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Hunter had worn it the rest of the evening, and every time Odin had caught a glimpse of him in it, he’d felt this strange sensation surge up inside.
“I get this is a masquerade,” Hunter said when Odin leaned back and started to put on his own mask, “but did you have to dress us like this?”
Odin had picked out Hunter’s outfit, making sure it was the reverse of his down to every last detail.
“Like?” He purposefully played dumb, motioning for Corbi to exit the vehicle. She’d ridden along with them and the driver, while her sister, Jita, and Vetle had come in the car directly behind them.
“Like we’re a couple.”
Corbi pulled open Odin’s door.
He placed one foot out but then turned to Hunter, leaning in close to be sure his next words were kept between the two of them. “You’re whatever I want you to be, Huntsman. And tonight, what I want you to be,” he stroked the pad of his thumb beneath the curve of the mask, directly over the rise of Hunter’s right cheek, “is mine.”
Though it was tempting to remind him to behave, Odin didn’t want to linger any longer, worried that the crowd outside would take notice. He climbed out of the hovercar, adjusting his suit jacket slowly, sending a smirk here and there to those who’d already recognized his vehicle and picked up his arrival and then walked around to the other side of the car to open Hunter’s door.
Hunter glared at him, but when Odin extended his hand, he slapped his palm against his anyway and allowed him to help him out. When Odin linked his arm through his, he dug his nails into his bicep but kept his expression mutual as they headed toward the steps.
“Boss.” Jita bowed his head as they approached, and Odin reached out to pat him on the shoulder.
“Looking good.” He’d ordered that they all attend in similar fashion and colors, the pops of red against their black outfits reminiscent of the blood spilled by the Snow family and the flames that symbolized its current Dominus.
He was the only one in a full red suit, and he led their small party up the steps, ignoring the Frost guards who bowed their heads at him as they passed. He didn’t recognize any of them, but they were all traitors in his mind. If he could destroy the Frost Brumal, he would do so in a split second, without hesitation.
Without remorse.
“If you intend to murder everyone here,” Hunter said then, turning into him as they moved up the steps, “I suggest being more subtle about it. As you are now, I’ll be surprised if they allow you past the front doors.”
Odin quirked a brow. “Oh?”
“You look pissed off, Snow,” Hunter told him. “No one likes an angry Dominus. We all know what that means. An angry Dominus who also happens to be a Shout?” He gave a mock shudder. “You’ll send everyone here running with a single glance. What will that accomplish?”
“According to you,” he drawled, “I won’t be getting what I hope for out of tonight anyway.”
Hunter rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself.”
“I always do.” Still, he softened his expression as they approached the guards at the door, waiting as Corbi stepped forward to hand over their invitations, though it was unnecessary.
The whispers and flurry of glances were impossible to miss. Everyone had taken notice of his presence now and were either giddy with excitement over his arrival or gossiping about him.
Odin wondered if they were talking about how this was his first time returning to Faraway Mansion since his step-brother’s betrayal, his first time attending an Octu Gala. Or if they were more curious about the man hanging from his arm.
“They’re staring,” Hunter whispered as they entered the foyer.
“At you.” It was true, Odin realized a minute later after paying closer attention. They were definitely gossiping about who his date was. That was good, that’s what he’d wanted.
The foyer mirrored the entrance in some ways, made of the same white marble and with two curved stairs on either side leading to the second floor. A large chandelier dripping with blue and smoky white crystals hung from the tall ceiling, casting the room in prisms. The party was on the opposite side, beneath the archway leading directly to the ballroom. The entire first level of the mansion had been designed for entertaining, with the actual living quarters all on the upper floors.
People lingered about the foyer anyway, some sipping from flutes of champagne, others drinking ban, the more popular tart liquor the Frost family were known for carrying. It was a light blue and best over ice, with a sweet scent that smelled a lot like caramelized sugar. It’d never been to Odin’s tastes, and he’d forgone, instead watching Isa down the stuff by the bottle.
The guests were a mix of political and public figures, all of them mingling with members of the Brumal as if they were old friends from college. This was one of the few significant events that occurred every year where the proverbial masks came off, even as the literal masks went on.
As if anyone actually thought they couldn’t be recognized by a scrap of plastic and silk and feathers. That may be true for many, but Odin saw them all for what and who they were.
“Commissioner,” Odin greeted as a fit man in a gray, pin-stripped suit broke off from the group he’d been laughing with and came over.
“Snow,” he grinned at him, showing off a row of slightly crooked, mostly stained teeth. Through the holes in his silver mask, his brown eyes bounced between him and Hunter once before dismissing his date completely. “Great seeing you! Didn’t know you were planning on joining us this year! What’s it been?”
“A while,” Odin replied, trying to keep the heat from slipping past. The commissioner worked for him and the Snow family, but that didn’t mean he could afford to offend him openly. The tide was always at risk of turning, and Odin needed the man on his side.
