The Darkest Whisper (26 page)

“This way,” Lucien said.

They stalked down narrow corridors, their booted footsteps echoing. Gideon traced a finger over the wall; it was painted a sickening gray. That had been the color of his cell while in captivity. The only furniture he'd been given was a bed with wrist and ankle straps.

Bad memories. He didn't like to venture down that brain path unless he was in the middle of a fight. Helped channel his rage. He looked around. There were multiple bedrooms. Well, they were more like barracks, with fifteen beds to a space. There were also what appeared to be classrooms.

Left, right, right, left and they entered a gymnasium, everyone remaining on guard. One wall was mirrored with a bar in front of it. For…ballet? he wondered. Of course, he thought next. Killers could be more effective when they were flexible.

Three of the walls were gray, just like the hall. But the last was painted in a multitude of colors. Gideon couldn't make out a single picture, only sharp, jagged lines and sweeping arches. They were a mess.

“It's lovely,” he muttered.

“It's also a spell, as we suspected,” Anya replied.

Bodies closed around him. Fingers were soon tracing, eyes following, searching for patterns.

“I've seen this before,” Reyes said darkly. “In the books I used to learn more about Anya.”

When Anya had first come to them, no one had known if she meant them harm. Not their fault, either. The woman was renowned throughout the ages for the trouble she caused.

“Oh, Panie. Your interest still flatters me, but really, get over your crush. I'm taken. Now about the spell. They definitely used the old language,” she said. “Though they added their own flare, and I'm having trouble deciphering certain words. That one means dark, that one means power, and that one…helpless, I think.”

“I don't want to leave now,” Gideon said, spine suddenly tingling in warning. Danger was nearby.

Reyes sighed. “The lying is already getting on my nerves.”

“I care. I do,” Gideon told him dryly. “My heart is actually hurting for you. And just so you know, I can go without lying just like you can go without cutting yourself.”

Another sigh. Then, “Sorry,” Reyes said. “I shouldn't have gone there. Lie all you want.”

“I won't.”

Strider belted out a laugh and slapped him on the shoulder.

Gideon knew he was annoying. He did. But he couldn't stop.

Suddenly Anya, who had been muttering under her breath, reading, gasped. “Oh my gods.” One step, two, she backed away from the wall. She was trembling, and in all the weeks Gideon had known her, all the battles they'd fought together, he'd never seen the courageous female tremble. “Flash us, Lucien. Now. All of us, if possible.”

Lucien didn't hesitate, didn't waste time asking why. He stalked to her and wrapped his arms around her, clearly intending to flash her first—because whether she knew it or not, he couldn't transport more than he could touch. But it was too late. Dark, metal shades fell over the room's two windows, drowning out all hint of light.

Down the hall, he could hear the same shades closing over the other windows.

Gideon spun around, palming his daggers. He wanted to lash out, but it was now so dark he couldn't even see his hand in front of his face, much less his friends. He didn't want to cut the wrong person.

“Lucien,” Anya cried.

“I'm here, baby, but I can't flash. I can't seem to force my body to dematerialize anymore.” Lucien had never sounded so grim. “It's like there's some sort of a magnetic shield locking my spirit to my body.”

“There is,” Anya said. “Magic. I activated it the rest of the way when I read the spell aloud.”

There was an ominous pause as everyone digested that, realization bubbling in Gideon's throat, practically choking him.

“What do the designs mean?” Strider finally asked.

“Most of it is the spell, locking us in the dark, our powers gone, our bodies helpless. The last line, though, is a message to all of you. It says, Welcome to hell, Lords of the Underworld. You'll be here until you die.”

T
HE FIRST WOMAN
Aeron had found for Paris, the warrior had previously slept with. Not that Paris had known it by looking at her. His body's lack of response had given him away. So back to town she'd gone. Since receiving his demon, Paris had only once gotten hard for the same woman twice. And that was the female who had died and couldn't be reborn.
Because of me
.

The second woman Aeron had found for his friend had been a no go, as well. Same reason. The third had been a tourist, new to town, and had thankfully never crossed paths with the warrior. Aeron had abducted her right out of her hotel room while she slept so that his tattooed face and inhuman wings wouldn't frighten her. She'd woken up next to Paris and when she'd glimpsed his pretty face, she'd climbed on board for the ride of her life.

Today, Aeron was flying his friend into town. No more taking females back and forth. It was a waste of time. This way, Paris could choose whom he wanted and Aeron could quickly and efficiently procure her for him. The two could have their fun in Gilly's apartment, the safest place Aeron knew of, since Torin had the entire building wired like a maximum security prison to keep Danika's young friend safe. Aeron hadn't liked it when she had moved out of the fortress—she was too fragile,
too skittish—but the warriors freaked her out and time hadn't calmed her. Aeron would take her to the coffee shop across the street, if she'd let him, and keep her company while they waited.

A perfect plan. Well, as perfect as he could work it.

If only Paris and the Harpies had gotten along. But Promiscuity had taken one look at the beautiful women and deemed them “too much effort.” Aeron supposed he knew the feeling. He himself hadn't enjoyed a female in over a hundred years, and he wouldn't enjoy one for a hundred more. If ever. As he'd told his sweet Legion, they were simply too weak, too easily destroyed, while he would most likely live forever.

He wasn't sure he could survive having to watch another loved one die.

Speaking of loved ones, had Legion returned to hell? Was she in danger? She wasn't happy unless she was with Aeron and he wasn't complete unless she was perched on his shoulders.

The so-called angel hadn't visited him in days. Hopefully, she was gone for good and Legion would return.

He leaned to the left, turning smoothly. Pinks and purples streaked the sky, the sun setting perfectly. Wind whipped across his scalp, his hair too short to ruffle. Paris's, though, continually slapped his cheeks. The warrior was cradled against his chest, arms wrapped around his back, under his wings.

He remained low and in the shadows, out of view.

“I don't want to do this,” Paris said flatly.

“Too bad. You need it.”

“What are you? My pimp now?”

“If I have to be. Look, you found a woman you could bed more than once. Surely you can find another. We just have to look for her.”

“Damn you! That's like telling a man whose arm has been chopped off that you'll sew someone else's on him. It's not going to be the same. It won't be the right color, the right length. Nothing will be as perfect as the other.”

“Then I'll petition Cronus for Sienna's return. You said her soul is in the heavens, yes?”

“Yes,” was the grudging response. “He'll say no. He said I had a choice, and if I didn't pick her he would ensure she never returned to earth. He's probably already killed her. Again.”

“I can sneak into the heavens. I can search for her.”

There was a long pause, as though Paris was considering his words. “You could be caught, imprisoned. Then my sacrifice would be in vain. Just…forget about Sienna.”

Problem was, Aeron couldn't forget about her until Paris did. He was going to have to ponder this, decide how to proceed. All he knew was that he wanted his friend back. The laughing, carefree warrior who had a smile for everyone.

“City's crowded tonight,” he observed, hoping to bring them to a safer topic.

“Yes.”

“Wonder what's going on.” The moment he'd spoken, he experienced a twinge of dread. Last time it had been this crowded, the Hunters had invaded. He studied the people below more closely, looking for the telltale sign of the Hunters. A tattoo of infinity. But these people were wearing watches, long sleeves, and he couldn't see their wrists. Besides, while he knew Hunters were proud of their brands, he also knew they could have started hiding them, marking themselves in discreet locations. Would have been the smart thing to do. “I'm sorry, but we need to go back to the fortress.”

“Good.”

Aeron was already heavily armed, and he never minded fighting on his own, but he had Paris with him. Paris, who was still fuzzed from those massive amounts of ambrosia and would be more a hindrance than a help.

“Wait. Stop!” Paris had tensed against him, and his tone had been disbelieving, hopeful and dripping with wonder.

“What?”

“I think I saw…I think…Sienna.” He said her name as if it was a prayer.

“How is that possible?” Aeron scanned the ground. There were so many faces and he was moving so quickly, he couldn't really distinguish one from another. But if Paris
had
seen Sienna, if she was somehow once again alive, then Hunters were definitely here. “Where?”

“Back. Go back. She was heading south.” There was so much excitement in Paris's voice, Aeron couldn't resist.

Despite the danger, he turned. He wanted to toss out a warning,
don't get your hopes up,
but couldn't. Stranger things had happened.

Suddenly Paris jerked, grunted. “Find shelter!
Now!
”

Aeron felt something warm and wet slide over his arms where he gripped Paris's waist. Then a barrage of arrows pierced Aeron's wings, tearing the membrane. His arms and legs were next, the muscles ripped open, the bones nicked. As he jerked in pain, understanding dawned. Hunters were indeed here, and they'd spotted him. Had probably been watching and waiting for just such an opportunity.

My fault
, he thought.
Again
. He began to fall…fall…twisting and turning. Crashing.

 

T
ORIN LEANED BACK
in his chair, hands locked behind his head, feet propped on his desk. He'd been glued here for days, barely leaving to eat, shower or, hell, live. Cameo hadn't come to see him since the night of her return, and maybe that was for the best. He couldn't concentrate when she was near and he had more work on his plate than ever before.

He kept the warriors well-moneyed, playing with stocks and bonds. He monitored the surrounding area for intruders. He made all travel arrangements. He researched any leads on Pandora's box, the artifacts or the Hunters. He was even scouring news sites for any sign of a man-with-wings sighting. Aka Galen. To the best of Torin's knowledge, Galen and Aeron were the only warriors who possessed the means of flight.

Torin didn't mind his many jobs because he had the time to do it all; he never left the fortress. To do so could quite possibly kill everyone in the world.
So dramatic
, he thought dryly. But true. One touch of his skin against another's was all that was needed to jumpstart a plague. Last one he'd started, thanks to the Hunters, had been here in Buda. At least it had been contained by doctors before it could do too much damage.

But, oh, how he wanted to touch Cameo. Would have given anything for the chance. He pictured her in his mind. Small, slender, that long dark hair, those sad gray eyes.

Would he still want her if he could have his pick of women? he found himself wondering for the thousandth time that day. Would he still want her if he could touch anyone he wished? Go into town anytime? As a man, yeah, he'd want her. She was pretty, smart, amusing if you got past her suicidal voice. But anything perma
nent? He just didn't know. Because…his gaze strayed to the monitor to his left.

Every so often he would catch a glimpse of a beautiful woman walking through town. Long black hair, exotic eyes that were bright one moment and glazed the next. She'd pause in her stride, smile, frown, then kick back into gear. When the wind caressed her, ruffling her hair, Torin would catch the barest hint of…pointed ears? Whether he was seeing things or not, the sight of those ears made him hard as a rock. He had the strangest urge to lick them.

She wore a T-shirt that said Nixie's IAD House O' Fun, and she had earbuds in her ears. What was a Nixie? A quick Google search and he figured it—she?—was some sort of Immortal After Dark. Interesting. Because he'd like nothing more than to explore her after dark.

What type of music was she listening to? Judging by the brisk nod of her head, it was something fast and hard. Where had she come from? What
was
she?
Delicious, I bet…

Lusting after the strange woman had shaken him, sent those questions about Cameo spiraling through him. If he could desire another, he wasn't in love with Cameo. And if he wasn't in love with her, was it cruel of him to mess around with her? Would he eventually hurt her? Hurt himself?

He'd never be able to touch her, and as passionate as she was, she would eventually need a man who could. He'd never had to worry about these things before because he'd never been with a woman. Not even before his possession. He'd been too busy then, too involved in his job. Maybe he needed to join Workaholics Anonymous, he thought dryly. He had to be the only millennia-old virgin in history.

One of his monitors flashed, and he gave it a detailed scan. Nothing out of the ordinary. No sign of his pointy-eared brunette, either. Another question popped into his head: if Cameo weren't worried about her demon inflicting untold misery upon a human, would she have chosen another man to dally with?

At the thought of her with another man, there was no intense surge of jealousy, as a taken male should feel. Okay, so there was more confirmation. Much as he adored her, much as he craved her sexually, much as he couldn't resist her when she stepped inside this room, he wouldn't have chosen her had circumstances been different.

Damn. What kind of moron was he?

To his right, there was a flash of azure light. Torin twisted to face it, dread already pooling in his stomach. Cronus.

Sure enough, when the light faded, the god king was standing in the middle of Torin's bedroom. “Hello again, Disease,” said that imperial voice. A white robe draped one of Cronus's deceptively fragile-looking shoulders and flowed to his ankles. On his feet were leather sandals. What always struck Torin was the clawlike curve of the immortal's toenails. They just didn't fit with the man's old world nobility.

“Your Lordship.” Torin didn't stand, as he knew Cronus expected. Already this god had too much power over him and his friends. He would keep what he could. Even this, so small a thing.

“Have you been searching for the possessed prisoners as I commanded?”

Torin studied him more intently. Something was different about the god. He looked…younger, maybe. His silver beard wasn't as thick as usual, and there were
streaks of blond mixed with his white hair. If the heavenly sovereign had been going for Botox and highlights, he should have had time for a pedicure.

“Well?”

Wait. What did Cronus want to know? Oh, yeah. “Some of the warriors have been searching for them, yes.”

A muscle ticked in the king's jaw. “Not good enough. I want the other possessed men and women found as soon as possible.”

Well, Torin wanted to touch a female skin to skin without killing her, or in the case of an immortal, ruining the rest of her endless existence. Not everyone got what they wanted, did they? “Our hands are a little full at the moment.”

Silver eyes narrowed on him. “Un-fill them.”

As if it were that easy. “Wouldn't matter if I had all the time in the world. Some of the names have been removed from the list, so there's no way I'll be able to find them all.”

There was a pause. Then, “I removed them. You did not need those names.”

O-kay. “Why?”

“So many questions, demon. So little action. Find the possessed or suffer my wrath. That is all you need know. I am not asking for the impossible. I have given you the names you require. Now all you must do is find them. You can identify them by the butterflies tattooed on their bodies.” There at the end, the god's tone had been dry. Almost…amused.

Again, as if it were that easy. “Why butterflies, anyway?” he grumbled, knowing it would do no good to argue. No one was more stubborn than Cronus. But he also knew that Cronus needed him to find and contain
Galen. What he didn't know—what nobody knew—was why the god king couldn't do so on his own. Cronus wasn't exactly forthcoming.

“Many reasons.”

“I'm un-filling my time, as commanded, so I've got enough to spare to listen to every one of those reasons.”

Cronus's jaw clenched. “Someone considers himself more useful than he actually is, I see.”