Dawn's End

Tracker peeked through the crack in the bedroom door, shushing R.J. with a wave of his hand. Shayla sat on the bed Indian style. Her hand splayed over her stomach the fingers flexing as they struggled to feel the life bloom inside of her. Her face calm with an expression of peace spread across her features. A smile curved the corners of her mouth. Good. He'd been genuinely worried about her when he had carried her home and put her to bed. Her body had been limp in his arms. Her eyes glazed with grief and her skin cold as death.

Wolves didn't usually survive the loss of a mate. Maybe, it worked differently if the mate was not a wolf. He would not have considered Carter as Shayla's mate. But, possibly, even though she'd shared her bed with him, she did. He worried that Carter's loss. The inevitable end of Shayla's relationship with him would be too much for her to bear. It was not uncommon for mates to grieve themselves to death. He had an inkling of fear that Shayla loved Carter so much that she would rather die than accept him as her mate instead.

He was relieved to see her hand absently caressing the spot on her stomach. Her fingers stroking over the unborn child tucked safely away in her womb. To him, it meant that she was considering the future. Contemplating a tomorrow with him in it. "I brought you some of Nana's tea."

Shayla glanced up at Tracker. The sight of R.J.'s wide eyes peeking around Tracker's denim clad thigh broadened the smile on her face. "Thanks." About the time her two men entered the bedroom a third visitor followed behind. "Morning, Evan."

Evan followed Tracker and R.J. into the bedroom. He had come to check up on his aunt. She was so sad lately. When she hadn't come down to breakfast with R.J. he got worried. He cocked his head to the side, studying his aunt's face. She was still terribly sad and her eyes were puffy and red as if she'd been crying recently. There was something else...something about the way she rested her hand on her stomach...

Sometimes it wasn't easy being eight years old and peeking into the mind of an adult. Half of what he saw, he didn't understand. The reason for her sadness had a lot to do with Uncle Carter. Even if he couldn't quite get the gist of what it was.

Adults made things more complicated than what they needed to be. His Aunt Shayla's mind was as messy as his toy box. All cluttered and full of junk she didn't need. If adults acted more like kids, in his opinion, the world would be a whole lot simpler.

Evan returned his aunt's smile and in a flash understood. Even though she was sad. She was also happy. As for him, while he couldn't be a big brother because that was R.J's job, he was about to be a cousin. "Can R.J. come down and play?" He didn't wait for her to answer. Instead, he grabbed his adopted baby brother by the hand and dragged him out of the bedroom. He had a lot of wisdom to impart on R.J. about the job of being a big brother before the baby came.

"Come sit on the bed?" Shayla asked, hazarding a sip of the tea. Depending on the malady, Nana's medicinal brew had been known to burn the enamel off of teeth before. This time, the tea was mild, not as bitter as previous concoctions. That in itself was a reassurance. Nana must believe that she was ok if the tea was this weak.

Hesitantly, Tracker slid onto the bed, readjusting Shayla's pillows as he did so. He couldn't tell a thing by her scent. The sweet smell of vampire masked the aroma of her emotions. Almost as gingerly as he climbed beside her, he placed a palm over hers, lacing their fingers as he rubbed circles their combined hands in circles over her stomach.

Shayla sighed. He knew. Just when she'd finally come to accept it, he'd already known. "I've been so unfair to you." Her eyes glanced down at their hands, the motion stilled, and her fingers gripped his. "You haven't deserved the punishment I've heaped on your head. All you've ever done is stay by my side and love me."

Tracker flexed his fingers and loosened his grip on her hand. Without his sense of smell to determine which way her emotions were going. He didn't know how to answer. "You don't have to...,"

"No," Shayla said, cutting him off. "I want to. Tracker, I don't deserve you. I never wanted your love as badly as you wanted mine. We both knew it. But, somehow, you saw past all the bullshit I put you through and stuck with me anyway. Carter...well I know you saw us. I can't begin to imagine how awful it was for you to stand there and watch. I'm sorry. I was chasing after a dream, an illusion of love. What I felt for Carter it wasn't real. It overshadowed any chance you and I had. I let it. This," she said, pressing his palm to her belly. "This is real." She lifted his hand to her heart and held it tightly to her heart. "And so is this."

Tracker dragged her hand to his chest and pressed her fingers against his beating heart. "And this too. I'm not a child, Shayla. I've seen far too much to believe in fantasies of love at first sight. Love grows with time. I know Carter will always hold a piece of your heart. You loved him and it was as real as any love could ever be. In his own way, I think he loved you too. He loves you perhaps more than I do. He was selfless enough to let you go and that is something I could never do."

Tears from Tracker's gentle words clouded Shayla's vision. He lifted her knuckles to his mouth and gave them a soft brush of his lips. "You'll never have to. Tracker, if you still want me. I want to make this official. Be my mate, not just in my bed but in all things big and small."

Tracker closed his eyes and nestled his cheek in the cup of Shayla's palm. He felt light as air. Only his pounding heart kept him earthbound. "In this and all things, I will love you till the day I die. I am your mate."

"And I yours," Shayla whispered. The vow sealed with tears and a kiss.

Chapter 75

O'Sullivan was no longer amused by his paintings. No longer distracted by the digging of his nails in his own flesh and the transformation of his blood into still life on the walls. He was hungry. Damned hungry. The girl's scent lingered faintly in the stagnant air of his cell. Day and night had no meaning. He'd lost track of how much of his fleeting time was left. All he knew was that it would soon draw to an end. It was about damned time too. Not even one of his age could neglect the gnawing need for blood forever. Piss poor treatment of a prisoner, shackled to a wall, forgotten, and left to starve. If anyone bothered to ask, he'd be sure to give his opinion of the accommodations.

Death was coming for him on swift wings. O'Sullivan figured death and he were even. Since he'd sent so many souls to the Grim Reaper. He thought his debt should be considered paid in full. He knew eventually, death wouldn't be satisfied by the substitutions he had used to replace his own soul. The Grim Reaper would demand payment in full for all the centuries O'Sullivan had cheated him out of.

Had to be soon, O'Sullivan mussed. Not that he was particularly eager to take his place amongst the legions of hell. At least dying beat sitting here waiting hour after mindless hour of boredom for it to happen. Eric wondered if his convictions would waver when the sword was drawn. Would he go down as the cocky prick he'd always been or would he beg?

Eric knew his son well. Carter did not break a vow. Carter wouldn't let him beg. Eric doubted that the Great Father would get the chance to be the bearer of his sentence. Carter would be swift and lethal. Carter would do it before Eric had the chance to get the first word of begging out of his mouth. Yes, death was coming and his son was the deliverer. Soon. Very. Soon.

Drew had withdrawn from everyone and retreated to his private sanctum to contemplate O'Sullivan's death. The path to the most holy of places was steep and dangerous, nothing but a snow and ice encrusted ledge of jagged rock. Deep within its limestone belly were the glyphs his people had carved into the stone long before time had meaning.

Down on his knees, head bowed, surrounded by inky darkness, Drew wondered how many warriors had come to this place to pray. He did not want to end O'Sullivan's life. He simply had no way to preserve it. The man had committed countless lifetimes worth of crimes and justice demanded its due.

Drew howled an anguished cry into the blackness. Wincing as the sound of his voice echoed back at him. He'd carried out the law for over two hundred years. He was the law. He'd condemned men to death for violating the law he held so sacred. If any man he'd ever encountered deserved to die, it was O'Sullivan. Why did it feel so wrong? The ceremony was two days away. No man of O'Sullivan's standing should die huddled on his knees, chained and defenseless. O'Sullivan should die on his feet, armed and lethal, in battle as a warrior should. O'Sullivan had lived for over a thousand years and he should die like a man.

Chapter 76

Robert wasn't sure if the bar was unlocked or not. From the outside, with the neon lights in the window turned off, it looked like nobody was here. Gingerly, he gave the door a tug. Surprised when it opened and the cowbell hung on a nail above the doorframe announced his entry. "Cindy? Anybody home?"

Cindy wiped her hands on the bar towel tucked into the back pocket of her jeans and peeked over the counter. She'd been on her hands and knees taking inventory of the various half empty cases left over from last night. The storeroom was in the basement and the lunch crowd was pretty light this time of year. There was no need to lug more cases up the stairs and leave them in the way for her to trip over. "Hi."

She motioned for him to have a seat at the counter and dragged over a tote of silverware and a pile of napkins. They could make silverware rolls while they talked. The aura between them was awkward enough. At least doing something with her hands would provide her a distraction. Plus, the bar could always use more silverware rolls. She was, after all, getting paid to work not to sit around and chitchat.

Robert slid onto the stool across the counter from Cindy and got the drift. She wanted to talk. That much was evident. Like him, she had no idea of how to start. Back in his days before he became a mediocre artist. He'd rolled plenty of silverware to make ends meet. He reached into the tote and began assembling silverware in the absence of a conversation. Knife, fork, spoon, fold and twist...repeat.

Cindy dropped a roll of silverware into the finished side of the tote and nervously snatched a napkin, wadding it between her fingers beyond use. "Look, I'm sorry, ok," she said. Dumping the crumpled wad, she reached into the tote for a fork and started over.

Robert shrugged, careful not to let his fingers so much as brush against hers as he reached into the tote. "Ok." He actually wanted to TALK to her. Not have her think he was cheating by touching her.

Cindy bit her lower lip to avoid stammering like an idiot. A knife so dull it wouldn't cut butter rested in the middle of her napkin. "I understand why you didn't tell me. But, I don't have a very good track record with men. I've dated a lot of jerks and when you told me about...well, you know. I freaked." Ok, this wasn't going so well, she thought. Robert concentrated on the silverware in his hand and didn't spare her a glance.

"You thought I used my gift to land you in the sack," Robert said, giving his finished roll a hard twist. "You really think I'd do something like that, don't you?" He dropped his roll into the tote where it clattered noisily as the napkin fell open and a fork spilled out. He grabbed a handful of silverware and set to rolling at a furious pace. He'd driven into town in hopes of salvaging at least a friendship with her. She still had the nerve to stand there and accuse him of using his gift to get her into bed? How low and desperate did she think he was?

Cindy nervously shuffled her feet and concentrated on finishing the roll of silverware in her hand. The stiff set of Robert's shoulders and the ticking of the little muscle in his jaw told her exactly how far she'd stuck her foot into her mouth. She had meant to apologize in an offer of friendship. They couldn't live in such a small town and have any hope of not running into each other.

She'd prefer that they at least be amicable when they did bump into each other in passing. "I...I don't know what to think. That night was." She rolled her eyes at what she was about to admit and took a deep breath. "The night we spent together was so...good that I thought you...ah... well...um...maybe took a peek inside my mind to help you out." She stammered, slamming the words into one another so that they resembled something akin to a train wreck.

Yeah, shoe leather, the breakfast of champions. Given the incredulous look Robert shot at her. She could definitely use a little salt and pepper to go with the foot in her mouth. Cindy definitely had not meant things to sound the way he'd taken them. She wasn't trying to hurt his feelings or imply that he didn't have it in the sack without a little help. Oh, never mind, at least she'd spread all the cards out on the table. She'd dealt them both a crummy hand from a deck that was stacked against them. She snatched the tote containing the silverware rolls off the bar and began dusting the liquor bottles on the mirrored shelves behind her.

Robert sat back on his stool, watching Cindy's feather duster flutter from bottle to bottle like a hummingbird on steroids. "I don't know whether to take what you just said as a complement or an insult. I know I may be a bit rusty in the sack. But, I certainly did not use my gift to help me out. And even if I had, which I didn't, you sure weren't complaining." Take that, he thought as Cindy huffed, insulted by his casual observation.

"Couldn't it just be that we're good together? I thought... never mind what I thought. It's not important now anyway. This is pointless," he ground out through clenched molars. His boots made a solid thump against the wood floor as he slid off the stool. The keys in his fingers jangled against one another in his fist. "I guess I'll see you around."

Cindy snapped her head around to look over her shoulder at the jangling of Robert's keys. He'd wounded her pride, just a little, with that snide remark about 'how she hadn't been complaining' and truth hurt, more than a tad. Blush heated her neck and cheeks. Hell no, she hadn't been complaining. She'd been too busy writhing beneath him and crying his name. Complaining had been the last thing on her mind that night. Did he have to rub her nose in the fact that he'd known exactly how good he'd made her feel? She shook out her feather duster with a furious flick of her wrist. How badly she wanted to remind him that she'd made him whimper more than a few times that night too. She hadn't needed any additional help from a gift to do so.

She could just say 'see ya' and let that be that. Reduce him to just another name on her long list of assholes not worthy of her time. She'd started this fight by accusing him of using his gift and he'd gotten in a lucky punch. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The feather duster dangled from her clenched fist. Robert had his hands shoved deeply in his pockets. The muscle in his jaw tick, tick, ticked away with irritation. She'd called him to say she was sorry and she had said she was. Maybe he didn't believe her. Considering one of the deepest insults she'd ever delivered to a man followed on the heels of her weak apology, maybe he had a point.

What he had said had gotten under her skin. An expression of disappointment shrouded his masculine features. Most guys would have walked out the door by now. He stood his ground. His annoyance with her was perfectly evident. But, he hadn't turned his back on her yet.

He'd vaguely mentioned that he'd thought... Well, he hadn't said exactly what he thought. She got the gist of it though. He wanted a relationship with her. She'd gone and thrown out a harsh insult in response. It was a direct attack that would certainly have a lesser man bolting for the hills.

Cindy had dated plenty of men. Each and every one of them had ended up on her 'asshole list' for one reason or another. Maybe, just maybe, all of them hadn't deserved to be included on her list. Although, there were more than a few men who had definitely earned the title. Maybe, some of the fault was hers. Had the years of failed relationships, bashed hopes, and shattered dreams made her so hardened and cynical that she lashed out at anyone who dared to attempt to get close to her? Had she really let the narrow minded, judgmental prudes of this town burrow so deeply under her skin that she believed everything they said about her? "Wait!" She dropped the feather duster and rounded the bar, stumbling over a half empty case of Budweiser in her haste.

Robert frowned and clenched his hands into fists in his pockets. "What? Forget to insult me about something else?" he asked, grinding his molars. He should have known better than pursue a relationship so soon after learning to control his gift. It had just been so long since he'd dared to dream. Even though Cindy was a little rough around the edges and had definitely seen the less than perfect side of life. He had hopes that he could work through her defenses and see the real her. The one she hid away from everyone. She'd been through a string of bad relationships and her guard was up twenty-four/seven. He thought that by trusting her with every part of him she'd trust him in return. She'd thrown it back in his face, blaming his gift for something that just happened naturally.

Robert's question got Cindy's dander up. He might be a nice guy. But, he definitely could turn a cold shoulder at the drop of a hat. She supposed his gift made him used to rejection. After all, he had a bird's eye view of a person's mind and knew what was coming before it hit. As a result, he'd built an impenetrable wall between himself and everyone else. Not so much different than she.

If he wanted a relationship and if she wanted one, they were going to have to work for it. Scale one another's walls and figure out how to bring them down. "Robert," she said with a heavy sigh. "I think I need a do over. I really botched this up. I don't care if you used your gift or not that night. It was special. If there's anything I'm not used to it is having something special happen to me. Please, let's call a truce and give it another try?"

Robert was safe behind his walls. He could lick his wounds and wallow in solitude. Around him, life kept going on and on. If he hid, he'd miss out on some of the best things that could possibly come his way. Perhaps, one of them was standing in front of him right now. "A do over huh?" he asked with a grin. "I'd like that." He unclenched his fist and pulled his hand from his pocket, extending it to her in truce, in friendship, and in hope for everything else he didn't want to miss out on.

Cindy contemplated his extended hand, the bare flesh and long fingers. This was the first step. The do over he'd granted her. Without a second thought, she slid her palm into his and gave his hand a tight squeeze.

Chapter 77

By two o'clock Megan had scrubbed the house within an inch of its life. The toilet bowls could have been used as punch bowls they sparkled so brightly. Guilt was only part of the reason, much to her mom's approval, that she'd cleaned so diligently. The other was that she could not keep her thoughts from wandering back to the vampire chained in that holding cell waiting for his execution to be carried out. Even as a human she could feel the prickling aura of danger that surrounded him. There was no doubt that he had killed, was a killer, and would have killed her that night if he hadn't meant to leave her alive. But, as much as he might deserve the sentencing that awaited him. Something about it was wrong.