Dawn Unleashed

Maggie shrugged. It was hard to think of anything when he was staring at her so intently. His eyes were the perfect shade of brown, not so dark that they were almost black, but not so light that they appeared golden. Flecks of green mingled through the iris and in the right light, his eyes looked hazel. In the dimness of her bedroom his eyes were exactly the shade of expensive chocolates. So rich and decadent she could lose herself in their depths and not give a damn. Sexual tension was thick in the air between them. Obviously, his thoughts were exactly the same place that hers were and they had nothing to do with her being in a bad mood.

She fingered the cross dangling from his neck. Such a dainty item might have looked awkward and out of place on a muscle bound guy. On Cole, it worked. "Where'd you get it?"

Cole carefully rolled onto his back to avoid squishing Maggie's leg beneath him. He pushed himself up to lean his against the headboard. Squished together as their bodies were, his shoulders pressed against hers on the narrow bed. "A friend," he answered. He stared down at his hands. They looked so big and capable. Yet, life had drained through his fingers into pools on the sidewalk. "Rachael."

"You've mentioned her name before. Who is she?" Maggie braced herself for the answer. Maybe he had a girlfriend somewhere. She'd never thought to ask. Now, she kind of regretted that she had. Sometimes, not knowing was better.

"Rachael died. She's part of the reason I made the decisions I did. I couldn't protect her. But, maybe I can protect somebody else. No one should die the way she did."

"How?" Maggie asked, her voice barely a whisper. Some people died horribly, she knew that. She'd heard her mom talking after a long shift in the E.R. The things people did to themselves or others did to them never ceased to amaze her.

"Murdered, by a vampire. He tore out her throat and left her to die on the sidewalk alone. This." His fingers wrapped around the cross at his neck. "Is all I have left of her. She died in my arms. I couldn't save her."

Maggie lightly touched Cole's hand with her fingertips. "God, Cole I'm sorry." His fingers opened and she slid her knuckles through the gaps. Tightly, he gripped her hand with his. "Did you love her?"

"No. I think I could have. I never got the chance. I cared for her though, a lot. This." He opened his hand. The cross gleamed in his palm. "Is the only reminder I have of how precious life is and how quickly it can be taken away. When I see this. When I imagine her looking down on me from wherever she is. I know I can choose. I don't have to be a monster."

Maggie traced her finger along the shape of the cross in Cole's palm. "You don't need this to remind you how to be human. Humanity is in your heart. You're not capable of being anything but human."

Cole closed his fingers around Maggie's hand, trapping the cross in their co-joined palms. "Yes I am. You don't know."

Maggie slid her hand free of his and drew it along the sharp plane of his jaw. "Yes, I do." Softly, she placed a kiss on his balled fist. The cross was wrapped between his fingers. Her eyes locked on his. "You're just as human as I am." Cole opened his hand and the cross fell to its resting place at the hollow of his throat. Their mouths brushed in a fevered, urgent kiss, as if without that gentle contact one or the other of them would be lost.

Cole was the first to reluctantly end the kiss. Maggie saw more in him, meant more to him in that moment than anyone else. She believed in him. Saw past his rough exterior deep inside of him, to the soft spots that were still raw with pain, still so human. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Her cheek rested on his beating heart.

Chapter 82

Yessette sat at her dressing table staring at her reflection in the mirror. She wore her hair up in a tight French twist, high off the nape of her neck. So little had changed about her in the past four hundred years. She was still a pawn to be used by whoever had the money to buy her. Diamonds dangled from her dainty earlobes. The jewelry had been a gift from Eric for a job well done. The comb used to secure her hair was platinum, also a gift. The matching platinum filigree pendant with an aquamarine as big as her thumb resting at the hollow of her throat had been a boon for services rendered. Eric was generous with his gifts and would continue to be so, as long as she pleased him.

She wore a white lightweight linen pantsuit with a silk shell underneath the jacket, the same color as the gemstone. With her pale hair and the white of the linen, she looked light and cool as a cloud in the summer heat. Nothing that she had she'd bought with her own money, but she'd earned every item, down to the shell pink polish on her toes, in one way or another. After four hundred years, she was still a whore. Only Eric didn't require her to lift her skirts in a dark alley for pay. He required more than just her body. He had her soul.

Carter had tried, even back then, to save her. She was only seventeen, half-starved, and waiflike thin. Offering her body for the meager scraps tossed her way. As an orphan, her parents claimed by starvation and disease, there weren't many options for a young girl. Carter fed her. Clothed her. Gave her shelter. All he asked in exchange was a few moments worth of suckling at her throat. She hadn't expected to fall in love or to stay in love. She hadn't expected Eric's jealousy and mindless outrage, that Carter loved her in return.

Eric's bitter jealousy and Carter's conscience were what got her where she was. Carter tried to end her life to save it from Eric. He'd meant to turn her and at the crucial moment where life ebbed and death clenched its iron grip, he failed her. Failed them both. He left her there, on a bed of filth in an alley, to die a final, mortal death. Eric found his means through her to wound Carter for the rest of his long life. He did what Carter could not and pulled her from the Grim Reaper's greedy fist. Eric gave her life when Carter did not. She was the embodiment of Carter's greatest failure. He could not save the woman he loved. Eric had been the savior Carter could never be.

Moments of deep insightfulness such as these made her head hurt. She preferred to live in the wonder of this life and not dwell on things long past. Today was all that mattered. Eric wanted that which she could not give. Perhaps, ultimately that was why he saved her such a long time ago. He wanted her to love him and she did, but never in the way he secretly wanted her to. Her passion, all of it, went to Carter. If only she could love Eric in such a way, her life would be so much simpler and the reward, more than she could ever imagine.

A gentle rap sounded at her door. From the other side, Yessette could hear the scuffling of feet and the metallic sound of chains rattling against one another. The knob turned and the door opened, Eric stepped inside, dragging Daniel by loops of thick chain. "Yessette, I have a gift for you," he said, dropping Daniel into a heap at her feet. "Do what you will with him. But, don't kill him. Yet."

A pang of guilt surged through her mind. "I can't, Eric." She'd caused Daniel so much pain already. The depths of his agony reflected in his haunted brown eyes. They no longer held the eagerness of youth, only the bitter agony of despair.

Eric scowled at Yessette. Everyday that she spent around Carter, she became more of a bleeding heart, just like him. Angrily, he huffed. Before long he'd have to bleed her victims and spoon-feed her. He reached down and yanked Daniel up onto his knees. His fingers locked through the boy's hair, painfully jerking his head back to extend his long neck. "You will, Yessette," Eric said, raking the edge of a sharp nail across the boy's flesh. A line of fresh blood beaded along the breach in Daniel's skin.

Daniel bit back the hiss of pain in his throat and met Yessette's eyes. Her pupils were black saucers, round with hunger at the smell of his blood. He clamped his lips together into a thin line. He would not beg for his life.

"Eric, please," Yessette begged. The smell of fresh blood had her on her feet. Her body crouched at Daniel's side like a puppet pulled by invisible strings. His blood smelled so good. Her mouth watered and her fangs elongated into points. What little control she had was leashed on the end of a very thin tether.

Eric grinned triumphantly as Yessette's tongue snaked over the boy's wound. She was exactly as he'd made her. Beautiful Death, cold, unfeeling, impartial and so lethal, "Yessette, I need him alive. Weak. But, alive," he warned, turning to leave her to her supper.

Daniel lay limply beneath her trapped helplessly by the slight weight of her body. A whimper at the scrape of her fangs on his flesh escaped his throat. "Daniel, I'm sorry," she breathed over his skin. Her head reared back and she struck without mercy. Causing him agony with her bite to slake her need on his blood. She drank, hating herself with every gulp. Unstoppable and insatiable, her nature won over any lingering spark of humanity she might still possess.

Chapter 83

"All right kiddies, time to lock and load," John Mark said into his mic. The earpiece was alive with the eager voices of warriors. Most of them thought they were ready. Not many, outside of his immediate brethren had ever seen combat. Spic and span, clad in squeaky clean black leather with gleaming blades, they were brave. Not till the blood stained the leather and the blades to crimson, would they realize how eagerly fools rushed in.

Drew stood on the rooftop staring out into the purple of twilight. The last of the fleeting rays of the sun sank lazily below the mountainous outcroppings of buildings. Golden beams of light reached between the structures like fingers grappling for purchase to maintain their hold. With a soft sigh, night fell and the day surrendered.

In his long life, peace had been like grasping grains of sand in his fist. The harder he tried to trap the loose granules the more slipped through his fingers. There was always one more battle left to fight. The wind was cool against his face, uplifted into the indigo sky. Words were formed and torn from his lips, prayers to his goddess, for victory, for his brethren, no matter by what name they called themselves, their purpose one in the same. Protect humanity, at all costs, even with their lives.

Dane hung back with John Mark at his side, giving the Great Father one last moment of meditation. Power radiated from his leader's black leathers, stained with the blood of battles long since fought. Blades of silver that had known the taste of the enemy's blood hung in an X across his broad back. "It is time."

Drew dropped his chin and stared down into the depths of the manmade chasm below. A heavy sigh left his lips. "So it is."

Bianca sized up her troops. Fresh faced and eager, they followed her movements with their eyes. They trusted her to keep them safe and she would, if she could. Most of them entered this life unwillingly. Yet, they were so ready to sacrifice all that they were on her whim. Brave, if not foolish. "If O'Sullivan makes it to us, let him pass. Make it look good. But, don't engage him."

"Mistress?" An unknown voice asked from the depths of her troops.

Bianca leveled her gaze at the soldier. He'd been taken too young. His shoulders and chest were narrow with the deceptiveness of eternal youth. A spackling of light brown freckles dusted the pale skin over his cheeks and nose. "Eric is an ancient. He'll kill without mercy or regret. Stay out of his path and live. Cross it, and die. Put on a good show, but don't die for nothing."

Michael waded through the current of warriors exiting the training area. Her troops were as sober faced as he'd ever seen them. Danger gleamed in their eyes and from the blades strapped to their hips. Sebastian met his eyes with a slight dip of his head and melted into the fray of troops. Michael spotted Bianca near the exit of the room, staring after her Guardians with something close to regret gleaming in her eyes. "Are you ready?"

Bianca watched the last of her troops filter out of the training facility. She had the nagging feeling that she was sending them to their deaths instead of vying for their lives. Her eyes met Michael's somber gaze. "As I'll ever be," she answered, falling into step beside him.

Nash looked over his men. A nervous, excited energy prickled in the air. The power of the shift hovered over the warriors. They would fight as well as they could in their human skins, leashing the fury of their wolves until it was absolutely necessary to release it. These were good men. Hunter, Grant, Catcher, Hanning, Torr, and over a dozen others, willing to die for one another, for their vampire cousins, for the countless lives of people they'd never met, and for Daniel. Worthy men. They had covered one another's backs in battle more than once and he felt not one spark of doubt from any of them now. Jaws set in grim determination, they moved out.

The setting sun was the only warning Carter was going to get. Eric had been almost cheerful today, like a kid on Christmas Eve, waiting for Santa to arrive. What his maker was up to, he had no idea. He hated this man who had born him into this dark world as passionately as he also loved him. He could not help but admire one who had survived the labyrinth of this life as long as Eric had. If not for Eric, Carter would have been dust in a forgotten grave long ago. That fact in itself commanded a certain level of devotion.

Devotion in itself was not enough to save either one of them. The Sons were coming. His plans were made. Carter could not change the course of events yet to come. He'd done what he could to earn his salvation. The burden of knowing that the end was near weighed heavily on his broad shoulders. Soon, hopefully very soon, death would deliver its final kiss. Eric would be dead, Yessette finally at peace, and he in the grave that had eluded him for so very long.

Eric was bone weary with Carter's incessant brooding. Tonight, their final victory was at hand, a cause for true celebration, and Carter hovered in the corner like a dark storm cloud filled with rain. Yessette was almost as bad, perched on the edge of the sofa, trapped in a dark world of private thought, fiddling with the aquamarine pendant around her neck with the tips of her fingers. Why did he put up with these two? Perhaps, it was time for new, livelier companions.

At least Daniel wouldn't be underfoot tonight. Yessette had almost spoiled the surprise and taken too much. Daniels tanned skin had a sickly pallor. His chin drooped onto his chest, as his body struggled to repair the damage left behind from her kiss. Nevertheless, he'd taken precautions. The boy appeared incapacitated, but who knew how quickly that powerful werewolf body of his would recover. Bound tightly to the chair with thick loops of chain, Daniel wasn't going anywhere.

A gentle breeze, cooled by the setting sun, idly toyed with the lace hem of the curtains. Eric took a deep breath and held it deep in his lungs. Preternatural power rolled over his skin like an army of ants. The scent of the Sons mingled with the musky scent of werewolf. Even Daniel in his stupor stirred to bleary wakefulness at the smell of his kind so close. Carter was on his feet, breathing through the currents of energy. Yessette shivered and rubbed her arms as if she were cold. "We've got company."

Chapter 84

Shayla found Tracker on the edge of the woods, staring up into a starlit sky. The bit of rain that had fallen earlier in the day shrouded everything in a thick cloud of humidity. Her t-shirt clung to her back from the dampness in the air. Tracker didn't have that problem. He wasn't wearing anything but a pair of loose cotton track shorts that hung low on his hips. The attire was not meant for seduction no matter how her body reacted. He was dressed in clothing that didn't matter if it were torn to shreds when he shifted.

His back was decorated in a wide, sweeping, indigo tattoo that stretched from one shoulder blade to the other. Points of curving arcs ended at the nape of his neck and down, past the waistband of his shorts. The tattoos were symbols of his importance in the pack. Sometimes, due to the overshadowing of his Omega nature, it was hard for her to see him as the dominant he was. He was an Omega, a protector of the pack. He'd started out life as an Alpha, strongest of all males, dominant enough to control a pack of his own. Through decades of training, he'd been taught to subdue his dominant nature, channel the male aggression into selfless service to his pack master.

She'd always believed that an Omega was the result of controlled breeding, genetic engineering at its best. Now, she knew different. Desire had made Tracker into an Omega, not genetics.

"You came," Tracker said, turning on the heels of his bare feet to Shayla. She approached cautiously, slowly, almost timidly, as if at any minute she might bolt. Her nostrils flared at his scent. Her dark eyes traveled the length of his bare skin. His muscles bulged reflexively at the heat of her stare and the glint of her desire. He could smell it, like fine perfume radiating off her skin. Her body wanted him. Of that he was certain. Only her body language hinted at her lingering uncertainty.

Tracker held out his hand to her. Nervously, Shayla bit her bottom lip. His fingers were long enough to wrap around her throat and squeeze the life out of her. With one blow, his fist was powerful enough to crush her skull. He was built for speed and brute strength. Yet, he waited patiently, almost shyly, for her to trust and place her fingers in his palm. His eyes glimmered with unleashed desire. Enough want tinted the soft brown to make her melt into a puddle beneath the heat of his stare. One last step was all she had to take to be free of her old life. Just one step, forward, into a land filled with possibilities. With the soft breath of the promise of tomorrow, she whispered a silent goodbye to Carter and all of the pain of her past.

Tracker's gentle grip was an anchor, stilling the trembling of her fingertips. The gentle tension of his grasp and the heat of his palm slowly began to thaw her frozen fingers. She hadn't realized how cold she was and for how very long, she'd practiced feeling nothing at all. Her pain had left her numb, suspended and withdrawn from all the life around her. She existed, but till now she hadn't realized, how dead to the world she'd been.

The woods were alive with tiny night creatures. Overhead in the shelter of the trees she could hear the light scrape of claws scuffling from branch to branch. A raccoon hurriedly scurried for cover behind a fallen log. Insects, agitated by the heavy drape of humidity buzzed relentlessly around Shayla's head. She was a part of this endless cycle of birth, life, and death. A thick canopy of leaves blocked out the thin sliver of moon above their heads. Tracker led her by the hand, his steps so certain in the inky blackness of the night.

He pulled them to a stop at the edge of a wide clearing. Her wolf, stirred to wakefulness by the scent of nearby prey rippled beneath her skin. His body, utterly human, pressed against her. Anchoring her in her human form with the gentle pressure of his chest and the weight of his breath along her skin.

The fingers of Tracker's free hand caressed the soft skin of Shayla's cheek. She stared up at him with wide eyes filled with wonder and just a hint of fear. Not fear of him, but of the life he offered. Gently, almost reverently, he lifted her chin up. Her body trembled beneath his touch. The pain she wore like a protective cloak around her had been stripped away. She shivered, open and exposed, laid bare before him. He took his time making his way to her mouth. Their lips pressed together, his voice a graveled whisper, "Are you sure?"