Shadow, page 10
I owe her father. I do not, however, owe the Federation and there lies the problem. As it stands, I can’t trust her to leave with this information, yet. We aren’t sure what the Federation knows. Greystone kept a journal and through it, we’ve pieced together some things Secretary of Defense Church spoke to him about. It shouldn’t matter at this point, but it does. The Federation needs to give us all the information they have on the hellhounds. If we had worked together from the beginning, we might have a better way of destroying the enemy other than severing individual heads. We believe the first wave of hounds were those who died in the past fifty years. The next wave will be those who are older. Will they be stronger? Weaker? Smarter? We aren’t sure. From studying the creatures, we know they are intelligent on some level. They methodically test their restraints and when they discover they can’t escape, they stop trying and simply wait. This isn’t lost on any of us.
What we don’t know is if they can communicate with each other. We’ve been working on experiments that would prove or disprove the theory but so far, we’ve gotten nowhere. When they first attacked, they came in waves and this is why we are even considering communication skills. If they can communicate, we’ll find out how and use it to our advantage.
I believe the Federation has its own experimental monster collection. I wasn’t completely honest with Marinah. From documentation my Warriors found in the U.S., the old government knew what was happening long before the first electromagnetic waves hit. As far as the two U.S. governments go—new verses old—there’s not much difference. I need to ask Marinah a hundred questions she’s unlikely to answer. Or worse, she doesn’t know the answers.
What we do know is when the hellhounds die, their bodies or dust from their bodies contaminate the ground and any bodies in the path reanimate. The formaldehyde also leaks from coffins and contaminates surrounding plots. We are battling our own dead and the next wave will be worse because they are evolving into something else entirely. They’re watching us and calculating our weaknesses. It wasn’t this way in the beginning or none of us would still be breathing. Marinah thinks they’re coming. What she hasn’t figured out is they’re already here.
Waiting.
I leave her at her door with her guards and head to the outside training yard. My body is reacting strangely to hers and I don’t like the feeling. The clash of metal hits my ears as soon as I open the large door leading to the inner courtyard. Greystone trained us young and he never let up. I remember running fifty miles thinking my legs would fall off and him attacking me with a knife when I was completely exhausted. He was a sly man when it came to establishing ambushes for his trainees. Even knowing an assault would come from him at some point, predicting it was impossible. I miss him.
The Warriors I watch this evening are a product of Greystone’s forward thinking. He knew we would be fighting for our lives again. He knew a gentler, kinder, farming Shadow Warrior was not what the world would need. Before he died, he told me it was his survival instinct and nothing more that brought him to that conclusion.
“Whether on our home planet or Earth, history repeats itself. People think it won’t happen, but it eventually takes down every society in the great galaxies,” he’d often preach.
Greystone studied the failures we had on our home planet through our historical texts and knew Earth was not far behind when he looked at the two histories as a whole. I would give anything to have Greystone at the helm again. He was both the best and worst of us. He found a way to balance the two. I’ve failed at that. Hatred for humans burns inside me still. Maybe that’s why Marinah challenges Beast so much. My control is not as good as I thought and around her it unravels fast. She makes me feel unsettled and I don’t understand why.
I pick up one of the broadswords hanging from a rack and charge onto the training field. Beck sees me, says something to his opponent, and heads my way. I lift my sword and the fight is on. Sword fighting didn’t come naturally to us in the beginning. After we discovered separating a hellhound’s body from his head was the quickest way to eliminate the threat, we began training with broadswords. Our claws will do the job too, but there’s more chance of us taking a bite or scratch when we fight to close. A high-powered gun will do it if you can blast off the entire head, but as the war went on, having enough ammunition became a problem. Most humans don’t have the arm strength to wield the weapons we used in the beginning and sever the head in one blow. Marinah’s father was an exception. He couldn’t do it in one blow, but he was quick, and his second strike stopped the threat.
Our swords are now heavier than a medieval broadsword weighing in at double the weight. A big misconception about medieval battles was the sword weight. Five and a half pounds was the very top end for a sword that took two hands to wield. Ours weigh in at ten pounds and the length is longer coming in at fifty inches. This accommodates our larger bodies. We custom-made our own weapons after landing in Cuba using the steel from old cars and now it’s all we use for hand-to-hand combat when training. Too many of our warriors are hard to control when they first transition. It’s also becoming harder to control them the longer our Beasts are given free reign, which is what we now practice. It’s vital that we control ourselves for the sake of the women and children. My uncle may have thought history repeats itself, but I aim to prove him respectfully wrong.
In warrior form, we’re proficient with large firepower if the trigger guard is modified to accommodate our claws. Even so, swords are now our first line of defense followed by guns. When the shit really hits the fan, we’ll use our claws and teeth.
The biggest problem is the sheer numbers of hellhounds we face. We don’t expect this second war to be easier and know it will be far, far worse. More than fifty billion humans are currently buried on Earth. The genetically modified formaldehyde does not stop at only those embalmed with it. We’ve tested the ground hundreds of feet down and found the formaldehyde compound searching for the dead. We know this because greater concentrations are found around older cemeteries where the new formaldehyde wasn’t used. We’ve begun digging up remains and killing the creatures before they are completely transformed. The problem is that different countries and cultures had different ways of handling dead bodies. Even in the U.S., you could bury a loved one on your own land in most places as long as you had a permit. Here in Cuba the practice was used often. We can identify many cemeteries and destroy what we find, but we cannot find each person buried on private property.
The two hellhounds we currently have are newly made. We came across them about six months ago. They aren’t our first and we’ve been studying them since before the war ended.
I’m brought out of my thoughts of hellhounds when Beck’s sword comes uncomfortably close to my throat and I jump back. I realize I need my head in the fight or I’ll lose it.
“About time you woke up,” Beck grunts as he blocks my strike.
“The woman knows about the hounds and what made them.”
It’s Beck’s head that almost separates from his shoulders this time. “You told her,” he says and lays the tip of his sword in the dirt. I pull my next blow and do the same. “If fighting beside humans is to work, we must trust her.”
He places one hand on his hip and I almost smile at the prissy picture he presents. “But do you?”
“I’m trying.”
Chapter Seventeen
Marinah
THE WALLS OF my room close in on me.
I use every breathing technique I have—counting by threes, fours, and sevens and nothing seems to help. Five minutes after entering my claustrophobic room and working on my breathing, a hysterical burst of laughter leaves my throat.
I’ve literally survived the zombie apocalypse.
The laughter turns to tears. Our government did this. Scientists said the earth was heating at an unnatural rate. They also said GMOs were safe. They got it half right. The group of protesters I hung with in college had a hard-on for Monsanto, but we were equal opportunity marchers and went after DuPont, Bayer, Dow, and BASF who practiced the same hidden techniques to keep the population ignorant of what they were doing. All we wanted was transparency. You would think we were asking them to stop their business completely. Labeling food was our objective. Allow the people to decide was our motto.
The honey bee colony collapse was directly tied to Bayer and Syngenta and their use of neonicotinoid. These are the reasons we protested. Money was always a motivator when it came to corporate corruption. And all of our protesting was for nothing because something not used to feed us was genetically engineered to create monsters that almost wiped out humanity. I have no idea which company decided formaldehyde should be messed with. But at this point does it really matter?
Before the first attack, scientists were modifying the genetic code of babies. It was only a matter of time before something went horribly wrong. There are too many people to blame, and I no longer have the energy to even think about the scope of what happened.
The bottom line is we’ve been fighting our own dead. In a way they are not dead, which I think is even more terrifying. They fight together to destroy us. The eyes on that creature held more than basic understanding. It held strategic intelligence.
I rub my arms and start pacing. How could our government know about this and keep it from the public? If what King suspects is true, they knew at the first wave of the invasion. Whereas nuclear fallout did not affect the hellhounds—I should start calling them hellhumans—it killed so many humans and those who survived then faced the hounds. I need a drink.
I walk to my door and open it. Both guards turn their heads and one arches his brow. I direct my question to him. “I need a bottle of tequila. Do you know if there’s any available?” I rush to continue before he answers. “Truthfully, I’m not picky. If you have anything, including a bottle of beer, I’ll take it.”
He nods and I duck back into the room when he walks away, leaving me with the one guard. Boot told me there are two, so I’m never left alone if I need one of them to run an errand. I really need a drink, so I’m taking advantage of my imprisonment for a change.
I put on a nightshirt and shorty shorts and continue pacing, which solves nothing in my cluttered brain. About ten minutes later, there’s a knock on the door. It’s my guard. He hands me a bottle of Havana Club rum. I take it with a smile and close the door in his face. I have a glass of water on my nightstand. The contents go in the sink and I fill the now-empty glass with amazing amber liquid. The first swallow burns. The second not so much and so it goes. It’s been years since I got drunk. Too many years.
I sink onto the bed and lay back against the pillow, the glass in my hand resting on my sternum and the bottle on the nightstand. My newly muddled thoughts take over. I can’t believe I’m sleeping in a place that holds hellhounds one floor below me. They could easily kill everyone in this building. The first glass goes down and I don’t care so much. I drink for another hour, though now that the effect of the alcohol has taken hold and I’m sipping. The bottle is mostly empty and the room spins. Tomorrow morning will not be pretty.
A heavy knock on the door attracts my attention away from the thoughts of hellhounds ripping me to pieces. “Come in,” I slur and stay in bed because I’m too drunk to stand. The man himself enters or I should say the king. Maybe he’s going to kill me now. “Go ahead, do your worst.”
I’m ill prepared for his smile. It’s soft and inviting, taking away the hard lines and making him appear somewhat human. “If you’re responsible for that almost empty bottle, all I need to do is wait you out. Have you ever heard of alcohol poisoning?”
I lift my glass to him and take another sip. It’s good. “You have no…” I hiccup, “idea how much liquor I consumed in college. If that didn’t kill me, this one bottle won’t either. If you drink spirits, join me,” I invite and wave my glass at him.
He sits toward the bottom of the bed at my knee and swings his full gaze to mine. I find his eyes attractive. Not the rest of him so much, he’s just too big. I giggle. Back in the day all I wanted was a man taller than me. Now I have one sitting on my big lonely bed and I’m judging his height as a bad thing. It is. Along with his muscles, which turn me off completely. They do, really. He’s just too much.
“Why can you look into my eyes and I can’t look into yours?” Surprise, surprise the entire sentence came out the way I meant it to... I think.
“Your eyes are jumping from the alcohol and they aren’t giving Beast trouble.” He lifts the mostly empty bottle and I think he’s going to take a drink, but he pours the remaining liquid into my glass and tops it off. “Liquor does nothing for us, so please enjoy without me.”
“Ha,” I say after taking another sip. The fingers of my other hand slide over the bedspread enjoying the smooth texture. “My eyes aren’t jumping.”
“It’s called nystagmus and your law enforcement used it as a way to prove impairment for many years.”
“Your law enforcement too.” My head is spinning and for some reason it makes King prettier. I giggle again.
“What do you find so entertaining?”
“You’re pretty.” My hand flies to my mouth and covers it. I can’t believe I said that.
It’s his turn to laugh. “Pretty has never been used when talking about this ugly mug,” he says and moves his hand to his jaw and scratches his five o’clock shadow. Some day I’ll ask him about the scar.
I just want to remember his answer and tonight could be a problem. “Okay, not pretty, just interest… interesting.”
“I find you interesting too.”
Oh boy are we going to have sex? Did I say that out loud? I must not have because he isn’t running from the room. “You give good compliments,” I say with a wide grin.
His hand travels to my leg and he runs his fingers up the side of my calf. His concentration is single-minded as he follows the movement with his eyes. “Soft.”
“Do you have a girlfriend or wife?” I ask because he’s just touched me and that could lead to other things. Having a girlfriend or wife is something I should know about.
He removes his hand and his expression changes to the arrogant one I’m so familiar with. “I’m King and have no time for women.”
I can’t help laughing at his egotistical holiness. When it no longer seems funny other senses stir. “Is King your title or your name?” My newly found sexual awareness is far from forgotten.
His tone is gruff. “It’s both.”
“Why aren’t you naked?”
“Come again?” he asks, clearly confused.
“I was told Shadow Warriors prefer no clothing and run naked through the night. Problem is I haven’t seen a single one of you naked. Is your naked body something you want kept from the Federation?”
He shakes his head, a smile tugging at his lips once more. “I believe that’s an old wives’ tale. We were raised as human just like you were. My mother would have whipped my butt if I ran around naked.”
Even to my foggy brain that makes perfect sense. I wonder if their large penises were made up too. I tip back the glass and down the remaining rum while heat builds between my thighs. My eyelids feel heavy along with my arms and they begin to take precedent over warm, tingly thighs. “If you plan on hanky-panky, get started. I don’t know how long I’ll be conscious.” This time his hand slides up a bit farther and I like where this is going.
“Go to sleep. I do not have hanky-panky with inebriated women.” I can tell he’s laughing at me, though he’s making no sound.
“Your loss,” I say and close my eyes. Monsters are the least of my worries right now. Sleep is a priority and even sex can wait. I don’t feel the bed move, so maybe the king is still here. My problem is it takes too much energy to open my eyes, so I fall asleep instead.
Chapter Eighteen
King
IF I’M LUCKY, she will remember every word tomorrow. I watch her sleep, and within a few minutes she begins softly snoring. While she’s out, I do something I’ve wanted to try since discovering Beast’s aversion to her. I allow him to come to the forefront without transforming. It’s not easy to do and I must keep a tight leash in order to keep him from taking over completely.
Beast leans over and sniffs her bare leg. He doesn’t touch. Kill the woman, pops into my head.
Why? I ask.
Dangerous, he replies.
Slowly I extend my hand and touch her leg again. Beast growls deep in my chest. Dangerous how? I press.
Deadly.
I don’t see it. Her stumbling bumbling routine can’t be a hoax. Beast leans over and licks her leg where I’m touching. He tastes her, but so do I. It’s strange. I’ve been with women and none have tasted like her. It’s an untamed wild flavor that makes me wonder if she’s not quite human. Who the hell knows what other creatures roam this planet. Shadow Warriors, hellhounds, and humans may not be the only ones.
My nose travels upward over her skin, and I suddenly stop because her female scent replaces everything else. Even Beast catches on and he’s quick to shoot oxytocin and dopamine into my veins. Beast wants to play with her which is the most dangerous thing that could happen. He also has the morals of an animal and could care less that she’s out cold.
I quickly stand and head for the door. Beast needs freedom to be Beast and it won’t happen in here. The guards move back when I walk past. I’m moments from shifting. “Watch her closely,” I growl as I head down the hallway leading to the closest outside exit. Beck falls in beside me before I reach the door.
“I need to run,” I tell him.
“So do I.”
The sound of footsteps makes me look behind us. Labyrinth and Nokita want to have a little fun tonight too. I don’t need to ask how they knew because I’m sure my Beast called theirs.
I tear my shirt over my head and drop it behind me. The other men are shirtless, but we all need to shuck our boots. The boots fly around us and I’m thankful we aren’t wearing our leather gear. We shift within seconds of walking through the outside doorway.
