The Darkest Whisper (Lords of the Underworld #4)(37)
Author: Gena Showalter

“Put that back on!” she said, her gaze locking on his butterfly tattoo. “I don’t want to see you.” Her pupils dilated, belying her words.

Good. She was intrigued, if panicked. He toed off one boot, then the other. They landed with echoing thumps. He unsnapped his pants and shoved them to his ankles. “This is going to happen whether you agree or not, Gwendolyn.”

She gave a violent shake of her head, those strawberry curls flying. Still her gaze remained on him. Between his legs now. Her breath emerged faster, raspier. “You said you meant me no harm.”

“And I don’t. There’s nothing menacing about a shower. It’s…cleansing.”

“Ha!”

He stepped out of the fatigues, now totally and completely naked. And yeah, he had an erection. He willed it away, if only to relax her, but the stupid thing refused to obey, remaining long and hard and thick.

She swiped her tongue over her lips, a telling reaction, like a neon sign that read I Want Some of That. Her borrowed T-shirt was baggy but he could see that her ni**les were hard. Another tell.

After the way she’d kissed him on the plane, he’d suspected she desired him. Now, he knew for certain. She did. And he was glad. It was foolish, wrong, and could only hurt them both in the end, but he couldn’t make himself care just then.

“I’m not going to f**k you,” he said, purposely being crude. Anything to snap her out of the staring contest she had going with Little Sab.

It worked. Amber met brown in a heated clash. “Wh-why not sex? And what are you going to do to me?”

Kiss you. Touch you. Give you a hickey—and an orgasm that will make you scream the roof down. No way William could question his claim on the girl after that. The lack of sex, well…Sabin’s control would snap and his demon would have free rein if he allowed himself to experience too much pleasure. So he’d do what he could: a little petting for him, a lot of petting for her.

Sure you have what it takes to please one such as her? Pretty as she is, she’s probably had scores of men. They’ve probably done things to her you’ve only dreamed about.

His jaw clenched. Old as he was, he didn’t have a tremendous amount of experience with women. While living in the heavens, he’d been too busy defending the gods to pursue his own pleasures. When first cast to earth, he’d been too evil, too crazed to want anything besides destruction. And once he’d gained a measure of control over the wickedness inside him, he’d quickly learned how bad he was for the opposite sex.

A few times, though, he’d considered himself in love and had chased the women shamelessly. Single, married, it hadn’t mattered. He supposed he and William had that in common. If he’d wanted them, he’d gone after them because the want had been such a rare thing.

Darla was the most recent—and devastating—example of his destructive impact. She had been married to a Hunter, Galen’s right-hand man. She’d come to Sabin with information, knowledge of where her husband and men kept their weapons, what they were planning. She’d seen the hypocrisy of the Hunter code, she’d said, and had wanted the war to end. At first, Sabin had thought she meant to act as Bait. To lure him and his men into a trap. But she hadn’t. Everything she’d told him had been accurate.

They’d soon become lovers. He’d wanted her to leave her husband, but she had refused because she would have been unable to help Sabin. He hated to admit this, but part of him had been glad about her decision. He hadn’t lost his mole. But every time she’d visited him, every time he’d taken her to bed, she’d left with a little less sparkle. All too soon, she’d become clingy, needy, desperate for a kind word. He’d tried, gods had he tried, to boost her confidence back up, telling her how beautiful and brave and intelligent she was. She had, of course, doubted him, so in the end it hadn’t mattered.

She’d called him after slashing her wrists.

He hadn’t gotten to her in time. No, Stefano beat him there and kept Sabin from seeing her one last time. He hadn’t even been able to attend her funeral, not wanting Hunters to catch sight of him.

Eleven years had passed since her death, but his guilt was as fresh and clear as if it had happened yesterday. He should have left her alone. If he had, Stefano might have grown tired of the chase and the battles and bowed out. Instead, fueled now by vengeance as much as fanaticism, the Hunter was as savagely determined to win as Sabin.

Sabin hadn’t been with anyone since, avoiding female companionship entirely. Until Gwen. Could she handle him, though? Even a little?

“W-well?” she stammered. “What are you going to do?”

He forced the demon’s worries from his mind. “I’m going to clean you.”

Again she shook her head. “I don’t want to be clean. I swear I don’t.”

“I don’t care,” he said, and advanced.

Panting, she fell back onto the bed once more and scrambled backward, not stopping until her shoulders hit the headboard. “I don’t want to do this, Sabin.”

“Yes, you do. You’re just afraid.”

“You’re right. What if I kill you?”

“I’ve handled Hunters for thousands of years. What’s a lone Harpy?” Brave words, but he couldn’t admit the whole truth. That he didn’t know what she’d do, how he’d react or what would happen if they were forced to fight each other. But he was willing to risk her wrath to see this done.

White-hot desire pushed itself into her eyes, lighting them up. “You truly think you can defeat a Harpy in attack mode?”

Up he climbed on the bed, closing more and more of the hated distance between them. “Hopefully, it won’t come to that. If it does, well, we’ll find out together.”

“No! That’s not good enough.” Her foot slammed into his chest, but rather than shove him away, the action sealed her fate. His fingers twined around her ankle and jerked her closer.

“We’ll never know unless we try.”

Then a tear escaped the corner of her eye and slid the length of her cheek, and his chest constricted. “Please,” she rasped brokenly. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I hurt you.”

Don’t back down. “Like I said, there’s only one way to prove to you that I can handle anything you throw at me.” He hardened his heart against her tears; he had to. For her, for him, for peace inside this fortress, this had to be done. She had to be marked. Wanted to be marked, whether or not she admitted it. And like the warrior he was, he would see it through to the end. No matter what.