Dawn Unleashed

Cole pulled a shirt from the closet and slid it over his shoulders. The soft brush of the cotton fabric felt cool against his skin. He fastened the buttons with care and left the throat open and the tails free. Rachael's cross gleamed brilliantly from its resting place at the hollow of his throat. The memories of how she died flood his mind. Regret for what could have been stabbed at his heart deeper than any blade ever could. She died too soon, too young and he was left behind, always asking the question that could never be answered. What if?

Cole slid on his jacket. The night wasn't cold. Certainly not jacket weather. Most people would be sleeping with their windows cracked to let in a welcome breath of fresh air. The black leather creaked, shiny in its newness. This was his jacket. The Jacket. The jacket he'd wear when he went into battle. Designed to hide at least a dozen weapons and fitted like a second skin. The jacket was an extension of who he was. He felt safe when he wore the jacket as if nothing, not even the past could touch him.

Cole walked through the compound and pressed his palm against the electronic reader that sealed him in and the world out. The magnets that held the door fast clicked with a soft, whispering snick, opening. Gears whirred softly as the steel door slid open and gentle night breezes greeted him, caressing his face like a lover's fingertips. He disappeared into the darkness of the woods, leaving the door and the compound behind. Filled with an equal mix of trepidation and excitement at what the dark and the night might have in store for him.

Chapter 54

Maggie readied for bed, taking her time as she showered. She got out and oiled her skin with her favorite rose and vanilla scented lotion, and dressed in a brand new matching short and cami top set she'd bought on sale at the Super Center on her way home from work. She deserved a little pampering. Her heart wasn't nearly as broken as she thought it would be after losing her long time boyfriend Glenn. But, she could still immerse herself in a few little indulgences as singledom's newest charter member, couldn't she?

She lollygagged around, repolishing her finger and toenails to match the shell pink cami set. Occasionally, she rattled off a text or posted a random status change on Facebook. Music from her computer's CD player played softly in the background, enhancing the calmness of her mood. Actually, all in all, she was taking being dumped pretty well. Not wanting anyone to think that she was taking Glenn's betrayal like a doormat, she typed in one last post for the night and deleted him from her friends list.

"Glenn Forester worst boyfriend ever," snickering lightly, Cole read the post over Maggie's shoulder. "You took him off your friends list. Brutal," he tsked, shaking his head mockingly. Idly, he fingered the bottles of perfume lining her makeshift dresser/computer desk. His fingers locked around a bottle that he found interesting and picked it up to sniff at the contents and sneezed at the cloud of floral scented spray he squirted into the air. Woman trappings, all the makeup, jars and containers of goop for practically every crevice and crease were something he'd never completely understand. "That smells like...,"

"Hey! Give me that!" Maggie said, spinning on the old piano bench she'd converted into a seat for her dressing table. She snatched the bottle of perfume from Cole's grip and returned it to its rightful place. Frowning up at him, she pushed her laptop closed to keep him from spying. If he wanted to spy, he could friend her on Facebook, just like everybody else. "What are you doing here anyway?"

Cole shrugged and leaned casually against the wall. The lingering scent of perfume that smelled more like ass than any beauty product should hung in the air covering her natural fragrance, which he highly preferred to the stinky drug store designer label knock off. "I was bored and your lights were on, so I thought I'd pop by."

"Via the window?"

"Nah, you left the patio door open," Cole answered with a grin. He'd spent a little time in the woods, grabbing a quick bite on the wildlife and then wandered the quiet streets of the sleepy little burg hoping to find something to do. Instead, he found his way to Maggie's apartment. Curiosity had him stealthily shimmying along the railing and slipping inside.

"I was hoping to let in a little fresh air, not a creature of the night," Maggie retorted snappily. Painfully aware that she was underdressed in just the thin, spaghetti strapped cami top and shorts, she crossed her arms over her braless breasts to hide the fact that her nipples hardened to points at the sight of him clad in tight jeans and black leather. She blushed as he flashed her a wolfish smile. He'd already noticed.

Cole meandered around the tiny cubicle that served as her bedroom, fingering various objects along his trek. "Nice place," he commented, pausing to right a picture that leaned precariously on its nail. The above garage apartment consisted of a bedroom, a small living room/kitchen combo and a bathroom that was barely large enough to turn around in.

Maggie huffed impatiently as she watched him fondle her stuff, which was a hodge-podge of relics from high school and thrift store treasures. "Beats living with my parents. They live in the house next door and my mom lets me stay here rent free. I'm saving up money for college in the fall," she explained.

Cole nodded in understanding. At one time that had been his goal too. To get as far away from his parents and the suburbs he grew up in as he could. "Charity case, eh?" He teased, shrugging off Maggie's scowl. He picked up a picture frame from the dresser and studied the people smiling at him from the snapshot. "I know these people."

Maggie nodded, "You've probably seen my sister, Lori at the compound. She's a...she's like you now and my mom, she goes there from time to time."

Cole looked up from the picture, a family photo taken a few years back. Maggie was younger then, her face round with youth. A blonde, the age that Maggie was now, looked familiar to him. He'd seen her, not as a human, as she was in the picture, but as a vampire, at the compound. She was married to a big brute, a redheaded Kentuckian named Keene. A stout looking hulk of a man with thinning hair and a beard the color of dirty dishwater frowned at the camera, obviously uncomfortable with the suit coat and tie he'd been forced to wear for the occasion. Maggie's dad? A dazzling redhead, with hair the color of a ripe cherry done up in curls and waves high on her head, grinned toothily up at him. Maggie's mom? His narrowed gaze turned on Maggie and then back to the picture, and then back to Maggie again. "Are you sure you weren't adopted?"

Maggie stifled a snort very aware of Cole's eyes running along her face. She self-consciously tucked a stray hunk of mouse brown hair behind her ear. "My mom is not a natural redhead."

Cole returned her snort and said, "I never would have guessed." He set the picture back on the dresser amidst all the other junk cluttering the top and plopped down on the bench beside Maggie. Being this close to her stirred strange feelings inside of him. His eyes were drawn to the indigo marks of the tattoo on the right side of her neck. "That's cool," he said, gathering her hair into his hand for a better view. He marveled at the feel of the silky strands and the way the dim lamplight played off the varying shades of red, brown, and gold in her hair.

Maggie blushed violently and gently tugged her hair free from his grip, arranging the strands to cover the tattoo and the slightly throbbing sunburn on her neck and shoulders. "Glenn said it made me look like a freak." She ducked away from his stare.

"What do you think?" Cole asked gently. He pushed her hair with his fingertips, clearing the strands away from the tattoo and slid them over her left shoulder. "Your skin is hot." He closed his eyes and lowered his nose to her neck, inhaling, "You smell like sunshine."

"I stayed out in the sun too long today and got a little toasted. It's nothing," she mumbled. Embarrassed by how lame the comment sounded. His fingertips were cool and felt incredibly good on the reddened, hot skin. A sigh of relief eased from her lips at the feel of his touch on her skin.

Cole scanned the various tubes and bottles of gook scattered on her dressing table. "Don't you have anything in this mess for a sunburn?" He spotted something that looked like it might be useful in a blue jar at the far end of the table. The plastic hair clip was awkward in his fingers. He gathered up the bulk of her hair to get keep the strands out of the cream before he started. The jaws clamped around the loose ends of her hair, holding the length secure to the back of her scalp in a sloppy tangle.

Maggie felt as if a jolt of electricity shot right through her as Cole reached around her. His hips strained tightly against her backside as he grabbed the blue jar from her dressing table. His leather jacket was cold and sleek, smelling of musk and man. The smell of menthol burned her nose when he unscrewed the lid. Gently, his fingers brushed the cream on her hot, tender skin. Sending a freezing trail of cold relief along her left shoulder and the back of her neck.

Cole was very careful with Maggie's overly sensitive skin. Gently dabbing cream along her shoulders and the back of her neck then rubbing it in before moving to the next spot. The care in which he handled her shocked him. He wasn't this gentle or tender with girls. The need to make her comfortable and care for her was almost an instinctive drive that came from some unknown place within him. He'd never done anything remotely nice for one of his conquests before, not that Maggie was one. In the past, he'd only been charming and gentle enough long enough to coax them into the backseat of his car.

The cream was cold on his fingers as he spread it gently onto her burn. The smell stung his sensitive nose. His fingers paused as they rounded to the right side of her neck, where the beginnings of her tattoo adorned her skin. His fangs, damned things, emerged. His mouth lowered to the pulse point on its own volition. Inwardly, he cursed the desire roaring to life within every cell of his body. His lips roamed to the spot of deepest indigo, where the swirls converged into an intricate web of markings. He could sense nothing but her and the blood flowing through her veins.

Maggie let the sense of calm overwhelm her and drag her down with it. Nothing had ever felt so right. So good. She eased back, relaxing her body into the cocoon of Cole's arms and legs. They fit together so well, like they were made for one another. Her head rolled to the side and rested on his broad shoulder. As her heavy eyes slid shut, her awareness was drawn to the utter joy of the sensation of his mouth on her neck. Nothing else mattered but this moment. Their breathing timed as one synchronous movement. Their bodies fitted together so perfectly. Their minds merged as one in this singular desire. Feed and be fed. Donor and recipient. Male and female. Two halves of the same whole, one completed only by the other.

Cole drew his arms around Maggie's body, so frail and tiny in his arms. She was warmth and sunlight, laughter, and music, everything good he could think of. Her head rested trustingly on his shoulder, extending the flesh of her neck to his mouth. The tip of his tongue traced the beating pulse beneath her skin. His fangs ached and throbbed to bury their tips into the tender space and release the flow of life itself from her body into his. Softly, the whisper of his name formed on her lips. He opened his mouth wider. His fangs rested upon her pulse. Driven by an instinct he couldn't hope to overcome.

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye. The gentle rise and fall of her chest. The pink of her top expanding and contracting in contrast to the black clad steel of his arms. He could kill her with little more than a thought. One too many pounds per square inch of pressure on her bones and he'd crush her, squeeze the life right out of her. He forced his mouth up from her neck and tipped his chin, staring at the reflection of their twined bodies in the mirror over her dressing table.

He was the night, the black of death, and she the pale pink of life. His eyes blazed with sparks of hunger and desire. White fangs long and lethal poked out from beneath his upper lip. He looked more like an animal at this moment than a man. He wasn't human, but a fiend, teetering on the edge of a very steep ledge bordering between damnation and redemption. The cross at his throat gleamed against the pallor of his skin. His eyes slammed shut. He couldn't bear to look at his own reflection, nor the reflection of the girl trapped in his embrace. He wasn't a killer. If he did what his instincts clamored for him to do, he was no better than the thing that had stolen Rachael from this world.

Cole took a deep breath and brushed his lips over Maggie's neck. The pulse point beneath his lips fluttered wildly like a caged bird flapping its wings at the promise of freedom. "I can't," he breathed. The whisper was ripe with feelings to which there were no words to describe. Her hair was soft against his cheek as he nuzzled her ear. She trusted him and he'd almost eaten her for dinner. "Sleep for me, Maggie."

The weight of her body sagged against his chest. Carefully, gently, he lifted her and carried her to the bed. She sank into the covers with a sigh of contentment. Her head perched on pillows that were a rainbow of color in their mismatched cases. Cole pulled a fleece blanket over her shoulders and tucked her in. He sat cautiously on the edge of the bed and watched her face as she slept under the spell of his influence. Expressions crossed her cheeks like clouds drifting over the earth and then floating over the horizon. "Goodnight, Maggie," he said, tracing the bow of her mouth with a fingertip.

Cole rose from the bed and left the way he'd come in, making sure the patio door was locked tightly behind him. That night, while she dreamed whatever dreams came. He wandered the darkness alone. Contemplating what it was inside of him that made him leave her without so much as a scratch on her neck.

His fingers went to the cross around his neck. He could almost swear he felt Rachael watching him from the black sky littered with random twinkling stars above. Rachael's presence was in his imagination, not locked to any particular place or object, but deep within him. She was far from this world now, so above and beyond its trappings and temptations. As long as he held onto this small token, this last piece of the life she'd left behind in his for safekeeping. As long as he remembered how she died, and what it meant for her to be alive. He knew he'd never forget what it was like to be human. That was the part of him that was still here, living, kept Maggie safe and him, sane.

Patrick shrank into the night. Leaving Cole with the silence of his thoughts. He tailed the newest member of their brethren through the streets. The town around them slept oblivious. John Mark would be pleased with his pupil. Cole had passed every test thrown at him. Even the ones he didn't know were tests with grace and ease.

At first, Patrick didn't think Cole was going to be able to pass up the temptation circulating through Maggie's veins. He was on the verge of intervening when Cole sheathed his fangs and tucked his entranced beauty into bed. Cole had succeeded when many others, including him, had failed. He personally, had failed many, many more times than he cared to recall. Life, no matter how long he lived it, never, ever got any easier. The only thing that changed was the rules by which one played the game.

Chapter 55

Shayla ducked into her room shortly after dinner. The mood at the dining room table was tense. Conversations were strained and terse. Subjects danced around. Nobody really asked what was on everybody's mind. Where in the hell was Daniel and when was he coming home. The mood between Gina and her husband was dark and unsettled. Everyone had picked up on it and tempers were on the verge of flaring to life and sparking a very, very big fire.

She stretched out on the rug and played with R.J. His favorite game was to take the stuffed toy wolf Claire had gotten him and pounce it on the fuzzy white lamb he'd received from Eloise. The wolf, of course, always won, much to R.J's glee. Her son was already beginning to grow up into the wolf that would someday, sooner than she ever wanted to think about, share his skin.

Luckily, the mood at dinner kept Tracker at a distance. She wasn't avoiding him. She just wasn't exactly seeking out his company. Anyone with any sense would have already given up on her in search of easier prey. Nobody said though, that Tracker had common sense. He seemed hell bent on her. What Shayla couldn't quite figure out was why.

She wasn't the prettiest, the smartest, or even the most dominant of the available pack females. She had a son, a martyred husband, and a past with Carter that kept coming back around and biting her in the ass. Tracker would be better off to seek out some other female without so much excess baggage. She wasn't really a very good bet as far as women were concerned. There was a connection with Carter that kept pulling her back in over and over again. She only hoped eventually, the rubber band that he'd made out of her heart would eventually snap and she'd have a life all of her own, for herself once again.

Tracker had the patience of a saint and the tenacity of a terrier. No matter how hard she tried to shake him off, he just sank his teeth into her and bit down harder. She wasn't worthy of him. He certainly deserved better than her. Even now, she could hear the words he'd whispered playing over and over in her mind. "Carter isn't here. I am." Her skin flushed where he'd gently traced her chin and forced her face up to meet his eyes. The intent was clear. No matter how bad she might be for him. He wasn't giving up anytime soon.

R.J. pulled himself up on wobbly, pudgy legs and toddled over to the windowsill, frantically tugging at the drapes and repeating the same word over and over again. "Dad, dad, dad, dad!" He pressed his nose to the glass and looked down. Shayla hated Carter for what he'd done to her son. There was no convincing R.J. that Carter wasn't his father and that he wasn't coming back.

She pushed her body up from the rug and toed the lamb out of the way with one of her socked feet. "R.J., Carter's not out there," she said with grim resolve. Whatever they'd once shared was as gone as he was. She pried the drapes out of R.J.'s stubby fingers and hefted him up to rest on the curve of her hip. There was no need to look out into the dark. She wouldn't see anything but trees, sky, and stars. Still, she hazarded a glance through the panes of glass. A deep sigh froze in her throat as her eyes locked onto a pale face staring up at her from below.

To her, it looked like the world had turned upside down on its axis and the moon was beneath her instead of above. Carter, pale milky white as the orb of the moon shining down, stared up at her, meeting her gaze. He was dressed in black leather, a long, thin blade cradled in a sheath strapped across his back. Dressed for battle. Mouth drawn into a line of grim determination. Whatever reason he was here. It wasn't a good one. He'd come back, but, not for her.

Quickly, she snatched the drapes closed and clutched R.J. to her chest. He squirmed in her arms, struggling to get down. Her heart pounded wildly, insanely against its bony confines at seeing him again. A wound, that might have knit closed in time, tore free. Her hands trembled as she inched away from the window and stood in the middle of the room, breathing, stifling a cry of raw pain that rose in her throat.