Dawn Redeemed

Carter didn't hesitate. He bit his wrist and held the dripping flesh to Shayla's dusky lips. "Drink." He watched the first drop of crimson fall to her bluish-gray lips and her pale tongue flick out lap up what he'd offered.. Gently, prying her mouth open wider he offered her the fullness of his gift. Damn the consequences. His blood was potent and pure and she was so close to death. If she turned into a thing like him, they could both rot in hell together...later. The most important thing, for the now, was that she lived. He pressed his wrist against her mouth and winced from the force of her teeth tearing at his flesh as she latched on and drank.

Thomas swallowed the bile rising in his throat as he watched Carter's blood do its magic. The sight was fascinating but a bit unnerving at the same time. Her body healed ahead of his suture job and he simply put down his forceps and needle and let the magic of Carter's blood and Shayla's wolf DNA do their thing.

The layers of muscle, fat, and skin knitted together better than any stitch he could have sewn. A ripple of pink scar tissue wove across her bikini line. Her blood pressure sailed up to a healthy normal level and her heart rate evened out. Shayla's skin no longer had a gray cast to it, but a healthy tanned glow. Her lips, pink and supple instead of that deathly shade of blue.

Watching her heal thanks to the magic in Carter's blood outraged Thomas on so many levels. How many could benefit from just a single drop? Diseases capable of killing could be cured. People could be brought back from the brink of death, by one crimson drop. He had first hand knowledge of the magic in the blood. He had experienced the miracle for himself and lived to tell no one. The secret had to be kept. Humanity outnumbered vampires tens thousands to one. If the secret of the magic got out, every vampire in the world would be hunted and drained. Either that or more would be made until the humans were hunted and drained. Life, and unfortunately, death, had a delicate balance. The benefit of one could not outweigh the benefit of the other. Regrettably, that was the way things were meant to be. He had no option but to accept things for what they were. Life for some and death for others.

Shayla writhed on the table as the searing agony of Carter's blood took hold. She felt every cell fuse back together, knit closed, and heal. Cellular membrane attached to cellular membrane, forming tissues, repairing her till she was whole once again. She heard the flutter, the deafening flutter of a heartbeat, from across the room. Her son, Ramon, named in honor of his father, breathing, warm and alive, the pulse of life thundering in her ears. "My son."

"Would you like to say hello to your baby boy?" Claire asked. She cuddled the infant, wrapped tightly in soft, warm, blue blankets. Cooing softly under her breath to soothe the squirming bundle. To have such a awful introduction into the world he was a lively, wiggly thing, desperate for his mother. "Here he is, mama." Claire blinked back tears of wonder and joy as she handed the baby to his mother.

"Look Carter."

Carter reveled in the silence in his mind. His mind was the dark, comfortable silent haven it had always been before. The Presence had been brought safely into the world and his thoughts were his own again. "He's ... fine?" Carter's voice wavered tremulously in awe of the life Shayla held in her arms.

"He's perfect, Carter. Absolutely perfect." Shayla cuddled the bundle in her arms, cooing and smiling down at him. She held back her tears of joy out of fear Carter would misinterpret them as tears of sorrow. She felt Carter's doubt and worry as clearly as if it was her own. He feared that his blood had hurt the baby. He worried that just by being near Ramon he would contaminate him with the stain of darkness. "Hold him. It's ok. I trust you."

Unwillingly, Carter took the bundle out of her arms and stared down at the tiny face. Ramon's little fingers reached up, curling and uncurling in the empty space of air. The baby had Shayla's black hair and tanned skin, her almond shaped eyes, and slightly too large for her face, but nonetheless perfect for her, nose. But, was there a hint of blue in the baby's dark eyes?

He'd drank from Shayla and she from him, before she'd learned that she was pregnant with her deceased husband's child. The blood exchange had been out of necessity, not for pleasure. He could have cried in relief to see the perfection of this bundle in his arms and almost did. The baby in his arms was pure and innocent, without the taint of his stain. "I have not held a baby in my arms...in a very long time," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

"Well, it hasn't changed much."

"No, I suppose I am the one who has changed." Carter passed the baby to Shayla and swallowed against the hunger roaring in his gut. "A great deal, I'm afraid." There were others gathered in the hall anxiously waiting for news. Thomas and Claire were still tidying up a bit, cleaning bloodied instruments, discarding stained paper drapes in airtight containers, and putting things back in their proper order before letting visitors in the room.

Carter slid from the room, putting the closed steel door and a pair of guards between her and his gnawing need. The pack stepped back to make way for him to pass as he shouldered his way through the brothers. The predator had needs that must be met. And he was but the beast's unwitting servant. For a moment, just a brief moment, he'd forgotten that one basic rule. He looked human, but he was not and had not been in as long as he had held a babe in his arms. He fled the corridor in a blur, searching out a place of solitude where he might soothe his beast and sate his hunger.

Shayla gently stroked her son's cheek and put him to her breast to nurse. So much of Ramon was in her son. They had the same dark expressive eyes and wild, unruly shook of black hair. She had tried to keep Ramon's death distanced from her heart. But, looking down at his likeness and holding his son in her arms, brought the memories and the hurt crashing down around her.

Ramon was impulsive and idealistic. Standing up for those lofty ideals was what got him killed and took him away from her. She didn't think one man could make a difference. He thought one man could. Ramon died on that platform. His blood stained the wooden planks red while she and the pack stood helplessly watching. Seff thought he was showing his authority over them all by murdering her husband. Ramon didn't stand a chance against Seff and his thugs. He was bound with heavy ropes and beaten to a pulp before Seff dragged the blade across his throat finally ending it.

His body hadn't been laid to rest. Seff left him tied to the platform to rot as a grizzly reminder of his power over them all. Ramon's death did not do exactly as Seff planned. His death gave birth to the resistance.

Shayla refused to play the role of martyr for her dead husband. She refused to give in to self-pity and drown in the pits of despair. She wanted to. She wanted to stay down and never get up. Instead, she did her job, well. She was the only one with access to the inside of The Grand Manor, Seff's base of operation. She dusted and vacuumed, and prepared his meals, while she gathered bits and pieces of information to relay to the others. She did this, not only for the resistance, or for herself, but for her husband's memory. She had nothing to lose after his death. And if she were going to die, she'd do it serving a greater cause.

That was how she met Carter, he and a rag tag bunch had come to free her mistress, Eloise. He was cool and aloof, the first vampire she'd ever met. Before him, she, they all, believed that the pack were the only ones in the preternatural universe. She hadn't wanted to take his blood or share hers with him. But, it was the only way. Through the blood link, they were able to communicate and develop a plan to help Eloise and Seff's son, Torr, escape.

Ramon would have beamed with pride the day the fence that had always surrounded the complex came tumbling down. He would have danced around the flames that constructed Seff's funeral pyre in triumph. He would have been so proud of her and her role in securing the freedom of their people. His face would have shone with pride and joy when she told him she was pregnant with his son. She would have seen love reflected in his dark expressive eyes. She could have damned him and cursed his name for sacrificing himself for the pack. But, to what ends? He was the man he was and she wouldn't have had him any other way.

From wherever he was, she hoped he could see their son. She blinked back a tear of sadness. She wouldn't cry over the past and her losses. Ramon wouldn't want that. She didn't want it. And it wouldn't do their son any good. She had the future wrapped up in baby blue blankets in her arms. She would embrace it and plunge bravely forward. Ramon would want her to. He wasn't the only reason she refused to look back. She was doing it for their son and for herself and perhaps, for Carter as well.

Chapter 3

Fallon gathered up her backpack and slung it over her shoulder determined not to let the kids needle her to the point of tears. Being the new kid sucked rotten grapes. Her classes were months behind where she'd been in school. She'd already learned everything they covered in class. Lunch was terrible, some dried up thing slapped on a tray that she couldn't even identify and certainly wasn't going to eat.

She'd worn her favorite skirt and the cute little white patent leather sandals her mother had bought her for her birthday in hopes of making a good impression on the other kids. That had been a mistake. The ribbon she'd used to tie back her hair dangled limply from her ponytail and her shoes had scuffs on them. Her tights were ruined, splashed with mud. And so far the only impression that had been made was the bruises on her arms from where some girl, in her class but far older and bigger than all the other fourth graders, had punched her. And all this was before afternoon recess.

She shuffled to gym class, fighting her way through the crowded, noisy hallways like a fish swimming against the current. Some kids regarded her with curiosity and others with polite indifference. She liked the kids that left her alone the best. But, not all the kids cut her slack. There were a few that were out to make her life and the rest of the school year torture.

"The new kid doesn't know which side of the hallway to walk on." A voice taunted behind her. "Maybe we should show her."

Fallon bit her lip hard enough to draw a trickle of blood. She had high hopes at eight-o-clock this morning of meeting new friends and finding a replacement for her best friend back home. Nope. Not happening. In the way of all well meaning adults, she'd stood at the front of the class and been introduced about a hundred times. "This is Fallon Grey she is a transfer student from Washington, D.C," they'd say and then they'd ask her the most dreaded question of all, to tell the class a little about herself. Like any other good student, she did as the teachers asked. She told the kids about her former life, the things she'd seen and the places she'd been. She was just being honest, not bragging. Annnnnddddd that was what got the ball rolling.

A shoulder slammed against her and knocked her into the white cinder block wall as a bigger girl, the size of a sixth grader, stomped past followed by her entourage of worshipers. She shouldn't have worked the math problem the teacher had written on the board and shouted out the answer before 'the Behemoth', as she'd nicknamed the bigger girl, standing at the board and fumbling with the addition part of the problem and getting it wrong, had finished.

She was only trying to be helpful. Unfortunately, 'the Behemoth' didn't see it that way. In trying, she'd committed a fatal social error and embarrassed the other girl in front of the whole class. There were lots of stifled giggles and a few sympathetic glances from the other kids. Fallon should have taken the hint and disappeared right then and there.

She really, really hadn't meant to embarrass anyone. It was just that she'd learned the math the teacher was struggling to teach last semester. English class, art class, history class, and music class hadn't gone any better. She was just ahead of everybody else. The girl...the Behemoth...and a few of her cronies were painfully so far behind and in danger of getting held back...again. Fallon would offer her services as a tutor, if it weren't that the girls would probably beat her up for her trouble.

Fallon sucked in a breath and kept walking. So far, there hadn't been any bloodshed, just a sore shoulder. Anger bubbled beneath the surface of her calm exterior. She would not get in a fight on her first day of school. No amount of bullying could make her bring down the kind of wrath she'd get if her mom had to come down and talk to the principal.

Maybe if she begged. Her mom would let her skip the rest of the semester and let her give it another try next fall. NOPE. That was not going to happen. She could always try the sympathy routine. Whine about how mean the kids were and how she didn't fit in. No, then her mother WOULD go to the principal's office and she'd be the laughing stock of the entire school. She was just going to have to suck it up and hope her shoulder held out.

Fallon looked forward to the ringing of the final bell. Then all she had to do was survive the bus ride home. She had a best friend waiting for her in the woods. If she could find a way to sneak out past her mom's watchful eye and go see him. Her mom said he was a wolf, maybe he was. He did look a lot like the pictures of wolves she'd seen on the internet. Big bushy tail, high erect ears, and the deepest soulful eyes she'd ever stared into. He wasn't like the wolf in Little Red Riding hood. Nope, he wasn't like that at all. He wouldn't eat her.

Fallon took a deep breath and walked through the bank of doors leading to the gymnasium. She felt the girl's hateful scowl on her back as she walked past and handed her admission slip to the teacher. She was good at gym. Very good. Maybe that'd earn her some points in the school's social hierarchy. She shrank under the pairs of eyes scowling at her. Maybe not. The gym was painted bright blue and trimmed with eye blinding yellow in honor of the school's colors. Her favorite color was brown, soft, wolf brown. She took her place in line...at the back of it out of eyeshot and reach of the other kids...especially the Behemoth and her band of merry tormentors. Today they were playing kickball...wonderful...just wonderful. She tried to focus on the game. Of course, she'd been picked last for a team and her turn to kick never came. She just stood there waiting her turn, melting in her hose and skirt beneath the heat of the spring sun. It was just as well that she didn't get a chance to play. Her mind kept wandering back to the woods and the wild, and to her wolf.

Fallon watched the yellow school bus dip and shimmy down the gravel road and disappear beyond a wide curve. Coughing on the thick cloud of dust left in its wake, she ambled up the driveway to her aunt and uncle's house. Her aunt promised her something special to celebrate her first day of school. Probably cookies or a pie...or if she were really lucky, maybe an ice pack for her bruised shoulder. There was no way she was telling her aunt and uncle and especially not her mom about what a wimp she had been.

Fallon was already making up a story about how great today had gone. Yeah, she was the popular one...lots of friends...the best school lunch she'd ever eaten...the teachers loved her, which wasn't a lie...and she loved her classes. In a way, that was true too. She wouldn't have to study too much to keep up since the rest of this year was going to be more like a review than her actually learning something.

Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes at the thought of how far she was going to have to stretch the truth to placate her family. But, her mom didn't need to know everything. Mom was stressed and uptight a lot and Fallon understood why. Her mom's adult life wasn't really going any better than her kid life. Her mom's favorite slogan was 'fake it until you make it' and that was exactly what Fallon was going to do.

She should get a T-shirt or something for surviving her first day. The toe of her sandal found a loose rock and sent it bumping down the drive. Her eyes scanned the woods for a sign of her friend. She didn't see him hiding in the pines or thick lines of maples lining the edge of the meadow. Her tiny shoulders drooped in disappointment. She'd saved half her sandwich and stuffed into her backpack to give to him after school. He wouldn't mind the awfulness of a school lunch. She'd been looking forward to stroking his thick fur and feeling his pink tongue skate across her cheek all day. He wasn't here. Maybe he wasn't coming back.

Alexander leaned on the split rail fence as he watched the little girl walk dejectedly up the drive. Idly kicking rocks with the toe of her scuffed sandal. She drug her backpack through the gravel behind her. Poor kid. The first day of school hadn't gone so well, if he had to make a guess. He locked the gate behind him and walked over to the front porch where Fallon sat with her backpack and jacket in a puddle at her feet. Her chin resting on her knuckles as she stared off into the woods. "Wanna talk about it?"

"No." Fallon glanced at her great uncle out of the corner of her eye. He was dressed in his usual faded jeans and worn tattered flannel shirt that was so threadbare the plaid had blended into one solid, murky green color. "Where's mom?"

"Still in town, I guess." Alexander eased his weary body onto the porch swing. The rusty springs groaned in protest from his weight. Idly he pushed the swing back and forth with the heel of his boot as he studied Fallon. Fathering came easy to him, always had. The fixer in him wanted to right everything that was wrong in her little corner of the universe. But, there was no fixing the horror of being a square peg trying to fit in a round hole.

Fallon was special, extra special in his book. Smart as a whip. Graceful as a ballerina. Shrewd as a tax accountant on April fifteenth. Gifted in ways not even he could understand. No doubt her new teachers saw it as well and unfortunately, so did the other kids. She was a shining star in a dark sky filled with dimmer lights. One day that light in her would be a blessing and a very rare thing. But, at the ripe old age of ten and trying so hard just to belong, shining so brightly too often left a kid feeling nothing but alone and singled out by everybody. "There's an empty seat over here. Don't want to get your school clothes all dirty."

Fallon sighed and plopped her butt down on the swing with a thud that rattled the ancient rusty chains. "It was awful, Uncle Alexander. Awful. Nobody likes me." Her uncle had a patient, understanding way about him that made her want to spill her guts. She'd come up the drive intending to give him the same planned out, well thought answer she planned to give her mom. Instead, the truth just spilled out.

"Nobody?" Alexander tugged on a lock of Fallon's red hair watching the curl straighten and then spring up into a tight corkscrew. The moment was something straight out of the past. He'd done this before, with Erica and with his own daughter, Alex, and before them he with his own father, and probably, his father with his grandfather. The house and the lands surrounding it had been part of the Gray family tree since the day it'd been built at the turn of the century...not this century, but the century before. The house had changed a bit and so had the men who had sat on this porch swing intent on comforting a winsome child. "You want me to go down there and rough 'em up for you?"