Takoma stepped forward before Lucien could, and Fenrir reared up through Jono’s soul, stealing control of his voice and body between one breath and the next.
“There are other tricks in play, cousin. They must be seen to first,” Fenrir said through Jono.
Takoma was brought up short, while Lucien merely looked bored as he hooked his chin over Carmen’s shoulder.
“Enlighten us,” Lucien bit out.
“I need to go to Salem. I think Zachary did something to Eloise,” Patrick said, looking at Ashanti and not the other vampires.
“As we said. Tricks,” Fenrir said.
Lucien flashed his fangs at them. “But no treats. You go to Salem, wolf. When you come back, Patrick bleeds.”
Jono railed against that order, but Fenrir didn’t let him speak. Patrick was the one to agree, and Jono would’ve thrown a fit if he could.
“Fine,” Patrick said flatly.
Ashanti smiled, iron teeth dark between her lips in the faint glow of witchlights. “I will use the spell book you brought me from DC. You just need to bring yourself.”
Fenrir gave Jono back his voice, and he turned his head to scowl at Patrick. “You don’t need to bleed for her.”
Patrick wouldn’t look at him. “This isn’t your choice. It’s mine.”
Jono would’ve flinched if they were alone, but he refused to give their audience the satisfaction of watching their disagreement. Choice was important, especially considering Patrick’s past. Clenching his teeth, Jono kept silent for the rest of the meeting, which was mercifully brief.
With the promise dragged out of Patrick, Ashanti saw no need to stay and fled into the night with all of her children except Lucien. The master vampire stayed behind with Carmen, his black-eyed gaze not friendly in the least.
“You brought Nadine,” Lucien said.
“The gods brought her, but she’s been recalled by the PIA. So have others,” Patrick said.
“What passes as reinforcement from your government has never been very impressive.”
“We did all right during the Thirty-Day War.”
“Aim to do better than you did back then. Ashanti isn’t dying for you again.”
“I’ve never wanted anyone to die for me.”
Patrick’s voice was quiet, flat in a way that spoke of buried trauma, and Jono wanted badly to hold him. He wouldn’t appreciate the outreach in full view of Lucien, so instead, Jono reached for his hand, sliding his fingers between Patrick’s.
“Let’s head to Sage’s,” Jono said.
They had a long day ahead of them, and it started with getting a few hours of sleep before they faced whatever—or whoever—waited for them in Salem.
14
They wereon the road by dawn, having only slept a handful of hours. Patrick’s eyes felt as if they had glass in them, the dryness irritating. Not even the coffee Sage had prepared for them all in massive travel mugs was enough to make him stop rubbing his eyes.
They’d stopped at JFK International first so Nadine could retrieve her luggage. It had required her badge, but what she’d packed in Paris was currently tucked away in the Mustang’s trunk, sans an outfit that, while not super fashionable, would be durable in a fight.
“Who do you think will be there when we get to Salem?” Nadine asked, the familiar sounds of her cleaning her service weapon coming from the backseat.
Patrick stretched out his legs and rolled his left ankle, feeling it pop. “I don’t know. Maybe members of Eloise’s family. I think they do brunch every Sunday or something, but I’m not sure if we’ll get there when that happens.”
“We’ll get there during brunch,” Jono said.
Nadine sighed. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
