The Darkest Whisper

Then, “Stones?” Sabin asked, gaze once more meeting hers.

She nodded.

He spun in a circle, eyeing the entire chamber. Though the look-over lasted only a few seconds, Gwen suspected he’d cataloged every inch of the place and could have found his way out of it in the dark.

The warriors lined up behind him, all staring at her expectantly. Mixed with the expectation, however, was curiosity, suspicion, hatred—for her?—and even lust. One step, two, she backed away. She’d take hate over lust any day. Her legs trembled so violently she feared her muscles would give out. Stay calm. You cannot panic. Bad things happen when you panic.

How did one combat the desire of others? There was nothing she could do to cover herself more than she already was. Upon her imprisonment, her jeans and T-shirt had been replaced with a white tank and short skirt her captors had given her—easier access that way. Bastards. One of the tank straps had ripped months ago and the shirt now gaped. She’d had to tie it under her arm to keep her breast covered.

“Turn away,” Sabin suddenly growled.

Gwen spun without thought, long red hair swaying at her sides. Breath sawed in and out of her mouth, and sweat beaded over her brow. Why had he wanted her back? To better subdue her?

There was another of those heavy pauses. “I didn’t mean you, woman.” This time, Sabin’s voice was soft, gentle.

“Aw, come on,” someone said. She recognized the rich, irreverent tone of the male with the blond hair and blue eyes. “You’re not serious about—”

“You’re scaring her.”

Gwen peeked over her shoulder.

“But she—” the heavily tattooed one began.

Once again Sabin interjected. “You want answers or not? I said turn!”

A few groans, the shuffling of feet.

“Woman.”

Slowly she pivoted back around. All of the warriors had turned as Sabin commanded, giving her their backs.

Sabin placed a palm against the glass. It was large, unscarred and steady, but streaked with blood. “Which stones?”

She pointed to a grouping in a case beside him. They were small, about the size of a fist, and each had a different way to die painted on the front. The highlights: a beheading, limb removal, a stabbing, a pike through the gut and a wildfire climbing the body of a man nailed to a tree.

“Good, that’s good. But what do I do with them?”

Now panting with the need to be free—close, so close—she pantomimed the placing of a stone into a hole, like a key into a lock.

“Does it matter which stone goes where?”

She nodded, then pointed to each particular stone and which cell it opened. She’d come to dread the use of those stones, as it meant she would be forced to witness another rape. Sighing, she began to scratch the word KEY into the glass when Sabin slammed a fist into the stones’ case, shattering the outer shell. It would have taken the strength of ten humans to do such a thing, yet he made it look effortless.

Several cuts branched from his knuckles to his wrists. Beads of crimson appeared, but he wiped them away as if they meant nothing. By that time, the injuries were already in the process of healing, torn flesh weaving back together. Oh, yes. He was something far greater than mortal. Not fae, for his ears were perfectly rounded. Not vampire, for he didn’t possess fangs. A male siren, then? His voice was rich enough, delicious enough, yes, but perhaps too harsh.

“Grab a stone,” he called, never taking his focus from her.

Instantly the warriors spun on their booted heels. Gwen purposely kept her gaze on Sabin, afraid that looking at the others would cause her fear to spike. You’re in control, doing good. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—falter. Already she carried too many regrets.

Why couldn’t she be like her sisters? Why couldn’t she be brave and strong and embrace what she was? If necessary, they would have cut off a limb to escape—and they would have done it long before now. They would have pounded a fist through the glass, then Chris’s chest, and eaten his heart in front of him, laughing all the while.

She experienced a pang of homesickness. If Tyson, her former boyfriend, had told them of her abduction—which he probably hadn’t, scared as he was of her sisters—then they were looking for her and they wouldn’t give up until they found her. Despite her weaknesses, they loved her, wanted the best for her. But they would be so disappointed in her when they learned of her captivity. She’d failed herself, as well as her race. Even as a child she had run from conflict, which was how she’d earned the degrading moniker “Gwendolyn the Timid.”

Her palms were damp, she realized, and she rubbed them on her thighs.

Sabin directed the men, telling them which stone belonged in which hole. He got a few of the placements wrong but she wasn’t worried. They’d figure it out. He was correct about hers, though, and when one man, a blue-haired, pierced punk, tried to pick up the appropriate stone, Sabin’s strong, tanned fingers banded around his wrist, stopping him.

The blue-haired one locked eyes with Sabin, who shook his head. “Mine,” he said.

The punk grinned. “Hating what we see, are we?”

Sabin just frowned at him.

Gwen blinked in confusion. Sabin hated looking at her?

One by one the women were freed, some crying, some attempting to hurry out of the chamber. The males didn’t let them get far, catching them and surprising Gwen by cradling them gently, even when the women fought violently. In fact, the most beautiful man in the group, he of the multicolored hair, approached the women one by one, softly muttering, “Sleep for me, sweetheart.”

Shockingly, they obeyed, sagging in the warriors’ protective arms.

Sabin crouched and palmed Gwen’s stone, the one that showed the man burning alive. When he straightened, he tossed it in the air, caught it easily. “Don’t run. All right? I’m tired and I don’t want to chase you, but I will if you make me. And I’m afraid I’ll accidentally hurt you.”

You and me both, she thought.

“Don’t…free her,” Chris suddenly sputtered. How long had he been awake? He lifted his head and spit out a mouthful of dirt. Bruises had already formed under his eyes. “Dangerous. Deadly.”

“Cameo,” was all Sabin said.

The female warrior knew what he wanted and stalked to the human, grabbed him by the back of his shirt and easily lifted him to his feet. With her free hand, she placed a dagger at his carotid. Either too weak or too frightened, he didn’t struggle.

Gwen hoped it was fear that held him still. Hoped it with every fiber of her being. She even stared at the tip of the knife, willing it inside the bastard’s throat, piercing skin and bone and causing unforgettable agony.

Yes, she thought, entranced. Yes, yes, yes. Do it. Please, do it. Cut him, make him suffer.

“What do you want me to do with him?” Cameo asked Sabin.

“Keep him there. Alive.”

Disappointment caused Gwen’s shoulders to sag. But with the disappointment came a startling realization. Her emotions were under control, yet she was very close to releasing her inner beast anyway. All those thoughts of pain and suffering were not her own. They couldn’t be. Dangerous, Chris had said. Deadly. He’d been right. You have to stay in control.

“Feel free to hurt him a bit, though,” Sabin added, his eyes narrowing on Gwen. Was he…angry? At her? But why? What had she done?

“Don’t set the girl free,” Chris repeated. A tremor rocked his entire body. He backed away, but Cameo, obviously stronger than she appeared, jerked him back into place. “Please don’t.”

“Maybe you should leave the redhead in her cell,” the tiny warrior woman said. “For now, at least. Just in case.”

Sabin raised the stone, stopping just short of inserting it into the hole beside Gwen’s cage. “He’s a Hunter. A liar. And I think he hurt her, but doesn’t want her able to tell us.”

Gwen blinked over at him in shock and awe. He wasn’t angry at her, but at Chris—a hunter?—for what he might have done. He truly meant what he’d said. He wouldn’t harm her. Wanted her free. Safe.