Winter's Wrath: Sacrifice (Winter's Saga #3) (21 page)

“Great…that’s all I need.  I better not
start looking like food to you.”  She
looked warily at
her
best friend. 

“Hey mom?  Would you fill a bowl of dog food for Maze, please?”  She called to the kitchen.

Chapter 2
3
  Choices

The evening passed without incident, but also without epiphany.    Living in a family of doctors can be pretty annoying.  They hovered and adjusted and monitored until Meg couldn’t stand it anymore and kicked everyone out of her room except Cole.  She had already been given three I.V. bags of fluids and forced to eat a hamburger with a fruit salad and downed a handful of vitamins.

Meg felt stuffed.

Evan insisted she take the sleeping pill before he’d leave her room, so as she lay feeling full and warm in her bed, she also started to feel a little drowsy. 

“I’m so glad you finally talked with the family and are letting us help you, Meg,” Cole said hesitantly, then continued when she didn’t respond right away. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve been right here.”

“No, you haven’t.  You’ve been far away and you wouldn’t let me help you come back.”  Cole’s eyes looked tired.

Meg sighed, knowing he was right. 

“Come here,” she said and patted the space beside her on the bed.

He looked unsure for a moment then stood from the chair in which he had been parked for the last hour, walked around her bed and carefully stretched out on his back next to her.  Ever the gentleman, he stayed above the covers.  Feeling the effects of the sleeping pill loosen her inhibitions, she scooted closer to him, laid her head on his shoulder and curled against him as much as the thin blanket separating them would allow.

She felt a deep, contented sigh slip past her lips and draped her still-bandaged arm across his wide chest.

“Meg?”

“Hum?”

“Are you asleep?”

“Not yet.”  Though her eyes were closed and her breathing had slowed, she knew exactly what she was doing.  Meg loved the feel of Cole beside her.  She felt safe with him.

“Tell me how you feel about finding out Creed is alive.”  The words came out of Cole’s tense body in a rush. 

“How I feel?”  Meg asked, stalling.

“Yeah.”

“Well, he’s our friend.  I’m thankful he’s alive, but I worry about how we’re going to keep him from being a pawn in Williams’ sick game,” she said, trying to sound logical.

“And?”

“And, what?”

“Meg, do you have feelings for him?”

She blinked her heavy eyes open to look at Cole.  He was watching her face carefully—tension in his locked jaw.  “Creed is a good guy.  He has lived a hard life and fought to do the right thing despite his teachings.  I admire him.”

“Do you love him?”

Knowing Cole had just laid his heart out to her, Meg treaded carefully.

She sighed deeply, feeling gently tugged under by the sleeping pill before speaking.  “I don’t know.  I may have, but he’s not the same anymore.  It’s very likely the Creed I had feelings for is gone.  His emotional signature is—unrecognizable.”

Cole held perfectly still as he listened to her.  She could feel his heart beating, steady and sure under the hand she had draped across his chest.  Something about the constant of it drew her in.  She snuggled closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder, and her leg curled up and over him.  Sleep was desperately becoming a reality. 

His warm hand began to gently massage her back causing her to stir.  With her dark eyes still half closed, Meg peered up into his face.  Realizing what his hand was doing, his face blushed causing his green eyes to look even greener.  The effect was beautiful.

Unable to resist, she reached up and held his warm cheek in her palm for a moment before moving her fingertips slowly over the curve of his lips.  She felt the heat of his breath slip between her fingers as he moaned softly.  His eyes had closed as though the sensation of her touch was too intense.  Instinctively, Meg replaced her fingertips with her lips, offering him a tentative, quivering kiss.  His beautiful mouth was even softer than she had ever imagined. 

She felt the heat surge between them as his velvet tongue traced the seam between her lips, gently urging her to open for him.  Her breath quickened at the feel of his warmth slipping into her mouth.  The tingling in her stomach wouldn’t stop and though Meg didn’t know what it was, she did know her body was hungry for something.  

A husky moan vibrated across her lips.  She couldn’t get enough of his mouth. Tentatively, she slipped her tongue between his lips and felt him gently suckle her.  Everything about Cole was gentle, respectful and tender—as if he was holding the most precious jewel, tasting the most decadent chocolate, kneeling before the most revered princess.   This is how Cole made her feel.

That’s why she struggled with the feeling she was doing something wrong. 

Confusion clouded her already groggy mind as she pull away, holding her forehead against his.  His breathing was beautifully ragged as he whispered her name.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Cole confessed in the darkening room.    The sun setting outside the window cast a kaleidoscope of colors all around, sweeping Meg into another bought of dizzying emotions. 

Sleep tugged at her eye lids as she smiled softly.   “Me, too,” she heard herself admit.

“Really?”

“I thought you were a hottie the moment I first saw you back in Kansas,” Meg giggled, shocked at her candid confession.

Cole’s laugh was deep and husky.  “I remember thinking how beautiful you were when we met, but the first time I wanted to kiss you was when you had powdered sugar all over your face from scarfing those little white doughnuts.  Do you remember that?”

“Didn’t I threaten you with bodily harm for teasing me?” she chuckled even as her body felt the weight of sleep pulling her under.

“Yeah, but it was worth it.”  Cole’s smile faded as he leaned back to study her face.  His fingers carefully stroked a curly lock of hair away from her forehead.  His expression was now serious.  “It was
all
worth it.”

“He is the perfect specimen.”  Dr. Chaunders shook his head in awe as he watched Creed round the final turn of the lap.  Beside him stood two of the other scientists on the team assigned to M429’s reconditioning.   Dr. Sloan Mor and Dr. Fredrick Bjorn had been handpicked for their unique scientific brilliance. 

Dr. Mor’s IQ was off the charts genius.  She was so far beyond even the most intelligent of metas that she only associated with other scientists.  Though she was only thirteen-years-old, and looked like a little girl, the moment she opened her mouth everyone would forget her still-rounded baby face, small 4’10” height and ninety-eight pound frame.  Her astounding intellect demanded respect.  She chose to live on the second floor of the Facility’s Research Hospital where there were some apartments originally designed for medical staff who needed to stay onsite to monitor certain aspects of their research around the clock.  Though a meta herself, Dr. Mor’s unique abilities afforded her privileges away from the other female metasoldiers.

Dr. Bjorn, on the other hand, was human.  He liked to think of himself as a more hands-on scientist.  He worked directly with the “new recruits,” when they first arrive at the Facility, and enjoyed being the doctor to administer the life-altering Infinite II serums.  Dr. Williams chose Bjorn for his sadistic need to feel power over the powerless.  He was just Williams’ kind of guy.  Chaunders couldn’t stand Bjorn, but kept his mouth shut out of fear.  Bjorn was his happiest when he was inflicting pain.  Chaunders worked hard to avoid being the object of Bjorn’s happiness.

“Time!” Dr. Mor
called, clicking the stopwatch in her hand the moment Creed flew past the finish line.  Her gunmetal gray eyes widened as she looked at its display.  “40.09 seconds,” she announced loud enough for Dr. Bjorn to hear.  He whistled his approval as he typed the data into his tablet.

“He’s broken another record,” Chaunders smiled.

Creed jogged over to the doctors and accepted the towel handed to him by Bjorn.  His face was stoic as he opened the cloth and efficiently wiped the sweat from his brow and neck.

“How do you feel?” Dr. Chaunders asked the metasoldier, noting he was only slightly winded after that four-hundred meter sprint. 

“Fine, sir.”  Creed’s voice had no
emotion.
.

“Are you up for some target practice?” Dr. Bjorn asked, studying his tablet.

“Absolutely.”

“Good.  Let’s go.” Chaunders said.

Without another word, Creed climbed into the Jeep obediently and waited stone-faced for the scientists to load their equipment.  The shooting range wasn’t far—nothing was far.  The Facility was a perfectly designed, self-maintaining, military campus on thirty-seven acres of rural German countryside wrapped neatly in a fifteen foot electric fence, monitored with cameras and heat sensors. 

The Jeep, driven by Chaunders, bounced down the gravel drive toward the shooting range.  “What would you prefer to start with, Mr. Young, long gun, pistol or crossbow?”

“Makes no difference to me.” Creed’s eyes scanned their surroundings as they traveled, always on guard, always taking in every movement, shadow, sound and scent around him.

Chaunders had been watching Creed very carefully over the last three weeks since he was allowed to awaken him from the chemical
ly
induced coma.  While his physical abilities had wholly astonished the scientists, his complete lack of emotion caused Chaunders to worry quietly about this exponentially enhanced metahuman
ess
.  He was a shell.  There was no discernible personality within Creed Young, and it scared the human in Chaunders.  He glanced warily at Creed in the rear view, and absently pushed his glasses up his greasy nose. 

“I say we start with the crossbow since we’re outside anyway,” Bjorn offered as Chaunders parked the vehicle near the soundproof building in which the soldiers practiced their killer skills.

“Mr. Young,” Dr. Mor began.  “Please go choose your bow.  We will time your assembly of the weapon and monitor your accuracy when you’re ready.”

“I’m ready now,” Creed nodded at the stopwatch in Dr. Mor’s hands. 

“But you haven’t even located the bow…”

“Go!” Chaunders yelled, nodding to Dr. Mor to start the time and the three scientists watched as Creed bolted across the field, to the shed in which the bows were stored.  He was inside for no more than ten seconds before
.  He emerged in a blur of
camo
and
a loud pop was heard. 

Jaw dropped, in surprise, Dr. Mor forgot to press stop as she watched Creed sprint back to the group still standing by the Jeep, bow in hand.

“Dr. Mor?  Time?” Dr. Bjorn asked.

“Oh, I…I’m sorry, I don’t know.”  She shook her head and frowned at the watch still counting, still unsure of what she just saw.  “Did you assemble the crossbow and shoot?”  She asked the soldier pointedly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dr. Chaunders fumbled to retrieve his binoculars from the glove box and peered at the targets in the distance.  “Well, Mr. Young.  I can’t find your arrow.  Are you sure you hit the target?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, which one?”

“The furthest, sir—one-hundred yards.”

Dr. Chaunders’ eyes widened as he watched for any expression to appear on Creed’s stone face.  Seeing nothing there, he repositioned the binoculars and adjusted the focus.  “Dear God.  There it is.  Dead center in the block target at one-hundred yards.” 

Creed was rapidly disassembling the crossbow and marching back to the shed to return it.  The scientists exchanged looks.

“Dr. Chaunders, we could continue the standard regime of testing, but I believe we all see
what he’s capable of
very clearly.  This subject is, by far, the most skilled we have ever developed,” Dr. Mor spoke in a hushed tone.

“I agree,” Dr. Bjorn said, still shaking his head in awe over what the metasoldier had just done. 

“It is my opinion that he be reinstated and given top clearance—none of our other soldiers are even in his league.  He is…exponentially enhanced.  It would be a shame to let his skills go unused,” Dr. Mor climbed into the Jeep, removed a notepad from the pocket of her white coat and started writing.

Creed returned to the scientist, and stood at attention, awaiting orders.

Chaunders used a cloth handkerchief to wipe his brow
.  T
ough it was only 9am, it was already starting to get too warm to wear the multiple layers of warmth most German residents lived in during the
colder parts of the
year.

“Yes, well, I think we all concur, Dr. Mor,” Chaunders nodded awkwardly toward the brilliant child
scientist
who no longer was listening, lost in her genius thoughts.  He continued anyway, “Mr. Young, I believe we’ve seen enough today.  Please continue your conditioning with a fast run back to the
Research
Hospital
.”  He was already starting the engine when he thought to add, “Oh, and speak to no one.  Are we clear?”