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He was getting off on watching someone else blow Odin.
“Stop.” Without even realizing what he was doing, Odin shoved the woman back, rising to his feet in one swift motion. He didn’t even bother tucking himself back in, turning from both the confused woman and Hunter. “Get them out of here,” he ordered.
And then he fled the room, refusing to acknowledge Corbi’s knowing look.
Chapter 7:
Hunter braced his palms against the wall as hot water sleuthed down his back. It was the third shower he’d taken that day alone, and he still couldn’t seem to wash this feeling away.
Guilt, and something…else.
He bit his bottom lip, hard enough to taste blood, and glanced down at his semi-hard cock. Just thinking back on the happenings of last night had him aroused, and he hated that. Hated that even after all of these years, after all that he’d done, Odin could still crawl under his skin like this and hook into him.
“Damn it!” He slammed a hand against the white tiles, grimacing at the sharp pain that followed. It wasn’t enough to settle him, though, and when he looked a second time it was to find him at full mast, thick and throbbing. He groaned.
This wouldn’t do. What kind of sick fuck was he? How could he be this attracted to a man who locked him up? Who’d choked a man on his dick in front of him?
What kind of sick fuck would watch that happen and sort of wish it’d been him instead?
Hunter needed help, and not just breaking free of this place. He needed help from himself as well.
Part of him wanted to blame it on what he was, on the discovery he’d made those years ago when he’d found that first place to settle and had taken time to research. He’d known that his hand moving on its own, missing that shot, hadn’t been normal. At that moment, he’d felt possessed. He’d had feelings for Odin, yes, but his sister had been everything to him after their parent's deaths. He wouldn’t have sacrificed her for anyone, not even the sexy Snow heir with the fiery gaze and wicked smile.
Hunter had resigned himself to his fate that day and had gone there fully intending to shoot Odin as ordered. But…he couldn’t do it. Literally. His body would not allow him to.
It’d been the blood. In an attempt to keep himself grounded enough to commit the deed, Hunter had inadvertently done the one thing that would prevent him from actually doing so. Because his blood had been shed, he’d been unable to shoot Odin.
A Whisper, when bleeding, couldn’t harm a Shout.
Some evolutionary bullshit about protecting the species or whatever. Shouts could drink the blood of a Whisper to increase their power for a limited time, and because of that, Whispers had developed this annoying restriction. Instincts kicked in whenever they bled in front of one of their counterparts, preventing them from harming the Shout during the exchange.
Odin may not have been drinking from him, but Hunter had been young and unaware, so when those instincts had kicked in, he’d been wholly unprepared for them.
In the past, Whispers would have been taken as mates, protected and revered by Shouts. But it’d been many years since the last known one powerful enough to matter had roamed the planet, and Hunter had no history that he’d been aware of a Whisper in his ancestry.
If he’d been born even fifty years ago, this could have been a great thing. It would have made him valuable, and he could have bartered with a Shout for a hefty sum that could have set his family for life. Hell, even if he’d been aware of it ten years ago, before that day in the forest, things could have been different.
One of the step-brothers would have paid him handsomely enough to stick around, even if they didn’t take him as their lover or marry him. He could have gotten protection for Meg and would most certainly never have been sent on a mission to assassinate a future Dominus.
Like everything else that happened to him, however, his discovery had been too late.
He was always too late.
Hunter slammed the back of his skull against the wall, relishing the sting, but even that wasn’t enough, and he found his hand slipping down, gliding through the shower stream past the tiny line of dark hairs that trailed to his swollen cock.
He gripped himself and squeezed, reaching low to massage his balls as the first sweep of heat licked through him. His eyes drifted shut of their own accord, and even as his thoughts continued to tumble down the dark rabbit hole, his body reacted to his touches, too lust-filled to care.
Ten years ago, being a Whisper would have been the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Now, it would be the worst.
There were only three Shouts powerful enough to fight over him—and they would, out of pure principle, what with him being the only known Whisper around. Isa Frost wanted him dead. If he got his hands on Hunter, he’d bleed him non-stop, and he’d make it painful.
Blood given freely was more potent, but Isa was already strong, he didn’t need a power boost. He merely needed to ensure Odin and Wren wouldn’t be able to get one.
Wren Shen didn’t seem all that interested in staging a coup d'état; even when they’d been younger, he’d taken a legitimate interest in Odin as a friend. He wouldn’t bother trying to gain the upper hand against Snow when together he already got everything he desired, so there was a slight chance he’d fight for Odin’s benefit.
And Odin…
