Dawn Reclaimed

"Everything is fine, Claire. Get dressed and I'll see you next week for another ultrasound. We'll take it from there. And see what happens next." He pulled the curtain and shrugged into his lab jacket. Neatly hiding the evidence in the folds of starched white cloth. His eyes locked with Grant's as he opened the exam room door. Neither one of the men exchanged a word. But, the look had meaning. Said more than words ever could. Thomas left Grant, standing, staring after him, as he stormed down the hall. He had to get away from the compound and from Claire.

Grant slipped into the exam room. Claire was dressed. Quietly straightening the exam room. Lost in thought. "Everything is ok right?"

Claire smiled and nodded. "Perfect. The baby is absolutely healthy." She tossed a wad of table paper in the trash and pulled down another length off the roll.

"And you?" Grant stood with his arms crossed. Thomas looked a little rough when he stormed out of the exam room. But, Claire bustled about, calm, cool and collected, gathering her purse and coat.

"Never better. Perfectly healthy." She slung her purse over her shoulder, forcing a reassuring smile. She didn't want to think about what she'd put or was going to put Thomas through anymore. "Take me home. I'm dying for a hot bath and a cup of cocoa."

Grant gripped Claire's cool hand with his fingers, leading her from the exam room. He said nothing more about the exam, as did she. This was one of those things they had to deal with and weren't going to talk about. He couldn't be angry with Thomas for wanting to help for at Claire for asking him to. "Anything for my girl."

"I love a well trained man." Claire teased. Leaning into the arm he draped casually around her shoulders, the walked through the compound. She and Grant were going to have to talk. They had many things to discuss. Primarily, what were they going to name the bundle of joy growing rapidly in her belly?

Thomas wound through the halls. Taking the back exit, effectively avoiding bumping into most of the compound's occupants and Claire. He stormed past his mother, ignoring her as she stood in the hallway talking in a muted voice to Doc.

Barbara didn't need a psychic link to her son to know that he was deeply disturbed. He walked with determined and frustrated steps. His gait rapid, almost a trot, as he stormed toward her, lab jacket flapping around his waist like white wings. His thoughts were black and distressed. "Thomas?"

"Not now, mom," Thomas huffed. Passing her and the Shaman without a backwards glance, the only thought in his head was that he to get away. He didn't need his mother's consolation. There was nothing she could do to make him feel any better.

Barbara started after him, wanting to console her son. Doc pressed a hand to her shoulder, gently stopping her.

"No, let him go," Doc said. Some things were best off left unsaid and kept private. And whatever had transpired between Claire, Thomas, and Grant was one of those things.

"But..." Barbara protested.

"No, not this time." He knew how difficult of a position Thomas was in. And it was not something Thomas could talk to his mother about. Claire's health and the life of her baby hung in the balance. Thomas needed space to process his emotions before they clouded his judgment and both he and Claire suffered for it.

Chapter 60

How is the woman doing?" Doc asked. Changing the subject, he steered Barbara down the corridor the opposite way Thomas had gone. Barbara had an uncanny 'mom-sense' about her baby boy. And she could sense Thomas's angst. She wanted to comfort him. Use placating words and her mom voice as a soothing balm to heal his bruised psyche. And yes, this thing with Claire had to be very difficult for Thomas to process. But, there were some emotions and feelings, some situations where a mother's love would only hinder. And some things a man just had to sort out for himself.

He'd cautioned Barbara away from Thomas. Thomas was still a young man. But, someday, he wouldn't be. Detachment now was better. Watching Thomas fade from the pinnacle of youth to middle age, and then on, into the downward spiral of the elderly would kill her. It was better that she learned to distance herself from those closest to her. Cut her ties to the mortal world, now. The years would pass quickly and before she knew it, Thomas would be gone.

"She woke up screaming and terrified," Barbara said with a frown. "I had to sedate her. Hunter is watching over her now. They've suffered such a terrible tragedy. I hope, somehow, they can heal one another." Barbara glanced over her shoulder. Thomas could move almost vampire fast when he wanted to and the hallway behind her was empty. She knew what Doc was doing. The same thing he always did. He preached it like a religion. Let him go. Let him go. He was trying to spare her and Thomas from the pain of things to come. Not happening. Thomas was her baby boy. Always would be. And as far as letting him go, she had no plans to. Ever. But, it was best not to think about that, for the time being. Thomas had plenty of time left.

Doc simply didn't understand. She did. She'd been sick for so long. She'd lain in that hospital bed not knowing when the breath in her lungs would be her last. She'd suffered for months, wanting to die and not dying simply because of her son. And if something like death couldn't rip her away from her baby boy. A pair of fangs was not going to keep them apart either.

"Sometimes, sharing memories of a tragedy is the best medicine," Doc said. He kept the tone of his voice cautious and deliberate. Barbara was talking about the woman. But, her mind was on her son. He saw the spark of determination in her blue eyes. A mother's love knew no boundaries, not even death. Thomas had made his thoughts on such things known. He did not want the life he'd delivered his mother into for himself. He guarded Thomas far closer than the man realized. He watched for the signs of the inevitable to come. They had time, barring any unforeseen event. And when they didn't. When time ran out. He'd make certain Thomas got the death he wanted.

"I hope so, for both of their sakes," Barbara said. Agreeing with the Shaman implicitly on this one thing, at least. Her mentor was so hard to get along with. It was a rarity that they found anything to agree upon. He was always so bossy 'do this' ... 'don't to that'... with her. He was nothing but a pushy control freak, as far as she was concerned. He had to be large and in charge of everything. Especially when it came to her.

But, every man had his weakness, even the almighty shaman. She sensed his attraction to her. Oh, he hated that small part of himself beyond his control. He'd reach for her and then drop his hand in a clenched fist. He didn't want to feel this way about her. And she sensed his reluctance had a lot to do with Thomas. When the time came. They were going to be at odds. They were going to fight. And he was going to do everything in his power to stop her.

The few kisses she'd managed to steal were enough to convince her of how they both felt. He had even admitted his attraction, not in so many words. But, flowery speeches weren't always necessary. He always spoke of duty and appropriateness. Babbling nonsense about how he was her mentor and he couldn't think of her in such a manner... blah, blah, blah. Sometimes, she wanted to smack him, hold him down, and prove to him that there was nothing wrong with two adults that had a healthy attraction for one another sharing a bit of good old-fashioned lust in between the sheets. She was a big girl. She could take it. But, sometimes she wondered if his old-fashioned sense of propriety would let him.

"As do I." The Shaman walked Barbara back to her post outside of the woman's door. He kept his hands to himself. His arms plastered to his side. "Good night," he said. He would not touch her. He would not. She was his pupil and he the teacher. For all the things of being a vampire that he could teach, love was one he could not.

Barbara smiled at him. "Good night, Doc."

Grant turned on the shower and laid out a fluffy white towel on the toilet lid for Claire. "Shower's ready," he called from the bathroom. Claire had been quiet since her visit to the compound. Cut off and pensive, not saying a word about the thoughts running through her mind. What had happened in that room between Thomas and she, Claire kept to herself. Other than reassuring him that both she and the baby were fine and smiling a genuine smile of relief. She'd said nothing else.

Claire hated the situation she'd put Thomas in. He hated it too. And Thomas, Grant could not imagine what it was like to put duty so far ahead of his personal feelings. Everyone was doing everything they could for the sake of the baby. Grant didn't want Thomas's hands on his fiancée. But, if Thomas's word gave Claire some sort of peace, then he would keep his mouth shut and endure. There was one thing though that grated both him and his wolf. The shower, while she would see it as a nice gesture, had a more selfish purpose. While he was taking care of her the only way he knew how. The shower would also rid her skin of Thomas's scent. In this room, in his bed, Thomas's scent wasn't welcome.

Sneaking a peek at his fiancées curvy body, as she stripped and padded naked across the bedroom, had him quickly forgetting Thomas. Claire's belly was rounded their child, her breasts swollen and her nipples erect and firm from the pregnancy. And her cheeks glowed with a rosy tint. His ring glittered on her ring finger. She was his. And that had his cock dancing a happy dance in his jeans. He could spend all night roving his hands over her skin. Kissing her senseless and doing all those things she liked him to do where she liked him to do them. His name whispered from her lips as a reward for being such a good boy.

Claire could sense Grant's desire as if it were a palpable thing. The overwhelming, heady aura of his sexual need filled the room and closed in every inch of breathable space between them. She wasn't especially feeling very sexy right now. She wanted to put the ordeals of the day behind her and take a nice, long, relaxing shower alone. Wash Thomas and her awkwardness and embarrassment down the drain. Forget about it until next week. "Thanks," she said. Gently herding him out of the bathroom, she shut the door and tested the water. The steamy spray was nice and hot, just like her man.

Grant picked up the pile of abandoned clothes and tossed them into the hamper. He could hear Claire in the bathroom lathering up and rinsing off. He wanted to join her and would have, if the day hadn't gone the way it had. No doubt she was exhausted and frazzled. Now was not the time to think about him and what he wanted. He should and would fill his thoughts with her and tending to her needs only. They had so little time together as a couple before they became a trio and he didn't want to waste a second of it. He hurried downstairs to make her a cup of cocoa and gather up something for a late evening snack.

The drive home in the cold had done little to alleviate Thomas of the raging hard on screaming for attention. He could easily drive to the city and hire himself a few hours of companionship. He could find a nightclub that catered to his needs. Have his pick of women drunk and/or desperate enough to spend the night with him. He wasn't above paying for a few hours of mindless sex. But, he'd like to think he wasn't that desperate, yet. He could lie. Make promises he had no intention of keeping, use her as she used him, and then disappear before the dawn. But no, he wasn't that kind of a guy. Never had been. He couldn't remember the last time he had sex, at least with a partner and not with himself as the only participant. And that was truly pathetic.

The house was dark and quiet, a somber reminder that he had no one to come home to. He shuffled through the garage and into the kitchen. Flipping on the TV just to have a voice to fill the emptiness. He went through the fridge and pushed the Tupperware containers of food Anna sent him to the side. Grabbing a long neck from the back of the fridge, he plopped down on the sofa and drank it down, deeply. The TV prattled on, commercial after commercial for dating services and male enhancement pills. Aggravated, he snapped the thing off and tossed the remote onto the coffee table. His beer was empty. And one was not enough to dull the ache inside of him. He was lonely, damn lonely. Stripping as he made his way to the shower, he left his crumpled scrubs in a heap wherever they landed. What the hell did it matter? There wasn't anyone to bitch at him about making a mess anyway.

The hot spray hit his tense muscles like a thousand needles, doing little to ease the throbbing agony between his thighs. He was hard as hell and his cock didn't show any signs of going soft anytime soon. He grabbed the soap and lathered up, imagining it was Claire's hands on him smoothing fragrant bubbles over his chest. His hand snaked down to his jutting erection. He needed release. Something to ease his frayed nerves and severely neglected sex drive. He pumped once, twice on the thing. Panting and trembling he jerked harder and faster, just wanting it over with. The mild tingle of pleasure tightening his balls did nothing for him. Except serve as a bitter reminder of exactly how pathetic he actually was.

Thomas gritted his molars, exhaling on a hiss. He wanted a partner. A woman who would hold him, kiss him, stroke him, and sigh his name passionately as he pumped into her. He had been waiting so long, far too long. And it wasn't going to happen. He wasn't shy and awkward around women. He just...hell, he didn't know what his problem was. Leaning heavily against the tiled wall with the shower spray pelting him, he lathered up his shaft. The sensation of his fist wrapped around his cock was enough to send his head spinning as blood rushed from his brain into that length of useless flesh. He pumped harder, faster, cursing the surges of pleasure and the bullshit that was life. His release hovered so close yet, so unattainable. He could not manage to work up the enthusiasm to get him self off. And that was something beyond pathetic. He'd spiraled downward on a collision course with hopeless.

He let his mind wander and forced his head out of that awful place of self-pity. Fisting his cock, he closed his eyes. His hands were slick with frothy bubbles, sliding up and down his shaft. Closing his eyes, he daydreamed of things that were never going to be. Claire, not pregnant, not his patient, but his woman, a girlfriend or a wife, didn't matter in the least, on her knees at his feet. Her pink, full lips wrapped around his aching cock. Suckling and coaxing him to the release that he so desperately needed with her mouth and tongue. His breathing became choppy and rapid. His fist gripped tighter, sliding up and down, quicker and quicker along his shaft. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. His body tensed and his breathing grew rapid. He was close. The mental picture of Claire sucking him off helped.

Felt better. Felt good. In his mind, Claire's tongue circled the head of his dick. Teasing him to the point of suffering and whimpering her name. His body was stiff as a board. His cock was stiffer yet, hard, hot, and swollen. Almost there now. He pumped faster, harder, with long laborious strokes up and down his cock. Panting and crying out in both angst and relief, he gritted his teeth and threw back his head. Release, scalding hot shot out of him in jets of thick, creamy come.

Quivering and hating himself all the more for the mental images flashing through his mind, he worked up an erection and ended it almost as efficiently as he'd began. Come dripped from his fingers and dribbled down the folds of the shower curtain. His body was happy, loose and languid. But, he was far from relieved. He needed real sex with a real partner. Rosie Palmer and her five sisters had been great companions when he was fifteen. Now that he was a man with a man's needs, only the real thing would satisfy him completely. But, that was not going to happen any time in the foreseeable future.

Done with it and completely and irrevocably over the whole fucking thing, with Claire, with his mother, with the pathetic state of his life, he lathered up and stood under the shower. Paying careful attention to the shower curtain he rinsed the evidence of his greatest shame down the drain.

After the shower of humiliation, he slid into boxers and stumbled through the dark house to the fridge. Cracking open a beer, he gulped it down and waited impatiently for the alcohol to do its thing. When it didn't, he switched to something harder. The tequila went down smooth and easy. There was one good thing about being a doctor. He could afford the good stuff. And when it came to his choice of poisons, he bought only the best. A little dizzy from the booze, he shuffled off to bed. He needed to shut off his head and get some sleep. And the high priced shots of Patron were doing the trick nicely.

He needed to get laid. And there had to be someone out there for him. A perfect match he'd not only love but that would love him in return. He had not amassed any wealth, per se. But, and perhaps it was his fear that landed him in an empty bed night after night, there were plenty of women willing and eager to go out with him, get between his sheets and give him the ride of a lifetime, simply because they didn't know he wasn't rich. He was a doctor and doctors equaled big paychecks. Yeah, right. Good luck with that misguided concept. He wasn't broke. But, he wasn't going to land on the fortune 500 list, ever. He wanted someone who would love him for him. And he'd thought...well it didn't matter now, did it. Whatever hopes he'd had for Claire were dust now.

He set the empty bottle of tequila on the nightstand and pulled the covers over his head. Wrapped in a cocoon of loneliness and angry contempt at no one but himself. He was content to be the sole guest at his very own pity party. Sleep was slow to come. He was out of tequila. Shit out of luck. And fucked in every way but the one he wanted.





Chapter 61

Hunter woke with a start. Instead of the bite of chains and useless arms numbed with cold he felt a warm body cuddled in them instead. Careful not to wake Gina, he shifted slightly on the bed and adjusted her weight. She stirred slightly and sank back into the oblivion of her drug-induced slumber. Her breath was hot against the cotton of his T-shirt. Tickling the skin beneath. Gently, he smoothed the blankets under her chin. He wondered what life had in store for Gina Klein and if the nightmare would ever be over for her.

For him, life would go on much as it had. A long, hard, blur of endless days filled with nothing. His brother knew what he wanted. Why had Grant denied him? Why had the goddess condemned him to live? What good was he to anyone? He'd held on to his deceased wife for over a decade. He couldn't let her go. Didn't want to. Memories of her were all that he had left. Seeing her, happy and smiling on the other side of the Great River had torn his heart out all over again. He was nothing, just an empty shell, a shadow of the man he had been before she died.

He'd been happy then. Whole. His wife adored him and his kids respected him. He was Tristen's best friend and Daniel's hero. His wife was pregnant and overjoyed to be having a third. Truly, he felt blessed by the goddess. His family was his life. Then the labor came. The baby and his wife struggled to hang on while Nana worked to save them both. The painful and bloody delivery was too much, as Mouse drew her first breath, his wife, Marianne, drew her last.

He had been the one to light the fire. Stood there helplessly watching as the flames devoured his wife's body and consumed what was left of his soul. At that point he stopped living and began existing. Everyone tried to bring him back, especially his sons. But, he had no interest in living, only in joining his wife. He couldn't hold his newborn daughter or comfort his grieving sons. Every time he looked at them, he saw Marianne.