The Darkest Whisper

CHAPTER 9

Sabin stalked through the fortress, pained moans rising from the dungeons below and echoing off the walls. Someone was interrogating the prisoners. He should be down there, helping, but had to speak with Anya first.

Yes, he realized he was placing a woman before his duty, but this was a tiny thing, ensuring Gwen’s comfort, and it shouldn’t take too long. Never again, though, he assured himself. Next time there was some torturing to be done, he’d be the first one in line, Gwen be damned.

Still. Strangely, leaving Gwen felt…wrong. Part of him, a big part—fuck it, a very big part—thought he should be with her, easing her fears, assuring her that everything would be all right.

I can’t assure a female of anything but misery, he thought darkly. Especially a female he was desperate to kiss again.

That kiss on the plane had nearly slayed him. Nothing had ever been sweeter—or held the potential to be so amazingly explosive. But allowing himself to participate would have meant loosening his iron hold on Doubt, and had he done so, the demon would have drawn mental blood; it was the one outcome he didn’t have to doubt. Already she’d been in a fragile state, frightened of who and what he was. Another kiss would be the epitome of stupid.

And why the hell had he made things worse, tainting her memories of her ex? How low was he, telling her there was no way the man she’d trusted had been faithful to her, no matter that his demon had driven him to say it? Worse, with every moment that passed, Doubt’s determination to destroy what little confidence Gwen had strengthened. Maybe because Sabin had made her the forbidden fruit, constantly commanding the demon to stay away from her.

There was no help for that, though. If he stopped reining the demon in, Gwen’s already shaky self-esteem would vanish. Her confidence would be obliterated. And he couldn’t let that happen. He had to protect his weapon. Surely that was the only reason he cared about her state of mind.

He just had to figure out the best way to use her. Maybe he’d convince her to pretend to join the Hunters and cut them down from the inside. That certainly had possibilities.

Hunters had been trying such a strategy for thousands of years, Baden their greatest success. It was past time he used their own wiles against them.

Would he be able to convince Gwen to do it, though?

The question plagued him as he maneuvered through the fortress. Stained glass windows cast colorful prisms over the hallway and illuminated the dust dancing through the air.

Sabin hadn’t lived here long, but even he could tell the new female residents had breathed life into the place. Their decorating had somehow chased away the gloom he’d noticed when he’d first arrived here. Ashlyn had selected the furniture. Sabin didn’t know a lot about that sort of thing, but suspected they were expensive pieces, as they reminded him of the years he’d spent in Victorian England.

No longer was every piece a shade of red to hide the blood that Reyes spilled when forced to cut himself. Now there was an off-white lounge, a chair draped in pink velvet, a carousel horse, and a walnut-and-marble desk. There was even a nursery next door to Maddox and Ashlyn’s room.

Anya had supplied the…extras. The bubblegum machine in the far corner, the stripper’s pole he had to sidestep and the Ms. Pacman arcade at the side of the staircase.

Danika had painted the portraits lining the walls. Some were of angels, soaring through the heavens, some were of demons, skulking through hell, but each depicted a vision that she, as the All-Seeing Eye, had once had. Through those paintings, they were learning more about the spirits inside themselves, as well as the gods who now controlled them.

Of course, interspersed with the visions of heaven and hell were more “extras” from Anya. These happened to be portraits of naked men. To everyone’s consternation, she’d managed to save them from the Hunters’ bomb blast. Only once had Sabin attempted to take one down. The next day, he’d found a naked portrait of himself in its place. How the goddess had had it painted so quickly—and so accurately—he would never know. He would also never take down another of her pictures.

Sabin rounded a corner and stalked past the open doorway of the entertainment room, intending to take the second flight of stairs up to Lucien and Anya’s bedroom. From the corner of his eye, he spotted someone tall and slender, and backtracked. He stopped in the entrance, Anya coming into focus. Dressed in an ultrashort leather dress and tall, spiked boots, she was as perfect as a female could be. Not a single flaw to her. Except her warped sense of humor.

At the moment she was playing Guitar Hero with her friend William. Her head was bobbing to the erratic beat of music, tendrils of hair dancing all around her. William was immortal and had long ago been kicked out of the heavens just as the Lords had. While they had nearly destroyed the world with their misdeeds, his crime had simply been seducing the wrong woman. Or two. Or three thousand. Not unlike Paris, he’d bedded any woman who would have him, married or not. Even the god queen. King Zeus had found them together and, as William liked to say, “flipped out.”

Now his fate was bound to a book, a book Anya had stolen from him and liked to give back a handful of pages at a time. A book that supposedly predicted that a curse—one involving a woman—would befall him.

True to form, as he pounded on the drums, the warrior was eyeing Anya’s ass like it was candy and he had a sweet tooth that had been long denied. “I could do this all day,” he said, eyebrows waggling.

“Pay attention to your notes,” Anya admonished. “You’re missing them and dragging down the band.”

There was a pause, and then they both laughed.

“Don’t praise him, Gilly! He didn’t do his best. Only a girl with a cru—uh, never mind. Just—tell him how awful he is!” Anya twirled, fingers never slowing over the guitar.

Gilly was here? Sabin glanced around, but saw no sign of her. Then he noticed the earpieces both Anya and William sported and realized they were playing long-distance with Gilly.

Sabin leaned a shoulder against the door frame, crossed his arms over his chest, and waited impatiently until the end of the song. “Where’s Lucien?”

Neither Anya nor William spun or gasped or acted as though they were surprised by his presence in any way.

“He’s escorting souls,” Anya said, tossing her guitar on the couch. “Yes! I hit ninety-five percent. Gilly, you hit ninety-eight and poor William only hit fifty-six.” Pause. “What’d I tell you? No praising the man who harshed our mellow. Yeah, you too. Until next time, chica.” She removed her earpiece and threw it beside the guitar. Then she lifted a carton of cheese tots from the coffee table and started eating slowly, eyes closing in ecstasy.

Sabin’s mouth watered. Cheese tots—his favorite. Somehow, she’d known he’d come here, seek her out; she meant to torture him, the tease. “Give me a bite,” he said.

“Get your own,” she replied.

William tossed his sticks in the air, caught them, then placed them atop the drum set. “Doesn’t matter how many notes I miss, I still manage to make some beautiful music.”

“Ha! I totally carried you.” Anya downed the rest of the tots, her amused gaze on Sabin. She threw herself onto the couch, legs swinging over the side. “So, Sabie, I’ve been looking for you. Lucien tells me we have a Harpy in the house!” She clapped excitedly. “I adore Harpies. They’re so wonderfully naughty.”

He didn’t point out that she’d been playing games, not looking for him. “Wonderfully naughty? You didn’t see her rip out the throat of a Hunter.”

“No, I didn’t.” Her lips fell into a familiar pout. “I miss all the fun babysitting Willy.”

William rolled his eyes. “Thanks a lot, Annie. I stayed here, kept you company, helped you guard the females, and you wish you’d been off fighting. Gods, the blow you’ve just dealt me. I might even be tearing up.”

Anya reached over and patted his head. “Take a moment, collect yourself. Meanwhile, mommy is gonna chat with Doubtie poo. ’Kay?”

William’s mouth quirked at one corner. “Does that make me the daddy?”

“Only if you want to die,” Sabin said.

A laugh booming from him, William trekked to the seventy-three inch HDTV and plopped into the plush recliner in front of it. Three seconds later, a flesh fest was in full swing, moans abounding. Once, Paris had loved those movies. But in the weeks before their jaunt to Egypt, only William had gone near them.

“Tell me everything about the Harpy,” Anya said, leaning toward Sabin, her face alight with interest. “I’m dying to know.”

“The Harpy has a name.” Was that…irritation in his voice? Surely not. What did he care if everyone referred to her as the Harpy? That’s how he referred to her. “It’s Gwendolyn. Or Gwen.”

“Gwendolyn, Gwendolyn. Gwen.” Anya tapped her chin with a long, sharp fingernail. “Sorry, not familiar.”

“Gold eyes, red hair. Well, strawberry-blond hair.”

Her bright blue gaze suddenly glittered. “Hmm. That’s interesting.”

“What? The hair color?” Didn’t he know it! He wanted to plow his fingers through it, fist it, spread it over his pillow, his thighs.

“No, that you called it strawberry-blond.” A tinkling laugh bubbled from her. “Does little Sabin have a crush?”

His teeth ground together in irritation as heat flooded his cheeks. A blush? A fucking blush?

“Aww. How precious. Look who fell in love while searching all those pyramids. What else do you know about her?”

“She has three sisters, but I don’t know their names.” The words were raw, filled with violent warning. He was not in love.

“Well, find out,” she said, clearly exasperated that he hadn’t done so already.

“Actually, I was hoping you’d find out. I need you to keep her company.” Guard her, a part of him wanted to beg. Keep her safe. Wait. Part of him wanted to beg? Seriously? “But William stays here. William does not go near her.”

Leather rubbed against denim as William turned in the chair. He practically glowed with intrigue. “Why can’t I go near her? Is she pretty? I bet she’s pretty.”

Sabin ignored him. It was either that or kill him, and killing him would upset Anya. Upsetting Anya was the equivalent of placing your head in a guillotine.

At times like this, Sabin found himself longing for the dull routine of battling and training that had comprised his life pre-Lords reunion. Then he had only five roomies and no annoying women—beyond Cameo, but she didn’t count—or their horny friends to deal with. “Also, see if you can get her to eat,” he added. “She’s been with me for several days and has only eaten a few Twinkies, but she threw them up immediately afterward.”

“First, I never said I’d babysit your woman. And second, of course she won’t eat. She’s a Harpy.” Anya’s tone suggested he was a moron.

Maybe he was. “What are you talking about?”

“They only eat what they steal or earn. Duh. If you’re offering her food, she has to turn it down. Otherwise she’ll…drumroll please…throw up.”

He waved a hand in dismissal. “That’s ridiculous.”

“No, that’s their way of life.”

But that…surely it wasn’t…hell. Who was he to say something was impossible? For years Reyes had had to stab Maddox in the stomach at midnight and Lucien had had to escort the dead warrior’s soul to hell—only to return it the next morning to a healed body and do it all over again the next night.

“Help her steal something, then. Please. Isn’t petty theft your forte?” Later, he’d make sure food was lying around his room and easy to “pilfer.”

Suddenly a high-pitched cry of agony ripped through the walls, a sound that soothed Sabin’s very soul. The Hunter interrogation had just reached a new level. I should be there, helping. Instead, he remained rooted in place, curious, desperate for answers. “What else should I know about her?”

Pensive, Anya stood, walked to the pool table and dug one of the balls out of a pocket. She tossed it into the air, caught it, tossed it again. “Let’s see, let’s see. Harpies can move so quickly the human eye—or immortal eye, as the case may be—can’t register a single motion. They love to torture and punish.”

Both of those he’d already witnessed firsthand. The speed with which she’d killed the Hunter…the brutal way she’d attacked him…that had been all about torture and punishment. Yet every time Sabin mentioned attacking the other Hunters responsible for her treatment, she paled, a trembling mass of fear.

“Like any other race, Harpies can have special gifts. Some can predict when a specific person will die. Some can pull a soul from a body and carry it into the afterlife. Too bad more of ’em can’t do that—it’d make my honey’s job so much easier. Some can time travel.”

Did Gwen possess a special ability?

Every time he learned something about her or her origins, a thousand other questions presented themselves.

“But don’t worry about your woman,” Anya added as if reading his thoughts. “Those types of powers don’t develop until late in life. Unless she’s a few hundred years old—or is it a few thousand? I can’t remember—she probably hasn’t tapped into her ability yet.”

Good to know. “Are they evil? Can they be trusted?”

“Evil? Depends on your definition. Trusted?” Slowly she grinned, as if she relished her next words. “Not even a little.”

Not good for his main objective. But damn, he couldn’t picture sweet, innocent Gwen playing him. “From what Lucien told you, do you think Gwen could be working with the Hunters?” He hadn’t meant to ask that; he truly didn’t believe her capable of it. The only reason the thought was in his mind was Doubt. Doubt, for whom confidence and assurance were vile curses.

“Nah,” Anya said. “I mean, you found her locked up. No Harpy alive would willingly allow herself to be caged. To be captured is to be ridiculed, found unworthy.”

How would her sisters treat her when they arrived, then? He wouldn’t allow them to castigate her. And shit. He’d left her locked in his bedroom. A spacious bedroom, but a prison all the same. Did she now view him as she viewed the Hunters? His stomach churned.

“Will you stay with her? Please.”

“Hate to break it to you, sweet chops, but if she doesn’t want to be here, even I can’t keep her here. No one can.”

Another human cry ripped through the room, followed quickly by immortal laughter. “Please,” he repeated. “She’s frightened and needs a friend.”

“Frightened.” Anya laughed. But his intent expression never wavered, so that laughter began to fade. “You’re kidding me, right? Harpies are never scared.”

“When have I ever demonstrated a sense of humor?”

As disdainful of mysteries as she was, Anya shook her head. “You’ve got me there. Fine. I’ll babysit her, but only because I’m curious. I’m telling you, a frightened Harpy is an oxymoron.”

She would soon learn the error of that. “Thank you. I owe you one.”

“Yes, you do.” Anya smiled sweetly. Too sweetly. “Oh, and if she asks about you, I’m going to tell her everything I know. Every detail. And I do mean every.”

Dread instantly speared him. Already Gwen was wary of him. If she knew half the things he’d done in the past, she would never help him, never trust him, never again look at him with that intoxicating blend of desire and uncertainty.

“Deal,” Sabin said darkly. “But you are in desperate need of a spanking.”

“Another one? Lucien gave me a good one this morning.”

In that moment Sabin admitted to himself that he’d never gain the verbal edge with Anya. He’d never intimidate her, either. No reason to even try. “Just…be gentle with her. And if you have any shred of mercy inside that gorgeous body, don’t tell her I house Doubt. She’s already afraid of me.”

Sighing, he turned and stomped to the dungeon below.

“WHERE ARE THEY?” Paris demanded.

A moan of pain was his only answer.

They’d been at it for what seemed like days, with no real results. Aeron’s demon, Wrath, was flashing all kinds of sick images in his head, wanting to punish this man for his sins. Soon Aeron wouldn’t be able to stop himself. If that happened, he wouldn’t get answers. He was ready to stop, regroup and try again tomorrow, allowing the remaining Hunters—they’d already accidentally killed two—to imagine what would soon be done to them. Sometimes, the unknown proved more intimidating than reality. Sometimes.

Paris, though, didn’t look ready to quit. The man was possessed. By more than his demon. He’d done things to these humans that even Aeron, cold warrior that he was, couldn’t have stomached. But then, Aeron was not the man he used to be.

Months ago the gods had commanded him to slay Danika Ford and her family and he’d fought diligently against the bloodlust that had subsequently consumed him. Fought against the images of those sweet deaths that invaded his head, his hand slicing their throats, his eyes watching their blood pour from them, his ears registering their last, gurgling breath. Gods, he’d craved those things, more than anything else in the world.

When the lust had finally left him—though he still didn’t know why it had—he’d been afraid of taking another life, any life, lest he morph back into the beast he’d been. Then he and the other warriors had traveled to Egypt and a battle had raged. He’d been unable to stay his hand, the lust he’d feared overtaking him yet again, driving him.

Thankfully, he’d calmed down without harming one of his friends. But what if he hadn’t? He would not be able to live with himself. Only Legion was capable of soothing him completely, and he was currently without her company.

His hands fisted. Whoever, whatever, was watching him had to be stopped before Legion could return. Somehow. Sadly, those invisible, penetrating eyes were not on him now. He was covered in blood and had a wadded-up rag in his pocket—a rag that cradled one of the dead Hunters’ fingers. The sight of him might have driven the voyeur away for good.

At first he’d thought it was Anya, playing a prank. She’d done something similar to Lucien. Legion was not afraid of Anya, though. Which made her probably the only fortress resident aside from Lucien who could make that claim.

“One last chance to answer my question,” Paris said calmly, tapping his dagger against the Hunter’s pale cheek. “Where are the children?”

Greg, their current victim, whimpered, a stream of saliva gushing from his lips.

They’d isolated the Hunters, one to a cell. That way, the screams they elicited from one would drive the others mad, making them wonder what exactly had been done to their brethren. The scents of urine, sweat and blood already saturated the air, another added bonus.

“I don’t know,” Greg blubbered. “They didn’t tell me. I swear to God they didn’t tell me.”

Hinges creaked. Footsteps echoed. Then Sabin was strolling into the cell, features tight with determination. Now things would get really bloody. No one was more determined than Sabin. With a demon like Doubt, that determination was probably the only thing that kept him sane.

“What have you learned?” the warrior asked. He pulled a velvet pouch from the back of his waist and gently placed it on the table, slowly unraveling the material to reveal the sharp gleam of different metals.

Greg sobbed.

“The only new information is that our old friend Galen—” Aeron said the name with a sneer “—is aided by someone he calls…you aren’t going to believe this. Distrust.”

Sabin froze in place, the words obviously playing through his mind. “Impossible. We found Baden’s head, minus his body.”

“Yes.” No immortal could have survived that. A head was not something that could be regenerated. Other body parts, yes, but not that. “We also know his demon is now wandering the earth, crazed from the loss of its host. There’s no way it could have been found without Pandora’s box.”

“It offends me that such words were even spoken. You punished the Hunter for lying, of course.”

“Of course,” Paris said with a satisfied grin. “He’s the one who had to eat his own tongue.”

“We should put this one in the cage,” Aeron suggested. The Cage of Compulsion. An ancient, powerful artifact—and one that would supposedly aid them in their quest to find the box. Anyone they placed inside it had to do whatever the warriors commanded, no exception. Well, almost no exception. When Aeron had been consumed by bloodlust, he’d begged someone in the heavens to place him inside and command him to stay away from the Ford women.

But Cronus had appeared before him and said, “Think you I would create something as powerful as this cage and allow it to be used against me? Anything I set into motion cannot be stopped. Even with the cage. That’s the only reason I agreed to leave it here. Now. Enough of this. Now is the time to act.”

Aeron had blinked and found himself inside Reyes’s bedroom, a knife in his hand, Danika’s neck so beautifully close…

“Nope,” Sabin said. “We agreed.”

They would not show the cage to Hunters—even doomed ones—for any reason, so that Hunters would never see what it could do. Just in case.

“Learn anything else?” Sabin asked, changing the subject.

But Aeron saw the gleam in the warrior’s eye. Because the cage had been mentioned in mixed company, this Hunter would die after their session. “Just a confirmation of what the captive women told us. They were raped, impregnated, their babies meant to be used to one day fight us. Already there are half-immortal children out there being raised as Hunters, but Greg there doesn’t want to save his fingers and toes and tell us where.”

The sobs became silent, the Hunter so scared his throat was closing. Any moment, he’d pass out.

Paris gripped him by the neck and shoved his head between his legs, the rope that bound him pulling tight on his wrists. “Breathe, damn you. Or I swear to the gods I’ll keep you lucid another way.”

“At least he still has his voice box,” Sabin said dryly. He held a curved blade up to the light and flicked the tip. Blood instantly beaded on his finger. “Unlike his friend in the cell to the left.”

“My bad,” Paris said, but he didn’t sound repentant. There was an almost maniacal gleam in those blue eyes.

“How’s he supposed to answer our questions if he can’t speak?”

“Interpretive dance,” was the wry response.

Sabin snorted. “You could have used your powers.” His faculty for seduction worked even on men.

“I could have, but didn’t.” Paris scowled. “And I won’t do so now, so don’t ask. I hate these bastards too much to lay on the charm, even for information. I still owe them for the time I spent as their prisoner.”

Sabin glanced at Aeron, an unspoken why didn’t you stop him drifting between them. Aeron shrugged. He had no idea how to deal with the fierce, violent soldier Paris had become. Was this how the others had felt about him?

“So right now we’re determined to learn the location of the kids?” Sabin asked. “That it?”

“Yes,” Aeron replied. “One of the Hunters admitted that they range in ages, anywhere from infancy to teenager. And yeah, they’ve been raping immortals that long. They were able to do so without getting caught because of their location. That cavern in Egypt was once a temple to the gods. It’s protected, though no one knows by who—or how we bypassed that protection.

“Supposedly the kids are faster and stronger than any Hunter that has come before. Oh, and get this. Most of the incubators, as this bastard called them…they were immortals Ashlyn found.”

Ashlyn had the unique ability to stand in one location and hear every conversation that had ever taken place there. Before coming to Budapest, she’d worked for—hell, dedicated her life to—the World Institute of Parapsychology, an agency that had used her skills to hunt immortals. For “research,” they’d told her.

“We can’t tell her,” Aeron added. “She would be devastated.” Learning she’d inadvertently been working for Hunters must have been bad enough; the discovery that her abilities had been used to help breed new Hunters might be too much for the gentle pregnant woman.

“We’ll tell Maddox and let him decide what to leak to her.”

“Please, let me go,” Greg begged, tone desperate. “I’ll take the others a message. Any message you want. A warning, even. I’ll tell them to stay away from you. To leave you alone.”

Sabin lifted a vial of dirty-looking liquid from that velvet pouch. “Now why would I let you give them a warning that I can deliver myself?” He popped the cap with his thumb and poured the stuff over his blade. There was a hiss and sizzle.

Greg tried to scoot his chair back but it was nailed in place. “Wh-what is that?”

“A special kind of acid I like to mix myself. It’ll eat through your flesh, burn you from inside out. Vessels, muscle, bone, it doesn’t matter. Only thing it can’t eat through is this metal, because it’s straight from the heavens. So, are you going to tell us what we want to know? Or am I going to shove this blade into the bottom of your foot and work my way up?”

Tears streamed down the trembling man’s face, landing on his shirt and blending with the blood already caked there. “They’re in a training facility. Everyone calls it Hunter High. It’s a subsidiary of the World Institute of Parapsychology. A boarding school where the kids are kept as far from their mothers as possible. There they are taught how to fight, how to track. Taught to hate your kind for the millions you’ve murdered with your diseases and lies. The millions who have killed themselves because of the misery you spread.”

Excellent. Now he was sounding like the Hunters Aeron so loathed.

“And where is this facility located?” Sabin asked flatly.

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. You have to believe me.”

“Sorry, but I don’t.” Slowly Sabin approached him. “So let’s see if I can jog your memory, shall we?”