Dawn's Destiny

He'd grown up thinking of Tala as a best friend. To him, at that innocent age, she hadn't been a girl and he hadn't been a boy. They'd shared many secrets. Fought many invisible foes created out of a child's eager imagination. The slept in puppy piles or simply just the two of them curled up in bed together. All of that changed when she became a woman and he a man. There were no more puppy piles, no more secrets, and the cherished friendship they'd shared, became terse and awkward.

Grant stopped at the door to Tala's room and pressed his palm to the cool wood. He could smell her on the other side. Her scent was lush and filled with the sweetness of the dreams she dreamed. Beneath her natural scent was the aroma of the man he despised more than any other man on the planet. His wolf bristled in his mind, growling defensively as he paced the borders testing them. The Great White Wolf was planning to take her away from him. It was he that Tala dreamed of, him that she wanted. And Grant was going to do everything in his power to make sure she didn't get him.

He padded down the corridor and up another flight of stairs to his room. He supposed he'd grown up with plenty of love. And he should be the most well adjusted person in the pack. And damn it, he was. But, and perhaps it was because he didn't have parents of his own and perhaps not. He'd always felt a part of him was empty. That something deep inside of him wasn't complete. And Tala was the only person that could fill the void. With her, he felt whole. He didn't understand why she didn't feel the same way about him. It simply didn't make sense. He was everything her wolf should want. Everything her heart should crave. He knew her better than any other male in the pack. And yet, she could not look on him with anything but disdain.

Not all soul mates got along. In fact, some avoided each other as much as possible and only came together when the moon heat forced them. The unmated males slept on the third floor and the unmated females on the second. Usually, the pack had some warning of when the moon heat was coming on a female. And she was quickly removed from the males beforehand. But, sometimes hormones played cruel tricks and snuck up on them. If it hit and there were males around the result was chaos. Males would kill one another to get to the female. The call was that impossible to ignore. And it wasn't any better for the female. She suffered worse when there were males around. Agonized with the heat burning through her body. And there was no other choice but to let nature take its course and breed the female to a willing male. To force a soul mate bond neither of them actually wanted.

Grant knew for a fact he would kill to claim Tala, if that ever happened to her. Unfortunately, it had not. And her next cycle wasn't due for years. It was too long to wait and left too much to chance. He'd rather have her come to him willingly and not under the influence of her hormones. And he'd rather mate with her while he had control than rut like an animal to satisfy an itch. He'd make it perfect. Seduce and tantalize, take his time getting her there and enjoying every minute of it.

His room was an exercise in utility. He had a few remnants of his parents tucked in a box under his bed. Some pictures, his mother's hairbrush with her dark strands tangled in the bristles, his father's straight razor, the blade rusty and nicked from the effects of time, and most importantly of all, their gold pledge rings. And if everything went according to plan, he'd slide his mother's on Tala's finger and she'd place his father's on his. He had little else in the way of personal effects. He didn't need them. The past meant nothing to him when he could focus on nothing but his future.

He made his way to the adjacent bathroom. His station in the pack ensured that he didn't have to share the space. Nash was nothing if he wasn't a stickler for the rules of pack hierarchy. Grant respected Nash more than anyone would ever guess. He cared for the man who had such a hand in his upbringing and had been a surrogate father to him. Nash had seen him through his first shift. Taught him the ways of the wolf. What Grant was about to do made him the biggest bastard of them all. And he hated himself for it. But, he saw no other way out. No other way to get what he wanted.

He'd waited so long. His patience had been tested to the extreme. And he was going to have to take what he wanted instead of waiting for it to come to him. He could not allow Tala to slide any further into the Great White Wolf's arms. Risk that Tala and the Great White Wolf would seal a bond through the joining of their physical bodies when the lust burned so brightly between the two of them. He would not be left empty handed with nothing. Lore had it that a wolf only mated once. Most wolves simply endured rather than test the theory. If he were truly human, he'd fuck anything in a skirt. But, he wasn't. And he would never chance his soul to a female he didn't want just to tempt fate to see if the myth were true.

Tala would hate him for what he planned to do. But, she would be his. And in time, she'd come to accept it. Nash was aging. Weakening little by little. And the Great White Wolf was vulnerable. He was simply too human, too much a vampire, and he knew nothing about his wolf. Once Grant took control of the pack. He could force Tala to be his mate. His alpha wolf was strong. His wolf aura much more potent than the bit he let seep though his shielding. Tala was an alpha female. But, her father's death would shatter any resistance she might have. Her wolf would yield to his. And he'd leave her with no other choice. Her wolf would obey and lose this battle of wills.

Physically, he was strong. Mentally, he was prepared to do what he had to do. And the time had finally come to prove to the pack who and what he truly was. Grant stepped under the shower's pelting hot spray. The sting pummeled his back. He wondered what thoughts had run through Nash's mind on the night he decided to challenge his father for pack master. Was he conflicted about killing the man? Nash was not a man to second guess himself. And Grant doubted Nash had questioned his convictions about his decision once he'd truly made it. But, he wondered, if Nash had even the slightest glimmer of self-hatred for thinking them.

Nash was a powerhouse in a fight. His wolf was fast and lethal. Grant had seen others try to win the contest for pack master and die in failure. Nash was a killer when he had to be. And Grant would do well to remember that fact. Unfortunately for Nash, Grant had no plans of losing.

He turned off the tap and forced all doubts from his mind. Focus, he needed to focus on his goals and not death. He could do something no other pack master had done before and let the loser live. But, Nash was too great a threat for that. The kill would have to be clean. Grant had the advantage of youth on his side. Nash would win in a full on assault. But, if Grant took his time, drew out the fight, Nash would wear down. And Grant would strike when Nash was at his weakest. And he would win.

Dripping water on the tile floor Grant walked to the vanity and pulled out a pair of scissors. Long hair was a potential liability. The fight didn't always take place in wolf form and sometimes during the heat of it, shifts from wolf to human and from human to wolf were a means of wearing an opponent down. The shift took vital energy and was a show of strength. Grant didn't intend to give Nash anything extra to use against him. Hair would grow back. But, his head would not. Twisting the wet strands in his fist, Grant snipped his ponytail off at the base of his scalp.

Cutting bangs above his eyebrows, Grant fashioned a reasonably decent hairstyle. Not that he really cared about fashion or current trends but more about getting out of the fight alive. Finishing up with a pair of clippers, he evened out the awkwardly snipped chunks of hair left behind by his unskilled pass with the scissors. He felt naked without his long, shoulder length hair. And as it dried, his hair lightened to a rich, almost black, dark brown. He ran his hand over his shorn hair and shook the itchy bits off his shoulders. A little longer in the front than in the back, the style didn't look half bad on him. The short cut gave him an edginess and added to the angles of his face. He looked hungry. He looked lethal. And he looked ready.

Chapter 9

Thomas reread the chart. Sifting through lab and radiology reports a second and third time. Looking for something, some small glimmer of hope. Medically, this case was a lost cause. The best thing for the poor woman lying in the hospital bed, paler than the white sheets wrapped around her thin, wasted body, was to call in hospice and make her death as comfortable as possible. None of the treatments, the ones ordered by her oncologist or the less conventional ones he'd slipped her were working. The wraithlike, frail woman was going to die. Soon. And he could not accept that. He could not let his mother go.

He wouldn't give up on her. And he would do everything in his power to keep her from giving up. His mother deserved better than the failure of modern medicine. Blinking away a stray tear of hopelessness, Thomas stared down at her and gripped her hand tightly in his. She had perhaps, a few weeks left. Maybe less. But, definitely she had not a second more. Her death was imminent. He knew the smell of it. The lingering glimmer of eternity patients got in their eyes when the end was near. And for his mom, death was very close. He forced a smile as her eyes fluttered open. Crystal clear eyes, as blue as the ocean, looked up at him, pinning him in place where he stood with their intelligence and understanding of what was about to happen. And that made this whole thing so much worse. That she knew it was going to happen and there was nothing anybody could do to stop it.

Barbara looked up at her angel. Her baby boy tried so hard to be brave for her. Deeply engraved lines of fatigue creased his furrowed brow and the corners of his mouth. The blotchy dark purple circles under his eyes worried her. He hadn't been sleeping. And without her home to keep him fed, most likely he hadn't had a decent meal since she'd been admitted to the hospital. His mousy brown hair stood up on end and was as rumpled and unkempt as his scrubs. "Why, Doctor Thomas Sterling," she said, beaming with pride. "How nice of you to pop by." She couldn't say the words often enough and savored the taste of them on the tip of her tongue. Her son, the doctor, what mom wouldn't be proud?

"Mom, how are you feeling tonight?" Thomas slid his fingers up from her hand to her wrist. The pulse, barely palpable, was ticking along at a rapid pace, thready and weak. Her skin was so thin and fragile. Too fragile for the woman who'd born him, raised him as a single parent, worked two jobs to help him get through med school, and had survived round after round of radiation and chemotherapy. For his sake, claiming bravely that she would beat the cancer eating her from the inside out. Now, at forty-eight, her time was up. And that was not fair.

"Good, baby," Barbara lied. She always lied for his sake. The truth was that she was close to the end. She knew it. Her body was weakening. Succumbing to the toxins infused into her veins. Treatments that the oncologists claimed would slow the cancer's progression. HA! It was laughable. She swallowed hard and painfully against the wave of nausea racking through her body. If it weren't for her boy, hell bent on preserving her life, she would have stopped the therapy long ago and died peacefully.

She wasn't afraid of dying, only of leaving her son, her only child behind. Alone. She had gotten pregnant so young. Practically growing up along with him. She didn't blame his father for abandoning them. He too was way too young and immature to raise a child. She had dropped out of high school and took a string of menial jobs. Earning money to ensure that he would have every opportunity life had to offer. Her efforts had paid off and he was a fine, strong, loving, and capable man of thirty-two.

Her will and her love for him was the only thing that kept her going. How badly she wanted it to end. Wanted it to finally be over. But, she couldn't leave him. And would stay here for him, as long as she could. As long as it took to ensure that he would be ok. "Don't I look good as a redhead?" she asked, smoothing her fingers down the strands of the wig.

"Fabulous mom." Thomas nodded at the nurse who popped her head in to check on them. "We're fine, Claire." He turned his attention back to his mother and ignored the blonde. Claire was a good nurse, one of the best. And he felt better knowing she was taking care of his mother. The two of them joked and laughed like old friends. And perhaps, with the amount of time his mom spent on this unit, they were. Claire took her time with his mom. Applying makeup when his mom felt up to it. Brushing out her wigs and making sure they were styled and not sitting cockeyed on her head. Seeing to her every need and comfort. And when Claire was scheduled to work, he pulled the necessary strings to make sure his mom was assigned to her.

"Well, call if you need anything," Claire said in that hushed way nurses did. Such a devoted son was a rarity. Barbara was a very lucky woman to have him by her side through this. Pausing to check the IV pump before leaving the room, Claire blushed furiously. Thanks to his mother, Claire and the rest of the eligible staff knew more about Thomas than he would have ever wanted them to. And Clare looked for excuses to linger in the room out of feminine curiosity. Doctor Thomas Sterling was single, available, and handsome, despite the fact that his brown hair was thinning on the top. Unfortunately, or maybe, fortunately he only had eyes for the woman in the bed. And that was how it should be. They didn't have much time left together. And it broke her heart to think about how hard he would take her death.

Claire understood his mother's urgency to hook Thomas up with a woman. She was dying and she wanted to make sure someone would be there for him. To help him pick up the pieces when she left this Earth. And several of the nurses would give their eyeteeth to be the one he turned to. Thomas glanced up at her in annoyance that she hadn't taken the hint and excused herself from the room. And finding herself dismissed, not harshly, but still dismissed, she did just that.

"Mom, I think I know someone who might be able to help you. I know he can." Thomas leaned in closer and whispered, "Mom, I'm getting you out of here." He would be damned if his mother was going to die in this hospital. He'd rather have her home, surrounded by all the things she loved than here in this cold, clinical, setting of harsh impartiality.

"Baby, you can't do that. Won't you get in trouble?" Barbara licked her dry and blistered lips. Eager to see her home once more before she died. Dying at home. Amongst her favorite possessions, on her treasured, overstuffed, blue velvet chaise lounge. Dying amongst dust bunnies and the familiar scents of cinnamon and lavender, instead of in this sterile, disinfectant scented, room was tempting. But, she didn't want to be a burden on her son. And she wanted his memories of his home to be happy ones. If she died at home as she would prefer, the house would never be the same.

She opened her mouth to dissuade her son. She would be too much trouble for him to handle at home. In her weakened condition, something as simple as going to the bathroom was a major undertaking. She couldn't do that to him. Burden him so. It was bad enough that she inconvenienced the nurses with the task of taking care of her. They had sicker patients, patients with greater needs than hers. Yet, they never complained no matter what she asked of them. Barbara Sterling was no wimp and her son would not put her on the bedpan, clean up her puke when the nausea held her under siege, and he sure as hell wasn't giving her a bed bath. She opened her mouth to protest. But, he was busily chattering on the phone, arranging her discharge.

Thomas snapped the phone shut after placing his demands. He wanted his mother out of here now and had called in more than his share of favors to accomplish his goal. Impatiently, he waited for the discharge paperwork to be completed. He pressed the nurse call button. Drumming his fingers impatiently on the bed's side rail. Taking his mother home was not going to be easy. She'd need help with everyday tasks like dressing and going to the bathroom. Luckily, he had a little money squirreled away and no shortage of nurse friends he could call on to provide care for her while he was gone at work. It would be ok. He would find a way to make it ok.

The unit, calm a few minutes ago, was now a flurry of activity. Claire bustled to get the discharge paperwork started, rushed to deliver pain medicines to the patient next door, and covered a coworker for lunch. Things were like that in the hospital. They could go from 'oh well' to 'oh hell' in seconds. Claire shook her head and trotted to answer Barbara's call light. "What can I do for you?"

"Claire, wheelchair now," Thomas ordered in his most Dr. Marcus Welby, authoritarian voice.

"Dr. Sterling?" Claire huffed. "I'm working on your paperwork now. I'll have it done as soon as I can." A blush rose to her cheeks as he glowered at her with his infamous 'I'm better than you because I'm a doctor' stare. Mentally, she ran through her 'to do' list to see if she could finagle the time in her schedule and shift her duties. And other patients had priority over a discharge that shouldn't happen in the first place. But, she wasn't about to argue the point with him. She didn't have time to. Groaning she felt the buzz of her pager against her thigh.

"Now, Claire," Thomas ordered again. He would think that it would be to Claire's advantage to get rid of them as soon as possible. The woman was absolutely harried, her cheeks flushed from all the rushing around she did. But, he didn't care. His mom and getting her out of here before another wave of nausea hit and she was too weak to leave, was his only priority. He'd apologize to Claire for being an ass later.

"Thomas." Barbara swatted the top of his hand gathering what strength she had to reprimand her son. "Behave. Claire dear, you take your time," she soothed. Claire was on her last hour of a grueling twelve-hour shift. This was her fourth day in a row. She'd volunteered for overtime to staff the unit today. And her son was giving the poor thing shit? Getting all high and mighty with one of the potential women she'd worked so hard to soften up to his cause? Barbara didn't think so. Claire had the makings of a good wife for her son and an excellent mother for his future children. She was not going to have him mucking it up with his insatiable ego. "My son and I will wait. Patiently."

"Thanks. I promise. I'll be with you as soon as I can." Claire made a beeline for the buzzing call light across the hall.

"Take your time dear!" Barbara called out after her. "She's so sweet. And pretty. Don't you think? Shame on you for acting that way," she said jabbing a finger at Thomas. "She could be your future wife."

"Mom, you're the only girl for me," Thomas said. Sure, there were a lot of pretty, some of them devastatingly beautiful, women working in the hospital. But right now, the ailing woman lying, still lying, and waiting, in the bed to be discharged commanded all his affections and attention. Once she was well, then maybe he'd take time to think about himself, but not until then.

He rested his chin on the edge of the side rail. The plastic was cool and hard against his fevered skin. He was so tired. But, his mission was far from over. He had been searching desperately for the secrets that would cure his mother. He knew the vampires possessed the only thing that could save her. The question, how to convince them to help her? The Shaman was his last chance, his only hope. The blood, the powerful blood of the Shaman, was the key to saving his mother's life.