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She was waiting for him when he turned down the hall, standing in front of the side exit that mostly went unused by anyone except workers taking out the trash. No one else was around, but the security camera over the door was more obvious here, unhidden and clearly aimed their way. If she cared, she didn’t show it.
Meg shoved the heavy metal open and slipped outside into the night.
Hunter hesitated again, just beneath the arch, head tipped back to stare at the camera. With any luck, he’d be back here long before Odin finished with his meeting and then he’d explain himself to him before he even knew he’d been missing.
“Coming or not, brother?” Meg called a few feet away, standing on the side of the street with her hands in her jacket pocket. She was finally facing him and he got a good look at her, at the familiar dark slope of her brow and the fine lines at the corner of her eyes that hadn’t been there before. Like him, she’d aged, and like him, she’d probably become someone else, a different person to the one he’d carried around in his head all this time.
He needed to know who this new Meg was. Needed to know if he’d abandoned her when he’d thought she was dead.
Needed to know that she was all right.
Odin would understand. And if he didn’t right away, Hunter would make him. Things were different between them now, and though he’d remained in the club, it’d been because he’d chosen to. This, leaving, was also a choice.
And so was the plan to come back.
He glanced up at the camera and mouthed the words, just in case, then, with one final inhale, Hunter Thorn stepped from beneath the threshold and left Club Cherry behind.
Don’t Let Me Go
Book Three
Chapter 1:
“I don’t think you quite understand the gravity of your situation.” Altz, the Emperor of Sanctum, barely going on twenty-two years of life, pointed the tip of the dagger he’d been idly playing with directly at Odin. And followed that up with the most preposterous thing ever said in the history of ever. “We’re love rivals.”
A sound escaped from Wren’s lips before he could stop himself, and he shrugged apologetically when Odin sent him a sideways glare.
The two of them were seated on a leather couch across from a desk set on a short dais. The high-rise they’d been told to meet the Emperor in was made of glass and sleek black metal, with enough security to make both Dominus hesitate at the entrance. The only reason they’d shoved those nerves aside had been because this meeting was too important.
The room appeared more like a corporate CEO’s office than a royal throne room, but Altz sitting in his leatherback chair on the other side of the desk didn’t seem to realize that. He kept his head tipped, peering down at them with enough indecision in his gaze to make it obvious where he stood even before they’d started speaking.
The plan had been to come and gage just how far into Isa’s pocket the Emperor truly was. So far, it wasn’t looking good. The other part of the plan seemed like a waste of time, frankly, but there was no other choice but to stick with it. If they didn’t it would be too obvious they’d come to test the waters, even to someone as dense as Altz.
“I’d hardly call us that, majesty,” Odin said, tacking on the title even though it made his stomach churn. He was the Head of the Snow family. He bowed to no one. But if he had to give up one step in order to gain two? So be it.
“Oh?” Altz lifted a thin brow. “What would you call us then?”
“There seems to be some misunderstanding here,” Wren cut in, holding up both palms when the Emperor sent him a dark look.
Neither of them had been allowed to bring any of their men inside the building with them even though the Emperor was surrounded on all sides by his own guard. They’d been given the room, but it was as much of a false display as Odin pretending to acknowledge Altz as his ruler was. At the first sign of trouble, Imperial guards would flood in and attack in order to protect the Emperor, whereas Odin and Wren would be on their own if roles were reversed and Altz chose to strike against them.
Hunter wouldn’t like this.
For some reason, the thought had the corner of Odin’s mouth tipping upward, the idea of his Huntsman worried for him soothing some of the disgruntled anger in his chest.
“For one,” Wren continued, “Odin isn’t interested in Frost. For two—and forgive my bluntness—neither are you, majesty.”
Interesting angle, one that even had Odin tilting his head in curiosity. They’d discussed going out of their way not to piss off the Emperor and he wasn’t quite sure where the Head of the Hail Brumal was going with this.
“Terra cashed in a very old favor in order to convince me to meet with you,” Altz said, referencing his cousin whom Wren had gone to, and who was currently standing out in the hall. “I hope it wasn’t so you could ply me with bullshit, Dominus Shen.”
Despite the wording, Odin couldn’t help but catch a hint of something else in the Emperor’s tone.
Wren seemed to catch it too, for he settled more comfortably against the couch, lounging in the way he did when he was visiting the club and trying to attract a bed partner. The thin material of his practically sheer dress shirt tugged open at the move, giving a clear view of half of his chest and the coiled muscle of his upper body. Resting an elbow on the armrest to his left, he lifted his hand and ran two fingers lightly across his bottom lip, all while eyeing Altz down.
“I can certainly think of a few suggestions I could make, none of which you’d find bullshit,” Wren drawled.
“We should probably stick to the business at hand first.” Altz was staring back at Wren like he wanted to eat him up, a clear indicator that this approach the Dominus had chosen was working, at least to some extent.
