Читать книгу The Darkest Whisper - Gena Showalter - Страница 10

SABIN 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.”

Had he so easily forgotten what she’d done to Chris?

She glanced over at Sabin, who hadn’t budged. His breathing was deep, even, his lemon and mint scent wafting to her. Hadn’t he reminded Strider that not all legends were completely true? “We have a bad rap, that’s all.”

“No, it’s more than that.”

For her, yeah. Not that she could tell him. Her sisters—lucky as they were—had shape-shifter fathers. Taliyah’s was a snake, the twins’ a phoenix. Hers, on the other hand, was an angel—a fact she was forbidden to talk about. Ever. Angels were too pure, too good for her kind to respect, and Gwen had enough weaknesses. As always, the thought of her father had her flattening a palm over her heart.

While Harpies were mainly a matriarchal society, fathers were allowed to see their children if they so wished. Both of her sisters’ fathers had chosen to be part of their daughters’ lives. Gwen’s hadn’t gotten the chance. Her mother had forbidden it. She’d merely given Gwen a portrait of him to warn Gwen of what she would become—too morally superior even to steal her own food, unable to lie, concerned about others rather than herself—if she wasn’t careful. And after Tabitha had washed her hands of Gwen, labeling her a lost cause, Gwen’s father still hadn’t tried to make contact. Did he even know she existed? A tide of longing swept through her.

All her life she’d had dreams of her father fighting any and everything to reach her, to whisk her into his arms and fly her away. Dreams of his love and devotion. Dreams of living in the heavens with him, protected forevermore from the world’s evil and her own dark side.

She sighed. Only one name was to be mentioned when speaking of her lineage and that was Lucifer. He was strong, wily, vengeful, violent—in short, a poor enemy to have. People were less likely to mess with her, with any of them, if they thought the prince of darkness would be gunning for them.

And, to be honest, claiming him as family wasn’t technically a lie. Lucifer was her great-grandfather. Her mother’s grandfather. Gwen had never met him, for his year on earth had ended long before her birth, and she hoped they never crossed paths. Even the thought made her shudder.

Carefully considering her next words, she breathed deeply, taking in Strider’s aroma of wood smoke and all that delicious cinnamon. Sadly, even that lacked the decadence of Sabin’s scent. “Humans place a negative connotation on everything they cannot understand,” she said. “In their minds, good always conquers evil, so anything stronger than they are is evil. And evil is, of course, ugly.”

“Very true.”

There was a wealth of understanding in his tone. Now was as good a time as any to determine just what he understood, she supposed. “I know you are immortal, like me,” she began, “but I haven’t figured out exactly what you are.”

He shifted uncomfortably, glancing at his friends for support. Everyone listening quickly looked away. Strider sighed, an echo of the one she’d released earlier. “We were once soldiers for the gods.”

Once, but no longer. “But what—”

“How old are you?” he asked, cutting her off.

Gwen wanted to protest the abrupt change of topic. Instead, coward that she was, she weighed the pros and cons of admitting the truth, asking herself the three questions every Harpy mother taught her daughters: Was it information that could be used against her? Would keeping it secret award her some type of advantage? Would a lie serve just as well, if not better?

No harm, she decided. No advantage, either, but she didn’t mind. “Twenty-seven.”

His brow puckered, and he blinked over at her. “Twenty-seven hundred years, right?”

If he were speaking to Taliyah, yes. “No. Just twentyseven plain, ordinary years.”

“You don’t mean human years, do you?”

“No. I mean dog years,” she said dryly, then pressed her lips together. Where was the filter that was usually poised over her mouth? Strider didn’t seem to mind, though. Rather, he seemed stupefied. Would Sabin have had the same reaction were he awake? “What’s so hard to believe about my age?” As the question echoed between them, a thought occurred to her and she blanched. “Do I look ancient?”

“No, no. Of course not. But you’re immortal. Powerful.”

And powerful immortals couldn’t be young? Wait. He thought she was powerful? Pleasure bloomed inside her chest. In the past, that word had only been used to describe her sisters. “Yeah, but I’m still only twentyseven.”

He reached out—to do what, Gwen didn’t know, didn’t care—and she shrank back in her seat. While she’d craved Sabin’s touch from the beginning—why, why, why?—and had even pictured herself doing those very wicked things to him this morning, the thought of anyone else putting their hands on her held no appeal.

Strider’s arm dropped back to his side.

She relaxed, her eyes once again seeking Sabin. He was now red-faced, his jaw clenched. Bad dreams? Did all the men he’d killed clamor inside his head, tormenting him? Perhaps it was a blessing Gwen wasn’t allowing herself to sleep. She had experienced those types of nightmares herself and hated every second of them.

“Are all Harpies as young as you?” Strider asked, reclaiming her attention.

Was this information that could be used against her? Would keeping it secret award her some type of advantage? Would a lie serve just as well, if not better? “No,” she answered truthfully. “My three sisters are quite a bit older. Prettier and stronger, too.” She loved them too much to be jealous. Much. “They wouldn’t have been captured. No one can make them do anything they don’t want. Nothing scares them.”

Okay, she needed to shut up now. The more she spoke, the more her own failures and limitations were brought to light. It’d be better if these men assumed she had some cojones. But why can I not be like my sisters? Why do I run from danger when they race to it? If one of them had been attracted to Sabin, they would have viewed his distance as a challenge and seduced him.

Wait. Stop. That was craziness. She wasn’t attracted to Sabin. He was handsome, yes, and she’d even imagined herself making love to him. But that stemmed from a sense of gratitude. He’d set her free and slain one of her enemy. And yeah, she was also baffled by him. He was all that was violent and hard, yet he hadn’t once hurt her. But admit to an attraction to the immortal warrior? Never.

When Gwen started dating again, she would pick a kind, considerate human who didn’t rouse her darker side in any way. A kind, considerate human who preferred board meetings over swordplay. A kind, considerate human who made her feel cherished and accepted, despite her faults. Someone who made her feel normal.

That’s all she’d ever wanted.

SABIN’S ATTENTION WAS zeroed on Gwen. Had been since they’d boarded the plane. Okay, fine. Since the moment he’d met her. He’d thought she refused to relax because he intimidated her, so he’d pretended to sleep. He must have been right because she’d let down her guard and opened up. To Strider.

A fact that irritated the hell out of him.

He didn’t dare “wake up,” though. Not even when he’d heard Strider try to touch her, and Sabin had wanted to drive his fist into his friend’s nose, smashing cartilage into brain tissue. Their conversation fascinated him.

The girl—and that’s what she was, a girl, only twentyseven fucking years old, which made him feel like Father fucking Time—considered herself a failure in every possible way, and her sisters paragons. Prettier? Not likely. Stronger? He shuddered. They wouldn’t have been captured? Anyone could be taken unaware. Himself included. Nothing scared them? Everyone had a deep, dark fear. Again, even Sabin. He feared failure as much as Gideon feared spiders.

Timid as Gwen was and as shocked as she’d been that day in the cavern, he’d known she had doubts about her own strength and her feral abilities, but he’d had no idea how deep they actually ran. The way she compared herself to her sisters proved she had doubts on top of doubts. Girl was riddled with them. And being around him would only make them worse.

All of his past lovers had been confident, self-reliant women. (Aged thirty-five and up, damn it.) He’d chosen them for that very reason, their confidence. But they’d quickly changed, his demon sinking sharp claws of uncertainty through them and cutting deep. A few, like Darla, had even committed suicide, unable to bear the constant scrutiny of their appearance, their wit, the people around them. After Darla, he’d given up on females and relationships once and for all.

Then he’d seen Gwen. He desired—oh, did he desire. He could maybe allow himself one night with her and be able to justify it in some way, he thought. But he doubted one night would be enough. Not with her. There were too many ways to take her, too many things he wanted to do to that curvy little body.

Her lush beauty fired his blood every time he glanced at her, made his mouth water and his body ache. Her insecurity roused his protective instincts as much as his demon’s destructive urges. Her sunshine scent, buried underneath the grime she’d yet to wash off, continually wafted to him, summoning him closer…closer still…

To give in was to destroy her. Don’t forget.

Perhaps I’ll be good. Perhaps I’ll leave her alone.

At the sweet cajoling, Sabin bit his tongue, drawing blood. The demon wanted him to doubt its malicious intent. I fell for that once. I won’t again.

“You do that a lot,” Strider said now to Gwendolyn, pulling Sabin from his musings.

“What?” Her voice was breathless, raspy. At first, Sabin had thought her fatigue responsible for such a timbre. But no, that hoarseness was all her. And pure sex.

“Watch Sabin. Are you interested in him?”

She gasped, obviously outraged. “Of course not!”

Sabin tried not to scowl. A little hesitation would have been nice.

Strider chuckled. “I think you are. And guess what? I’ve known him for thousands of years, so I’ve got dirt.”

“So,” she sputtered.

“So. I don’t mind spilling. I mean, I’d be acting as a friend to both of you if I changed your mind about him.”

Your friend undermines you, Doubt said, perhaps wants her for himself. Trusting him after this might not be wise.

Sabin experienced a moment of unease before he shook the feeling off. He warns her away for her own good. For my own good. Just as he claimed. Now shut it.

“I want nothing to do with him, I assure you.”

“Then you won’t care if I leave you without telling you what I know.” Through his narrowed eyes, Sabin watched Strider push to his feet.

Gwen grabbed his wrist and jerked him back down. “Wait.”

Sabin had to grip the arms of his seat to stop himself from leaping up and separating them.

“Tell me,” she said, and released the warrior of her own accord.

Slowly Strider eased back into his chair. He was grinning. Even as limited as Sabin’s line of sight was, he could see the bright gleam of Strider’s teeth. He suddenly wanted to grin himself. Gwen was curious about him.

Probably wants to learn the best way to kill you.

Shut up, damn it!

“Anything particular you’d like to know?” Strider asked her.

“Why is he so…distant?” She was still looking over at him, her gaze burning him, probing deep. “I mean, is he like that with everyone or am I just a lucky girl?”

“Don’t worry. It’s not you. He’s like that with all females. He has to be. See, his demon is—”

“Demon?” Gwen gasped out. Her back jerked ramrod-straight, and her face leeched of color. “Did you just say demon?”

“Oh, uh…did I say that?” Strider once again glanced around the plane helplessly. “No, no. I think I said seaman.”

“No, you said demons. Demons. Demons and Hunters and that butterfly tattoo. I should have guessed the moment I saw that tattoo, but you seemed so nice. I mean, you didn’t hurt me, and thousands of people have butterfly tattoos.” She, too, gazed around the plane, studying the warriors through new, wild eyes. On her feet a second later, she jumped away from Strider and backpedaled toward the bathroom. She extended her arms, as though the puny action could keep everyone at bay. “I—I get it now. You’re the Lords, aren’t you? Immortal warriors the gods banished to earth. M-my sisters told me bedtime stories about your evils and conquests.”

“Gwen,” Strider said. “Calm down. Please.”

“You killed Pandora. An innocent woman. You burned ancient Greece to the ground, filling the streets with blood and screams. You tortured men, removed their limbs while they still lived.”

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.