скачать книгу бесплатно
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.
