Dawn Unleashed

Bianca grappled with the hands that meant to pull her away from the warmth of the arms wrapped around her body. Her clothes were tacky, sticky with drying blood. Pain blossomed and flowered into full bloom from parts of her body that she didn't know could hurt. Dazed from the pain, she felt her source of warmth and comfort. Michael's voice was like a soft caress through the waves of agony that assaulted her. Soothing and calm, he assured her that they were safe. The words of his promise eased her body and her mind and she slipped into the warmth of his assurance. He would take care of her. He would take care of everything.

David didn't know what he could do to help. He knew nothing about war or about healing the injured. There was only one thing he was good at, remaining invisible in plain sight. He'd done it for over a decade. "Nora, stay here. Do what you can." All of them were in danger, not from O'Sullivan, although the threat was still there, but from discovery. He looked like any other teenager, harmless and ordinary. He slipped out into the chaos of the night to do what he could, gather information and help to control the damage from overactive, but very real and very dangerous human speculation.

Nora wasn't good around blood. The sweet, thick scent of human donors and their sacrifice hung in the air. The smell of spilled blood, dripping from wounds and staining tattered clothing, teased her nostrils. She needed something to do. Something constructive. She didn't know anything medical related beyond the generic first aid classes she'd been required to take. She was a teacher and she doubted that any of the battle dazed or injured needed a lesson in grammar right now.

Given the severity of some of the wounds she saw. She didn't know whether to pass out, puke, or dig in for a bite. A man moaned on the cot beside her. His tanned skin was decorated with a series of deep cuts and bleeding gauges. She twisted away from his grip and took a step back. He was a werewolf, healing slowly before her eyes. She felt weak and inadequate. His hand was still reaching for her. Gathering her strength, she dropped to one knee beside the narrow cot and grabbed hold. If nothing else, she offered what little she could and gave him a small measure of comfort through the intertwining of their fingers.

Nash grabbed onto the woman's soft fingers and wrapped them through his rough, bloodstained ones. He could smell the fear radiating off of her. His body was doing its best to heal the injuries from the blast. Pain was his enemy now. Pain opened black pits in his vision and threatened to swallow him whole. The woman's trembling grip was the only thing holding him anchored to wakefulness. She was a vampire. That he knew. She was so new to this world that she still had the gentle scent of her humanity on her skin. He held on, to her and the scent of her humanity. Her scent reminded her of what he was living and fighting for. Death would not come for him today.

Hunter collapsed into the guard's arms. He'd gotten himself and his son to safety. Patrol cars were out there cruising the streets looking for them. It had taken him hours of hiding in the shadows, sometimes coaxing, sometimes threatening, and sometimes dragging Daniel along beside him. Finally, they were here. Good. Now he could pass out and let his injuries heal. His son was safe, or as safe as any of them were going to get.

Maggie squeezed Cole's hand a little tighter. They were finally at the warehouse. Activity, quiet and covert, bustled around them. If someone didn't know what to look for it might not be seen. The doctor was already moving through the mess of injured, sifting through his patients, deciding who could wait, and who could not. John Mark had made it to the top of the list and the doctor was motioning them over. "Are you able to do this?" Thomas asked. Numbly, Maggie nodded and clutched Cole's fingers in a death grip.

There would be no magic to numb the bite. John Mark was pale as the white sheets below him. He was too weak to put her under. She would feel his fangs digging through her skin. A dressing saturated and dripping blood covered his thigh. Something had impaled him, deep, maybe fatally, if she didn't do her job. Cole squeezed her hand with trembling fingers. His mentor hovered between life and death. Bring him back was up to her. "Yeah."

She sank to the edge of the cot and timidly extended her wrist. The vampire part of John Mark, the predatory essence he hid deep inside of him, flared to life. Nostrils widened, catching her scent. Fangs, long and sharp, protruded from the pale circle of his mouth. Fingers latched on to her flesh cruelly, like steel, he trapped his prey with a death grip. She wanted to jerk away. Say she'd changed her mind. His lips were cold on her skin. His fangs pierced her pulse point and a scream tore from her throat as he savaged her tender wrist.

The sound of Maggie's pained scream snapped Cole out of his stupor. His mentor would die without her gift. He hovered on the edge of the abyss between life and death and only Maggie could bring him back. That didn't help to calm the protective instinct to tear her away from John Mark's fangs. If he tried, the wound wouldn't be two neat pinpricks. The fangs would tear through tendon and muscle and he'd lose them both. He pressed a hand to Maggie's back to help keep her upright. He did the only thing he could do at that moment. Take her pain away through the softness of his words and the warmth of his touch.

John Mark latched onto the sweet flow of life flooding his tongue. If he was dead, this must be heaven. Never had he known such a paradise. Bliss and the sting of healing, life beat from the pulse at his mouth and flowed over him. He didn't want to stop. He could drink until there was nothing left and still be starved for more. He opened his eyes and forced them to focus.

Maggie, limp and pale, rested in Cole's arms. Their eyes met for a second. That second was enough to bring John Mark back fully into himself and he withdrew. His tongue hovered over the wounds, savoring the last drops he'd ever take from her. The flesh was battered and bruised around the pinpricks of his bite. He'd fed like a savage. He regretted having hurt her. The pangs of his guilt were more painful than his healing wounds. Slowly, he eased up off the cot and pulled her from Cole's arms. The look on Cole's face was a mix of condemnation and wonder. At this moment, Cole hated who John Mark was and he couldn't blame him. Gently, he stretched Maggie out on the cot. "Thank you, Cole. Thank you for sharing your Blood Friend with me."

Cole wanted to protest that Maggie wasn't his Blood Friend. She wasn't technically even his girlfriend. Nothing was official. But, deep down he knew better. John Mark knew better. Tenderly, he pressed a kiss to Maggie's forehead and covered her with a rough, olive drab colored, wool blanket. "Sleep Maggie," he whispered softly.

"What do we do now?" he asked, turning to John Mark.

John Mark ran his eyes over the scene of chaos around him and dragged a hand through his dark hair. The ends of his hair were singed into a mat of tangles. His leathers were little more than a jigsaw puzzle of missing pieces. He'd come damned close to dying and without Maggie's help, he might have. He blew out a breath and shook his head. "I don't know."

Chapter 99

Robert wandered as far away from the wounded as he could get. He wasn't good with blood and pain. His hands were clutched into tight fists. Now was not the time to test his control over his gift. One brush with something, anything, and the misery he saw all around him would be as real as if it were his own. A group of men were gathered around a map in the far corner of the room. He inched closer to hear their fevered whispers.

No one shied him away from the table. In fact, two bulky warriors parted like water to make room for him between the press of their bodies. Robert grasped the problem. The bad guy had gotten away and not even the best of their trackers had been able to ferret out a trail. Where the bad guy had gone was anyone's guess. Robert stared down at the crumpled map. The majority of the damage extended for a four-block radius in the heart of the city. Families without homes and children without parents, all because... well he didn't know the real reason behind the destruction, only that he could do something about it. "Take me to where he was last seen. I might be able to help."

No one questioned him. No one looked at him like he'd lost his mind. A silent nod passed between the warriors. Maybe they felt silly grasping at psychic straws. Maybe they thought he was more charlatan than the real deal. But, the warriors escorted him through the insanity on the streets without a word. Robert had to jog to keep up with the warriors. They moved with a liquid grace like ink poured over a page of white paper, fluid and one with the night.

Robert crouched on the strip of filth-encrusted concrete. Years of grime and neglect pressed against the palms of his hands. The inanimate concrete became a living, breathing, pulsing thing. Images of lives, the tread of countless feet, the rush of people coming and going, flooded into his mind. There was just too much to sort through. He crawled on his hands and knees. The bite of stone stung the tender flesh of his fingertips. His fingers brushed over a wet, sticky spray of drying blood. This was where the bad guy had bled all over the sidewalk. Here is where Robert would find him. He closed his eyes, shuddering against the violence of this man's psyche. The word sociopath came to his mind.

"He left here and went by car. He didn't have a clear plan when he left," Robert rubbed his palms over his jeans. As if he could wipe away the stain left behind from his glimpse into the mind of a madman. "He is waiting."

"For what?" Patrick asked. He was one of the Sons best trackers. Hell, he was the best tracker. Period. He'd followed the scent of the blood trail to a curb some blocks away. There the trail simply vanished. He had shit to follow. There were too many cars, too many smells in this crowded, urban, maze for him to isolate just one scent out of millions that tickled the back of his nose.

Robert groaned and stood. He didn't realize how long he'd been crouched on the concrete touring the man's last thoughts in this place. "He's very careful with his thoughts. All I saw was blood and pain. I can't tell you anything else from this. If I had more to work with, like a personal object, it might help. I don't know."

Patrick nodded. "We'll get you something."

Robert's hand hovered over the sleeve of the warrior's jacket. He stopped before he could touch Patrick. He'd seen enough, plenty, in just that brush of his fingers over the man's blood. He didn't think he could handle any accidental flashes of another person's psyche in his mind right now. "He's dangerous. His mind is the blackest I've ever looked into."

Patrick stepped out of Robert's reach and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, we know."

Chapter 100

Dawn was just breaking the horizon as the plane entered Canadian air space. Carter was going to have to land and refuel at a remote airstrip just outside of Windsor. The sunlight threatened to take away his vision despite the thick lenses shielding his eyes. There was no stopping other than to refuel until he reached his planned destination. Yessette's hunger was growing. He could sense it. He had to have her tucked safely out of the way before she lost control. Before he lost control of her and she became more beast than vampire and he was forced to end her. He would not kill her. Nature would take care of her and of him all on its own.

He didn't know where Eric was. Only that the distance that separated them was vast. He could feel him, ever present in the back of his mind. Calling to them with an almost irresistible plea. The Sons hadn't finished the job. As good as they were, Eric was just that much better.

Yessette winced against the rising sun. Below her the world seemed so small. Lush forests and acres of green rolled past. So peaceful and lovely, she mussed that this must be what God saw before he created humanity. The whole word, small as a speck of dust, perfect and untamed. Eric was growing more and more distant in her mind, almost a whisper amongst the shouting of the hunger that preoccupied her thoughts. "I'm so hungry."

"Soon, Yessette."

Yessette nodded and stared out into the blinding sunlight. The prisms of color were as painful to her as they were dazzling and beautiful in their brilliance. They were a pretty distraction from her hunger, for the moment. "Soon is good."

Chapter 101

The last of the fires had burned down to smoldering heaps. There was nothing left for the flames to consume. The ground was damp and soggy beneath Drew's boots. He stayed well out of eyeshot of the humans. Investigators crawled over the ruins like ants. Recording information with their little devices. The humans would never find the explosive devises that had leveled a four- block radius into so much ash and debris. A team of warriors had already seen to that.

Most of the harm that had been done thanks to the world wide web was under control. Humans if nothing else, were a fickle lot, far too easily distracted by the next big thing to hit the net. Thanks to a well-known starlet and her bedroom indiscretions. Proof of the existence of werewolves and vampires was already fading into the background. Drew was glad. Unfortunate for the starlet, but it was good, very good for them.

Most of the wounded had been taken home to recover. The few that stayed behind were scouring every blind corner and dark alley for Eric. Drew doubted they'd find him, until he wanted to be found. This last brush had been too close. The damage could have been worse. The unaccounted for were someplace buried under this mound of debris. Once the scene was safe and the human's attention on other things. The Sons would go in and collect their dead. They'd wait patiently, until the next time. A man like O'Sullivan wouldn't be content to stay in the shadows very long.

Bianca was the vision of her usual perfect self. She was healed and whole, thanks to a donor. Her clothing was a disheveled ruin. Smudges of dirt and dried blood smeared her cheeks, but they did nothing to distract Michael from her beauty. She stared up at him from a long veil of thick, dark lashes. Her eyes were fathomless blue depths. But, he could see the ice thinning, melting beneath the heat of her emotions. The emotion wasn't anger, it was something far more reaching, something that warmed his heart. Love. "You let Eric get away," she whispered.

"To save you, yes." Michael brushed her knuckles across his lips and smiled down at her.

"Isn't the Great Father pissed?" Bianca asked. Michael's brown eyes stared down into her, cutting through all the layers that she hid behind, deep into the heart of her. What he'd done, for her could get him tossed out of the Sons on his ass. He'd risked it all for her. She'd done the same for him. O'Sullivan had enough dirt on her to give the Sons cause to speedily and efficiently remove her head from her shoulders. Maybe, that made Michael and her partners in crime. Maybe, they could protect each other from the wrath that was sure to come.

"I haven't told him yet." He slid a hand behind Bianca's back and helped her ease into a sit. "You're alive and that's all that matters to me."

Bianca held on to Michael for balance, leaning on his strength. "If you knew all that I've done, you might change your opinion on that." She rested her cheek against the smooth leather on his shoulder.

"Bianca, I'll never think that. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. I hope in time, that you will. But, know this, I'll never think any less of you. I love you."

Bianca smiled and closed her eyes. Michael's arms were a band of warmth and comfort around her. Their future was uncertain. Her very life hung in the balance of her words. Michael was willing to sacrifice all that he was for her. Still, she couldn't bear to force him away. "You trying to make an honest woman out of me?"

Michael chuckled and shifted Bianca's weight in his arms, bringing her eyes to meet his. "Is it working?"

Bianca returned Michael's grin. His crooked, mischievous smile was one of the things she liked the most about him. "Maybe." Together they'd muddle through the collective mess their lives were in at present. As long as they had each other, no punishment seemed too severe. She felt the warm press of his mouth against her lips and opened up to let him in.

Chapter 102

Cole managed to slip away from the brothers. He'd volunteered for every patrol. He'd offered to help sift through the rubble for signs of survivors or worse, for the bodies of the fallen. Anything he could think to do to help. He'd been first to raise his hand and he'd been turned down. He felt about as useful as tits on a boar. The brothers saw him as too young and too inexperienced to be able to handle the big stuff. Nobody said as much to his face. But, behind their refusals, he saw it in their faces. He'd come, not for the glory, for there was no glory in death, but for the chance to finally prove his worth. He was going to be doing scut work and playing errand boy forever. And in his world, forever was a very long time.

He walked the quiet city streets dejectedly, with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. In the first few minutes of dawn, the city snoozed, exhausted and catching her breath after a very long and rough night. She got her rest when and where she could find it. Cole wandered with no particular destination in mind as the city sighed and pulled herself up by her bootstraps to start another day.

The old neighborhood looked the same. Nothing here ever changed. The neighborhood was comforting as an old friend, unchangeable and predictable. He could wander down this same street ten years from now and it would still be exactly the same. Cole didn't realize how much that sameness felt like home.

Someone new had moved into Rachael's old house. The rose trellis he'd climbed to sneak into her room was gone and in its place a trio of sturdy, boxlike shrubs. Somehow without the trellis, the house had lost some of its quiet, untouchable, grace and dignity. The utilitarian shrubbery made the house look too much like every other house on the block. A car idled in the drive as a frantic mother herded two little kids with ghost white hair into the backseat. Cole wished them well. A house deserved to be filled with happiness and love.

He moved farther down the block and stood at the narrow paved walkway to his front door. He stood and he contemplated for what seemed like hours before he decided to walk up and knock on the front door. He felt odd knocking at the door. Not so long ago, he'd taken too much for granted and simply waltzed in and out as he pleased. He'd made his teenage years harder on his mom, and his brothers and sisters than he should have.

His mom thought he was in some secret branch of the military and he'd done nothing to dissuade her errant belief. For the time being, it explained his sudden absence. Before long, he'd have to come up with something better to explain away how he could be thirty, forty, fifty, and still look, much like the neighborhood around him, essentially unchanged.

Through the battered wood of the front door, he heard the twins engaged in rowdy play and the snuffling of a baby. He could hear his mother's soft voice as she spoke. His step-dad, Bill, had left a before dawn reared its ugly head. Bill wasn't so bad. He was good to Cole's mom, or good enough to make her happy. There just wasn't, and never would be, any love loss between him and his replacement father.