Shadow, page 4
The stunned look on Beck’s face is all I need. He steps aside and I barrel past him. I carry her back through the hall and then down the stairs to the underground aquatics room. We seldom use this pool because there’s a better one at the main compound. This is strictly a lap pool. Before the Cuban dictator’s death and his army’s destruction, the multi-million-dollar citadel belonged to one of his generals. Tyranny at its finest.
I step into the pool and place Marinah on the first step in order to remove my weapons. I take the entire halter off along with my waist belt. The water on this step is only two inches deep, but it worries me that she hasn’t moved yet even with the cool water touching her skin. Even with my limited medical knowledge, I know this isn’t good. After tossing the belts and weapons on the pool deck, I cradle her again and wade into the water until it reaches her neck.
During the day, sunlight streams through small windows high above the pool. It’s fully dark now, so the room is black. My eyesight is far superior to a human’s during day or night, so I don’t have a problem seeing in the darkness of the room. Marinah moves her head and groans without opening her eyes. I hear Axel and Beck talking as they approach.
“How is his beast reacting?” Axel asks Beck.
“I’m protective of the woman, Beast is not,” I respond with obvious annoyance. I carry Marinah to the side of the pool where Axel rests his bag. He removes what he needs, pulls her arm from the water, and puts his fingers to her wrist. “Her pulse rate is sixty-two, which is borderline problematic,” he says after a few moments. “You’ve cooled her body temperature, which is good. Fluids should bring her around. My guess is she hasn’t slept in the past few days or been properly hydrated. Placing her in a hot stuffy room for hours didn’t help.” His tone is accusatory.
I do everything I can to bite my tongue, and still a growl breaks through. Axel grabs my wrist and finds my pulse. If I jerk my arm away, Marinah could slip under water and the doctor knows it.
“Hmm,” he mutters.
I don’t ask if that’s good or bad because I really don’t care. He releases my wrist and starts an IV for Marinah. She groans and tries to pull her hand away when he slips the needle into her vein. Beck kneels and takes hold of her fingers. My growl is louder this time.
“What the hell is wrong with you, King?” Beck meets my eyes long enough for Beast to notice. He drops his gaze before it turns into a huge problem.
I inhale deeply to bring the flood of dopamine to a level where I can think straight. “Don’t know. I tasted Secretary Church in her blood and things got interesting.”
Farris Church saved my life along with Beck and Nokita at the cost of his own. We were in a trench under heavy attack and it was apparent we were going to die. Church ran out of the trench and drew the hellhounds away from us. He acted before I could stop him. With most humans, it was always the other way around. They expected us to die for them.
The Shadow Warriors have great respect for Church. Still doesn’t explain why his daughter affects me so strangely. Beast is not happy with Church’s daughter and it’s more than his normal dislike of humans. I’m conflicted to say the least. I will, however, give Marinah a chance to prove her worth.
She shifts in my arms and I pull her a little closer. Her limbs stiffen and I know she’s awake. “You’re safe,” I tell her. “You’re in a pool and it’s dark in here because there are no lights. You have fluids going into your arm through an IV line. I have you in the pool to cool your body temperature.” My voice echoes in the large room. Ever so slowly, her eyes open and I watch as she glances around the room trying to see.
Axel hands the saline bag to Beck. “Fifteen minutes for the fluids. It’s best she stays in the water while they’re administered so her body continues to cool.” He places items back in his medical bag and stands. “I’ll come by tomorrow to check on her. No more hot rooms, lots of fluids, and plenty of rest,” he instructs.
Beck and I remain quiet. Beck is rarely silent, so I know he’s deciphering his feelings about Marinah being Church’s daughter.
I study her while I have the chance. Her dark frizzy hair is unruly, her cheekbones high, and her chin almost pointed. She’s thin, which doesn’t surprise me because I’ve eaten the Federation’s rations before too. I find her attractive, which is strange because she’s far from my type. I enjoy a woman with meat on her bones and who is definitely shorter in stature, a little more vulnerable. The longer I watch her the more Beast protests inside me.
Marinah doesn’t say a word until after Axel removes the needle and I carry her from the pool. “Please put me down,” she says in a crackly voice very different from her earlier one.
“No,” I answer simply.
“I’m heavy.”
“Don’t insult me,” I growl. “I can easily carry five of you without breaking a sweat.” I stride quickly through the never-ending hallways dripping water the entire way. Beck collects my weapons and follows. I head to my temporary quarters and bark commands for food and water at the guards stationed outside my suite. We have a nice room set aside for Miss Church with clothing and essentials. I hadn’t expected to bring her in my room, though, so at this point I’m improvising. I take her straight to the bathroom and lower her legs until her feet touch the floor. I flip on the light and she flinches against their brightness. She’s shaky and unsurprisingly grabs the counter instead of me.
“Take a shower and I’ll bring you the clothing we have available for you.”
She turns away and glances into the mirror. She gasps and covers her breasts. The wet shirt she’s wearing is now see-through but her bra covers more than a bathing suit, so I don’t understand why she bothers trying to hide herself from me. She squints into the mirror and her dark, annoyed eyes lift to meet mine through the reflection. “I would suggest, unless you want my eye contact to start a major incident, that you leave the room,” she grinds out.
Her stare immediately ruffles Beast’s feathers. I’m King, the leader of the Shadow Warriors, I do not retreat. Two steps backward and I close the door as quickly as possible.
Chapter Seven
Marinah
I’M ALIVE, I tell myself.
Pissed off but alive.
My head hurts, I have muscle cramps in my legs and arms, I’m starving, and I’m exhausted. Oh, and I look like hell. My hair, which is a tangled mess around my head, makes it appear as if I’ve grown Medusa’s snakes. The whites of my eyes are more red than white and my face is tanning-bed orange.
I turn on the shower and tear off my crappy clothes, tossing them on the floor. A good stomp on top of them does nothing to alleviate my anger or headache. My head pounds with each solid stomp and I feel no better for the small display of temper. Nothing about today went as planned.
I step under the cool water while rubbing my arm where the IV went in. At least I don’t remember the needle. Those I hate. I do a rundown in my head of other things I hate and King is on the list every other item.
I hate roaches and King.
I hate military rations and King.
I hate my period and King.
A whoosh of cold air fills the room after the devil himself opens the door during my silent recital. I don’t need to look out from behind the shower curtain to know it’s him. I feel him under my skin. It’s like an internal, itchy rash. I listen to the sounds he makes before closing the door. I peek out and see a bottle of water on the counter. I unscrew the cap and down it. When I feel pressure in my bladder from the water added to what was in the IV, at least I know I’ll survive. I should pee in King’s shower just to prove a point. The man’s an arrogant jerk. If I had a spray bottle, I’d pee into that and spray it everywhere. I honestly thought I would die in that hot room. No, my life didn’t flash before my eyes. Anger that I was dying for absolutely no reason kept me fighting. I’m not a fighter, never have been, but something sparked inside me and I held on.
I wash my hair and body with a bar of pleasant-smelling soap while continuing my hatred list. By the time I’m ready to get out, the lukewarm water has improved my mood.
I’m not sure what I expected when I arrived here. Maybe living outdoors with campfires or even underground quarters like the U.S. But from what I’ve seen so far, Cuba fared better than we thought. I wonder if King and the Shadow Warriors were aware of the island’s condition when they accepted the treaty. I saw damage when we road here but nothing like the destruction the U.S. suffered. Europe fared far worse than we did, and many of the survivors took boats across the Atlantic Ocean. There are parts of the world we haven’t heard from in years and we have little hope that anyone survived. The war completely annihilated Japan and Australia, or so we thought. Cuba was on the same list. I’ll need more time to look around before assimilating my thoughts on the island. I shrug off my endless mental questions.
After taking care of my bladder, I flip through the neatly stacked clothes that King placed on the counter. The pants are soft beige cotton that will be dirty as soon as I trip. The bra and panties match and are a light shade of beige. I put them on, and everything fits like it was made for me, which seems quite strange. I pull on the light blue T-shirt and gaze at myself in the mirror. There’s no comb or brush, so I do the best I can to untangle my hair with my fingers. I desperately need a toothbrush and hope King plans to provide more necessities. I fill the water bottle from the tap and stare at it. Drinking the water is most likely not safe and I can’t believe I forgot so fast. I haven’t had untreated water in years. Even our filtered shower water isn’t safe for drinking. I slowly poor the water into the sink while taking deep breaths to gather my courage and leave the bathroom. I slip on the black flip-flops left on the floor. They’re a little loose but still an upgrade from the heels I was wearing when I arrived.
With another deep breath, I grasp the cool metal doorknob and turn. The bedroom, lit by one small night lamp, is large and Spartan. The Spanish tiled floor has colorful area rugs spread around. A simple white bedspread covers the four-poster bed. Mosquito netting tied to the posts gives the room an almost feminine quality. I squint into the shadows and notice King sitting at a small table in the corner. He’s watching me so intensely goose bumps break out along my skin.
“Can you see or do you need me to increase the lighting?”
His deep voice startles me even though I know he’s there. I take a few tentative steps closer.
“Um, I think I’m good.”
He stands and walks toward me. “Let me help you. I’m sure you’re hungry, and I’ve been waiting for you.” His hand comes out. I stare while considering whether I’ll touch him. I’m not acting according to the president’s wishes, but I simply don’t care.
King leaves his hand out, seemingly unconcerned that I’m not accepting his gesture. Oh hell, I say to myself and take his hand. His fingers circle mine and he pulls me closer, guiding me to the table. He’s so… large—from his hand that dwarfs mine, to his towering height, to his body mass, which makes the room seem smaller than it is. I’m unsure how this makes me feel. I’m awkward enough in my body and King seems to be completely comfortable in his.
“Sit here and I’ll serve.”
He releases my hand and my butt hits the simple wooden chair he holds out. There are two place settings and several covered dishes in the center and to the side of the table. King lifts one of the metal covers and an incredible smell fills the room. No, incredible doesn’t cover it. My mouth waters at the sight and smell of real food. King places a warm tortilla from the second dish on my plate and adds the meat, red peppers, and onions. He takes his seat and watches as I break etiquette, pick up the soft tortilla, and take a bite without waiting for him.
The delicious taste hits my tongue and I close my eyes. Instant. Taste bud. Orgasm. For a girl who was raised as a vegetarian, the years of food shortages changed me and now I only care that it’s delicious. When I open my eyes, a smile tips King’s lips as he watches with obvious delight. I should feel uncomfortable, but it’s the last thing on my mind. “The vegetables are fresh and this is real meat,” I say after swallowing.
“Yes.”
“Did I die today?”
He throws his head back and lets out a full-throated laugh that changes the hard lines of his face. He seems almost handsome now. My lady bits tingle, which is something that needs to stop. Right this second. With a stilted smile I take another bite and allow the delicious taste to soothe my nerves. My life hasn’t had much happiness since my father’s death. I’ve known for far too long that my time with the Federation as a non-essential worker is limited. My very existence is a waste to the new government. Fear and worry dog my every waking hour. When I was offered this gig, I couldn’t help but feel I might die doing something useful.
The smile doesn’t leave King’s face when he finally makes two fajitas for himself. “I remember the rations provided by your government. They were atrocious and I hoped things had improved.”
Talking about our food stores may be taboo but no real guidelines were given other than offering apologies and pleading the government’s case. “Nothing’s changed,” I say when I stop long enough to take a drink of water from a crystal glass. “The food we manage to grow is dried and packaged. I haven’t had a fresh vegetable in years. Mostly we eat the same military rations fed to you and your men.”
“Shadow Warriors need large amounts of food,” he responds between bites. “We burn calories at a high rate. It helps when the food is healthy.”
I finish my first fajita and King makes another and puts it on my plate. I’m surprised he has no problem serving me. I think of Shadow Warriors as the alpha race. Part man, part Neanderthal. Definitely not someone I thought would wait on me. “Thank you.” I lift the next fajita to my mouth and we both concentrate on eating.
I finish three fajitas and lose count on how many King puts away. There is one more dish on the table. King moves our plates aside and lifts the lid. I almost fall from the chair. Half an apple pie rests on the plate. I salivate.
King cuts the available pie in half and lifts the largest piece to a small, unused plate. “I can’t possibly eat all that,” I say in desperation when he pushes it my way.
“Eat what you like. I’ll finish what’s left.” He places the other piece on his plate.
I’m almost afraid to taste it. Being here, in this room, reminds me of the time before the war. It’s surreal. I want that time back, to wash my memory clean of death. I want my long-ago friends back in my life and most of all, I want my father. A flickered image enters my head of my mother and I slam it shut. Losing Dad was hard but knowing that my mother’s life was given to save mine guts me. I snap the thought closed and go back to eating ecstasy.
King takes a bite of his pie and I lift the fork to my lips. The warm cinnamon apples and crust slide down my throat, and a small moan escapes me. He smiles and I’m struck again by how it changes his face from scary to almost handsome again. I concentrate on my pie and eat the entire piece. If King tried to take it, I’d have stabbed him with my fork. So delicious. The best thing I’ve eaten in years and no comparison to the occasional packaged snacks my father brought home.
Thank God the pants I’m wearing stretch and they have a tie that I can adjust. I’m stuffed and content. At the feel of King’s heavy gaze, I glance slowly upward.
His smile from a few minutes before is gone. The stark lines of his face are more prominent, making him appear almost angry. My fingers tremble when I nervously reach for my water glass.
He moves so quickly that I can’t pull away. His large hand wraps around my wrist before I touch the glass. I glance from his hand to his eyes and if I weren’t sitting, I’d step back from his fierce expression.
He looks ready to kill.
Chapter Eight
King
WATCHING HER EAT with uninhibited pleasure excited me. She has no idea her government is full of crap about their food supplies. I saw what the leaders ate and it wasn’t the garbage they fed us. They might package and save some of their crops, but the best selection goes to the entitled few. This was another reason I respected Marinah’s father. He ate with his troops no matter how revolting the food was. The man also didn’t have to lead his men on the battlefield. He could have sat in an office, taken reports, and given orders to be carried out by someone else. But he cared about his men, and the manner of his death showed his feelings went far beyond human compassion.
But now I’m wondering who exactly Marinah is and how dedicated she is to the Federation. There’s no simple answer. I’m American. I grew up on a farm, was raised by my father, and had no idea what I was until my tenth birthday when he sat me down and explained the truth.
I listened, thinking it was a joke even though my father rarely made jokes. I didn’t believe what he said until he stripped off his clothes and changed into a monster that you only see in horror films. Loving him didn’t stop me from running away in fear. I placed my dresser in front of my bedroom door and refused to leave the room. He waited until I fell into an exhausted sleep and pushed open the door.
I carried so much fear those first weeks. Sadly, the fear slowly turned to anger. I wanted to be like the kids from school. I didn’t want to be some alien species and hide from humans. I resented that he only told me the truth because it was time for me to be home schooled and leave my friends behind. My life turned from studying math and English to controlling my constantly changing monster to human body, meditating to suppress bursts of rage, and learning to hide my beast away.
I studied Shadow Warrior history with resentment—my childhood was shattered and the bright world of a young boy turned to an angry cage of shame. I didn’t care where we came from and I hated my father for forcing something on me that I considered hideous. It was his fault that I carried a monster inside me. When puberty began and Beast started making an appearance, I hated myself more than anyone. I wasn’t a superhero. I was a freak who had to curtail eating meat to keep the monster at bay. I was a growing boy and constantly in need of extra calories, which made me hungry all the time. Even today I have a thing about food. I never want to feel that gnawing hunger that stayed with me every waking hour when I was growing up.
