Page 59 of Shadow

“Why do you say he’ll make a better warrior?” I asked, surprised. Che was five years old, and it should have occurred to me that Boot wasn’t his biological father. My respect for him grew. He treated Che exactly as a father should.

“I’m a better farmer than warrior,” Boot admitted, his gaze distant. “It’s hard to forget the old ways, and honestly? I loved farming. I can kill hellhounds all day if I have to, but taking a human life? That’s not for me. I hope we can work out a deal with your Federation. Killing each other shouldn’t be an option.”

“Will King try to take over the U.S. after the hellhound threat is over?” I asked carefully.

Boot’s brow furrowed, perplexed. “Why the hell would he?”

I treaded lightly, not wanting to shut down the conversation. “My people betrayed your people, even after you saved us. Isn’t that reason enough?”

Boot took a moment to mull over my question. “For over two hundred years, we’ve mated with humans and produced half-human offspring. It’s been that way for generations. All our warriors are half-bloods, and none of us have a desire to kill humans. Like you, we want a home and peace. It’s the Federation you need to worry about. If they come to take what’s ours, death will be their answer. But we’d rather kill hellhounds.”

I hadn’t really considered the human side of Shadow Warriors before. I had spent so much time seeing them as larger-than-life killing machines that I never stopped to think about the rest of their existence. Farmers? Families? It was hard to reconcile that image with the towering figures of power and precision before me. Everything about them screamedsearch and destroy.But now, hearing Boot, I realized that they were half human, and that was a truth I couldn’t ignore.

“Are there female Shadow Warriors?” I asked.

Boot’s expression instantly shuttered, his jaw tightening with unspoken words. I had clearly hit a nerve.

“Sorry,” I said quickly before he could respond. “I’m just curious. I forgot what I’m here for. Thank you for answering my questions.” I glanced over at the torture devices Boot called training equipment. “Please tell me it’s time to go back to my room. Six hours is far too long.”

“You’ll never become a warrior with that attitude. Our soldiers put in twelve-hour days,” he replied, a teasing edge to his voice.

“I’m only trying to walk upright,” I retorted. “It’s King who thinks I have a shot at this Warrior thing.”

Boot’s smile broadened, and it was then I saw the truth.

“He doesn’t think I can do it, does he?” I pressed, narrowing my eyes.

His gaze slid away, but his grin stayed firmly in place. “I wouldn’t say that exactly.”

“Let’s go.” Determination surged within me. “Proving him wrong just became my number one goal.”

With that, we started again. I pushed the sled, fumbled with the jump rope, and balanced on the wretched half-ball. Before the session ended, I lifted weights and did core work on the floor. That, at least, I didn’t mind. It wasn’t as far to fall when I lost my balance.

Chapter Twenty-Two

King

Eight weeks had passed since Marinah arrived. We still had no inside information from the Federation. Frustration dripped off me in waves.

A peculiar rhythm had settled between me and Marinah. Most nights, we shared dinner, a ritual that had morphed into a subtle game of cat and mouse. My half-grunted answers drove her to the edge of insanity, though she was clever enough to turn the tables, responding in kind when I asked questions she’d rather avoid. It was clear she was learning to navigate the political dance, and I couldn’t decide whether to be amused or impressed.

On the evenings I didn’t plan to have her join me, Beast grew restless, his agitation creeping under my skin until I inevitably had food for two delivered to my quarters. It was as if he were caught in a paradox, unable to live with her presence yet equally incapable of enduring her absence. His incessant grumbling reminded me of a petulant child. This was a comparison I was sure he loathed. Tonight was no different.

Marinah entered my room, freshly showered, her wet hair appearing even darker against the white tee clinging to her frame. She collapsed into the chair with a heavy sigh, herjeans creasing as she shifted to find a comfortable position. Exhaustion radiated off her, a result of the grueling training sessions she had been pushing herself through. It pleased me to see her so determined, though I’d never admit it aloud. More than that, I felt a twinge of pride at her growing ability.

The awareness that stirred whenever she was near added another layer of complexity to our evenings. Beast simmered with his usual complaints, heating my blood with K-5 until I wrestled him back into submission. It was a relentless struggle, this tug-of-war between control and something far more primal. Yet, the longer she lingered, the more his growls subsided, leaving me with an inexplicable ache I couldn’t name.

Her dark eyes flicked to the food first, her perennial fascination evident, before snapping to me. “Don’t look so smug,” she muttered, her voice tinged with irritation. The smirk I was wearing only fanned her flames. “If I could get out of this chair, I’d probably kick your ass.”

Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for a roll. I slid the butter closer without a word, an unspoken concession due to her training. She didn’t complain.

“Boot says you’re working hard in the gym,” I said casually, not bothering to mention how her newfound muscle definition and confident stride hadn’t escaped my notice.

“He’s a liar. I half-ass it every day,” she said, her tone laced with defiance.

Boot wouldn’t lie to me, and we both knew it.

“You’ve been training for eight weeks. I’m surprised you’ve stuck with it.”

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