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Chapter 2:
“Is that really your plan?” Wren Shen, the head of the Hail family branch of the Brumal, clicked his tongue. He was seated in his usual place in the middle of the leather couch in Odin’s private office, arms spread out over the back, ankles crossed, boots up on the end of the low-standing coffee table. “You’re just going to fuck him into submission?”
Having grown up together, few people on the planet could say they knew the real Odin Snow, and he also happened to be one of the handfuls who was considered a friend on top of it. When the Snow family had been overthrown, he’d sided with Odin, helping him from the shadows until Odin had been strong enough to return.
Ten years later, he’d managed to reclaim his family name and their stance within the Brumal, but he’d yet to complete his revenge. Odin stood before his desk and poured himself a drink from the expensive glass bottle his friend had already taken out and opened, humming in the affirmative in response to Wren’s question.
“Are you certain that’s going to work?” Wren didn’t sound convinced. He shook his head at him when Odin finally came back over, waiting for him to drop down onto the couch across from him before adding, “You still haven’t told me why the sudden change in the first place.”
“It’s going to work,” Odin replied, sipping at his drink, mind conjuring the image of Hunter snuggled up against his side this morning. Odin had stuck true to his word. He’d taken the other man another thrice in the bathtub, bent over the sink again, then twice more in their bed. By the time he’d finished with him, Hunter had been reduced to mush, easily manipulated in Odin’s hold.
He’d cleaned them both, then climbed beneath the sheets and pulled the Huntsman in close, but it’d been Hunter who’d wrapped his arms around his waist and clung to him. Hunter who’d nuzzled his cheek against the curve of Odin’s neck and sighed in sleepy satisfaction.
He’d fallen asleep with a smile on his lips. Odin had felt it.
“He’s stubborn,” he said. “After everything he’s been through, that makes sense. He needs time to adjust and come around to his new reality, that’s all.”
“Which is?” Wren asked.
“That he’s mine.” Odin stared his friend down warningly, only to have Wren roll his eyes.
“Relax, Snow. I don’t know what brought on this sudden change or why you’re so obsessed with him now, but I’ve no interest in Hunter Thorn. Or dying.”
Odin snorted. “I would have to kill you, that’s true.”
“Good to know.” He dropped his feet to the ground and rested his arms on his knees. “Why?”
He may be one of, if not his only, real friend, but Odin had already decided not to entrust Wren with what Hunter was either. The more people who knew, the more dangerous for Hunter it became, and Odin had enough on his plate, as it were, with trying to convince the other man to accept him. He didn’t need to also worry about other Shouts sneaking in to try and steal him away.
So instead of answering, he changed the subject. “Have there been any other attacks?”
Wren sighed, defeated, and dropped back against the couch. “Nothing. It seems that rat you killed was working alone after all.”
“You don’t sound pleased,” he noted.
“Sue me for wanting to have a bit of fun.”
A little over a week ago a man named Po had drugged Hunter. Fortunately, Odin had made it in time to stop him before anything more could happen, but they’d discovered that Po had been behind a string of attacks in the Red Light District for months. He’d ordered his underboss, Vetle, to interrogate him to find out if he’d been working alone. Right up until Odin had arrived and slit his throat, he’d claimed he was.
Still, Odin had asked Wren to keep an eye out, just in case.
“Are you really that bored?” Odin chuckled. “I can give you a room.”
Club Cherry, where he worked and lived, was the largest building in Liaand Norra, the Red Light District in Ovid. It housed not only brothels of various kinds but also a dance club and bars. The first floor was always packed with bodies, alive with sin, while the second floor housed some of the top members of the Brumal, and the third floor belonged to Odin alone.
“It’s tempting,” Wren said. “I did see someone interesting when I walked in. I couldn’t tell if he was one of yours or not, though.”
There were three types of workers: ones that simply did a service such as bartending, ones that acted as security—typically unofficial members of the Brumal who wanted to work their way up into the mafia—and those who were there to service. Anyone who was there for sex work or the like wore Odin’s family crest pinned over their heart to help signify them. If someone tried to harass someone who wasn’t pinned, they’d be dealt with.
“Describe him to Loni,” Odin suggested. “She was in charge of hiring the new batch.”
“Right,” Wren grinned, “since you’ve been so…busy.”
“Speaking of,” Odin got to his feet, “I’ve left him alone long enough.”
“What about Isa?” Wren said, serious all of a sudden.
“What about him?” he asked tightly.
