THE POUNDING IN my head wakes me, and nausea makes me run for the bathroom. The liquor comes up and the vile taste of vomit almost makes it impossible to hold my guts inside my stomach. How I wish I could remove them.
Never again, I think to myself as I lean against the toilet holding on to the cool porcelain for dear life. Of course, I’ve said the exact same thing before even if it has been years.
About five minutes later, I walk from the bathroom feeling somewhat reborn after my purge and search the bedroom for signs of King. Though I threw back the covers when I ran to the bathroom, there’s still an indent where King sat on the bed last night. It wasn’t a dream.
Darn, that’s not good.
I think I asked him to have sex with me.
I think I need to dig a very big hole and bury myself in it.
Instead, I grab clothes from my closet and head to the shower. The sooner I see King and face the consequences of my actions, the better. Really what can he do? I’ll just pretend I don’t remember. I won’t think about his hand running up my leg or the look in his eyes. I won’t think about the desire I still feel, because it shouldn’t be there.
He still might kill me.
I still might want to do the nasty with him.
It’s up to me to be sure neither scenario takes place.
After a long shower and painstakingly putting on my workout pants, shirt, and athletic shoes I head out the door with a killer headache. Two different guards stand at attention when they see me.
“Do you know where his majesty is?” I ask.
I receive blank stares.
“King, your leader. Do you know where he’s at?” I try again.
Nothing.
“Would it be possible to eat breakfast somewhere other than my room?”
“We will escort you to the cafeteria.”
At least this question earns a reply. I rub my hands together. “Oh, goodie. A new room to explore.” I don’t mention my need for coffee and aspirin. Maybe the kitchen will have both. Of course, they ignore me and my hangover snark.
I follow the silent guards through more twists and turns. Every time I think I’ve deciphered the layout of this building, I’m taken in another direction. All I know is the place is massive and when we turn the final corner, it opens to a huge cafeteria. About twenty Warriors sit eating at a long table, the most I’ve seen together since arriving. Two get up from a smaller table in the corner and eye me curiously but don’t stop to chat. The smell of food is almost more than my stomach can handle, but then I catch the faint odor of bacon and the world stops tilting. No. Coffee first.
I beeline to a large pot and fill a cup to the brim. Before Hell’s War, I loved froufrou almond milk lattes with mountains of flavored syrup and sugar. At the Federation compound where I work, we have few amenities and I’ve learned that when I can get coffee, I should enjoy it black.
It’s exactly what this morning from hell needs.
From the corner of my eyes I catch sight of who I think is the doctor who treated me the first night I was here. He heads my way after seeing me. He’s dressed in the required Shadow pants minus the leather chest straps. His yellow T-shirt is a goofy Cuban one like what I was provided. Where other Shadow Warriors tend to have the “Warrior” eyes and firm, set jaws, the doctor’s eyes are gentler, his jaw more accustomed to smiling. His natural perceived kindness takes nothing away from his deadly ability which he carries in the set of his muscular frame.
“Axel,” he says with his large hand out. “You appear tired,” he adds.
I shake it without giving my name because I figure he knows who I am. “What every woman wants to hear when she’s worked really hard at looking her best,” I respond sarcastically. His expression turns to stricken and I actually laugh, which hurts my head. “You’re good. It’s called a hangover and I’m not proud.”
“I’ll take a guess and say good Cuban rum.”
“Change it to disgusting Cuban rum and you’d be right.”
“Disgusting going down or coming up?” A smile replaces the stricken look.
“Oh, it was good going down.” I laugh again. “I don’t mean to appear rude but I’m still a little unsteady on my feet and need to sit down.”
He nods toward the incredible array of food served chow-line style. “Take a seat and I’ll make you a plate.”
I eye the food and my belly turns slightly sideways. “Bacon, mounds of bacon only.”
I head to the smaller table the Warriors just left and take a seat. My first long drink of hot coffee is heaven even though it burns my tongue. By the second drink, my stomach settles a little. If it weren’t for the headache, I’d be able to function properly. Maybe.
A plate lands in front of me and the doctor takes the chair across the table. “You don’t follow direction well,” I say while staring at the plate that holds at least a pound of bacon and a pound of fruit. The fruit actually looks good, so it’s not a complaint. Fresh fruit is as novel to me as real bacon.
I attack the bacon first thinking back to my vegetarian days when I would have revolted. Hunger and the dread of starvation have a way of changing your perspective.
The doctor brings me from my thoughts. “You seem no worse for wear after your stay in our unique sauna room.”
I lift my eyes from the plate. “Thank you for helping me. At least someone in this joint understands hospitality.”
His grin expands. “I see why you’ve caused so many problems.”
I don’t touch that at all. Instead, I grunt because I’ve learned from the best. “The hospitality here will be legendary. After nearly killing me, I have my own room, complete with guards.” I turn my head and nod in the direction of the door where they wait patiently for me to eat. “If I had some reading material, I would consider this a four-star accommodation.”
His pleasant laughter soothes my head. “Reading material I can help you with. I also might have something for the headache you’re most likely feeling.”
I swallow the bacon before grinning at him. “You can be my new best friend.”
He smiles back and I can tell it comes naturally and it’s no longer a guess on my part. “I’d like that,” he says. “Now eat and drink your coffee so we can take care of your other problems.”
“Other problems?”
“You have an appointment with Boot I believe.”
I hang my head. “Please don’t remind me.”
“Working the alcohol out of your body with a little sweat won’t hurt.”
“You have no idea what you’re saying. It’s not the alcohol that will hurt, it’s landing on my pretty face. It doesn’t handle squishing very well.” He laughs, and I do as he requests and stuff my face quickly. The fruit was exactly what I needed and besides the constant throb in my head, it’s helped my stomach a little more than the coffee.
Axel grabs me a bottle of water to take with us. “Finish this before you train.”
I like him. He’s the first Shadow Warrior who’s been kind from the beginning. He would definitely be one of the reasons my father thought so highly of the Warriors. “Did you know my father?” I ask as we walk more endless corridors.
“I did. He was a good man. You look like him.”
When people knew my mother, they always said I looked like her. No one has ever compared me to my father. I see genuine honesty in Axel’s eyes and it warms me. I always thought I had my father’s smile, so maybe that’s what he sees.
He leads me into a suite of rooms that looks just like the medical facility it is. The outer office has a bed against one wall, a table and chairs on the other side, and cabinets across all the upper walls with counter space beneath. “Take a seat,” he says and opens one of the cabinets and removes a bottle of pills before pouring them into his hand.
I sit at the table and look around, sipping on my water as I do so. One of the inner doors is slightly ajar and I can see someone lying on a medical bed without being able to make out if it’s a man or woman. From the size beneath the section of blanket I observe, it looks to be male. Having no idea about their women, it’s hard to finalize the thought.
“Shadow Warriors get sick like everyone else?” I ask and wave toward the room with the occupied bed.
“Only the dumb ones,” is Axel’s emphatic reply.
So emphatic I laugh. “Did the rum make its way around last night or was it only me?”
“You for the rum and hellhounds for the Warriors.”
“Did they kill the two you have?”
He crosses his arms. “King told you about the two we hold?”
“King did more than tell me, he showed me. Alcohol didn’t numb the sight of them or the smell.” I can’t help the revulsion running over my skin and I shiver.
Axel’s fingers are steepled and he softly thrums them together. “Did he explain what they are?”
He’s being careful. He must know if I find out certain things my life is forfeit. And that sounds as stupid as it is. “Yes, I know we’re really fighting hellhumans and not hounds.”
He gives a relieved sigh. “We still call them hounds. Makes it easier than thinking of them as once being humans.”
I get that and feel the same. Something’s been bothering me since King explained what they learned, though at the time I was too afraid of the answer. “I never saw my father’s body. Is he one of those… things now?” I dread the answer and thinking in these terms about my mother is too hard and really, I know the sad answer to that question.
He shakes his head and a thread of relief settles in and I push back the thoughts of my mom. “We’re not sure how long it takes them to transform, but no, your father will not become one of them.”
I’m guessing it means they cut his head off after death. It should bother me, but my father wouldn’t want to become something that kills mindlessly or kills at all for that matter. “Do you know why they don’t eat us?” I ask because I don’t need to be thinking about my father’s headless body. Hollywood is the only zombie reference I have and according to them the zombies should devour us.
He shrugs. “They don’t need sustenance to survive. It’s the best we can come up with. They don’t get skinny or fat and they don’t digest food or expel body waste. Their brains have some activity, more of a misfire than an actual current, but for all intents and purposes, they’re dead.”
“How did you check their brain activity?” I ask. The darn hounds turn to dust once they die so he must do it while they live.
“Brain scans, exactly how it was done pre-war.”
The Warriors have figured out a better way to run their electrical power grid than we have. The Federation says the electromagnetic pulses caused by the hounds is the problem. Of course, they say our food supplies are limited too. King pointed out the error of my thinking and now I can’t help being skeptical.
“I’d like to get another look at the hounds,” I say.
“You’ll need King’s permission for that.” He waves at the room with the man beneath the blanket. “He should be waking up soon if you care to wait and ask him yourself.”
“King slept in there?”
“Not by choice. He’s the dumb one who went looking for hellhounds last night.”
Two things strike me at once. Axel is not talking about the hellhounds they captured. And, King’s been injured. I’m up and moving before the good doctor can stop me. When I’m at the door, I can see the side of King’s face half buried beneath the blanket. “Will he be okay?”
“He took a bite to his shoulder. It will be sore for a few days, but it won’t keep him from another crazy stunt.”
I glance back at the doctor in shock. “He can survive a hellhound bite?” From the limited conversations with my father, the Warriors are just as susceptible to hellhound saliva as humans.
“It’s a formula we’ve come up with since arriving at the island. If we administer a combination of antibiotics with a few other ingredients added after a scratch or bite quickly enough, it gives our bodies a chance to heal. Humans don’t heal like we do, so we’re unsure if we’ll ever have an antidote that will work on you.” He gives me a sad smile. “With the number of bites and scratches King’s had, I’m surprised he isn’t immune.”
“Now you’ve left me no choice but to kill her,” King grouches from the bed.
I turn in his direction to see him trying to sit up. I walk into the room, moving closer to the bed. “You don’t scare me. I know I’m not having my best day, but you look like something the cat dragged in.”
“Poor cat,” mumbles the doctor. “Save your threats for someone they’ll work on. I think this lady has your number.”
I give King my wickedest smile. “If by number you mean 666 then yes, I do.”
“That’s a good one,” the doctor laughs. “I need to remember it.” He backs out the door. “Keep my patient in bed and I’ll owe you one. I have a few things to check on.”
And just like that I’m left alone with King.
After last night.
Maybe he doesn’t remember.
He pats the bed beside him in exactly the same spot he sat on my bed last night. He hasn’t forgotten.
“Scared?” he asks softly.
“Petrified,” I reply with more spunk than I really feel. At least the pills the doctor gave me should start working soon. I sit down and look at the man who’s been in my thoughts all morning.
“How bad is it?” I ask him. The blanket is at his waist and he’s more slouching on the pillow than sitting up on his own.
“I’ll be fine in a few hours. How’s the head?”
I need to look someplace besides the muscles that have captured my eyes and chained them in place. I’m possibly drooling and wipe my mouth just in case.
“Cat got your tongue?”
I laugh at that. “If it’s the same cat that dragged you in here, probably so.”
He’s pale and appears exhausted. I’m unsure why I’m responding to him this way. I’m no longer drunk and I really don’t like all the muscle. Liar! My brain yells and stabs the inside of my head, causing me to grimace.
“My head is still on. I apologize for anything I may have said or done last night. I remember little of it.”
He laughs louder than I’ve ever heard him. “I saw your cheeks pink when I invited you to sit on the bed. You remember everything you said last night.”
This couldn’t get worse. “Okay, maybe I remember some of it.” We’re holding eye contact and he isn’t grumbling at me about it, so I keep my gaze steady. It’s better than looking lower and causing heart palpitations.
His hand snaps out from the covers and grabs mine. It startles me and I jump half off the bed and lose my balance. While sitting. Oh God it can get worse, I think as I place my other hand out and try to sit upright.
He captures that one too and pushes me back up so our eyes are inches apart. “Beast has a problem with you.”
Hmm. “That’s the most romantic thing a man has ever said to me.”
A small quiver of his lips gives him away. “You need to hang out with better men.”
We are practically breathing each other’s air. His eyes change slightly, the blue darkening to the point they almost look black. “Your eyes changed.”
“That’s not the only thing that’s changed.” It occurs to me that something is poking my hip and his words affirm exactly what it is. I push away and he allows me to sit up. “Why aren’t you training?” he asks almost angrily.
Again, he doesn’t scare me. “I gave Boot the slip by coming in here with the doctor for pain relief.”
“Maybe I’ll give Boot the day off and take care of your training myself.”
“You don’t look like you can walk much less train. I’ll find Boot and be a good little girl.” Nope, no sexual innuendo in that comment.
“Somehow good little girl doesn’t work for you. Axel was only half right because Beast has your number too.”
He probably does because I’ve always been easy to read. “You talk about Beast like he’s a separate entity. Are you one and the same or is he like a split personality that takes over?”
Surprisingly, he answers me. “We are trained to separate the two in our heads. Human leads Beast at times and Beast leads human. It makes it easier to control both sides.”
If he’s in an answering type mood, I’ll go for broke. “Help us. Fight with us. I’ll do everything I can to keep the Federation in line and not allow things to go wrong again.”
His expression changes and a grim firmness compresses his lips. “Nothing went wrong. They set out to imprison and study us. There was no other intent. It will never happen again or we’ll kill every human who tries.”
“I’m sorry.” This apology comes from my heart. Not said because it’s what I was sent here to say, but because I truly regret what the Federation did to them.
“You’ve apologized,” he says with the same firm set to his jaw.
“That was for them. This is for me. And my father,” I add. “My dad didn’t trust our government either. Now that I know about the hellhounds and realize my father may have known the truth too, I understand why he felt as he did.”
King takes my hand again and his thumb runs over the skin on the back. “Go train.”
Our time is up. It’s for the best. Maybe he’ll let me go home.