, he knew the type. He'd been one of the types before Chris had come along and saved him from himself. Hunter would rather die than risk someone else's life in the saving of his.

Grant was already peeling off his clothes, shivering against the cold rain. His brother was alive, barely. He could sense it and every bit of his brother's pain in the depths of his soul. He had to find his brother before it was too late. He waved Dane and the other vampires back before he gave his body to the wolf.

The brown, shaggy wolf sniffed the dumpster and pawed at the concrete. Inching along with his nose buried to the ground, searching for a trail. He sat and lifted his velvety muzzle, howling, in a long, low, echoing voice, into the night.

"He's calling to his brother's wolf," Nash explained. The power of the wolf ran through him, sending his flesh crawling. He hurriedly ripped at his clothes. The shift was coming on him, out of his control. His wolf, burst free. A gray wolf emerged out of Nash's body. Nose pointed to the sky, he joined his brother wolf, howling soulfully into the night.

Hunter heard the echoing wolf song in his head. Thinking he was finally dead and his suffering at and end. He forced his eyes open. He didn't expect this much pain in the afterlife. Didn't expect to have trouble breathing or to feel as if his body had been ripped limb from limb. He didn't expect to be so weak. Too weak to shift and join his beloved wife and his pack mates long dead on the other side of the river.

With great effort he lifted his head. His neck cracked and head throbbed as he focused his eyes on the scene of horror. Gina was bound, hands stretched up over her head on the cot, breathing, shallowly. A mess of dried and caked blood stained the bedding.

His feet stuck to the floor. Sticking to a puddle of his dried blood. Blades were scattered about, caked to the hilt with clotted blood. The stench of blood and death filled the room. Why hadn't his goddess taken him? Spared him any further agony? Why was she forcing the woman to suffer? Where was her mercy that they should suffer any more at the hands of a murderer? He wasn't dead. He. Was. Not. Dead. Hunter took inventory of his injuries. Bones healed much slower than wounds. Externally, his flesh had knitted together. But internally, he had a broken femur and a few shattered ribs, maybe a cracked skull. His hands were dusky and useless, deprived of circulation for too long. He was too weak to try to struggle against his bindings.

He found the breath to speak. Beg the goddess in his ancient language to take his life and Gina's, to deliver them from the hands of their captor. But, the room remained silent. And he continued to breathe. His goddess's answer was a 'no'. He was condemned to remain bound and tortured, as was the woman. "Gina," he croaked. "Can you hear me?" She didn't stir. Didn't answer. Lost to merciful darkness where she could feel no more pain. At least, Kokumthena, the bitch, had granted Gina that small measure of mercy.

Hunter's father was nearby. Nash and also Grant. He could sense the presence of Pack. He wanted to warn him off. Grant might be leading the vampires into a trap. But, Grant's closeness was also a source of unexpected comfort. Solace for his battered soul. He had faith in his brother and his father. But, he refused to grasp onto the thin thread of hope that he would live to see another sunrise or his children again. Hunter had already accepted his death. And he was prepared to leave this life behind.

Grant would make sure his body was tended to. Light the pyre and scatter his ashes to the winds, just as Hunter had done for his wife over a decade ago. Grant and his woman would care for his children. Mouse simply adored Claire and Claire would make a worthy mother. Daniel and Tristen were man enough to care for themselves. All the loose ends were all tied up and at least he had the satisfaction of closure before he died. No unfinished business left behind.

The man whistled a happy tune as he bathed. He was simply too wound up to take a little catnap. So, after his bath, he planned to spend a couple of hours with the werewolf before he had to go. Get something with a little bit of fresh blood on it to prove to the vampires that he had indeed taken good care of his guest. No body was going to accuse him of being a poor host. Did he have intentions of turning the werewolf and the woman over to the vampires like he promised? He chuckled at the thought. He'd invested too much time and effort into his guests to let him go now.

He unlocked the main doors to the warehouse and wound his way around to his special cubicle. The sun wasn't even up yet. But, he was wide-awake and raring to go. If the woman were awake. Hell, if she were still alive, he would take great pleasure with her this morning. There was nothing like a strangling or a slit throat to brighten anyone's day.

"Hello, my friend," the man said, congenially to the werewolf. Kicking the door shut behind him, he frowned as he realized the woman was not doing so well as his pet wolf. Oh well, the werewolf was fairing well enough. All healed up, more or less. "Sleep well?"

"Go to hell," Hunter growled. He'd used what little strength he had to spit at the man.

"Not a morning person eh?" The man slid to the side, ducking the wad of bloody spit. Punctured lungs must be a bitch, slowly strangling in your own blood. So terrible. He pulled up a metal chair and spread out his breakfast on the table. He had some time to kill and an egg, bacon, and cheese muffin with a cup of hot coffee would hit the spot. "You know, men aren't really my thing. But, sometimes you make the best with what you're given. I had no idea how much fun you'd be to play with," he said through a mouthful of egg.

Hunter stifled the growl rising in his chest. Fun. If he were free, he'd show the son of a bitch exactly how much fun he was. He'd call on his wolf and let the wolf rip out his throat and gorge on his heart. This morning, there were no questions about the vampires, only a demented fuck, sitting on a chair, gloating as he ate a muffin, without a care in the world. He'd better care. His brother and his father were coming. And they were going to be out for blood.

The man enjoyed being in control. The werewolf's eyes were on him. Wondering when he would ask a question. When he would pull out a blade. When he'd make him hurt. The decisions were all up to him. The vampires were clueless. Last night he had his doubts. But, it was so evident in the light of day. He'd out smarted the vampires. They hadn't found the woman or the wolf. Everything was going according to plan. Soon he'd have his dark angel. The werewolf and the woman would be dead. By his hand whenever he decided. And so would he.

The man finished his egg sandwich and stuffed the wrapper into the bag. He walked over and held a finger to the woman's neck. She had a pulse, weak and faint, but she was still alive. He would end it for her, soon. There was no sweet victory when he couldn't look in to her eyes, smell the sweet scent of her fear, and hear her screams gurgle to silence in her throat. No prize in killing someone almost dead.

He turned his attention to the werewolf. Hurting the man was hard and messy work. And he had yet to extract a scream or a confession from the werewolf's flesh. He had some idle time on his hands. And everyone knew that idle hands were the devil's special playground. He selected a knife. The curved blade shone menacing silver in the light from the naked bulb. The handle felt strange in his palm. He'd bought this knife years ago. But he had a tendency to rush his craft so quickly that he'd never gotten time to properly break it in. The knife was for skinning wild game. And he'd had the idea before. The werewolf was close enough.

"I believe we were discussing vampires before I retired for the evening," The man said turning the blade in his hand.

The wolf's nails ticked along the sidewalk. The alpha trotted slightly ahead. The wolf sensed the vampires trailing them. Each step drew them closer to his missing pack mate. Awareness tingled in his brain. He paused, sniffing. A scent. He moved along faster. Following the smell of brother, home and of wolf.

The man guided the knife with expert precision. The blade slid through the flesh easily. A long cut across the belly and a cross-cut down, slip the tip between the layers and separate skin from the underlying fascia. Easy. Bloody. Painful. The man was making a little present to give to the vampires. To show them who was boss and that the boss was taking care of business. His eyes gleamed with joy as he finally got what he wanted out of the werewolf's mouth. A scream.

Hunter held it in for as long as he could. Sweat poured from his brow. He gnawed on his bottom lip. But, finally the bellow, a long, agonized, wail broke free from his chest. His legs buckled under his weight and he hung suspended from numb arms. His shoulders sagged from the stress of his bulk. Too much blood. Too much pain. His vision faded in and out. Black swirls spiraled in his periphery. He longed to sink into their inky depths and let them carry him away. Not even his wolf would respond. His wolf was supposed to protect him from danger. But, he was too close to death. And his wolf was waiting for him on the other side of life.

The wolf clawed at the door with powerful front paws. His barks were short and urgent. Here! IN HERE! THIS WAY! He had found the wolf. His brother. His friend.