“Then why are you here?” Jono demanded, coming down the stoop, his wolf-bright blue eyes reflecting light from the nearby streetlamp.
The werecreatures glanced at each other uneasily. Before any of them could speak, a car braked to a stop in front of their building. Patrick mentally guided his mageglobe down to his hand, curling his fingers around it to keep his magic out of sight but still at the ready.
No one said a word as the driver opened his trunk from the inside of the car before getting out. Water fell off the brim of his cap that had the name of a delivery app company stamped across it. “Uh, did one of you order the extra-large pepperoni?”
“I did,” Jono said.
Jono moved between the two packs to accept the pizza box from the driver. Patrick stared mournfully at the box Jono held and how quickly the cardboard was getting drenched.
“I’m getting cold pizza tonight, aren’t I?” Patrick said.
Jono turned his back on the delivery driver in order to deal with the werecreatures who’d crossed into their territory uninvited. He waited until the guy drove off before saying, “Start talking.”
The woman cleared her throat. “Our packs live in apartment buildings across the street from each other.”
“They’re not sharing the block how we agreed,” the man said.
“You took over our north corner withoutasking.”
Jono held up one hand, and they both clamped their mouths shut. “You shouldn’t have come here. It’s not safe for you.”
The woman crossed her arms over her chest, the puffer coat she wore bunching at the elbows. The faux fur lining the hood was the same dark brown color as her skin. “We had no other choice because…”
Her voice trailed off, the silence that followed full of explanations Patrick didn’t need to guess at. God packs existed to protect the packs within their territories. That meant being in the public eye so others could live in hiding, but it also meant mediating problems between the packs under their care.
Estelle and Youssef were fucking terrible at that.
Back in August, they’d discovered the god pack alphas were selling independent werecreatures to a drug cartel and the Manhattan Night Court when it had been ruled by Tremaine. That master vampire was dead now, killed by his sire. Patrick had ignored Lucien’s dealings for months since the fight against Santa Muerte and Tremaine at Grand Central Terminal. He hadn’t ignored the shitty way Estelle and Youssef ruled over the packs who called the five boroughs home.
When Jono was an independent, there were times other werecreatures would discreetly meet with him for advice. It should have been Estelle and Youssef they went to, and it said a lot about the situation in New York that they’d gone to Jono before he even had a pack.
If that’s what this situation was about, Patrick knew they couldn’t turn the werecreatures away no matter how badly he wanted to. This wasn’t the first time since August they had been approached for advice rather than needing to defend their territory and status, but it was the first time it had happened at home.
Jono studied the werecreatures for a long few seconds before looking over at where Patrick stood. “Wade’s here.”
“He better not touch my pizza.” Patrick bent over to grab the grocery bags. “I’ll conduct hospitality if you really want to do it.”
“Rather you get inside where it’s warm. No sense in having a chat where everyone can hear.” Jono nodded at the apartment building’s door. “You lot, get moving.”
The werecreatures let Jono go first to open the door and filed up after him. Patrick strengthened his personal shields and raised one between Jono and the two packs, not taking any chances. He knew Jono could take care of himself, but it made Patrick feel better about the situation.
He closed his umbrella and walked up after everyone else, keeping the mageglobe between himself and the last werecreature in the group. More than one of them looked over their shoulder at Patrick, the wariness in their eyes impossible to miss. No one said a word until Jono let everyone into their home and the heart of their territory. A wave of hot air greeted Patrick, and he sighed in relief as he nudged the door shut with his elbow. He extinguished the mageglobe with a thought.
“Did you bring snacks?”
Patrick looked over at where Wade Espinoza was sprawled on the couch, eyeing the grocery bags hopefully. The Christmas tree that Jono had insisted on buying and decorating stood in front of the windows overlooking the street. The glow from strings of colorful, blinking lights was reflected in Wade’s brown eyes.
The eighteen-year-old fledgling fire dragon had filled out quite a bit since August when Patrick and Jono had rescued him from Tezcatlipoca, an Aztec god who owned the Omacatl Cartel. He was still lean though, courtesy of a high metabolism, and a walking bottomless pit for a stomach.
Technically, Wade was legally an adult, but mentally and emotionally he still needed a lot of support after what he’d been through. Wade had a lot of lingering issues that stemmed from being forced to fight to the death to stay alive since he was fourteen. That sort of trauma wasn’t easily overcome without help.
Three months of biweekly therapy visits paid out of Patrick’s own pocket had given Wade somewhere safe to channel his emotions over what he’d endured. Jono’s paycheck covered most of the food for all of them even though Wade didn’t live with them. Wade had put on weight and looked like a normal teenager these days rather than a starved, half-feral kid.
“Did you eat dinner?” Patrick asked.
“He ate,” Jono said, going into the kitchen to put the pizza box on the counter. “Made him spag bol.”
“Yeah, but I’m hungry again. You’re out of snacks,” Wade complained. “My cupboard here is empty.”
