Dawn's Destiny

His wolf knew better than to bring them this close to humans, especially to leave him here to awaken naked practically on their doorstep. Inside the cabin blankets rustled and bedsprings creaked as someone stirred on the verge of waking. Nash exhaled in relief that nobody had seen him. He melted into the woods before whoever was throwing back the blankets and gently placing their feet on the floor spotted a naked man sitting on a log outside of the cabin and called the cops. Nash had met Mack and while Mack was in the know. He somehow doubted that the sheriff would take too kindly to a frantic call from a concerned citizen this early in the morning.

Safely hidden in the brush and trees, Nash crouched to study a set of footprints stamped into the muddy ground. The prints were deep set in the mud and spaced far apart. Barefoot human tracks, those of a tall man with a wide stride. It was his business to know everything there was to know about his pack. And Nash recognized the imprints in the mud, the slight roll of the right foot left behind from an old ankle injury Grant had never been completely able to heal. His wolf had led him to Grant. The wise old soul of his wolf didn't kill indiscriminately. But, Nash had to wonder if his wolf had brought him here to finish what Grant had started.

Grant was weak, almost completely human, and no threat to the pack. Nash had no reason to kill him. He didn't want to finish what Grant had started. In his mind, it was already done. Grant had been punished enough. He was going to live out his days missing part of his soul. And Nash had a very difficult time imagining a fate worse than being stripped of your wolf. He was pack master and his word was law. What he decided the pack obeyed. And he did not want some ambitious young pup happening across Grant and killing him for pack honor. Nash could not welcome him home. But, he would extend his protection.

A new era was dawning for the wolves. The old ways were no more. Nash had already had his fill of fighting to the death. He bore the scars of his battles and wore them proudly. And while there was still plenty of fight in him, he wanted no part of it. He'd chosen his successor in his grand daughter. Mouse would be trained when the time came. The girl deserved a childhood in the meantime. And it was up to him to make sure she got one.

Tala was the bridge between the old ways and the new era. Nash did not envy her the task. But, he could see now what the Great White Wolf's purpose had been. Why Tala and why at this particular time. The Prophet had known death was coming for him. And he'd known his brother would need Tala, her gentleness, understanding, and her love to guide him into a world he hadn't even known existed.

Nash could read the energy of the woods. There was powerful magic in this place, flowing through every living thing. The magic was hesitant, as if it were holding its breath. Building. Waiting to be unleashed. Nash felt it in the stillness of the trees. Thrumming through the soles of his feet from the earth beneath them. Rippling through the air to caress his bare skin and stir the ends of his hair.

His spirit wolf was restless, prowling through his mind in nervous agitation. Tonight, the bluffs would be the Great White Wolf's proving ground. The magic would test him, break him down and rebuild him. The power would flow through him, through the brotherhood and the pack. There would be no birth of blood nor one of flesh. But a union of souls, of power, and of magic, goddess born and goddess blessed.

Nash knelt on the ground, digging his fingers into the deep, spongy, loam, scraping his nails across the soft, wet mud beneath. He called to his wolf and let the beast have the man. The wolf emerged, quickly changing hands and feet into paws, shortening limbs, contorting them to carry his weight. Thick fur in varying shades of gray replaced bronzed skin. Muzzle molded from flesh and bone. But, the eyes were not unintelligent, not those of a beast, but those of a man with reason and purpose.

Life at the house above ground and at the compound deep below went on as it always had. There was a kind of restless excitement in the air as everyone waited for the magic to reach its crescendo. And while everyone, every wolf and every Son went on about the business of a daily routine, each and every one of them know after tonight their lives would be touched and in some way never be the same.

Chapter 34

Claire awakened with Grant's arms firmly wrapped around her body. The last thing she remembered was sitting in front of the fire, cuddling with Grant. She must have fallen asleep and rather than waking her, he'd carried her to the cabin and put her to bed. Yes, she was cuddling with a criminal. Her dad would be so proud. But, after last night, she had difficulty, seeing Grant as a desperate man, as a criminal. He'd opened up to her. And his words were laced with regret. Not the hardened speech of a criminal, but the words of a deeply wounded man. The arms that circled her waist weren't those of someone who meant her harm. But, those of a man searching for comfort and refuge in her.

Was she really so stupid? Going soft? Claire slid out from under Grant's heavy arms and inched to the foot of the bed. He always slept on the outside leaving her pinned between him and the wall. The first night he'd done it to make sure she didn't go anywhere and it had been terrifying. She'd resented his arms protectively curled around her. Odd, that now, she didn't really seem mind it anymore. She really was going soft. This was her chance to escape. Grant was sound asleep. Snoring softly as he spooned her pillow. His dark hair had fallen across his brow and his face, lax in slumber had an almost boyish innocence to it. And yeah, call her stupid, but the only thing she could think of was kissing a path across the thick stubble on his jaw to that adorable cleft in his chin.

Nature was calling. Loudly. And her body had other things on its mind besides cuddling with Grant. She really, really had to pee. And by the time she made the trek to the outhouse and back she'd be inescapably wide-awake. Cursing the lack of proper indoor plumbing Claire eased off the bed and slid her feet into her battered tennis shoes. "Going to the bathroom," she whispered as if Grant were alert enough to hear her. She half expected him to jump up, grab her, and insist on accompanying her. Grant rolled over and resumed his light snoring, completely oblivious to the fact that she was yards away from freedom. Claire blew out a deep breath at the level of her idiocy. Now was her chance. And damn it, she wasn't going anywhere but to the outhouse. Gently turning the doorknob, she inched the door open and carefully pulled it closed behind her.

Grant cracked an eyelid open. How dumb was he? He was letting her go. Offering Claire a chance for freedom and to escape him. He was weak, almost completely human. If she decided to run, he might not be able to catch her before she could get away. In her haste, Claire had left the door open a crack. He watched her hightail it to the outhouse. Curious as to what she would do next.

He reminded himself that he was already supposed to be gone. That had been his intent last night when he carried her to the cabin and tucked her into bed. She'd fallen asleep in his arms. And he'd held her tightly, until the last of the fire's embers burned out and the night chill forced her to seek out his warmth and cuddle even tighter against him. She woke up for a moment when he laid her down on the bed and gently took off her shoes. Whispering his name as her eyelids fluttered shut. And that, the sound of his name on her soft, pink lips, had been his undoing. Instead of leaving, he'd kicked off his socks and pulled his shirt over his head and crawled into the bed beside her, cradling her to his bare chest.

Claire finished her business and cleaned her hands with the alcohol gel Grant had reluctantly surrendered. Standing amongst the bugs trapped in the spider webs stretching from one shadowy corner of the outhouse to the other, she contemplated what to do. The smart thing would be to run. Get help. Let the law decide Grant's fate. Dim light filtered in through cracks in the aged wooden boards. Toeing the dusty floor with the toe of her sneaker she kicked up a cloud of dust, watching the particles dance in the weak sunbeams. She was fast and fit. She could run for it. Time gave her an advantage. She could make it to the shower house and call for help. Grant was fast asleep. He'd never wake up in time to catch her.

Her heart pounded. Body tensed, ready to act as fight or flight kicked in. She took a deep breath, wiping her sweaty palms on her thighs. The logical part of her more interested in self-preservation than affairs of the heart screamed at her to run for it. The softer side, the compassionate, completely out of touch with the real world part of her that still believed in Santa Claus and love at first sight, gently begged her to stay. Grant had been so careful not to wake her. Carried her in the house and tucked her into bed. Were those the acts of a desperate thug? A murder? Her fingers rested on the rusty latch of the outhouse door, flexing in indecision.

Claire popped open the latch. Morning sunlight warmed her cool cheeks. She shivered against the morning chill. The soles of her Keds slick from the wet grass. Tendrils of white steam danced across the placid, glassy surface of the lake. A bird chattered down at her from its perch in the leafy branches over her head. There was a quiet to the woods. A breathless type of anticipation for whatever the day had in store. She truly was a fool. But, she was determined to make the best of her foolishness and be the best fool she knew how to be. Eying the narrow footpath that led into the woods, she squared her shoulders and hoped she wasn't wrong about Grant. Turning in the opposite direction of the path, toward the cabin, she walked with conviction in her stride.

Her heart had won over her head. She wasn't calling the cops. She wasn't going to make a run for it. She was going to face Grant and the consequences of her decision. Running would have been the smart thing to do, the safe thing. But if she ran, she'd never know the man who beneath his rough exterior hid such a kind and gentle heart. Same as she, and everybody else on the planet, he only wanted to be loved.

Grant snapped his eyes shut tight and resumed his fake snores. Suppressing the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Claire came back. He'd given her an option. Set her free and she'd chosen him over her freedom. He pretended that the morning sun streaming across his face through the faded gingham curtains had awakened him instead of her absence. Giving her time to pull off her shoes, wash her face and hands, and brush her teeth in the makeshift sink before he yawned and rolled over. Mumbling a very faux sleep-induced, "Hi," to her.

"Hi." Claire blushed at the sudden surge of attraction she felt for him. Grant's hair was tousled from sleep. His eyelids droopy, lashes at half-mast. Covering eyes that shone with a golden hue in the morning light. He yawned and stretched, wigging his toes beneath the blankets with a hint of mischief tugging at the corner of his lopsided grin. For a minute, she indulged the fantasy that this was an ordinary morning and that he belonged in her bed. She dug through what was left of her bag of goodies she'd picked up on her way out to the cabin.

The Super Center had everything, including the strictly off limits box of powdered sugar donuts and the real, fully loaded with sugar and caffeine, soda she clutched in her fist. Nonchalantly, as if he had absolutely no effect on her, she tore into the box and sat on the edge of the bed. She hadn't packed for two and they were out of coffee. This morning they'd have to settle for a shared soda. Cracking open the soda, she handed the can to Grant as she nibbled on a donut. Pretending not to notice the bulge tenting the blanket. "Sleep well?"

Grant slid up in the bed into a sitting position and leaned back against the pillows. He was on cloud nine and just couldn't help the grin blooming across his face. He took the soda from Claire's hand and gulped down half of the can before handing it back to her. She frowned at him and took a sip to wash down the donut she'd been contemplatively chewing. Grant reached out and brushed a sprinkling of powdered sugar off her bottom lip. Pausing to trace the softness and fullness of her lip with his thumb as he did so. "Yeah. You?"

"Yeah," Claire said breathlessly. Grant caused absolutely crazy things to happen to her with just the slightest touch. Her heart jackhammered in her chest and her knees turned to jell-o. His thumb gently traced a path back and forth across her bottom lip. He grinned wickedly and brought his thumb to his mouth, licking off the powdered sugar he'd brushed off her lips with the tip of his tongue. She blushed and glanced away from the toe curling heat in his stare. The braided rug on the floor wasn't nearly as interesting as his finely defined bare chest. But, the rug was safer. The man did seduction every bit as well as he kissed. And oh boy, was she never going to forget those kisses.

He slid the pop can out of her grip and finished the can in one deep gulp. And then preceded to sneak the bite of donut she hadn't eaten, by lifting her hand to his lips and taking the bite right out of her fingers. His mouth was hot, his lips soft as they brushed against her fingertips. He chewed and swallowed, licking the remaining bits of powdered sugar and donut crumbs free from his lips with the tip of his tongue. Claire had no idea processed breakfast foods could be so sensual. And she'd never look at a box of donuts in quite the same light again.

Grant didn't need his wolf to sense the desire radiating off Claire in waves. Hell, he was right there with her. She wore her hair up in a messy ponytail. The blonde tendrils that had managed to snake free from the band, curling to cup her cheeks and the nape of her long, graceful neck. Her cheeks were stained red with a heated blush. And she nervously nibbled at her bottom lip. Her fingers flexed and clenched at the box of donuts on her lap. Her nails scraped against the box's slick surface. She sat so primly on the edge of the bed. Her legs crossed at the ankles. But, her body gravitated ever so slightly, leaning toward him.

He wondered if she regretted not running when she had the chance. And maybe, she should have. Whatever wolf was left in him had his sights set on her. His wolf was a very, very efficient hunter. It was too late for her to run now. His wolf never let the prey get away. Gently, he reached out and stroked the soft skin of her cheek. Tracing the blush staining them red. Her lips curved in a smile and she sighed against his palm. If only he could give her more than this. He was selfish. Seeking comfort and refuge, craving the solace of her warmth. He wanted. And it wasn't with the instinctive hunger of his wolf. But, with the raw need of a man who had looked for far too long and had never dared to touch.

Claire sighed and leaned into the gentleness of the fingers stroking her cheek. Oh yeah, she could pretend on so many different levels that she wasn't who she was. Take a little mental vacation from her self and for once just enjoy. She was always the responsible one. Dependable. Reliable. So fucking dutiful and obligated to fill the shoes everyone thought she should fill. It made her want to puke. No one saw the real her begging to escape. Only Grant. And he was as temporary as they came.

She wasn't going to call Mack. She wasn't going to run. She was ready for some danger and excitement in her life. Throw caution to the wind and let go. Grant would be gone and she would go back to her ordinary, boring, normal, predictable self. Her body needed the promises it felt in his touch. Her heart needed the temporary reprieve from the crushing weight of responsibility and the mundane existence she called a life.

Claire let his gentle fingers coax her into the crook of his arm. Cocooned against his chest and sheltered from the chilly morning beneath the blankets and the heat of his body. She inhaled, holding her breath to trap the smell of man and dreams on the sheets. Her palm rested on his chest, feeling the steady, rhythmic thump of his heartbeat against her fingertips. The beat sped and fluttered against the pads of her fingers as she tilted her head and pressed her lips to the cleft of his chin.

Grant closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of Claire's touch, light and feathery across his chest. Her lips were warm and soft. The tip of her tongue so hot as the tip traced the deep cleft in his chin and worked its way up to his mouth. She lay in the crook of his arm, her weight balanced against his hip and her knee wedged between his thighs. He had one arm wrapped around her waist, his fingers tracing patterns over the bare skin at the small of her back. His free hand clutched her shoulders, crushing her to him. Claire brought her lips to his, her tongue teasing its way inside his mouth. Lifting his head, his neck muscles straining, he claimed her mouth with languid strokes of his tongue. She tasted sweet, of powdered sugar and soda, of decadent treats to be savored.

Grant had always relied on his wolf senses to give him information about the world around him and the people in it. Emotions carried scents. Lust was sweet, like cherry candy. Hatred, acrid and bitter like the smell of burned food left too long on the stove. Desire, earthy and rich like freshly ground coffee beans. Fear was a pungent scent, unpleasant and choking like the thick smoke of smoldering leaves. And love had a unique essence beyond accurate description, sweet, and calming, spicy, and so soothing.

Without his wolf the world was bland and dull, lifeless. He felt as if he were experiencing life from the inside of an impermeable bubble of sensory deprivation. He smelled, tasted, saw, and felt, but at only a fraction of what he had when he was with his wolf. Grant had no idea what Claire was thinking beyond the intensity of what her body communicated. She wanted him. That much was clearly apparent in the heat of her kiss and the pounding of her heart against his chest. She arched her back and mewled breathless sighs against his mouth, stealing his breath. Grant would give her what he could. Everything he had, which was nothing beyond these fleeting moments in time.

He had no job. No money. No place to live. Nothing but the clothes on his back, and they weren't even his. The pack was a threat. No doubt they were disappointed in Nash's decision to let him live. They could take matters into their own hands and finish the job for him. Grant would be easy pickings for them, defenseless in this wrapper of human skin. He shouldn't be here with Claire. He had no right to be breathing the same air she breathed let alone dare to touch her.

His wolf was gone. He was simply a man. Weak. Fragile. Vulnerable. Ordinary. A dangerous spark flared to life inside of him. Kindled by the warmth of her hands on his skin. Her touch burned him to the very core of his soul. And he didn't mind so very badly being ordinary as long as he had her making him feel so very extraordinary.

Claire's skin was smooth and so soft beneath his rough fingertips. Her breath hitched in her throat as he stroked a path up the curve of her waist. His fingers splaying across her ribs, and his thumb working its way under the lacy bra to tease her nipple taut and erect, the berry flesh pebbling in response to his touch. Her fingers ran though his hair and traced across the rough stubble on his jaw. She was well aware of his situation. And the fact that he had nothing didn't seem to matter to her. She saw beyond the barriers between them and found him waiting there on the other side. .