“Yes.”
Jono shook his head. “I’m not letting you go off on your own. I already told you we’re doing this together.”
Patrick finally pulled away, glaring up at Jono. The anger in his scent was strong, but worry cut deeper. Jono wished he could soothe it all way. “The London god pack exiled you.”
“That doesn’t change the fact I’m going with you.”
“You coming with me is a good way to piss them off and get hurt.”
“None of us are safe anywhere. You know that. Stay, go, it doesn’t matter. Someone is always out to get us these days.”
Whether gods, hunters, mercenary magic users, or rival god packs, they had giant targets painted on their backs. If Patrick couldn’t see they were stronger and safer together, Jono would have to argue with him until he did.
“We risk losing too much if we all leave New York. Even with Emma as a secondary and proxy dire, that doesn’t fix the problem of us not being here,” Patrick said flatly.
“I risk everything I care about by letting you fight alone. We tried that with Chicago, and look how things went pear-shaped.”
The strain put on the soulbond by the distance between them had been hard, but being separated was worse. Not knowing what was happening with Patrick had been stressful. Jono didn’t regret the choices he’d made in Patrick’s absence, but he regretted the hurt it had caused the other man. Jono wasn’t willing to go through that again.
Patrick’s mouth twisted, lips going white from the pressure. Jono reached up and pressed his fingers to the seam of them.
“We’re a pack, remember?” Jono said softly. “I’m not leaving you.”
“I’d come back,” Patrick said, breath ghosting over Jono’s fingers.
He said that more these days—a promise that wasI love youin sound, if not the right syllables. Jono had yet to hear those three words come out of Patrick’s mouth, but he didn’t miss them. He knew where they stood, and he wouldn’t change what they had.
Sometimes, though, he wished Patrick wasn’t so bloodythick.
Jono pulled his hand away, fitting it over Patrick’s hip and stepping closer so they stood chest to chest. “I know. But you have a tendency to try to martyr yourself, and I’m tired of watching you break yourself into pieces in order to stay alive.”
Some of the anger faded from Patrick’s scent as he heaved out a sigh. “I just don’t wantyouto get hurt.”
“I know London better than you, Pat.”
“It’s been years since you left. Things have probably changed. With our luck, it’s probably not good changes.”
“We’ll sort it out when we get there. If we have to, I can track down some old mates. They might be able to help us get in touch with the London god pack on our terms.” Jono paused. “Or they’ll ignore us and warn everyone else I’m back.”
Patrick took another sip of his beer, shifting beneath Jono’s touch but not pulling away. “Are you sure reaching out is a good idea?”
Jono raised an eyebrow. “We can’t ignore the London god pack like you did the Chicago one.”
“Hey, everything worked out in the end.”
“We were lucky Naomi and Alejandro hated Estelle and Youssef more than our transgressions into their territory. The London god pack won’t care either way if we don’t ask for pass-through rights. They may deny us outright because of me.”
“What’s the punishment for you going back after you were exiled?”
Jono wasn’t going to lie to Patrick, but he wished Patrick had asked that question after their airplane tickets were bought. “The alphas at the time were adamant they’d kill me if I returned. They considered me abandoning them a betrayal.”
Patrick scowled. “That’s bullshit. You were a fucking independent werecreature for the entire time you were there. You didn’t owe them shit back then. If they want any piece of you, they’ll need to go through me, and good fucking luck with that.”
“I know.”
Fenrir’s presence uncoiled in the back of Jono’s mind, clawing at his soul.They will not get the chance to harm you.
A god’s promise was fickle, as Jono had come to learn through Patrick. They weren’t to be trusted, even if they owned your soul or lived in it.
