Page 131 of A Whisper in the Dark

He realized his mistake a moment too late when Isa was suddenly in front of him and the knife was buried in his right thigh right up to the hilt. He screamed, only catching himself after the fact, clamping his mouth shut and clenching his jaw to fight off any other sounds. Why should he give Isa satisfaction?

“So prepared to die, are we?” Isa drawled, the darkness swirling in his eyes causing Hunter’s breath to hitch despite his resolve. He twisted the blade just a little, not enough to cause any major damage but enough to ensure it hurt like hell, and then yanked it free, laughing when Hunter’s body jerked.

The room was cold and not very large, made of gray stone and unfinished. There was a plastic tarp spread out on the floor beneath them, covering practically the entire expanse of the room, and a cutout door in the stone wall acted as the only entrance and exit.

At least, Hunter had thought there was only one until he heard scuffling behind him.

“Ah,” Isa took a single step back and grinned, “my friends are here. You see, Huntsman,” he began to clean the blood off the blade, using Hunter’s bare chest to do it, “I have no intention of letting you go quick. This is going to be slow, enjoyable—for me, anyway.”

He felt himself being surrounded from behind and at the sides but didn’t bother trying to turn and see how many men had entered the room. Giving Isa his undivided attention instead.

“Even if you get rid of me,” he told him, “that won’t change things between you two. He’s never going to love you, Frost. Didn’t in the past. Won’t in the future. I’m—”

“Going to regret having ever stepped foot in Faraway Mansion,” Isa snarled. With a flick of his wrist, he gave a silent order to his men and then settled back down in the single chair, lounging as if about to see a show.

The first blow to the side left Hunter reeling, but before he could recover, a fist made an impact with his face, another with his ribs. The hits kept coming, one after the other, until Hunter lost count and even the pain had started to dwindle, his mind blocking it off and separating him from the situation.

He pictured Odin instead, thought about how angry he was going to be when he discovered Hunter had been killed like this, in some shitty abandoned cement building, and by thugs no less.

Would he be disappointed in Hunter for not fighting back? For not trying harder?

A laugh slipped past his lips before he could help it, the sound echoing against the stone walls, growing in volume as it took him over until he was heaving through it and gasping for air as tears rolled down his bruised cheeks.

“Boss,” one of the men took a step back and glanced uncertainly at Isa, “I think he’s lost it.”

Isa tipped his head. “It’s too soon for that.”

Yes, on that they could agree at least, because Hunter needed to stall.

“Everyone is so afraid of the big bad Frost Dominus,” Hunter hacked a lob of blood and spit onto the ground at Isa’s feet, “But you don’t even do your own dirty work. This is all you’ve got? I’ve taken worse beatings. Hell, my sister hurt me more an hour ago than all of your men combined. Pathetic.”

Isa was intelligent and calculating, but he had one major weakness, and that was his pride. It was the reason he’d always been so jealous whenever someone else so much as looked at Odin when they’d been younger, and no doubt why he had Hunter here now. So even though it was obvious what Hunter was doing, that he was trying to goad him into a reaction, the Dominus rose to his feet anyway.

“Don’t regret this, Huntsman.”

“Don’t call me—”

The blade went right back into his thigh.

Chapter 3:

On the way back from the meeting, the tension in the hovercar was palpable, both Odin and Wren stewing in their separate dark thoughts for more than half the ride before one of them finally broke the silence.

“I hope his sister wasn’t a part of your plan,” Odin said, watching Wren closely in the semi-darkness of the car. They were seated in the back, a space between them. Lights from the street filtered through the tinted windows as they drove, momentarily lighting up the other man’s features before casting them back into shadow once more.

Odin didn’t need to see his friend's face to know what he was feeling, however. For Wren, the harming of children in any capacity was something he took personally, and now…

“You should have filled me in beforehand,” he added with a sigh. “I could have talked you out of it or helped you come up with another way.”

“Why?” Wren asked, voice low. “You of all people should know better than to look down on someone selling their body. That’s all this is, a transaction.”

“Between us and the Emperor of Sanctum,” he reminded, only to have Wren finally turn and set a serious gaze on him.

“You won’t be the one fucking him, Snow.”

“If he’d asked for that, I would have declined.” He had Hunter and there was no way he’d be throwing away the tiny molecule of trust he’d finally managed to form with his Whisper. Even if it was for a chance of destroying Isa.

At some point, keeping his Huntsman had become more important to him than his revenge, a shocking realization that had him momentarily distracted. He sat back against the plush leather seat, brow furrowed as he contemplated what that truly meant for him.

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