Patrick eyed the familiar-looking man waiting for them outside the bar—the same man who’d followed him and Nadine in St. James’s Park earlier that afternoon. This time Patrick could make out the wolf-bright blue eyes that were eerily similar to Jono’s. Up close, he was handsome and dressed like he knew it, but his taste in designer clothes was overkill.
Jono’s stride hitched slightly, and it was enough of a tell for Patrick to look at him sharply. The surprise on his face told Patrick he knew the guy. The way the blond guy raked his gaze up and down Jono’s body hungrily made Patrick want to stab him.
“Bryson,” Jono said slowly.
Bryson smiled at Jono, ignoring the rest of them. “Mate. It’s been bloody forever.”
“You know why.”
Bryson’s oil-slick smile never left his face. “I would’ve rung you, but my alphas laid down the law, yeah? You know how it is.”
Jono said nothing to that. Sage neatly stepped between him and Bryson, forcing Bryson to look at her. “We’re here to meet your alphas.”
Bryson’s wolf-bright, blue-eyed gaze flicked to her then back to Jono. “Who’s the bird?”
“Our dire,” Patrick answered flatly, throttling his anger and glad his shields were locked down tight so Bryson wouldn’t smell it. “Sage Beacot. Address her by her name or title, or don’t fucking talk to her at all, got it?”
Bryson finally looked at him, some of the easiness in his gaze disappearing, replaced with a cold annoyance Patrick didn’t give one goddamn fuck about. “I’d say humans aren’t allowed tonight, but you aren’t that human, are you?”
“Pat?” Jono asked, not looking at him.
“Dickface here tried to tail me today. He wasn’t very good at it,” Patrick said.
“You need to learn some fucking manners,” Bryson snarled.
Patrick smiled at him, baring his teeth. “Take us to your alphas. Now.”
Bryson glared at Patrick before looking over at Jono. “Bit of a pissant, that one. You let him order you about like this, Jono?”
“Patrick is my god pack’s co-leader. We lead together,” Jono stated flatly. “Show us to your alphas, Bryson. That’s why we’re here.”
Bryson arched an eyebrow at him. “You can still call me Bry, you know that, right?”
It was Jono’s turn to smile, and his teeth were sharper than Patrick’s ever could be. “Your alphas.Now.”
Whatever sort of camaraderie Bryson hoped to start up again with Jono, Patrick was pleased to see it die a withering death outside the Beaufort Bar.
“You know, I did miss you when you left,” Bryson said, turning toward the door.
Patrick hadso manyquestions for Jono right about then, and maybe he would’ve asked them if he wasn’t fantasizing about stabbing Bryson in the back. He’d never thought of himself as the jealous type, but apparently he was finding new depths about himself within the pack.
“Friend of yours?” Patrick asked, going for curious and coming off murderous.
“We’ll chat later,” Jono said, not bothering to keep his voice low.
“Damn right we will.”
They went from bright lights to the low lighting inside the jet-black and gold bar. A single chandelier hung from the ceiling in the center of the room, while sconces and lamps lined the wood-paneled walls broken up in intervals by square marble pillars. Black tables and chairs were situated so there was plenty of room between them to ensure a cozy, almost private space. A pair of low couches turned back-to-back between two tables offered up a different kind of seat for guests to claim.
The bar itself was set against the wall to the right on a low antique stage. Light flowed through a frosted base, and only a few high seats were spaced in front so as to not overcrowd the bar. Dozens of liquor bottles sat on glass shelves and inside recessed spaces, the light shining down and from behind making everything glitter like it was crystal. A single bartender was working on some drinks for a pair of glamorously dressed women.
Three recessed booths on the side wall were painted a deep gold, the black couches in front embroidered with gold stitching as well. Two of the booths were empty. The far left one in the corner was full, as were the tables nearest it. The people there were all looking back at them, their wolf-bright blue eyes glittering in the dim bar light.
Recognition punched through Patrick’s magic behind his shields—werecreatures, but something else. Something malevolent and insidious, a warning he only ever experienced when faced with demons. Patrick swallowed, tasting a hint of sulfur in the very back of his throat. Either the London god pack here tonight knew about the demon in their midst and they didn’t care—or they were unaware, which meant the demon was powerful.
Shit.
Wade made a surprised noise behind him. Patrick wrenched his attention away from the London god pack when Wade grabbed his arm, looking into the teenager’s wide brown eyes, not seeing any hint of gold.
