Patrick and Spencer had gotten resentfully drunk together over their shared status of beingusefula couple of years ago after they were discharged from the Mage Corps. Then they’d gone their separate ways, picked up by different federal agencies, though they still kept in touch.
“You should know he’s been read into the mission,” Gerard said.
Patrick took a sip of his beer. “Doesn’t surprise me. He’s PIA. We got a missing ancient magical staff that can theoretically raise the dead. Stands to reason we’d need someone to put the dead to rest again.”
“We still don’t know where the Morrígan’s staff is,” Keith said.
“But we know where it’s been. Why’d you request leave, Gerard?”
Gerard tilted his head to the side, silver-eyed gaze contemplative as he stared Patrick down. He waited until Patrick took a sip of beer before answering, because he was a little shit like that.
“My fiancée is missing.”
Patrick inhaled his beer rather than swallowing it. Some came out his nose as he coughed to get air, struggling to clear his lungs. Keith got up and stepped around the table to oh so politely smack Patrick on the back with a heavy hand to help him breathe.
“Oh man, you should’ve warned me you were going to open with that, Gerard,” Keith said with a weak chuckle. “I could’ve had my camera out. His expression was priceless.”
Patrick batted Keith’s arm away, still coughing, but not as bad. “I’m sorry. Yourwhat?”
“Food’s here” was Gerard’s calm reply.
Patrick glared at him as their waitress arrived with their appetizers, putting the plates between them. Keith retook his seat as soon as she left and immediately grabbed a chicken wing, dunking it in blue cheese.
“No.” Patrick pointed his finger at Gerard. “Talk first. Eat later.”
Gerard raised an eyebrow and stabbed a potato skin with his fork. “Which one of us is paid to give orders?”
“I don’t wear a uniform anymore. I’m no longer a Hellraiser, which means I’m not obligated to jump when you say how high.”
“You’ll always be a Hellraiser, Patrick. I don’t let my people go unless I bury them.”
“Well,” Keith said after a long, uncomfortable pause. “That got fucking awkward.”
Patrick rested his elbows on the table and dragged both hands through his hair. He linked his fingers together over the back of his neck and glared down at his empty plate, jaw working. “Who is your fiancée?”
“Órlaith. She’s Ruadán’s daughter with a mortal woman,” Gerard said.
Patrick raised his head, grabbed his pint of Guinness, and chugged it until the glass was empty. He shoved it to the edge of the table, glaring at Gerard while he tried to slow down the pounding of his heart.
“Since when do you mingle with the Tuatha Dé Danann?” he demanded.
Gerard snagged another potato skin with his fork. He shrugged, the neutral expression on his face not giving anything away. Gerard hadn’t ever been overly emotional, but Patrick had served under the other man and knew that just because Gerard didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve didn’t mean he wasn’t hurting.
“I’m half-fae, even if none of them like to acknowledge me. I don’t care for them. You know that.”
Patrick did, but that didn’t make this situation better. He knew Gerard’s paperwork with the military listed him as four years older than Patrick’s twenty-nine years, but that was for his identity this time around. Gerard was several hundred years old, the son of a mortal woman and a Seelie fae lord he’d never disclosed the identity of. All Patrick knew was that Gerard resented his father’s absence in his life over the decades, and he’d spent more time in the mortal plane than in Tír na nÓg.
The fae were sticklers when it came to a person’s rank. Fae earned their titles through blood, heroic deeds, magical strength, and promises made, kept, and broken. Half-blooded fae held lower status in both fae courts, and always would.
Gerard, it seemed, was an exception.
Patrick knew exceptions were never all that they seemed, and rarely ever good.
“Another beer?” their waitress asked when she sidled up to their table with their burgers.
“Yes,” Patrick said. He needed at least one more to get through this conversation.
“You’re looking a little pissed off,” Keith said once she left. “Need a smoke break?”
