A tiny, pale blue mageglobe formed between Jono and Estelle, forcing her to take a step back. Patrick’s magic didn’t cross the threshold. That didn’t stop everyone but Jono from eyeing it warily.
“Leave Jono alone about this, and stay out of my fucking cases,” Patrick ordered them.
“Having a federal mage on your side won’t save your position here,” Estelle warned, her mouth curling up in an expression Jono had seen in the past, right before she tore out a werecreature’s throat.
Jono smiled, feeling Fenrir waking up deep in his soul, the immortal’s growl thrumming through his mind where no one else could hear. “I’m not the one who needs saving, love.”
It wasn’t a challenge, not in any official capacity, but the underlying threat was there, and Jono refused to take it back. Let Estelle and Youssef and their god pack snarl about the promise they thought he was breaking; he’d throw their own mistakes back in their faces.
Jono wasn’t the one turning his back on the werecreatures who needed help.
Patrick drew down his magic, the mageglobe disappearing in a soft spray of sparks. Jono turned his back on the god pack alphas, a deliberate show of disrespect that made Youssef growl. Jono made it to the sidewalk before Patrick even bothered to leave the porch, casually taking the steps one at a time on the way down.
They walked back to the car, the silence between them one of necessity since who knew how many ears and eyes were attuned to their position.
It was when they turned the corner that Jono’s instincts reared up with a vengeance. Patrick went still behind him, reaching for his dagger rather than calling forth his magic. The electric scent of ozone after a lightning strike filled the air around them, thicker than the last time they’d been in this situation.
“Gods fucking damn it,” Patrick snarled as he stalked toward the Mustang.
Jono followed after Patrick and drew in a lungful of air that tasted like lightning on his tongue, reminding him of the beach in the Hamptons when Patrick had faced off against Hades. The electric scent of a god overrode the smell of the dog piss, garbage, and exhaust that permeated every Manhattan street Jono had ever walked down.
Patrick yanked open the car door, glaring at the black Santa Muerte figurine lying on the passenger side seat. “Not a fucking word, Jono.”
All the questions swirling through his mind remained on the tip of his tongue for later. Jono watched Patrick encase the figurine in his magic to contain it.
Something moved out of the corner of his eye and Jono jerked his head around. The only things in the street were cars, but he thought—just for a moment—he saw the flash of a four-legged animal in the rearview mirror of a passing car. Jono took in the street, seeing no werecreatures in their shifted form prowling the area. Nothing seemed out of place, except something had gotten through Patrick’s wardsagainwithout either of them noticing.
“Come on, let’s go,” Patrick said, dropping down into the passenger seat. He still held the Santa Muerte figurine in one hand, magic flickering at his fingertips to keep whatever was buried in it contained.
Jono wanted to chuck it out of the car into the gutter where it belonged.
“Where to?” Jono asked as he walked around to get in the driver’s seat. He couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching them.
“PCB. I need to stop by the evidence lockup.”
Jono started the engine and pulled into the street. Only when they were far enough out of the god pack’s territory, where too-interested ears couldn’t hear him, did he speak. “Overall, that could’ve gone better.”
Patrick snorted. “Which part? The nice little chat we had or the gifts some asshole keeps leaving us?”
“Both.”
“Next time, you should just rip out their throats.”
Jono rolled his eyes. “I’m not challenging them.”
“Yet,” Patrick said succinctly.
Jono thought about arguing, but he hadn’t approved of the way Estelle and Youssef governed the werecreature community for years. Emma’s quiet, pointed words about her preference of a leader had ratcheted up in the past couple of weeks, and this new case Patrick was handling was making Jono question his reasons to abide by a promise that only hobbled him.
Jono braked for the amber light and leaned across the console to kiss Patrick. “Let’s keep that between us, yeah?”
“You know me,” Patrick muttered, chasing after Jono’s mouth when he tried to pull away. “I’m all about secrets.”
“Wish you weren’t,” Jono said, stealing one more kiss before the light turned green to shut him up.
He didn’t want to hear what Patrick would say to that; didn’t want to smell the lies Patrick still couldn’t give up.
Some things, Jono knew, you just had to live with.
