Dawn's End

Their pack was dying.

Isolated from society and trapped behind a fence meant to preserve what remained of their genetic purity. Without the aid of any outside support, their pack had fallen and crumbled, taken under siege by a larger, more ambitious pack master bent on saving what remained of his own wolves. Ruthlessly, Seff put down those who caused trouble and offered resistance. Ramon had been slaughtered as an example.

Eloise rescued the pack and freed them. The fences were down. The packs' homes deserted for the most part. People went to the places they'd only dreamed of going. The empty streets and houses left behind were under the careful guard of his twin brother in the hopes that someday they'd be useful again. Eloise, his former pack mistress no longer needed his protection. Cut loose after decades at her side. Instead of patrolling a ghost town like his brother, Catcher, Tracker followed the pack and Shayla north.

Over two hundred years of careful genetic tracking were lost in the pack's vie for freedom. The records had been destroyed when the Grand Manor burned to ash. The pack no longer worshiped genetics. They pursued something even more difficult and as fanciful as capturing a breeze in one's palm. Love.

"Tracker, could you hand me a pair of socks?" Shayla called from the bathroom. She hurriedly dried off and wound her hair in a towel. Wrapped in the ugliest robe she could find, a hideous pink fleece robe with faded rubber ducks and a zipper that went up to the chin, she hoped to feign off Tracker's advances. She'd forgotten her socks and the tile was cool beneath her bare feet. She could hide in the bathroom all day. Wait for Tracker to lose interest for the moment and wander off before she ventured out to dress. After all if she blow dried her hair and took her time doing it. The process of getting ready for the day could take over an hour. Tracker was as still a man as he was patient. He'd never have the stamina to wait her out. But, cold feet and freezing clammy toes were a sure deal breaker.

"Sure," Tracker answered. Rifling through dresser drawers obediently, his fingers sifted through the lacy under things she was so fond of wearing. He was in the wrong drawer, but, like any male, he luxuriated in the feel of soft silks and coarse laces that had rested against his mate's delicate skin. He felt something, hidden at the bottom of the pile of panties, in the very back of the drawer. Something his male sense of self-preservation warned him to leave alone.

The case was small. Dwarfed in the largeness of his palm. Awkwardly, he snapped the lid open, careful of the fragility of the plastic. Pills. Pastel, pink pills in neat rows, labeled with days of the week in miniscule print. The top row was empty, the plastic flattened by the thumb she'd used to punch them out. Half of the second row was empty as well. Today's pill was already punched out and presumably taken. Birth control pills. His inner wolf bristled in fury at Shayla's deception. She didn't want to have his baby. As improbable as pregnancies were, as unlikely as it might be for her to conceive at all, she didn't want to risk a chance. She'd insulted him and the proud heritage they'd both been born into.

Shayla combed her hair, weaving it into a damp braid to rest at the middle of her back. Tracker had yet to produce a pair of socks. Knowing him, he was probably stewing over which pair would make her the most pleased with him. It wasn't like he had many pairs to choose from. All her socks were exactly the same, except for the ones saved back for special occasions. White socks were white socks. It didn't matter which ones he got. They were all white and merely socks. Impatiently, she pulled her jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt over her bra and panties and emerged from the bathroom totally unprepared for what he'd discovered in her underwear drawer.

Through the dense cloud of billowing white steam, she saw the fury sparking to life in Tracker's eyes. In his hand he held the case. Its telltale shape was clutched tightly in his fingers and the plastic crackling beneath the pressure of his grip. "Oh," she breathed, more of a gasp than a word. An angry growl from his throat was his reply. Mentally, she scrambled for the words to make this right. They'd never discussed precautions. She'd never brought the subject up. Carefully, in a don't ask don't tell kind of way, she'd danced around the topic time and time again. She had decided for herself what she wanted. Even though, it was the exact opposite of what he so desperately desired.

Children were treasured and cherished. The future of her kind rested with them. Any measures at preventing babies were frowned upon. In her world, any child was a gift. There were no bastard children. Only children nurtured and loved and adored by the pack as a whole. "You don't want my baby?" he asked.

Tracker's question stung. "I...I...I...," Shayla mumbled, fish mouthing an attempt at an explanation. By taking one tiny pill a day. That one simple act of choosing her destiny for herself, she'd rejected him and she'd hurt him. It was better to let him cling to the belief that at any moment a period would be missed and he'd be a father. She sank onto the edge of the bed. The socks were forgotten in the heat of his rage. Every bit of his anger and hurt was directed at her. "I'm sorry. I should have told you."

Tracker tensed his jaw and resisted the urge to throw the pack of pills and the subsequent unopened packs, three month's worth, in her face. "You think?" he snapped angrily. The tremble of her chin and gleam of unshed tears in her eyes did nothing to soften his outrage. She lied to him. Every month he secretly prayed that this would be the month. Every month he'd been disappointed over and over again. He'd tried so hard to prove himself a good mate. His attempts at winning her heart had been exhausting. This was his reward?

Shayla wanted to cry, partly out of guilt for hurting his feelings, partly out of humiliation for being caught, and partly out of frustration. Why couldn't she love him the way he deserved? Why couldn't the memory of Carter just go away? Dissolve into thin air much the way the man had and leave her in peace? Anger of her own bubbled beneath the surface of any apology she might attempt. It was her body and she had the right to do with it what she wanted.

She'd cried on her wedding night. Tears of joy that she'd been lucky enough in the lottery called genetics to actually get to marry the man she loved. So many didn't have her luck. Resentment at their lot ate at couples like a cancer. They bore their children, died in the process, and did their best to tolerate their mates, if they survived for future attempts, all for the sake of eugenics.

She got so damned lucky with Ramon. When he died a part of her died with him. When she'd gotten a second chance at love with Carter. She felt as if she were the luckiest woman on earth. She'd been forced to rethink that a time or two. Unlucky, especially in love, was more the case these days. Here Tracker stood, offering her a rare third chance and she was throwing it back in his face.

Tracker carefully set the pills on the top of the dresser. He gripped the wooden edges. The wood was cool and sleek beneath his hands. "What do I have to do, Shayla? It's still him isn't it? He hasn't sought you out. He isn't here. He isn't going to be here either. Do you know why?" Tracker didn't wait for her to answer his rhetorical question. "Because he doesn't want you. He made me a deal. You were part of that deal. The pack kept his little demented Yessette safe. I protected you and R.J. and in return he promised never to come back. He wants you to move on, with me. Did you know that, Shayla? Yessette meant more to him than you did. In the end, he chose her over you. Let him go."

The tears Shayla had tried so hard to restrain fell freely. Burning her cheeks with their salty, bitter heat. She knew, deep in her heart that Carter held a secret. She never guessed that secret was another woman. Carter had come shortly before the attack on O'Sullivan to meet with Nash and the Great White Wolf. He hadn't said a word to her. At the time, she didn't understand why. Now, she knew. He was letting her go. He couldn't have chosen a better pair of hands to deliver her into. Tracker, for all his gentleness, was as brutal of a killer as he. No one in the pack would protect her, kill to keep her safe, as quickly, and undoubtedly without question, as Tracker would.

The pain in Shayla's eyes made Tracker wish he could snatch his words out of the air and stuff them back into his mouth. He was hurt and angry. He'd lashed out. Hurt in return, the one woman he was tasked to protect. "Shayla, I didn't mean for you to ever find any of this out. Especially not like this. I'm sorry. I should have kept my mouth shut."

Shayla snuffled and wiped her damp cheeks on the sleeve of her shirt. "No, I'm glad I know the truth. I didn't realize my life was something to be bargained with like a possession. To the both of you, I had no more value than a prized brood mare." She shook her head with disappointment in Carter, in Tracker, and most of all in herself. "I guess we both had our secrets, didn't we. I think we are even."

Tracker nodded, "Yes, I think we are." He crossed the room, mindful of the timid rabbit staring up at him with wide, fearful eyes. Gently, even more gently than he needed to be, he cupped her chin. "I want you to love me. Will you ever look upon me the way you did him? Will you ever let go of the piece of your heart that you hold back for him? Can you ever give it to me?"

Shayla closed her eyes and breathed in Tracker's scent. Her wolf responded with a wagging tail and an eager yip. "I wish I could." There were no more lies between them. Determined that there never would be again, she did the only thing she could and told the truth. "I do love you, just not enough."

"See, we're making progress," Tracker said. With a light teasing in his voice, he hid his pain behind the playfulness of his words. No matter what he did, he'd never be enough for her. Unless he could kill the love she had for Carter, he didn't stand a chance. Unfortunately, he wasn't willing to risk the part of Shayla that would die when her love for Carter did. His tone turned serious. "I know right now, you want me to go. You're angry and hurt. So am I. But, I'm not going anywhere. My wolf is patient and he will wait for you, as long as it takes."

Shayla rested her forehead against the buttery softness of Tracker's lips. "It might take a long time," she whispered. He was right. They were both and the both of them had hurt the other. She could hardly begrudge him and make him the sole culprit of her pain. In so many ways she was her own worst enemy. She certainly didn't need any help in the heartbreak department. That he was still willing. Despite the hurt she inflicted spoke volumes of his character and of his love for her.

"Mom?" said a tiny, cherubic voice behind them. R.J. stood, dressed his pajamas, in the doorway, gripping the stuffed wolf Tracker had bought him for his birthday underneath his arm.

Tracker chuckled at the sight of R.J. with his rumpled pajamas and tousled hair. "I guess you've got mouths to feed. I'll let you get busy feeding them." He turned to glance at Shayla. Couldn't she see it? He could give her more than that vampire ever could. He could make her happy and give her something that bastard never could. A life. Head cocked to the side, he released the stiffness in his jaw. "Keep trying?"

Shayla nodded, "Ok." She felt the coldness creep over her from the absence of Tracker's heat. The prickly ripples of Tracker's energy spread over her skin. He was going to change into his familiar tawny gray and brown wolf and take to the woods. She wished she could do the same.

The wolf didn't think, at least not of matters of the heart. The wolf was all about the simpler things in life. The crunch of hard packed snow under its paws, the smell of game in the air, the thrill of the hunt, and the satisfaction of the kill preoccupied a wolf's baser thoughts. Territory and boundaries were all that mattered. She wished she could disappear into the ease of four legs and fur, at least for a little while.

Tracker pursed his lips and frowned at Shayla. She huddled by the window with her arms wrapped tightly around her chest. Obviously, holding herself together. He'd been hard on her, harder than he meant to be. But, it had to be done. The sooner she realized that she had no hope of a future with Carter. The sooner their lives could begin. He forced a smile on his face, hoping it reached his eyes and warmed them with unspoken reassurances. "I love you."

She returned his smile, but not his words as he disappeared down the hallway. With R.J. in her arms, she went downstairs to greet a very frazzled Marianne and Fallon. The two tweens had made a feeble attempt to keep the three toddlers of the pack busy till she showed up to take over.

The wolf ran through the woods intent on the hunt. Sniffing and marking his territory, the wolf and man were one, of one body and one mind. Elemental things, images ran through his thoughts. One thing was evident to the both of them, the man and the wolf. Shayla and her wolf was their mate and they'd kill anything that threatened the bond between them.

Chapter 3

Hunger drove Carter south. Barren white planes of snow gave way to the gentle rise and fall of hills, hints of green pine, and barren brown patches of earth. Still, he didn't stop. He kept moving south, always south, like a migratory bird toward the illusive promise of warmth.

The smell of humanity was a heady aroma, keeping his feet moving, closer and closer to at first the small towns and then the larger cities. He was so damned hungry, almost as feral as the beast raging inside his head for the taste of human blood. He was alone, a solitary figure wrapped in shadows. His mind and its endless rambling memories provided him his only source of companionship. Above the wail of northern winds through the tall tops of pines he could hear Yessette's final pleas. The sound of her soft voice as it begged him, a whisper beneath the gale.

He had been determined to die with her. What an idiot he was to think this life was done with him or he done with it. His survival instinct was an unstoppable force. When those last moments came, when he hovered in and out of insanity, his need, no his cowardice, had driven him south out of the wastelands and into the thick of humanity. A dark highway stretched out before him in an endless ribbon of black. The moon, pregnant in its fullness illuminated the thin patches of snow mounded on either side of the roadway.

The meager samplings of lesser forms of life did little to slake his growing hunger. Game was more plentiful, but it was survival rations. The buck. The doe. Occasionally, when the opportunity presented itself, a great cat, or bear would be unlucky enough to stumble across his path. Predator stalked predator, and eventually became prey. Fed but not sated, he wandered wherever his feet carried him. His boots were well worn. Soles thin from all thousands of miles he'd traveled. His clothes hung in tatters on his too thin frame. His hair drooped in a tangled mass, tainted a muddy brown from months of filth and neglect. His eyes, sharp as bright blue laser beams, focused on the flashing taillights at the side of the road. The blinking red cut through the darkness some yards ahead of him.

If the Sons, the great warriors, saw him now, they'd kill him out of general principle. He was too dangerous to leave alive and too pathetic to end his life for himself. They'd be doing him a favor. One he could not do himself. The smell of blood was potent and intoxicating. Through the white light of headlights he saw the source of the scent. Not the deer, bleeding the pavement red, but the frightened shape of the female crouched, tearfully sobbing beside the battered lifeless shape. She was fumbling with a cell phone clutched in her trembling hands.

A thin trickle of blood oozed from a cut above her right eyebrow. She shivered in the biting cold and stared out into the darkness surrounding the narrow beam of her cockeyed headlights as if looking for something. The prey always sensed a predator near by. Sheltered in a thick copse of pine, he remained invisible from her. Watching. "Shit!" she cursed, snapping the cell phone closed as she stood on shaky legs. The stretch of road was deserted, remote and rarely traveled at this time of night. Carter didn't know exactly where his travels had landed him, only that he'd been walking this highway for hours and had seen very little traffic on this abandoned ribbon of pavement. She was alone. Waiting for help that would come too late.

She almost looked relieved to see him, a lone figure emerging out of the darkness. She saw the possibility of assistance and in him the hope of an ally to offer companionship during the long wait for help to arrive. Warily, true to the instincts of prey, she stood and opened her mouth to speak. "Can't get reception on my phone," she called out, almost jovially, to him. If he'd been a cougar, a bear, or even a wolf, she'd recognize the predator he was and lock herself in the car and pray for safety. His human skin was a deception that had served him well over the endless flow of days and nights in his long life.

Carter, dizzied by the sweetness of the aroma of fresh blood, paused for a moment to study his prey. She was young, not more than perhaps twenty. Innocent. Expectant for what life had to offer. Little did she know that thanks to her bad luck to end up in the wrong place at the wrong time, how short her life was about to become. He nodded, as if he understood and was even sympathetic to her plight. Hit a deer in the middle of the night. Busted up her car. No cell phone reception. Could happen to anyone. Maybe had happened to him. Communicated with that one nod his whole demeanor seemed to say trust me and she was eagerly inclined to do so.

Nervously, somewhat embarrassed, the girl nudged a hopelessly twisted scrap of metal with her toe. "I know," she said falsely humble. "I should have stayed on the main highway, but traffic was backed up for miles. I thought I could save some time by taking the back roads instead." She gave him a watery half-embarrassed smile. "Stupid huh? My mom is going to kill me when she finds out what I've done to her car."

Carter tipped his head and shot her an understanding smile. Softly, his voice no more than a whisper he said, "No your mother is not, but I am." He hated himself all the more for the warning. Every life he tasted and spared added to the cacophony of voices in his head. Death was the only thing that silenced them for good. He was so close to the edge. He couldn't bear to add one more voice to the menagerie in his mind.

The girl inched slowly toward the open driver's side door. Finally she became aware that he was perhaps not the friend she'd hoped for. Fear was good. Its pungent tang added spice to the sweet promise of blood. Fear took him to a place where the nagging voice of his conscience was drowned out. Her eyes darted from him to the shine of the dome light and out into the woods. Run for it. Please do, he silently begged. His beast purred with excitement and hungrily licked his chops at the promise of the chase.

He could hide a body so well it would never be found. He had centuries of practice at remaining undetected. He could spare her the pain and disappointment of living that he could not spare himself from. Her blood would give him life and strength. Sever him from the madness raging in his mind. She had dark hair and brown eyes opened wide with terror. "You're not going to help me, are you?" she asked in a tremulous voice.