Winter's Legacy: Future Days (Winter's Saga Book 6)

by Karen Luellen

  5 The Empath’s Eclipse

  Meg stepped confidently toward the rail, grasped the ornate wrought iron and searched the crowd for Arkdone. She had to avoid him entirely or risk being found out by him sensing her psychic push before she had completed her task. He was surrounded by people, but Meg knew they had to be expendable votes. She focused on everyone except the black hole that was Arkdone’s signature and a ten-foot radius from him. Then she bowed her head, readying herself for her task.

  Time was a steamroller squeezing the breath from her. She only had a matter of minutes to do what she’d never done before.

  She focused on the signatures around her.

  In her mind, she visualized all the delegates holding their ballots in one hand and pens in the other. She focused on them and muttered the thoughts she needed to plant in their minds:

  “Not Arkdone. He’s not worthy of my vote. He’s not the best choice for our party, for our country. Not Arkdone.”

  She watched the delegates in her mind hesitate; their pens poised over their ballots and watched them check the box beside names other than Donovan Arkdone’s.

  “Do not vote for Senator Arkdone.” She pushed her will wider, imagining herself a fog rolling delicately over the room, blanketing the vast majority of the hundreds of people there. She kept repeating her will, “Not Arkdone. Do not vote for Arkdone,” as she pushed herself even harder desperately trying to impart her will on as many people as possible.

  Gideon watched Meg as she began her work. He saw her breathing slow, deep breaths at first then watched her lips move as she muttered words. Two minutes into her efforts, her whole body began shaking. Blood began to drip from her nose soaking into the dress of the same color.

  He resisted gathering her up right then and rushing her out of that place. He knew she had work to do and she would tell him to respect her wishes, no matter what.

  A minute later, when her knees began to buckle, Gideon caught her easily before she collapsed completely. He held her reverently, watching her face as he carried her back to an unoccupied leather sofa against the far wall.

  Thinking quickly, he grabbed an abandoned glass of wine left on the sofa’s side table. Knowing he needed to hide her condition from the Senator, he discreetly spilled the wine all down her neck and chest, watching the aromatic liquid wet her red gown. Trying not to panic at the sight of her bloody face, he just curled her into his arms and held her.

  “Please wake up, Meg,” he whispered to her ear. “What did you do to yourself?” he groaned softly, and he carefully buried her face against himself, hiding her condition from the few people who walked past their relatively private little corner.

  He didn’t care that her blood was staining his white tuxedo shirt. He didn’t notice the wine soaking into his jacket. He simply marveled at the beauty that looked as delicate as a flower but fought like a beast. Into her unconscious ear, he leaned down and whispered three words he’d never spoken to anyone, ever.

  “I can’t help myself, Meg. I love you.” He sat up searching her face for some hint that she may have heard his confession. Her long, dark lashes lay in beautiful arches against her smooth, pale skin. She was as still as a painting; a timeless beauty. Gideon couldn’t stop staring at the piece of living art in his arms.

  He didn’t bother to listen to the voice that came from the musician’s microphone announcing Joe Hawthorne as the candidate chosen as the party’s presidential nominee. Nothing but the girl mattered to him.

  It took Ermos fifteen minutes before his frantic face came searching for them, taking in the sight of the girl who looked and smelled drunk.

  “What an embarrassment,” the usually mild-tempered manservant scolded. “You should have taken better care of Miss Meg.” Gideon wasn’t listening to the words, but he did carefully gather Meg in his arms and followed Ermos down the back stairwell so as not to cause a scene.

  Within minutes, Gideon was seated in the back of Arkdone’s limousine with the unconscious girl still curled in his arms.

  Arkdone was on the phone with Adrian Roth, his campaign manager, barking angry orders and demanding explanations from him. He didn’t even seem to notice Gideon and Meg at first.

  By the time they’d arrived at the small, private airport, Arkdone’s face was beet red with fury. His tirade at losing the presidential nomination had lasted the entire forty-minute drive, and it sounded as though he was just getting started when he slammed the phone down, surely jarring Roth’s ear.

  “What the hell happened to her?” he screamed at Gideon, his sweaty handprint still clear on the glossy black surface of his discarded cell phone.

  Gideon dragged his eyes away from the phone and forced himself to respond to his controller. “I didn’t realize she had too much to drink until it was too late. She collapsed, hitting her nose and spilling her wine,” he lied.

  Arkdone narrowed his already beady eyes. “Her wine?” Arkdone fumed. “Did it occur to you that she’s only sixteen?” he seethed.

  “Sir, no sir. I did not know her age.” Gideon looked down at her in disbelief. Now that he was focusing on her slim frame and flawless skin, he felt even more reverence toward such an old soul in the young body.

  “I expected more from you, Gideon. Now you get to anticipate the consequences for your carelessness.”

  “Sir, yes sir.” Gideon felt himself bow his head submissively to his controller, but for the first time in his life, he felt resentment for his body’s automatic reaction to Arkdone’s reprimand.

  Ermos stopped the car beside the private jet and Arkdone angrily opened his door to exit the vehicle as he growled, “She reeks of alcohol.”

  He then ducked his head back into the limo to add, “Have her cleaned up and ready to discuss matters one hour after we arrive back at the hospital. She has work she’d better be willing to start immediately.”

  “Sir, yes sir.” Gideon nodded respectfully and watched the Senator take the steps up to the jet two and three at a time. He frowned to himself wondering why he’d never noticed his controller’s agility.

  How many other things are going on that I’ve been oblivious to all this time? Have I been such a mindless monarch to have missed the bizarre behavior of my controller?

  He looked back at the girl in his arms and wondered if it were because of her that his eyes were finally starting to open to the life he’d been forced to live. She moaned softly in her sleep. The sound of her voice was a soothing tonic to his soul.

  Ermos was standing at the door. He coughed discreetly to get Gideon’s attention.

  Never letting his eyes leave her beautiful face, the metamonarch carefully held the girl to his wide chest and crouched to step out of the luxury car. He walked up the steps into the plane slowly, enjoying the simple pleasure he felt at watching her spiral curls dance in the breeze around her face.

  You’re just a child, Meg. He thought with amazement. You’re a strong, beautiful girl with your life ahead of you. He pushed his thoughts toward her—willing her to hear.

  He sat with her still in his arms in one of the front seats of the jet. One hand reached to carefully pull a lock of hair away from the sticky blood under her nose.

  If I had one wish, it would be to be near you the rest of my life, even if only as a servant. Just to hear your voice and watch the fire dance in your eyes when you’re excited. Just to breathe the same air. I would do anything to stay right here beside you, little angel.

  Meg only stirred twice during the thirty-minute flight, but they arrived back at the hospital without her having regained consciousness. The Senator looked on her with anger when he realized how unlikely it was that he would be able to have a discussion with her in an hour’s time.

  “Do your best to rouse her, Gideon.” The Senator waved his hand dismissively as they walked into the grand foyer of the asylum. Arkdone made a beeline to the bar in his study where he poured himself a tumbler of Scotch.

  “Yes, sir,” Gideon responded, worry pressed i
nto his brow at how exactly he was going to accomplish his task. He turned and carried the girl down the corridor toward her chambers.

  With reverence, he laid her on her crimson comforter. Not sure what to try first, he opted for a cold washcloth and hurried to her bathroom to retrieve one. As he squeezed out the water with his massive hands, he heard a moan from the other room.

  He ran back only to find the girl in nearly the same position he’d left her, except her left arm was now tossed up and over her head. He noticed she tucked her thumb inside her nearly closed fist, a position that seemed so familiar to her muscles, they moved that way even in her sleep.

  Sleeping, she looked every inch the sixteen-year-old girl lying alone in the massive bed. Gideon shrugged out of his jacket and yanked his bowtie undone, unbuttoning the top two pearl buttons so he could finally breathe.

  This girl just takes my breath away. He inhaled deeply, trying to clear his mind.

  Gently, he used the washcloth to wipe away the blood from her face first, then the top of her chest. He could see the blood had trickled down between her two, perfectly shaped breasts, but refused to touch her there.

  Not without her permission, he ordered himself. Gideon felt a wave of protectiveness strong enough to make his senses heighten as his heart pounded with adrenaline in his chest.

  Using a clean edge of the washcloth, Gideon carefully stroked her forehead and temples. “Meg, wake up. You’re safe. Come on. It’s time to wake up,” he coaxed in a soothing tone.

  His eyes fixated on the Cupid’s bow shape of her full lips and found himself biting his own at the temptation to kiss her. That’s what he was thinking when he noticed her eyelids flutter.

  Slowly she blinked them open and squinted against the dim light of her bedside lamp. Gideon was sitting beside her at the edge of her bed. He was watching her lips. She blinked away the temptation to reach out and touch his face in response to his intimate gaze.

  “Gideon?”

  “I’m here.”

  “What happened?”

  “You happened. How do you feel?”

  “Like I’ve been hit by a train—repeatedly.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m sorry to lay this on you, but the Senator said he wants to see you in his study in,” he stopped to check his watch, “thirty-five minutes to discuss matters.”

  “Sirus?”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  Meg searched the eyes of the man leaning over her. “Which of you is in front?”

  He shrugged, “I think we both are.”

  “That’s amazing!” Meg raised her voice with excitement loud enough to jar herself. Her hands immediately went to her head and held her temples tightly.

  “Ow.”

  “How about some aspirin?”

  “And a shower,” she added.

  “That too.”

  Meg gingerly moved to a sitting position then stopped and whispered. “Did it work?”

  “Arkdone is furious that he didn’t win the nomination, if that’s what you mean,” Gideon/Sirus whispered back.

  “Oh, poor guy,” she shook her head stiffly before bursting into a quiet smile. She moved to stand, but wobbled precariously on her feet. Gideon/Sirus caught her elbow smoothly and walked with her toward the bathroom.

  “What am I supposed to call you when you’re both here?” Meg cocked her head as she looked up into his warm, milk-chocolate eyes, a pleased smirk pressing her lips.

  “How about you just call me Niche,” he smiled back.

  “Not Girus? Or Sideon?”

  “No, 'Niche' rhyming with 'peachy' is bad enough.” He chuckled at her playfulness and wondered for the umpteenth time that night what he would have to do to get to stay in her life. Niche was completely in love with Meg.

  6 The Prodigal Son

  Evan’s mother was waiting for him in the living room. Theo was snoring softly as he sat up on the sofa beside her wheelchair. His reading glasses were still sitting at the tip of his nose though his head had fallen back. A U.S. news magazine had slipped from his fingers into his pajama-clad lap.

  Margo looked up from her book to watch her son open the fridge and grab a cold bottle of water before coming into the room.

  “Evan, thank God you’re home. I was worried about you.”

  “I’m fine, Mom,” Evan mumbled as he sat in the chair opposite his mother and began carefully peeling the label off the bottle in his hand.

  “You look exhausted,” she frowned, peering through the dimly lit room at the dark circles around his eyes.

  “I am.”

  “Listen, what we need to talk about can wait until morning. Why don’t you get some sleep?” She took a moment to breathe deeply then added, “Maybe we all just need a good night’s sleep.”

  “Okay,” Evan moved to stand. He had planned to sleep in the bathtub thinking that there were fewer flammables there but before he turned away he heard his mother’s voice.

  “Evan?”

  “Yes, ma’am?” He answered respectfully out of habit.

  “Would you help me into bed?”

  Evan was taken aback. He hadn’t expected his mother to trust him to be near her as he hadn’t touched her since the day he showed her he was a fire starter.

  As he thought, his mother began to fidget with the corner of her book and gnaw on her lip. “You don’t have to, Evan. Theo can help me.” She moved her chair to scoot closer to the sleeping doctor to wake him. “It’s just his back has been bothering him lately. He really shouldn’t be sleeping like this on the sofa, but he didn’t want me waiting alone for you out here.” She was chattering through her sadness, just trying to fill the uncomfortable silence. It made Evan realize he was the cause of her uneasiness, just as he was probably the cause of Kylie’s earlier.

  Man, your people skills are seriously lacking, he thought. “No, it’s okay Mom. I’ll help you, no problem.”

  He moved to unlock her wheels and tried not to notice the soft smile and adoring brown eyes in front of him. He turned to wheel her back to her bedroom, the same room in which he’d torched a chair a couple weeks ago.

  With a glance, he noticed his mother had replaced the chair with a new beige one.

  “I’m sorry about your chair,” he mumbled, feeling like the heel he was.

  “Oh, it was time to get a new one anyway. This one reclines, which helps me sit so I give my backside a rest, distributing my weight more evenly on my spine. I’m thankful to have it.” His mother’s very human admission made Evan feel even worse about the way he’d treated her lately.

  “Um, right. Bathroom first?”

  “Good idea,” she said turning the chair toward the restroom and wheeling herself in. “I’ll just be a minute,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Take your time, Mom,” Evan said, his hands shoved deeply in his pocket.

  A photo album was lying open on the nightstand beside the bed. Without thinking, he moved toward the album, reached out and picked up the thick book. There, front and center, was a picture of the three kids and a puppy-sized Maze. Evan couldn’t help but smile at the look of pure happiness on everybody’s face, so oblivious of the danger they would soon encounter. He turned the page and saw several pictures of a very photogenic Maze, panting widely in the Texas sun making him look as if he were grinning for the camera.

  Page after page of the three kids and a younger, more vibrant Mom grinned back at him.

  “Those were simpler days.” Margo’s voice startled Evan, so engrossed in the memories the pictures were bringing to life.

  Evan glanced at his mother then back at the picture of Alik, Meg, Maze, Mom and himself smiling for a timer-set camera. They were all squinting into the bright sunlight, perched on top of the pasture’s fence waving at the camera without a care in the world.

  “Yes, they were,” he finally responded.

  “No matter what, Evan, we are family.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Margo sighed deeply as she rolled her chai
r closer to the bedside where Evan towered over her.

  “I love my family,” she said softly.

  “I do, too.” Evan blinked several times, trying to whisk away the moisture building in his bloodshot eyes.

  “I would do it again, Evan.” Margo reached out for his hand encouraging him to sit at the edge of the bed.

  The warmth of her hand on his sent unsettling images to Evan’s mind, but his gift of precognition was so hit or miss, he pushed the images away.

  Why can’t I have more control over my visions? He scowled at himself for the hundredth time.

  “Would you, Mom? Don’t you have any regrets?” If Evan were honest with himself, he would admit a truck-load of regrets.

  “None. Everything happened on God’s time, in his way. We enjoyed twelve quiet years, years to prepare for battle, to strengthen our family’s foundation, to solidify us as his soldiers.”

  “Do you think he’s still listening to my prayers, or have I slipped too far away?” Evan’s voice was just above a whisper. His eyes were locked on a picture of his mother and him as a little boy making faces into the camera.

  “You haven’t slipped too far away. He’s listening. But, as the saying goes, ‘The teacher is always quiet during the test’.”

  “I feel so lost, Mom.”

  “I know you do.”

  “I think I screwed up everything. It’s all my fault.”

  “I have every faith you did the best you could with the information you had at the time. No matter what, Evan, you are human. We’re all beautifully fallible and imperfect. Just keep your eyes and heart to heaven, walk in his light and know, even when he’s silent, he’s walking right beside you.”

  Evan felt a wave of frustration. “This is just too much, Mom. I can’t do this on my own.”

  “You’re not supposed to, Son.”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “There’s always a choice—that’s the amazing truth he gave us. We always have a choice.”