The Darkest Whisper

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? And 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. “William 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.

She squirmed under the scrutiny, cheeks pinkening. “What?”

“Just thinking.” Let her keep them, he decided. Hopefully, they made her feel safer. And the safer she felt, the less likely it was that he’d have a confrontation with the Harpy.

“You’re making me nervous,” she admitted. She rubbed her palms on the front of her thighs.

“Then let’s speed things along and assuage your fears.” Gods, she was lovely. “Take off your clothes.”

Her mouth fell open on a strangled gasp. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Strip.”

One step, two, she backed away from him, holding her hands up and out. “Not just no but hell, no.” Her knees hit the back of the bed and she fell onto the mattress, gaping up at him in horror. “I fell! That was an accident, not an invitation,” she rushed out, popping to her feet.

“I know. The hell, no gave you away. But it doesn’t matter. We’re going to shower.” She needed to clean up and he needed to mark her. They could knock out both objectives at the same time.

“Feel free.” Her voice trembled. “Alone.”

“Together. And that’s not an invitation, either. It’s a fact.” He reached behind him and dragged his shirt over his head. His favorite necklace, a gift from Baden, bounced against his chest as the material pooled at his feet.

“Put that back on!” she said, her gaze locking on his butterfly tattoo. “I don’t want to see you.” Her pupils dilated, belying her words.

Good. She was intrigued, if panicked. He toed off one boot, then the other. They landed with echoing thumps. He unsnapped his pants and shoved them to his ankles. “This is going to happen whether you agree or not, Gwendolyn.”

She gave a violent shake of her head, those strawberry curls flying. Still her gaze remained on him. Between his legs now. Her breath emerged faster, raspier. “You said you meant me no harm.”

“And I don’t. There’s nothing menacing about a shower. It’s…cleansing.”

“Ha!”

He stepped out of the fatigues, now totally and completely naked. And yeah, he had an erection. He willed it away, if only to relax her, but the stupid thing refused to obey, remaining long and hard and thick.

She swiped her tongue over her lips, a telling reaction, like a neon sign that read I Want Some of That. Her borrowed T-shirt was baggy but he could see that her nipples were hard. Another tell.

After the way she’d kissed him on the plane, he’d suspected she desired him. Now, he knew for certain. She did. And he was glad. It was foolish, wrong, and could only hurt them both in the end, but he couldn’t make himself care just then.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” he said, purposely being crude. Anything to snap her out of the staring contest she had going with Little Sab.

It worked. Amber met brown in a heated clash. “Wh-why not sex? And what are you going to do to me?”

Kiss you. Touch you. Give you a hickey—and an orgasm that will make you scream the roof down. No way William could question his claim on the girl after that. The lack of sex, well…Sabin’s control would snap and his demon would have free rein if he allowed himself to experience too much pleasure. So he’d do what he could: a little petting for him, a lot of petting for her.

Sure you have what it takes to please one such as her? Pretty as she is, she’s probably had scores of men. They’ve probably done things to her you’ve only dreamed about.

His jaw clenched. Old as he was, he didn’t have a tremendous amount of experience with women. While living in the heavens, he’d been too busy defending the gods to pursue his own pleasures. When first cast to earth, he’d been too evil, too crazed to want anything besides destruction. And once he’d gained a measure of control over the wickedness inside him, he’d quickly learned how bad he was for the opposite sex.

A few times, though, he’d considered himself in love and had chased the women shamelessly. Single, married, it hadn’t mattered. He supposed he and William had that in common. If he’d wanted them, he’d gone after them because the want had been such a rare thing.

Darla was the most recent—and devastating—example of his destructive impact. She had been married to a Hunter, Galen’s right-hand man. She’d come to Sabin with information, knowledge of where her husband and men kept their weapons, what they were planning. She’d seen the hypocrisy of the Hunter code, she’d said, and had wanted the war to end. At first, Sabin had thought she meant to act as Bait. To lure him and his men into a trap. But she hadn’t. Everything she’d told him had been accurate.

They’d soon become lovers. He’d wanted her to leave her husband, but she had refused because she would have been unable to help Sabin. He hated to admit this, but part of him had been glad about her decision. He hadn’t lost his mole. But every time she’d visited him, every time he’d taken her to bed, she’d left with a little less sparkle. All too soon, she’d become clingy, needy, desperate for a kind word. He’d tried, gods had he tried, to boost her confidence back up, telling her how beautiful and brave and intelligent she was. She had, of course, doubted him, so in the end it hadn’t mattered.

She’d called him after slashing her wrists.

He hadn’t gotten to her in time. No, Stefano beat him there and kept Sabin from seeing her one last time. He hadn’t even been able to attend her funeral, not wanting Hunters to catch sight of him.

Eleven years had passed since her death, but his guilt was as fresh and clear as if it had happened yesterday. He should have left her alone. If he had, Stefano might have grown tired of the chase and the battles and bowed out. Instead, fueled now by vengeance as much as fanaticism, the Hunter was as savagely determined to win as Sabin.

Sabin hadn’t been with anyone since, avoiding female companionship entirely. Until Gwen. Could she handle him, though? Even a little?

“W-well?” she stammered. “What are you going to do?”

He forced the demon’s worries from his mind. “I’m going to clean you.”

Again she shook her head. “I don’t want to be clean. I swear I don’t.”

“I don’t care,” he said, and advanced.

Panting, she fell back onto the bed once more and scrambled backward, not stopping until her shoulders hit the headboard. “I don’t want to do this, Sabin.”

“Yes, you do. You’re just afraid.”

“You’re right. What if I kill you?”

“I’ve handled Hunters for thousands of years. What’s a lone Harpy?” Brave words, but he couldn’t admit the whole truth. That he didn’t know what she’d do, how he’d react or what would happen if they were forced to fight each other. But he was willing to risk her wrath to see this done.

White-hot desire pushed itself into her eyes, lighting them up. “You truly think you can defeat a Harpy in attack mode?”

Up he climbed on the bed, closing more and more of the hated distance between them. “Hopefully, it won’t come to that. If it does, well, we’ll find out together.”

“No! That’s not good enough.” Her foot slammed into his chest, but rather than shove him away, the action sealed her fate. His fingers twined around her ankle and jerked her closer.

“We’ll never know unless we try.”

Then a tear escaped the corner of her eye and slid the length of her cheek, and his chest constricted. “Please,” she rasped brokenly. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I hurt you.”

Don’t back down. “Like I said, there’s only one way to prove to you that I can handle anything you throw at me.” He hardened his heart against her tears; he had to. For her, for him, for peace inside this fortress, this had to be done. She had to be marked. Wanted to be marked, whether or not she admitted it. And like the warrior he was, he would see it through to the end. No matter what.