The Darkest Whisper

“Let’s get to it, shall we?” Sabin released her, and she had to press her lips together to cut off a whimper. Then those sensual fingers tangled in her hair, working in shampoo, the scent of lemon dancing from them. Her eyes closed in ecstasy. No wonder he always smelled so edible.

“You go Harpy when you’re scared. What about when you’re aroused? Or climaxing?”

Such a blunt and personal question. But he’d picked the perfect time to ask. As they were currently naked, she didn’t mind answering. “S-sometimes she tries to make herself known. I try to be careful, though, and stop her.”

“Don’t try to stop her with me.” Before she could respond, he changed the subject again. “William told you about my demon.” He shifted his hips, his erection brushing the curve of her spine. An accident? “Did Anya tell you about my past?”

A shiver stole through Gwen. “Do you mean, did she tell me that you stabbed your friend in the back? No. She left that part out.”

His nails dug deeply in her scalp, and she gasped. Immediately he released her with a muttered, “Sorry.”

Damn it. Her sarcastic tongue kept creeping out at the worst times. Soon someone (cough Sabin cough) was going to take exception and try and cut it out. And really, suppressing that side of her nature shouldn’t be hard. She’d been doing it her entire life. For the first time, however, there was a spark of resentment in her chest. If she weren’t such a coward crybaby, she wouldn’t fear people’s reactions, wouldn’t fear her own response and could just be herself.

Herself. Did she even know who that was anymore?

“Duck your head under the water,” Sabin said suddenly, gruffly.

He didn’t give her time to obey, but cupped the back of her neck and shoved her under the hot stream. Sudsy droplets sprayed into her mouth, and she sputtered.

“Close your eyes or they’ll—”

“Ow, ow, ow!” She squeezed her eyelids tightly closed.

“Burn,” he finished with a laugh.

Gwen rubbed her eyes, perturbed despite herself by his casual attitude about all this. He’d been so jealous about William—at least, that was the only emotion that had made any sense. And his gaze had scorched her as he’d stripped her, promising incomparable pleasure.

So why wasn’t he copping a feel?

Motions clipped, businesslike, he soaped her from neck to toes. His palms glided over her breasts and hardened nipples without pause, then delved between her legs. Though his touch was somehow detached, he still managed to leave her trembling and achy, breathless and needy.

“I can clean myself,” she muttered.

“You had the chance yesterday and the day before that. Hell, you had the chance this morning. You didn’t take it.” He shifted, his erection brushing her once again. “Why is that?”

Her blood heated as she pressed her lips together. No reason to tell him what he wanted to know. He would deduce the answer on his own any moment now. And, to be honest, she was almost excited to witness his reaction. Already he’d admitted he found her lovely. What would he think of her without the mask of grime? Would he finally make a freaking move?

When he finished cleaning and rinsing her, he stilled. His breath seemed to catch in his throat, and she felt a swirling heat seep into her, spreading, intensifying. Here it was, his reaction. He’d noticed. “Your skin…”

“I tried to warn you.”

“Well, you should have tried harder.” He spun her around, gaze perusing her swiftly, then more leisurely.

Seeing him, she realized just how wrong she’d been. There was nothing casual about him. His eyes were bright, hot as fire, his lips pulled back over his teeth, thin lines of strain bracketing his mouth.

“Your skin…” he repeated.

She didn’t need a mirror to know that without the grime, she glowed. There was a translucent sheen to her that made her look like a freshly polished opal.

Tentatively, as though in a trance, Sabin reached out. His fingertip traced her jawline, dipped to her neck, between her breasts. She didn’t back away. No, she stepped forward. Closer. Craving more. Unable to stop. Goose bumps broke out, and all thoughts of resisting him vanished.

“Smooth and warm and luminous,” he whispered reverently. “Why do you hide—” His teeth pressed together and the reverence mutated into anger before her eyes. “Men can’t keep their hands off you, can they?”

A lump formed in her throat, preventing her from replying. She shook her head. What would Sabin do and say next? He changed moods faster than anyone she’d ever met. Touch me.

But he wasn’t done with his line of questioning. “Do your sisters have skin like this?”

“Yes.”

“All Harpies?”

“Yes.” Hopefully he was finished now.

“Have you called them?”

Nope. Not done. “Not yet.”

“You’ll do it the moment we leave this shower. I want them here, in this fortress, within the week.”

She gaped at him, shocked to her core. She was naked, her skin at its most alluring, and he wanted to speak of her sisters? To meet them? Why did he—the answer slid into place and her shock faded. Of course he wanted them here. He probably thought they’d help him with his war. Or maybe he wanted a harem of Harpies.

Something dark and powerful bloomed in Gwen’s chest. Something poisonous. It caused her nails to elongate, the Harpy to screech and her teeth to sharpen. Red spotted her vision.

“You’re angry.” He blinked in confusion. “Why?”

“I’m not angry.” I will kill you if you try and bed them.

“You’re gripping me so tightly, my palm is bleeding.”

Part of her registered that he didn’t sound upset or frightened. The rest of her was still too furious to admire his courage under fire.

“You want to sleep with my sisters,” she snarled. Snarled? Her, Gwendolyn the Timid?

He rolled his eyes. “No, I want my friends to sleep with them.”

She blinked just as he had done, not under…standing. Oh. Oh. All of her fury drained as swiftly as her shock had, leaving the sweetest sense of pleasure. If his friends were occupied with her sisters, they would leave Gwen alone. Was Sabin that possessive of her?

“Were you jealous?” he asked, as though the prospect intrigued him.

“No. Of course not.” That was not information he needed, could be used against her, and in this instance a lie would absolutely serve her better than the truth. “I was…thinking of Tyson, wishing I was with him.”

Sabin’s eyes narrowed, but through the thick shield of his lashes she could see the brown irises edging with crimson. “You will not think of him. Do you understand? I forbid it.”

“I—okay.” She didn’t know what else to say. Never had Sabin looked more capable of murder. But why wasn’t she scared?

However feeble her response, it seemed to pacify him. “I’d already decided to mark you.” There was determination in his tone. Determination so cold and hard she doubted a blade could cut through it. “But this…” His gaze swept over her body. “By gods, I’ll mark you every day if I have to. You will only ever think of me.”

“Wh-what do you mean, mark me?” Mark, as in slash? Punish? Now she had no problem backing away. And what did he mean, every day? How much did he expect her to endure?

His hand whipped out, fingers curling around her wrist and dragging her back. “I’m going to sink my teeth into that pretty skin, gently, but enough to leave an imprint.”

Once again her fear drained, leaving only white-hot thrums of wicked bliss. It had been so long. So long since a man had held her, made her feel cherished and special and hot enough to writhe against him.

“Do you want that?” he asked softly.