He and Jono would do all that they could to wield themselves before they let the gods control their lives.
In the end, it might kill them, but they’d die on their own terms.
Patrick blinked, and in that split second, Zeus and Hera disappeared. The world snapped back into motion, the noise of the crowd rushing back to fill his ears. Patrick shook his head to clear it and walked toward the exit.
“Fucking immortals,” he muttered under his breath.
Patrick made his way to the borrowed car from the SOA motor pool and drove back to Manhattan. It took over an hour for him to arrive at Tempest in evening traffic and an extra fifteen minutes after that to find a parking spot. He finally found one three blocks away. Locking the car, Patrick stepped onto the sidewalk, dodging a couple of tourists.
With the reactionary storm long since blown away, summer heat had returned with a vengeance. The muggy weather didn’t dissipate with sunset and Patrick’s button-down felt a little too warm, even with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The tie he’d worn to his meetings had been tossed in the back seat the moment his day was over.
He waved hello at the bouncer when he arrived at the bar. Tempest had fully recovered from the attack the other week, the crowds having returned to fill up the space. Gone was the unease and fear from the first soultaker attack, replaced by laughter, loud conversation, and music. The glances thrown Patrick’s way this time were curious and respectful rather than hostile. People slid out of his way before he could even get out anexcuse meas he made his way up to the bar proper.
The small group of people who were slowly creeping their way into the friends category, whether Patrick liked it or not, were waiting for him. Emma and Sage sat on two of the stools, a third empty between them, while Marek and Leon leaned in around them to chat with Jono, who was working on their drinks.
Patrick watched as Jono lifted his head, eyes searching out his own in the crowded bar. Whether by scent or heartbeat or through their soulbond, Jono could always find him. Patrick stepped closer, and Emma reached back without looking to grab his arm. She hauled him over to the empty stool, never once stopping to argue with Marek about a work-related project. Whatever their conversation was about had Jono rolling his eyes and sharing a commiserating look with Sage.
Patrick settled himself on the stool, leaning his elbows against the edge of the bar as he looked at Sage. “Do I want to know what they’re arguing about?’
Sage didn’t look up from reading work email on her phone, her glass of wine hovering near her mouth. Marek had a hand pressed to her lower back and her body was canted toward his. “It’s all code.”
“Crypto work?”
“No. Code as in coding. They’ve been arguing about a new update to PreterWorld since they got here.”
“I thought we weren’t going to talk about work tonight? I was promised a night of drinking.”
“I’m cutting you off at two drinks. You drove here and you fly tomorrow,” Jono reminded him.
Patrick drummed his fingers against the bar counter. “I can always move my flight back.”
Jono vigorously shook the drink shaker, and Patrick let himself get distracted by his muscular arms. “I will kick you out of bed and drive you there myself. Pick your first drink.”
“My usual.”
It felt strange that he had a usual here. Patrick had never had a local bar where he could go to drink that wasn’t near a base and catered to soldiers. He rarely hung out at the ones near his soon-to-be old apartment in Washington, DC, preferring the privacy of his home over any public space. That was changing, if only because Emma was adamant he not keep his distance, no matter what the New York City god pack preferred.
Patrick wondered if her opinion of him would change if she knew what he’d done to Jono. He and Jono were keeping what had happened to them a secret, and would for as long as they could. Patrick wasn’t sure how their soulbond would affect their lives going forward, but the less people who knew about it the safer they would be. Their little two-person pack wasn’t official, though they’d opted to share that news with Emma, Leon, Marek, and Sage, who’d only been happy for them.
If—when—the New York City god pack found out that Jono had formed a pack inside their territory, there would be hell to pay, but they’d pay it later.
Marek moved around Sage to stand between where Patrick and Emma sat when Jono set the glass of Macallan 15 Year Old whiskey in front of Patrick. He pointed at the glass. “Put your wallet away. That’s on the house.”
Patrick picked up the glass and tilted it in Marek’s direction in a silent toast before taking a sip. “Thanks.”
Jono set a salt-rimmed glass in front of Emma, the thin layer of fluffy egg white foam on top already slowly dissolving. “Patrick is right. Stop chatting about work, Em.”
Emma rolled her eyes and clamped her hand over Marek’s mouth before he could protest. “Fine.”
“Where’s my drink?” was Marek’s muffled question.
Jono handed an IPA to Leon and a shot of Bulliet to Marek. His own drink was a double pour of Redbreast, which he clacked against Patrick’s glass. “Cheers, mate.”
The rest of the group moved to join the casual toast, laughing through the “Cheers!” and Leon’s loud “Salud!”
They didn’t down their drinks after the gesture except for Jono, who set aside the empty shot glass in a dirty dish bin. He moved down the bar a little to take care of a couple of drink requests. Patrick watched him work, eyes lingering on his ass and biceps. Jono’s presence was a frisson Patrick couldn’t ignore, and he didn’t want to.
Emma nudged him in the side, drawing his attention away from Jono. She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Everything okay?”
