The Darkest Whisper (Lords of the Underworld #4)(85)
Author: Gena Showalter

“They won’t hurt you.” He wouldn’t allow it.

She twined their hands and gave a gentle squeeze. “How are Danika and Ashlyn?”

“Grateful to you, worried about the missing men.”

Frowning, Gwen sat up, hair tumbling gloriously down her back. “I’m going to shower, clear my head. Will you call a meeting with everyone here in, say…an hour?”

He didn’t ask why she wished to have the meeting, he simply trusted her, as he’d said he would. “Consider it done.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

GIDEON WAS SLOWLY GOING INSANE. He’d lost track of time and didn’t know how long he’d been trapped. A day? Two? A year? There wasn’t a sliver of light to cling to, nothing to remind himself that there was a world out there—a world he would soon return to by fair means or foul.

First, he needed a little peace and quiet to think up an escape plan.His demon, usually just a presence in the back of his mind, had yet to stop screaming inside his head. “In, in, in,” it cried, meaning, “Out, out, out.” “Need dark, need dark,” it sobbed, meaning, “Need light, need light.” Lies thought it was locked inside Pandora’s box once more, unable to escape, forgotten, abandoned.

Apparently, the other demons thought the same. Lucien moaned frequently, though Anya was always there to soothe him. Reyes was surprisingly calm. He’d mutter Danika’s name, then wouldn’t speak again for hours. Amun growled and snarled low in his throat, as though he were fighting a horde of demons Gideon couldn’t even imagine. The secrets that must be playing through his head…

Strider, who had been outsmarted and therefore had lost a mind game, constantly banged his head against the wall, his demon probably screeching, his body definitely agonized. Gideon had seen the warrior lose only once, hundreds of years ago, but the consequences of that loss were imprinted in his memory. Never had he seen a grown man writhe with such force, tears streaming down his ashen face, eyes flashing anguish rather than the usual pride, teeth grinding so vigorously blood poured from them.

Concentrate, dummy. Many times the entire group had tried prying the window shutters open or hacking through the brick walls. Anya, the only one who still had use of her abilities, muted though they were, had blasted tornados through the chamber, but she’d only hurt the men, not the building. Everything had been fortified and then refortified—with spells?—until their prison was seemingly unbreachable.

“I’m going to look for a way out again,” Anya said. She was the calmest of the group—an ironic twist, since she thrived on chaos. There was a rustle of clothing, a moan from Lucien, a coo from Anya, and then the shuffle of footsteps.

Gideon had always been reluctant to commit to a woman, preferring variety. Right now that seemed stupid. He had no one to think about, wish for, or dream of. No one to keep him focused, as Reyes had. No one to comfort him, as Lucien had.

What female would have you long-term?

What, he was possessed by Doubt now?

Thump.

“Sorry,” Anya muttered. “Who’d I hit?”

“I need—” Strider’s breath sawed in and out, shallow and raspy, pained. “Help. Help me. Please.”

“Soon,” Anya promised, then cooed at him for a few minutes. More footsteps.

Bang. Scrape.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” a voice boomed from what Gideon assumed were hidden speakers. And it didn’t belong to anyone he knew. “Is it my birthday?”

The room grew eerily quiet, until Anya beat a hasty path back to Lucien, her heels clacking against the tiled floor.

Lights flickered on, chasing away the shadows. In that moment, sweet peace claimed Gideon. He blinked against the spots clouding his vision, seeing his friends for the first time in forever. Lucien was splayed across the floor, his head resting in Anya’s lap as the goddess clutched him protectively. Reyes was slumped against the wall, grinning eerily. Strider was on his side, clutching his stomach, knees drawn to his chest, and Amun was beside him, petting his head, his own features glazed.

No sign of Hunters, though. The windows were still blocked, the door still closed.

“I wondered who had tripped my silent alarm. Had to take care of your friends in Buda before I could return here, though.” Cruel laugh. “We’ve been hoping you’d come here, ever since that article was published. I see our denial of this facility’s existence had the desired effect and convinced you there was no way this could be a trap.”

With the sudden quiet in his mind, Gideon was able to sift that voice through his mental files, and hello. It belonged to someone he knew, after all. Dean Stefano. Second in command of the Hunters, answerable only to that sick f**k, Galen. Stefano hated Sabin for stealing Darla, his wife; said Darla would still be alive if the Lords and the evil they housed were in hell where they belonged.

Stefano’s evil knew no bounds. He’d sent Danika, an innocent, to spy on them, planning to use her to capture—and torture—the Lords one by one. Not that his plan had worked. But he’d sent her in, and then tried to bomb the fortress with her in it.

Dread tightened Gideon’s stomach, followed quickly by rage and sorrow as Stefano’s words took root and spread. Had to take care of your friends. Understanding dawned. Hunters had been to Budapest. They’d fought—and they’d won, or they wouldn’t be here now. Sabin would never have let them escape.

Where was Sabin now? Until the box was found, Hunters wouldn’t kill the Lords, believing their demons would escape and cause more trouble. Had they imprisoned him? Tortured him? Pushing to his feet proved difficult, but Gideon did it. Swayed, but managed to stay upright. All but Strider did the same, extending their weapons, ready to do what was necessary despite their infirmities.

“Come in here.” Reyes waved his fingers in challenge. “I dare you.”

Stefano gave another laugh, this one genuinely amused. “Why should I? I can starve you, watch you waste away. I can poison your air, watch you suffer. And I can do all of those things without ever touching your filthy bodies.” There at the end, his voice had hardened, eagerness dripping from the sharp edges.

“Let the woman go,” Lucien called. “She’s done nothing to you.”

“Hell, no.” Anya shook her head, pale hair flying in every direction. “I stay here.”

“How sweet,” Stefano said mockingly. “She wants to stay with her demon. Well, I think I’ll remove her. Just for you, Death. I don’t think you’ll like what I do to her, though.”