Dawn Unleashed

O'Sullivan leveled his gaze, pinning the boy with the power of his stare. "Give me the wolf."

Daniel ground his teeth as he considered how to answer. If O'Sullivan realized that the ability was no longer his. He might kill him and do something even worse to Yessette. Yet, he had no way to give Eric what he wanted. "I can't." He lowered his eyes to the floor out of shame and embarrassment. He could maintain distance from the pack for only a short while. Without the ties of magic and family that flowed from wolf to wolf, there was no power for him to draw upon. His dad could do it and of course, his grandpa, being the pack master, could do it without the aid of the pack. But, he could not. "There have to be at least two for the magic to work."

"Boy, you're trying my patience. I don't want excuses. I want the wolf." So, Carter had been telling him the truth after all. Eric didn't give a damn about metaphysical bullshit. He wanted his wolf and he wanted it now. Daniel didn't truly appreciate or understand his greater purpose in Eric's world. The hand that rocked the cradle ruled the world and Daniel held the key to the cradle within his veins.

Daniel cowered under the force of O'Sullivan's words. "What do you expect me to do?"

"Shouldn't that be obvious? Find me another wolf. All you have to do is locate one. I'll take care of the rest." O'Sullivan lowered his voice and stood. "Yessette is depending on you. Don't disappoint her." He left Daniel alone in the room, to think it over. Fear was a powerful motivator and sometimes desire was thicker than blood.

Daniel scrubbed his hand through his hair and cursed under his breath. Eric didn't understand the gravity of what he was asking. He wanted Daniel to sacrifice one of his own kind in exchange for Yessette. Daniel knew he was in over his head. He wouldn't be able to hold O'Sullivan off forever. Eventually, Eric would lose patience and track down the pack for himself. Daniel had no doubt Eric could pull it off, especially with Carter's help. Daniel couldn't afford to let that happen. Risking one wolf for the sake of the pack was better than endangering all of them. Once Eric discovered the location of the pack, he might not be content to stop there. The pack would lead him straight to the brotherhood and that would be bad, as in nuclear war, bad.

The cell phone in Daniel's palm was cool and slick. Eric had given him the phone under the guise that Daniel was free to come and go and to call home whenever he wanted to. He didn't want to call home now, but what other choice did he have? Daniel had never understood before now why Carter changed camps and had abandoned the Guardians, the brotherhood, and Shayla. He'd hated Carter for it as a matter of fact. Eric's circle of influence was more far reaching than Daniel had realized. Eric had something he held over Carter's head. Daniel suspected Eric threatened them both with the same thing. Yessette.

Knowing he was going straight to hell for what he was about to do. Daniel dialed the number. The voice on the other end made him long for home, but stronger was the need to protect the people he loved. "Mouse, let me talk to dad."

"Daniel?" Marianne was so startled to hear his voice she nearly dropped the phone. There was an urgency in Daniel's voice that had her clenching her teeth together in a sudden surge of panic. "Danny, are you ok?"

"Mouse, I don't have time for this. Let me talk to dad!" Daniel regretted being so sharp with his little sister. Sometimes, Mouse could be a huge pain in the ass. She wasn't being a pain now though. She was genuinely worried about him.

There was a pause and a hesitant breath. "I can't. Dad isn't here. He went to the city to look for you." He could hear his sister's soft breaths in the pause on the other end of the line. "You could call his cell phone. I know he'd love to talk to you. We all miss you so much. Danny, you are coming home? Aren't you?"

"It's too late for that." Daniel flipped the phone closed, ending the call before his sister's pleas coaxed him into agreeing to come home. He had his dad's cell phone number. One call and his dad would come with guns blazing in an attempt to rescue him. There wasn't anything to rescue him from, but that wouldn't matter to his dad.

He couldn't go home. There wasn't anything there for him anymore. His place was here at Yessette's side doing whatever he could to protect her. "Shit," Daniel muttered, throwing the phone onto his bed. His dad was here, looking for him, and it appeared that O'Sullivan might, just might get his wolf after all unless Daniel did something to prevent it.

Chapter 9

The unanticipated winter storm made the last few hundred miles of the drive a living hell. The row of semi trailers and passenger cars pulled over to the shoulder were a grim reminder to Robert that he shouldn't be out here. Finally, the jeep crept across the state line at a snail's pace. The snow plows and salt trucks had lost the battle to the inches of white snow falling from the sky above and the high winds making it impossible to keep the interstate clear. Ice caked his wiper blades, leaving a blurry trail of filth across the windshield. He was fatigued and frozen to the bone as another mile slowly ticked by. He'd lost two hours thanks to the time change and nightfall came far too early for his liking, bathing the flat lands of the Midwest in complete darkness. His tires spun on an unseen patch of black ice buried in the narrow track of pavement on the interstate and he scrambled to keep the jeep out of a ditch.

He could barely make out the road ahead of him for the heavy snowfall caught in the glow of his headlights. The flakes of snow blended into one big wall of white. Robert sighed wearily and flexed his fingers. He didn't dare take his hands off the wheel for a second. He'd been on the road for over twelve hours. The last four of them spent driving with his hazard lights on to warn off traffic coming up behind him. Not that there was much worry about that. He hadn't seen another car, not one that hadn't skidded into a ditch or pulled over onto the shoulder of the road, for over an hour. He seemed to be the only f'idiot crazy enough to brave the interstate on a night like this.

Light, haphazard flakes of snow had started in Kansas and had only gotten worse as he'd traveled east. St. Louis was a bitch in good road conditions with the addition of the snow it'd been a real party. Illinois was nothing but flat ground and drifts. Indiana, so far, hadn't faired any better, if not worse, than her neighboring state. He was so close to his destination, but still, had another couple of hours of driving, probably more like three or four hours worth, given the condition of the roads, before he arrived in the city safely. Assuming, he made it to the city at all without having to call a tow truck to haul his miserable ass out of a ditch.

Admitting defeat, he signaled and inched down an ice covered off ramp into one of a dozen little burgs that sprung up along the interstate to earn its feeble existence off road weary travelers, like him. He should have stopped sooner. Maybe, pulled over in Terre Haute and waited the storm out there. But, he'd been too stubborn and the city seemed so close at the time. Two hours later and he was still only half way there.

The burg boasted to be the heart of Moore County according to the snow caked sign at the end of the off ramp. Big deal, Robert thought as he slid rather than drove the last few yards into a gas station. The parking lot was a slick, mushy mess of tire tracks and footprints. He could do with a cup of hot coffee, a trip to the men's room, and a cap off on the gas tank before he got back out on the road again. Time was wasting and he didn't want to spend a second longer in this insignificant pit stop than he had to.

The gas station was a hub of activity. People shivered as they waited in line to fill up their gas cans at the kerosene pump. The quick mart was stuffed to capacity as brave souls made stops for emergency packs of smokes, lotto tickets, stale bread, and overpriced gallons of milk. Everyone was making urgent last minute purchases, preparing for the worst of the storm, which surprisingly, had yet to arrive.

Robert shook his head and pulled up beside a dilapidated, battered pump. After chipping away at a layer of ice frozen over his gas cap, he shoved the nozzle into the jeep and began filling up. No credit card slot? No demand for prepayment? Come on, what year was this? 1950? Eagerly, he gave the handle a hard squeeze. The pump was incredibly slow, ticking away the gallons with a cheerful ding. He was freezing his ass off out here. Miserably underdressed for the weather in tennis shoes, a light jacket and jeans.

The crowd shot him wary looks as they shuffled across the slick lot to their vehicles, consisting mostly of big SUVs and four wheel drives. He was in the heart of Redneck central. Finally the pump stopped and he replaced the nozzle and the gas cap with frozen, clumsy fingers. Wincing against the sting of the cold seeping through his inadequate gloves, he blew on his fingertips to warm them and paused to stomp snow from his shoes against the doorframe on his way in. The sounds of conversation from the people mulling about talking about the weather gave him the impression the snowstorm was the biggest thing that had happened around here in the last twenty years. The smells of gasoline, cigarette smoke, and coffee that had sat too long on the warmer assaulted his sense of smell.

Robert shivered inside of his jacket and waited his turn in line. Careful not to touch anyone or anything, but needing to free his hands from his wet gloves, he buried his hands deep into his pockets. He so desperately wanted a cup of coffee, even if it was bad. But, with all these people and their random thoughts left on the surface of everything they'd touched, he didn't dare. This wasn't the kind of place he could slide into a pair of latex gloves without being noticed.

"Evening," the county cop said, sauntering over to stand in line next to him.

"Evening," Robert answered back. Deeply wrinkled skin, leathery and perma tanned from too many years in the sun gave the sheriff a weathered appearance. Tufts of salt and pepper hair poked out from beneath his brown sheriff's hat. The battered nametag on his uniform coat was barely legible, but he made out the officer's name. Sheriff Mack Brown at his service. He couldn't help but notice the heavily loaded utility belt strapped to the sheriff's hip. The gun was standard issue. But, the long, lethal looking hunting knife strapped beside it was not. What was the guy expecting in the middle of a snowstorm, a grizzly attack or perhaps the abominable snowman?

Mack studied the man standing beside him. The man pretended not to notice he was being watched and fished a pair of twenties from his leather wallet. The man was a little taller than average. Medium brown hair, dampened darker brown from the melting snow, drooped over the collar of his disheveled jacket. According to the driver's license Mack had caught a glimpse of. The man was from way out of state. People from out of state automatically earned a place on his radar. It wasn't that the town or he didn't welcome strangers. Some of the folks around here, the inhabitants of Moore County were stranger than the common populous could ever guess. "Cold one out there."

"Yeah," Robert answered uncomfortably. When in foreign territories, it wasn't wise to engage the natives. But, what could he do except for play along? He was stuck in line with the Sheriff behind him. In a few minutes, he'd be back on the interstate anyway. He just simply wasn't in the habit of talking to people. Thanks to the Internet and online purchasing, he rarely had to leave his cabin or interact with anyone.

"Slick out," Mack said. The man wasn't a brilliant conversationalist. He stood still shivering in his jacket waiting his turn in line. He was dressed way too light for the weather in nothing but jeans, a jacket, and tennis shoes. Everyone else had enough sense to bundle up in parkas and heavy boots, gloves, and scarves. This idiot was dressed for a walk on the beach by comparison.

"Uh huh." Robert slid the twenties to the cashier with a fingertip, careful not to brush against her or the sticky countertop beneath. He hoped the sheriff would lose interest in their non-conversation and go hassle someone else. Gingerly, Robert took his change and shoved it into his pocket. Sidestepping a throng of people mulling around the counter he made his way to the door.

"Not a fit night to be driving," Mack said as he followed the man. Over the years he'd lost count of how many dead he'd seen scraped off the interstates on nights like this. He was tired of it, damn tired of it. He was supposed to be retired by now, but when it came right down to it. As much as he'd dreamed about the day he'd hang up his sheriff's badge. He wasn't quite as ready to give it up as he'd thought. Maybe, next year he'd retire. "Where you headed?"

Robert planted his feet in the ice to keep from slipping and pointed east with his thumb. Sheriff Mack Brown wasn't going to give up easily and was on his heels like a bloodhound on a scent.

"Ah, big city." Mack nodded his head and shivered as a gust of wind blew inside of his winter gear. He walked around the rusty jeep. Not a bad vehicle, but hardly sturdy enough for the roads tonight. "It'd be a shame to drive from..." He brushed the snow off the license plate. "Montana and not sample a piece of Anna's homemade pecan pie. Come on and try a piece, my treat. You look like you could do with a hot cup of fresh coffee and a slice."

Robert grumbled under his breath. He really just wanted to get to the city before midnight in his time zone. "Interstate closed?" The sheriff had no reason to make him stick around otherwise.

"Not yet, maybe in an hour or two, maybe more, maybe less." He shrugged. The staties were out on patrol, picking up stranded travelers and ushering them to safety. Gladys, the owner of the only hotel in town hadn't had a full house since the last snowstorm and was doing a happy dance at the possibility that her rooms might be booked before the night was over. The Ladies Auxiliary had opened up their basement meeting room in anticipation of a sudden influx of strangers in need. They had more styrofoam cups than Starbucks and were just waiting to show off their version of down home hospitality.

Reports chattered over the mic clipped to his shoulder as the state boys arranged tow trucks and ambulances for the growing list of slide offs. It was just a matter of time before the snowplows and the state boys admitted defeat and the interstates were forced to close till the storm blew itself out. "Damned dangerous night to be out though." He held out his gloved hand. "Name is Mack. Mack Brown."

Robert knew when he was beaten. His insides were frozen sold as a chunk of ice and he was damned tired. A rest break might not be such a bad idea after all. Give the plows a chance to get ahead of the storm before he headed back out. "Robert. Robert Black." He grasped the sheriff's gloved hand and gave it a sturdy shake. Through the thick leather gloves on Mack's hands, he could pick up nothing. His vision was blessedly free from the sheriff's thoughts. Mack wasn't a bad man, but he didn't need his gift to sense that. An interfering man, maybe. His intentions were good enough though. "I should offer to buy."

"Can't let you do that. Could be construed as bribery of an elected official."

"Pie?" Robert asked, clearing a layer of caked snow from his wiper blades. The rich sound of Mack's laughter filled the air.

"You've never had Anna's pie before. Follow me into town. The restaurant is just down the road on Main Street."

"Will do." Robert slid behind the wheel and buckled up. The last thing he needed was a ticket for a seat belt violation, considering he was on his way to have pie with the sheriff. While he was waiting for Mack's cruiser to back out and lead the way, he slid his hands into a pair of latex gloves. There was nothing here worth the crushing pain of the random images he was surely to get off everything he touched. His son wouldn't be within one hundred miles of this hole in the wall town. There was nothing here Robert needed to see with his hands.

Chapter 10

Cole did his best to shut down his brain and focus. Why did he have to be reborn on a night like this? Worst storm of the season, or so the newscaster announced, with an almost gleeful lilt in his monotone voice. Great. Couldn't be bad enough that he'd have to be naked during his birth. Oh no, he'd be freezing his balls off in snowdrifts and subzero temperatures too. Wonderful.

The Shaman did his best to ease Cole's nervously twitching body. No amount of chanting and incense was going to draw Cole's thoughts away from what was going to come. Cole wasn't scared. Anticipation had him flinching under the Shaman's skillful fingers as he painted the ancient symbols across his chest. Cole dropped to his knees and bowed his head as clouds of thick smoke wafted over his shoulders from the pungent herbs smoldering in the shaman's pot.

The leather thong itched Cole in places he didn't know he could itch and certainly couldn't scratch in public. He tried hard not to squirm as the Shaman completed the purification ritual and silently left the room.

Cole prayed as hard as his wavering attention span would allow. He'd given up the formality of prayer for short utterances of vowels and syllables linked together to form a mishmash or words he hoped made sense or were at least worth bending God's ear to listen to. Despite the lingering smoky tang on incense on his skin there wasn't a shred of calm left in him. His palms sweated and his mouth was dry. His heart raced in his chest. Soon, a warrior would come to escort him to the bluffs and whatever was going to happen would happen.

"The boy is ready then," Drew confirmed. From a distance he'd watched Cole begin an incredible journey from boyhood into manhood. Cole had chosen his path and the proving ground waited for him. Tonight, he would complete the final mile of his journey and the true task would begin.

John Mark tightened the straps over his chest and nodded to the Great Father. Sometimes, the lines between the warrior, the leader, and the friend were blurry. Tonight, there was no fuzziness to them at all. Drew was the Great Father, leader of his people and father of them all.

"Very well then. Bring him to the bluffs."

Tonight Cole would be issued one last challenge. John Mark had spent months training the boy for this night. Cole had the tools. How he decided to use them was up to him. Silently, John Mark dipped his head in reverence as The Great Father brushed past him. He walked the long hall to the room where Cole was waiting. The energy from Cole's nervous anticipation radiated off the rock. To him, it seemed like a lifetime ago that he'd been in Cole's shoes and walked that final stretch into rebirth. Gently, he pulled back the beaded curtains and wordlessly waved Cole out.

Cole glanced up at the whisper of beads that were strung together to form a curtain across the threshold. John Mark stood stoically, motioning for him to come out. Cole took a deep breath and unwound his folded legs from beneath his body. They ached as circulation rushed back into them. He paid no attention. For the moment, every last sensation, every human one, was savored and treasured. "So, this is it." Nervously, he licked his lips and memorized the feel of his tongue on their surface.

The ceremonial robe was heavy and warmer than he'd anticipated against the bare skin of his shoulders. The dense white fur weighted him down. The hood drooped over his eyes, making it almost impossible to see as he followed John Mark through the long winding halls this last time. His breathing kicked up as he jogged to keep pace. The ceremonial blades brushing against John Mark's back marked every last step with a soft whisper of steel and leather against flesh.