“They asked for Jonothon.” Nicholas shoved the door all the way open and stepped aside just enough to make room for one other person to walk by. “So he can get inside.”
“Nah, mate,” Jono drawled. “You heard Patrick. It’s his case.”
“And the deceased was a werecreature you had no right to claim,” Estelle said as she stepped into view with Youssef by her side.
Unlike Jono, Estelle was a born god pack werewolf who refused to hide. Her bright amber wolf eyes were set in a heart-shaped face, wavy brown hair twisted up off her neck and shoulders. At thirty-five, she’d been leading the New York City god pack for six years—piss poorly, if Jono was ever asked.
Youssef was her husband of five years, and while he wasn’t a born god pack werewolf, he shared his wife’s ruthless way of laying down pack law. At forty years old, Youssef had become accustomed to a sense of deference from the packs under his control. Jono didn’t bother showing his throat in greeting to either of them. He never had, not even when Marek had first brought him to New York City.
Jono was allowed to stay in New York City by dint of godly interference under the guise of a promise so long as he didn’t form a pack with anyone under their protection. He’d broken that promise in a way, but no one needed to know that just yet.
Patrick rolled his eyes. “It’s not your case. Quit acting like it is.”
“You had no right to ask Jonothon to identify the dead,” Youssef said.
“You weren’t doing your job,” Patrick shot back derisively. “I don’t have that luxury.”
“Howdareyou,” Estelle growled.
She took a step forward, her hand a blur of motion as she crossed the threshold to reach for Patrick. Jono lashed out without thinking, grabbing Estelle by the wrist and shoving her backward. She didn’t seem prepared, which was surprising, and stumbled back into Nicholas’ waiting arms with a snarl. Youssef looked just as pissed, his bright amber eyes locked on Patrick.
“Don’t touch him,” Jono said in a low, vicious voice that was more growl than English syllables.
“That indiscretion could be taken as a challenge,” Youssef said, his voice colder than the nights got in August these days.
“That wasn’t a fucking challenge, and you know it. He just saved your ass from an assault charge,” Patrick snapped.
“The identification of werecreatures has always fallen to the god pack. You didn’t follow protocol, Patrick,” Estelle said, shaking off Nicholas’ support in order to stand up straight again.
“That’s Special Agent Collins to all of you. We aren’t on a first-name basis, so fucking remember that.”
“You couldn’t be bothered to identify the dead, so the SOA came to me,” Jono said, staring at Youssef without blinking. “Patrick asked me to identify the bloke, so I did.”
“That’s not your right,” Youssef spat out.
“It should be yours, but you lot didn’t seem arsed to do your job at the time.”
“You think just because you have an SOA mage backing you that we’ll ignore your act of rebellion?” Estelle demanded as she crossed the threshold once more, this time going toe-to-toe with Jono instead of Patrick. He could smell her anger, thicker than the heat bearing down on them. “You agreed to a set of rules in order to stay here, and those rules arebinding. You break them, you can leave New York City for good.”
Patrick shook his head. “Jono isn’t going anywhere. You eventryto kick him out of this city and I’ll open up a federal investigation into your pack’s management of the people under your care. All those tithes you collect? Won’t be worth jack shit in the face of the United States government and its deep pockets.”
Estelle ignored Patrick and refused to look away from Jono’s eyes. “You made a promise, Jonothon. You better abide by it.”
Jono’s mouth curled, fangs cutting into his lips. “I promised not to make a pack with anyone under your protection within your territory. I haven’t done that, Estelle. You, on the other hand, took an oath to protect the packs who tithe to you and those who cross through your territory searching for safe passage. Ignoring a dead independent werecreature with vampire markings on his body isn’t doing your fucking job, is it?”
It was the truth, in the literal sense of the word, because Patrick wasn’t under the god pack’s protection. While Jono knew they wouldn’t be able to smell anything but the truth on him, what he got off Nicholas, of all people, was a single, barely skipped heartbeat that had Jono breaking eye contact with Estelle to zero in on their dire.
Dires were essential to a god pack. They enforced their alphas’ orders, the traditional role held by their most loyal pack member. Dires would steal, fight, and die for the god pack alphas they served. In Jono’s experience, Nicholas was no different.
Except he was a shit liar when it mattered, because that little tell echoed loudly in Jono’s ears.
“Independents come and go. They tithe to us on an as needed basis,” Estelle said.
“They still show their throats to you, asking for rights to enter your territory. They still ask for protection when it matters,” Jono replied, never taking his eyes off Nicholas. “I never did.”
“Is that athreat?” Youssef asked in a low, harsh voice.
Jono shrugged, rocking back on his heels in a bored way that would never come across as backing down. He forced his teeth back to human shape, swallowing the tang of blood that had bloomed across his tongue. “It’s a fact, Youssef. Best remember that.”
