“All right.”
Jono never let go of Patrick, and he couldn’t find it within himself to ask Jono to give him space. Touch for the sake of it wasn’t something Patrick got to indulge in often, while werecreatures thrived on it.
Maybe we both miss this, he thought.
It wasn’t a question he would ever ask.
Patrick hailed a taxi rather than an Uber when they finally made it off the bus. The yellow vehicle blended in with traffic more. They’d spent an hour and a half backtracking through the streets of Manhattan to lose a tail that may or may not have even existed. Patrick preferred being cautious over being dead.
When the taxi arrived at Tempest, a familiar Maserati was parked out front. Patrick scowled as he paid for the ride.
“I’m going to kill him,” Patrick said.
“Defeats the purpose of keeping him safe, yeah?” Jono replied.
“He’d be safe in a grave.”
Jono threw back his head and laughed as he stepped onto the pavement. Patrick enjoyed the view, eyes lingering on Jono’s ass. He thought about fully raising his shields again, but the flashback to the hellfire bomb stayed his hand. Patrick kept his shields at the level they currently were—strong but porous enough to let scent through. Walking into a bar full of werecreatures capable of smelling truth from a lie wouldn’t be comfortable, but he wouldn’t be staying long.
The bouncer waved them inside, keeping his attention on the street and guarding the door. The tingle of the searching spell someone had recast slid over Patrick’s shields before falling away. Recognition filtered through his magic as they stepped inside, the overwhelming sense ofwerecreaturejust as strong as the first time he’d visited.
The bar was half-full, conversation held to quiet bubbles that didn’t drift far from huddled groups. The sound system was turned on low, a marked difference from the noise of Thursday night. The metaphysical feel of the place was calmer, lighter, the cleansing done yesterday having cleared the bar of any hint that hell had trespassed on the premises.
Patrick followed Jono up to the bar where Emma, Leon, and Sage had made room for them. Tyler had taken a spot at the far end and was ignoring everyone in favor of his phone.
Patrick claimed the seat next to Sage, pretending he wasn’t aware of the line of heat from Jono’s body on his other side. He glared across the bar counter at where Marek was mixing a drink in a shaker. “I told you to stay fuckingput. Did you not see the news this morning?”
“Yes,” Marek said.
“Do you like tempting fate?”
Marek rolled his eyes as he poured out the mixture into a coupe glass and garnished it with a thinly shaved orange peel. He passed it over to Sage before turning around to open a small cupboard with a glass door. He pulled out a bottle of Glenlivet 25 Year Old single malt scotch and flipped over a glass to pour out an ounce of the good stuff. He placed the drink in front of Patrick like a peace offering.
Patrick really didn’t want to take it, but fuck, that was somegood whiskeyright there.
“On the house,” Marek said.
“This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook for disobeying orders,” Patrick retorted.
He picked up the glass anyway and took a sip, relishing the taste of it. Patrick had no plans to get drunk tonight, but he wasn’t saying no to free alcohol. Besides, he did most of his drinking behind a locked door in a room that housed no one else but him for a reason.
Marek braced himself against the work counter behind the bar. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not one of your little soldiers you can boss around.”
Patrick turned his head and gave Jono alook. Jono shook his head and rested his elbows on the bar. “Nah, Pat. I didn’t say nothing.”
Marek rapped his knuckles against the wood, dragging Patrick’s attention back to him. “An unnamed source told the news the hellfire bomb was military grade and so was the defense. Your name might not be in the news yet, but the rank you have to be to pull off that kind of save is. The media is pressing the PCB for answers on who they hired.”
Patrick made a face and took another sip of the whiskey, not admitting to anything.
Emma peered around Sage at him, tucking some of her hair behind one delicate ear. “Who did it target? You or Jono?”
Patrick paused with his glass halfway to his mouth. He finished the motion because he wasn’t going to waste good whiskey, but Patrick suddenly wished he could tighten his shields. A warm hand settled on his thigh. He turned to stare at Jono, meeting those wolf-bright eyes and seeing nothing but concern in the older man’s gaze.
“You’re supposed to stay with me,” Patrick said slowly. “They never said why.”
He didn’t have to elaborate on whotheywere. He thought back to Thursday night, to when the soultaker attacked. The demon had gone after Marek—but Marek hadn’t been the only one in that vicinity.
Jono had been standing right beside him.
