Winter's Scars: The Forsaken (Winter's Saga 5) (7 page)

The black catsuit Michelle wore hugged every inch of her curves.  She walked with assurance even through the ankle-turning rubble that had been her controller’s foyer.  The walls were riddled with holes from gunfire.  Dust danced like glittering gold in a blade of morning sunlight that cut into the room from a hole in the ornate glass window high above the torn tapestries.   The room looked like it had been sliced with a giant’s blade.  For the damage it sustained, it may as well have been.

This had been ground zero for the battle between the
metamonarchs and the metahumans.  The echoes of their gunfire, knife clashes and bone crunching hand-to-hand combat lived and breathed in Arkdone’s inebriated mind.

Arkdone himself was sitting on a torn antique Victorian Louis XV loveseat, circa 1850.

He was staring at the debris-covered Oriental rug at his feet. 

He held a bottle of Scotch in his left hand.  The bottle’s neck had been broken, and though the sharp edges that remained looked lethal, Michelle watched the Senator put the shards to his lips and toss back the golden fluid.  Blood trickled down his chin from where he’d already sliced himself.

“Sir, the compound is cleared of all Williams’ people.  Also, I just heard from Kerry and Trent.  They claim to have seen Dr. Williams’ aircraft crash into the side of an Appalachian mountain.   They went to investigate, but only found the body of the pilot, Miro Reznikov inside.  The girl and Williams were nowhere to be found, though they’re still searching the area thinking they must have wandered away from the crash.”

“He’s alive,” Arkdone spat.  “It’s going to take a lot more than a helo crash to kill that sick bastard.”

“Yes, sir,” Michelle chimed, accustomed to Arkdone’s uncanny way of knowing more than humanly possible.  He was, after all, her controller.

“As for the girl, my beautiful Naya—” his voice drifted off dreamily for a moment as he conjured a picture of her crouched in the cell.  Her dark hair spilling over her shoulders like the Madonna wearing a Spanish mantilla.  “She’s alive and if my guess is correct, she is even more dangerous now that she has been freed of her moral obligations.”

“Sir?”

“My dear Michelle, don’t you understand?  I freed her of all her years of being forced into moral obligation by the woman who raised her.  She’s the most powerful metahuman I’ve ever seen.  With her untamed gifts, she’s more powerful than I.”

“How?” Michelle was riveted at the thought that someone could possibly surpass her controller’s strength.

Arkdone tapped his temple and looked up at the candidate with sharp, nearly glowing eyes.

“Her power is in her mind.  I only had a short time with her before she was whisked away by Williams, but it was just enough time to plant one seed: one beautiful, precious seed.”  Arkdone absently pressed the cut-crystal edge of Scotch to his lips and took several deep draws from it.  Michelle watched his Adam’s Apple move.  She tried not to cringe at the fresh blood that trickled from his bottom lip and splashed unnoticed onto his torn dress shirt.

“Now that she’s raw, her abilities aren’t hindered by her own insecurities; I predict she’s going to do amazing things.”

Michelle held still, unsure what she was supposed to do to help the Senator, so she waited patiently for orders with her hands clasped behind her back, chin up.

Arkdone sat lost in his thoughts
, forgetting Michelle was there for a while. 

“I envy her,” Arkdone’s voice startled Michelle from her blank stare.

“Who?”

“The girl, of course.”

“Why?”

“After all these years, memories begin to feel more like chains around my neck.  To have all that wiped away?  I really have given her the gift I couldn’t give myself.”

“Is there no way you could free yourself?  Couldn’t you undergo the same procedure?”

Arkdone tore his eyes away from the floor to look up at the woman who stood ready and waiting for his next order.  Since her return, she had quickly become invaluable to the Senator.  She acted as his liaison with the twenty-five
metamonarchs he had at his disposal and helped the asylum run smoothly when it came to monitoring the candidates and trainers.  She was his right-hand and he appreciated her intelligence, obedience and initiative.  She was the perfect Monarch Slave.

“No Michelle, there’s no freeing
me.  I expect an update on the status of my Naya when Kerry and Trent have new information.  I also want a status report on the damages to our lovely building and a comprehensive list of the living and dead.  Have the metamonarchs dispose of any bodies onsite using the incinerator, then get on the phone and have contractors out here first thing tomorrow ready to rebuild my home.  I will also require them to seal up and wall off access to the prison chambers below.  We’re going to have outsiders want to come and see for themselves our respectable and blameless hospital.  The Winter children may try to convince people otherwise.  We must be ready.  Call my consultants and tell them to meet me in the office in one hour.  We have work to do.” 

“As you wish, sir.” Her bow was genuine and submissive. 

He waved his hand dismissively and listened to the sounds of the candidate’s boots click and crunch as she exited the room. 

Arkdone set the broken bottle of Scotch down on the only intact end table and walked with completely steady feet up the stairs to go dress for the meeting he just called.  He was going to have some damage control to put in place and his spin doctors were just the team to make it happen.  He
gracefully stepped over a body and continued walking toward the hallway leading to his private quarters. 

Chapter 15 People are Strange, When You’re
a Stranger

The SUV pulled into the driveway.  The yard consisted of a simple rock garden, cactus and palms positioned in an attempt at artistic expression along the brick edging away from the stucco house.  Everyone piled out of the SUV, stiff but thrilled to be home.  They stood and stretched as Alik searched the nearest cactus pot for the key Greg Burns had told them he kept there for emergencies. 

“Hurry up Alik,” Farrow whined.  “I’m about to pee my pants.”

“Who puts a key in a cactus plant anyway?”  Alik growled at the needles.  “It’s not here.”

“Are you looking in the right plant?”

“Do you see a bunch of other cactus pots around here?”  He waved his arms around the empty porch, trying hard to keep his voice from sounding as jagged as he felt after living through the events over the past few days.

“Let me look,” Creed offered.  He turned the pot upside down and shook it until the entire cactus and the soil plopped out like a sandcastle.  He used the toe of his boot to kick the contents a bit, hoping to see the glint of a metal key, but found nothing.

“What are we going to do?”  Sloan asked, yawning.

“I’ll try calling Burns,” Evan said with a sigh.

Moments later, he crammed his phone back in his front pocket.  “No answer.”

“Well guys, before I make an executive decision here,” Alik said, “Ev, do you think you can jimmy the door open?” 

Evan looked more closely at the lock.  “It’s a double deadbolt.  It would take some doing and some tools that I don’t have on me.”

“Yep, that’s what I thought.  I have a better idea,” Alik growled.  His patience had run dry and his eyes began to glow violet as proof.  Alik stalked around the side of the house to the sounds of Farrow calling, “Alik?  What are you doing?”  The sound
of breaking glass had everybody rolling their eyes.

Moments later, the front door opened. Alik stepped to the side and motioned for everyone to come inside. 

“You broke a window?”

“Executive decision.”

“Alik! Mr. Burns is going to be pissed!” Cole stood shaking his head.

Meg was the last one to enter the house.  She walked with a smug expression on her face as she looked around curiously.

“So you just broke into a cop’s house?”

“Well, he’s a family friend, so I don’t think he’ll press charges,” Sloan started.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Meg began.  “Especially once he hears the key was stuck neatly in the excess water reservoir of the pot,” Meg said, holding up a shiny silver key.

“Oh, shit.”

“Seriously?”

“Impatient, much?”

“You’re really going to have to work on that, Alik Winter,” Meg smirked, placing the key in his hand and folding his fingers over it.

Alik shrugged self-consciously.  “I’ll call to get it fixed before he even gets home.  No worries.”

Farrow shook her head, but couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “My hero.”  She stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek, turned and peeled off down the hallway yelling, “Dibs on the bathroom!”

“This house has three of them,” Evan called over his shoulder as he hurried across the living room toward the master bath.

Meg turned and limped back outside without a word.  “Where are you going, Meg?” 

“I need to take care of my coydog,” she said.  The others stopped and took a moment to share looks of concern for her detached, distant behavior.

Creed hurried after her.

“Let me help you,” he offered.  He was thinking what a glutton he was for punishment.

Meg shrugged, “Okay.”  She opened the back door and tried not to cringe at how sick the animal looked.  She didn’t remember him, but her heart knew him and she felt it tug painfully in her chest at the sight of him now. 

“I’m considering calling a vet,” she thought aloud.

“I’m not sure he’ll put up with a stranger after what Arkdone did to him, but we may not have a choice.” Creed slipped his hands under the coydog’s limp body and lifted his fifty-pound frame carefully.

“Where do you want me to put him?”

“The bathtub.  He needs those cuts cleaned out.”  Meg held the door to the house open so Creed could pass without struggle.

“You go first and draw the bath.  I’m right behind you.”  Creed nodded toward the spare room with the adjoining guest bath.

Meg hurried ahead, finding the bathroom easily.  She pulled the stopper and yanked the water on full blast.  Worried about the temperature, she held her wrist under the stream and adjusted the controls just right.

Creed stood watching her with the
coydog draped in his arms waiting for the all clear.  Maze roused just enough to whimper painfully. 

With the tub half-full, Meg motioned for the canine to be brought over.

“Lay him on his side.  I’ll use this towel to keep his head lifted—we don’t want him inhaling water.”

Without a word, Creed easily obeyed her orders.

With the handheld showerhead, Meg carefully drenched the sick creature with warm water.

“Would you see if you can find something we could use to clean him?  I didn’t see any
indication that pets live here, so I doubt the cop has dog shampoo.  We may have to use liquid dish soap.”

“Sure thing,” Creed agreed.  He wanted to help the coy
dog, but he found himself distracted by everything about Meg: her scent, her graceful hands and the way any light in the room would glisten in her dark eyes. 

But he felt punched in the stomach when she would look over at him with no recognition behind those beautiful dark eyes.  All he saw was reserved curiosity.    She even flinched away from him grazing her arm as they worked to situate the
coydog in the tub.  It seemed to him as though she was determined not to expose herself to the emotions that touching him brought out.

As Creed searched under the sinks throughout the house, Meg turned the handheld on a soft spray, leaned into the tub and got right to work rubbing the dirt and blood from the poor creature.  The water in the tub turned a sickening burnt red with blood f
rom her efforts.  Meg swallowed hard at the lump of sadness building in her throat.

“I found
a bottle of dog shampoo, but it’s the flea and tick version.  He must have had a dog a long time ago.  Here’s the dish washing liquid.  At least it’s the environmentally friendly kind.”  Creed handed the partially filled bottle to Meg and knelt beside her, waiting for instructions.

Meg started at the coydog’s back end, working lather into the least injured part of his body before making her way up toward his shoulders, neck and sliced paws.

By now the canine looked to be lying in a pool of blood, so Meg let the water out and gave the handheld shower head to Creed.  “Just keep rinsing him to keep him warm while I gather the hair and muck.  He’ll need a fresh batch of water to keep rinsing.”

“Okay,” Creed mumbled, not only unsure how to help the animal, but completely unsure how to handle the girl he loved.

Meg caught a couple handfuls of hair before they could slip down the drain and flushed them down the toilet before refilling the tub with clean water.

“How’s it going in here?” A voice said from behind them.  It was Evan.

“He’s probably going to need stitches on his feet.  He will definitely need bandaged.  These are some deep cuts.  His nose is a mess, too.” Meg frowned deeply at the sliced up animal that only gave them whimpers and whines but seemed to relax as much as possible under Meg’s gentle touch.