Patrick carried his whiskey with him to the couch and sat beside Setsuna, not looking at her. He drank it in burning mouthfuls until half of it was gone before he spoke.
“Ilya said he got a better offer than the one Peklabog gave him,” Patrick said.
“So you said in your report. Your assertion he was speaking about Ethan and the Dominion Sect is one we’re looking into. Those two groups don’t have much of a history with each other though.”
“They will now. Zachary was in Europe. I think Ethan sent him to make a deal with Ilya after London.”
“We’ll find out one way or another eventually.”
Patrick tipped the glass a little, watching the whiskey creep toward the rim. “The staff nearly ripped my soul out. It would have if I wasn’t soulbound. Ilya couldn’t even touch the damn thing. He wore gauntlets while using it.”
“He still used it.”
“Ethancan’t. I proved that in Paris.”
“I fail to see how that is a negative.” Patrick took another long swallow of whiskey, eyes watering from the burn. Setsuna reached over and took the glass from him, setting it on the table. “Patrick. Call your ride and go home.”
He had a flight waiting to take him back to New York City, where his pack was waiting for him. What was done was done, and yet—
And yet.
Patrick licked his lips free of whiskey. “Ethan still got what he wanted.”
A possible ally that could summon an undead army and was no stranger to worshipping a god on a grand scale, along with the power of resurrection and all the horror that implied.
“The fight isn’t over,” Setsuna said quietly.
Patrick tapped his fingers against his knee, one at a time, until he stopped on five. “We’re in July already. Hannah will be five months pregnant.”
Setsuna sighed and pushed herself to her feet without her cane. “As I said. The fight isn’t over.”
Patrick finished his whiskey and called for a ride to the airport.
* * *
Hours later,Patrick finally stepped through the front door of his apartment in Chelsea with a tired sigh after too long a time away. The smell of lasagna for a late-night dinner made his stomach growl until he spotted Wade on the couch.
“Tell me you’re not cooking,” Patrick said.
“He’s not cooking,” Sage called from the kitchen.
“Oh, thank fuck.”
“I can cook,” Wade retorted, not looking away from the television.
“You eat better than you cook.”
Wade smirked. “You’re not wrong.”
Patrick moved aside so Jono could come in with his suitcase, taking it into the bedroom. He shut the front door and locked it out of habit.
“Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes,” Sage said, coming out from the kitchen to give Patrick a tight hug. “I’m glad you’re home.”
Patrick hugged her back. “Me too.”
He’d hated being gone, hated sleeping alone. Nightmares had plagued him in his sleep and while awake for a week straight until they abruptly stopped. Patrick was looking forward to sleeping in his bed with Jono and not dreaming.
He should’ve known his homecoming wouldn’t be that easy.
