The Darkest Whisper (9 page)

Didn't matter what they were up to, really. He had work to do. “Anyone?” Paris said to those remaining. He wanted this shit over with, like, now. The sooner he finished beating information out of the Hunters, the sooner he could barricade himself inside his room and forget he was alive.

Strider whistled under his breath, pretending not to hear him as he edged toward the front door.

What the hell? No one appreciated violence better than Strider. “Strider, man. I know you heard me. Help me with the interrogation, yeah?”

“Oh, come on! At least wait until tomorrow. Not like they're going anywhere. I just need a little me time to recover. Like Cameo, I'll be ready to go bright and early. Swear to the gods.”

Paris sighed. “Fine. Go.” Were Cameo and Strider a couple, then? “What about you, Amun?”

Amun nodded his assent, but the action tossed his equilibrium into the shitter and he collapsed on the bottom step of the porch with a moan.

Barely a second later, Strider was at his side and wrapping an arm around his waist. “Uncle Stridey is here, don't you worry.” He hefted the usually stoic warrior to his feet. Would have carried him if it had been necessary, but with Strider as a crutch Amun was able to throw one foot in front of the other, only stumbling occasionally.

“I'll help with the Hunters,” Aeron said, stepping up
to Paris. The offer surprised the hell out of him, truth be told.

“What about Legion? Girl probably misses you.”

Aeron shook his head. His hair was cropped to his scalp and that scalp glistened in the sunlight. “She'd be on my shoulders right now if she were here.”

“Sorry.” No one knew better than Paris how it felt to miss a female. Though he had to admit he'd been surprised to discover the wiry little demon
was
a female.

“It's for the best.” A veined hand scrubbed Aeron's tired face. “Something's been…watching me. A presence. Powerful. Started about a week before we left for Cairo.”

Paris's stomach tightened in dread. “First, you have a nasty habit of keeping that kind of information to yourself. You should have told us the first time you noticed it, just as you should have told us what happened with the Titans the moment you returned from your heavenly summons all those months ago. Whoever's watching you could have alerted the Hunters about our trip. We could have—”

“You're right, and I'm sorry. But I don't think it, whatever it is, works for the Hunters.”

“Why?” Paris demanded, unwilling to let it go.

“I know the feel of those hateful, judging eyes on me and this isn't like that. This one is…curious.”

He relaxed somewhat. “Maybe it's a god.”

“I don't think so. Legion isn't afraid of the gods but she's damn afraid of whoever this is. That's one of the reasons she's so amenable to going to hell for Sabin's recon work. She told me she'd return when the presence was gone.”

There was worry in the guy's tone. Worry Paris didn't understand. Legion might have been a tiny demon with
a penchant for tiaras—which they'd discovered not long ago, when she'd stolen one of Anya's and paraded around the fortress in it, proud as could be—but she could take care of herself.

Paris turned in a circle, intent. “Is your shadow here? Now?” Like they needed another enemy. “Maybe I can seduce whoever, whatever, it is away from you.” And kill it. No telling what it had learned already.

A single shake of Aeron's head. “I honestly don't think it means us harm.”

He paused, slowly released a pent-up breath. “All right, then. We'll deal with that later. Just let me know when it returns. Right now, we'll take care of the dungeon full of shitheads.”

“You sound more human every day, you know that?” Aeron had said that before, but for once, he didn't sound disapproving. There was a whistle as he unsheathed a machete from the loop at his back. “Maybe the Hunters will resist.”

“Only if we're lucky.”

 

T
ORIN, KEEPER OF DISEASE
, sat at his desk, but he faced the door of his bedroom rather than the monitors that linked him to the outside world. He'd watched the SUVs pull into the driveway and had instantly grown hard. He'd watched the warriors emerge and had had to palm himself to assuage the sudden ache. Watched as one by one they'd entered the fortress. Any moment and—

Cameo slipped quietly inside his chamber and shut the entrance with a soft snick. She flipped the lock, and for several ticks of the clock, kept her back to him. Long dark hair tumbled to her waist, curling at the ends.

Once, she'd allowed him to twirl a few of those ends around his gloveless finger, careful, so careful not to
touch her skin. It had been his first true contact with a woman in hundreds of years. He'd almost come, just from the feel of those silky strands. But that small touch was all she'd permitted, all she could ever permit and all he could ever risk.

Actually, he was surprised they'd risked even that much. With his gloves on, sure. The chance of infecting her was nil. But tendrils against skin, silk against warmth, female against male? That required bravery and trust on her part and desperation and foolishness on his. Hair wasn't skin, but what if he'd slipped? What if she'd fallen against him? For some reason, neither of them had been able to make the consequences matter.

Last time he'd touched a woman, an entire village had been wiped out. Black Plague, they'd called it. That's what was inside him, swirling in his veins, laughing in his mind. For years afterward, Torin had scrubbed his skin until the black blood poured from him. Cleansing himself of the virus proved impossible, however.

Over the ensuing centuries, he'd learned to suppress the constant feeling of being dirty, tainted, hiding it with smiles and wry humor, but never had he suppressed the longing for what he couldn't have: companionship. Cameo, at least, understood him, knew what he was dealing with, what he could and could not do, and didn't ask for more.

He wished she would ask for more, and he hated himself for it.

Slowly she turned to him. Her lips were red and wet, as if she'd been chewing them, and her cheeks were flushed to a dusty rose. Up and down her chest lifted and fell in quick, shallow pants. His own breath blistered his throat.

“We're back,” she said on a wispy catch of breath.

He remained seated, arching a brow as if he hadn't a care. “You're unharmed?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Take off your clothes.”

Since the caressing of her hair those few months ago, they'd become best friends. With benefits. Pleasuring-themselves-at-a-distance-while-watching-the-other-do-the-same benefits, but benefits all the same. It complicated the hell out of everything. The here and now…the future. One day she'd want a lover who could truly touch her, make love to her, pound in and out of her, kiss her and taste her and wrap himself around her, and Torin would have to step aside and not kill the bastard.

Until then…

She hadn't obeyed.

“Maybe I wasn't clear,” he said. “I want you to take off your clothes.”

Later, she'd punish him for ordering her around. He knew her well, knew how diligently she fought to prove she was just as powerful as her male counterparts. Now, need was upon her. He could smell the sweetness of her arousal. She wouldn't be able to resist much longer.

Sure enough, shaky fingers curled around the hem of her shirt and tugged it over her head. A lacy black bra. His favorite.

“That's a good girl,” he praised.

Her eyes narrowed, zeroing in on the erection straining past the waist of his pants. “I told you to be naked when I got here.
You
were not a good boy.”

Used to her sorrowful voice, he didn't flinch as the others always did. Inwardly or outwardly. That voice was a part of who she was—warrior to her core, beautiful disaster…unintentional nightmare. To him, it was a soulful melody, one that echoed within his own soul.

Torin pushed to his full height, his muscles coiled, his bones taut. “When am I ever good?”

Her pupils dilated fully, her nipples hardened. She liked it when he challenged her. Maybe because she knew the value of a prize increased the more you had to work for it.

He only wished he had the fortitude to win a battle with her—once, just once. In the end, she always won. He had little experience with women, was too desperate for what transpired here. But he always made a good showing.

“I'll strip when you're bare,” he said, voice hoarse. “Not a moment before.” Strong words he couldn't possibly see through.

“We'll see…” Black hair swished as she sauntered to his dresser. She kicked one booted foot on the chair in front of her, gaze devouring him. Never had the unlacing of shoes been so sexy an act. The first boot she threw at him, he dodged with only a slight head tilt. The second he allowed to smack him in the chest. Tearing his gaze from her to avoid impact, even for a second, was not an option.

Ziiip
. Down went the pants. She stepped out of them.

Black lace panties to match her bra. Perfection. Weapons, everywhere. Delightful.

Her breasts were small and pert and he knew her nipples were like rosebuds. She had an oval-shaped mole on her right hipbone. What he would have given to lick it…But what drew the hottest fires of his fascination was the glittery butterfly tattoo wrapped around her hips.

If studying only one side of her, or even the front of her, it was almost impossible to tell what the shimmery, incandescent design was. Only when she had her back to him did the shape take form. Oh, how he longed to trace his tongue over every sharp peak and hollow.

He had a matching tattoo on his stomach, though his was onyx framed in crimson. Actually, all the warriors here had a butterfly tattoo, but no one's demon mark resided in the same location. And not once had he ever yearned to have his hands, lips and body on the other men's brands.

When Cameo finished removing her weapons, a small pile rested beside her. She arched a brow at him. “Your turn.” There was a tremor to her words, as if she were more affected by what was about to happen than she wanted him to know.

He took selfish comfort in that. “You aren't bare.”

“I could be.”

He should put a stop to this, send her on her way,
something
, because they both knew this was as far as it could ever go and that it would never be enough for either of them, but…he stripped.

Cameo gasped as she always did at this point, gaze locked on his swollen erection. “Tell me everything you want to do to me,” she commanded, already cupping her breasts. “Don't leave anything out.”

He obeyed, and her fingers acted as his, moving over her own body. Only when she'd come twice did he touch himself, his fingers acting as hers. But not once did he forget that this was all he could ever have, that more would never be his.

“I
WANT A ROOM
of my own.”

“No.”

“Just like that? No hesitation?”

“That's right. You're staying here.” The words
with me
weren't said, but then, he didn't have to say them. His meaning was clear. “I haven't lived in Buda long, haven't stayed in this room much, but it's mine.”
As are you
. Again, unsaid but there.

Gwen sat on the edge of an unfamiliar yet opulent bed in an unfamiliar yet terrifyingly masculine bedroom in an unfamiliar yet massive fortress with a very familiar yet fascinating man she had kinda sorta kissed and wanted to kiss again but couldn't because he wanted nothing to do with her. And really, it wasn't her that craved the kiss but the Harpy. At least, that's what she told herself. The Harpy liked dangerous and dark, and demonic Sabin certainly fit the bill.

Gwen liked staid bordering on boring.

She watched as the completely unstaid Sabin unpacked his bag, his movements as stiff as his tone had been.
His distance is for the best
, she told herself. For the Harpy's benefit, of course. Kissing the intoxicating and infuriating Sabin again would not have been wise. He was too intense, too much a mystery for her peace of mind. But damn, he was sexy—the act of unpacking,
even as torqued as he clearly was, practically foreplay. The way his muscles moved…

Stop watching him. Not like you can start a relationship with him
. Who'd said anything about starting a relationship? As afraid as she was of her dark side, Gwen had always been the get-in-get-what-you-want-and-get-out type of girl. Her six-month commitment to Tyson had been an anomaly.

What was Tyson doing now? Was he with someone else? Married, even? And how would she feel if he was? Did he ever think of her? Ever wonder where she was or why she'd been abducted? She should probably call him.

Mind on the task at hand.
“Why do I have to share your room?” she asked Sabin.

“Safer this way.”

For who? Her? Or his friends? The thought depressed her. Oh, it was good that the men feared her. They'd leave her alone. But demons finding her too lethal to hang with? It should have been laughable. “I already promised to stay in Budapest. I'm not going to run.”

“Doesn't matter.”

Her eyes narrowed on him, her lashes fusing together. His clipped replies were annoying. “Do you have a girlfriend like the others? A wife?”
Bitch
, she couldn't help but think. “I'm sure she'll have something to say about this situation.”

“I don't. And if I did, it wouldn't matter.”

She gaped at him, positive she had misheard. “Wouldn't matter? Why? Your girlfriends aren't worthy of your kindness or consideration?”

His knuckles were tight around a velvet bag of…throwing stars? They clanged together ominously as he walked them to a chest and locked them inside. A second velvet bag he left anchored at his waist. “I've never
cheated on a lover. I'm faithful, always. But the war comes before anyone's feelings. Every time.”

Wow. Battle before love. Without a doubt, he was the most unromantic male she'd ever met. Even more so than her great-grandfather, who had laughingly burned her great-grandmother to death after she'd given birth to Gwen's grandmother. Gwen's head tilted to the side as she studied Sabin more intently. “Would you cheat on your girlfriend if it helped you win the war?”

Back at his suitcase, he lifted a pair of combat boots. “What does that matter?”

“I'm just curious.”

“Then yes.”

She blinked in surprise. One, he hadn't sounded apologetic. Two, he hadn't hesitated. “Yes, as in you would?”

“Yes. I would. If cheating meant gaining a victory, I would cheat.”

Double wow. His honesty…depressed her. He was a demon, but she'd somehow expected—wanted?—more from him. No way would she be able to date a man who might cheat. Not that she planned to date Sabin.

Gwen wanted to be the one and only. Always. Sharing had never been easy for her; it went against every instinct she and the others of her race possessed. That's why she'd finally pushed past her fears and accepted a relationship with Tyson.

To her knowledge, he had been faithful to her. The sex had been good, if tame, because, while she might have convinced herself she could handle a relationship, she'd known losing herself to pleasure would be disastrous. He'd loved her, at least, and she thought she'd loved him. Now, thanks to all these months apart, she realized she'd only loved what he'd represented: normalcy. Plus,
they were very similar. He worked for the IRS and was hated by his peers. She was a Harpy who despised confrontation and was pitied by her race. Similarity, though, was not a good enough reason to stay together. Not forever.

Gwen had a feeling she would be able to let go—somewhat at least—with Sabin. He hadn't backed down from her Harpy either in the cavern or on the plane. And strong as he was, he could take more than a human. But even though he was both brave and immortal, she doubted he could take everything she dished. No one could.

Still, she found herself wondering what he'd be like in bed. Not tame, that much she could guess. He'd get down and dirty and insist on the same from his lover. How much
could
he take from her?

“So you don't have a wife, but are you currently single?” she asked, the words a croak. She couldn't imagine anyone being crazy enough to date him. Yeah, he was handsome. Yeah, his kisses alone would take a woman to the gates of heaven. But momentary pleasure with him would only result in heartbreak. Surely she wasn't the only one to realize that.

“What's with all the questions?”

“Just filling the silence.” A lie. It seemed she was full of them lately. She'd been—was still, despite everything—beyond curious about him, this warrior who had saved her.

“Nothing wrong with silence,” he grumbled, head nearly inside his bag.

“Are you single or not?”

“I liked you better when you were afraid of, well, everything,” he muttered.

She
had
been less timid around him than usual, she
realized. Seeing the love his friends possessed for their women must have empowered her somehow. For the moment, at least. “Well? Single?”

He sighed, clearly giving up. “Yes, I'm single.”

“I can believe it,” she muttered. His last girlfriend had probably dumped him on his ass. “Well, that doesn't mean we can bunk together. You'll have to find somewhere else to sleep because I'm taking the bed.” Brave words. She just hoped he didn't call her bluff.

“Don't worry. I'll be on the floor.” He threw several wrinkled shirts into the laundry basket beside the closet. A demonic warrior sorting laundry; now there was something you didn't see every day.

“What if I don't trust you to remain there?”

He laughed, and it was a cruel sound. “Too bad. I'm not leaving you alone all night.”

Not comforting. He hadn't vowed to stay away from her, and he hadn't claimed to want nothing to do with her sexually.

Did he?

And did she want him to?

She studied his profile, gaze traveling the length of his nose. It was a little longer than what was considered average, but regal because of it. His cheekbones were sharp, his jaw square. Overall, a very rough-looking face, with no hint of the boyishness she'd sometimes imagined.

His eyes, though, were heavily, almost femininely, lashed. She hadn't noticed that before, she realized, but those lashes were so thick his eyes appeared lined in soot.

Drawing her arms around her middle, she tore her gaze from that intriguing face and focused on his body. All those muscles…Again she found herself fascinated by them. Veins throbbed in his biceps as he lifted a
shaving kit. The black leather and metal links of his man-bracelet hugged the thickness of his wrist. His long legs ate up the distance to the bathroom. Hopefully he'd take off his shirt and she'd get another peek at those ropes of muscle. Maybe see more of that butterfly tattoo that stretched along his ribs and disappeared into the waist of his pants.

“Now it's my turn to question you,” he said from the bathroom doorway. He propped a shoulder against the frame. “
Why
haven't you run? Or tried to, at least. I know you said you didn't want to face the unknown out in that desert. That, on some level, I get. But then you discovered our dirty little demon secret and still you stayed. Even said you'd help me.”

Good question. She
had
considered bolting for the woods the moment the plane landed, then again when the SUV had stopped. Then those human females had raced from the fortress, throwing themselves at their men, clearly madly, deeply in love, and she'd paused. The demon warriors had been gentle with them, caring. Utterly reverent, as though they were prized.

That, more than anything, had made her reevaluate her perception of demons.

These men were the complete opposite of what she'd expected, honorable in their own right (so far) and almost kind. They seemed to want to protect her. Better, they didn't gaze at her with disappointment, blatantly wishing she were stronger, braver, more violent.

It's the angel in her
, her mother would
tsk
every time Gwen refused to hurt an innocent.
I knew better than to sleep with him
. Her sisters would come to her defense, loving her as fiercely as they did, but she knew they, too, considered her feeble. The truth always shone brightly in their eyes.

Had he known her, her father would have been proud of her, she thought defensively. Surely he would have applauded such benevolence.

“Well?” Sabin prompted.

“I could answer you the way you've been answering me,” she said now, raising her chin.
I'm strong. I can stand up for myself.
“Why haven't I run from you? Because. That's why.”
There. Take a little of your own medicine.

Sabin ran his tongue over his teeth. “I'm not amused.”

“Well, neither am I!”
That's it. That's the way.

“Darling, talk to me.”

The way he said the endearment…like a caress, a fantasy and a curse all rolled into a chocolate éclair. Stolen, of course. “I feel safe with you,” she finally admitted. Why she had opted for the truth, she didn't know. “Okay?”

He scoffed, surprising her. “That's ridiculous. You don't even know me. But if you really are that foolish, why did you want your own room? Why question me like this?”

Heat burned in her cheeks. She
was
foolish. “Why does it seem like you're trying to talk me out of staying when I'm here at your request? Do you want me to run or something?”

A single, clipped shake of his head.

“Then can you at least pretend to be nice? Consistently?”

“No.”

Again, he didn't hesitate. That was really starting to annoy her. “Fine. But tell me why you're nice one minute and cruel the next.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, as if he was grinding his teeth together. “I'm no good for you. Trusting me will only bring you pain.”

And he didn't want to bring her pain? “Why do you say that?”

No reply.

“Because of your demon?” she persisted. “What demon do you carry?”

“Doesn't matter,” he growled.

So again, no answer. There was no answer that would make sense, anyway. Except, perhaps, that he was lying and he really did want to bring her pain because he was a demon and that's what demons did. Yet he couldn't be truly evil. He genuinely loved his friends. That much was obvious every time he looked at them.

“Tell me again what you think I can do for you,” she said, just to remind him that he did indeed want something from her and she didn't have to help him if she didn't want to. “Tell me why you want to keep me around.”

For once he seemed happy to respond. “To kill my enemy, the Hunters.”

A laugh bubbled from her. “And you honestly believe I can do something like that? Purposely,” she added quickly, not needing another reminder of what she'd unintentionally done inside that cavern.

His dark gaze leveled on her, piercing with the sharpness of a blade. “Under the right conditions, I think you can do just about anything.”

Right conditions. Aka fearing for her life, aka pissed as hell. He'd do it, too. Place her in danger or anger her to the point of total loss of self. Anything to win his war. “What happened to teaching me control?”

“I said I'd try. Not that I'd succeed.”

Never had there been a better reason to try and escape him. He was far more dangerous than she'd thought. But she couldn't leave now, when she'd only just realized that
part of her did want to help him. Not to kill, she wanted no part of the actual fighting, but she didn't like that there were men like Chris out there, perhaps preying on other immortal females. If she could play some small role in stopping them, wasn't it her obligation to do so?