Praise for New York Times and USA Today bestselling author

GENA SHOWALTER’S

Lords of the Underworld

The Darkest Night

“A fascinating premise, a sexy hero and non-stop

action, The Darkest Night is Showalter at her finest, and a fabulous start to an imaginative new series.” —New York Times bestselling author Karen Marie Moning

“Dark and tormented doesn’t begin to describe

these cursed warriors called the Lords of the

Underworld. Showalter has created characters

desperately fighting to retain a semblance of

humanity, which means the heroines are in

for a rough ride. This is darkly satisfying and

passionately thrilling stuff.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews, 4 stars

“Amazing! Stupendous! Extraordinary! Gena

Showalter has done it again. The Darkest Night is the fabulous start of an edgy, thrilling series…” —Fallen Angels reviews

“Not to be missed…the hottest

new paranormal series.”

—Night Owl Romance

The Darkest Kiss

“In this new chapter the Lords of the Underworld

engage in a deadly dance. Anya is a fascinating blend

of spunk, arrogance and vulnerability—a perfect

match for the tormented Lucien.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews, 4 1/2 stars

“Talk about one dark read…If there is one book

you must read this year, pick up The Darkest Kiss… a Gena Showalter book is the best of the best.” —Romance Junkies

The Darkest Pleasure

“Showalter’s darkly dangerous Lords of the

Underworld trilogy, with its tortured characters,

comes to a very satisfactory conclusion…[her]

compelling universe contains the possibility of

more stories to be told.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews, 4 stars

“Of all the books in this series, this is the most

moving and compelling. The concluding chapters

will simply stun you with the drama of them…

You will not be sorry if you add this to

your collection.”

—Mists and Stars

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Gena Showalter has been praised for her “sizzling page turners” and “utterly spellbinding stories”. She is the author of more than seventeen novels and anthologies, including breathtaking paranormal and contemporary romances, cutting-edge young adult novels, and stunning urban fantasy. Readers can’t get enough of her trademark wit and singular imagination.

To learn more about Gena and her books, please visit www.genashowalter.com and www.genashowalter blogspot.com.

Gena Showalter
The Darkest Whisper

www.mirabooks.co.uk

To Kresley Cole. A shining star, a talent beyond

compare, beauty personified and one of the reasons

I exist. I want to live inside your brain.

To Nix of the Immortals After Dark for coming

to play in my sandbox

To Christy Foster for all your help online

To Krystle for the wonderful title

To Nora Roberts, an amazingly talented woman

and writer—who just happens to be great at

fixing toilets, too!

To my editors Tracy Farrell and Margo Lipschultz,

whose bountiful support blesses me more

than I can ever say

And LAST on this list:

To Jill Monroe. I guess you’re okay. Kind of. (Fine. I

love and adore you beyond what is deemed healthy. You are a shining star, a talent beyond compare, beauty personified and the other reason I exist.)

CHAPTER ONE

SABIN, KEEPER OF THE DEMON of Doubt, stood in the catacombs of an ancient pyramid, panting, sweating, his hands soaked in his enemy’s blood, his body cut and bruised as he surveyed the carnage around him. Carnage he’d helped create.

Torches flickered orange and gold, twining with shadows along the stone walls. Walls that were now spattered with vivid red, dripping…pooling. The sandy floor was thick like paste, wet and colored black. Half an hour ago it had been honey brown, grains sparkling and scattering as they’d marched. Now bodies littered every square inch of the small corridor, the scent of fatality already rising from them.

Nine of his enemy had survived the attack. They’d already been stripped of their weapons, hustled into a corner and bound with rope. Most trembled in fear. A few had their shoulders squared, their noses in the air, hatred in their eyes, refusing to back down even in defeat. Damned admirable.

Too bad that bravery had to be quashed.

Brave men didn’t spill their secrets, and Sabin wanted their secrets.

He was a warrior who did what needed to be done, when it needed to be done, no matter what was required of him. Killing, torturing, seducing. He didn’t hesitate to ask his men to do the same, either. With Hunters—mortals who’d decided he and his fellow Lords of the Underworld made good whipping boys for the world’s evil—victory was the only thing that mattered. For only by winning the war could his friends finally know peace. Peace they deserved. Peace he craved for them.

Shallow, erratic rasps of breath filled Sabin’s ears. His, his friends’, his enemies’. They’d fought with every ounce of strength they possessed, each of them. It had been a battle of good versus evil, and evil had won. Or rather, what these Hunters considered evil. He and his brothers-by-circumstance thought otherwise.

Yeah, long ago they’d opened Pandora’s box, unleashing the demons from inside. But they had been punished eternally, each warrior cursed by the gods to host one of those vile fiends inside himself. Yeah, they’d once been slaves to their new, demonic halves, destructive and violent, killers without a conscience. But they had control now, human in all the ways that mattered. For the most part.

Sometimes the demons did fight…did win…did destroy.

Still. We deserve to live, he thought. Like everyone else, they suffered if their friends were hurt, read books, watched movies, gave to charity. Fell in love. Hunters, though, would never see it that way. They were convinced the world would be a better place without the Lords. A utopia, serene and perfect. They believed every sin ever committed could be laid at a demon’s feet. Maybe because they were dumb as shit. Maybe because they hated their lives and were simply looking for someone to blame. Either way, killing them had become the most important mission of Sabin’s life. His utopia was a life without them.

Which was why he and the others had relinquished the comforts of their Budapest home to spend the past three weeks searching every godsforsaken pyramid in Egypt for ancient artifacts that would lead to the recovery of Pandora’s box—the very thing Hunters planned to use to destroy them. Finally, he and his friends had hit the jackpot.

“Amun,” he said, spotting the soldier in a far, dark corner. As usual, man blended perfectly with shadow. Sabin motioned toward the captives with a grim shake of his head. “You know what to do.”

Amun, keeper of Secrets, nodded forbiddingly before striding forward. Silent, always silent, as if afraid the terrible secrets he’d gleaned over the centuries would spill from him if he dared utter a single word.

Seeing the hulking warrior who’d ripped through their brethren like a knife through silk, the remaining Hunters took a collective step backward. Even the brave ones. Wise of them.

Amun was tall, leanly muscled, with a stride that was somehow both purposeful and graceful. Purpose without grace would have made him seem normal, like any other soldier. The combination allowed him to exude the kind of quiet savagery usually found in predators used to bringing their prey home between their jaws.

He reached the Hunters and stopped. Scanned the thinned crowd. Then shoved forward and grabbed the one in the center by the throat, lifting him so that they were eye to eye. The human’s legs flailed, his hands clutching Amun’s wrists as his skin blanched.

“Let him go, you filthy demon,” one of the Hunters shouted, jerking on his comrade’s waist. “You’ve killed countless innocents, ruined so many lives already!”

Amun was unmoved. They all were.

“He’s a good man,” another cried. “He doesn’t deserve to die. Especially at the hands of such evil!”

Gideon, the blue-haired, kohl-eyed keeper of Lies, was at Amun’s side in the next instant, batting the protestors away. “Touch him again, and I’ll kiss the hell out of you.” He withdrew a pair of serrated knives, still bloody from his most recent clashes.

Kiss equaled beat in Gideon’s upside-down world. Or was it kill? Sabin had lost track of Lies’s code.

A moment passed in confused silence, the Hunters trying to figure out what exactly Gideon meant. Before they could decide, Amun’s hostage stilled, wilting completely, and Amun dropped him to the ground in a motionless heap.

Amun remained in place for a long while. No one touched him. Not even the Hunters. They were too preoccupied with reviving their fallen cohort. They didn’t know that it was too late, that his brain had been wiped, Amun the new owner of all his deepest secrets. Perhaps even his memories. The warrior had never told Sabin how it worked, and Sabin had never asked.

Slowly Amun turned, his body stiff. His black gaze met Sabin’s for a bleak, tormented moment in which he couldn’t mask the pain of having a new voice inside his head. Then he blinked, hiding his pain as he had a thousand times before, and strode to the far wall while Sabin watched, resolute. I will not feel guilty. This has to be done.

The wall looked the same as any other, jagged stones piled on top of each other and rising at a slant, yet Amun placed one hand on the seventh stone down, fingers splayed, then his other hand on the fifth up, fingers closed. Moving in sync, he twisted one wrist to the left, one to the right.

The stones pivoted with him.

Sabin observed the proceedings with awe. Never ceased to amaze him, what Amun could learn in a few heartbeats of time.

Once the stones settled into their new positions, a crack formed in the center of each, branching up, down, aligning with a streak of space Sabin hadn’t noticed before. A section of the wall pulled back…back, and finally began to inch to the side. There would be a gaping doorway when it finished, wide enough for an army of hulking beasts like himself.

As it continued to widen, cool air blustered through the catacombs, causing the torches to sputter and crackle. Hurry, he projected to the stones. Had anything ever moved with such agonizing slowness?

“Any Hunters waiting on the other side?” he asked, sliding his Sig Sauer from his waist and checking the clip. Three bullets left. He dug a few more from his pocket and reloaded. The custom silencer remained in place.

Amun nodded and held up seven fingers before standing guard at that ever-widening chasm.

Seven Hunters against ten Lords. He didn’t count Amun because the man would soon be too distracted by the new voice in his head to fight. But gods knew Amun would still (silently) demand to be included in the action. Still. Poor Hunters. They didn’t have a chance. “They know we’re here?”

A shake of that dark head.

No cameras watching their every move, then. Excellent.

“Seven Hunters is child’s play,” Lucien, keeper of Death, confirmed as he slumped against the far wall. He was pale, his mismatched eyes bright with…fever? “Go on without me. I’m fading. I’ll soon have souls to escort, anyway. And then I’ll have to flash our prisoners to the dungeon in Buda.”

Thanks to the demon of Death, Lucien could move from one location to another with only a thought and was often forced to usher the dead into the hereafter. That didn’t mean he himself was immune to destruction. Sabin frowned over at him. Studied him. The scars on his face were more pronounced, his nose out of joint. There was a bullet wound in his shoulder, one in his stomach, and from the looks of the crimson stain spreading from his lower back, his kidney.

“You okay, man?”

Lucien smiled wryly. “I’ll live. Tomorrow, though, I’ll probably wish I hadn’t. A few organs are shredded.”

Ouch. Been there, had to recover from that. “At least you don’t have to regenerate a limb.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Amun flash hand signs.

“Not only are there no cameras installed, but they’re in a chamber with soundproof walls,” Sabin interpreted. “This was an ancient prison and the masters did not want anyone to hear their slaves screaming. The Hunters are completely oblivious to our presence, which should make it easy to ambush them.”

“You don’t need me for a simple ambush. I’ll stay behind with Lucien,” Reyes said, sliding to his ass and propping his back on a stone to hold himself up. Reyes had been paired with the demon of Pain. Physical agony brought him pleasure and being injured actually strengthened him. While fighting. When the fight ended, however, he weakened like anyone else. Right now, he was more battered than the rest of them, with a cheek so swollen his line of vision had to be shit. “Besides, someone needs to guard the prisoners.”

Seven against eight, then. Poor Hunters. Actually, Sabin suspected Reyes wanted to stay behind to guard Lucien’s body from the enemy. Lucien could take it with him to the spirit world only when he was strong enough, which he probably wasn’t now.

“Your women are going to give me hell,” Sabin muttered. The two had recently fallen in love, and both Anya and Danika had asked only one thing of Sabin before the warriors left for Egypt: bring my man back safely.

When the boys arrived home in this damaged condition, Danika would shake her head at Sabin in disappointment as she rushed to soothe Reyes and Sabin would feel slimier than the mud on his boots. Anya would shoot him exactly as Lucien had been shot, then comfort Lucien, and Sabin would feel pain. Lots and lots of pain.

Sighing, Sabin eyed the rest of the warriors, trying to decide who was good to go and who needed to remain behind. Maddox—Violence—was the fiercest fighter he’d ever known. Right now the warrior was as bloodsoaked as Sabin and panting for breath, but he’d already moved beside Amun, ready for action. His woman wasn’t going to be any happier with Sabin than the others.

Slight shift, and the lovely Cameo came into view. She was the keeper of Misery, as well as the only female soldier among them. What she lacked in size she made up for in ferocity. Besides, all she had to do was start talking, all the sorrows of the world in her voice, and humans were likely to kill themselves without her ever having to lay a finger on them. Someone had sliced at her neck, leaving three deep grooves. It didn’t seem to slow her down as she finished cleaning her machete and joined Amun and Maddox.

Another shift. Paris was the keeper of Promiscuity and once upon a time, he’d been the most jovial among them. Now he seemed harder, more restless with every day that passed, though Sabin couldn’t fathom what had caused the change. Whatever the reason, he currently loomed in front of the Hunters, huffing and growling and so keyed for war he vibrated with brutal energy. And though there were two gushing holes in his right leg, Sabin didn’t think the warrior would be asking to rest anytime soon.

Beside him was Aeron, Wrath. Only recently had the gods freed him from a curse of bloodlust where no one around him had been safe. He’d lived to hurt, to kill. At moments like these, he still did. Today he’d fought as though that lust still consumed him, hacking at and mauling anyone within his reach. That was good, except…

How much worse would that bloodlust be when the next fight ended? Sabin feared they would have to summon Legion, the tiny, blood-hungry demon who worshipped Aeron like a god and was the only one who could calm Aeron during his darker moods. Unfortunately, she was currently doing surveillance work for them in hell. Sabin liked to keep up-to-date on Underworld happenings. Knowledge was power and one never knew what one would be able to use.

Aeron suddenly slammed a fist into a Hunter’s temple, sending the human to the floor in an unconscious heap.

Sabin blinked at him. “What was that for?”

“He was about to attack.”

Doubtful, but just like that, Paris cut whatever invisible tether had been holding him in place and swooped through the rest of the huddle, methodically punching the Hunters until every single one of them was down.

“That should keep them calm as Amun for the time being,” he rasped darkly.

Sighing, Sabin switched his attention yet again. There was Strider, Defeat. The man couldn’t lose at anything without enduring debilitating pain, so he made sure to win. Always. Which was probably why he was digging a bullet out of his side in preparation for the battle to come. Good. Sabin could always count on him.

Kane, keeper of Disaster, walked in front of him, ducking as a shower of pebbles fell from the ceiling, plumes of dust spraying in every direction. Several warriors coughed.

“Uh, Kane,” Sabin said. “Why don’t you stay here, too? You can help Reyes watch the prisoners.” A flimsy excuse and they all knew it.

There was a pause, the only sound to be heard the scrape of stone against sand as the doorway continued that slow glide. Then Kane gave a clipped nod. He hated being left out, that much Sabin knew, but his presence sometimes caused more problems than it solved. And as always, Sabin placed victory above his friends’ feelings. It wasn’t something he enjoyed doing, wasn’t something he’d do in any other situation. But someone had to act with cold-blooded logic or else they’d always lose.

With Kane out, that made the coming battle seven against seven. Totally even. Poor Hunters. They still didn’t stand a chance. “Anyone else want to stay behind?”

A chorus of “No” circled the chamber, eagerness dripping from the different timbres. An eagerness Sabin shared.

Until Pandora’s box was found, these skirmishes were a necessity. But it couldn’t be found without those damn godly artifacts to show the way. And as one of the four relics was supposedly here in Egypt, this particular skirmish was more important than most. He would not allow Hunters to claim a single artifact, for that box could destroy Sabin and everyone he held dear, drawing the demons out of their bodies and leaving only lifeless shells.

Despite his confidence that he would win this day, he knew he would have to work for victory. Led as the Hunters were by Sabin’s sworn enemy, Galen, a demon-possessed immortal in disguise, those “protectors of all that was good and right” were privy to information humans should not have been privy to. Such as the best way to distract the Lords…the best way to capture them…the best way to destroy them.

Finally the stone ceased sliding, and Amun peeked inside. He waved a hand to signal it was safe to enter. No one stepped forward. Sabin’s men and Lucien’s had only just resumed fighting together, having been separated for over a thousand years. They hadn’t yet learned the best formation.

“We going to do this or just stand here and wait for them to find us?” Aeron grumbled. “I’m ready.”

“Look at you, all unenthusiastic and shit,” Gideon said with a smirk. “I’m not impressed.”

Time to take charge, Sabin mused. He considered the best strategy. These last few centuries he’d gotten nowhere with the Hunters, rushing heedlessly into battle with only a single thought: kill. But the enemy’s numbers were growing, not shrinking, and to be honest, their determination and hatred were growing, as well. It was time for a new way of battle, of cataloging his resources and weaknesses before charging ahead.

“I’ll go first since I’m the least injured.” He curled his finger under the trigger of his gun before reluctantly sheathing it. “I want you staggered, a less injured man paired with a more injured one. You’ll work together, most injured acting as backup while the healthier takes out the target. Leave as many as you can alive,” he commanded. “I know you don’t want to, that it goes against every instinct you possess. But don’t worry. They’ll die soon enough. Once we ferret out the leader—and learn his secrets—they’ll be useless to us and you can do what you want to them.”

The trio blocking his path broke apart, allowing him to sail inside the narrow hallway without pause, then everyone filed behind him, their footfalls offering only the slightest whisper. Battery-powered lamps illuminated the hieroglyph-covered walls. Sabin allowed his gaze to rest on those glyphs for only a second, but that was long enough to burn the images into his mind. They showed one prisoner after another being ushered to a cruel execution, hearts removed while they still beat inside their chests.

Human scents coated the stale, dusty air: cologne, sweat, an assortment of foods. How long had the Hunters been here? What were they doing here? Had they already found the artifact?

The questions skated through his mind, and his demon latched on to them. As Doubt, it couldn’t help itself. Clearly they know something you do not. It might be enough to topple you. Your friends could very well take their last breaths this night.

Doubt could not lie, not without causing Sabin to pass out cold. It could only use derision and supposition to topple its victims. He’d never understood why a fiend from hell couldn’t utilize deceit—best he could come up with was that the demon carried a curse of its own—but he’d long since accepted it. Not that he’d allow himself to topple this night. Keep it up and I’ll spend the next week sequestered in my bedroom, reading so I can’t think too much.

But I need to feed, was the whined reply. The worry it caused was its greatest nourishment.

Soon.

Hurry.

Sabin held up his hand, stopped, and the warriors behind him stopped as well. There was a chamber up ahead, its doorway already open. The sound of voices and footsteps echoed, perhaps even the buzz of a drill.

The Hunters were indeed distracted and begging for an ambush. I’m just the man to give it to them.

Are you, really? the demon began, Sabin’s threat unheeded. Last time I checked—

Forget about me. I’ve supplied you with food as promised.

There was a gleeful exclamation inside his head, and then Doubt was opening its mind to the Hunters inside the pyramid, whispering all manner of destructive thoughts. All for nothing…what if you’re wrong…not strong enough…could soon die…

Conversation tapered away. Someone might even have whimpered.

Sabin held up a finger, then another. When he raised the third, he and the warriors jumped into motion, a war cry echoing.

CHAPTER TWO

GWENDOLYN THE TIMID SHRANK against the far wall of her glass cell the moment the horde of too-tall, too-muscled, too-bloody warriors charged into the chamber she’d both loved and hated for over a year. Loved, for being inside of it would have meant she was out of her cell, freedom a possibility. Hated, for all the torturous deeds that had taken place there. Deeds she’d witnessed and feared.

The very men who had performed those deeds gave startled cries, dropping their Petri dishes, needles, vials and various tools. Glass shattered. Savage roars boomed, the intruders leaping forward with practiced menace, their arms slashing, their legs kicking. Down, down their targets fell. There was no question about who would win this fight.

Gwen trembled, unsure what would happen to her and the others when things settled. The warriors were clearly inhuman, like her, like all the women locked in the cells surrounding hers. They were too hard, too strong, too everything to be mortal. Exactly what they were, however, she didn’t know. Why were they here? What did they want?

She’d known so many disappointments this last year that she didn’t dare hope they’d come on a rescue mission. Would she and the others be left here to rot? Or would these men try and use them as the detestable humans had done?

“Kill them!” one of the captured shouted to the new warriors, the sound of her hard, angry voice causing Gwen to draw her arms around her middle. “Make them suffer as we have suffered.”

The glass that kept the women removed from the outside world was thick, impenetrable by fist or even bullet, yet every heartbreak inside the chamber and cells was a blast inside Gwen’s ears.

She knew how to block the noise, something her sisters had taught her to do as a young child, but she desperately wanted to hear her captors’ defeat. Their grunts of pain were like midnight lullabies to her. Soothing and sweet.

But strong as the warriors obviously were, they never once delivered a deathblow. Oddly, they merely wounded their prey, knocking them unconscious before focusing on the next opponent. And after what seemed too-short seconds but had probably been minutes, only one human was left standing. The worst of the lot.

One of the warriors stepped forward, approaching him. Though all the newcomers had possessed lethal skill, this one had fought the dirtiest, going for the groin, the throat. He raised his arm as if to render the final blow, but then Gwen’s wide-eyed gaze caught his and he paused. Slowly he lowered his arm.

Her breath caught. Brown hair soaked with blood was plastered to his head. His eyes were the color of brandy, deep and dark, and they, too, were threaded with crimson. Impossible. Surely she imagined the wild glow. His face, so roughly hewn it could only have been carved from granite, promised destruction in its every line and hollow, though there was something almost…boyish about him. A startling contradiction.

His shirt had been slashed to ribbons, rope after rope of sun-kissed muscle visible every time he moved. Oh, the sun. How she missed it, craved it. A violet butterfly tattoo wrapped around his right rib cage and dipped into the waist of his pants. The points of its wings were razored, making it appear at once feminine and masculine. Why a butterfly? she wondered. Seemed odd that such a strong, vicious warrior would have chosen it. Whatever the reason, the mark somehow comforted her.

“Help us,” she said, praying the immortal could hear through soundproof glass as she could. But if he heard her, he gave no indication. “Free us.” Still no reaction.

What if they leave you here? Or worse, what if they’re here for the same reason as the humans?

The thoughts filled her head suddenly, and she frowned, perhaps even paled. The fears weren’t out of place; she’d wondered the exact same things only a short while ago. But these were somehow different…foreign. They were not her own, not spoken in her own inner voice. How…what…?

Sharp white teeth sank into the man’s bottom lip as he clawed at his temples, clearly infuriated.

What if—

“Stop!” he snarled.

The thought forming inside her head halted abruptly. She blinked in confusion. The warrior shook his head, scowl intensifying.

Distracted as the immortal clearly was, her human tormentor decided to act, closing the remaining distance between them.

Gwen straightened, calling, “Look out!”

Attention remaining fixed on Gwen, the granite-faced warrior reached out an arm and grabbed the human by the neck, choking and stopping him at the same time. The man—Chris was his name—flailed. He was young, perhaps twenty-five, but still leader of the guards and scientists here. He was also a man she despised more than captivity.

Everything I do, I do for the greater good, he was fond of saying, just before he raped one of the other women right in front of her. He could have artificially inseminated them, but had preferred the humiliation of forced intercourse. I wish this was you, he had often added. Every one of these females is a substitute for you.

Despite his desires, he’d never touched her. He was too afraid of her. They all were. They knew what she was; they’d seen her in action the day they came for her. Unintentionally maul a few humans to death, and a girl gained a reputation, she supposed. Rather than eliminate her, however, they’d kept her, experimenting with different drugs in the ventilation system in the hopes of knocking her out long enough to use her. They hadn’t yet succeeded, but they hadn’t given up, either.

“Sabin, no,” a beautiful, dark-haired female said, patting the once again red-eyed warrior on the shoulder. Her voice was so laden with sorrow, Gwen cringed. “Like you told us, we might need him.”

Sabin. A strong name, reminiscent of a weapon. Fitting.

Were the two lovers?

Finally that all-consuming gaze left her, and she was able to breathe. Sabin dropped Chris and the bastard fell to the ground, unconscious. She knew he still lived because she could hear the rush of blood in his veins, the crackle of air filling his lungs.

“Who are these women?” a blond warrior said. He had bright blue eyes and a lovely face that promised compassion and safety, but he was not the one Gwen suddenly imagined herself curling next to and sleeping beside peacefully. Deeply. Safely. Finally.

All these months, she’d been afraid to sleep, knowing Chris would have loved to take her unaware. So she’d slumbered in short, shallow spurts, never relaxing her guard. Sometimes she’d had to refrain from simply giving herself to the evil man in exchange for the prospect of closing her eyes and sinking into dark oblivion.

A black-haired, violet-eyed mountain stepped forward, eyeing the cells surrounding Gwen’s. “Dear gods. That one is pregnant.”

“So is that one.” This speaker had multicolored hair, pale skin and eyes as brilliant a blue as his blond friend’s, though this man’s were rimmed with a darker shade. “What kind of bastards keep pregnant females in these conditions? This is low even for Hunters.”

The females in question were banging on the glass, begging for help, for freedom.

“Anyone hear what they’re saying?” the mountain asked.

“I do,” Gwen answered automatically.

Sabin turned to her. That brown gaze no longer sleeked with red once more honed in on her, probing, searching…perusing.

A shiver danced the length of her spine. Could he hear her? Her eyes widened as he strode to her cell, sheathing a knife at his waist. Heightened as her senses were, she caught the barest hint of sweat, lemon and mint. She inhaled deeply, savoring every nuance. For so long, she’d smelled nothing but Chris and his overpowering cologne, his pungent drugs and the terror of the other females.

“You can hear us?” Sabin’s timbre was as rough as his features and should have grated her nerves like sandpaper, but somehow soothed her like a caress.

Tentatively, she nodded.

“Can they?” He pointed to the other prisoners.

She shook her head. “Can you hear me?”

He, too, shook his head. “I’m reading your lips.”

Oh. That meant he’d been—was—watching her intently, even when his head had been turned. The knowledge was not unpleasant.

“How do we open the glass?” he asked.

Her lips pressed in a stubborn line, and she dared a quick look at the heavily armed, blood-coated predators behind him. Should she tell him? What if they planned to rape her fellow prisoners, just as the others had done? Just as she’d feared?

His harsh expression softened. “We haven’t come to harm you. You have my word. We just want to free you.”

She didn’t know him, knew better than to trust him, but pushed to shaky legs anyway and lumbered to the glass. Up close like this, she realized that Sabin towered over her and his eyes were not brown as she’d supposed. Rather, they were ringed with amber, coffee, auburn and bronze, a symphony of colors. Thankfully, the glow of red was still gone. Had she imagined it those times?

“Woman?” he said.

If he opened the cell as promised…if she could gather her courage and not freeze in place as was her habit…escape would finally be possible. The hope she’d denied earlier sprang to life, unstoppable and tantalizing, tempered only by the thought that she might cruelly and brutally destroy these possible saviors without meaning to.

Don’t worry. Unless they try to harm you, your beast will remain caged. One wrong move from them, though…

Worth the risk, she thought, saying, “Stones.”

His brow furrowed. “Bones?”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she lifted one of her nails—a claw when compared to a human’s—and carved the word STONES in the glass. Each etching would hold only long enough for her to finish a letter before wiping clean. Damned godly glass. She’d often wondered how the humans had acquired it.

A pause. A frown, his attention remaining fixed on her too-long, pointed nail. Was he wondering what type of creature she was?

Then, “Stones?” Sabin asked, gaze once more meeting hers.

She nodded.

He spun in a circle, eyeing the entire chamber. Though the look-over lasted only a few seconds, Gwen suspected he’d cataloged every inch of the place and could have found his way out of it in the dark.

The warriors lined up behind him, all staring at her expectantly. Mixed with the expectation, however, was curiosity, suspicion, hatred—for her?—and even lust. One step, two, she backed away. She’d take hate over lust any day. Her legs trembled so violently she feared her muscles would give out. Stay calm. You cannot panic. Bad things happen when you panic.

How did one combat the desire of others? There was nothing she could do to cover herself more than she already was. Upon her imprisonment, her jeans and T-shirt had been replaced with a white tank and short skirt her captors had given her—easier access that way. Bastards. One of the tank straps had ripped months ago and the shirt now gaped. She’d had to tie it under her arm to keep her breast covered.

“Turn away,” Sabin suddenly growled.

Gwen spun without thought, long red hair swaying at her sides. Breath sawed in and out of her mouth, and sweat beaded over her brow. Why had he wanted her back? To better subdue her?

There was another of those heavy pauses. “I didn’t mean you, woman.” This time, Sabin’s voice was soft, gentle.

“Aw, come on,” someone said. She recognized the rich, irreverent tone of the male with the blond hair and blue eyes. “You’re not serious about—”

“You’re scaring her.”

Gwen peeked over her shoulder.

“But she—” the heavily tattooed one began.

Once again Sabin interjected. “You want answers or not? I said turn!”

A few groans, the shuffling of feet.

“Woman.”

Slowly she pivoted back around. All of the warriors had turned as Sabin commanded, giving her their backs.

Sabin placed a palm against the glass. It was large, unscarred and steady, but streaked with blood. “Which stones?”

She pointed to a grouping in a case beside him. They were small, about the size of a fist, and each had a different way to die painted on the front. The highlights: a beheading, limb removal, a stabbing, a pike through the gut and a wildfire climbing the body of a man nailed to a tree.

“Good, that’s good. But what do I do with them?”

Now panting with the need to be free—close, so close—she pantomimed the placing of a stone into a hole, like a key into a lock.

“Does it matter which stone goes where?”

She nodded, then pointed to each particular stone and which cell it opened. She’d come to dread the use of those stones, as it meant she would be forced to witness another rape. Sighing, she began to scratch the word KEY into the glass when Sabin slammed a fist into the stones’ case, shattering the outer shell. It would have taken the strength of ten humans to do such a thing, yet he made it look effortless.

Several cuts branched from his knuckles to his wrists. Beads of crimson appeared, but he wiped them away as if they meant nothing. By that time, the injuries were already in the process of healing, torn flesh weaving back together. Oh, yes. He was something far greater than mortal. Not fae, for his ears were perfectly rounded. Not vampire, for he didn’t possess fangs. A male siren, then? His voice was rich enough, delicious enough, yes, but perhaps too harsh.

“Grab a stone,” he called, never taking his focus from her.

Instantly the warriors spun on their booted heels. Gwen purposely kept her gaze on Sabin, afraid that looking at the others would cause her fear to spike. You’re in control, doing good. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—falter. Already she carried too many regrets.

Why couldn’t she be like her sisters? Why couldn’t she be brave and strong and embrace what she was? If necessary, they would have cut off a limb to escape—and they would have done it long before now. They would have pounded a fist through the glass, then Chris’s chest, and eaten his heart in front of him, laughing all the while.

She experienced a pang of homesickness. If Tyson, her former boyfriend, had told them of her abduction—which he probably hadn’t, scared as he was of her sisters—then they were looking for her and they wouldn’t give up until they found her. Despite her weaknesses, they loved her, wanted the best for her. But they would be so disappointed in her when they learned of her captivity. She’d failed herself, as well as her race. Even as a child she had run from conflict, which was how she’d earned the degrading moniker “Gwendolyn the Timid.”

Her palms were damp, she realized, and she rubbed them on her thighs.

Sabin directed the men, telling them which stone belonged in which hole. He got a few of the placements wrong but she wasn’t worried. They’d figure it out. He was correct about hers, though, and when one man, a blue-haired, pierced punk, tried to pick up the appropriate stone, Sabin’s strong, tanned fingers banded around his wrist, stopping him.

The blue-haired one locked eyes with Sabin, who shook his head. “Mine,” he said.

The punk grinned. “Hating what we see, are we?”

Sabin just frowned at him.

Gwen blinked in confusion. Sabin hated looking at her?

One by one the women were freed, some crying, some attempting to hurry out of the chamber. The males didn’t let them get far, catching them and surprising Gwen by cradling them gently, even when the women fought violently. In fact, the most beautiful man in the group, he of the multicolored hair, approached the women one by one, softly muttering, “Sleep for me, sweetheart.”

Shockingly, they obeyed, sagging in the warriors’ protective arms.

Sabin crouched and palmed Gwen’s stone, the one that showed the man burning alive. When he straightened, he tossed it in the air, caught it easily. “Don’t run. All right? I’m tired and I don’t want to chase you, but I will if you make me. And I’m afraid I’ll accidentally hurt you.”

You and me both, she thought.

“Don’t…free her,” Chris suddenly sputtered. How long had he been awake? He lifted his head and spit out a mouthful of dirt. Bruises had already formed under his eyes. “Dangerous. Deadly.”

“Cameo,” was all Sabin said.

The female warrior knew what he wanted and stalked to the human, grabbed him by the back of his shirt and easily lifted him to his feet. With her free hand, she placed a dagger at his carotid. Either too weak or too frightened, he didn’t struggle.

Gwen hoped it was fear that held him still. Hoped it with every fiber of her being. She even stared at the tip of the knife, willing it inside the bastard’s throat, piercing skin and bone and causing unforgettable agony.

Yes, she thought, entranced. Yes, yes, yes. Do it. Please, do it. Cut him, make him suffer.

“What do you want me to do with him?” Cameo asked Sabin.

“Keep him there. Alive.”

Disappointment caused Gwen’s shoulders to sag. But with the disappointment came a startling realization. Her emotions were under control, yet she was very close to releasing her inner beast anyway. All those thoughts of pain and suffering were not her own. They couldn’t be. Dangerous, Chris had said. Deadly. He’d been right. You have to stay in control.

“Feel free to hurt him a bit, though,” Sabin added, his eyes narrowing on Gwen. Was he…angry? At her? But why? What had she done?

“Don’t set the girl free,” Chris repeated. A tremor rocked his entire body. He backed away, but Cameo, obviously stronger than she appeared, jerked him back into place. “Please don’t.”

“Maybe you should leave the redhead in her cell,” the tiny warrior woman said. “For now, at least. Just in case.”

Sabin raised the stone, stopping just short of inserting it into the hole beside Gwen’s cage. “He’s a Hunter. A liar. And I think he hurt her, but doesn’t want her able to tell us.”

Gwen blinked over at him in shock and awe. He wasn’t angry at her, but at Chris—a hunter?—for what he might have done. He truly meant what he’d said. He wouldn’t harm her. Wanted her free. Safe.

“Is that right?” Sabin asked her. “He hurt you?”

Cheeks heating in mortification, she nodded. Emotionally, he’d destroyed her.

Sabin ran his tongue over his teeth. “He’ll pay for that. You have my word.”

Slowly the embarrassment faded. Her mother, who had disinherited her almost two years ago, would rather see her dead than weakened, but this man—this stranger—thought to avenge her.

Chris swallowed nervously. “Listen to me. Please. I know I’m your enemy, and I won’t lie and pretend you’re not mine. You are. I hate you with every fiber of my being. But if you let her go, she’ll kill us all. I swear it.”

“Will you try and kill us, little red?” Sabin asked her, even more gently than before.

Used to being called “bitch” and “whore” by the men here, Gwen felt the sweet endearment drift through her mind with the potency of a rose-scented summer breeze. In their few minutes together, this man had managed to gift her with the very thing she’d dreamed about since being locked up: a white knight, determined to slay her dragons. Sure, she’d once thought that white knight would be Tyson or even the father she’d never known, but still. It wasn’t every day a dream came true.

“Red?”

Gwen snapped to attention. What had he asked? Oh, yeah. If she would try and kill him and his friends. She licked her lips and shook her head. If her beast overtook her, she wouldn’t just try. She would succeed. I have control. For the most part. They’ll be fine.

“That’s what I thought.” With a flick of his wrist, Sabin drove the stone home. Her heart thundered in her chest, nearly cracking her ribs. Gradually the glass lifted…lifted…soon…soon…And then there was nothing between her and Sabin but air. The scent of lemon and mint strengthened. The coldness she’d grown used to gave way to a blanket of heat that seemed to wrap around her.

She smiled slowly. Free. She was truly free.

Sabin sucked in a breath. “My gods. You’re incredible.”

She found herself stepping toward him, reaching out, desperate for the contact she’d been denied all these months. A single touch, that’s all she needed. And then she would leave, go home. Finally.

Home.

“Bitch,” Chris shouted, struggling against Cameo’s hold. “Stay away from me. Keep her away from me. She’s a monster!”

Her feet halted of their own accord, and her gaze swung to the wretched human responsible for all the distress, all the anguish, she’d endured for the past year. Not to mention what he’d done to her cell mates. Her nails elongated to razor points. Tiny, seemingly gossamer wings sprang from her back, ripping at the cotton, fluttering frantically. Her blood thinned in her veins, rushing through every part of her, fast, so fast, and her vision tunneled to infrared, colors fading as body heat became her only focus.

In that instant, she realized she’d never had any sort of control over her beast. Her darker side. It had swirled inside her all along, mostly quiet as it waited for the opportunity to strike…

Only Chris, only Chris, please gods only Chris. The chant rang through her mind, hopefully penetrating the bloodlust of her vengeful beast. Only Chris, leave everyone else alone, attack only Chris.

But deep down, she knew there would be no stopping the death toll now.

CHAPTER THREE

FROM THE FIRST MOMENT Sabin had seen the lovely redhead in the glass cell, he’d been unable to remove his gaze from her. Unable to breathe, to think. Her hair was long and curled wantonly, blond streaked with thick locks of ruby. Her eyebrows were a darker auburn, but just as exquisite. Her nose was buttoned at the end, her cheeks rounded like a cherub’s. But her eyes…they were a sensual feast, amber with striations of sparkling gray. Hypnotic. Black lashes spiked around them, a decadent frame.

Halogens hung from hooks in the walls and drowned her in bright light. While that would have revealed another’s flaws and did in fact expose the dirt streaking her skin, it gave her a healthy glow. She was petite, with small, round breasts, narrow hips and legs long enough to wrap around his waist and hold on through the most turbulent of rides.

Don’t think like that. You know better. Yeah, he did. His last lover, Darla, had killed herself and he’d vowed not to get involved again. But his attraction to the redhead had been instant. So had his demon’s, though Doubt wanted her for another reason. It had sensed her trepidation and had purposely targeted her, wanting inside her mind, pouncing on her deepest fears and exploiting them.

But she was not human, they’d both soon realized, and therefore Doubt had been unable to hear her thoughts unless she voiced them. That didn’t mean she was safe from its evils. Oh, no. Doubt knew how to size up a situation and spread its poison accordingly. More than that, the demon relished a challenge and would work harder to learn this girl’s nuances and ruin any faith she might have.

What was she? He’d encountered many immortals over his thousands of years yet he couldn’t place her. She certainly appeared human. Delicate, fragile. Breakable. Those amber-silver eyes gave her away, though. And the claws. He could imagine those digging into his back…

Why had the Hunters taken her? He feared the answer. Three of the six newly liberated females were clearly pregnant, which brought to mind only one thing: the breeding of Hunters. Immortal Hunters, at that, for he recognized two sirens with scars along the column of their necks where their voice boxes had obviously been removed, a pale-skinned vampire whose fangs were gone, a gorgon whose reptilian hair had been shaved and a daughter of Cupid who had been blinded. To prevent her from ensnaring an enemy in her love spell, Sabin supposed.

How cruel the Hunters had been to these lovely creatures. What had they done to the redhead, the loveliest of them all? Though she wore a tiny tank and skirt, he could see no scars or bruises to indicate mistreatment. That didn’t mean anything, though. Most immortals healed quickly.

I want her. Intense fatigue radiated from her, yet when she’d smiled at him in thanks for freeing her…he could have died from the sheer glory of her face.

I want her, too, Doubt piped up. You can’t have her. Which meant he couldn’t either. Remember Darla? As strong and confident as she was, you still managed to break her down.

Gleeful laughter. I know. Wasn’t it fun?

His hands fisted at his sides. Fucking demon. Eventually everyone caved under the intense worries his other, darker half constantly threw at them: You aren’t pretty enough. You aren’t smart enough. How could anyone love you?

“Sabin,” Aeron’s cold voice called. “We’re ready.”

He reached out and motioned the girl over with a wave of his fingers. “Come.”

But his redhead had backed herself against the far wall, her body trembling in renewed fear. He’d expected her to beat feet, despite his warning of the consequences. He hadn’t expected this…terror.

“I told you,” he said gently. “We mean you no harm.”

Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged. And as he watched, the golden glow of her eyes deepened, darkened, black bleeding into the whites.

“What the hell is—”

One minute she was before him, the next she wasn’t, gone as if she’d never been. He spun, gaze scanning. Didn’t see her. But the only Hunter still standing suddenly belted out an agonized scream—a scream that halted abruptly as his body sagged, collapsing on the sandy floor, blood pooling around him.

“The girl,” Sabin said, palming a blade, determined to protect her from whatever force had just slain the Hunter he’d planned to interrogate. Still he did not see her. If she could disappear with only a thought like Lucien, she would be safe. Out of his reach forevermore, but safe. But could she? Had she?

“Behind you,” Cameo said, and for once she sounded more shocked than miserable.

“My gods,” Paris breathed. “I never saw her move, yet…”

“She didn’t…did she…how could she have…” Maddox scrubbed a hand down his face, as though he didn’t believe what he was seeing.

Again, Sabin spun. And there she was, back inside her cell, sitting, knees drawn to her chest, mouth dripping with blood, a…trachea?…clutched in one of her hands. She’d ripped—or bitten?—the man’s throat out.

Her eyes were a normal color again, gold with gray striations, but they were completely devoid of emotion and so faraway he suspected the shock of what she’d done had numbed her mind. Her expression was blank, too. Her skin was now so pallid he could see the blue veins underneath. And she was shaking, rocking back and forth and mumbling incoherently under her breath. What. The. Hell?

The Hunter had called her a monster. Sabin hadn’t believed it. Then.

Sabin stepped inside the cell, unsure of what to do but knowing he could neither leave her like this nor lock her back up. One, she hadn’t attacked his friends. Two, swift as she was, she could escape before the window closed and do serious damage to him for breaking his word.

“Sabin, man,” Gideon said, grim. “You might not want to rethink going in there. For once, a Hunter was lying.”

For once. Try once more. “Know what we’re dealing with here?”

“No.” Yes. “She’s not a Harpy, the spawn of Lucifer who did not spend a year unfettered on earth. I haven’t dealt with them before and I don’t know that they can kill an army of immortals in mere seconds.”

As Gideon couldn’t tell a single truth without soon wishing he were dead, his entire body wrapped in agony and riddled with suffering, Sabin knew everything he said was a lie. Therefore, the warrior had encountered a Harpy before—and he clearly didn’t mean the word in a derogatory sense—and those Harpies were the spawn of Lucifer and could destroy even a brute like himself in a blink.

“When?” he asked.

Gideon understood his meaning. “Remember when I wasn’t imprisoned?”

Ah. Gideon had once endured three months of torture at Hunter hands.

“One didn’t destroy half the camp before a single alarm could be sounded. She didn’t take off, for whatever reason, and the remaining Hunters didn’t spend the next few days cursing the entire race.”

“Hold on. Harpy? I don’t think so. She isn’t hideous.” That little nugget came from Strider, the king of stating the obvious. “How can she be a Harpy?”

“You know as well as we do that human myths are sometimes distorted. Just because most legends claim Harpies are hideous doesn’t mean they are. Now, everyone out.” Sabin began tossing his weapons on the ground behind him. “I’ll deal with her.”

A sea of protests arose.

“I’ll be fine.” He hoped.

You might not be…

Oh, shut the hell up.

“She’s—”

“Coming with us,” he said, cutting Maddox off. He couldn’t leave her behind; she was too valuable a weapon, a weapon that could be used against him—or used by him. Yes, he thought, eyes widening. Yes. “And she’s coming alive.”

“Hell, no,” Maddox said. “I don’t want a Harpy anywhere near Ashlyn.”

“You saw what she did—”

Now Maddox cut him off. “Yes, I did, and that’s exactly why I don’t want her near my pregnant human. The Harpy stays behind.”

Another reason to eschew love. It softened even the most hardened of warriors. “She has to hate these men as much as we do. She can help our cause.”

Maddox was undeterred. “No.”

“She’ll be my responsibility, and I’ll make sure she keeps her claws and teeth sheathed.” Again, he hoped.

“You want her, she’s yours,” Strider said, always on his side. Good man. “Maddox will agree because you never pressure Ashlyn to go into town and listen to conversations Hunters might have had, no matter how badly you want to.”

Eyes narrowed, Maddox popped his jaw. “We’ll have to subdue her.”

“No. I’ll handle her.” Sabin didn’t like the thought of anyone else touching her. In any way. He told himself it was because she’d most likely been tortured, used in the most horrendous way, and might react negatively to anyone who tried, but…

He recognized the excuse for what it was. He was attracted to her, and a man attracted couldn’t turn off the possessive thing. Even when that man had sworn off women.

Cameo approached his side, attention riveted on the girl. “Let Paris deal with her. He can finesse the cruelest of females into a good mood. You, not so much, and we clearly need this one in a perpetual good mood.”

Paris, who could seduce any woman, anytime, immortal and human alike? Paris, who needed sex to survive? Sabin’s teeth ground together, an image of the couple flashing through his mind. Naked bodies tangled, the warrior’s fingers gripping the Harpy’s wild fall of hair, bliss coloring her expression.

Would be better for the girl that way. Would probably be better for them all, as Cameo had said. The Harpy would be more inclined to help them defeat the Hunters if she was fighting by her lover’s side—and Sabin was now determined to have her help. Of course, Paris couldn’t bed her more than once, would eventually cheat on her because he needed sex from different vessels to survive, and that would probably piss her off. She might then decide to aid the Hunters.

Bad idea, all the way around, he decided, and not just because he wanted it to be.

“Just…give me five minutes. If she kills me, Paris can have a turn with her.” His dry tone failed to elicit a single chortle of laughter.

“At least let Paris put her to sleep as he did the others,” Cameo persisted.

Sabin shook his head. “If she were to wake early, she would be scared and she might attack. I’ve got to get through to her first. Now get out. Let me work.”

A pause. A shuffling of feet, heavier than usual as the warriors were carrying the other women out. And then he was alone with the redhead. Or strawberry blond, he supposed the color was called. She was still crouched, still mumbling, still holding that damn trachea.

Such a bad little girl, aren’t you? the demon said, tossing the words straight into the Harpy’s mind. And you know what happens to bad little girls, don’t you?

Leave her alone. Please, he begged the demon. She cut through our enemy, preventing them from searching for—and finding—the box.

At the word box, Doubt cried out. The demon had spent a thousand years inside the darkness and chaos of Pandora’s box and did not want to return. Would do anything to prevent such a fate.

Sabin could no longer exist without Doubt. It was a permanent part of him and much as he sometimes resented it, he would rather give up a lung than the demon. The first he could regenerate.

Just a few minutes of quiet, he added. Please.

Oh, very well.

Satisfied with that, Sabin stepped the rest of the way inside the cell. He bent down, placing himself at eye level with the girl.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she chanted, as though she sensed his presence. She didn’t face him, though, just continued to stare ahead, unseeing. “Did I kill you?”

“No, no. I’m fine.” Poor thing didn’t know what she’d done or what she was saying. “You did a good thing, destroyed a very bad man.”

“Bad. Yes, I’m very very bad.” Her arms tightened around her knees.

“No, he was bad.” Slowly, he reached out. “Let me help you. All right?” His fingers lightly pried at hers, opening them up. The bloody remain fell from her grasp, and he caught it with his free hand, tossing it over his shoulder, away from her. “Now, isn’t that better?”

Thankfully, his action didn’t send her into another rage. She merely released a deep breath.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Wh-what?”

Still moving at an unhurried pace, he brushed a strand of hair from her face and hooked it behind her ear. She leaned into his touch, even nuzzled her cheek against his palm. He allowed the caress to linger, savoring the softness of her skin when deep down he recognized the thin ledge of danger he walked. To encourage his attraction, to crave more of her, was to condemn her to utter misery as he’d done Darla. But he didn’t pull away, even when she gripped his wrist and guided his hand through the silkiness of her hair, clearly wanting to be petted. He massaged her scalp. She practically purred.

Sabin couldn’t recall a time he’d been so…tender with a woman, not even with Darla. Much as he’d cared for her, he’d placed more importance on victory than on her well-being. But at that moment, something about this girl drew him. She was just so lost and alone, feelings he knew well. He wanted to hug her.

See? You’re already craving more. Frowning, he forced his arm to fall to his side.

A slight cry of despair escaped her, and maintaining what little distance there was between them became even harder. How could this needy creature have so savagely slain the human? Didn’t seem possible, and he wouldn’t have believed it had the story simply been relayed to him. He’d had to see it. Not that there had been much to see, given how quickly she’d moved.

Perhaps, like him, like his friends, she was captive to a dark force inside her. Perhaps she was helpless to stop it from treating her body as a puppet. The moment those thoughts struck him, he knew he’d guessed correctly. The way her eyes had changed color…the horror she’d exuded when she had realized what she’d done…

When Maddox slid into one of his demon’s violent rages, the same changes overtook him. She couldn’t help what she was and probably hated herself for it, the little darling.

“What’s your name, red?”

Her lips edged into a frown, a mimic of his. “Name?”

“Yes. Name. What you’re called.”

She blinked. “What I’m called.” The shallow rasp in her voice was fading, leaving a dawning awareness. “What I’m—oh. Gwendolyn. Gwen. Yes, that’s my name.”

Gwendolyn. Gwen. “A lovely name for a lovely girl.”

Traces of color were returning to her face, and she blinked again, this time dragging her attention to him. She offered him a hesitant smile, one that spoke of welcome, relief and hope. “You’re Sabin.”

Exactly how sensitive were her ears? “Yes.”

“You didn’t hurt me. Even when I…” There was wonder in her voice, wonder tinged with regret.

“No, I didn’t hurt you.” He wanted to add, Nor will I, but he wasn’t sure that was true. In his single-minded quest to defeat the Hunters, he’d lost a good man, a great friend. He’d healed from countless near-fatal injuries and had buried several slain lovers. If necessary, he would sacrifice this little bird to the cause as well, whether he desired her or not.

Unless you soften, Doubt suddenly piped up.

I won’t. It was a vow, because he refused to believe otherwise. And it was a reinforcement of what he’d already known: he wasn’t an honorable man. He would use her.

Gwen’s gaze skittered past him, and her smile vanished. “Where are your men? They were right here. I didn’t…I…did I…”

“No, you didn’t hurt them. They’re just outside the chamber, I swear it.”

Her shoulders sagged as a sigh of relief escaped her. “Thank you.” She seemed to be speaking to herself. “I—oh, heavens.”

She had just spotted the Hunter she’d slain, he realized.

She paled again. “He—he’s missing—all that blood…how could I…”

Sabin purposely leaned to the side, blocking her view and consuming her entire line of vision. “Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

Those unusual eyes swung to him, now lit with wild interest. “You have food? Real food?”

Every muscle in his body tightened at the sight of that interest. There was an almost euphoric edge to it. She could be toying with him, pretending to be excited by what he offered in order to relax his guard for an easier escape. Must you be like your demon and doubt everyone and everything?

“I have energy bars,” he said. “Not sure they can be classified as food, but they’ll keep you strong.” Not that she needed any more strength.

Her lashes drifted closed, and she sighed dreamily. “Energy bars sound divine. I haven’t eaten in over a year, but I’ve imagined it. Over and over again. Chocolate and cakes, ice cream and peanut butter.”

A whole year without a crumb? “They gave you nothing?”

Those dark lashes lifted. She didn’t nod or reply in the affirmative, but then, she didn’t have to. The truth was there in her now-grim expression.

As soon as he finished interrogating the Hunters, every single one he’d found in these catacombs was going to die. By his hand. He’d take his time with the kills, too, enjoy every slash, every drop of blood spilled. This girl was a Harpy, spawn of Lucifer as Gideon had said, but even she did not deserve the gnawing torture of starvation. “How did you survive? I know you’re immortal, but even immortals need sustenance to remain strong.”

“They put something in the ventilation system, a special chemical to keep us alive and docile.”

“Didn’t fully work on you, I take it?”

“No.” Her little pink tongue slashed over her lips hungrily. “You mentioned energy bars?”

“We’ll have to leave this chamber to get them. Can you do that?” Or rather, would she do it? He doubted he could force her to do anything she didn’t want to without ending up cut and broken, maybe dead. He wondered how the Hunters had trapped her. How they had gotten her here and lived to tell the tale.

A slight hesitation. Then, “Yes. I can.”

Once again moving slowly, Sabin clutched her arm and helped her to her feet. She swayed. No, he realized, she snuggled up next to him, seeking closer contact with his body. He stiffened, poised to pull away—keep her at a distance, have to keep her at a distance—when she sighed, her breath trekking through the slashes in his shirt and onto his chest.

Now his eyes closed in ecstasy. He even wound an arm around her waist, urging her closer. Utterly trusting, she rested her head in the hollow of his neck.

“I’ve dreamed about this, too,” she whispered. “So warm. So strong.”

He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, felt Doubt prowling the corridors of his mind, rattling the bars, desperate to escape, to obliterate Gwen’s ease with him.

Too much faith, the demon said, as if that were some sort of disease.

The perfect amount, if Sabin were being honest with himself. He liked that a woman was looking at him as if he were a prince of light rather than a king of darkness, someone she needed to run screaming from. He liked that she’d allowed him to soothe her torment.

Foolish of her, though, he had to admit. Sabin was no one’s hero. He was their worst enemy.

Let me talk to her! the demon demanded, a child denied a favorite treat.

Quiet. Causing Gwen to doubt him could very well rouse the feral Harpy, placing his men in danger. That, Sabin would not allow. They were too important to him, too necessary.

Distance, as he’d realized before, was needed. He dropped his arms and stepped away. “No touching.” The words were a croak, harsher than he’d intended and she blanched. “Now come. Let’s get out of here.”

CHAPTER FOUR

THE WOMAN WAS GOING TO KILL HIM, and not because she was stronger and more vicious than he was. Which, if he thought about it, she was. He’d never ripped a man’s throat out with his teeth, and he was damned impressed that Gwen had. She’d made the Lords of the Underworld look like marshmallows.

Two full days had passed since Sabin and his crew had rescued her from the pyramid. The only time she’d seemed content was at her first glimpse of the sun. Since then, she had not relaxed. Or eaten. The energy bars she’d so wanted, she had merely gazed at with utter longing before shaking her head and turning away. She hadn’t even showered in the portable stall he’d had Lucien fetch her.

She didn’t trust them, didn’t want to risk poisoning or the vulnerability of unconsciousness or nakedness, and that was understandable. But damn it, he was seething with the need to force her to do those things. For her own good. Without the shit that had been pumped into her cell, she had to be feeling every bit of her starvation. She had to be exhausted and dirty as she was—from the past two days, as well as her confinement, which was strange because the other women had been clean—she couldn’t possibly be comfortable. Forcing her, however, was not an option. He liked his trachea where it was.

Only thing she’d taken from him was clothing. His clothing. A camouflage tee and military fatigues. They bagged on her, even though she’d rolled the arms, waist and legs, but there wasn’t a female who’d ever looked better. With that wild fall of strawberry curls…those take-me-to-bed lips…she was utter perfection. And knowing the material she wore had once touched his body…

I need to end my self-imposed celibacy. Soon.

The moment he returned to Buda, that’s what he’d do. Find a willing woman who wanted only a good time and, well, show her a good time. No one would get hurt because he wouldn’t be sticking around. But maybe then his head would clear and he’d figure out how to deal with Gwen.

Something else that bothered him was the way Gwen had planted herself in the corner and watched him no matter who entered his tent. Him. As if he were the biggest threat to her now. He’d snapped at her that day in the cavern, yeah, telling her not to touch him, but he’d also ensured that she remained on her feet on the trek through the desert to set up camp. He’d stayed with her, guarded her while the other warriors went back to the pyramid to search for anything they might have missed the first go-round. Did he really deserve the death glares?

Maybe…

Shut up, Doubt! I don’t need your opinions.

Don’t know why you care what she thinks. You’ve never been good for women, now have you? Funny that I now need to remind you about Darla.

Crouched on the sandy floor, Sabin closed the lid of his weapon case with a forceful snap, locked it and turned to the bag of food he’d had Paris bring him.

Darla, Darla, Darla, the demon sang.

“Like I said, you can shut the hell up, you dirty piece of shit. I’ve had all of you I can take.”

Gwen, still in the far corner, jerked as though he’d screamed. “But I didn’t say anything.”

He’d lived among mortals for a long time and had trained himself to converse with Doubt inside his head. That he’d forgotten his training now, in the presence of this skittish yet deadly woman…mortifying.

“I wasn’t speaking to you,” he muttered.

Paler than usual, she drew her arms around her middle. “Then to whom were you speaking? We’re alone.”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not without lying. Since Doubt’s inability to lie had long ago spread to Sabin, he had to stick to the truth, evade, or he’d be sleeping for the next few days.

Thankfully, Gwen didn’t press the issue. “I want to go home,” she said softly.

“I know.”

Yesterday, Paris had questioned all the freed women about their confinement. They’d indeed been kidnapped, raped, impregnated and told their babies would be taken from them and trained to be defenders against evil. Afterward, Lucien had flashed all but Gwen—who had told Paris nothing—to their families, who would hopefully hide them from Hunters in the peace and comfort that had been denied them during their captivity.

Gwen had asked to be taken to a deserted stretch of ice in Alaska, of all places. Lucien had reached out to take her hand, despite her failure to cooperate, and Sabin had stepped between them.

“Like I said in the cavern, she stays with me,” he’d said.

Gwen had gasped. “No! I want to go.”

“Sorry. Not gonna happen.” He’d refused to face her, afraid he’d cave and release her despite the fact that her strength, speed and savagery could win him this war, thereby saving his friends.

By gods, he’d dreamed of an end, a victorious end, for too many years to count; he couldn’t put Gwen’s needs and wants before that victory.

Too badly did he want Galen, the person he hated most in this world, defeated and imprisoned.

Galen, the once forgotten Lord, was the very man who had convinced the warriors to help steal and open Pandora’s box. He was also the man who had secretly planned to kill them all, then capture the demons they’d freed, becoming a hero in the eyes of the gods. But things hadn’t worked out as the bastard hoped, and he’d been cursed to house a demon—Hope—right alongside the other warriors.

If only that had been the end of things. But as further punishment, they’d all been kicked out of the heavens. Galen, still determined to destroy the men who’d called him friend, had quickly assembled an army of outraged mortals, the Hunters, and this endless blood feud had erupted. A feud that only intensified with every year that passed. If Gwen could aid Sabin in even the smallest way, she was too valuable to release. She, however, thought differently.

“Please,” she had begged. “Please.”

“I’ll take you home one day, but not now,” he’d told her. “You could be useful to us, to our cause.”

“I don’t want to help with any cause. I just want to go home.”

“Sorry. Like I said, it’s not gonna happen any time soon.”

“Bastard,” she’d muttered. Then she’d frozen, as if she hadn’t meant to say that aloud and now thought he would launch forward and beat her. When he didn’t, she’d calmed a bit. “So I’ve traded one captor for another, is that it? You promised you wouldn’t harm me.” Soft, so soft. Even sadly resigned, and that had…hurt him. “Just let me go. Please.”

Obviously, the girl was afraid. Of him, his friends. Of herself and her deadly abilities. Otherwise, she would have tried to ditch him or bargained for her release. But not once had she done so. Did she fear what they would do to her if they caught her? Or what she would do to them?

Or, as Doubt liked to whisper in the dark of night, did she have more sinister plans? Was she Bait, a very convincing trap laid by the Hunters? A trap meant to ruin him?

Not possible, he retorted every time. Such timidity couldn’t be faked. The trembling, the refusal even to eat. Which meant her fears, whatever they were, were real. And the more time she spent with him, the more those fears and doubts would grow. They would become all that she knew, all that she thought about. She would question every word out of her mouth, every word out of his mouth. She would question every action.

Sabin sighed. Others here were already questioning his actions, and not because of his demon. At her plea, Lucien’s expression had hardened—a rare thing, for Lucien was always careful to contain his emotions. After ordering Paris to guard her, he’d whisked Sabin to the home they’d rented in Cairo, where they could talk away from the others. Away from Gwen.

A ten-minute argument had ensued. And because flashing always sickened him, causing his stomach to churn, he hadn’t been at his best.

“She’s dangerous,” Lucien had begun.

“She’s strong.”

“She’s a killer.”

“Hello, so are we. Only difference is, she’s better at it than we are.”

Lucien frowned. “How do you know? You’ve only seen her kill one man.”

“And yet you would ban her from our home for that very killing—despite the fact that it was our enemy she killed. Look, Hunters know our faces. They’re always on the lookout for us. But the only ones who knew her are now dead or locked up. She’s our Trojan horse. Our own version of Bait. They’ll welcome her and she’ll slaughter them.”

“Or us,” Lucien had muttered, but Sabin could tell he was considering the point. “She just seems so…fainthearted.”

“I know.”

“Around you, that will only get worse.”

“Again, I know,” he growled.

“Then how can you think to use her as a soldier?”

“Believe me, I’ve weighed the pros and cons. Fainthearted or not, spirit broken down by me or not, she has an innate ability to destroy. We can harness that for our own benefit.”

“Sabin…”

“She’s coming with us, and that’s that. She’s mine.” He hadn’t wanted to claim her, not that way. He didn’t need another responsibility. Especially a beautiful, apprehensive female he could never hope to possess. But it had been the only way. Lucien, Maddox and Reyes had brought females into their home, therefore they could not deny entrance to his.

He shouldn’t have done that to her, should have just let her go for both their sakes. But as he’d reminded himself already, he’d placed his war with the Hunters above everything else, even his best friend, Baden, keeper of Distrust. Now dead, gone forever. He could make no exceptions for Gwen. She was coming to Budapest, like it or not.

First, though, he was going to feed her.

Crouching a few feet in front of her, putting them at eye level, Sabin began unwrapping Twinkies and unsealing Lunchables. He poked a straw in a juice box. Gods, he missed the home-cooked meals Ashlyn prepared and the gourmet cuisine Anya “borrowed” from Buda’s five-star restaurants.

“Have you ever been inside an airplane?” he asked her.

“Wh-what do you care?” She lifted her chin, yellow fire snapping in her eyes. But that hot gaze wasn’t on him. It was on the food he was spreading on the paper plate beside him.

A show of spirit. He liked it. Definitely preferred it over the stoic acceptance she’d displayed earlier. “I don’t. I simply want to ensure you’re not going to—” Shit. How could he phrase this without reminding her of what she’d done to the Hunter?

“Attack you out of fear,” she finished for him, cheeks heating with embarrassment. “Unlike you, I don’t lie. You take me on a plane that isn’t headed to Alaska and there’s a very good chance you’ll meet my…darker half.” The last words were choked.

His eyes slitted dangerously, his mind caught on the beginning of her speech. He wadded up the plastic wrappers scattered around him and shoved them into the cloth trash bag. “What do you mean, unlike me? I’ve never lied to you.” That he was still conscious proved it.

“You said you meant me no harm.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “And I didn’t. Don’t.”

“Keeping me here is harming me. You said you’d free me.”

“I did free you. From the pyramid.” He shrugged, sheepish. “And as long as you’re uninjured physically, I consider you unharmed.” A sigh slipped from him. “Is it really so bad, being around me?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

Ouch. “Doesn’t matter. You’re gonna have to get used to me. The two of us will be spending a lot of time together.”

“But why? You said I could be useful; I haven’t forgotten that. What I don’t understand is what you think I can do.”

Why not tell her everything? he thought. It could soften her toward him and his cause. Or it could frighten her even more and finally send her running. Would he be able to stop her?

Not knowing what he wanted of her had to be torture, though, and she’d suffered enough. “I’ll supply you with any piece of information you want,” he said. “If you eat.”

“No. I—I can’t.”

Sabin lifted the plate, circled it around. She followed every movement as though entranced. Sure that he had her attention, he lifted one of the Twinkies and bit into half.

“Can’t,” she said again, though she sounded exactly as she looked: entranced.

He swallowed before licking away any remaining cream. “See. Still alive. No poison.”

Hesitantly, as though she simply couldn’t help herself any longer, Gwen reached out. Sabin placed the dessert in her hand, and she immediately snatched it to her chest. Several minutes ticked by in silence, and she did nothing but eye him warily.

“So this food is payment for listening to you?” she asked.

“No.” He would not allow her to think bribery was acceptable. “I just want you healthy.”

“Oh,” she said, clearly disappointed.

Why disappointment?

Doubt nearly danced with the urge to crawl out of Sabin’s head and into Gwen’s. Much longer, and he’d lose his hold. One wrong suggestion from the demon, however, and Sabin knew she would throw the tiny morsel to the ground.

Eat it, he projected. Please eat it. It wasn’t the most nutritious of snacks, but at this point he would have been happy if she’d eaten a pile of sand.

Finally, she lifted the golden cake and tentatively nibbled on the edge. Those long, dark lashes closed, and a tiny smile appeared. Absolute ecstasy radiated from her—the kind that usually arrived on the heels of an orgasm.

His body reacted instantly, every muscle hardening. His heartbeat picked up speed; his palms itched to touch. My gods, she’s lovely. Quite possibly the most exquisite thing he’d ever beheld, all carnal pleasure and blissful decadence.

The rest of the cake was inside her mouth a second later, her cheeks puffing with its mass. As she chewed, she reached out, silently commanding him to give her another. He did so without hesitation.

“Shall I take half?” he asked before letting go.

Black began to swirl in her eyes, obliterating gold.

Maybe not. He raised his hands, palms out, and she stuffed the second cake into her mouth. The black faded, the gold returning. Crumbs fell from the corner of her lips.

“Thirsty?” He held up the juice box.

Again she reached out, fingers waving him to hurry.

Within seconds, every drop of juice was gone.

“Slow down, or you’ll make yourself sick.”

Just like that, the black returned to her irises. At least it didn’t bleed into the whites as it had moments before she’d slain the Hunter. Sabin pushed the plate to her, and she polished off the rest of the food.

When she finished, she settled back into the tent, that contented smile making another appearance. Rich pink painted her cheeks. And before his eyes, her body filled out. Her breasts overflowed. Her waist and hips flared perfectly, sinfully. His cock, still hard and aching, twitched in response.

Stop. Now. His erection would probably terrify her, so he remained in the crouch, his knees together, his chest hunched.

What if she liked it? What if she asked you to close the distance and kiss her? Touch her?

Zip it.

But then Gwen began to pale. Her smile fell, becoming a frown.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Without a word, she jerked up the bottom tent flap, leaned outside and retched, heaving, every drop and crumb leaving her. Sighing, he pushed to his feet and gathered a rag. After soaking it with the contents of a water bottle, he shoved it into her fingers. She eased the rest of the way into the tent and wiped her mouth with a trembling hand.

“Knew better,” she mumbled, returning to her former position. Arms locked around her legs, holding them to her chest.

Knew better than to eat too quickly? Well, yeah. ’Cause he’d warned her.

Sabin cleared his throat and decided to feed her again once her stomach had settled. For now, they could finish their conversation. After all, she’d lived up to her side of the bargain. She had eaten.

“You asked what I needed you to do. Well, I need your help finding and killing the men responsible for your…treatment.” Tread carefully. Don’t rouse her dark side with painful memories. But there was no way around it. “The others, they told us what had been done. The fertility drugs, the rapes. How there were other women once locked in those cages. Women who were raped as well, their babies taken away from them. A few seemed to think this has been going on for years already.”

Gwen’s back was pressed against the sand-colored tent flaps, yet she tried to scoot backward, as though she needed to escape from his words and the images they evoked.

Sabin himself had cringed, hearing the stories. He might be half demon, but he had never done anything as terrible as what had been done to the women in that cavern.

“Those men are vile,” he said. “They need to be destroyed.”

“Yes.” One of her arms fell from her legs, and she drew little circles in the dirt beside her hip. “But I…wasn’t.” The words were so softly spoken, he had to strain to hear them.

“You weren’t, what? Raped?”

Nibbling on her bottom lip—a nervous habit of hers?—she shook her head. “He was too afraid to open my cage, so he left me alone. Physically, at least. He…took the others in front of me.” There was guilt in her tone.

Ah. She felt responsible.

Sabin felt only relief. The thought of this fae-like creature being held down, her legs pried apart while she cried and begged for mercy, mercy that would never have been given…He anchored his hands on his thighs, his nails elongating into claws and cutting past fatigues.

When he returned to Budapest, the Hunters in his dungeon would suffer untold agonies, he thought for the thousandth time. He’d tortured men before, considered it a necessary part of war, but this time he would truly enjoy it.

“Why did he keep you, then, if he was afraid of you?”

“Because he hadn’t given up hope that the right drugs would make me biddable.”

Blood beaded where claw met skin. She’d lived in terror, he was sure, of that very thing happening. “You can avenge yourself, Gwen. You can avenge the other women. I can help you.”

Her lashes lifted, the sand she played with clearly forgotten, and then those amber orbs were probing all the way to his soul. “So can you. Avenge us, I mean. Obviously those men did something to you. You came here to fight them, didn’t you?”

“Yes, they did something to me and mine, and yes, I came here to fight them. That doesn’t mean I can destroy them on my own.” Otherwise, he would have done so by now.

“What did they do to you?”

“They murdered my best friend. And they hope to murder everyone else I hold dear, all because they believe the lies of their leader. I’ve been trying to obliterate them for centuries,” he admitted. The fact that the Hunters continued to thrive was like a dagger in his side. “But I kill one, and five more take his place.”

When she didn’t blink at the word centuries, he realized she knew he, too, was immortal. But did she know what he was?

No way she’s guessed. Like most every other woman in your life, she would despise what you are. How could she not? And look at her now. So sweet, so gentle. No evidence of hatred. Yet. The last emerged in a singsong.

Doubt. His constant companion. His cross to bear.

“How do I know you aren’t one of them?” she demanded. “How do I know this isn’t simply another way to try and gain my cooperation? I’ll help you fight your enemy and you’ll rape me. I’ll get pregnant, and you’ll steal the child from me.”

Doubts. Courtesy of his demon?

Before he could think up a reply, she added tightly, “I watched you fight those men. You hurt them, claim to hate them, but you didn’t kill them. You let them live. That isn’t the action of a warrior who wants to annihilate his enemy.”

As she spoke, an idea sprouted. A way to prove himself. “And if we’d killed them, you would have been convinced of our hate for them?”

More nibbling on that lush bottom lip. Her teeth were white and straight and a little sharper than a human’s. Kissing her would probably draw blood, but part of him suspected every drop would be worth it. “I—maybe.”

Maybe was better than nothing. “Lucien,” he called without removing his attention from her.

Her eyes widened, and again she tried to scoot back. “What are you doing? Don’t—”

Lucien stalked through the front flaps, glancing between them expectantly. “Yes?”

“Bring me a prisoner from Buda. I don’t care which.”

Lucien’s brow furrowed in curiosity, but he didn’t reply. He simply disappeared.

“I can’t help you, Sabin,” Gwen said, sounding agonized. Imploring him to understand. “I really can’t. There’s no reason to do whatever it is you’re about to do. I shouldn’t have yelled at you the way I did. All right? I admit it. I shouldn’t have insulted you with my doubts. But I seriously can’t fight anyone. I freeze up when I’m scared. And then I black out. When I wake up, everyone around me is dead.” She gulped, squeezed her eyes shut for several seconds. “Once I start killing, I can’t stop. That’s not the kind of soldier you can rely on.”

“You didn’t kill me,” he reminded her. “You didn’t kill my friends.”

“I honestly don’t know how I pulled myself back. That’s never happened before. I wouldn’t know how to do it a-gain.” She paled.

Lucien had reappeared, a struggling Hunter at his side.

Reaching behind his back, Sabin withdrew a dagger and stood.

When Gwen saw the glinting silver, she gasped. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Was this man one of your tormentors?” Sabin asked the now trembling female.

Silent, her gaze moved from one man to another in dread. She clearly knew what was coming, but this wasn’t the heat of battle. It would be straight-up murder.

The Hunter kicked and punched at Lucien. That failed to gain him his freedom, so he began sobbing. “Let me go, let me go, let me go. Please. I only did what I was told. I didn’t mean to hurt the women. It was all for the greater good.”

“Shut it,” Sabin said. This time he’d be the one to show no mercy. “You didn’t save them either, now did you?”

“I’ll stop trying to kill you. I swear!”

“Gwendolyn.” Sabin’s voice was hard, uncompromising, a roar compared to the Hunter’s pleading. “An answer. Please. Was this man one of your tormentors?”

She gave a single nod.

Without word or warning, he cut the Hunter’s throat.

CHAPTER FIVE

SABIN HAD MURDERED a man in front of her.

Several hours had since passed and they’d even switched locations, but the bloody image of that human falling to his knees, then to his face, gurgling then silent, so silent, refused to leave her mind.

Gwen had known that kind of fierceness churned inside of Sabin—the same kind of fierceness that had driven her to murder. She’d known he was hard and harsh and untouched by softer emotion. His eyes gave him away. Dark and cold, utterly calculating. The moment he’d led her out of her cell those two days ago, she’d begun to notice the way he surveyed the scene around him and decided who and what he could use to his advantage. Everything else was debris.

She must have been debris. Then. Now he wanted her help.

But she couldn’t forget that he’d pushed her away at their first meeting. Oh, that had embarrassed her. One simple brush of his callused fingertips and she’d glued herself to the side of a man who wanted nothing to do with her. But he’d been so warm, his skin buzzing with energy, and she’d been without contact for so long that she hadn’t been able to help herself.

No touching, he’d said, and he’d looked capable of slaying her if she dared reach out again.

His cruel treatment had reminded her that her rescuers were strangers to her, that their intentions could be every bit as nefarious as her captors’. So she’d kept her distance, using the past two days to study them and eavesdrop on their most private conversations. Her mental ear blocks were back in place, noise levels at a bearable pitch, allowing her to listen to men who didn’t want to be listened to without grimacing and giving herself away.

One of those conversations, which had taken place this very morning, constantly replayed through her mind.

“We’ve been here nearly a month with no sign of an artifact. How many pyramids do we have to search before we find it? I thought we’d hit the jackpot with that last pyramid, since Hunters were there, but…”

Again, the men had referenced a hunter. It’s what they’d called Chris. Why?

“I know, I know. All that work, and we’re no closer to finding the box.”

Artifact? Box?

“Should we pack up?”

“Might as well. Until our Eye gives us another clue, we’re directionless.”

Strange phrasing. Their eye could offer clues? To what? And whose eye were they referring to? Maybe the one called Lucien; she’d noticed he had one blue eye and one brown.

“Hopefully Galen hasn’t found anything, either. Well, other than a pike through the heart. That, I’d like to help him find.”

Who was Galen? Did it matter? These warriors were…odd. Half of them spoke as though they’d stepped straight from the pages of Medieval Times magazine. The other half could have been members of a street gang. They loved each other, though, that much was clear. They were solicitous of each other’s needs, either joking and laughing together or fiercely guarding each other’s backs.

Three men and the female warrior, Cameo, had sneaked inside Sabin’s tent while Sabin was off speaking with Lucien. Each of them had delivered the same message to her: Hurt the warrior and suffer. They hadn’t waited for her reply, but had stomped out. The woman’s voice…Gwen shuddered. She had suffered just listening to it.

As much time as she’d spent alone in the tent, she could have escaped. Probably should have tried. But mile after mile of desert, glaring sun and who knew what else surrounded her, and fear had held her in place.

Even though she’d grown up in the ice-mountains of Alaska, she could have dealt with the sand and the sun. She hoped. It was the unknown that intimidated her. What if she stumbled upon a vicious tribe? Or a pack of hungry animals? Or another group of treacherous men?

Besides, striking out on her own to follow her then-boyfriend Tyson to another state had been the catalyst to her ending up the unwilling guest of that glass cage. Still. Had the warriors hurt her, she would have risked it. Again, she hoped. But they hadn’t touched her, not in any way. And she was happy about that. Really. The fact that Sabin had kept his word—no touching—was like a gift from the heavens. Really.

“You okay?” The warrior named Strider plopped down in the plush leather seat beside hers. They were inside a private jet, high in the sky, and there was quite a bit of turbulence.

Surprisingly, that didn’t faze her.

Gwen suppressed a bitter laugh. A shadow could send her into hiding, but rattle-your-bones, fall from the sky instability made her yawn. Maybe because she herself could fly—kind of—though she hadn’t attempted the skill in forever. Maybe because as much as she’d been through this past year, crashing seemed like child’s play.

“You’re pale,” he added when she remained silent. He whipped a pack of Red Hots from his pocket, downed a mouthful, then offered some to her. She smelled cinnamon, and her mouth watered. “You need to eat.”

At least she didn’t cower from him. Still. What was with these men and their need to shove junk food in her face? “No thanks. I’m fine.” She hadn’t yet recovered from the Twinkies.

Oh, she didn’t regret eating them. The sugary taste…the fullness of her stomach…it had been heaven. For those few precious seconds, anyway. But she’d known better than to eat food freely given to her. Cursed by the gods, like all Harpies, she could only eat food that she had stolen or earned. It was penance for crimes her ancestors had committed and completely unfair, but there was nothing she could do about it.

Well, she could starve.

She was too afraid of the consequences to steal from these men, as well as too afraid of what they’d make her do to earn a few precious morsels.

“You sure?” he asked, then tossed a few more of the candies in his mouth. “These are small, but they pack a hell of a punch.” Of all the men, he’d been the most gentle with her. The most concerned with her care. Those bright blue eyes never regarded her with disdain. Or fury, as was sometimes the case with Sabin.

Sabin. Always her mind returned to him.

Her gaze sought him. He reclined in the lounge across from her, his eyes closed, spiked lashes casting shadows over the hollows of his sharp cheeks. He wore fatigues, a silver chain necklace and a leather man-bracelet. (She was pretty confident he’d want the “man” distinction.) His features were relaxed in slumber. How could someone look at once harsh and boyish?

It was a mystery she wanted to solve. Maybe when she did, she’d stop seeking him out. Five minutes couldn’t pass without her wondering where he was, what he was doing. This morning, he’d been packing his things, preparing for this trip, and she’d imagined her nails digging into his back, her teeth sinking into his neck. Not to hurt him, but to pleasure her!

She’d had a few lovers over the years, but those kinds of thoughts had never plagued her before. She was a gentle creature, damn it, even in bed. It was him, his I-don’t-care-about-anything-but-winning-my-war attitude that was causing this…darkness inside her. Had to be.

She should have been disgusted by what he’d done, slicing the human’s neck as he had. At the very least, she should have screamed for him to stop, protested, but part of her, that darker side, the monster she couldn’t escape, had known what was about to happen and had been glad. She’d wanted the human to die. Even now, there was a spark of gratitude inside her chest. For Sabin. For the wonderfully cruel way he’d dispensed justice.

That was the only reason she’d willingly stepped onto this plane. A plane headed not for Alaska but Budapest. That, and the respectful distance the warriors had maintained from her. Oh, and the Twinkies. Not that she could give in to their sweet temptation again.

Maybe she should, though. Maybe she should strap on her big girl panties and steal one, risking punishment. Her skills were rusty, but now that she was out of the cell, her hunger pangs were strong, her body growing weaker. Too, if the warriors hurt her that would finally spur her into action. Going home.

She’d have to decide quickly, though. Pretty soon, she wouldn’t have the strength or clarity to appropriate a fallen crumb, much less an entire meal, and she definitely wouldn’t have the strength to leave. What made it worse was that she wasn’t simply battling hunger, she was also battling lethargy.

She wasn’t cursed to stay awake forever or anything like that, but sleeping in front of others was against the Harpies’ code of conduct. And with good reason! Sleeping left you vulnerable, open to attack. Or, say, abduction. Her sisters didn’t live by many rules, but they never deviated from that one. She wouldn’t either. Not again. Already she’d embarrassed them enough.

But without food and without sleep, her health would continue to decline. Soon the Harpy would take over, determined to force her into wellness.

The Harpy. While they were one and the same, she considered them separate entities. The Harpy liked to kill; she didn’t. The Harpy preferred the dark; she preferred the light. The Harpy enjoyed chaos; she enjoyed tranquility. Can’t let her out.

Gwen gazed around the plane, searching for those Twinkies. Her eyes, however, stopped on Amun. He was the darkest of the warriors, and someone she’d never heard speak a word. He hunched in the seat farthest from her, his hands over his temples, moaning as though in great pain. Paris, the one with the brown and black hair—the seductive one, as she’d come to think of him, with his azure eyes and pale skin—was beside him, staring pensively out the window.

Across from them was Aeron, the one covered from head to foot in tattoos. He, too, was silent, stoic. The three of them could have been spokesmen for misery. And I thought I had it bad. What was wrong with them? she wondered. And did they know where the Twinkies were?

“Gwendolyn?”

Strider’s voice pulled her from her thoughts with a jolt. “Yes?”

“Lost you again.”

“Oh, sorry.” Had he asked her something?

The plane hit another bump. A lock of sandy hair fell over Strider’s forehead, and he brushed it aside. Another cinnamon-scented breeze followed the motion. Her stomach grumbled. “I know you won’t eat,” he said, “but are you thirsty? Would you like something to drink?”

Yes. Please, yes. Her mouth watered even more, but she said, “No, thanks.”

“At least accept a bottle of water. It’s capped, so you don’t have to worry that we’ve done something to it.” He produced a glistening, ice-cold bottle from the cup holder beside him and waved it in front of her face. Had it been there the entire time?

Inside, she wept. Looked so good… “Maybe later.” The words were croaked.

He shrugged as if he didn’t care, but there was disappointment in his eyes. “Your loss.”

Surely there was something nearby that she could steal. Once again, she searched the plane. Her gaze snagged on the half-drunk cherry-flavored water beside Sabin. She licked her lips. No, it will be Sabin’s loss. Soon as Strider left her, she’d go for it, damn the consequences.

Maybe. No, she would. But he was here now, and she might as well get some answers out of him. She could also use the time to build her courage. “Why are we flying?” she asked. “I saw the one called Lucien disappear with the other women. We could have reached Budapest in seconds.”

“Some of us don’t handle flashing all that well.” His eyes darted pointedly to Sabin.

“So some of you are babies?” The words were out before she could stop them. It was something she would have said to her sisters, the only people in the world she could be herself around without fear of recrimination. Bianka, Taliyah and Kaia understood her, loved her and would do anything to protect her.

Rather than offend Strider, however, her words amused him. He barked out a laugh. “Something like that, though Sabin, Reyes and Paris prefer to think they catch a virus whenever they’re flashed somewhere.”

Twins Bianka and Kaia were the same way. They’d rather believe they were stricken by infirmity than cop to a limitation. Taliyah, cold as ice and twice as hard, simply didn’t react to anything.

Slowly Strider’s merriment faded and he studied Gwen intently from head to toe. “You know, you’re different than I expected.”

Hold your ground. Don’t squirm. “What do you mean?”

“Well…wait, will what I say offend you?”

And cause her to erupt, was what he was really asking. Seemed he was as afraid of her dark side as she was. “No.” Maybe.

His intense stare probed all the deeper as he weighed the legitimacy of her claim. He must have seen the determination in her features because he nodded. “I think I’ve said this before, but from what little I know, Harpies are hideous creatures with misshapen faces, sharp beaks and the lower half of a bird. They’re spiteful and pitiless. You…you’re none of those things.”

Had he so easily forgotten what she’d done to Chris?

She glanced over at Sabin, who hadn’t budged. His breathing was deep, even, his lemon and mint scent wafting to her. Hadn’t he reminded Strider that not all legends were completely true? “We have a bad rap, that’s all.”

“No, it’s more than that.”

For her, yeah. Not that she could tell him. Her sisters—lucky as they were—had shape-shifter fathers. Taliyah’s was a snake, the twins’ a phoenix. Hers, on the other hand, was an angel—a fact she was forbidden to talk about. Ever. Angels were too pure, too good for her kind to respect, and Gwen had enough weaknesses. As always, the thought of her father had her flattening a palm over her heart.

While Harpies were mainly a matriarchal society, fathers were allowed to see their children if they so wished. Both of her sisters’ fathers had chosen to be part of their daughters’ lives. Gwen’s hadn’t gotten the chance. Her mother had forbidden it. She’d merely given Gwen a portrait of him to warn Gwen of what she would become—too morally superior even to steal her own food, unable to lie, concerned about others rather than herself—if she wasn’t careful. And after Tabitha had washed her hands of Gwen, labeling her a lost cause, Gwen’s father still hadn’t tried to make contact. Did he even know she existed? A tide of longing swept through her.

All her life she’d had dreams of her father fighting any and everything to reach her, to whisk her into his arms and fly her away. Dreams of his love and devotion. Dreams of living in the heavens with him, protected forevermore from the world’s evil and her own dark side.

She sighed. Only one name was to be mentioned when speaking of her lineage and that was Lucifer. He was strong, wily, vengeful, violent—in short, a poor enemy to have. People were less likely to mess with her, with any of them, if they thought the prince of darkness would be gunning for them.

And, to be honest, claiming him as family wasn’t technically a lie. Lucifer was her great-grandfather. Her mother’s grandfather. Gwen had never met him, for his year on earth had ended long before her birth, and she hoped they never crossed paths. Even the thought made her shudder.

Carefully considering her next words, she breathed deeply, taking in Strider’s aroma of wood smoke and all that delicious cinnamon. Sadly, even that lacked the decadence of Sabin’s scent. “Humans place a negative connotation on everything they cannot understand,” she said. “In their minds, good always conquers evil, so anything stronger than they are is evil. And evil is, of course, ugly.”

“Very true.”

There was a wealth of understanding in his tone. Now was as good a time as any to determine just what he understood, she supposed. “I know you are immortal, like me,” she began, “but I haven’t figured out exactly what you are.”

He shifted uncomfortably, glancing at his friends for support. Everyone listening quickly looked away. Strider sighed, an echo of the one she’d released earlier. “We were once soldiers for the gods.”

Once, but no longer. “But what—”

“How old are you?” he asked, cutting her off.

Gwen wanted to protest the abrupt change of topic. Instead, coward that she was, she weighed the pros and cons of admitting the truth, asking herself the three questions every Harpy mother taught her daughters: Was it information that could be used against her? Would keeping it secret award her some type of advantage? Would a lie serve just as well, if not better?

No harm, she decided. No advantage, either, but she didn’t mind. “Twenty-seven.”

His brow puckered, and he blinked over at her. “Twenty-seven hundred years, right?”

If he were speaking to Taliyah, yes. “No. Just twentyseven plain, ordinary years.”

“You don’t mean human years, do you?”

“No. I mean dog years,” she said dryly, then pressed her lips together. Where was the filter that was usually poised over her mouth? Strider didn’t seem to mind, though. Rather, he seemed stupefied. Would Sabin have had the same reaction were he awake? “What’s so hard to believe about my age?” As the question echoed between them, a thought occurred to her and she blanched. “Do I look ancient?”

“No, no. Of course not. But you’re immortal. Powerful.”

And powerful immortals couldn’t be young? Wait. He thought she was powerful? Pleasure bloomed inside her chest. In the past, that word had only been used to describe her sisters. “Yeah, but I’m still only twentyseven.”

He reached out—to do what, Gwen didn’t know, didn’t care—and she shrank back in her seat. While she’d craved Sabin’s touch from the beginning—why, why, why?—and had even pictured herself doing those very wicked things to him this morning, the thought of anyone else putting their hands on her held no appeal.

Strider’s arm dropped back to his side.

She relaxed, her eyes once again seeking Sabin. He was now red-faced, his jaw clenched. Bad dreams? Did all the men he’d killed clamor inside his head, tormenting him? Perhaps it was a blessing Gwen wasn’t allowing herself to sleep. She had experienced those types of nightmares herself and hated every second of them.

“Are all Harpies as young as you?” Strider asked, reclaiming her attention.

Was this information that could be used against her? Would keeping it secret award her some type of advantage? Would a lie serve just as well, if not better? “No,” she answered truthfully. “My three sisters are quite a bit older. Prettier and stronger, too.” She loved them too much to be jealous. Much. “They wouldn’t have been captured. No one can make them do anything they don’t want. Nothing scares them.”

Okay, she needed to shut up now. The more she spoke, the more her own failures and limitations were brought to light. It’d be better if these men assumed she had some cojones. But why can I not be like my sisters? Why do I run from danger when they race to it? If one of them had been attracted to Sabin, they would have viewed his distance as a challenge and seduced him.

Wait. Stop. That was craziness. She wasn’t attracted to Sabin. He was handsome, yes, and she’d even imagined herself making love to him. But that stemmed from a sense of gratitude. He’d set her free and slain one of her enemy. And yeah, she was also baffled by him. He was all that was violent and hard, yet he hadn’t once hurt her. But admit to an attraction to the immortal warrior? Never.

When Gwen started dating again, she would pick a kind, considerate human who didn’t rouse her darker side in any way. A kind, considerate human who preferred board meetings over swordplay. A kind, considerate human who made her feel cherished and accepted, despite her faults. Someone who made her feel normal.

That’s all she’d ever wanted.

SABIN’S ATTENTION WAS zeroed on Gwen. Had been since they’d boarded the plane. Okay, fine. Since the moment he’d met her. He’d thought she refused to relax because he intimidated her, so he’d pretended to sleep. He must have been right because she’d let down her guard and opened up. To Strider.

A fact that irritated the hell out of him.

He didn’t dare “wake up,” though. Not even when he’d heard Strider try to touch her, and Sabin had wanted to drive his fist into his friend’s nose, smashing cartilage into brain tissue. Their conversation fascinated him.

The girl—and that’s what she was, a girl, only twentyseven fucking years old, which made him feel like Father fucking Time—considered herself a failure in every possible way, and her sisters paragons. Prettier? Not likely. Stronger? He shuddered. They wouldn’t have been captured? Anyone could be taken unaware. Himself included. Nothing scared them? Everyone had a deep, dark fear. Again, even Sabin. He feared failure as much as Gideon feared spiders.

Timid as Gwen was and as shocked as she’d been that day in the cavern, he’d known she had doubts about her own strength and her feral abilities, but he’d had no idea how deep they actually ran. The way she compared herself to her sisters proved she had doubts on top of doubts. Girl was riddled with them. And being around him would only make them worse.

All of his past lovers had been confident, self-reliant women. (Aged thirty-five and up, damn it.) He’d chosen them for that very reason, their confidence. But they’d quickly changed, his demon sinking sharp claws of uncertainty through them and cutting deep. A few, like Darla, had even committed suicide, unable to bear the constant scrutiny of their appearance, their wit, the people around them. After Darla, he’d given up on females and relationships once and for all.

Then he’d seen Gwen. He desired—oh, did he desire. He could maybe allow himself one night with her and be able to justify it in some way, he thought. But he doubted one night would be enough. Not with her. There were too many ways to take her, too many things he wanted to do to that curvy little body.

Her lush beauty fired his blood every time he glanced at her, made his mouth water and his body ache. Her insecurity roused his protective instincts as much as his demon’s destructive urges. Her sunshine scent, buried underneath the grime she’d yet to wash off, continually wafted to him, summoning him closer…closer still…

To give in was to destroy her. Don’t forget.

Perhaps I’ll be good. Perhaps I’ll leave her alone.

At the sweet cajoling, Sabin bit his tongue, drawing blood. The demon wanted him to doubt its malicious intent. I fell for that once. I won’t again.

“You do that a lot,” Strider said now to Gwendolyn, pulling Sabin from his musings.

“What?” Her voice was breathless, raspy. At first, Sabin had thought her fatigue responsible for such a timbre. But no, that hoarseness was all her. And pure sex.

“Watch Sabin. Are you interested in him?”

She gasped, obviously outraged. “Of course not!”

Sabin tried not to scowl. A little hesitation would have been nice.

Strider chuckled. “I think you are. And guess what? I’ve known him for thousands of years, so I’ve got dirt.”

“So,” she sputtered.

“So. I don’t mind spilling. I mean, I’d be acting as a friend to both of you if I changed your mind about him.”

Your friend undermines you, Doubt said, perhaps wants her for himself. Trusting him after this might not be wise.

Sabin experienced a moment of unease before he shook the feeling off. He warns her away for her own good. For my own good. Just as he claimed. Now shut it.

“I want nothing to do with him, I assure you.”

“Then you won’t care if I leave you without telling you what I know.” Through his narrowed eyes, Sabin watched Strider push to his feet.

Gwen grabbed his wrist and jerked him back down. “Wait.”

Sabin had to grip the arms of his seat to stop himself from leaping up and separating them.

“Tell me,” she said, and released the warrior of her own accord.

Slowly Strider eased back into his chair. He was grinning. Even as limited as Sabin’s line of sight was, he could see the bright gleam of Strider’s teeth. He suddenly wanted to grin himself. Gwen was curious about him.

Probably wants to learn the best way to kill you.

Shut up, damn it!

“Anything particular you’d like to know?” Strider asked her.

“Why is he so…distant?” She was still looking over at him, her gaze burning him, probing deep. “I mean, is he like that with everyone or am I just a lucky girl?”

“Don’t worry. It’s not you. He’s like that with all females. He has to be. See, his demon is—”

“Demon?” Gwen gasped out. Her back jerked ramrod-straight, and her face leeched of color. “Did you just say demon?”

“Oh, uh…did I say that?” Strider once again glanced around the plane helplessly. “No, no. I think I said seaman.”

“No, you said demons. Demons. Demons and Hunters and that butterfly tattoo. I should have guessed the moment I saw that tattoo, but you seemed so nice. I mean, you didn’t hurt me, and thousands of people have butterfly tattoos.” She, too, gazed around the plane, studying the warriors through new, wild eyes. On her feet a second later, she jumped away from Strider and backpedaled toward the bathroom. She extended her arms, as though the puny action could keep everyone at bay. “I—I get it now. You’re the Lords, aren’t you? Immortal warriors the gods banished to earth. M-my sisters told me bedtime stories about your evils and conquests.”

“Gwen,” Strider said. “Calm down. Please.”

“You killed Pandora. An innocent woman. You burned ancient Greece to the ground, filling the streets with blood and screams. You tortured men, removed their limbs while they still lived.”

Strider’s expression hardened. “Those men deserved it. They killed our friend. Tried to kill us.”

“If she screams, wonderful things are going to happen,” Gideon said, grim, easing to Strider’s side. “Don’t try and knock her out, and I won’t help, okay?”

“Wait. Before we do any manhandling and maybe lose our throats, let’s try something else. Paris!” Strider barked, his gaze never leaving Gwen. “You’re needed.”

A determined Paris approached just as Sabin gave up the pretense of sleeping and popped to his feet. “Gwen,” he said, hoping to cajole her to calm before Paris could work his wiles. But she was having trouble catching her breath, hysteria curtaining her features. “Let’s talk about—”

“Demons…all around me.” She opened her mouth and screamed. And screamed and screamed and screamed.

CHAPTER SIX

DEMONS. LORDS OF THE UNDERWORLD. Once beloved soldiers of the gods, now reviled plagues of earth. Each man carried a demon inside his body, a demon so vile that even hell had been unable to contain it. Demons like Disease, Death, Misery, Pain and Violence. And I’m trapped inside a small aircraft with them, Gwen thought, her hysteria reaching new heights.

The plane, on the other hand, was shuddering and tilting, losing altitude at an alarming rate. That didn’t stop the Lords. They were closing in around her, encircling her, pinning her. Her heart drummed heavily in her chest, causing blood to surge through her veins and roar in her ears. If only that roar dulled the wild screech of the Harpy…No such luck. There was a tumultuous symphony inside her head, clanging, tolling, wiping away her sanity, tossing her down…down…into a black void where only death and destruction reigned.

Brutal and powerful as these warriors were, she should have suspected they were possessed by demons. The red eyes the first time she’d seen Sabin…the jagged butterfly tattoo on his ribs…

I’m so stupid.

Though Gwen had been watching these men the past few days, she must have been too tired, too hungry, too relieved by her liberation to notice the tattoos on the others, wherever they were. That, or she’d been too caught up in Sabin’s appeal. Actually, now that she thought about it, the warriors had always been fully dressed in her presence, as if they’d sympathized with what she’d been through and hadn’t wanted to frighten her by showing too much skin. But now she knew the truth. They’d simply been hiding their marks.

What demon possessed Sabin? she wondered. What demon had she observed, fascinated by every word and action? What demon had she imagined herself kissing and touching, clawing and writhing against?

How could her sisters adore these princes of evil? Well, the idea of them, anyway. To her knowledge, they’d never met. Who would have survived if they had? They were men without mercy or remorse, capable of any dark deed, and they were engaged in a never-ending war that stretched from past to present, sea to sea, death to death.

Each time she’d been told about them, her fear of predators skulking in the night and fiends hiding in the sunlight had multiplied. That was when she’d begun to fear the predator inside herself, for that was why she’d been told those stories. So that she might emulate the warriors. Even as Gwen had recoiled at the thought, the Harpy had soaked up every word, ready to prove itself.

I have to escape. Can’t stay here any longer. Nothing good can come of it. Either they’ll kill me next or my Harpy will fight all the harder to be like them. She might have been better off in the hands of their dastardly enemy.

“You have to stop screaming, Gwen.”

The harsh, familiar voice penetrated the chaotic mire flooding her mind, but still the shrieks persisted.

“Shut her up, Sabin. My fucking ears are bleeding.”

“Not helping, asshole. Gwendolyn, you have to calm down or you’ll hurt us. Do you want to hurt us, darling? Do you want to kill us after we saved you, sheltered you? We might harbor demons, but we aren’t evil. I think we’ve proven that to you. Did we not treat you and the others better than your captors? Have I touched you in anger? Forced myself on you? No.”

What he said was true. But could she trust a demon? They loved to lie. So do Harpies, a voice of reason piped up. Part of her did want to trust them; the other part of her wanted to jump from the plane. The still shuddering, still plummeting plane.

Okay, time to think logically. She’d been with them for two days. She was alive and well, with not even a scratch. If she continued to panic, the Harpy would break free from her hold, controlling her, hungry to wreak havoc. She’d most likely take out the pilot—perhaps even herself—in the inevitable crash. How foolish would she be, having survived captivity and the Lords only to end up offing herself?

Logic achieved.

As calm nudged its way into her mind, her highpitched screams faded. Everyone stood frozen. In, out she breathed—or tried to, her throat felt swollen, blocked—now hearing the frantic alarm coming from the cockpit. Before she could work up another panic, the plane evened out and then everything quieted.

“That’s a good girl. Now back off, guys. I’ve got her.” Sabin didn’t sound confident, just determined.

Light winked into her awareness, and colors quickly followed suit, real life painting itself around her. Holy hell. Her vision had gone infrared, and she hadn’t even known it. The Harpy had been close, so damn close, to breaking free. It was a miracle that she hadn’t.

Gwen was still standing in the back of the plane, a grouping of red leather chairs around her. Only Sabin remained in front of her. The others had moved away, but they hadn’t turned their backs. Afraid to? Or were they protecting their leader?

Sabin’s chocolate gaze was leveled on her, fiercer than it had been even inside the catacombs, his daggers thrusting at men she now knew were Hunters. He had his hands raised, empty, palms out. “I need you to calm some more.”

Did he? she thought dryly. Maybe she would if she could draw enough air through her nose or mouth, but she still couldn’t manage it. Dizziness was creeping up on her, black once again sneaking into her line of vision.

“What can I do to help you, Gwen?” There was a shuffle of footsteps as he closed the rest of the distance between them. His heat seeped into her.

“Air,” she was finally able to force past the knot in her throat.

Sabin’s hands settled atop her shoulders, gently pushing. Her legs were too weak to offer any type of resistance, so she tumbled down—straight into one of those chairs. “I need air.”

With no hesitation, Sabin dropped to his knees. He inserted his big body between her legs and cupped her face, forcing her to focus on him. Intense brown eyes became the new center of her world, an anchor in a turbulent storm.

“Take mine.” His callused thumb caressed her cheek, abrading lightly. “Yes?”

Take his…what? she wondered, and then she didn’t care. Her chest! Constricting, pinching bone and muscle together. A sharp pain tore through her ribs and slammed into her heart, causing the organ to skitter to a momentary halt. Gwen jerked.

“You’re turning blue, darling. I’m going to place my mouth over yours, give you my breath. All right?”

What if this is a trick? What if—

Shut up! Even in her haze, she knew the eerie, ghostly whisper was not her own. Thankfully, it heeded her command and quieted. Now, if only her lungs would open up. “I—I—”

“Need me. Let me do this.” If he feared her response, he gave no indication. One of his hands trailed to the base of her neck and drew her forward, even as he leaned into her. Their lips pressed together, a heated tangle. His hot tongue pried her teeth apart, and then warm, minty air was sliding down her throat, soothing.

Her arms wound around him of their own accord, holding him captive, meshing them together chest to chest, hardness to softness. His necklace was cold, even through her shirt, and made her gasp. She greedily took his breath. “More.”

He didn’t hesitate. He blew inside her mouth, and another warm, calming breeze moved through her. Little by little the dizziness faded; her head cleared, darkness once more giving way to light. The frantic dance of her heart slowed to a gentle waltz.

A need to kiss him, truly kiss him and learn his taste, filled her. His origins, forgotten. His past, of no consequence. Their audience, vanished as if they’d never been present. Only the two of them existed. Only the here and now mattered. He’d calmed her, saved her, gentled her, and now, here in his arms, real life slipping away, the fantasy she’d had of him, of them, played through her mind. Bodies wrapped around each other, straining. Skin slick with sweat. Hands roaming. Mouths seeking.

She threaded her fingers through the silkiness of his hair and tentatively brushed her tongue against his. Lemon. He tasted of sweet lemons and a hint of cherry. A moan escaped her, reality so much more decadent than she could have dreamed. So heady…so…heavenly. Pure and good and everything a girl could want from a lover. So she tilted her head and did it again, sinking deeper, silently demanding more.

“Sabin,” she breathed, wanting to praise him. Maybe thank him. No one had ever made her feel so protected, cherished, safe, needy, so needy. Not with something as simple as a kiss. A kiss that left no room for fear. Perhaps she could let go, even be herself, and not worry about her dark side…about hurting him. “Give me more.”

Instead of obeying, he jerked his head away and tugged her arms from him until there was no longer any physical link between them. “Touch me again!” she wanted to shout. Her body needed him, needed contact.

“Sabin,” she repeated, studying him. He was panting, trembling, his face pale—but not from passion. Fire didn’t dance in his eyes, determination did.

He hadn’t kissed her back, she realized. Her own desire-haze faded, just as the dizziness had done a bit ago, leaving the harsh realities she’d foolishly forgotten. Voices clamored around her.

“—didn’t see that one coming.”

“Should have.”

“Not the kiss, idiot. The calming. Her eyes had turned, and her claws had emerged. She was poised to strike. I mean, hello. Am I the only one who remembers what happened to the Hunter who tangled with her?”

“Maybe Sabin’s a portal to heaven like Danika,” someone said dryly. “Maybe the Harpy saw a few angels while receiving mouth-to-mouth.”

Male chuckles abounded.

Gwen’s cheeks heated. Half of what they’d said escaped her understanding. The other half mortified her. She’d kissed a man, a demon, who clearly wanted nothing to do with her—and she’d done it in front of witnesses.

“Ignore them,” Sabin said, his voice so guttural it scraped against her eardrums. “Focus on me.”

Their gazes clashed together, brown against gold. She scooted as far back in her chair as she could, putting as much distance between them as possible.

“Are you still afraid of me?” he asked, head tilting to the side.

She raised her chin. “No.” Yes. She was afraid of what he made her feel, afraid that what he was would again cease to matter. Afraid he’d never crave her the way she suddenly craved him. Afraid that the wonderfully protective man in front of her was nothing more than a mirage, that evil waited just below the surface, ready to devour her whole.

Such a coward you are. How the hell could she have kissed him like that?

One of his brows arched. “You wouldn’t be lying, would you?”

“I never lie, remember?” Ironically, that was a lie.

“Good. Now listen closely, because I don’t want to have this discussion again. I have a demon inside my body, yes.” He gripped her armrests so tightly his knuckles slowly blanched. “It’s there because centuries ago I stupidly helped open Pandora’s box, unleashing the spirits inside. As punishment, the gods cursed me and all the warriors you see on this plane to carry one inside ourselves. In the beginning, I couldn’t control that demon and did some…bad things, as you said. But that was thousands of years ago, and I now have control. We all do. Like I told you in that cell, you have nothing to fear from us. Got me, red?”

Red. Earlier, during her panic attack, he’d called her something else. Something like…sweetheart? No. Tyson used to call her sweetheart. Dearest? No. But close. Darling? Yes! Yes, that was it. She blinked in surprise. In delight. This hard warrior who could cut a man’s throat without hesitation had referred to her as precious treasure.

So why hadn’t he kissed her back?

“We’ve reached our destination, guys,” an unfamiliar voice dripping with relief said over the intercom. The pilot, she figured, and experienced a wave of guilt for the trouble she had caused. “Prepare for descent.”

Sabin remained in place, an indomitable rock between her legs. “Do you believe me, Gwen? Will you still willingly travel to our home?”

“I was never willing.”

“But you never tried to escape.”

“Should I have braved a strange land by myself, with no provisions?”

He frowned. “I’ve seen for myself how skilled you are. And we’ve offered you provisions time and time again. For whatever reason, part of you wants to be with us or you wouldn’t be here. You know it, and I know it.”

Logic she couldn’t deny. But…why? Why would part of her want to stay? Then or now?

You know the answer to that, though you’ve tried to deny it. Him. Sabin. Not attracted to him? Ha! She studied him, noting the thin lines of strain branching from his eyes, the spiky shadows cast by his lashes, the muscle twitching in his jaw. The erratic pound of his pulse, now so loud in her ears. Maybe he was just as attracted to her, but was fighting it, as she was. The thought pleased her.

Did he have a woman waiting for him in Budapest? A wife?

Gwen’s hands fisted, the nails digging deep, cutting. She was no longer pleased. This doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t want him.

“Gwen. Will you?”

The way he said her name was a slap and a caress at the same time, jarring her, making her shiver. She liked that he sought her cooperation, though she suspected he would try and force her to his will if she declined. “Maybe I should have run.”

“To what? A life of regrets? A life of wishing you had acted against the ones who hurt you? I’m offering you a chance to help me kill Hunters. And just so you know, killing them won’t be the only benefit,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I can help you control your beast the way I control mine. I can help you channel it for a good cause. Don’t you want to be in control?”

All her life, she’d wanted only three things: to meet her father, earn her family’s respect and learn to control her Harpy. If Sabin could deliver on that promise, she would finally, after all these years, have achieved one of the three. He was probably overreaching and destined to fail, but it was a temptation she couldn’t resist.

“I’ll go with you,” she said. “I’ll help you as best I can.”

Relief pulsed from him as he closed his eyes and smiled. “Thank you.”

That smile relaxed the stark edges of his face, making him appear boyish once again. As she drank him in, the plane jolted abruptly. Sabin was pushed back; she was propelled forward. To her delight—dismay—the distance between them never widened.

“On one condition,” she added when they settled.

His relief hardened into something cruel. “What?”

“You have to invite my sisters.” Maybe not right away. She was embarrassed by her circumstances and didn’t want her sisters to see her like this, to know what had happened to her. But she missed them like crazy, and knew her homesickness would soon outweigh her embarrassment.

“Invite your sisters? You mean you want me to have to deal with more of you?”

“That had better be happiness in your tone, not disgust,” she said, offended. “My sisters have castrated men for less.”

Sabin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sure. Invite them. Gods save us all.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

PARIS SLOUCHED in the backseat of an Escalade, Strider at the wheel and completely unaware of speed limits. Though the sun was shining on downtown Budapest, you couldn’t tell it from where Paris was sitting. The windows were tinted so thickly the interior was cast in gloomy shadows. Anya, Lucien’s lover and the minor goddess of Anarchy, had stolen the vehicle from gods knew where—along with a matching second and a Bentley for herself—just before they’d left for Egypt.

You don’t have to thank me, she’d said, smiling beatifically. Your horrified expressions are gift enough. The cars are very upscale gangster, if I do say so myself. And let’s face it. You guys were in serious need of a makeover and these wheels do the job.

Unfortunately, Paris had gotten stuck in the same car as Amun, who was gripping his head as if it was about to explode; Aeron, who couldn’t stop glowering—dude needed his little demon friend, Legion, like, stat—as well as Sabin and his Harpy.

Sabin couldn’t keep his eyes off the dangerous, throat-eating woman, and hadn’t lost his hard-on since kissing her on the plane. Understandable, sure. She was incomparably lovely, with golden eyes almost diamondlike in their purity, lips as red as Eve’s apple had probably been and a body that defined the word temptation. And that strawberry hair was a miracle all its own. But she was a Harpy who’d been found in the enemy’s camp and therefore not to be trusted for any reason.

Maybe she’d been abused like the other prisoners. Maybe she despised the Hunters as much as he did. Maybe…

But maybe wasn’t good enough to earn his trust. Not anymore. She could be Bait, a pretty trap the Hunters had set and the Lords had welcomed with open arms.

Paris didn’t want Sabin ending up like him: craving an enemy with every fiber of his being but unable to have her.

A minute, an hour, a month, a year ago—he didn’t know, time no longer mattered to him—he’d been ambushed by Hunters and imprisoned. Because he played host to the demon of Promiscuity, he needed sex to survive. Sex every day, at least once, but never with the same woman. In that cell, strapped to a gurney, he’d grown so weak opening his eyes had become a chore. Not wanting to kill him before they found Pandora’s box—without it, the death of his body would have freed his demon, allowing it to wander the earth, crazed, unfettered—they’d sent her in. Sienna. Plain, freckled Sienna with her elegant hands and untapped sensuality.

She’d seduced him, strengthening him exponentially. And for the first time since his possession, Paris had gotten hard for the same woman twice. In that moment, he’d known she belonged to him. Known that she was his—his reason for breathing. The reason he’d been spared death all these thousands of years. But her own people had shot her down as Paris absconded with her.

She’d died in his arms.

Now Paris was still forced to bed a new woman every day, and if he couldn’t find a woman, he had to find a man, even though he’d never been attracted to his own sex. A fuck was a fuck to the demon of Promiscuity. A fact that had long since plunged him down a spiral of shame.

Yet nowadays, no matter who his bed partner was, he had to picture Sienna’s face to get hard. He had to picture her face to finish the job, because every cell in his body knew the person underneath him was wrong. Wrong scent, wrong curves, wrong voice, wrong texture. Wrong everything.

Today would be the same. Tomorrow, as well. And the next day and the next. For an eternity. There was no end in sight for him. Except death, but he didn’t deserve death yet. Not until Sienna was avenged. Would she ever be?

You didn’t love her. This is madness.

Wise words. From his demon? Himself? He didn’t know anymore. Could no longer distinguish one voice from the other. They were one and the same, two halves of a whole. And both of them were at the breaking point, ready to snap at any moment.

Until then…

Paris patted the bag of dried ambrosia in his pocket and let out a sigh of relief. Still there. He now carried the potent stuff with him wherever he went. Just in case he needed it. Which, more often than not, he did.

Only when the ambrosia was mixed with human wine did the alcohol do what it was supposed to do and numb him. If only for a little while. Every day, though, it seemed like he had to add more to achieve the same buzz.

He’d just have to ask his friend to steal more. Gods knew he deserved a few hours of peace, a chance to lose himself. Afterward, he would be refreshed, stronger, ready to fight his enemy.

Don’t think about that now. Soon as he reached the fortress, he had a job to do. That came first; it had to. He forced his eyes to focus on his surroundings, his mind to blank. Gone were the multihued palaces, humans traipsing from one side of the streets to another. In their place were thickly treed hills, abandoned, forgotten.

The SUV popped a rocky ledge and ascended one of those hills, dodging trees and the little presents he and the others had left for any Hunter stupid enough to come gunning for them. Again, that is.

About a month ago, they’d stormed inside and blasted the hell out of his home, a home he’d lived in for centuries, forcing the warriors to patch up quickly before heading out on another trip, another battle. New furniture had been needed. New appliances. He didn’t like it. There’d been so much change in his life lately—women in residence, the return of an old frienemy, the eruption of the war—he couldn’t handle much more.

The fortress came into view, a towering monstrosity of shadow and stone. Ivy climbed the jagged walls, blending home into land and making it nearly impossible to differentiate between the two. The only thing that set them apart was the iron gate that now surrounded the structure. Another addition.

Eagerness suddenly saturated the cool air. Bodies tensed, mouthfuls of oxygen were held. So close…

Torin, who watched them from inside the fortress on monitors and sensors, opened that gate. As they meandered toward the tall, arching front doors, Aeron squeezed his armrest so tightly it snapped.

“A wee bit excited, are you?” Strider asked, glancing at him from the rearview mirror.

Aeron didn’t reply. There was a good chance he hadn’t even heard the question. His tattooed face registered determination and anger. Not the usual indulgent expression he wore when about to see Legion.

When the vehicle stopped, the entire group jumped out. Glaring sunlight beat down on his body, making him sweat under his T-shirt and jeans. Gods, was it even this hot in hell?

Soon as she emerged from the car, the little Harpy stepped to the side, delicate arms around her middle, eyes wide, face pale. Sabin tracked her every movement, not even looking away when he jerked out a bag and another toppled to his feet.

How could something as vicious as a Harpy be so timid? It just wasn’t possible; it didn’t fit. She was like two pieces of two different puzzles, and now Paris was thinking the girl should have been blindfolded on the way to the fortress.

Hindsight. They could always cut out her tongue to keep her from talking, he supposed. Maybe cut off her hands to keep her from signing or writing.

Who are you?

Before Sienna, he would have been the one fighting to protect the female. That he wasn’t now, that he actually wanted her injured, should have filled him with guilt. Instead, he was angry that he hadn’t done a better job of guarding his friends against her. All possible threats had to be eliminated. Throughout the years, the other warriors had tried to convince him of that but he’d always resisted. Now, he understood.

It was too late to do anything to her, though. Sabin wouldn’t allow it. Guy was wasted. Even before the rift that tore Lucien’s group from Sabin’s, Paris didn’t recall ever seeing Sabin this intent on a woman. Which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. If the girl’s timidity wasn’t an act, then Sabin would destroy her, one bit of her self-esteem at a time.

Maddox emerged from the second Escalade, a dark slash in Paris’s periphery. The keeper of Violence didn’t bother grabbing his bag but pounded swiftly up the porch steps. The doors swung open and his pregnant female flew outside, laughing and crying. Ashlyn leapt into his arms, a blur of gold, and he swung her around. They were locked in a heated kiss seconds later.

It was tough to imagine the savage Maddox as a father—even if the baby ended up half demon like the Lords.

Next came Danika, who halted in the doorway and scanned the crowd for Reyes. The lovely blonde spotted him and squealed. As if that squeal was a mating call of some kind, Reyes palmed a dagger and stalked to her.

Possessed as he was by the demon of Pain, Reyes could not feel pleasure without physical suffering. Before Danika, the warrior had had to cut himself twenty-four/seven to function. During their stay in Cairo, he hadn’t had to injure himself once. Being away from Danika was pain enough, he said. Now that they were reunited, he’d have to cut himself again, but Paris didn’t think either of them minded.

With a growl, Reyes swept her into his arms and the two disappeared inside the fortress, Danika’s giggling the only remaining evidence they’d been nearby.

Paris rubbed at a sudden ache in his chest, praying it would go away. He knew it wouldn’t, though. Not until he’d had his ambrosia. Every time he was around these couples so obviously in love, the ache sprouted and stayed, a parasite that sucked the life right out of him, until he drank himself into a stupor.

There was no sign of Lucien, who had flashed home rather than endure the long plane ride. He and Anya were probably locked inside their room. One small favor, at least.

He noted that the Harpy had watched the couples as intently as he had. Because she was fascinated or because she hoped to use the information against them?

No other females were in residence, thank the gods. No one Paris could seduce and eventually hurt when he screwed her over for someone else. Gilly, Danika’s young friend, now lived in an apartment in town. The kid had wanted her own space. And they’d pretended to give it to her, not telling her that her home was wired to Torin’s surveillance systems. Danika’s grandmother, mother and sister had left, as well, and were now back in the States.

“Come,” Sabin said to the Harpy. When she failed to comply, he motioned her to his side.

“Those women…” she whispered.

“Are happy.” Confidence layered every syllable. “Had they not been so eager to be reunited with their men, they would have greeted you personally.”

“Do they know…?” Once again, she had trouble finishing her sentence.

“Oh, yes. They know their men are possessed by demons. Now come.” He waved his fingers.

Still she hesitated. “Where will you take me?”

Sabin pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. He was doing that a lot lately, it seemed. “Come inside or don’t, but I’m not waiting out here for you to make up your mind.” Angry footsteps, the slam of the door.

Anyone else he simply would have picked up and thrown over his shoulder, Paris suspected. Her, he allowed to choose. Smart of him.

The Harpy glanced left and right, and Paris braced himself to give chase. Not that he thought he could catch her if she decided to kick it into hyperdrive as she’d done inside that cavern. But he was prepared to fight her if necessary.

Another red flag started waving in his mind. She could get away, here and now. Even earlier, before they’d boarded the plane. Hell, she could have escaped while they camped in the desert. Why hadn’t she? Unless she was Bait, as he’d suspected, here to learn everything she could about them.

Though she had denied it, Sienna had been Bait. She’d kissed him even as she’d poisoned him—and she’d merely been human. What kind of damage could this Harpy do?

Let Sabin worry about this one for now. You have enough on your plate o’fuck.

Finally, she decided to follow Sabin and headed inside, her steps tentative.

“The prisoners are in need of interrogating,” Paris said to no one in particular.

Cameo flipped her dark hair over one shoulder and bent to grab her bag. No one tried to help her. They treated her like one of the guys because she preferred it that way. At least, that’s what he’d always told himself. He’d never tried to treat her as anything else because he’d never wanted to sleep with her. Perhaps she would have liked to be pampered upon occasion.

“Maybe tomorrow,” she said, her tragic voice nearly making his eardrums bleed. “I need to rest.” Without another word—thank the gods—she marched inside.

As well as Paris knew women, he knew beyond any doubt that she was lying. There’d been a sparkle in her eyes, a rosy flush to her cheeks. She’d looked aroused, not tired. Who did she plan to meet?

She’d been hanging with Torin a lot lately and…Paris blinked. No, surely not. Torin couldn’t touch another being skin to skin without infecting it with disease—as well as everyone that person encountered, causing a plague to sweep the land. Not even an immortal was safe from harm. That immortal wouldn’t die, but would become like Torin, unable to know the caress of another without severe consequences.

Didn’t matter what they were up to, really. He had work to do. “Anyone?” Paris said to those remaining. He wanted this shit over with, like, now. The sooner he finished beating information out of the Hunters, the sooner he could barricade himself inside his room and forget he was alive.

Strider whistled under his breath, pretending not to hear him as he edged toward the front door.

What the hell? No one appreciated violence better than Strider. “Strider, man. I know you heard me. Help me with the interrogation, yeah?”

“Oh, come on! At least wait until tomorrow. Not like they’re going anywhere. I just need a little me time to recover. Like Cameo, I’ll be ready to go bright and early. Swear to the gods.”

Paris sighed. “Fine. Go.” Were Cameo and Strider a couple, then? “What about you, Amun?”

Amun nodded his assent, but the action tossed his equilibrium into the shitter and he collapsed on the bottom step of the porch with a moan.

Barely a second later, Strider was at his side and wrapping an arm around his waist. “Uncle Stridey is here, don’t you worry.” He hefted the usually stoic warrior to his feet. Would have carried him if it had been necessary, but with Strider as a crutch Amun was able to throw one foot in front of the other, only stumbling occasionally.

“I’ll help with the Hunters,” Aeron said, stepping up to Paris. The offer surprised the hell out of him, truth be told.

“What about Legion? Girl probably misses you.”

Aeron shook his head. His hair was cropped to his scalp and that scalp glistened in the sunlight. “She’d be on my shoulders right now if she were here.”

“Sorry.” No one knew better than Paris how it felt to miss a female. Though he had to admit he’d been surprised to discover the wiry little demon was a female.

“It’s for the best.” A veined hand scrubbed Aeron’s tired face. “Something’s been…watching me. A presence. Powerful. Started about a week before we left for Cairo.”

Paris’s stomach tightened in dread. “First, you have a nasty habit of keeping that kind of information to yourself. You should have told us the first time you noticed it, just as you should have told us what happened with the Titans the moment you returned from your heavenly summons all those months ago. Whoever’s watching you could have alerted the Hunters about our trip. We could have—”

“You’re right, and I’m sorry. But I don’t think it, whatever it is, works for the Hunters.”

“Why?” Paris demanded, unwilling to let it go.

“I know the feel of those hateful, judging eyes on me and this isn’t like that. This one is…curious.”

He relaxed somewhat. “Maybe it’s a god.”

“I don’t think so. Legion isn’t afraid of the gods but she’s damn afraid of whoever this is. That’s one of the reasons she’s so amenable to going to hell for Sabin’s recon work. She told me she’d return when the presence was gone.”

There was worry in the guy’s tone. Worry Paris didn’t understand. Legion might have been a tiny demon with a penchant for tiaras—which they’d discovered not long ago, when she’d stolen one of Anya’s and paraded around the fortress in it, proud as could be—but she could take care of herself.

Paris turned in a circle, intent. “Is your shadow here? Now?” Like they needed another enemy. “Maybe I can seduce whoever, whatever, it is away from you.” And kill it. No telling what it had learned already.

A single shake of Aeron’s head. “I honestly don’t think it means us harm.”

He paused, slowly released a pent-up breath. “All right, then. We’ll deal with that later. Just let me know when it returns. Right now, we’ll take care of the dungeon full of shitheads.”

“You sound more human every day, you know that?” Aeron had said that before, but for once, he didn’t sound disapproving. There was a whistle as he unsheathed a machete from the loop at his back. “Maybe the Hunters will resist.”

“Only if we’re lucky.”

TORIN, KEEPER OF DISEASE, sat at his desk, but he faced the door of his bedroom rather than the monitors that linked him to the outside world. He’d watched the SUVs pull into the driveway and had instantly grown hard. He’d watched the warriors emerge and had had to palm himself to assuage the sudden ache. Watched as one by one they’d entered the fortress. Any moment and—

Cameo slipped quietly inside his chamber and shut the entrance with a soft snick. She flipped the lock, and for several ticks of the clock, kept her back to him. Long dark hair tumbled to her waist, curling at the ends.

Once, she’d allowed him to twirl a few of those ends around his gloveless finger, careful, so careful not to touch her skin. It had been his first true contact with a woman in hundreds of years. He’d almost come, just from the feel of those silky strands. But that small touch was all she’d permitted, all she could ever permit and all he could ever risk.

Actually, he was surprised they’d risked even that much. With his gloves on, sure. The chance of infecting her was nil. But tendrils against skin, silk against warmth, female against male? That required bravery and trust on her part and desperation and foolishness on his. Hair wasn’t skin, but what if he’d slipped? What if she’d fallen against him? For some reason, neither of them had been able to make the consequences matter.

Last time he’d touched a woman, an entire village had been wiped out. Black Plague, they’d called it. That’s what was inside him, swirling in his veins, laughing in his mind. For years afterward, Torin had scrubbed his skin until the black blood poured from him. Cleansing himself of the virus proved impossible, however.

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