Dawn's Destiny

Claire huddled around the blazing campfire and stared at the merrily dancing flames. The night was cool. Perfect for campfire weather. But, her company left something to be desired. She could pretend that she wasn't being held against her will. She would love to pretend that she'd met some awesome guy on vacation and they were a couple enjoying one of the few last cool crisp nights left before summer started in earnest. But, pretending wouldn't get her anywhere. She'd blown her chance at escape. And she wouldn't get another in the foreseeable future. That was if she had a future.

She looked over at Grant. Crouched low close to the fire, he roasted twin hotdogs on a stick. He definitely wasn't stupid. And he hadn't trusted her with a stick to roast her own hotdog. The stick could become a weapon. Wouldn't kill him, probably. But, even a weenie stick could inflict a fair amount of damage. Poke an eye out or something. "I want mine burnt," Claire huffed.

"Ok, two burnt hotdogs coming up." Grant lowered the stick to the fire and dutifully turned the weenies to ensure each side was adequately blackened to char. He wished he could provide her with something better for supper. But, a bag of chips, marshmallows, and a pack of hotdogs were the best that he could come up with. For a nurse, she didn't eat very healthily. "You know, you should eat better."

Claire stared back at him incredulously. She was sharing her food with him. Not that she had a choice in that. Grant pretty much helped himself to her stash. And the man had a healthy appetite. Her unwanted guest had put quite a dent in her food stash. But, did he really just go there? He ate with the zeal of a trucker. And he had the nerve to lecture her about nutrition? She'd been in a solid size ten since college. Ok, so she never did lose the freshman fifteen, or in her case, twenty. But, she was not obese. "Are you saying I'm fat?"

Grant snickered and rolled his eyes. Women. Did they always have to take the simplest of statements the wrong way? "No. You definitely are not fat. I was just making an observation. That's all," he said, turning his attention to the hotdogs and away from her. Not that he had any right to sneak peeks in the mirror as she showered. But, he had. And he'd responded like any other red-blooded American male would have. He was aching and tender, a reminder of exactly how red his blood was and how hot it flowed.

"I don't eat like this all the time," Claire said defensively. "I'm on vacation and so is my diet. Usually, it's a salad or a frozen dinner for supper." Alone, she secretly added. But, she wasn't going to talk about her love life with a low life like him. Her social calendar was none of his concern. And maybe, if he did think someone could simply pop by, he'd let her go.

"You don't cook?" Grant slid the two hopelessly burned hotdogs onto buns. While handing one to her, he bit into the other and chewed. Masking his grimace of distaste at the way she preferred to eat her hotdogs. Charred to ash was not his thing and the thick blackened skin of the hotdog was positively foul and almost acrid on his taste buds. He was painfully aware that he would never dine on his favorite again. Wild game, raw, energy dripping from his muzzle as he gnawed though sinew and bone with wickedly sharp teeth.

"I do," Claire sputtered. Actually, she could cook, quite well. She just chose not to. She knew what time dinner was served, at her mom's house, if she felt the need for a little home cooking. "Since when did you become so interested in my food choices? Why does it matter anyway?" The hotdog, too undercooked for her liking, could be her last meal. Even a condemned man in prison got the luxury of a last meal. Which was more than she would get. So far, he hadn't harmed her. But, that didn't mean he wouldn't, despite his promises to the contrary. Wiping away the tears that stung her cheeks, she tossed the remainder of her hotdog into the fire.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Grant said gently. He hated it when women cried. And that Clare was trying so hard not to, her shoulders heaving and tears glistening in the firelight as they rolled silently down her cheeks, really got to him. Surely, she wasn't crying because she thought he'd said she was fat? What did he do? Scooting across the log they shared, closer to her, the rest of his hotdog joined hers in the fire. He could not rely on his wolf senses to scent out her mood. And he had absolutely no idea of what to do. Especially when he didn't have a clue of what he'd done to cause the sudden downpour of tears in the first place. Everything was so normal and then...it wasn't. Gingerly, he tipped up her chin and turned her face to his. "Don't cry. Just tell me what I did and I'll apologize."

"You have to ask?" Claire wiped her face on her shirtsleeve. She was bawling now. Sobbing like a schoolgirl. She felt stupid, weak, so like a victim. What was wrong? He was wrong. "I'm due back at work in five days. If I don't show, people will come looking for me. What will they find? A corpse?"

Grant's brows knitted in frustration. She still thought he was dangerous and that he was going to hurt her. Even though he'd handled her as gently as he could. She didn't trust him. And while he couldn't blame her, the realization that she was terrified of him stung. "Claire, I told you I'm not going to hurt you. Don't you believe me? I'm. Not. A. Bad. Man."

"I want to," Claire sniveled. "I really want to." Grant's touch was hotter than the warmth of the fire against her skin. Stirring her pulse to pound wildly in her chest. Not in fear though. Even in the beginning, the attraction had been there, overriding her fear. The surge of passion from just a touch was more terrifying than her fear. If only the circumstances had been different and this had been one of those boy meets girl stories she liked to read. Then there might have been a happy ending in her future. She might actually have liked him. Who was she kidding? She would have fallen love him. But he, bad man or not, was so absolutely wrong for her.

She didn't know a damn thing about Grant. Didn't even know his last name.

Entertaining even the slightest spark of interest in him showed what kind of an idiot she truly was. Holding onto the hope that he really was a good man and that somehow he'd stumbled onto a bad path was stupid. And believing that he would miraculously find his way back onto the straight and narrow was dangerous for her. He was a criminal, a kidnapper, and probably a killer. And even if he held true to his word and didn't permanently stop her heart. If she kept on this Pollyanna path of lunacy, believing in rainbows, sunshine, and true love, then he'd most certainly break it.

"Claire, I'm sorry. I really am. I don't mean to frighten you. I didn't mean to wreck your vacation. If I could, I'd take it all back. Choose a different road. I promise you that," Grant said. Claire's tears were ripping his heart in two. Gently, he wiped the new ones that fell off her cheeks with his thumbs. He had no clue what he was going to do. How he was going to provide for his basic necessities. But, it was evident he couldn't stay here. Claire didn't deserve to be dragged into his mess. He'd made it and he was going to have to clean it up. By the time she awoke in the morning. He'd be gone and she'd have the peace and quiet she'd come here to seek.

Claire closed her eyes. Shocked by Grant's gentle gesture. Her mouth formed the words of her many questions. No matter how bad the truth was. She found herself desperate to hear it. To see him as the man who could touch her so gently instead of the desperate thug holding her captive. "How... how did you end up here? Why here? What happened? If you want me to believe that you won't hurt me. If you want me to trust you then you'll trust me enough to tell me."

"Claire, it's a very long story," Grant answered hesitantly. His reality was too much for her to accept. He had so many secrets that could never be shared. Werewolves didn't exist in the human world. And even if he did tell her the absolute truth, she'd never believe him. He sat silently, staring into the orange flames of the firelight. Sifting carefully through the truth as he carefully chose the bits and pieces of his story that he could share. The truth was an ugly thing. He'd beaten a woman senseless for no other reason than his pride had gotten the better of him. He'd turned on the only father he'd ever known. And he'd betrayed the family he'd sworn to protect. There were no excuses for it. No explanations remotely reasonable enough to justify all the wrongs he'd done.

Claire smiled bitterly at Grant's hesitancy. He wanted her to trust him with her life. But, he couldn't trust her with the truth. Maybe, the truth was so awful she genuinely didn't want to hear it. He grated his hands together. His throat bobbed up and down as he dry swallowed. He sat with his shoulders hunched and elbows resting on his knees, staring into the fire instead of meeting her eyes. The truth, his truth, whatever it was, was bad.

She struggled to remember all the bad things she'd done in her life. The list wasn't that long. But, there were a few less than stellar moments in her past. Everyone had a thing or two they'd done and weren't proud of. Things they'd rather forget. The fire popped and crackled sending a shower of sparks into the trees. Claire followed the path of the firefly sparks of light up into the clear, velvet dark of the starlit sky. She listened to the quiet, giving him time to collect his thoughts. Whatever it was he decided to tell her. She promised herself, not to judge. "Grant, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried."

"No, you're right. I've expected a lot out of you. Just to blindly trust me all the while not giving you a real reason to. But, my story, there's nothing good in it," he said. Taking his time, Grant told a very abridged version of what actually happened. He described his family in as much detail as he could. Explained how very much he loved them and missed them. And how sorry he was that he'd hurt them so deeply. He told Claire about Tala. About how much he thought he loved her. About his jealousy when she chose another over him. And about how badly he'd reacted to it.

Grant winced as he concluded his story and sat silently, shamed him to his core as Claire passed judgment on him. He'd wanted her to understand how shallow of a man he had been. And how very different the man he was now was from that man. He'd been humbled. Changed by what had happened. By the things he'd done. He wanted to make her see him as he was now and not to judge him by how he was then.

Grant's voice was thick with regret. He held little back as he told his story. Parts of it were shocking. A big part of her wanted to judge and to condemn him for hurting so many people. He was convinced his family would never forgive him. And he might be right about that. If she were in their shoes, it would be difficult, maybe even impossible, to turn the other cheek. His family had severed ties with him. Grant had walked away with nothing, not even clothes on his back. Not out of pride or some sense of self-righteousness. But, because he felt he truly didn't deserve a cent to his name or stitch of clothing. He was ashamed, contrite, and completely alone in the world. "Grant, I..."

Grant cut Claire off mid-sentence, holding his hand up to stop her. "I don't need or want your sympathy."

"That's good because I wasn't offering. I just wanted to say thank you for telling me the truth." Claire gently rested a hand on his broad shoulder whishing there was more she could do to help. The man was broken and hurting. Deeply wounded by acts he could never take back. His confession even if it was to her, a complete stranger, couldn't have been easy. It never was easy to looking back and admitting you were wrong.

"You must really think I'm a monster now," Grant said. He refused to lift his head and turn to meet the gentleness in Claire's gaze. The fire was dying down to the last few burning embers. The coals bathing the campsite in swirling, dancing shadows of orange light. The scent of wood smoke hung thick and heavy in the air. And in the distance, a wolf broke the silence of the night with a baleful howl.

A few days ago, he could have identified the wolf by its song. He would have known which brother or sister sang so soulfully and what the song meant. Now, the individual differences in pitch and tone were as indistinct as grains of sand on a distant beach. He didn't know who sang or what song they sung. He couldn't turn his eyes to Claire's. He couldn't stand to see her look at him with disgust for the things he'd done.

"No. I know you didn't tell me everything but you told me enough. I understand what a beautiful and terrible thing love can be. Unrequited love can drive people to acts of desperation. I'm sorry that Tala suffered. I'm sorry that your family got hurt. And I'm sorry, most of all for you."

"Don't be, Claire. I don't deserve any compassion." Claire's palm was warm. Burning his shoulder through the flannel and the cotton t-shirt beneath with the heat of her touch. Grant braved to shift his gaze to meet hers. Her eyes were soft and filled with genuine concern. He had admitted what a shit he really was. And yet she looked at him with such understanding. Her gentle fingers reached up to smooth his furrowed brow. He basked in the comfort of such a simple gesture. This one act of kindness would never be forgotten. The woman he'd forced into the worst possible situation felt his pain and took it upon herself to ease his shattered heart.

Claire closed her eyes, unable to look at the pain that welled within the mahogany depths of his eyes. Grant's skin was cool beneath her fingertips. Worry lines etched deep across his brow. She shouldn't give this man her heart. She shouldn't try to ease his pain. True, he'd earned his family's scorn. But, she had it in her power to give him the one thing he could never ask them for and perhaps they'd never offer. Forgiveness.

Claire didn't flinch when his trembling fingers locked around her wrist, trapping her hand. His jaw, lined with coarse black stubble, rested in her palm, scraping her skin as he nuzzled her fingers. Absorbing the comfort she offered. Her free hand inched out and stroked the silky smoothness of his dark hair, brushing it back from his forehead.

"Claire, look at me," Grant rasped. He had to know what she was thinking. Her eyes revealed the truth. Forgiveness flickered in their teal depths. He basked in her gaze. Let its warmth fill his empty soul. He found redemption in the softness of the gentle strokes of her fingers. He hazarded to reach out and touch her. Caressing her chin with his fingertips, he slowly coaxed her forward. Their faces were inches apart. She held her breath, the tip of her tongue nervously skating across her parted lips.

He had no right to want. No right to do what he was about to do. But, he'd already lost everything else. And really, was there any harm in tasting such a small sample of heaven? Grant lowered his mouth to meet Claire's and gently pressed his lips to hers. He was stunned when she didn't pull away in repulsion but opened wider to let him in. His tongue traced the curve of her teeth. Tasting her rich flavor on the tip. His heart skipped beats as she slid her tongue along his in response.

Their tongues twined in a passionate dance. Claire's soft lips molded to fit perfectly against his. Her sweet tongue dipped into his mouth and explored its depths eagerly, almost hungrily. Grant cupped her cheeks, trapping her against him. His tongue delved into her mouth, flicking across her lips with the zeal of a starving man at a grand buffet. He tasted and sampled, opened for her to do the same. Tilting their heads with the gentle press of his fingers along her jaw to increase the depth and ease in which they feasted on one another.

Claire inhaled, drawing his breath from his lungs. Her body arched towards his as if pulled by a magnetic force, to fall in line with him. The soft, feminine curves of her pressed against his body and her fingers finding their way into his hair pulling him closer still. Grant fisted his hands in the loose folds of her sweatshirt, gripping desperately to restrain them before his wayward fingers got him into trouble. Claire was not a woman to be used once and then thrown away. She deserved to be cherished and savored night after night until an entire lifetime's worth of nights had been dedicated to her. He was not the man to give all them to her.

Grant hated his hands, the way they roamed of their own volition across the sleekness of her curves. His mouth was a curse on her lips. Sampling and savoring, kissing her with wild abandon until his reserve to stop was little more than a fleeting thought against the raging of his body's primitive urges. He wanted her. He needed her. And while it might have been forbidden before, when he was more wolf and less a man, he was more man than wolf now. And he could taste of the fruit again and again as freely as he chose without risking a permanent bond. There was little, if any, pack magic left in him. The only magic flowing through his body came from her kiss and her gentle touch.

Claire made the most delectable mewling sound against his lips. Arching her back as he brushed his thumbs over the sleek material of her bra. Her nipples were hard beneath the lace and scrap of satin. The buds ripened to erect points in response to his touch. The log used as a makeshift bench was hard and certainly not the most comfortable place for them to seek one another out. But, Grant couldn't bring himself to care. He gripped Claire's jeans by the belt loops and hauled her into his lap. The brush of contact and the sheer heat of her snuggled so intimately against him had him sucking in a deep breath and growling in a heady, throaty masculine growl of desire.

He claimed her lips over and over again. Sampled her taste with his tongue. Awkwardly bumped his teeth against hers as the kisses became more intense and urgent. Bathed in the glimmer of heated feminine desire glittering in her teal colored eyes. She smiled against his lips and exhaled. Cupping his cheeks as she ran her fingertips over the stubble lining his jaw. Grant held her, balancing precariously on the rounded curve of the log, their combined weight teetering and weaving in danger of toppling over at any minute. Anything that brought them closer together was a good thing. And falling wouldn't be so bad, as long as they fell into one another.

Claire was a little shocked at her behavior. She straddled Grant's lap, her thighs planted on either side of his. Her knees ached from the bite of the log's rough bark scraping and digging into her skin through her jeans. Teetering haphazardly for a moment, in danger of losing her balance and sending them both toppling ass over teakettle, Grant's strong fingers splayed across the small of her back pulling her tightly against him. The contact left her dizzy and desperate for more. He snaked his hands up her back and locked his fingers through her hair, dragging her in for another one of his wild kisses. And damn, could the man kiss.

Grant didn't kiss like a criminal. He didn't caress like a kidnapper. And if this was some kind of weird side effect of Stockholm syndrome, sign her up. Her heart pounded in her chest. Beating in time with the wild thump-thump of his. His lips, she knew they'd be soft. His hands and those long capable fingers were every bit as promising as his lips.

Grant was shy and a little hesitant. Almost as if he'd never held a woman so intimately. But, with his good looks and the skill in which he kissed, Claire doubted lack of experience was an issue for him. Women probably threw themselves at his feet in droves. And didn't the probability of the simple biological fact of his irresistibility pose an interesting question. Why her? Sure she was here, and of course, the only female available, and very vulnerable in her current position. But, he didn't kiss and he didn't touch like a man who could simply take what he wanted from her.