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He pictured the look Hunter had given him through the security cameras back at Club Cherry. There’d been so much sincerity in his eyes as he’d tried to convey his motives before following Meg.
Hunter had asked for a clean slate.
“I won’t doubt him,” Odin said. He’d let those negative thoughts eat at him before and look how things had turned out. He’d lost a decade to hatred for the Huntsman when they could have been together instead. They could have been building this thing between them, making it strong enough to withstand a separation such as this one.
Whether it was part of Isa’s plan or not, Odin wouldn’t let suspicion rule him. Hunter had snuggled up to his side each night and held him close. Hunter had agreed to their mating and had ordered Odin to be safe.
His mind wasn’t playing tricks on him and he wasn’t making any of this up. Hunter Thorn was his, and maybe he didn’t one hundred percent want to be yet, but he’d lapped at Odin’s blood and tied them together every bit as much as Odin had. Walking away from your mate was practically unheard of.
“What could Isa offer him?” He turned to Corbi, determined to get her to see reason if only for the fact he needed her. She was one of the smartest members he had, and the most loyal. If Hunter was in danger, he couldn’t risk her hesitating to protect or help save him. “Even if Isa didn’t murder his sister, that was hardly the only offense he made against Hunter. Protection? He has that, with me. There’s nothing he could possibly want from Isa Frost that I haven’t already given him.”
Corbi seemed to consider it and slowly it must have dawned on her that he was right, for her shoulders slumped.
Between him and Frost, Odin had always had a better relationship with Hunter, even when they were kids. The incident that had turned them into enemies had been Hunter shooting him, but that was a reason for Odin to betray the Huntsman, not the other way around.
He checked his multi-slate but there was still no word. If Isa had him, he wasn’t gloating about it, which couldn’t be a good thing. Knowing his personality, that only signaled the worst.
The sheer terror that hit him almost knocked him off his feet. He knew what his step-brother was capable of and the thought of him turning any of that evil on Hunter…His hands tightened into fists, fire bursting from his knuckles, blazing hot enough the twins shot back to avoid the heat.
Odin barely noticed, however, too caught up on the other sensation now slithering through him. There was a pull at the center of his chest, directly over his heart, a slight tugging that almost went unnoticed. The second he focused on it, it abruptly stopped and he frowned. What if…
He conjured an image of Hunter again, picturing the way he’d looked the last time he’d seen him, still tucked into bed, his sleepy eyes momentarily meeting Odin’s before he’d waved him off and rolled over.
The tugging returned, though it was still faint. Odin opened his palms and shoved more power out into them. The sensation heightened, but only enough to lead him outside onto the side of the street and no further. Once he got there it seemed to hit a dead end.
“What if I’m not strong enough,” he murmured to himself, recalling his earlier thought. Dropping his hands he snapped his fingers at the twins, silently ordering them back to the car at the other end of the road.
Odin needed more power.
And there was only one place he knew of he could get it.
He’d kept himself from doing so all this time, out of loyalty or some misguided notion of respect, but for Hunter? He’d do anything for his Huntsman.
Even the unthinkable.
Chapter 5:
Hunter had thought the beatings he’d taken from Leo Grimes men had been bad, but that experience was nothing compared to this one. To distract himself, he tried to concentrate on how it weirdly felt as though that horrible situation had taken place another lifetime ago, and not the mere months it’d been since he’d been held captive in that warehouse and tortured on a daily basis.
And he still didn’t know why Grimes had sent them, why the man thought Hunter of all people was responsible for whatever theft had taken place. Here he was, about to die from blunt force trauma all over again, and he’d go without ever knowing what the hell Leo Grimes’ problem was.
Isa had called his men off a while ago, but in his current state, Hunter didn’t have a very accurate sense of time. It could have been five minutes or an hour since the last time he’d been hit, but the injuries smarted and felt fresh enough there was no way of knowing. All he did know was he didn’t want it to start up again.
But it would.
He’d lost track of how many times Isa had sat back and watched as he was kicked and punched as well. One of the soldiers had even pulled out a knife, though he’d been warned not to make any permanent marks. The gaping wound in Hunter’s thigh from the blade Isa had driven into his flesh seemed to sting even more after that. The bastard should have taken his own advice.
He shifted, almost unable to feel the torn skin around his wrists anymore, the rope so imbedded it was a wonder his hands hadn’t been sliced straight through and fallen off. A couple of his toes were broken, as well as his left leg, and there was no way his ribs had made it out of that last assault unscathed. His vision was blurry, with him only able to partially make out fuzzy forms through his left eye, and it was hard to breathe—either because one of those ribs having punctured his lungs, or the fact his nose had taken a direct hit a couple of times.
There was a ringing in his ears that didn’t want to seem to go away, no matter how much he attempted to shake his head, so he gave up altogether, focusing instead on his rattled breathing.
“Did you miss me, Huntsman?” Isa sneered, his voice coming from somewhere off to the right.
Truthfully? Hunter hadn’t even realized the man had left, but he couldn’t seem to get his mouth to work and so the witty refrain ended up dying on his tongue unheard. A second later a wave of cold skated over him and he forgot all about it anyway.
He shivered, the temperature in the room dropping almost instantly, a clear indicator that Isa was using his power. The memory of what he could do with it, how badly he could make it hurt, had Hunter’s resolve cracking, and he began to shake for other reasons as the vague outline of the other man rounded him and came into his partial view.
Hunter tipped his head to the side in a poor attempt to see him better, but his eyes were too swollen shut, so he had little to no luck. It wouldn’t matter anyway. Whatever Isa planned on doing there was nothing he could do to prevent him from doing it. Even if he wasn’t tied and hanging from the ceiling, his body was so damaged, he doubted he’d be able to stand on his own, let alone take a swing at the Dominus.
