Dawn Reclaimed

Chapter 4

Everything about the woman screamed VICTIM. The fact that she was alone in the dimly lit deserted parking garage so late after office hours ended for the day. Her high heels clacking as she walked along the concrete floor echoing in the cavernous garage's emptiness made a quick escape to safety impossible. Her shapely legs showed beneath a tightly fitting navy pencil skirt. Inadvertently attracting the wrong kind of attention to her body. In one arm she juggled an armload of slick covered files. In the other hand she lugged a briefcase stuffed to the point of rupture and a purse in an equal state of disarray. Keys jangled noisily from her fingertips. She was distracted by her burden and totally unaware of her surroundings. She felt safe in her environment, was careless, and completely oblivious. And she was just the woman he'd been looking for.

There was no warning. No hint to a presence. There were no requests. No time to scream for help. Flesh and bone hit the concrete with a sickening crunch. Blood spilled and seeped into the cracks of the hard gray surface. Pooling around her lifeless body to congeal into a sticky mat. He was quick and cunning. And she was dead. Simple. Nothing taken. No collectables. She was for practice.

With each attempt, he got better and better, faster and more efficient. Soon he'd be ready to put his skills to the test. He'd killed randomly for years. But, humans no longer held his fascination. Oh, they were a nice pastime. Especially when they fought back and begged helplessly for their pathetic lives. But, he had his sights on bigger and better prey. Vampires. And the coppery scent of her blood, heavy in the air was just the thing to lure them out of hiding.

He had to hurry. Hide. Before his scent became too noticeable. He sniffed his clothes. He smelled like the city. Like old tires and burned motor oil. The smell of her fresh blood made a nice cover. And he wanted time, just as any good hunter would, to study his prey. The thought of letting the quarry go disappointed him. But, vampires were fast and powerful. Predators. If they caught on to him, he'd join the woman in death. They wouldn't hesitate. And he couldn't blame them. Killing was fun.

Carter walked along the streets of downtown silently observing the life around him. The few humans that were left in the business district ignored his presence. Hurriedly, they bustled along eager to get home and put the day's stress and worry behind them. If nothing else, Carter was an expert at not being noticed and blending in. He pulled the collar of his jacket up around his neck and shrank down into its woolen folds. Cold fall rain dripped from the glowing orange night sky above. In the city, it was never truly dark. From a distance, twinkling lights glittered like jewels. Pretty to look at. But, from the street, the lights blended into an ugly cloak that covered everything in harsh, garish, haze of exhaust fumes and decay.

The Guardians stayed out of sight. Patrolling the city. Protecting it from things more dangerous than any humanity could dream up in its wildest and most frightening nightmares. Rogues. Vampires, who if left to their own devices, would drain the whole of humanity dry without an ounce of regret or remorse.

Saying no to their nature and to their violent upbringing made the Guardians strong. Giving in was easy. Killing was easy. But, fighting to hold on to the one thing that separated the Guardians from the Rogues was hard. Protecting humans, guarding them with their lives, and keeping the trust of the Sons, prevented the Guardians from falling back into the darkness that had taken them so long to escape.

Carter wasn't altruistic or generous. He made a choice. He chose to protect humanity from the dark thugs of vampire kind for a simple reason. Humans had something special. Something he envied them for. They could change. And they would change. They could live. And they could die. Oh, he would die, eventually. He did change, so slowly. For a vampire aging a year, could take a century if not longer. The planet would cease to exist before he truly could grow old. And rather than let the bitterness and the pain of his loss consume his soul he chose to fight and to protect humans from the darkest of his kind.

He stared at his reflection in the window of a darkened storefront. He looked the same as he had the day his human life ended. Pale blond hair hung to the bottom of his chin in unruly curls. A sharply sloped aquiline nose protruded between closely set eyes. He was tall and lithe, lean muscled and not bulky like the brothers. In his time, he'd been considered quite attractive and he'd thought it a gift. But, he'd grown so tired of looking at the same reflection day after day, year after year, decade after decade, that he considered himself ugly and repulsive. And he hated the prettiness in him that had drawn his maker to him in the first place. He should have died a long, long time ago. And while some might consider his current state a blessing, he considered it a curse.

Shaking off his pensive mood, he dipped his head and rounded the corner. Carter's fangs popped out from his gums as the smell hit him. Blood had been shed. Human blood. He drew in a deep breath and held it. Almost tasting the sweet blood on his tongue. A fresh kill, close by, probably happened not more than a few minutes ago. Quickening his steps, he tracked the scent to a parking garage.

Carter sucked in a breath at the senselessness of the death. The woman laid in a tangle of scattered folders and twisted limbs. Her dull eyes glazed over in death. Blood congealed and coagulated in pools beneath her body. He reached out a hand and traced the curve of her cheek with a fingertip. Her skin hadn't had the time to grow cool yet. She'd died fast. Bled out quickly. And been left to rot. One of her black designer pumps, the toe scraped and the heel snapped, lay abandoned in a storm gutter not two feet away from the body. Her expensive panty hose had runners and tears in the knees. A gold earring dangled precariously from the bloody mat of her hair. And the scream she hadn't had time to scream hovered in a grimace of terror on her pale lips.

Carter's nostrils flared wildly. Searching for a scent to track. Someone had killed this woman. Brutally. Her throat cut, awkwardly in haste. Her beauty was still evident despite the pallor of her cooling skin and the dusky gray of once ruby lips. Could have been a rogue. The deep laceration practically severing her head from her neck, a ruse to throw off the humans. But, generally speaking, a rogue never wasted a meal. And there was too much blood slowly oozing toward the downward slope of the pavement on its way to the storm drain for it to be a rogue kill.

Carter hastily fished the woman's driver's license out of her purse. Slipping it into his back pocket before he shifted his weight to his feet. Things would not bode well for him if he were discovered standing over a dead body. He didn't need to worry about fingerprints. The world he'd lived in had ceased to exist long ago and as far as the modern world was concerned, he didn't exist at all. He gently tugged the silk scarf hanging in tatters around the woman's neck free from the body and clutched it in his fist.

Scanning the concrete beams and parked cars, he looked for cameras. Nothing. Good, that was one less problem to deal with. He sniffed again trying to draw out a fresh human scent. Whoever had murdered this woman was clever. Had been quick about it. And hadn't done it for any apparent reason other than he could. Nothing was taken, her jewelry and purse intact, and her car keys still clutched in her dead fingers. The smell of fresh death and the reek of downtown covered any hint of a scent trail.

Carter gave the woman and the parking garage a final once over. The garage was quiet, eerily still, and almost empty this time of the evening with the few cars remaining belonging to a handful of stragglers still trapped in the corporate world in the skyscraper above. People died everyday. Murder wasn't uncommon in a city of this size. Her case would make the evening news and then quickly be forgotten. Her death would never be solved. The killer had been too quick, too efficient, and even as random as the murder seemed, too methodical to make the mistake of leaving a shred of evidence behind.

He was not in the business of protecting humans from other humans. The Guardians had enough on their plates handling the paranormal nut jobs hiding in the city to worry about the more mundane human ones. But, if chance had him in the right place at the right time, he wouldn't hesitate to serve his particular brand of justice and enjoy a decent meal for a change while he was at it.

Carter lifted her scarf to his nose and sifted through the lingering scents. The coppery essence of her blood, the sharp tang of her sweat and the tears she'd managed to shed before she died, and the too sweet floral perfume she'd applied just before leaving work for the night. Scent was a valuable tool to a vampire. Far more valuable than fingerprints were to a detective. But, the scarf bore no traces of the killer's scent. He pocketed the silk scarf and left her to the humans to deal with. The ding of the elevator announced the arrival of someone on this level of the parking garage. Her death was about to be discovered. Soon enough this place would be crawling with police and it would not bode well if he hung around. Employing his speed, he melted into the night the way only a vampire could.

The killer slipped out from in between the dark, narrow columns of thick concrete that had hidden him, shaking with glee and grinning like the maniac he was. And yes, he knew he was a nut job. But, there was no therapy that could cure his particular ailment. He was a killer. And he enjoyed it. He had such a respect, almost a reverence, for his prey. The vampire moved so quickly and with such grace. Finally, he had prey worthy of his particular talents. And it'd be his best hunt yet.

A vampire could blend in so easily. Disguised amongst humans. He'd have to be careful. If one didn't know what to look for, it was impossible to tell the difference. He knew the telltale signs. And he knew a vampire for what it was. A killer. Prey. A vampire wouldn't die as easily as a human. And he had so many adventures planned for the two of them. So many things he'd always wanted to explore. He'd worked hard to master the art of death. And he considered himself a master of the craft. None of those lucky enough to meet his acquaintance actually lived to see his life's work brought to fruition. And nobody without his particular brand of insanity could truly appreciate his attention to detail. But, a vampire...what fun they'd have together.

The killer licked his lips eagerly. He wanted the vampire now. But, patience and careful study were the best strategies. And he'd spent too long, invested too much to blow it now. He'd take his time and leave a trail for the vampire to follow. Lure him in. Seduce him. Slowly, like a lover. And together they'd dance a most splendid dance.

Chapter 5

Grant threw his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. His head spun and his stomach did a woozy dance. In the distance, from the woods, the voices of his family called to him. He barely managed to force his trembling legs to carry him down the hallway and stairs and through the dining room to the backdoor. His wolf scratched beneath the surface of his mind, begging to be freed. Slowly, his strength was returning. A shift was possible. He was one of the Pack again. A wolf. He could resume his life right where it had left off. Stop aging. Stop the pain. And forget, simply forget.

His hand rested on the brass doorknob. His fingers tightened around its cool, smooth surface. He wondered what Claire would think about him, if she knew the truth. What he really was. Would she understand in that kind, compassionate way of hers? Or would she run in terror? Could he even find the right words to explain something that wasn't supposed to exist in reality to her? Somehow he doubted if the direct approach. No matter how kind or compassionate she was. Just marching right up to her and saying 'hi, Claire. I know you think I'm some kind of a psychopath. But really, I'm a werewolf. Surprise,' would be the right thing to say.

How could he explain the intricacies of pack life to her? That he didn't go to a job everyday, but patrolled the spirit world. What would she think of his living situation? That he shared a home with over thirty other people. No matter how big it was. The house wasn't private. And when it was stripped down to the very basest level, he had nothing, except for the clothes on his back and a few odds and ends. He owned nothing. The wolves operated as a community, a unit of many, joined as one. They shared everything. Humans were individuals, sharing little if anything, reveling in their possessions and their privacy, and living, for the most part, only for themselves.

And the whole furry, howl at the moon thing he had going on? What would she think about that? Could he trust her to keep his secret? And was it even fair to put her in the position where she had no other option? She wouldn't be able to breathe a word to anybody. Damn it, it was better if she thought he was really gone. He could avoid town easily enough. She'd never know the difference. But, he wanted to see her again. He had to see her again. He couldn't leave things the way he'd left them. Claire deserved closure. But, he didn't want closure. He wanted her.

Ultimately, there was only one thing he could do. He had to live as a human. Get a job. Rent an apartment. If he stayed close, he could still run with the Pack. Keep his wolf strong and healthy and fulfill the obligations of his birthright. Live the best of both worlds. Find a sweet spot to call home in that narrow space between the two of them. Have Claire. Have his wolf.

The struggles of the last weeks had changed him. He had learned to rely on himself. He was more of an individual now than he ever had been. Even as desperate as his situation had been, he'd enjoyed being solely and completely his own man. He could understand now, what he hadn't before. How it felt to be one and only one instead of one of many. And as much as being home comforted and restored him. He longed for that freedom too. The simple world of the wolf wasn't enough.

Claire could not be a part of his world. But, he could be a part of hers. It wasn't a lie, hiding the truth from her. And eventually, she would figure it out. There was no way to keep her in the dark about his true nature forever. She'd age at a normal human pace. He would not. He could pretend for a little while. Play human. But, even without his wolf, he would never have been truly human. He was never going to be human. Maybe though, by then she'd love him enough to see in him what she'd seen in him during the days they'd spent together and the truth of what he was wouldn't matter. Once he had his life together, he'd approach her. Pursue her with every bit of charm he possessed. Win her heart completely. But first, he had to find her. And be content with catching glimpses of her from the shadows until he figured this out.

Grant stepped out onto the deck and stripped down to bare skin. He stood, letting the still of the early night soak into his pores. The magic poured over him. Reforming bone and muscle, stripping his humanity away until nothing but a shaggy brown wolf remained in his place. The wolf howled, tossing his furry head back snuffling the night. He flexed his paws. His claws scraped the wooden deck beneath them. The woods were alive with his brothers and sisters. Teeming with prey to be hunted and consumed. His human had other plans than sating the urge to roam. Trotting off the deck, the wolf tore through the thick brambles and underbrush of the woods. Searching for the scent burned into his memory. Scenting out Claire.

Claire tapped on the door with her foot, balancing her purse on her arm and two huge steaming paper cups in her hands. The spring night was unseasonably chilly and hot cocoa sounded like heaven after the grueling day she'd had at work. She knew stopping to grab a couple of extra large hot chocolates would make her run a few minutes late. But, how could she resist? She was sitting at the corner, waiting for the light to turn green and the cocoa just called to her. Who was she to argue? As far as condolences went, it wasn't much. But, she didn't plan on talking about Barbara, unless Thomas brought it up first. Tonight was for him and if he wanted to talk, she'd listen. He might need a break from reality. And she'd let him decide how the night and the conversation went.

Claire pasted what she hoped was a warm and friendly smile on her lips as Thomas answered the door. "Hope you don't mind whipped cream?"

Thomas snickered and stepped back to let Claire in. "Love it," he answered. Relieving her of one of the hot cups before she spilled it and burned her fingers, he ushered her into the house. The place smelled like an Italian restaurant. In the back of the freezer he'd scored a box of frozen garlic bread to go with the meal. And he'd even managed to find a bottle of wine tucked away in the cabinet behind a box of crackers. He had soft music playing in the background, nothing too obvious, just the local music station and the lights dimmed subtly but not too subtly.

Claire set her purse and keys on the coffee table and wiggled out of the nylon jacket she'd gotten for being nurse of the month last September. Thomas had done some rearranging since she'd come here last. The tattered photo album, containing the damning baby pictures of him no longer sat on the coffee table. The house smelled of garlic bread, lemon furniture polish. Fresh tracks from the vacuum cleaner wound a path across the baby blue carpet in the living room. He'd switched the sofa and loveseat around and gotten rid of those horrible plastic doilies that his mother used to cover the arms. Hoping her feet didn't smell after twelve hours in her socks, she kicked off her shoes and wished she knew what to say. Not wanting to ask the obvious questions. She settled for something just as cliché, "How are you doing?"

"Good," Thomas answered. Claire looked cute. Her cheeks and tip of her nose were reddened from the chill of the night air. Her blonde hair was loosely fastened in a clip at the back of her head to spill into a waterfall down her neck. She looked a little tired. Her eyes, weary after twelve hours on the job. She wore her scrubs, the pink ones, he thought brought out the blue in her eyes.

The silence between them was almost palpable. Uncomfortable. Claire studied Thomas. His hair sand-colored hair was spiked at the tips with gel and disheveled as if he'd tried for the casual look and didn't quite make the mark. His cologne tainted the air with the overpowering scent of spice and sandalwood. Choking out the heavenly aroma of whatever he had baking in the oven. He wore a freshly ironed button down shirt, loose at the collar and untucked at the waist and a faded pair of jeans. He was freshly shaved and still had a scrap of toilet paper stuck to his jaw from where he'd nicked himself with the razor. It was all she could do not to reach out and brush it away.

His bare toes poked out from beneath the tattered hem of his pants. He'd tried for casually put together and failed miserably. Thomas was not a tall guy, nor was he broad in the shoulders, so average in his build and stature, maybe even a little bit too thin. He had no fat on him. And she'd seen him working out in the hospital gym on occasion. He was no slouch. But, he had the thinness and light frame of a runner. Thomas and she were almost the same height, practically seeing eye-to-eye where they stood in the middle of the living room. His hazel eyes reflected the exhaustion that he was trying so desperately to hide from her. She shouldn't have come. He needed his rest.