The Darkest Whisper

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 2

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.