While Patrick knew Sage could hold her own in a fight, he didn’t like anyone fighting if he could do it for them. Judging by Jono’s expression, he didn’t like it much either, but he didn’t try to argue with Sage about her demand.
Patrick sighed heavily. “Is this some pack rule I don’t instinctively know because I’m not a werecreature?”
“Dires handle everything except a direct challenge. We fight for our god pack alphas.”
“I’m more than capable of fighting my own damn fights.”
“Fighting, sure. Winning is another thing entirely,” Jono muttered.
Patrick scowled at him. “Oh, fuck you.”
Jono ignored him and flicked on the blinker, veering right and away from the Thames. The lit-up London Eye disappeared behind trees and buildings as they went farther into the dense city. London wasn’t built on a grid, and Patrick missed Manhattan’s setup. The twisted route they were taking to the Savoy was as far from a straight line as one could get.
Despite the hour, there were lots of cars on the street, as well as numerous double-decker red transit buses. Patrick kept his attention on the road and intersections in case of any unexpected trouble. London wasn’t a city he knew well, and he didn’t know what to expect while they were here without approval for pass-through rights.
“United front?” Patrick said as Jono switched lanes and the GPS map on his phone announced their destination was on the left.
“Always,” Jono said.
“You take lead, I’ll follow. But if they go for your throat, I’ll cut open theirs.”
Patrick had his dagger strapped to his right thigh where it belonged. He traced a look-away ward over the sheath even as he locked down his personal shields as tight as they would go. His bones ached for a few seconds, joints flaring with heat as the magical anchors Persephone had burned into his skeleton held up his defensive magic.
“Can’t smell you,” Jono said, sounding vaguely annoyed.
“Good. That’s the whole fucking point of shields.”
Coming across as human was a skill Patrick leaned into hard when dealing with the preternatural world. If the London god pack alphas hadn’t done their due diligence on Patrick’s pack, then oh fucking well.
They turned left, driving down a short narrow street to the main entrance of the Savoy. The high-end luxury cars they passed shined from the white lights above. Their rental looked completely out of place. The valet who came to collect their keys managed to hide his distaste once he got a good look at Jono’s eyes, even if he couldn’t hide the fear in his scent.
“We’re here for a meeting,” Jono said, handing over the keys. “We won’t be staying the night.”
“Very well,” the man said, passing over a numbered ticket. “Myself or another can retrieve your car when you’re finished.”
They passed by a fountain and between gold and black pillars on their way into the luxury hotel’s lobby. Inside, it was brightly lit, the black-and-white floor tiles clean of any scuff marks, with white pillars stretching up to a high ceiling. Wooden panels lined the wall but didn’t reach the ceiling, broken up by antique-style wallpaper with hearth wards woven into the design. As much as the Savoy was a luxury hotel, someone had paid lots of money to treat it as a home as best they could where magic was concerned.
The effort was wasted. Public space could never carry a threshold or be a place where hearth magic could settle.
“This way,” Sage said, taking the lead. Her high heels clicked softly against the tile as she walked, black dress swirling around her knees. Out of all of them, only she looked like she belonged in the hotel.
“I take it you’ve been here before?” Patrick asked.
“Marek prefers the Savoy when we come to London. I prefer the Dorchester.”
Jono glanced at her. “I thought you owned an estate in London?”
“We do. Sometimes it’s easier to abide by pack laws by staying in transient places though.”
Patrick smirked at her. “Meaning you don’t have to ask for pass-through rights.”
“It wasn’t worth the hassle when I was an independent or even after when Emma took me into the Tempest pack. It’s worth it now.”
Unspoken went her reason—her pack. Sage had become family, and her fierce protective streak and incredibly sharp mind had saved their collective asses multiple times in the past. Patrick had a feeling she’d do it again if tonight went as shitty as he thought it would.
The guests they passed at the Savoy came from money—new, old, it didn’t matter, but every last one of them forgot their manners and stared when Jono passed them by. Patrick knew it was his eyes and what they represented that made people look twice. Most werecreatures tried to hide what they were from the public. God pack members didn’t have that luxury.
Sage led them through the hotel to the stately red double door etched in gold at the edges that led to the Beaufort Bar. The hotel hostess situated in the nearby alcove was fighting through nerves and hiding it well enough that she didn’t look like she was about to have a panic attack. Patrick figured the sooner the god pack werewolf standing between her and the entrance left, the happier she’d be.
