“And me,” a new voice said that he didn’t recognize.
Sage leaned forward, cradling her mug of hot toddy in both hands. “You should let them up.”
Jono hit the numbered button on his phone screen that would buzz them through. Patrick grabbed a cinnamon roll off the platter and started to tear it into smaller pieces for hospitality purposes.
“Marek, can you grab a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge? We’ll make them take turns drinking from it,” Patrick said.
Sage muted the television while Marek went to do as he was asked. Jono went to unlock the front door and open it. The group’s footsteps got louder on the stairs until nearly a dozen people were crowded into their flat. He looked over at Patrick, who was silently counting heads and ripping up a few more pieces of cinnamon roll. Wade had planted himself in front of his presents, scowling at everyone over his mug of hot chocolate.
“Got the water,” Marek said, brandishing the bottle.
“All right, hospitality first before anything else,” Patrick ordered. “Be welcome, all of you.”
The new arrivals dutifully ate the bits of cinnamon roll and took turns sipping at the sparkling water. Jono stood before the two packs and the petite Mexican-American woman who smelled like a weregrizzly to his nose, meeting everyone’s eyes.
“Why are you here?” he wanted to know.
Letitia raised her chin, jaw set. “We’ve come to pledge allegiance to your god pack.”
“Us, too. We’re prepared to tithe accordingly,” Marco said with a nod that was echoed by the three members of his pack who’d come with him.
“And I’m here to ask about protection,” the independent weregrizzly said.
Jono blinked, absolutely floored by that declaration. Gaining Emma’s Tempest pack was one thing—he knew them, was friends with them, and she’d been quietly campaigning for him to take a stand for quite a while now. It was something else entirely for packs he’d had only a single interaction with and didn’t know beyond that to come to him and declare they wanted to leave Estelle and Youssef’s New York City god pack for his own.
Patrick came to stand by Jono’s side, and Sage joined them seconds later. Jono rubbed at his jaw, scratching at smooth skin instead of the beard he’d shaved off that morning. He studied the group before him, trying to sort out his thoughts.
“It’s going to get worse with all the other packs around you before it gets better,” Jono finally warned.
Letitia shrugged, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Can’t be worse than what we went through when we were ordered before the other alphas for going to you in the first place.”
Jono didn’t ask, but the faint whiff of fear that drifted up from both packs was enough to tell him they’d been punished for coming to him, despite his threat to Nicholas.
“You said you thought they were yours,” Patrick said, looking at him. “If that’s the case, then you should do something about it.”
Jono held his gaze, nodding slowly. “Yeah. I think I will.”
Jono looked at the pack, holding the gaze of each alpha and the independent werecreature. Despite the lingering scent of fear brought about by bad memories, all of them looked determined in a way only the desperate were—as if they had nothing left to lose.
“Come forward,” Jono said. Letitia, Marco, and the weregrizzly stepped closer and went to their knees. He nodded at each of them before smiling at the woman he didn’t know. “What’s your name?”
“Marisol.” She blinked dark eyes up at him as she unzipped her coat and shrugged out of it. “Marisol Callejo.”
“Nice to meet you, Marisol.”
The three had gotten rid of their coats and scarves. Jono stepped closer and methodically dragged his hands and wrists over their throats, pressing his scent into them and taking on theirs the way he’d taken in Emma and Leon’s.
His soul cracked open, nose burning with the smell of them—a mix of scents that somehow separated into individual recognition in his brain and nose. Jono would know these alphas—and the people who were part of their packs—by scent until they left his protection. He would know Marisol the same way.
Jono’s nerves sang throughout his body, a buzzing high that left him feeling light-headed when he finally stepped back, holding the lives of two new packs and an independent werecreature in his hands. He stared at them, noting how their breathing matched his, as the overwhelming feel of them settled in his soul. Something shifted—some indefinable thing that Jono could only feel in his soul and taste in the back of his mouth.
There was no going back from this.
“I take on responsibility for yourEscorpiónpack, Marco, and your Gold pack, Letitia, and you as well, Marisol,” Jono said.
Patrick and Sage stepped forward to help Marco and Marisol to their feet, while Jono helped Letitia. The three stared at him, looking a little dazed but happier, the fear in their scents before gone now and replaced with a calmness that smelled sweet to Jono.
Deep in his soul, Fenrir’s presence rumbled in a satisfied way.
