Winter's Warrior: Mark of the Monarch (Winter's Saga 4) (2 page)

She crouched beside
the coyote and draped the arm not holding the Uzi over his quivering, hot body.  “Meg is in there, buddy.  Do you smell her?”

As though on cue, Ma
ze’s sensitive black nose quivered, searching the breeze.  His nostrils flared when he caught her scent.  “That’s right, boy,” Margo whispered in his ear, “go get our girl!” Margo stood abruptly and flung her hand off the canine, pushing him toward the compound. 

Maze didn’t need any
prodding and he sure as heck didn’t wait for any more permission.  His muscular body didn’t just run, it flew.  His legs pumped so hard, his hind feet were a blur by his ears as he coiled then stretched long and sleek in the moonlight.  His strong, sure paws kicked up dirt with every powerful push.  He never lost the scent of his Meg. 

The coyote was on th
e hunt, but so was Margo.  Her years as a special ops soldier and all the skills she lived and breathed came roaring back to life.  She scanned the world around her for threats even as she ran, partially crouched, into the monster’s lair. 

Meg felt the cool of the wall against her feverish forehead and steadied herself.  The energies required to control that despicable soldier called Laz was threatening to pull her vision back into the darkness.

Come on!

Get it together!
She silently screamed at herself.

Meg forced herself t
o breathe and held the wall willing it to give her the strength to move.

That’s when she felt
it; strength pouring into her, fueling her, feeding her.

She blinked and near
ly gasped at the connection she felt, strong enough for her to reach out and touch, to wrap her emotional hands around and pull.

Creed.
 

It was Creed.

He was sending her his strength.  She felt it as sure as the wall beneath her hands.  Meg was a wilting flower before his blue seas of devotion, his yellow sunburst of love washed over her.

The final aspect of
her evolution snapped in place… the tourniquet of self-doubt that held her back for so long, defeating her even as she fought to survive, finally released. 

The floodgates burs
t wide open as Meg embraced her evolved gift as a two-way path.  She was now able to feed her strength just as much as siphon it away.

The effect was so po
werful and caught her by such surprise, she gasped with joy.

Meg was free to feel
the full extent of her power now, and her connection with Creed was just another part of who she was. 

Shivering with excit
ement and newfound strength gathered from that empath connection, she pushed away from the wall and leaped up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time.  She had to get to the third floor. 

Even as she ran, she
threw her emotional feelers out to learn who was near while she searched for her brother, Alik. 

The connection with
Creed was growing even stronger with what she could see in her empath eye.  It looked to be iridescent strands that strengthened her every step. 

Her mind spun
on multiple planes of thought. 

Alik, where are you?
 

Creed was alive and
being pulled closer to her, she could feel him searching for her. 

Then there was a dif
ferent point of light in her empath vision.  It was Texas skies blue.

Mom,
Meg’s heart whispered.  Meg was glowing from the sensation she recognized as her mother’s devotion.

She held her hand st
ill on the stairwell door marked prominently with a “3” giving her a moment to aim her feelers toward what was on the other side of the door.  She knew there were metas.  She could feel their vibrations.  She looked down at her other hand and stared at the light glinting off the blade she’d taken from Laz.  Smiling to herself, she slipped it into the back of her waistband.  Her hands now empty; she flexed them wide then clinched them tightly, ignoring the crunching of her knuckles in hungry response. 

She breathed slowly
in through her nose and out through her mouth.    She opened her heart wide to the strength of her family around her, rolled her shoulders, yanked the door wide open and stepped into the hallway.

The fl
uorescent lights in the corridor gave an eerie blue glow to the black-clad metasoldiers standing guard outside a room at the end of the hall to the left.  Meg would have known exactly where her enemy was even if the hall was black-hole dark.  She ran full speed toward them, her anger giving her wings. 

The soldiers
awaiting orders from either Laz or Dr. Williams turned in time to see M57 fly in a blackened-blur toward them.  Her long, dark curls were pulled back from her pale, stoic face.  Her movements were so rapid.  The only real attribute the soldiers had time to take notice of was her large, dark eyes flashing with fury. 

Both men were starin
g, slack-jawed at the woman, mesmerized by not just her beauty, but by something else entirely.  The soldier to the left regained his composure first and was reaching for his gun.

Meg felt a burst of
calm, calculated rage as she moved with pure instinct.  Her hands were locked in iron fists and held up defensively by her face.  She flew at the soldier and delivered a perfectly formed side kick to his throat with the blade of her boot. 

Crack!

A distinctive crunching sound emanated from his throat as his huge body flung back against the cement wall behind him, and hit with a sickening thwack. 

His windpipe was cru
shed.

Without hesitation,
Meg charged the second soldier.  She leaped into the air, wrapped her arms around his thick head and slammed his nose into her knee.  With him doubled over, Meg used her sharp elbow to pound him to the ground.  He lay silent under her boot one second later.

Still crouching abov
e him, she assessed the scene. 

The knife she brough
t to this gunfight was still in her back waistband, clean and unused.

She stood slowly, wa
tching with venom as the soldiers’ still warm bodies held silent in death, and felt nothing for them. 

All Meg could think
about was her brother.

She yanked the guns
from each of the downed soldiers, moved the knife to her boot and slipped one of the guns into her waistband.  The other she aimed and fired directly at the handle of the door the metasoldiers had been guarding.   

Pop, pop, pop!

With one powerful ki
ck, the door flew open and she burst into the room, gun raised, itching for more blood.

The scene befor
e her stopped her dead in her tracks.

“Drop your weapon,”
a male voice barked at her.

“Meg?”
Alik’s voice was weak, but audible, even through the pillowcase wrapped over his head.

Her little brother w
as held by three metasoldiers, and one was holding a gun directly to his temple. 

Alik was strapped to
the wall.  His wrists were tied to thick metal loops drilled directly into the cement wall on either side of him.  The first thought that smacked Meg across her emotional face was that he looked crucified to the mint-green wall. 

The scene was horrif
ic. 

Two other soldiers w
ere in the room standing on either side of Alik, both of which had their semiautomatics aimed at her body. 

“I said,
drop your weapons, M57!
” the soldier with the gun to her brother’s head screamed, spittle dangling from his lips.

Fury wrapped around
Meg’s heart. 

Oh hell no!
  She was not going to let them do this to her brother.  Meg hesitated, but didn’t lower her gun from the soldier who dared threaten Alik.

The thick muscles of
her little brother’s chest were exposed as he’d been stripped of his shirt.  It hung in tatters hanging around his waist, still partially caught in his waistband.  The dark bruises already forming across his torso made it clear what they’d been doing to him in her absence. 

The rage-yell that e
scaped her lips was guttural, primal.

“No!”

“Meg, get out of here,” her brother gasped from beneath the cloth.  She could see the material move with his breaths.  Her heart screamed in anguish, but she forced her voice to stay calm.

“Release my brother
and I’ll let you live,” she heard herself growl.

The malevolent smirk
s on the faces of the three sealed their fate.

Meg made her move.

Chapter 3
  Let the Melee Begin

“Where’s Gavil?” Evan asked as he stared at the dark, sticky blood on Creed’s hands.

Creed followed the young meta’s eyes to his hands and stared at them as though they belonged to someone else.  He swallowed hard.

Farrow answered for him.  “He was killed.”

“Oh, God, no!” Evan breathed watching Creed lock his jaw angrily.

Knowing she needed to change the subject, Farrow turned to Creed and asked pointedly, “What’s the plan?” 

The soldier blinked hard before looking up at the two metas in his charge.

“We need to cut out Williams’ eyes.  He has cameras everywhere.  Any ideas?”  Creed asked Farrow and Evan.

The three stood silently against the cold brick of the Research Hospital, trying desperately to devise a plan to rescue Meg and Alik.

Evan shook aside his sadness at the loss of an ally and forced himself back into the deep thoughts he’d been frantically searching through since he last spoke to his mother.  “The electric breakers,” he snapped, looking up with still glassy eyes. 

“What?” Creed asked, forcing himself to ignore the sticky blood of his brother coating his thick hands.

“Williams is watching us, right?  That’s what you said.  We need to take out his ability to see what is happening.  The circuit breakers…do you know where they are?” he nodded toward the building where his brother and sister were held.

Creed’s eyes brightened.  “Yeah, I do.  First floor—behind the elevators—there’s a facilities closet.  The breakers have to be there.”

“Get me there,” Evan’s hazel eyes danced with both moonlight and renewed excitement.  “We’ll take out his eyes, and then we’ll level the playing field.”

“Let’s go!” Creed whispered

The group moved.  With Creed leading the way, Evan was right at his heels and Farrow followed up the rear with her gun drawn.  Everyone’s eyes were on the ready looking for any signs of metasoldiers.

They made their way to the front doors of the building without seeing a soul.  Once in the main lobby, Creed walked them against walls toward the room he knew to hold the electric breakers for the building. 

They walked on silently, hearing the voices of a few soldiers at the nurses’ station further down the corridor, arriving at the wooden door without incident.  Creed motioned to it and tried the handle.  It barely moved.  He scowled at the keypad to the right of the door and grimaced at Evan, nodding toward the locked door. 

Understanding their dilemma, Evan reached
into one of the many pockets in his black pants, unzipped it and removed a small case.  Farrow recognized it as the case he used to fix the comm device she’d just crushed outside moments before.  With deft movements, he removed two tiny tools and moved silently toward the control panel.  

Farrow and Creed watched in amazement as the thirteen-year-old genius metahuman removed the face of the panel and spliced several wires, the last of which caused a soft humming then a slight
pop
.  A green light showed on the dissected panel that hung by the few connections remaining.  With his agile fingers he gripped the handle and turned.  The door opened with a soft click. 

Evan shot them a small smile
over his shoulder before walking unobstructed into the room only lit by buttons emanating from a panel to their right.

Creed and Farrow both nodded in silent awe.  They closed the door behind them and watched the boy walk directly toward one of the panels.  All Evan needed was a cursory glance to completely acquaint him
self with the mechanical inner workings of this building.  His skilled fingers traced the unlabeled switches as he calculated his next move. 

Evan nodded once to his companions; fingers poised on the switches he’d determined were the necessary breakers before flipping them.  The humming that was just part of the room’s personality came to an abrupt stop under his fingers. 

“There,” Evan whispered, “the building is completely off-line.  All electricity has been cut—lights, cameras—everything.”