The Darkest Whisper (12 page)

“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?”

I
F ONE MORE PAIN-FILLED
, gut-wrenching scream echoed off Sabin's bedroom walls, Gwen was going to hurt someone! It had been going on forever, it seemed. Didn't help that fatigue beat heavy fists all over her, weighing down her eyelids, fuzzing up her brain, making this seem like an endless nightmare. But she was determined to keep both her eyes and ears open, just in case one of the Lords decided to sneak in and hurt her.

Like they were hurting the man currently begging for mercy. Beyond any doubt, she knew the Hunters were being tortured.
That's
where Sabin had gone. That's why he'd abandoned her so quickly. His “work” was the most important thing in his life.

Know him so well, do you?
No. But she knew he despised the Hunters, knew he craved their destruction as much as she craved normalcy and would do anything,
anything
to ensure it.

She understood his desire. They'd taken something from him, a loved one. More than one loved one, actually. They'd taken something from her, too. Many somethings. Her pride, the normal life she'd just started to carve out for herself. She hated them as much as Sabin did. Maybe more.

They'd watched Chris rape those women with lust in their eyes, wanting a turn of their own. They hadn't
stopped him, hadn't even protested his despicable actions. So even though the screams were driving her insane, stopping Sabin wasn't on her to-do list. Those Hunters deserved what they got. However, each and every one of those screams reminded her that Sabin wanted her to help him purposely end life.

Could she?

Just the thought caused bile to rise in her throat and fear to infuse her blood, turning the cells to acid and blistering her veins. Over the years, she had killed. Oh, had she killed.

At nine, she'd killed her tutor for giving her an F. At sixteen, a man had followed her into a building, had jerked her into an empty room and locked the door. He'd lasted thirty seconds against the Harpy. At twenty-five, she'd moved from Alaska to Georgia, following Tyson—which was what prompted her mother to cut all ties—and finally started college, something she'd wanted to do years earlier. She couldn't handle that rowdy a public, her sisters had said. And they were right. A married professor made a pass at her, that was all, yet she'd ripped into him as if he'd tried to slice her throat. Her third week of college had been her last.

Her sisters claimed the Harpy would not be so volatile if Gwen stopped combating what she was, but she didn't believe them. They were a bloodthirsty lot, constantly fighting, with a body count that staggered her. She loved them, but though she envied their confidence and strength, she didn't want to be like them. Most days.

Another agonized scream.

To distract herself, she explored the bedroom, picked the lock on the weapons chest and pocketed a few of the throwing stars Sabin had hidden there, only yawning three times—an improvement. Some skills a girl never
forgot, and B and E was something her family took very seriously.
Should have done this sooner
. She picked the door lock, as well, and sneaked into the hallway—only to backtrack into the bedroom the moment she heard footsteps.

Why am I such a coward?

Another scream, this one fading into a gurgle.

Trembling, yawning again, she eased onto the mattress, forcing her fuzzy mind to consider what was around her rather than what she was hearing. The bedroom was a surprise. Hard and masculine as Sabin was, she'd expected sparse furnishing, blacks and browns, nothing personal. And on the surface, that's what she saw.

But under the dark brown comforter were vibrant blue sheets and a feather-top mattress. In the closet, he had an array of funny T-shirts.
Pirates of the Caribbean
. Hello Kitty. One that said
Welcome to the Gun Show
, with arrows pointing to his biceps. Behind a veil of lush plants was a sitting area he'd rigged with a pillowed floor that looked up to a ceiling mural of castles in the clouds.

She liked the conflicting sides of him. Like the harsh yet boyish aspects of his face.

“Hello, hello, hello,” a female called. The door she'd just shut flew open and a tall, gorgeous woman strolled inside, a tray of food balanced in her hands. Judging by the scent wafting from the plate, there was a ham sandwich, a handful of Baked Lays, a bowl of grapes and a glass of—Gwen sniffed—cranberry juice.

Her mouth watered. Maybe it was her intense hunger or perhaps her lack of sleep, but the intruder wasn't even a blip on her radar. “Wh-what do you have there?”

“Pay no attention to the food,” the stranger said,
placing the tray on the dresser. “This is for Sabin. The jerk conned me into making him a meal. I was told you weren't to touch anything, I'm sorry.”

“Uh, no problem.” It was hard to speak, her tongue felt so swollen. “Who are you?” She couldn't pull her gaze from that tray.

“I'm Anya, goddess of Anarchy.”

No reason to doubt the statement. Otherworldly power radiated from the woman, practically sparking in the air. But what was a goddess doing with demons? “I—”

“Oh, fiddlesticks. Will you excuse me? I hear Lucien—Lucien's my man, so hands off him—calling for me. Don't go anywhere, 'kay? I'll be right back.”

Gwen hadn't heard anything, but she didn't protest. The moment the door closed behind the goddess, she was at the dresser, stuffing Sabin's sandwich into her mouth, washing it down with the juice, then scooping the chips in one hand and the grapes in the other. She scarfed them as though she'd never tasted anything so fine.

Maybe she hadn't.

It was like having a rainbow in her mouth. A mélange of flavors, textures and temperatures. Her stomach greedily accepted every morsel and begged for more of the stolen goods.

Anya was only gone a minute, maybe two, but when she reentered the chamber, the food was gone and Gwen was seated on the bed, wiping her face with the back of her wrist and swallowing the final bite.

“Now then. Where were we?” Without sparing the tray a glance, Anya strolled to the bed and perched beside Gwen. “Oh, yeah. I was making you comfortable.”

“Sabin told me he was sending you, but I thought he'd changed his mind. I, uh, don't need a guard. Honest.”
Please don't notice the tray
. “I'm not going to try and escape.”

“Please.” The beautiful goddess waved a dismissive hand. “As I said, I'm the goddess of Anarchy. Like I'd lower myself to such a station. Besides, nobody sends me anywhere I don't want to go. I'm merely bored and curious. Now one question has been answered in my mind, at least. You're unbelievably pretty. Look at this hair.” She sifted a few of the strands between her fingers. “No wonder Sabin chose you as his female.”

Gwen's eyelids drifted closed, her head leaning into the goddess's touch. The Harpy was quiet, lulled first by the meal, and now by the companionship. All she needed now was to leave the fortress, just for a few hours, and catch a few Zs. “He didn't choose me as his female.” But something inside her liked the thought of it, she realized. Her nipples had hardened, and heat had bloomed between her legs, spreading like wildfire.

“Of course you're his.” Anya's arm fell away. “You're staying in his room.”

Her eyelids popped open, and she barely held back her whimper. Why did no one want to continue touching her? “I'm here by force.”

Anya laughed as if she'd just cracked a joke. “Good one!”

“Seriously. I asked for my own room but he wouldn't give it to me.”

“Like anyone could force a Harpy to stay somewhere she didn't want to stay.”

That was true of her sisters. Her? Not so much. At least there'd been no hint of disdain in Anya's tone when she'd said the word Harpy. So many creatures of “myth” and “legend” considered Harpies beneath them, mere killers and thieves.

“Believe me, I'm nothing like the rest of my family.”

“Ouch. There was enough disgust in your voice to flay the skin from someone's body. Don't like our origins or ourself?”

Gwen's gaze fell to her hands, which were twisting in her lap. 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?

“Either,” she finally replied, deciding it was safe to tell the truth. She missed her sisters beyond belief, and here was a female, listening to her, seeming to care. At this point, whether Anya truly cared or not didn't matter. Sharing her feelings was nice. Hell,
talking
was nice. Twelve months had passed since anyone had listened to her.

Sighing, Anya flopped back against the mattress. “But you guys are, like, the coolest things ever. No one disses you and lives to tell about it. Even the gods pee their pants when you approach.”

“Yeah, but making friends is impossible because nobody wants to come near us. Worse, showing your true self in a romantic relationship is a no-no because you might actually eat your boyfriend.” Gwen fell beside the goddess, their shoulders brushing. She couldn't help herself; she cuddled closer.

“And that's a bad thing? When I was a girl, I was utterly reviled by my peers. They called me a whore, some even refusing to stand in the same room as me, as if I'd somehow taint their precious lives. I wanted to be a Harpy so badly I could taste it. Then no one would have messed with me. Guaranteed.”

“
You
were reviled?” This beautiful, gentle, utterly kind female?

“Yeah. Imprisoned, too, then banished here to earth.”
Anya rolled to her side, tucking her hands under her cheek and peering over at Gwen. “So what clan are you part of?”

Was this information that could be used against her? Would keeping it secret award—
Oh, shut up
. “The Skyhawks.”

Anya blinked, long black lashes momentarily casting shadows over her cheeks. “Wait. You're a Skyhawk? With Taliyah, Bianka and Kaia?”

Now Gwen rolled to her side, staring over at the goddess with simultaneous twinges of hope and dread. “You know my sisters?”

“Hell, yeah. We had some good times together back in the, oh, sixteen hundreds, I believe. In all my centuries, I have only called a handful of people friend, and those girls reached the top of the list. We fell out of touch, though, a few hundred years ago. One of my human pets died, and well, I didn't handle it well. Shut myself off from almost everybody.” Anya's azure gaze became intent, gauging. “You must be a new addition.”

Was she comparing Gwen to her beautiful, smart, amazingly strong siblings? “Yes. I'm just twenty-seven mortal years.”

Anya sat up, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “You're just a baby, then. But with that kind of age gap between your sisters and you, wouldn't your mom have long passed the age to hatch another rugrat?”

“Apparently not.” Gwen followed her upright, a spark of irritation kindling in her chest. She wasn't a baby, damn it. A coward, yeah, but a grown, adult coward. These immortals would never see her any other way, that much was clear. Even Sabin had to consider her a child. A child too young even to kiss.

“Do the girls know you're here?” Anya asked.

“Not yet.”

“You should call them. We can party.”

“I will,” she said. And she would. Just not yet. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that her fear of admitting what had happened to her was justified. It really was going to be humiliating. They were going to lecture her, punish her as was their right as her elders and maybe even command her home, forever, where they could watch and protect her. They'd never admit that the latter was just another kind of cage.

That's exactly what she'd gone to Georgia to escape. She'd told herself she'd left to be with Tyson, who had been vacationing in Anchorage when they met. But these last few months, alone in her cell, she'd had nothing to do but think and she'd realized she'd simply wanted out. Freedom.

For once, she'd put on her big girl panties and acted on her own with no safety net. Yeah, she'd failed. But at least she'd tried.

The thought of putting off the call caused guilt to swim through her. Her sisters were probably worried about her lack of communication, whether they knew what had happened or not. No matter how humiliating it was going to be, she would have to contact them soon.

“You said you've fallen out of touch with them,” she couldn't help but say. “But did you keep tabs on them? Do you know how they're doing? What they're doing?”

“I didn't and I don't. I'm sorry. But knowing them, they're panties-deep in trouble.”

They shared a laugh. Gwen could easily recall the time Bianka and Kaia had painted a hopscotch square in their backyard. Rather than toss stones, they'd tossed cars. Taliyah had used semis.

“Good news is, they'll approve of your choice of
beefcake. Sabin's just the sort of wicked they'd like, no doubt about it. Pun intended, of course.”