Emma’s pack didn’t know about the Morrígan’s staff. Knowledge of the staff and the joint task force assigned to find it was highly classified. Patrick’s pack knew because Jono and Wade had been there when General Reed briefed Patrick in August. They’d brought Sage up to speed in a private meeting afterward, and Patrick had no doubt she’d kept quiet about his mission. She might be engaged to Marek, but she no longer belonged to Emma’s Tempest pack. Her loyalty belonged to them now.
Gerard nodded slowly. “All right. I’m glad you’ve got people you can trust watching your six when we aren’t around. If we need backup—”
“You call me,” Emma interrupted, giving Jono a fierce look. “I don’t care what problems it will create with Estelle and Youssef. You know where I stand. Where my pack stands—with you.”
Jono’s jaw worked before he let out a thick sigh. “Em…”
“New York is our home, too. Don’t forget that. Whatever is going on with the fae, it impacts us as well.”
Patrick stepped closer, grabbing Jono’s hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. “We’ll figure it out.”
Jono squeezed back. “Let’s finish cleaning up and go home.”
That was a plan Patrick could get behind.
* * *
Patrick pushed openthe front door and ushered Jono inside. While Patrick knew Jono’s core body temperature ran hotter than a human’s, he’d still walked barefoot and shirtless through the snow after Sage dropped them off at the townhouse.
“Need a shower?” Patrick asked.
“Going to rinse off my feet,” Jono said, his jaw popping with a yawn.
Patrick followed him into the bathroom attached to their master bedroom. He leaned against the doorframe, keeping an eye on Jono and watching as the taller man stripped out of the borrowed pants and stepped naked into the tub.
Patrick raked his gaze over Jono’s body as he turned on the faucet and stuck his feet beneath the warm water to rinse off what muck the doormat hadn’t scraped off. The play of muscles over his abdomen drew Patrick’s eyes to the bruising that still marred his skin. It had faded a little, but wounds received from silver didn’t heal quickly.
He clenched his jaw at the reminder of the attack. Patrick wanted to skin the werecreatures alive for what they’d done. He didn’t like it when Jono got hurt.
“You hungry?” Patrick asked when Jono finished and stepped out of the tub.
“Knackered,” Jono admitted.
Patrick let his gaze travel from Jono’s feet, up his long legs, to his stupidly muscular torso, finally meeting wolf-bright eyes that never looked away. Patrick extended his hand, wriggling his fingers. Jono didn’t hesitate to reach for him. His grip was warm and steady, and Patrick ran his thumb over Jono’s knuckles.
“Come on. Let’s go to bed.”
Patrick led him back into their bedroom, ignoring Jono’s huff of laughter when Patrick pushed him onto the bed. He shrugged out of his own jacket and stripped out of his sweater, tossing it aside. His dog tags were warm from body heat, even if he couldn’t feel where they rested on his scarred chest.
Jono watched Patrick undress the rest of the way, methodically getting rid of his weapons and clothes. He crawled onto the bed, pushing at Jono’s shoulders until he was lying down, with Patrick straddling his hips. Long fingers curled around his dog tags, tugging at the chain to pull him into a kiss that went from lazy to deep in the span of seconds.
Warm hands gripped Patrick’s hips, thumbs pressing against bone. Patrick bit down gently on Jono’s bottom lip before pulling away, dragging his mouth over the stubble along Jono’s jaw, to his throat.
“They drew first blood, and I don’t like that it was yours,” Patrick murmured against the skin stretched taut over Jono’s pulse.
He could feel it when Jono swallowed, and he tried his hardest to suck a bruise against Jono’s throat.
“Better mine than yours.”
“Fuck that.”
Patrick continued kissing his way down Jono’s body, licking over his collarbone and tasting the barest hint of sweat. Jono’s hands skimmed up Patrick’s ribs as he shifted lower, sealing his mouth over an already hard nipple. He sucked at it, head rising with the deep inhale of Jono’s chest beneath his mouth.
He nipped at the hard nub before moving on, dragging his tongue over the sharp definition of Jono’s abs. There wasn’t an ounce of wasted flesh on the man, and Patrick was very appreciative of that fact. He was less appreciative of the bruise, the skin there hot even against his lips.
Patrick measured the wound with soft kisses, staring at Jono through his lashes as he did so. Jono had one arm tucked behind his head, the other stretched out so he could stroke Patrick’s forearm. His cock was solid and warm where it pressed against Patrick’s body, the interest impossible to ignore.
So Patrick didn’t.
