Dawn's End

Prologue

Carter ambled aimlessly across the rugged terrain of the frozen wasteland. He waited with bated breath and some measure of both heady anticipation and a fair amount of dread for the Grim Reaper to finally find him. He longed for the insanity that would eventually come and escort him to a shadowy world of lunacy. Drugging his mind so his body wouldn't feel death's final embrace. He begged for those days of blissful mindlessness yet to come to hurry the hell up and arrive so that he could at long last be done with it. The day had not yet arrived and he was still as sane as a vampire with a soul dark as his could be. He wandered and waited for the end to begin.

A question he couldn't bring himself to mutter was posed on his lips. Why?

Why was the angel of death so cruel? Why had the dark angel turned the comforting solace of his embrace away from him? Carter wondered what manner of creature he was that not even hell had a place for him? He was not a believer in the golden promise of redemption. The time where he believed in such things had long since come and gone. He thought at one time, perhaps, salvation was possible. He was mistaken. Heaven was a place reserved for the faithful and his faith had abandoned him long, long ago.

He had dealt death to others countless times over the ages. He'd delivered more souls than he cared to count into the Grim Reaper's skeletal grasp. And now, when he wanted death to snatch him up and carry him to some dark desolate corner of the afterlife. It seemed the bastard Reaper had turned his back on him.

In the rugged north, frozen in a perpetual winter, Carter made a meager existence out of the sparse offerings found in the endless tundra of snow and ice. This place was as close to hell as he could get and still be technically alive. He hunted when he could and drank enough to give him some measure of strength. Coward that he was, he consumed enough of a sampling of life to evade the hand of death for another day, another week, or perhaps, another month.

He was a coward in waiting for the end to find him. As much as he entertained himself with the idea of death, he truly deep in his heart of hearts did not want to die.

Perhaps, it was curiosity that kept him alive. Perhaps, some commitment that he had yet to see to its completion kept his feet moving south out of the frozen, lifeless wasteland of the Arctic Circle.

Perhaps, he wanted to be death's hapless victim and be free of the burden of choosing the time and place of his own demise. One could hardly blame him for that. How many of his victims at the final moment had begged him for a stay of execution? For just a few more days, hours, or even seconds in which to hang onto life a little longer? How many fervently whispered pleas had he heard escape the lips of the condemned as he drained the life out of them?

It made sense, in a twisted way. The irony of it was not lost on him. Justice had been served. When he most wanted death to take him as his victim. Death had, in return, played a cruel joke on him instead and he kept living and living, and living. He wondered if he was still alive because, when it came down to it, he didn't really have the balls to lie down and die.

Chapter 1

Drew held the tiny bundle close to his chest. He sucked in a breath and trapped it deep within his lungs. She was so tiny and fragile. Swaddled head to toe in pink blankets she stirred and then settled into the warmth of his arms. He was breathless, amazed, and more terrified, of her and because of her, than he'd ever been of anything in his life. It'd been a damn long time since he'd held a baby. Lifetimes had come and gone in an endless procession of days and nights since then. It hadn't changed any, but he sure as hell had.

His daughter blinked up at him and smacked her lips contentedly. Sung as a bug in a rug she fell fast asleep. Poor thing didn't even have a name yet. They'd been so busy in the planning for her arrival and so certain she would be a he. They hadn't considered the possibility of a baby girl. The nursery and everything in it was blue. The name they'd picked out had been for the boy they thought they were expecting. Agreeing on a name had been nothing short of a miracle. Tala had wanted a name with meaning and tradition and he'd wanted something timeless while at the same time, contemporary.

Chas, short for Chaska, which meant first son in the ancient tongue, was what they'd finally agreed upon. Chaska Lucien, in honor of the Sons fallen brother and one of Drew's closest friends, was a very good name, adaptable, contemporary and yet timeless and ancient at the same time. It seemed generic to Drew to name this beautiful, perfect baby girl in his arms Winona, or first daughter, although he supposed they could.

She deserved a special name with meaning. In all the world, there was no other one quite like her. She was unique, one of a kind, and very, very special. She was the answer to every prayer he'd ever dared to pray. A key to the future in ways he could not even begin to imagine. She was everything he'd hung his every hope and dream on. In all his years, despite the wonder this long life held for him, he'd never seen anything as amazing as the child asleep in his arms.

The labor had not been easy. Exhausted, Tala, his mate, rested on the bed with a dreamy smile on her face. During the worst of the delivery, he'd cursed and begged the goddess in equal measure for her most precious gift. Staring down at the baby, rocking her ever so carefully, he wondered what someone would give for this gift. What price would a chance at true immortality bring? What measures would someone go to, to get it?

Many called him father. Great Father, Father of the Sons. Great White Wolf, Psaiwiwuhkernekah Ptweowa, Father of all wolves. Only one beautiful, sweet baby girl would ever call him dad. Looking down at his daughter, he knew, his Tala knew, and his people knew, there wasn't anything he wouldn't do to protect his daughter.

Tala shooed her private medical team out of the room. Claire and Jan understood all too well the intimacy of this family moment and once they were sure both the baby and her and quite possibly Drew were stable. They got good and gone. Thomas hovered, constantly checking her blood pressure and pulse, tentatively pressing her belly, and eyeballing the baby from a distance. Every rise and fall of the baby's little chest as she snuggled in her father's arms seemed to reassure him just a little more.

Thomas was cautious around Drew. Of course, it didn't help that Drew gave the well-meaning doctor the hairy eyeball and growled in his throat every time Thomas dared to so much as wander within ten feet of the baby.

It was a bit of a shock to hear Thomas announce she'd given birth to a perfectly healthy baby girl. Baby girl? Drew had been so certain they were having a boy. He'd even managed to convince her of it. She was so sure the baby was a boy she'd made Thomas double check. Twice. Nope, Chas, as he was supposed to be named, was a healthy, happy, and absolutely perfect baby girl.

They were both too dumbfounded by the news to consider a name for the bundle of joy dozing in Drew's protective arms. Too confused by the goddess's mistake to discuss what they should name their daughter. Perhaps, the goddess hadn't made a mistake at all and the baby had decided things for herself.

Hope was as good of a name as any. It fit. Everything hung on those narrow shoulders swaddled in the pink blanket Claire had somehow managed to produce out of thin air. Tala could smell the fresh paint and hear the busyness bustling behind the closed door to the delivery room. Janine ordered people around in her usual harried efficient manner. Demanded the blue walls of the nursery be immediately repainted. Hustled out the blue bedding, blue decorations, and of course, reissued pink 'it's a girl' bubble gum cigars to replace the blue 'it's a boy' cigars that Patrick had purchased in advance for the occasion.

Everyone was bursting at the seams to get a peek at the newest addition to the compound's many residents. They were going to have to wait. She needed a few minutes to recover before any visitors were allowed inside. That, and if they were about to introduce their daughter to the world, perhaps giving her a name would be appropriate. "Drew, I like the name Hope, Hope Catori Nakoma, maybe Cat, for short? What do you think?"

Drew exhaled and gently ran the tip of his finger across the bridge of his daughter's pug nose. There was a lot to be said about a name. Hope Catori Nakoma was a bit of a mouthful. Catori meant spirit and Nakoma meant Great Warrior in the ancient language of the ancestors. The spirit of a great warrior and one of hope. He wanted his daughter to know nothing of bloodshed and war. But, if she were going to survive in this world he'd helped to create she would need a strong name to see her through it.

Leave it to Tala to toss more than a bit of heritage into the name. His name, the one he'd been born with, not the updated name he'd chosen for himself, was Tecumseh, Panther Across the Sky or Shooting Star, depending on what a person wanted to believe. Now days, he was known as Andrew, Drew actually, a much simpler name to summarize complex man that he was.

He'd been born in a time of war. He had lived to know nothing but battlefields and the human suffering that came hand in hand with war. He had died, bleeding the ground red on foreign soil in a foreign land, for a cause he had no hope of ever seeing to fruition. He'd died so far away from everything he'd ever known and been reborn to father a race and champion an even greater cause. Peace was still a long way from coming, if there would ever be peace at all. Human history had his name recorded in its pages. For all intents and purposes, he was immortal. If for no other reason than the role he'd played in the past. Being reduced to dust in the annals of yesterday was not true immortality. Being what he was wasn't true immortality. This child asleep in his arms and the legacy he'd built for her was his only chance at true immortality.

He smiled down at the baby and patted her tiny, diapered butt with the palm of his hand. Who knew what she was to become. The woman she'd someday grow up to be. Freak of nature or force of nature, wolf or vampire, or some mix between the two, or perhaps, she'd grow up to be simply whoever she wanted to be. He held the future in his hands. Tala and his to shape, but what she'd do with it when she grew up was entirely up to her. "Cat," he said with a nod. "I like it."

Chapter 2

Shayla peeked out from behind the curtains in her bedroom and stared out into the blinding wash of white illuminated by a brilliant yellow sun. The deep freeze of winter had tightened its greedy fist in the dark of the night. Howling winds and particles of ice had tumbled down from the velvet black, starless sky. She'd fallen asleep watching the weather with the comforter tucked up high under her chin in an attempt to drive away the cold. The chill that permeated her bones wasn't on the outside, but deep inside of her and no amount of warmth was going to thaw the marrow anytime soon. The glittering morning was a mockery of the frozen wasteland within her soul.

Tracker yawned and stretched sleepily. His black hair trailed across the pillows. Shayla glanced over her shoulder to meet his eyes. Every morning, he woke up happy. Glad to be alive. Glad to have her at his side. It wasn't his fault. He was doing his best and she was trying. God knew she was trying. She wondered, if not so long ago, when someone else stood gazing out the window and forcing a smile, as she did now. If she looked upon him the same way Tracker looked at her. She wondered, if he felt the same lie then, that she felt now, crushing down like a weight on her chest. "Good morning."

Tracker sat up in the bed and cracked his neck. Shayla's side of the bed was cold. How long had she been awake, staring through the thin pane of glass that separated her from the world? What was she looking for all those long hours she spent gazing out into nothing? "Come back to bed," he said. Scooting across the sheets to the chilly emptiness of her side of the bed to warm it, he patted the definitely warmer rumpled covers on his side.

"Can't," Shayla answered. Tracker was doing his best to tempt her back under the covers. Batting the long fringe of his lashes over rich chocolate brown eyes that any female would die for. Stretching his arms high over his head to highlight the magnificence of his muscular chest and deep russet skin, as soft as silk atop steel. Pursing his full lips in mock disappointment at her. A part of the frozen wasteland that used to be her heart did thaw, just a bit. Over the last few months he'd let his hair grow out till it hung like a midnight velvet curtain around his shoulders. "Claire and Jan were up most of the night helping Thomas with the delivery. I'm on baby detail in about half an hour."

This had Tracker's attention. Everyone knew that Tala was due any day and that the pack's team of nurses and Thomas Sterling, resident physician to the paranormal, were on standby for the delivery. They must have decided to keep the Great Mother's labor a secret to avoid an unwanted crowd of worriers holding vigil at her bedside. He reached across the narrow space between the bed and the window and snatched Shayla around the waist with a wide sweep of his arm, tugging her close beside him. "A girl?" he asked, nuzzling the softness of her belly thorough the fuzziness of her flannel nightgown. Her stomach was flat and taut as ever, but a man could dream, couldn't he?

Shayla felt the moisture and heat of his mouth through the penguins embossed on her flannel gown and forced a playful giggle from her throat. He wanted children so badly. He made no attempt to hide it. He had their lives all planned out, a formal mating ceremony, and babies, lots and lots of babies. There was love in there too, of course. He loved her so much more than what she deserved. This was the game they played. Every night, she accepted him into her bed. Every morning, she woke to the longing in his eyes. Her heart, although cracked and shattered enough to let the liquid essence of his love trickle in, could never fully belong to him.

In her own way, she loved him back. Her love seemed so incomplete, so shallow and empty compared to his. She wished she could give him everything he asked for with total abandon. This shallow impersonation of true love was the best she could muster. Someone else had stolen her love long before Tracker ever came into the picture. Carter had left her with empty hands and a big hole in her heart that even Tracker's love in its wholeness could never fill. Still, she couldn't regret the few brief months of happiness she'd known with Carter. No matter how bad it hurt and how hard she tried to forget and move on, she couldn't bring herself to abandon the idea of him.

Tracker growled deep in his throat. Aroused by the change in Shayla's scent and the feel of her body wiggling in his arms brought out the predator in him. With each movement, each muscle that tensed, she became more and more prey. Delicate prey, but still prey none the less and his wolf was itching to win the chase. Had been for months. She peeked out from the bush and darted for cover, like a scared rabbit, when he got too close.

His wolf was hungry. He had her body and some measure of her affection, perhaps even a small piece of her heart. Those meager tidbits were mere morsels, crumbs from a feast that fell to the floor from someone else's table. He contented himself on them and tried to make a meal of the sparse crumbs. Impatience wouldn't get him anywhere. His wolf's patience would make the capture, when it eventually came, all the sweeter.

He was thrilled with the news about the newest addition to the pack, excited and eager to welcome the little pup into the group. His joy was limited though. He wanted an addition to the pack of his own. He wanted to see Shayla's stomach stretched with the burden of his baby. He wanted her eyes on him and only him when they made love and subsequently made a baby.

He was so damned tired of competing with another man. Carter was long gone. By basic definition, the man was a fucking ghost. Tracker had kept his end of the deal and protected Shayla and the pack. He could only hope that Carter would uphold his promise as well. If Carter didn't and he dared to show his face again, no matter how brokenhearted Shayla would be. No matter how much it hurt her. He'd kill him. There was no time limit on their agreement and he would protect Shayla at all costs, even if he were protecting her from herself.

Tracker stood, drawing his length up Shayla's body. The nightgown was a wad of soft fabric in his palms, inching higher on her thighs. Her tanned skin, a result of carefully planned genetics rather than hours of sunbathing, was sleek beneath his fingertips. Her hair, dark and cool as a moonless night was silky, tickling the tops of his hands as he brought the gown over her hips. She was naked perfection beneath the demure flannel covering. Narrow waist, curvy hips, and pert breasts with peaks pearled from arousal. No matter how hard she ran or how much she held back. Her body knew what and whom it wanted.

She gazed up at him with heavily lidded eyes. The irises were tawny brown, infused with flecks of sparkling gold. Fool's gold, he thought, because, if there were ever a bigger fool than him, he had yet to meet the man. A smarter man would have moved on to easier conquests. There were plenty of women. The problem was that none of them were Shayla. "Let's do it."

Shayla shivered from the heat of the breath from Tracker's lips as it skated across the bare skin of her neck. His interests were abundantly clear. As proven by the nightgown that had somehow, under the guidance of his crafty fingertips, worked its way to her waist. The bulge tenting his cotton sleep pants did little to hide exactly how interested he was.

Tracker wasn't simply referring to sex. If only the question were that easy to answer. He meant the mating ceremony. She'd been holding him at bay for months. Dangling the carrot in front of his nose, she never let him sneak as much as a nibble from the tip. "I can't." Not as long as Carter is still between us. She silently kept the thought to herself. It wasn't as if Tracker needed Carter, or rather Carter's absence, rubbed in his face. "Any minute the house is going to be overran with rambunctious, hungry toddlers."

Right on cue, the sound of bedcovers stirring from the adjacent room caused Tracker to release his hold on her. Shayla's nightgown fell to her ankles in a whisper of soft flannel. "See," she said with an arch of her brow.

Tracker tiptoed over to R. J's room and peeked inside. He was an Omega, protector of the pack, as such his skills at moving as silently as air were unmatched. "Still sleeping," he mouthed to the empty space Shayla had just abandoned. He heard the bathroom door ease shut and the spray of water pound against the tiles.

Tracker stood in the doorway watching R.J. sleep. The little guy dreamed on unaware. At mid-toddler stage, R.J. was beginning to resemble his father and look less like his mother. A spiky patch of short black hair poked out of a tangled wad of blankets. Tracker might have been an Omega at the time, but there had nothing that could have been done to save Ramon's life. That was something, even though it would have meant not having Shayla, he deeply regretted.

Genetics and the powers that be had determined Ramon and Shayla to be perfect matches. One could not argue with science and the laws of probability. Love had nothing to do with producing the most viable offspring. Eugenics had been their god by necessity.