The Darkest Whisper

“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.”