“Don’tshift,” Patrick said.
A panicked look crossed Wade’s face. “I’m not!”
The scales pushing through his skin proved otherwise.
Patrick wrenched his personal shields out of his bones and pushed his defense outward, far enough to encase Wade as well. Patrick let go of his rifle, the weight hanging heavily from the strap connecting it to his tactical vest. He averted his face as he reached behind to grab Wade by the arm with one hand and flipped his dagger around for a better grip in the other.
“You’reshifting, Wade. You need to stop.”
“I don’t know what’s happening!”
He sounded frantic, one heartbeat away from panicking and losing all control—which would be an absolutedisasterin an enclosed space. Patrick tightened his grip on the teenager and dragged him forward. “I’m getting you out of here.”
Wade whimpered, but he didn’t dig in his heels. “My body doesn’t feel right.”
Patrick looked straight ahead at Jono, meeting the bright blue eyes staring back at him. “Make a hole to the exit.”
Jono growled an affirmative, then leaped forward, straight into the fray. A cartel member wielding an AK-47 screamed when Jono’s jaws clamped around his waist, and he was tossed into the air with a fierce shake of Jono’s head.
Patrick stayed on Jono’s six, pouring his magic out of his corrupted soul and into the shields wrapped around himself and Wade. The shields were invisible to the naked eye until spelled bullets impacted them, causing ripples of light to flash through the air. Patrick grunted, feeling the hits in his soul, but he kept moving.
They got past two tables and three clusters of vampires tearing the shit out of each other when two jaguars cleared downed bodies in a huge leap to land between Patrick and Jono. He skidded to a halt, never letting go of Wade. Raising the dagger, Patrick pointed it at the jaguars. Heavenly fire erupted from the double-edged blade in a warning.
Jono paused, half turning, but Patrick violently shook his head. “Keep going.”
Jono stayed put. Patrick could’ve throttled him.
Wade huddled behind Patrick, shivering in his grip. “Tloque Nahuaque is gonna kill me.”
“He’s gonna have to go through me first,” Patrick promised.
“That should be easy,” Tezcatlipoca said from behind them.
Patrick moved, wrenching Wade around and hopefully out of reach, but he wasn’t quick enough. Tezcatlipoca slammed through Patrick’s shields, breaking through the layers without care. Patrick grunted in pain as his soul took a hit he couldn’t afford right now. The immortal grabbed Wade’s other arm, his touch drawing a scream from Wade that shouldn’t have come from human-sized lungs. Patrick’s ears rang with it, throbbing with the need to block out the sound. Behind him, Jono howled, adding to the cacophony.
Tezcatlipoca was dressed as a warrior-god of old instead of a modern man. Gone was the linen suit, and in its place was a loincloth and obsidian studded armbands decorated with feathers. The burnished gold chest plate seemed larger, matching the grandeur of the heron-feather headdress he wore. The god’s long black hair fell loose to his waist, while black and yellow paint bisected his face over his cheeks and nose.
On his left foot was a leather sandal, the ties twisted around his ankle. His right foot remained the polished obsidian Patrick remembered, the glass shiny as a mirror, stretching halfway up his leg before melding with flesh.
“This,” Tezcatlipoca said, giving Wade a hard shake, “belongs to me.”
“Over my dead fucking body,” Patrick bit out right before he twisted around Wade and tried to stab Tezcatlipoca in the ribs.
It didn’t work.
Patrick was blown backward by a magical hit that was like taking a sledgehammer to the chest. He lost his grip on Wade, fingers closing on nothing. Patrick flew through the air and landed on a broken chair, a piece of the wooden leg cracking beneath him, or maybe it was a rib. Patrick couldn’t tell with the way all the air had been driven out of his lungs. His shields were like so much shattered glass around him.
He fuckinghatedgods.
A jaguar lunged at him, and Patrick couldn’t make his limbs work fast enough to get the fuck away. Then Jono was there, standing over Patrick in a protective manner that blocked out everything happening in the club. Patrick rolled to his side, sucking in a painful gasp of air as his lungs finally unlocked.
Jono’s hind paws dug into the floor, claws tearing up the carpet. Patrick froze as Jono lunged forward to get his jaws around the jaguar’s throat. With a wrench of his head, Jono sent the beast flying before retreating back to Patrick’s side. Patrick shoved himself to a sitting position, ignoring the ache in his chest beneath the tactical vest he wore.
“Wade!” Patrick coughed out.
Tezcatlipoca had one hand tangled in Wade’s hair, the other around his throat, but his eyes were focused somewhere else. “Let me gift you a life you have yet to experience, my love.”
Patrick dug his free hand into Jono’s fur and hauled himself to his feet. He followed Tezcatlipoca’s gaze across the club to a skeletal woman dressed all in black with her face painted like a Mexican sugar skull and wearing marigolds in her hair.
