Winter's Scars: The Forsaken (Winter's Saga 5) (41 page)

“Of course,” Meg managed to say.

The governor held out his hand and shook Meg’s firmly as some people do to try to establish dominance.  Meg resisted the urge to show just how firmly she could return the favor.  “Miss Winter, you grace us with your beauty.”  The older gentlemen reached to take her other hand and held her arms out wide, as though she were a piece of meat on display.  Meg had to bite her tongue and smile through his strangely inappropriate attentions.

He looked at her as if he knew so much more than he was letting on.  Meg didn’t think twice: she dipped into his aura and dissected his thoughts faster than a viper strikes.  She knew he’d been talking with Arkdone about her.

“May I introduce my companion?” Impulsively, Meg decided she could play their social game.  These people were very simple in their thoughts and desires.  The governor, for instance, just wanted to be revered, feared and superior to all he surveyed.

The Brisbees turned to look at the previously invisible man at Meg’s side.  Meg knew they just thought of him as “the help,”—just eye candy.  Meg was clearly walking dangerously close to the edge of unacceptable decorum in an elite event such as the Brisbee Benefit by wanting to introduce a “nobody” to the Governor.

The Senator just smirked and let the game play-out before him.  Michelle looked beautiful and bored as usual beside him.

“Governor Brisbee, this is Gideon Niche.  Mr. Niche, may I introduce Governor Brisbee?”

The two men shook hands stiffly and mumbled awkward greetings.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Meg wrapped her arm through Gideon’s.  “Gideon has graciously offered to be my dancing partner.”  Then, looking directly at the
metamonarch, she smiled widely and said, “Shall we?”

To his credit, Gideon smirked
, knowing full well what Meg was up to.  He waved his hand toward the huge ballroom already alive with music and dancing.  Meg nodded her goodbye to the Brisbees and walked gracefully in Arkdone’s four-inch heels across the foyer and into the ballroom.

Gideon took Meg by the waist, pulled her close and held her hand at his shoulder.  He was smiling down at her with the most adorable look on his handsome face.

“That was awesome!”

“Yeah, I think it went pretty well.”  Meg shrugged humbly.

“I thought you were going to break his hand when he started squeezing yours,” Gideon stifled a chuckle.

“It took tremendous effort to hold myself back,” Meg giggled and stopped looking around at the auras belonging to the wealthy twirling past and tipped her head to see Gideon.

He had stopped chuckling and replaced his sweet expression with one of concern.

“Meg?” he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Sirus wants to come out.”

“How do you feel about that?” Meg asked openly.

“Jealous,” he said without hesitation.

“Why?”

“Because this is
my
time with you,” he mumbled in a grumpy voice.

Gideon shook his head as he argued with himself.  “Meg?  Which of us do you prefer?”

She was taken aback by the question.  “Please don’t do this now,” she spoke without moving her lips around a plastered smile.

“I’m sorry, but he’s insisting I ask,” Gideon looked pained, as though she had already chosen his other half over him.

“Tell Sirus he can have the next dance.  It’s only polite,” Meg shrugged helplessly.  It was one thing to try to figure the correct etiquette at a benefit put on by the Governor, it was a completely different thing trying to navigate the rules when it came to a metamonarch and his alters vying for time.

Gideon looked punched-in-the-stomach hurt, but nodded in agreement.

The song finished far too soon and everyone applauded the musicians as they paused to accept their audience’s approval. 

Meg glanced away from Gideon to watch the conductor bow deeply and wave his long arm dramatically at the musicians behind him. 

When she looked back, she saw Sirus’ nearly black eyes watching her every move. 

“Sirus?” Meg asked tentatively.

He nodded once and smiled his tight-lipped smile.  “May I have this dance?”

His words were so sweetly offered; she couldn’t help but smile back.

He held her at a distance at first, feeling a bit robotic in his movements, but after a minute, he loosened up and whether he meant to or not, he pulled Meg closer to him.  The more he held Meg, the more she sensed his hesitant happiness.

“You’re not accustomed to having a good time, are you?”

“Hmm?”  He looked down at her with reserved though obvious affection.  It just looked so much more refined on his face than on Gideon’s. 

When Gideon smiled affectionately he got this adorable moony-eyed, puppy dog expression.  When Sirus smiled at her, he acted cautious but curious and intent on experiencing anything she was willing to share. 

“You have to understand, my job is to follow rules and keep everyone else in line.  I don’t usually get to have fun because I have too many responsibilities.”

“Are you having fun now?” Meg grinned at him.  His eyes moved over her slowly, as though he were studying a work of art. 

“You dance beautifully,” he said, dodging the question.

“So do you
,” Meg complimented.

“Thanks.” His attempt at controlling his blush made his skin even pinker.  “The ballots will be cast at nine tonight,” Sirus said, changing the subject.

“Yes, I know.”  Meg’s eyes darkened as she glanced toward Donovan smiling widely at something the Governor just said.

“What do you think it will be like to have Arkdone as the US President?”

“I don’t know,” Meg said distractedly. 

The music rose beautifully through the song’s bridge and Sirus handled the change with grace
, leading Meg across the floor like they’d been dance partners for years.  Once the song came back down to the last stanza, Meg caught his dark eyes and asked the question that had been pressing on her much of the evening.

“Sirus?”

“Hm?”

“If Arkdone ordered you to hurt me, would you?”

The question took the metamonarch by surprise.  He nearly stopped dancing, but slowed to a simple side-to-side sway instead.  He searched her face for the meaning behind the question.

“Would you?”

“I would have to.”

“You would hurt me if he tells you to?”

“Meg, I wouldn’t have a choice.”

“Would Gideon hurt me, too?” Meg watched her words stab Sirus right in the stomach.  “Would you ask him for me?” She knew she was just twisting the knife, but she needed to know how much danger she was in around the
metamonarch.

“It is my job,” Sirus swallowed hard, “to make sure he would obey Arkdone’s orders.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Meg asked defiantly, her chin tipped up remembering all the tender moments between her and the hidden alter.

“It’s not up to me, Meg.  If he defies a direct order, there are built-in penances—damaging, torturous, permanent penances waiting on the other side.”

“From the ‘Punisher’?” Meg’s blood was starting to rush through her veins in pure anger.

“Nothing can protect us from ourselves.”  Sirus shook his head slowly; a haunted look shadowed his eyes.

Frustrated, Meg scowled, let go of his shoulder and pushed him away.  They were standing in the middle of the dance floor, but Meg didn’t care. 

“I am so close to losing it, Sirus,” she hissed then forced herself to lower her voice.  “I’m trying to learn my way around the alliances in this world and I just needed for you to say you’d be there for me.  That at least you wouldn’t turn on me.  I just needed a friend and what do I get?  A shattered piece of ice!”

She stormed off the dance floor, the gossamer, long red strips of material flowed like bloody wind behind her. 

Not really sure how the conversation went from point A to X inside thirty seconds, Sirus hurried after her. 

“Would you stop for a minute?” It was his turn to hiss.

Meg huffed but stopped.  She leaned her back against the wall, arms crossed and staring down at the stupid shoes she was wearing.  She was trying very hard not to burst into tears.  This had all been too much for her.

“I promise you this: I will do everything in my power to be there to support you, just as you ask.  But you have to understand, Meg.  No matter how much you wish it weren’t true—hell, no matter how much
I
wish it weren’t true—the fact is: I am Arkdone’s Monarch.  I cannot go against him.  I can’t.  It would
kill
me.”

Meg had been kicking off her shoes when he said the last, but stopped in mid motion at his last words.  She’d already unattached the buckle on the last strap on her pump so it dropped to the floor.  Sirus leaned down and picked up her shoes.  He gathered the heel straps and handed them to a stunned Meg. 
“Kill you?”
 

He sighed deeply and looked down at the straps as they wrapped around her dainty fingers.  “Meg, it’s my programming.  Why do you think the Punisher self-harmed so easily?”

“I just thought he was trying to intimidate me.”

“He wouldn’t think twice about slicing our wrists, or throat or whatever other painful and gruesome method he chose to end the defiance.”

“Are you saying Arkdone programmed you with a ‘self-destruct’ personality?”

“Exactly.”

Chapter 79  The U.S. Embassy, Cairo

“What time is it?” Sloan asked.

“Thirty seconds past the last time you asked me.”

Evan was thinking through how he was going to handle the next several hours, but his mind kept getting off-track as it slipped to thoughts of Kylie.  She had stayed up the entire night with him helping him perfect his work.  She was brilliant; she wasn’t bragging when she called herself a “phenom.”

The product of all their hard work was tucked
away in his pocket. 

“Is it time now?”

“Do you want to get in there any earlier than we have to?”

“Evan?  What should I say if they ask me about Meg’s whereabouts?”

“When in doubt, always fall back to the truth without giving every detail of what you know, Sloan.  You don’t know where Meg is.”

Sloan shivered behind Evan as she sat on his bike.  “Let’s practice once more,” Evan’s voice softened as he made himself feel what it would be like in her shoes.

“Okay.”

“Miss Mor, you say you’re a doctor—of what?”

“Medicine.”

“Right.  Just ‘medicine’ and not
‘medicine specializing in the study and development of metahumans’…Miss Mor, what happened on the day in question in Flagstaff?”

“There was an altercation with the authorities.” 

“Right, don’t blame anyone or elaborate.  Excellent.  Let’s keep going—what happened during the alleged altercation?”

“My friends and I were traveling to Union Medical University Hospital when authorities confronted us by crashing their vehicles into us.  There was physical engagement between the two groups causing injuries to both sides.”

“Excellent.  You’re ready for this, Sloan.  One more question: How was the physical engagement stopped?”

“Meg Winter told them to drop their weapons and stand down.”

“And did they?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you think they would have done that?”

“She can be very insistent.”

“Has she ever insisted you do anything you didn’t want to do?”

“No.”

“Where is she now?”

“I do not know.”

“There,” Evan nodded.  “You’ve got this.  They can’t squeeze juice out of a rock.  Just be that rock and don’t let them intimidate you.”

“Right,” Sloan nodded psyching herself up.

“Are you ready?”

“What time is it?”

The cold wind lifted her blond hair off her neck and tousled it around her shoulders.  She looked at Evan’s profile with her wide-set gray eyes.  “What time is it?” she repeated.

“It’s time to go,” he said and waited for her to hop off the bike first.  He felt her legs shaking as she adjusted her feet to accomplish the act.  Evan slipped off the cycle easily and set the alarm he’d rigged. 

“You’re going to be just fine, okay?  No matter what they show you, or say to you—whoever you see, you’re going to be okay, Sloan.  Understand?”

Sloan nodded and swallowed the pool of nervous saliva gathered at the back of her otherwise dry mouth.

“I’ll meet you out here in exactly four hours.”

“Four hours,” She repeated.

“Here,” he handed her keys to the motorcycle, “you hang on to these.”

“Evan?” Sloan frowned. 

“Listen, trust me.  You hang on to the keys.  I may need to use that as leverage to get you out of there.  But listen, if I’m not out in four and a half hours, I want you to take the bike and get home.”