Winter's Storm: Retribution (Winter's Saga #2)

WINTER’S STORM

Retribution

Book 2 of Winter’s Saga

By

Karen Luellen

Winter’s Storm—Retribution

By Karen Luellen

Published by Karen Luellen

Copyright 2011 Karen Luellen

License Notes

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Growling.

An angry, guttural growl echoed from the darkened hospital room.

Glowing yellow eyes only a few yards away locked on Farrow Schone and in that instant, she knew it could smell her blood, hear her heart racing, and see the pulse in her exposed neck.

Farrow had never felt more like a piece of meat than she did right then.

Oh, crap!
She thought and began backing slowly away from the opening of the door, but as she did, the creature crouched low and coiled its legs tightly under its muscular body, ready to spring.

Farrow could see now it was some kind of wild dog—a wolf or coyote, maybe.

…
whatever it was, it was huge, and pissed-off.

Its piercing eyes were mesmerizing, hypnotic.

Its snarling muzzle exposed flesh-tearing teeth glistening wet with saliva.

There was no way she was going to be allowed anywhere near the people in that room.

Not wanting to cause a scene or get mauled, Farrow made a hasty exit.

Her orders were only to put eyes on the Winters and determine who was alive and who wasn’t. Dr. Williams was going to be livid to know they all survived. Farrow was also to collect Gavil and catch a flight back to Germany where she had no doubt all hell was going to break loose.

Part 1

Germany’s Creed

One week after the rescue of

Dr. Margo Winter

Location:

Dr. Kenneth Williams’ training camp called “The Facility” in Furth, Germany

1 Creed

October 10th

Black laces, measured perfectly, slipped like silk through the metal holes of his military boots. Practiced fingers gripped each cross section and worked their way up the tongue until the top most position when both ends were tugged taught. He wrapped them once around, tied a quick double knotted bow and tucked the excess lace into the top of the boot.

Creed Young stood and swept his large hands over the wrinkles that had quickly formed in his freshly pressed military fatigues. His olive green T-shirt stretched tightly across his wide chest, barely containing his massive physique. His chiseled face was stoic, marble and expressionless as he reached to retrieve his beret.

This was the day for which he had been trained. This was the day of his Retribution. In all the years he lived at the Facility, he had watched many Retribution Matches. Watched the two metas sent into the arena together and ordered to “Kill, or be killed.” The battles were brutal. Even for the audience filled with hard-core metahumans trained to believe weakness needed to be stomped out. The Matches brought out the primal, vicious and evil. This wasn’t just a friendly competition to see who would come out on top. This was survival of the fittest in its most primitive sense. This was Darwinism deformed, but it was Creed’s way of life; all he’d ever known. And today was his day.

From outside he heard the roar of the bloodthirsty crowd. His opponent must be hearing this, too. He wondered who was chosen to enter the arena with him. What was he thinking? How did he feel about the terms of the battle? How determined was he to win? When it came down to it, Creed wondered if he would be able to kill his opponent, as required by the rules of the event.

In the mirror, the eighteen-year-old stared at his reflection and tightened his jaw. Creed struggled with this part of his discipline. He struggled simply obeying an order just because it had been handed down. Every other meta just did as they were told. They were unquestioning, unthinking and uninhibited by their thoughts.

Creed was different from the others, and he knew it. The hard part was making sure no one else knew it. He was skilled at disguising his thoughts and feelings with an expressionless face. He knew the consequences of being different. Over the years he witnessed several cases where perfectly viable metahumans were removed from the Facility for lesser infractions than individual mindedness. And they were never seen again.

But Creed made sure that didn’t happen to him. He kept his thoughts to himself. Outwardly, he looked like the perfect meta specimen. He stood six feet, two inches and weighed in at two hundred fifty pounds. He could bench press nine hundred fifty pounds. He was solid muscle, responsive, accurate and a highly trained martial artist and weapons expert. More than just physical agility, he also had mental agility. To call Creed “intelligent” would be an understatement. To call him “deadly” would be accurate.

The crowd’s roars echoed louder off the cement walls of the locker room in which Creed stood. It was time to begin; time for Retribution.

One deep breath was all he allowed himself before he turned toward the door and marched across the room, opened it and jogged down the hall.

Stepping into the arena was mind-blowing. This was the first time he had seen it from this point of view. Previously, he was in the stands where the rowdy crowd stood now. Life was very different from this vantage point. It was terrifying, surreal and eerily energizing. He stood bracing himself against the blaring lights, the deafening crowd and the vibrations of adrenaline cutting his body like ice.

Then he saw his opponent.

Oh no...no, no, no
is all he kept thinking as realization sunk in. There, across the arena, stood his own flesh and blood. He had been pitted against his brother, Gavil.

Memories flooded Creed as he watched his brother’s mouth twitch slightly in what was most definitely a smile. Powerful memories of his brother’s numerous “lessons” that left Creed bloody and broken on the ground, ripped through his body. Time and again the two boys, who had been told they came from the same donor parents, had come to blows. Nothing Creed ever did was good enough for Gavil.

Then, as puberty sneaked up, it was Creed whose body transformed so dramatically. Creed, who had grown up as his older brother’s punching bag, was taller, stronger, faster and smarter than Gavil now.

Gavil would have none of it, though. He continued to torment Creed with vicious beatings until the day a year ago when Creed had enough. It was a taunting like any other. Gavil was snickering as he covered Creed’s dinner in sand and laughed and ridiculed him, just as he had countless times before. But something was different that night.

Something snapped inside Creed. He attacked Gavil and beat him to a whimpering, bloody pulp.

The boys had not spoken since and seemed to mutually work to avoid each other on the campus. Their paths didn’t usually cross because Gavil was two years older than Creed and slept in a different part of the men’s dormitory.

Creed felt avenged and empty at the same time. He knew nothing of his life outside The Facility. Gavil was his only connection to the world beyond the compound. He only knew they were born overseas, in the Americas. All Creed remembered, though, was life here in their German compound.

But Gavil was two years older and had more memories of when they were brought here. Creed always wanted to know what happened. Who were their parents? Why did they give the brothers up? Did they have a family somewhere? He wanted a brother to love, instead he had Gavil and he couldn’t stop himself from feeling only hatred for him.

These thoughts churned through Creed’s mind as he watched his brother casually stretch as if preparing himself for an easy run. A deep, bellowing horn blew, sucking all the noise from the crowd as if in a vacuum. Commander Oldham’s familiar voice echoed around the silent faces.

“
Welcome! We’re here to witness the Retribution of two worthy metas. Twenty-year-old Gavil Young is defender and eighteen-year-old Creed Young is the new-comer. As some of you may know, this Retribution is especially interesting because not only are the two opponents similarly matched in abilities, but they are also blood brothers,” Commander Oldham’s voice rose appropriately for the juicy announcement and the audience responded. Screams of wild excitement crashed like waves over Creed.

“
It’s time to begin. Retribution-ers, you know the rules. This is hand-to-hand combat only. No weapons, no reprieve, no mercy. To the death! Begin!”

Creed hadn’t taken his eyes off his brother since the moment he first saw him. So, it came as no surprise when Gavil ran to attack even before Commander Oldham’s order to “begin.” The younger brother stood in the ready position and calculated his response. One quick movement to the side and Creed stood watching his brother fly by, trying to stop his momentum, before crashing into the wall of the fighter’s pit.

Gavil face was pale with rage. He stopped for a moment and shook his hands, rolled his neck and sneered, “Hey there baby brother. I was kinda hoping it would be you in here with me. Seems like a good day for you to die,” Gavil curled his thin lips at his brother. “Well, as good as any other.”

“
Gavil, we don’t have to do this. We could both concede and walk away with our lives.” Creed’s mind was racing with possible options.

“
Concede!” Gavil spat the word like it was venom on his tongue. “You want me to concede to you? Maybe I hit you one too many times in the head, boy. Why don’t you just lay down right here on the ground? I’ll make this quick for you, for old time’s sake.” He was inching toward Creed. Slipping snake-like closer to his little brother until the Young men stood an arm’s length from each other. The crowd was shrieking wildly in anticipation. “You better take my offer. It’s the only mercy you’re gonna get.”

“
Gavil, don’t do this,” urged Creed. “You know what happened last time we fought. We don’t have to…”

But he didn’t have time to finish his sentence before Gavil’s hand flashed up and under Creed’s jaw, stabbing his pressure points with deliberate skill and malice. Creed’s nerves shot pain into his ears and pierced his brain. Instinctively, he slapped his brother’s hand away and leaped back, recuperating from the excruciating jolt. Gavil smirked, loving how easy it was to trick his sucker of a brother.

“
Are you ready to fight now, Bleedy Creedy?” Gavil sneered, throwing out that hurtful nickname he’d given his little brother for all the injuries he caused him throughout the years.

“
So be it.” Creed locked his jaw and ran full-speed not at his brother, but at the arena wall beside him. Curiosity and surprise were the only two facial expressions Gavil had time to register before he realized what Creed was doing. He ran straight up the wall, used the momentum to flip backward and caught Gavil by the neck with his legs on his way down. Creed landed on top of his brother, knee at his throat.