The Darkest Whisper lotu-5

by Gena Showalter

  “I’d take excellent care of you, I swear it.”

  “For a day. Maybe a day and a half,” Anya retorted dryly. “He’s a love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of guy. And though he’s not a Lord, he does have a curse hanging over his head. I have the book to prove it.”

  William growled low in his throat. “Anya! Must you share my secrets with everyone?” He flattened his palms on the arms of his chair. “Fine. If you can spill, I can, too. Anya’s the reason the Titanic sank. She was playing chicken with the icebergs.”

  Scowling, Anya anchored her hands on her hips. “William had a bronze made of his penis and placed it on his mantel.”

  Rather than embarrass the man, her words spurred him on. “Anya visited the Virgin Islands a few years ago and after that, all the natives started calling them the Islands.”

  “William has a tattoo of his own face on his back. He says it’s ’cause he doesn’t want to deprive the people behind him of his beauty.”

  “Anya—”

  “Wait!” Gwen said with a laugh. Their easy banter had chased away her nervousness. “I get the point. You’re both depraved. Now enough about you two. Someone tell me something about Sabin. You said you would, Anya.”

  “Did she now?” William immediately gave her his full attention, blue eyes sparkling. “Allow me to help her out. Sabin once stabbed Aeron, the tattooed warrior with the buzz cut, in the back. Not in a playful gesture, either, but to kill him.”

  “Did he?” she asked. William seemed outraged by that fact. Gwen thought perhaps she should be, as well, but Sabin was the kind of man who fought dirty—as both she and Anya had remarked—and that, well, impressed her. Her sisters were like that; sometimes, despite her instinctive fear of violence, she secretly wished she were like that, where nothing mattered but victory.

  “Bor-ing,” Anya said. She rubbed her hands together, as if she was happy to have her turn.

  “Wait. Tell me why Sabin stabbed him,” Gwen said.

  “You’re digging William’s story, then? Fine.” Anya sighed. “I’ll finish it for him. The Lord/Hunter war had just erupted. In ancient Greece, in case you’re wanting a timeline, before those delicious gladiators. Anyway, Hunters, being human, were losing and so they began using women as Bait to draw, trap and slaughter the Lords. They managed to kill Sabin’s BFF, Baden.”

  Gwen’s fingers fluttered over her throat. “He told me.” He must have been more devastated by the loss than she’d realized.

  “He did?” One of Anya’s eyebrows winged up. “Wow. He’s usually so tight-lipped. But why do you look close to tears? You didn’t even know the man.”

  “Something’s in my eye,” she rasped.

  Lips twitching, Anya said, “Sure. Whatever you say. But back to my story. Sabin and the other warriors pounced on the Hunters responsible and destroyed them. Afterward, Sabin wanted to continue the killing spree. The others didn’t. Wait, that’s not true. Half agreed with Sabin, half craved peace. Aeron was going on and on about dropping things, starting a new life away from the Hunter war, blah, blah, blah, so Sabin, in his grief and fury, plunged his dagger into the man’s back.”

  “Did Aeron retaliate?” Gwen pictured the warrior in her mind. Tall, muscled and heavily tattooed, as William had said. Hair cropped to his scalp, violet eyes stark and gloomy. He seemed cold but quiet. Almost unassuming. Yet she’d seen the way he’d viciously attacked those Hunters.

  Who would win a fight between the two?

  “Nope,” Anya said. “And it pissed Sabin off even more. He then went for Aeron’s throat.”

  Was it bad that she was relieved? She didn’t like the thought of Sabin being hurt. Or assaulted.

  “Still want to be his female?” William interjected, sounding almost hopeful. “My offer is still good. I can make all your naughty dreams come true.”

  If she were Sabin’s, which she wasn’t, yeah, she’d still want to be with him. William was beautiful, didn’t intimidate her like the others, but he also didn’t tempt her in any way. Her eyes craved the sight of rugged, sometimes boyish Sabin. Her ears craved the sound of his hard voice. Her hands itched to touch that sun-kissed skin. Silly girl. He couldn’t have been any clearer about wanting to keep her at a distance.

  What would she do if he changed his mind, though? He was everything she feared and there’d be no controlling him.

  “Oh, and just so you know,” William added, grinning wickedly, “he’s possessed by the demon of Doubt. So anytime you find yourself battling insecurities, he’s the reason. I, however, will make you feel special and loved. Cherished.”

  “No, you won’t,” the very voice she’d been dying to hear suddenly proclaimed from behind her. “You won’t be seeing another morning.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Sabin knew he looked like a monster. Blood coated him like a second skin, his eyes gleamed wildly, feral—they always did after something like this went down—and he smelled like old pennies. He’d meant to shower before approaching Gwen, not wanting to frighten her further. First, though, he’d gone to check on Amun. The man had stopped writhing but had not stopped moaning, still bound to his bed and clutching his head. He must have stolen more secrets than usual. Darker secrets. Usually he’d recovered by now.

  Sabin felt guilty for having asked his friend to fill his head with more chaos, more voices. He soothed himself only with the knowledge that Amun knew what he was doing and wanted to defeat the Hunters as much as Sabin did.

  When he left, he’d decided to sneak a peek at Gwen and see how she was doing. Had Anya fed her? Frightened her? Learned more about her? The questions had taken residence inside his head and refused to leave, somehow overshadowing his desire to force more information out of the prisoners.

  Except Gwen hadn’t been in his room.

  Furious, he’d begun to hunt. Thinking Paris, who had left the dungeon soon after Sabin appeared, had used Sabin’s distraction to his advantage and seduced her, Sabin had stomped to the warrior’s bedroom, violence brewing inside him. Sabin had claimed Gwen as his. His. No one else would touch her. Not because he was jealous or possessive of her, of course, but because, as he’d already assured himself, he planned to use her as a weapon. Wouldn’t do to have one of the warriors pissing her off. Yes, that’s the only reason his vision had burned bright red and his fists had clenched, his nails elongating into his claws, his muscles gearing for confrontation.

  Paris hadn’t been in bed with her, however, which had saved his life. He’d been alone, drinking himself into oblivion, practically mainlining ambrosia—drug of choice for the gods.

  Sabin was still shocked by the sight. Paris was the upbeat one, the optimistic, caring one. What the hell had happened to him?

  The misuse of the heavenly substance would have to be dealt with, for an intoxicated warrior was a sloppy warrior. Again, Sabin had meant to act, to knock some sense into the warrior, then speak with Lucien about it. Then he’d heard laughing female voices and had followed the sound, helpless to do anything else, his curiosity simply too great. Yes, curiosity—not desperation to finally see Gwen’s lovely face lit with amusement rather than shadowed by fear and trepidation.

  Now here he stood in the entrance to the entertainment room, gaze darting between her and William, seething with fury, his demon snarling in his head. Doubt might crave Gwen’s destruction, but it wanted to be the one, the only, to deliver it. Wanted to be the only male around her. Everyone else was an interloper and worthy of punishment.

  Let me have the warrior, the demon snarled. He’ll regret his actions. He’ll beg for mercy.

  Soon. Sabin had just killed a man, violently and cruelly, and should have abhorred the thought of adding another slaying to his ever-increasing list. Besides, Gwen wasn’t ready to witness another violent dispute.

  Gone was her amusement—what had made her laugh? — and in its place was more of that hated trepidation. Was it directed at Sabin? Or William, who had just blatantly propositioned what belonged to Sabin? An
d to think Sabin had started to like the womanizing bastard, had admired his cheeky wit. Now, not so much.

  “Sabin, my man,” the bastard in question said, popping to his feet with an irreverent smile. “We were just talking about you. Can’t say I’m happy to see you, though.”

  “No, and very soon you won’t be saying much at all. Gwen, return to my room.”

  Anya jumped in front of the man, acting as his shield. “Now, Sabin. He didn’t mean any harm. He’s borderline stupid. You know that.”

  Rather than shove her behind him as was honorable, William offered Sabin a cocky, come-get-me-now wave from behind the goddess. “I kind of did mean harm. She’s pretty and it’s been a while for me. Like several hours.”

  “Gwen, go. Now.” Narrowed gaze never leaving the warrior, Sabin withdrew the blade sheathed at the back of his waist and wiped any remaining blood on his pants. “Doesn’t matter who you hide behind. You’ve seen your last sunrise.”

  Gwen gasped, snapping out of whatever frozen state the confrontation had inflicted. When Sabin stalked forward, she even held out an arm to stop him. He allowed the action, the feel of her arm against his stomach somehow more erotic than another woman’s mouth on his cock.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t.”

  Indecision suddenly reigned. Gwen wasn’t going to leave. Too much determination wafted from her. How strongly must this timid little creature feel to stand her ground like this? But did she hope to protect William? Sabin’s desire to punish the warrior intensified exponentially.

  “If you think about it,” William said in that same amused tone, hands on Anya’s shoulders as if to taunt him, “I didn’t do anything wrong. She’s not yours. Not really.”

  Sabin’s nostrils flared, his muscles jerking in their frenzy to finally attack. Somehow he managed to remain in place. Perhaps because Gwen trembled against him, her fingers spreading over his chest, hot and insistent. “And why do you say that?” he found himself demanding.

  “I’ve been around enough women to know when one has been claimed. Not that that ever stopped me from pursuing them, admittedly. But Gwen is fair game, my man. For me, for everyone.”

  Gwen waved her hands in front of his face. “Nothing happened,” she told Sabin imploringly. “I don’t know why you’re upset. You and I aren’t even…we’re not…”

  “You are mine,” he said, his gaze still on William. “Mine to protect.” He would mark her, he decided, put a brand on her so that William and the others understood beyond any doubt that she was now and forever off-limits. “Mine to claim.”

  It would mean nothing. He wouldn’t let it. But it had to be done.

  “Come.” He twined their fingers and turned, pulling her behind him. William laughed. Thankfully, Gwen didn’t protest. Had she, he would have thrown her over his shoulder and carried her fireman style—after stalking back to William and knocking a few teeth loose.

  “Idiot,” he heard Anya growl. A smack sounded, as though she’d slammed her open palm into the back of William’s fat head. “Do you want to be kicked out? Who do you think Lucien will side with if it comes down to you or Sabin, huh?”

  “Well, you,” the warrior said. “And you’ll side with me.”

  “Okay, bad example. Don’t forget I’ve got your precious book. Every time you act like this, I’m going to rip out another page!”

  A low growl. “One day I’m going to…”

  Their voices faded, leaving the echo of Gwen’s shallow breathing and heavy footfalls.

  “Where are we going?” she asked nervously.

  “My room. Where you should have stayed to begin with.”

  “I am not a prisoner, I’m a guest!” she said.

  Up the stairs he climbed, slowing his gait so that she could keep up. Along the way they ran into Reyes and Danika, Maddox and Ashlyn, who were headed toward the kitchen. Both couples tried to stop and talk to him, the smiling females wanting an introduction to Gwen, but he kept moving without a word.

  “Why are you so upset?” Gwen’s fingers tightened around his. “Why couldn’t I talk to them? I don’t understand what’s happening.”

  He was proud of her. She recognized the danger he posed right now, but didn’t try to escape and didn’t seem in jeopardy of losing control of her Harpy. “I’m not upset.” I’m enraged!

  “Do you normally threaten to kill men who don’t upset you?”

  He ignored the question, one of his own springing to mind and refusing to leave. “Did he touch you?” The words were ruthless, his tone biting. Walking away from the impending fight had been acceptable because he’d thought William had merely used words to try and gain Gwen’s affections. Anything more, and he would turn around as he’d wanted before, grind the bastard into hamburger and feed him to the wild animals roaming the hills.

  “No. He didn’t. Your nails, they’re hurting me.”

  Instantly Sabin relaxed his grip, willing his nails to sink back into their beds. They snaked a corner, and his pace increased. Urgency rushed through him, as potent and strong as a flooded river.

  “Did he scare you?” This time, the question was merely gruff.

  “Again, no. And if he had, I–I could have handled him.”

  His lips twitched in his first stirring of humor that evening. As if. When she was Gwen, the Harpy dormant, she was the most docile creature he’d ever encountered. It was, at times, endearing. His life was death and dishonor, cruelty and might, yet she was all that was serene and good.

  “And how would you have done that?” He didn’t ask to taunt her but to force her to admit she needed a guardian. Him. Here, in this house, even out in the world, she needed him. The day she learned to control her Harpy, of course, that would change. And he was glad. Yep. Glad.

  A little gasp of irritation escaped her and she tried to rip her hand from his. He held tight, strangely unwilling to end the physical connection. “I’m not a total washout, you know?”

  “I wouldn’t care if you were as strong as Pandora once was. You are desirable, and some of the men here like to believe they are irresistible. I don’t want you dealing with them. Ever.”

  “You find me…desirable?”

  Had she not heard the warning in his voice? To stay away from the warriors, or else?

  “Never mind,” she muttered, his hesitation clearly embarrassing her. “Let’s talk about something else. Like your home. Yes. Perfect. Your home is lovely.” She was panting now, the long walk likely more exercise than she’d gotten in her year of confinement.

  He gave his surroundings a cursory glance. The stone floor was polished and veined with gold—like her eyes. The end tables were cherrywood—as glossy a red as her hair. The walls were smooth, inlaid with multihued marble and utter perfection—like her skin, even dirty as it was.

  When had he begun to compare everything to her?

  When they hit the landing of the second staircase, his bedroom door entered his line of vision and he breathed a sigh of relief. Almost there…How would she react to what he was about to do? Go Harpy?

  He’d have to tread carefully. At the same time, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—back down.

  What if he hurts you? the demon was suddenly whispering into her mind. What if he—

  “Shut the fuck up!” he snarled, and Doubt laughed gleefully at the damage it had already caused.

  Gwen tensed. “Must you curse like that?”

  “Yes.” He tugged her now reluctant form through the door, shutting and locking it behind her. They faced off. She was pale, trembling again. “Besides, I wasn’t talking to you.”

  “I know. We’ve had this conversation before. You were talking to your demon. To Doubt.”

  A statement, not a question. He massaged the back of his neck, wishing his fingers were curled around the goddess of Anarchy’s neck instead. “Anya told you.” He didn’t like that Gwen knew, would have liked for her to have time to get used to him first.

  A shake of her beautiful head. “Will
iam did. So the demon wants me to…doubt you?” She twirled the ends of her hair. Another nervous gesture?

  “It wants you to doubt everything. Every choice you make, every breath you take. Everyone around you. It can’t help itself. The indecision and confusion of others is where it derives its strength. A moment ago, I could hear it shooting its poisoned barb into your mind, trying to make you believe I’ll hurt you. That’s why I felt the need to curse.”

  Her eyes widened, those silver striations expanding and overshadowing the amber. “That’s what I’m hearing, then. I wondered where the thoughts were coming from.”

  His brow furrowed as he processed her words. “You’re able to distinguish its voice from your own?”

  “Yes.”

  Those who knew him often recognized the demon simply by its word choices. But for a virtual stranger to separate him from his demon…How could she tell the difference between them? “Not many can do so,” he said.

  Her eyes widened. “Wow. I actually have a skill most don’t. And an impressive one, at that. Your demon is sneaky.”

  “Insidious,” he agreed, surprised that she hadn’t fainted, screamed or demanded to be released from his despicable clutches. She even seemed proud of herself. “It senses weakness and pounces.”

  Her expression became pensive. Then depressed. Then angry. She’d discovered the hidden meaning to his words: she was weak and the demon knew it. He preferred her pride.

  His gaze snagged on the tray resting on his dresser. An empty tray. He nearly grinned. Anya had gotten her to eat, thank the gods. No wonder her color was higher, her cheeks sweetly fuller. What else was different about her? he mused, studying her. At her waist, there were several slight bulges—but those, he was sure, weren’t the result of her recent meal.

  A quick scan of the room revealed his weapons case was three inches to the right of its normal mark. She must have disabled the lock and pilfered the contents. The little thief, he thought, eyeing her again.