Dawn Released

Seff stood on the front steps. Lording over the crowd of people he now ruled. His guards were doing the dirty work of parting sons from their families. Necessary. Had to be done. He could not have these children grow up to be his enemy. Someday, a stronger male would vie to take over. It was an inevitable as the sunrise. But, he was going to lessen the odds and put them in his favor. At least, until his own unborn son was ruthless enough to overthrow him.

He walked over to the ragtag band of boys. Some of them were fresh faced and very young. Some were older, almost to the point of their first shift. Others, a handful or so, were past that age and had undergone their first shift. Most dropped their eyes and looked away. That was a promising sign. Eloise's ancestors had bred submissive traits into the general masses. There were a few though who were brave enough to meet his gaze with defiance and determination, alpha males, and possibly contenders for his patriarchy. Those were the ones he'd have to break first. The ones he had to teach who was boss or let them die learning the lesson.

Kacie knew most people didn't lock their doors. In a complex this size, what was the point? Everyone knew their neighbor, and they were all neighbors. She found some clothes that might fit Tristen and threw them at him. She constructed a wardrobe of her own after rummaging through a girl's room. Her scent would blend and so would Tristen's. They smelled like everybody else. Now, what to do about her appearance?

She gathered her hair into a ponytail and slung the sleek black locks over her shoulder. A lifetime of careful maintenance and grooming had given her the silky black strands she loved so dearly. But, they were a dead giveaway. She had too much hair to stuff under a hat. And she couldn't find any sunglasses to cover her eyes. She had only one option. No one, not even herself, had ever seen her with short hair. She wouldn't be recognized, if she cut her hair.

Holding her breath, she reminded herself of why she was doing this. Her hands trembled as she grasped the scissors and made the first cut. Snip after snip the old Kacie fell into a heap of silky locks at her feet. "What do you think?" she asked nervously. Turning for Tristen to inspect, she blinked away a tear and exhaled a saddened sigh. "Did I miss any? Is it straight."

Tristen fishmouthed for a few seconds. Dumbfounded by the change in her appearance. Kacie's hair was cut in a neat blunt style that rested just below her jaw, the ends curling to cup her beautiful face and expose the graceful curve of her long, thin neck. "I like it."

Kacie self-consciously fiddled with the short strands of hair. "You're lying, but it doesn't matter anyway. Hurry up and finish changing, we've got to go."

Tristen disappeared into the bathroom to finish dressing. Kacie brushed past him tugging on the imaginary length of her hair. He scooped up a handful of sleek waves that she had left in a pile on the floor and gathered them into his fist. Shoving them into his pocket, he salvaged what he could. When this was over, he'd do something nice with her hair. The hair was simply too beautiful to leave abandoned on the floor. Maybe, he'd tie it in a neat bundle and give it back to her or perhaps, he'd braid it and stash it under his pillow every night so that he could fill his nose with her scent and his head with dreams of her.

He emerged from the bathroom. The clothes fit well enough. He spun on his heel to model them for her. "Ok. Let's do this. Do I look like a Texan?"

"No," Kacie leaned in closely, smelling him. "But you smell like one. Just keep your head and your eyes down. Don't do anything stupid to draw attention to yourself."

Tristen grinned and reached out, cinching his fingers around her waist and drawing her close for a kiss. "I wouldn't dream of it." He grinned as their lips smacked together in an affectionate, desperate kiss. "For luck."

Kacie withdrew, ignoring the shivers that ran down her spine from a simple kiss. "Yeah, we're going to need it."

Chapter 32

Shane pushed back the line of sobbing mothers and angry fathers. This could get ugly really quickly and Seff wasn't doing anything but egging it on by tormenting the boys. He picked through the row, sorting the weaker from the stronger. The weak would go to one section of the camp while the strong, a select few, would train with him personally. Shane had seen this before. Seff picked the ones he wanted to break first and then he'd use them to weed through the others. Not all of these kids would be standing here by next year. Some wouldn't make it and would be dead. Others would be pecked to death by the stronger of the ranks.

Kacie inched her way through the crowd. What was going on concerned her, but not as much as finding a way into the mansion. The gathering of people was a convenient ruse to get closer to the structure towering above her. She grabbed onto Tristen's hand, pulling him along behind her. No one seemed to notice that he was a stranger. But, there were several people she didn't recognize in the crowd. She assumed they were part of Seff's pack and hoped that others would guess the same about Tristen.

"You there!" A guard stomped toward Tristen. "How old are you?" he asked as he pulled Tristen's hat off and gripped his face roughly between his fingers.

Tristen fought the urge to pull away from the guard's sweaty grip. Anger sent bursts of red through his vision, but that was exactly what the guard wanted, a good fight. Tristen felt Kacie's hand tighten around his, squeezing his fingers in warning. The boys in the line were younger than he, but some, not by much. He blurted out an answer, just hazarding a guess. "Ah, nineteen, sir."

"You're late. Get in line and join the other rabble." The guard nudged him in the ribs with the business end of a high-powered rifle. He grinned at Kacie's worried expression. "Don't worry, honey. We'll make a man out of him." He chuckled as he drove Tristen into the group with the rest of the older boys.

"Tristen!" Kacie grappled at his hand as he slipped out of her fingers. She was pushed roughly back into the huddle of sobbing mothers, girlfriends, and in some of the older boy's cases, wives. She wound through the clump of bodies and looked for an opening. There were guards everywhere.

She'd never actually seen Seff before, but she had no trouble finding him as he walked the line. He strolled with his hands clasped behind his back, tapping his fingers against the band of his wristwatch, evaluating his new draftees with a shrewd eye. Seff was breathtakingly handsome. His short, expertly trimmed hairstyle lent to the aura of authority. In some ways, some of his mannerisms and gestures, and of course, in his appearance, he reminded her so much of Torr. The two men, father and son, were similar in build and coloring from their tanned skin to their dark hair. She couldn't see Seff's eyes behind the sunglasses he wore, but she bet they were that same inexplicable color as Torr's.

Inwardly she gasped as Seff paused in front of Tristen. Scrabbling to control her terror, she prayed he didn't do something stupid like lift his stare to meet Seff's gaze. Tristen was one of the larger males in the line up. He stood a head taller than most of the other post-teens, definitely more muscular and broader throughout the shoulders. His messy, pure, jet black, hair fluttered in the breeze highlighted in shades so dark they were almost blue in the morning light. His bronzed skin was redder and richer in color than the rest of the boys'. He'd drawn attention to himself because of the subtle differences between him and everybody else.

Seff stopped in front of the boy. He was big and broad shouldered. Well muscled and built sturdily. He grinned as the boy looked up and met his stare. His eyes were an unusual shade of brown, almost black, an anomaly in Eloise's pack's flawless perfection. Perhaps, the boy had a bit of Omega in him. The boy's eyes were steady without a hint of fear. Wild. Untrained. But, the boy had exactly the qualities Seff was looking for. The boy would make a good addition to his private guard. Maybe, if he survived long enough, he might make it to a higher rank.

Seff needed alphas that had enough sense to do as they were told and yet, lead the cannon fodder into battle. He grabbed the boy by the shirt collar and tossed them into the huddle of boys he'd hand selected. He'd train these boys to be ruthless and cruel. Time and suffering would harden them into the kind of men he needed for the missions he had in mind. Just for the hell of it, Seff balled his fist and drove it hard into the boy's solar plexus. Was the boy stupid enough to charge him? He tested the boy. As the boy grunted and heaved over he kneed him straight in the nose, loosing a spray of blood and gasps from the crowd. The boy stumbled, but he didn't drop and he didn't cry out. Good. The boy held his ground, and his fists. And that was very good. The boy was a fast learner. He chuckled and returned to the row of males lined up in front of him. Double-checking to make sure that he hadn't missed anyone of particular value.

Tristen balled up his t-shirt and wiped the blood off his face. His nose was broken and already beginning to swell big as a balloon. Rage bubbled up in him and threatened to boil over. Hatred wouldn't do him any good here. All his anger would accomplish was getting him shot. He had to keep it together until he could figure out a way to get out of this and back to Kacie.

"Your back," one of the guys whispered behind him. "Put on your shirt before they notice."

Tristen pulled his bloodied T-shirt back over his head. "I hadn't gotten around to it yet." That wasn't a lie. He hadn't received his tribal tattoos, luckily. His grandfather was a stickler for the rules. Tristen hadn't truly figured out his place in the pack and earned the right to bear the tattoos that would indicate his status. Good thing, since he didn't know what it was, yet. His markings would have been different, the marks of his people, not Kacie's. The tattoos would have been a dead give away that he wasn't really one of them. Thankfully, he had been too busy thinking about her to work on meeting his goals. His preoccupation with Kacie had inadvertently saved his life.

Kacie wiggled into the thick bushes on the side of the property and grappled with the ornate wrought iron fence, shimmying over the top and landing gracefully on her feet. This fence was for looks. The guards were what kept people in or out, not the fence. She darted across the lawn, hoping her luck would hold out. She hid in the deep shadows of a shady outcropping of decorative bushes. She'd have to sit tight until dark when she could have more luck searching for a way in. She hoped Tristen would do the same and just lay low until she could figure a way out of the mess she'd gotten them into.

Chapter 33

Shayla went about her daily chores with expert precision. Seff was as anal about the laundry as he was everything else. Linens, no matter the weather or if they were dirty or not, were to be changed everyday, washed, and hung outside to line dry. She rolled the cart, loaded with sopping sheets and pillowcases through the back door and out to the clothesline. One of the guards' favorite tricks was to lock her out and make her beg and pound on the door until they got good and ready to let her in. She didn't have time to piss with their games today. She shoved her pen in between the jamb and the door, blocking it open.

Shayla pushed the cart over the rough stone walkway to the clothesline at the edge of the property. At least, today, the sun was shining warm on her shoulders and the linens would dry quickly. Leaving her extra time to get the rest of her chores done and search for Torr. Under the guise of dusting and vacuuming, the second and third stories were vacant, no Torr on either level. The first floor was spotless. Each room thoroughly scoured as she cleaned and still, there was no sign of Torr.

She spread a sheet over the line and pinned it in place. The gentle spring breeze tossed it to and fro, fanning it to dry. There was only one level left to search, the basement. She had access down there, but rarely had an occasion to go. Being caught alone in the basement by one of Seff's guards was a chance she wasn't willing to take. Today, she was going to risk it. Extra cleaning supplies and paper products were kept down there and as luck would have it, the Master was all out of toilet paper.

She finished hanging the laundry, thinking about all the other things that she had to get accomplished. She had to talk to Hanning today. So far, he had been inaccessible, forced to help in the construction of another platform. Hanning and the other workers were under the constant, watchful eyes of the guards. This platform was bigger and better, able to handle multiple executions at once. She hoped that she and the others were out of here before Seff got the chance to use it.

Fear wracked her addled brain, holding it under siege. She could barely keep her fingers from trembling as she smoothed out the last of the sheets to dry. She could feel the vampire in her mind. Sensing her emotions, as he saw the world through her eyes. He gave her reassurances in return. Simple comforting emotions she couldn't seem to wrap her mind around. All will be well. You are doing a good job. He reassured. She simply didn't believe him. The doubts ran too deep.

Kacie saw Shayla stick a pen in the door and push her laundry cart outside. This was her chance. Maybe, the only one she'd get. She skittered from behind the bushes and ran as fast as her legs would move. By the time she reached the door, she was trembling in fear at the thought of being caught and panting for breath. She slunk inside the door. Careful to put the pen back exactly how she'd found it.

She'd never been inside the Grand Manor and the sight of it, even though it was only the back foyer, made her gasp in awe. White marble tiles veined with gray and black stretched out into the main part of the house. Ornately carved dark wood crown molding spanned the ceiling above her head. Brass light fixtures with colored glass covers hung from long chains, dancing in the breeze caused by her movement. She would have loved the time to explore the exquisite craftsmanship in more detail. But, her main concern was to find someplace safe to hide. She twisted a brass doorknob between her fingers and slipped into the first door she came to, exhaling a breath of sheer relief.

Kacie tucked her slender body underneath a low shelf lined with canned goods. Odds were that no one ever came into this room except for Shayla and she was on her side. Nevertheless, Kacie didn't want to chance discovery. She shuffled cardboard boxes in front of her as she shimmied deeper into the narrow space. Hiding until she figured out exactly what she was going to do next.

Shayla finished hanging the laundry. Leaving the cart outside until she could fill it again. Boys marched in single file lines, hassled into order by guards who were as fierce and intent as any drill sergeant. She couldn't believe that Seff had reduced himself to such low behavior, drafting children to fight his battles for him.

She stuck the pen back in her pocket and closed the door behind her. Pausing to rearm the security system. She made her way to the basement steps and was stopped by a guard armed to the teeth. The basement was never under guard. Why now? Her heart thundered in her chest when he pointed his rifle under her nose. "I need to get some toilet paper."

"Strict orders. No one gets in."

"The Master isn't going to be happy about this." Shayla struggled for something to say that would convince the guard to let her slide past. "What's your name so I can tell him exactly who is preventing him from wiping his royal ass after his evening shit? Unless, you plan to go up there with some toilet paper and do it for him." She stood toe to toe with the guard, ignoring his finger planted on the trigger.

The guard swallowed hard. He had no intentions of disobeying orders and risking the wrath of his superior, Shane. But, he'd rather take a flogging than to deal with the pack master personally. "Make it quick." He slid his key ring off his belt and unlocked the basement door, shooing her through.

"I won't be but a second." Shayla felt her way down the steep concrete stairs into the dank, stifling darkness below. A lone light hung from a bare bulb in the ceiling, barely carving out a thin beam of illumination into the gloom. The sound of shuffling feet and scratching of nails on wood drew her closer to a room in the farthest corner of the basement. Hesitantly, she put her hand on the steel reinforced door and pressed her ear to the cold surface. "Torr?" Her voice echoed eerily off the brick and concrete walls.

"Who's there?" Torr felt along the door. Comforted by the soft, whispering voice on the other side. Someone knew he was in here. Someone, who quite possibly didn't want him dead. He didn't recognize the woman's voice, but it sounded like the whisper of waves lapping against the shore. "Help me," he groaned. The confining room was closing in around him. He had no idea how much time had passed since he'd been locked inside. He didn't know if it had been days or hours, if it was daytime or night.

"I'll come back for you." Shayla balled her hand into a fist. Only Seff could torture his own son so cruelly. Wolves could not tolerate being caged. Even the most brief of moments spent in confinement were agonizing and maddening. She hated to walk away from him. "I promise."

Shayla paused in front of the door, biting her bottom lip anxiously. The door was bolted shut and held closed with a thick padlock. She couldn't get him out without finding the key or some serious hardware to take the lock apart. She had neither and she was running out of time. Carter's emotions shuddered through her system. He'd sensed her fear. The concern he felt for her was enough to get her feet moving. She snatched the toilet paper off a shelf and darted up the stairs. Leaving Torr behind to be swallowed up by the darkness. Guilty tears stung the corners of her eyes as she trotted past the guard and the sound of the basement door banging shut echoed in her ears.

Emil worked for hours, carting boards and materials. He had done everything he could to get the word out to the select few he knew could be trusted. The overwhelming consensus was that no one was willing to leave until Eloise did. The overwhelming question was how to get her out. Hanning worked along side him, but there was no time to talk or to plan. The guards watched every move the workers made. Planning was a necessity, but unfortunately, it might prove to be a luxury they didn't have.

Eloise ripped the paper plate to shreds and worked furiously on the napkin. Tearing it to little pieces and littering the tray. Eggs and toast were smeared and jumbled up in the mix. The guards would think she'd lost her mind and that she'd ruined her breakfast on purpose. She flushed the piece of paper plate with the scribbled line of text down the toilet. Better they think she was nuts than find out the truth.

Help here. No two words had ever given her so much hope. Who? Who was here to help her? How many? And where in the hell were they? Why was she still stuck in here if help was so close? She was as frustrated as she was hopeful. Was she really going to get out? Would it be in time?

Eloise stomped over to the window and drew back the heavy silk lined drapes. The front lawn was a flurry of activity. Guards, heavily armed and vicious as hell, were everywhere, overseeing the goings on. Laborers hustled about to finish Seff's platform of death. Boys of various sizes and ages marched in single file lines under the watchful eyes of the guards. One of the boys in particular drew her attention. She pulled back the curtains, clutching the silken material in her fist. "What the hell?"