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Genetically Modified

USA TODAY Bestselling Author Holly S Roberts likes to gloss over her exciting past as a homicide detective and make you think she sits at a computer all day writing. Nothing could be farther from the truth. You’ll find Holly in the mountains on a long hike or at the gym pounding barbells with the boys. She’s a health coach and nutritionist as well as being vegan and proving muscles come from hard work and plant-based foods. When the weather’s too cold for outdoor play, she sneaks into her dark cave and writes until her fingers ache. She’s also followed around by a hundred-pound Rottweiler with anxiety issues and constant need for affection. Each finished chapter gets a dog lick when Holly stays on course. The world was unstable when hellhounds attacked and began annihilating humans. That instability was our undoing. Now the United States has a new government that may be more corrupt then the former one. We only won the first fight because Shadow Warriors came to our rescue. An alien race, hiding among us for centuries, they saved humanity and then humans betrayed them. Now the hellhounds are back and one woman holds the fate of the world on her shoulders. Her name is Marinah. King, leader of the Shadow Warriors, wants humans dead. He doesn’t care that the woman the Federation sent is doing something to his internal beast. Even though killing a woman is not something he wants, as leader, he may have no choice. Enter a world of hellhounds, monsters, and evil as two unlikely people discover that love may hold more answers than war.

Holly S. Roberts · SF
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113 Chs

Chapter 18: Marinah

Something slid beneath King's skin and squiggled. One part of me wanted to run and hide in revulsion. The other part was fascinated even though I could sense my life hanging by a thread. The man is more animal than human. It surprises me he's their leader. My father mentioned Greystone's complete control of his animal side in one of our brief Shadow Warrior conversations. Until I witnessed King losing control, I never understood. My father respected Greystone immensely. I don't believe that same respect would hold true for King.

The uptight man who led me back to my room called himself Beck if I understood him right. He made his displeasure about escorting me clear. To each of my questions I received an unfriendly grunt.

I'm basically a prisoner in my room, controlled by two guards and kept from everything I'm here to do. And, with my earlier nap, I'm wide awake. I try to stretch, but it's too much for my overtaxed muscles. Thoughts of cool water in the swimming pool on the floor below don't help. With nothing better to do, I go through the mostly empty drawers in the bedroom and closet and then move on to the bathroom. If a drawer isn't empty, it holds only essentials. Most of the clothing I've been provided with consists of jeans and T-shirts. At least they fit. I haven't worn jeans in years. The T-shirts are what you would find in a souvenir shop with Cuban flags and slogans like "Bike Cuba" on them.

The white socks provided for my athletic shoes are thick and comfortable. I'm currently wearing one of several pairs of black yoga pants that I wasn't sure were for sleeping or working out. I've designated them my training gear. The bras I have fit like gloves and it occurs to me that the Federation sent my measurements to the Warriors prior to my arrival. There's no other way they could have come close to my actual sizes.

At least I've solved one great mystery.

When my curiosity turns up nothing hidden in the drawers, I end up sitting on the bed twiddling my thumbs and thinking about the training. Being gangly and tripping over my own feet is so easy for me. As the day progressed, I actually made headway on that darn half-ball. Talking about my parents helped with my balance. Boot said it distracted my mind from worrying about falling. He seems to think I can master the ball and anything else I work on. I'm doubtful, but after today I'm giving it a shot.

It felt good to know I could stand on the half-ball and not fall. Who knows, maybe I'll be able to walk and chew gum tomorrow. Miracles can happen.

I glance around the room hoping to find a book... something, anything to take my mind off being trapped in this room. I'll ask for books tomorrow, I decide. I head to the shower to rinse the sweat from my body. I'm hungry and have no idea when a meal will be delivered, so I take a very quick shower. When I exit the bathroom, I freeze. King is sitting on the bed looking like every young girl's dream. He's obviously showered and the new clothes are similar to what he had on before-black BDU's, black T-shirt, and boots, but these are clean and crisp. I wrapped a towel around my head before leaving the bathroom to keep the water from dripping on the new T-shirt I put on. Not my best look for sure.

"I won't bite," King says when I stay by the bathroom door without moving.

"You don't ever bite or you won't bite right now?" I ask because I can't help being snarky on an empty stomach.

"Not right now."

My question was kind of a joke. His answer was not. "Are you here to explain what happened earlier?"

"No, I'm here to escort you to my room for dinner."

"I think I'd like to eat a quiet meal here, alone," I say and then add, "If you don't mind?" to make it sound nicer.

He stands up, turns his back to me, and walks to the door. When he opens it, he glances over his shoulder with pompous jerk written all over his expression. "It wasn't a request. Come."

"If I run across an etiquette book, it definitely won't have your name in it unless it's what not to do," I grumble because Shadow Warriors do not hold the patent on grumbling.

King grunts, which I guess is his way of ignoring my complaints.

The guard stays behind while I try to keep up with King and not face-plant. His long legs move quickly and I half-jog to keep up with him. It sucks because my legs are little more than sausage wraps holding jelly inside them after all the work I did today. The shower helped with some of my aches and pains, but fast walking is pushing me to my limit. King doesn't turn around even when my palm slams against the corridor wall to save myself.

The only positive of this experience is I'm finally learning my way through the endless white corridors. I could most likely find the gym and King's bedroom without an escort if I had to. King enters his room with me about eight feet behind him and completely out of breath, my snark out in full force.

"If you walked slower, a trip to your room wouldn't be quite as painful for the mere human." Yeah, I'm pushing my luck. I guess King's attitude doesn't bring out the best in me.

"I don't think you're a mere anything," he says, which surprises me.

"You haven't known me long enough or you wouldn't say that," I add.

"Why do you put yourself down?" He doesn't look at me as he walks across the room and sits at the table, where a full meal is waiting.

I walk closer to the amazing smells and check my chin for drool after seeing it. Tonight's dinner features pork chops and green beans with rolls that are still steaming hot from the oven. The food back home only steams when we cook it too long and even then, nothing improves the tasteless meals. I prefer cold rations so I can scarf them down and get the bad taste out of my mouth as soon as possible. We had a collection of old magazines back home and I had to finally stop looking at them because the pictures of food drove me crazy.

I take my eyes from the food and glance at King. Just a quick peek because of the whole eye contact thing. King is waiting for my answer to his question about putting myself down. I continue to ignore him as I take my seat and place the provided napkin in my lap. I glance up this time and hold eye contact a little longer. His eyes are nice and it irks me that I can't look my fill. "I put myself down because I don't kid myself into thinking I'm more than I am."

"What are you?"