Dawn Redeemed

Chapter 115

Evan stifled a yawn and went to bed with a weak protest. He was a big boy and old enough to stay up to wait for the rest of the pack to come home. "Mommy, is tomorrow my birthday?"

Ruby pulled a small calendar off the corkboard over Evan's bed. "No honey," she said, pointing to the dates, "you've got this many days left."

"Oh." Evan snuggled his stuffed Spiderman toy under his chin, "then I'll be seven."

"That's right, practically a man." Ruby ruffled her son's hair and bent to give him a peck on the cheek. He smelled of sleep and a little boy's dreams. She gave the covers a tight tug and tucked them in around his tiny body tightly.

"I love Uncle Carter, but I think when I grow up, I want to be just like daddy."

"Your dad is a good man."

Evan's eyes popped open and he looked at his mother. There was a hint of sadness hidden behind her smile. "You haven't forgotten what I want for my birthday have you?"

"No honey, I haven't. I just don't know if I can give it to you." Evan had asked for one thing for his birthday. If he had requested the latest toy or new kid gadget, she'd be able to make his wish come true. Instead he wanted something that was impossible for her to give. In a child's innocence and longing, he'd asked for his mommy and daddy to get back together. She hated to let him down. But, what choice did she have?

"You still have that many days left," Evan said running his finger across the square boxes on the calendar.

"I know baby, I know." Ruby pinned the calendar back on the board and counted the days. Not nearly enough time. Although even if she had all the time in the world, it still might not be enough. "Go to sleep and before you know it, one morning very soon, you'll wake up and it'll be your birthday."

"And I'll get my present."

Ruby sighed and flicked off the light. "We'll see."

Hanning lingered in the hallway outside of Evan's room listening to Evan and his mother talk. A pang of guilt struck him deep in his gut. Evan sounded so hopeful and his mother so hopeless. He knew time was running short and the council would be calling on him to make his decision. Revocation of marriage vows. The words felt like a noose ever tightening around his neck. When he'd first said them. He was so certain of what he wanted. Now, he wasn't so sure.

Ruby closed Evan's door tightly. About dawn the place would be bustling with activity as the pack returned with regaling tales of the hunt. She hoped Evan would sleep through the worst of the noise. She ducked her head as she brushed past Hanning on the way to her room.

"Ruby..." Hanning dug his hands deep in his pockets as she stopped and turned to look over her shoulder at him. "Crazy night, eh?"

"Yeah." Ruby blinked in bewilderment. Was he trying to strike up a conversation with her? A civil conversation without any yelling, fighting, crying, or hurt feelings left in the aftermath? Was that possible between the two of them? "Thanks for helping me with Evan today."

"Sure, no problem." Hanning could think of a million smart assed retorts to her simple offer of thanks. He didn't want any more hurt between them. He didn't want to fight. A shy smile lit up the corners of her face. How long had it been since a smile had occupied the usual resting place of a deep frown or a scowl directed at him? "Well...ah, I guess I'll let you get to bed."

Ruby nodded, confused as hell, "Ok."

"Well then... goodnight."

"Goodnight Hanning."

Shayla leaned over the rails of R.J.'s crib. He was out, lost to a land of dreams. Resting her head on the rail, she wondered exactly what it was babies dreamed about. "He looks happy," she said her thoughts aloud.

Carter walked over and drew Shayla into the crook of his arm. Together they watched R.J. doze peacefully. "Of course he is. He's got the best mother on the planet."

"And you for a father too. Are we like super parents or what?"

Carter kissed her on the top of her head and sighed a deep, longing sigh, "I wish I could give you a dozen more."

Shayla snorted, "You are kidding, right? This little guy is plenty." She snuggled into the protective crook of his arm and sighed, "I wish I could give you one of your own. You're a great dad."

"I'll have to take your word on that one. I have been making this up as I go along."

Shayla giggled, "You mean you forgot to read the instruction manual?"

"Infants come with instructions?"

"The best manual is the one that's in here." she pressed her fingertips over Carter's heart. "Reading a book doesn't make you a good parent. This does."

Carter took Shayla's delicate fingertips in his hand and lifted them to his lips. "You honor me." He nuzzled her fingertips with his cheek and exhaled all the happiness he could no longer contain within himself.

"I love you."

"And I you." Carter waltzed Shayla around the room. "I was thinking, even though we can't make a baby. We could always use the practice."

Shayla spun in his arms and felt the room tip as he dipped her low. "Practice does make perfect."

"Am I not perfect yet?" Carter grazed his fangs along the gentle curve of her extended neck and traced her bounding pulse with the tip of his tongue.

"There's always room for improvement."

"I shall endeavor to perfect my technique to meet m'lady's lofty standards." Carter swung Shayla up into his arms and carried her toward the bed.

"By all means, endeavor away."

"I shall," Carter chuckled huskily, "I shall."

Chapter 116

Torr paced around his tiny house. It wouldn't truly be a home until Erica and Fallon moved in and made it one. He saw every imperfection, every crack in the ceiling, every missed speck of paint, every dust bunny, and cobweb. This was certainly not the grand manor that he'd grown up in as a kid. No matter how fine the furniture had been, how well cropped the grass, or expansive the rooms, the manor was no home, just a pile of sticks nailed together to make a plush, expensive prison. He plucked a dust bunny off the sofa and executed it in the nearest trashcan. His house was far from fancy, but once they moved in. It would finally transform from a house that looked amazingly like every other house in town and become a home.

Sleep was not going to come easily tonight. The sense of oneness he shared with the pack was unnerving. He was so used to being alone. The empty ache inside of him had been a deep drowning pool for so long that he felt as if his soul was overstuffed and bulging at the seams. Torr thought that no longer being solely responsible for the wolves would be a liberating experience. Instead, he felt as if he were going to crawl right out of his skin. As if there wasn't enough room in his own body for just him and he was being crowded out. A part of him knew that he was one of many instead of being just one. In the process of finding his freedom he'd lost some part of himself.

He got down on his belly and fished around under his bed. The wooden box was cool and smooth against his fingers. He sat on the floor and leaned against the bed, opening the box. A ring shone dully in the dim shadow of lamp light. The ring was the only thing left of his father. The flames of the pyre had greedily consumed his father's body and delivered his soul to who knew where. After the flames died and the breeze scattered the ashes. He'd found the ring, blackened with soot, lying in the scorched remains waiting for him.

He should have hated the bastard that gave him life. And in so many ways he did. For thirty-three years, his father tortured him. In the process of toughening up his pansy of a son, he managed to alienate the only living being on the plant who had ever truly loved him. Torr did something he'd never done before, swallowing past the lump in his throat, he slid the ring over his finger.

The gold band was heavy and unwieldy, black bits of soot stuck in the deep etchings on the ring as a grizzly reminder of its owner's demise. Perhaps, his father had done too good of a job. Picking up exactly where his father left off, giving himself over to becoming a cold, ruthless, prick just like dear old dad would have been so much easier than standing up to a memory and setting the pack free.

He returned the ring to the box and slid the box back into their hiding place under the bed. Fatigue was getting the better of him. He was so damned tired. Wearily, he rose to his knees and climbed onto the bed. A faint trace of Erica's scent remained on the pillows. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. Her gentle essence soothed his battered soul. If he unleashed his imagination, he could feel her lying next to him, holding him in her arms, driving away the cold that hid in the recesses of his heart with her endless warmth and love.

Love was the last thing he ever expected and something he never thought he deserved. In his search for Erica, he only half heartedly expected to find her. That she loved him, that he could let go and love her back, was a miracle. If there really was a goddess, he owed her a great deal. For she had preserved the pieces of his soul that mattered most and kept them in safe keeping for the time when he'd need them. Thanks to her, he had a future and someone to share it with. Sleep washed over him in a drowning torrent. Before he succumbed and let the waves carry him out to a sea of dreams, he whispered a prayer of thanks.

Erica forced her weary body out of the bed. The night just wasn't long enough. Her eyelids were heavy with the dry, scratchy feeling of sleep embedded in the corners. With all the wolves out last night, Torr was sure to have been amongst his brethren. She wanted to get up before her uncle did to make certain that the front porch was in pristine condition.

Hesitantly, she opened the door, not looking forward to burying whatever she might find on the other side. Peeking through the screen door, she blew out a heavy, relieved, sigh. The front porch stoop was blessedly clear. Thankfully, there'd be no funerals today. The fact that a mild ass chewing had led to a marriage proposal, and that she'd said "yes" still befuddled her sleep addled mind.

Carefully, she closed the front door and tiptoed to the kitchen. It was kind of nice to have the house all to herself along with a few precious moments of quiet before the day started and everyone woke up. The coffee maker merrily chugged away, taking its sweet old time spewing forth the dark brew, oblivious to her need for caffeine to clear away the cobwebs. She stared down at the coffee maker watching the first weak stream of coffee dribble into the glass decanter. How was she going to approach Fallon when she'd barely had time to get used to the idea herself?

Mrs. Werth. Ms. Torrance Martin Werth. Erica Werth. Erica Grey Werth. Mrs. Butter Werth. She was making bad maple syrup jokes in her desperation to come to terms with the idea of becoming Mrs. Anybody. Idly, she toyed with the variations of her future name as she waited for the decanter to fill to a respectable depth. "Hurry up damn it," she grumbled at the ancient kitchen appliance. She needed a jump start in the worst way.

Fallon bounced out of bed, eager to greet a new day full of excitement and surprises. What today might hold was anyone's guess. She couldn't wait to find out.

Torr impatiently waited his turn in line at the local hardware store. He didn't have a ring for Erica yet. He just hadn't found exactly what he was looking for. Diamonds were the key to a girl's heart, but he was hoping another key would work just as well. Finally, the good old boys at the counter parted ways and it was his turn. He sat his house key on the counter and pushed it across the worn, pitted surface with his finger. "I'll take one copy."

Chapter 117

O'Sullivan moved through the darkness with uncanny stealth. The woods were, to him, a subtle reminder of his humble beginnings. Of course, back then the night was much, much darker and the woods, much less tame. He left his men back in the city, for the time being. They had their purpose, but they were clumsy oafs. This mission required more finesse than muscle.

The boy and his companion were moving fast. Their pattern through the woods predictable and always headed west. Almost too easy for O'Sullivan to consider it a challenge. Still, he persevered. The boy was just a means to an end. And he would probably end him, once he'd served his purpose, and the miserable wretch of a girl right along with him. Once he was through with her, of course. He toed the dead animal carcass with the tip of his boot. Idiots. They were leaving a clear trail for the Sons to follow. Maybe, just maybe the Sons would get to them first and save him the trouble. As long as the chase lasted long enough for him to achieve his objective, what did he care?

Theresa paused and read the billboard. "Look, there's a fair in town."

"We're not going into town. We've got to keep moving." After days of traveling they were close to their destination and David was not going to let Theresa fuck it up now. They were almost there.

Theresa frowned and kicked up dust with the worn toe of her shoe. "Its been forever since I've had carnival food," she pouted.

"Forget it." David kept out of view of the main road. Weaving in and out of the shadows. Ducking behind spindly bushes and tall scraggly weeds, he pulled Theresa along beside him. They were in the heart of the Sons' territory. They had to be by now. Unless the myths and rumors he'd learned to dread weren't true. After all, he'd never seen one of the Sons in action. What if they really weren't real and the tales of their heroics were all that kept the vampire world in check?

David dismissed the thought. They had to be real. But, if they were, then where in the hell were they?

O'Sullivan stuck to the outermost boundaries of the territories. He was on a mission that had nothing to do with a wayward boy or his newly made infant. Not only would the Sons eventually detect the presence of the two he half heartedly sought. They'd also detect him. No matter, the boy made an excellent excuse. O'Sullivan was a patient man, and he'd waited a damn long time for the perfect opportunity to present itself. Finally, it looked as if he were going to get his chance. If Carter was here, he'd find him.

Chapter 118

"Mom! Mom! Wake up!" Ruby cracked open an eye as Evan bounced up and down on the bed, shaking her awake.

"What is it Evan?"

Evan could not contain his excitement. "Today is my birthday!"

Ruby rolled over and pulled the covers over her head. "No it isn't. We looked at the calendar last night, remember."

"It is so," he retorted. Sometimes adults were too confident in their ability to discern what they thought was fact and what actually was. "I asked Dad. He says today IS my birthday."

"Evan, I know when your birthday is. Trust me, I was there."

Evan shook the bed and huffed, "MOM! You're not listening to me!" he wailed. "Dad was there too, wasn't he."

"Yeah, he was."

"So wouldn't he know when I was born?" Evan wrinkled his brow in confusion.

"You'd think so, but obviously he's gotten the dates mixed up."

"MOM!" Evan practically ripped with anticipation at the thoughts of cake and ice cream and of the present he was so eager to receive. He had to convince his mom that today was indeed his birthday. He didn't want his present later. He wanted it now. His eyes widened as they landed on the watch tucked away on the nightstand. He had helped his dad pick it out as a Christmas present for her last year. "Here," he said, thrusting the watch in her face.

"Evan, please." Ruby threw the covers off her head and rolled over, snatching the watch from his fingertips. Weak morning light filtered in through the heavy curtains, she strained to read the watch's date display. Sighing, she clamped the watch tightly in her fingers. Where in the hell had the days gone? Had that much time really slipped away? "Happy birthday, Evan," she said contritely.

Evan sat back on the bed, beaming with a coy, knowing smile. He so loved being right. "So, when's my party?"

Hanning pushed the cart along the bustling aisles of the Super Center. He racked his brain trying to throw together a party for his son. Ruby always took care of the party and he had no idea what constituted a good party for a little boy and what did not. He scanned the array of cakes in the bakery shop. After one glance at the price tag, he thought they had to be kidding. Who in their right mind would pay that much for a crummy cake that was probably stale and tasted like something similar to Styrofoam? A mother who had forgotten her only son's birthday and a desperate father who was attempting to throw together something that constituted a birthday party, that's who. He wrestled the biggest cake they had in the rack and slid it across the counter. "Can you write Happy Birthday Evan on the top for me?"

The attendant popped her gum in a gesture of sheer boredom. "Yeah, sure."

He marked the cake off his mental list and headed to the Toy Department in search of the perfect gift. There were so many things to choose from. Everything made noise, required batteries, had a thousand tiny pieces, and had a price tag that made the cost of the cake seem like mere pocket change. Evan was just a little boy. He'd probably play with the toy once or twice and then toss it into a forgotten corner of his room.

Where were the toys that fostered a kid's imagination? Hanning scanned through the shelves lined from floor to ceiling with every toy conceivable. Nothing really struck his eye. He didn't know what in the hell an Elmo was, but the doll had a whole section of the Toy Department devoted solely to him. Finally, Hanning spotted something from his own childhood. A cherished toy that he'd played with for years. Lincoln Logs. He bent to the bottom shelf and blew the dust off the box. Frowning, he scowled at the price tag. Somehow, he didn't think his mother and father had paid this much for a simple stack of wood blocks. Hell, were they even made out of wood anymore? Probably not.

Dejected at his lack of Fatherly know how. He put the box back on the shelf and moved on. There had to be something in this story that was perfect for his son. He paused at the bicycle display. Bicycles were still an 'in' toy, weren't they? The bicycle was kid sized with Spiderman's face plastered on the seat and the bright yellow Spiderman logo scrawled down the frame. Perfect. Hanning hefted the bike into the cart. The front wheel stuck out precariously into the aisle. He'd have to be careful that he didn't maim a senior citizen with the wayward tire.

He stopped by the party goods section and picked out the obligatory Spiderman paper plates and matching napkins. Party hats were good, right? The store had an endless plethora of Spiderman party supplies. Unsure, just for good measure, he grabbed an arm load of everything on the shelf, hats, spoons, cheesy party favors, plastic bits and pieces that he couldn't identify, and one of the ugliest table cloths he'd ever seen.

Hanning knew the bike was more of a consolation prize than a birthday present. He hoped the bike would be enough to appease Evan. Evan could be tenacious at times. Once he got his mind onto something he wouldn't let it go. Both he and Ruby knew what their little boy wanted more than anything else for his birthday. Hanning hated to disappoint his son. No kid should know the heartbreak of disappointment and the bitter fact that sometimes life and people, the people you looked up to the most, let you down.

He made his way over to the bakery and picked up the cake. The writing was sloppy and smeared, an almost illegible blob of blue icing. Hanning snatched a number candle off the rack on the counter and tossed it into the cart. One wheel wobbled out of control, threatening to topple the tower of instant birthday happiness down on his head.