Dawn's Destiny

Claire tried to put the thoughts out of her mind. She'd known what she was getting into. Grant was completely honest with her, as honest as he could be without giving too much about himself away. But, beyond a few tidbits she truly didn't know the first thing about him. And really, what did it matter? She was enjoying her hiatus from reality. And far too soon the world was going to come crashing down around her. She refused to let the depressing reality that he would be gone bring her down.

Grant rowed the boat. So far, the boat hadn't taken on water and they weren't sinking. Though he still wasn't completely convinced the tiny two man fishing boat was completely sea worthy. In the middle of the lake was not the time to find out it wasn't. He wished he could think of something witty to say. Hell, anything at all to say to ease the pinched expression on Claire's face. She was thinking about tomorrow and the day after, about the day she'd wake up alone. He had nothing. No words that would be a soothing balm to the hard blow he was about to deliver. He should have already have been gone. He never should have made love to her. It was a huge mistake. But, it was one the most wonderful mistakes he'd ever made.

Claire was everything he'd been looking for and hadn't realized he truly wanted. He was mesmerized by the glinting of the sun in her golden blonde hair, entranced by the depth of her teal eyes, enraptured by the warmth of her smile, and the sheer gentle softness of her personality. And the way she'd looked at him as he brought her to orgasm. There weren't words enough to explain how deeply her love had affected him. He'd spend the rest of his life trying to forget her. And he knew he'd never succeed. The best thing he could do would be to leave town, leave the state, and maybe even the damn continent. Keep away from her and let her live her life. But, he couldn't. He was in too deep. It wasn't the wolf in him that had chosen its mate. It was him, the man in him, his very soul that had laid claim to her. And there was nothing, absolutely nothing he wouldn't do to earn his place by her side.

He truly had no idea of how he was going to pull it off. There wasn't a halfway house for wayward ex-wolves. No one capable of helping him navigate his way in the outside world. He could not turn to the pack. They'd rip him to shreds. He had no idea of how to get the things he'd need to survive the cruelties of the harsh world they'd cast him into. He couldn't explain the truth to Claire. For all her softness and willingness, her need to understand, she would never believe him. And he couldn't blame her. To an outsider, his world, the world he'd been born into and was engraved in his very DNA would never make sense.

She could never know the truth about him. And wasn't that a kick in the nuts. Even though he was no longer a part of his world. He still carried it within him, in his damned DNA. He may not be a wolf any longer, or wouldn't be soon enough. But, he would pass the gene down to his children. And living this close to the pack, with the magic of it rippling through the air, he would never be able to hide the truth inside of him forever. Grant rowed in silence. Claire looked everywhere except for at him. The truth of the unspoken went unsaid, hovering like a dark cloud between them.

The boat scraped the bottom of the lake. Claire hopped out, sucking in a breath at the cold bite of the water nipping at her toes. She snatched up the bag and hightailed it for the warm sand on the beach. Grant towed the boat onto the shore, making sure it was on dry land and wouldn't be dragged off by the current. The lake was still a little high and the water a bit turbulent. Taking the boat ride across the lake probably wasn't the brightest thing she'd ever done. They could have capsized and been carried off in the undertow. But, they hadn't been. Grant had steered them safely to the opposite side of the lake and the boat had stayed afloat. Too bad, he couldn't do the same thing for her heart and the rising tide of emotions battering it in the waves of the inevitable.

She smiled coyly for him. Determination overrode her impending sense of doom. Today counted. Tomorrow was going to come and there wasn't a damn thing she could do to stop it from coming. She wanted what she could get in the here and now. And for now, that was him and the golden promise of another night in his arms. She didn't think about the phone at the shower house as she raced him up the beach. She laughed and giggled as if her heart were as light as a feather as he caught up with her, snatched her up, and threw her over his shoulder like a caveman.

He gently smacked her ass as he carted her to the shower house and into the ladies room. Randomly selecting a stall, he flicked on the tap and guided her down the length of his body. Settling her with her thighs wrapped around his waist, kissing her senseless as he relieved her hands of the bags and backed her against the wall of the changing room. The bag fell to the bench, spilling plastic bottles of shampoo, the clothes, and whatever else Claire had packed to the floor. Grant could care less if he smelled like flowers or not. If his hair was silky soft, or Claire shaved her legs. He wanted her and he could not get there soon enough.

Stripping her t-shirt over her head, Grant lowered his face to the hilly cleft of her breasts inhaling the scent of her. She smelled good, the musk of sex, of sweat, and of him perfuming her skin. He kissed first one breast and then the other, taking time to tease the ripeness of her pert nipples to fullness with the tip of his tongue. She was heaven on earth, so soft and warm in his arms. Claire fumbled to keep her hold on the soap as he balanced her weight with his arm around her and worked the snap on her shorts open with his free hand. She wiggled against him in anticipation, making him harder than he already was.

The shower room filled with white, billowing clouds of steam. Grant kept his hold on Claire letting her slide down his body to her feet long enough to relieve her of her shorts and panties and him of his borrowed jeans. They stood pressed together naked and reveling in the heat of one another's bodies. Bare skin brushing against bare skin, kissing and sweating from the balmy humidity of the shower room, he took his time savoring every inch of her. Guiding her under the hot spray, he lathered up a washrag and swabbed the sudsy cloth over her collarbones and over the sensitive tips of her breasts. She drew in a ragged breath and arched her back for more. He had no intention of relenting in his erotic assault of her.

He rubbed the washcloth over her stomach and down between her legs. Working his way up one thigh and then the other before he gently cleaned the center of her with long, languid strokes. Her breathing was a ragged series of desperate pants and gasps and her toes curled as he rinsed away every last soap bubble from the thatch of her curls with painstaking care. Grant reached over her head for the soap and lathered up the washrag for another pass over her skin. Stealing a kiss before he turned his attention back to making sure Claire was squeaky clean everywhere.

Claire braced her palms against the walls of the shower stall. Balancing on wobbly legs as Grant worked his way down her body with the soapy washrag. He handled her as delicately as if she were a china doll and so fragile and breakable. His fingers following the trail of the washrag as he rinsed the soap from her skin. She was so ready for him. So desperate to ease the ache between her thighs, her hips bucking and her back arching, sucking in desperate gasps of humid air and uttering soft moans of desire, her lips pursed on the verge of begging him to stop and give her the release she needed.

The shower spray pounded hot and relentlessly against her back. Marking tempo with her racing thoughts. She forgot about tomorrow. She forgot about how her heart would break when he left. Her body was on fire and it was burning out of control for him. She gripped a hold of his shoulder as he lifted her leg and draped her thigh around his neck. On his knees, staring up at her with those brown eyes lit with masculine craving and desire, he placed a kiss on her sex and traced his tongue over the sleek opening of her. Claire came apart at the seams, crying out his name, desperately clawing at his skin as he worked her thoroughly with his mouth, his lips, and his tongue, giving her the release she needed.

Grant laved Claire's sex, focusing his attention on the pulsating nub beneath his tongue. Her clit was engorged. Her channel tight, hot, and oh so very wet, ready for him. The muscles contracting around his fingers as he sought out her depths. She came for him, clawing at him like a wild tigress, gasping his name in a deep moan of desperation and fulfillment. Her hips bucked wanting more of what he promised. And he was relentless, bringing her there again and again, till she leaned against him bonelessly and panting, her wobbly legs barely able to hold her upright.

He was hard and aching, working himself harder, pumping up and down his shaft with his soap slicked palm. His name on her lips, the sound of it and the deep shuddering quivering of her muscles as she came was almost his undoing. His release hovered on the periphery. But, he was not about to waste such a precious thing in his palm. He was going to be in her when he came. Fill her with his hot come. Relish the sensation of her tight muscles milking the release from him. Grant kissed a path from her sex up to her ripe nipples. Cupping her breasts with his palms he made love to them with his tongue. Lapping at the bitter tinge of soap bubbles he'd missed during his very thorough washing of her.

Claire leaned on him. Dizzied and drunk with pleasure, teetering precariously on the tips of her toes as Grant teased her breasts. He took his time with her although he had to be hurting, aching desperately to be inside of her. His erection pressed into the softness of her belly. The water made her skin slick and she shimmied her hips, teasing him with the friction of her body against his. Grant grunted. Nipping at the nipple trapped between his front teeth, flicking it with brutal flicks of the tip of his tongue. Claire grabbed the ends of Grant's wet hair, tearing his mouth from her breast and pulling him to her lips for a desperate kiss. His tongue thrust in and out of her mouth, possessing her with such thoroughness she could no longer tell where he ended and she began. His hands gripped at her waist, the fingers flexing sliding down her spine to settle at the curve of her butt.

Grant inched Claire's thighs apart and teased her sex from behind. If they had time, if they were truly lovers on the verge of becoming more, he would have spun her around, guided her palms to balance her weight on the shower wall and taken her that way. But, they were not meant to be and he wanted her face to face. Wanted to burn the image of her sweet face, her lips curling in that delicate little 'O' the way they did when he made her come, into his memory. Slicking his hands to settle on the backs of her thighs, he lifted her in his arms.

Claire cinched her legs around his waist, rubbing her slick, swollen, and ready core up and down his length. He panted with the effort of restraining himself from pumping into her like an animal. Gently, tightening his fingers around her thighs he guided her over him and eased inside of her tight center. Gasping in wonder and the feel of her wrapped around him.

The wall of the shower was cool against Claire's heated skin. Grant stretched her with his girth, the thick, heavy weight of him spearing her in the most delightful way possible. He held her still, giving her time to adjust to his size. And he was big. Perfectly shaped. The ripe head of him bumping against her cervix, filling her channel, and even though he had yet to loosen his hold on her, she shattered into a million pieces around him.

Grant whimpered like a pup. Sweating and panting as Claire's orgasm, the tight spasms of her wet core milked him. He didn't want this to end. He'd just arrived in paradise and he was not going to leave it so soon. He held her in his arms, aching and straining, his cock on the verge of exploding as she rode out the wave of her climax. Claire's body took no prisoners in the game of love and gave him no quarter. Languidly, her hips rocked in slow, almost painful undulations, working his groin tight. All he could do was hold on to keep her from sliding from his arms and enjoy. He held back as long as he could, grinding his molars. His breaths short and panting, his lips pressed to hers mouthing words of desperate pleasure. He wanted her there with him. Wanted to look into her eyes and lose himself in their teal depths when he came for her. Crushing her to him, his hips bucking, thrusting his cock deeper inside of her. His hand on her shoulder, pressing her down onto his length, he begged for her to open her eyes. To see him, the real him, and not the man she'd grow to curse in bitterness when he left her.

Claire didn't want to open her eyes. She didn't want Grant's brown eyes searing a hole into her soul that could never be filled. Every muscle in his body was strained from the effort it took for him to hold back. He pumped into her, possessing every inch of her. His lips were a soft whisper against her mouth. His breath a gasping caress of desperation and masculine hunger. He denied her nothing and yet, she meant to deprive him of something as elemental as the heat of her eyes on his. She had no heart left to keep hidden. He'd already claimed it as he'd claimed her body. He wanted her to see him, to remember this part of him. He needed to see her, feel her eyes on him, locked with his as he brought them both to the point of no return. She couldn't deny him this small favor, the longing embrace of their eyes.

Reluctantly, Claire opened her eyes and granted his wish. His long dark lashes fluttered, veiling his eyes. Shielding her from the burning heat of his stare and the searing agony of his love. Grant thrust into her, their bodies crashing together. His hipbones slamming into the soft flesh of her quivering thighs and his jaw clenching from the effort of holding her pinned against his chest.

Claire died a little death. Pleasure ripped flesh from bone. Her eyes remained locked on his, her eyelids fluttering as she forced them open. Grant came, scalding her with his release. Searing her from the inside out. His mouth hard and rough, his lips crushed to hers. His eyes turned her to ash with the intensity of their desperate heat.

Spent, Grant slid Claire down the length of his body, supporting her weight with his arms around her shoulders. She rested her cheek against his chest. The hot shower spray pounded their skin. He rocked her gently, their bodies swaying in time with the beating of their broken hearts. Pressing his lips to the top of her head, he mouthed promises not for her ears. He'd go, not tonight, as he'd planned. Tomorrow or the next day, he'd tear himself out of her life. Temporarily. Long enough to figure things out. He hated himself for falling in love with her. Despised his biology and the heritage in his DNA. And condemned the truth, that might tear them apart or seal their fates as one.

Claire was perfectly happy to pretend. Playfully, she swatted Grant on the ass with a towel and returned to the task of combing out her hair. Sated beyond sating, they'd finished their shower and finally climbed out when the water, cold as the lake, had forced them to retreat. Grant was fine with the charade of contentment and coupledom she faked so well. The truth hovered on the periphery of their thoughts. But, neither one of them was ready to face it and an in depth discussion would only wreck what little time they had together. Perhaps, neither one of them truly thought it was worth the heartache 'the talk' would undoubtedly cause.

Grant dressed in a fresh pair of borrowed jeans and a faded t-shirt watching Claire painstakingly run a comb through her wet hair. He gathered up her things and put them in the bag. Their eyes met through the mirror's reflection, speaking the things neither one of them wanted to say. They both pretended not to notice. And Claire, her comb not missing a beat, and he, busy with the task of picking up their mess, went on as if nothing was about to change.

Chapter 37

Sundown finally came at last. The bluffs were alive with activity. Nash led the pack onto the wide expanse of grassy land with his head held as high as his hopes. Drew had finally come into his position and tonight Nash handed over the fate of his pack into his keeping. The ceremony was symbolic. And in all of pack history this was the first time the leadership of the pack had been handed over to anyone without a bloody fight to the death. Drew wanted the wolves and the vampires to be the 'kissing cousins' they truly were. And Nash knew such a thing came with a price.

It was wise as well as survival not to turn your back on another predator. And for all their logic and designer clothing, even their lavish generosity and the so human manner in which they conducted themselves, the brothers were predators in down to the very enamel on their fangs. The brothers weren't exactly endearing to the wolves either. They were just better at hiding it behind well-practiced masks of cool indifference.

Both sides faced each other, the brothers on one side of the wide clearing and the wolves, some wearing their human form, some not, on the other. Tala stood with Drew in the middle trying to figure out exactly how she was supposed to bridge the gap between these two very different and distant cultures. Agitated magic rippled on the currents of the gusty, cool evening breeze. A few stars had managed to make a dim appearance in the dulling purple sky. And tonight the moon would be fat and full when darkness finally fell. Wolves were not creatures of stillness. And they could not mimic the brotherhood's guise of motionless inactivity. The wolves paced and those remaining in human shape shuffled restlessly from foot to foot constantly in motion, changing position. The vampires didn't so much as blink in their well-practiced stillness. And she was absolutely clueless.

Drew gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to demand that both these very different people, the physical representation of both sides of his dual nature, shake hands and play nice together. Maybe, he should have built a giant sandbox in the middle of the clearing and bought some shovels and plastic buckets. They could have made sandcastles or something. As it was, Dane kept the brothers on their side of the playground much as Nash held back the pack on his.

The magic was a mix of hot and cold, abrasive against Drew's skin. Swirling in tornadoes between the wide expanse of ground separating the two sides. Not even the magic wanted to play nice. Vampires were creatures of habit, of the dark, of air and the lightness of shadows. Wolves were earthbound, calling to the power beneath their paws. And somehow, it was up to him to bring these two very different sides together and unite them as one.

Yes, it was necessary. Yes, it had to be done. But, he had no idea of how to do it. The women, God love them, were trying to find a common ground between the two factions. Anna had spent the day cooking and had a massive display of food spread out for the pack. A hog roasted on a spit beneath an open fire. Barbecue sauce dripped and sizzled onto the glowing coals. And damn, although he had yet to explore this particular side of his dual nature, Drew had to admit, it smelled damn good.

The wolves were twitching their noses at the delectable smoky scent in the air. And the brothers were holding their collective breath against the smell they most likely found stomach churning and repulsive. Split open a vein and the brothers would be the first in the serving line. But, roast a hog and it was every man for himself. Drew had to give the brothers credit though. They stood their ground, their faces skillfully masked in impartiality.