Jono stepped over Estelle, gaze catching on the way her fingers twitched, listening as her heart lost its rhythm. She died packless, powerless, her passing witnessed by the one who stole her mantle, claimed her rank, and sank his teeth in a city that was no longer hers. Some people deserved to see what they lost walk away from them as they died.
Jono hoped Estelle remembered that in whatever hell she ended up in.
No one cheered, but relief was a palpable thing in the air. Sage shifted back to human form while Wade hauled Patrick over to Jono, unaware that Patrick looked as if he could stand on his own two feet, albeit shakily. Patrick’s heartbeat cut through the slowly rising voices from the pack alphas who realized they were finally free of Estelle and Youssef. Jono drank him in, unable to look away from the tired green eyes that didn’t have a trace of demonic presence in them.
“You’re a mess,” Patrick said, reaching for Jono before hesitating, hand pausing midair.
Jono knew what that hesitation meant, what was probably running through Patrick’s mind right about then, and he was having none of it. Jono wrapped his fingers around Patrick’s wrist and reeled him in, Wade gladly giving him up. Jono framed Patrick’s face with both hands, breathing him in—the bitterness, the sense of home—lips grazing the corner of his mouth.
“I’m here,” Jono murmured.
Patrick’s hands found their way to Jono’s hips, touch cold. “I’m sorry.”
“Let’s not start that, love. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’tyou.”
Patrick’s breath hitched in his lungs, fingers digging into Jono’s skin, his voice coming out tired and small. “Sure as fuck felt like it.”
And oh, there was so much to unpack in that statement, but this wasn’t the place to do it. All Jono could do was assure the man he loved that he didn’t blame him for the actions of others done with Patrick’s own hands, and never would.
“You would never hurt me, and you didn’t.”
Patrick’s eyes searched his, looking for all the forgiveness and absolution Jono would never deny him. “I came back.”
The words ghosted across Jono’s lips, like a benediction of sorts, meant to soothe them both amidst the massacre they’d survived. He kissed Patrick with a careful gentleness that left his hands shaking, leaving bloody streaks across pale, freckled skin.
“I know. I’m sorry I couldn’t find you.”
The confession tore at Jono, words he wished he didn’t have to say, but they’d promised not to lie to each other. The soulbond hadn’t been broken, but they hadn’t known demons could block it. Fenrir had never touched it when the god took over his body.
Patrick wrapped his arms around Jono and hugged him tight. “Even if you can never find me, I’ll always come back.”
Jono hugged him back, chin resting on Patrick’s head, never wanting to let go.
“We factored in the fight, but I don’t think we factored in the aftermath,” Sage said as she approached, her long hair covering her bare breasts. Other werecreatures who hadn’t yet shifted were changing back to human, joining the rest of them standing about in the nude.
“The mayor and Casale promised us a challenge ring,” Jono reminded her.
“Yes, and it’s our responsibility to bury the bodies.”
“We will take our wounded and dead home. The rest may return to the ground. Consider it payment for the interference of our elders,” a new voice said, ringing through the air.
Jono lifted his head, looking over at where Brigid strode toward them from the direction of the hawthorn path.
“What do you know about Cernunnos?” Patrick asked tiredly, rubbing at a vivid red line running from elbow to wrist on his left arm. Jono didn’t like the look of it, or what it might mean. Neither did he care for the burn marks that he could see on Patrick’s skin.
“It was the Horned One’s magic which stole life from this island and gave it to someone else. For that, the roots of your iron city shall be fed,” Brigid said, her aura burning bright. The fae guard escort she had arrived with fanned out around her, silver-edged weapons in hand. The metal made Jono’s skin prickle.
A wave of green spread outward from the flower cape she wore, rolling across the dead winter grass and returning it to life. The wave picked up speed, crashing into the tree line and moving past it. Jono watched as, in less than a minute, the trees lost their winter dullness and started sprouting leaves, winter turning back to summer.
The grass rapidly grew over the dead, the earth churning like quicksand, as many of the bodies sank into the dirt, swallowed up until not even blood remained. Brigid’s magic didn’t touch Estelle’s body though, leaving it aboveground. Neither did it touch the dead whose loyalty had been to Jono and Patrick’s god pack.
Those they would bury and grieve over.
The rest could rot.
“What about the ones in the street?” Wade asked, jumping around a body half sunk into the dirt.
“Those remain for your pack to deal with,” Brigid said.
