On my way.
Jono breathed out a quiet sigh of relief. He set the mobile back down and picked up his mug of tea, taking a sip. He’d brought the box of PG Tips from home, along with the small electric teakettle that no one else ever used. Tempest was a bar that catered to the werecreature community and served up craft brew and cocktails. While Jono would normally be behind the counter helping out the two bartenders on shift, Wednesdays were usually slow, and he’d opted to retreat to the employees-only room in the back to do some paperwork.
It was tedious, but part of his job as bar manager for Tempest. On the flip side, it kept him away from other people. With Patrick having been gone a week for an SOA case, Jono hadn’t been the friendliest of blokes lately. He knew his surliness had everything to do with his only pack member being gone and the soulbond tying them together drawn tight with distance.
The heaviness deep inside his soul had eased over the last few hours, coinciding with Patrick’s return. Now, Jono was counting down the minutes instead of the hours until he saw the mage again.
Jono took another sip of his tea before getting back to work, the heat of the drink not bothering him. He managed to wrangle the schedule for next week into some semblance of order when a familiar heartbeat cut through the muffled noise of the bar beyond the closed door. Jono turned his head and was half out of his chair when the door pushed open without a knock.
“Bloody hell, mate,” Jono swore, reaching for Patrick. “What happened?”
Patrick kicked the door shut behind him, which was fine with Jono because it gave him something sturdy to shove the other man up against. Gently, though, because Jono didn’t know what other injuries Patrick sported besides the ones on his face. Jono framed Patrick’s face with his hands, staring at the slightly swollen nose with a strip of medical tape arching over the freckled bridge and faded bruises around bloodshot, tired green eyes.
“I took a potion. I’m fine,” Patrick said, blinking at him.
Jono rolled his eyes before sliding his right hand down to Patrick’s throat, discreetly scent-marking him. The stench of travel, of too many bodies packed too closely together, clung to him. Beneath that was a hint of forest and blood, neither of which stopped Jono from worrying. Beneath allthatwas the familiar, bitter scent that was Patrick’s alone and had come to mean home to Jono.
“Finedoesn’t look like you took several punches to the face.”
Patrick’s mouth quirked at the corners. “Gonna kiss it better?”
“Cheeky. Could’ve just asked rather than go out looking for a fight.”
“Hazard of the job.”
“Bollocks.”
Jono shook his head before leaning down to gently press his mouth to Patrick’s. Those familiar plush lips immediately parted, letting Jono in. The quiet sigh he drank down told him more than words how tired Patrick must be. The mage wasn’t one to show weakness, even amongst friends, but Jono had started to learn the little quirks and half-hidden actions that spoke of Patrick’s true feelings.
Patrick was still a hard read on the best of days, soulbond or not, but Jono was figuring him out.
“Gonna ward the office,” Patrick said once Jono broke the kiss. His hands had fallen to Jono’s waist, fingers plucking at the gray short-sleeved button-down he wore.
Jono frowned but didn’t protest the action. Neither did he move, content to stay where he was, hands sliding beneath the black T-shirt Patrick wore. He pressed his palms against warm skin, reveling in the closeness after a week alone and liking the way Patrick arched into his touch.
“You’re not going to move, are you?” Patrick grumbled.
Jono pressed a kiss to the top of Patrick’s head. “You’ve been gone. Allow me this.”
Patrick leaned forward, resting his forehead against Jono’s shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, Jono saw him raise a hand and conjure up a mageglobe.
The small, pale blue sphere of raw magic pulsed once. The silence ward that Patrick cast filled the back room with a wash of static, the white noise a barrier even Jono’s enhanced hearing couldn’t break through. The bar, and all its myriad of noises, went silent around them. Patrick flexed his fingers and the mageglobe floated away to hover near his shoulder.
They stood like that for a moment in the quiet, leaning into each other, the soulbond a distant hum to Jono’s senses. Jono reluctantly let Patrick go after a minute or two, knowing they could no longer put off the conversation.
He took a step back in the small space and crossed his arms over his chest, never taking his eyes off Patrick. “What’s going on?”
Patrick carefully knuckled his right eye. Jono reached out and tugged his hand away before he could make the bruises there worse. “I’ve been assigned another case with the PCB.”
“Okay,” Jono said slowly, not letting Patrick’s hand go. “Is this going to be like the last mess?”
“Who knows? But I think it might be worse in a way.”
“Your idea of worse is bloody frightening, anyone ever tell you that?”
“It’s been mentioned once or twice.”
Jono sighed and ran his free hand through his black hair. “What’s going on, Pat?”
