Dawn Redeemed

O'Sullivan freed himself from the fly of his slacks and cupped his length in his palm. Bianca was hot, wet, and ready for him. He worked his way between her thighs with his hips and thrust his length inside of her. Her walls were tight and sleek around him. The silk fabric gave with a whisper as he tore it to tease her nipples into firm tightness with his palm while he worked his body inside of her. She writhed beneath him, pinned by the weight of his body to the desk. She wanted tribute and he was only beginning to pay up.

O'Sullivan made love like a bull, ramming and pounding into her with everything he had. Their pelvises ground against one another painfully against the force of his rapid thrusts. Her favorite dress lay in a tatter of red silk around her waist. His hands trapped her hair and pulled her neck mercilessly to the side. Feeding him from her vein was all about pleasure, pain, and the delicate balance between the two. To a vampire, a bite was more intimate than sex. She couldn't suppress the gasp that rushed out between her lips as he drove his fangs deep inside of her flesh while still working her body with his cock. She came in a brilliant rush of sensation and raw animalistic need. He was there with her, sating his own need at her throat. He filled her with his release as her blood flowed from his lips.

Bianca held their co-joined bodies together by wrapping her legs tightly around O'Sullivan's hips. She lifted her body up off the desk, gripping the strength of his shoulders with her fingers. He slid, half erect, deeper into her as she rose on him, rolling her hips to make him hard for her. "My turn," she gasped, shivering against the electric pull of his mouth on her vein. Her fangs were razor sharp points that had an aching need of their own. She struck every bit as hard and mercilessly as he had, returning the favor. The second orgasm rode in on the aftermath of the first. His blood was a potent, sweet mix of male, pleasure, and pure, raw power. He filled her in every way possible, feeding her with his blood and the slick pleasure of his release.

Bianca stretched out on the desk. Its surface was slick with their fluids. Littered with pens and pencils and other objects haphazardly scattered in the heat of their passion. She watched O'Sullivan with pensive eyes as he meticulously dressed and gathered his hair back into a tight ponytail. "I'll be sure to tell Carter that you stopped by," she said watching him tuck his cock behind his fly.

"You do that," O'Sullivan said as he adjusted his tie. The air was thick with the sweet combined scents of sex and blood. He left the alluring fragrance and the woman without a backward glance. He made his way through the push of guards and wary faces to the elevators at the far end of a very posh penthouse suite. He stepped into the elevator and rode it down to the lobby and made his way past the guards to the front door.

In a very short time, the Guardians had grown into a force to be reckoned with hand handled with extreme caution. Carter and his second in command had been busy little vampires during his absence. There were ways around them and around the Guardians. He was not a man without resources. Once his mind was made up, he was like a typhoon, smart people got out of his way others got caught up in the path of destruction.

Bianca cleaned up the mess Eric and she had made of the desk. Clad in nothing but the tattered remnants of her silk shift, hose, and her three inch stilettos she righted the pencil holder and tucked the letter opener away in the drawer. The sterling silver opener had a sharp point like that of a dagger and would have made short work of O'Sullivan. With one swipe she could have rid the world of him. Why hadn't she? It had been a very tempting proposition to eliminate the problem that was Eric O'Sullivan. Perhaps a more devoted follower of the Guardians would have. But, she wasn't done with him yet.

She needed Eric to get what she wanted and that was primarily Carter out of the way. It seemed like these days she was all about fulfilling wishes. Carter was a fucked up mess in need of an outlet for his self-imposed damnation. Eric could provide that. The secret he'd kept locked away for more than four hundred years could provide Carter with an all you can eat buffet of damnation.

To her, the whole situation was a win-win. Carter got his precious damnation. Eric got the one thing he'd always wanted most. His son returned to the fold. And she would get to finally be in a position of real power. She was not a maniacal conquer the world kind of buffoon. No, she didn't want to seize control of that which could never be controlled. Nor did she envision herself a benevolent queen over her loyal subjects. What she wanted, truly wanted was to be seen as she was and what she'd helped to build the Guardians into, a force to be reckoned with.



Chapter 32

Carter traced the outline of Shayla's hip with the palm of his hand. To sleep cuddled up next to a thing like him. Such trust she had in him all be it blind trust. Trust was a fragile thing so easily broken. She trusted him to keep her and her son safe. So odd, when the thing they should fear the most was lying in the bed next to her, just feet from her defenseless son. Carter was nothing if not a practical monster. If Ruby meant to do Shayla and the baby harm, he'd kill her without a second thought. The dead posed no threat. How could he love with such vehemence and think about murder with such casual, cool, calculating efficiency? Shayla hadn't mentioned the fight between her sister and herself, but Carter knew how hurt she'd been afterwards. Shayla loved her sister and for some odd reason she loved him. He reveled in her love while he had it. His long life hat taught him many things. Primarily that good things never lasted. And if Ruby got in the way of this temporary love, he'd eliminate her.

He would keep his dark thoughts and plans to himself. Currently, there was no need to bring them to light. Shayla was safe, and so was R.J., in the darkness with him. He was learning to accept the fact that he loved her and that their love went beyond this mystical tie that bound them as donor and recipient. Carter seriously doubted that one could ever fall in love with his meal. Have a favorite flavor, yes, but love, no.

For him such purity of love was such a damnable curse. What could he really offer her beyond the temporary nature of his love? Safety, of course and his life in exchange to protect hers, yes. But, could his love be enough?

He couldn't give her a baby to hold in her arms. He couldn't stop the hands of time for her. She was alive. A bright shining light in an ocean of darkness and he could not snuff that light out. She wouldn't want to be like him. Dead and devoid of life. She deserved a lifetime of light, sunshine, and fresh air. All he had to give was an existence in a cold, dark maze where no light had ever shone.

Carter tried to remember what it had felt like to be alive, really and truly alive. He tried to remember the taste of cold water fresh from a rocky stream on his tongue. He tried to recall the scent of a frosty morning through the limited abilities of the human sense of smell. He closed his eyes and struggled to bring forth the memory of watching the sun peek over the horizon before he'd become a vampire and looking into the rays of the sun blinded him in a dazzling kaleidoscope of color and pain. The memories were there buried so deeply in a dim hazy place in his mind that he wasn't sure what was real and what was imagination. He'd simply been more beast than man for too long.

He ate and he drank, smelled sweet scents, and felt the sun on his face. He lived precariously through Shayla, sharing her interpretation of the sensations of living. Such a beautiful gift she gave him. What did she get from him? What sensations did he fill her mind with? She felt his strength and his power and the pleasure that ran through him when he drank of her blood and pumped his cock into her soft body.

Shayla was a creature of light and warmth and he a creature of dark and cold, yet their beasts were more alike than what Carter would like to ever admit. The predators inside of them both felt the speed and the thrill of the hunt. The predators shared the triumph of stalking the prey and the sheer excitement of victory that came through the union of flesh and fang. Flesh and fang was what had brought them together in the first place, her tender offering of flesh and the sting of his fang.

Carter would never be a father. Yet, the life of an infant rested in his palm. Carter would never be the kind of man Shayla truly deserved. Yet, she lay in his bed. He knew her as a husband knew a wife. For all the improbabilities and impossibilities, they were bound through flesh and blood, husband and wife, father, mother, and child, protector and protected. Was it enough? For him, more than he'd ever dreamed of. For her? He could only hope.

What of the baby asleep in the crib? Fatherhood was beyond Carter's wildest imaginings. A father was so much more than genetics and union of sperm and egg. A father provided for his family. A father protected them, with his life if necessary. Through a series of consequences, his blood flowed through the infant's veins. There was no visible sign of the effect his blood had had on R.J. But, just because the effects weren't apparent, didn't mean there weren't any. No one ever spoke of what could happen, but everyone speculated. Would there ever come a time when he'd have to protect R.J from those consequences? If worse ever came to worse, could he protect R.J. from himself and end his life to save his soul?

So many unanswered questions hung in the air. So many possibilities hung like clouds on the edge of the horizon. What would he do about his Guardians? His former life was one that simply was too dangerous for Shayla and the baby. Attachments could too easily be turned against him. Moving forward with them meant he could never go back. There were others who could take over, but could they really take his place? While he shacked up here with Shayla, playing house, his Guardians were as defenseless as the baby in the crib at the foot of the bed. He'd shirked one duty to accept another. Could he love both duties without sacrificing one for the other? Could he keep her safe and be the leader he so desperately needed to be at the same time?

Carter slid the covers up to his chin and snuggled closer to the woman in his arms. The sweet gentle caress of her breath across his skin and the warmth of her body trapped so tightly in his arms washed over him and chased away all doubts. As long as he had this, for however long it was meant to last, he had it all, everything else was lost to the wind. These few moments of paradise were worth the lifetime he'd spent and all other lifetimes he would spend in the nothingness of purgatory.

"Penny for your thoughts," Shayla said. Carter was brooding again. Mussing over things and looking for every possible flaw. Shayla scooted up in the big bed and rested her cheek sleepily against the broad expanse of Carter's bare chest and sighed contentedly. She didn't need preternatural abilities to see that his thoughts were a rat's nest of deep thought. She could see it written all over his face.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Carter said. Gently, he took his fingers and brushed back the spray of silky black hair that had fallen over her cheek. The sound of her voice and the feel of her on his fingertips calmed the lingering shouts of doubt in his mind. He guided her face in close and pressed his lips to her forehead in an affectionate kiss. "You need your rest."

"You look like you need someone to talk to," Shayla said, raising up on her elbow. She rested her chin on his chest and looked up into his brilliant blue eyes. His mask of cool control had already slid back into place. Leaving him less vulnerable and erasing all traces of what he'd been thinking from the place on his brow where he wore his worries. "Don't shut me out, Carter."

"I'm not," Carter said. His voice was strained and more firm than what he'd wanted. He didn't want her to worry about him or his issues. She had enough to deal with as it was. His hand caressed small circles across the bare skin between her shoulder blades. He felt her shoulders sag with the weight of her sigh.

"Aren't you happy?" she asked. Carter's hands were warm and soft, coaxing her to relax and forget what she was so worried about in the first place. He could do that with a glance and a touch. Distract her to the point where she forgot the world and nothing existed but him and the wonder of his hands on her skin. Sometimes, though two people needed to talk things out.

"Happier than I've ever been," Carter answered truthfully.

"That's what scares you. You're afraid it won't last. You don't trust it." Shayla lifted her body weight onto her knees and palms and slid her legs across his hips, straddling him. "Don't borrow trouble, Carter. Eat the fruit from the branches while the tree is in bloom. It doesn't pay to look beyond the moment and worry about tomorrow. How do you know tomorrow even exists? We know the here and now exist because we're living it. Carter, don't let your fear take away the joy and the sweetness of each and every bite of the fruit that's within your reach."

Carter's body was hot against hers. Her tender places rubbed so softly against him. The thick brush of his coarse mound of pubic hair teased at her soft, sensitive spots until she ached for him. He responded to the gentle rocking and rolling of her hips, growing hard with want for her. His fingers dug into the flesh of her hips and inched her up into position above him. With an upward thrust, he dove into her. Filling her with every inch of his hunger and want. She tipped her head back in response and rode high above him, sliding her wet sheath up and down his length as they both savored the sweetness of the fruit of the moment.

Ruby was well on the other side of the state line, but still she wasn't far enough away to escape the taint of the vampires and treachery that hung on her skin in a thick, oily layer. She couldn't wait to get more distance between herself and this place. She had no one on her side. No one to help her fight this battle and get her son and nephew out of harm's way. The influence of the vampire was everywhere. In the very air the pack breathed. Nausea bubbled deep in her throat at the thought of what might have happened if she hadn't been a stronger person and had been taken in by their lies like the rest of the pack had been. Somehow, she had to rescue her son and her nephew from them before it was too late.

The interstate stretched out before her like a gray ribbon enshrouded by nothing but inky blackness. In these wee hours before dawn, there wasn't hardly a soul on the roads except for the distant and constant hum of semi trucks. Her headlights cut a path through the impermeable blackness guiding her. She didn't need a map or directions, telling her how to travel her journey. Every wolf knew its way back home.

Hanning paced the confines of the bedroom. Finally, after hours of crying, Evan had drifted off into a restless, troubled sleep. He hated Ruby for doing this to their son. He looked down at the tiny shape wrapped in layers of covers and cursed under his breath. He didn't think he'd ever forgive her for hurting their little boy... his little boy... so badly. He didn't think he'd ever forgive himself for being so easily deceived into believing the lie so readily.

If he'd seen it sooner, years sooner, he could have saved Evan and himself all this pain. But, he wanted to believe so badly. He'd watched Ruby for years and when genetics had finally paired them up, he was overjoyed. She hadn't wanted to marry him. He knew that from the beginning, but he thought when Evan came along that in time she'd find her happiness and that she'd learn to love him. He hated himself more now than ever for not being enough for her. He'd fallen short and would never be good enough,. He realized he never would have been enough because he wasn't Ramon.

Hanning didn't hate Ramon. He couldn't. Ramon had been a good friend, more like a brother than a brother-in-law. Nothing Ruby could do or say would change how he felt about Ramon or about his son. It didn't matter that Evan might not be his biologically. Hanning knew he was the boy's father in every way that mattered, and in the end, that was all that counted.

Hanning stared out into the darkness beyond the gauzy drapes on the bedroom window and wondered what was going through Ruby's mind as she drove the miles taking them farther and farther away from their son. Why had she pretended all these years when the truth would have set her free much sooner than the lie? Even though she loved Ramon. He couldn't have given her what Hanning had, a chance for a life. A real life.

Genetics saw to that. Ramon and Ruby could have loved, but never lived in peace. Their lives would have been spent in hiding and the constant fear that someday someone would come for them to tear them apart and drag them back to the arms of their perfect genetic match. There was no arguing or no pleading with the scientists. The scientists worshiped the golden double helix and its absolute perfection. Pack was what mattered. The creation of perfect offspring to further the pack's well-being as a collective. Eugenics was a bitch of a goddess to serve. Emotionless, unfeeling, Eugenics didn't give a damn about love only what the perfect coupling of chromosomes would produce.

He had loved Ruby with everything he had, even to the point where he chose a lie over the truth, for her. In the end, Hanning's willingness to swallow that lie hadn't been enough. The life he'd tried to provide for her hadn't been enough. She'd rather revel in a dead man's memory than embrace him one more night. He wanted to be angry with her. He wanted to hurt her as badly as she'd hurt him. But for the sake of the little boy fast asleep in his father's bed. He'd clean up the mess she'd made and go on. He was done with living in the lie and in the shadow of the only man Ruby had ever loved.

Chapter 33

Torr leaned his weight on his palms against the wet, slick tiles of the shower and let the heat and steam pound against his scalp and shoulders. He wasn't prone to nightmares, but the one that jolted him out of the bed before dawn had been the mother of all bad dreams. In his dream, Fallon dangled lifelessly from the steely jaws and razor sharp teeth of a big brown wolf with silver-gray tips on his muzzle and ears. The wolf's brown eyes were cold, ruthless and all too familiar in the way they stared out from beyond the layer of fur and animal at Torr. Red blood dripped from the wolf's black lips, mixing with its spittle to form a thick puddle of murky crimson goo between its paws. The wolf shook Fallon's tiny body like a rag doll, tearing at her flesh and ripping the bite wounds into jagged bloody craters.

The voice frightened Torr more than the horror. He'd feared that voice everyday of his life. Even from beyond the grave, the voice could still make his heart pound heavily in his chest with cold terror. "You're weak, Torr. Nothing. You can't protect her, Torr. You know that. You can't protect her, not from me." His father's wolf dropped the body between its paws onto the blood soaked ground and buried its muzzle into the wound at her throat. Slowly, methodically, the wolf tore at the layers of flesh, ripping them away with its teeth. Bit by bit, Torr watched helplessly as his father's wolf tore at Fallon's limp body until it was reduced to a pile of gore and unrecognizable flesh.

Torr choked back the wave of nausea rolling through his stomach and scrubbed at his skin with hard merciless passes of the washcloth and soap. As if he could wash the dream, the scent of his father, and the smell of hard baked, sun drenched, south Texas clay, down the drain. His father was dead. He wasn't coming back. Fallon and Erica were safe. He repeated the thoughts over and over again like a mantra. His father couldn't hurt them or anybody else ever again. The dead stayed where they belonged buried in their graves. There wasn't any coming back.