Page 69 of Shadow

“His fucking men are here,” the voice below said urgently. “We’ll get them another time. We need to leave, or they’ll find us.”

The sound of movement faded, and their voices disappeared.

Silence settled over the cave, broken only by the faint rustle of the wind outside. King didn’t relax, his body still coiled like a spring, ready to strike.

I gripped the knife tightly, unsure if this reprieve would last.

Minutes passed before a sharp whistle from above broke the silence. King moved out of the cave, his massive form shifting with ease despite his injury. “Circle around,” he called to his men, his voice surprisingly clear even with his misshapen jaws.

I watched him, my mind spinning with questions. There was so much about Shadow Warriors that I didn’t understand though not for my job as Secretary of Defense, for myself. If I couldn’t fully grasp who they were, what they were, I’d be no good to anyone. Not to me, King, or the Federation.

It took ten minutes for his men to maneuver below us. King’s clawed hand reached for mine, and he helped me to my feet. Standing beside him, I was struck by how much taller and more massive he was.

He had been mostly well-behaved, his earlier misstep with my breast aside. For all his warnings, I couldn’t quite understand why he had been so concerned. I could handle a momentary stray hand.

As we descended the rocks, I realized something strange. I hadn’t worried about my footing since King was shot. Not once had I stumbled. Maybe miracles really did happen.

When we reached the base, half of the men waiting below were in beast form, their imposing figures standing out even in the fading light. Yet King somehow seemed larger. Beck, who I gathered was King’s second, remained in human form, his sharp eyes scanning the area.

“Track them,” King ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Who’s hurt?” Beck asked, his focus shifting to King.

“King was shot in the shoulder,” I answered before King could, ignoring the tension in the air. “He wouldn’t let me remove the bullet, and he’s still bleeding.”

Beck arched an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. He didn’t address me directly but turned back to King. “Can you ride?”

“Yes,” King replied, his voice clipped. “The bullet is being pushed out.”

“We need to get you back,” Beck said. “The woman can ride with me.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before King moved. Despite his size, he was shockingly fast. Beck hit the ground a second later, sprawled in the sand.

Dusting himself off as if nothing had happened, Beck rose and nodded his head. “Now that it’s settled,” he said dryly, “she rides with you.” Without another word, he directed half the men to follow the fresh tracks leading away from the bike.

I glanced at King, who was already turning to mount his motorcycle. His movements were defiant, as if daring anyone to challenge him again.

All righty, then. Looked like I was hanging onto a Shadow Warrior in beast form. Here’s hoping he knew how to drive.

There was even less room on the back of the bike with King’s larger frame, but I managed to sit and grab hold, bracing myself for the ride. It didn’t take long to realize that Beast King had zero restraint. Every corner was taken at a speed that defied logic, and the straightaways felt like he was trying to outrun the wind itself.

I clutched him tightly, my nails digging into his fur as I recited every prayer I could think of, tossing in a few ad-libs for good measure. The thrill of riding was completely gone. All I could think about now was walking on solid ground, preferably without tasting it first.

With a silent sigh of resignation, I buried my face against King’s back. His scent was uniquely him. It somehow comforted me despite my terror. If he noticed my death grip or the way my fingernails were embedded in his skin, he didn’t seem to care.

Two hours later, we finally pulled up to our quarters. I was exhausted, my legs shaky as I slid off the bike. Axel was waiting out front, his expression unreadable as he watched us approach.

King swung his leg over the bike but stumbled, his strength clearly waning. Two of the men were at his side instantly, grabbing his arms to steady him. They half-dragged him toward the building, Axel falling into step behind them.

As they passed, Axel’s sharp gaze landed on me. He didn’t say anything, but his expression was assessing. I could only hope he was checking to see if I was injured and not silently blaming me for King’s current state.

I followed them inside, thankful no one stopped me. The men carried King into the medical room and lowered him onto a bed. Axel wasted no time, unwrapping my makeshift bandage with efficient precision.

“I’m administering a shot to relax you so I can remove the bullet,” Axel said, holding up a syringe.

“No.”

King’s voice was adamant despite his obvious fatigue. He lifted a clawed hand, grabbing Axel’s wrist before he could press the needle into his skin. His glowing blue eyes swept the room, searching until they landed on me.

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