“Paladin Primero, we’ve been expecting you,” Captain Bennett said in clipped tones.
“Thank you. My companion is Paladin Cortez. Unfortunately, we have some bad news, Captain.”
She looked at him curiously, saying nothing.
“As we were driving in, an askari darted out in front of our vehicle and we couldn’t avoid him. He died when we hit him. His body is in the truck and I want to make certain he’s given a proper pyre.”
She paled visibly. “He was in shifted form?”
“Yes. Cheetah.”
The tall askari behind the captain leaned forward and spoke quietly. “Askari Nelson wasn’t in his bunk this morning, Captain.” She nodded and then turned back to face Damiano. Her eyes had gone bright, the pale green circle around her irises glowing just slightly.
“I’m very sorry to hear that, Paladin Primero. He will be seen to.” She turned and motioned to the askari receptionist. The man instantly picked up a two-way radio and called for assistance.
“Captain, I’d like to have a moment with his body once he’s brought inside if you don’t mind.” Damiano turned and glanced at Chino who stood beside him looking stonily straight ahead. “My companion feels responsible for hitting the man.”
A flush crept up the captain’s neck and her eyes appeared even more glossy than before as she looked at Chino, almost seeming to notice him for the first time. She nodded.
“I’m certain it couldn’t be avoided, Paladin,” she said quietly.
Only a second had passed before Damiano’s nostrils were hit with a strong scent coming off Chino. It was something he’d smelled many times before. Regret and overwhelming sadness. Many years of war and the conflicts Damiano had seen made that scent a part of life in the military. Shifters felt as deeply as any human men but it was much more difficult to mask emotions in shifters, especially big cats. Seemingly aloof creatures to the outside world, cat shifters, like common domestic house cats, felt deeply but didn’t always choose to display their emotions. The scents they gave off usually did the trick, however. Paladins had the ability to mask their scent signature to other shifters but for some reason, Chino wanted it known—probably to the askari who knew Nelson—that he regretted what he’d done, even accidentally. Damiano was only half-surprised when he recognized the expression of gratitude in Captain Bennett’s green eyes as her nostrils flared.
“Now, you must be tired from your long trip. We’ve made up temporary quarters for you where you can shower and sleep if you desire. I can have a meal sent in or you may want to eat in the mess. Whatever you decide.”
“We prefer to meet King Fain as soon as possible,” Damiano said. Actually, he wasn’t looking forward to meeting the ruler at all but he had resigned himself to his fate.
She looked at him with some surprise. “King Fain isn’t here at Base Camp, Paladin Primero. We’ve arranged for you to be presented tomorrow morning at the palace. He is away at the hunting grounds until then.”
“I see. Of course. Well then, we’ll take you up on the meal but we’d appreciate eating with your askari if you don’t mind. We want no special treatment while we’re your guests.” He paused for a moment, knowing he was about to insult her but then said, “One thing. Since there are both paladin and askari on the base, can you explain why an askari is commander here?”
She smiled. “Yes. This is an askari base where trainees come prior to their final tests after boot camp. Paladin are also on base but have no permanent assignments here. They are passing through for lack of a better explanation, Paladin Primero.”
Damiano nodded. “Thank you for that and… if you don’t mind, please drop the title.”
“The title, sir?” She cocked her head and gave him a puzzled look.
“What he means is, he’s not comfortable with the title Paladin Primero,” Chino clarified. “You can call him sir, paladin, boss, or Your Greatness, the way I do.”
Damiano frowned at his best friend, tempted to reach out and punch him, but marring that pretty bearded face with blood was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment, deserving or not. Instead, he reached up and slapped him on the back of his head. Chino laughed beside him but when he turned back to the captain, her mouth was gaping. Being a captain of the askari demanded that she maintain strict discipline so seeing someone as irreverent as Chino was, probably was a massive shock to her. Damiano was going to have to have a serious talk with his huge friend. They didn’t know him from the next shifter and though he loved it when his friend treated him just like anyone else, there was definitely a time and a place for everything. He didn’t want the askari to look down on Chino because he refused to give his superior the respect he was due.
“Yes, well then…,” she hesitated. “I uh… Takemoto will show you to your quarters. He can point out the officer’s mess on the way.” She glanced at her watch. “Breakfast is served at 0700. That gives you about a half hour to get settled in.”
“And when can we see Askari Nelson’s body?” Damiano pressed.
“I’ll have him brought to the medical examiner’s office. You can see him right after mess, sir.”
“Thank you,” Damiano said, saluting her. She saluted back. He glanced at her companion. “We’re gonna grab our things from the vehicle and then we’re all yours, Takemoto.”
Takemoto saluted and Satriale turned to walk out the door and collect their things from the truck with Chino by his side. When they got outside, the sky had begun to lighten as the sun rose. Two men dressed in the gray askari uniform had the back of the Humvee open and were loading the plastic wrapped body onto a stretcher. Curious, Damiano walked over to them. They stopped what they were doing the moment they saw them and straightened, coming to attention, saluting, and looking straight ahead. Satriale saluted them.
“At ease, Askari.”
They relaxed as Damiano bent over the man on the stretcher. He lifted the edge of the gray blanket they’d covered him with and pulled it and the plastic sheeting down. He frowned as he noted bruises all over the man’s face. There was no way that bruising could have been caused by hitting him with the Humvee, since it wasn’t confined to only one area of his side but spread all over his face. He lowered the blanket farther, pulling aside the plastic sheeting they’d covered him in. Visible, even in the pale light of the approaching dawn, he could see ligature marks on the man’s wrist. He checked the other wrist and found the same. Pulling the sheeting down again, he looked at his ankles and found similar marks. He let his glance slide down the rest of the cheetah’s body. There were fresh deep cuts on his torso and forearms, as though he’d tangled with several sharp objects.
A thought occurred to Damiano and he glanced up, once again noting the rolls of razor wire that topped the metal fences of the compound. Is it possible he was trying to escape the compound and that’s what cut him up? Whatever the reason for the askari’s injuries, Damiano definitely didn’t like the implications at all. Takemoto had whispered something about Nelson having been missing from his bunk that morning, but the man had clearly been held against his will for quite some time prior to fleeing his captors. Satriale glanced sideways at Chino who squatted beside him. They exchanged a silent warning and then Takemoto cleared his throat behind them. Damiano dropped the blanket back over the body, determined to get a better look at the man in the medical examiner’s office once they’d showered and had breakfast. He stood and his friend stood beside him.
“Are you ready to see your quarters, Paladin Primero?” Takemoto asked quietly.
Damiano nodded. “Yes, thank you, Askari. Take us to our quarters. I’m ready for that shower now.”
Once inside the building, Damiano was surprised to see that it looked much more like a suite of offices than the dormitory or warehouse he’d expected. They were led down several corridors, stopping to return the salute of several askari and paladin as they made their way deep inside the building. Somewhere far off, Damiano picked up the scent of bacon frying and he knew they m
ust be drawing nearer the kitchen and mess hall. Takemoto turned them down a corridor and they noticed several men and women dressed in uniform standing in line outside a double door. As they passed by, the soldiers came to attention and saluted them. Damiano returned their respect and continued on, passing by the mess. They turned into another corridor and Takemoto stopped in front of a door. He pulled out a key card and waved it over the locking mechanism. The light on the door changed from red to green.
“These are your quarters, Paladin Cortez,” he said, handing the card to Chino.
“Thanks.” Chino turned to Damiano. “Meet you here in fifteen minutes?”
“Good.” Damiano watched Chino disappear into the room and then followed Takemoto down two more doors where he stopped and unlocked it as well.
“These are your quarters, Paladin Primero,” the askari said. “I hope they’re suitable and I’ll see you in the mess hall at 0700.” He saluted and then held the key card out to him.
He returned the man’s salute, taking the key card from him. “Fine, thank you, Askari.” He turned and walked into the room, shutting and locking the door behind himself. He took a look around the room. It was a very small living quarters, consisting of nothing but a tiny table with a single hard-backed chair and a twin bed. There was no window and he had to flip on the light switch before he noticed another door. He opened it and peered inside. A tiny shower, sink, and commode were tucked into the small space that probably wasn’t more than ten by fifteen feet in total, bathroom included. Glancing at the small bed, he really hoped he was going to be able to fit. He was nearly six and a half feet tall after all. Fortunately, it was only one night.
He dumped his duffle bag onto the bed, grateful that he had one at all. He should be accustomed to paladin accommodations after all these years. They were always very spartan but this room, possibly because it was temporary, was even more bare than he was accustomed to. He stripped off his guns and laid them on the table with his two Damascus short knives which he always wore on his waist. Damiano was always strapped.
He wore two Herstal .45 caliber semi-automatic pistols in shoulder holsters. He liked them for their fifteen-round capacity and because they were designed with mounting bases for his red-dot sights. One never knew when one would need to have laser sights. Most cats didn’t like them because they saw better than humans in the dark anyway. Damiano was not most cats. There was nothing like the psychological advantage of having a red dot aimed at an enemy’s heart. He’d watched the most terrifying foes pee their pants while looking down at a laser sight trained on their heart.
Damiano liked to have every advantage which is why he also carried throwing knives tucked into sheaths on his arms and a backup weapon in his boot. He’d been in too many situations where he’d been grateful he had all the weaponry he could carry. When he had to shift, he wouldn’t have the advantage of his weapons, but he’d perfected removing them before a shift and was so fast, it was almost a blur to the human eye. That, combined with the speed of his shift, Damiano Satriale was a force to be reckoned with.
Ironically, if he’d been around ten years before, he might have been able to protect Pasha Raab. By all accounts, the shifter world had lost an honorable man the night the tiger king had been killed. Damiano had only met him once, when he’d been invited to the palace to accept his formal induction into the ranks of paladin at age twenty. He hadn’t known what to expect when he met Pasha Raab. Just the sight of him sitting atop his massive throne with Sancerre, his beautiful young queen, at his side, had been one of the most memorable moments in his life.
He’d felt a vibration in the throne room he’d only ever experienced once before… the day he first shifted at sixteen. He’d been taught that the royal family gave off that vibration, but until he’d felt it in real life, it had seemed impossible to believe such a thing existed. It had scared his parents so badly that they’d banished him from their home, telling him to go far away and not come anywhere near them again. He’d masked his own vibration from that day forward.
Stepping into the throne room was like crossing into another dimension, one alive by the very presence of something impossible to describe. But that had been a long time ago and Damiano was a different person then. He had been wet behind the ears and unused to defining the danger around the king. Looking back on it now, he could see that the king had left himself vulnerable to his enemies. Damiano wouldn’t let that happen to Christos Fain now. He’d serve the man who’d taken the throne as if he were serving Pasha Raab. He was born to that duty and he would take whatever weapons he needed to accomplish the task.
Damiano sighed. Going into the palace as the king’s personal paladin might require such firepower but it seemed unlikely. It was more likely that he’d stand guard over the king and watch him eat or fuck all day. Neither activity sounded appealing or challenging. He suddenly yawned. He was truly exhausted. He shed his clothes in the dull florescent light and then stepped into the bathroom. Damiano found generic shampoo and a coarse soap but fortunately, there was lots of hot water. He scrubbed until his skin glowed, washing off the grime from traveling around the world. As he was stepping out of the small shower, he felt his stomach rumble and he realized that he hadn’t eaten a thing since the night before when Chino had handed him two protein bars and a couple of bottles of Gatorade to wash them down. The last decent meal he’d consumed had been in Jerusalem over thirty hours before.
He dressed quickly—guns, blades, and all—and grabbed his key card, locking the rest of his belongings inside before walking down the corridor. Chino was waiting for him, leaning against the door of his bunk right where he said he’d be. His wavy shoulder length brown and blond hair had been hastily combed back and towel dried, but his companion sure smelled a lot better than he had when they’d been cooped up in the plane and Humvee.
“Finally. I’m fucking starving. I never thought you’d get here,” Chino complained.
Damiano smirked. “Seriously, man. I’m starving myself. The next time I travel with you, remind me to pack my own food. Who brings two protein bars and Gatorade on a thirty-hour trek?” They walked side by side down the narrow corridor, following the smells of food.
“At least I brought food,” Chino said, throwing up his arms in exasperation.
“Yeah, what the hell? That’s the last time I leave it to you to bring sustenance,” Damiano grumbled.
“I didn’t think about it. I mean, we were traveling by plane not camel. How was I to know they discontinued food service on international flights?”
“Oh, hell, I don’t know. Maybe the website when you made reservations.”
“I made reservations on my phone. I don’t read the fine print on my phone,” Chino nagged.
Damiano grinned. “It’s fine. We survived regardless and here I am. About to enjoy a lovely meal with the company of an asshole.”
Chino laughed.
Damiano pushed open the door to the mess hall. Almost instantly, all conversation ceased and dishes came to rest on tables. With a cacophonous screech, two hundred chairs scraped across the floor at the same time as the entire room got to their feet, standing at attention as they lifted their hands in a salute. You could have heard a pin drop. Damiano stared at the askari and paladin warriors standing all around him. Every soldier at Base Camp must have been in the room and they were all awaiting a return salute. He raised his hand and did the honors before speaking.
“At ease.” There was a wave of relaxation that washed over the room like a physical presence. “I’m Paladin Primero Satriale and this is Paladin Cortez. Back to your breakfast.” With relief, the entire room sat down and Chino leaned over, speaking quietly into Damiano’s ear.
“That was super hot.”
Damiano turned to find his best friend grinning like an idiot. “Shut the fuck up.”
Chapter Three
A fter breakfast, Captain Bennett returned and offered to take Chino and Damiano to the medical examiner’s office to view
the dead cheetah shifter. They walked through the maze of hallways and at the end of a corridor, she pushed open a metal door. It opened to the first large space they’d seen since arriving at Base Camp. The room appeared to be some sort of gym with a boxing ring in the center and rows of treadmills, weight benches, and workout equipment lined up along the walls. Everything was in use by askari including the boxing ring where two men wearing headgear and wide padded belts circled each other throwing punches.
They walked past the ring and noticed a large open area where thick floor mats were laid out. Several askari were practicing various martial arts. Damiano immediately recognized the use of Krav Maga which he was familiar with both from being a former Marine and a member of the Israeli Defense Forces where that style of hand-to-hand fighting originated. The techniques being taught by the instructor were not only those of self-defense but the style Damiano was familiar with… aggressive hand to hand. In Damiano’s experience, Krav Maga was the most underutilized martial art out there, possibly because there were no rules. The Marine Corps now used it in their training but that hadn’t been common practice when Damiano had gone through boot camp.
Nothing was off limits. This type of fighting was the bare knuckle kill or be killed style of fighting and Damiano appreciated it not only for its complete simplicity, but for its purity. He’d been in many situations as a paladin where he was forced to fight but he preferred not to if it was at all possible. He’d seen many people come into training thinking they knew what the hell they were doing only to find out that someone always knew how to do what they did better. Those recruits generally didn’t last too long in the service because they got their asses handed to them by someone better than them.
When overseeing that training in the past, Damiano had made sure he paired the arrogant ones with those who would best them. Humility was an important trait in both paladins and askari. Without it, a recruit would rush into dangerous situations without proper training. The last thing Damiano wanted as a recruit was an arrogant prick who thought he knew better than everyone else. That was the kind of man or woman who got themselves or another soldier killed and he wouldn’t have it.
The Tiger King (Paladin Shifters Book 1) Page 3
