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He could admit, if only to himself, that their dynamic was growing on him.
“If it isn’t Hunter Thorn, in the flesh.” A man seamlessly stepped from a room Hunter had been passing, falling into pace at his side. His hands were in his pockets, a friendly look painted across his face, but there was no hiding the glimmer of interest in his dark eyes.
“Wren,” Hunter greeted, “it’s been a while.”
“Years,” he agreed. He was dressed in leather pants and platform boots. His shirt was a plain black T, and silver earrings winked down the curve of his entire right ear.
Hunter had yet to run into the third Dominus of Sanctum, but he’d known that Wren often visited the club, that he and Odin were still close even after all this time. Back when he’d been a mere soldier, there’d been no reason for him and the other man to speak, so they’d rarely if ever had any personal contact with one another. Still, he spoke casually now, not wanting to appear weak in front of him, even knowing that as a Shout and a Dominus, Wren technically was owed respect.
According to Odin, Hunter didn’t have to fear him the way he did Isa. But he’d be the judge of that.
“You’re looking well,” Wren said.
The corner of his mouth twitched up. “I’m a well-kept captive.”
“Are you?”
“You just said it yourself.” Hunter hadn’t bothered stopping, and the two of them continued to walk down the long hall, headed in the direction of one of the three main bars.
“I meant,” Wren drawled, “are you a captive? Really? You seem rather…,” his gaze dropped down the length of him, “calm, for someone supposedly here against his will.”
“If you were hoping to see me in a panic,” Hunter replied, “I’m afraid you’re four months too late.”
“Ah,” he nodded, “it has been a while since he brought you here, hasn’t it. You were always good at adjusting.”
Hunter quirked his brow questioningly and Wren smiled wryly.
“Odin wasn’t the only one who noticed you, you know.”
“Careful.” His spine straightened and his eyes narrowed in warning.
“Because Odin wouldn’t like hearing it?” Wren asked.
“Because I don’t like hearing it,” he corrected.
“Ouch. With teeth like that I can see why my friend’s been so frustrated since finding you. Although, it seems to be better as of late.”
No one could know that they’d mated. It would mean letting on that Hunter was a Whisper that was dangerous in and of itself. They’d agreed to keep his identity hidden, and since Whispers were so rare, no one had seemed all that suspicious even when Odin had refused to leave Hunter’s side for an entire week.
Knowing the story being spread around was because Hunter had finally accepted the other man and his fate, he felt another prick against that pesky pride of his, but it was nowhere near as unpleasant as it would have been before.
Mating with a Shout had done something to him on some deeper level, he felt more relaxed, more comfortable in his skin and his surroundings. Maybe it was simply due to the fact he knew he was safer now. Having a Shout meant having protection for the rest of his life, after all. It meant having someone who would care for him, look out for him, even sometimes dote on him.
Hunter’s mind wandered to the other night when Odin had bathed him, passing his hands lightly over every inch of his body in a completely nonsexual way. At some point, Hunter had even drifted off, waking to find himself being carried from the bath and gently deposited on the bed. They hadn’t fucked at all, Odin had let him sleep and had held him close all the while instead.
“Hello?” Wren snapped his fingers in front of Hunter’s face, and with a start, he realized that they’d reached the entrance to the bar. “Daydreaming about a certain Dominus, Thorn?”
“Just call me Hunter,” he said. Odin had already given him more nicknames than he could keep up with. Sometimes it was Huntsman, other times it was Little Whisper. Since that night, he’d even taken to calling him baby once in a while in the throes of passion.
“Or,” Odin’s voice suddenly trickled to them, deep and rumbly, “he could not call you at all.” He appeared around the corner, blocking their way into the bar.
“When did you get here?” Wren asked, and if the way the other man glared at him affected him at all, he didn’t show it. “I’ve been waiting.”
“With my Huntsman it seems.”
Hunter rolled his eyes. “We ran into each other in the hall.” There was a cut on the side of Odin’s arm that hadn’t been there this morning and he frowned at it. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head, grunting when Hunter stared and waited for more of an explanation. “Worried about me? I can survive a tiny scratch. As you well know.”
