Page 9 of Shadow (Marinah and the Apocalypse #1)

Marinah

T he room, under most circumstances, wouldn’t have been anything special. But after years of sleeping on a narrow cot crammed into a small room with three other women, it felt like a luxury suite. The bathroom alone, though only half the size of the one I had just left, was amazing. And running hot water? That was downright decadent.

King had spent far too much time tonight telling me he’d kill me. I had seen the look in his eyes, his cold fury, and I had no doubt he meant it. In fact, I’d have bet good money he’d enjoy doing it. Yet, for some strange reason, I was no longer afraid. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe I had just been under so much stress lately that the fear burned itself out. Odds were, after a night’s rest, my nerves would return in full force.

Still, there was something different inside the world of Shadow Warriors, something I hadn’t felt in years: safety. At the Federation, fear had been a constant companion. We had lived under the shadow of hellhounds breaking through our defenses and slaughtering us, or worse, losing our jobs and being shipped to the front lines to die. Dread followed me like a second shadow, never letting up. But here? Here, it felt somehow different. King, even with the threats, radiated protection. Not for me specifically, but his presence kept the true monsters at bay.

I stretched out on the bed, my long legs blissfully free to sprawl without dangling over the edge. For a tall girl, those cots at the Federation had been a literal pain in the back. I spread my arms wide, grateful no one could see me. I’d have looked like a flailing idiot to anyone watching. The thought made me laugh. First a chuckle, then a full-blown laugh that echoed through the room like I had lost my mind.

I survived that damn hot room, and maybe, just maybe, I’d survive the night too. I pulled the soft pillow closer, wrapping it around me like a shield, and rolled onto my side. I was doing something that mattered. Something good. And with that rare thought of purpose, I drifted into sleep.

∞∞∞

For five days, I was left to cool my recently unheeled feet. If my guards hadn’t dragged me through endless corridors for exercise or allowed brief moments on an outside patio, I would’ve lost my mind. Every attempt to request an audience with King was met with blank stares and outright silence. I may as well have been invisible. By the fifth night, my frustration peaked. Before falling asleep, I occupied my thoughts with an ever-growing list of creative ways to kill King. It was surprisingly therapeutic.

Morning light filtered through the thin curtains, waking me with its soft glow. A sharp knock at the door jolted me further awake, and I instinctively rolled over, pulling the blanket up to my chin like a scared kid hiding from the bogeyman. “Come in,” I said, forcing my voice to sound stronger than I felt.

When the door swung open, I recognized the driver who had shoved me into the green room to bake. He stood in the doorway, completely unaffected by his actions. Shame or regret? Nowhere to be found. Not that I had expected anything else from a Shadow Warrior.

“King says you need to come to breakfast. Now,” he barked, his voice grating on my sleepy nerves. Without sparing me a glance, he slammed the door behind him.

So, when King said jump, you jumped. Typical. Except I didn’t feel like jumping. Not yet, at least. If that was stupid of me, so be it. I was taking a shower and brushing my teeth before setting foot in the beastly den.

The toothpaste was a revelation, leagues better than the rationed sawdust the Federation had passed off as dental hygiene. I savored the minty taste before taking my time dressing in the provided clothes: soft jeans, a T-shirt, socks, and running shoes. Not that I planned to run. Knowing my coordination, I’d trip over my own feet and face-plant before I made it three steps.

I was just lacing up my second shoe when the door flew open without so much as a knock.

Ah, shit.

The driver’s lips pressed into a firm line, and his hard eyes made it clear he wasn’t pleased. “I’m in enough trouble because of you,” he grumbled, stalking toward me.

Before I could respond, I was hoisted off my feet and slung upside down over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. If you’ve never traveled this way, take my advice. Don’t. It wasn’t charming or romantic; it was awkward and uncomfortable.

“Hey!” I shouted, pounding my fists against his back as he strode out of the room.

The guards stationed outside my door fell into step behind us, their tight expressions leaving no doubt they wouldn’t be coming to my rescue. Realizing the futility of my efforts, I went limp, letting my arms dangle while I watched the Spanish tile floor blur past.

The driver finally set me down. Not gently, but enough that I regained my footing without falling.

Anger flared, and before I could think better of it, I swung at him. To my surprise, my fist connected with the side of his jaw. Not that it mattered. He barely flinched. If anything, my effort probably felt like a gnat landing on him. Without a word or even a glance, he turned and strode out, leaving me to nurse my throbbing hand and fume at his retreating back.

I spun toward King, ready to unleash my fury, but the words caught in my throat when I saw the spread of food on the table. My anger fizzled as quickly as it had come.

The breakfast trays they had brought to my room so far had been simple: oatmeal and fresh fruit. I hadn’t complained. Before the war, I was vegetarian, and it was the kind of food I had missed. It had tasted better than anything I’d had in ages.

But this? It was a feast I couldn’t have dreamed I wanted. Fluffy scrambled eggs, golden-brown toast, a pitcher of orange juice, and, oh my God, bacon. Any thoughts of holding onto my vegetarianism flew out the window. It was the smell, something I had never enjoyed before, but now, I could’ve eaten an entire roasted pig. Something was seriously wrong with me, and I didn’t care. My nose caught up to my eyes, and the smoky, savory aroma had my stomach letting out an unladylike growl. I instinctively placed a hand over my belly, and King’s gaze followed the movement.

“I ate last night,” I mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant, “so I shouldn’t be this hungry. But is that bacon? Like, actual animal bacon?” My mouth weirdly watered at the thought. Bacon had been the first meat I tasted after realizing I had to abandon my vegetarian ways, and it was only twice. The memory of its salty, crispy perfection flooded back, and I couldn’t help but stare.

King kicked a chair out with his foot and nodded toward it. There was no mistaking the command, so I sat down, grabbing a piece of bacon before my butt even touched the seat.

“Oh. My. God,” I said, savoring the smoky, salty flavor as I chewed. “It’s real bacon.”

King didn’t respond immediately, but his eyes glinted with something unreadable. Finally, he spoke. “I’ll talk to Boot about carrying you. Unless you asked him to?”

The grumble in his voice was obvious, but I was too busy snagging another slice of bacon to care. “So, you have pigs?” I asked, trying to sound casual. His gaze sharpened, and I realized I might have touched a nerve. I held up my hands, one of which was now bacon-greased. “If the subject of pigs is taboo, I’ll pretend this is fake meat.” I dragged a finger across my chest in an exaggerated gesture. “Cross my heart and hope to die. I won’t tell the Federation, as long as I can have some eggs and toast to go with it.”

His lips twitched, barely, but it was enough to hint at a smile.

“Do you always think about food?”

I grinned, scooping some eggs onto my plate and grabbing two pieces of toast. “Did you, when you worked for our government?”

For a moment, he said nothing, and I swore that tiny curve of his lips almost became a full smile.

“Yes,” he finally admitted.

“Exactly,” I said, shoveling eggs into my mouth with little regard for manners. “When all you’ve had to eat tastes like dirt and starch, stuff like this makes it impossible not to think about food.” I shrugged, wiping a crumb from the corner of my mouth, and went back to my eggs.

Sexy clothes be damned. The Federation’s attempt to dress me up as a tempting emissary was a lost cause at this table. My current manners would’ve made my mother cringe, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

Good thing King wasn’t interested in me any more than I was in him. Sure, he was wall-to-wall muscles and lethal intensity, but I had seen what lay beneath the surface: arrogance, authority, and a heavy dose of aggravation.

Liar, liar, my subconscious taunted, dragging my thoughts back to the scattered dreams I’d had over the past few days. Dreams where King’s muscled, naked body loomed over mine. It confused the hell out of me and did nothing to help my sleeping problems. I shook my head, forcing those thoughts into the darkest corner of my mind, and focused on finishing the amazing meal.

If he was willing to kill me, it was clear sex wasn’t part of the negotiation strategy. The fact I allowed the thought to enter my mind surprised me most. Every nerve in my body felt inexplicably drawn to him, and I was determined to keep that stupid tidbit buried deep.

“Are you okay, or do I need to use the Heimlich maneuver?” King’s deep voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

I blinked, realizing I must’ve let something slip across my expression. “No choking, I promise,” I muttered, covering my lips. Then, without thinking, I dropped my hand and shoveled another bite of food into my mouth.

He sat back, cradling his coffee cup, watching me with quiet amusement. I didn’t care. What I did notice, however, was how the hard lines on his forehead eased as he relaxed. I wouldn’t say it made him look softer. Nothing about King was soft, but it did make him less menacing.

He was dressed in black military pants and a snug black T-shirt that hugged his chest. When he lifted the cup to his lips, his bicep flexed, and I caught myself staring. The lack of straps across his chest didn’t make him any less imposing. My brain kept looping one uncomfortable truth: this man had threatened my life, and I believed him. Yet, strangely, I felt no fear.

It wasn’t like me. Maybe it was the food. Something about having a full stomach made impending death seem less concerning. Or maybe I had hit a point where fear had run its course, leaving me a tiny bit stronger or at least numb. Who knew? For now, I’d take it.

I ate until I was completely stuffed, leaving no room for guilt about the indulgence. Back home, I would’ve felt bad about consuming more than my fair share. Here, guilt was oddly absent, just like fear. I knew it would return; both always did. But for now, I savored being alive and full.

“You haven’t eaten much,” I said, breaking the silence. King had been staring at me far too long, his gaze dissecting.

"Why are you so unsteady on your feet?" he asked, sidestepping my question entirely.

I shifted slightly in my chair, pushing my legs out from under the table and extending them in front of me. “These sticks are too long for me, and my feet are too big. It’s been that way since I turned ten. Maybe neither is the right size for my body.” I smiled, hoping to lighten the comment, though King didn’t look embarrassed to ask, so I wasn’t sure why I bothered softening the moment.

His expression remained unreadable, his tone matter-of-fact. “Your father was a good warrior. He was capable of killing hellhounds.”

The statement caught me off guard. I laughed, shaking my head. “You make it sound like hellhounds are easy to kill. I know that’s not true.”

King gave me a slow, deliberate blink, his lashes sweeping down before lifting again, revealing those piercing blue eyes. He wasn’t traditionally handsome, but something about his relaxed posture in that moment made him striking. I felt that unwanted pull deep in my core and forced myself to ignore it.

“For your father, they were easy to kill,” he said calmly. “He was the one who figured out we had to sever the head to stop them. Nothing else worked as quickly.”

“My father severed heads?” I asked, incredulously. Not because I doubted he could, but because it didn’t fit the image I had of him. He had been older when he got his promotion, and while I knew he had stayed with his troops, I always thought of him more as a leader, someone who strategized rather than engaging in hand-to-hand combat.

“He did. And he was good at it. I’m surprised he didn’t train you.”

I laughed again, this time covering my mouth to keep it from echoing too loudly. “I’ve never been much of a fighter and never will be. As you know, before my recent promotion, I worked in analytics. It was a job my father arranged to keep me off the battlefield. He knew my coordination limits better than anyone.”

King took another drink of coffee, sitting back even farther in his chair. “You have no desire to fight, even if it means humans may not survive the next attack?”

He had pegged me, and by the look on his face, I disgusted him. I had no intention of lying, and so far, the truth had worked better anyway. “I’m not fighting material. If they need fodder in battle, I’ll put my red stripe on and close my eyes to wait for the inevitable.”

“Why?” he grunted.

He couldn’t be serious. “You’ve seen me walk and trip over nothing. You’ve seen me fall down stairs. I’m not exactly what you’d call graceful.”

“I’ve been watching you do those things all week. You could try something different.”

He’d been watching me. The jerk. And most likely ignoring my requests to speak with him. I laughed, annoyed in spite of myself. “Fighting mode for me will never happen, and anyone who tries would be very disappointed.” The Federation had learned this the hard way, and the fading sunburn that had tanned my skin proved the point, but I wasn’t about to tell King about my humiliating failure before coming on this so-called mission.

“I don’t think so. You hunch when you walk, which throws off your balance,” he said. “You don’t use your core strength to ground yourself because you’ve never been trained.”

“So, train me,” I said on impulse. The words had slipped out before I even thought about them, proving I was an even bigger idiot than I had already demonstrated. But, even if it was a losing proposition, at least I’d have something to do besides twiddle my thumbs, which was boring as hell.

King stared at me for what felt like an eternity, his expression unreadable as indecision flickered in his eyes. Finally, his features settled, and he decided I wasn’t worth whatever thoughts had been troubling him. Without a word, he stood abruptly and walked out of the room. On his way out, he spoke briefly to the guard at the door before disappearing down the hall.

I sat at the table, staring at the remnants of breakfast, debating my next move. After a few minutes, I went to the door, hoping to return to my room, but one of the guards stepped in front of me, blocking the way. His stern expression said all I needed to know. I wasn’t going anywhere.

With no options, I paced the room, my frustration mounting. King could’ve at least given me some kind of instruction before vanishing. I was about a second away from ripping out a handful of my own hair and stirring it into his uneaten food when the door swung open again.

King strode in, followed by none other than the oversized buffoon who had first tried to kill me and then upended me over his shoulder. His majesty had called him Boot. The nickname fit. It must have been where he stored his brain, because it certainly wasn’t in his head. Boot didn’t look any happier seeing me than I was seeing him.

King stopped in front of me, his towering frame forcing me to tilt my head back slightly to meet his gaze. For the first time, I appreciated that I didn’t need to crane my neck as much as I usually did with men. There was something oddly comforting about being with someone taller, something my last wannabe boyfriend hadn’t provided.

“Boot is now your personal trainer,” King announced without preamble. “He’ll be working with you six hours a day to make improvements.”

My mouth dropped open, and I caught myself just in time to snap it shut before I looked like a complete fool.

“You’re not serious.” My gaze darted to Boot, whose expression of horror confirmed that King was very serious.

“Boot has his orders, and now you have yours,” King replied curtly. He turned to Boot with a no-nonsense glare. “Take her back to her room and make sure she changes into something better suited for combat training.”

Combat training? Had he really just said combat training ? The man had clearly lost his half-baked monster mind.

“I’m here to broker a treaty,” I sputtered, incredulous. “Not to learn how to fight.”

Boot shifted uncomfortably, his massive shoulders slumping in clear resignation to his fate. Of all the people in this place, why did it have to be Boot?

King’s gaze locked onto mine, his tone sharp. “I’ll negotiate when I have a warrior to deal with. I asked the Federation for a woman, and instead, I got a defense secretary who couldn’t walk a straight line without tripping over her feet. If I strike a deal with you and you don’t survive, how can I trust your people to uphold their word?”

The weight of his words pressed down on me, but I kept my expression neutral. The truth was, I wasn’t sure King should trust my people even if I did survive, but that was a revelation I planned to keep to myself. Without his cooperation, humanity was doomed. He might have talked about how effective my father had been at killing hellhounds, but I had my doubts. It had taken three soldiers to bring down a single beast, and when the hounds had first invaded, they had come by the hundreds of thousands. If their teeth and claws hadn’t torn you apart, their venom had done the rest.

I crossed my arms and tilted my head. “And I’m supposed to trust the man who left me to bake alive in a sauna and then hauled me around like a sack of grain?” My voice dripped with sarcasm, a weak attempt to delay the inevitable.

To my surprise, King’s lips twitched as though suppressing a smile. “Training you is his punishment for those questionable decisions. He wants the punishment to end, so he’ll do his best. Killing you or letting you die would seal his fate. His life is now tied to yours.”

My mouth fell open, but words failed me. I took a deep breath, realizing I had no choice but to play along. Oy vey.