Dawn Redeemed

"Why?"

"You were going to die," David answered in a subdued voice.

"And this is better?" Theresa asked. She wanted so badly to kick and scream. Yell her head off. Do something to make herself wake up from this living nightmare.

"You're still alive aren't you?" David shot back in rebuttal.

"I suppose so. If you want to call it." Thirst like nothing she'd ever experienced burned her throat. According to David, only one thing would make the pain go away. Blood. She'd never eat again. She could never see her friends or her parents, ever. The light of her beloved sun would cripple her. She could walk among people, but she wasn't one of them and never would be again. On the bright side, she was still alive. Technically.

"Things are what they are." David paced the room like a caged tiger. What did he expect? A round of applause? For Theresa to fall onto her knees thanking him for condemning her to a virtual living hell? Life wasn't hard. Death, on the other hand, certainly was. "We need to get out of here."

"And go where?"

"Anyplace. Anyplace away from here," David said, crouching in front of his sister. "You don't realize it yet, but the world is more limitless than you've ever imagined. There isn't anyplace we can't go. Nothing we can't do."

"I want to go see Mom and Dad," Theresa said softly.

David sighed and rolled back on his heels. "Theresa, even vampires have their limits," he said in exasperation. He could take her to the most exotic locations in the world. Paris. Rome. New York City. But, he couldn't take her to the place that she most wanted to be. Home. "I'm all the family you've got now." He turned and stared out the grimy spattered window down across the shabby black tarred rooftops and bustling streets below.

Theresa crossed the room and rested her chin on David's shoulder and closed her eyes, shutting out the filth of the city. It was a good thing her heart beat at half the speed it once did, other wise she'd feel it shatter. "I feel like an orphan."

"Master," the scout dropped to his knees, staring up at the hard, chiseled jaw line of his leader.

"What did you discover?" O'Sullivan asked. Casually offering his bejeweled hand to the vampire sniveling at his feet. The minion's lips were cold as they brushed across the sapphire ring on O'Sullivan's right ring finger.

"I've failed you, my master. There's no way in," he cringed in terror, expecting to feel the back of his master's cruel hand. In the military, he'd been one of the best. An officer decorated time and time again. Those days were gone, long gone. Once he'd had a bright future in Uncle Sam's Army. Now, he existed. Surprised each time he opened his eyes and drew breath into his lungs.

"Oh, there's always a way in. The trick is to find it." O'Sullivan withdrew his hand and dismissed the minion. In time, an opportunity would present itself. Until then, he'd remain the very portrait of patience. There was no point of playing the next round till all the pieces were on the board.

Chapter 90

Lunchtime was an absolute zoo. And she thought the breakfast crowd had been bad. The lunch rush was much worse. There were people elbow to elbow surrounding the tables that had been butted together to form a makeshift buffet. Finally, Erica gave up on snagging so much as a dinner roll or finding Fallon in the mass of unfamiliar faces. Her stomach grumbled in complaint as she sat her unused plate on an empty space on the counter and retreated to the calm of her office. She hoped the candy bar she'd been saving for her next PMS attack was still in her purse.

She wasn't sure what she thought of Nash's extended family. She had the distinct impression that they knew her much better than she knew them. The way they watched her was a bit intimidating. Almost as if they expected her to do... something. Her shoulders rippled as a shiver ran down her spine. His family gave her the creeps. There was definitely something about them...something almost wild and animalistic...untamed.

A smile of relief curled the edges of her lips as she pawed through the clutter in the bottom of her purse and heard the crinkle of a wrapper. Lunch was served. The rich taste of dark chocolate packed with the nutty crunch of almonds exploded on her tongue. She cast a wistful glance at the novel resting on the corner of her desk and opened her checkbook instead. After spending all morning reviewing Nash's finances, she needed to spend a minute or two on her own. Although, her nest egg wasn't nearly as big as Nash's, it still warranted a little TLC.

Carefully, she unfolded the photocopy of her first and most recent paycheck. The numbers on the check still dumbfounded her. Even the big financial firm she'd worked for fresh out of college hadn't paid her this well. Her bright red nail polish stood out against the bleak white of the paper and stark black lettering, tracing the signature on the copy of the check. There was something off about the signature. Biting her bottom lip, she rolled in her chair over to the filing cabinet that Nash had yet to remove from her office and pulled out a random file.

The paper was fragile, crumbling at the edges in her fingers. Studying the handwriting scrawled across the bottom of the document dated September 18, 1919, a frown knitted across her brow. She folded her copied check stub and held it beneath the signature of Nashoba Blackstone. The Ns' were identical, narrow sure strokes at the bottom and widely spaced curling tips. The As' were smaller, round as circles tailing into a tight little S and slanting H. It couldn't be.

She was no handwriting expert and she didn't have to be to spot the similarities. The names were different, but the handwriting belonged to the same person. She blinked in disbelief. Fear made her heart jack hammer in her chest. Trembling fingers slid the paper back into the file. Stiffly, she pulled out another random file from a different set of drawers and after careful examination, came to the same conclusion. Nash Stone was a modernized version of Nashoba Blackstone. As incredible as it was the men were one in the same. How?

Nash didn't appear to be older than forty-five or fifty years old. If her theory was correct, he was much, much older. Her hand jerked away from the file as if it were a snake poised to strike. The copied check stub fluttered to a vacant space on the floor between her feet. What in the hell was going on here?

Her mind grappled with the facts as she knew them. Nash was over one hundred years old. He looked good for his age. Perhaps he was a very, very well preserved centenarian. Nash's age wasn't the only strange thing going on around here. The place was crawling with people that she'd never seen before. Last week Kacie had a flat stomach. Now she was very, very pregnant. And what about Torr? What about his cryptic warnings to stay out of the woods? She hadn't heard from him all morning. She at least expected a call. Some sort of explanation from him. Maybe an apology for showing up naked, at her window looking like he'd had the hell beat out of him.

Erica dug for her keys in the bottom of her purse. Her fingers trembled as she fumbled for the car key, grasping it between her index finger and thumb. She had to find Fallon and get the hell out of here. Her purse thumped against her hip as she hightailed it down the hall and wound her way through the crowd. "Fallon!" she cried out uselessly. Her voice was lost in the din of dozens of separate conversations. She balanced precariously on her tiptoes trying to see over a virtual sea of black and brown heads. "Fallon!"

Torr glided through the throng of people he called pack and centered himself in the heart of the group. Eyes looked at him. Some filled with awe, some with dread, but each and every eye, expected something...something wonderful. "Welcome," he said. As a speech, it wasn't much. But, it was all he had. Luckily, for the moment. His pack seemed placated enough by that one word.

He felt deficient. He owed them so much more than just a casual "hi howya doin?". They expected more out of their pack master and rightfully so. Hands reached for him. Eyes lit with the fire of worship and adoration. The words on their lips were ones he'd earned the right to hear. He'd paid for these words with his own blood. He swallowed hard as the words reached his ears. Pack Master.

Erica spotted Fallon across the room and pushed her way through the shoulder to shoulder maze of people. She had to get her daughter the hell out of here. Unceremoniously, she shoved a burly man out of her path. "Fallon! Come to mommy, Baby!"

Torr caught sight of Erica's splash of golden-red hair bobbing up and down like a buoy in a turbid sea of denim, leather, and varying shades of black. She was trying desperately to wind her way through the crowd to get to Fallon. "Get out of the way," Torr barked. He half heartedly expected the people who compromised his pack to obey and they did. Hurriedly, they stepped back and cleared a path for Erica.

Erica knelt at Fallon's side and ran her trembling hands over her daughter's tousled curls and flushed skin. "Are you ok?" her voice was shrill, overwrought with worry.

Fallon shook off her mom's hands and frowned. "What's the matter, Mom?" Suddenly, she was terrified by all the people surrounding her. Everyone had been so nice. Gently, reaching out to timidly stroke her hair or pat her on the shoulder. Anything to make contact with her.

Erica gathered Fallon into her arms and gave her a tight, motherly squeeze. "We need to go." She would have to fight her way back through the crowd to get to the front door. Fallon was too heavy to carry. The dining room was equally as full and the back door blocked.

"Erica, what's the matter?"

Erica glared up at Torr. When he reached out his hand to help her up, she reflexively jerked away. She didn't want him touching her or her daughter. He was in the middle of this. Whatever it was that was going on in this house of horrors. He knew all about it. Anger welled up in her gut. He'd dragged her into the thick of it, and Fallon right along with her. "Don't touch us!" she screeched, clutching Fallon closer to her chest.

Fallon struggled in her mother's arms. "Mom, you're squishing me!" she wailed wiggling to free herself.

The pack was growing restless. The potential for danger was expanding. Erica might be considered his mate, but the pack saw Fallon as their future mistress. They'd do anything to keep her safe. Protect her from her own mother if they saw a threat. Torr held up his hand to hold them back before things got any uglier, "Stop."

He pried Erica's arms from around Fallon and gave his daughter a reassuring peck on the forehead, handing her off to Nash and Marianne. "Go outside and play. I need to speak with your mother, alone."

Fallon's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Something had her mother awfully upset. Her mom fell back onto her butt and wrung her hands anxiously in her lap. Tears fell down her cheeks and landed on her blouse. "Mom?"

The panic rising in Erica's gut made her speechless. Nash would not hurt her child. Deep inside, she had at least that small measure of comfort. Her throat constricted into a tight knot, leaving her incapable of speech. Gingerly, she nodded at Fallon.

"Come on, Fallon. Let's go see if we can't catch some butterflies for our collection." Marianne gently grabbed Fallon's arm and steered her into the crowd of nervous onlookers.

Strong hands locked beneath Erica's arms and hoisted her up onto wobbly knees. She couldn't keep it together one more second. Tears fell freely and the sea of faces around her spun wildly. The crowd parted and allowed her to pass. She felt like a woman condemned as she stumbled her way along the wall of bodies.

"Shit," Torr muttered as he carried Erica down the hall. He deposited her on the overstuffed love seat in Nash's study and closed the door behind them. The mini fridge built into the wall was filled with chilled drinks. He selected a water and opened the top, thrusting it into her hands. She shrank back, away from him. Sinking into the cushions as far as she could. Terrified... of him.

He dragged a wingback chair across the thick knap of a rug and set it next to the love seat. With a sigh he lowered himself down onto the chair. "I'm sorry," he said, focusing on the pattern of light showering through the heavy blinds onto the floor.

Erica took a deep breath and did her best to gather her composure. "I just want to know one thing," she said warily. She stared down at the floor, anywhere but at him. Nausea rolled in her gut as she considered the question she was about to ask. Did she really to know?

"What's that?"

Erica lifted her chin to look Torr in the eye. His eyes swam with regret and worry. Taking a deep breath and swallowing hard, she asked, "What are you?"

He didn't want her to learn the truth, not like this. Not when she was so afraid of him. He dragged his hand through his hair and scrubbed his fingers down the length of his jaw. Somehow she'd put two and two together and figured it out. Maybe not what he was, but that he was something more, a lot more than what he appeared to be. "I think it'd be best if I showed you."



Chapter 91

Shayla cooed down at her son, dozing fitfully in his stroller as she pushed him along. The sun filtered through a dense canopy of leaves dotting rays of light along the paver lined path. She wished Carter was here with her taking R.J. on his afternoon walk. But, vampires and sunlight were like oil and water. They just didn't mix.

Despite how hard Carter was trying to fit in to her life. There were just some fundamental differences between them that not even love could over come. Sunlight was just one of them. She imagined that he was stretched out on their bed, in the shelter of the heavy velvet drapes that held the sunlight at bay, waiting for the hours to tick away till sundown.

Their diets were completely different. Shayla liked her meat rare. But, not as rare as Carter did. He'd tried for her, and could not force one bite of food nor sip of drink past his lips. A sense of pride filled her. Carter derived nourishment from wild game. But, his sustenance, the very essence of what he needed to stay alive came from her.

A chuckle rumbled in her chest as she thought about how squeamish he was about drinking from her. Drinking blood was how he survived. How he'd survived more days than she could ever imagine. He was always polite and respectful, never taking more than a sip or two. She didn't object in the least. There was something about it that, besides from the fact that it was erotic as hell, that just felt...well... right. She could sense his self-condemnation with every swallow he took. He hated what he had to do to her out of sheer necessity. He could always seek out another willing human to sate his need. But, if he did, she'd kick both of their assess, Carter's and whoever fed him. Feeding him was her job.

Sighing, Shayla parked R.J.'s stroller in a patch of deep, cool shade and sat on the stone bench beside him, watching him doze fitfully. Carter was a good man. He could doubt himself all he wanted to. But, he was good. All she would ever see in him was his goodness. Love was about people. Ignoring their bad sides and focusing solely on the good. She loved Carter and knew deep down he loved her and R.J. too. He hadn't spoken of marriage or commitment and that was okay. She was happy with things just the way they were. For all their differences, they were a family.

Carter inched back the heavy drapes and instantly regretted it. Rays of sunlight fragmented his vision into splintering, blinding, prisms of color. Quickly he ducked into the soothing dim of the bedroom. Food, he'd learned to live without long ago. In his day, food wasn't nearly as plentiful as it was today. Food was a means for survival in the lower classes where he'd come from and he like the rest of the villagers went to bed hungry almost every night.

Sunlight, daytime, was a different matter. He pressed his palm to the windowpane, feeling the heat of the sun on the glass. He missed seeing the world as it was centuries ago. When he could see it, illuminated by the brilliant light of the sun, with his own eyes. With nothing to do but count the seconds that ticked by till sundown, Carter stretched out on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

He didn't regret what he was. Only the implications of being what he was. He could be a husband to Shayla and father to R.J., within the limitations of his condition. Shayla seemed content enough to over look his short comings. She was overly generous to him. He was not so enamored by the picture she saw. In so many ways, he felt as if he were only half the man she deserved. There were so many things, small things to humans, like taking a stroll on a sunny day or sitting down to a quiet supper, that he couldn't give her. He wondered how long her generosity would hold out before her feelings of contentment turned into contempt. Until that day came, he'd revel in her love for however long he had it. And he could hope that forever was too short a time.

Ruby sat on the front porch, glad for a break from the commotion inside. Hanning wrestled with Evan on the sun dappled lawn. The games were child's play. But, he was preparing their son for what he'd eventually become. Ruby forced a smile as Evan waved at her, balancing precariously on his father's wide capable shoulders. Hanning didn't even glance in her general direction. She had a matter of weeks to win her family back.

Hanning pulled off his shirt and tossed it carelessly in the grass. The sun beat down mercilessly on his bare shoulders. Crouched low, he faced off against his son and barred his teeth. Easily, he rolled out of Evan's path and caught him by the ankle, sending him sprawling onto the lawn. Evan's boyish giggles were like sweet strains of music. He wiggled as Hanning tickled his way along the boy's sides.

Hanning loved his son. There was never any doubt about that. He loved his wife, too. There wasn't any point to deny the truth. Last night, he'd seen a side of Ruby that he had always dreamed existed. Somehow, he'd known that beneath her cool exterior a passionate woman waited to be discovered. Passion wasn't enough. One night, one perfect night, didn't make the risk worth taking. Hanning sprung to his feet and scooped Evan up off the lawn and threw him over his shoulder. Hanning had already had a lifetime's worth of hurt crammed into a span of a few short weeks. He knew, when the time came, what his answer to Eloise and Nash was going to be. He was done.

"Dad!" Evan giggled as the world rocked upside down and rolled side to side with each step his dad took. "I'm going to puke." He knew how to read a calendar and his birthday was getting close. He'd be seven years-old. He wondered if his parents were considering giving him his special birthday wish. Having his Mom and his Dad love each other again was the only thing he really, really wanted. He closed his eyes, his cheek bouncing against the back pockets of his dad's jeans and breathed the wish again. Just to make sure that somebody out there heard it. Adults didn't believe in magic and maybe when he grew older, he wouldn't either. But for now, he was still a kid. And he still believed.

Nash closed the door of his study tightly behind him and exhaled, grateful for the small measure of peace he'd found among the deep walnut paneling and wall to wall leather bound tomes. Eloise worked the crowd with graceful ease and masterful skill while he fumbled about and ground his molars like a complete idiot. Occasions such as this reminded him of exactly why he'd married her in the first place. They complemented each other so well. Rather, she compensated for him so well. She was everything he wasn't and he loved her for it.