He returned to the bed, crawling over to where Patrick lay, eyes cracked open and no longer hiding. Jono could still sense the tight hold Fenrir had on his soul, keeping his aura hidden, and he was grateful for the god’s interference.
“I’m right here,” Jono said, gently brushing back his hair.
“Thought I dreamed you.”
Jono’s mouth twisted, his anger eclipsed only by his sorrow. “No, love. It wasn’t a dream.”
Patrick closed his eyes and didn’t cry and never reached for Jono.
Jono lay down beside him on top of the duvet, keeping his hands to himself as he watched Patrick slowly fall into a fitful sleep.
14
At the firstsound of movement from beneath the duvet, Jono reached for the potion Victoria Alvarez had delivered around dawn before her morning shift as an RN witch at Mount Sinai. He picked it up off the nightstand, holding it with a careful grip as Patrick batted the duvet off his head.
Curled on his side, eyes closed and expression scrunched up in pain and disgust, Jono watched as Patrick carefully touched his swollen nose.
“Something died in my mouth, and I think my nose is broken,” Patrick rasped.
“I have something that might help with that,” Jono said.
“A gallon of whiskey?”
“Potion.”
“Pass.”
Jono pressed his lips together, not wanting to push the issue but thinking he should. He watched as Patrick slowly cracked his eyes open. In the midmorning light pouring around the closed curtains, his pupils looked even and normal despite the scrapes marring the skin on his cheeks. Jono reached for him without thinking, then aborted the motion.
Patrick stared at him in silence, watching as Jono slowly lowered his hand. A minute passed before Patrick worked his hand free of the blankets and placed it over Jono’s, threading their fingers together. Jono’s throat tightened at that action, and he stared at their hands.
“Just so we’re clear,” Patrick said in a rough voice, looking Jono in the eye, “if you’d have fucked me last night, I would’ve been okay with it.”
Jono didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing. Patrick rubbed his thumb against Jono’s hand before letting out a sigh that proved he probably did need the whiskey to sanitize his mouth, or at least a bottle of Listerine.
Patrick licked his lips, gaze dropping to their joined hands. “Look, I…I’m sorry I put you in that position.”
“What? Staying behind?” Jono said, finally finding his voice.
“No. I’m not sorry for that because you found me.” Green eyes flicked up to meet his own, and Jono never blinked. “I’m sorry I channeled my magic through you. I never wanted to put you in a position where you had no choice but to let it happen.”
“We’ve talked about this, Pat. The soulbond lets you, and I don’t mind. Helping you last night wasn’t a hardship. It never will be.”
Patrick squeezed Jono’s hand, wincing when he turned onto his back. He ran his other hand through his hair. Half of it stuck up, while the rest was plastered to his skull in odd patches.
“It hurts you, and I don’t ever want to hurt you.”
“You weren’t in your right mind last night. I wasn’t going to take advantage of you after you—”
Jono broke off, teeth clacking together as he tilted his head back to glare at the ceiling. Remembering the state Patrick had been in when they’d reached SoHo was enough to ignite his temper all over again. He refused to bring that anger into the bed they shared.
“Do you know I’ve been shot, stabbed, cursed, burned, broken way too many bones, bruised some internal organs, but nothing hurts worse than getting fucking sacrificed to gods.” Patrick drew in a careful breath through his mouth instead of his nose, and Jono looked back over at him. “Some god I don’t know saved me before Tremaine got very far. I hate owing the gods anything, but I might be okay with this one.”
Jono didn’t even bother trying to choke back the harsh sound that escaped his mouth. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”
“I know.”
With Patrick’s shields down, it was easy for Jono to sniff out the lie. He let Patrick keep it.
