Dawn Reclaimed

"I will." Nash replied. He dipped his head at Drew and focused his attention on his daughter. Tala was exhausted from sitting her vigil at Grant's side, guilty at having almost taken his life. And yes, while it was true, something about Grant had changed. Nash had to wonder if Grant had felt any particular remorse about almost taking hers.

The man was having a difficult time adjusting to the return of his wolf and the healing properties of Tala's hybrid blood. Donning his wolf coat should have been as easy and welcome as sliding in to a pair of broken in jeans. But, it hadn't been. Grant was weak, shaken, and hovering in a no man's land between wolf, human, and just a touch of something else. His body fought the natural transition and Tala's healing, almost as if he either wanted to die or remain human. And maybe, he did. The return from where he'd been was not going to be an easy one. He'd betrayed too many trusts. Showed himself as a traitor to the Pack. And regaining his standing and the trust of the Pack was not going to be as simple as saying 'I'm sorry' to those he'd offended so deeply.

Grant had not been awake enough and Tala, way too diligent in her vigil at his side for Nash to question him. The Great White Wolf had issued his edict. Grant was under Pack protection and therefore, not to be harmed. And while Nash agreed, many of the Pack did not. Theirs was a world of survival of the fittest. Grant was weak, ripe for the picking. And the Pack was hungry for vengeance. It was all Nash could do to keep Hunter, his eldest son, from drowning him in the river as he'd threatened to do when Grant was just a baby.

No, drowning him in the river was too merciful. The Pack wanted to feast on Grant's entrails and bathe in his blood. And in a different time and place, Nash might have allowed it. Times were different now. And Nash would die to protect Grant. No matter what he'd done, Grant deserved the right to defend himself against the Pack.

Nash, still saw Grant as a son. He'd practically raised the orphan cur from a pup. He understood what the Pack did not. Whatever had happened to Grant, had changed the man. And Nash had an instinctive feeling that the illusive Claire was responsible. Nothing, absolutely nothing could inspire a man to change quite like a woman. Nash kept the pack, especially Hunter, busy tracking the woman and out of trouble while Grant recovered. Pack took care of their own and Claire, know it or not, was Pack. "You two should get going. There's nothing more to be done here. I'll let you know when Grant is stronger."

Gently, Drew tightened his fingers around Tala's shoulder and guided her from the room. He glanced over at Grant, huddled on the bed beneath mounds of comforters. He wished the wolf a speedy recovery. Under no uncertain terms he'd made it perfectly clear that Grant was Pack and he was welcome under this roof. Drew had extended his umbrella of protection far and wide and beneath it he'd included the mysterious Claire. The brothers were watching over her, from a distance, hidden well out of sight. An easy, boring assignment, considering she hadn't left the house in two days. And perfect for a vampire needing to cool his heels. Keene had the common sense not to balk about it. And he did his job with his usual thoroughness, wisely keeping his mouth shut about the task.

"Thank you," Drew whispered to Nash. He steered Tala through the Pack mates curiously gathered around the bedroom door, openly snooping. He nodded at them as he passed. Inhaled the earthy musk of wolf on their skin and shivered at the energy rippling off of them. He shook his head, still not quite believing that he had a family and kin. The Pack revered him. And they were so touchy-feely. Gently, he dodged the hands reaching for him and the inquisitive stares following him as he guided Tala down the hall.

He was the brother of their founder. And he'd inherited the family he'd known nothing about upon his brother's death. He was the key to the legacy of the Great White Wolf, Pack Master Supreme. And while he was uncomfortable with the responsibility of leading the Pack, he managed to do so with his usual grace and no small amount of bullshit.

Tala was his one saving grace. She was the bridge between two very different worlds. Without her, he wasn't certain he could have ever accepted the part of himself that was wolf. He'd been a vampire, a warrior, and a leader for so long. Dead but alive, living but not truly living, leading the Sons, but never truly one of them. Belonging nowhere and everywhere at the same time. He hadn't realized how dull and colorless, how empty his world truly had been, until she came along. Drew winced out of habit at the dazzling morning sun and instinctively shied away. As a vampire, he couldn't tolerate the brilliant prisms of blinding light. But, Tala had given him back the day. Given him back his life, his humanity, and his sun.

Tala smiled up at Drew, beaming as he shot her a crooked, almost boyish grin and reached out to take her hand. How different he was now from the cold, removed, almost hard man he'd been on that frosty morning they'd first met. Her man was a contradiction in terms. Old with an ancient soul, but young with a child's wonder at the most simplest of things. Things other people took for granted. As if everything he experienced was for the first time. And in so many ways it was. She'd bridged the gulf between worlds ripped him from the lifelessness and stagnancy of his and dragged him kicking and screaming, denying his very nature, into hers. She'd given him back so many parts of himself he'd simply forgotten existed. Saved him from the worst of himself. And in return, he had eased her so gently into the woman she knew she was and yet was too afraid to become.

Love was so confusing sometimes. Holding a person in thrall with the promises of it and still so terrifying. Tala had fought Drew, battled her attraction and her wolf to keep hold of herself. She'd lost the battle and she was a better woman, a better wolf, for it. She simply hadn't understood how wrapped up in duty, in the rules of her world, and her fear of it, she'd been until he showed her differently. They both had come a long way. Clinging to each other and to the love that bound them together. But, they still had so much further to go.

Their combined lives and worlds were not easily navigated. The Pack had been Tala's whole life as the brotherhood had been Drew's. And the two worlds were coming to an uneasy truce. The brothers and the wolves needed each other, even if they weren't quite sure how yet. Tala had her theories. She kept them to herself, and her father and Drew out of the loop of her thoughts. Sometimes, it was best to let the alpha males draw their own conclusions about things.

It would be the same with Grant. With him unconscious and struggling so hard to hold himself in one piece, it was easy to love him again. Not as a woman loves a man, but as her best friend. She had no idea who the mysterious Claire was. The Pack had sniffed her out easily enough. Not much fooled a wolf's sense of smell. And tracking Claire from the cabin had been far too simple a task. She was just curious about who Claire was. What she meant to Grant. And why now, out of all the most inopportune times, Grant might have finally found his soul mate in a human. It wasn't as if Tala could just go knock on the woman's door, invite herself in for coffee, and have a heart to heart with her. Grant might have betrayed her father and her, but he would never betray the truth about their world.

Claire would have to wait. Grant was stronger now. Getting better. And eventually, he'd have to make his own choices about which world he wanted to be part of. Pack magic would keep him whole. But, it might take the woman, the mysterious Claire, to complete him. Tala didn't envy Claire the task. It wasn't easy to live with one foot in two separate worlds and trying to bridge the gap in between them.

The Pack avoided the human world. It wasn't that they couldn't live amongst them. They just didn't. Unlike their vampire cousins, the Pack was not as adept at hiding. And humans instinctively feared predators. No, the Pack wasn't the werewolves of pop fiction. They did not howl at the moon. They did not piss on tree stumps. They did not stalk the woods for little girls in read cloaks. Their bite was not contagious. And they absolutely did not turn into beasts once a month. In fact, the most difficult bridge to build had been convincing the brothers that they were not werewolves. And many a nose had been bloodied because some unwitting brother had made that mistake. The wolves were spirit. The husk of their earthbound shells shared with their spirit wolves, the guardians of the goddess's domain between the land of the living and the realm of the dead.

Tala knew a lot about forming bridges of understanding. And Drew still had much to accept and understand about his nature. Food, primarily. Ok, so Tala didn't daydream about juicy carotids. But, she did manage a sip or two of blood here and there. She was a vampire...sort of...a wolf...of course...and still just as human as ever. Drew however, had yet to concede to take a bite of human food. Tala thought that after two hundred years of deprivation, he would have been tempted to taste at least a bite of one of the dishes Anna had made with painstaking care. But, he hadn't, yet.

Tala didn't want to think about blood. She hadn't hazarded a sip unsupervised since sucking on Grant with the enthusiasm of a kid with a juice box on a hot summer day. No matter what he'd done to her, she'd always carry the guilt of what she'd done to him. Drew had done his best to absolve her. Touting bits of wisdom about her dual nature. None of it helped. She was not a monster no more than Drew was. And she did not kill. Neither did the Sons for that matter.

There were vampires who did, rogues. And it was their job to stop the rogues from sucking humanity dry. But, the brothers were not without their weaknesses. Daylight didn't fry them to ash. That was a convenient fiction created by folklore. But, to a wolf, the light of the sun was nothing. Most people mistook them for very large dogs. And it was easy for them to go places the brothers could not. And that, for humanity, and for the Lost Children yet to be found, was why Tala worked so hard to bridge the gap between worlds.

Somehow, she got the impression that Claire was part of this, part of her world whether Claire knew it or not. Tala could only guess at the impact the woman would have on Grant and on the Pack. But, it was something big. Another bridge yet to be built.

Chapter 3

Thomas scowled at the pager buzzing noisily on his coffee table. He planned to spend the day locked in the house away from the world. Guess that wasn't happening. Although it was over a week ago, the funeral and the wake, and the condolences afterwards had left him drained. Everybody in town loved his mother. And in the town's usual style, everyone had turned out to see her into the afterlife. The mourner's pain had ripped through the core of his soul and left a dark brand there. People bought the lie easily enough. Whispered sympathetically and understandingly about the closed coffin, never guessing the truth that it was empty. And that was just as well. He had no words to explain the truth to them and couldn't have even if he had.

He heard the words whispered over and over again throughout the crowd and if he heard them one more time from anybody he'd go bat shit insane. His mother was not in a 'better place' now. Well, not the place the mourners thought that she was, anyway. He wanted to shout the truth. To spill the secret that indeed, his mother had gone on to a better life. She wasn't dead. Only changed in ways that they could never dream or imagine.

He didn't recognize the number displayed on his beeper. Probably the nervous parent of a stuffy nosed feverish kid. "Take a fucking Tylenol," he grumbled as he punched the number on his pager display into his cell phone and waited for an answer. "Doctor Thomas Sterling here, I was paged."

He was surprised by the voice on the other end of the line, happily so. A bit disappointed by the reason for her call, he listened to the awkward silence on the other end. Claire must have heard the news about his mother. And just like everyone else, was calling to offer her condolences. God, he didn't need it. And if there were one person who deserved the whole truth it was Claire. She'd been so good to his mom at the end, so caring and understanding. And that he couldn't tell her a thing left him feeling guilty and ashamed.

"Oh my God! Thomas, are you ok? I just got back from vacation. I'm so sorry to hear about your mother," Claire sputtered. Embarrassed by her broken sentences and her lack of diligence to know the goings on in town, she prattled bravely forward with her plan. Determined to keep her promise to his mom. Barbara was a force unto herself. And if Claire didn't hold up her end, the woman would probably haunt her forever. "Is there anything I can do?"

Thomas groaned inwardly. He was right. A sympathy call, naturally. "No. I'm absolutely fine. Thanks for calling," he said curtly. Couldn't someone just call and say 'how's it hanging?' or something like that. Why did there need to be a reason for a 'hi how are ya?' He could hear the nurse in Claire's voice. Just doing her job. Offering her version of efficient comfort and well-practiced empathy and 'positive regard' for who she considered to be her patient and at the moment that was he.

Claire bit her bottom lip. Thinking. Thomas sounded so down. He had to be depressed. His mother had been everything to him. He was such a devoted son. Too bad, his mother had never known the truth about him. That she'd never get the grandchildren she so desperately wanted. Claire recalled the night she'd learned the truth. Thomas locked with his arm around the older, attractive, but very much older man. Gay. But, he was safe. A friend. No risk of physical entanglement or anything else. Too bad, Thomas was in the closet. His secret kept hidden from the world. In this day and age he shouldn't have to live like that to protect his reputation. "I could come over after work tonight," she threw out the offer hesitantly. The first day back to work was proving to be a royal bitch. And after twelve hours, she would be exhausted. But, she could manage, to keep her promise. Besides, it was better to be wrapped up in someone else's misery than in her own.

Thomas cast a glance at his messy living room. There were empty cardboard boxes everywhere. Half had been filled with the meager possessions he'd stashed in the basement when he'd moved back home. And the other half contained the odds and ends his mom didn't want anymore. He was trying to make the place his. But, the cherished boxes of absolute crap didn't really fit his life anymore. He was a thirty-three year old man and somehow the Star Wars figurines he'd been collecting since he was a kid didn't work with the pale blue walls and plastic doilies on the arms of the sofa.

His mom wouldn't listen to his excuses about why he didn't want to live in the house anymore. And insisted he got rid of anything he wanted to and redecorate the place to suit him. She was as pushy as a vampire as she had been as a human and every bit as hardheaded, refusing to hear him out. He could paint, move the furniture, replace the shag carpet on the floors, and none of it would matter. The place would always be his mom's. The house he'd grown up in. And she simply didn't get that.

"Sure, sounds good," he said. Company was the last thing he'd been expecting. The casseroles had stopped filtering in a few days ago. As if by some unspoken edict the townsfolk decided he needed the privacy to mourn a woman that wasn't actually dead. But, the house was quiet. Too quiet without the soap operas and chatter of talk shows his mom was addicted to. And maybe some gentler company would be just the thing to snap him out of his funk.

He needed to shower and straighten things up before she stopped by. More than that he wanted time to come up with a plan to show her how he felt for her and to practice the apology he owed her for being such an ass. Knowing Claire, she'd probably already forgotten about it, anyway. He had a zillion casseroles tucked away in the freezer. The outpouring of sympathy food from the neighborhood had been more than one man could possibly eat. "I could throw together something for supper," he offered, hoping to soften her up.

"Ok." She smoothed her rumpled scrubs and tucked in the stray hairs that had escaped her clip. No need to change and look presentable. Not for Thomas, anyway. He was unattainable, batted for the wrong team. And she wasn't in the market, not so soon after Grant. She could head over as soon as her shift ended in a couple of hours. "I'll see you then."

"Bye, Claire," Thomas said, hanging up the phone. He hustled, snatching empty cardboard boxes and kicking them down the basement steps. He fluffed the ancient pillows on the couch. Sneezing at the dust he'd kicked up in his attempt to clean. He grabbed his mother's silver candlesticks and set them on the dining room table and quickly squashed the idea. The last thing he wanted was for things to look practiced. And potato chip casserole wasn't exactly candlelit dinner cuisine.

After setting the oven to three fifty and shoving the frozen casserole in to bake, he ran for the shower. Claire got off work at seven thirty. And his bed hadn't been made in a week. He needed clean sheets and something more presentable to wear than threadbare, wrinkled scrubs. The laundry he'd been putting off washing had to be done. And he had a hell of a lot to do before Claire got here.

He had to set the mood without it looking like he'd planned to. Potato chip casserole was about as romantic as a trip to the dentist. Cursing under his breath that he hadn't had the foresight to go grocery shopping, he snatched the casserole out of the oven and tucked the tin foil back into place before tossing it into the freezer with the other less than desirable casseroles. He fished among the tuna casseroles and shepherd's pies for something better to fix for dinner. Anna's lasagna was definitely a more appealing choice. She was one of the few people who knew his mother wasn't dead. But, she'd sent over a frozen tray of it anyway. Italian food was sexy? Right?

Hell, he didn't know. He hadn't dated since his senior prom. He had business associates and coworkers, in college a few conquests. But, no one he'd ever thought about seriously before. He'd always been too busy to think too much about dating. His education had come first. And then, his mother had gotten sick. There just hadn't been the time to devote to actually getting involved in a relationship. And now that he had his career and extra time to spare, he had no idea of what women liked or didn't like or of even how to bridge the subject with Claire.

Thomas scowled at the bag of wilted salad and pitched it in the trash. Ok. He wasn't exactly taking the best of care of himself. His fridge was empty. Seemed like he was still too busy to tend to some things, like grocery shopping and housekeeping. Claire would understand. She always understood. And maybe, that was the problem. She was too understanding. He slammed the lasagna into the oven and fished the good dishes out of the cabinet, dusting them with the hem of his t-shirt before setting the table.

The dining room was something out of the eighties with a mauve silk flower arrangement on the table and a country blue tablecloth. No way in hell Claire was going to get a mixed signal about that. Everything in the house screamed 'mom' and nothing stood out that had his stamp on it. Maybe, it was best just to try to be friends with her first and see what happened after that. After all, how could he possibly think about seducing her when it still felt like his mom was in the next room breathing down his neck?