Jono found the first attacker crouched in the bushes lining one of the residential apartment buildings, a moving shadow that Jono headed right for. He dodged the bolt aimed at his heart, nostrils flaring at the poisonous scent of silver and aconite left in its wake. Jono shoved down the memories of silver weapons cutting into his body in favor of getting his hand around the man’s throat.
He slammed the man against the building, hard enough to daze the fucker. Jono yanked the crossbow out of the man’s loose grip, breaking the finger curled over the trigger. The man didn’t scream, lips curling away from his crooked teeth in an ugly grin as he kicked out at Jono with a quickness that reminded him of Patrick’s training.
Jono dodged the kick, digging claws into the man’s throat rather than fingernails as a warning. Blood trickled over his fingers, and the smell of it was rotten.
The eerie sound of a wolf’s howl broke through the night, sounding out of place amidst the nighttime noises that permeated Brooklyn. Jono took that as his cue to move. He slammed the crossbow against the side of the building to break it before tossing the weapon aside. The sound of another crossbow releasing had him spinning on his feet, pulling the man in front of him.
The bolt meant to hit Jono in the back instead targeted the man’s chest. It wasn’t a life-threatening hit, because Jono could feel the shape of a tactical vest beneath the man’s winter jacket that prevented the bolt from piercing skin. It would’ve been nice if the bastard had taken the hit in the heart.
The smell of silver and aconite stung Jono’s eyes, but he didn’t let that stop him from retreating, putting distance between himself and the enemies closing in. He didn’t let go of his human shield, hauling the bleeding, struggling man with him down the block toward the playground.
“Who sent you?” Jono growled.
His grip on the man’s throat eased just enough for the arsehole to get some air, but all that came out was a vicious “Fuck you.”
“Nah, not my type. I like gingers.”
Jono didn’t bother asking more questions. He picked out the shadows following at a quick pace, yellow light from streetlamps glinting off their weapons. They weren’t using guns, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have any. Jono bared his teeth and picked up the pace, keeping his prisoner close.
“Jono!”
Leon’s shout came from his right as he reached the corner, but Jono didn’t look. He ran into the street, dodging in front of a car so fast the driver didn’t start to brake until Jono reached the other side. He could see Austin’s pack scattered through the playground, the scent of their uncertainty and traces of fear about being in territory that wasn’t theirs carrying on the wind.
The playground had minimal coverage—just a few trees lining the sidewalk outside the fencing. A building took up space on one half of the block to the left of the playground. They had nowhere to hide out in the open, but hiding wasn’t his intention. Jono put on a burst of speed, vaulting over the fence that enclosed the playground, hauling the bleeding man in his arms with him. They landed on the other side, and Jono slammed the man face-first into the ground. Jono drew in a breath, the scent of the city and the New Rebels pack mingling with the distinct smell of the undead.
“This isn’t your territory, wolf. Get the fuck out.”
Jono narrowed his eyes at the vampire who dropped down to the ground in front of him from the nearby building, eliciting warning growls from Austin’s pack. Jono would’ve been thrilled he’d pissed off the Brooklyn Night Court by crossing uninvited into their territory, but the man on the ground suddenly heaved upward with a strength that wasn’t human.
Jono grunted as the man twisted in his hold, ramming an elbow into Jono’s side. He rolled out of the way, the faint sound of metal leaving metal reaching Jono’s ears. He swore, letting the man go and throwing himself backward, but he wasn’t fast enough to escape the knife that caught him in the ribs.
The silver blade, laced with aconite, burned like acid. Jono felt it in every centimeter of skin and bone the knife grated over before he could knock it aside. Jono stumbled a little in his attempt to get out of range. Before the man could close in for another strike, Leon grabbed Jono by the shoulders and hauled him out of reach.
The man got to his feet with a serpentine movement that made the hairs on the back of Jono’s neck stand on end. Jono tried to ignore the deep ache growing in his chest, but he knew what silver and aconite poisoning felt like. His rapid healing wasn’t going to fix this wound.
“The fuck is that?” Leon asked, his grip on Jono growing tighter.
Jono blinked, trying to steady his vision. The man standing in front of them didn’t seem to feel the severely broken nose on his face. It was flattened and bent to the side, the blood still trickling out of it black in the shadows cast by the nearby streetlamp. Jono had a feeling the man’s blood would be black even in broad daylight.
Possession is nine-tenths of the law when it comes to demons.
Patrick’s voice echoed in his mind from a past conversation as Jono sought to straighten up and shake off Leon’s hand. Jono’s breath came out in a puff of white as blood slid down his side and soaked into the jumper he wore. He pressed his hand against the wound, fighting against the sickly heat spreading away from it through his chest.
“Jono,” Austin said in a tight voice as he came up to flank them. “What the fuck?”
“Stay back,” Jono growled.
They were downwind, and the breeze that blew over the playground carried with it a mix of human and the rotten egg stench of sulfur. Whatever artifact the hunter had carried to hide his scent must have been damaged or lost in their scuffle. Jono wanted to scrub the smell out of his nose and mouth, but he’d settle for figuring out how to kill a demon taking up space in a human body without magic.
Most laws on the books still considered it murder if you killed a possessed man. Jono knew the courts didn’t favor the self-defense excuse when used by werecreatures unless it was within claimed territory. Even then, it was a gray area, but Jono wasn’t about to go down without a fight.
“The only good werecreature is a dead one,” the demon said around swollen lips and broken front teeth.
Jono flexed his fingers, claws lengthening at the tips. His attention skipped from the demon-possessed man in front of them to the ones crossing the street, no longer hiding in the shadows.
A rushing sound echoed in Jono’s ears as more vampires jumped off the surrounding buildings to land in the playground. The vampires surrounded the werecreatures but didn’t immediately attack them.
Fenrir’s presence seeped through Jono’s soul, and he didn’t have the capacity to hold his ground against the god, not with poison running through his veins.
