The Darkest Whisper (14 page)

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.

G
WEN COULDN'T BELIEVE IT
. Sabin, the man she'd kissed, fantasized about, craved, relied on, viewed as a protector, a villain, the man she didn't want to desire but desired anyway, had stripped her despite her shouted protests and wild kicking and hauled her ass into the shower stall before climbing in behind her. Pissed as she'd been—was, damn it—she hadn't turned Harpy.

At first, she'd been shocked. Then nervous. Then excited. Each emotion had lasted only a few minutes, but each had been world-shaking. Why hadn't she hurt him? Because Sabin had yet to make a threatening move? Because the Harpy loved physical contact as much as Gwen did and would take it wherever and however she could get it?

Right now steam enveloped her and Sabin, thick as clouds. Hot water cascaded down the planes and curves of her body. Nothing had ever felt so amazing—except for the naked man behind her, pinning her in, keeping her inside. She would
not
hook up with a demon, no matter how sexy he was. Would she? Her life didn't need more weird. Did it?

Why couldn't she make a decision? His demon wasn't even pestering her, so she had no excuse.

Gwen wrapped her arms around her middle, not bothering to cover her breasts or the tiny triangle of hair
between her legs. Why bother? Sabin was stronger and could pry her hands away in an instant if he so desired—and part of her wanted him to see her, to crave her. Still…

“Do you not realize you could have morning after regrets in the form of shredded skin and organs?” she asked.

Soapy hands settled on her shoulders, hot and wet, massaging. “You feel like silk. I doubt I'll be regretting anything.” His voice was husky, rich…drugging.

Mmm, more. Her muscles loosened, her head lolling back and propping against the hollow of his neck.
Stop. Tense up! Fight his allure.
She tried, she really did, but her body refused to obey her mind. His ministrations simply felt too damn good.

I wonder if he finds you attractive. Or ugly
.

Okay. Finally, she tensed. There was that beguiling, destructive voice. The demon, Doubt. So different in tenor from her own inner voice. Her jaw clenched painfully, and the Harpy squawked at the unwelcome intrusion. “Any way you can cap your friend? He's annoying.”

“Such spirit. I like it. And the demon is hardly my friend.” Sabin's thumbs traced her collarbone. He leaned down, his mouth at her ear, his breath a beautiful caress. “I don't mean to change the subject, but have I told you yet that I find you utterly lovely?”

Gwen gulped, unsure of how to reply. Part of her still wanted to encourage him and part of her still wanted to shove him away before she forgot exactly why she had to resist him. He represented everything she hated about her life. Darkness, violence, chaos. More than that, he planned to use her to hurt his enemy. Nothing came before his hatred of the Hunters, not even the love of a woman.

“Let's get to it, shall we?” Sabin released her, and she
had to press her lips together to cut off a whimper. Then those sensual fingers tangled in her hair, working in shampoo, the scent of lemon dancing from them. Her eyes closed in ecstasy. No wonder he always smelled so edible.

“You go Harpy when you're scared. What about when you're aroused? Or climaxing?”

Such a blunt and personal question. But he'd picked the perfect time to ask. As they were currently naked, she didn't mind answering. “S-sometimes she tries to make herself known. I try to be careful, though, and stop her.”

“Don't try to stop her with me.” Before she could respond, he changed the subject again. “William told you about my demon.” He shifted his hips, his erection brushing the curve of her spine. An accident? “Did Anya tell you about my past?”

A shiver stole through Gwen. “Do you mean, did she tell me that you stabbed your friend in the back? No. She left that part out.”

His nails dug deeply in her scalp, and she gasped. Immediately he released her with a muttered, “Sorry.”

Damn it. Her sarcastic tongue kept creeping out at the worst times. Soon someone (cough Sabin cough) was going to take exception and try and cut it out. And really, suppressing that side of her nature shouldn't be hard. She'd been doing it her entire life. For the first time, however, there was a spark of resentment in her chest. If she weren't such a coward crybaby, she wouldn't fear people's reactions, wouldn't fear her own response and could just be herself.

Herself. Did she even know who that was anymore?

“Duck your head under the water,” Sabin said suddenly, gruffly.

He didn't give her time to obey, but cupped the back
of her neck and shoved her under the hot stream. Sudsy droplets sprayed into her mouth, and she sputtered.

“Close your eyes or they'll—”

“Ow, ow, ow!” She squeezed her eyelids tightly closed.

“Burn,” he finished with a laugh.

Gwen rubbed her eyes, perturbed despite herself by his casual attitude about all this. He'd been so jealous about William—at least, that was the only emotion that had made any sense. And his gaze had scorched her as he'd stripped her, promising incomparable pleasure.

So why wasn't he copping a feel?

Motions clipped, businesslike, he soaped her from neck to toes. His palms glided over her breasts and hardened nipples without pause, then delved between her legs. Though his touch was somehow detached, he still managed to leave her trembling and achy, breathless and needy.

“I can clean myself,” she muttered.

“You had the chance yesterday and the day before that. Hell, you had the chance this morning. You didn't take it.” He shifted, his erection brushing her once again. “Why is that?”

Her blood heated as she pressed her lips together. No reason to tell him what he wanted to know. He would deduce the answer on his own any moment now. And, to be honest, she was almost excited to witness his reaction. Already he'd admitted he found her lovely. What would he think of her without the mask of grime? Would he finally make a freaking move?

When he finished cleaning and rinsing her, he stilled. His breath seemed to catch in his throat, and she felt a swirling heat seep into her, spreading, intensifying. Here it was, his reaction. He'd noticed. “Your skin…”

“I tried to warn you.”

“Well, you should have tried harder.” He spun her around, gaze perusing her swiftly, then more leisurely.

Seeing him, she realized just how wrong she'd been. There was nothing casual about him. His eyes were bright, hot as fire, his lips pulled back over his teeth, thin lines of strain bracketing his mouth.

“Your skin…” he repeated.

She didn't need a mirror to know that without the grime, she glowed. There was a translucent sheen to her that made her look like a freshly polished opal.

Tentatively, as though in a trance, Sabin reached out. His fingertip traced her jawline, dipped to her neck, between her breasts. She didn't back away. No, she stepped forward. Closer. Craving more. Unable to stop. Goose bumps broke out, and all thoughts of resisting him vanished.

“Smooth and warm and luminous,” he whispered reverently. “Why do you hide—” His teeth pressed together and the reverence mutated into anger before her eyes. “Men can't keep their hands off you, can they?”

A lump formed in her throat, preventing her from replying. She shook her head. What would Sabin do and say next? He changed moods faster than anyone she'd ever met.
Touch me
.

But he wasn't done with his line of questioning. “Do your sisters have skin like this?”

“Yes.”

“All Harpies?”

“Yes.” Hopefully he was finished now.

“Have you called them?”

Nope. Not done. “Not yet.”

“You'll do it the moment we leave this shower. I want them here, in this fortress, within the week.”

She gaped at him, shocked to her core. She was naked, her skin at its most alluring, and he wanted to speak of her sisters? To
meet
them? Why did he—the answer slid into place and her shock faded. Of course he wanted them here. He probably thought they'd help him with his war. Or maybe he wanted a harem of Harpies.

Something dark and powerful bloomed in Gwen's chest. Something poisonous. It caused her nails to elongate, the Harpy to screech and her teeth to sharpen. Red spotted her vision.

“You're angry.” He blinked in confusion. “Why?”

“I'm not angry.”
I will kill you if you try and bed them
.

“You're gripping me so tightly, my palm is bleeding.”

Part of her registered that he didn't sound upset or frightened. The rest of her was still too furious to admire his courage under fire.

“You want to sleep with my sisters,” she snarled. Snarled? Her, Gwendolyn the Timid?

He rolled his eyes. “No, I want my friends to sleep with them.”

She blinked just as he had done, not under…standing. Oh.
Oh
. All of her fury drained as swiftly as her shock had, leaving the sweetest sense of pleasure. If his friends were occupied with her sisters, they would leave
Gwen
alone. Was Sabin
that
possessive of her?

“Were you jealous?” he asked, as though the prospect intrigued him.

“No. Of course not.” That was not information he needed, could be used against her, and in this instance a lie would absolutely serve her better than the truth. “I was…thinking of Tyson, wishing I was with him.”

Sabin's eyes narrowed, but through the thick shield of his lashes she could see the brown irises edging with
crimson. “You will not think of him. Do you understand? I forbid it.”

“I—okay.” She didn't know what else to say. Never had Sabin looked more capable of murder. But why wasn't she scared?

However feeble her response, it seemed to pacify him. “I'd already decided to mark you.” There was determination in his tone. Determination so cold and hard she doubted a blade could cut through it. “But this…” His gaze swept over her body. “By gods, I'll mark you every day if I have to. You will only ever think of me.”

“Wh-what do you mean, mark me?” Mark, as in slash? Punish? Now she had no problem backing away. And what did he mean, every day? How much did he expect her to endure?

His hand whipped out, fingers curling around her wrist and dragging her back. “I'm going to sink my teeth into that pretty skin, gently, but enough to leave an imprint.”

Once again her fear drained, leaving only white-hot thrums of wicked bliss. It had been so long. So long since a man had held her, made her feel cherished and special and hot enough to writhe against him.

“Do you want that?” he asked softly.

Did she? Hell, yes. She might not know who she was anymore, but she did know her body hungered for this male. Could she allow it, though?

Time to find the logic. Sabin was strong, immortal and claimed he could handle anything she dished. She was strong enough to enjoy him and stay distanced. She hoped. The “marking” would keep the other warriors away from her. And it was nice to feed the Harpy what it wanted once in a while so that it, in turn, would behave.

Logic achieved.

Before she could form an answer, however, Sabin's nostrils flared as if he could already smell her desire. “If anyone else touches you, they'll die.”

He was willing to hurt his friends for her? Lord, just the thought melted her.

Slowly, he tugged her forward, not stopping until her nipples brushed the strength of his chest. He moaned.

“Your demon—”

“Will be kept on a tight leash, so no worries. Now. Choose.”

She didn't have to think about it anymore. “Yes,” she said breathlessly. Gulping, she reached up, twined her arms around his neck, pressing her wet body against his. “You don't have to worry, either. I'll be careful with you.”

“Please don't.” He swooped in, his mouth taking possession of hers. It was not the soft, one-sided kiss from the plane. This was consuming, raw, his tongue plunging inside,
participating
, deep and hard and demanding a response. She gave it to him, helpless to do otherwise. One hand tangled in the dark silk of his hair, the other kneaded his back, probably leaving marks of her own.

Don't lose yourself completely
. The warning blasted through her mind.
Enjoy, but stay focused
. The Harpy was purring, happy with what was happening, wanting more, more, more. But when Gwen commanded her breathing to slow, her body to still, to accept Sabin's touch, to enjoy but nothing more, those purrs turned to growls. More, more, more.

Sabin gripped her chin and angled her head, prying her mouth open even wider, refusing to allow her to withdraw, even slightly. Their teeth banged together with the force of his next thrust. Though she groaned, he
didn't pull back. Didn't soften. On and on the kiss continued, until she was breathless, shaking, arching into him, moaning, groaning again, ready to beg for more just like the Harpy.