The Darkest Whisper (Lords of the Underworld #4)(57)
Author: Gena Showalter

They continued to hug and talk and laugh. Sabin tried to butt in a few times, but was steadfastly ignored. Finally he gave up and left them to it, meaning to find Anya later and once again ask her about Harpy sleeping arrangements. Asking the sisters was out of the question. Harpies, he’d already learned, lived by their own set of rules, and he didn’t want to inadvertently demean Gwen with his ignorance.

Gwen.

Every minute with her was dangerous. Last night had been the worst. He’d remained by her side, smelling her femininity, hearing the cotton glide over her skin, but they’d kept their distance from each other, remaining on separate sides of the mattress. He would have taken her—he was weak where she, that luscious body and that lickable skin were concerned; there, he’d finally admitted to a weakness—but every time he’d reached for her, Doubt had begun spreading its poison.

Will she die if you keep her? Will she want more than you can give, then leave you when you can’t give it?

Once again, he hated the demon.

Only around her sisters did the little shit quiet, and Sabin didn’t know why. He would figure it out, though. He was determined. Because, if he could somehow work it so that Doubt shut the hell up around Gwen, he could have her. Maybe forever.

After he checked on the prisoners—who were still too weak to endure any more torture and survive—he went to the kitchen to fix Gwen something to eat. All the food was gone. Talk about déjà vu. Nothing was left, not even a bag of chips. The Harpies had been here, he supposed.

With a sigh, he strode to his bedroom. Gwen was no longer in bed. Frowning, he began hunting her. He found her on the roof with Anya and her sisters—the latter of whom were playing Who Can Fall From The Roof And Break The Least Amount Of Bones.

“I leave you for less than an hour,” he said to Gwen. “Don’t you dare jump.”

“I’m just watching,” she assured him with a grin. A grin that made his chest ache.

A smattering of warriors stood on the ground below, watching as well. They wore resigned expressions, but mixed with the resignation was awe. They were drinking in that Harpy skin like it was wine.

“Enough of this,” Sabin said before one of the Harpies could jump again. “We have training to do.”

They didn’t agree graciously, but they did agree and soon nearly every occupant of the fortress was on the ground, grunts and groans saturating the air, the scent of blood and sweat chasing nearby animals away.

Sabin stood on the sidelines, once again simply watching the happenings. Torin had just texted him and was on his way down.

Finally the warrior arrived. Keeping a good distance between them, Torin stopped at his side. “Everyone’s been so busy, I knew calling another meeting would do no good, so I’ve been trying to catch everyone individually.”

“Find something?”

“Oh, yeah.” He waggled his black eyebrows, which were a startling contrast to his white hair. “Found an obscure tabloid article about a school for gifted children in Chicago. Children who can lift cars, get people to do whatever they want simply by speaking and move faster than the eye can see. And get this. The entire thing was denied by the World Institute of Parapsychology.”

Sabin’s eyes widened. “Hunter High. Just like our prisoner told us.”

“Yep. Can’t be a coincidence, you know?”

“We need to search that facility.”

“I agree. That’s why I’m making arrangements for departure in two days. Some of you need to go, but some should stay and search for the people listed on the scrolls. I just need to know who’s doing what.”

He’d been geared up to say he’d go—kill Hunters, rescue those kids and maybe finally draw Galen out of hiding—when the rest of Torin’s speech penetrated his mind. “Wait. Scrolls?”

A soft breeze moved between them, ruffling Torin’s hair. He smoothed the strands from his face with a glove-covered hand. “Cronus just paid me a visit.”

Sabin’s stomach clenched. “I tried to summon him, but he ignored me.”

“Lucky you.”

“What’d he say?”

“You know the drill. ‘Do as I command or I’ll torture everyone you love,’” Torin said in a superior, arrogant tone.

The impersonation was dead-on. “Yeah, but what’d he order you to do? Find people, you said?”

“I’ll get to that. You know he wants Galen dead as much as we do, right, since Danika predicted Galen will be the one to kill him? Well, the scrolls he gave me provide a list of names. Names of the other demon-possessed immortals. You won’t believe how many there are. There are blank lines, though, as if several names were erased. Weird, huh? Think that means they somehow died?”

“Maybe.” Only recently—through Danika—had he and the others learned that they weren’t the only demon-possessed immortals running around. Seemed there had been more demons in Pandora’s box than warriors in need of punishment, and so the remaining spirits had been placed inside the prisoners of Tartarus. Prisoners who were now missing.

“Anyway, Cronus thinks we can find our brethren and use them to contain Galen once and for all. They can help us lock him up, stop him from causing trouble.”

Sabin shook his head. “They were prisoners, which means even the gods couldn’t control them. We can’t trust them enough to use them. Besides, much as we want Galen dead, we all know how dangerous it would be to unleash his demon on the world. But what’s to stop these strangers from doing just that?”

“Point taken. And yeah, we’re merciful enough to allow him to keep his head for now, but Galen might not reciprocate in kind. These men are exactly the kind of creatures he would want for his army, which means we still need to find them before he does.”

Sabin knew they also needed to make Cronus happy. Bad things happened when the god king didn’t get his way. “We also have to find the remaining artifacts, and they seem a little more important at the moment.”

“We can’t find them if we’re overrun by immortal kids determined to destroy us,” Torin said. “So, first and foremost, we have to find that school and neutralize the threat. You staying or going?”

“I’m—” Sabin’s gaze locked on Gwen, who fell to her ass to dodge her sister’s poorly—and purposely, he was sure—aimed sword thrust. His hands curled into fists. Hurt her and die, he projected at the Harpy, though he knew the woman was caging the brunt of her strength. More than that, he knew he was a hypocrite for even thinking such a thing when he’d vowed not to go easy on Gwen himself.