Dawn's Darkest Hour

Robert rested his forehead on the cold, steel rim of the trashcan and took a deep breath, grateful for the Kleenex she offered, even more grateful when he realized that she hadn't touched it. Shakily, he stuffed his hands back into the latex gloves and hefted himself up to the edge of the desk. "Thank you for your help and for not calling the police," he rasped.

"Mr. Black. Is Cole ok?"

Robert shook his head. "No. No he isn't."

Chapter 110

Shayla found a quiet corner of the city and pulled into a parking lot. She didn't know where to start looking. The sun was warm through the windshield. Grateful for an excuse, she shed her jacket like a second skin and reclined in the seat. Opening her mind, she sifted her way through the layers of cobwebs and dust in her memory and pulled out the mental box labeled Carter. "Tell me where you are," she whispered.

She sucked in a shallow breath as the link to Carter stretched like a rubber band. Trembling, she felt his presence in her mind. He was scrabbling wildly to block her. Forming wall after impenetrable wall intended to keep her out. But, he wasn't fast enough. She knew where he was and he was in pain, terrible, terrible pain. The mental rubber band snapped and she was alone in her mind. Without time to waste she peeled out of the parking lot, oblivious to the traffic as she barreled onto the narrow city street desperate to get to him.

Eric studied Daniel coolly. "So, you wish to remain here with Yessette." He kept his face an emotionless mask. Inwardly, he beamed in absolute triumph.

Daniel nodded in irritation, "That's what I just said." He squeezed Yessette's dainty fingers with his palm. The vampire master didn't need to know exactly how desperately he wanted to stay with her. He wanted to stay badly enough to throw his entire future out the window to remain by her side. "I've got to call off my dad before he rips this city apart to find me."

"I don't suppose your father would be willing to see things from our point of view, would he?" Cooperation would be so much better than force. If he could convince Daniel to coax a few of his brothers to his side, that would be all the better. For now, he was playing good vampire filled with concern and respect for the youth and his tender feelings.

Daniel shook his head. His dad was an eternal do gooder. There would be no switching to the dark side for him. "Not a chance." Besides, Daniel would not drag anyone down the path he'd so willingly chosen. "Look, I have to do this. I have to confront my father."

Eric nodded and rested his chin on his steepled fingertips. "I see."

Daniel shrugged, "The problem is that I don't know where to find him." Even if he could call out his wolf which, he couldn't. His wolf was young and inexperienced. In an endless maze of scents he'd never find his father's trail.

"Perhaps I can be of some assistance in this matter. Let me make a few calls." Gracefully, Eric rose from his wingback beside the fireplace and reached for his cell phone.

"You know where to look?" Daniel asked in confusion.

"Let's just say, I've got a few connections, lowly in high places, so to speak." Eric turned his back on the boy and pounded out a text. "Ah, of course," he muttered as the reply scrolled through. "Daniel, shall we?"

Daniel cast a glance at Yessette. She smiled back. Her beauty erased all doubts he had about his course of action. He was a man. He made his own choices in his life. His father had nothing to say about them. He just wanted to see his dad one last time before he was irrevocably banished from the pack. Lips pursed, he sucked in a deep breath and stared into Yessette's eyes, finding the reassurance of her love in their depths. She was worth any sacrifice. "Let's do this."

Chapter 111

The graveside service didn't attract as many visitors as the memorial in the gym. Rod wasn't offended though. He guided Amy through the thick clumps of grass and deposited her in a smaller version of the folding chair she'd occupied earlier. He was grateful. So far, she was holding up as well as could be expected. But, he wasn't sure how much more Amy had in her. Hell, he wasn't sure how much more he had left in himself.

Wearily, he wound his way through the crowd and nudged a boy to the side. Escorting his daughter on the last mile of her journey out of this life was his job. The mortician cast him a dubious look as he positioned him beside the casket. Rod gripped the handle in his fist, surprised that the steel rod was warm to the touch. Must be the warmth of the day. Overhead, the sky was a clear blue and a fat, yellow sun hung lazily in the western sky. Preparing to make its descent into the horizon in a blaze of glory. At the mortician's prompt, Rod lifted his burden along with the five other strangers, teenagers, to carry his daughter to the open mouth of her waiting grave.

Amy had no one to cling to. Someone beside her helped her to her feet as the pallbearers carried her daughter to the grave. Her eyes met Rod's for a brief second. Understanding washed through her. He hadn't abandoned her. But, done his duty, caring for their little girl one final time. A sob choked and died in her throat as the casket rested on the metal rungs above the grave. Trembling she grabbed hold of the hand of a stranger and squeezed as tightly as she could. The hand squeezed back, reassuring and warm. Rod returned to his empty seat and clasped onto her free hand. Together, the two hands held her upright and didn't let go of her through the remainder of the service.

Rod exhaled in relief as the minister finished the final prayer and urged the crowd back to the normal routines of their lives. As if his life had a normal routine to return to. Everything he'd ever known was about to change. He and Amy, there was no going back for either of them now.

Jessie let go of Amy's trembling hand and surrendered her back into the arms of her husband. Hastily, she gathered up her kids and herded them toward a beat up station wagon that had seen more than its share of miles. As the preacher had prayed the final prayer, she whispered her own additions to it. She softly muttered a request to God that Cole was out there somewhere safe and sound and that someday, he'd find his way home again.

Nora picked her way through the crowd. Still dumbfounded by the incident in her classroom. She couldn't begin to guess what Mr. Black had seen, but whatever it was it wasn't good. That much she'd gathered when he lost his lunch. Thoughts thundered within the confines of her brain. Worry for Cole, regret for Rachael, and hope, yes, hope was still there, for David.

The woman slid out of the crowd and wound her way through to an older, quieter part of the cemetery. She carried a bundle of silk flowers clutched in her fist. She didn't know why she did this. Her son wasn't really dead. But, she went through the ritual season after season. "You're always so messy," she accused, brushing a shower of fallen orange and brown leaves off of the headstone. The stone was already decorated with the colors of fall. She added more flowers to the arrangement anyway.

This time though the flowers weren't for David. Weren't in mourning for the life that had ended ten years ago. They were for Theresa, her daughter. She didn't blame David for Theresa's death. The world was full of blame. She didn't have the heart to hold grudges these days. Time was too precious of a thing to waste. Evidence of that was all around her, in the changing of the season and in the rows of headstones. Death had to happen if life was to bloom again. She missed her baby girl and dreamed of the day when they'd be reunited. Soon enough that day would come. For now, she thanked God for what she still had. For the son, she could still hold in her arms.

Chapter 112

Rod closed the front door and locked the world out. He switched off the cell phones and tossed them on the kitchen table. The house phone was next. The silence after the fiasco of the day was as welcome as a long soak in a hot tub for Amy and an ice-cold beer for him. He ripped his tie free from his shirt and shucked the stiff garment into a pile on the floor. Amy stood in the middle of the living room, lost. "What's next?" she asked. Her voice echoed in the stillness around her.

"I don't know," Rod answered. He wiggled his feet free of the nylon socks and padded across the carpet. They were both raw and wounded from the funeral. Burdened with hurts that might never completely heal. Gently, he pecked the top of her head with his lips and wound his arms tightly around her pulling her to his chest. During the funeral, the only thing he'd had to look forward to, the only thing that had gotten him through the day was the thought of coming home and unleashing the tears that had been building. Now, he didn't want to cry. He wasn't keeping anything bottled up inside. There just weren't any tears.

"I feel so lost without her," Amy whispered. She rested against the strength of Rod's embrace and wondered where she would have been without him over the past couple of weeks. Before Rachael's death, she didn't hold him in very high regards. Now, she saw him, for what he truly was, her rock, her helpmate in tough times, and her husband.

Rod buried his face in Amy's hair and confessed. "Me too." He rasped his cheek over the silk of her blonde locks, comforted by their warmth and softness. "I don't know if the hard part is over or not. Maybe, it gets harder. Maybe it doesn't. But, I do know, we'll make it. Day by day, we'll keep hanging on. As long as we hang on to the right things, we'll be fine."

"What are the right things?" Amy asked. Her eyes roamed over the posh contents of the spacious living room with its vaulted ceilings and luxury furnishings. She'd been wrong so many times before. Out of all the things she'd surrounded her family with, none had made them truly happy. Rod and she fought to scrabble their way to the tops of the food chain and battled even harder to stay there. Were the few dollars and hour they'd gained worth all they'd lost? Was money and a fancy house full of stuff worth the sacrifice of all the time they could have spent with Rachael and didn't or all the time they could have spent as a husband and wife, but were simply too exhausted to mutter more than a polite sentence to one another thanks to the life they'd chosen to live?

Rod squeezed Amy tighter and dropped his head to her neck to nuzzle her soft skin with his lips. She smelled of expensive perfume, grief, and tears that had yet to fall. Over the years the affection that had brought them together in the first place had fizzled out to the point of perfunctory necessity. The gentle passes of his lips over her throat were the only physical closeness either one of them could emotionally afford for a while. The relaxation and freedom that came with making love was a long way off. He wasn't after sex any more than she was. He was content to hold his wife and she to just be held. For the first time in ages, they were simply what the other person needed them to be. "Each other."

Chapter 113

Carter panted against the effort of blocking Shayla from his thoughts. Wildly, he struggled against the chains holding him bound to the chair. She was heading into danger. Just the scent of her anywhere around him would be enough to endanger her life. She was a fool in coming for him and a bigger fool to trust him to battle his basest instincts. If she got too close to him, restrained or not, he'd give into his hunger and drink deeply.

Bianca sat on the edge of the desk unblinking and watching Carter's battle with the chains holding him fast. He was beaten, bruised, and blood stained from the wolf's interrogation techniques. Actually, for as horrific as Carter looked, the wolf had been rather gentle compared to some of the more delicate means of questioning she'd seen over the centuries. Wolves were brutal. Humans were both brutal and creative. Unfortunately, vampires were ruthless when it came to extracting vital information. She shuddered at what vampires would do as means of persuasion. There were only a handful of ways to kill a vampire, but myriad ways to make one wish he were dead.

"What in the hell has gotten into you?" Bianca tsked. "Really Carter, for a man with a death sentence hanging over your head. You don't seem to be the least bit concerned about conserving what little energy you have left. We don't have much time to conjure up a plan to get you out of this. I suggest you focus your efforts on strategy instead."

The intercom on her desk buzzed annoyingly. She was expecting the call. O'Sullivan wouldn't leave his prize here to rot, nor would he want Carter irreparably damaged. Eric would have a plan. Whatever it was though. It might not be enough to bargain for Carter's freedom. The Sons were pretty specific in terms of right and wrong. She was pretty secure in her position. Eric needed her right where she was, playing the middle of both sides. He had enough dirt on both Carter and her. Fortunately, he couldn't use it without condemning himself along with the two of them.

Given the trail of bodies they'd left in their wake throughout the centuries. If the Sons ever found out how deeply their sins went, none of the three of them would live to see the dawn. Whatever Eric's plan was, it'd better be a good one. And it'd better get her ass out of the sling he'd gotten her into. "What?"

"You have a visitor," the tinny voice on the other end announced.

"Very well, send them up." She snapped off the intercom before her guard could say another word. "Well Carter, we'll see how much we can trust O'Sullivan. I heard before he was turned, he was a magician for the Royal Court. I guess we'll see if he can still pull a rabbit out of the hat. Won't we."

Shayla stormed into the elevator and watched the guard punch in a secret code, which sent the elevator careening up. Impatiently, she tapped her toe, annoyed when it matched the rhythm of the music playing through the overhead speakers. The catchy tune, a bad rendition of Muskrat Love, if her 70's music trivia was correct, was as annoying as the guard breathing down the back of her neck. The Guardian assigned to see her safely to the penthouse suite that was the heart of vampire central glared down at her stonily, seemingly unfettered by her impatience. He himself though was in a hurry to deposit her where she belonged. No sooner than the doors whisked open with a metallic hiss, he ushered her forward into a posh suite and all but dragged her to down a narrow hallway. "The leader of the Guardians will see you now."

Shayla double-timed her steps in the direction to which he pointed and stopped at a set of ornately carved double doors. Not bothering to knock, she barged in. A gasp froze in her throat as her eyes fell on Carter's crumpled figure. He was secured with thick layers of chains to a chair in the center of the room. "Carter!"

Bianca shook her head in dismay. She really had to work on educating her Guardians about the proper screening of visitors. The female wolf rushed toward Carter. Her eyes were rounded with horror and her hands trembled at the sight of him. Carter doubled his efforts to break free of the chains restraining him. The metal links groaned with the strain of holding him fast. Luckily, though the biting of cold steel into his flesh slowed him down. His nostrils flared crazily locking on the female's scent and hunger flashed like lightening in the cool arctic blue of his eyes.

Bianca hopped to her feet to intercept. "Have a care, princess. Carter isn't quite himself right now," Bianca warned. Grabbing the woman around the middle, stopping her before she accidentally got into harm's path, Bianca hauled her back. The last thing she needed was a dead werewolf in her office. If that happened there'd be no amount of explaining that even Eric, as gifted as he was with his tongue, could use to get Carter out of a death sentence.

"Let me go!" Shayla wriggled in the female vampire's steely grip. The female vampire was a femme fatale if she'd ever seen one. Beautiful. Curvy. Polished. Deadly. The woman was graceful, holding her tightly and countering Shayla's every attempt to get to Carter. Shayla stopped struggling and stilled in the woman's hold. Fighting the woman wasn't accomplishing a thing but exhausting the both of them. Carter looked more feral than he did human. His eyes blazed and nostrils flared, his head turned to her, following her scent. "What have you done to him?"

Bianca huffed and tightened her grip. For a smaller woman, lighter, fragile of bone and stature, Bianca had her hands full trying to keep her hold on the wolf. Either the wolf didn't know what Bianca was or she didn't care. The wolf stood brazenly, holding her ground with her chin lifted and eyes flashing with outrage and accusation. Obviously, the woman had assumed the Guardians had something to do with Carter's treatment. Bianca had other means of persuasion and didn't need to resort to violence to get what she wanted. Although the idea of getting physical with this tiny spitfire of fury appealed to her on a number of levels. "Why don't you ask your pack mate about that," she gritted.

Hunter burst through the doors and skidded to a stop just inside the office. The noise of shouting and feminine squeals indicated one hell of a cat fight was going on behind the closed doors. He'd been the only one brave enough to open the door and truly find out. "Shayla, what are you doing here?"

Carter's fangs were fully extended, throbbing with hunger. His appetite stimulated by Shayla's gentle scent. "Get her out of here!" he rasped. He hadn't been too fond of the chains or the beating that had ensued after their application. Hunter had very painful interrogation techniques. But, Carter had been able to withstand the physical beating. He was no stranger to pain and he'd endured worse. Watching Shayla bravely go toe-to-toe with a roomful of warriors, Guardians, and Hunter. Witnessing her bristling with determination to fight for him hurt far worse than any physical damage that had been done. Cuts and bruises healed. This kind of soul deep torture did not.

"Yes, Shayla, is it? Tell us. What are you doing here?" Bianca mocked, shoving her toward Hunter. Let him deal with his own kind. She had more important things to worry about. Primarily, where in the hell was O'Sullivan?

Shayla glared at Hunter and twisted her way out of his grip. "I came to help. I figured if I could find Carter. I might be able to talk him into telling us how to find Daniel."

Hunter frowned sternly. "I've tried convincing Carter to talk and he won't."

Shayla gasped, her fists clenched and unclenched in outrage. "You did this to him?" She swung without thinking and was satisfied by the sound of crunching bone beneath her fist as she drove her knuckles into his nose. "Bastard!" Someone, judging by the smell of leather and the bulk of the arm wrapped around her middle, dragged her away from Hunter.

Carter roared at the smell of freshly spilled blood and fought even harder against his chains. Vampire interrogation techniques were pretty straightforward. Starvation if allowed to go on long enough could force a vampire into selling out his own mother for just a taste of blood. He pushed his mealtimes to the very brink of tolerance as it was. Add to his hunger the beating Hunter had inflicted and his sensibilities were tethered by a very thin thread.

"Let go of me!" Shayla shouted. She wriggled fruitlessly in the arms that held her captive. Suddenly though, she was very, very glad to have a warrior at her back. She sucked in a breath, as did the other occupants in the room as O'Sullivan waltzed into the office like he owned the place.

"Well, well, well, looks like I got here in the nick of time." O'Sullivan chuckled under his breath as he sauntered into the office with his charges in tow. The plan, his only plan to garner Carter's release was a simple one. Let the truth be told from the mouths of babes. The scene playing out was an amusing one. The little female wolf stood frozen in shock. Carter slavered in his chains, his nose working furiously to inhale the very essence of spilled blood. Hunter obligingly bled as he clutched his nose and worked up the courage to jerk the broken bones straight. The warriors and Bianca stared at him helplessly with expressions that seemed to beg for someone to do something. Well, fortunately, that was exactly what he planned to do.