In Brooklyn to chat with the New Rebels pack about border breaches.
Patrick frowned, hating the fact he wasn’t there to help Jono out with the problem. He was about to text Jono back when recognition ran through his magic with the subtlety of a semitruck crashing on a highway and going up in flames.
Werecreatures.
“Motherfucker,” Patrick said, scowling at the entrance to the hotel.
He’d returned to the Chicago field office after checking on Wade during his lunch break earlier in the day. Getting brought up to speed on a case like this took time. While his side trip to the pawnshop had been a necessary stop, it meant staying late to ensure he knew the parameters of the case down to the last detail.
The current case was dovetailing with his need to carve out time to speak with Aksel Sigfodr. The man featured prominently in Chicago politics, and keeping the two cases separate was going to require some delicate juggling. Patrick had a small list of people he needed to interview, research to do, and case notes he had to finish cross-referencing for both cases he was working. All of that would have to wait until he dealt with whoever was waiting for him inside.
Patrick shoved the valet ticket into his pocket for easy reach and headed for the entrance. He traced a look-away ward over the leather sheath that held his dagger strapped to his right thigh. Patrick didn’t care if people spotted his gun, but he’d rather their eyes slide over the blade carrying magic gifted by the gods.
Patrick locked down his personal shields to keep his magic hidden before he even stepped foot inside the hotel. Having active shields didn’t stop him from picking out the werecreatures scattered around the lobby once he arrived, from the front desk clerk to the bartender in the lobby’s circular bar, to every single person lounging in the chairs and couches in the center pretending to be guests.
Patrick counted an even two dozen, not all of them god pack. The only ones who carried the god strain of the werevirus in their veins were sitting on the large yellow leather couch near the staircase leading up to the second floor. He could see the brightness of their amber eyes from meters away.
Seated directly across from them was Wade, surrounded by plastic Target bags filled with mostly empty snack wrappers. A family-sized bag of Doritos rested beside him on the cushion while his jacket was thrown over the back of the couch. As Patrick watched, Wade dug into the bag of chips, grabbed a few more, and popped them into his mouth. He chewed slowly, never taking his eyes off the four god pack werecreatures watching him eat with wary looks on their faces.
“I thought I left you in the hotel room?” Patrick asked as he approached the tense, silent standoff, ignoring all the eyes on him.
“Yeah. I got bored.” Wade grabbed another handful of chips, picked out the biggest one, and shoved it into his mouth. “Also hungry. You said you’d be back for dinner an hour ago.”
“Got caught up in a meeting.” Patrick eyed the multiple Target bags scattered on the couch and shook his head. “You went out again after I left, didn’t you?”
“Yup.” Wade popped thepon the word before licking his fingers clean of bright orange nacho cheese powder. “Had to get more snacks. Guess who followed me back?”
Wade didn’t take his eyes off the werecreatures on the yellow couch, but he did pause long enough to crunch up the now empty bag of Doritos and shove it into the nearest overflowing Target bag. He knocked a few of them to the floor, making room for Patrick on the two-person couch. He seemed more annoyed than anything else about the werecreatures surrounding them, which was better than fear.
Wade had gotten better about standing up for himself and for the pack with the help of therapy and a vital support network. Facing off against strange werecreatures alone wasn’t something Patrick had thought he’d leave Wade to do today, and he felt a little guilty it had happened.
Patrick came to a stop beside the small couch but didn’t immediately sit beside Wade. Instead, he studied the four god pack werecreatures, taking their measure and trying to figure out which one was in charge. Patrick didn’t have enhanced senses to sniff everyone out like Jono would if he were here. Despite being a mage, Patrick was human when it came to everything else, and he wasn’t going to be ashamed of that fact.
The three men and one woman were a mix of ethnicities, though they shared the same intense, wolf-bright amber eyes. Patrick’s gaze darted over each of them before he made a wild guess and focused on the woman. In his experience, women were usually the ones in charge, hiding behind society’s perception that they weren’t.
“I’m here on SOA business, not pack business. You didn’t need to show up with the welcome committee like this,” Patrick said.
The woman didn’t blink, merely gave a careless, one-shoulder shrug at his statement. She was dressed in a business suit, a long camel-colored wool coat draped over the low table in front of her. Her Afro was teased out a couple of inches from her skull, bleached and dyed to a honey brown. The shade matched the nude color of her lipstick and the high-heeled boots she wore.
“You’re still in our territory without permission,” she said.
Patrick tapped the badge hanging from around his neck. “This gives me all the permission I need.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Pack law still matters, whether you’re a federal agent or not. Our god pack alphas want to see you.”
“What happens if I say no and go upstairs to my hotel room to order room service?”
“Are you?” Wade asked, perking up. “Because I’m starving and I want a hot dog.”
“Room service doesn’t offer that dish. Should’ve ordered delivery.”
“Aw, man.”
The woman’s gaze darted from Patrick to Wade, lingering on the teenager in a way Patrick didn’t like. To Patrick, Wade seemed human, his aura dimmed down to how he’d been taught to project it in order to pass as something he wasn’t. Maybe the werecreatures smelled something different that was tipping them off.
Wade was their pack’s ace in the hole, because no one ever expected a dragon to show up for a fight. They wanted him to keep what he was a secret not only as a last resort, but also so he could live as normal a life as possible. It was why, whenever General Reed asked about Wade, Patrick always changed the subject. If the military wanted Wade, they’d have to go through Patrick first.
“I’m here at the request of my alphas to bring you before them for trespassing,” the woman said.
