Wade fist pumped the air before pulling out the second Pop-Tart from the silvery wrapper. “I’ve always wanted to try a Chicago-style hot dog.”
“Of course you’d make it about food,” Patrick muttered as he stood.
“You can call me if you have any pack law questions,” Sage said.
Emma smoothed her hand over Marek’s messy hair before clearing her throat. “I’m pissed you kept this from us, but I get it. The gods don’t give you a choice about what you’re allowed to share. If you need backup, I can send some of our pack along with you.”
Patrick wasn’t close to anyone in Emma’s pack outside the core leadership. He liked them well enough—everyone was loyal to her and Leon—but he couldn’t afford for knowledge of his ties to immortals to get out into the general public.
“Thanks for the offer, but Wade should be enough help. If shit goes down, he’s a good ace in the hole. No one expects a dragon as backup.”
“Just like no one expected the Spanish Inquisition,” Wade said with a snicker.
“You are banned from watching any more Monty Python.”
Jono snorted. “Now you’re asking for the gods to throw a spanner in the works.”
Patrick shrugged. “I expect that on a daily basis.”
“What time does your flight leave?”
“Six o’clock,” Patrick replied, remembering to use civilian time. “I need to go home and pack.”
Wade frowned. “I need to pack. Do I even have a suitcase?”
“Yes,” Jono said. “We found one when we cleaned out your apartment last month.”
“Right.”
“Pack a jacket. You need to act like Chicago is cold. It’s February and it’s still snowing over there,” Patrick told him.
Wade made a face but didn’t argue. Being a fire dragon, he ran a lot hotter in human form and forgot about appearing human in the dead of winter. Walking around in a T-shirt and jeans while it was snowing outside was not the best way to hide what he was. Reminding him to act human was second nature these days as Wade settled in to what he was.
“Send me your flight information and I’ll get Wade’s ticket. Hopefully there are seats available,” Sage said.
Wade ripped open his last packet of Pop-Tarts. “I could just fly there on my own. I have wings.”
“No,” everyone said in unison.
Jono went to fetch Sage’s Birkin and coat, carrying both over to her. He spoke quietly to her for a moment before straightening up and looking at Patrick. “Ready?”
“We’ll pick you up at your apartment in two hours, Wade,” Patrick said as he and Jono headed for the door.
Patrick snapped his fingers, disengaging the silence ward. A chorus of goodbyes followed them out of the apartment.
“I hate separating like this,” Jono said when they were finally in the Mustang and driving back home.
“Can’t be helped,” Patrick replied, typing on his phone while Jono drove. He shot off an email to Sage with his flight details. “You know how my job is.”
“I know how the gods are.”
“Yeah, well. I’d tell them to fuck off if I could.”
Jono hummed a wordless response. Patrick sighed and reached over to settle his hand on Jono’s thigh. The heater was running in the car because it was a gray, dreary day outside. Jono was warm to the touch, body heat seeping through his jeans and into Patrick’s chilled fingers.
“You’ll need to be careful with the Chicago god pack. They aren’t one Estelle and Youssef have an alliance with,” Jono said.
“Isn’t that a good thing? Means we can try to get them on our side.”
