Dawn Unleashed

"Not yet." Michael walked past Bianca, pressing them on. Tire tracks led from

the mouth of an alleyway. A layer of slush had frozen in the deep ruts left behind. Intrigued, by their presence, he followed them into a narrow space between two brick buildings. It would have been just wide enough for a vehicle to drive through. One sniff of the air gave hint to the untold story left behind by the lingering scents. Vampires had been here. Rogues, he mussed, judging by the sweetness of the smell. A steady diet of human blood, such as the rogues ingested, changed a vampire's scent to almost intolerably sweet, like the scent of the death they delivered.

O'Sullivan was getting sloppy again. Relying on her to clean up the mess and divert the Son on an opposing trail. She was getting tired of it. One of these days, she wasn't going to be able to clean up after him. On Michael's heels, not exactly sure what they'd find, she followed him deeper into the alley. "Wolves," she said, inhaling the musky, earthy, scent of werewolf. "There's blood in the air, but it's not fresh. Maybe a couple of hours old?"

Michael rose from his crouch. He fingered the fading mishmash of footprints left behind from whatever had happened. He could discern nothing from the prints. There was no sign of a scuffle, just the vague imprint of boots on the snow. "Not a drop spilled." He picked along the narrow space between the buildings, kicking at the dusting of snow covering the gravel. Something lying on the ground beneath a light blanket of snow caught his eye. He ventured over to it.

Bianca scrambled for something to say to lure Michael off the trail. The Sons were trained to be thorough. Too damned thorough. His eyes scanned every inch of the alley and had stumbled upon something lying next to a rusty dumpster. "I thought all the wolves, except for the boy, were out of the city."

Michael shook the loose snow off the jacket and held it to his nose. He immediately recognized the scent embedded in the coat as Hunter's. "Apparently, you thought wrong."

Bianca snatched the cell phone out of Michael's fingers and crushed it to bits in her palm. Daintily, she dusted the pieces of plastic over the rock. Goddamn O'Sullivan. What was his game now? His fucking obsession with the wolves was going to get him killed. "No one comes into my city without my knowing about it. Obviously, this is a Guardian issue. We'll handle this ourselves. There's no kill to report."

Michael glared up at Bianca and rose to his full height. If Hunter had gone willingly with the Rogues, perhaps there was nothing to report. But, Michael seriously doubted that Hunter had accompanied them of his own free will. Something wasn't right. The coat left behind on purpose. A clue? A warning? He wasn't sure.

He followed the tire tracks until they disappeared on a city street, plowed and salted down to pavement in preparation for the morning traffic. "Yet. There's been no kill, yet." For the time being, he'd play it Bianca's way. His presence in the city was more on her good graces than he actually had the right to be there. This was her turf and here he had to play be her rules. He appreciated her stubborn need for independence, but he wondered what it was she was hiding. Who she was protecting? The Guardians were good, but the Sons were even better and they both knew it.

Chapter 16

Cole should be freezing his ass off. His clothes were wet with snow and caked in mud and bits of debris from the forest. The hunt had been crazy! Wild crazy! He'd never felt so alive before. Odd, considering he was officially a dead guy. Oh, his heart beat and blood circulated. He had ten fingers and ten toes, just like before. But, thanks to the Sons and a little computer magic, Cole Zimmerman technically had never been born. There were people who knew different, his mom, for example. In this day of technology however, the proof was on the computer screen. Actually, for being dead, he'd never felt better and more in control of his fate than he did at this moment.

Not everything about his new sense of being was peaches and cream however. He'd had a blast in the woods, stalking his prey. Unleashing his power to take down the deer and sucking at its life, wasn't so much fun. It was going to take a little getting used to. Ok, a lot. He would have preferred a burger and fries. Not going to happen. His life depended, wholly and fully, on the lifeblood of another. Maybe, life had always been this way and he'd never paid attention. He could live because something else died. However, it was a lot easier to ignore that simple fact when dinner came from a drive through or the supermarket wrapped up in neat little packages. When dinner fought for its life; it was an entirely different matter altogether.

Cole didn't know which one of them was the most nervous. The girl, who was placing her trust in him, or he, who knew with one too many pulls at her vein, he could kill her. The orange glow of the fire reflected off the pallor of her white skin and made dark hollows along the line of her throat. Her wrist jerked unconsciously as he locked his fingers around the tender flesh. They were both virgins, new to this game of giving and receiving. Tonight, they would share their first time under the guidance of watchful eyes.

Even though he was shy about taking her in front of the others. The pull of her blood, the gentle whoosh-whoosh as it coursed through her veins, called to some inner, more primitive part of his being. He wanted her. Not in the way he'd wanted girls before, although that was there too. He wanted to taste her. To feel the heady heat of her blood rush over his tongue when he bit and fed from her. Eagerly, he moistened his lips. Ready, so ready, for their first kiss.

Maggie squared her shoulders and tried to relax in the newborn's grip. She was ready for this. There had always been a Grant in service to the brotherhood and tonight, it was finally her turn to take her place and live exactly how she believed. The brothers wouldn't let him hurt her. She knew that. But still, looking into the cold, hard eyes of a predator. Feeling the heat of his breath brush across her wrist. The reality of it was a somewhat different matter. The points of fangs he'd yet to learn how to control poked out from beneath his upper lips menacingly white and lethally sharp. She couldn't help the trickle of trepidation spreading along her spine.

Spoken words hovered in the air. Their letters floated on clouds of white breath and rose up to shine in the heavens like stars. Maggie looked up, tempted to see if she could reach out and pluck one out of the star field with her fingers. The chanting rang in her ears. A familiar song she'd heard countless times before. Until now, they were just sentences of a long forgotten language strung together. Tonight the words and sentences, vowels and consonants had meaning. And on them, she hung her hopes. She closed her eyes and let the rhythm lift her up into the alphabet soup drifting over her head. There'd be no pain when he struck. No pain.

Cole watched the girl's body sway in time to the chanting melody. That she'd finally surrendered her consciousness and her life into his hands meant that she trusted him. Or rather, trusted the brothers to keep him from killing her. He would take care of her. He had to.

The thought of biting into a human being tore at his gut. However necessary it might be. He'd sated most of his hunger on the buck and that was bad enough. Nothing the Sons could have told him could have prepared him for the ache, the constant nagging ache for human blood burning the back of his throat. If he only had to take just a little to slake his need forever. That'd be ok. Not quite the case, though. The need would always be ever present and always be a necessity that required indulging. The best he could do was hope to conquer it. But, it would never, ever, leave him.

His eyes met John Mark's in question. John Mark matched his stare. His eyes were filled with pride and a bit of sympathy and understanding. Underneath the surface, Cole saw the darkness of John Mark's hidden struggle. The predator hungered by the prospect of blood. Somehow, knowing John Mark fought the beast too didn't help much as his hunger took control, plunging fangs through the girl's soft, tender flesh.

Blood rushed over Cole's tongue in a hot, sweet torrent of decadence. Hungrily, he worried the wound with urgent laps of his tongue. Energy, her energy surged into his body, flooding his cells with life. The deer's blood had been mere water compared to the champagne of her life as it leaked down his throat. So good. He could drink all day, until there was nothing left of her, hell, of the entire town, and still not have his fill.

Thoughts entered his mind. Places. People. Colors. Scents. Her thoughts seeped into his system on the current of her blood. The life of the deer was nothing when measured against the fragile life he held in his hands. The beast lost its hold over him as her humanity drowned him in thought. Panting and gasping from the effort, he gathered every bit of will he possessed to lick the wounds closed. He could not kill. He. Would. Not. Kill.

His fingers rasped for the cross and squeezed it so tightly in his fingers that the leather cord keeping it in place around his neck groaned from the strain. Cole rested his weight on the soft, wet earth beneath his fist and breathed in and out through his nose until the predator, very much a part of what he was, but not who he was, fell under his full control.

The girl groggily opened her eyes. Hazel eyes looked out at him from beneath heavily veiled lashes. Cole didn't see Maggie. Rather, he saw Rachael in her place. Gently, he traced a finger, wet with melted snow over her mouth and cupped her warm cheek in his chilled palm. It was then that he knew. He'd never have a fear for taking a human life by accident. In every donor there Rachael was. Demanding so much more from him than to give into the beast that had taken her away from him too soon, far too soon. "Thank you," he croaked in a barely audible voice.

Maggie took his fingers and held them in her mittened hand. A shy smile crossed her lips. She knew that he could hear her in his mind. He knew more about her than any person did, perhaps even herself. The effects were only temporary. But for the moment he saw her, open and exposed, no makeup, no hiding, and no masks.

Gently, a brother helped her onto her feet, cautiously separating them. Cole's finger slipped free of her mitten and fell limply to his side. Snow wafted down from the black sky. Her alphabet, all the letters and words that had held her suspended high above, drifted down, landing on the tip of her nose and the apples of her cheeks. She tipped back her head and stuck out her tongue to recapture them before all the cherished phrases were lost with the spring thaw. "You're welcome," she said a little woozily, as the brother led her away.

John Mark exhaled a relieved breath. He knew he wasn't wrong about this kid. At first, everyone else thought he was. But, he was happy to be able to prove them wrong. Cole had passed every trial that had been thrown his way. The kid had done him proud tonight. "C'mon, there's just one more thing left to do."

Cole took John Mark's extended hand and scrambled on to his feet. His movements were sure and exact. Compared to the grace of the other warriors, he still felt slow, awkward, and clumsy. Some of them had decades to get used to their abilities. They moved in a dance of lethal power and strength. "I'm not screwing a chicken."

"Nah," John Mark chuckled and led Cole to a big stump in the middle of the clearing. "That's tomorrow night." He gestured for Cole to get down on his knees and stretch out over the cold, snow covered chunk of wood. "It's time you received your mark as a brother."

Warily, Cole stretched his bare chest over the wide stump and took a deep breath. He couldn't let go of the fact that he should be freezing his ass off and wasn't. He shivered in response to the cold wet snow on the woody surface in response to sensations that weren't really there. He watched the Shaman, a man everyone called Doc, open a leather bag and pull out a bottle of ink and a huge needle. Great. More pain. The mark was the final step in his induction into the Sons and he looked forward to the agony the needle's point would cause.

The Shaman had been studying the boy for a long time. Even now, despite the fact that the boy was one of them, he still didn't quite know what to make of him. The Goddess showed him the images to imprint on the flesh stretched willingly out over the stump. She inspired him and showed him what to engrave on the backs of the warriors. Damned, if he could interpret exactly what She had in mind for the boy. The meaning of the tattoo work was for the boy and the goddess alone to know. Intent on the design, he inked the needle and picked the point in which the design would unfold.

For once, Cole wished he could pass out. His back was on fire. Each strike with the needle on his flesh was more painful than the one before. His knees were stiff and his chest ached with the cold that he knew in the logical portion of his mind wasn't really there. Didn't matter. The sensations were real enough for him. He wanted to squirm. Squeal like a little girl every time the Shaman inked the tip and pressed it to his skin. There were only so many square inches of flesh on his back. There were only so many uncovered spots to decorate in ink. Sooner or later, Cole was voting for sooner, the Shaman had to be finished. With every set of eyes focused on him, he kept his complaints to himself and endured. What he wouldn't give for an Advil or a stiff drink, or both. Not that they'd do him any good. Perhaps that was the purpose of the exercise, to remind him of exactly how not human he was.

Doc studied his work and added another few jabs with his needle here and there. Finally satisfied, he sat back on his haunches and admired the designs permanently carved in indigo ink on the boy's back. "Done."

Cole exhaled a relieved breath and pushed his weight off the stump. He was eager to see the work, but kept his curiosity to himself. After all, he had the rest of time to admire what the shaman's needle had rendered onto his flesh. "Now what?"

John Mark steadied Cole. It hadn't been that long ago that he was where Cole was at this moment. "Get some rest. Training begins after sunrise."

"I thought we were done with all of that?"

John Mark snickered at the dejected look on Cole's face and resisted the urge to give him a hard pat on the tender healing skin on his back. "Sorry princess, but your training has just begun."

Chapter 17

Robert slouched in the chair he'd been shoved onto and held a mug of steaming coffee in his gloved hands. Thankfully, the thick woolen standard issue gloves Mack had

hastily shoved at him kept the coffee sloshing over the rim of the chipped mug from burning his fingers. Robert was trying to keep it together after the glimpses he'd caught from the sheriff's unwilling mind. The restaurant was vacant. The last of the customers hurriedly shuffled out the door after he'd grabbed Mack's hand and screamed in terror at what he saw.

The mental images he'd stolen from the man's mind were horrific and frightening. Yet, Mack was supposed to be a keeper of the peace and protector of the common man. What was a small town sheriff doing with that kind of stuff in his head? Robert tried to make sense of it. He'd expected some elements of horror to be unveiled, given the nature of what Mack had probably experienced in his years on the force. Violence, human against human, he could have handled. What he got an eyeful of instead defied explanation. Blood and death... pain and pleasure... vampires... wolves... gods and goddesses. Here? In this sleepy little burg in the middle of nowhere? How? His voice was weak when he finally had the breath to ask Mack the question. "What...what are you?"

Mack rocked back on his heels. The worn soles groaned beneath his weight. He shot Candy a grateful look as she dimmed the lights, flicked the sign to closed, and swiftly shuffled into the back in an attempt to busy herself while Robert and he had themselves a little talk. "I could ask you the same question," he said gruffly. He had not appreciated the invasion into his mind in the least. Whatever secrets he thought were his to protect hung in the open air between them. With one brush of his fingers, Robert had seen it all. "Skin allergy, huh?"

"Believe me. I wish I'd kept my hands to myself," Robert admitted as he took a gulp from the mug. The coffee was bitter and strong on his tongue. The hot liquid did little to restore his sense of equilibrium. "Cole, he's here. I... saw him." He let the conversation drop, just in case the sheriff hadn't clued in to exactly how much Robert had picked from his brain.

"Interesting talent you've got there," Mack said hesitantly. Given the trembling of Robert's fingers and the set of his shoulders, he didn't have to guess at how much the man had seen with that one touch. Damage control was first priority. The secrets had to be contained, no matter what the cost.

"Psychometery." Robert shook his head as he filled in the blanks. "Objects mostly,...people leave their vibrations on everything they come in contact with, sort of like fingerprints. I can see what they leave behind...in my mind. Trust me, I wouldn't call it a gift. More of a curse."

"Does take the mystery out of a first date, doesn't it," Mack observed. "I guess I'm not as good at hiding things as I thought. You knew I recognized your boy from the picture. Didn't you."

Robert felt like a bobble head in a rear windshield on a bumpy road. Nodding once again, he said, "Maybe, you wanted me to know." He raked a gloved hand through his hair and sighed. "Is he still...human?"

Mack crouched back down to his knees, cursing the old joints as they creaked stiffly in protest. He engaged Robert with his eyes. "Truth?"

"No point in lying now. Is there?"

"I suppose not. Truth is, I don't know. If you saw half of what I think you saw with those hands of yours then you know we mean you no harm." Mack felt the prickle of energy roll over his skin. Not knowing exactly what to do with Robert, he'd called in reinforcements and they were just arriving.

"You'll forgive me if I don't get a warm fuzzy feeling when you say that," Robert said dryly. He followed Mack rise slowly from his crouched position and stand. How many years had the sheriff lived under his 'good ol' boy' disguise without anyone in the town being the wiser? Hell, if he hadn't touched the sheriff's hand. He wouldn't have known the difference. He'd be on his way to the city, chasing after a cold trail that probably wouldn't have led him anywhere but in circles.

"Well, you don't have to take my word on it." Mack shivered as a blast of frosty air gusted through the opening door on the heels of his backup. "Sorry to call you out on a night like this. But, we've got a situation."

Robert remained planted in his seat. Silently, he appraised the man who had ridden the blast of cold air and snow into the narrow confines of the diner. The man sized him up in return. He stood a head taller than Mack. Clad in black leather and decked out with an assortment of blades across his back and strapped in holders along his hip. It wasn't his physical size or the apparent air of menace, which was intimidating, or the weaponry that frightened Robert. With the mask of humanity dropped, there was no mistaking what he was. "You'll have to pardon me if I don't get up to shake your hand, vampire."

Dane lifted a brow curiously at the man's statement. The man looked wary as a cornered animal. At any moment, Dane expected him to bolt from the seat and make a try for the door. But, to the man's credit he didn't. Something kept the man planted in the chair. Desire. Desperation. Terror. The air smelled sharply of fear and worry. He met Cole's father's eyes and held them for a few seconds, reading what information he could from the haunted stare.