Winter's Warrior: Mark of the Monarch (Winter's Saga 4) by Karen Luellen Read Free Book Online Page B

the lever that would open the hidden door.  Before she did, she turned to the others and nodded solemnly at their weapons warning them to be ready.  Evan stepped directly in front of the unarmed Sloan, obviously willing to take on the responsibility of protecting her, again.
    They stepped to the side of the opening and braced themselves for gunfire. Meg silently mouthed the words— three, two, one then pulled the lever. 
    When the door slid open, they were looking into the room that had housed the children no more than thirty minutes before.
    The room looked empty.
    “Oh, dear God!  Where are they?” Meg wailed in anguish.
    “Check the beds, look everywhere!” Creed called to the others even as he ran from bed to bed patting the rumpled sheets looking for someone, anyone to rescue.
    While the others frantically searched the room with their eyes, Meg held still and closed hers.  She pulled out her empath senses and felt herself reach around the room.   Almost immediately she found what she was searching for and started running toward the farthest end of the room.
    There, she saw a tiny form barely lifting the sheet off the bed.  The others hurried to follow Meg.  They were all looking on as she carefully pulled back the sheet from what surely was a child’s face. 
    A little boy, no older than three, l ay as still as stone.
    His lips were blue.
    His face was gaunt and pasty white, even in the glow of the red light.
    “They left him,” Meg whispered, eyes watering out of equal parts of fury and anguish for what was done to the little soul still strapped to the bed that would have been his tomb.
    Evan and Sloan stepped around Meg and with the efficient movements of doctors, they began taking his vitals.
    “He’s alive, but he won’t be for long without medical attention,” Evan fumed angrily at the injustice done to the baby beneath his fingertips.
    “He’s severely malnourished, dehydrated—he’s very sick,” Sloan shook her head sadly.
    “He comes with us.” Creed’s voice was tight with determination.
    “I’ll carry him,” Meg reached out and began to quickly but carefully pulls the straps off the baby boy’s wrists and ankles.  She gathered his tiny body in his sheet, bundled him carefully and draped his fragile frame against her shoulder.
    The moment she felt him , light and barely breathing in her arms, time held still.
    His little face nuzzled Meg’s muscular shoulder and for the first time in her life, she wondered if she was soft enough to hold a baby.   But he didn’t seem to mind her wiry muscles and athletic build.  He did seem determined to turn his head as he was smashing his little nose into her sharp collarbone.  With a gentle nudge, Meg helped the baby turn his head the direction in which he seemed insistent. 
    His little face was now pressed right against Meg’s neck.  He seemed to take a deep breath and shuddered with a sigh of contentment before reaching up and tangling his small fist in her long locks.
    “Meg, I can carry him for you,” Creed offered when he noticed her flinch at the pressure she put on her wounded right hand supporting his small frame. 
    “No, he needs my help immediately and I can do it better if I’m touching him .” Meg turned and started back across the room with fast feet even as she mumbled gentle words of encouragement into the child’s unconscious ear.  The others ran to keep up. 
    “Meg,” Evan called, “is he the only child left down here?”
    “Yes,” she answered without hesitation.  “Williams ordered them moved.”
    “Where?” Sloan asked.
    “He’s sent them to someone off-site.  They’re not even at the compound anymore.”  Her voice was bitter but she stopped elaborating on what her empath skills had divulged wanting to focus on the baby in her arms.
    “Let’s just get him out of here,” she said, her voice gruff with emotion.
    Seconds later they were back at the elevator.
    “Let me go first, so I can