Page 34 of Shadow Boxed (Shadow Warriors #2)

Chapter twenty-eight

Wolf walked the corridors of Shadow Mountain with a heavy stride and even heavier heart. He needed sleep, but knew sleep would not come. He’d been the last to step off the Chinook on its return to base, waiting until all his weary warriors had piled off the chopper and vacated the air hanger.

It was a painful thing to see such weight and guilt on the faces of his men after an aggress that had held no danger for anyone…other than those who’d crewed the Harbinger.

His warriors were good men. The massacre of innocents did not sit well with them—even though they’d all eventually agreed that the missile strike was necessary.

They could not chance the infection on board spreading.

And while O’Neill had raised valid points about what might happen at the bottom of the ocean, those points had been based on speculation.

They didn’t know whether the nanobots would infect marine life.

If they’d been programmed to only infect humans, perhaps they couldn’t infect other forms of life.

Aiden didn’t remember any animals being infected in Karaveht.

What they did know, without doubt, was that infected humans could infect more humans. They had proof of this stumbling around the base’s isolation chamber.

Still, Capland, whose mind always ran many steps ahead of everyone else, had foreseen the possibility of marine life feasting on the infected humans.

As such, he’d brought a machine on the aggresss.

One that utilized loud, low frequency sounds meant to drive marine life away.

He called it a low frequency transmitter—or LFT.

As a precaution, when they’d launched the ballistic missiles at the Harbanger, they’d launched the LFT as well, which had an impact radius of hundreds of miles.

If the Harbinger’s crew were still active on the ocean floor, they’d have to scuttle hundreds of miles before reaching marine life.

In the end, after endless discussions and arguments—mostly from Rawlings—Wolf was the one ultimately responsible for sinking that ship and drowning its crew.

He’d made many difficult decisions in the past, but this was by far his heaviest. Partly because he’d been forced to reach that decision on his own.

No counsel from the Taounaha, or the Shadow Warrior.

He could only hope the decision he’d reached had been the correct one.

The strike of his boots echoed with each step. The weight of each stride dragged at him. His shoulders felt thick and heavy, impossible to keep upright. The lack of a working Taounaha was a painful itch that sank through his bones and into his soul.

It would have been easier to target that ship and crew for destruction if he’d had the Taounaha’s voice in his ear and the Shadow Warrior’s wisdom to guide him. But he’d been working voiceless, earless, and wisdomless.

It was not a position he wanted to find himself in again.

Aiden needed to step up and accept some of this burden.

When he reached his quarters, he pressed his palm against the security panel and stepped inside, navigating the darkness by muscle memory rather than sight.

In his bedroom, he stripped off his clothing, entered the small bathroom, and stepped into the shower.

The hot, searing spray and thick cloud of steam soothed his tight muscles and even tighter lungs.

He stood there, head bent, palms braced against the wall, and let the water punish him. Wash away the guilt.

He'd taken plenty of lives before. But they’d never been innocent ones. They’d never been sacrificed for the greater good. He wasn’t sure the Harbinger decision was one he could live with.

Perhaps he shouldn’t try.

Perhaps some actions should not be easily taken or lived with.

In the past, if the Taounaha’s wisdom was of no comfort, he would have sought Samuel. His hee-javaanee was gifted with great insight and the ability to see things from a unique perspective.

But Samuel was as lost to him as Benioko.

Eventually, remaining beneath the hot spray felt like wallowing in his guilt. Lifting his head, he pushed away from the wall and turned the water off.

It was 9 am, far enough into the morning to visit his anistaa and Jillian before falling into bed. He exited the shower, pulled on a clean pair of tactical pants and a black t-shirt, and sat down to pull on his boots.

The bed, with its tidy blanket and pillows, conjured daydreams of tangled bodies and silken skin.

The fantasy tightened his sack and hardened his cock.

It had been years since he’d found release in a woman’s warm clasp.

Since before Jillian’s advent in his life.

The heaviness of his loins spoke of thirst during a drought.

Not that he would find ease with his shadow-trapped le'ven'a.

Yet no other woman caught his eye or cock.

His was a priest’s life, although not by choice.

Some days this knowledge was easy to live with. Other days not.

He left his quarters with the weariness heavier than ever. So thick and pervasive it sucked the energy from each footstep. A vehicle sat charging at the foot of the corridor. He ignored it in favor of walking, hoping the use of his muscles might calm the fatigue and weight. It did not.

The apartment he’d assigned his anistaa and Jillian was a two bedroom on the third floor, in the interim section, where guests stayed. Not that he invited guests very often. It was hard to retain secrecy when doors were flung wide and visitors were welcome.

He took the elevator down to the third floor and walked the long, quiet hallway until he reached unit 316.

His anistaa, who found peace amid the fresh air and wild fragrancies of the Brenahiilo , would hate these cramped, stale accommodations.

He needed to find her lodging down in The Neighborhood.

Jillian as well, although his shadow le'ven'a wouldn’t notice the walls surrounding her.

But moving them to The Neighborhood would prove difficult.

All the houses in the community were owned and occupied.

He would need to persuade someone to move into the interim housing while the women in his life were here.

It was time to build an extra house, or two, for occasions such as these. In the meantime, bribery should settle his anistaa and shadow le'ven'a into more suitable accommodations for however long they remained.

The door flew open at his first knock and his mother’s weathered face and silvering hair filled the doorframe. The smell and sound of sizzling bacon wafted out the door.

“ Ho'cee. You are back, ” she said with a quick up-and-down scan of Wolf’s face. Whatever she saw brought a frown. “Come. Sit. Eat.”

She must have finagled the bacon and carton of eggs sitting on the counter, from the cafeteria.

The base cook would provide uncooked food to those who wished to prepare it themselves.

His anistaa believed all stress could be erased by a hearty meal, as long as she had prepared it herself.

And the meal of her choice was always bacon and eggs.

He waited for her to step aside and walked past her, tensing at the sight of Jillian who was sitting at the square table tucked into the corner of the dining, living area.

“There is a full cafeteria.” He fought to keep his voice casual, while his eyes devoured his shadow le'ven'a. “There is no need for you to cook while you are here. If you call down to the cafeteria, they will deliver whatever food you order.”

A soft click sounded behind him as the door closed.

“We would surely perish of malnourishment if we did such a thing. Now tell me, my dear Ho'cee. ” The endearment emerged sickly sweet and prickly with annoyance. She was angry about something. “Why did you not tell me your javaanee has been chosen as the next Taounaha ?”

Wolf sighed. There it was. At least his anistaa never held back her emotions. “This is a recent development...one that is still...evolving.”

His mother returned his sigh…only hers was sharp with frustration. “He refuses the calling, does he not? With the Taounaha lost to us, and your javaanee refusing his role, the answers we seek may be lost to us as well.”

Someone had obviously filled her in on the situation. Wolf’s eyebrows rose. She spoke as though they were the only one with stakes in the Taounaha’s absence. All the Hee'woo'nee, from the youngest to oldest, had a stake in this situation. Their very existence hung in the balance.

Yes, Jillian’s heschrmal claiming remained unanswered. As did Gracie’s Ho'cee gift. But he would find the answers they needed. These animal clan gifts must be connected to the nanobot wanatesa. The timing of the spirit claimings could not be a coincidence.

His anistaa slid past him on her way to the pan sizzling on the stove.

She used a fork to pull the bacon from the pan, piling the strips on a paper-towel-covered plate.

Her hands were quick and annoyed as she cracked eggshells and dropped their innards into the hot pan.

The smell of cooking eggs joined the rich scent of bacon.

He stepped further into the room, his gaze returning to the silent woman at the table.

She still looked thin, her body all angles and hollows.

But her skin looked tanner. Her face stronger.

And her eyes...there was a light there, one he had not seen since her rage all those years ago, when she’d killed the one who’d murdered her heart.

He frowned, turning to follow her gaze, which was fixed on the plate of bacon. She...looked...hungry? He unconsciously shook his head. That could not be. Jillian ignored food. One needed no sustenance when drifting in the Tabenetha.

“Has Jillian said why you are here?” he asked.