Page 14 of Shadow

The suite wasn’t where I had planned to bring Marinah, but improvisation was necessary. A room had been prepared for her with clothing and essentials, but I didn’t have the patience to make the transition right now. I carried her straight to the bathroom and set her feet gently on the floor.

The sudden brightness from the overhead light made her flinch, her hand shooting out to grab the counter for support. She was shaky but stubbornly avoided leaning on me for balance.

For a moment, I simply watched her, the weight of her presence far heavier than her body in my arms. Beast stirred again, restless and aggravated, but for once, I pushed him down without effort. Marinah Church had survived so far, but this was just the beginning.

“Take a shower, and I’ll bring you the clothing we have available for you.”

She turned away and glanced into the mirror.

A gasp escaped her as she covered her breasts.

The wet shirt she was wearing had turned see-through, but her bra covered more than a bathing suit, so I didn’t understand why she bothered trying to hide herself.

She squinted into the mirror, and her dark, annoyed eyes lifted 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 ground out.

Her stare immediately ruffled Beast’s feathers.

I was King, the leader of the Shadow Warriors.

I do not retreat.

Two steps backward, and I closed the door as quickly as possible.

Chapter Seven

Marinah

Iwas alive.

Pissed off, but alive.

My head throbbed, my muscles ached, and I was starving. Add exhaustion to the list, along with the fact that I looked like absolute hell, and I wanted to curl up in a hole somewhere.

In the mirror, my tangled hair fanned out like Medusa’s snakes, frizzing around my face in a way that screamed neglect. What should have been the whites of my eyes were more red than white, and my skin, thanks to the sweltering heat and lack of water, had turned a blotchy orange that resembled a bad spray tan.

I turned on the shower, the sound of rushing water promising a small reprieve. Tearing off my soaked clothes, I tossed them onto the floor with a satisfying slap.

For good measure, I stomped on them. Hard.

It did nothing for my mood or my pounding headache. Each stomp sent a sharp throb through my skull, and I finally gave up. Anger bubbled in my chest, but the sheer exhaustion of the day dulled it into a simmer.

Stepping under the cool spray, I let the water run over me, rubbing my arm where the IV needle had been. At least I didn’t remember the needle. I despised them as much as everything else about today.

The water helped, but it didn’t wash away the irritation. My mind ran through a list of things I hated, and King’s name popped up like an unwanted refrain.

I hated roaches—and King.

I hated military rations—and King.

I hated my period—and King.

The man was insufferable, commanding, and completely inhuman. Yet, here I was, under his roof, at his mercy. The thought only stoked my anger.

I scrubbed harder, trying to erase the day’s events from my skin. It didn’t work, but for now, the water began to dull the edges of my frustration.

A whoosh of cool air invaded the bathroom, a sharp contrast to the steamy shower.

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