The Darkest Whisper (15 page)

For the second—third?—time she tried to distance herself, to calm her body so that she didn't fall too deeply under his spell.

“Oh, no you don't. Stay with me.”

“No, I—”

“Will only feel. No thinking. That's for later.” Slowly he backed her into the tiled wall, and the coldness made her gasp. He swallowed the sound, his mouth already on her again, taking everything she had to give and demanding more. Behind them, the shower continued to rain, battering against the porcelain.

With one hand he corralled both her wrists and pinned them above her head. With the other he cupped her breast, rolling the nipple between his knuckles. Her stomach quivered, her knees weakened. She would have fallen, but he jammed his thigh between her legs, holding her up. Except, the core of her rubbed against the rough skin of his knee and that weakened her further.

“You like?”

“Yes.” No reason to lie now. She couldn't hide her body's reaction.

Down, down his fingers traced, swirling around her navel. Back and forth she rocked against his leg, little breathless moans escaping her lips.
More. More. More!
The Harpy's cries blended with her own, until they were a single voice inside her head.

“I'm going to bite you now.”

He didn't give her time to accept or deny, sinking his teeth into the tender cord at the base of her neck. At the same time, he removed his thigh from between her legs
and replaced it with his hand. Two fingers plunged inside her, deep, so wonderfully deep.

“Sabin!”

“Gods, darling. You're hot. Tight.”

“I'm going to…I can't…I shouldn't…” So close already. From just two fingers, pumping and grinding inside her.

“Let yourself go. I won't let anything bad happen. Swear.”

What if she—what if the Harpy—damn it! Her thoughts were fragmenting, her mind focusing only on the pleasure of having those thick fingers working her.

“Come for me.” His thumb brushed her clitoris, and there was no more fighting it. She climaxed, screaming, pumping against him, then biting him back until she tasted blood.

As she spasmed, he released her hands and grabbed onto her hips, forcing them forward, ramming her into his erection. No penetration, just friction, but damn, it was good. She sank her nails into his back, digging deep, cutting.

He hissed through his teeth, repeated the action of jamming her against him, and hissed again. She loved the sound. Needed to hear it again. And again. Soon she was moving on her own, meeting him halfway, pounding against him with all of her strength, sharp teeth back in his flesh, beads of blood coating her tongue.

“That's the way,” he praised. “Just like that. You feel so good, so damned good.” He was babbling. To remind her of where she was, who she was with? “I wasn't going to let things go this far. Not for me. But I'm going to explode. I know it. Shouldn't be this good. Shouldn't—”

Then he was kissing her again, his tongue plunging,
hot seed spurting onto her stomach, his body quaking and hers erupting again just from the thought of his pleasure. They clung to each other, panting, moaning.

Finally she collapsed against him, amazed that she'd lost control. Amazed that they hadn't had sex, yet this little shower had been world-shaking. Amazed that the Harpy hadn't turned vicious. Amazed that the Harpy only wanted more. Most of all, she was amazed that, even though she'd just experienced two intense orgasms, she, too, still wanted more.

S
ABIN CARRIED
G
WEN
to the large bed in his room and snuggled her against him. Neither of them said a word as they watched the night sky give way to dawn through the room's only window. They lay there, naked, intertwined, each stiff and strained and lost in their own thoughts.

“What happened to sleeping on the floor?” Gwen finally asked him, breaking the silence.

“I never actually fell asleep. Technically I didn't break my word.”

“True.”

After that, silence enveloped them again. But again, neither slumbered.

He'd expected her to drift easily; there were bruises under her eyes, more prominent than ever, and he'd seen her yawn earlier. But once again, she surprised him. She pretended to sink into oblivion once or twice, but she never actually fell.

He knew why
he
couldn't relax: his demon was crazed inside his mind, more desperate than ever to reach her, to hurt her. To make her question everything that had happened between them. Just as it had done to all the others before her. Women who had either left him or killed themselves.

I should leave before something like that happens.
The moment he thought it, denial roared through him, sharp and cutting, as if it had teeth, and all the reasons he should stay popped into his head. One, Paris could come looking for him and stumble upon her, then seduce her. Promiscuity just couldn't help himself. Two, a Hunter could escape from the dungeon, grab her and bolt. Three, she could begin to regret what they'd done in the shower and bolt on her own.

All excellent reasons. But they weren't the reason he ended up settling more deeply into the feathered mattress. Gwen felt too soft and warm against him, smelled too delicious, like lemons, his favorite, and kept uttering wanton little sighs he yearned to swallow.

Already he wanted her again. Wanted
all
of her this time. Wanted to sink in and out of her, pounding softly, then hard and harsh, a never-ending rhythm that would bind them together. No woman had ever aroused him so thoroughly, tasted so sublime, fit his body so perfectly. And none had ever clutched him with such abandon, bit him, drawn blood and had him panting for more.

Even though he hadn't sealed the deal, they'd both found release. He'd suspected once would never be enough, and he'd been right.

Hearing her cries in his ears had been sweeter than pumping inside another woman. And that skin…it was like a drug for the eyes. One glance, and you had to have another, and another. Looking away was painful, the desire to look again a constant urge.

She probably hates you now, probably wants nothing to do with you. I wouldn't be surprised if she thought about her human boyfriend while you kissed her and that's why she was so passionate. Didn't she tell you he was in her thoughts? Clearly the human is everything she wants for her life. You are not
.

Sabin's arm tightened around Gwen, squeezing, and she expelled a pained puff of air. Instantly he forced his grip to loosen, and placed a block on his mind to silence his demon. There'd been no thoughts of the ex-boyfriend, emphasis on
ex
; he was sure of it, and neither Doubt nor Gwen's own earlier words would convince him otherwise. It had been Sabin's name Gwen had called. Doubt was surly, that was all, and lashing out at him, desperate for a target. At least, like him, Gwen could distinguish the demon from her own insecurities.

“Can we stop pretending to relax like happy lovers now?” Gwen asked suddenly, once again cutting through the quiet.

He sighed, dislodging several strands of her hair and causing them to dance over his chest, tickling the skin. If only they
were
happy lovers. No demon, no Harpy, no war, just two people enjoying their time together.

Sabin blinked, the thought completely foreign to him. Never, in all his thousands of years, had he wished to be anything other than what he was. An immortal warrior. Powerful, extraordinary, eternal. Yes, he'd made a mistake, helping the other Lords steal and open Pandora's box. And yes, he'd been kicked from the heavens and suffered constantly because of the demon inside him. But it was a suffering he accepted and deserved. A suffering he willingly endured because it made him stronger than he'd ever been while serving Zeus. So why wish otherwise now?

“Yes, we can stop pretending. We can even talk. And by talk, of course I mean I'll ask the questions and you'll answer them. Let's begin now, shall we? You never sleep. Why?”

“Bossy baggage,” she muttered. “For your information, I don't need to sleep.” In a fluid move she must have
been waiting hours to perform, she rolled to her back so that only their shoulders touched. He'd noticed that usually she wanted all the contact she could get. What had changed?

Didn't matter, he supposed. After Darla, he'd promised himself he'd always keep his distance from the females he found himself attracted to. For eleven years, he had. Now Gwen was helping him with that. There was a definite spark of irritation in his chest at the thought that
she
had been the one to get them back on track.

“You refused to eat though you were hungry. You refused to shower though you were dirty. Not for one moment do I believe your body—”
your luscious body
“—needs no rest.”

Is he saying that because you resemble the walking dead? Because you appear tired, worn out, haggard?

Sabin heard the degrading thought leave him and drift to Gwen, unable to stop it.

A moment later, she stiffened. “Your demon is a bastard.”

“Yes.” And you had better shut up, you rotten piece of shit. You've already been warned. Remember the box?

There was a heavy pause, then an aggravated growl of acceptance.

“Well?” she gasped out. “Do I?”

Resemble the walking dead? Hardly. “You are the loveliest woman I've ever beheld.” Truth. And it didn't even bother him that he sounded like Lucien when the warrior spouted pretty nonsense to Anya. Nonsense Sabin had always rolled his eyes at.

“I don't believe you.” Gwen shifted to her side, peering over at him and tucking her hand under her cheek. “You have to say I'm pretty.”

“Yeah, because I'm a gentleman,” he said dryly. He,
too, shifted to his side so that he could meet her gaze. Those exotic curls framed her face and delicate shoulders, her dazzling skin catching the red hue and making her look deliciously flushed. “You think it can be said that I'm always polite, never want to hurt anyone's feelings and spout sweet lies because I like the people around me to be docile? Oh, and if I do accidentally insult someone, because I'd never do it on purpose, I absolutely refuse to take what I want from them by force?”

Lush lips twitched into a half smile—lips he'd kissed, sucked and nibbled—and her eyes swirled hypnotically. Eyes he'd nearly drowned in. Seeing that smile Sabin experienced an instant, unwanted hard-on, immensely grateful for the sheet that covered his lower half. And he was supposed to be the dangerous one in this relationship, he mused darkly.

Not a relationship
, self-preservation piped up. He wouldn't let it be anything more than a business transaction. He would convince her to fight for him, protect her from his friends while she did so, and when the war was at last over he would stop thinking about her, stop lusting for her.

“Maybe you don't care about other people's feelings, but you do want my help. You're trying to butter me up like toast.”

“You'll agree to fight the Hunters whether I butter you up or not,” he said, striving for a confident tone. It was a confidence he didn't feel, but had to believe in. He could accept no less. “Need I remind you that you've already promised to help?”

Tired of lying dormant, Doubt pounced.
She nearly faints at the sight of blood. Help you fight? I think not!

“You will,” he reiterated for the demon, for himself.

“I don't mind helping you with the clerical aspects of
your campaign. Like researching on the Internet and filing paperwork. If you keep records of your, uh, kills, I could be in charge of that. I could even research those artifacts you're looking for. That's what I did before I was abducted. I worked in an office, taking notes, fact-checking, that sort of thing. And I was damn good at it.”

Never had he heard more pride in someone's tone. But was she proud of her work or her ability to fit into the normal world?

“And you liked this work?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“You weren't bored?” The real question was, how had her Harpy handled the monotony? Sabin considered Gwen's dark side very much like his own, a driving force, a curse, a sickness, but a part of her that craved excitement and danger. A part of her that grew twitchy if ignored for too long.

“Well, maybe a little,” she admitted, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

He almost laughed. He'd place money on the fact that she'd been bored out of her freaking mind. “I'll pay you for your aid,” he said, recalling Anya's words about the Harpies' need to steal or earn their food. He wanted her in the field, fighting, but wouldn't mind using her for research, as well. At least at first. “Name what you want and it's yours.”

Several minutes passed in silence before she said, “I'm drawing a blank. I'll have to think about it.”

“There's nothing you want?”

“No.”

Knowing how badly he craved victory, she could have asked him for anything, the moon and the stars even. Yet she couldn't think of a single thing. Odd. Most people would toss out an astronomical sum and bargain from
there. He wondered what sort of thing was prized among her people. Money? Jewels? “What do your sisters do for a living?”

Her lips pressed together in a thin line.

What was this? She didn't want to tell him or she didn't like what they did? “Hookers?” he guessed, not just to get a rise out of her but also to test how far he could push her before the Harpy began demanding his head on a platter.

She gasped, slapped him, then jerked her hand back quickly, as if she couldn't believe she'd done such a thing. Afraid he'd retaliate for such a puny action? Silly girl.

“You deserved to be hit, so I won't apologize. They aren't hookers.”

“Killers?”

No gasp. No slap. A simple narrowing of her eyes, lashes fusing together. Bingo.

“They're mercenaries.” Not a question. What amazing luck.

“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth. “They are.”

Sabin wanted to laugh. If one Harpy could destroy an entire army, what could four do? He could pay for their services. He had the money, no matter their price.

“I see the wheels turning in your head.” Her free hand drummed the pillow cushioning her own head. “But you should know that they love me and won't take a job if I ask them to turn it down.”

Now
his
eyes narrowed, probing. She wore an innocent expression, if edged with tendrils of anger. “Is that a threat, darling?”

“Take it however you wish. I don't want them fighting those despicable Hunters for any reason.”

“Why? Like you said, they're despicable. Evil. They
would have found a way to drug you into a stupor, rape you and steal your baby if I hadn't saved you. You should be begging your sisters to fight them.”

“You've already tortured them for what they did to me and the others.” The words rasped from her.

“And that's enough for you? When someone hurts me, I want to be the one to hurt them back. I want to make sure it's done right. Didn't you feel
some
satisfaction when you tore the throat out of—”

“Yes, okay. Yes. But allowing someone else to do it
has
to be enough. Otherwise I'll spend my life hunting them, killing them, never really living.” Her nostrils were flared, her chest heaving. With every inhalation, the sheet slipped and revealed the top of a pink nipple. He had to force himself to look away before he ended their conversation.

Was she saying his life was empty? Well, it wasn't. It was full, damn it. “Better to live a life of hunting and killing than to bury yourself in fear.”

She raised her palm as if she meant to strike him once more. She was shaking, the muted anger she'd radiated before now a red-hot fury. He'd finally pushed her hard enough. The Harpy was there, in her eyes.

“Do it,” he told her. It would be good for her. Show her that she could lash out and he wouldn't break. He hoped.

Slowly her hand lowered; the shaking ceased. With a deep breath, her eyes returned to normal. “You'd like that, wouldn't you? Like me to be like you? Well, it's not going to happen. No one would survive if it did. No one. Not even my sisters.”

He caught the hidden meaning and arched a brow. “Fought them and hurt them, have you?”