Dawn's End

Tracker stiffened at the male's presence. Carter's stink invaded every corner of the bedroom. He wanted to grab Shayla, snatch her away from the unworthy eyes of the vampire and stuff her safely into the suitcase, right next to her socks. He didn't. He didn't growl, despite how strong the urge rising in his throat was. Instead, he chuckled, a harsh, hollow sounding laugh. "At last Vampire, there is something we agree upon."

Shayla huffed at the smirk on Carter's face in response to Tracker's depreciating laughter. "I'm so glad you two agree." She climbed off the bed and inserted herself between them. So close to Carter, close enough to smell the scent of him that lingered in her memory, close enough to reach out and touch him. Determined, her arms folded across her chest. He did not affect her. He did not. She wouldn't let him. "What's next? Shipping me off the continent? I'm not going anywhere."

Shayla's black hair fanned loose across her shoulders and down her back was enough to nearly make him come undone. He hadn't come back out of love. At least, that's the lie he told himself, repeatedly. He'd returned to escort her to safety and deal with the threat. He forced a gleam of confidence into his eyes. He tried for that easy, seductive smile that had melted Shayla's resolve time and time again. "I believe that I speak for the both of us when we say the continued well being of your son and yourself is at the forefront of our intentions. You must leave."

Tracker gritted at Carter's suaveness. His approach to handling Shayla rankled him. She was not some mindless female who could be charmed with a smile and smooth words. Tracker had been the one who had held her together when HE left. He was the one who knew best how to deal with her. "Your sister is waiting for you in the foyer to drive you to the airport. Get dressed. Your plane leaves at dawn."

Shayla split her glares equally between the two males. Ensuring her compliance to their requests had become a battle of wills between the two of them. They were both so very wrong. Seeing them in competition was laughable, as if, she was actually going to let them drive from her home. "Like I told you both. I'm not leaving."

Tracker rolled his eyes in frustration at Shayla's stubborn streak. "At least go down into the compound," he begged. No location was more secure than the Son's compound, deep in the depths of an old mining operation, protected by steel doors and enough security to keep out any unwanted guests. Most of the males were sending the young and their females down to the safety of the underground lair till the danger was over.

"What? And hide like a rabbit in a hole? I don't think so." Shayla indignantly shook her head at the suggestion that she go underground. Opening of the zipper of her suitcase broke the silence that was so thick she could cut it with a knife. Quickly, she placed her things back into the drawers where they belonged.

The sound of R.J.'s shrill cry angered Shayla to the breaking point with both of the males. In all their male posturing, they'd awakened her son. Once awake, R.J. was a nightmare to get back to sleep. The gray light of dawn was just beginning to peek around the curtains. Today was going to be a very, very long day.

She cradled R.J. against her chest, soothing him with soft whispers and softer strokes over the fine down of his hair. "You two need to leave. I'm going to try to get R.J. back to bed." R.J.'s breaths were warm against her neck. He burrowed into the safety of the thick length of her hair, looking over her shoulder with his wide brown eyes, still bleary with sleep. The word from his mouth, said so softly and innocently against the nape of her neck sent shivers down her spine and a pang of regret through her heart.

"Dad...dada...dad," R.J. mumbled sleepily, reaching for Carter with his tiny fingers. Without a word, Carter left as silently as he had come. Tracker, swiftly, following suit, closed the door behind him. Shayla stood in the middle of the disarray caused by the two men and rocked her son in her arms. Where or how to begin picking up the mess, she didn't know.

Chapter 16

Warriors hovered around the map spread out across the width of Nash's desk. Studying the boundaries of their territories with intent eyes. The vampire had been spotted along the outermost boundary. It wasn't accidental. He wasn't wandering around and happened into their lands as a big whoopsie. He was testing them.

"Even with our combined forces we can't protect the entire area. There aren't enough of us to continue our search for O'Sullivan and leave our territory satisfactorily protected," Dane said, frowning at the map. There was simply too much open ground to cover. Too many places they hadn't looked, too many tiny burgs, acres of woods and farmland, and too many places for O'Sullivan to hide.

"I'll ask Bianca to send some of her Guardians down from the city. That should help with the patrols," Drew added. He had a headache. A hell of a headache and it had O'Sullivan's name written all over it. These people were his to protect. Tonight, he felt the weight of all their souls combined on his shoulders. The wolves were his, by birthright. Left to him by his brother who had gone to the world of the spirits. He was their protector, their Great White Wolf.

He felt inadequate enough trying to fill the shoes his brother had left behind before all of this ever began, and now...well, things were what they were and he was doing his best. The Sons looked to him for leadership and guidance the way children looked to their father. He was the only leader they'd ever known. He feared that he was failing them too. Miserably. The humans were as defenseless as infants. They didn't know what horrors he and his brethren protected them from. The great commission he'd willingly placed on his shoulders was heavy and he felt it weighing him down so that he could barely breathe.

"For urban combat, they're fine. But, out here in the wilds, it's anyone's guess how well the Guardians will faire. I don't see Bianca leaving her city defenseless," Carter said, gliding into the room.

"They're trainable," Keene countered. He had a great respect for the Guardians and all the struggles they'd encountered along the way. He knew most of the warriors and had taught them what few tricks they did know. He understood what it was like to be forced into a life he didn't want. Roark had done the same to him a little under two centuries ago. Without a leader, the bunch of them could have gone rogue. Instead they'd banded together and formed a brotherhood. Their vows to one another and the inhabitants of the city were not so much different than the Sons. They'd do what needed to be done and do it well.

Carter rubbed the shiny piece of flesh on his right inner forearm. The spot where he'd carved away the Guardian's mark from his flesh. At one time, he'd had great and noble aspirations as their leader. He'd failed them. Abandoned them. "If Bianca agrees, I'll oversee the Guardians while they're here."

John Mark leaned heavily on his palms against the table. His shadow cast over the

map from the lights overhead. "And why would we trust you. You're the one who led this trouble straight to our doorsteps! Without you, O'Sullivan would never have known about the wolves in the first place!" He smacked his heavy fist into the table causing it to shudder and grown from the impact.

"Ease down, boys," Drew cautioned. John Mark was a good warrior. Unfortunately, he was a hot head. With him there were no gray areas, only black and white, right or wrong and no in between. "We'll trust him because I think, for once, all of us have a common enemy and the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Isn't that so Carter?"

"Very much so," Carter agreed with a nod. "O'Sullivan's destruction is our mutual goal. The common ground on which we stand." He walked over to the table and parted the sea of shoulders blocking his view. "We need to move quickly. For the moment, we have an idea of his location. Right now, he has his sights on one target. Great Father, you told me that there are wolves out there who have no idea of who or what they really are. All he needs is the blood. For the moment, O'Sullivan is obsessed with this pack in this location. We need to keep it that way. He means to rub our noses in the fact that he can rob from our flock and get off scot-free. At any moment, if he catches another scent, our advantage could change. If an easier opportunity presents itself, he will take it."

"You'll need bait," Shayla said from the back of the room. Even stretching on her tiptoes she couldn't see over the shoulders of the warriors. The room was filled with murmurs and heated talk. Unsure of herself and her offering she nervously rubbed R.J.'s back with the palm of her hand. Tracker and Carter stood on opposite sides of the table. Posturing at one another the way men do. Grinding their teeth, but smartly holding their tongues at what she'd just proposed. She waded through the wall of men to come to stand at the end of the table, equal distance from the both of them. "Tracker, I finally figured out why you wanted me gone and Carter, I just realized why you've returned. If O'Sullivan wants me, why not give him what he wants?"

Carter and Tracker spoke, their two voices melded into one. "Have you lost your mind?" they asked in unison. They glared at one another from across the table and then turned their stares on her.

Shayla held her ground and returned the stares. The warm brown of Tracker's eyes lit with fury and worry, fueled by a love she could only return in part. The icy coldness of Carter's blue eyes, turned all the more frigid by his regret at what he'd willingly tossed to the side for a greater love, his guilt. "No, for the first time, I see things crystal clear."

Drew hated to use a woman to lure O'Sullivan to the surface. The idea of Shayla dangling like a worm on a hook to entice O'Sullivan out of hiding rankled him to the very fiber of his male sense of propriety and duty. But, she was right. She was the fastest means to the mutual end all gathered around the table sought. She wasn't the first woman to fight at their side and she wouldn't be the last. Women were to be cherished and loved. However, they were also equals in the war. "Warriors, we have work to do," he said, dismissing the group.

Chapter 17

Eric stood on the porch of his quaint little farmhouse staring straight into the rays of the rising sun. Daring the rays to breech the shade provided by the wide roof and fall upon his skin. He was not an infant and the days when the sun's rays could force him to seek shelter had long since passed. All was quiet in the world on this glorious dawn. The pristine snow glittered like diamonds beneath the orange glow of the sun's light. Off in the distance he heard the shrill trills of birdsong, greeting the day to come. He chuckled under his breath. Soon, all of this quiet glory would be over. The Sons knew he was here. There wasn't any reason to hide. Just in case they didn't think he meant business. He'd left them a little calling card to remind them how high the stakes in this game were.

Mack knew he should of retired when he had the chance. He knew it! The string of curses uttered under his breath hung in a puff of steam on the cold air. He got the call shortly after sunrise. By the time he arrived at the scene, the EMTs had already taken over the task of snatching the girl back from the Grim Reaper's bony grip. The technicians were using every piece of equipment in their arsenal to revive the spark of life still left in her ravaged body.

Her heartbeat fluttered across the digital display, weak as the wings of a butterfly brushed by an early frost. The snow around where they'd found the body was tinted crimson by her blood. Trampled and muddied from the heavy boot prints of the technicians he wouldn't be able to raise a footprint to use as evidence. "God damn it," he muttered. He pulled the wide brim of his sheriff's hat lower over his ears to protect them from the biting cold and to hide his expression.

The whispers of speculation from the growing crowd ranged from rabid dogs to little green men from Mars. Mack had seen her throat. If only he could blame the attack on a pack of feral dogs. Little green men from Mars would be easier to explain than the truth. A vampire had done this to her and left her for dead. The brutality of this poor girl was intended as a message to the Sons. A smack in the face to them that not even those on their home turf were safe.

Mack pushed back the crowd of rubberneckers and ushered the EMTs along with their loaded gurney through to the waiting ambulance. The girl's skin was pale as the snow. Her lashes fluttered over glazed eyes that refused to focus. Her pulse was weak, but stable. She was strong and youth was on her side. He knew her. He had seen her from the bleachers cheering on the football field for the home team.

She was an all American kind of teenager. Into sports, good grades and blessed with a wide white smile, clear skin, and a long blonde ponytail that swayed across her shoulders as she walked. She was going to pull through, at least from the physical blows dealt to her. Emotionally, she'd never be the same. She'd always look over her shoulder. She'd always double-check the locks on her door. She'd never feel quite as safe as she had less than an hour ago when she'd taken her little toy poodle out to piddle before the school day began. She'd gotten a rude awakening into the hard realities of the world and just how cruel it could be.

Mack hated this. He hated the mother's tears and the father's grim expression as he tried his best to explain the unexplainable. He hated the sharp bite of fear he saw behind the dullness of the victim's eyes. The violence of the attack left a bitter taste in his mouth. In such a small burg, the brutality went far beyond the victim. The entire town would be left wary in its wake. It would take a long, long time before people felt safe again.

Mack crawled into the driver's side of his cruiser and gripped the steering wheel. Later, after the local boys took their photographs and asked their questions, he'd see what he could do to stick a bandaid over the open wound and patch things together. He would think of something to sugarcoat the truth with a fine layer of lies. Humanity, as a whole, would never be ready or able to handle the reality of their nightmares.

He flipped on his reds and blues and followed behind the ambulance. As soon as this was over and forgotten, he vowed he was going to retire. Go fishing with his grandson, drink a lot of beer, smoke as many cheap cigars as he wanted to, and do his best to forget almost thirty years of horror on the force.

Chapter 18

Toby rapped his fingertips on the edge of his computer keyboard impatiently. He was trying not to be impatient because his aura of haste would only make the situation worse than it was. Bottom line, he was an answer guy. The it guy when it came to I.T. And he had no answers to the obvious problem presented to him. He could make any piece of electronics bend to his will. Do exactly what it was supposed to do and then some. Usually. Today was an exception and painfully a failure. All he had to do was come up with a reliable way to track Shayla in her wolf form through the woods. Easy. Right? Sure.

He couldn't use a strap on locator. When she shifted, whatever he used to hold the device in place was obliterated. Obvious solution? A microscopic tracking device implanted just beneath the top layer of skin. Nope. Didn't work either. The kinetic energy that sparked her shift fried the sensitive microchip in the device every time. The brothers were not going to let her go into the lion's den without coverage. They would be in the field, but if O'Sullivan got close enough to smell or sense them, the trap they were planning to spring would be useless.

There were just some things that no amount of technology could overcome. Tracking one little werewolf through the woods and keeping a constant eye on her location was one of them. There was another answer, good old-fashioned mysticism. A vampire could track her to the ends of the territory and back with just a small sampling of her blood. Problem was, no one was crazy or suicidal enough to sink their fangs into her with Tracker breathing down their necks. Werewolves were a bit over emotional and a bit territorial when it came to their mates. Tracker was not someone to toy with. Also, throw Carter, who was obviously still in love with Shayla, into the mix and no one with an ounce of self-preservation was going to go anywhere near the female. "Ok Shayla, take a break," he mumbled into the microphone.

Shayla was cold and exhausted, crouched naked on a concrete floor somewhere deep inside the compound. The repeated shedding and forming from human to wolf had taken its toll on her. Every muscle groaned in protest as she reached for the yoga pants and long sleeved t-shirt she'd worn into the room. Her head throbbed and her limbs were shaky from exhaustion. She wanted this mission to succeed. She'd willingly stuck her neck out and volunteered to be the decoy. No matter if the Sons could track her or not. She was going to do this.

Tracker was first to the steel lined door that contained Shayla in the thick concrete confines of an old storage room turned into a cell. Vampires and werewolves could beat their way out of about anything meant to confine them. The Great Father thought thick layers of logging chain were a cruel necessity as a means of confinement. Eying the dents in the steel's foot thick core, Tracker didn't think so. Sometimes, extraordinary measures were necessary. Especially since the Great Father had all but abandoned the kill first ask questions later philosophy of dealing with criminal elements. The cell had held Shayla's wolf and would most vampires and werewolves, but would it work for O'Sullivan? Tracker had his doubts about that.

Would O'Sullivan really go to trial with all the evidence stacked against him? O'Sullivan and innocent weren't two terms Tracker could possibly fit into any kind of context. The man was pure evil. If he got to him first, there'd be no trial, no jury, only the sentencing, carried out by him. Death. Quick and simple. Which was certainly a great deal more than what the bastard deserved.

The vampire was on his heels. Freak of nature. Of course, Carter knew the way to the holding cell. From what Tracker had heard, Carter had been its first guest. Too bad, the Great Father took pity on him when he went 'a little wonky' and tried to suck the life out of Shayla. The fact that Carter had any kind of a history with Shayla and R.J. rankled him to his very core. She'd given him her blood while pregnant with R.J. and Carter had established a connection with the two people he cared about the most in this world. It had almost driven him insane. Sick bastard. Who'd feed off a pregnant woman? Too bad, the purity of little R.J.'s soul hadn't been enough to finish Carter off for good.

Insanity Tracker could have forgiven. The vampire breathing down his neck, he could not. The fact that Shayla still loved the vampire, more than she'd ever love him no matter how hard he tried...Tracker roped in his thoughts. The air was thick with the acidic scent of his frustration. He certainly didn't need to give Carter anything to use against him when it came to Shayla. As far as Tracker was concerned, Carter and he still had a deal. "I see you remembered the way."

Carter didn't reply to the taunting lilt in Tracker's voice. Tracker didn't know shit about how dark those days had been. Confined in a room in total darkness. Chained like a dog while he battled to hold himself together. He hadn't known Shayla was pregnant otherwise he would have never taken her blood. The bond formed. It extended beyond anything he'd ever known. He'd bonded with a pure, innocent soul. R.J., as he grew in Shayla's womb, his consciousness expanded inside of Carter's mind and had almost driven him insane. Tracker had no idea of the shame Carter felt. The guilt he lived with at the thought that he'd contaminated something of such purity as an untouched soul.