Dawn Unleashed

"That's funny, you don't look shriveled," Maggie said, groaning at her choice of words. Realization of what she'd said and how it sounded struck her like a speeding Mack Truck. She'd noticed, of course she'd noticed. How could she not? The bubbles didn't hide everything. Blushing even more than she thought possible she buried her face into the coolness of her palms, peeking at Cole through her fingers. Mumbling in utter mortification, she said, "I didn't mean it like that."

Cole pried Maggie's hands from her face. The blush tinted her cheeks scarlet. On some girls, the blush would have looked garish and artificial, like they'd put on too much makeup. On her, it was beautiful, because it was so real. Proof of how innocent she was. His grip on her wrists tightened, not painfully, just enough so she couldn't get away. "You know, I don't think it's very fair that I'm the only one soaking wet here."

Maggie's eyes widened and she gasped, "You wouldn't dare." Wiggling in his grip, she tried to twist her wrists free. Her feet were braced on the slippery surface of the bottom of the tub.

"You really shouldn't have said that." Cole gave her wrists a gentle tug and she slipped down the porcelain surface, into the water.

Water splashed on the tile floor as Maggie slipped into the tub. She grappled with her hands firmly planted on Cole's chest to keep her head above the water. One knee was planted firmly on either side of his narrow waist. Carefully, she balanced her weight over his hips. That was no rubber ducky she'd felt bump against her inner thigh. "I should drown you," she taunted. The moment was light, playful. Cole was back instead of the dark shadow of him she'd seen at the head of her bed earlier.

The tub wasn't big enough for the both of them to wrestle and play in. Maggie was soaked. Water dripped off the ends of her hair and onto the white t-shirt plastered to her skin. Nipples round and pink as little pearls peeked shyly through the wet cotton. A faint blush heated her cheeks as she noticed where his eyes were focused. "You're peeking," she said, her voice a whisper caressing his skin.

"Yes, I am," he replied, in a voice rough as gravel. He eased up into a sit, planting her firmly on his outstretched thighs. Slowly, he inched his head forward. He knew he was going to kiss her. The nervous dart of the pink tip of her tongue across her lips let him know that she knew it too. His fingers played at the bare swath of skin at the small of her back, gently coaxing her closer.

His lips were soft as a whisper, gentle as a sigh against hers. He didn't demand. Didn't assume. He waited, savoring and tasting, gently caressing, for her to decide. This wasn't the impatient, clumsy kiss of a boy; but the patient, passionate kiss of a man. Maggie's heart thundered loud as a storm in her ears. Her hands wandered from their awkward resting place on his chest around his neck. Her lingers tugged and grappled with the curling ends of his wet hair for a better hold. Their lips parted, the tip of her tongue skated across his mouth. Their tongues met, intertwined in a wet and fevered dance, exploring possibilities, speaking without words in a language only their hearts and souls understood.

Breathlessly, Maggie ended the kiss. Their faces mere inches apart. There was fire fueled by longing and want in his gaze. Her fingertips trailed over the arch of his soft brows, over his cheeks, and along the hard angle of his jaw, to trace the velvet of his lips. "How do you feel now, Cole?"

Cole stared at Maggie. His arms wound tightly around her waist. Even dripping wet, goose pimpled from the cooling bath water, she was beautiful. Her expression was petal soft. Lips full and swollen from their kiss pursed beneath his fingertips. Eyes, heavily lidded with desire, studied his face. "Human," he whispered, "very, very human."

Chapter 73

Maggie responded to the wonderful pressure of his lips on hers. Their damp bodies clung to one another like second skins. Cool water dripped from the ends of her hair down her back. The points where their bodies met was hot enough to sear her flesh. His fingers kneaded the small of her back, gently coaxing her higher up onto his lap. Strange sensations that had nothing to do with the chilly water spread up along her spine. "Cole," she whispered softly. It wasn't of him that she was terrified, but of herself. One stolen moment could derail all her careful planning and change both of their lives. Pregnancy wasn't something she had to worry about, not with Cole. But, love was.

Breaking away from his embrace was almost painful. Cold air rushed to smother out the heat from their joined bodies. A deep cleansing breath helped to clear her head. He hadn't entranced her. Her feelings were real and of her own free will. Her fingers wrapped around the cold surface of the tub's lip and she carefully pushed her body up from the water.

Her wet clothes clung to every curve. Self-consciously, she crossed her arms over her dripping t-shirt and forced her eyes away from the water's surface. There weren't any bubbles left and his interest in her was very apparent. Awkwardly, she knelt at the waist, fumbling for towels in the cabinet underneath the sink. Not looking back, she passed a towel to Cole and snatched another one for herself. Too self-aware of the clinging clothes, she clutched it tightly over her shoulders and jogged out of the bathroom.

Behind the privacy of a closed door, she quickly toweled off a dressed into a soft pair of sleep pants, a bra, and a loose fitting dark colored t-shirt. In an abandoned corner of her bottom drawer, she found a pair of men's sweats in basic gray. The material was soft and worn from use. She'd swiped them from her dad during one of his many cross-country freight hauls. Whenever she missed him, she'd pull them out and slide them on. There was a gentle knock on her door. Gingerly, she turned the knob. Cole stood in the doorway with a towel tightly knotted across his lean hips. "These should fit you," she thrust the sweats in his hand and tiptoed around him.

Cole closed the bedroom door and slid free of the damp towel. Maggie was nervous, skittish as a rabbit during hunting season. He could smell her nervousness over the luring scent of her desire. She was confused, not quite knowing what to do with him or her feelings. He could respect that. He pretty much felt the same way.

The sweats were baggy on him. Barely staying over his hips even with the drawstring pulled as tight as it would go. He could turn on the charm and coax her into bed. He'd done it a zillion times before with other girls. He had the art of loving and leaving them down to a science. With Maggie, he didn't want that. Oh, he did want to love her, over and over again, but not the leaving part. She was special. He wanted to keep her around. That thought in itself was confusing, wondrous, and puzzling. His eyes roamed to the heap of weaponry piled in a heap in the corner of her bedroom. He was what he was, a warrior. Where could a human girl on the verge of womanhood fit into his life and how could he fit into hers? He didn't know if there was even a way they could.

He slipped out of the bedroom to find her standing in the narrow space between the makeshift kitchen and shoebox sized living room, staring into the pale gold of dawn. The light hurt his eyes. Beads of water clung to the railings of the deck, glittering in prisms of color. Silently, he slid behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She relaxed into the planes of his chest and sighed. He rested his chin against the top of her head and breathed in her scent. "Thank you, Maggie."

He felt so good, wrapped around her like a soft, warm blanket. His breath was hot across the top of her head. His lips gentle as he pressed them against her damp hair. The firmness of his chest melted to the curves of her back, supporting her weight as she leaned into him. "For what?"

"For not letting me forget what it feels like."

"What, what feels like, Cole?" she asked. The sunlight was a wash of golden hues beneath her closed eyes. His scent bathed her in its wild, masculine aroma. She tipped her head to look up at him.

"What it feels like to be human," he answered. Gently, he tilted her chin for better access to her mouth. The kiss was soft, grateful, and filled with promises yet to be whispered. They stood wrapped in the newness of one another. The fury of the storm had been forgotten and bathed in the splendor of dawn. In these fragile moments he felt more alive, more human than he ever had before.

Chapter 74

Shayla lifted her face to the gentle morning breeze gusting in through her open window. Worry had been her companion last night. The few hours of sleep had been difficult to steal from worry's iron grip. The sun was just a hint on the horizon, outlining the distant shapes of trees in dark purple and midnight black. In his tiny toddler bed, R.J. slept without a care in the world. His little fingers curling and uncurling in a fist while he dreamed whatever dreams little boys dream. How she envied him that small luxury of untroubled, happy dreams.

A small twinge of guilt gnawed at the edges of her consciousness. Danger hovered over her pack's heads like a dark storm cloud. Her heart and worries should be with them. Fear for the threat they faced. Instead, she paced the floors last night. Her thoughts of Carter filled her mind to overflowing. She should hate him with bitterness. He'd betrayed her people and he'd left her, again, without so much as a backward glance or a simple goodbye.

What did two ex-lovers really have to say to one another when the dust settled over the remnants of broken dreams? Nothing, she supposed. Just that one glance at him had set her world on end once again. She rested her forehead on the cool pane of glass and breathed in and out. The curtains billowed around her in the cool morning air, softly brushing against her shoulders like a whisper. Her heart pounded and her palms began to sweat at the memory of his glance.

The part of herself that still loved Carter was her greatest enemy. He, in his betrayal was her enemy. She damned her fragile heart for still loving him. Condemned herself for worrying about his safety. Carter, if he was nothing else, he was a survivor. No matter what the threat, even if the threat were love, he'd find a way out of it.

Her skin prickled with awareness. From some distant point, under the cover of the woods, she felt wolf eyes on her. Tracker had stayed behind to watch over the pack. Shayla knew he'd rather be in the city fighting with his brothers. Instead, he was playing babysitter. The entire pack tiptoed around her as if she were some fragile, breakable thing, mentally unbalanced. They thought she'd do something insane like run off into the city to protect Carter. The scary part was, that in some way, that's exactly what she wanted to do. Tracker had stayed behind, for her.

Tracker was a confusing distraction, an enigma. She felt the pull of his wolf deep in her soul. Watching over her like a silent sentinel, hidden from her view by thick brush and lush woods, she heard his wolf call. Her soul, the wolf within her skin answered, pushed against her metaphysical walls to be with him. His Alpha was hard to ignore. But, he did not have power over her. Whatever their wolves shared, destiny or instinct, whatever it was that drew them to one another like magnet to steel, it wasn't love.

Angrily, she slammed the window closed and drew the drapes, shutting out the morning and the wolf. She turned her head to the patter of tiny feet against the rug. Evan shuffled across the room, wrapping his tiny arms around her waist. His fingers wove through the belt loops of her jeans. His black hair stuck up at odd angles, tousled from sleep. Big brown eyes still sleep dimmed and filled with little boy dreams looked up at her. He wore a loose t-shirt and a pair of cutoff sweat pants. At the ripe old age of seven, he'd declared himself too macho for Spiderman any longer. "Don't worry about Uncle Carter, Aunt Shayla," he said in a voice too old for his meager years.

Every pack had someone who was more gifted than the rest. Sometimes the Goddess was very generous and maybe a little sadistic in her gifts when she blessed Evan. He was a seer, a prophet, and at the age of seven he'd seen more than any little boy should. Shayla ran her hand over his head, smoothing down the odd angles of his hair. Dropping to one knee, she stared into his brown eyes, the color of honey from the cone. "Carter can take care of himself."

Last night was filled with nightmares beyond a seven year-old's imagination. Evan dreamed of a cold place. A desolate place devoid of life, a place Carter was going to have to travel. He gave his aunt a bitter smile. He hated when adults patronized him. He was not a little boy anymore. Everyone saw his size and assumed he was clueless. He knew a lot about life, sometimes more than the adults. "You love him." It was a fact. His aunt could fool everybody except for him.

Shayla shook her head. No point in denying anything to Evan. He knew. He always knew. "Unfortunately, I do."

The wolf snuffed at the closing of the window and the drapes. His claim on the female was fragile. Her wolf knew him as hers. Her body responded to him. Her heart teetered on the edge, almost, almost, almost this close to toppling over. The bushes scraped over his fur like bony, skeletal fingers. The human in his skin was going to try to win the female over with soft words and gentle touches. Impatiently, the wolf licked his chops. There were other ways to win the female. Ways her wolf would not resist.

Chapter 75

Drew felt the weight of the world pressing on his shoulders. Below him, the city drew its first breaths of the day and slowly came to life. So many lives depended on him. Lives as numerous as the stars in the sky hung in such a fragile balance. If humanity really knew the fragility in which their hearts beat there'd be no crime, no hatred, and no anger. They'd be too busy living and loving to worry about possessions and grudges that served no purpose. Humans lived as though they had forever instead of a sweep of the second hand around the face of a clock.

He'd felt his body grow cold in death on the battlefield. He knew what it was to die and what it was to live, truly live. Allow the humans the luxury of their perceived forever. Death would come soon enough. Death always came, too soon.

"Great Father, the night patrols are beginning to report in," Dane said. The city made his skin crawl with its rush of life. There were too many protected by too few. Perhaps, if the brothers had an army of thousands, maybe they could pull it off and keep everyone safe. But, with a mere handful, the cause was grossly undermanned. Beneath a canopy of stars, he never felt so burdened. Life would take care of itself, for the most part. But here, he felt the press of humanity and the responsibility of it like the weight of a heavy, heavy stone.

"Thank you, Dane," Drew said softly. He turned to retreat to the shadows. He understood the draw of the sunlight. How tempting the idea seemed. Old habits were hard to break. O'Sullivan didn't realize that part when he plotted and planned. He could drain an entire pack dry, steal their gifts, and never understand the true meaning of it. The power didn't reside in the wolf, but in his mind. Never was there such a powerful ally or dire enemy as one's own psyche.

Michael squinted against the dawn. The air was thick and ripe with another storm brewing. Even the humans, busily rushing about felt the oncoming surge of power. With umbrellas and slickers they rushed about like ants. The house showed no signs of activity. The neighborhood was quiet and dignified as a proper upper class neighborhood should be. Sprawling lawns, brilliant Kelly green never lacked for water. Cars, worth more money than he'd ever seen sparkled in driveways. Everything here was perfect in the luxury that only the truly wealthy could afford. Here, one didn't really know one's neighbors. Everyone just assumed and that was a mistake, a possibly fatal mistake.

Bianca balanced her weight on a railing and rolled her eyes at Michael. He squinted into the distance as if he expected the devil to jump out and attack. They were the only devils around here. The neighborhood was quiet with a soft early morning quiet. O'Sullivan had not made as much as a peep throughout the night. Not because he was scared though. He was just simply biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Perhaps, that was what bothered her so deeply. She didn't know exactly what O'Sullivan had planned, but she could guess it would be awful. Absolutely awful. Michael and his brood of do-gooders didn't deserve to die. In her mind she formulated plots of exactly how she planned to keep her Guardians out of harm's way. She could only hope that the Great Father with his ancient wisdom was doing the same. Hell, when he was cutting his first baby tooth she'd already been a fully-fledged vampire for over a century. Some ancient, huh? "I don't think there will be much more to see today," she said, feigning boredom. "Besides, I'm hungry."

Michael frowned at Bianca's casualness. She might has well have been suggesting they stop off for a latte instead of snacking at a human neck with the bored idleness of her voice. She was right though. There wasn't going to be much more to be gleaned from hanging out in the deserted luxury mansion across a wide parkway from O'Sullivan's house and he hadn't fed in days. Not since the boy. Guilt stung when he thought of the youth. He'd failed to see the need to protect him. If he had, the boy would still be very much alive. Self-flagellation wasn't going to make him any stronger or bring the boy back from the dead. "Perhaps the zookeepers haven't reported in for the morning."

Bianca scoffed and shook her head. "You never give up do you?" Her smile faded as Michael pinned her with his deep brown eyes. He valued human life, all life. The gesture might have been attractive if not for the fact that when the time came it might very well get him killed. There was a deeper meaning in his stare. No, he wasn't fooled by her act and probably never had been. He knew she had something to hide. Something he hoped she'd confess.

"Never," Michael answered. Time was running out for Bianca. Soon, she'd be pushed to her limits. Already, she was backed into a corner without anyplace else to go. If only she'd trust him. He might be able to come up with a way out for her. If anyone else found out her secrets before he did. She might be a dead woman. The laws were few, but they were specific, as was the punishment for breaking them. Death came on the swiftness of an avenging angel's wings to those who violated the law. For the first time, in perhaps ever, his convictions, the very core of his perception of good and bad, right and wrong, began to waver ever so slightly.

Hunter paced the wide expanse of the living quarters. He'd been confined to the small space under order of the pack master to prevent him from trotting off to do something stupid. He didn't consider laying his life on the line for his son stupid. Throughout the night patrols had tromped in and out. For all their collective gathering and covert spying, they had shit. Frustrated, he tugged at the short ends of his hair and suppressed a growl. He could end this. Simply. Quickly. No one had to die except for O'Sullivan.

The daylight gave him an advantage over the vampires. Of course, he'd have to watch out for his brothers. The vampires might own the night. However, in the daylight, the wolves were kings. He called on his wolf's stealth and skill to lead him through the twisting corridors and winding endless hallways. Oaths had to be fulfilled and a vampire had to die. With nothing but his wolf for defense, he headed out into the brilliance of the morning.