Dawn Redeemed

He affected her more than she was ready to admit. But, he was a very patient man. He tucked the chairs under the table, careful not to make a sound as he did so. Lest he interrupt the barista's texting and earn a glare for his trouble. He jogged ahead of Erica and held open the door. He'd learned no lessons in courtesy from his father. That was for sure. He was a self-taught gentleman and took pride in it.

Coward that she was. Erica scurried for the door. The tiny bells strung across the top of the threshold chimed cheerfully as Torr held the door open for her. The space was so narrow. Filled with his big body. That she had to brush against him to get past. He was only being polite. But she was completely unnerved from the contact. She could still feel the heat of his skin on hers. She heard the gentle thump of the door closing and the soft whisper of the soles of his boots against the sidewalk behind her. And there he was, Torr, in her space, again. Crowding her. She looked up and took a step back, pressing a brave and wavering hand to his hard chest. "Torr, I...I just need time, ok?"

Torr stared down at the dainty fingertips pressed so timidly against his chest. Time was a curse and it'd already stolen too much away from him. Erica held all the cards and he truly had no other choice but to sit tight and wait. Pushing her would only serve to make her his enemy in a war without victors. "You'll call when you feel the time is right?"

Erica nodded and withdrew her hand. She could feel the throbbing of his heartbeat against her fingertips and it was too intimate for strangers. She wanted to brush the windswept locks away from his forehead so she could get a better look at his eyes and read their meaning. But, that was a gesture saved for familiar people and they were not familiar. He stepped back, giving her just enough room to breathe. "Torr, it was nice to see you again."

"Likewise." A sudden gust of wind caught her skirt and sent the hem ruffling around her knees. Her bottom lip quavered as if she had something more to say. His fingers caught a strand of hair that had worked its way out of her tight chignon and tucked it behind her ear. The gesture was too familiar, too intimate, and way too soon. Her eyes quickly flicked away from his and began tracking an empty potato chip bag that had gotten caught up in the sudden gale and skittered haphazardly across the sidewalk.

Erica caught her breath and turned her face away from the heat of his palm as his long fingers gently brushed over her cheek. The empty potato chip bag careening in the spring wind was suddenly the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen. Anything beat staring up into his eyes and seeing the unmistakable glint of the past in their depths.

She gripped her purse tightly, jerking the strap into her shoulder. Turning on her heel, her shoes made light clacking noises on the sidewalk as she walked in a hurried pace toward the safety of her car. Halfway there she hazarded a glance over her shoulder. Torr stood in the middle of the sidewalk with one hand in his pocket resting over the envelope, staring after her with those unblinking, unreadable blue eyes.

Torr stared after Erica and watched her climb into a beat up car that had seen better days. Her steps were hurried, their retreat hasty. She climbed in behind the wheel, revealing a good length of thigh. Erica was no longer the giddy co-ed he'd met on a beach in Corpus Christi ten years ago. She'd grown up into a beautiful, sensuous woman with soft curves and a cautious nature. She had been in his life for one night. And that one night, had guaranteed she'd be in his life forever.

His fingers clutched the envelope as if it had more value than gold. To him, it did. Her car sputtered to life and pulled away from the curb. She turned right at the stoplight and disappeared around the corner. He hadn't missed on single detail. Her eyes were awash with a woman's remembrance of things perhaps best forgotten. He sidestepped a couple holding hands as they meandered down the sidewalk. Envying them just a little, he climbed into his truck.

Sunlight streamed through the windshield, heating up the truck's interior. Erica had laid it all out on the table for him. Honestly and openly, she had placed every bit of her faith and trust in him. She didn't know what kind of a man he was. Maybe the fact that she didn't know was the very thing that bothered him and had his sense of guilt in overdrive. She'd held nothing back and he'd misrepresented himself and told her not much of anything in return.

He'd been misrepresenting himself for years. Their night together had been a lie. A lie of omission perhaps, but still a lie. Trusting her wasn't his issue. The fact that the truth would scare her off and he'd never see his daughter again, was. He had no pictures to fill in the missing blanks for her. The bitter truth of what he was went beyond what words could explain.

"Shit." He pounded his fist on the steering wheel. The truck engine idled, vibrating raw power up his shins. He wanted to come clean and tell her everything. But he couldn't. Not yet. Erica wasn't ready to her the reality of what she believed was nothing but fiction. She was surrounded by the mythical creatures of horrific legend and didn't have the slightest clue of how deep she was in. She was a sheep, hip deep in wolves, and their daughter, was one of the wolves.

He had to tell her. But how? He couldn't sugarcoat the truth to make it go down easier. She'd be terrified and with good reason. He knew the beast that dwelled inside of him and shared his skin all too well. Torr ripped open the envelope and fingered the picture of his daughter and Erica he'd placed at the top of the stack. The truth was as real as the snapshot clutched in his fingers.

Genetics never lied. His daughter was more like him than her mother would ever guess. He tucked the picture into the visor and gave it one last long, hard glance before he put the truck in gear. The truth would be a blessing and a curse for Fallon, just as it was for him. But, it was also the only thing that mattered.

Chapter 2

Carter paced around the confines of the waiting room. Pain roared through him. Tightness and darkness crushed in on him. He struggled and fought for space to catch his breath. The presence screamed in his mind. Sheer agony held him in its unyielding grip. In all the centuries of his long existence, he'd never known such exquisite torment.

He clutched at the sweat soaked ends of his tangled blond hair and pulled hard on the strands. Anything to distract himself from the pain and the screaming in his mind. He was not alone in his agonizing torment. The Presence was struggling for its life, about to be born.

He felt the spark of life, sputtering and flickering, like a flame in the darkness. The presence he'd been hopelessly linked to for weeks was in danger of going silent forever. Rage and fear clutched at his heart. He wasn't afraid for himself, but for the woman and the baby she struggled to bring into the world.

Shayla panted and pushed with all her might. Fighting the smothering waves of fatigue to bring her son into the world. The labor had been hard and long. Painful contractions had turned into hours of agony. She tried as best she could to do what Thomas and Claire encouraged her to do, but it wasn't enough. She was losing the fight. "Save the baby." She stifled a scream as another wave of torture pulled her under.

"I'm not going to lose you or the baby." Thomas panted, "Not going to happen, Shayla." His gloves were coated with a slick covering of blood as he fought to bring this baby into the world. The labor had been sudden and come on Shayla hard and fast. The delivery had stalled, ground to a halt leaving her with nothing but pain and loosing far too much blood. She'd worked too hard for too long and she was giving out. "Come on Shayla, don't you give up on me."

The woman was exhausted. She barely had the energy left to give a weak push. Monitors dinged and alarmed in a clamoring symphony. The baby was losing the battle and so was the mother. He was determined, not to let either one of them go. No one would die today. Not if he could do anything to prevent it. And he could.

"Thomas..." Claire whispered, shaking her head no. She knew exactly what he was thinking. She'd thought the same thing herself. They weren't equipped to handle this type of medical intervention and there wasn't time to get Shayla anyplace that was. There was only one way to save the lives of her and the baby. For all their medical expertise, the trays of sterilized instruments, and room full of high tech gadgetry, they were going to have to place their trust in an ancient power old as the universe.

"Get Carter." Thomas met Claire's worried stare and didn't have to ask her twice. He slipped off his gloves and gripped Shayla's cool, pale hand with his fingers. Her stare wild eyed and panicked. Her expression riddled with pain. Her skin so pale, she was a ghostly shade of white. But, for all that, she had a graceful resignation in her gaze, a sort of peace that he'd seen only on the faces of the dying. He couldn't accept that. "Don't you worry, Shayla. Don't you worry about a thing. Everything is going to be just fine."

Thomas's words echoed over her from some distant place, reaching to her from the other side of so much pain and blood. Shayla rested her fevered cheek in his cool palm and closed her eyes. It was so quiet and still, as if time were holding its breath and waiting. Thomas's fingers drifted over her cheeks like the fluttering of butterfly wings and his voice...it was so urgent, begging her to hold on.

Shayla couldn't understand why Thomas was so worried when she was not. She believed and trusted every word he said. He was the one that sounded completely unconvinced. He wasn't going to let her or her baby die. The words weren't just words used by a doctor to comfort a frightened patient. Above all else, he trusted in his ability to force the meaning of his words to bend reality to his will. If he said she wasn't going to die and the baby wasn't going to die, they weren't.

Claire hovered over her in the way nurses do when they feel completely helpless. She was cool in a crisis. She had her head in the game. Claire's eyes tracked the blip on the screen, watching the baby's heartbeat and flicked down to her. A wave of agony ripped through Shayla. It was time for another push, but she was so damn tired. It hurt. The pain tore at her from the inside out. Shayla tried to be a good patient for their sakes. Gritting her teeth and panting, she didn't have the strength to hold back the scream exploding from her throat. "Do something!"

"Shayla," Thomas said calmly. "I am."

Carter writhed on the floor, his fingers digging into the tiles beneath them. He couldn't breathe. The world swallowed him up in a dark tunnel and surrounded him with nothing but pain and suffering. There were only a few choice ways a vampire could die, but he wondered if he was about to discover a new one. The presence was killing him. Dragging him down into death with it. A scream ripped out of his throat and echoed off the stone walls around him, taunting him with a chilling pitch.

He rolled onto his hands and knees, gasping from the effort to claw his way upright, pushing himself up along the wall to clamor to his feet. The world pitched and rolled, tipped at odd angles and wavered, fading into darkness again, always into darkness. So, this was how it would end for him. An ancient vampire killed, not by a blade, but by his own mind.

Drew was helpless, but to watch Carter careen down a path from which there was no return. Death was close, not only for Carter, but for Shayla and her unborn child as well. Drew was in command of everything he saw, every brother, every wolf, and every human in on the secret. Yet, he could do nothing to intervene. Sometimes fate had to be allowed to play out and follow its predetermined course. Once the trek had started there was no stopping it. "Shayla needs you."

Carter dropped down to his knees. Clutching his head as darkness tore at the edges of his mind. "I can't help her."

"If you want her and the child to survive, you're the only one who can." Drew understood Carter at a deeper level than perhaps he understood himself. The two of them were more alike than what they'd ever care or concede to admit. Both of them reluctant masters, yet slaves to a bigger world and their own sense of morality.

Duty commanded them. Drew had no doubt surely, as he was the Great Father to his Sons and the Great White Wolf to his pack, Carter's sense of duty to Shayla would get him on his feet. But, unlike so many times when Carter had stood alone for what he believed was right. This time he'd need a little help. Drew extended his hand to Carter and waited for duty to do what Carter could not.

Carter grappled to pull himself free of the darkness swallowing him whole in greedy gulps. He weakly reached for the outstretched hand with trembling fingers. Shayla trusted him with her life. He never understood why, but it was time for him to do what he could to prove himself worthy of such a great and unearned trust. "Help me. Take me to her."

He felt his body lifted to its feet. He was boneless and wavered as arms, thick as tree stumps, clamped around his waist and hefted the burden of his weight with broad, willing shoulders and a strong back. He helped as best he could. His weak legs wobbling to keep him upright. Carter could smell the coppery, sweet, rich scent of wolf blood tainting the air. Drew trusted him with the lives of his own. He shouldn't. Carter was what he was at his core and no duty bound the fiend that lived inside of him. "The blood. I can't."

"Carter, you have to. I know you almost as well as you know yourself. Certainly, more than you give me credit for. Find a way." He carried Carter through the door to the medical suite and neatly deposited him at Shayla's bedside. She was gray as a stormy sky. Her eyes seeing, but not registering what was going on around her. His first instinct was to throw Carter out of the way and banish Thomas and Claire. Protect Shayla and her unborn child, but there was no way to protect anyone from death's embrace. And she was close, so close. If she and the child were going to survive, death would have to be defeated by sheer force of will. Only the desire to live could combat death with any measure of effectiveness. "You will find a way," he said. Only he wasn't certain to whom he was talking to, Shayla or Carter.

"Carter," Shayla whispered weakly. She floated in a happy place between reality and fiction as the waves of pain gave her a brief respite and for a moment, before she realized it was him, she thought she was staring up at the face of an angel. He was beautiful. His hair a golden tumble surrounding a square jaw, perfectly symmetrical, masculine features, and his soft, pliable, almost decadent mouth. His blonde brows were drawn tight into a frown over his pale, arctic blue eyes. He was worried, when for the life of her she couldn't imagine why. "I'm glad you're here."

"I'm always here for you, Shayla." Carter ran a finger down her pale, sweat drenched cheek. He knew nothing about modern medicine. In his time, people died, they just simply died. There was no medicine or high tech procedure to save them. They were born, they lived, and they died. Plain and simple. His eyes flicked over to an array of instruments strewn across a cold, sterile looking, wheeled tray table. He needed no degree in physiology to interpret the blips on the monitors. Shayla was fading and so was the baby.

Carter glanced up at Thomas's doubtful face. He didn't need the good doctor or the worried nurse to tell him what had to be done. He knew. They were going to cut the baby out of Shayla. He buckled down against the lapping waves of black that rushed over his mind and focused all his attention on her. He could smell her pain mingling with the scent of her blood and the medicinal antiseptic tang of the air. He heard Shayla's heart, weakly pounding in her chest. She was dying. The baby, the source of the presence that had tormented him for weeks was dying with her. He should be glad and let it happen. Rid himself of the blasted sing song voice of pure innocence that invaded his every thought. But, he couldn't. A life was a life. And, in truth, the baby and his mother deserved to live more than he did.

"Shayla, listen to my voice." He searched through the waves of pain in her mind and focused. They were linked, tied together by the presence and the bond of their blood. "Follow it. Let me carry you away. There is no pain waiting for you, only the respite of sleep. Blissful peace. Can you feel it?"

Shayla's vision wavered and slid out of focus. Carter's voice was like a warm, gentle wave of comfort carrying her out to a place beyond the grip of pain. His voice wrapped around her like a thick, warm, velvety soft blanket. For a moment she drifted on the currents of the sound of the richness of his deep baritone. Agony, a new terrifying surge of sheer agony, pulled her back into reality. Tears rolled down her face as she tried to be brave for him and for her baby.

"No, don't fight it. You can't. You're not strong enough. Just let me carry you away." Carter hummed softly as he stroked Shayla's cool, tear dampened cheek. Her features went slack and her eyelids drifted hesitantly closed. "That's it. Sleep, my angel. Sleep for me."

Carter's voice held a deep hypnotic quality that had Thomas ready to abandon his fight for Shayla and the baby's life and curl up on the couch and take a nap. He shook it off and slid his hands into the surgical gloves Claire held out for him. "Is she ready?"

Carter didn't take his eyes off Shayla. Her face was lax in slumber. He was a powerful, old bastard. Today, it served him well. She dreamed of far off places where there wasn't any pain, fear, or worry. He could hold her there for a time. The medication Claire shot into Shayla's vein would help her to stay susceptible to his influence. "Yes."

"Can you handle this? There's going to be a lot of blood." Thomas stared over Shayla's belly at Carter as he washed her skin with surgical scrub. He hadn't done a C-section since med school and yeah, he wasn't one hundred percent certain he could pull it off. But, trying and knowing he could at least save the baby was better than losing them both. Then again, he knew he wouldn't lose Shayla. Carter would see to that. If she bled out before he could get the incisions closed, it'd only hasten the process of Shayla's conversion. No, he wasn't worried about Shayla or his abilities. His nervousness around a master vampire trapped in a room filled with the scent of blood was a far greater concern.

"I will be fine. Please, proceed."

Thomas took a deep breath and began to make the first incision. In med school the conditions had been perfect and he'd had a lead physician, an expert, standing over his shoulder to correct any mistakes before they happened. The C-section had been anticipated. He'd had the luxury of time and a team of trained professionals. Claire was no more an OB nurse than he was a surgeon, but the two of them were learning quickly to become the medical jack of all trades. "Is she ok?"

"Yes."

A few moments later, Thomas handed a screaming, very healthy, red faced baby boy over to Claire. But, they weren't out of the woods yet. Shayla wasn't doing as good as her son. Her blood pressure was dropping and her heart rate increasing. She'd lost too much blood and her body, was giving up the fight. Thomas couldn't risk a transfusion of the conventional kind. There wasn't time to weigh the benefits versus the risks. Something about wolf DNA defied the laws of human medicine and crossed straight over into the never land of the paranormal. There were simply some things he could not do. "Carter, heal her, quickly."