WINTER’S WARRIOR
Mark of the Monarch
Book 4 of Winter’s Saga
By
Karen Luellen
Winter’s Warrior—Mark of the Monarch
By Karen Luellen
Published by Karen Luellen
Copyright 2012 Karen Luellen
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the author and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
For Dan
Your Faith Lifts Me
~*~
To everyone who has loved so deeply
That your own breath was only worth taking if
Those who mean the world to you
Are there to breathe life back into you.
My family, my breath.
~*~
Special thanks to my beta readers.
(They named themselves “Betaheads.” Ha!)
You wonderful people made the editing process
so much easier with everyone helping me look for errors and disconnects.
Warrior is a far better book because of you!
I love you all and am very thankful to you for your hours of effort.
You are the best!
Caryn Bartle, Susan Campbell, Jamie Castle, Wendy Chartier, Lynne Couvier,
Marge Crowther, Kelly Domerstad, Crystal Faux, Nereid Gwilliams, Jamey Lubeck, Elise Marion,
Madison Moore, Christina Nelson, Beth Sigmund, Catherine Trieu, Jen Wiseley and Mia Zabriskie
MetaMonarchs, Part 1
New Haven, Connecticut
14 years ago
Dr. Kenneth Williams wondered if the delicious stench of decomposition was already tickling the senses of the flies that had made their homes in the tall grass surrounding the sickly pond. He was trying to resist the urge to go back and see for himself.
Had they laid their eggs in the drifter’s torn flesh? Were larvae already starting to form, ready to feast on the decayed tissue? Had anyone found the wretched body?
Absently, the doctor reached into the deep pocket of his white lab coat and fingered the lumpy spheres he had kept as souvenirs. They were still mostly frozen. He was no fool. He had cleaned them thoroughly and shaped them with his expert scalpel until they were as pristine and perfect as possible. He rubbed the bulbous lumps with his thumb reverently, as though they could grant wishes if touched in just the right way.
What would I wish for? Dr. Kenneth Williams thought. A smirk played at the corners of his lips.
He pondered all he had already accomplished. He had a beautiful, well-connected fiancée from an affluent family, a successful start to his medical career and all the respect and prestige that went with it. He satisfied his primal and scientific urges with the little excursions across the country by luring the homeless and destitute into his rented luxury cars, injecting them with a neuromuscular-blocking agent and playing with them even as they were paralyzed but conscious.
The young doctor couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the numerous subjects he’d savored as he watched death slip across their faces at his hands.
What he would wish for, though, was the respect of one very powerful professor: Donovan Arkdone. Now, that was one man who lived and breathed the kind of science Kenneth Williams craved. He waited patiently for Professor Arkdone as he rolled the cold eyeballs around in his pocket.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Williams,” a commanding voice interrupted his reverie.
“Professor Arkdone, so good of you to meet me. I know you’ve been busy with the upcoming election.” Williams stood from the leather recliner as he released the eyeballs back into the crisp pocket and reached out with the same hand to greet the professor with a hardy handshake, as was expected between colleagues.
“Oh, yes, well—once I’m Senator, life will be even busier. I’m glad to have made time for you.” Arkdone beckoned one of the many waiters over. “What are you drinking, Williams?”
“Scotch and water, sir.”
“Oh, excellent choice.” He turned back to the waiter and said, “I’ll have a twelve-year-old, single malt Scotch.” He nodded dismissively at the help and turned his attention back to Williams.
“Good idea to meet at the country club lodge. It’s better to have our discussion where we can enjoy privacy.” The waiter came back immediately with a lead crystal tumbler filled halfway with golden liquid on a silver platter.
The attendant waited patiently as Professor Arkdone slowly rolled the tumbler in his hand, and held the liquid up to the light before bringing it to his aristocratic nose and sniffing deeply. He brought the edge of the glass to his chiseled lips and sipped just enough to swish around in his mouth. He nodded once to the help then waved his hand as though shooing a fly. The waiter got the hint and backed out of the private room the men had reserved, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.
“So, tell me what’s on your mind, Doctor,” Arkdone asked innocently.
“Sir, I have the utmost respect for your work. I have read every one of your papers on psychological warfare including fear control. But I’m especially interested in your work with the CIA.” Kenneth Williams hesitated—completely aware he was walking at the edge of a very dangerous abyss. His thirst for knowledge overwhelmed his sense of self-preservation and he pressed on. “Specifically, I am interested in Monarch Programming.”
There, he’d said it. No backing out now. He knew he could be killed for even asking this powerful man about his work in the mind-control program, but he was willing to risk it for the chance of collaboration on the most sadistic levels.
Professor Donovan Arkdone narrowed his eyes at the young doctor seated across from him. He leaned back in his black leather seat and tapped his diamond ring on the exquisite crystal tumbler. “Now why would a simple medical doctor ask about such a topic?”
Realizing he was playing a deadly game of chess with a brilliant mind, Williams took a deep swallow of his own drink before continuing. Liquid courage.
“Sir, my work focuses on biogenetics. I’m currently testing a serum I’ve developed that significantly increases the subject’s strength and intelligence.”
“Fascinating,” the professor drawled, gazing out the window at the fat snowflakes drifting down.
“It is fascinating, sir,” Williams scooted his moderately attractive, albeit slender frame to the front edge of his own leather chair. It squeaked under his movements. “I have even begun human trials.”
“Oh,” the professor’s brows lifted in mock surprise, “You got the FDA to approve human trials?”
“Well, no, sir. I’m working under the table.”
The professor smirked before making a series of tsking sounds with his handsomely formed mouth. “Now why would you admit that to me, Kenneth?”
“I’m hoping if I trust you with the details of my work, you’ll trust me with yours.”
And there it was, he thought. I’ve just nailed my own coffin.
He reached back into the deep pocket of his coat and felt a sense of peace at the cool touch of the pieces of flesh rolling in his hand.
“Tell me more about your work,” the professor prompted, taking another swig of his Scotch, nearly emptying the glass.
Chapter 1 Hell Hath No Fury
Margo’s white-knuckled grip on the steer
ing wheel of her rental was nothing compared with the white knuckled terror gripping her heart. Beside her, Maze yawned nervously, whimpering and whining at the tension he felt vibrating off the usually mild-mannered human. The thick, silver fur on the back of the coyote’s neck stood on end making him look even more intimidating than his fifty-five pounds of pure muscle usually did. Prancing in the passenger seat, he alternately licked Margo’s tear-drenched face and scratched at the car door, begging to be let out.
Margo pressed the tiny glow light on her digital watch for the umpteenth time. She had given her children twenty minutes. Twenty minutes was plenty of time to break into the hospital and get back to her.
But no one had come.
Every rustle of breeze through the thick oak leaves all around had Margo’s anxiety shooting through the roof of the car. She was sitting on needles, desperate for any sign of her children in every shadow for the last several minutes.
She couldn’t bear it anymore.
Even Maze knew something was horribly wrong. He started yipping and howling in his panic. Margo peeled one hand off the wheel and absently reached out to rub the devoted coyote’s ears. He whimpered under her hand, refusing to stay silent.
Margo’s eyes never left the abandoned front gate of the Facility’s compound. Her mind was racing.
The children were in there.
Her babies.
Her reasons for living were captured and back in the evil hands of the monster she’d run from for what felt like forever.
Her precious soulful baby girl Meg, and her strong and gentle-hearted son, Alik, were already captured.
Margo’s brain just couldn’t wrap itself around what was happening. And when she heard her youngest, her Evan, so scientific and logical, tell her he loved her and asked for prayers….
Margo swallowed hard the tears slipping down her throat.
No.
NO!
Reaching to the floorboard, she retrieved her satchel full of weapons. She ripped off her long-sleeved shirt, ignoring the buttons as they popped and flew through the cab. Beneath was her bulletproof black armor. Over the armor she yanked the black straps of her tactical cross-draw shoulder holster and secured the clips around her slender waist.
The more she forced her body into action, the clearer her thoughts became. Margo was slipping into soldier-mode.
From the satchel, she pulled out one Para 9 and one Ruger LCP Pistol. Her deft movements quickly checked that they were both loaded and ready. She shoved them into the holsters on either side of her waist. Next she pulled out a Glock, which she first checked, then shoved into her black boot before reaching back into the bag for more clips. With her pockets full of ammo the bag was almost empty, but not quiet. Two things remained. One was an eight-inch blade she added to her waistband and the other was her Micro Uzi, fully loaded.
Margo murmured a prayer, as her eyes scanned the scene before her.
She slowed her breathing and rolled her head. “Okay, Maze. Let’s get Meg and the boys.”
Maze’s yelp evolved into a growl. His crisp yellow eyes never left the fifteen-foot wall only interrupted by the ordinarily heavily guarded gate.
Margo could see her children had been here already. The cameras were blown out and the black boot of a downed soldier could barely be seen from the binoculars she’d used to study the scene.
Margo’s hand reached for the door handle and yanked it wide. Maze spilled out of the car behind her and immediately pawed the ground, desperate for Margo’s permission to run.
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, Maze’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 the 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.
Chapter 2 Meg Magnified
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 to 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 nearly 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 burst 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 powerful 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 excitement 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 different 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 still 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 fluorescent 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 cur
ls 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 staring, 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 crushed.
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 above him, she assessed the scene.
The knife she brought to this gunfight was still in her back waistband, clean and unused.
She stood slowly, watching 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 kick, the door flew open and she burst into the room, gun raised, itching for more blood.
The scene before her stopped her dead in her tracks.
Winter's Warrior: Mark of the Monarch (Winter's Saga #4) Page 1
