Marek had been the first and only one who’d promised him more than a job and kept that promise.
Sage tapped away at her mobile before turning it around, holding it horizontal rather than vertical for wide-screen viewing. Jono crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the screen. The volume was low to middling, but he didn’t need her to turn up. Despite the music playing in the bar, he could hear it just fine.
The setup was a low stage, with dark blue curtains hanging behind it. Three flags were positioned in a cluster to the right of the podium: New York City, the State of New York, and the United States. Jono couldn’t make out the full designs with the number of people standing on the stage.
The man who stood behind the podium was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a nicely tailored wool suit with a plaid tie. Curly ginger hair more on the orange side of the color scale was trimmed short, as was his graying ginger beard. He was a handsome bloke, older though he was, but Jono had a soft spot for gingers.
Mayor Doyle Ferbenn had been elected as an Independent last year, and he’d handled the fallout from several of Patrick’s cases rather well. In his late forties, unmarried, and having run a crowd-funded campaign, the mayor was an atypical politician in some ways. Standing before the crowd of reporters in City Hall’s press room, surrounded by his aides, he gave off a competent air despite his novice political background.
“I’m here tonight to address the latest threat to our city. We New Yorkers have always prided ourselves on welcoming everyone from all walks of life, whether human or not. But we will always draw the line when any of our citizens are threatened. I ask that the fae who call our city home reach out to one of their own and stop the madness flying through our skies from stealing any more of our children,” Mayor Doyle Ferbenn said in the video.
“You were right,” Jono said. “PR disaster.”
Sage smiled thinly. “I know how this game is played.”
Jono watched the press conference for another minute or so before shaking his head. Sage flipped her mobile around and closed the article. The video cut out, and she put her mobile away in her Birkin.
“How’s the wedding planning going?”
Sage’s smile shifted into something softer. “Haven’t decided on a dress designer yet, but we’re thinking about the Rainbow Room at Rockefeller Center or the Plaza Hotel for the venue next year.”
“Not in the Hamptons?”
“That’s Tempest pack territory. We decided not to intrude there.”
Marek was part of Emma’s Tempest pack even if Sage no longer was. She would’ve been exiled back in August if Jono hadn’t stepped up and claimed her as part of his nascent god pack at the time. She still lived with Marek, their engagement a promise to a lifelong commitment Estelle and Youssef couldn’t ignore. Marriage was still seen as an acceptable form of contract in every way that mattered, despite the modern opinion that it wasn’t needed which was creeping into their generation.
Sage was accepted into another pack’s territory because if she wasn’t, Marek would have thrown a fit, and the federal government would have paid the New York City god pack a visit. Considering their actions and inaction with the Night Courts this past year, Jono knew Estelle and Youssef weren’t keen on any government agency coming around any more than they had to. They already had enough problems dealing with the case from August and the attentions of the DEA and SOA.
All their federal problems didn’t even touch on what Lucien brought. The master vampire was the new ruler of the Manhattan Night Court and had been making his presence known to the packs in rather brutal ways at times. Quite a few pack alphas had come through the bar asking for help in regards to broken territory borders.
Jono’s hands were tied there, which rankled. Until packs publicly aligned themselves with his god pack and broke from Estelle and Youssef’s, until they started tithing him, he couldn’t do anything, no matter how much he wanted to. Sage had been firm in her counsel regarding that situation. They couldn’t give protection like that without receiving something in return. Giving general advice to help smaller packs keep the peace between themselves and hope to bring them into their fold was one thing. Negotiating with a Night Court was something entirely different.
Unlike Estelle and Youssef, Jono had no qualms about knocking on Lucien’s door at Ginnungagap and arguing about territory. When the day came, Jono and Patrick would do what needed to be done for the packs under their protection. Until then, it was their own they had to look out for.
“How is your firm dealing with the media interest?” Jono asked, moving away from wedding talk.
Sage pursed her lips. “We’ve had to set up more security at the building because of what happened with the Wisteria matter.”
“You’ll tell me if things get worse.”
“I will. Marek might see it first though.”
“Is he coming out tonight?”
“They should all be here soon.”
Jono nodded, looking forward to seeing Emma, Leon, and Marek. He’d cut back on his visits to their home over the last month or so, knowing they’d been put under watch by the other god pack. Despite Marek’s rank as a seer, the protections his status came with didn’t cover Emma’s pack. She and Leon had already taken too many punishments over the past few months for transgressions both real and imagined. Jono refused to add to it.
Meeting at Tempest was the easiest answer to that problem. Emma and Leon owned the bar, and they weren’t going to fire Jono no matter how many times Estelle demanded they do so.
A trio of guys in the far corner booth near the toilets laughed loudly before one got up and headed for the bar. Jono drifted toward the beers on tap. “Another round?”
“Yeah, same ones as before,” the guy said.
Jono nodded and got to work pouring out three more beers. He passed them over one at a time before turning to add the drinks to the group’s running tab. As he wrote out the drink totals on the slip of paper clipped to the credit card in question, a heartbeat cut through the noise of the music and quiet conversation as someone walked inside.
He turned his head and looked over at the entrance to the bar. With the lack of the old crowd in the way, it was easy to watch Nicholas Kavanaugh sidle up to the bar counter at the other end. The blond god pack werewolf was a couple of inches shorter than Jono, with bright amber eyes that denoted the god strain of the werevirus running through his veins.
