Dawn Redeemed

Erica tightened her thighs around his hips and dug her nails into his back. He was as gentle as he could be, easing into her slowly, inch by deliciously agonizing inch. The gentle stretch of her core to accommodate his size was a wonderful burn of soft yielding to hard and melding of hot flesh to hot flesh. She tried to keep it down, but a moan of delight escaped her parted lips as he pushed his way in and filled her completely.

Her body molded to fit against his and momentary discomfort faded to amazingly pleasurable sensations that spread like a fire in dry grass consuming every bit of fuel to ash. His lips found hers in the tangle of their limbs and flesh and kissed her with wild abandon. His tongue thrust in and out of her mouth with fierce and utter possession. She couldn't tell any longer where he ended and she began. They were absolutely, completely, and irrevocably one. The thought should have doused the flames as effectively as a torrential downpour. Instead of paralyzing fear at the thought of belonging to another, Erica found the feeling of belonging, finally after so long alone, comforting and highly arousing. If this man wanted her, she was his, all of her, for the taking.

Erica was so close. Her walls gripped and milked hard along his shaft. The air was thick with the heady scent of her arousal. Torr pistoned into her body, no longer gentle, but with his wolf's demanding. He would send her over the edge. He would make her come with his name on her lips and then he'd fill her with his release. He would make her his and mark her as his mate and god help the poor fool that so much as dared to think about coming between them. Anyone who tried was meat, dead meat. A deep growl rumbled in his throat, a sound more animal than man. The line between the two was barely a hairsbreadth apart.

Erica's hips bucked wildly beneath Torr's deep, pumping, thrusts. She dug her nails in and held on for dear life. The wave of release curled her toes and tightened each individual muscle of her body into a tight spasm of pleasure. Torr writhed above her, gripping the sheets tightly in his fists as he climaxed into her. The heat and sensation of his orgasm was like the force of high tide drawing her back out to sea. Her legs wrapped around his hips and clamped down, pressing him into her as far as he could get. His body was still, perched above her, lost in the wake of male completion. With a happy and content sigh, she released her grip on him and reveled in the gentle crush of his weight across her hips.

Torr's wolf yawned contentedly and trotted over to some unused corner of his consciousness. Their female. Their mate. He eased off Erica and sheltered her in the warmth of his embrace, showering her forehead, cheeks, and nose with light, fluttery kisses. He didn't know what to say. Every thought that ran through his head sounded so corny and so much like a cheesy greeting card that even he thought the words sounded practiced and false. Instead he cradled her to his chest and smoothed his fingers through her hair, and felt the rise and fall of her chest against his as they breathed in time with one another.

Erica sleepily lifted her head. "We'd better get dressed, just in case Fallon wakes up and decides to go wandering." She padded barefoot into the master bath and ran some water in the sink to clean up. The unique masculine scent of Torr was embedded in every pore of her skin. She should shower, but she couldn't bring her self to wash the essence of his scent off her body. She found a washcloth, a towel, and soap and cleaned up at the sink before wiggling back into her underwear and clothes. When she emerged from the bathroom, Torr was dressed in a pair of cotton sleep pants and an undershirt, half asleep, stretched out on the bed. The faint, clean scent of soap was on his skin. Instead of invading her privacy by barging in, he'd gotten cleaned up in the other bathroom.

Carefully, trying not to disturb him, Erica climbed into the bed and snuggled next to him beneath the covers. He'd left the bedroom door open, in case Fallon awoke during the night. Torr sleepily wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her closer. "Mine," he muttered softly as he sank deeper into the world of dreams. Physically sated and absolutely contented, Erica was lost to her own dreams, minutes later.

Fallon snapped awake. For a second, she blinked in the dim light, startled by her unfamiliar surroundings. Slowly, she realized where she was. She must have fallen asleep on the couch and her dad had carried her into a guest room and tucked her in. She snuggled down into the covers and smiled happily. The thought of her dad tucking her in made her feel safe and secure. She grinned even wider when she realized that her mom must still be here too. All three of them were under the same roof, just like a real family. A little sleepy, she slid out of the bed and tiptoed out of the room. The house was not that much different than her aunt and uncle's and she had no trouble finding the master bedroom.

Fallon covered her mouth and stifled a giddy giggle. Her mom and dad were fast asleep in the same bed, like real parents. They really liked each other, a lot. She crawled up onto the foot of the bed and rooted her way in between them. Her dad blinked awake and gave her a sleepy smile as he helped her wiggle under the covers. Her mom stayed soundly asleep. She snuggled down on the pillow she shared with her dad and sighed. She was safe, she was warm, and she was loved, by both of her parents. Her eyes drifted closed to the rhythmic stroking of her dad's fingers through her hair.

Chapter 64

"Would you come away from that window?" Carter grumbled in agitation. Ever since Shayla had spoken to Hanning she'd taken to pacing a worried path across the bedroom floor. "We'll know if Ruby comes within a hundred miles of this place. Please, try to relax. You're upsetting R.J.," he said, glancing to the sleeping baby, restlessly kicking at his covers.

"I'm telling you she's closer than you think. Somehow she got past the patrols. There's no way the pack even with the Son's help could possibly watch every inch of road into town." Worriedly, Shayla stared into the darkness through the crack in the curtains. "There's too much ground to cover. You underestimate her. A wolf will go to any lengths to get what it wants."

"Do you want to take R.J. and Evan underground?" Carter glanced at the little boy asleep on the bed. Hanning had entrusted Evan to their care while he went out to join the wolves on patrol. After a snack and a short story, Evan had crawled under the covers and fallen fast asleep, oblivious to the danger he was in. A child should not have to be protected from his mother. Mothers were supposed to be a haven and a refuge for their children, not a threat. The thought of anyone hurting Evan boiled his simmering anger to a rage.

"No, Hanning and I have an understanding. When Ruby comes for Evan. I know what I have to do. She's close, I can feel it."

"I don't scent her," Carter said in hopes of dispelling Shayla's fear. The energy of the change charged along her skin like the power of a building storm. In her current state of body and mind, anything could trigger the shift.

"You wouldn't. She's not that stupid. I know what I feel and she's almost here." The hairs on the back of Shayla's neck stood at attention and her skin crawled with the feet of thousands of tiny ants. She couldn't expect Carter to understand what she felt. He didn't have a wolf's instinct.

"What is it? Some kind of a wolf thing?" Carter huffed. If and when Ruby came, Shayla would be worn down to the point of nervous exhaustion. Useless to defend the children. She and Hanning had formed some kind of a pact between the two of them. Shayla was learning to stifle the link between them and keep him out of her head. Shayla had kept the agreement between her brother in law and herself a secret. The best he could hope for was that when the time came, everyone was on the same page.

"No. It's a sister thing," Shayla answered.

The wolf buried his nose into the earthy scent of decaying leaves. The night was a symphony of smells and sounds. Branches over head rubbed together in a whisper of sound, stirred by a breeze from the oncoming storm. Somewhere in the distance a buck paused to drink from a stream, gently bubbling over smooth cool rocks. There was nothing out of the ordinary here, just the sound and scent of his brothers and prey. The wolf lifted his nose, scenting the breeze as he trotted deeper into the cover of night.

Ruby breathed a sigh of welcome relief as she crossed over the wide, winding river that separated one state from the next. She was tired, bone tired. The clock on the dash displayed the time in bright green glowing numbers. In the wee hours of the morning, she practically had the interstate to herself. Which was probably a good thing. She was bleary eyed from hours of staring into the narrow beam her headlights cut through the darkness. Two more hours and she'd be home and that would bring complications of its own.

The closer she got, the greater the chances of being spotted. She was too far away to go the rest of the journey on foot. Her wolf was beautiful, powerful, and fast. But, not meant to cover long distances at a dead run. She was going to have to risk it and get as close as she could before she turned the rest of the trip over to her wolf. There was no doubt that by now, the pack knew she was coming. She'd be lucky if she could find a way around them.

Eloise poured another cup of stout, black coffee. She stared out into the inky blackness through the kitchen window. The wolves were out there patrolling for Ruby. How had things gotten this bad so quickly? Ruby wasn't the enemy. The pack wasn't the enemy. She poured coffee from the pot into a second mug for Nash. She hated this. Hated The Great White Wolf forcing them all into a corner. She and Nash knew this next step was necessary, but they didn't have to like it, and they didn't.

She'd lost control of her pack when Seff, ever being the opportunistic bastard that he was, used an antiquated law that never should have been to snatch them from her. When Torr defeated his father. He refused to take over as pack master and left them in her lap to deal with. She didn't blame Torr. He had the strength to lead the pack. No doubt about that, but he'd been so terrified that he'd turn into the man his father had been. That he lacked the conviction to lead them.

Dominance was an inborn trait, much like blue eyes or blonde hair. Deep in her heart, she felt the duties of a mistress weigh heavily on her shoulders. She had failed to lead her people and keep them safe. They technically existed and kept themselves whole as best they could. Many had followed her and set up their homes here with her. She didn't feel she had the right, as had Nash, to demand allegiance from them. As a consequence, the pack was beginning to fracture into shards.

They couldn't afford another dominant to come in and try to take over the pack. She and Nash had aligned with Drew, The Great White Wolf, through the sacrifice of blood and offering of their hearts. They were going to ask the same of the pack. Merge them with Nash's pack and with the Great White Wolf. The Sons and the wolves were cousins of a sort, fathered from different branches of the same family tree. The pack would become one by choice. Those who didn't join would be driven out, packless, leaderless, orphans. Wolves didn't survive very long on their own. Without the strength of brothers and sisters, the power faded, the genes survived passed on from generation to generation. But without the pack behind them, there would be no wolf, only a man.

Eloise hated the lack of options for her people. If they stayed, they'd owe allegiance to The Great Father and Nash. If they left, they'd have to live in loose branching close to others of their kind. Inadvertently, forming an new pack, or they'd have to return to Texas, to their old homes. If they chose to go their own way totally independent from another wolf. The human in them would take over the wolf. They'd age, become weak and fragile, and die. So much for freedom of choice. Even in the broken factions, there'd always be a dominant. Her people would never be completely free.

Chapter 65

Ruby exited the interstate and slowed to a crawl at the gravely shoulder of the seldom used state highway. Driving any closer would do nothing but announce to the wolves that she was here. At least her wolf had a fighting chance at getting close enough to at least catch the scent of her son. Close enough to explain herself and plea her case. The wolves probably wouldn't kill her outright. Probably.

The damp chill in the night air bit into Ruby's skin as she shed her human clothes and crouched in the tall grass on the side of the road. She still had miles to go, and hoped her wolf had the strength left for the run and the cunning to get her there. She took one last deep sigh and gave herself over to the wolf. Groaning at the agony that her wolf wouldn't remember as her skin split and bones and muscles began to contort.

The gray wolf shook her fur free of tiny bits of gravel and grass. She could smell the chokingly sweet scent of deodorant, perfume, and makeup from her human embedded in her fur. Tentatively, she lifted her nose into the night air, so alive with life and wild things. Satisfied that she was the only predator in at least a five mile radius, she trotted through the tall blades of grass and into the surrounding woods.

Patrick was the best damned tracker the Sons had. Silently, he moved through the woods waiting and watching for some sign that the target had moved into their territory. On the outside, he looked deceptively young, not much beyond his teenage years with a boyish face, sandy brown hair, and hazel eyes that told the tales of years he'd lived that his body did not. The woods were quiet at this time of O-dark-thirty, still, waiting for the glory of the oncoming dawn. He followed his nose and his instincts to wherever they led. This time, a deserted stretch of state road on the outer periphery. He could smell the lingering scent of exhaust and burned fuel in the air. The hood was still warm beneath his palm.

He saw the patch of bent blades of grass and smelled the soft scent of female mixed with the musky scent of wolf and wild. The trail waded through the grass, almost as if it had been a sign with an arrow that pointed this way into the depths of the woods. The paw prints in the soft, earthy, floor of the woods was as big as his hand. Werewolves weren't pets. Nobody in their right mind would mistake a beast almost the size of a small Shetland pony as Lassie or Rin Tin Tin. The thick copses of conifers and maple were doused in the scent of wolf. This was going to be far too easy. She wasn't making the chase any fun at all.

He almost skipped as he followed the trail of scent and paw prints deeper into the woods. This was almost boring. The trail turned sharply, following a steep shale embankment carved out of the flat woodland thousands of years ago. He tracked every sharp turn and steep climb with the ease of a baby crawling along a candy trail. He expected more. But, oh well, at least he'd be home before sunrise. He hadn't bothered to call in the others yet. There was no need. He could handle one werewolf.

Patrick muttered a curse as he realized that he was being led in a circle. Damned wolf was smarter than he thought. He stared down over the embankment. The shale was damp with the humidity in the air and sloped sharply down there, nothing with two legs and he doubted anything with four would have been able to scale the almost vertical fifteen foot drop. He sniffed along the tree row and beat at the bushes with his arm. Nothing, not one damned whiff of scent or paw print to follow. The woods were silent, without so much as the whisper of the leaves in the trees. He'd rather eat a crow than eat the crow his brothers were sure to dish out when they found out he'd lost track of the wolf.

Patrick didn't know how the wolf had ditched him, or what direction she'd headed off in, but he knew beyond any doubt where she was headed. Determined to regain the trail, he retraced his steps and called out to his brothers. The safety of those in his care was more important than his ego. They had company coming for dinner and everyone needed to be on alert.

Evan tiptoed down the stairs. The adults could hear...everything. He didn't even dare to breathe when his feet hit the last stair. Uncle Carter and Aunt Shayla were in the sitting room, tending to R.J., they hadn't noticed that he'd slipped away. Yet. He was careful of the board on the landing that squeaked every time someone stepped on it. His Uncle Carter could hear a mouse fart in the next county and so could his Aunt.

His mommy was coming for him. He knew it. In his dream he saw the familiar flashes of pine and dark brown bark, black in the dark of night. He snuck over to the patio door and pressed his nose against the cool surface. His breath made a cloud of steam on the glass. He couldn't see past the floodlight attached to the garage, but he knew, she was out there, almost close enough to touch. Everyone was tense and afraid of her. He wasn't. His mommy would never, ever hurt him.





Chapter 66

Theresa slouched against the ropes holding her prisoner. Her head was a little bit fuzzy and she no longer remembered what day it was. The only thing she knew was that she hurt. Every inch of her skin ached and she was so very, very thirsty. The bruises on her arms were a sick dark purple against the pallor of her skin. She didn't even know what her kidnappers wanted. At this point, she had to assume they wanted her dead. They hadn't even bothered to hide their faces or mask their identities. Why her? She didn't know a damn thing about...anything. She could barely remember who the president was. She had no deep dark secrets nor possessed so much as one tiny bit of knowledge that amounted to anything worth a shit. Her head lolled to the side as her eyes strained to focus to study the sickly oozing puncture wounds on the bend of her elbow.

"Come in Little Guardian, come in," O'Sullivan beckoned cheerfully to the boy. "I've got something for you."

Teresa's head snapped up and her attention to full alert. She hadn't heard that voice in so long, but she recognized it immediately. "David!" Fruitlessly, she struggled against her bindings.

"Teresa?" A tiny sound of shock and disgust crept out of his throat when he saw his sister, or what was left of her. Gently, he brushed his fingertips over her cool brow, "You twisted fuck, what have you done to her?"

O'Sullivan chuckled and easily slid around the boy. He was so new, he still squeaked behind the ears. "I think you know the answer to that, far too well. Poor Sis, isn't looking so well is she? I think," he said, as he ran a finger across the bloody puncture wounds and lifted a single drop to his lips. "She might die. Time is running out for her, boy."

"What do you want?" David huffed.

"Find out where your master is. That's all. One little, insignificant, trivial fact is all I ask. Information in exchange for a life. I think that's fair enough." O'Sullivan fisted the girls hair in his fingers and jerked her neck back, exposing the wild, fluttering of her carotid. "If you tell the others and bring trouble down on my head. Make no mistake boy, I'll hand you hers on a platter."

"Why do you want to know?" David stroked Teresa's trembling hand with his fingertips and swallowed the rage that bubbled beneath his cool exterior. "I'm so sorry, Theresa." He hadn't seen his sister in over ten years. She and their parents were better off thinking he was dead than knowing the truth of what had really happened to him.