Dawn Reclaimed

Chapter 6

Sometimes Mack went into the station early. It seemed, the older he got the earlier he woke up and the less tolerance he had for stupid people and bullshit. So, coming in early worked out pretty good for him. He could get a jump on the day instead of sitting around the house swilling down a pot of coffee and rereading the morning edition of the weekly newspaper. And as a side bonus, he could avoid stupid people. The worst of the idiots generally didn't roll out of bed until after noon. And by then he could pass the buck and go on his paging system for the rest of the day.

Oh, he was never technically off duty. The electronic leash was always tight on his collar. But, he didn't necessarily have to roll out the welcome mat down at the station for whatever f'idiot happened to wander in either. He had a few reliable and more discreet boys, eager for his job, on backup to handle the masses of the less intelligent after hours. And most of the time, people around here dealt with their own problems just fine. He rarely had company down at the station house. And that suited him perfectly. At his age, hovering so close to retirement, the less bullshit he had to sift through, the better.

He slid his worn, brass nametag through the flap over the pocket of his brown, polyester uniform. The thing was so old the engraving was almost illegible. But, he was superstitious and wouldn't replace the nametag that barely bore his name. In the past twenty- seven years, he and the faux brass nametag had seen their fair share of shit. Next year, he was planning to put it to rest and himself out to pasture. Sheriff Mack Brown was officially and permanently going fishing.

Straightening his dark brown tie in the mirror over the sink in the men's room he wondered when he became so jaded about the world and all the people in it. He hadn't always been this way. Running his slightly gnarled fingers down the wrinkles etched in his permatanned face, he tried to remember back to his first day on the job. He had come to the force fresh out of police academy. But, he wasn't like the rest of the herd of eager young twenty-something bucks. He'd graduated head of his class at the ripe old age of just shy of forty. People here liked him. They respected him. They knew him. And they had no trouble voting him into the position of Moore County Sheriff.

Frowning, he drained the last dregs of black coffee from the battered ceramic mug he kept at the station and sat at his desk. Scrolling through the state's shared computer database, he scanned for anything unusual. Nothing too out of the ordinary caught his eye, just the typical brutality of human on human violence. Bile rose to his throat as he skimmed the preliminary investigation of a woman's brutal murder. What kind of a whack job would slash a woman's throat so viciously and just leave her like that to bleed out on the cold concrete floor of a parking garage? She was an administrative assistant. Just a little fish in a much bigger pond and like too many of the other little fishes, she'd gotten eaten by a shark.

The detectives on the case had no leads and weren't likely to find any. Most likely they'd chalk her murder up to random gang violence and close the file. There were too many other cases that had clues and a slight chance of getting solved to waste resources on one that didn't. There would be no justice for this woman. Thank God he only had a year left. He had his fill of human suffering.

Murders like the woman's, without justice always brought him around to thoughts of his son. The cocky, little bastard was way too much like his old man. And just like dear old dad, thought he had something to prove to the world. During a bitter argument, his son had peeled out of the driveway and never made it back alive. That was thirty-four years ago. And Mack had carried the guilt, all the things he shouldn't have said and should have said instead with him everyday since.

He'd been fighting with his son at the time, berating him for being so careless and getting his girlfriend pregnant. The girl was only sixteen and his son a couple of months shy of his eighteenth birthday. They were just kids and knew so little of the real world. And his son, merely a boy, thought himself a man. His big plan had been to drop out of high school, marry the girl, and do right by his unborn child. Mack had been furious at the idea of his kid working beside him at the sawmill for the rest of his life. And without a good education, stuck in this town, that hot, dusty sawmill was exactly where he'd end up, just like his father and his father before him.

The fight had been ugly and Mack a very different man. His temper had gotten he better of him and he'd said plenty of things he hadn't meant. He hadn't gotten to finish high school because he'd done the same thing as his son and gotten a girl pregnant at the start of his senior year. And he'd worked at that miserable sawmill everyday since. Oh, he'd done right and married the girl. Three years later they were divorced and she'd left him behind to raise their toddler son and he had not heard a word from her since that day she packed her bags for the big city. And damn it, if he hadn't seen his son's life playing out exactly like his.

He'd followed his son out the front door, still shouting, cussing him for being so stupid, and he had still been on a rampage as his son, his baby boy, flipped him the bird, shouted a few choice curse words at him in reply, and peeled out of that damn driveway. Regret still burned inside Mack. Hit him hard on the nights he couldn't sleep. Which, these days was most of them. He'd never gotten the chance to tell his son how much he loved him. And he'd never gotten the chance to say goodbye. He got the call a few days later, his son's body had been found, his throat slashed, and his blood staining the pavement red in an abandoned alley deep in the cold, black heart of the city.

He hadn't been able to face what a horrible father he'd been. And he'd buried his

son in the cemetery outside of town quietly, privately without a funeral or any last words. The neighbors had seen and heard the fight. There wasn't much to do in a small town. People watched the news. People read the newspapers. And people talked. The rumors, speculation, and sympathetic glances eventually died down. But, Mack couldn't go on.

His son's murderer was never brought to justice. The detectives never found a shred of evidence. Nothing. And to them, his son's murder was just another unsolvable crime in a city where murder and death happened everyday. That incident changed his life. He gave up working at the sawmill and went to the state law academy. He worked hard. Studied hard. And dedicated his life to preventing the same thing from happening to somebody else. No father should ever have to bury his son the way he had.

Mack wondered if the murdered woman had a family, a father. He rocked back in his chair and stared blankly at the screen saver scrolling across his computer screen. He'd kept tabs on the girl his son had gotten pregnant. Despite the gossip and the hushed whispers, she never faltered. She walked down the sidewalks of Main Street with her head held high and her pregnant belly protruding. Proud of the life she carried inside of her. His grandson was born on the fifteenth of May the following year.

He never knew the right words to say to her. He played stupid. Acted as if he was totally clueless about her pregnancy. And when the baby came, he pretended that he didn't know the child was his son's. He'd slipped in and snuck a peek at his grandson through the hospital nursery's thick glass window.

He was in the police academy at the time. But, birth records were public knowledge. And the girl had never listed his son's name on the birth certificate. She'd never approached him about his son or her pregnancy. And he left things alone. She waited tables after school at the diner and he always made sure he sat in her section. But, she never said a word about it. She took his order. Brought his food. And slipped the extra tips he left her into the pocket of her stained, polyester apron. She knew that he knew. She knew about the fight. Everyone in town knew about the fight he'd had with his son. And week after week, she said nothing. It was as if they'd come to a silent agreement not to talk about the baby or his father. Maybe, it was just too painful for the both of them to bring it up.

She'd slip him baby pictures now and then. Tucked neatly underneath his plate when she brought his order. He'd smile up at her and whisper a soft 'thank you' and carefully stash them into a pocket. He still had them. Photos of his grandson as a red-faced infant and snapshots of his first Christmas, his first birthday, pictures of events he could never be part of simply because neither one of them would be the one to take the first step.

She quit the diner shortly after graduating high school and took a job shelving books in the library and the pictures stopped coming. He still saw her around town. Would sit on a bench and watch his grandson play in the park. He attended every little league game. Clapped louder than any grandparent had a right to after every school play, Christmas program, and band recital. He offered his services as a chaperone for the senior prom. And when his grandson walked across that stage with Magna Cum Laude cords around his neck and that college diploma clutched in his hand, he cried like a baby.

And for all of it, she knew he was there watching from the sidelines. And of him, to his grandson, she'd never breathed a word. Not even when her own parents died, first her father and shortly after her mother, and his grandson lost the only grandparents he'd ever known. That Mack knew of, she'd never mentioned him to her son.

Mack respected her wishes and kept his distance. But, that was the problem with a small town. There really wasn't much distance to keep. And a secret only stayed a secret so long. He was proud of her and of the man his grandson had grown up to become. She had done a fine job of raising him. But, it hurt. Knowing the secret stood between his grandson and he with the density of a brick wall he might never be able to breech. It wasn't his grandson's fault. It wasn't his mother's fault. And it wasn't his fault. But, after thirty-three years, he was ready to put the past behind him. Ready for the secret to be told and the truth to come to light.

Every time Mack looked at his grandson, he saw his son and the faint reflection of himself. He knew he should make this right, especially now, before another opportunity slipped through his fingers. He was running thin on second chances and a little shy on time. He wasn't getting any younger. And every year he put it off would only result in more questions he wasn't certain he could answer. He didn't fear rejection. But rather the painful questions that he knew would follow after the truth came out. His grandson was a bright young man. And he would demand answers, about his father and about him. Mack had deprived his grandson of the only thing he could have offered, a relationship with his grandfather. And that was something, no matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to explain.

Mack's eyes snapped up from his computer monitor to the door. She flung the door open so hard the glass rattled in its steel frame. Thump, thump, thumping across the tile floor, smacking her walker down hard as her house slippers shushed in uneven steps to his desk. He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and groan at the woman storming a path of destruction through the station house. She hadn't bothered with formalities like changing out of her pink, floral duster, or unwinding her white hair from the baby blue curlers underneath her satin sleep cap. She wore a green, cable knit sweater buttoned to her neck and a permanent scowl on her pudgy, wrinkled face. He shuddered at what catastrophe she'd conjured up to bring her into the station this early in the morning. Probably, her damned cat, the white Persian with the snot green eyes who was every bit as persnickety and hateful its owner, was stuck in a tree. "Mornin' Mrs. Jones. What can I do for you today?" he said, putting on his good ole boy grin as he dipped his hat at her.

"Sheriff, I saw a wolf last night. Sniffing around in my back yard," she said, thumping her walker against the tile to punctuate her point. The woman had a voice like nails on a chalk board and it was all Mack could do not to press his hands to his ears to block it out.

"A wolf?" Mack kept his face expressionless. It was entirely too possible. As if dealing with vampires weren't enough. Now, he had to worry about werewolves digging through the garbage cans? Maybe, he'd get lucky and one of the furry, bark at the moon gang would eat that damn cat. Not likely though. The little bastard would probably give them food poisoning.

Despite the Great Father's reassurances that the Pack would stay hidden in the woods, one was prowling through the streets of town. Rumors traveled fast. And the last thing Mack needed was a bunch of trigger-happy rednecks trampling the woods on a campaign to shoot the first thing that moved. "It was dog, I assure you. Probably, just a stray sniffing through the garbage for a good meal. And everyone loves your cooking, Mrs. Jones, even the dogs. I'll get a hold of animal control in the city and have them come down this week."

"Sheriff, I'm not senile. I know what I saw. And that wasn't any dog. It was a wolf. I watch Animal Planet," she added briskly, as if that explained everything. "Now, I want to know what you're going to do about it."

Mack gritted his teeth as the vile Mrs. Jones glared at him with a glare that would have melted the paint off the walls. Oh no, the woman wasn't senile. She was sharp as a tack and never missed a thing. How Jonsey actually stayed married to that woman was nothing short of a miracle. Mack had known her his entire life. And even as a teenager a few grades ahead of him, she'd never had one redeeming trait about her personality. She had always been mean and spiteful and age hadn't mellowed her out one bit. Looking at her, wrinkled, fat, and her hair in curlers reminded him of exactly how old he was actually getting. "Ok, ok. I'll go out and set some traps today. Hopefully, I'll solve your...dog problem soon enough."

He shrank back from the beady, shrewd eyes glaring at him from behind thick pop bottle glasses. She thumped her walker at him and harrumphed. Ok...his logical explanation wasn't working. Maybe, it was better to roll with it and let her think she had seen a wolf pissing on her prize tulips. Jonesy was a gun-toting member of the NRA. And Mack really, really wanted to keep him and his assortment of high-powered shotguns out of the woods. "I'm sure its nothing to worry about. A wolf, if that was what you saw, is very uncommon in these parts and they usually don't wander too close to civilization. He probably got loose from a wildlife preserve and will find his way back home on his own."

"If that mangy beast eats my cat. I'm holding you personally responsible."

Turning on her heel she stormed out of the office, incredibly spry for a sixty-something woman on a walker. Mack exhaled and frowned at the lingering reek of Ben-gay and trail of crumpled Kleenexes she'd left in her wake. "I could only be so lucky," he grumbled under his breath.

Mack pulled out the cell phone he carried with him at all times. Soon after he'd been sworn in as the county sheriff. He had been introduced to the other world that existed simultaneously and covertly around him. Sometimes, it felt as if he existed in two alternate realities. And, he supposed he did.

He flipped through the numbers wondering which voice of authority to call. Wolves were Nash's problem and vampires were Dane's. And, if he surmised the Great Father was in charge of the whole paranormal ball of wax. Deciding to nip this in the bud, before things got out of hand and he had a town full of pissed off, paranoid citizens spotting wolves around every corner. He hit speed dial and waited for Drew to pick up.

Chapter 7

Nash always got up early. He relished the sleepy quiet of the house and the hushed stillness just before sunrise began to pierce the horizon. Privacy was a rarity he seldom got to cherish. Already, the Pack was beginning to stir. He glanced up at the ceiling and sipped his coffee. Hearing the sounds of movement, bare feet shuffling across the floor above his head, he gauged by the heaviness of the steps, Grant was getting an early start to his day too.

Having Grant back, offering forgiveness for such a grievous offence as the one he'd committed had the whole Pack in an uproar. Nash left the Pack with no choice. He was the alpha and his decisions were final. And the Great White Wolf had made it his edict as well. The Pack might grumble under their breaths. But, they wisely kept their mouths shut. They couldn't begin to understand his motivation for breaking with tradition. Why he'd let Grant live in the first place. And why the man, who had challenged him for alpha and almost killed Tala was back under his roof.

The truth. When it had been Nash's turn in the arena challenging for Pack Master, he'd been forced to murder his own flesh and blood, his father, for the sake of tradition. No more. Tradition ended when Grant was allowed to flee from the fight, wounded but still breathing. No more killing. Life was too precious a gift to snatch away from anyone when there was a better option.

Nash nodded at the gentle knock on the patio door, welcoming the Great White Wolf in. Drew, didn't look happy. His mouth set in a hard line and his posture rigid. His eyes were hidden beneath dark sunglasses, out of habit. Not that Nash needed to see Drew's eyes to gauge his mood. "I take it this isn't a social call," Nash said. He motioned for Drew to take the seat next to him and waited for him to speak. Drew was a man who did not mix words and left nothing in his speech to interpretation.

"I got a very disturbing phone call from the Sheriff this morning," Drew said. Nash sat casually, one arm resting on the back of the chair with his fingers wrapped around a mug of steaming coffee. There was nothing casual about Nash. The man might appear relaxed and easy going. But, beneath the façade created by the simple, button down shirt and the sleeves rolled to his elbows and the faded, denim jeans and worn boots was a powerhouse of lethal, bruit force. And Nash had the thick scar marring his right cheek, from the corner of his eye to his jaw line and down his neck to prove it.

"Really?" Nash wasn't surprised. And he had a vague suspicion of which wolf had broken the rules. The Great White Wolf's power rippled off him in waves. Drew wore his authority well. He knew when to step in and when to let Nash handle Pack business. And today, he was simply advising Nash that he'd better tend to business. Nash sipped his coffee and waited for Drew to get down to it.

"One of our brothers has been spotted in town. I thought it was clear that the town was off limits while in wolf form. The last thing I want or any of us need is a bunch of rednecks with shotguns hunting us down."

"I agree," Nash said. He'd worn his hair down, loose around his shoulders to dry after his shower. In business mode, he wove his salt and pepper hair into a tight braid at the base of his skull and secured it with a leather band. Drew wanted results not meaningless promises. And he was looking expectantly at him to get them. "I'll take care of it."

"I did it," Grant said. Clearing his throat as he entered the room, he went straight to the coffee pot to down a quick mug of the stout brew before starting his day. Grant offered no reason as to why he'd gone to town in his wolf form. It wasn't that it wasn't Nash's business. As Pack Master everything was Nash's business. And Drew, Grant could not even imagine the responsibilities heaped on his shoulders. Grant took a sip of the coffee and scowled at the cup. This wasn't the milder stuff the pack drank. The coffee in the pot was the good stuff Nash reserved for his early morning wakeups. And damn was it strong. Grant went to the fridge and pulled out the cream, pouring a generous dollop into his mug and stirring it to make the stuff more palatable. "It was so late and I didn't think anyone would see me."