The Darkest Whisper (5 page)

“So this food is payment for listening to you?” she asked.

“No.” He would not allow her to think bribery was acceptable. “I just want you healthy.”

“Oh,” she said, clearly disappointed.

Why disappointment?

Doubt nearly danced with the urge to crawl out of Sabin's head and into Gwen's. Much longer, and he'd lose his hold. One wrong suggestion from the demon, however, and Sabin knew she would throw the tiny morsel to the ground.

Eat it,
he projected.
Please eat it.
It wasn't the most nutritious of snacks, but at this point he would have been happy if she'd eaten a pile of sand.

Finally, she lifted the golden cake and tentatively nibbled on the edge. Those long, dark lashes closed, and a tiny smile appeared. Absolute ecstasy radiated from her—the kind that usually arrived on the heels of an orgasm.

His body reacted instantly, every muscle hardening. His heartbeat picked up speed; his palms itched to touch.
My gods, she's lovely.
Quite possibly the most exquisite thing he'd ever beheld, all carnal pleasure and blissful decadence.

The rest of the cake was inside her mouth a second later, her cheeks puffing with its mass. As she chewed, she reached out, silently commanding him to give her another. He did so without hesitation.

“Shall I take half?” he asked before letting go.

Black began to swirl in her eyes, obliterating gold.

Maybe not. He raised his hands, palms out, and she stuffed the second cake into her mouth. The black faded, the gold returning. Crumbs fell from the corner of her lips.

“Thirsty?” He held up the juice box.

Again she reached out, fingers waving him to hurry.

Within seconds, every drop of juice was gone.

“Slow down, or you'll make yourself sick.”

Just like that, the black returned to her irises. At least it didn't bleed into the whites as it had moments before she'd slain the Hunter. Sabin pushed the plate to her, and she polished off the rest of the food.

When she finished, she settled back into the tent, that contented smile making another appearance. Rich pink painted her cheeks. And before his eyes, her body filled out. Her breasts overflowed. Her waist and hips flared perfectly, sinfully. His cock, still hard and aching, twitched in response.

Stop. Now.
His erection would probably terrify her, so he remained in the crouch, his knees together, his chest hunched.

What if she liked it? What if she asked you to close the distance and kiss her? Touch her?

Zip it.

But then Gwen began to pale. Her smile fell, becoming a frown.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

Without a word, she jerked up the bottom tent flap, leaned outside and retched, heaving, every drop and crumb leaving her. Sighing, he pushed to his feet and gathered a rag. After soaking it with the contents of a water bottle, he shoved it into her fingers. She eased the rest of the way into the tent and wiped her mouth with a trembling hand.

“Knew better,” she mumbled, returning to her former position. Arms locked around her legs, holding them to her chest.

Knew better than to eat too quickly? Well, yeah. 'Cause he'd warned her.

Sabin cleared his throat and decided to feed her again once her stomach had settled. For now, they could finish their conversation. After all, she'd lived up to her side of the bargain. She
had
eaten.

“You asked what I needed you to do. Well, I need your help finding and killing the men responsible for your…treatment.”
Tread carefully. Don't rouse her dark side with painful memories
. But there was no way around it. “The others, they told us what had been done. The fertility drugs, the rapes. How there were other women once locked in those cages. Women who were raped as well, their babies taken away from them. A few seemed to think this has been going on for years already.”

Gwen's back was pressed against the sand-colored tent flaps, yet she tried to scoot backward, as though she needed to escape from his words and the images they evoked.

Sabin himself had cringed, hearing the stories. He might be half demon, but he had never done anything as terrible as what had been done to the women in that cavern.

“Those men are vile,” he said. “They need to be destroyed.”

“Yes.” One of her arms fell from her legs, and she drew little circles in the dirt beside her hip. “But I…wasn't.” The words were so softly spoken, he had to strain to hear them.

“You weren't, what? Raped?”

Nibbling on her bottom lip—a nervous habit of hers?—she shook her head. “He was too afraid to open my cage, so he left me alone. Physically, at least. He…took the others in front of me.” There was guilt in her tone.

Ah. She felt responsible.

Sabin felt only relief. The thought of this fae-like creature being held down, her legs pried apart while she cried and begged for mercy, mercy that would never have been given…He anchored his hands on his thighs, his nails elongating into claws and cutting past fatigues.

When he returned to Budapest, the Hunters in his dungeon would suffer untold agonies, he thought for the thousandth time. He'd tortured men before, considered it a necessary part of war, but this time he would truly enjoy it.

“Why did he keep you, then, if he was afraid of you?”

“Because he hadn't given up hope that the right drugs would make me biddable.”

Blood beaded where claw met skin. She'd lived in terror, he was sure, of that very thing happening. “You can avenge yourself, Gwen. You can avenge the other women. I can help you.”

Her lashes lifted, the sand she played with clearly forgotten, and then those amber orbs were probing all the way to his soul. “So can you. Avenge us, I mean. Obviously those men did something to you. You came here to fight them, didn't you?”

“Yes, they did something to me and mine, and yes, I came here to fight them. That doesn't mean I can destroy them on my own.” Otherwise, he would have done so by now.

“What did they do to you?”

“They murdered my best friend. And they hope to murder everyone else I hold dear, all because they believe the lies of their leader. I've been trying to obliterate them for centuries,” he admitted. The fact that the Hunters continued to thrive was like a dagger in his side. “But I kill one, and five more take his place.”

When she didn't blink at the word
centuries
, he
realized she knew he, too, was immortal. But did she know what he was?

No way she's guessed. Like most every other woman in your life, she would despise what you are. How could she not? And look at her now. So sweet, so gentle. No evidence of hatred. Yet.
The last emerged in a singsong.

Doubt. His constant companion. His cross to bear.

“How do I know you aren't one of them?” she demanded. “How do I know this isn't simply another way to try and gain my cooperation? I'll help you fight your enemy and you'll rape me. I'll get pregnant, and you'll steal the child from me.”

Doubts. Courtesy of his demon?

Before he could think up a reply, she added tightly, “I watched you fight those men. You hurt them, claim to hate them, but you didn't kill them. You let them live. That isn't the action of a warrior who wants to annihilate his enemy.”

As she spoke, an idea sprouted. A way to prove himself. “And if we'd killed them, you would have been convinced of our hate for them?”

More nibbling on that lush bottom lip. Her teeth were white and straight and a little sharper than a human's. Kissing her would probably draw blood, but part of him suspected every drop would be worth it. “I—maybe.”

Maybe was better than nothing. “Lucien,” he called without removing his attention from her.

Her eyes widened, and again she tried to scoot back. “What are you doing? Don't—”

Lucien stalked through the front flaps, glancing between them expectantly. “Yes?”

“Bring me a prisoner from Buda. I don't care which.”

Lucien's brow furrowed in curiosity, but he didn't reply. He simply disappeared.

“I can't help you, Sabin,” Gwen said, sounding agonized. Imploring him to understand. “I really can't. There's no reason to do whatever it is you're about to do. I shouldn't have yelled at you the way I did. All right? I admit it. I shouldn't have insulted you with my doubts. But I seriously can't fight anyone. I freeze up when I'm scared. And then I black out. When I wake up, everyone around me is dead.” She gulped, squeezed her eyes shut for several seconds. “Once I start killing, I can't stop. That's not the kind of soldier you can rely on.”

“You didn't kill me,” he reminded her. “You didn't kill my friends.”

“I honestly don't know how I pulled myself back. That's never happened before. I wouldn't know how to do it a-gain.” She paled.

Lucien had reappeared, a struggling Hunter at his side.

Reaching behind his back, Sabin withdrew a dagger and stood.

When Gwen saw the glinting silver, she gasped. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Was this man one of your tormentors?” Sabin asked the now trembling female.

Silent, her gaze moved from one man to another in dread. She clearly knew what was coming, but this wasn't the heat of battle. It would be straight-up murder.

The Hunter kicked and punched at Lucien. That failed to gain him his freedom, so he began sobbing. “Let me go, let me go, let me go. Please. I only did what I was told. I didn't mean to hurt the women. It was all for the greater good.”

“Shut it,” Sabin said. This time he'd be the one to show no mercy. “You didn't save them either, now did you?”

“I'll stop trying to kill you. I swear!”

“Gwendolyn.” Sabin's voice was hard, uncompromising, a roar compared to the Hunter's pleading. “An answer. Please. Was this man one of your tormentors?”

She gave a single nod.

Without word or warning, he cut the Hunter's throat.

S
ABIN HAD MURDERED
a man in front of her.

Several hours had since passed and they'd even switched locations, but the bloody image of that human falling to his knees, then to his face, gurgling then silent, so silent, refused to leave her mind.

Gwen had known that kind of fierceness churned inside of Sabin—the same kind of fierceness that had driven
her
to murder. She'd known he was hard and harsh and untouched by softer emotion. His eyes gave him away. Dark and cold, utterly calculating. The moment he'd led her out of her cell those two days ago, she'd begun to notice the way he surveyed the scene around him and decided who and what he could use to his advantage. Everything else was debris.

She must have been debris. Then. Now he wanted her help.

But she couldn't forget that he'd pushed her away at their first meeting. Oh, that had embarrassed her. One simple brush of his callused fingertips and she'd glued herself to the side of a man who wanted nothing to do with her. But he'd been so warm, his skin buzzing with energy, and she'd been without contact for so long that she hadn't been able to help herself.

No touching
, he'd said, and he'd looked capable of slaying her if she dared reach out again.

His cruel treatment had reminded her that her rescuers were strangers to her, that their intentions could be every bit as nefarious as her captors'. So she'd kept her distance, using the past two days to study them and eavesdrop on their most private conversations. Her mental ear blocks were back in place, noise levels at a bearable pitch, allowing her to listen to men who didn't want to be listened to without grimacing and giving herself away.

One of those conversations, which had taken place this very morning, constantly replayed through her mind.

“We've been here nearly a month with no sign of an artifact. How many pyramids do we have to search before we find it? I thought we'd hit the jackpot with that last pyramid, since Hunters were there, but…”

Again, the men had referenced a hunter. It's what they'd called Chris. Why?

“I know, I know. All that work, and we're no closer to finding the box.”

Artifact? Box?

“Should we pack up?”

“Might as well. Until our Eye gives us another clue, we're directionless.”

Strange phrasing. Their eye could offer clues? To what? And whose eye were they referring to? Maybe the one called Lucien; she'd noticed he had one blue eye and one brown.

“Hopefully Galen hasn't found anything, either. Well, other than a pike through the heart. That, I'd like to
help
him find.”

Who was Galen? Did it matter? These warriors were…odd. Half of them spoke as though they'd stepped straight from the pages of
Medieval Times
magazine. The other half could have been members of a street gang.
They loved each other, though, that much was clear. They were solicitous of each other's needs, either joking and laughing together or fiercely guarding each other's backs.

Three men and the female warrior, Cameo, had sneaked inside Sabin's tent while Sabin was off speaking with Lucien. Each of them had delivered the same message to her: Hurt the warrior and suffer. They hadn't waited for her reply, but had stomped out. The woman's voice…Gwen shuddered. She
had
suffered just listening to it.

As much time as she'd spent alone in the tent, she could have escaped. Probably should have tried. But mile after mile of desert, glaring sun and who knew what else surrounded her, and fear had held her in place.

Even though she'd grown up in the ice-mountains of Alaska, she could have dealt with the sand and the sun. She hoped. It was the unknown that intimidated her. What if she stumbled upon a vicious tribe? Or a pack of hungry animals? Or another group of treacherous men?

Besides, striking out on her own to follow her then-boyfriend Tyson to another state had been the catalyst to her ending up the unwilling guest of that glass cage. Still. Had the warriors hurt her, she would have risked it. Again, she hoped. But they hadn't touched her, not in any way. And she was happy about that. Really. The fact that Sabin had kept his word—no touching—was like a gift from the heavens. Really.

“You okay?” The warrior named Strider plopped down in the plush leather seat beside hers. They were inside a private jet, high in the sky, and there was quite a bit of turbulence.

Surprisingly, that didn't faze her.

Gwen suppressed a bitter laugh. A shadow could send
her into hiding, but rattle-your-bones, fall from the sky instability made her yawn. Maybe because she herself could fly—kind of—though she hadn't attempted the skill in forever. Maybe because as much as she'd been through this past year, crashing seemed like child's play.

“You're pale,” he added when she remained silent. He whipped a pack of Red Hots from his pocket, downed a mouthful, then offered some to her. She smelled cinnamon, and her mouth watered. “You need to eat.”

At least she didn't cower from him. Still. What was with these men and their need to shove junk food in her face? “No thanks. I'm fine.” She hadn't yet recovered from the Twinkies.

Oh, she didn't regret eating them. The sugary taste…the fullness of her stomach…it had been heaven. For those few precious seconds, anyway. But she'd known better than to eat food freely given to her. Cursed by the gods, like all Harpies, she could only eat food that she had stolen or earned. It was penance for crimes her ancestors had committed and completely unfair, but there was nothing she could do about it.

Well, she could starve.

She was too afraid of the consequences to steal from these men, as well as too afraid of what they'd make her do to earn a few precious morsels.

“You sure?” he asked, then tossed a few more of the candies in his mouth. “These are small, but they pack a hell of a punch.” Of all the men, he'd been the most gentle with her. The most concerned with her care. Those bright blue eyes never regarded her with disdain. Or fury, as was sometimes the case with Sabin.

Sabin. Always her mind returned to him.

Her gaze sought him. He reclined in the lounge across from her, his eyes closed, spiked lashes casting shadows
over the hollows of his sharp cheeks. He wore fatigues, a silver chain necklace and a leather man-bracelet. (She was pretty confident he'd want the “man” distinction.) His features were relaxed in slumber. How could someone look at once harsh and boyish?

It was a mystery she wanted to solve. Maybe when she did, she'd stop seeking him out. Five minutes couldn't pass without her wondering where he was, what he was doing. This morning, he'd been packing his things, preparing for this trip, and she'd imagined her nails digging into his back, her teeth sinking into his neck. Not to hurt him, but to pleasure
her!

She'd had a few lovers over the years, but those kinds of thoughts had never plagued her before. She was a gentle creature, damn it, even in bed. It was him, his I-don't-care-about-anything-but-winning-my-war attitude that was causing this…darkness inside her. Had to be.

She should have been disgusted by what he'd done, slicing the human's neck as he had. At the very least, she should have screamed for him to stop, protested, but part of her, that darker side, the monster she couldn't escape, had known what was about to happen and had been glad. She'd
wanted
the human to die. Even now, there was a spark of gratitude inside her chest. For Sabin. For the wonderfully cruel way he'd dispensed justice.

That was the only reason she'd willingly stepped onto this plane. A plane headed not for Alaska but Budapest. That, and the respectful distance the warriors had maintained from her. Oh, and the Twinkies. Not that she could give in to their sweet temptation again.

Maybe she should, though. Maybe she should strap on her big girl panties and steal one, risking punishment. Her skills were rusty, but now that she was out of the cell, her hunger pangs were strong, her body growing
weaker. Too, if the warriors hurt her that would finally spur her into action. Going home.

She'd have to decide quickly, though. Pretty soon, she wouldn't have the strength or clarity to appropriate a fallen crumb, much less an entire meal, and she definitely wouldn't have the strength to leave. What made it worse was that she wasn't simply battling hunger, she was also battling lethargy.

She wasn't cursed to stay awake forever or anything like that, but sleeping in front of others was against the Harpies' code of conduct. And with good reason! Sleeping left you vulnerable, open to attack. Or, say, abduction. Her sisters didn't live by many rules, but they never deviated from that one. She wouldn't either. Not again. Already she'd embarrassed them enough.

But without food and without sleep, her health would continue to decline. Soon the Harpy would take over, determined to force her into wellness.

The Harpy
. While they were one and the same, she considered them separate entities. The Harpy liked to kill; she didn't. The Harpy preferred the dark; she preferred the light. The Harpy enjoyed chaos; she enjoyed tranquility.
Can't let her out
.

Gwen gazed around the plane, searching for those Twinkies. Her eyes, however, stopped on Amun. He was the darkest of the warriors, and someone she'd never heard speak a word. He hunched in the seat farthest from her, his hands over his temples, moaning as though in great pain. Paris, the one with the brown and black hair—the seductive one, as she'd come to think of him, with his azure eyes and pale skin—was beside him, staring pensively out the window.

Across from them was Aeron, the one covered from head to foot in tattoos. He, too, was silent, stoic. The
three of them could have been spokesmen for misery.
And I thought I had it bad
. What was wrong with them? she wondered. And did they know where the Twinkies were?

“Gwendolyn?”

Strider's voice pulled her from her thoughts with a jolt. “Yes?”

“Lost you again.”

“Oh, sorry.” Had he asked her something?

The plane hit another bump. A lock of sandy hair fell over Strider's forehead, and he brushed it aside. Another cinnamon-scented breeze followed the motion. Her stomach grumbled. “I know you won't eat,” he said, “but are you thirsty? Would you like something to drink?”

Yes. Please, yes. Her mouth watered even more, but she said, “No, thanks.”

“At least accept a bottle of water. It's capped, so you don't have to worry that we've done something to it.” He produced a glistening, ice-cold bottle from the cup holder beside him and waved it in front of her face. Had it been there the entire time?

Inside, she wept.
Looked so good
…“Maybe later.” The words were croaked.

He shrugged as if he didn't care, but there was disappointment in his eyes. “Your loss.”

Surely there was something nearby that she could steal. Once again, she searched the plane. Her gaze snagged on the half-drunk cherry-flavored water beside Sabin. She licked her lips.
No, it will be Sabin's loss
. Soon as Strider left her, she'd go for it, damn the consequences.

Maybe. No, she would. But he was here now, and she might as well get some answers out of him. She could also use the time to build her courage. “Why are we
flying?” she asked. “I saw the one called Lucien disappear with the other women. We could have reached Budapest in seconds.”

“Some of us don't handle flashing all that well.” His eyes darted pointedly to Sabin.

“So some of you are babies?” The words were out before she could stop them. It was something she would have said to her sisters, the only people in the world she could be herself around without fear of recrimination. Bianka, Taliyah and Kaia understood her, loved her and would do anything to protect her.

Rather than offend Strider, however, her words amused him. He barked out a laugh. “Something like that, though Sabin, Reyes and Paris prefer to think they catch a virus whenever they're flashed somewhere.”

Twins Bianka and Kaia were the same way. They'd rather believe they were stricken by infirmity than cop to a limitation. Taliyah, cold as ice and twice as hard, simply didn't react to anything.

Slowly Strider's merriment faded and he studied Gwen intently from head to toe. “You know, you're different than I expected.”

Hold your ground. Don't squirm
. “What do you mean?”

“Well…wait, will what I say offend you?”

And cause her to erupt, was what he was really asking. Seemed he was as afraid of her dark side as she was. “No.” Maybe.

His intense stare probed all the deeper as he weighed the legitimacy of her claim. He must have seen the determination in her features because he nodded. “I think I've said this before, but from what little I know, Harpies are hideous creatures with misshapen faces, sharp beaks and the lower half of a bird. They're spiteful and pitiless. You…you're none of those things.”