Page 8 of Into the Dawn

My heart shatters as I watch his gorgeous features twist in pain and anger, and he curses, annoyed at himself for letting me see his hurt.

“I was all alone,” he confesses, his voice raw. “I had to pay rent on my own for the first six months before I found a roommate. And I was stuck in a quaint town where I knew fucking nobody, with a lease I couldn’t get out of without losing my entire life savings, and without my mate, the woman I thought loved me and was going to build a new life with me.”

In that moment, the weight of his loneliness crushes me. My mind drifts back to that night. I had been ready to meet him, trembling with excitement, heart pounding as I stepped out of my house.

But in the dim moonlight, I caught sight of Jed lurking in the shadows. His cold eyes locked onto mine, and with a slow,deliberate drag of his hand across his throat, he sent a silent, deadly threat my way. I knew then that if I went to Ben, if I tried to leave my shitty life behind, Jed would find a way to ruin it and to kill anyone who helped me leave.

So I walked away. I never showed up, and that choice, that betrayal, destroyed everything.

I struggle to choke back tears as I whisper, “I’m sorry.” My voice trembles with remorse, the apology feeling pitiful, even as it hangs in the cramped space of the cab.

Ben doesn’t reply. He doesn’t move a muscle. The conversation, heavy with unspoken grief and regret, is over.

For the remainder of the drive, we sit in oppressive silence, each lost in our own turbulent thoughts.

As the flickering lights of town come into view, including the compound where my family lives, a fresh wave of panic surges within me. I fear not only what might happen when I’m forced to hand Ben over, but also, the growing dread that I’m running out of time with him.

What if everything goes wrong? What if I lose him forever?

The anxiety overcomes me. “I can’t do this,” I blurt, voice shaking. “I can’t. What if you get hurt, Ben? What if I can’t do it?”

Before I sink any deeper into panic, Ben’s hand finds its way to my knee. His touch is gentle yet insistent, and a steady anchor in the storm of my thoughts.

“Keep driving, Vanessa,” he says softly. “This is the only way. I’m absolving you of all responsibility for what happens next.” His eyes, dark and sincere, search mine quickly before he returns to staring out the windscreen. “And I’m really hoping that you’re going to help me get John out. But as for what happens to me… that’s up to fate.”

I glance ahead and see the town’s lights growing brighter as the terror that I’m escorting my mate to his doom tightensaround my chest. In a desperate bid for a moment of reprieve, I yank the steering wheel hard and make a sharp turn down a narrow, winding track that leads to my old, battered shack. It’s a sanctuary I’ve clung to over the years, a sliver of independence I had to fight for to save my sanity. It’s not much, but it’s mine, and there in the solitude of darkness, at least I can gather my thoughts.

“What are you doing, Vanessa?” Ben’s tone is laced with disbelief as he watches me veer off the main road in his mirror. “This isn’t the right way.”

Stubbornly, I press my lips into a thin line and say nothing.

“You’re just delaying the inevitable,” he says. “And what if they find us here? No one’s going to believe you subdued me if I’m sitting here, drinking coffee in your house like we’re having the world’s most awkward sleepover.”

I force a wry smile. This is unbearably awkward, but it’s better than handing him over. I just can’t do it right now. I need to think.

“I just need tonight to gather my thoughts and plan exactly what I’m going to say. Tensions will be too high if we walk in there now. They’ve probably been boozing all day.”

Ben squints into the darkness, unconvinced.

“Nobody’s going to be looking for me, not with injured and lost shifters to worry about. Tomorrow, with a clear head and a solid plan, I’ll walk you straight into camp. But tonight… I can’t risk them killing you on sight. I’m not willing to take that chance.”

As I park the truck and turn off the lights, the moon casts a pale glow into the cab, highlighting the gulf between us and the years of shared history, now fractured by our failures and fears. I look over at him, the only man I’ve ever truly loved, and search his eyes for any sign of the warmth we once shared.

After a long, heavy pause, Ben finally relents. “Fine,” he says, a tired resolve in his tone as he reaches for the door handle. “I’m not going to pass up one last night sleeping on a comfortable mattress. But tomorrow, Vanessa, we do this. No more stalling.” He hesitates, then adds quietly, “I can’t live with myself if I know John’s suffering while I’m here playing house.”

5

BEN

While I wait for Vanessa to fish her keys out of the bottom of her bag, which I’d tossed into the back of my truck when I bundled her into it, I scan the trees around us to keep myself from staring at her ass. My beast's senses stretch out, searching for any hint of movement or scent that shouldn't be there. He’s concerned about her, not me, and it irritates me how easily he’s slipped back into mate mode after what she did.

He’s a fucking traitor.

And a horny traitor at that, I think, adjusting my now tight trousers after too long spent in a confined space with the woman my body craves more than oxygen.

Reluctantly, as I stare out into the dense forest, I have to admit she's right. The place is dead. The usual bustle of clan life, cubs playing in yards, animals patrolling territory lines, and the constant background hum of family, it's all silent here. When I listen hard, I can hear the cars driving down Main Street, not too far away, but other than that, there doesn't seem to be much going on.

I can't hear any people out walking, there are no voices from patrons hanging around outside the diner, no opening or closing of doors. No animals marking territory or beasts out running patrols. The town is deserted, and the awareness I normally get of other shifters nearby, their energy thrumming through the air, is conspicuously absent.

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