AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Odin pinned his wrists and took him fast and rough, almost desperately.
He didn’t bleed him again, in his right mind enough to know there wasn’t a need to.
Now that he had Hunter, he was never letting him go.
There was all the time in the world to drink his blood.
Right now, he just wanted to focus on making the other man scream his name until it was the only one he remembered.
Until Hunter Thorn knew without a shadow of a doubt that he belonged to Odin Snow.
Don’t Breathe a Word
Book Two
Prologue:
He couldn’t recall the last time someone had well and truly injured him.
Actually, he could. It’d been that day in the forest when he’d stared down the barrel of a blaster, completely and totally caught off guard.
Ironically, the person who’d gifted him the scratches up and down his arms and the split lip was one and the same as the shooter that day. The only real difference this time was Odin had been expecting it.
He’d grown up on stories spoken more like fairytales and fables than anything else, about counterparts to the Shouts. Beings who were coveted and cherished like fine war prizes. Ones who’d long since thought to be extinct, bred out of existence through greed and pride.
Whispers.
Odin Snow stared across the room at the man huddling in the center of the large bed, like he’d been doing for the past six hours. They’d gone from physically fighting to this silent standoff, both determined not to lose against the other. However, the smaller, exhausted creature watching back with glazed eyes had to have realized the futility of his efforts by now.
They were currently in Club Cherry, locked in Odin’s private bedroom on the very top level of the highly secured building. There was no way out, no way to win. No path to freedom other than surrendering.
A drop of crimson rolled down the length of Odin’s arm, dripping from the tip of his pointer finger to splatter against the floorboards. There was already a tiny pool at his feet, but he hardly noticed, and he certainly wasn’t mad about it. The opposite, actually. As the leader of the Snow family and the Dominus of a sector of the feared Brumal mafia, Odin’s mate needed to be strong. Fierce.
There was no one fiercer than Hunter Thorn.
His little Whisper, watching him practically unblinkingly, despite the way his eyes were finally starting to droop and his shoulders swayed with every other shallow exhale. They’d started this fight after a rough fucking, and there was little doubt in Odin’s mind that his Whisper was running on fumes.
Stubborn. That was the best word to describe the Huntsman. He’d keep this up until he passed out, that much was obvious, but then, that’s what Odin was counting on. He’d wait, give Hunter the space he needed to calm himself, and then collect what was his once and for all.
Last night, he’d only intended to find out what the Huntsman tasted like.
This morning, he’d woken to Hunter struggling to get free of his hold and had suffered multiple blows to the face. It’d pissed him off, but Odin had refused to retaliate with punches of his own. He wasn’t a good person, had no false beliefs in that regard, but he remembered all those stories told to him and the way his father had spoken about Whispers.
Odin would bend Hunter to his will, force him to accept him as his partner, but he wouldn’t hit him. He’d made the decision then and there, while pinning Hunter’s wrists to the bed, that any forms of torture he did deliver to the smaller man would be sexual in nature and nothing else. Wicked still? Yes. Vile? Sure.
Claiming Hunter as his own was too important a task to play fair and safe and nice, though.
Finally the Whispers body gave in, his eyes shutting completely a moment before he toppled onto the bed. Odin gave it a few seconds, waiting to see if he’d wake again, but when it became clear Hunter was fast asleep, he rose and slowly made his way over.
Gone was the furious hatred that had been swirling in Hunter’s gaze all this time. The fear that had morphed his features, creasing his brow and the corner of his pinched lips, was smoothed away. If not for how he shook slightly and was still curled in on himself, he might even appear peaceful.
Odin eased onto the bed one knee at a time, still waiting to see if there was a chance Hunter would snap awake. The deep scratches on his arms from when Hunter had dug his nails in stung slightly, and his split lip burned with every breath. Ideally, he’d like to avoid adding to the collection of injuries.
He’d also like to avoid causing his Whisper any more distress.
Hunter had clearly panicked the second he’d woken this morning, the events of the night before coming back to him too quickly for Odin to even have a chance to react or devise a game plan to ease his mood. The drug Hunter had been slipped had made him more than just needy; he’d begged Odin for his cock, and, shortly after, had exposed his secret all on his own.
For someone like Hunter, it wasn’t just fear over what Odin planned to do next that must be bothering him. It was the hit to his pride as well. He probably hated himself for letting on what he was, possibly even thought he was weak for it.
