Dawn Unleashed

Chapter 91

Dane awoke, choking on the dust of shattered plaster and black smoke. He gasped and sucked in great quantities of air hot enough to singe the fragile tissues at the back of his throat. Gagging and sputtering, he struggled for breath. The weight on his chest would have crushed an ordinary human to death. He was not going to die today. He had no plans of dying anytime soon. He gritted past the pain, clawing at the mound of debris pinning him to the concrete floor of the crater that had once been a basement wildly with his free hand. Heat from the fire lapping at the wooden floor joists overhead wrapped around his face like a smothering hand. The structure, or what was left of it, groaned from the press of flame and fallen debris. If he didn't get out of here soon, he would be dead, whether he'd planned on it or not. There was only so much death a vampire could avoid before death became an unavoidable certainty.

Digging himself out of the wreckage was a slow and painful process. His right shoulder cleared the debris and then, wiggling like a bug on its back, his chest was free. Being able to take a deep breath, although agonizing, was a slight improvement over his previous situation. With both hands free, he was able to paw at the mountain pinning his back to the floor. He worked furiously, bits of singed wood and sparks fell in a shower around his shoulders. Once in a while, one would make contact with his skin, licking at him with its heated tongue. He sucked in a breath and worked harder at digging. This place was minutes from caving in and pinning him forever.

Strong hands grabbed under his arms and helped work his hips and thighs free. Dane risked a backward glance at his leader, his father and kicked his way from under the mountain of plaster, wood, and brick, holding him fast. He found his strength in the man crouched beside him. Today was not the day, good, bad, or otherwise, for them to die. Gratefully, he grasped the Great Father's hand and followed him through the maze of pipe, glass, wood, and other things that had once constructed this house about to come crashing down on their heads. The first breath of fresh air was as glorious as love's first kiss to his exhausted body and oxygen starved lungs.

John Mark wondered if the other guy was as bad off as he was. His ears rang with the tenor of the force of the explosion. His head felt as if it had been knocked off at the neck and creatively sewn back in place. Groaning, he raised his torso off the hard bite of the wooden banister pinned beneath him and stared out across the black plumes of smoke and hazy white clouds of dust. He'd landed on a narrow strip of the main floor, as luck would have it, inches from where the front door used to be. The pits of hell were below him. Smoldering and belching fire and smoke from its gaping maw. Above him, the flames rolled, consuming what was left of the second story.

His body cried uncle and he bit back the urge to scream like a little girl as he moved badly bruised limbs. A long shank of wood, splintered and jagged, stuck out of his upper thigh. He had a distinct feeling of how a pig in a blanket felt, skewered by this impromptu toothpick. Gritting his teeth, he yanked the plank free and pressed his fist over the gaping wound. He'd heal.

He crawled for the open hole to his left, across the cool, shattered remnants of marble tile that had once been the floor of the foyer. The world was a melee of confusion and chaos around him. Parched earth, scorched barren by the explosion crunched beneath his elbows. At some point in the blast, he'd lost his headset. He winced through the crowded press of rushing boots to make sense of what was going on around him.

The world faded in and out of focus. Hurried shouts and rushing footfalls echoed around him. A pair of rough hands hoisted him up and dragged him through the insanity. John Mark found himself unceremoniously dropped in a heap a few blocks away from the worst of the destruction. There was no time to sort through the living and the dead. His brothers, battered and bloodied stretched out beside him. Some of them hovered on the edge of death. Some rushed back in to collect survivors and search for bodies.

John Mark stole a few moments from the chaos and luxuriated in the fact that he was alive. Somehow, by some twist of fate, life wasn't done with him yet. That made him of the same mind as destiny, because, he wasn't done with life either. The scent of death mingled with the stink of burning things. Some of his brothers and many of the humans had not faired so well. Tonight, the Grim Reaper's dance card was full.

Chapter 92

Carter wrestled with Yessette, pinning her beneath his weight. They'd gotten out of the city, just as the first of the explosions threw clouds of smoke and the orange glow of fire into the night sky. "Stop fighting me!"

"Eric! Eric was still there! We left him behind!" Yessette struggled helplessly against Carter's weight. "We have to go back!" Carter was dragging her across a rough, narrow strip of concrete runway, towards a small two-seater Cessna. "How can you leave him after all he's done for us?"

Carter hauled Yessette to her feet. He had a tight grip fisted in her hair. He dragged her head around to force her eyes to meet his. "What did he do, Yessette? What! Nothing! He robbed us of our human lives and left us to rot within this shell. You want to owe him fine. But, I don't owe him a damn thing. I hope he is dead, at long last. I hope he gets exactly what he deserves in the afterlife."

Yessette fought like a wild cat, but could not escape Carter's grip. "He loves us."

"No, he doesn't. If he had, he would have left us to die, centuries ago. He would have let us have a life, a real life, instead of this piteous substitution. He wants to own us, Yessette. And I for one have paid my dues in full. He can't have me and I won't let him have you."

Yessette stilled, her hair still wrapped tightly around Carter's fist. "You mean that

don't you. You hope he's really dead." She blinked at Carter in disbelief.

"I hope he rots in hell for what he's done to you." Carter loosened his grip on Yessette and took a deep breath. "Don't you see, Yessette? Death is the only way we can ever be free of him. Either he dies or we do, but one way or another, we will be free."

Yessette watched the world zip past the tiny window to her right. The plane lurched and then was suddenly airborne. "Where are we going, Carter?" The craggy planes of his face were made harsh by the glowing lights on the instrument panel. His mouth set in a hard, determined line.

"Someplace far away. Someplace where Eric or no one else will dare to find us. The only place where at last, we can be free."

Chapter 93

Bianca shouted over the chatter on her headset. There was more at risk here than a

few deaths. Humans crawled like ants over the scene of the destruction. She had sent her people in to get the Sons and the wolves out. Discovery wouldn't mean the death of one faction over another, but the death of them all. Humanity wasn't too choosy about who their latest and greatest enemy was.

The Guardian's ops center was too far away to be of use, but she was not a woman without resources. The wounded and the dead were being gathered up and taken to an abandoned storage depot about a mile from the once opulent downtown mansions. It would not do for a vampire or one of the werewolves to end up on the coroner's table or for someone who was supposedly mortally wounded to sit up, healed and whole, or worse, starved for blood in the back of an ambulance. Her tech people were working with Toby to solve the problem of viral feeds and the like. There was nothing that would capture humanity's imagination like an eyewitness video account of the walking dead broadcast on You Tube to rouse more than healthy curiosity.

With her Guardians sent to the front lines to help and Michael, still dazed from his mystical brush with death. She and she alone stood between Eric and his escape. She did not doubt, that in his orchestration of chaos, he'd left himself an out. No matter how vengeful his heart might be. He wouldn't willingly sacrifice his life to carry out his plans. No, she knew it, felt it in the depth of her bones that O'Sullivan was alive and quite well.

Eric chuckled under his breath. His getaway was almost too easy. Only one obstacle stood between him and freedom and she wasn't really an obstacle at all. Bianca hovered over the warrior's body like a nervous mother hen. What did she have invested in the warrior? She never did anything out of the kindness of her heart. Like him, she didn't have one. The organ had dried and shriveled to a hard, black, speck long ago. "It is good to see you well. I was worried that you might have wandered too close... to my little spectacle."

Bianca sprang to her feet. Her body tensed, protectively poised at Michael's side. "You bastard. You've risked us all. Do you think the humans care about what side we're on? Do you think they'll see the Sons as good or you as evil? No. They'll see us all as one in the same."

"So concerned about humanity's opinion of you. Touching. Let them find out. Let them try. They're inconsequential to us. Food. Nothing more. Once I've risen to my greatness, perhaps I'll let you be their keeper. You've killed more than one of them in your day, Bianca. What is the body count?" Eric drew a small blade out of its resting place on his belt and grinned. "Willing to die over a moot point? My, my how things change. Those lofty principles of yours might get you killed yet."

"You deserve to die for exposing us all." Bianca sidestepped Michael and pulled the dagger out of her boot.

"Perhaps," Eric shrugged, unconcerned. "Let me pass, Bianca. There's no need for us to fight. Save that for our enemies, unless, of course, you are my enemy. Are you, Bianca? Are you my enemy?" Eric walked, crossing foot over foot in a semi-circle around her. Already, he'd discovered a weakness and was prepared to use it.

Bianca stiffened, dagger clutched in her hand. She was not a fighter. She preferred more subtlety than direct hand to hand combat allowed. "Us enemies? I'd never considered us as such. Until now." Her eyes followed the direction of O'Sullivan's icy stare. "Leave him out of it, O'Sullivan. Leave him out of it and I let you walk away from here." She knew he heard the truth in her words and she knew that he knew she was bluffing. She could not win.

"Let me walk away?" Eric scoffed. "Let me walk away? As if you could do anything to prevent it. What is he to you. Bianca? A lover? A mate? An unconquered acquisition? Are you on the side of justice now? I think not. I know what you are. Strike him down, Bianca. Do this for me and I'll give you a life you could never imagine. Protect him, and I'll send you to your grave along with him. What is he worth to you? How much do you value one man?"

"Enough not to want his blood on my hands. You offer me nothing. Look what you did to Yessette. You should have put her out of her misery centuries ago. Yet, you fed her, protected her. Why? Was it love Eric? And where is she now? Walk away, Eric. While you still can."

Eric threw back his head and laughed. Bianca was no match for him and they both knew it. "If I go down. I'll drag you down with me. What will your warrior think when he finds out what you've really been up to? You and I, we're just alike. Do you think the Sons will take my head as punishment and spare yours? Enough of this," he said with a dramatic sweep of his hand. "Finish him and let's be on our way. One less warrior now is one less we'll have to deal with later."

"I want you out of my city, Eric. I will kill you."

Eric dropped his arms to his side and nodded his head toward Bianca. "Very well. Shall we, as they say, dance?" In a series of movements so fast they were little more than a blur, he buried the knife to the hilt in Bianca's chest and twisted the blade. He wanted her to feel her own death. To realize the frivolousness of her gesture before she died. The dagger's blade made a wet sucking sound as he pulled it free from her chest and turned to the Son collapsed on the concrete at her side.

Bianca bit through the pain. The world was a wash of colors and searing agony. She could hear her own heart beat in her ears, weak and feeble, struggling to maintain its hold on life. A last surge of strength she didn't even know she possessed moved her. With everything she had, she fell on O'Sullivan and plunged her dagger deep into his side. She fell and the world with her. The last thing she remembered before everything faded to nothing was the sound of O'Sullivan's piteous wails of pain.

Michael grunted, dazed, he forced his eyes to open and make sense of the world around him. Bianca and O'Sullivan arguing, circling one another, and fighting. She'd thrown herself at O'Sullivan to save him. Crumpled in a heap at his side, eyes glazed with pain, she bled because of O'Sullivan. Michael forced his limbs to move. He could have gone after O'Sullivan and ended this for once and for all. Instead, he gently cradled Bianca in his arms. Staunching the flow of blood with his hand. He called on every reserve of strength he had and forced new life into her. Risked everything and everyone to bring her back from the brink of death. His stand and decision made. He'd let the bad guy get away to save her life.

O'Sullivan panted through the pain. Half dizzied from the loss of blood, he crawled into the backseat of the idling sedan and pounded on the glass separating him from the driver. "Drive, just drive." He gripped the hilt of Bianca's dagger in his palm and pulled it free of the wound. Pain tore at the depths of his pierced flesh. Time. He needed time to heal and regroup. On a pained, whispered promise, just before he lost consciousness, he vowed this wasn't over yet. He'd get his wolf and make the Sons and the Guardians, all of them, pay.

Chapter 94

Maggie expected the compound to be in complete chaos. People were busy, rushing about to get the job done, but in an orderly, almost leisurely fashion. Panic wouldn't help anything or anybody. After all, this wasn't their first rodeo. They'd done this before and they'd probably do it again. Life was never easy and she'd chosen the wrong group of friends if she didn't want to live with the danger. The first time she'd been herded into this subterranean maze, she was frightened. Terrified at the sight of blood and the scent of pain. This time, she was ready. No longer a teenager scared by her own death, but a woman, ready and able to help be it by lending a vein or doing her best to wield a weapon. Whatever the Sons needed. She could do it.

Cole leaned heavily on her shoulder. At least he was moving his feet, slowly sifting through what was in his head and what was real. Being in the compound, amongst the others seemed to help. "You ok?"

Cole shook off the feeling of dread centered in his heart and moved his feet, inch by painful inch. Images of smoke, fire, and chaos flooded his mind. They were real, but not in his current reality. It was as if someone had taken a live video feed complete with the pain and shoved it into his gray matter. "I think so. What the hell was that?" He realized how heavily he leaned on Maggie for support and forced his body to remain upright on its own power.

Maggie sighed. Sometimes, it was hard to remember that he was just as new to the game as she. "The price of being a Son," she answered. The Sons, all of them, no matter where they were, shared a link to one another. She was spared the pain they experienced as a whole because no one had claimed her yet as a Blood Friend. She served everyone equally, prized, but no more special than one cow from the other in the herd. As a Blood Friend, she'd be special, serving only one for the rest of her life, in flesh and blood, and soul.

Cole weighed the mental images and the pain he'd seen through his brother's eyes. "This is bad. Really bad."

Maggie nodded, "Yeah."

Tala felt woefully inadequate. All eyes at the compound were on her, as their queen, they looked to her for guidance. She was shook up, to put her feelings mildly. Drew's pain was hers. The suffering of her mate and their king had shaken her badly. She'd been born to do this, to lead. Doubts surfaced. Her role had always been an assumed one, accepted amongst the Sons by her status as Drew's mate. She'd never had to prove her worth as queen, till now.

The situation was grim, not hopeless, but grim. Toby was doing his best to contain the media. Still, tendrils of proof snaked their way onto the Internet. What would happen if humanity chose to grab onto the thread of truth and believed? Humanity would never accept the supernatural as their neighbors and friends. There'd be no depth deep enough, no country wide enough, to hide them all. Not just the Sons, but the factions hidden in the throng of humanity's bosom. Everyone was in danger. A war between the Sons and the very people they had sworn their lives to protect could be closer than anyone wanted to admit.

The wounded were being tended to. Resources were slim. The Guardians were doing their best. The uninjured were helping where they could. There were still too many unaccounted for. Her husband and her father were amongst the missing.

At barely five feet tall and ninety-eight pounds, Tala wasn't very physically intimidating. She didn't need to be to lead her people. Drew's medallion, a bulky, jewel encrusted thing, was heavy around her neck. But, she wore it, the symbol of her command, if for no other reason, than the hope that soon, it would be returned to its resting place around his neck. The room was filled with the din of worried whispers. Faces upturned to her, searched her eyes for the calm they so desperately needed. She took a deep breath and did her best to alleviate their fears and her own.

Robert listened to the speech Tala delivered. Volunteers rallied around her. Prepared to go into the city, to meet their deaths, if necessary. The violence in the city was the handiwork of a madman. Thanks to him, the city bore a deep scar forged of death and pain. He was human. He had no super strength to add to the rescue efforts. But, he had something other than his blood that he could give. "I'll go."

Cole snatched his dad by the shirtsleeve. "Dad, you don't have to do this. Nobody expects this of you." The city was a war zone. His dad had nothing to prove.

Robert gently tugged his sleeve free from Cole's grip. Perhaps, officially, he wasn't a Son. But, he wanted to do what he could to help. "Cole, I'm not afraid of who I am." He could use his gift to locate the missing. The bad guy had gotten away. More than using his gift for mere parlor tricks. He could use his gift to find him and help bring him to justice.

Cole slipped his hand into his dad's outstretched fingers, "Neither am I."

Maggie had gotten separated from Cole in the business of activity. She hung back, tucked out of the way, watching everyone rush here and there. Her mother worked with her usual fierce efficiency to ready a makeshift emergency room for the wounded. Maggie wished she had her mother's zeal for all things medical. Much to her mother's disappointment, she did not. She couldn't stand the sight of blood and seeing someone in pain. The concept of hurting someone to make them better was lost on her. Not her mom though. Her mom poked needles in people without as much as a bat of an eye. The first of the wounded hadn't arrived yet and Maggie already had a queasy feeling deep in the pit of her stomach.

Gingerly, before her mother enlisted her aid, Maggie slipped into the throng of people rushing about. The sidearm buckled around her hip made her just as nervous as being drafted as a makeshift nurse. As a donor, she'd learned to defend herself and possibly someone else. The key to safety was not to let anyone, either vampire or human, get close enough to hurt her. She was a pretty good shot. But, shooting at a paper target was one thing. On if she could fire with the intent of taking a life the jury was still out.