The Darkest Whisper (Lords of the Underworld #4)(31)
Author: Gena Showalter

Excellent. Now he was sounding like the Hunters Aeron so loathed.

“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?”

CHAPTER TEN

IF 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.”