“This is not your bargain to make,” Einar told her.
“If you do not agree, the bargain is void, andthisone”—Tremaine kicked Kennedy in the ribs, and Einar had to put Sage in a chokehold to keep her from going after the master vampire—“will not live to see the dawn.”
Tremaine stared at Patrick, a twisted sense of superiority gleaming in his eyes that was a poor imitation of Lucien’s, and always would be. Lucien might pour what he was into his children’s making, but they were just shadows compared to him.
Patrick licked his lips, knowing that taking shine was a risk he couldn’t walk away from. “Okay.”
Sage made a sound that was more snarl than words. She elbowed Einar hard enough to draw a grunt from the vampire, and he let her go. She shoved him away and glared at Patrick. He expected her to yell, to protest, but Sage did none of those things.
All she said was “You asked me to trust you, and I do. So don’t make me be the one to tell Jono he has to bury you.”
Then she lifted her chin high and strode past Tezcatlipoca for where Kennedy lay on the floor. The magic beneath Sage’s feet didn’t bar her, and Patrick fought against the instinct to yank her out of the circle. Tremaine stepped between Sage and Kennedy, staring disdainfully down his nose at her.
“The terms of the bargain were met. Give me Kennedy,” Sage demanded.
“The mage takes shine, and then you may have your prize,” Tremaine said.
Sage stared him down with a ferocity that made several cartel members look askance at her, wariness in their eyes.
One of the lesser vampires came forward and poured several pills into Tremaine’s outstretched hand. Patrick dug out his car keys and unholstered his sidearm, passing both to Einar. “Tell Lucien he’ll still get what he wants.”
“You dead?” Einar asked.
Patrick rolled his eyes. “Real fucking funny.”
The warrant had got them in, got them tortured proof, but they still needed to know the extent of Tremaine’s territory. Getting that information meant Patrick just had to survive an evening of drugged interrogation in order to get the lay of the land so to speak. Human laws wouldn’t be enough to tear down Tremaine’s Night Court, which was why Patrick hadn’t once mentioned arresting the bloodsucker. That was a laughable way forward with a god standing in his way.
Einar stayed outside the circle as Patrick joined Sage in the center. Tremaine had an ugly, triumphant look on his face that Patrick itched to punch right off, but he kept his hands to himself. Behind the safety of his shields, Patrick dug deep into his scarred soul for that shining, resilient link that bound him to Jono. He refused to reach for Jono’s soul and use it to draw external magic from the ley lines and nexus buried deep beneath the earth. That power wouldn’t help him here, not bound by the promise he’d made.
But he could make sure the soulbond stayed wide open between them.
Find me, Patrick thought as he reached for one of the white pills with its pinprick of red-black in the center that Tremaine held out to him.You have to find me.
He needed to believe that Jono would before it was too late.
Patrick swallowed shine, and the chemical, rancid taste filled his mouth sickeningly quick. He gagged, the drug tasting how dead bodies smelled. Shine wasn’t a drug he was familiar with. He didn’t know how much time he had before the high kicked in, but Patrick still knew chasing it would fuck him up. It wasn’t meant to be taken by magic users. At the end of the day, they weren’t the food vampires craved.
“Go,” Patrick told Sage.
She knelt down and dragged Kennedy’s broken, battered body over her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. The sound Kennedy made was that of a wounded, dying animal, and Sage’s jaw tightened. Patrick’s dagger and sheath dangled from one of her hands, a hint of white, heavenly fire sparking along the edge where the hilt pressed against the leather. Patrick only hoped the borrowed magic in its making would keep her safe as an extension of keeping him alive.
As Sage straightened up, dark fog twisted into existence at the four quadrant points of the circle. The fog rapidly solidified into jaguars, the same kind of constructs that had chased them through the subway on Saturday night.
“Alive has many connotations,” Tezcatlipoca said, sounding viciously amused. “I suggest you run, daughter.”
“Next time, you let me do all the talking from the start,” Sage told Patrick.
Patrick appreciated her optimism. He’d appreciate it even more if they all survived this mess.
Sage darted out of the circle in a blur of speed, jaguars giving chase between one breath and the next. Einar was a streak Patrick could barely follow, the vampire tossing what looked like a flash-bang at the jaguars but which turned out to be something better.
The barrier ward that exploded between them crashed against Patrick’s shields. Embedded in the grenade was Nadine’s magic, part of the weaponry she’d left Lucien back in June as payment for his help. The feel of her magic was like a breath of fresh air through the haziness growing in his mind. It didn’t stop the jaguars, but it did stop the bullets from the cartel members. Patrick blinked rapidly, the brightness from the barrier ward not diminishing.
A too-cold hand wrapped around his throat, sharp nails cutting into his skin. His head was jerked around and Patrick found himself staring into Tremaine’s cold blue eyes, body outlined in soul light that never filled him.
“I’m curious how you know Lucien,” Tremaine said, his thumb digging into the underside of Patrick’s jaw.
The correct answer would always come down to Ashanti, but Patrick didn’t owe the vampire the truth. “I dialed a wrong number once. Meant to call a phone-sex hotline. Got a mass-murdering fuck-face instead.”
