Dawn's End

Carter stiffened and held his tongue. No matter what he'd like to say or do to Tracker, he kept his hands and his thoughts to himself. Fighting with Tracker was not going to help anything. If nothing else, the constant fight would act to drive a wedge between Shayla and he. He had already bargained away any claim he could have had to her, for her sake. He would never have a relationship with her again. To Tracker went the spoils of war. But, he would like to think maybe a friendship or at least some kind of understanding could rise like a phoenix from the ashes.

Shayla struggled to her feet and shuffled unsteadily to the door. For her wolf, the door had presented quite a problem. Her wolf was used to fresh air and a world above ground. Down here in the cold, in the darkness, her wolf had gone nuts. She'd never realized how much she missed opposable thumbs till she wrapped her hand around the doorknob and gave it a hard twist.

She couldn't help her weakness or cringing at the worried expression on both Tracker's and Carter's faces. Her feet moved to Tracker. Instinctively going toward the promise of warmth from his body and the blanket he opened to wrap around her shoulders. He smelled of home, woods, and wolf. Carter would never understand that Tracker could comfort her in a way he could not. Carter always smelled of vampire and expensive cologne. It wasn't a bad smell and at one time she'd considered the combination comforting.

She needed to talk to Carter, later, in private. She had things to say to him that Tracker was best off not overhearing. Tracker could never know what she was thinking. If he discovered the trail of her thoughts, he'd kill Carter for sure. If she had to be honest, she didn't want to lose either one of them.

Tracker wrapped his arms around Shayla, adding her weight to his. She was weakened to the point where her knees buckled. Too much shifting in too little time had left her vulnerable. "Let's get you home. Nana has some nice tea steeping in the kettle for you," he said soothingly.

Shayla wrinkled her nose. Nana's tea could cure anything from a common cold to a broken heart. Not that the bitter mix of herbs had done a thing for her on the long nights after Carter abandoned her. "I hate Nana's tea," she grumbled as Tracker led her through the compound.

Carter hung back, giving Tracker and Shayla as much privacy as possible. He was worried about Shayla. She was weaker than he'd ever seen her and reduced to leaning against Tracker for support. Seeing her go to Tracker for comfort stung his male sense of pride, although he did deserve it. It still hurt. She still had feelings for him. He knew she did. There was no bond between them. He'd made sure of that. But, some things a male didn't need a bond to sense.

Carter had to constantly remind himself that he was here to balance the scales. Shayla deserved the right to a happy, long life. He was here to make sure she got it. He followed behind Tracker and Shayla. Glancing away when Tracker brushed the top of Shayla's head with a light kiss. Carter's male pride choked on the intimacy of Tracker's gesture and the way Shayla leaned slightly closer into the shelter of his arms.

Once outside in the fresh air, her demeanor improved immensely. Carter was still on her heels, silently following behind her. She couldn't help but be self-conscious of the way Tracker made every effort to pour affection on her as if it was part of an act. She just wasn't entirely convinced Tracker's efforts were for her benefit or Carter's. If she hadn't been so weakened by the shifts, she would have given her wolf her head and left them both behind in the dust of her paw prints.

The SUV's heater did nothing for the permafrost that wrapped around Shayla's limbs. She huddled under a blanket shivering. Luckily, Carter didn't invade them any further and took the trek through the woods back to the pack's home. No doubt, he planned to discuss the results of Toby's testing with Nash. If they couldn't protect her, they wouldn't let her complete her mission. That was something she could not allow. No matter what the cost to her personally, the mission had go on.

With most of the children down in the safety of the compound and a majority of the mothers along with them, the house was quiet, almost eerily so after over a year of nothing but constant noise and activity. For once, Shayla was grateful for the absence of clattering footfalls and chattering of voices. She sank onto the edge of her bed with a sigh. "Tracker, could you get me a mug of Nana's tea?"

"Of course," Tracker said without hesitation. Shayla's face was hard with weariness and her eyes dulled. Ruby, her sister, was tending to R.J. down below in the depths of the earth, safely in the vampire's compound. He was glad Shayla had the time to rest before she collected her son. He helped her settle under the blankets and plopped a women's magazine into her lap. "You were brave today."

Shayla nodded and forced a smile at Tracker. Brave was not a word she'd use to describe herself. Ever. Determined. Yes. Brave? Not as much as he might think. The minute Tracker's footsteps were far enough away to be a whisper she slid out from under the blankets and tiptoed down the stairs in search of Carter. She found him standing before a roaring fire in the fireplace, warming hands that would never quite be without a constant chill. A very human gesture for a very inhuman man, she thought. "Carter, I need to ask something of you."

Carter turned away from the fire. Light from the orange flames and glowing embers cast patterns on the long fall of Shayla's hair. She hadn't bothered to bind it back into its usual braid since she'd come home. Of course, she was exhausted and the tangled state of her hair was probably the last thing on her mind. "Ok," he said hesitantly. He would never casually agree to anything, not since that night, he'd so carelessly bargained her away.

"I need you to bite me."

Chapter 19

Shayla nervously licked her lips. Carter's silence at her request was either a good thing and he was considering it or it was a bad thing and he was about to tell her to go to hell. Her blood would reestablish a link between them. He'd be able to find her. He'd know if something bad was going down. He'd feel it deep in the marrow of his bones as if he was experiencing it first hand. There'd be nothing she could hide from him. Especially, how much she still loved him. All her secrets would be laid bare. If she thought the broken link had almost killed her then, how much worse would it be to reconnect them together, blood to blood, as one, now?

Carter chuckled coldly and turned back to the heat of the fire. He wanted to keep her safe. He wanted to stop O'Sullivan permanently. The link would certainly provide means for his goals. He did not, unfortunately, consider snacking at her pretty neck as a burden. It was rather a blessing. One he would not partake of. He did not wish to know the depths of her heart. He did not want to know the truths that his heart already told him. He loved her still and if he heard her heart whisper his name. He'd never have the strength to let her go a second time. "You're joking." He hissed over fangs elongated, tickling to puncture her fragile throat.

Shayla slid her hair over her shoulder, gathering it with her fist in a loose ponytail. "It's the only way." She tipped her head and bared her neck. Beneath her skin, she felt the pulse at the base of her throat hammering away. Part in anticipation and part in dread of what he'd read in her thoughts. He pretended to stare into the fire, but she could feel the weight of his gaze land on the pulse point, counting every beat of her heart.

Carter's body was tense and rigid. He moved stiffly, like a robot following commands, closer to the source of his agony. Shayla's blood was like a rich perfume, scenting the air with its fragrance. The vessel he liked best was so close to the surface. He could drown in the promise her blood offered. Relief from the months of self-deprivation and loneliness, solace in the heady heat of her essence as it trickled down his throat, a reprieve in the sweet offering bliss that would sweep him up in its wake as he drank. "You torture a starving man with the bounty of a cornucopia," he growled low in his chest.

Carter's hands were rough on her shoulders, digging into the depths of her flesh and scraping against bone. His mouth rested against the pulse point in her neck. His lips were so soft. Pressed to her skin they felt like fluttery butterfly wings. His breath was hot, fueled by the temptation she presented. She forced her body to still beneath his hands. She would not chicken out. He only needed a taste to seal the link. After O'Sullivan had been dealt with permanently, then Carter could break the connection. She had faith in him that he would. As soon as the threat was gone, so was he, good as gone.

One taste was all he needed. A quick nip and roll of the tongue over her skin was enough. But, Carter was never one to do something halfway or stop at just a taste. He'd take as much as he could and push her offering to the limits. The scrape of his fang across her neck set her on fire. She'd forgotten how good he could make his bite feel, if he wanted to. Her knees wobbled, not from exhaustion, but from the exhilaration of anticipating a return to a place that she thought she'd never visit again. Things quivered in her that she could not and did not want to control. She leaned into Carter's chest, feeling the lock of his arms around her in a steel embrace. His hold meant to pin her so she couldn't fight or escape. Damn her soul to hell and her betraying body along with it. She had no intention of fighting.

Shayla's heartbeat pounding against his skin was like heaven. Her body was a lush paradise, a land once forbidden suddenly opened for exploration. He gripped her, not as he would a lover, but as he would a victim. She needed no reminding of what he was. But, he intended to frighten her with rough treatment. This gesture was her final warning. Once he started, a taste would never satisfy. He would drink his fill. What difference could it possibly make at this point how much he drank? He was hell bound anyway. He might as well enjoy something worth sealing his damnation.

She shuddered beneath his grip. The heat of her breath seared his skin through the rough cotton of his shirt. A breath of anticipation sharply inhaled forced her breasts against his chest and he thought it would be his undoing. He'd deprived himself for far too long of other pleasures besides the taste of blood and he hardened against her, thrusting himself along the warm softness between the material of her yoga pants. There would be no more chances and no begging for him to stop. If he couldn't have her body, he'd take her blood in its stead.

He drove the points of his fangs in deep and gave a hard pull on the vein he'd tapped into. Sweet oblivion rolled along his tongue as gasps of want escaped her lips. This would be a bitter surrender indeed. For as much as they both still wanted each other physically, neither one of them would be the first to admit it and give in to a moment's worth of pleasure. She was spoken for. Intended to be Tracker's mate. He'd been the one to deliver her into Tracker's greedy fist. He would do nothing to break the accord he had with the man and spoil the prize. No matter how much he longed to claim that sweet prize for himself.

Shayla fell to the floor as Carter was shoved away from her body. The pain from the torn wound in her neck was a searing agony. Blood, freed by the jagged edges of the wound flowed in a wild downpour, soaking her t-shirt with its crimson stain and fell onto the floor in heavy droplets. Reflexively, her hand went to the ravaged skin, trembling as it pressed against the wound.

The world faded in and out of focus as rough hands shook her. A voice, tinged with anger and hurt shouted down at her. She winced in pain at the hard press of a cloth against the ragged edges of the wound, staunching the flow of blood. Her wolf would heal the injury in a few minutes, as long as she didn't bleed out all over the floor first.

Tracker was almost out of his head with rage. His wolf howled and scrabbled at the surface of his consciousness eager to sink his teeth into the pale vampire. The bastard was sucking on Shayla's neck as if it was a piece of succulent fruit plucked from the tree. He was beyond outraged, fearful for his soon to be mate. Enraged by Carter's insolence, he attacked, unable and unwilling to hold his wolf's influence at bay.

Tracker knelt in the mess of shattered shards of ceramic and puddles of blood intermixed with tea, cradling Shayla in his arms. He knew the bastard wanted her back. He knew that Carter was not above stooping to such a low move to get what he wanted. His wolf bristled and despite his human form, he growled low in his throat as Carter gracefully rose to his feet. Strengthened by the gift of Shayla's blood, Carter braced for another attack. Tracker wanted to place the blame solely on the vampire. How could he? He wished he could erase what his eyes had seen.

From what Tracker had seen when he came into the room. The feelings between Carter and Shayla were mutual. Carter had his hands all over Shayla, cupping the back of her head, gently embracing her, rocking her against him and she was returning the favor, stroking him, holding him, gasping as he pressed into the juncture between her thighs. The air was thick with the scent of her blood and the heady smell of something else, her arousal. He didn't know which infuriated him more. That Carter had been the one to spark her interest or that she'd responded so freely.

"If you had controlled your temper, she would not be injured," Carter accused. He felt the strength of Shayla's blood flowing through his veins. The whispers of her thoughts invaded his mind. Almost brought to tears, he closed his eyes against their gentle assault. He'd hurt her in so many ways. Ways he'd not counted on. Still, she loved him.

"Don't even, vampire," Tracker hissed. Gently, he lifted Shayla in his arms, whispering softly as he adjusted her weight and she moaned weakly in response. He glared over the top of her head at Carter. "I should have killed you."

Carter raised a brow. "Perhaps."

"We still have a deal, vampire," Tracker warned. "Don't try to go back on your word or I will see you dead." He stormed out of the room with Shayla in his arms. The sudden loss of blood had her dazed and fading in and out of consciousness. He doubted that any of the exchange between Carter and himself would register in her memory.

Carter watched Tracker carry Shayla away and felt a pang of regret for the werewolf burdened by a love that could never be fully returned. He bent and began picking up scattered pieces of the mug, collecting them in his palm. The sound of boot heels scraping across the hardwood floor drew his attention. The Great Father could move silently, as if he floated on air, when he wanted to. Drew was being uncharacteristically loud on purpose. "It seems I've made a bit of a mess," Carter said, fingering the shrapnel in his palm.

Drew nodded and silently walked away. He hoped Carter had every intention of cleaning up his messes, all of them. When it came to matters of the heart. They were often messy and there was little a simple swipe with a damp cloth could do to clean up the mess left behind.

Chapter 20

Cole pulled the ball cap down lower over his eyes, hiding not only his hair, forever unruly and shaggy, permanently a color not quite brown, but not quite blond, from sight, but also his shielding his eyes from the golden glow of the setting sun which had not quite yet dipped below the squatty buildings on campus. If he'd known as a vampire, he'd be stuck with such a piss poor haircut for so long, he would have visited a barber first. Maggie said she liked his hair. She said it was just the right length to run her fingers through and she thought it was cute, the way it curled over his ears and at the base of his neck.

Normally, he wouldn't have risked the sun or the lingering skull pounding pain left behind. He was here to pick up Maggie from school. Oh, he liked playing the capable, protective male, but she valued her independence far too much to let him play chauffer. She liked to make the three-hour journey from the crowded inner city college campus to the wide-open spaces of home all by herself. For months, he'd been looking forward to spending some alone time with her during the Christmas break. She wasn't coming home this year. She just didn't know it yet.

Cole had taken his dad's words to heart and planned to keep her in the city. Even if he had to hog tie her to do it. She'd be disappointed about missing spending Christmas with her family. The hurricane force that was her mother had been right on board with the plan to keep her safely tucked away in the city. Missing one Christmas wasn't such a big deal. Who knew? Maybe his brothers would have this whole thing under wraps before December 25th came. If they didn't, he had lots of ideas on how to keep Maggie entertained, all of them centered around a posh hotel suite with a Jacuzzi and a very big bed.

A huge, dopey grin spread across his face as he saw her, clumsily stomping through the inches of newly fallen snow with a back pack crammed full of books slung over one shoulder and a duffel, stuffed with clothes she'd need during Christmas break dangling heavily over the other. She teetered beneath the unbalanced weight and almost toppled over as her foot slipped on an unseen patch of ice on the sidewalk. Luckily for her, he caught her before she fell. He relieved her of both the duffel bag and the backpack.

Maggie let out a little squeak of surprise. Her muscles stiffened for the hard fall she knew was coming when her duffel threw her off balance and her foot slipped. Underneath the thick down of her lined parka she could feel the warmth of Cole's hands penetrating through. Eyes widened in surprise, she flung herself into his arms, throwing them both off balance and into the snow. Luckily, she landed on him instead of under him. She peeked down at him from beneath the faux fur trim on her hood. "Hi."

"Hi yourself," Cole answered. He climbed to his feet and offered Maggie a hand to pull her onto her feet. If the brothers could see him and the dopey, love struck expression on his face. He'd never hear the end of it. He slid his hands under the hood of her coat and guided her face to meet his. Her scent, fresh and clean, smelled of the slightly musty scent of old books, eraser shavings, and higher education. The tip of her nose was reddened from the cold. Her mouth was cool and fresh as peppermint as he pressed his lips against hers in a long awaited kiss of greeting. Pussy whipped, yeah that's what the brothers would say about him. He didn't care. God, he loved this woman. "Missed you."

"Missed you too," Maggie mumbled against Cole's mouth. Her cheeks heated in a blush. She must look a mess. Winter was hell on her skin. Her cheeks were red and blotchy from the dryness of the electric heaters in the dorms. Her stringy mouse brown hair was probably standing up on end from static electricity. Cole saw her as beautiful. She knew, because she'd seen herself through his eyes. It took a lot of convincing on his part to get her to admit she was remotely, possibly pretty. She wasn't beautiful. He was beautiful.

Maggie stood on tiptoe and leaned into the coolness of his black leather jacket. The snow groaned in protest under the weight of his boots. He'd tried to down play his look. Instead of the standard issue black leather pants that was part of the brotherhood's uniform. He wore faded jeans. The jacket, however, was staying. He'd never ditch the jacket. He'd bled and avenged the blood of his brothers to get it. The jacket was a part of him, as was the weaponry so creatively hidden beneath its folds. "I was just getting ready to load up the car. What are you doing here?" she asked.