The Darkest Whisper (Lords of the Underworld #4)(59)
Author: Gena Showalter

“So dramatic. Toughen up. You aren’t human. Everything I dish, you can take. You know that deep down.”

“I guess we’ll see,” she grumbled.

For the next hour, he worked her over. Hand to hand combat, daggers. To her credit, she didn’t complain, didn’t beg to stop. She did wince several times, yelp once and twice he thought she verged on tears. His chest had constricted painfully at that, and he’d found himself pulling back, not using all of his strength.

Just as Kaia had done.

Pussy. That’s what he was. A disgrace to himself and his men. He was ready to quit, something he’d never done before. Something he’d be teased about for the rest of his endless life.

All of the Lords, all of the Harpies, William, Ashlyn, Anya and Danika were now watching avidly. Some were throwing popcorn at them. Some were placing bets on who would win. William was hitting on Gwen’s sisters—not literally. Gwen was shaking, her every strike tentative. She wouldn’t last five minutes in a real battle.

“You aren’t even close to hurting me,” he barked. “Come on. Make me work for it. I’m all over you and you’re taking it. Letting me. Almost welcoming me.”

“Shut up!” Sweat dripped from her face, and her shirt was plastered to her chest. “I’m not welcoming you. I hate you.”

Everyone he’d ever trained had said that at one point or another, but this was the first time he’d ever felt the words in his soul, burning, aching. “Then why haven’t you given up? Why are you doing this? Why are you trying to learn to fight?” he demanded, easily tripping her again. He wanted her to voice her reasons for pushing herself so hard. Maybe it would motivate her. “You could be hurt. By me. By Hunters.”

She went down, but quickly jumped back up, spitting dirt. Cuts and bruises marred her from head to toe. Her jeans had been ripped to shreds from her many tumbles.

“Hunters deserve to die.” She remained in place, panting. “Besides, I’ve already been hurt. I survived. I healed.”

Because of his blood. It was the hottest thing he’d ever done, giving his essence to a woman. He wanted to give her more, every drop. The craving had grown with every hour that passed.

Sabin scoured a hand down his face, wiping away grime. “This isn’t working.” She couldn’t take much more, and he wasn’t sure how much more he could dish. “We need to try something new.”

“The only thing we haven’t tried is unleashing my Harpy. Then you’d be sorry. She’s desperate to get her hands on you.” There was relish in her tone.

His eyes widened. Of course. “You’re right. If you plan to fight Hunters,” which he wasn’t sure he would allow anymore—wait, where had that thought come from?—“you’ll have to learn to summon your Harpy quickly. Which means you need to summon her now and train with her.”

Every speck of color in Gwen’s lovely face drained. She shook her head. “I was taunting you, trying to scare you. I wasn’t serious.”

“You might want to rethink this, demon,” Bianka called from the sidelines, tossing her black hair over her shoulder. “She hasn’t learned to control her Harpy yet. Piss her off, and she might eat even you.”

He turned, giving Gwen his profile. Part of him hoped she would attack him, prove she’d been listening and go for blood the moment her opponent’s attention veered. But she didn’t. Too softhearted, he supposed. “And you have? Learned to control it?”

Her lips curled into a smile. “Yes. Only took me twenty years, but then, I like that part of myself and Gwen never has.”

Great. He realized in that moment that he couldn’t leave Gwen when he traveled to Chicago, not even with two of her sisters guarding her. If she accidentally lost control of her Harpy, she could hurt the warriors who’d remained behind. He was the only one who seemed capable of calming her. Could he take her with him, though, and leave her somewhere while he traipsed off to war? Alone? Unprotected?

Shit. He was going to have to stay here with her.

Surprisingly, the decision brought relief rather than irritation.

“How did you finally learn?” he asked Bianka.

“Practice. Regrets.” The last was said with a hint of sadness. She’d probably killed people she cared about, even as Gwen feared doing.

He focused fully on Gwen. “Well, we’re gonna have to put you on an accelerated program. So let the Harpy out. She and I are going to play.”

“No.” Violently she shook her head again, even backed away from him, palms outstretched to keep him at bay. “No way in hell.”

Very well. He popped his jaw. This is for her own good. Do it. You have to. A deep breath, then, Doubt. Have at her.

Happy to finally get to work without restriction, the demon swooped on her in a single heartbeat. He had your sister pinned to a bed yesterday. She’s so pretty, so strong. I wonder if he wishes you’d never woken up. If he wishes he’d never fed you his blood to make you strong. I wonder if he’s imagining Kaia in bed with him even now, all that hair spread over his thighs as she sucks him dry. Maybe that’s why he’s pushing you so hard—so you’ll walk away from him, leaving the field wide open for your sister. Or maybe he hopes you’ll be so sore, you won’t protest if he decides to make another go at her. Tonight. All night.

One second Gwen was in front of him, the next she was gripping him, flying him through the air, forest buzzing past, a blur. After an eternity, his back slammed into a tree trunk, and breathing became an impossible dream.

Her teeth were bared, her claws ripping away his pants. He grabbed Gwen by the shoulders, not knowing whether to push her away or draw her closer. She was Harpy, totally and completely, her eyes a perfect night sky, hair feathered back from her wild expression.

“Gwen. We need to go back to the field.”

“Don’t move,” she said, her voice high-pitched, and then her teeth were deep in his neck and he couldn’t have moved to save his life. “You’re mine. Mine!”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

GWEN’S MIND WAS a whirl of activity. Most of it turbulent, dark. Last night, she’d tried to ignore Sabin’s appeal because he hadn’t seemed to want her. He’d slept next to her—his lemon and mint scent in her nose, his heat wafting to her, his raspy breaths ringing in her ears, her body attuned to his every movement, skin itching for a touch, a single touch, heart racing—but he hadn’t made a move. Ignoring him was no longer an option.