Dawn's Destiny

Her feet pattered across the wooden plank floor as she unsuccessfully searched for her shoes. Despite the fact that Grant was basically holding her prisoner, he'd had the courtesy to take off her shoes off while she slept. How thoughtful. The grass would be soft beneath her feet. And she could forgo shoes, if she had to. She didn't make it to the backdoor before he was on his feet standing at her side towering over her. "I have to pee. Ok?"

"Sure. No problem." Grant pulled out the tennis shoes he'd taken from her last night and hidden behind the stack of logs in the fireplace. Not that lack of proper footwear would prevent her from trying to escape. But, the main road to this isolated place was gravel and that would slow her down plenty. Her toenails were polished a pretty shade of indigo. And he knew from last night, as she twined her soft feet around his calves while she slept, her soles would not tolerate that kind of abuse. While he appreciated the sensation of her cool toes against his skin, flexing and pulling at his leg hairs in her slumber. He liked the reassurance that she wasn't going anywhere without his knowledge even better. "You'll need those."

"Thanks," Claire grumbled. The bastard stole her shoes! She really was in no position to bitch about it or argue with him. Not only could he kill her far too easily. But, she really, really had to go. Keeping her mouth shut, she slid her feet into her tennis shoes. "I can manage by myself."

"Humor me," Grant said. He really didn't want her to think that he was an asshole. He wanted her to see him as one of the good guys. Kind of hard for her to do since he'd kidnapped her and all. And he really couldn't understand why it mattered what she thought of him. For some reason, it just did. He followed Claire as she hightailed it across the yard to the outhouse. Smirking at her version of speed walking.

Claire was splendidly average. She had a nice shape, curvy where it should be and in just the right amount. Her blonde hair bounced at the rise of her shoulders and the ends spiraled in just a bit of curl. The highlights in it were chemical as were the curls. But, she was a true blonde underneath the artificially induced strands of gold and palest wheat. She had honesty in her expression. And her eyes were a unique shade. According to her driver's license they were blue. But, he'd call them a cross between a blue and a vibrant green. Teal, he guessed was the right word for their color.

She was not skeletal nor was she necessarily tiny, like a delicate doll. He'd call her sturdy. Standing at five-six maybe five-seven and if her driver's license were to be believed, she weighed approximately one hundred and forty pounds. He'd have to say that estimation was probably slanted to her favor and she was actually closer to one hundred fifty pounds, give or take. But, she was strong and her body toned. Not necessarily from time spent in a gym. She had the look of someone who worked a bit harder than not for a living. She was the proverbial girl next door. And he wished he lived in her neighborhood.

Grant leaned on the weatherworn door, holding it open for the world to see while he waited for her to do her business. Like she was actually going to drop her drawers in front of him? She'd never gone to the bathroom in front of another living soul since she turned four years old and her mom had to help her zip her pants. And the thought of him towering over her was unnerving.

God, he was gorgeous. She really hadn't gotten that good of a look at him last night. The whole kidnapping thing kind of put a snafu on that. She'd been desperate to get away. Hell, she still was. But, in the daylight he was devastatingly handsome. And she needed nothing to soften her opinion of him. But, she would need an accurate description to give the cops. He was tall, taller than average. Probably topping out at about six foot two or three. There wasn't an ounce of pudge on him. Broad-shouldered, and muscular, his large build tapering down to a narrow waist and lean hips. He probably spent hours in the gym on his physique. No normal guy could hope to have that kind of body and not work out.

He had dark, soulful eyes, a shade just shy of black. His lips looked kissably soft, full and lush, capable of doing devastating things to a woman's most intimate parts. He was so goddamned perfect it made her want to puke. His hair was cut short, neatly trimmed around his ears and the nape of his neck. In the sunshine she could see that it was actually dark brown, almost walnut, and not black as she'd previously thought. He had a very masculine bone structure. A ragged jaw line thick with dark stubble, a cleft chin, high cheekbones, all together too masculine and too good looking. His tanned skin hinted he had a Native American heritage. Except for the whole psychopathic kidnapper thing he had going on. He was definitely sigh worthy and the stuff of a girl's deepest fantasies.

"Could you give me a little privacy? I can't go with you standing there," Claire huffed. "Trust me there's only one other way out and I'm not crawling through it to get out. No matter how desperate I am."

Grant shot Claire a wry grin and accommodated her request. Gently, he shut the wooden door behind him and hovered a few feet away. Ready to grab her the minute she emerged from the outhouse. If she should be nuts enough to try to make a run for it, which he doubted. Unless she planned to toilet paper him to death, there wasn't anything in the outhouse to make a weapon out of.

Claire rushed to finish her business and rubbed some alcohol gel on her hands. The liquid had a sharp antiseptic smell and was cool and slick on her hands. She had no doubt he'd make a grab for her if she even thought about running. And besides where would she go? She had no car keys. This early in the season there wasn't anyone else out here. And the nearest farmhouse was ten miles minimum down the road. The shower house across the lake had a landline. Assuming it was in service after the harsh winter and the lines had been repaired, she might be able to make a call.

She was a fast runner. And a three-mile run around the lake to the bridge across its narrowest part was a long stretch for her abilities. But, she might be able to beat him there. He was taller his strides would be wider. He had to outweigh her by an easy fifty pounds or more. He'd be slower. Not familiar with the trails that crisscrossed through the woods to the bridge. She might have a chance. She slicked her fingers through the alcohol gel in her palm. It was slippery stuff. And if he made a grab for her arm, she'd slide right out of his grip.

The outhouse was the absolutely worst part of the camping experience. But she was willing to sacrifice in exchange for a week's worth of solitude. Now, she wished, she'd skipped the vacation all together and worked overtime. She had to figure a way out of this mess. When the opportunity presented itself. She had to be ready.

The outhouse hadn't faired well last winter and several boards were loose. Daylight shone through the gaps in their weathered planks. Gently she nudged one of the boards with her toe. It groaned, pivoting on the rusty nails barely holding it in place. One good whack upside the head was all she needed to subdue him long enough to make a run for it. But, he was standing so close to the door. Ready to grab her if she dared to try. He'd hear her pull the board free. The lake was too wide to swim across. And she wasn't all that good of a swimmer. And the water would be freezing even this late in the spring. Her best bet was the phone in the shower house. And if she didn't try for it now, she might not get another chance.

Pumping furiously until the bottle was empty and her arm slippery with the alcohol gel, she timidly walked out of the outhouse and prepared to run. She didn't make it five feet before Grant wrapped his arms around her waist and hefted her over his shoulder unceremoniously dumping her onto the bed inside the cabin. The smell of the hand gel must have given him some hint of her plan. Her arm was tacky with the stuff and she reeked like antiseptic. But, hey, she was germ free. And wrinkling his nose at the smell of her, Grant kept his distance. "What do you want with me?"

"Nothing, Claire. I told you. I won't hurt you. I'm not going to steel from you. Same as you, I needed a refuge. A place to go to think things through."

"What kind of things?" Claire asked. His expression changed from one of mild annoyance at her escape attempt to an intense deep frown. He stared out the window for a moment. Lost in thought. His intensity, the emotional wounds he licked, might be the key to her getting out of this alive. If she could coax him into trusting her, maybe he'd relax enough to drop his guard and she could sneak away.

"Important things," Grant mumbled. He sat and then got up from his chair to pace the cabin. Although he had slept, he felt exhausted. The cares of his world weighed heavily on his shoulders. He was alone in the world. Wolf song no longer occupied his thoughts. Fading minute by minute, soon, the gentle song would be gone forever. The strength of his wolf dwindled bit by big. Not only was his exile a physical one, but a spiritual one as well. He was banned from the pack and their magic. And therefore, exiled from not one world but both of them.

He could still shift. Become the wolf, but without frequenting the spirit world, where his wolf's essence dwelled. He would lose the ability before too much longer. The part of the wolf that was always with him would fade with time and eventually cease to exist at all. Already, his senses were dulling. Time took small nibbles at him out as his aging process began. Without his wolf and the shift, time would quicken its pace.

He was a young wolf. He looked young in human years, maybe twenty-five. In actuality though, he was a bit older, closer to thirty-six in calendar years. He thought he and his wolf would have centuries together, at least two or three. Thanks to the wolf part of him. For the first time in a long while, time seemed to matter again. There was so little left. His physical youth would leave him. His body would yield to middle age. And then fade to old age and death. A handful of decades from now, he'd be dead. Unless he could find a way to hold on to his wolf and somehow stay connected to the pack.

Claire would have no comprehension of the life he lived. She couldn't possibly understand why he'd done the things he'd done. They existed in two entirely different realities. And his secret was one he was not privileged to share. He could never tell anyone about the pack. It was his burden to shoulder alone. And he'd carry it all of his days. Grant scrubbed a hand across his stubbly jaw and crouched to riffle through Claire's bags.

She watched him with wide eyes. Her gaze bounced back and forth between him and the open door. He shuffled through a stack of romance novels he'd dumped onto the floor and selected one with an interesting cover. Grant held the book in his palm and took a moment to study the dramatic artwork. A wolf howled at the moon while a couple embraced passionately in the background. Amusing. If only his life had turned out this way instead of how it had, he thought bitterly. He didn't care about the title. Didn't matter in the least. The book would keep her accusing eyes focused on something else besides him.

"Here," Grant said, tossing the book to Claire. "I won't disturb you. At least try to enjoy a little of your vacation." He dragged the battered kitchen chair over to the backdoor and sat. The chair held the door propped open. And he stared out into the sunny spring afternoon. Watching the rays of light dance across the placid lake's edge. Silently thinking. Trying to figure a way out of the mess he'd gotten himself into. A quick cruise through Claire's purse let him know exactly how much knowledge of the human world he lacked. He had no identity, no job, no money, and absolutely no hope.

Claire stretched her legs out across the bed and flipped open the cover. She doubted that she'd find any distraction or the slightest bit of comfort in the pages. Struggling to concentrate on the words, she read the first paragraph. The heroine was in a far worse situation than she was. But, that was fantasy. This was reality. Before long though with Grant staring blankly off into space. His eyes focused on the scenery rather than her. She began to relax a little and was able to absorb herself in someone else's problems rather than her own.

Chapter 27

Barbara was beginning to adjust. Slowly. At first, the thought of sinking her teeth into the dirty deer's hide and drinking its blood really grossed her out. But, after all it was better the buck than her son or some unsuspecting human. Life at the compound was interesting. The women, like women everywhere, congregated around the kitchen table, and exchanged tales of gossip and woe. They had made her feel most welcome. Which was more than Doc had managed to do.

Barbara quickly learned which woman was attached to which warrior. She listened to the women chatter about their husbands and families with ardent fervor. They were curious about her as well. They nodded in appreciation when she mentioned that Thomas was her son. Their recognition of his name made her wonder exactly how long he'd known about this strange and unusual world she had been introduced to.

The Shaman was often a topic of conversation. He was a recluse. Even with her, especially with her, he kept his distance. Often pawning her off on the women for companionship while he went off to do whatever it was he did. And today, Anna was her sitter.

The tall, willowy blonde had been an architect in her 'before' life. In this life, she was married to Toby, the compound's resident techno geek. Anna stood over the stove, chattering while she stirred a boiling pot of sauce. Where the food went, Barbara didn't know. She was having difficulty being in the same room as the cooking food. Human food stank, badly. And everyone had warned her about the dangers of trying as little as one small taste.

Anna giggled and pressed the sharp edge of a knife into the clove of fresh garlic. Quickly cutting it and adding it to the sauce as she noticed Barbara inch the stool back from the counter. "All I have to do to clear a room is cut up some garlic. You know, the myths aren't true, don't you? Garlic doesn't really repel vampires, although sometimes I wonder if maybe there isn't a hint of truth to that particular old wives tale."

Barbara mussed that some human habits were harder to forget than others. Coffee, freshly brewed, filled the pot, morning, noon, and night, always ready to be poured into a waiting mug, although there was no one to drink it. The refrigerator was stuffed with food and the smells of cooking filled the air. But, there was no one to eat it. She never felt tired or sleepy. But, she turned in at her usual bedtime and she slept. Just an old habit, like the coffee and the food, brought forward into a new life where it could serve no practical purpose. But, seemed so very necessary.

Barbara grinned back. But, scooted the stool a little farther away. The scent of the garlic stung her nose and made her eyes burn. "I think that myth is true. If I could ask, what do you do with the food? I was under the impression that we couldn't eat."

"We can't. I give it to the neighbors," Anna answered with a shrug. "Usually the dishes don't even make it to the table before they've wolfed down the food." Anna chuckled at her play on words. The wolves were always hungry and her food, not a scrap, ever went to waste.

"The neighbors know...what we are?"

"The best kept secret is a secret shared." Anna glanced meaningfully over her shoulder at Barbara. Conveying a definite 'ask someone else' message. Barbara was an infant, learning about her new world. And she should hear about the wolves from someone who could answer her questions. Anna was not that person. She barely understood the wonder and magic of them herself.

She turned her attention back to the simmering pot before Barbara could press for more information. Casually monitoring the woman, Thomas's mom, for the slightest hint of distress. It was easy to see where Thomas got his temperament. He'd inherited his ability to handle the most intense situations life could throw at a person from his mom. Barbara sat cool and collected as if nothing got beneath her skin. Anna knew better. She'd been where Barbara was now. Finding out about the bigger world the hard way. And she'd handled the knowledge less than well. Screaming and sedated was more like it. Barbara held her own just fine. Composed. Unfettered. And Thomas, as frazzled as the lot of them had to make him, was exactly the same way.

More secrets. The Sons so enjoyed their secrets. The compound was hidden below the earth. Hallways twisted and wound through layers of rock. Doors were closed and locked tightly, each one protecting a secret from prying eyes. Barbara understood their need for secrets. If the general populous found out about them, chaos would result. Besides, whom was she going to tell? Who would believe her if she did? Damn it, she was one of them and she had a right to know exactly what the secrets were, all of them.

The Shaman, impenetrable to her, had his secrets too. The way he kissed, oh that was a very good secret, one she was determined to keep to herself. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how she looked at it. What else he could do with that delectable tongue of his was a secret too. "I'll see you later after the kitchen airs out. Sorry, the smell is killing me," Barbara said using the simmering garlic as an excuse.

Anna looked up from her sauce and winked. "Ok." Anna knew the look on Barbara's face well. That was one good thing about being a vampire. No detail, no matter how small, ever escaped notice. And when Barbara talked about the Shaman, or Doc as most everyone called him. Her face lit up and her eyes shone with excitement. No doubt, feelings were beginning to develop between the two of them. Anna hoped that they wouldn't do something utterly stupid and squash them before they could bloom. An extended lifespan was an awful thing to endure when spent alone.

The woman was absolutely insufferable. Questions, always asking question after question, like a child. He tried to be patient with her. He really did. Sometimes. Despite his best efforts, he lost the tight restraint that held his emotions in check. This was one of those times. She stomped into his quarters, HIS PRIVATE DOMAIN, babbling about secrets and demanding to hear them all. "Woman, I've told you all that I am going to tell you."

"You haven't told me anything," Barbara stammered.

"Precisely. There are some secrets that cannot be revealed. You're an infant. I can't overload your obviously frazzled mind too quickly. You won't understand. Besides, you can barely control your instincts let alone your tongue."

"An infant!" Barbara's fists clinched in fury. The man was simply unbelievable. He didn't trust her. That much was apparent. But, to call her an infant sent a wave of anger down to her core. The way he kissed her was hardly fatherly. She thought he saw her as a woman. Desirable. An infant? Really?

"Our lives are not the only lives bound to secrets. And part of our duty as Sons is to protect those lives and the secrets they hold." The Shaman grimaced as he saw the spark of realization light up her face.

"We're not the only supernatural creatures out there are we?" Barbara asked with a gasp. She clapped her hands in glee. Running through her mental inventory searching for a being that ate... food. "Werewolves or some kind of shifter. Of course! That's it!" She beamed in triumph. Call her an infant? She thought not.