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Hunter coughed and dropped down onto the edge of the bathtub, in part to put distance between the two of them now that he’d been freed, and also so he didn’t make a fool of himself further and fall over.
“If he comes,” he rubbed at his sore throat, “it’ll be to kill me. And since you intend to do that yourself anyway…”
For a moment, it appeared as though Odin was going to grab him again, but instead, he slipped his hands into the front pockets of his tight leather pants. “He let you live the once and only once, is that it?”
“He didn’t let me do anything. With any luck, he thinks I’m dead.” It was still a miracle that Hunter wasn’t, but he kept that part to himself. “It’s obvious you don’t want to hear anything I have to say.”
“I won’t believe anything you have to say,” he corrected.
“I didn’t want to do it,” Hunter stated anyway.
“Do you have any proof?”
It was tempting to point out he’d been on the run, but that didn’t prove a damn thing. In their line of work, words meant nothing in the grand scheme of things, and what would it matter anyway? What did the fact he’d been forced to do it change? He’d still tried to kill Odin and Meg had still paid the price.
His being unwilling made no difference. Facts were facts.
Hunter knew that, yet he’d tried to…what? Convince Odin to go easy on him because he’d merely been following orders back then?
Since Odin had held a grudge all this time, it was obvious he hadn’t cared about him or Meg nearly as much as Hunter had tricked himself into believing. No, he’d been a stupid kid who’d fallen for the wrong guy and gotten involved with the wrong family.
His family had paid the ultimate price for his naiveté.
He deflated some and ran his good hand through his hair. The ebony strands were sticky from sweat. He needed a shower, but like hell was he going to ask for one while in the company of the Dominus.
Odin picked up on it though. He’d always been perceptive.
“Remove the bandages,” his tone left no room for argument.
Hunter tensed but found his hands moving to the medical tape holding the cloth together at his left shoulder. Pulling it free, he slowly peeled the bandage off, glancing down to take in the harsh red line, the only indicator that he’d been cut. There were several more he needed to take off, some covering nothing but smooth skin with no sign of injury beneath them at all. It should have made him feel better, but instead, with each discarded scrap of cloth, dread seeped deeper into his chest cavity.
There were a few on his back that he couldn’t reach, so he left them where they were. All this time on the run, he’d never allowed himself to go here. Isa and the Brumal had been his single fear, and if either had caught him, he’d have an inkling of what was in store. But with Odin…
“Stand up,” he ordered, and Hunter hesitated. “What? You were so good at talking back a moment ago, don’t tell me you’re already afraid?”
His gaze snapped up, and even knowing he was being taunted on purpose, Hunter found himself rising to his feet. Odin blocked the only exit, and it wasn’t hard to gauge that his odds against him were poor. And that was without taking into consideration all the training a younger Odin Snow had been put through as the heir to the Snow family.
Hunter had been trained as well, as a bodyguard. For less than a year. He could hold his own in a street fight against some thugs or low-level gangsters but didn’t stand a chance against a Brumal member. Let alone a Shout who also happened to be Dominus.
“You aren’t very good at hiding your emotions,” Odin said, then seemed to think better of it and shook his head. “No. That isn’t true, is it. You must be very good at showing people what you want them to see.”
It was the first, actually, a fact that had earned him more than one beating during the training he’d been thinking about a second ago. But Odin didn’t want to hear it, and honestly, Hunter was done arguing his case to a man who wouldn’t listen.
It’d always been like that. Even when he’d been a mere Brumal prince, Odin had been known for his stubbornness. If he had an idea stuck in his head, that was it. There was no convincing him, no persuading him. He was as hot-headed as his power, burning brightly and unexpectedly, at no one’s whims but his own.
Odin’s magic allowed him to control heat, but his station in life gave him power over everything else.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Odin grinned, the look all darkness and twisted intention, “keep up the act a little longer.” He motioned with his chin toward the shower stall. “Take off your pants and get in.”
“No.” Refusing and being beaten would be better, better than whatever Odin was planning, that was for sure. He’d resist, enough, maybe get a few punches in himself if he was lucky—though, when had Lady Luck ever been kind to him? —and then go down. He just needed to piss the other man off enough to make him attack first.
“I wasn’t asking,” Odin said but Hunter held his ground.
“No.”
Odin was on him in less time than it took to blink, but he didn’t swing as Hunter had expected. Instead, he grabbed him by the hip and roughly shoved him toward the shower.
He banged into the glass door, wincing, but wasn’t given much time to recover before Odin was there in front of him, forcing his body around so that his cheek was pressed against the glass.
