Dawn Unleashed

Daniel sat up on the bed and pulled his knees to his chest. Surrounded by the relics of his boyhood he didn't know who he was anymore. He'd always been identified as someone, Hunter's son, Nash's grandson, a brother, and as a lover, but he'd never been out on his own before. Somehow, the old labels as son, grandson, and brother didn't fit him. The only woman he'd ever love and whose love he'd been was gone. He was adrift on an ocean without harbor or star to guide his way. What he'd do with this new personless identity or whom he'd turn it into was up to him. He simply didn't know. Like a lump of clay waiting for the master's hand to give it form, he sat cold and alone. Waiting.

Chapter 109

Tala was a sight for sore eyes and a feast for his aching body. She was soft and warm. Life pulsed through her. He fed at her wrist with gentleness and drank her in. She didn't know what the goddess had said and he hadn't told her. Maybe the vision was more dream and wish than reality. A child. Was the baby already growing inside of her? He couldn't remember the last time they'd been together. When was the last time he'd held his wife and let her know how cherished she was?

Tala sighed a grateful sigh. Her husband was home safe and sound. The compound was scarred and the weight of their losses hung heavily on all of their shoulders. She knew her husband. Drew took each loss personally. He'd see it as failure. On the outside, he was the stoic leader he always was. But, on the inside hidden where only he could see, he was shaken deeply. She didn't say anything. Drew was an internalizer not a talker. He'd mull over his feelings, silently bearing the pain.

His hands on her body were soft and gentle, coaxing her passion to the surface till it spilled over. Life had caught up with them and they'd been so busy that they'd forgotten in their commitment to everyone else about their commitment to each other. Their love was a miracle. When miracles happened, anything was possible.

The plane touched down for the last time on a barren strip of land in Northern Canada. Their journey was far from over. The sky overhead was overcast and dreary. Heavy gray storm clouds loaded with the promise of fresh snow loomed above them. Carter shoved winter gear at Yessette and suited up. They were still too close to civilization. Yessette shivered under her winter gear and gazed at him with those mesmerizing blue eyes so filled with trust. She hadn't figured out yet what he meant to do. He snugged the pack against his back and marched into the threat of the storm to come with Yessette reluctantly on his heels.

Chapter 110

The ceremonial garb itched Cole's skin. He'd never worn something even remotely like it before and the leather of his leggings chafed. Badly. He stood at full attention. The early afternoon sun bent rays of agony around his vision. The heat beat down on his bare shoulders. Yet, he stood with his head held high. His job was to honor the dead. Guard the bodies covered in ornately embroidered shrouds of gold and silver till moonrise when the pyres would be lit and the lifeless shells left behind burned and the souls set free set to drift into the beyond in a cloud of smoke and ash.

He was decked in full weaponry. The sunlight caught the edge of the steel and cast glinting sparkles across the wide clearing. Tall, towering walls of rock loomed above the grassy valley bearing silent witness to his vigil. He stood in a holy place. The ground vibrated with energy beneath his feet. He was born here. When he died, it would be here that he was taken and his body and soul offered up. Blood had seeped into the ground. Lives had been lost and victories celebrated upon the hard layers of bedrock beneath the soft shell of topsoil and soft meadow grass. Being in this place alone with nothing but the wind, grass, and bodies of the dead for company was a humbling experience.

This job wasn't grunt work. If the brothers thought he was a lesser man, he wouldn't have been assigned to protect their dead. Part of the ritual was to prove a warrior's bravery and his loyalty to his brothers. Cole stood with his head held high, gritting through the fullness of daylight without the aid of darkly tinted lenses to shield his eyes from the pain. He took his mission seriously.

Time passed slowly. Each hour broken down into minutes and seconds with the agonizing trail of the sun inching across the sky till it finally sank, lazily, almost languidly over the western edge of the cliffs. His brothers filtered in and took their places beside the dead. Wolves, some in human form and some not, hedged through the rough boundary of thick and gnarled woods that circled the clearing. Humans, brothers and sisters, followed the narrow strip of a trail, hewn by the countless tread of feet onto the grassy meadow.

Full darkness lowered her velvet skirts over the land. Stars twinkled in the blackness like jewels on ebony flesh. A moon, silver and fat, floated effortlessly over the tops of the trees and bathed the assembly in its white glow. A hush settled over the bluffs, as if the very world were holding its breath as the Great Father walked a circle around the dead and set the pyres to light.

Once the flames caught and the air filled with the pungent scent of burning flesh and seared wood, Drew began to chant in a language so ancient that it needed no translation. The death song told a tale of a good death and of honor, and of the spirit that bound all living things together as one. One by one voices built on top of another till they were a harmonious union made up of a singular thought and sound. And the souls, drifted up, and up into the night sky, freed to wander along on the currents of air that carried them home.

The singing and the vigil, the watching of the flames consuming the empty shells of the dead continued till the fragile light of dawn broke over the dark tops of the trees. A wind blew over the bluffs and the assembly whisking away the smoke and charred ash, carrying it away. The gentle hand of their goddess swept away the remains of their grief and cleansed the hearts of her children. The ground below was dark with a ring of blackened grass. But, that was the only reminder that a funeral service, the honoring of the dead, had ever happened at all. With the next nourishing rain, new grass would sprout and grow again. Life would keep finding a way to renew itself. Beauty from the ashes of loss would bloom and slowly wounds would heal.

Chapter 111

An incessant pounding on the front door woke Maggie from a sound sleep. She rolled over and pulled the cover higher under her chin. The fist banging on her front door rattled the wooden frame in a demand that she come and answer it. The few hours that she'd been in bed weren't enough. She needed more sleep. Angrily, she flung back the covers and shuffled to the door. Whoever was on the other side was going to get an earful from her. "What?"

She blinked in the brilliant sunlight and at Glenn casually leaning against the doorframe as if he'd not spent the last ten minutes trying to pound it down. He towered over her and shot her a lazy smile. His broad shoulders and bulky biceps created shadows across the threshold. She had to admit even though she wasn't exactly thrilled to have him darken her doorstep he still was nice to look at. Glenn was everything the 'it' boy in high school should be. Muscular and bulging with muscle, teasing blue eyes, an angular jaw and perfect nose and as if it were possible even more perfect white teeth. He was a looker straight off a poster hanging on some girl's bedroom wall. His blond hair was even paler from the sunlight and curled haphazardly around the nape of his neck. Captain of the high school football team, helped old ladies across the street, made good grades and did his parents and the whole damn town proud with the basic perfection of everything that was him. It was actually too bad he was a shit heel and nobody knew it but her. "Hi Maggie, can I come in?"

Maggie held her ground against the arrogant charm of Glenn's smile and refused to budge. They were way past the 'we can still be friends' phase of their breakup. He'd bypassed that possibility when he came into Happy's with a blonde tramp on his arm. Oh no, so not happening. On her part, the breakup had progressed to the 'I hate your guts and hope to never see you again' phase. And it wasn't just a phase. Hate was too strong of a word, possibly. But, she certainly didn't like him and didn't want to see him standing on her doorstep. "What do you want, Glenn?"

Glenn was unfazed by the scowl on Maggie's face. "I just thought I'd see if you still had a date for the prom. If you don't, I'd like to take you."

"What happened to what's her face? She get smart and dump your ass?" Maggie grumbled. Glenn standing on her deck before noon should have clued her in. On the little bit of sleep she'd managed to get. She was a little slow on the uptake. Her mouth formed in a little O as she realized. The prom was tonight. Quickly, she recovered her dumbfounded speechlessness at being asked to the prom. "I've got a date, but thanks."

"C'mon Magpie, you're not still mad at me are you?" Glenn shot his best smile at Maggie. This smile had gotten him into many an unwilling female's pants over the last four years. Girls couldn't resist his charm. His smile was a sure bet. When he couldn't scrounge up tickets, he'd found himself dumped on his ass and single, two days before his senior prom. Single on prom night was not acceptable. He already had the tux rented, the limo booked, and the corsage bought. Maggie had two tickets and he thought, why not? He didn't really believe her story that she actually had a date.

"Don't call me magpie," Maggie grumbled. Glenn had used that smile on her over the years and she knew it too well to fall victim to its charms. His parents had paid a small fortune for those pearly white teeth of his. If they only knew how he used their hard earned money to get what he wanted. His mother, the staunch wife of a Baptist preacher, would not approve. "My name is Maggie."

Glenn's request gave her an out though. She had her opportunity to save face and show up to the prom with a date, even if it was Glenn. Her lips pursed into a tight line as she studied the look on his face. He was so sure she was going to jump at the chance to be his date for the prom. Well, that ship done sailed. "Sorry. I don't think my boyfriend would like it much if I took someone else to the prom."

"Maggie, you don't have to lie to me. You've got two tickets to the prom and I don't believe you're going to use them both. Why not go with me? Don't you want to ride in the back of a limo?"

Maggie snorted and kept the smart assed comment rumbling behind her lips to herself. She'd love to ride in the back of a limo. Just not with him. "Not really."

"Maggie, why are you being so difficult? We have a history together. Come on, for old time's sake." Glenn threw just enough of a hint of desperation into his eyes to make his act believable. The prom had already cost him, his parents anyway, a small fortune. Maggie could make the investment worth his while. He'd treat her like a lady. Whirl her around the dance floor a couple of hours. Afterwards she could show her appreciation in the backseat of the limo. "Please."

Glenn would expect payment for his attention and the honor of being escorted to the prom on his arm. Maggie had feigned off his international affections too many times. Glenn's Russian hands and Roman fingers had tried to get her bra off and down the front of her pants the entire time they'd gone out. Yeah, she'd given in a time or two, disappointingly so. He was only a legend in his own mind. "Yeah, we have a history, an ancient one." She moved to close the door, not caring if she slammed it in his charming face or not. "I guess I'll see you at the prom tonight, Glenn. Surely some unfortunate will take pity on you and be your date. A limo is a terrible thing to waste."

With that, she closed the door in his face. His footsteps were loud as he

stomped down the stairs. He was pissed. Tonight he'd do his best to humiliate her dateless self. She knew Glenn too well to think otherwise. In utter desperation, she sank onto the edge of the bed and cradled her head in her palms. She could lie and just tell everyone her date got sick and cancelled at the last minute. Yeah right. Who was going to believe that? The prom was in less than eight hours and she didn't have a clue as to what she was going to do about it.

Chapter 112

Robert handled the dagger brought to him by the warrior through a layer of thick gloves. The dagger had belonged to O'Sullivan. Plucked from a Guardian's side, blood still stained the delicately carved blade, rusty, thick and dried along the etched surface. This dagger might provide them the link they needed to find O'Sullivan.

So much of his gift was just dumb luck and so much of it depended on what the person it belonged to was thinking about the last time the item was used. He highly doubted that O'Sullivan was thinking about unicorns, rainbows, and sunshine the last time he'd handled the blade. Robert wasn't sure if he wanted to have a front row seat to O'Sullivan's horror show or not. "I need some time."

Michael took the dagger from Robert, careful not to touch it with his bare hands and contaminate the blade with his thoughts. "Ok." He wrapped the blade in a thick layer of cloth and set it out of the way high up on a shelf in the Great Father's study. When the time came, Robert would look at it and see what secrets the dagger held.

Bianca watched the man handle the blade gingerly with careful fingers and hand it back to Michael. He was terrified by what he might see. She couldn't blame him. Michael assured her that he would stand by her side, no matter what happened. Her blood stained the dagger. Eric had wounded her, but he hadn't intended to kill her. A man like Eric O'Sullivan didn't make mistakes. He wanted her alive. Hovering close to Michael's side, as if they had been somehow magically joined at the hip. She wondered how many of the blade's secrets weren't O'Sullivan's but hers?

Michael knew she'd been involved with O'Sullivan. But, she'd never confessed just as to how deep she was in. The Great Father speculated. All of the Sons speculated. She could see it in their eyes and in the careful movements of their bodies when they were around her. Only the Sons would hesitate to call a spade a spade without concrete evidence that it was indeed a spade. "Michael, we should leave Robert to his thoughts."

Michael nodded and said, "Of course." He followed Bianca on the sway of her hip out of the study. She was much better at reading people and handling them than he. She preferred a more subtle approach to his head on honesty. He wanted to shake Robert and force the blade into his hands. The brothers needed to know the dagger's secrets. Robert was the only one capable of unleashing them. The window of time to catch O'Sullivan before he struck again was growing narrower and narrower.

Robert slumped onto the leather sofa and exhaled. He'd been so certain that he could help the Sons catch O'Sullivan. Now he wasn't so sure. His gift had shown him nothing but a terrifying glimpse into the psyche of a madman. What use was that? The brothers needed facts not horror. Jess was fine. Cole was safe. The Sons were gradually recovering. What could anyone want with him? He was after all, just a human among lesser gods.

Chapter 113

Maggie sat on the edge of the battered piano bench she'd rescued from the bottomless pit of junk her mother kept in the garage and stared at herself in the mirror. The pale orange light of evening seeped through the sheers covering the bedroom window, catching on the tiny crystals embedded in the dark navy taffeta of her dress. She had carefully avoided the subject of the prom with her mom. Her dad was out on the

road, hauling a load of chickens to Topeka, Kansas. Nobody knew she was going. There wouldn't be any embarrassing pictures of her playing grown up in the family album.

She'd avoided the only beauty shop in town and the herd of girls demanding a thorough primping for their prom dates. She'd done her best to look presentable. Her hair was pulled up into a loose mass of curls at the crown of her head. She'd done a decent job, but the haphazard mess was hardly prom worthy. Tiny pins with crystals on the tips sparkled gaily in her dirty blonde almost mouse brown waves. The makeup she'd applied so carefully felt stiff and too heavy. She'd researched up how to create a smoky evening look on the Internet. To her, she looked like her normal old self, just with too much makeup.

Her skin was too pale against the stark navy blue of the dress. The narrow spaghetti straps sagged over her shoulders. She was slouching on the seat. She wore a miserable pushup bra to highlight her cleavage and make the best of the puny assets God had given her. The underwires jabbed her ribs and made her slouch even more causing the front of the dress to bag instead of fill out like it was supposed to.

The shoes, salvaged from her mom's closet were too narrow and the heels way too high. She couldn't even walk a straight line without tripping over her own feet. Her toenails and fingernails were polished in a pale pink shell color to match her lipstick. Her fingernails were too short and stubby to achieve the graceful feminine tips she had tried to create. Her hair was wrong. Her makeup definitely was wrong. The dress was wrong. Everything about her was just...wrong. Underneath all the makeup, the expensive dress, and the glitter of rhinestones, she was still just herself, only made up to be a make believe impersonation of the person she wanted to be.

"Going somewhere?" Maggie stifled a startled shriek and looked up past her reflection to Cole's. He never knocked like a normal person. He just barged on in like he owned the place. She shot him annoyed glare and pretended to ignore him, busying herself with putting on the glitzy earrings and necklace she'd borrowed from her mother's jewelry box. "You look great."

Maggie huffed and shoved the earring through the hole in her ear, fumbling with the clasp. He looked good, great even. Cole didn't need fancy clothes to look fantastic. He just was. "Prom," she muttered. Might as well confess and get it over with. She squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself to be utterly humiliated.

"Prom," Cole repeated astounded. He scooted Maggie over on the bench and sat down beside her. A hot rush of jealousy surged through him. Who was taking Maggie to the prom and how many ways could he damage the bastard without killing him? His eyes narrowed to slits and his chest puffed out as the green-eyed monster breathed fire through his veins. "Who's the lucky guy?" he asked. He was proud of himself for keeping his voice level and his tone controlled.

"Go away, Cole," Maggie said. She was even clumsier with the necklace than she had been with the earrings. The clasp snagged in the fine wisps of hair at the back of her neck. A few hairs pulled free by the root as victim to the struggle. His fingers were light on hers, taking control of the wayward chain and fastening the clasp into place. "I'm busy."

"Busy," Cole mimicked as he fastened the chain. "I can see that." He smoothed his fingers over the clasp at the base of her neck and brushed them over the sensitive skin. "Busy." He couldn't keep the jealousy out of his voice or his thoughts. "Who's your date?"

Maggie shrugged from beneath Cole's fingertips. She pretended to occupy herself by piddling with her lipstick tube. The truth embarrassed her every bit as much as it shamed her. No one wanted to admit to a potential love interest, even if it was in her own mind, that there was no competition. One evening of great making out and a few haphazard, hurried kisses did not a boyfriend make. Stubbornly, she jutted out her chin and told the truth. "I don't have a date. I'm going alone."