The Darkest Whisper (7 page)

Strider's expression hardened. “Those men deserved it. They killed our friend. Tried to kill us.”

“If she screams, wonderful things are going to happen,” Gideon said, grim, easing to Strider's side. “Don't try and knock her out, and I won't help, okay?”

“Wait. Before we do any manhandling and maybe lose our throats, let's try something else. Paris!” Strider barked, his gaze never leaving Gwen. “You're needed.”

A determined Paris approached just as Sabin gave up
the pretense of sleeping and popped to his feet. “Gwen,” he said, hoping to cajole her to calm before Paris could work his wiles. But she was having trouble catching her breath, hysteria curtaining her features. “Let's talk about—”

“Demons…all around me.” She opened her mouth and screamed. And screamed and screamed and screamed.

D
EMONS
. L
ORDS OF THE
U
NDERWORLD
. Once beloved soldiers of the gods, now reviled plagues of earth. Each man carried a demon inside his body, a demon so vile that even hell had been unable to contain it. Demons like Disease, Death, Misery, Pain and Violence.
And I'm trapped inside a small aircraft with them,
Gwen thought, her hysteria reaching new heights.

The plane, on the other hand, was shuddering and tilting, losing altitude at an alarming rate. That didn't stop the Lords. They were closing in around her, encircling her, pinning her. Her heart drummed heavily in her chest, causing blood to surge through her veins and roar in her ears. If only that roar dulled the wild screech of the Harpy…No such luck. There was a tumultuous symphony inside her head, clanging, tolling, wiping away her sanity, tossing her down…down…into a black void where only death and destruction reigned.

Brutal and powerful as these warriors were, she should have suspected they were possessed by demons. The red eyes the first time she'd seen Sabin…the jagged butterfly tattoo on his ribs…

I'm so stupid.

Though Gwen had been watching these men the past few days, she must have been too tired, too hungry, too relieved by her liberation to notice the tattoos on the
others, wherever they were. That, or she'd been too caught up in Sabin's appeal. Actually, now that she thought about it, the warriors had always been fully dressed in her presence, as if they'd sympathized with what she'd been through and hadn't wanted to frighten her by showing too much skin. But now she knew the truth. They'd simply been hiding their marks.

What demon possessed Sabin? she wondered. What demon had she observed, fascinated by every word and action? What demon had she imagined herself kissing and touching, clawing and writhing against?

How could her sisters adore these princes of evil? Well, the idea of them, anyway. To her knowledge, they'd never met. Who would have survived if they had? They were men without mercy or remorse, capable of any dark deed, and they were engaged in a never-ending war that stretched from past to present, sea to sea, death to death.

Each time she'd been told about them, her fear of predators skulking in the night and fiends hiding in the sunlight had multiplied. That was when she'd begun to fear the predator inside herself, for that was why she'd been told those stories. So that she might emulate the warriors. Even as Gwen had recoiled at the thought, the Harpy had soaked up every word, ready to prove itself.

I have to escape. Can't stay here any longer. Nothing good can come of it. Either they'll kill me next or my Harpy will fight all the harder to be like them.
She might have been better off in the hands of their dastardly enemy.

“You have to stop screaming, Gwen.”

The harsh, familiar voice penetrated the chaotic mire flooding her mind, but still the shrieks persisted.

“Shut her up, Sabin. My fucking ears are bleeding.”

“Not helping, asshole. Gwendolyn, you have to calm down or you'll hurt us. Do you want to hurt us, darling? Do you want to kill us after we saved you, sheltered you? We might harbor demons, but we aren't evil. I think we've proven that to you. Did we not treat you and the others better than your captors? Have I touched you in anger? Forced myself on you? No.”

What he said was true. But could she trust a demon? They loved to lie.
So do Harpies,
a voice of reason piped up. Part of her did want to trust them; the other part of her wanted to jump from the plane. The still shuddering, still plummeting plane.

Okay, time to think logically. She'd been with them for two days. She was alive and well, with not even a scratch. If she continued to panic, the Harpy would break free from her hold, controlling her, hungry to wreak havoc. She'd most likely take out the pilot—perhaps even herself—in the inevitable crash. How foolish would she be, having survived captivity
and
the Lords only to end up offing herself?

Logic achieved.

As calm nudged its way into her mind, her high-pitched screams faded. Everyone stood frozen. In, out she breathed—or tried to, her throat felt swollen, blocked—now hearing the frantic alarm coming from the cockpit. Before she could work up another panic, the plane evened out and then everything quieted.

“That's a good girl. Now back off, guys. I've got her.” Sabin didn't sound confident, just determined.

Light winked into her awareness, and colors quickly followed suit, real life painting itself around her. Holy hell. Her vision had gone infrared, and she hadn't even known it. The Harpy had been close, so damn close, to breaking free. It was a miracle that she hadn't.

Gwen was still standing in the back of the plane, a grouping of red leather chairs around her. Only Sabin remained in front of her. The others had moved away, but they hadn't turned their backs. Afraid to? Or were they protecting their leader?

Sabin's chocolate gaze was leveled on her, fiercer than it had been even inside the catacombs, his daggers thrusting at men she now knew were Hunters. He had his hands raised, empty, palms out. “I need you to calm some more.”

Did he? she thought dryly. Maybe she would if she could draw enough air through her nose or mouth, but she still couldn't manage it. Dizziness was creeping up on her, black once again sneaking into her line of vision.

“What can I do to help you, Gwen?” There was a shuffle of footsteps as he closed the rest of the distance between them. His heat seeped into her.

“Air,” she was finally able to force past the knot in her throat.

Sabin's hands settled atop her shoulders, gently pushing. Her legs were too weak to offer any type of resistance, so she tumbled down—straight into one of those chairs. “I need air.”

With no hesitation, Sabin dropped to his knees. He inserted his big body between her legs and cupped her face, forcing her to focus on him. Intense brown eyes became the new center of her world, an anchor in a turbulent storm.

“Take mine.” His callused thumb caressed her cheek, abrading lightly. “Yes?”

Take his…what? she wondered, and then she didn't care. Her chest! Constricting, pinching bone and muscle together. A sharp pain tore through her ribs and slammed into her heart, causing the organ to skitter to a momentary halt. Gwen jerked.

“You're turning blue, darling. I'm going to place my mouth over yours, give you my breath. All right?”

What if this is a trick? What if—

Shut up!
Even in her haze, she knew the eerie, ghostly whisper was not her own. Thankfully, it heeded her command and quieted. Now, if only her lungs would open up. “I—I—”

“Need me. Let me do this.” If he feared her response, he gave no indication. One of his hands trailed to the base of her neck and drew her forward, even as he leaned into her. Their lips pressed together, a heated tangle. His hot tongue pried her teeth apart, and then warm, minty air was sliding down her throat, soothing.

Her arms wound around him of their own accord, holding him captive, meshing them together chest to chest, hardness to softness. His necklace was cold, even through her shirt, and made her gasp. She greedily took his breath. “More.”

He didn't hesitate. He blew inside her mouth, and another warm, calming breeze moved through her. Little by little the dizziness faded; her head cleared, darkness once more giving way to light. The frantic dance of her heart slowed to a gentle waltz.

A need to kiss him, truly kiss him and learn his taste, filled her. His origins, forgotten. His past, of no consequence. Their audience, vanished as if they'd never been present. Only the two of them existed. Only the here and now mattered. He'd calmed her, saved her, gentled her, and now, here in his arms, real life slipping away, the fantasy she'd had of him, of them, played through her mind. Bodies wrapped around each other, straining. Skin slick with sweat. Hands roaming. Mouths seeking.

She threaded her fingers through the silkiness of his hair and tentatively brushed her tongue against his.
Lemon. He tasted of sweet lemons and a hint of cherry. A moan escaped her, reality so much more decadent than she could have dreamed. So heady…so…heavenly. Pure and good and everything a girl could want from a lover. So she tilted her head and did it again, sinking deeper, silently demanding more.

“Sabin,” she breathed, wanting to praise him. Maybe thank him. No one had ever made her feel so protected, cherished, safe, needy, so needy. Not with something as simple as a kiss. A kiss that left no room for fear. Perhaps she could let go, even be herself, and not worry about her dark side…about hurting him. “Give me more.”

Instead of obeying, he jerked his head away and tugged her arms from him until there was no longer any physical link between them. “Touch me again!” she wanted to shout. Her body
needed
him, needed contact.

“Sabin,” she repeated, studying him. He was panting, trembling, his face pale—but not from passion. Fire didn't dance in his eyes, determination did.

He hadn't kissed her back, she realized. Her own desire-haze faded, just as the dizziness had done a bit ago, leaving the harsh realities she'd foolishly forgotten. Voices clamored around her.

“—didn't see that one coming.”

“Should have.”

“Not the kiss, idiot. The calming. Her eyes had turned, and her claws had emerged. She was poised to strike. I mean, hello. Am I the only one who remembers what happened to the Hunter who tangled with her?”

“Maybe Sabin's a portal to heaven like Danika,” someone said dryly. “Maybe the Harpy saw a few angels while receiving mouth-to-mouth.”

Male chuckles abounded.

Gwen's cheeks heated. Half of what they'd said
escaped her understanding. The other half mortified her. She'd kissed a man, a demon, who clearly wanted nothing to do with her—and she'd done it in front of witnesses.

“Ignore them,” Sabin said, his voice so guttural it scraped against her eardrums. “Focus on me.”

Their gazes clashed together, brown against gold. She scooted as far back in her chair as she could, putting as much distance between them as possible.

“Are you still afraid of me?” he asked, head tilting to the side.

She raised her chin. “No.”
Yes
. She was afraid of what he made her feel, afraid that what he was would again cease to matter. Afraid he'd never crave her the way she suddenly craved him. Afraid that the wonderfully protective man in front of her was nothing more than a mirage, that evil waited just below the surface, ready to devour her whole.

Such a coward you are.
How the hell could she have kissed him like that?

One of his brows arched. “You wouldn't be lying, would you?”

“I never lie, remember?” Ironically, that was a lie.

“Good. Now listen closely, because I don't want to have this discussion again. I have a demon inside my body, yes.” He gripped her armrests so tightly his knuckles slowly blanched. “It's there because centuries ago I stupidly helped open Pandora's box, unleashing the spirits inside. As punishment, the gods cursed me and all the warriors you see on this plane to carry one inside ourselves. In the beginning, I couldn't control that demon and did some…bad things, as you said. But that was thousands of years ago, and I now have control. We all do. Like I told you in that cell, you have nothing to fear from us. Got me, red?”

Red. Earlier, during her panic attack, he'd called her something else. Something like…sweetheart? No. Tyson used to call her sweetheart. Dearest? No. But close. Darling? Yes! Yes, that was it. She blinked in surprise. In delight. This hard warrior who could cut a man's throat without hesitation had referred to her as precious treasure.

So why hadn't he kissed her back?

“We've reached our destination, guys,” an unfamiliar voice dripping with relief said over the intercom. The pilot, she figured, and experienced a wave of guilt for the trouble she had caused. “Prepare for descent.”

Sabin remained in place, an indomitable rock between her legs. “Do you believe me, Gwen? Will you still willingly travel to our home?”

“I was never willing.”

“But you never tried to escape.”

“Should I have braved a strange land by myself, with no provisions?”

He frowned. “I've seen for myself how skilled you are. And we've offered you provisions time and time again. For whatever reason, part of you wants to be with us or you wouldn't be here. You know it, and I know it.”

Logic she couldn't deny. But…why? Why would part of her want to stay? Then or now?

You know the answer to that, though you've tried to deny it. Him. Sabin. Not attracted to him?
Ha! She studied him, noting the thin lines of strain branching from his eyes, the spiky shadows cast by his lashes, the muscle twitching in his jaw. The erratic pound of his pulse, now so loud in her ears. Maybe he was just as attracted to her, but was fighting it, as she was. The thought pleased her.