If the damn thing wasn’t like the Morrígan’s staff, then it was one less problem he’d have to worry about. He could do with less of those right now.
Ashanti studied him with those inhuman black eyes of hers, and Patrick never looked away. She didn’t make him uncomfortable like she did the rest of his pack, because he knew she was cruel only because she had to live.
“Deal with the demons,” Ashanti finally said. “The Night Courts will guard your borders from attacks when they are awake, but they will not put themselves at risk of sunlight. They will not fight during sunrise and sunset.”
Which meant his pack would have to rely on the fae for help during the day and when the sun was passing over the horizon. Ashanti could walk in sunlight and not burn because of the godhead that sustained her. She’d carved out pieces of herself when she made vampires over the millennia, gifting that same ability to her direct descendants.
Lucien was the last vampire she had made, and one of her few surviving direct descendants if history was to be believed. Every other vampire in the five boroughs, no matter their Night Court, would be useless during the day. Ashanti and Lucien would always be the exception, but Patrick knew he couldn’t count on them forever.
More than that, he didn’t want to.
“Thank you,” Patrick said.
“Don’t thank us for fixing your problems. The sooner you kill Ethan, the better off we’ll all be,” Lucien said.
“If Hades and Zachary are in town, perhaps you’ll get your chance,” Ashanti said.
Patrick shrugged, uncomfortably aware that the only way to pay his soul debt was to kill what remained of his immediate family. “Tracking Ethan has proved almost impossible. The SOA is of the belief he goes past the veil with the help of Hades or some other gods and demons. It’s where we think Ilya is hiding with his zombie army. Whatever hell they’re hanging out in, we can’t reach them, and I’m not asking the gods for help.”
He’d traveled past the veil more times than he ever wanted to over the past year. Humans couldn’t pass through it on their own. It took effort and a lot of power, even by the standards of the gods. Hades had his own set of worshippers, but Patrick didn’t think they were enough to give the god power. If that were the case, maybe Hades would’ve done them all a favor and murdered Ethan in his sleep if the god had the guts enough to do it.
These days Hades was a puppet, guarding his daughter’s bound godhead, and isolated from his pantheon. Whatever promise Ethan had given the immortal, whatever coveted place he’d offered up in a new myth, Hades had believed him enough to stay. Patrick didn’t think Persephone would ever forgive her husband for that.
“Whether in heaven or hell, it doesn’t matter. The fight will happen here, on the mortal plane,” Ashanti said.
It would be more than a fight, but a sacrifice—one Patrick might not ever escape from. He’d known that since he was a child.
“I’ll do my best to provide you with any information on the Dominion Sect’s movement,” Patrick said.
He hated being on the defensive, but that’s where they were. He and Jono hadn’t anticipated Estelle and Youssef attacking so openly. Bargains with demons and hunters, yes, they’d expected that. The other god pack aligning themselves with the Dominion Sect hadn’t seemed like a possibility even after he and Jono returned from Europe.
But if Estelle and Youssef were looking for a way to break them, separating him from Jono would go a long ways toward helping Ethan.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend, as the saying went.
Ashanti smiled slightly, aura brightening around her. She was the only vampire Patrick had ever met who didn’t have a black hole where her soul should’ve resided, only a godhead shining through. “I promised the gods of heaven my support years ago. My reasoning hasn’t changed, and it will not. Be the weapon I taught you to be and finish this fight, Patrick.”
Easier said than done.
Patrick drew down his magic, breaking the silence ward. Sound returned, muffled by Ginnungagap. He turned on his heels and left without saying goodbye. Patrick could feel Lucien’s gaze boring into him as he walked away. The risks of getting stabbed in the back hadn’t diminished with Ashanti’s return. Lucien would just find another way to make his life miserable.
He found his Mustang untouched where he’d left it in the alley, but Patrick did a brief scan of the car anyway. He remembered all too well getting dragged away from the hellfire car bomb last year.
Nothing seemed out of place, so Patrick got back behind the wheel and started the engine. He sat there for a moment, staring blankly ahead, and tried not to feel like everything he’d worked to keep over the last year or so was slipping through his fingers.
* * *
“Bloody bastards,”Jono grumbled under his breath when he finally made it home that night.
Patrick set aside his MacBook and got up from the couch, absentmindedly casting a silence ward across their apartment’s threshold. “Who?”
“The fucking press. A few reporters were waiting outside the bar when I left, and there were some near the flat. The gargoyles were keeping those ones at bay.”
“At least those stone rats are good for something.”
Jono quirked a tired smile at him. “Be nice, love.”
“They’remessy. They leave pigeon feathers everywhere and try to steal my coffee when I leave for work. They don’t even do that to Wade.”
