“He shouldn’t have given up the dagger,” the immortal said.
“Piss off,” Jono growled. “You lot gave Patrick the bloody thing. He can do what he likes with it.”
“He should have kept the dagger. At least he’d have a chance against my brother if he had.”
Jono sped through an intersection on a red light, nearly clipping a car coming from the other direction that was oblivious to the sirens.
“He’s got me.”
“You aren’t with him right now.”
Jono crunched the steering wheel beneath his grip, but the thing still turned, so it was fine. The soulbond coaxed him forward to where he hoped Patrick was. He scanned the street ahead and the cars that needed to get out of his fucking way.
“I’ll always be with him.”
Even when he wasn’t, but Jono decided then and there that the next time Patrick got the brilliant idea to go haring off on his own, Jono would laugh in his face and tell himno fucking way.
“You—”
“Shut,” Jono bit out. “Your. Gob.”
The words came out in a growl that was more wolf than human, Fenrir howling through his mind. Jono ignored both gods in favor of his soulbond and the approaching high-rise buildings of Midtown Manhattan.
The Crimson Diamond was in SoHo, and that was the general direction he was being pulled toward. Fifth Avenue got interrupted by Washington Square Park, and New York University was a congestion of traffic and people even on a weeknight. He took a left on Washington Square North, then another left at the corner, gunning down MacDougal Street.
Jono’s heart pounded in his chest, the rush of blood in his ears like waves crashing on the beach at Marek’s Hamptons home. He took a hard left on Bleecker Street, tires squealing as he sped around the corner.
“Watch where you’re driving,” Quetzalcoatl snapped. “This is a loaner.”
“If we crash, you won’t die.”
“You aren’t immortal, no matter your ties to Fenrir.”
Jono bared his teeth, fangs cutting into his lips. “I’m not dying tonight, mate.”
The ones who took Patrick captive were a different story entirely.
Jono thought the soulbond would lead him to the Crimson Diamond, but he was drawn to Grand Street by way of Wooster Street, wishing everyone would just get out of his way. The tugging got stronger, spreading through his soul as he closed the distance stretched between himself and Patrick.
SoHo was a bit of a posh area, with no alleys to speak of. Grand Street was one way, and when Jono’s soul felt like it was about to rip out of his body, he slammed his foot on the brake. The seat belt dug into his chest, and he ripped it out of the buckle, breaking it. Jono yanked up the emergency brake and nearly tore the door off its hinges in his bid to escape the SUV.
He moved as if he were swimming through honey, the world slow and hazy around them. The flashing lights of the government vehicle were slow to spin and change their colors. The traffic behind the SUV was moving forward so slowly they seemed almost at a standstill. Lucien and Carmen had braked to a stop and were struggling to reach him.
Then Jono caught Patrick’s scent—bitter in a way that was different and wrong.
“Patrick!” he yelled, frantic with worry.
The thickness in the air faded, allowing him passage. Jono threw himself toward the god standing between him and where Patrick was sprawled on the pavement. The god wore dusty jeans and a worn, tan leather jacket over a T-shirt. His straight black hair was parted in the middle and plaited in two thick braids that hung over his shoulders. Beneath the jacket was a breastplate made out of white bone beads, tied together by black leather strips.
The features of his face reminded Jono of Sage, but the god’s eyes were an eerie yellow that shined with a brightness that reminded Jono of his own. The mustache framing his mouth was neatly trimmed, with none of the stupid curls some men styled facial hair in these days.
Quetzalcoatl snorted. “Áltsé Hashké. Up to your usual tricks again?”
The god shrugged in a careless manner, glancing at where Patrick lay. “This one treated my children with far more care than I expected, so I saved him. The cousins will owe me.”
“Who are you?” Jono demanded, wanting desperately to get to Patrick but not knowing which immortal stood in his way. Not that it mattered. He’d go through the god if he had to, no matter the cost to himself.
Those yellow eyes blinked at him before the god smiled. “Your kind call me and mine Coyote, though I am not the only one who wears that name. Your tongues are useless when it comes to the language of the People.”
