Some part of Jono—the wolf part that had taken years for him to be comfortable acknowledging—didn’t like the thought of Nadine walking into his territory. It didn’t matter that the flat wasn’t his and that Patrick was only staying there temporarily. Right now, that was Patrick’s place of residence, his home, and Jono didn’t want anyone he didn’t know going into it.
Jono watched Nadine warily approach Lucien. He couldn’t smell her fear, not with her shields up, but he could read the distrust in her body. Lucien seemed amused more than anything else, the uncaring attitude of an apex predator seeping through. Nadine might be a mage, but Lucien had tricks up his sleeves Jono would need to look out for.
Lucien put his motorcycle helmet back on and headed outside with Nadine. Emma darted inside before the door could close, wringing water out of her thick hair. She headed their way, leaving wet footprints behind her.
“Leon and the others made it back home. He’ll be here as soon as he can, but he has to dodge the police,” she said.
“Why are the police at our building?” Marek asked.
“Because we didn’t know where you were. Casale sent his people to every address they had on file for you,” Jono explained.
Most of his anger toward Marek had disappeared at the revelation the Fates had forced his hand today. What was left was directed solely at the gods currently fucking with everyone’s lives.
Marek chewed on his bottom lip before sitting down beside Jono. Sage and Emma shifted positions, standing between them and Carmen, who seemed to find their situationamusingif the look on her face was anything to go by.
Jono itched to rip it off her face.
“I’m sorry this is happening,” Marek said quietly.
Jono shook his head. “It’s not your fault.”
Marek reached out and tucked a corner of the foil blanket more securely around Patrick’s body. “Feels like it is.”
Jono was too on edge right now to soothe Marek’s feelings. Most of his attention was reserved for Patrick, who still hadn’t woken up. Jono bent his head, pressing his nose against now-dry red hair, breathing in the smell of rain and magic and the bitter notes of hell.
Jono’s awareness of his patron god pulsed deep inside his own soul. He wasn’t one for prayer, but Jono couldn’t help the words he directed at Fenrir.
Please let Patrick be all right.
In the depths of his soul, Jono thought he felt an answering growl that echoed in his bones.
15
Patrick woke up slow,feeling like he’d come off the tail end of a weeklong bender. The pain in his body was a dull ache, seeping through sore muscles. His mouth was dry, teeth sticking to the inside of his cheeks, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth, and it tasted like something had died in it. He needed to piss—badly.
The hollow emptiness in his soul reminded him too much of the months after the Thirty-Day War. Days spent in the hospital and then rehab, his magic sucked dry and slow to return, only never to his original strength. His ability to tap into external magic had been forever damaged in the form of metaphysical scars lacerating his soul.
Some part of his brain knew he wasn’t in the past, but fighting back the panic was hard, and reorienting was difficult. The first thing Patrick became solidly aware of was warmth. He was tucked close to a warm body, strong arms wrapped around his own. His nose was pressed to a hard chest, skin touching skin along his entire body. Patrick realized he was naked and weaponless, but the panic he knew he should feel wasn’t coming.
A warm hand stroked down his back. “You awake?”
The deep voice rumbled through the chest his nose was pressed against. Patrick struggled to open his eyes but couldn’t. Still, he knew that voice, even if it felt like it took forever to get his tongue to work.
“Jono?”
Cool air washed over his face as the blanket Patrick wasn’t even aware of covering him was pulled down past his bare shoulders. He was rolled onto his back, one strong hand framing his face.
“I need you to open your eyes for me,” Jono said, his breath ghosting over Patrick’s mouth.
“Careful of his IV,” a woman said.
Something tugged in the back of his hand, and the faint pinch from a needle made Patrick grimace. He took a breath and forced his eyes open, blurry vision filled by Jono’s wolf-bright blue eyes. The astringent smell Patrick associated with a hospital wasn’t present. In fact, it smelled like a garbage dump, despite the bed he was lying in.
“You with me?” Jono asked, pulling back a little.
Patrick blinked slowly, gaze drifting past Jono. He stared blearily up at a dirty warehouse ceiling. Dull sunlight cut through cracks in the boarded-up windows, giving the place a gray cast to it. The sound of rain hitting the roof was strangely muffled, and Patrick thought he could hear the drip of water from a leak somewhere close by.
He dragged his hand out from beneath the blanket, pressing his thumb against the throbbing in his right temple. The IV tubing slid down his arm a little, the medical tape making his skin itch.
