The Darkest Whisper Read Online Free Page B

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.
    â€œTurn away,” Sabin suddenly growled.
    Gwen spun without thought, long red hair swaying ather 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.
    â€œAw, 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—”
    â€œYou’re scaring her.”
    Gwen peeked over her shoulder.
    â€œBut 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.
    â€œWoman.”
    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.
    â€œGood, 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.
    â€œDoes 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 ofthose 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.
    â€œGrab a stone,” he called,