Jono looked at him with a softness in his wolf-bright blue eyes that Patrick didn’t believe he deserved some days. “She knew you once.”
“I barely remember her.”
“And that’s okay.” Patrick flexed his fingers against nothing, only stopping when Jono took his hand and held it with a strong grip. “If you don’t want to ring her, then don’t. You’re allowed to have boundaries.”
Patrick knew that, he did, but believing it again after being possessed was a struggle. He was tired from sleepless nights, from knowing that Andras had seen every last thought and memory in his head, and there was no defending against that.
The thing about having a demon in your soul was the arrogance meant stuff slipped through. It became a two-way street of brief, haunting moments where Patrick had been a passenger in his own body, trapped in a tiny corner of his mind, listening in on conversations the demon never thought he’d be able to capitalize on.
While the Dominion Sect now knew Patrick had kept the piece of the Morrígan’s staff,heknew Ethan was running out of time. Macaria’s godhead was fraying, Hannah was dying, and Ethan was desperate.
It had been over twenty years since Ethan had bound himself to Hannah to try to control Macaria. Except the godhead had twisted too deep into Hannah’s soul to ever be removed easily, and it needed to be channeled through a clean, unmarked soul for a safe transfer into a new host. If Hannah died, then the godhead would disappear, and Ethan would lose the only chance he had at becoming a god.
Babies were blank slates, empty of any possible personality. The perfect vessel to smooth down the edges of a ragged godhead. Ethan had figured out a way to reach his goal, but the baby couldn’t survive in a decaying body. Cernunnos might have made it possible to keep Hannah’s body alive for a little while longer, but it wouldn’t last. Life never did.
They had until Samhain to figure out how to stop Ethan, and Patrick didn’t even know where to begin.
“Let’s get going, yeah?” Jono said quietly.
Patrick nodded, willing his swirling thoughts and uncertainty to the back of his mind. He didn’t want to bring any of that negativity to the dinner; Sage and Marek didn’t deserve that on the eve of their wedding.
He slipped his dagger into its sheath against his lower back, smoothed down the lapels of his suit jacket, made sure his hair hadn’t gotten totally destroyed from his nap, and followed Jono out of the apartment.
The gargoyles had taken to perching on the stoop and front of the building more than the roof these days. Reporters had stopped staking out the building, but the street was seeing more traffic than usual due to curious people driving or walking by. They’d already had to warn Wade he wasn’t allowed to toss things at anyone on the street who annoyed him.
Jono slung his arm over Patrick’s shoulders, drawing him close as they walked to where the Mustang was parked. Patrick could smell Jono’s cologne, the subtle notes his favorite scent.
“You smell good,” Patrick said.
Jono laughed softly, pressing the key fob to unlock the car up ahead. “So do you.”
They got into the car, and Jono aimed them in the direction of the restaurant where the rehearsal dinner was being held. The venue—a three-star Michelin affair overlooking a revitalized Central Park—had been closed for the private event. When they arrived, a valet waited to take their keys out front so they wouldn’t have to worry about parking.
The door opened before Patrick could reach for it, and they entered a low-lit, intimate space, classical music playing low in the background to dull the echo of everyone’s voices.
“You made it!” Sage said with a smile, scooting her chair back to stand and come greet them.
“Wouldn’t have missed it,” Patrick said.
“Of course you wouldn’t.” Sage gave him an easy hug, standing taller than him in the stiletto heels she wore that matched her white blazer dress. “Come on, let’s get you both a drink.”
She led them back to the table that had been set up beneath the chandelier in the center of the room. Wade waved at them, grinning widely, the only one at the table without a multitude of wineglasses at his place setting. Their pack, Emma, Leon, and Marek’s immediate family who’d flown in from out of state were all who were attending the elaborate dinner. Patrick and Jono were welcomed with a round of happyhellos.
Patrick settled into the moment, wanting to remember it, glad that whatever Andras had done, at least the demon hadn’t taken his memories. He laughed and talked with his pack and friends, all of them refusing to talk about work or pack politics. They ate their way through several courses, and if Patrick had more wine than was strictly appropriate, well, Jono hadn’t cut him off yet.
Once the second meat course was finally served, and everyone had a chance to taste it, Marek cleared his throat. The easy conversation happening at the table died down as everyone turned their attention to the nearly wedded couple.
“It’s apparently tradition for gifts to be given to bridesmaids and groomsmen before the wedding as a thank-you, but since we’re all perfectly capable of buying whatever we want, Sage and I decided to pitch in for a different sort of gift with Emma and Leon’s help,” Marek said, looking at Patrick and Jono.
“Aren’t you supposed to do that when you’re getting ready tomorrow?” Wade asked.
“We can do it whenever we want. It’s our wedding,” Sage said.
“What she means is that she helped draw up some legal documents for us and Marek greased the wheels of the government to get it signed off on,” Emma said, a smile tugging at her lips.
“Why are you giving gifts? You’re in the wedding, you’re supposed to get the gifts,” Wade said, licking the back of his fork.
“What’s the gift?” Jono asked as he buttered a fresh baked roll.
