Dawn Released

He had to do something. Eventually, he was going to lose his hold over his wolf. Maybe, that'd be a good thing. Maybe, he should just let go and end it. Better a death by his design than the one his father had planned out for him. The inky darkness, the stink of dank rot, and the four walls closing in on him was already starting to get to him. Did he really want to die? No. He had something worth living for, a golden haired angel with highlights of fire woven through the halo around her head.

Torr pulled off his shoes and yanked the socks off his feet. Tugging them over his hands to protect his fingers from the sharp wire, he worked at the knot with fevered twists of his fingertips. The wire bit through the socks and made a jagged mess of his fingertips, but he managed to finally work the knot free. Relieved of the wire, he breathed deeply and trapped the breath in his lungs. He had a weapon. The wire could sever flesh from bone, and what had been intended to end his life might actually save it.

He'd stuck out his neck and had managed to accomplish absolutely nothing. Eloise wasn't any safer. The pack was still in danger. But, he couldn't bring himself to regret it. He had stood up to the old man. The cold, maniacal bastard should be thrilled about that. After all, he'd gotten what he'd always wanted and his son had grown a set of balls.

Torr needed a distraction. Something to take his mind off of the desperate situation that he was hip deep in the middle of. He needed something pleasant and happy to think about before his father came to execute him. Torr was still alive and the only thing he had was his hope to keep him that way. His mind wandered back to the salty ocean and the warm beaches of Corpus Christi. To a time, not so long ago, before he was the man he became.

Her hair had gleamed like fire and sun. The golden windswept tendrils blown about in the breeze and those incredible streaks of red were more brilliant than any Texas sunset. She smelled like coconuts, sunshine, and warm summertime sweat as the rays of the sun beat down on her pale milky skin. Her smile had drawn him in. The wide-open smile she cast him when she caught him unabashedly staring at her. She wasn't embarrassed by his openness. In fact, she'd called it 'refreshing'.

He had spent the day following her across the beach and around the town like a lost puppy until he worked up the guts to finally talk to her. They shared a few dances and a bottle or two of wine. Then they'd ended up at the beach on a beneath the stars. The waves of the ocean crashing against the shore marked time to the beating of their hearts. Young and dumb, he'd asked her up to his room. She'd shot him that smile, that amazing, spellbinding, once in a lifetime smile of hers and said 'yes'.

It was only one night and he'd deceived himself into believing that she was just another conquest in the long row of notches in his belt. But, she'd been something more than that. He'd known it from the first time he saw her. The lie he told himself was easier to believe. Waking up in the pale light of morning alone he realized, she'd gone back to her life and had left him to continue on with his. The only thing he had from that one night was the locket she'd forgotten on his nightstand.

He'd always wondered if his carelessness had resulted in a child. One day, he'd finally managed to track her down, determined to find out. The little girl wasn't but two years old, bursting with energy and kicking her sandaled feet in the stroller. She had her mother's curly hair and big, round eyes so filled with enthusiasm and anticipation for what life had to offer. Her hair was the crimson of a rose. Shining in the sunlight, threaded through with the strands of gold she'd inherited from her mother.

Torr's heart had stopped beating as the little girl looked up at him and he met the eyes, so much like his in shade and shape, and so filled with a knowing and wisdom far beyond a toddler's comprehension. The realization slammed his heart with the force of a wrecking ball, crushing it to dust. He was staring at his daughter. He didn't need the mother to confirm the truth. Deep down inside, he knew.

As much as it hurt, the painful ache of knowing, he could not approach his only child. By that time, his father was on his trail. Effectively following behind him to clean up what he considered his son's mistakes. He could never breathe a word of the truth to Erica. He'd never know his daughter's name. Distracted by the crowd flooding the bustling streets of Washington D.C. at rush hour, Erica hadn't noticed how close he'd gotten to her or their daughter. Torr snuck up and quickly clipped a curl from his daughter's hair and just as quickly disappeared into the throng of people.

Leaving her to raise the child alone was the kindest cruelty he could have done. It had taken him two years to find her. Washington D.C. was a busy place, packed with people. The anonymousness of a crowd was the only hope he had of keeping Erica and their baby girl safe. He'd lost two children to his father, a boy and a girl, and he would not lose his last hope, his only living child, to that bastard of a man.

He booked a flight to Texas and tried to forget, but he couldn't. The locket and the crimson curl kept reminding him of the life he might have lived instead. Maybe, Erica was out there living her life to the fullest. He hoped so. She deserved so much better than what he'd given her. His baby girl would be on the verge of becoming a teenager by now. The thought of what she was like brought a smile to his face. She'd be a spitfire, like her mother, so full of joy and unbridled enthusiasm. Of that, he had no doubt. The thought of what she might have inherited from him made his blood run cold. He prayed to any god who would listen that the legacy of his wolf had passed her by.

Perhaps, Erica was married with a husband and children of her own. He hoped she was happy, wherever she was and that whatever had happened to her had been nothing but good. Maybe, his baby girl had brothers and sisters, a whole houseful of them to love and keep her company. They deserved the life he'd never had and the future he'd never get: the white picket fence, the swing set in the backyard, burgers on the grill on Memorial Day, tons of presents under the tree at Christmastime, and the birthdays...the gifts with pretty bows and sparkly paper, the cakes with colorful icing roses and tons of candles, and the celebration of another year alive and happy, safe on this earth.

. Torr did not deceive himself with much hope that he'd get out of this alive. The only consolation prize that he had was that his father might not either. Eloise...he couldn't conceive a world without Eloise Collins in it. Unfortunately, her odds weren't any better of walking out of this in one piece than his. But, maybe if he did by some miracle of fate, manage to live through the destruction. He'd take the time, no, make the time to find Erica again and see for himself what had become of her and their beautiful baby girl.

Just thinking about Erica and the daughter they'd brought into this world made him feel better. Knowing that something he had touched had not turned to shit beneath his fingertips filled him with a slight glimmer of warm hope. He should not entertain the thought of finding them again. Surely, Erica had moved on by now and she and the child were both far better for not having him in their lives. It might be better for everyone if the mystery of whatever happened to Erica Grey was never solved. But, if his daughter had inherited his gift, she'd need him, soon. And even if she hadn't, he really couldn't let the past go.



Chapter 30

Shayla's hands shook nervously as she poured a cup of steaming coffee from the silver coffee service. Seff stared down at her disdainfully. Rage brewed in his onyx colored eyes. They were as cold and hard as the stone they resembled and they never left her as she uncovered his breakfast.

He never varied from the menu. He ate the same thing morning after morning: coffee, black and scalding hot, two eggs over easy served on top of buttered whole wheat toast, three slices of crisp bacon on the side, an orange peeled and sectioned, and a bowl of oatmeal, plain, no butter, no sugar, no milk. Breakfast was served promptly, on time. Not six fifty-nine or seven o-one, but at seven o'clock on the dot, without exception.

He dressed with precision in expensive suits. His grooming was immaculate. Not a whisker left unshaven on his chin or so much as a hair out of place. Occasionally, he wore jeans and button downs. But, even they were fitted to mold to his muscular body. She'd never ironed a pair of jeans and a chambray button down before, but she did now. The bastard was meticulous about even the slightest detail.

Shayla hesitated as she unrolled his silverware and sat them clumsily beside the delicate white china plate. "Shall I serve Mistress Eloise and Master Torr now?" She kept her eyes low as he ran them over her curves. He would never stoop to bedding someone as low on the pack hierarchy as she. Her DNA wasn't pure enough for the likes of him. And that was fine with her. Her knees knocked beneath the weight of his heavy stare.

The guards breathed down her neck. They were always up close and personal with her. Pinching her butt when they thought no one was looking. Trying deliberately to make her mess up in front of the master. Tripping her so she'd spill the coffee or dump an empty tray. She, as a house servant, was viewed as the last rung on the pack's pecking order. She cleaned their toilets and washed their underwear. She was less than nothing and they liked to entertain themselves at her expense.

Seff studied the housemaid trembling before him. He knew who she was and who her husband had been. He made it his business to know. He'd been waiting for her to drop the disguise and come after him in retaliation. But, she'd never wavered off course, not once. Today, she was more nervous than usual. Perhaps, this morning, she'd poisoned his oatmeal or spit in his coffee. She didn't have the guts to attack him outright. He'd have to keep a closer eye on her from now on. See what brewed beneath that terrorized exterior of hers. "That will be all." He cleared his throat and took a big drink of the scalding coffee.

"Mistress Eloise is to receive paper products and finger foods only from now on. No silverware. No dishes. No cans or bottles. Paper plates, cups, and napkins only, we wouldn't want her to harm herself, now would we? Master Torr has been... indisposed, so, service for one will be all that is required."

Shayla curtseyed and backed out of the room as quickly as her feet and the guards would allow. "Yes sir." She hightailed it for the kitchen. Torr and Eloise had been separated. This was not a good thing. The struggle and the hours of captivity they'd endured had forged a bond between them. Without one another to rely on, they'd quickly wither and give up. She had to find out where Seff was keeping his son. Eloise would never leave the Grand Manor without Torr.

Shayla had to get Eloise in on the plan somehow. They couldn't speak freely and she could not risk a detailed note creatively hidden in the pages of a newspaper. The guard was distracted. Spending the time while he watched her prepare Eloise's breakfast with his eyes glued on her ass. That was ok. She needed the diversion for what she had planned. She slipped a pen out of her pocket and scribbled a quick note on the paper plate, hiding the words under the toast. If anyone saw them, the words would spell her death. Help here was all she'd written and even that was too much.

Eloise tried her best to look calm and removed from the storm raging inside her body. The knob turned as the door was unlocked. Shayla was ushered into the room by a small army of guards. Her trembling fingers brushed Eloise's hand as she sat down the breakfast tray and they exchanged glances. Shayla was on her side, willing to fight. "Thank you, Shayla," she said, lifting the cooling cup of coffee to her lips.

One of the guards cast a hungry smile in her direction and licked his lips as he retreated from the room. The scent of her oncoming heat was already beginning to affect them. No male, no matter how afraid of Seff or how well trained, could withstand the draw to the musky scent of the heat radiating off of her. Seff might bring about his own death when the heat was fully upon her. His men would fight him and each other to win rights to her. Maybe, one of them would kill him and take a few others out in the process. She could only be so lucky.





Chapter 31

Tristen followed Kacie in through the open window and landed gracefully on his feet. The house was big and empty, devoid of any sign that anyone lived here at all. "Are you sure this is your house?"

"Tristen, I know the house I grew up in. There's nothing here." She wandered through the empty living room and up the stairs to her room. Empty too. From the scent, it had been for days. Seff wasn't wasting time or manpower guarding an empty house. That was the only reason why nobody was here. There wasn't anything to guard. She raced from room to empty room, throwing open closet doors and sifting through empty cabinets, searching for something that might have been left behind for Tristen to wear. Finally, she found an abandoned sweater in the back of her mother's closet. She shimmied out of her hoodie and tossed it at his head. Ignoring his stare, locked on her lacey bra. She slid the navy blue knit sweater over her head.

Tristen pulled the hoodie over his head and bathed in Kacie's scent. Seeing her in the scanty scraps of pink lace and being covered in her wild feminine scent was enough to drive him to his knees and beg her for another kiss. He could almost forget that they were in danger and that they were supposed to be finding her mother. The house was quiet, empty, and they were alone. There were so many better things they could be doing with their time instead of chasing after bad guys and looking for trouble. "What now? We're in and so far, nobody has seen us. What do we do now?"

"Figure out a way to get into the Grand Manor."

"You mean go straight into the heart of enemy territory?"

"How else are we going to rescue my mom?" Kacie walked over to the window and peeked through the slats in the blinds. In the pale light of dawn, the complex looked much the same as it had her whole life. Neat orderly rows of brown roofed houses with stucco walls. Tidy streets and walkways stretched between the rows of homes. There were about one hundred and eighty people who called the neat little boxes home, seventy families in all. Some with kids, some without.

Her stare roamed the complex. Landing on the palatial, three-story, red brick building and the grand arches that made up the entryway to the Manor House, her ancestral home. Compared to the towering structures that made up city skylines, the building was squat and short. But, it was the seat of power for the pack and a symbol of everything they held dear. The Grand Manor was her birthright as daughter of a pack mistress and offshoot from the great family line that had built it. Located in the center of the complex all roads led to the Grand Manor, and that stoic building could be seen from anywhere in the complex.

The lawn was filled with people, mulling about with their hands shoved in their pockets or hugging and clinging desperately to one another. There was a row of olive drab tents and what looked like barracks constructed of pale pine boards stretched across what had once been a sprawling, lush green lawn and beautiful garden. The iron gates, as tall as the top story of the Grand Manor, had been thrown open. Blocking the cobblestone drive leading up to the house a wooden platform almost as wide as the sweeping front porch had been built. The platform looked a little like a stage, but in the center of it three posts stood upright bolted to the wooden floor underneath. She couldn't guess what the purpose of the poles was. "What's going on?"

"I dunno." Tristen poked his nose against the glass. "Looks like some kind of a meeting." He lied to spare Kacie. He was a history buff and he'd read about this kind of things in his books. Stories from the past often provided the best predictions of the future. There was some kind of military operation set up on the front lawn. He knew what the platform was for. Why the poles had been secured to the stage. He swallowed back a wave of nausea laced with terror. Whoever was behind this elaborate set up was planning public executions and from the looks and size of that platform, there'd be plenty of them.

From their perch on the second story, Kacie looked down at the gathering crowd. This was her chance. She could slip in amongst the people and disappear in the crowd. The problem was that everyone would recognize her. She had a certain amount of notoriety for being Eloise's daughter. Her scent was another problem. She was wearing her mother's sweater. Everyone knew Eloise's scent as well as they knew their own. She'd have to sneak into someone's house and borrow some clothes and do something to disguise herself. "Come on."

Nash fumed with rage as soon as he'd awakened and realized that Tristen and Kacie were missing. Tristen was supposed to keep Kacie under control. That's all he'd asked of his grandson, just handle one little female, and now, they were both gone.

The wind had scattered their scent trail, but Nash knew exactly where they'd gone. Kacie had gotten some wild hair to rescue her mother and Tristen, instead of stopping her, had gone along with her. Nash hoped the fence had done its job and prevented them from getting into the complex. He doubted it though. There was one thing he knew about his grandson and that was exactly how resourceful and creative he was, when he wanted to be.

Carter sensed Shayla's fear in his mind. His heart raced in time with hers. "Torr and Eloise have been separated. Shayla is trying to find him." He couldn't read exact thoughts from this distance, but he could see images and experience her emotions clearly enough. He'd felt her heartbreak when she passed the charred spot where the platform had been. He'd experienced her husband's death through her eyes and felt every stab of pain. He would kill everyone who had made her suffer, starting with Seff. "I can't get a clear read on her though. I'm too far away."

"Well then. We need to get closer." Nash smothered the campfire under a pile of dirt kicked up by his feet and moved to strike the camp. They needed to erase all evidence that a camp had ever been here at all.

Catcher and Tracker were disgraced by their inability to keep Mistress Kacie safe. They hadn't been the first ones to notice she and the boy had gone missing. Nash had been. They were utterly mortified by their failure. They helped load the SUV in silence with their heads hung in defeat.

"Don't feel bad." Carter said as he patted their broad shoulders. "Kacie was determined to get to her mother. There wasn't anything you could have done."

"We would have died to protect her."

Carter snorted as he pushed in between them and stuffed his bag into the back. "You still might get the chance." Things from his vantage point of the world didn't look so good. Shayla's emotions had shifted from fear to gut wrenching terror. He saw the world through her eyes. He saw the crowd as she looked out of the window. Sons pried from their mother's arms. Fathers helpless as their firstborn sons lined up and were herded away like cattle to the slaughter. The world had not changed one bit in all the centuries he'd walked upon it. The ways for humanity to kill one another had, a great deal, but the end result was always the same.