Patrick’s magic washed over Jono in a shield he could actually see, raised between them and the enemy come calling at the witching hour. He pulled free his dagger, the matte-black blade erupting in heavenly fire. Jono didn’t shift, not yet, but it wouldn’t take long for him to change forms. He dialed up his senses, and only then was he able to discern the crackling ozone scent of a god buried beneath the sulfur of demons.
Estelle was guarded by Nicholas and several other god pack members on the sidewalk in front of the apartment building. The gargoyles were lined up on the stoop, refusing them passage with the help of a god.
The tall figure should’ve been shadowed from the distant streetlight, but his aura was bright enough that it glowed like a halo around his form, illuminating him. The long linen shirt he wore over fitted trousers couldn’t hide the blue skin on his throat or the snake that coiled loosely around it like a living necklace, hanging over his shoulders. When he turned his head to watch their approach, the third eye in his forehead blinked out of sync with the other two.
“Fuck,” Patrick muttered, not caring who heard him. “I hope Shiva doesn’t ask me to get his trishula back from the FBI.”
“I can easily find another offering,” Shiva drawled.
Jono and Patrick didn’t move. Fenrir drifted through Jono’s mind but didn’t demand control. The last thing Jono wanted to do was fight the god for bodily autonomy.
“What do you want?”
Shiva’s teeth flashed in a quick smile. “Nothing as of yet.”
Jono could only hope the god would never ask for anything, but he knew that was wishful thinking. He shifted his attention from Shiva to Estelle and the demon riding her soul. “And you? What the fuck do you want?”
“We’re here with an offer,” the demon said, the voice tangled in Estelle’s familiar from London and the subway, a nightmare that had been aimed at them since the bounty on Jono’s head first appeared.
“Andras.” Jono clenched his hands into fists, the prick of claws cutting into his palms as he realized what stared out of Estelle’s bright amber eyes. “We don’t bargain with the enemy.”
Andras spread Estelle’s hands, the veins beneath her skin tracing black lines through her body as the smell of sulfur burned through the air. “This is your last and final chance to back down. Take it, and leave New York City to us.”
Jono forced out a laugh past his clenched teeth. “No.”
“You won’t win in or out of a challenge ring, no matter your alliances.”
“Fuck off. You wouldn’t be here if we weren’t still a threat.”
Andras laughed, the other demons joining in until a chorus of hell rang in the street. “I fear no one.”
“You fear the future where you lose,” Shiva said, not moving from the stoop. “You fear your savior being born.”
Andras snapped Estelle’s teeth at the god but didn’t move from their spot on the sidewalk. Neither did the other demons. Jono wondered when it was Andras had possessed Estelle, and if it had been before or after Youssef had died.
“Get the fuck out of here before I send you back to the hell you crawled out of,” Patrick warned, raising his dagger in a pointed threat.
Andras hissed at him, the sound discordant. “If you refuse to give up the city, then we will see you in the streets.”
“We’re already there,” Jono said with a derisive snort, thinking about all the fighting that had already happened over the months. “New York City isn’t yours, and it isn’t Estelle’s. It’s ours.”
“You’ll die believing that delusion.”
“Not tonight.”
Which was proven true when Andras and the other demons fled in the werecreatures they possessed, sulfur drifting on the muggy breeze. Jono didn’t trust why they had come or the ease with which they had fled. He trusted the god guarding their home even less.
“Are we going to have to go through you to get to bed?” Jono asked.
Shiva stepped down to the sidewalk. “No. Hermes suggested I take my nightly walk around your territory instead of through Central Park.”
“Our home. Sure,” Patrick said.
More like the walk was done to protect the bit of a goddess’ staff capable of raising millions of dead.
Shiva faced them, one hand absently stroking the snake he carried over his shoulders, the beast hissing softly at the touch. The god’s three eyes blinked out of sync at them, and Jono found it difficult to meet his gaze, not knowing where to look.
“Do not give them New York City. It is an altar you can ill afford to give up,” Shiva said.
