“Cheers,” Jono said, taking the shirt.
Patrick rubbed at his face, feeling as if his brain was finally starting to reboot itself. “I can dress myself.”
Jono arched an eyebrow but didn’t argue, merely handed him the shirt. Patrick pulled it on slowly, then took a moment to just rest, body a heavy anchor that wouldn’t move.
“What happened?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“Marek got hijacked and our brains were blended. We healed, but you didn’t,” Wade said.
Jono pressed a kiss to the top of Patrick’s head. “Scared the bloody hell out of me, the way you were screaming and sicking up. Thought you were having a seizure.”
“Felt like it,” Patrick said slowly. “Persephone said it was an angel?”
Jono’s mouth thinned to a hard line. “I don’t know what it was, I just know I don’t ever want to hear it again.”
Patrick nodded agreement before shoving himself to his feet. Jono reached to steady him even though he was in no danger of keeling over, and Patrick didn’t shake off his touch. Jono dug up a bottle of mouthwash from beneath the sink, and Patrick gargled until all he tasted was mint.
They left the bathroom together, with Wade hovering nearby, a worried expression on his face. Patrick waved for him to follow them back to the living area, where someone had drawn the curtains on the windows overlooking Central Park and turned off the television.
It was dimmer than it had been, but not dark. Marek had been moved to the couch rather than his bedroom. Sage refused to let him go, her attention on him and not the goddess wandering through their home, leaving the scent of spring in every corner. Emma and Leon hovered near the pair, both of them tense.
Patrick watched Persephone with a wariness he hated but couldn’t escape. The pale blue sundress she wore swayed around her knees as she walked. Her strappy white sandals had no heels, bright against the tan of her skin. Persephone looped back to them, and Patrick couldn’t help the way he pressed back against Jono for support.
Because for all that she owned his soul debt, for all that Fenrir’s claws were sunk deep into Jono’s soul, they had each other, and Patrick didn’t have to stand on his own anymore. Jono wrapped an arm around his waist and didn’t let go, fingers holding on tight.
“You need to pay your soul debt,” Persephone said.
“You’re telling me something I already know,” Patrick said.
She came to a stop in front of him, and Patrick met her gaze without flinching. After a moment, Persephone reached out and settled her hand against his chest, right over his heart. Jono stiffened against him, a soft growl falling from his mouth.
“Don’t touch him,” Jono bit out.
Persephone stayed where she was, her hand a pressure against his scars and the nerve damage there. In some areas of his chest, he could feel the scrape of fabric over skin. In others, there was nothing.
“Just because we gave you to him doesn’t mean he’s yours,” Persephone said, speaking to Jono while keeping Patrick in her sight.
“Patrickismine.”
Persephone’s lips curved in a smile that held no comfort in it. “Then fight the demons overrunning your streets.”
“If we challenge Estelle now, it’ll make Patrick’s case worse.”
“Maat will handle that. The legal maneuverings against Patrick will be dealt with.”
“I don’t trust you lot to handleanythingwhen it comes to Patrick’s life.”
“His life doesn’t belong to you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
“What do you want?” Patrick interrupted before they could really go at it.
Persephone lifted her hand to touch her fingers to his jaw, drifting over the arch of his cheekbone. Every brush of her fingertips brought with it a tiny static shock. “I came to ensure you could still fight.”
“Even if I was dead, you’d probably hold me to my soul debt. Nothing’s changed. I’ll still do what you require.”
Because it was the only way to reclaim his life, in whatever shape this fight ultimately left it in—whole, in pieces, or gone entirely.
