“Fly!” Patrick yelled over the burst of gunfire that ricocheted off Wade’s scaly body.
Wade twisted his body, tail slamming against the opposite building and sending chunks of the façade and glass raining down on the sidewalk. He folded his wings in tight before snapping them out again, eyes locked on Patrick as smoke drifted out of his nostrils.
Like Quetzalcoatl had said, it was all instinct, and the body knew what to do even if the mind didn’t. Wade launched himself into the air with furious flaps of his large wings, escaping gravity despite his size. The police and federal agents seemed to think twice about firing into the air after him. Patrick could only hope no one would corner the kid before he could—somehow—find Wade again.
Someone landed in front of Patrick, startling him badly. Jono jerked his head around to bite them, but his teeth never made contact. Lucien slammed the butt of his rifle against Jono’s nose, causing the werewolf to jerk his head aside, blood pouring from his nostrils from the unexpected hit. Lucien was covered in blood, his mouth smeared with it in the balaclava’s opening, testimony to however many throats he’d torn out in the club and below.
“Back the fuck off,” Lucien snapped.
“Youfuck off,” Patrick shot back, resting his hand on the top of Jono’s huge head in a comforting manner.
Lucien’s attention wasn’t on them but the master vampire standing across the street. Wade had hidden Tremaine from sight, but there was nothing separating them now. The master vampire stood beside Santa Muerte, a worshipper given the blessing of death herself and all the favor that entailed.
“Is this how you turn your back on your mother, Tremaine?” Lucien said, voice carrying over the noise of the crowd. “Offer yourself to the first god who would accept your lies?”
“Ashanti hasn’t spoken to me in decades. What use is a mother who disappears when death herself favors me?” Tremaine spat back.
The wind picked up, the heavy heat in the air disappearing in the face of a chilly breeze that got stronger. It reminded Patrick of the drive-by shooting and the gale force winds that had blown over him. Santa Muerte’s dress rippled in the wind, stretching into shadows that turned into a shroud. It wrapped itself around Tremaine’s body, hiding him from view and the bullets Lucien shot in their direction.
The jaguars at the perimeter roared in tandem, but they couldn’t drown out the sound of the wind building all around them.
Coming from behind them.
Patrick’s eyes widened as the wind picked up, screaming in his ears. He threw himself at Jono, getting a tight grip on the scruff of Jono’s neck. “Get clear!”
Jono leaped forward, Sage right by their side, putting much-needed distance between them and the Crimson Diamond. Patrick held on for all he was worth as the crowd panicked even more.
Lucien ran, a shadowy blur that beat them to the outskirts of the police line. Jono’s paws crunched a few squad car hoods and trunks as he got them out of the danger zone. Other members of Lucien’s Night Court appeared on the street around them, their arrival drawing attention from the police, but not for long.
Wind exploded over the street as if a tornado touched down, the force of it driving everyone to their knees or bowling them over completely. It was powerful enough to move vehicles, sending more than one squad car screeching over the asphalt. Jono and Sage leaned in close to protect Patrick from the supernatural strength of it, their claws biting into asphalt. Even Patrick’s shields couldn’t keep it out because it was no ordinary wind.
The roaring sound got louder, hitting a decibel that threatened to rupture eardrums. Then the roof of the Crimson Diamond exploded outward, a golden light as bright as the sun shining through the opening. Debris rained down on the street as people struggled to find cover, and Patrick wasn’t the only magic user who cast shields over those who couldn’t.
Rising out of the damaged building in a vortex of air came a shining, writhing feathered serpent wrapped tight around a huge jaguar clawing at its body. Both were twice the size of Wade’s dragon form, the auras of gods pouring out of their bodies.
Quetzalcoatl and Tezcatlipoca, locked in combat, rose into the sky above Manhattan. Patrick couldn’t be sure if the sound in his ears was the wind or their screams. He shielded his eyes from the sight, the primordial power pouring out of the pair painfully bright against the night sky.
Then the two gods exploded with a sonic boom heard in all five boroughs, rings of magic rippling like a shock wave through the air high above New York City.
21
The furious roarof the wind abruptly stopped, drifting into a breeze that barely ruffled his clothes. Patrick let go of Jono and got to his feet, holding his rifle close.
“Did all your people get clear?” Patrick asked Lucien.
The master vampire ejected the magazine in his M4A1 carbine and reloaded, ignoring the question. “This isn’t over. Your promise to me hasn’t been kept.”
Tremaine was still out there. Standing with Santa Muerte, he’d chosen his side despite being Lucien’s once and—
Patrick’s thoughts came to a screeching, brain-rattling halt.
“Tremaine is yours.”
Lucien gave him a scornful look. “Yes.”
Tremaine was Lucien’s, whether on the run or not. They’d cornered him, and Patrick knew from painful personal experience just how much Lucien hated to be cornered.
“What happened in Stanilesti?” Patrick demanded, taking a step forward.
