Ashanti drew closer, watching Andras in Estelle’s body with keen black eyes. Fenrir took a chance and lunged at Hades, managing to catch the god’s elbow in his teeth. Jono tasted blood, felt the scrape of bone against fangs, before Hades nearly burned his face off his skull with hellfire. Fenrir moved out of the way before Hades’ attack could connect, tearing a chunk out of the other god’s arm.
Fenrir spat bone and flesh out on the ground, gape-grinning at Hades. Jono didn’t mind the taste in his mouth at all. “Walk away, cousin. The wolf we want is not worth your time.”
You should off the bloke, not let him go, Jono snapped.
Fenrir ignored his request, and that was the downside to giving up control—actions he wanted to take never happened. Hades’ aura was sickly bright around him, the godhead that gave him immortality continuing to do so. The god glared at them, blood pouring out of the ragged hole in his elbow, the flesh already twisting to seal up the wound.
“Walk away.”
Hades looked over his shoulder, not at Andras and Estelle, but at something beyond them, past the trees, in the direction that explosion of magic had happened in. Then he stepped backward through the veil, disappearing from sight.
Fenrir let him go.
What the bloody fuck? Youhadhim!Jono railed.
This is not where he dies.
It should be.
He will answer to Zeus. The wolf will answer to me.
Jono scratched at the connection that gave Fenrir control.This is my kill.
Soon.
Ashanti had almost reached Estelle, jagged iron fangs bared in a promised threat, when Andras fled her body in a burst of negative light, streaking away through the sky. Ashanti followed the trajectory of his passage with a hungry look in her eyes.
“A pity. I have not fed on a demon in centuries,” she said.
Estelle had half collapsed, panting furiously for breath as Lucien and Carmen closed the distance between the trees and their location in a blur of preternatural speed. It was only then that Jono saw the shoulder-mounted grenade launcher Lucien was carrying, the weapon he’d used to stop Andras and Estelle from escaping.
“Get up,” Fenrir ordered, power in his words, like a call to the packs, though Estelle would never be pack.
Estelle’s wolf form hunched down before she staggered to her feet, head hanging low. She didn’t move for a long few seconds. When she finally turned to face them, her eyes were a bright amber once again, Andras no longer in control. She stank of anger and fear, with a lingering scent of hell in the undertones.
Her pack scent was gone.
It took a moment for Jono to understand what that meant, to realize that Estelle’s god pack was as good as gone. Whatever claim she’d carried, it had disappeared, stripped away by every choice that had led her to this moment, standing before a god and finding herself wanting in his presence.
Fenrir jerked Jono’s head to the side, in the direction they’d come, a clear order in the gesture. Estelle had no choice but to obey, not with two gods acting as her guards. They herded her back to the Great Lawn, her heartbeat getting faster and faster the closer they got, until it sounded as if it would beat right out of her chest.
She knew what was coming.
Fenrir let Jono see the aftermath of the fight that had occurred on the Great Lawn in their absence—torn apart bodies strewn everywhere, others lying whole on the ground, and still more wounded from the fight. He couldn’t tell who they’d lost on their side, but he selfishly didn’t care about numbers right then, not when he caught sight of Patrick leaning on Wade behind a golden shield.
Some of the packs were guarding people Jono assumed had surrendered, kneeling naked in the bloody grass with their hands behind their backs, fading bruises all that was left of deep wounds. Night Marchers and fae alike were chasing down stragglers at the edge of the Great Lawn and beyond. He knew the streets surrounding Central Park wouldn’t be much better in terms of body count.
Take what is yours with my blessing, Fenrir said.
Control returned in an instant, though Jono knew that wasn’t what the god meant. He shook his head, and the world didn’t settle, not until after he shifted back to human. The change took less than a minute, a brutal tearing of flesh and bone that added to the blood scattered in the winter-dry, brittle grass underfoot.
Jono straightened up, naked and covered in blood, tasting ozone in the back of his throat and Ginnungagap on his tongue. He licked his lips, staring at where Estelle crouched amidst the bodies of the mess she’d wrought, her back to him. People started to drift over, forming a loose circle around them, a makeshift challenge ring. The golden shield keeping Patrick and Wade safe slowly faded. Jono caught Patrick’s eye, the soulbond humming between them, as strong as ever now. As much as Jono wanted to go to him, they still had unfinished business to tend to.
Jono stared at Estelle, aware of all the eyes on him, and pressed his will upon her with the backing of a god. “Change.”
Power filled his voice, hitting Estelle like a subway train if the way she shuddered was anything to go by. Jono called forth the change in her, stripping her of the animal and replacing it with the human, until she knelt on the grass, back bowed, head hanging down, her fingers digging into dirt.
“Get up,” Jono said, power resting along the edges of his sharp teeth, but not biting into his words this time. Fenrir gave him authenticity, but he’d take the authority on his own.
