Santa Muerte placed one bony hand on Tezcatlipoca’s knee. “My love will tear you apart.”
Her voice reminded Jono’s of the Norns: inhuman and not meant for this world. It was nothing compared to the one that howled in the deep recesses of his mind.
Jono pointed at her. “You’re on. State your terms.”
Santa Muerte smiled, the expression hollowing out her cheeks with shadows. “Your soul belongs to me when you die.”
“Sorry, taken. Try again.” Jono went to take another sip of tequila when the person holding the gun to his head shoved hard at his skull. He looked over his shoulder and scowled. “You mind, mate? Trying to drink here.”
“Respect your betters,” the man snapped.
“I would if anyone was better than me.”
“Do not kill him before the fight begins,” Tezcatlipoca said, casually lifting a hand to forestall the man from shooting Jono in the back of the head.
The gun lifted away, taking the threat with it. Jono’s heartbeat remained calm and steady as he went for that sip of tequila. “So is it going to be a twofer? Tremaine, then you?”
“You think highly of your chances when you are here alone.”
Jono shrugged. “I’m god pack. It’s my right to issue the challenge, not theirs. This, right here, is on me.”
“Ah, but you have already issued your challenge to Tremaine, and our guests are interested in watching you die.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you and I shall fight. If you win, you may leave. If you lose, you will be a gift to my greatest love.”
Patrick’s grumblings about being sacrificed to gods flashed through Jono’s mind. Jono knew he would die if he lost, but it was a risk he was here to take.
Jono sipped at the tequila a few more times before setting the bottle aside. He wasn’t here to get pissed, but to fight. Tezcatlipoca and Santa Muerte ignored his presence as they accepted gifts and prayers from what followers had come tonight. Jono didn’t recognize any of the men or women on sight, but he recognized the wealth they carried.
Almost everyone who approached was human, though there were several who had the scent of magic on them. None were mages, and almost all were cartel members, their alliance to the gods holding court by the dance floor and not the Dominion Sect, as far as Jono knew.
Sunset came and went. The excited air of the club shifted when the employees-only doors past the dance floor finally opened. Several human servants tottered out with fresh bite marks on their throats. The vibe of the crowd shifted into something more anticipatory, almost predatory.
Jono remained where he was, watching as members of Tremaine’s Manhattan Night Court arrived. They trickled through the door in ones and twos, gliding into the crowd freshly fed but still hungering for blood. Jono didn’t care about them, only their master.
They’d agreed on the fight happening an hour after sunset. Jono knew, after Maria’s visit at Ginnungagap, that Tremaine had probably set that start time to ensure the other Night Courts had time to arrive. It worked in their favor in that it gave Patrick and the others time to implement their attack.
Jono kept an eye on the crowd, and his hearing dialed up to pick out distant conversation. Guests were still arriving, but none were vampires from rival Night Courts. Over the course of the following hour, he picked up agitated whispers amongst Tremaine’s vampires. The frustrated worry in the bits and pieces of conversation he overheard told Jono no representatives from the other Night Courts in the five boroughs had arrived.
Jono kept his expression impassive and his heartbeat steady, glad no other werecreatures were in the club to smell his emotions. Not for the first time did he envy Patrick’s magic and ability to shield so tightly scent couldn’t get through. The trick was useful when it wasn’t being used against him.
Sunset was nearly an hour gone when Tremaine finally deigned to grace the Crimson Diamond with his presence. The master vampire of the Manhattan Night Court came out to welcoming applause from the crowd, raising his arms to accept their adoration like he was some posh lord who thought he deserved it. His white-blond hair was slicked back, blue eyes unblinking as he stepped onto the dance floor in a tailored suit Jono hoped would be ruined by the end of the night.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Tremaine said, pitching his voice to be heard over the bass thump of the music still pouring out of the speakers. “You are my specially chosen guests for tonight’s entertainment. A once-in-a-lifetime experience involving myself and a god pack werewolf. I do hope you have placed your bets.”
The excited murmur of the crowd grew louder. Jono ignored the glances thrown his way in favor of raising two fingers and flashing them at Tremaine in a greeting the master vampire couldn’t miss.
“And when I kick your arse, your guests will get the pleasure of watching me tangle with your business partner over here,” Jono said in a bored voice.
Tremaine’s eyes cut away to Tezcatlipoca for a brief second before returning to Jono. “A grand event that would be, but it will never happen.”
“Bit full of yourself, aren’t you?”
Jono stood and walked onto the dance floor. The marble beneath his feet was smooth, offering little traction. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to shift first or not, but ultimately decided against it. Jono needed to prolong the fight to buy Patrick time.
Besides, Jono wanted the bastard to suffer for putting his hands on Patrick.
