“I think we should try to convince him to join us. We could use a fighter like him.”
Padre Pedro seemed intrigued by the idea. “It’s certainly worth a try, though I imagine he’s been thoroughly brainwashed. It’ll be hard to undo decades of mental manipulation. Not to mention whatever they did to him physically.”
“Maybe not. He’s got a concussion, remember? If we’re lucky, that already knocked something loose.” Though Rain was well aware they were going to need a lot more than luck. They were going to need a miracle. These days miracles were in short supply.
THE WARRIOR SLIPPED from sleep to wakefulness in a single heartbeat. He lay quietly, breathing even. Neither twitch of eyelid, nor flinch of muscle gave him away.
He knew he wasn’t on the base. That much was immediately obvious. He could hear the distant sound of children’s voices at play. There were no children on the base. In fact, he hadn’t seen a child since ... his mind shied away from the thought until the memory slipped from his grasp like snowflakes.
He frowned. Rather he wanted to frown, but his training prevented such betrayal of emotion. For the first time he was troubled by his lack of memories. The other men, the Marines, they had memories. They mocked their pasts as full of softness and coddling, but still, they had memories.
The Warrior had none. It had never bothered him before.
He took a deep breath but kept it slow. Subtle. As a sleeping man might. He could tell by scent he was underground. There was a certain dampness to the air. The faint odor of bleach stung his nose. Wherever he was had been scrubbed clean. A hospital, perhaps? Did the civilian survivors have hospitals?
The faint rustle of paper, a page being turned. Whoever was reading was far enough away they wouldn’t notice he was awake. He sensed no one else nearby.
Slowly he opened his eyes. The room was dark, only a faint light from the lantern in the other room spilling into what was obviously some kind of medical facility. There were three other beds besides the one on which he lay. Each one had a curtain to pull around for privacy, though they were currently pushed back, making the room appear as though it were draped in ghosts. He shook his head at the fanciful thought and focused his mind. He was the room’s only occupant.
He definitely had never seen the place before and had no recollection of how he’d gotten here. He cast his memory back. The last thing he remembered was the dragon attack. A blast of drag fire. The Humvee burning. Men screaming. Then ... nothing. A blank.
“You’re awake. Good.”
Startled, he turned his head toward the voice. He wasn’t alone after all. How had he not sensed her presence? Heard her breathing? Smelled the faint perfume of her skin?
She sat in a chair on the far side of the bed facing the light from the other room. Her back was against the wall, like a good soldier. Unlike a good soldier she had tilted the chair back and propped her booted feet up on the end of his bed.
She removed her feet from his bed and let the front chair legs drop back to the floor with a thunk. Her movements were relaxed, unhurried as she stood to her feet. Her cool fingers trailed lightly across his forehead. The contact sent unexpected shivers through his body.
“No fever. Good.” She smiled and he watched in fascination as a dimple appeared at the side of her mouth.
She had a lovely face with strong, high cheekbones and a gently sloping jaw line. He couldn’t quite tell, but he was pretty sure her eyes were blue. Blue like cornflowers in summer.
Damn. Where had that thought come from? He was a Warrior. He didn’t think about women, let alone compare their eyes to flowers. And what was a cornflower, anyway?
“Hungry?” Her voice was silk, sliding across his senses.
He felt a stirring below his waist. Shit! What was happening to him? The Marines might indulge their sexual desires from time to time, but Warriors had no such desires. They were not aroused by the skim of soft fingers over their skin, or the huskiness of a voice in their ear.
He cleared his throat and his voice was a little hoarse when he spoke. “I could eat.” The thought struck him that he was hungry for more than food. He shoved it aside quickly. That was not the thought of a Warrior. He needed to pay Barnes a visit. Something was seriously wrong with his conditioning.
“Good.” The dimple flashed again, wreaking havoc with his self-control. “I’ll bring something. I’m afraid it won’t be very interesting. Clara insists on a liquid diet for the next day or two. Don’t want you puking all over the place.”
He had no answer to that so instead he watched as she strode out of the room. Even in the dim light he could tell she had an amazing ass.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He muttered to himself. He tried to remember the last time he’d even noticed a member of the opposite sex, let alone been interested in one. He tried to pull up a memory, but his mind skittered away. It had been before he’d become a Warrior. Some of his conditioning was holding then. Barnes would be pleased about that. He wouldn’t have to start from scratch.
Another woman entered the room. This one was middle aged and a little on the plump side, which was unusual in the wastelands. She wore glasses perched on her nose and a sour expression on her face. “So you’re awake. Fine by me. Sooner I get you out of here, the better.”
If this was their doctor, she needed to work on her bedside manner. Still, he was used
