Lucien pulled out a lighter and a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. He lit one up, the smell of nicotine making Patrick’s nose twitch. “I have no interest in keeping what businesses Tremaine thinks he owns. My Anahuac Cartel will fill the void Tremaine’s death will create.”
“Going the scorched-earth route, I take it? Mundane humans don’t like it when the preternatural world has turf wars on their doorstep,” Patrick said.
“Then you better hope the fighting never leaves the tunnels.” Lucien blew smoke at Patrick, the cloud making him crave a cigarette. “There is a meeting between the five master vampires tomorrow night at Tremaine’s Crimson Diamond club. They didn’t invite me. We will be rectifying that oversight.”
Before Patrick could answer, the threshold wrapped around Ginnungagap heaved in warning, making his stomach swoop in an uncomfortable way. Lucien moved before Patrick could get his bearings, becoming a streak of motion he was hard-pressed to track.
Naheed spun around, gun now in hand and aimed at the side entrance to the alleyway. Carmen stayed where she was to act as backup if needed. Patrick swore and ran after Lucien, his ears ringing from the sound of the door slamming open. He conjured up a mageglobe, filling it with a barrage spell as Jono took point, exiting Ginnungagap seconds before Patrick.
Jono skidded to a stop once outside and Patrick nearly ran into him. Magic burning between his fingers, Patrick got eyes on their vehicles and swore.
“Motherfuckingshit,” he said, taking in the claw marks that now adorned both cars.
No normal animal could shred metal. Paint, yes, but whatever creature had raked their claws over doors, hoods, and trunks had ripped into the body of the cars themselves, cutting through Patrick’s defensive wards without him sensing it. Metal was butterflied open, the paint peeled around the damage. Sitting on top of each car was a tiny Santa Muerte idol, the white figurines spattered in red.
Patrick really hoped the red color was paint, but he knew he was never that lucky.
In the sunlight, Lucien looked washed-out and strange, pale skin starting to flush from heat that didn’t burn him as he circled the Aston Martin and the Mustang, black eyes memorizing the damage. Patrick shifted the magic in his mageglobe, silently recasting it into a look-away ward. He lobbed the mageglobe toward the mouth of the alley to keep any curious bystanders at bay.
“Smells like immortals,” Jono said, nostrils flaring.
Patrick stared at the Santa Muerte idol sitting on top of his car and wished he could burn it. Fire could cleanse almost anything, but it couldn’t cleanse the debts he owed.
Lucien circled back around and came to a stop in front of Patrick, his black eyes boring into Patrick’s green. “You have death hunting you.”
“Yeah,” Patrick said, stomach twisting. “That’s nothing new.”
Seriously, fuck his life.
5
Jono wantedto slam open their apartment door but knew if he did so, the knob would go through the wall and there was a very real chance the door might come off its hinges. Still, he thought about it.
“You’re in a mood,” Patrick said from right behind him.
“Yeah, mate. I’m in a fucking mood,” Jono snapped as he stalked into the kitchen.
The front door shut with a quiet click. While he couldn’t feel the threshold snap into place, Jono could sense the aftereffects of it sealing the apartment. The hint of electric ozone that had lingered on the Mustang during the drive home and on themselves abruptly faded away.
Jono shook his head as he opened up the refrigerator and took out a bottle of stout. He popped the screw cap off with ease and tossed the bent bit of metal in the bin. He took a long drink of the Guinness, swallowing half the beer, careful to not break the bottle.
Patrick followed him into the kitchen, incapable of running away from a fight or an argument. That stubbornness was what drew Jono to the other man, amongst other traits, but sometimes he wished Patrick wouldthinkbefore acting.
“I owed him,” Patrick said after a moment. “You don’t.”
Jono slammed the beer bottle down on the counter hard enough to crack it. Jono had to force his fingers off it rather than drive them through the glass.
“You oweenough.”
Patrick’s expressive mouth thinned out, eyes narrowing, despite the shadow of bruises still lingering on the delicate skin in that area. “This isn’t your problem. Lucien isn’t—”
“Did I not,” Jono interrupted icily, trying to choke back his anger and absolutely failing, “tell you earlier we’re a fuckingpack?”
“Yeah, I get that.”
“No, I don’t think you bloody do!”
“I didn’t want you to owe Lucien anything, Jono. How is that a bad thing?”
