Page 55 of A Whisper in the Dark

But how could he have? How could he have believed the man who’d shot him? Yes, his sister was on the line, but he’d chosen to pull the trigger. He’d made the choice not to ask Odin for help. As the son of the Snow Dominus, there were few people that a young, arrogant Odin had been kind to.

Hunter Thorn had been one of them.

And look how he’d been repaid?

“You’re angry,” Wren noted, and Odin sat up and rested his elbows on his knees with a sigh.

“I’m frustrated,” he corrected.

“With the past,” Wren asked, “or with the present?”

“With both.” He ran a hand through his dirty blond hair and scowled. Though it was nothing like the color of Isa’s, whose hair was practically white, he hated even the slight similarity.

He pulled out his multi-slate from his pocket and sent a quick message to Corbi to schedule an appointment with his usual hairdresser. He was going to have to dye it again.

“Why did you save him?” Wren swirled the amber contents of his glass and crossed his legs. He pretended not to be that interested, but Odin could see through him. “Sounds like Isa was about to take care of your problem for you. A frosty death?” He grimaced. “Horrible way to go.”

Instead of replying, Odin reached forward and snatched the glass from his hand, downing the liquid in one swallow.

Wren merely chuckled. “That torn, huh?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Come on,” Wren said. “I was there when you were kids. You’re forgetting that I know all about your sordid past.”

Right. Wren’s father had been one of the group bosses of the Hail family when they’d been younger and had climbed the ranks so that by the time they’d reached high school, he’d replaced the old Underboss. Though they were different branches at the time, all families of the Brumal had reported back to Snow’s father. Wren’s dad had brought him around more often than not, insisting that his son learn the business.

Odin and Isa had entertained Wren a time or two, the three of them sneaking into their parent’s liquor stores and getting drunk around the large pool in the back of the mansion. Back then, they couldn’t really be considered friends, more like acquaintances thrust together.

There’d always been a line between them, one that Isa had ensured remained intact with subtle remarks and snide comments. To him, he and Odin were the princes of the Brumal, while Wren was the mere son of an underboss. He’d inherit nothing, would be lucky if he was able to fill his father’s shoes once a new Hail Dominus was named.

Now, years later, Wren’s name was spoken just as frequently in the dark recesses of the planet as Isa’s was. Was he as powerful of a Shout? No. But he was crafty and clever, and his Yellow Brick Road was a spectacle that attracted tourists from all over, even some off-planet. It was almost laughable, how many people were willing to overlook the fact that it was run by the Brumal, all for the chance of a good time.

But then, that’s also why they flooded Odin’s red light district, why they came in droves despite the rumors about how the man who owned it burned anyone alive who displeased him.

In reality, it’d been a long time since Odin had last killed someone with his power. Why bother, when he had the rest of the Brumal there to do the dirty work for him?

“Are you falling for him again?” Wren asked then.

“Again?”

“Deny it all you want,” he said, “but I saw the way you treated him when he was nothing more than a soldier at your father’s beck and call. Or, not even, really. He didn’t report to the top, did he? His group boss handled all his orders. And,” Wren tapped his chin, “if I remember correctly, they were never dangerous assignments.”

“Shut up.” Odin stood swiftly, grabbing the glass and heading over to his desk. The large half-empty bottle rattled when he pulled open the bottom drawer, and he spilled a few drops when he poured it, but he barely noticed.

“Things between you and Isa had been going on for a couple of years,” Wren refused to drop it, watching him closely as he came back over, “and you were careful never to get too close, but it was obvious that you had feelings for Hunter, Odin. Obvious that you went out of your way to protect him, at the very least.”

He may have approached the underboss in charge of Hunter at the time, a rough man named Ild, who’d been missing his left eye. He also may have ordered that he keep Hunter away from any front-line assignments, which had a high likelihood of backfiring. And sure, he’d found the other man appealing, shy, and somehow sexy despite it, but that wasn’t why Odin had done it.

“Did I ever tell you about the day I met his sister?” Odin said, settling back down onto the leather couch. Wren shook his head, so he continued. “The day their dad disappeared, before they knew he was dead, she came to the mansion. I don’t know how she got past the front gates, maybe the guards there recognized her from somewhere, but she did. Hunter was patrolling the east gardens, and she must have asked around to find him. I was taking a stroll at the time and accidentally walked in on the two of them arguing.”

He could still see it like it was yesterday. The sun had been high in the sky, and there’d been a slight breeze wafting around the rich scent of flowers and tilled dirt from the work the gardeners had done earlier. He’d spent the night before training with Isa and was covered in bruises from all the times he’d lost and been flipped over the larger boy’s shoulders.

Odin had hated how much smaller he’d been, hated that it could be misconstrued as a weakness when they’d all known if power had been allowed, he could have bested Isa in a heartbeat. He’d been annoyed but tried his best to focus on how beautiful the day was.

Then he’d heard arguing and had headed closer out of curiosity.

“They didn’t know I was there,” he told Wren, “so they held nothing back. Meg was yelling that their dad was gone, and Hunter had to leave this life before something awful happened to him, too. Hunter kept trying to calm her down, insisting that if their dad had left, it’d had nothing to do with the Brumal. His father owed a lot of money to mine, though, and he was aware of it. I could see the worry written all over his face. I bet Meg could see it, too, because she wasn’t buying anything he was saying. She just kept trying to get him to agree to run.

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